#It's just the level of slightly uncanny I feel a god needs. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crescentsteel · 3 years

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Keeping a Secret - Part 7

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn wc: 7.4k

Part 6 || Part 8 || masterlist

[a/n]

I’m so sorry for the delayed update. Things are happening in my personal life that my writing has incredibly slowed down.

To that anon who was asking for updates, I’m sorry if I made it seem like you were rushing me (in case you weren’t). Sometimes, I just tend to feel so pressured that I easily project that to others.

Y’all been excited for this. Here you go, a drunk Tsukishima to make up for the slow update.

AO3 link is on the masterlist in case Tumblr crashes on you from how long this update is.

Your eyes widen at the current state of Tsukishima. You look around warily, checking if there’s any mutual classmate you know who is around. But with how dim the club is, the attempt to do so is futile.

“Tsukishima…” you protest while prying his hands away from your waist.

“We’re in public!” You hiss at his behavior, but he’s completely unfazed. His hands keep creeping back at the spot they were rooted at.

His facial expression doesn’t falter either. He’s still wearing that silly grin that looks nothing like his usual ones. “So? Didn’t you hug me publicly, right in the middle of the Sendai Gym?” he counters with a cocked brow as his elated grin turns to a clever smirk.

Oh God. What has Tsukishima turned into? He’s like one of those guys who hit on you, but the difference is you’re actually flustered by it.

Even with his hands and gaze glued to you, you turn to the bartender. “How long has he been here?” you shout. “A while now,” the bartender shouts back.

You glance at Tsukki’s consumed glasses again. It’s only one glass and two shot glasses. How can he be this drunk already?

You don’t wonder too long before figuring it out. Tsukishima’s definitely a lightweight, shown by his level of intoxication at the moment even though in reality, he hasn’t had much to drink.

Why did he even drink in the first place? He said he doesn’t see the point of parties. Why is he here getting himself hammered? You grimace when you realize that there’s training tomorrow. You’ve scolded members before for such behavior and now they know better than to get wasted when there’s practice the next day.

You did not expect such irresponsibility from Tsukishima, who’s always exhibited exemplary behavior.

“You should go home.” You mean to sound strict, but with his body being a bit too close, your voice falters.

He cups the back of your head and pulls you so that his lips are ghosting against your ear.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you,” he says haughtily.

It’s a very familiar scenario with a very different Tsukishima holding you in place. If he’s his usual self (sober and pissed off at you), you’d be teasing him for coming to this club. Instead, you’re the flustered one as his fingers brush your nape while his breath fans your ear.

“G-go home, Tsukki,” you stutter as you feel his grip on your waist tighten.

“But why?” His hand on your nape travels down on your spine. “Didn’t you say I was welcome to go here?” The ends of your hair prickle up as he presses the warmth of his lips on your cheek when he pulls away slightly.

It was almost the same scenario when you first saw him in this very same club - the whispering, the closeness, the incredible urge to feel his mouth on yours. The difference is Tsukishima himself. Unlike before when you two were fighting the pull of the temptation, this time, it’s worse because of his suggestive demeanor.

“Stop it,” you chastise him with a little bit more conviction.

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything.” He withdraws until his lips are only an inch away from yours.

You take a deep breath, collecting yourself before pushing yourself away from him. “Go home, Tsukishima. You have training tomorrow!” you shout to make sure he hears you without leaning close to him.

He looks at you like he doesn’t understand shit. His tipsy grin is now wiped off, replaced with an empty, clueless Tsukishima staring at you. You don’t falter though. You continue glaring at him. Luckily, it seems to sink in his head after a few seconds as he finally stands up.

At the first step he takes, he staggers like a high school student who got drunk for the first time. You start to feel bad for him because he looks like he really is struggling with it while continuing to fiddle with his glass as if that’s the cause of his apparent dizziness.

You position yourself underneath his arm and help him balance himself.

You groan as you wobble when he rests some of his weight to you. How can you momentarily forget that he’s a professional athlete weighing more than 160 lbs? You’re always surrounded by tall men, and this has made you think that that height is normal, when in reality they can crush you in a snap.

You realize that Tsukishima is a lot more busted than you thought. You can see he’s actually trying to walk normally but is failing miserably.

You’ve already talked to most of your friends so you don’t mind helping him get back home. Not that it matters. You’d still be helping him get back home even if you hadn’t. Aside from being one of your players, he’s also your study partner. You can’t just leave him be.

With a very drunk Tsukishima on one shoulder, you hail a taxi and carefully make him sit inside. Your initial plan is just getting him a ride home, but looking at him now, you’re not sure if that’s the best idea. He might suddenly pass out. Who knows what will happen to him then?

You sigh as you get yourself inside the cab as well.

You give the driver the address of the Tsukishima’s while he rests his head on top of yours. “This car is moving too much,” he complains with discomfort crisp in his voice. The vehicle is rather stable. It’s the alcohol in his head that’s making things shaky for him.

Instead of letting him lean on you, you carefully settle his head against the headrest of the car seat so he’s leaning back instead of sideways. You kneel instead of sitting so you can use your hands to keep his head steady because he’s too darn tall.

After a short while, he lets out a sigh of relief from the stability your hands provided. His features are more relaxed now that his brows are no longer scrunched up and his lips no longer pressed in a strained manner.

He opens his eyes and tilts his head a bit to look at you. He grasps one of your wrists as he gives you a faint smile that doesn’t resemble anything he’s given you, not even the dumb one he did at the club.

It’s a tender and genuine smile that softens up his usually stern face. “You’re so pretty, you know that?”

Yes, you’re well aware. You hear it all the time that the word lost any shred of novelty it once had.

But when Tsukishima says it, your heart skips a beat. He isn’t flirting with you. He’s looking at you like he’s stating an observation he finds pleasing to him, like you’re a sight he’s truly enjoying to see.

You almost let go of his face from the uncanny feeling on your chest that’s making you uneasy, but you halt yourself when you remember that this guy’s world will spin faster than Jupiter’s rotation if you let him be.

You let out a deep sigh to calm yourself down.

“I know,” you respond firmly to hide the fuzzy mess that you are on the inside.

“If I’m not so fucking plastered, I’d kiss you.”

You suck in a sharp breath upon hearing it, the yearning to do so creeping up fast behind you.

You can do it yourself. You’re not dizzy. It’d be so easy. His face is already in your grasp anyways. You just have to lean forward a bit and you can easily grant him what both of you want.

Should you?

It’d just be one of your harmless kisses, right? You’ve done it countless times before. One more shouldn’t hurt.

“We’re here.”

You’re harshly brought back to sanity by the driver’s cue that you’ve reached his home. You’re thankful for it because you were really about to kiss him even though you’re the one who said that the deal is no more. You would have slapped yourself if your hands aren’t full.

You pay the driver and help Tsukishima get out of the car.

You get under his one arm again and assist his steps so he doesn’t stumble. Once you reach their doorstep, he gets his keys from his pockets but scuffles trying to insert it in the keyhole. Instead of getting pissed, he laughs sardonically and faces you.

“Look, y/n. The key is fucking stupid,” he says, completely believing that it’s the key’s fault and is actually snickering at the inanimate piece of metal’s ‘incapability’ to shoot itself where it needs to be.

You can’t help but laugh. Even at his drunken state, he still roasts things he deems doltish. It’s funnier cause he talks a bit dopey while insulting the innocent key. He’s still failing after a while so you volunteer to do it.

“I can do it,” he says seriously and on his next attempt, he does get it in. Then he looks at you and smirks proudly. “See?”

You shake your head and roll your eyes at how absurd he’s acting, but the grin on your face remains. He is still very much himself. It’s just that his rudeness is comically misplaced. Yet as entertaining as it is to watch, you can feel the strain in your shoulders and upper back already.

You open the door and hope that a relative is somehow still awake to take Tsukki off your hands. Still no luck for you as you’re greeted with nothing but silence.

“Where’s your room?” “Upstairs, left.”

Great. Can this get even worse? Your original plan is just getting him a cab. Now you have to personally walk him to his room since he’s hopeless treading on a flat surface. What more on a flight of stairs?

You ask him to close the door and lock it before you head up. “Alright, Tsukki. Let’s get you in bed,” you tell yourself as a motivational push to get the task done.

You huff every step you take because he really is too heavy for you and you’ve had a long night already. You’ll be sure to reprimand him tomorrow for this.

“Y/n?”

You lift your head up from wooden steps and see Akiteru at the top end of the stairs.

“Aki-san!” You can’t be more thankful upon his arrival.

He urgently goes to you, stopping a few steps up from you and Tsukki.

“What happened to him?” Akiteru asks concernedly.

“He’s…” you try to think of a more decent word but you can’t think of any at the moment so you tell it as it is. “He’s drunk,” you admit.

Akiteru’s expression is even more incredulous than yours was back in the bar. He’s looking at you and Tsukki interchangeably.

“You... you got him to drink?”

You don’t know if you’re offended or amused because Akiteru looks like he’s extremely grateful that you caused this to his brother.

“I-uh... no. I found him like this in the club. I think you should take him already,” you suggest. You’re about to lift Tsukki’s arm off of you when you feel him resist. When you turn to him, he’s already looking at you with displeasure. “You said you would get me in bed,” he states.

Is he fucking serious? Hell no. You have no reason to do so when Akiteru is here already. “Aki-san, please,” you implore while glaring at Tsukki.

“Umm... you heard him, y/n.”

You harshly turn your head at Akiteru from disbelief. When your gaze lands on him, he’s sporting an innocent smile, a stark contrast to knowing that the intention behind it is not so innocent.

“Aki-san?” your voice rises a bit from bewilderment at what he’s insinuating.

“Why do you call Nii-chan by his name?” Tsukki slurs as he asks.

“Huh?” You eye Tsukki exasperatedly. You have yet to absorb what Akiteru is implying and Tsukki is already adding up to the initial question mark hanging on your head.

“You just met him and you already call him Aki-san. We’ve been working together for three years, yet you don’t call me Kei. Not even when we ki-”

You cover his mouth and laugh awkwardly and loudly. “Tsukki! What are you talking about?” You make yourself sound clueless as you give him a very subtle glare while smiling, hoping that he gets your warning.

“When you what?” Akiteru prods, his eyes still friendly, but with amusement lurking beneath them.

