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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 3 months ago

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Ludos Imperiales 9

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is a little shorter than usual, I've been sick in bed for a good couple of days and didn't have as much time to write as usual.

Content Warnings: Talk of Depression/Depressive Episodes; Reader Gets Drugged.

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The Trajan Markets are the pinnacle of growth and development in the Capital, a sign the people said that the Gods favored us above all others. No other province grew as ours does. No other nation boasted such booms in business that a five story building need be built for the sole purpose of selling goods. Our streets have become too crowded, markets overflowing with buyers and sellers until the roads clog and the city becomes too rowdy during peak times of the day. There are other Markets in the city of course, but none as grand as Trajan.

None as easy to hide in as Trajan.

I keep my hood pulled up over my face, a full basket in one hand, the other tapping anxiously along the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. The crowds are heavy, the summer air thick with the smell of sweat and incense and the roasted meat from the food stalls. The heavy din of haggling and bartering makes the pounding of my heart sound far more dull than it had on the crazed dash I’d made to get here. Ditching the Guard to come out had been a challenge; dodging Anise a military feat I think might have made even Cassian proud. Not that Cassian knew I’d left. Or any of my mates for that matter. They would be too recognizable in this crowd; as is I feel like eyes watch my every move. This needs to be quick.

My list of supplies is half scratched off, just a few more pieces of armor and a couple more custom weapons and my mates will be well protected for their next match. I’ve all but thrown myself into the task, as if the extra effort will make the difference in the arena. As if the extra bit of leather might be the very thing that ensures they return to me afterwards.

I try to shake off the pressure driving into my chest like a spike. The Games are tomorrow. I’d chosen Kallias’s Orc for their opponent via a letter--Father hadn’t spoken to me directly since the Council meeting two days ago. I suppose that means Eris has kept his word thus far, but the silence makes time stretch out like a bad dream. I’ve spent nearly every waking moment watching the windows, waiting for the worst to happen.

Abandoning one booth, I move to another, fingers skimming over metal and leather chestpieces alike. All too thin. Too hollow. Orc’s favor axes, they need something that can withstand multiple blows.

The next shop is too flashy. Too many Imperial colors. My stomach turns at the thought of seeing Rhys in Imperial gold.

I dodge a squad of the Praetorian, they’ve been doing routine sweeps through the city more frequently since the parade. Perhaps it’s just Father’s paranoia, but there is a small piece of me that dares to hope that there was some sympathy in the crowd, that someone, somewhere in this damned city felt as horrified as moved to action as I was.

I keep my hood drawn a little lower over my face as I move to the next level. This would be easier if I could have brought them along, no need to constantly double check the scribble of measurements I’d had the tailor make. They could pick what would be most comfortable for themselves, and I’d feel better about sending them off in it, at least they knew what they were doing. But the risk was too great. And worse, I’m a terrible coward.

I haven’t so much as looked at Azriel since the Council Meeting. I’d forced myself to climb into my empty bed and not use the secret tunnels. I’d found anything and everything to keep myself busy the next day. Not because I didn’t want to see him, or any of them, but because I couldn’t bear the waiting. The countdown to the next match had started like a death null in the back of my head. I can’t bring myself to be selfish and sit there with them when there are things within my power to do to save them. It’s not right that I will sit in my cushy booth with a drink while they fight for their lives. I have to give them a fighting chance. I have to do more than last time.

I have to ensure they get back alive. We will have time to work out what we want from each other when this is over. When I can ensure my heart won’t shatter into a million unfixable pieces if something happens.

I give myself a little shake as I skirt past food stalls swarming with several families of Sprites. Trajan, unlike many of the markets on the Square, is full of all sorts of creatures: Trolls and Goblins pull carts of wares down the aisles and up the stairs to the top levels. Pixies and Sprites flit about in the open air, directing traffic. Nephilim with their feathered wings tucked tight shop with Humans and Elves. We are all just shoppers here, none of the Empire’s prejudice to separate us. None of it’s cruelty to turn us on each other. This is how it should be. Tomorrow we will be in the Arena again. The crowds will be different. The atmosphere will be different. It will not be so peaceful.

My next stop is a merchant shop boasting the best armor in the Empire. This will be the third shop with that sign, I don’t have high hopes, but I cannot leave until I’ve searched every shop, exhausted every outlet.

My fingers trace over the plated armor, shaped like scales. The design is well made, but the material… I tap a knuckle against it and hear a dull, hollow echo. Too thin. The next stall, boasts the best greaves and manicas. The extra padding of a sleeve will be useful, and the dark leather, layered like scales would look good on them. I buy three, one for each and add them to my basket before moving on.

A small cart selling ribbons momentarily halts my search, the colors vibrant and blowing softly in the breeze that drifts through the open market windows. I run my fingers over a violet thread, the same shade as Rhys’s eyes.

“That’s a pretty color!” The merchant woman, a human I think, but her ears are tucked under a multicolored head scarf, calls out from the worn stool she sits atop.

If we were normal, I’d braid the ribbon into my hair, boast Rhys’s colors with a bit of black thread for everyone to see. A pang of longing hits me in the chest; we will never be normal people, not while the Empire stands. I’ll go to the Games tomorrow in white and gold to match my Father.

“It is,” my voice shakes as I remove the ribbon from the hook. I shouldn’t. I should be practical. It’s a waist of coin, I can’t wear it anyway. Still…

“We��re having a sale,” the merchant continues. “Three for the price of one!”

The irony makes a laugh bubble out of me. Of course it would be three.

A cobalt one draws my eye next, then a bright red one. Before I can think twice about it, I’ve taken them off the hooks too.

“For anyone special?” She asks as I fish some coins from my purse.

“Of course,” I reply, but I don’t give her any more of an explanation.

The merchant pats my hand affectionately as she passes my change back, a knowing smile on her lips. I tuck the ribbon into the pocket of my cloak that sits over my heart; they’ll be another secret dream, meant for a girl less duty bound as me, but I cannot stop myself from hoping for a chance to one day wear them.

“I hope they bring your lover luck,” the merchant says in farewell.

A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine; they’ll certainly need it.

It had taken hours, but I finally found suitable armor on the fifth floor of the market. Upon sneaking back into the House, I’d left the supplies with the tailor and instructed that she take it to our guests. If the Guard were to ask where she’d gotten it, she’d been instructed to say she’d picked it up in town on her last visit and had just finished adjusting the straps and various ties up until now. A ruse that should be believable and hopefully not be looked into too deeply. I was curious to see what they thought about my decisions, but bringing it in myself felt like it would draw too much attention, so I schemed as best I could and busied myself by going back to the Temple to make some offerings for tomorrow.

I doubt there is enough bronze in the Empire to sway Fortuna, but that doesn’t stop me from offering my sacrifices all the same.

Victoria’s altar gets more than its fair share of bull’s blood and wine; I’ve burned so much incense the warm spice mixture feels like it’s seeping into my skin.

But while my offerings to Luck and Victory may look extreme to the priestesses, they are small in comparison to the blood I spill for the Mother. My nightly prayers have felt feeble and unheard, I remain at the altar far longer than necessary, whispering in Latin for as long as I can before people start asking questions.

By the time I’ve finished, the afternoon heat is settling into a warm evening wind. I gather my spinning thoughts and head to the kitchens to give Cook instructions for our guests' nightly meal. It takes more than a few coins to bribe him into making enough food for a feast and then sending all of it to the guest wing, along with far more deserts than probably necessary.

Everything today has probably been a little more than necessary, truth be told, but I have to do everything in my power to help. I have to tell myself it’s enough. That I’ve exhausted every outlet, covered every angle, left nothing to chance. I won’t sleep tonight as is, but it’ll be worse if I cannot find some way to convince myself that I helped.

I’m so busy directing plates this way and that I don’t even stop to consider that I haven’t eaten today until Anise grabs me by the elbow. With a couple plates in hand, she all but drags me into the triclinium to eat, despite my protest. There is still so much I need to do!

“Sit!” The plate clangs against the table.

The formal dining room has been empty for months. I’ve been eating my meals in my room for one reason or another. She throws open a dust covered curtain with a huff, letting in the last few glimmers of sunlight.

“You’re pale as a fucking spirit!” She hisses at me. Her gnarled hands strike a match and light a few candles along the forlorn tables, her own plate sitting untouched next to me as she fusses over the room.

“Probably high off incense too,” she grumbles.

I place my elbows on the table and brace my face in my hands so I can rub my temples. There’s that stash of mirthroot in my bedside table I’d purchased to trick my Father and I’m tempted to use a little bit of it, just to calm my nerves.

“Do my prayers bother you all of a sudden, Anise?”

She leaves for a moment and returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Glaring in my direction, she fills the first glass to the brim and chugs the entire thing before pouring a second, less generous portion into her glass. “Your reasons more so.”

I grab a fork and stab at a piece of roast chicken. “Do we need to do this tonight?”

She pushes a glass my way as she weighs the bottle in hand, debating if her second glass is really full enough to deal with me tonight.

My eyes fix on the door to the kitchens, where the shadows from the other room make it obvious that some of the staff are listening behind the door. This is not the time or the place. My nerves feel absolutely shot. I run my fingers absently over my ribs, where I feel a burst of power flittering around my lungs, like it just might bubble out and spill from my throat.

“You’ve scarcely made yourself available for it any other time,” she snaps.

I sip the wine and tear into a loaf of bread, swirling it around in the red sauce next to my plate, trying to find ways to swallow down my powers before they hurt someone. Or blow out the window. “For months and months you’ve harassed me about never leaving the house and suddenly it’s become a problem?”

She slams her palms down on the table as she lowers herself into the bench seat. “You were drowning!” Her voice is so loud I can hear the staff listening at the door jump back in surprise.

“Do you know what it was like? Watching you get swallowed up by your grief? It was like watching you be hollowed out, turned into this shell that didn’t care if the world around her caught fire. You were empty and broken, a ghost of a person.”

“I know,” I nod, shifting vegetables around on my plate until they turn to mush in the sauce.

“I couldn’t reach you,” her breath stutters out of her and I look away so I don’t see her cry. “Nothing I said worked! Nothing got through to you. Sending you out to watch the Games…”

I use the wine to try and dislodge the lump forming in my throat. She’s the only real family I have left and I know that all this secrecy has hurt her, but I can’t let her in now. She can only know what’s necessary. If something were to happen to her because I’d told her the truth, I’d never forgive myself.

“I knew you hated them. You’d always come back crying as a child. They’re brutal and bloody and…” She pauses to gulp down more wine. “I thought it would wake you up. That seeing all that death might… might convince you that you still wanted to live.”

She’d been right of course, she always is, just not for the same reasons she’d thought. Her actions had pushed me right onto this path; given me a reason to hold on, to fight.

“It did, Anise,” I start.

“Did it?” She cuts in. “Because this looks a Hel of a lot like self-sabotage to me! Do you have any idea what they’re saying about you in the Capital? What the staff whisper about when you leave the room?”

“You’re the one that’s been pouring contraceptive tea down my throat, I think I can guess.”

Her weathered palm hits the table again, rattling the glasses. “This is not a joke! They kill people for rumors like this! They’ve already tried to do so! Doesn’t that bother you, even a little?”

Truth be told, that Raven has felt like the least of my worries these last few days.

My gaze flicks to the partially open door; how many of the staff will report this conversation to my Father? How many will go into town for one reason or another and gossip in the markets over this little spat? I have to be extremely careful about what I say next.

“Of course it does,” I say slowly.

“Then you know what you have to do to make this right.”

“I’m doing everything that has been asked of me-”

“That’s not what I mean!” She hisses, emerald eyes flashing. “Get rid of them!”