You form a smile but with Tsukki’s weight and his intoxicatedness that’s causing him to babble nonsense, it comes out distressed.

“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” you persist. “I should really go now. It’s really late, Aki-san. Please,” you press on.

“You can stay,” Tsukki suggests with a faint smirk.

“I agree with Kei. It really is late. We’d be responsible if something happens to you,” he explains kindly, but you know his concern is only second place to what he’s actually thinking. You can tell he’s rooting for you and his younger brother.

“Yeah, I don’t want to be responsible for you,” Tsukki announces with his voice a bit garbled.

Akiteru laughs at Tsukki’s remark but thwarts it immediately as he eyes you apologetically. “Sorry about my brother,” he whispers with one hand covering his mouth.

“Just sleep with me in my room.”

Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, it does. Your mouth gapes at Tsukki from how he just uttered that inappropriate statement right in front of his older brother.

You turn to Akiteru defensively. “It’s not what you think.”

Akiteru’s courteous smile doesn’t faze as he says, “I’m not thinking anything, y.n.”

The whole situation makes you want to let go of Tsukki’s arm and jump off the railings of stairs. Then, you’ll wake up in the morning and find that you’ve escaped this entire scenario altogether.

You sigh and wave an imaginary white flag in your head. “I’ll make sure he’s fine,” you say to Akiteru.

You see his eyes light up. Since you and Tsukki are already occupying the narrowness of the stairs, Akiteru can’t go to Tsukki’s other arm to help you. Instead, he goes back up and opens a door on the left.

He keeps it open until you reach what you surmise is Tsukki’s room.

Once you get inside, you hear Akiteru speak, “Thanks for taking care of my brother, y.n.” He closes the door before you can say anything.

Rather than minding Akiteru, you pour your attention on Tsukki, getting him to sit down with his head leaning against a wall.

You feel the instant relief on your shoulders with Tsukki’s weight off them. However, you can’t ease up yet. You have to go to their kitchen and get this guy some water.

You’ll complain later or tomorrow, but for now, you’re going to focus on getting shit done.

You’re about to head out of his room when the door opens itself, causing you to yelp from shock.

“Sorry,” Akiteru apologizes with a hushed voice. In his hand is a huge bottle of water which he extends to you with congenial fondness.

“Goodnight,” he says prior to closing the door.

Akiteru is pleasant, but he can’t be more obvious on how he eminently pairs you up with his brother.

You don’t delve into it further as you need to get Tsukki all fixed up. You walk over to where you seated him and make him drink the water Akiteru gave.

You need to make sure he’s not totally hammered when he sleeps. You don’t want him with a hangover tomorrow and skip training when the next match is just a week away.

He seems in need of the liquid too since he quickly finishes the bottle as soon as he takes it. He clumsily slams the empty bottle on his desk and stands up precariously.

“Woah there. Where are you going?” you ask imperiously.

“Bathroom,” he answers. He tips his head towards you as a corner of his lip shoots up. “Why? Care to join me?”

You want to fight back with a sarcastic ‘No, thank you,’ but he still walks a bit funny so you can’t exactly let him be. You sigh as you take his arm again and aid him as he walks.

“Only until the door,” you patiently answer.

As much as you want to be a smartass like him, you need the Frog’s starting middle blocker to never miss a training. You can’t have him tripping, falling flat on his face, or accidentally bumping on a wall.

You let him inside the restroom. Luckily, they have one on this floor so bless your shoulders and upper back. When he comes out, he looks a little less disoriented and his sense of balance is somehow stable with how he’s standing.

You follow him as he goes back to his room. To your shock, he immediately crawls to bed without changing. ‘Disgusting,’ you comment mentally. He came from outside, a club specifically. How could he not bother changing?

“Aren’t you going to change clothes?” you ask, your grossed out tone clearly heard.

“I’m tired and I’m still slightly dizzy,” he says nonchalantly.

He begins settling down while you’re standing there, tired and dumbfounded. “Where am I supposed to sleep?” He glances around his room, probably trying to recall where he put an extra mattress. Only two seconds later, he gives his bed one firm tap as if to tell you that you’re sleeping beside him.

You close your eyes from exhaustion and exasperation combined. You don’t want to sleep next to Tsukishima but it has been one hell of an evening already that you’ll take what you can get. He’s already sobered up a bit anyway. You’re at ease that he’ll keep his hands to himself.

You walk to his drawers and find a pair of loose clothing he can comfortably sleep in. Then you stride to his bed and give it to him. He looks at the clothes you’re holding then at you.

On a regular day, he wouldn’t dare sit on his bed without changing after spending time outside.. Tonight is the only exception because he truly isn’t up to the task anymore. He’ll just change his sheets tomorrow.

He only wants to lie in bed and shut his eyes already. But with you handing him a change of clothes, he has no reason to not to do so anymore.

No reason but to get back at you for giving him hell when you got yourself sick and passed out with only him present to take care of you.

“I told you I’m dizzy,” he says without accepting the clothes you’re offering him.

“Don’t tell me I have to change your clothes myself.” He can hear you’re about to lose it and it’s spurring him on even more. He hides his smirk and shrugs indifferently, leaving it to you to decide that for yourself.

You palm your face furiously and it’s almost breaking his resolve to keep a steady face. You prove to have a sensible amount of control on your temper as you recover after one excruciating deep breath. He’s not exactly surprised though. You’ve been a manager for three years now and handling male athletes is not exactly a walk in the park if one has temper problems.

You put one knee on his bed as you start tugging his shirt up. “Why did you even drink?”

“Why do you care?” He answers the same way you did when he asked why you bother going to parties.

“Because I’m the one taking care of you!” you almost yell as you dress him in a new shirt. When you successfully change his shirt, you glance at his pants then to his eyes. You didn’t have to utter a word to let him know that you don’t plan to change that particular piece of clothing.

He doesn’t falter though. If he tasted hell because he had to undress your top while you were passed out, he couldn’t miss the chance to return the favor.

“So? You didn’t hear shit from me when I had to take care of your sick ass,” he says, pouring salt to the right burn so he can push you to go along with his scheme.

You clench your jaw as you avert your eyes from his.

“You were a real handful, you know that?” he continues on. “Come to think of it. You’ve heard not a single complaint from me about that night. Should I lecture you now?” His lips betray his apathetic facade when a smirk forms on his face.

You smile at him with utter displeasure but don’t say anything as you start unzipping his pants, your spiteful eyes never leaving his amused ones.

“I’d love it if you help by lifting your sarcastic butt,” you sound distressed as you try to pull down his pants.

He grips both your hands that are tugging on his waistband. He props himself up a bit, leaning down and closing in on your stunned yet still delightful face.

“Why do you look so surprised? You asked me to help you, right?” he asks with a subdued voice as he tugs his pants down.

You turn your face away from his and don't answer his question as you continue what he started. His eyes never trail off your features until you successfully take his pants off

With your face still turned away from his, you grab the shorts you took earlier and toss it to his face. “Seems like you’re not dizzy anymore,” you say as you head to his closet.

For no fucking reason, he’s laughing elatedly. He might not be dizzy anymore but he can still feel the aftermath of the drinks he rushed drinking at the club. Is this why people get drunk? Because even the most trivial things are funny?

No. It’s because he’s drunk. It’s because of how entertaining you look when you’re a flustered mess. Before you looked away, he caught the wild blush on your cheeks, the stir in your eyes, and the way your hands trembled as you undressed him.

Initially, he wanted you to put on the shorts you got for him as well. But he figures he can show you mercy and do this one on his own since he already had his fun seeing you in a flustered state.

You open his closet and pick your own set of fresh clothes to borrow. Without saying anything, you step out of his room and head towards their restroom.

The first thing you do inside is check your reflection and goddamn it--you’re blushing like a teenager about to lose her virginity.

You groan frustratedly as you softly slap your cheek with your free hand. Tsukishima is tipsy and is just messing with you. Why do you have to be so affected?

You turn the faucet on and hurriedly wash the heat off your face. When you feel like you’ve cooled off, you look up at the mirror to check if you’re no longer a bursting tomato.

You sigh with relief when you see that your face is back to normal. You turn off the faucet and begin changing to Tsukki’s clothes.

As expected, everything is loose. His shirt is almost a dress. Actually, it already is with how it’s draping just above your knees. You had to use your hair tie to knot a portion of his shorts’ waistband for it to not to drop on your ankles.

It’ll be uncomfortable sleeping with lumped fabric on your hips but you’d prefer that than not wearing anything underneath his shirt.

You neatly fold your clothes and go back to his room. Another wave of relief hits you when you see him lying down with his eyes closed already. His glasses are already off too. Despite the strenuous and outrageous turn of events earlier tonight, you’re actually glad that he’s safe and sleeping soundly.

Hopefully tomorrow, he’s going to be fine and forget the shit he pulled on you tonight.

You take a deep breath as you sit on his bed. Fortunately, his bed is wide enough for you to have some decent amount of space away from him. He also has another pillow so you can sleep comfortably with one of your own. You just pray that it won’t be so cold because there is only one blanket.

Oh well. You’ll cross the bridge when you get there.

You get his extra pillow and lie down. Once your back hits the soft mattress, your eyes shut close on their own. You feel the weight in your legs and back settle as your body starts to relax. You know that any moment now, you’ll fall asleep so you turn to your side with your back facing Tsukishima.

You were right. You already feel your consciousness drifting off not long after, only to be disrupted by an arm sliding over your waist.

“What the-”

“My head hurts.”

Even if Tsukishima doesn’t say anything, you already know how close he is with warm breath fanning your nape. You’d scoot away but you’re already at the edge of his bed.

You harshly remove his arm and face him to give him a not so peaceful piece of your mind. You toss around to face him and when you do, you forget your annoyance as you’re met with a very distressed Tsukishima. His eyes are closed and his brows are furrowed together in almost a straight line.

“How bad is it?” You ask as you gently brush his hair away from his forehead.

“Like someone’s driving a fucking nail on my head,” he spats out with the crease on his brows getting deeper.

You gently slide one hand under his head and so you can massage his temples with both thumbs, hopefully it’ll soothe him even just a bit.

Thankfully, the crease on his brows and the tension around his nose and mouth eases up. “Where are your painkillers?” I ask softly. “I’ll go get one for you.”

He opens his eyes, a certain tenderness dancing in his orbs while he stares right onto yours. “Just stay here,” he utters delicately as he gradually slides his arm back to your waist. With a firm but still gentle grip on the small of your back, he draws you closer to him until there’s almost no space between your bodies.

This is different, way too different than he was earlier. And to be honest, you’d prefer that over this. This… it’s something even you cannot name.

Your thumbs stop moving on their own accord as he inches his face closer. You almost gasp for air with how heavy and thick it suddenly feels.

“Uh..,” you trail off without even saying anything. You just thought if you said something, it would break the tension. However, it only made it worse.

“Hmm?”

You seem to be the only one uncomfortable as he’s still gazing intently at you like it’s nothing.

“W-Why are you staring at me like that?” What the hell did you stutter for? This is just Tsukishima, goddamnit.

“It hurts less when I do.” You’d think he’s joking but there’s no trace of derision anywhere on his face. He removes his hand from your waist only to rest it on your neck, his thumb grazing your jaw as he says, “I don’t like that I can’t see you clearly right now.”

It’s too much.

Your chest feels like it’s about to explode from how fast your heart is pounding. You want to retract your hands away from him, but you can’t move them because having them there makes him feel better.

Then he looks down on your lips, a knowing look that you’re very much familiar with.

“Tsukki, we can’t do this,” you whisper, causing his eyes to go back on yours.

“What are we doing anyway?” he asks as if he’s not aware of what he’s stirring in you.

“You know what,” you insist. There’s no way he doesn’t.

“I don’t. Maybe if we actually do something, I’ll know what you’re talking about.”

You squint at him with disbelief, not buying the innocent act of him not grasping the situation when he’s the one causing it. “We already broke that deal, Tsukki.”

“Then let’s bring it back,” he counters right off the bat.

You sigh while shaking your head disagreeably. “You’re drunk,” you state plainly, reminding yourself of this fact to rationalize the way he’s behaving, to calm the havoc that he’s inciting in you.

You put your thumbs back to work and knead his temples again.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees as he closes his eyes again. He lets out a reposed sigh, then removes his hand from your neck.

You can now rest easy as the temptation backs away himself. You keep at it, observing his stern features which are getting more lax while you continue massaging him.

Finally, he does as you want him to do: sleep and keep his hands to himself.

So why is there a nagging emptiness brimming inside you? You’re not actually disappointed, are you?

“Tsukki,” you utter his name in hushed tones, hoping that he won’t respond.

With his eyes still shut, you thought he wouldn’t. Yet, he answers just as softly as you called him. “What?”

You sigh. Why is he still awake? He could’ve been asleep already or just stayed quiet and ignored you. Then you’d be able to sleep soundly knowing that you didn’t do anything that you could possibly regret in the morning.

You stop encircling your thumbs on his head and rest your palms on his cheeks instead. You lean closer to his face.

“If you change your mind in the morning, forget this happened,” you whisper before you succumb to the snares of attraction you’ve been running away from since you saw Tsukishima in the bar.

You capture his lips, gradually easing into it, giving yourself time to retreat before he responds. Apart from you not wanting to, he doesn’t give you much time at all as he puts his hand back on your neck and returns the kiss with a guttural sigh.

He eagerly nips on your lips, ardently moving against them as if he’s been wanting to do this for a while already. You respond with the same passion, pressing yourself closer to feel his body firm against yours.

He moves his hand from your neck to the back of your head, lightly gripping your hair as he coaxes your mouth open with the flick of his tongue on your lower lip.

You immediately yield to him, parting your lips so you can have more of what he’ll give. When he slips his tongue in and grazes yours, you taste the slight tang of alcohol. It’s very subtle, barely there, but it’s causing a buzz in your senses that no other liquor has provided.

It’s only a kiss, but you know that this is unlike the previous harmless ones you’ve shared with him.

Your soft moans on his mouth and his lips growing greedier with each nip tells you that this is one very dangerous kiss.

You drag your hand from his cheek to his chest to push him away, but he suddenly tugs your hair down, giving himself access to the column of your neck. This time, rather than nudging him away, you clutch his shirt tightly, feeling his mouth trail along the sensitive skin of your neck.

“T-Tsukishima,” you whine as his hand travels down your ass, his huge palm and long fingers tugging on the fabric as he gives one cheek a firm squeeze.

“Hmmm?” he hums on your skin before you feel his tongue swipe down on your collarbone.

Your skin is on fire but you feel like you’re drowning. Everything he’s doing is compelling you to want to go further than this, to let him touch you beneath the clothes you’re wearing, to let him kiss you wherever he pleases.

Tsukishima wants nothing but precisely that. He’d blame the alcohol, but nothing’s more intoxicating than the sound of your whimpers and your body deliciously pressed against his. His clothes hanging loosely on you only adds to his delirium.

He knows this is going to lead to something incredibly stupid and totally reckless, but stupid and reckless has never felt this delectable. How can he not indulge himself when the promise of your rapture is just within his grasp?

He just needs to know if you’re willing to cross the obscure boundary of the deal you once had.

He puts his free hand to use, sliding it underneath the baggy shirt you’re wearing. He carefully skims his hand up, grazing his fingers just below your bra. Meanwhile, his other hand on your bottom goes a bit further down, only for him to slip his hand inside the oversized shorts and feel your almost bare ass.

With his other hand feeling empty, he moves his palm up and kneads one supple bosom.

“Ah,” you clench his shirt tighter as you mewl from his touch. Even though he can’t see you clearly, your voice and the way your arch your body even closer to him is enough to cause a tent to form in his shorts.

He withdraws away from your neck and gets back to your lips. With his hand on your behind, he lugs you closer and grinds his erection on your thigh, letting you know how much you affect him, how much he wants you right now.

Then your body stills along with the quivering of your lips.

He pulls back to look at you and even with his blurred vision, he can sense that you’re frightened. “What’s wrong?” Just a while ago, you were melting within his embrace. Now, you’re shaking like a leaf.

“I-” Your breath hitches when you speak. “I can’t do this,” you whisper weakly even though you’re the one who instigated the kiss that led to this.

Although he’s confused about the sudden change of heart, he doesn’t push it. He immediately removes his hands off your delicate parts and puts considerable space between you.

“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to seem so scared,” he tells you with an insipid, yet reassuring tone.

You are scared, but not of Tsukishima. You’re afraid of yourself, of your own desire that’s starting to get out of control. You know that one more kiss and you’ll totally cave in.

It shouldn’t be a problem since you know that he wants you just as you want him. The hard thing poking at your thigh is enough proof.

But what happens if morning comes and he wakes up regretting his inebriated urges? He might not be batshit drunk anymore but alcohol is still running through him. If not, he wouldn’t be openly flirting with you.

What about you? What will be your excuse if the sun rises and he asks why you went along with his intoxicated whims?

None.

You’ll be held responsible for leading him to dance the devil’s tango when he’s not capable of consenting to it with a straight head. You don’t want that. You don’t want to see disgust and regret splashed on his face in the morning, not when you terribly enjoy his kisses and touch.

So you softly push him away. “I’ll sleep beside you, Tsukishima. That’s all I’ll do,” you say with your head down and palms flat on his chest.

“Okay,” he obliges right after you said it. “Do you want me to turn away from you?”

Your eyes shoot up and meet his somber golden ones. “N-no. It’s fine. I’ll do it,” you stammer as you shift your position so your back is facing him. You take a while before you feel your heartbeat getting steady again as the temptation dwindles down.

You’re about to close your eyes when a gentle hand lands on your shoulder.

“Can I hold you like this?” he asks, his voice a bit farther than it was a while ago. You can tell that he’s maintaining his distance this time.

“Just like this,” he reiterates with his hand squeezing your shoulder to let you know that his hand won’t drift anywhere else.

You shut your eyes with a faint smile on your lips. You place a hand over his and give it a light squeeze as you murmur, “Yeah.”

Your hand starts to slip down when tonight’s events offer you a last surprise. As your hand glides down while you’re starting to drift off to sleep, he laces his fingers with yours to keep it in place.

You hum peacefully with a gratified smile fully forming on your lips.

You allow yourself to have this.

What harm can come from holding hands with your tipsy blonde middle blocker?

You wake up a bit refreshed. However, you can still feel the aftermath of Tsukki’s heavy figure slouched on your shoulder last night, or was it morning already? You try to massage your shoulder but as you move your hand, you feel someone else’s intertwined with it.

You press your lips together to prevent a smile when you realize that you two slept together. It’s nothing. You shouldn’t be smiling because of it. It’s just a tiny gesture of reassurance that things are okay between you two despite what almost happened.

You carefully untangle your fingers from him before you sit up. You glance sideways to see if you woke him up. He shuffles a bit but doesn’t seem to have been disturbed.

You look out the window and see that the sun has barely risen, meaning you haven’t gotten enough sleep. You know it’s no use getting back to sleep since your mind is already fully awake. You wouldn’t dare get out his room but you’re parched and you need to use the restroom.

You step out of his room and gently closes the door. After you finish using the restroom, you carefully go down their stairs. You take a peek if any of his relatives is up and are relieved when you see that their kitchen is empty.

You saunter your way to their kitchen, remaining as quiet as you can be while you fix yourself a glass of water.

“Morning.”

You flinch and almost drop the glass you just finished when you hear the unexpected greeting. You look at the source and see Akiteru, leaning sideways against the fridge with an amicable smile.

“Oh!” You exhale a huge breath of relief as you put down your glass on the counter. You turn to him to greet him but when you face him, he eyes what you’re wearing. You follow his gaze and realize that you’re wearing Tsukki’s clothes.

‘It’s not what you think,’ is what you want to say, but you already said that at the stairs. If you repeat it again, you’d seem more defensive than you already were. But how else would you explain yourself?

You look at him with pleading eyes and a weary smile. “I swear, it’s really not what it looks like,” you insist weakly. “I just had nothing to wear,” you add to your defense. Akiteru laughs and waves his hand considerately.

“Don’t worry! I believe you, y/n,” he says with his honest, kind smile. “It’s a bit early for you to be up though,” he remarks.

“Yeah. My mind is all...” You hover your hands on both sides of your head and shake them while you roll your eyes inanely.