The room spins. Candlelight flickering. The window rattles; table bouncing off the floor. It takes far longer than it should for me to realize that it’s my doing. Dark clouds of ether seep from my skin, slithering out from under the soles of my feet like snakes--like Azriel’s shadows.

Anise gapes at me as more and more pours from my skin, filling the room.

Shit! I draw in a shaky breath and hurriedly pull it all back beneath my skin, until there’s not a drop of it left in the room. The bond is a roaring, living thing in my chest, bashing against my rib cage, filling up my lungs with the acrid scent of smoke. I drown it out with another big gulp of wine while Anise gapes at me like I’ve grown a second head. It has never been that bad before.

I swallow hard and push away from the table. “They’re not going anywhere!” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, the growling a deep rumble from within my chest. I rub absently at the spot where the tension feels the greatest, even as I storm from the room.

Anise doesn’t follow, and the staff scatter out of my way as I sweep throw the kitchen in a huff. How dare she demand I send my mates away! They’re mine to protect! Mine to care for!

Mine.

Darkness trails out from behind me like a scarf, billowing and snapping from where it seeps out of my back. The bond will not quiet, will not stop bashing itself against my insides at the mere thought of being separated from them.

I all but sprint down the hall, looking for somewhere to expel all this energy. Now is not the time to lose control! I have too many things to do before the morning to worry about this new found lack of control.

I make it to the safe room, tucked behind a bookshelf in the library, and rip the key that always hangs around my neck off. My hands tremble as more darkness loops round and round my hands. My breath rasps out of me, chest heaving; I can’t get air in fast enough.

By some miracle, I manage to wrangle the key into the lock and force my way inside before I explode entirely. Darkness, empty and cold and unyielding flies in every direction, until there is no longer light in the room. Until there is nothing but shadow. I surrender myself to it; let it fill and empty itself from every orifice until I no longer exist as I am. There is only darkness. Endless void. Nothingness. The room is inlaid with gorsian stone, so that no outside force could feel the power that escapes me. Mother says she built it in case I needed to hide from the outside world, but I have always known the truth: She built it in case she’d needed to hide the outside world from me.

If this is an indication of the sort of possessive intensity I’m capable of, maybe she was right to do so.

I’m not sure I closed the door. Blindly, I reach out a tendril of power and ensure it's sealed before I let myself sink back into the nothingness. Let everything that is dark and ugly and cold pour out of me like water. It feels as if it might never stop coming out of me; more and more flows like the breaking of a damn.

Until I hear an ominous crack.

The sound in the emptiness pulls me back from the edge and I count down from ten to try and reign my power back in.

Another crack follows, the sound like stone crumbling.

I have to blindly find the door to let out the cloud of darkness that fills the room and find a lantern. Once it’s lit, I find myself gaping up at the ceiling, where my power had not only splintered the heavy layer of concrete, but the gorsian stone as well. The greenish metal splinters in the shape of a lightning bolt as the concrete crumbles and falls away from the roof, littering the floor with debris.

“Shit,” I whisper to no one in particular.

I run back out into the library to grab a chair so I can get a hand on the roof and further inspect the damage. It’s a deep cut, about three inches through the gorsian stone. Not all the way through the other side but enough that I can feel the waning power. The stone is built to absorb and hold power, with a crack like that, it releases into the air like vapor. A clean crack all the way through might very well make the whole room as un-warded and unprotected as another other room.

And there’s nobody who can fix it.

I climb down from the chair with a shudder. No one can know about this. The room itself has always been a closely guarded secret, but if anyone were to see what I had done, what I was truly capable of, forget the mating bond damning me, my powers would ensure my head rolled from my shoulders. Power like that cannot exist within the Empire.

I drag the chair out and lock the door behind me. This place will have to remain a tomb; just another secret to add to my ever growing list.

I place the chair back at the proper table and go to turn off the lamp when it hits me. If I can crack this stone, can I do it with all of them?

My fingers trail absently over my throat as the idea mulls around in my head. Could I hone it just enough that I could be capable of cracking, say a collar?

The house is dark and quiet. I’d spent a lot longer there than I‘d thought! I rush through the now quiet kitchen, nothing left but a few dirty dishes for the morning, and slip into the cellar. Maybe this could be the edge I’d prayed for! Maybe Fortuna had accepted my offerings!

I can’t get the secret door open fast enough, my hands shaking again, but this time from excitement. I could save them! If done right, the collar wouldn’t be an issue, they could fight freely.

I should have brought a light with me. I’d be a liar if I said I was a little disappointed that the other end of the tunnel isn’t already open and none of them are waiting for me on the other end, but I guess can’t really fault them. I haven’t exactly given the impression I’d be coming around any time soon.

I fumble for a few minutes to find the lock, pausing briefly to press my ear to the door to listen for signs that it’s even safe for me to do so. None of the vents have picked up any conversation, which is odd now that I think about it. Have they already gone to sleep?

I turn the lock gently. They do need as much rest as they can get, but if I can give them this advantage, maybe this will be the last time in the Pit they ever have to have. Maybe we can turn things around from here. I have to try.

The door groans when it opens, ominous in the stillness. All the lights are off, the curtains drawn so not even a sliver of moonlight can filter through.

Strange…

I tap at the bond. There’s no sounds of Cassian’s snores. And the thing in my chest is… quiet.

I pick my way carefully over to the room they’ve crammed all their beds in. The door is shut, the metal of the handle cold like it hasn’t been touched in awhile. My heartbeat is a clanging drum in my ears as I turn the knob and push the door open.

It feels like an eternity for the hinges to turn, for the room to come into view. My heart plummets into my stomach, every second of the drop a free fall into the depths of an abyss. The room is empty.

Every room is empty. I check each in a panic, tugging incessantly at the bond but there is only quiet.

This can’t be happening!

I was so close! I was going to be able to fix this!

Footsteps sound down the open tunnel and for a moment the swell of hope threatens to overwhelm me. They’re fine. They’re fine. They’re-

Anise appears in the doorway, frowning.

Just like that, my hope deflates. My legs wobble and I have to brace myself against the base of the statue of the Mother. “Anise, where are they?”

She closes the door behind her, emerald eyes shifting around like she expects some great beast to pop out and devour us. “The Guard came.”

Panic sweeps through me like a title wave, so intense my fingers live indents in the metal base of the statue. “What did you do?”

She huffs at me, offended. “I hadn’t decided what I was going to do yet, since you no longer are capable of seeing reason, but…” she shrugs, “the decision was made for me. The Emperor has declared that no sponsored champions should spend the night before a match anywhere but the Arena’s barracks. To ensure no outside tampering with the gladiators, of course.”

The room flips end over end and it’s a fight just to get enough air in my lungs. No! No! No! This can’t be happening!

“They’ll be returned to you, if they win.”

“Anise,” I don’t know what I mean to say, what I mean to beg for. I have to see them! I have to finish what I came here to do!

“This will be good for you,” she insists. “This obsession of yours is unhealthy. You need to start tomorrow with a clear head.”

“I need to see them!” I choke out.

“The morning will come soon enough. It’s best if you put it out of your mind and get some rest.”

Rest? They stole my mates! The statue rattles beneath my hands as my control weans again. I have to get them back! I have to-

Something pricks the back of my neck as Anise comes around the side of me, her weathered hand outstretched.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she says gently. “I told your Mother it would never come to this, that I would never need to use it. You’ve always had such exceptional self-control, even as a child. It seemed silly that she’d had such precautions, but now…”

It feels like flames beneath my skin, fire shooting up my veins, consuming every lick of power it can find. A hand like a vice clamps itself around the beast that lives in my chest and squeezes so tight my knees give out and I fall like a penitent sinner at the base of the altar.

“Anise-” I choke out.

“It’s just a little faebane, to help with the control. It’ll help you sleep.”

NO!

My body curls up on itself as the burning intensifies. She bends, her old knees popping, to pat my head. “I know you don’t believe me, but I am doing this for your own good.”

Tears prick my eyes as they roll down my cheeks. I don’t know if they’re for me, or my mates.

Anise wipes them away, making shushing noises like she used to do when I was a child with a scraped knee. “I promised your Mother I’d never let anything happen to you.” She coos. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Spots swim across my vision and I thrash my head, trying to fight them off, but it’s useless. The faebane continues to course through me like a wildfire, burning all resistance in it’s path until my limbs go limp and the darkness inside me snuffs out. Worse, the bond, fragile as it is, shrivels further, until it is a hollow, empty echo. I can’t even feel them on the other end.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, make it stop, Anise!”

She strokes her hands through my hair, humming a lullaby she used to sing me to sleep with, as if this is normal. As if I’m still a child too scared of the dark to sleep. The spots that swim across my vision grow bigger and bigger. I can’t move my limbs enough to struggle, can’t even turn my head.

The chill of the tile seeps through my skirts as my erratic breathing starts to calm, heart rate slowing.

“There you go,” she coaxes. “Stop fighting it.”

“Please,” the word sounds garbled; feels strange in my mouth, my tongue not quite forming the letters.

“Sshhh.”

The spots consume me, darkness yet again filling my vision, but this time it pulls me under as I lose the battle against it.

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Chapters 1/2/3/4/5/6/ 7/ 8

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sleepymarimo · 1 year ago

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A TAMA...WHAT? - TOJI FUSHIGURO

"toji. if anything happens to my tamagotchi while i'm gone, i'm actually never talking to you again."

"...huh?"

: ̗̀➛ 1.2k cw: none! silly goofy fun, tamagotchi death :'(

the sorcerer killer isn't sure what to do with the small device in his hand, which looks a little too colorful for his liking. too flashy. when you'd called him a few hours ago to tell him you needed a favor, he didn't expect to be a damn babysitter to a pixelated pet for a whole week.

he would've declined, maybe suggest a "compromise", but you seemed a little too serious about your threat of not speaking to him ever again.

and, despite his best effort to maintain a nonchalant front, he knew that he wasn't going to take that risk.

you'd let him stay at your place, a nice perk, so now he lays back on your couch and fiddles with the buttons while watching the small pet eat or play or even work. how does this thing have more of a stable life than he does?

lips set into a focued pout, those big digits of his nearly crush the poor buttons into dust. "the hell do you want now?" he growls, having just set down the device to watch a boat race on t.v.

toji's never been intimidated by new jobs, by thinking outside the box, but at this moment he'd rather be taking on a horde of curses.

yet... he kind of gets the hang of it. maybe a little too much.

by day three of his tamagotchi journey, he feels pretty confident about taking care of the pet. pride surges through his veins when he checks all the stats and sees no issue, the tamagotchi thriving under his care.

he becomes a little too obsessed with the toy sometimes.

shiu, on a call with the assassin, finds himself having to pause when he swears he hears this constant beeping in the background.

"fushiguro-"

"just hold on," toji interrupts, the phone resting on the table while he works on the tamagotchi. "this thing is sick as shit. i gotta give it medicine."

the mediator isn't even sure what to say at that, a part of him wondering if his mind is playing tricks on him. "i thought you were just going to get her a new one. you're still keeping up with that thing?" shiu asks into the receiver, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear as he reaches for a cigarette and lighter.

another few beeps can be heard through the phone, then a relieved sigh. "fuck no. and m'not 'keeping up'," toji specifies, almost offended. "m'owning this piece of crap. it's easy work."

on the other end of the phone, shiu finds solace in a deep inhale of cigarette smoke. luckily, he's able to get toji on a pretty good gig with the promise of outstanding pay.

even during the meeting a couple days later, the sorcerer killer is brushing off high end clients as soon as he hears that damn beeping. "gimme a minute," he gruffly says, before mumbling in a more hushed tone. "s'fucking needy..."

raising one hand as if he's putting a simple pause on the conversation, he uses the other to click click click until he deems the virtual pet satisfied.

meanwhile, shiu is embarrassed as hell and makes an effort not to look the client in the eyes.

content enough, toji places the tamagotchi back in his pocket with a gentleness that he doesn't usually, if ever, displays. "a'right. so how much are ya paying again?"