He chuckles from the antic you didn’t even realize you did. “Wanna chat for a bit? Since you’re all,” he imitates what you did with your head but quelled and contained.

You smile from how pleasant he is despite teasing you so much for taking care of his brother. “Sure,” you answer kindly.

He walks towards their dining table and offers you a seat. You follow curtly and sit across him. He regards you decorously, making you feel at ease even though he’s practically a stranger.

“I have to ask, y/n. There’s really nothing between you and Kei?” he asks genuinely. You can tell that he’s looking out for his younger brother, hence the straightforward question.

You shake your head with a courteous smile. “Nothing. I don’t know if you know, Aki-san, but I’m also his manager.”

His eyes widen.

“You’re the Sendai Frogs’ manager?”

He’s seen Kei’s games but didn’t really have the chance to meet those who stayed on the bench. In one game he has watched, he heard some people beside him saying how blessed the Frogs are for having a ‘hot’ pair of coach and manager. Although he glanced very briefly because of his curiosity, he didn’t really see much of said pair for he was too far away in the stands. You beam proudly at him as you nod, confirming that the other half of the duo is indeed as lovely as the rumors he heard. “For three years now.”

Akiteru scans your face and can’t help but feel like he’s misjudged you a bit. He thought you’re a university student who likes going out and enjoys the most out of college life. He didn’t think you’d be working as a manager for a team. “I was just making sure he got home okay because we need him for practice. The next game is already next week.”

“Isn’t it tough to be his manager?” he asks, curious about what you think of Kei as an athlete.

“Not really. I like everyone in the team. To be honest though, he was a real pain in the a-” you cut yourself off and clear your throat. You must have realized that you’re talking to him, Kei’s older brother. Although, he wouldn’t really mind if you continue what you were about to say. It amuses him actually.

“What I mean to say was he was a bit difficult at first. But over time, I got used to him and actually found him nice to have in the team. He’s very smart and very disciplined. Even if he’s apathetic and sarcastic at times, I know he loves being part of the Frogs,” you explain.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says truthfully as he sees that you’re fond of Kei when your eyes shimmer a bit brighter when you talk about his brother.

“Sometimes people misunderstand him because he acts detached. The truth is when he starts caring about something, he cares deeply. That’s why he has that cool, uncaring facade,” he adds as he stares at the surface of the table.

When he raises his gaze to you, you look a bit mystified.

“I’m sorry! I rambled a bit there, didn’t I?” he laughs tensely.

You smile graciously and wave your palms. “No! It’s fine. I just wasn’t sure why you’re telling me this,” you admit with an apprehensive simper.

He grins warmheartedly. “I just felt like sharing,” he answers even though the real reason is because he’s convinced his brother likes you too and you might need to know that aspect of him.

Kei wouldn’t have allowed you to take him home no matter how drunk he is if he isn’t comfortable with you. The entertaining exchange you three had on the stairs was another clue. Lastly, Kei let you sleep in his room and you’re even wearing his clothes.

“Has he always been like that?” you ask.

“Not really,” his smile fades, for he knows that he’s a big factor why Kei is extremely apprehensive of getting too passionate about something. He brushes it off and continues, “But he’s always had that sarcasm ever since he was little.”

You giggle at his answer. “Why am I not surprised?” you say amusedly before your eyes wander to the window.

“The sun’s up,” you announce softly. “I should go back to Tsukki’s room. I need to change and leave soon so I can attend my earliest class.”

“Of course! Thanks for the small chat, y/n,” he says dearly.

“Any time, Aki-san,” you respond buoyantly then stand up. Instead of going back to Kei’s room, you head to the fridge and get a bottle of water.

“He’ll probably be thirsty as f… hell when he wakes up,” you explain, receptive of Kei’s condition even though his drunk brother must have given you a hard time last night. You bow thoughtfully then head up.

He watches you get back upstairs, careful not to make so much sound from your steps since it’s still early. Then he walks to the kitchen to get him some coffee while thinking how well you suit his younger brother. Part 6 || Part 8 || masterlist taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu @expectonothinfromme @finnydraws @namelessidentity @hqbeesun @yatoatyourservice @mrkozume @suzuyamitsuki @celestialarchiveshq @yongboxerrr @gomenpudding @kutiekoge @fizzfrick @flamingosis @korean-bbq @ihaterainbowsprinkles @red-lint @backtonormalthings @borpcorp @lonelyheartxn @venomouscreatures @lucyrocks86 @shawtiie @honestlysora

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima angst #tsukishima smut #tsukishima kei #haikyuu x reader

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tamakissimp · 3 years

Text

headcanons - s/o with an infant sister

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: You suddenly show up with your infant sister at school.

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤: Kirishima, Shinso, Bakugou and Mirio

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: cursing, fluff

𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥: by anon. see here

𝕜𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕒:

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟜𝟘𝟠

a/n: i have no fucking clue how to interact with a baby so this was...fun to write

This man highkey has a thing for domestic stuff. So seeing you with a child makes his mind go into overdrive.

He will be slightly hurt that he only finds out now that you have a sister but he can't help but be excited.

After he found out that you have a sister, he will spoil her to death. He weekly gifts her shark-themed plushies and toys. His spoiling gets to a point where you have to tell him off about it.

But all he needs to do is show his big puppy-dog eyes and you can't deny him. So now 99% of your sister wardrobe are red articles of clothing gifted by Kirishima.

Just never ask him to babysit her for you, he can barely take care of himself.

To say he was surprised was an understatement. Seeing most of class 1-A fawning a baby was weird. Seeing you holding said baby was even weirder. How did you even get a baby?

"Kiri," you call out happily. You grab a hold of your sister's hand and wave at Kirishima using her hand. Her chubby finger around yours as she happily squeals. The poor thing didn't know what was going on. All she knew that there was a hoard of teenagers showering her in love and attention.

Kirishima takes quick strides towards you, pushing away his classmates. He bows down slightly so that he is eye level with your sister.

"Now who's this little pebble we got here?" he asks. You sister makes grabby hands towards him and he happily lets he grab ahold of one of his fingers.

"My sister!" you say happily. Confusion washes over Kirishima. You never mentioned that you had a sister.

"Oh," he says. He tries not to let his slight disappointment show as he lifts his free hand up to rub over your sister's chubby cheeks. Why didn't you tell him you had a sister?

His disappointment didn't last long though. His red eyes look up at you. A surreal glow seems to have formed itself around you. The sight of you with a little bundle of joy in your arms makes his heart swell up.

Kirishima would be lying to say that he hadn't fantasized of starting a family of his own. And now, seeing how beautiful and calm you looked with a child in your arms, he was sure. He doesn't hesitate before peppering soft kisses onto your cheeks.

"Kiri!" you say as you nudge him slightly. Even now, you went out of your way to make sure that your sister could remain in your arms comfortably. You turn slightly to push Kirishima off of you using your back.

"Baby, I'm sorry," he says as he turns you to face him again. You simply roll your eyes at him and ignore him, choosing to talk with Mina instead. Unsurprisingly, your pink friend couldn't stop cooing at your sister from the moment she saw her.

Kirishima stays still, not wanting to annoy you further when you are supposed to be caring off your sister. Though that doesn't stop him from making heart eyes at you. His heart swells at the sight of his domestic fantasies being fulfilled. God, he was whipped.

𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕠:

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟛𝟛𝟞

Shinso and babies don't mix well. He has no one how to act around them or what to do. It's the next level of awkwardness.

However, seeing you with a baby? Yeah, that's a whole different story. He tries to play it cool but he can't deny the fact that his heart is nearly beating out of his chest at the sight of you.

He will follow you around all day like a lost puppy. He will snarl at any classmates who get a bit too close to your sister.

Don't be surprised when he randomly shows up at your doorstep with a bag full of baby toys. Because he didn't have the best childhood, he now wants to ensure that your sister's childhood is as perfect as one can be.

Shinso stares at the child sitting before him. Drool drips out of the corner of your sister's mouth as her eyes bore into his. What the fuck is he supposed to do?

"Just look after her for a minute". That minute has now last fifteen times as long. Shinso has no clue what to do with a baby. Should he just leave her alone? Cuddle her? Talk to her?

"So," he says. Your sister perks up at his voice. "How's baby-life treating you?". In response, she lets out a happy squeal as she stuffs the plushy she's clutching in her hands into her mouth.

Shinso cringes at the thought of the stuffed animal now becoming saliva soaked. "Gross," he says. His head wipes around as he hears your dorm room door unlocked.

You stumble into the room with a couple of your classmates hot on your tail. Coos of adoration fill the room as your friends spot your sister sitting on your bed.

You press a soft kiss into Shinso's hair as you walk by him. "I'm so sorry," you say as you quickly walk over to your sister and lift her up. You cradle her to your body. You start rocking her from side to side on instinct.

"Some people kept me busy," you say while shooting a glare over to your friends. Denki and Sero quickly walk over to you and stare at your sister. Her hands lift up and tangle themselves into the boy's hair, happily tugging on the strands.

Shinso smirks at the whines coming from the pair. "It's okay," he says. His eyes stayed glued to your form as you lose your sister's grip on your friend's hair. His heart skips a beat as your sister's headrests against your shoulder.

Fuzziness flows over his mind as his thought are clouded by fantasies of what it would be like if you were holding his kids instead. He doesn't even try to stop himself. Maybe he didn't hate baby that much after all.

𝕓𝕒𝕜𝕦𝕘𝕠𝕦:

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟛𝟟𝟚

Bakugou likes to be all tough and say that he hates kids. He genuinely thinks he does. Until he sees you with your sister.

Now, he is a sucker for baby. His body tends to run warm due to his quirk and babies love to use him as a personal heating pad.

You know how people baby-talk? Well Bakugou, is a strange case. While his voice will be soft and sweet, he'll still call the people around him names. He'll be telling Denki that 'if he says another word he'll rip his toenails out' while cooing at the baby in his arms the same time. It's weird.

His life goals used to be to become the number one hero. Now, having kids is up there too. Ever since he met your sister, he hasn't been able to get the thought of little Bakugou's running around out of his head.

What. The. Fuck. "Idiot!" Bakugou yells out. You quickly wipe around. A smile creeps on your lips while you happily wave at him. He takes quick steps over to you.

"What the fuck is this shit?" he says while pointing at the child cradled in your arms.

"My sister?" you say. Oh. That explains a bit. He glances between you and the child in your arms. The resemblance was uncanny. Your eyes have the same twinkle and your sisters nose looks the same as yours. If he didn't know better, he would have said the baby was yours.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you had a sister?" he says. His tone is pointed and sharp though you can see through him. A warm blush is dusted over his cheeks.

"I did," you say as you pull your sister closer to you. Her head rests comfortably against your shoulder while her hands clutch into your shirt for dear life. "I send you a card when she was born. Didn't you see?".

Embarrassment washes through the hothead. His mom told him a month or two back that there was mail for him. A card coming from a classmate. He never bothered to open it, thinking it was from another extra in his class.

"Wanna hold her?" you ask. Bakugou gets snapped out of his thoughts. Him? Holding a baby? Anxieties run through his mind. What if he accidentally hurts him? He nods though.

You smile brightly at him as you help to ease your sister into Bakugou's hold. The feeling of someone so small against him makes his heart race. The way your sister's chubby cheeks gets smushed as she leans into him. Her hands grab into his shirt, just like she did with you.

Whimpers and coos fall over he lips as she stares into Bakugou's vermillion eyes. His shoulders drop and any tension he held in his body melts away. Fuck, he thinks. He likes this.

"See? That ain't that bad," you say. Bakugou simply scoffs. He looks down at your sister. A smile tugs on his lips.

"Whatever," he mumbles. One of his hands moves up to gently stroke your sisters head. Maybe babies aren't so bad after all.

𝕞𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕠:

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟛𝟙𝟛

It is a known fact that every baby on this planet loves Mirio. Maybe it's his big smile. Maybe it's his calming aura. Nobody knows.

He is such a family man. While his dream is to be a hero, before that, having a family was his number one dream.

Mirio is quite a nurturing person. With his friendship with Tamaki, he is always looking out for him and keeping him calm. The same goes for kids. He goes into big brother mode with every kid he sees.

Mirio is the epitome of a teddy bear. While he is big, muscular and can be scary at times, he has a heart of gold. Anyone gets baby fever from seeing him interact with children.

You close your eyes as you lean back into the couch. Sweet rest, something you hadn't had in a couple of days. Your parents went on a business trip and you took on the role of babysitter.

Caring for an infant is exhausting. Sure, during the weekend you could handle it. But now that Monday has rolled around and classes started again, you felt the burden.

Luckily, you had a knight in shining armour to come and save you. From the moment Mirio's eyes landed on your sister, she hadn't been out of his arms. He's constantly fawning over her and giggling along with her.

Now, both of Mirio's laying on the couch next to you, your sister resting on his chest. A bright cartoon show is displayed on the television in front of you.

"You're an angel," you whisper out, eyes still closed.

Mirio chuckles. "You've already said so five times, sunshine," he says while brushing your hair out of your face. A lazy smile tugs on your lips as you move over to rest your head against his shoulder.

"A real fucking angel," you repeat. Mirio nods, though you don't see him doing so. He glances between you and your sister. Both of you a nearly falling asleep while cuddling into him.

"When are your parents coming back?" he asks.

"Tomorrow.". Your words are slightly muffled as you push your face against his warm shoudler. "Then I'll be free again. No baby-bound-Y/n anymore.".

"That's a shame. You'd look cute as a parent,' Mirio says. Heat crawls over your cheeks. You let out a whine while playfully swatting his chest, carefully not to accidentally swat your sister. "It's true, sunshine.".

You don't reply to him. Instead, your mind chooses to finally doze off into sleep. Mirio smiles down at you before turning back to your sister. "Both of you are cute.".

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9layerdevilfoodcake · 3 years

Text

Some Of A Kind

Chapter 1: Virgin in the Chapel

(Michael Langdon x reader)

Summary: When you accompany your friend to a black mass at the Church of Satan. You pick the wrong time and place to let him in on the fact that you’re a virgin, garnering the attention of the ‘chosen one’ himself.

Warnings: murder, mentions of drug use, poorly represented Satanism

Word count: 3,666 (that’s right)

It was a typical Wednesday night when you got a text from your friend Tyler.

‘So what do you say? Is tonight the night?’

He had been bugging you for weeks to come see a sacrifice at the satanic church. And since the first time he asked, the conversation always went the same way.

“I’m telling you, just one slice and then you can have whatever you want”

“You mean I can have powers beyond compare?”

“Yes” he answered back, in a hopeful tone. Clearly he hadn’t picked up on the sarcasm in your voice.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the excitement in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you do whatever you want over there with your edgelords but I’m perfectly happy in my boring powerless existence”

“First of all we aren’t edgelords, we're satanists. We just see the world for what it is. A dreadful place full of selfish people.”

“Well I can’t say I argue with that”

“Exactly, so give in to being selfish, and start doing what you want. You work so hard, and for what a one bedroom apartment you can barely afford and bags under your eyes that are only getting bigger by the day?”

“Hey” you interrupt, slightly offended. Which only earns a laugh on his end.

“I’m just saying, you put in so much effort for no pay off, when you could do this one thing and have everything you deserve”

“What a cable package and a ‘skip the line’ pass at Disneyland?”

“I also get unlimited snacks!”

“Oh sorry how could I forget, well if one soul is all it takes to get a free waffle cone then what are we still doing here?!” You ask back, your tone full of mockery.

“Have you ever wondered why I can snort as much coke as I want and have never OD’d? Or why every girl I bring home is a certified 10?”

Actually you had, the two of you had met the year prior in a religious studies class when you were partnered to write a paper on whether morality was dependent on a god. He could barely get through a sentence without tripping over his words or looking away in embarrassment. It was sweet really, and by the end of the class you two had basically become best friends.

But about 2 months ago things started to change. There was almost always a girl leaving his house when you would come over.

You swore at least two of them you recognized from Victoria Secret runways.

One night you even saw a man leaving whose resemblance to Ryan Reynolds was suspiciously uncanny.

He got a new car without any explanation as to where he got the money, and he had so much coke in his living room you assumed he started dealing, before he told you it was just his stash for the weekend.

At first he was vague about everything, but eventually he told you the truth, or at least what you assumed was a version of it.

For his final project he wrote a research paper on the church of Satan.

You went with him to a couple of services when he was writing it, him being too nervous to go alone.

You both thought they seemed a little kooky, but relatively harmless.

Yet what you didn’t know was that he kept going back after the class ended and had gotten himself sworn in, and eventually given the honor of participating in a black mass.

Where he had sacrificed a school teacher in order to get these new “gifts”.

Now you weren’t naive enough to think he actually killed someone!

You were sure his new lifestyle was a part of some religious Ponzi scheme, and one day the debt collector would come calling.

You’ve watched enough documentaries to know better than to get involved with this.

But he is still your friend so you take it upon yourself to be supportive and let him have his moment, while simultaneously letting him know you’ll be here for him if the day comes that he gets excommunicated.

“I love you and I am so happy for all you’ve gotten, especially when you share it with me, but I’m good, really. I’ll let you know if I ever change my mind”

That dropped the subject for a while.

That is until a few days ago when you lost your job.

Well actually when your job was stolen from underneath you by your boss's son.

All it took was one night of bitching to your best friend for the talks of satanism to start up again.

So here you were bored on a Wednesday night actually considering his offer to watch a black mass.

‘Well…’

He texted back after a few minutes of no response on your part

‘Fine’

It’s not like he’s ever going to let up, you might as well go see what all the hubbub was about.

After he picked you up, you made your way to the church.

More precisely the back alley with a hidden door. Not at all unsettling.

And the rain pelting down on the robe he gave you just adds a nice ominese touch to what you're sure is going to be a long night.

Now inside you sit in a pew in the back. While the choir above you sings as the others file in.

They actually sound pretty good if you’re being honest. Maybe on your way out you’ll pick up the album you saw for sale in the lobby (for $6.66 no less).

You haven’t been sitting more than 10 minutes before the mass begins.

And in that time Tyler roughly explained what you were about to see.

You weren’t paying too much attention though. More enamored with the atmosphere.

It was a sea of red cloaks and black pentagrams. And the thunder outside appeared to clap along in sync with the crescendo or the choir.

This place seems vastly different from the shabby collection of misfits you encountered when you visited the first time. Who spent most of the service complaining and handed you a stale donut on your way out the door.

“...Y/n are your listening?!”

“Hmm Yea”

“Really?”

“Yea the guy’s gonna sacrifice some ‘innocent soul’ say a few hail satans and voilà he gets his hair back and starts getting laid again” you answer back, waving him off. You’re more interested in watching two Satanists in the front of the room give each other the “sign of the cross” gesture in reverse order.

“This is serious, the things you see might shock you but you can not react! If they think you’re some sort of threat to our secrets or even just afraid of them, it won’t end well. I’m kind of taking a risk by bringing you here”

That brings your attention back to your friend.

“So you hound me for weeks to come with you, but I’m not even allowed to be here?” You ask back, starting to wonder why you actually said yes to this.

“Well yea, I just really want you to see what I’ve seen, I want what’s best for you”

That was actually really sweet of him.

Now you felt a little bad for making fun of this so much.

That is until you see a man in the next row pull out a flask with “unholy water” written on it and rub it on his chest like Vick’s.

But before you get the chance to ask Tyler where he keeps his flask(which you're certain he has). The choir stops singing and the Priestess has the room's attention.

Everything goes as Tyler explains at first.

The “sacrifices” are brought in in their underwear. (They couldn’t even keep their clothes on, what does the devil give them a level up if the victims are humiliated before they die?) and tonight's chosen one, Phil, is about to take his position, before you hear a voice behind you.

“Wait!”

You turn your head to see an older woman rushing in, but it’s not her that steals your focus it’s who walks in behind her.

He is quite possibly the most attractive person you have ever seen. With cheekbones that could slice butter and soft blonde hair falling around icy blue eyes.

She says his name is Michael and this honor belongs to him.

You look over to Tyler to see what’s going on. He didn’t explain what part of the performance this was, was this some sort of second act surprise?

You were expecting this night to follow like a church service, watching Phil take his vows and minimal audience participation. Now you wonder if this is all rehearsed, or if the Satanist’s are partial to improv?

But Tyler pays you no mind, he can’t take his eyes off the blonde either.