...

by the time you arrive home a day later, exhausted from a flight and too many train rides, you're ready to be reunited with your virtual companion.

"okay toji," you call out, the door shutting behind you with a click. "where's mimitchi?"

you hear his heavy steps before you see him, his frame rather... rigid. "well hey to you too," he greets, stopping just before you and giving your form a quick once over. "and who the hell is mimitchi?"

sighing, you give him a proper hello before looking at him a little suspiciously. "that's the tamagotchi. mimitchi is her name," you explain, starting to tap your foot. where was it? "so...?"

his eyes momentarily widen, like he's genuinely surprised. "huh? it's a girl? and that's her name? what the hell..."

while it's a funny sight, you don't stop giving him that pointed look. your arms even cross, indicating that you really weren't in the mood.

toji scoffs at your little display, shrugging his shoulders. "i lost it," he replies. "must've fell out of my pocket or something..."

your heart drops. "you what? seriously? toji!" a pout settles on your lips, sincere disappointment written all over your features.

does he feel bad? yes, he does. with a sigh, he steps closer and wraps his arm around you, placing it on your lower back. he's shitty with words, but he knows how to ground you.

"look, sweetheart, i'll get you another one," he starts, his words making your heart feel a little more light. "tomorrow we can-"

breep! beep beep beep!

while you freeze, toji's hand goes straight to his pocket. "shit, i thought it fucking silenced it."

jaw dropping, you look up at him as if he's just stabbed you in the back. hell, he might as well have!

"are you serious?" you chuff, not believing his audacity. your hand reaches for his pocket, but he's quick to pull out the tamagotchi and hold it out of your reach. "oh, you asshole! i can't believe you."

caught in the act, he allows himself to scowl just the smallest bit. "y'the one who left her," he points out, as if he has a say in how to be a present parent. "i'm just stepping up."

your offended gasp triggers a chuckle from him. reaching for the tamagotchi again, you whine when he moves it even further from you.

the back and forth lasts for a while, until a truce is made.

sitting on the couch, you hold the device and check up on mimitchi, who seems to actually be in pretty good condition. you're thoroughly impressed, even letting him know so.

"you're still a jerk for lying," you point out, sure that you weren't going to drop that anytime soon. he just shrugs, acknowledging his wrongs but not really apologizing, as per his usual style.

however, seeing that your beloved mimitchi is already retired and aging... you decide to let him have her. if he wanted the full tamagotchi experience, he was going to get it.

so, while he smugly pockets the toy once more, you just wait.

that moment comes a whole two days later, the day starting off just like any other. in your room, the morning light barely shining through your window, you wake in time to hear those dreaded sounds that no tamagotchi owner wants to hear.

beep...beep...beep...

then, you hear toji abruptly sitting up on the couch, pushing buttons left and right. "not a fucking chance..." he mumbles, surely not expecting a cute toy to have such an abrupt end.

you can only muffle your laughs as he stands, those heavy steps of his coming straight for your door to demand an explanation.

an: lol this idea came into my mind and i just had to get it out. hope you enjoyed bc i kinda laughed writing it:')

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader #toji fluff #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 1 year ago

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Met His Match. || Soap MacTavish (Collab)

A collab with @crashtestbunny.

Find us on AO3!

Words: 3.5K~ Pairing: Sex Fiend!Reader x One Night Stand!Soap CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, smut smut smut, dubcon elements, unprotected piv, oral sex (f!receiving), public handjob (m!receiving), overstimulation, bathroom sex, sadism, dom/sub, rough sex, sub John "Soap" MacTavish, forced ejaculation, semi-public sex, whining, light exhibitionism, power play, dry orgasm. other tags: you/your pronouns, afab!reader, dating app, hook-up, one night stand, mean reader, exhaustion, walk of shame summary: Johnny gets fucked. a/n: Inspired loosely by my "It's a Match!" fic... but so much fucking worse. P.S. Not beta-read, we die like soap.

Friday night. 6 PM.

You just got home from work and after making yourself a quick meal, you threw yourself on the couch.

Reaching for your phone you click on the Tinder icon on your home screen and immediately begin swiping away at the men that come across your screen.

You're not being too picky. Still a bit picky, but not too much. It doesn't matter that much what they look like... so much as what you feel once you see their picture.

You're not on this app for the romance, after all. No.

You're tired and frustrated from your week and all you want is to fuck a man. In fact, you want to fuck a man so hard he leaves your flat in the morning looking (and feeling) like a cheap whore.

You'll know what kind of man you're in the mood for when you see him.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Left.

That's when a man with the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen comes across your screen. You stop the mindless swiping immediately and just stare at him.

You can already imagine the way those blue eyes would look up at you from between your thighs, and how much better his face will look when they're glassy and he's covered in sweat and drooling down his chin...

Oh yeah, he's what you're looking for alright.

So, you scroll down to read what his bio has to say.

If that bio is anything to go off of, he's also looking for something casual. After all, he mentions fingering and being ridden in the same paragraph. Perfect.

You Swipe Right on him and your phone immediately buzzes, announcing that you matched. Sweet.

Johnny texts you first. How... cute.

Johnny: hi beautiful x Johnny: how are you doing?

Oh, sweet summer child... what does he think this is? Small talk that'll lead onto a date?

You: doing good. You: how's your night looking?

It takes a minute before his reply comes.

Johnny: very free Johnny: wanna hook up?

There we go, Johnny-boy. That's the spirit.

You: would love that You: do you know that one bar around the corner from the post office? Johnny: of course You: meet there in an hour? Johnny: i'll be there Johnny: i'll be wearing blue

You can't help but chuckle... he won't be wearing much of anything soon enough.

Finding him at the bar is extremely easy because the bar is not packed, albeit still pretty busy. But that's not why you picked it. You picked it because it's only a short car ride from your flat.

Johnny is leaning on the bar, as promised, wearing a dark blue t-shirt, dark wash jeans, and a pair of simple black boots.

You approach him from behind, wearing a simple black dress. Not one of those flashy, slinky club types, just a regular dress. You know what you came here to get.

"Hey." You greet him casually and he turns to look at you, his hand wrapped around a lowball glass with some drink inside. It's clear... so either tequilla or vodka.

When he turns you realize three things immediately: 1) He lied about his height. He's definitely not 6ft tall, but 5ft10 at the most; 2) He's built like a brick shithouse, impossibly wide shoulders with large, beefy arms... So he wasn't lying about his 'Athletic' build; and 3) He has a fucking mohawk.

You can already imagine the way he'd look, your legs over his shoulders, as you squeezed his head between your thighs while his tongue lapped at your folds... Fuck, you're horny.

"...nice. What are you drinking? I'll buy." You catch the end of what he said, the beginning probably a greeeting, and a compliment, and, now an offer of a drink.

You try to shrug casually and seem unbothered. You decide to humour him. If he wants to play the gentleman part and pretend this is a date, you can play along.

"Whiskey. Neat." You murmur in reply as you slot yourself next to him against the bar, your thigh brushing against his as he orders and pays for your drink.

"So, a soldier, huh? What's that like?" You muse as you take a sip of your drink, watching him take a sip of his, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Oh, how you'd love to wrap a hand around...

"I like it. Always ken I wanted to be one. Tried to sign early and everythin'. I like keepin' active and I'm good at what I do..."

He continued talking, but you tuned him out, eyes locked on his mouth, watching how his lips pushed and pulled for each word, his white teeth in a neat row behind and his wet tongue sometimes peeking out.

He talked a lot. He talked... too much.

"Let me cut you off right there." You interrupted him, causing him to shut his mouth and stare at you. "Care to have this conversation between my legs, gorgeous?"

Johnny stares at you with impossibly wide eyes, like what you just said is the most bizarre thing he's ever heard. His left brow, right below an obvious scar, twitches, a sign he's interested. "...When?" He asks in a murmur.

"Right now." You reply with a head tilt.

The blue-eyed Scot simply nods eagerly and knocks back the contents of his drink into his mouth.

"That's it... That's fucking it-" You croon as you buck your hips into his mouth, your back pressed against the wall, the hem of your dress curled up and tucked into the elastic band of your bra.

Johnny's on his knees on the floor of the cubicle, his tongue lapping at your slick cunt like he's a prisoner on death row and that's his last meal request and he insists on enjoying it.

One of his hands grips your right thigh, squeezing it and keeping it steady, the other alternating between rubbing your clit and going around the back of your hip to squeeze one of your arse cheeks, pulling you deeper into his mouth whenever he licks and sucks your clit.

His blue eyes are locked on yours and they look just as good as you had imagined they would as his moist tongue curls to gather some of your slick and swallow it down, to taste as much of it as he can.

He's such a fucking munch, his tongue parting your folds and diving as deep into your hole as he can get it, before sliding back up to meet your clit, giving it a greedy suck.

There's a smug smirk on his lips, even as they're buried in your cunny, and a chuckle falls from them too while he thrashes his head side to side like a dog playing tug-of-war, nearly blowing raspberries on your clit and causing you to squirm against him, more expletives falling from your mouth.

You know what he's thinking. He thinks he's in charge. He thinks he's doing a good job fucking you. Oh, how wrong he is. And you're about to show him that.

"Wipe that fucking smirk off your face, sweetheart." You demand as you push his hands off your body and grab onto his stupid fucking mohawk with both hands like a handle to grind yourself against his face.

His eyes widen, but the sight of you using his mouth, his tongue, to get yourself off, hips bucking and dragging across his chin and tongue, lips and nose is enough to get him riled up.

He can't help himself, his hands finding a spot on the floor and his own legs spreading apart, allowing him to half-grind his clothed cock against the tile.

His head bobs eagerly against you, his nose buried in your mons, the flat of his tongue rubbing over your clit, his beard prickling against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, crotch and folds.

Your legs are trembling on either side of his head, but you don't stop riding yourself against his tongue, your head falling back against the tiled wall behind you, the pitch of your voice getting higher and higher.

The way the flat of his tongue presses to your clit causes your whole body to shake, your skin warming up more and more to the touch. The coil in your stomach is getting tighter by the second and your breath, as well as your moans, are ragged and long.

Your hips buck and thrash and your head hangs low suddenly as your climax crashes onto you, leaving you breathing fast and deep, your eyes fluttering a bit as you look down to find Johnny kneeling between your thighs, his tongue still softly sliding upward, spreading your folds open and swallowing your come deep into his mouth.

"That's it, drink up, I'm not giving you water anytime soon, sweetheart." You tell him, noticing how his eyes have gone glassy, a wet spot having formed in his dark jeans.

Filthy mutt got off on having you fuck yourself on his tongue...

Having pulled Johnny off you and fixed your dress back into place, you called an Uber and then dragged the bulky man out of the bar by the hand, marching ahead of him toward the pavement, under a street lamp, to wait for your ride.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you guided your mouth up Johnny's chin toward his mouth, locking lips with him, your tongue seeking his out.

His beard and mouth are both still soaked with your come, he smells of it, and tastes of it too, and with each push and pull of your tongues as you seek each other out, you get more of a taste of yourself.

You only broke the kiss once the Uber arrived, your phone having pinged with a warning, and a car having pulled to the side of the road not far from the two of you.

You and Johnny piled in together and while he scooted all the way across the backseat toward the other door, you slid up next to him as you two greeted the driver.

You didn't bother with a seatbelt (neither did Johnny) and since the driver didn't seem too keen on chit-chat, you allowed yourself to drape a leg across Johnny's lap, while his arm wrapped around your waist.

Your fingers slid over his thigh toward the darkened patch of denim on his crotch, and, with your leg (and the music playing from the speakers) as cover, you slowly undid the fly and button.