It’s not until the Priestess mentions the “mark of the beast” and that he is the chosen one, that you get why Tyler is looking at him like he’s some sort of god.

Because to him he is, this guy is supposed to be the Antichrist.

Tyler says nothing only glances in your direction when he sees you’re the only one still standing, before he pulls you down to your knee like everyone else.

The rest of the performance is really top notch.

The flickering of the lights was a nice touch, but you can’t help but feel a little uneasy wondering how they keep getting the thunder to time up with everything they do.

Plus the bodies of the sacrifices fell to the ground almost too well.

How did they manage to get their bodies to look that lifeless, and why did those cuts look so deep?

But you try not to focus too much on it as you walk to the ceremonial Wednesday night potluck.

After the Antichrist has dismissed his followers from fawning all over him, you sit with Tyler at the end of the table and dig into your lasagna.

“So does the antichrist part happen at every sacrifice or is this one special? Is it some Satanic holiday I wasn’t aware of?” You ask, breaking Tyler out of whatever trance he appears to be stuck in.

“What?”

“I gotta say the dramatics were very entertaining, but if you really wanted to get me here all you had to do was tell me the guy who plays the Antichrist is really hot” you snicker under your breath.

“Play? Y/n your don’t understand he IS the Antichrist” he explains in a hushed voice before continuing

“That doesn’t happen every time, he really has come. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Don’t you see?! I think it was fate you came here on this night!”

“Ha, why do you need a virgin to sacrifice or something?” You laugh and take another bite before you look over and see Tyler staring at you with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You’re not serious are you?”

“Well yea, what’s the big deal, I didn’t realize you were so caught up on a social construct”

“I’m not, but you can’t say things like that around here” he looks around the room nervously and you follow his path of vision until your eyes land on Michael, who’s own gaze is locked on you.

There’s no way he heard you, you were across the room and you were whispering.

Still he continues to stare with eyes that speak only of intensity. No smile, no nod, no hint emotion whatsoever.

It’s only after you raise your brows and mouth a “What?” That he looks back down at his plate with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Oh Satan, I think he heard you. You should go” Tyler’s tone becoming more erratic by the second.

“What?” You’re sure he's joking, but when he looks at you there is nothing but worry in his eyes.

Now you’re starting to get nervous, this is too far.

He actually thinks these people are going to do something?

He’s practically shaking with fear, and because of the man in the turtleneck? Who barely knows how to hold a spoon?

Okay you’ll play along for tonight, but tomorrow you are having a serious talk, he might need professional help.

“Alright let's go then” you huff out as you start to grab your belongings.

“I can’t just leave, especially since our savior is here, but I’ll make sure everything is good and you’re not followed or anything”

“Okay, is there some sort of satanic shuttle bus that can take me home? Or should I call an Uber? Does this place have an address or should I just send them an inverted cross?”

Still unamused by your inability to grasp the gravity of the situation, he just shakes his head and hands you his keys.

“Here just take my car, I’ll get a ride later, in fact stay at my house incase you’re followed”

He’s basically pushing you out of your seat and nodding to the door.

“Okay...bye I guess”

And with that you take off down the hall.

You know you’re supposed to go straight to the car. You’ve never seen Tyler look so serious in his life.

But when you walk past the chapel you can’t help but stop. You can still see the bodies up at the altar.

Why are they still there? Was there a trap door you missed and these were just doubles?

Or were these people so committed to the role and as crazy as your friend that they had to stay in the character of “dead sacrifice” all night?

Curiosity got the better of you, the car could wait, you had to see for yourself.

Closer inspection did nothing to stifle your suspicions.

It looked so real.

They weren’t breathing, so there was no way they were still the two actors, but you had never seen fake bodies look so real.

You're reminded of an anatomy class you took last semester.

Those cadavers looked suspiciously close to these.

Just colder and with less life left in their faces.

And there was so much blood, the iron was thick in the air.

But that couldn’t be true. Your friend wouldn’t kill someone would he?

He didn’t actually think they would kill you?

If you got a closer look, if you just swiped some of the “blood” with your pointer finger it would surely taste like corn syrup and not like…

“Are you afraid?”

You whip your head around, blood still staining your finger and beginning to drip onto the linoleum. To see Michael walking in the same way he had an hour earlier. Only this time without the cloak, but with some newly added confidence.

“They’re really dead aren’t they?” You know it’s true, but you still wait for his confirmation.

“Yes, that tends to happen when you slice someone’s throat” He acts as if this shouldn’t be a shock to you. It didn’t shock any of the other members of the congregation. Yet you know without him saying it, that he’s well aware you’re not like the others. That you don’t belong here.

“So you really sacrifice people, just to get stuff” you blurt out. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that everything you witnessed tonight was real. Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken that last crescent roll you’d seen another satanist eyeing at dinner, you definitely have a curse coming your way. That is if you live through the night.

“Well not me” Michael says, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

“Oh of course, you’re the one they do it for”

“Well my father more specifically”

“Does that upset you?” You know you should be more careful about how you proceed with this conversation, but the words leave your mouth before your mind can stop them.

The question seems to catch him by surprise as he ruffles his brow, you’re not sure if it’s in anger or just shock at your brazenness. But he doesn’t answer. Just goes on to question you.

“Have you ever witnessed a murder before?”

“No”

“How did you feel watching it before your eyes?”

“Well I didn’t feel much, considering I thought it was all fake” That earns you a smile from him.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Curious”

“Really? Not scared?”

“No. Why should I be?” You’re really digging your own grave here. But your mouth seems to have a mind of its own.

“It seems your friend would say otherwise”

“Ah so you did hear.” You say, seeing his smile grow wider. “These aren't the days of the Old Testament, virginity doesn’t equally purity. Just ask sacrifice number one over there, with a body like that I doubt she was a virgin” you laugh, partially at your joke and partially out of sheer uncomfortableness. Michael doesn’t even spare the bodies a glance, eyes latched onto you, you go on to add

“I’m no saint. Despite my sexual history, or lack thereof”

“No, I’m sure you’re not” he emphasizes by swiping some of the liquid from your finger with his own, before taking it into his mouth. Making a show of it by closing his eyes as he releases it from his lips, slow as molasses. Smiling when he opens his eyes and sees you’re practically drooling.

Before his little show can go any further, you continue with your own questions.

“Have you killed people before?”

“Yes”

“How many?”

“You don’t have the time”

He’s looking at you waiting for your response. Waiting for the shock to subside and the shrieks of terror to take over.

Instead you just pause thinking everything over.

You should be scared, you know you should.

In one night you have watched two people die, found out your friend is a murderer, and that the Antichrist is not only NOT a myth, but is standing in front of you, conversing with you like he’s nothing more than your new neighbor.

Yet you search and search in your mind for any hint of fear and come up empty. All you feel is curiosity. You must be losing it too, you feel bad for judging Tyler so harshly. Maybe it’s his youthful face and the little outburst in the dining hall earlier, but Michael seems like more than simply the ‘incarnation of evil’. He seems so...human.

And more than anything he just seems confused and dare you say, lost.

“Do you like killing people? Or do you do it because it’s expected?”

“It depends”

“Would you like to kill me?”

Now it’s his turn to take pause, looking like he’s trying to decide if he’s “in the mood” to take your life.

“Not right now”

You can’t help but laugh at that (yea you’re definitely in shock). Soon enough he joins in too, and the mood feels lighter than it has all night. You might even say you feel comfortable.

That is until the laughter subsides and you meet his eyes. He’s now staring at you with the same intensity you’d met earlier at dinner.

It’s like he’s looking right through you, into your soul. You feel on display and more than anything afraid of what he might find.

“Stop that”

“Stop what?” He says with a playful tone and a tilt of his head.

“You’re..well..I don’t know what you’re doing but I don’t like it. You’re trying to get a read on me or something.”

He just smiles at that, because of course he does.

You know there is no avoiding playing into his hand. He wants to get a rise out of you, in one way or another.

“And what do yo-”

“Y/N!”

At the mention of your name you both turn to see Tyler standing in the doorway.

Antichrist or not, the look Michael gives him is enough to send a wave of fear up your spine.

He appears as though he’s about to snap his neck through just a look(and you're afraid to find out if he could).

Noticing his anger, Tyler stops and bows before Michael, apologizing incessantly for interrupting him.

You don’t miss the twitch of Michael’s lips. He’s clearly loving the effects he has on his followers.

You just roll your eyes at your friend.

“Calm down Tyler, get up”

He just let’s your words pass over him as if you hadn’t even spoken. If he hadn’t been the one to call your name a moment ago, you wouldn’t be sure he even knew you were in the room.

Every sense he had was aimed at Michael, and it was only when his precious dark lord gave him a nod that he got up and looked your way again.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going home?” He says through clenched teeth.

If he weren’t so worried about keeping you alive he would be pissed at you for not listening.

“I was. I am” you reassure him turning to Michael.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Michael, I’ll see myself out”

You are scurrying out of the room, grabbing a frozen Tyler and tugging him along with you, when Michael calls after you.

“No y/n, the pleasure was all mine.”

You’re at the end of the hall, and in the middle of Tyler’s scolding session, when you realize there is still blood on your finger.

It feels like it’s vibrating where Michael touched you, begging you to take notice.

Just wipe it on your jeans, you tell yourself.

Wait until you get to the car and find a napkin.

Do anything rational other than what you're thinking.

As you pass through the exit door, you cave and take a taste of the crimson on your finger.

Although you can’t see him, you know Michael is smiling. You can feel his smugness in the air around you and you're sure he knows what you just did.

This started out just as me wanting to make some jokes about Michael and the Satanists and has somehow turned into a multi-chapter fic. I still don’t really know where it’s going I’m just letting it take on a mind of it’s own. If it looks familiar it’s cuz it’s been on ao3 for a little bit now, so sorry it’s not a “new” new story! If you liked it that makes me very happy, and if not I hope it was at least entertaining! Either way thank you for reading!

(I wasn’t sure who wanted to be tagged just in my Xavier fic and who did in general so I didn’t add a tag list to this one)

#Michael langdon x reader #Michael langdon #ahs apocalypse #far too much sarcasm

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nice-kill-tanaka · 3 years

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🌄Bakugo + Rough & Tough Crush🌌

Looking for the whole set? Take Part 2 right here!

Summary: So, you’re a rough and tumble hero trainee huh? You don’t mind charging into a rightful battle headfirst? You have an incredibly gruff and inappropriate sense of humor? And you want to see if this boy can handle it! Well goddamn this is the scenario for you!

A/N: Not me using my daily internal dialogue for what Y/N says 😭💀(Also, I’m thinking of just doing one character at a time for the one-off headcanons for quality purposes.)

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💥Katsuki Bakugo💥

Let’s be honest here, Bakugo hated the living hell out of you at first

Your idealistic drive to be the strongest hero mirrored Deku’s philosophies a lot. And we know how Bakugo felt about that at the time

Before any real combative things came up, Bakugo thought you spoke a lot of inspirational seminar bullshit. But, when the curriculum would get a little harder than you thought it would? You’d wilt like a flower in a snowstorm

You did slightly below average on the physical assessment at the beginning of the year (which didn’t help in getting Bakugo to respect you), but he could tell that you were physically durable. So, at least you weren’t a complete liability in battle

On your end of the stick, you found Bakugo pretty amusing

While you liked a few things about him, like his stubborn one-track mind, and his nearly comical tsun tsun demeanor...He mostly gave you reasons to laugh at him

You swear it’s all in good spirits! But, your actions say otherwise when you profusely apologize to Midoriya for laughing when Bakugo threatened to blow his ass into next semester. And you were laughing at Bakugo’s short fuse, you promise!

Anyways, fast forward to the U.S.J. incident. The moment the first villains appeared, you shared a knowingly aggressive look with Kirishima (The guy you hit it off with since the beginning of the year)

The spark between your eyes practically yelled: “Like hell am I letting these bastards hurt my classmates.”

So there were you, Kirishima, and Bakugo, separated from the rest of 1-A in a random part of the U.S.J. that was a hazard from top to bottom. Ah, shit, other villains are there too

God, something about that underhanded villain tactic made your blood boil

When the three of you began fighting like rabid dogs, Bakugo caught a glimpse of the look in your eyes

While you were free of that “good vibes” spirit you met everything with, if you were afraid, you didn’t show it. An uncanny fire lit up everything you threw at your opponents. A fire Bakugo was all too familiar with

It was like looking into a funhouse mirror. The qualities you had were similar to Bakugo’s, but you showcased them much differently

On top of that, you were kicking some major ass out there

You really said “Damsel in distress?? Is that an island or something??” 😭

The number of villains you, Bakugo, and Kirishima took down were a pretty even split between the three of you. So, no one can say they didn’t pull their weight

Even after the heat of the moment, Bakugo could hardly identify the feeling in the pit of his stomach at the memory of you (It’s okay bby you’re just slightly turned on by y/n)

My guy just watched you rock his world with your sudden shift to a “take no bullshit” attitude. If he was gonna fall, he fell hard

And with the EQ this boy has, y’know what he does??

He mistakes his newfound crush for wanting to be in constant competition with you

Bakugo literally couldn’t accept that he simply admired the way you acted, and felt that you were another rival on his path to becoming the strongest hero

But, you couldn’t help but notice a shift in Bakugo’s demeanor towards you

He stopped insulting you like you were beneath him, instead using taunts and (quite aggressive) banter to get you fired up. It was almost like he treated you as someone on his level. Someone that Bakugo wanted to improve and get better so he could do the same thing with you

When you would tease Bakugo for random or trivial things, he’d never blow up at you. Instead, he wanted to provoke you. In an irritated and grungy voice, he’d say “fight me”.

You, being the scrappy little shit you are, would always reply with, “Oh, word?”

“Do it. You won’t.”

Cue the Bakusquad having to pull you two apart because it was the middle of lunch period you guys literally cannot be doing this-

(After you and Bakugo start dating, play fights [that are also very real fights] are a fundamental part of your relationship)

At the point Bakugo starts caring for your needs, things get a little weird

You get a lot of water bottles thrown at the back of your head, followed by a distinct: “HYDRATE OR DIEDRATE YOU THIRSTY FUCK. I’M NOT BEATING A MALNOURISHED BITCH INTO THE DIRT TODAY.”

Even though you never really mean to, you return the favor after you go into defensive mode: “AND WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU HAD A LEGIT MEAL?”

“LUNCH FROM YESTERDAY.”

“EAT.”

While you and Bakugo still aren’t romantically involved, physical affection isn’t quite affection to anyone but you two

Punches on the arm, light smacks to the back of the head, flicks on random parts of the body. Really anything that provokes the other person to fight back

Mina and Sero were the ones to pick up on Bakugo’s big fat crush, even though the signs weren’t that obvious

They saw how he subconsciously let out a smile (like the one he gave with Kota) whenever you did something awesome and (presumably) no one else was looking

They noticed that he got almost unreasonably aggressive when someone else would mention how cool you are. Responding with either a: “Damn right they are. And don’t you forget it!!” or “You could hardly dream of doing what they do. Train a little harder and grow a backbone, you might get close.”

It was almost akin to jealousy, considering how his brow would furrow a little more and his face would get the slightest bit red

Sero and Mina communicated their suspicions to Jirou, Kaminari, and Kirishima, and the overall agreement was that they needed to get you and Bakugo together

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[🌌Take this for your travels, bud. Don’t worry about paying me or anything, everything’s on the house! Though 🍁likes🍁 and ☘️reblogs☘️ are appreciated!🌄] — Reagan

#extra supplies #caravan commodities #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo #bakugo #bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #bakugou headcanons

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victoria-daydreams · 3 years

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The Long Way Home

Chapter Five: A Summer Place

AN: Claudia is back babyyyy!!!

Trigger Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.8k

Taglist: @iloveeverything-09, @eiferundruhe, @greatscott--wrongdecade

Chapter Six: Hell Hath No Fury

Claudia's POV

This was not what I was expecting today.

Today was supposed to be another ordinary day, I just returned from the airport an hour ago after dropping my parents off, it was a lovely week of fun spending time with my parents. And at that moment, nothing felt better than falling into a deep sleep, but the weather was too nice for me to nap the day away. The sun was warm enough, watery in the way it was just before the heat of the evening, but there was a slight chill on the breeze that would make you shiver for sure once you got out of the water wet, still it was perfect swimming weather.

Underneath my umbrella, I sat in my chair sipping from my glass of lemonade absently in one hand while my other hand held the latest copy of Jet magazine. This is how a summer day should always be. Refreshing. Cool. And with Andy Williams soothing voice as background noise, god, I almost wanted to dance and laugh and smile and sing all at the same time. For once, I was glad that none of the neighborhood children were begging to play in the pool.

Everything was perfect.

And then it happened.

I was enjoying the serene moment until a sudden rush of emotions gushed up to the forefront of my consciousness. Thrill, excitement, determination, annoyance, and curiosity they all flooded my senses. I could almost feel the tingling of my powers tickling me on my fingertips. But one stood out above all of them.

Guilt.

With the slightest of movement I flicked my fingers immobilizing four out of the five men in my backyard. "Now Hank," I called out, setting down my glass and magazine on a small table next to me. "When I invited you to stop by my house whenever you please, that invitation wasn't extended to a stranger, a wanted criminal, a drug abuser, and a..." I paused, loudly sniffing the air twice. "A dog," I finished, not bothering to turn around.

"I wouldn't have brought them along if this wasn't important," Hank explained. "We need your help Claudia," he added.

"You've go to be kidding me?" I breathed, as released my telekinetic hold. I swung my legs over the side of my lounge chair and slipped on the silk robe that was on back of it. "I let the maids take off one day and look what happens," I complained, rolling my eyes before lifting the needle of my recorder player.

I rose from my seat, sliding my shoes on and with a slow sauntering gait, I walked towards the group. I was thankful for the round, oversized sunglasses that I was wearing, for the dark brown frames hid how my eyes slightly widened at Charles' appearance. Charles looked...well he looked god awful, to be honest. He had always kept himself cleanly shaved, but now he had let his facial hair grow wildly on his face, even his shortly kept brown hair had grown out. And the dark bags under his eyes, it seemed like Charles hasn't a had good night's rest in years.

And Erik, for someone that's been imprisoned underneath The Pentagon he still managed to maintain his handsome, clean shaven, and chiseled face. You would think that the roles had been reversed, that Charles was the one who had been locked up and not Erik by their appearances. Numerous thoughts and feelings threatened to flood my mind, but I didn't allow it. Not yet. I just needed to focus on how to get them to leave.

"Wow, your lady friend is smokin' hot," the silver-haired boy stated, gawking at me in my v-cut one piece swimsuit which had the sides cutout.

I stopped in front of them with my hand on my hip, looking from the unknown man with sideburns to Charles and then Erik. Slowly, I used my free hand to remove my sunglasses from my face, my eyes narrowed.

"Charles," I greeted simply, as Hank shuffled slightly.

Charles stood in shock for a moment staring at me dumbly, probably just in as much shock from seeing me after all these years and how I changed. My long, black locks no longer fell down to my shoulders, but now floated above it in thick, tight curls of my afro. My chestnut brown skin was tanned from the warm summer sun, but still as radiant as ever.

"Y-You look well," Charles complimented smiling slightly, recovering from his lapse of silence, as he stared at me.

"You look like shit," I snorted, letting out a chuckle as I folded my sunglasses up and putting them into my pocket "The years haven't been kind to you have they?" I asked rhetorically, folding my arms together. "Tell me Charles, are you happier now that I'm gone?" I asked mockingly. "It sure doesn't seem like it," I added, really laying it on thick.

"Claudia, we are not here for this," 'Sideburns' grumbled.

I tuned my head slightly to the man, leveling him with a venomous look,"I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?" I questioned, arching a brow.

My eyes scanned over the man's appearance, he was a little more than six feet tall, and was probably in his early or mid thirties. He had to be military or ex-military because he was built like a soldier, his muscles seemed to be harder than a tree from the way his clothes clung to him. Dark brown sideburns came down his face which reached his cheeks along with a five o'clock shadow. Anger seemed to ooze out of this man's pores. I knew he could take care of his self in a fight if such an event were to ever occur.

"My name is Logan," he answered, his blue eyes burning like two hot coals as he stared into mine.