"What are ye-" Johnny murmured as he glanced at you with raised brows and wide eyes, like an innocent little puppy.

"Sh-shh..." You hissed as you kissed his cheek, playing the part of a loving girlfriend, or an overly affectionate date, for your driver's sake, you slowly slid your fingers through the open zipper, fishing for his cock amidst the wet fabric of his boxer briefs.

The pretty boy was already at half-mast again, even after having already come once, and your hand quickly wrapped around it as you began stroking it.

Johnny thighs trembled and his legs kicked out a bit as he felt your warm hand wrap around his sensitive member, and he looked away, out of the window, eyelids fluttering, eyebrows scrunched, and a hard bite on his bottom lip.

His cock began steadily throbbing in your hand, hardening and growing more with each languid stroke of your hand around him. He's thick. Much thicker than you expected him to be. You can feel your fingers struggling to fully wrap around him.

Sliding your palm up, you slowly rub over the hooded tip, which draws a squeak from the back of his throat, his chest heaving, and his stomach being sucked in.

"Control yourself..." You whispered in his ear which, making sure to shoot a glance forward at the Uber driver, who seemed focus on the road.

In response, you received yet another soft groan and a hiss through clenched teeth, Johnny's head lulling toward you, his forehead leaning against your temple. "Feels... fuck... I can't... you're... ah-"

"Feels good?" You murmur in his ear as you kiss his bearded jaw lightly, feeling him buck a bit against your hand, causing your thigh to bounce on his lap.

"Hm... Mhm..." Johnny grunted. "Fuck... Steamin' Jesus..." He whined brokenly as your hand kept stroking his length fully, up and down, at a slow, languid pace.

You'd draw back the foreskin, exposing the bulbous head, before drawing it up again as your hand climbed up to rub against the tip for a moment, only to roll back down once more.

Whenever the car would drive past a street lamp, the yellow-toned light would flutter briefly over Johnny's exposed cock, and draw your attention right to his pink, bulbous tip, overstimulated and angry, leaking shiny beads of pre-cum.

"Sh-Shh..." You cooed at him again, enjoying the broken sounds of pleasure he'd let out through clenched teeth, the way his cock would throb and twitch in your hand, and how the muscular man next to you vibrated with tension.

Oh, how you loved to make men break under your hand, and, even more so, how much you loved to make men like him break. A soldier, a strong man, used to dominating... How silly of him to think he had any power here...

It takes little time for Johnny to suddenly twitch and thrash next to you, his breath picking up and becoming ragged and wet, like he's struggling to control himself into being quiet...

You look up at him just in time, finding the way his head falls back on the headrest of his seat, while he grunted under his breath and hissed through his teeth, again, and again, his eyes fluttering shut as he experienced a dry orgasm, only the tiniest beads of cum slipping down to your fingers right below the head.

Just in time too, because the Uber pulled over less than a minute later, the Uber driver looking back at you and Johnny. "We're here, Miss." He told you politely.

"Thank you, Jared. I'll be sure to leave you a 5-star rating and a good tip." You replied to the driver as you slipped your leg off Johnny's lap and scooted closer to the other door.

After opening the door, you turned again and grabbed Johnny by his shirt collar, your fingers hooking themselves onto the inside of it and grazing his dog tags hanging around his neck.

Smirking, you slip them from the confines of the shirt and then twirl the ball chain around your forefinger like a lead, pulling it taut, which causes Johnny to audibly whine.

"C'mon, Johnny." You ordered as you tugged him forward, causing him to scoot forward, ducking his head to follow you out of the car, his movements languid and slow, his head still cloudy from the recent orgasm.

"Fuck, yes! Fuck!" You whine, your head falling back, your hair sticking to your forehead and your nape.

"Steamin' fuckin' Jesus... Fuck..." Johnny groans, his own head rolling back on the mattress of your bed.

"Yes... Yes..." You grunt as you fix your grip on the bottom of his thighs, right before his knees, bouncing your ass off his lap.

Johnny's mouth is hanging open, his hands fisting the bed sheets as he lies on a puddle of his own sweat, every inch of his exposed, hairy torso glistening under the light of your bedside lamp.

You're both exhausted, your hands slippery on his sweaty thighs, your own sometimes shaking as you bounce on him again, and again.

Your pace is starting to become uncoordinated and sloppy because your legs are tired, your knees struggling to keep up and causing you to stutter atop him, driving his cock harder into you and deep against your cervix twice in a row.

It drives a desperate moan out of you both and you go still for a moment, feeling the sweat trickle down your brow.

"Fuck... C'mon..." Johnny whines and grabs you by the hip, attempting to rock his hips up against the cleft of your ass, helping pound into you...

Only for you to bounce up with him and then throw all your weight down onto him, causing his ass to be pinned back down onto the bed, and drawing a loud yowl of surprise as his cock barrels right against your cervix, sending a sting of pain up your spine.

Johnny looks up at you with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, seemingly horrified and confused.

Finding his eyes, you lean forward, pressing your hands onto his chest, before murmuring "Stay fucking still. This isn't about you."

"Sorry?" Johnny murmurs, whether in confusion or genuinely apology, you don't know.

"You're nothing more than a toy right now. And good toys don't talk." You warn him.

"I-" He stuttered, not fast enough to protest before you were moving atop him again, the new angle and slight pause having provided you with an extra burst of energy.

You rocked against him, keeping him buried down to the hilt and rubbing your sensitive clit against the bush at the base of his cock.

It makes you croon in delight, keeping up the same angle but becoming more and more frantic, rubbing yourself against his bush while keeping his shaft sheathed nice and deep in your weeping cunny.

Something about the warm wetness enveloping his already oversensitive cock, the sight of your face contorting in pleasure atop him, so close and yet so far, your hands pushing against his chest so he doesn't try to reach for you.

It drives him over the edge and he finds himself losing it, his big blue eyes fluttering and rolling, his jaw dropping and his every muscle straining as his head falls back, causing him to stiffen beneath you.

Out of breath, you lean your head against his chest, feeling the warmth of your release coming in the aftermath of his own, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you being the final nail in the coffin.

Johnny doesn't dare move as he feels your warm cunt squeeze around him, draining every last drop from his already reduced third orgasm, simply lying there, beneath you.

His mouth is hanging open, drier than the Sahara, every inch of him is slick with sweat and he's out of breath and his entire body is trembling ever so slightly as he closes his eyes in pure bliss.

Only for his eyes to shoot open again as he feels you start up again, your ass carefully bouncing off his sore thighs.

Johnny stumbles his way into the training room. It's 6 a.m. and he has not caught a fucking wink of sleep.

Unlike his normal hook-ups, after which he reports to base with a pep in his step and a smirk on his lips that no amount of push-ups, sit-ups and mile runs can wipe off...

This time, he's limping, every muscle of his feeling sore and stiff, his thighs feel like they're going to bruise up, his cock burns from how oversensitive it is...

He hasn't slept, hasn't eaten, hasn't drunk water... and the closest thing to a shower he got was when you tossed him some wet wipes in the morning.

Unlike him, you had gotten up in the morning (aka after a 1.5 hour power nap) perfectly energized and like you hadn't spent half of the night riding him like a stallion you were trying to break...

Gaz is the first to notice Johnny's state as the Scot falls into formation with the rest of the unit, his eyes still sort of glassy. But he doesn't say anything... he simply raises a brow and smirks in amusement.

Ghost is standing by Price on the sidelines and notices next and, unlike Gaz, he chuckles at it and calls Price's attention to it. The Captain turns to look at Soap and has to contain the look of amused disappointment from showing on his face.

"Soap!" The Captain calls out, causing Soap to look over, nearly languidly and then approach, with Gaz following behind him, despite not having been called. He just... wanted in on the fun.

"The fuck happened to you, son? Did you get in a fight?" Price asks with a cocked brow, watching how the younger sergeant squirms and his tanned face grows warmer.

"N-No sir." Johnny replies and shakes his head, which causes him to wince, feeling light-headed.

"I think 'assaulted' would be a better word for it, Cap'n." Gaz chides, causing the Scot to huff and turn his head in frustration and embarrassment.

"Shut it, Garrick..." Soap murmurs, which earns a light chuckle from all the men, Ghost included.

"Go shower and take a nap. You're excused for this morning." Price tells the sergeant, causing the lad to nod thankfully and wander off, limping once more.

As he gets back to his barracks, he grabs his phone, typing out a quick message for you, thankful you insisted on giving him your number and taking his... Johnny secretly hoped that meant you wanted a repeat.

"Hope you're happy... Made me embarrass myself in the state I showed up to training in."

The reply he earned, however, was the most cold-hearted one he could've received... One he never even saw coming.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

Read Bunny's Work HERE

#ikea writes 💚#cod x reader #cod fanfic #masterlist #call of duty #cod fandom #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap x reader #soap cod #cod smut #smut #johnny mactavish smut #johnny mactavish is a mutt #soap smut

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blackdollette · 7 months ago

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ㅤ 10.07: COCKWARMING! - jj maybank

જ⁀➴ pairing: female!reader x gamer!jj

જ⁀➴ word count: 989

જ⁀➴ contents: cockwarming, slight femdomism, dirty talk, praise kink, a little manipulation, unprotected p in v

“...c’mon, can i move a little..? you’re killin’ me here…”

jj’s breathless whisper hit the entrance of your ear. you hummed thoughtfully, arms wrapped around his neck and bare legs straddling his lap, his painfully hard erection buried in the tight walls of your cunt.

‘the master of distraction’ was what he often called you, and rightfully so. he knew his way around the island and his way inside of girls even better, but you were an exception. you had him wrapped around your little finger, at your demand from simply bending over in any filthy outfit that caught his attention. it was almost too easy.

you shook your head, pushing his face into your plump breasts just a little more.

“no, jj. focus on your game…“

you cooed softly as you brought your lips to his ear, the feeling of your warm breath against his skin making his body twitch. his eyes flickered over to the video game that he’d forgotten was even on. flashy graphics and gorey plotlines had nothing on the feeling of your wet pussy squeezing the life out of him.

a little chuckle escaped his dry throat as he looked up at you. “...i’m kind of more interested in you right now…”

his hands slowly found their way to the plush flesh of your hips. his doe-like eyes gazed up at you as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around the stiff bud.

your lips curled up in a pleased smile, your hips beginning to rock against his lap. as his dick finally recieved the friction that it had been yearning for, even if it was only a little, made his gut churn.

“...atta girl…” he whispered, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he took. he buried his face in your tits, nuzzling his face against the soft skin. “...m’gonna mark you all up, baby. that okay..?”

his question went unanswered as he began sucking harshly on your breast as if expecting milk. a long moan fell from your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair as you slowly began to move yourself up and down on him. the goal had been to tease him until he breaks, but it seemed like you were losing your own game.

jj groaned into your chest, speaking roughly inbetween sloppy kisses.

“...i think about you all the damn time… so fucking much…”

his hands began to knead the skin of your ass as his hips slowly began to buck into yours.

he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, peppering kisses up and down your shoulder.

“...you are one incredible woman, baby…”

he praised in a hushed whisper, knowing the effect that it would have on you.

you felt the tip of his girth throb as i pushed into your cervis, biting your lip as you halted your movements and sat all the way back down.

you gazed down at his pleading eyes, panting slightly as you spoke.

“...trying to butter me up, huh..?”

he pouts slightly, sucking on your neck gently.

“...who, me? never, princess… i just wanna praise my pretty girl. is that so wrong..?”

you could’ve sworn that you felt your hole drip at his words. his tone, his desperation, that hungry look in his eyes, it was all too much. you squirmed a sthe heat in your core began to pool.

“...you’re one dirty bastard, jayj…”

your words summoned a smirk to his lips, his teeth nipping at your soft skin.

“...i know, princess. now be a good girl and use this cock. i know you wanna.”

this was how it always ended up. you would temporarily have the upper hand in the situation, then he’d use his saccharine words and quick fingers and before you know it, you’d be a gushy, moaning mess. and you could only fight off the tempting tradition for so long.

jj pushed two of his long, calloused fingers into his mouth, pulling them out and using them to massage slippery patterns onto your puffy clit.

well, you thought to yourself, that does it.

submission came as naturally as ever as you began to grind against him, whimpering at the feeling of being filled and played with all at once.

jj grinned like a devil as he used his free hand to wipe away the drool that threatened to spill from your lips.

“you get me every damn time, princess…”

he snakes his hand around your face, gripping your jaw. he took a second to admire you in all your puffy-face, teary eyed glory before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

without warning, he grabbed you hips and began to fuck you senseless. with each thrust that made your skin sorer, you felt your braincells getting killed off one by one.

the sound of his moans swallowed yours within seconds. after hours of teasing, this came as much needed sweet relief. he tossed his head back as the rapid sound of skin slapping bounced through the walls.

“...gonna let me ruin this cunt..? huh..?”

he taunted breathlessly, taking sick pleasure out of watching you trip over your words and nod helplessly.

it was almost funny thinking about how quickly power had changed hands. but that was just how the ball rolled.

“...yeah, that’s my girl.”

#𝐥𝐢𝐯 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬! ─ 📓#jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #outer banks #jj outer banks #jj obx #rudy pankow #obx #kinktober #smut #blackdollette

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itadores · 10 months ago

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note: inspired by a tag on my last sakura drabble talking about his reaction if you modeled clothes for him

pairing: sakura haruka x gender neutral reader

tags: gender neutral reader, fluff, reader calls sakura babe

sakura doesn’t care much for shopping. he doesn’t really see the appeal of it, and he especially can’t wrap his head around how some people can spend hours and hours shopping. it sounds like a waste of time to him.

for sakura, shopping is easy. he just buys items in bulk- his socks, underwear, shirts. the only thing that he doesn’t buy in a pack are his pants, and that’s because they often don’t come like that. sakura’s typically in and out of stores in less than ten minutes. the maximum amount of time he’ll spend in a store is fifteen minute tops.

but all of that changed when he started dating you.

unlike sakura, you enjoy shopping. you often ask sakura to accompany you, which he didn’t really understand. not at first anyway. he asked about it once when you first invited him to come with you on a shopping trip, early on in your relationship.

“why do you want me to come?”

sakura’s wording is a little rough, but he genuinely doesn’t understand why you would want him to come with you. it’s not like he really has an eye for fashion. tsubaki would have been a better person to accompany you if you wanted fashion advice.

you roll your eyes at sakura.

“do i need a reason? i just want to spend time with you,” you say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. and maybe to you, it is that simple.

sakura, however, flusters upon hearing your reasoning. he’s unable to respond with much more than a muttered “fine” to which you give him a kiss on the cheek as thanks for his agreement.

so accompanying you on your shopping trips has become a regular thing for sakura. he still doesn’t see the appeal in shopping all that much, but he does like being able to spend that time with you.

but right now, sakura’s getting a little impatient as he waits for you come out of the dressing room. how long does it take to try something on? you’ve been in there awhile, and if you’re in there for any longer, sakura’s going to get up and check in on you because maybe something happened and-

“sorry to keep you waiting babe! what do you think? do i look good?”

sakura’s line of thinking is interrupted with your sudden appearance. it takes him a moment to process what you said and another moment to think up a response because sakura’s mouth is incapable of forming words at the moment.

although you’re not necessarily wearing anything showy or flashy, the jeans and top you picked out to try on fit you well. really well. it doesn't help that you do a playful spin for him, letting him see just how well the jeans fit you.

sakura clears his throat, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from you. if he looks at you for any longer, he thinks he may well and truly combust.

"you look good," he mutters, face warm.

"aw, thank you babe! that's so sweet of you," you coo, making sakura's skin go hot.

"yeah, yeah," he mumbles. even if you've been dating for quite a while, it's still hard for sakura to handle the way you so easily praise him for nothing. "are you going to buy it?" he asks, eager to have the attention off of him and onto you.

"hm, maybe? i still want to look around a little more before i buy anything. is that okay with you babe?" you tilt your head, questioning. "i know we've been here for a while, so if you want to head out soon, we can."

"i'm fine. if you want to look around more, go ahead," sakura says, waving away your concerns. "just don't take so long in the dressing room," he grumbles.

sakura stills when you give him a quick peck on the cheek before turning to go disappear back into the dressing room.

"you're the best, baby! i'll be quick, i promise!"

sakura knows that you probably won't be as quick as you claim to be, but he's fine with it. it's more time that he gets to spend with you after all.

#wind breaker x reader #windbreaker x reader #sakura x reader #sakura haruka x reader #new.mail #love.sakura haruka #from.wind breaker

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roxxiies · 9 months ago

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hiii :3c i see that requests are open! so if you don’t mind, may i request hcs for ling, aamon, hayabusa (not sure if you have a character limit) with a tank reader that always has their backs / ready to sacrifice for them :D thank you in advance ♡!

it’s always support healers when it comes to fics and, as a carmilla main, the tanks need some love too ✊

— ☁️ anonnie

head canons of assassins with a tank!reader (separate). sfw, gn!reader

✩　featuring: ling, aamon, hayabusa

Ling is fond of supports and it all makes sense that he is skeptical around tanks.

Thinking that he doesn't need them with how he dives in, secure kills, and escapes unharmed. Oh but when it comes to you? He's uncharacteristically impressed. No matter how he denies it.

He just likes how fast you manoeuvre your skills and how quick your responses are with his combos.

Then there, he would often follow you and respond quickly to your set-ups... and somehow he couldn't help but have a preference for players now.

Ling was surprised with himself, at first, that a tank user such as yourself could make the matches effortless and finally enjoyable for him.

He'll find himself more competitive in matches when you’re on his team and he will no longer just play to win.

^ Now, he plays to impress you, to show that he’s not just some flashy assassin but an assassin that you'll be amazed at.

Something he does is when you pull off a big combo with your set-up and he responds right away, he'd glance your way, just to see if you noticed.

He tells himself that he needs to thank you at least but all you'll get is a satisfied huff and a pat on the back.

Ling's full of himself, you see, but he hopes you'll eventually understand just how much he appreciates having you as his partner on the battlefield.

Aamon, ever the battlefield tactician, will subtly direct your movements during a fight.

He doesn't judge you or belittle you; he only leads you, making sure that you two will always have the upper hand in battles.

During intense battles, he'd stick close to you, using his agility to dodge attacks from enemies who would try to overwhelm you.

Your role as a tank is immediately evident. Aamon, though reserved, gives you genuine praise for your performance.

He'd notice your willingness to take on significant damage and protect your teammates; he can't help but notice that you're selfless… and yet someone he can count on.

But when the battle turns unfavourable, Aamon guides you through a tactical retreat easily.

Despite your imposing presence on the battlefield, your personality might be warm and approachable. It's a contrast to the duke's more reserved nature, but either way, this makes you a reliable and trustworthy ally who he deemed easy to get along with.

Your confidence in your skills, along with Aamon’s strategic demeanor, makes enemies wonder if they'd use their main heroes or what HAHAHA

In rare moments, Aamon might share a light-hearted joke about the battle. You'd be surprised, but your heart swells knowing you're this close to the duke.

Hayabusa is a competitive man, and he will initially see you as a rival, someone who could potentially overshadow his own power.

But as you continue to fight side by side, he begins to see something different in you... a partner who can keep up with his relentless pace.

And when you start taking a step ahead of him, he’s captivated, thinking that your skill might just be the perfect complement to his own.

Though he’d never say it out loud, he’s secretly happy with how effortlessly you two can dominate the battlefield together.

Following the battle, Hayabusa would invite you to a traditional tea ceremony. It’s rare, one he reserves for only his closest allies, and something he now looks forward to.

Hayabusa swears that it’s your fault he’s so impressed—your skills have intrigued him to the point where he now offers convinces you to train together. He'd be pleased and happy when you taught him your techniques as well.

Back on the battlefield, he now has the habit of staying just out of sight, observing you among the battlefield from the shadows. You'd use it to your advantage and play aggressively because you know that Hayabusa is always nearby, ready to strike if things went south.

Your teammates are amazed—and perhaps a little intimidated—by your combined combos.

Together, you and Hayabusa have become unstoppable. A duo who can knock em out without those men realising what's even happening 👆

#📋 :: r’mail #☁️anon #rox’ works #mlbb x reader #mobile legends bang bang #mobile legends bang bang x reader #mlbb #aamon x reader #hayabusa x reader #ling x reader #mlbb x you #roxxiies #mobile legends

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merakiui · 2 years ago

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we have discussed clingy, codependent boyfriend azul, but now allow me to present to you: scummy, sleazy floyd.

(nsfw + female reader)

scummy, sleazy floyd who you meet at some club deep in the shadowed corner of the city. he smells of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and he’s leering lasciviously as he leans against the bar, blocking your view of another guy who’d been attempting to strike up conversation. he doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s interested, and you only let him stay because he keeps you on your toes with his witty and blunt retorts. you tell him you’re not looking for a quick fuck and his lips spread in an easy grin and he answers with: “and i’m just here to hold hands and make friends.”

he buys you a drink; you gaze at the flashy silver and gold adorning his fingers when he passes the cocktail to you. some of those rings look expensive: bejeweled with the brightest gemstones and glittering with sterling silver. his sleeves are rolled up; he’s got tattoo sleeves of what looks to be various marine creatures, all predatory with their curling tentacles and sharpened maws. his ears are pierced, too, and so is his tongue. not that you’re looking at his lips, but when he smiles his entire face lights up. one moment he looks pure and sweet with his broad grins; the next he looks as if he’s just undressed you with his gaze alone. and under the dim, sensual neon lighting, something about the latter look has you rubbing your thighs together in anticipation.

you talk to him as you drink. horrifyingly enough, he’s good company. you almost wish you’d come with a friend so you could have an excuse to leave. it’s not that you’re uncomfortable. it’s just that you weren’t expecting to find someone here who’d genuinely listen to you—and not just so he can wheedle you into sex! he’s a rare specimen, or maybe you’re just too buzzed to see through the deceptively appealing haze that’s fallen over him.

“so why are you still here?”

“cuz you’re fun to talk to.”

“but don’t you want to fuck?”

“do you?” he smirks at your flustered sputtering. “don’t ask for somethin’ you don’t want.”

“huh…”

“you’re cute.” it catches you off guard, but then so does the nickname he throws out next. “like a little shrimp. think i’ll start callin’ ya shrimpy from now on.”

“please don’t.”

“too late.”

you quirk an amused smile and reach out to shove him away. he doesn’t budge. not that you put any force into it. you don’t want him to leave. not yet.

“you never gave me your name.”

“ya never asked.”

“okay, smooth talker, what’s your name?”

he smiles, gleeful mismatched eyes flicking to your fingers as they curl around the handle of your empty glass. he gazes at you next. “floyd.”

“nice to meet you, floyd. i’m (name).”

“s’pretty, but i still think shrimpy sounds better.”

you roll your eyes and angle your body so that you’re facing him entirely. you know you’ve been sitting here for quite some time now because suddenly he’s the only one you want to look at. maybe it’s the alcohol, but you feel so stupidly incoherent when you stand on unsteady legs. it takes you a moment to balance on the wedge platforms, and floyd offers a muscled arm for you to lean on. you grab it and squeeze his bicep out of drunken curiosity. he’s strong…

he’s eyeing your mini skirt and fishnet stockings with sharp eyes. you know it’s bad news; you know you shouldn’t get carried away like this, especially since you just came out of a very vanilla, very normal, very non-sexual romance. but that relationship didn’t work out; this one…is different. it’s not a relationship. it’s a hook-up. it’s temporary. it’s not permanent.

your eyes tell him all he needs to know. he giggles as he guides you through a tight hall to the bathroom. the music is a muffled hum now, bass reverberating through your rib cage as if it’s a heartbeat. impatiently, he pushes you into a stall, not bothering to lock the door. you scramble for purchase when he shoves you up against the wall. it’s been graffitied with all sorts of nonsense: magicam usernames, some circled and others crossed out, phone numbers, dirty words, incoherent scribbles of poorly drawn penises… it’s filthy and you wouldn’t fuck even your worst enemy in a place as horrid as this, but tonight it feels right.

you fumble to grab his shoulders while his hands hike your mini skirt further up your hips. it feels fast and slow all at once. is this happening? are you even alive right now? did you pass out from the alcohol? is this a dream? his voice brings you back to earth next.

“changed your mind?” he teases, pressing his thumbs into your sides to gauge just how plush your waist is. and from what he’s feeling he seems to approve, for he squeezes you playfully. the coolness of his rings settles your overheated nerves.

“s-shut up…”

“ya ever had sex before?”

it takes a long minute for you to process that, but once you do you hurry to respond. “of course i have!”

“liar.”

“’m not,” you mumble, shaking your head.

“yeah, yeah. lemme guess. you want it, but you’re too scared to take it.”

“…not true.”

he barks out a laugh. “ya serious? really? that’s it?”

you push his face away. he’s still laughing.

“that’s not true!”

“ya ever use any toys?” at your limp shrug, he throws his head back and whistles. “man. why’re you even here? what’s an inexperienced thing like you doin’ in a club?”

you stare hard at the floor, suddenly ashamed. “i… i wanted to lose it…tonight…”

or something like that.

“don’t ya have someone special who can take it? not that i ain’t special, but ya know… s’different. a partner or somethin’ like that.”

“there’s no one.”

floyd hums as if he’s considering something before promptly lowering to his knees. he doesn’t seem to mind the sticky floor, but then he’s more focused on the space between your legs. he winks when he catches your gaze, lips peeling to reveal rows of sharp, pearly teeth.

“then i’d better treat ya extra special tonight.”

you don’t object. he wasn’t expecting you to.

maybe if you were more sober and level-headed you might find the sensation unusual. but his tongue (and the cold metal of his accompanying piercing) feels so unfathomably good against your clit. he braces himself against your legs, strong hands wrapped firmly around your thighs as if they’re garters. his nose is buried in your crotch while he angles his head to lave his tongue over your slick pussy, leaving you a shuddering, gasping mess above. you grab at his hair, tugging teal strands to keep yourself afloat amidst inebriation and waves of tantalizing pleasure, each crashing into you as if you’re a poor, fragile sailboat on a vast, tumultuous sea.

he’s the best (and only) fuck you’ve ever had, so when his tongue flashes into your pussy you throw your head back against the stall and wail, your stomach untying its many knots as you come undone. you’re a mess, shuddering and panting, reduced to nothing before something so… so… great? perfect?

something so floyd.

and while you grind against his mouth he laps eagerly at your wetness, unbothered by the shower he just endured. he’s laughing when he pulls away, voice raspy and thick with good-natured mischief.

“shrimpy’s so easy…”

you scowl at him, but it falls apart the moment he licks his lips.

“you’re just too…”

“yeah?” he nods, encouraging you to continue. “too what? you can say it.”

you almost don’t want to give him that satisfaction, but then he’s pinching your clit and you’re melting against the stall. suddenly being vindictive is the least of your priorities.

“t-too good!”

“see? shrimpy knows the right words.” he rises to his feet in the cramped space, shucking his trousers as he goes. they pool at his ankles, momentarily forgotten. you stare at the outline of his half-hard cock against his boxers. “good girl.”

that... wow. okay. that’s…something new. you don’t want it to hit, but it does. and you hate that it does. you try not to let it show, but he’s so eerily perceptive despite all of the carnal lust and physical attraction. how he’s even able to focus all of his attention on you while he lazily works himself in one hand is beyond you, but then you surmise he’s likely had plenty of experience and so by now he knows the basic steps by heart. it hurts a little—that you’re not his first, that you aren’t anyone special to him, that you’re just another body he’s pinned to a dingy stall wall—but you don’t dare let your sentimental feelings spoil the mood.

you watch him roll a condom on one-handed and—god, even his dick is pierced—your anticipation couldn’t be any more palpable. he rocks himself against you, his leaking cock pressed to your stomach. he pokes at an area just above his tip.

“you think it’ll go all the way up to here?” he hums while you try (and fail) to say something coherent. “only one way to find out, yeah?”

“mhm…”

floyd laughs. “don’t go gettin’ dazed on me now, shrimpy. i haven’t even put it in yet!”

he turns you so you’re facing the wall and lifts one of your legs. the position stings for a moment, but then his dick is prodding at your pussy and if you had any doubts now they’re all washed away when he snaps his hips forwards, filling you all at once, so much that the breath is punched out of you and you crumple against the wall. you scramble to grab onto something, but he keeps you plastered to the wall, one hand curled around your waist and the other holding your leg up so that he’s fucking you at an angle. each thrust pushes you up against the stall, and you howl like a mutt in heat, no longer worried about slipping.

it’s so gross. you’re tacky with sweat and your panties are soaked through, and every time he connects his body to yours you can hear the lewd squelching of skin on skin. it’s vile and loveless, but god it’s good. everything about him is temporary; he’s not your forever. you know this, but for tonight he’s your temporary and that feels like a dreamy eternity.

he fucks you like you’re the only one left in this world, and your lashes flutter against your cheekbones, vision whiting out. you shudder through your orgasm, sobbing pleasured relief, and it takes just a few more well-aimed thrusts until he’s spilling hot, groaning lowly in your ear.

he stays pressed to you for a few seconds, rolling his hips slowly as if riding out a glorious high, and you blink rapidly as you return to yourself. he waves his hand in front of you and, stupidly, you reach out and clasp it tight. his fingers entwine with yours. temporary, you remind yourself.

it’s sweaty and sticky and so unbearably hot when he separates himself, slipping out with ease. you almost lower yourself to the ground, exhausted and in need of a bath, so he supports you with one arm while he tugs the now-filled condom off.

floyd peers at you with glazed eyes and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. it’s the cherry on top—a job well done.

“you got a friend nearby?”

“what?”

“someone to pick ya up.” he tries to clean you, balling toilet paper and using it to wipe you down. it doesn’t really work. you still feel filthy even after he’s adjusted your panties and pulled your mini skirt down. it’s the effort that counts, though. “shrimpy’s not really in the right mind.”

“i’m in the best mind, thank you and fuck you!”

“kinda did that last one already.”

he lets you tear yourself away from him. as he observes you clinging to the wall for support, he fits himself back into his boxers and yanks his trousers up.

“gimme your phone.”

“no way. you might do something weird.”

floyd rolls his eyes. “lemme call ya a ride. you need it.”

“ooh, chivalry isn’t dead…”

you pass it to him after fumbling to unlock it. floyd spends an awful long time typing, but before you know it he’s calling someone. you listen to him as he talks, his voice a playful drawl. alcohol aside, he definitely rearranged your guts and your brain. it’s a wonder you’re still conscious.

“hi, jadeee. do me a favor, yeah? will you come pick us up? we gotta drop shrimpy off at her place.” there’s silence; you strain to hear the person on the other side. “nah. s’just a little lady i met tonight. she’s cute. maybe your type if you don’t mind sloppy seconds.” there’s more silence; your skin prickles when you realize he’s talking about you to whoever this jade person is. “kay, so you’ll pick us up?”

the exchange lasts another minute before he’s hanging up and sliding your phone into your pocket. you’re relieved when he tells you he’s found you a ride home because it allows you to mumble your address before you lose yourself to exhaustion entirely. you don’t remember the ride home or how you even got into your apartment or what your roommate said when a mysterious man carried your unconscious body inside like you were a sack of flour he’d slung over his shoulder. but when you wake up the next day, hungover, sticky, sweaty, and still tired, you aren’t spared the details from your roommate. it’s a story you find hard to believe.

you, going out to a club and hooking up? as if. you can hardly fit a dildo inside without tightening up out of fright.

but before you step into the shower, you check your phone for any proof. sure enough, after scrolling through your contacts, there’s a new one. his name is floyd. you stare at the number and it all comes rushing back.

horrified, you text him: why is your number in my phone?

he responds minutes later: thought u might want it.

well i don’t want it.

then delete it :p i’m not stopping u, he writes back.

you stare at his message long enough for those three dots to return.

he sends another message: gonna take a guess and say u wanna keep me in ur phone :)

you hate that emoticon. there’s nothing to smile about.

i’m going to delete you after my shower!

we’ll see

you shut your phone off. you hate that you allowed yourself to get so swept up last night, but most of all you hate that he’s right. you do want him to stay. at least now you have a means of staying in touch. not that you’ll utilize it! but…

it never hurts to talk every now and then, right?

#meraki mumbles #n/sfw #me: i’ll just write a little bit of this thought #also me: *writes an entire scene for a potential fic*#orz sometimes you just want to be fucked in a dingy bathroom stall by a mafia eel #this is an essential need!!!

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coldshrugs · 9 months ago

Text

ffxivwrite - prompt 4: reticent

characters: estinien varlineau, hamignant varlineau, and featuring my wol, io laithe word count: 1921 rating: mature for mentions of bullying & death. summary: three short, heavily headcanoned scenes from estinien's life, at ages 12, 21, and 33. [middle section heavily inspired by this art] posted 9/5/24 | updated 10/11/24

“I challenge you, Ser, to a trial by combat! Take up your arms and fight me!”

“And what is my crime this time?”

Hamignant, small as he is, brandishes his stick threateningly, but all that swagger is betrayed by an answer that comes out slower than usual. Shaky, even. “You don’t play with me anymore.”

Estinien shifts his weight, leaning a bit more heavily on the tall crook. A stone of guilt sinks in his stomach, so he distracts himself by watching the shallow valley just below the hill they stand on and the sheep grazing there. It is late spring and their coats are full and fluffy, ready for shearing. His twelfth nameday was less than a moon ago and he is expected to help with the task this year. His parents rely on him more now, sending him on errands usually tended by his father, giving him additional fieldwork. It isn’t easy, but it feels good to be trusted.

In truth, he would very much like to continue playing with Hamignant. His little brother has a knack for making games of their chores, and should they be caught goofing off, his wit is quick enough to make even the most stern adult smile.

Estinien does not share his talent for conversation, but Hamignant never seems to mind. He is content to babble so long as Estinien is close by to listen.

The stick—his foraged sword—wriggles closer. Closer. Until it pokes into Estinien’s cheek.

His gaze slides sideways, to Hamignant’s dramatic stance. It would be funny if not for the serious set of his brow, the tight purse of his lips, and the sheen welling in his eyes. Halone bless him, he truly is upset…

Estinien shifts again, batting the stick away with his crook, and smiles at Hamignant. “Then fight me, little knight, but take care to hide your bruises from Mother and Father.”

With a cheer of delight and an expression that makes Estinien proud he put it there, Hamignant begins their spar. Their wooden weapons echo across the meadow, sharp cracks followed by the occasional shriek or grunt when their limbs take a hit.

“Ow!” Estinien pauses to nurse a sore knuckle in his mouth. Hamignant celebrates, jumping on the spot before reenacting the flashy maneuver in the air between them. His victory doesn’t last—Estinien topples him and sends them both rolling down the hill in a fit of laughter.

They land fulms away from the sheep. Some come over to sniff them, like curious friends checking for injuries. Hamignant reaches up to pet snouts, red cheeks stretched in an open smile.

Estinien lies back to catch his breath. Clouds drift overhead in lazy wisps, and the grass tickles his neck and ankles as a warm breeze passes through the meadow. He closes his eyes, listening to the soft bleating of his charges, and even though his knuckle still throbs, he is happy.

“We should make a pact, Es,” Hamignant says, and his excited voice does not negate the sense of peace. “When we grow up, let’s both be knights. We can live in Ishgard and wear armor, protect beautiful maidens from harm, and fight dragons!”

“Best not to wish for dragons, Hami, like Mother says.” He chews his bottom lip. “Besides, I don’t want to be a knight. I like living here. Someone must stay and care for the farm.”

Hamignant’s smile sags. “Fine,” he pouts, though he looks less defeated than before. “You can stay in Ferndale all your days, and I’ll be a great knight of Ishgard. I will come home every Starlight and tell you about my adventures. That could still be fun, right?”

Estinien grins and rights himself, then offers a hand to help his brother up as well. “The finest plan you’ve ever had.”

At age twenty-one, Estinien is still getting used to his height.

Hitting striking dummies with Alberic is one thing—they don’t dodge, and they don’t hit back. And sparring with his unit is pitiable right now, as many of them adjust to growing bodies. It is something else entirely to swing the unfamiliar length of his arm at a sneering face, or struggle to take an unwieldy step backward before the very real fist meets his cheek. To fight and defend himself seriously.

He hits the training yard dirt with a weak groan that is all but drowned out by a roar of laughter. His ears ring from the impact. Four soldiers, all fledglings like himself, still in a training unit, stand over him.

“And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay down, Varlineau.” The one that threw the punch. Taller than he is, and stronger, and probably some noble’s son or nephew. It’s been a few moons since his official enlistment, but Estinien has not learned their names. He is here for one reason, and he cannot make room for useless information. And why should he, when another puts a foot on his chest as he tries to stand?

They erupt again over such a hard-won victory.

“We heard you last night, whimpering in your bunk like a freshly-weened babe. That the Azure Dragoon should waste his time with you,” one scoffs.

“No better than an orphaned Brume brat. We should drag you back to Ferndale and let Nidhogg know he missed one—”

The ankle holding him down makes a sickening snap when he twists it. Striking dummies certainly don’t do that. The boy goes down with a pained scream.

Estinien stands. He says nothing, only wipes his bloody nose with the back of his hand, then swings.

He spends three days in the gaol, and they do not bother him again.

He’s been in this room too long. His body is stiff from disuse, even with the daily practice of simple stretches. By chirurgeon’s orders, he has been forbidden from any activities that might reopen his wounds.

By fucking Halone and all the rest, he is bored.

At least he doesn’t want for company—that is not to say company has ever been a strong craving for him, of course. But Estinien could do worse than the Warrior of Light making her near-daily visit, even if it’s simply because this is the single place in Ishgard where she might escape the pitying gazes and prying questions about her… entanglement with Greystone. He enjoys a few hours of quiet, tolerable companionship, and she has a moment of privacy; an even exchange, in his mind.

Io sits in a ratty armchair, legs curled under her, by a sunny window so thickly lined with sympathy flowers, the room resembles the Holy Gardens of the Vault. Or, more kindly, the meadows ringing Ferndale in late spring. She wears the evidence of mourning around her eyes, red-rimmed and darkened bags from lack of decent sleep. He knows the look well. Still, the backdrop suits her.

Today, she knits, softly humming to herself in time to the rhythmic click of the needles. She’s lost in it, and her silence is appreciated. They talk during these visits, yes, but it isn’t like before. He thought her a friend before Aymeric’s mad plan shook their lives. Now… “friend” seems both too frivolous and too forward. They’re vulnerable in this room, Io grieving her lover, Estinien bandaged and weak—vulnerable, but distant.

He misses how they were before.

So he watches the wool slipping between her fingers with each meticulous loop, the way the half-formed garment hangs heavy from her hands. And all of it—the dappled light on the flowers, the repetitive scratch of Io’s work and wordless song, the weight of wool he used to know well, the herbaceous scent of medicinal salve rising from his wounds—dredges up the memory of another life. If Estinien closes his eyes, it could be twenty-one years ago. He could be there, if only for a moment, if only as a visitor.

Grief wails inside him. It is the roar he’s felt for years, through the Eye he used as a tool. Strange, to feel it now as part of himself, bottomless and inconsolable and so full of love. Stranger still to realize they were not so different in the end.

When was the last time he’s cried? Estinien is barely aware of where the tears trail down his cheeks, numb to everything but the homesick ache he has fought for half his life. He rubs his face before Io has the chance to see him.

“Io.” Estinien clears his throat. With her head still tilted towards her craft, Io’s eyes shift to meet his. “There is something I would ask.”

She pauses, waiting for his question.

“Why did you save me?”

Her answer comes in the form of a furrowed brow. She continues knitting without a word.

“I was ready. I was. And now? I don’t know how to be, I don’t know how to live without it. I’m unfit for anything else.”

Io’s lips thin a bit, tightening into a frustrated line, as she works. She shakes her head. Maybe she’s angry he asked. For all he lacks as a conversationalist, he is an expert in offending, even when he doesn’t mean to.

He lifts himself off the pillows piled at his back, ignoring the fire in his shoulder.

“You could’ve left me, or killed me. I feel him, Io. The echo of his loss; when it hits me… Io, you could’ve killed me.” The words leave him in a rush, riding the swell of pain that belongs to him and the adamant traces of Nidhogg that are part of him now.

Her sigh shames him. “Kill a man—my friend—when he doesn’t want to die? Let you fall to anguish and pain?" She lays the needles in her lap and her dark gaze all but dares him to argue. He’s never heard her speak with such a firm certainty. “No, Estinien, I could never have done that. Nidhogg’s isn’t the only grief you carry, nor are his memories the only ones worth saving.”

Silence encloses them, balancing on the knife’s edge of comfort and unease. Neither looks away. He counts the agitated rise and fall of Io’s chest until they are breathing in sync, then until both are steady.

With the softer tone he recognizes, she says, “We all need reminding that burdens, even ones as heavy as this, can be shared.”

Her mere presence gives the lie to his words. He would’ve done the same, if it were her. He sags back into his pillows, exhaustion replacing the wyrm’s overwhelming emotion.

And they return to the shred of peace they fought for. Io hums, and the needles click, and that is enough. He listens, occasionally mustering a courageous glance, and thinks about the uncertain future until the rays of sunlight tilt his direction instead of hers.

“I think it’s time to get on.”

“Me?” Io’s lips stretch into a crooked smile over the yarn. “Fine, I’ll kill you next time.”

His laugh is rough and unfamiliar sounding, closer to a cough. It hurts his broken ribs.

Io’s raspy chuckle is a far more pleasant sound. “Where will you go?”

Estinien sighs. He knows where he wants to go. The question is whether he will be welcome. “If it’s all the same, that is my business alone.”

Io nods and does not push the matter. Hm. There is always another question… In the absence of one, something settles in him… A sense of solace he didn’t know he was allowed.

So he confesses: “To make amends.”

#azia writes #ffxivwrite2024 #estinien varlineau #hamignant varlineau #io laithe #this has been living with me for a long time and i'm actually really pleased to get it out!!!!

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bcowlick · 3 months ago

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Gonna do some descriptions of the big six because yes (+ Metis) based on my headcannons and writing i do for them. Enjoy!

Zeus: Cocky, and loud. He is prideful and cheerie, smile always on his face. A happy-go-lucky kinda guy, and a bit egocentric, pompous and flashy, to the point he sometimes forgets about considering the people around him, not out of malice, he just sometimes gets lost in the spotlight. Still, a big golden heart lies within him, making him a kind man. Yet, he is not very good at handling things under pressure sometimes.

Poseidon: Emotional and Volatile. Its not just anger, but every emotion Poseidon feels he shows on his skin. As easy as he gets mad he also gets sad and happy, moody as the tides. He gets excited by new things and his love is a deep as the ocean. He's also very silly and funny, a complete riot to be around! He barely has an attention spam but he's trying his best guys.

Hades: Quiet and Cold. He is direct, straight to the point, and seems emotionless to the point to be scary sometimes. Yet don't be decieved for the cold demeanor. He feels the biggest pressure as the eldest and everything he does is always on the sake of protecting his family. Making his action speak louder than his words. That being said, he can be pretty mercyless to those who dare lay fingers upon his loved ones

Hera: Fancy and Ruthless. She's the kind of gal who knows a little thing about EVERYTHING. Yet her being a bit of a bookworm doesn't mean she is soft-spoken. If anything she can be rather cruel and bossy. The gal has a temper but she never looses her razzle dazzle neither. The queen of sarcasm. Still, deep down she's a bit of a nervous wreck trying her best, so maybe the mean attitude is to cover up for an insecurity or two? Who knows?

Demeter: Honest and Firm. A hard-working gal who doesn't mind doing some of the heavy lifting. She sticks to her believes and there's nothing that can move her when she puts her mind to something. Completly obstinated for sure, with no fear to tell the truth as it is. But for as rough as her outside looks, she has a tender heart who cares deeply for her loved ones well-beings. Always making sure their bellies are full and their spirits high. She won't start a fight but she would sure as heck end it.

Hestia: Caring and Gentle. The mom friend 100%. She's not fond of violance in any way, prefering to stay by the sides and support in the combat in other ways. But push her too far and you'll end up burnt. She's the one always making sure her family is doing well, checking constantly on them. Sometimes a bit too much, which can make her anxious and worried sometimes. When her brain starts to worry, its hard to stop it. She stress-bakes. Still, there's no one as sweet, soft-spoken, and caring as Hestia. As the other eldest, she also feels that the family is her personal responsibility.

Metis: Clever and Wild. A cunning gal, nothing escapes her. Metis analizes EVERYTHING. She's quick to come with solutions which is useful when your also quick to get in trouble. Truly the wild card of the team, who has saved their butts in more than one ocassion. Even then, she doesn't consider herself as that important, her low selfsteam blinding her for just how valuable she is for those around her. Alas, she's just a nymph and she isn't even good at been a nymph.

As an extra, i like to think Hera and Metis as two sides of the same coin, which is something i will explore more in the future. They're both clever and very alike, yet deep down they wish they were more like the other.

That's all! Feel free to ask questions for this silly headcannons if you wish fellas!

#titanomachy #TitanomachyWAT #zeus #metis #hera #Poseidon #Hades #Demeter #hestia #greek mythology #greek myth retellings

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bonefall · 2 years ago

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new blorbo just dropped, do you have any small details you can share about stormcloud?

Mr. Monsterscar himself

Stormcloud, Fernsong, and Sweetbright are all from Hengest. It's the town over to the west, which Clan cats pass by during a Salt Patrol.

He used to be incredibly self-conscious about his massive scar, back when he was a kittypet. Other cats thought it was scary.

So he used to try and make himself look small, and make up for the fact he felt terrifying.

He was at a really low point during the storm. His owners got separated from him and Benny, but he FEELS like they abandoned him.

(They left out a cat flap and were out for a while, and when they came back to the house, they'd evacuated. The flood hit shortly after.)

Unfortunately, the Clan is really quick to confirm this bias for him. They feel it's proof of how uncaring humans really are, and it's a story Stormcloud has really internalized.

"They abandoned me. They never loved us. It's their fault Benny died... but I have a Clan now. The past is the past; let's talk about something nicer."

The confidence boost of joining the Clans was immediate and dramatic. People LOVE his scar, he took to fighting like a natural, and he made a bunch of friends.

Cherryfall, Ivypool, Daisy, Briarlight, Hazeltail... Plus Fernsong and Jessie, who he had only been vaguely aware of before the storm.

You could call him a "gentle giant." He's softspoken, a good listener, and pays attention to people's needs.

Whatever the kitty-equivalent of passing out gatorade at sportsball practice is, Stormcloud does that. He would go get a firkin full of water for everyone.

He REALLY loves to fight, especially because he's just really good at it. He loves the way they look at him with awe when he pulls off some flashy battle move.

He made up this super impressive tree-richochet move after a few years of being part of ThunderClan, which a ton of apprentices and reckless warriors have embarrassed themselves trying to mimic.

Cherryfall is his BEST friend. They're kind of romantic, but also kinda not. They'd get flustered if you pressed them on it but are pretty obviously not gonna make a move without being prodded.

It is very cute to see, though, because it's like they don't even notice how much they look like a couple.

I'd describe him as a pretty smart guy, in the creative sense. He's good at coming up with new ideas and very helpful at a spitball meeting. It's not easy to trick or fool him.

Especially in contrast to Cherryfall who is a moron (affectionate)

He doesn't like to defy authority, though. He was on the Impostor's side during TBC, even though he believed he was wrong and even dangerous.

He kept those opinions to himself, especially since Cherry's dad Berrynose was one of the Impostor's biggest supporters.

#BB!Stormcloud #Better bones au #ThunderClan's Tempest

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spadeselfshipcorner · 5 months ago

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It's my birthday today!!

So I made this really quick doodle with my main F/Os, Milluki's my only romantic one, but Shino and Hugo mean just as much to me, power to QP F/Os!!

Small extra bit cause we like having fun- here's the gifts they'd get me!

🍡: A large, super detailed action figure from my current favorite anime. Milluki is rich af, the perks of being part of a hitman business I guess lol- so I can see his gift being... definitely expensive, and also nerdy, because we're both weebs. + lil extra of a nice cozy dinner with all my favorite foods, I'm such a stereotypical Italian, but lasagna is a must ✨

🪲: A Polyphemus Moth plushie. Shino is a bit less flashy with gifts, but he knows he can never go wrong with plushies! I'm 23, still shamelessly love plushies with all my heart, and he secretly does too, so it's a pretty easy choice... also makes for a good excuse to go into a toy store and see if there's any cute things for himself too without having to make up excuses fghjkd

🧀: An art book from a game/movie/artist I love. Hugo's the book man, what can I say? Though he probably had to look on the internet for the specific art book he wanted to gift me... and he's not super tech-savvy... so he asked Ernest to help him out with actually ordering it lmao

Proship/Comship & Kink blogs DNI

#f/o #fictional other #milluki #milluki zoldyck #self ship #self shipper #selfshipping #hxh #naruto #dream daddy #ddadds hugo #hugo vega #shino aburame #🍡danger dango🍡#🪲Beetle Buddies🪲#🧀Cheese Comrades🧀#romantic f/o #queerplatonic f/o

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greetings-inferiors · 9 months ago

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I want Roxas is smash just because I know that everyone else would think he's just as cool as I do. Like I love how Sora plays, I think he's so damn cool, but the general consensus is that he's campy and boring. Roxas? He'd by a rush down god. A top tier for sure. His combos would be nutty. He'd definitely feel a lot more like kh2 combat, which is a lot more flashy and cool.

Anyway I'm going to make a Roxas moveset because why not (this is Roxas duelwielding, based off of his kh2 fights and when he's playable in kh3)

Normals: Roxas is a lot more of a combo character than his somebody, so a lot of his normals cancel into each other.

His jab has 3 moves: jabs 1 and 2 are cancelable into up and forwards tilt, and are overhead swings like at the end of the kh2 Roxas fight cutscene against Sora. Jab 3 he dashes forward and swings both keyblades out in a scissor motion (a motion that pops up a lot in his kit). The slash itself has a hit box but the sweet spot is the afterimage flash of light he leaves where he was originally standing.

His down tilt is a fast scissor sweep with both keyblades that pops up. It isn't cancelable but it combos into his other tilts at various percents.

His forward tilt has 3 moves: ftilt 1&2 are cancelable into the smashes and up tilt, and are those cool spinny slashy things he does, while ftilt3 has him spin oathkeeper in front of him for a bit before slashing forwards with oblivion.

His up tilt has two hits: up tilt 1 is jump cancelable and has him swipe oathkeeper above him marth style, and up tilt 2 in cancelable into up smash and side and neutral special and has him spin oblivion above him Sora style.

His dash attack has him do that cool move where he dashes forwards, spins his keyblades around as he moves to the side, picks them back up on the other side and spins back around to recover. He goes a bit into the z axis in the middle of it which lets him dodge some things but not much. It isn't cancelable but at low percents it launches directly above him allowing him to follow up.

So with his smashes I will have to warn you - he can do them in the air. Not always, he only can in a specific condition, but it means he can quite easily pick up kills at the end of his combos. Here goes:

His forward smash has him do that one move where he floats in the air and shoots his keyblades back and forth in front of him.

His up smash has him spin up and forward before coming down. If done in the air he'll stop after a while if he hasn't hit the floor.

His down smash has him brace for an attack, in which point he is invincible (a la Lucas up smash), then slashes out with a ring of light around him horizontally, hitting on both sides.

Aerials (aside from the smashes lol):

For his neutral air he spins once, hitting opponents with his keyblades. It is very quick and quite weak leading to easy combo ability.

His forward air has 3 hits: fair 1 and fair 2 are just slashes forward which pop him up if they hit Sora style, and fair 3 has him fully spin around and hit his opponent with both keyblades like they're a baseball bat.

His down air has him do a scissor slash downwards, which is a spike.

His up air has him slash overhead, it's closest in function to mario up air. Whichever keyblade he swings depends on which one he didn't swing last.

His back air has him swing oathkeeper around for a small slash, and then oblivion for a big slash.

Specials: here's the cool stuff.

His neutral special has him turn into a beam of light and dash forwards, automatically locking onto an enemy if one is close enough. He's vulnerable while doing it, but if he hits an opponent with it he gets some benefits. He gets his double jump back (can you tell I'm a clairen main) the first time he uses it in the air, his next aerial/normal becomes jump cancelable, and he can perform a smash attack, even in the air, which will shoot light pillars out at some point (in forward smash 5 light pillars close in on his opponent, in up smash 2 light pillars follow up and hit the opponent either once he hits the floor or the moves cancels, and in his down smash 5 light pillars shoot out in a spiral pattern). It's a very strong kill confirm tool, as a lot of his normals combo into neutral special, some even cancel into it, but if he damages his opponent past the threshold it connects he struggles to kill confirm. Also this means Kirby can do that. Actually while we're here: Kirby's copy ability has him have oathkeeper and oblivion behind him, just like when Sora steals them in the kh2 fight. If you want more than that, he gets Roxas' spiky hair, or a org hood for the alt where Roxas has his hood up.

Side special: he pauses, then dashes forward a large distance cutting everything down in his way and causing a large light blast at his destination. If you launch someone into the radius of where side special sweet spots it can be a devastating kill confirm.

Down special: Roxas uses reversal. He slides around, and ends up facing away. When near someone this puts him directly behind them, and has invincibility on start up (like frame 3 or so, basically an air dodge), so facing Roxas in the air is a guessing game: do you fair or bair him? Bear in mind that this puts him BEHIND the opponent, so the counterplay to reversal is to approach him with bairs, but that isn't always optimal. If you have a big enough Nair that might work lol.

Up special: funnily enough this is the one I had the most trouble with. I don't want it to be that good for recovery, since neutral, side, and down special are all good (from best to worst). My choice would be that helicopter slash Valor form gets, you know the one that's like one slash, a pause, and then lots of slashes, but in smash the one slash is the first input, but is basically just a shorthop, if you input up special twice in a row you get the full thing, which goes a fair bit further, but puts you in free fall.

Throws:

He has his keyblades float behind him as he grabs you.

His pummel has him punch you in the gut.

For his forward throw he throws you forward, then sends three pillars of light to follow up.

For his down through he basically does Sora's down throw.

For his back throw he throws you back with one hand, then in the blink of an eye dashes and scissor slashes.

For his up throw once again I'm blanking. Maybe he throws you up, spins, collecting energy, before shooting out light pillars in a spiral to hit you above him.

Final smash:

I don't think there's anything else it could be tbh. Pillars of light start spinning around him, as he rises into the air, then the stage background gets enveloped in twilight, as he spins then starts screaming as he shoots orbs of light at all of his opponents. Maybe once he finishes he teleports straight to his opponent (or the closest one) with one last scissor slash for the road.

Stage: Roxas' stage would be twilight town. But not just any twilight town. It would be the end of days, specifically the platform in the sky, which would fly around twilight town like hollow bastion, and if stage hazards are on every so often gundam Xion will come and be a boss fight a la metal face or yellow devil.

Cosmetics:

His first colour is how he looks in kh3, org cloak, hood down, oblivion and oathkeeper.

His second colour has him in his twilight town getup. Once again oblivion and oathkeeper.

The colours then alternate, idk you can have one where he has black hair for xion, one with red hair for axel, one with dark brown hair for Sora, one with blue hair for saix (the blue and dark brown also means terra ventus and aqua are represented lol). Maybe a white one for xemnas? Idk.

But the last cloaked alt (it would probably be seven) has him with his hood up. Because that's sick as hell and the alt that I'd play.

Oh also one of the alts uses two sticks. Because I said so.

For his victory animations:

First one: him, Axel and Xion are laughing on the clock tower eating ice cream. Axel hits his back while laughing, causing him to drop his winner ice cream stick. They all laugh it off, and the animation loops with them goofing off.

Second: the animation where he first uses oblivion and oathkeeper in kh2, just before axel says TWO?!. He brings them out, one by one, then poses.

Third: he blasts in, creating a cloud of dust, the either removes his hood (if an org cloak alt), or adjusts his neck, spins his keyblades around, and looks vaguely triumphant.

Now the juicy stuff:

IF SORA AND ROXAS ARE IN A MATCH:

Sora wins: he wakes up in his cocoon, walks out and yawns, before smiling. Maybe even Donald goofy and jiminy show up to congratulate him.

Roxas wins: looks like my summer vacation is... Over *looks at Sora in the cocoon*

Sora and Roxas are on the same team, and win:

Sora surfaces in destiny islands, sees Kairi, they smile at each other, then Sora becomes Roxas and Kairi becomes namine, just like in kh2's ending.

If the stage is hollow bastion, and dive to the heart occured:

Sora wins, Roxas loses: the "you're a good other" sequence plays, before Sora returns to the world that never was, and looks up at kingdom hearts.

Roxas wins, Sora loses: the scene where Roxas pounds his keyblades on Sora's keyblade, Sora loses his footing, Roxas hits the kingdom key aside, and Stabs it into the ground, looking at Sora angrily.

If the stage is twilight town:

Roxas wins, Xion was beaten (if stage hazards were turned on): Xion dies in Roxas' arms. Fuck you days gets spoilt MWAHAHAHAHA

Sora wins, Roxas loses: the scene where Sora gets on the Train and doesn't know why he's crying.

Also the song list would include songs outside of just kingdom hearts 1: the other promise, tension rising, vector to the heavens, the 13th struggle, lord of the castle, literally every xemnas theme, rage awakened, nachtflugle; just to name a few. Also one winged angel can play on kingdom hearts stages.

Anyway that's basically it Roxas is my favourite character and I want him in smash so badly.

#text post #randyposting #roxas #kingdom hearts #smash #smash bros #super smash bros #kh #kh roxas #roxas kingdom hearts #sora #kh sora #sora kingdom hearts #ssbu

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