"Are you sure it's not Dog?" I asked, a wry grin appearing on my lips as I watched this man's jaw clench. "You know with the sideburns the similarities are...uncanny," I stated, shaking my head and focusing my attention to Hank who was next to me, and was about to open his mouth. "I could call the authorities you know?" I said, cutting Hank off. "Erik's bounty would fetch a substantial payout," I noted, tapping my index finger on my cheek, thinking.

"You seem to be getting on well enough as it is," Erik replied, flicking his chin out in regards to my home.

I raised my eyebrow, "So why settle for less?" I asked cheekily.

He scoffed in disbelief, "You would actually sell me out?" Erik asked, crossing his arms.

"I'm just doing my patriotic duty Erik," I answered, raising my hands up and shrugging.

"Claudia," Hank called softly, and I looked back over to him. "I know that you have every reason to be upset right now, but please hear us out," Hank pleaded.

"We need your help Claudia," Logan stated.

"Then go hire a maid," I retorted, waving him off.

Logan growled in frustration, "Do you know how much trouble we been through just to break Erik out of the Pentagon and now to get you?" he asked, furrowing his brows.

I slid my hands into my robe pockets, "Sounds like a personal problem," I replied, shrugging again. "I didn't force you to do any of this," I pointed out with a grin.

Logan's hand clenched itself in a tight fist, "Listen lady, I've had-" He gritted out.

"No, you listen!" I interrupted, stepping closer to him. "I don't know who the hell you think are to think that you can waltz into my backyard and start making demands of me," I sassed, looking Logan up and down. I stepped in front of Hank and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hank, under any other circumstance I would be happy to see you, or even help you. But due to the fact that there are some..." I trailed, looking back at Erik and Charles. "Undesirable individuals with you," I continued, focusing my attention back to Hank. "If I were to join this little party of yours it would never work. You see Hank, I live a very comfortable life now and I'm not giving it up for the likes of them," I finished, shaking my head.

"But it's not for them Claudia, it's for humanity itself. We're trying to save the world," Hank explained, giving me a pleading look.

"Hmmm," I hummed, a sardonic smile on my lips as I shook my head again. "Funny, they said the same thing in 1962," I remembered. "Truly Hank, it was nice to see you after all these years," I smiled, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before removing my hand and turning to face the men behind me. "But, it's time for you and your guests to leave. You have overstayed your welcome," I said, gesturing to the backyard gate. "Safe travels," I added, spinning on my heel and moving past Hank toward my backdoor.

"You're just going to let her go?" I heard Logan ask. "To hell with this," he grumbled.

"Logan don't-"

I went to take another step forward, but a calloused hand roughly grabbed my wrist, spinning me around and making our bodies bump into each other.

"We're not going anywhere until you fully hear us out!" Logan exclaimed, as I glared at him. "I'm not sure what it is about you that makes Charles and Erik so subdue, but I'm not them. I'm not afraid of you!" he announced, keeping his grip tight around my wrist.

Instinctively, my free hand bawled itself into a fist cloaked in a violet aura as a scowl made its way onto my face.

"Uhh...mister her hand is glowing," The silver-haired boy informed, as I swung a powerful blow to Logan's jaw, his body crumpling on the lawn.

"They're not scared, they just know better," I corrected, spreading my fingers out and the aura spread from my hand to encasing Logan's limbs. Forcefully, I planted my foot down onto Logan's chest, tilting my head as I looked down at him. "But you? Why in the world would you be? I'm nothing to be afraid of, as you can obviously tell. I'm far too small to be any threat to a big, strong man like you," I mocked, pressing my foot down even harder and Logan glared daggers at me.

"Claudia-" Charles began, but I just lifted one finger silencing him.

"Typically, I wouldn't be opposed to ripping your limbs off right now," I explained, stretching my fingers out slightly and Logan grunted at the modest tugs at his extremities. "But, I would hate to get this freshly mowed lawn all bloody. One of the neighborhood boys worked so hard on it," I commented. "Now, like I said before, it's time for you to go," I enunciated slowly, hoping that it would get through that thick skull of his.

I removed my foot from Logan's chest, shooting him one more glare before I walked to the backdoor. As I opened the backdoor to my home I released my hold on Logan's appendages.

"Wow Charles, you sure know how to pick them," Logan drawled sarcastically.

And with a wave of my hand I forcefully shut the door behind me.

Chapter Seven: A Woman Scorned

#x-men fanfiction #black fanfiction #x-men fanfic #charles xavier fanfiction #charles xavier x oc #black!oc #magneto x oc #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr fanfiction #erik lehnsherr x oc #erik lehnsherr x reader #charles xavier x reader #black!reader #x men fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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whirlybirbs · 4 years

Text

( gif from the lovely @starwarsfilms. )

--- LOVE SICK. ;

summary: khairyn sar is an important holiday within nabirian religion -- it celebrates love and fertility. obi-wan gets a gift for you from the lower-level markets, aided by a helpful women who urges him to buy a certain plant... pairing: obi-wan x handmaiden!reader, established in this fic & this fic as well. word count: 8k warnings: this is porn with a dash of sex pollen trope / nsfw, 18+ a/n: i am literally not even sorry. here’s a late valentine’s day piece for you all, my lovely lil valentines. pls don’t repost!

It’s a holiday.

Maybe not on Coruscant, but to the Naboo senators and delegates on Coruscant, it is.

Padmé’s usual senatorial garb is exchanged for one of deep reds and a grandiose headpiece that mirrors the visage of Khairtai, the goddess of Fertility and Love. Beside her, Dormé, Sabé, Ellé and yourself bear a smudging of crimson down the center of your foreheads. It’s from the crushed millaflower -- ground into a fine, deep red powder and blessed by the resident royal Pontifex.

Your outfits mirror Padmé’s, hair pinned back tightly into a tight, neat braids with a golden pin halo-ing your heads. It’s of religious significance; each comb bearing two bounding ash-rabbits. Symbols of fertility.

The Royal house of Naboo, namely the Amidala’s, are one of many devout to the Brotherhood of Cognizance -- a polytheistic, monastic, allegorical based religion. Padmé herself was a larger worshipper of Shiraya, the goddess of the moon; Obi-Wan, on more than one account, found himself rather enraptured with the large statue on the outside patio of her Senatorial apartment upon visits with his friend.

In the evening sunset, the goddess’ moon shaped harp frames the horizon quite perfectly. Obi-Wan always wondered if it was some sort of metaphor -- perhaps that Padmé was right where she needed to be, away from the throne and serving her people worlds away.

She’d moved to Coruscant following the ending of her second term of Queen, promptly slipping into her elected position as Senatorial representative. With her, she’d brought Dormé, Ellé, Sabé, and you -- along with a small squad of royal guards. Though, Obi-Wan believed she hardly needed them. Padmé’s handmaidens were more than capable.

You were more than capable.

Obi-Wan, from the upper deck of the Senate’s session, can hardly tear his eyes away from you -- you look rather stoic beside the ex-Queen. You’d joked a few days ago to him that you needed to mind you expressions when some of the other Senators spoke. Obi-Wan bites back a chuckle when F’aralo Pxo from Ithor finally stops babbling and your awfully sour look fades.

Crossing his arms, the young Jedi Knight watches as the session is dismissed by Sheev Palpatine and the large, cavernous room begins to dissipate of senators and delegates.

Obi-Wan Kenobi catches you and the others on the sixteenth floor, about to enter Padmé’s apartment.

“Merry Khairyn Sar.”

He strides close, like a glimmering star flashing across the sunset. Handsome and bright-eyed -- you wonder if your heart will ever cease it’s crescendo of excitement when you see him. Your stomach flips and you can’t help but stare at the appearance of one certain Jedi Knight.

The gaggle of women turn on their heels, their faces lighting up at the appearance of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Your face, by far, is the brightest.

“I only have a minute, but I thought I might come say hello.”

The two of you bite your tongues, amused little smirks threatening to bloom on your faces. It’s childish, but it’s lovely.

Padmé laughs happily at the sight of you both, moving to gesture for Obi-Wan to come in -- once inside the apartment, the Jedi is quick to loop his arms around your waist and haul you high; the reunion is short and sweet and brings smiles to the faces of your closest confidants as the move to spread throughout the apartment. Your earrings sway as you grapple with his shoulders, sliding down him when he places you back on the plush carpet carefully.

The others have known since... gods, what? Years ago?

Before Anakin had even reached puberty and before Obi-Wan had started growing this beard out. You recall in this moment the first time you’d seen him since his diplomatic mission to Naboo, when you’d fallen in love with the kind-hearted Padawan, and how the others had been so keen on seeing the romance play out on the tarmac.

They had, after all, read the correspondences the Jedi had sent in the time apart from one another.

It’s been four years since -- and yet, the sickly sweet tempo of love is still enough to make your knees weak. Seeing him, though often enough now that you’re permanent residency is on Coruscant, is still enough to bring a needy whine to your heartstrings.

“Don’t you have a Padawan to be minding?” you grin, kissing him quickly as he smiles. The prick of stubble tickles.

“The younglings have a trip to the Archives today,” Obi-Wan explains, bowing slightly to chase your words with a kiss to your cheekbone, “But I do have a council meeting within the hour..”

You swat at his chest gently. “What have I said? Anakin is not a youngling. He’s fifteen --”

“Acts like it,” Padmé supplies, pointing at Obi-Wan who mirrors her amused-yet-trying-not-to-seem-it look, “I’ve heard the stories.”

“I’ll have greys because of him soon, I swear it.”

Another kidding swat. This time, the ruddy haired man catches it and laughs warmly. He holds your hand closely, kissing your knuckles. Your face grows hot as sheepishness creeps up your collar due to the semi-public display of affection.

“I have a gift for you,” he says quietly, eyes softening, “For Khairyn Sar.”

You should have known Obi would have figured out about the holiday.

He was a romantic -- charismatic about love and flirtatiously sweet.

Of course a holiday celebrating love would be right up his alley. You hold your tongue -- you wonder if Obi-Wan truly understands the meaning of Khairyn Sar, or if to him, this is a just a small patronage holiday dedicated to romance.

Khairyn Sar is an important holiday within Cognizance. Weddings and performative engagement ceremonies are large parts of the holiday, as well as... well, plainly put: conceptions.

Nearly every devout Nabirian’s dream would be to conceive a child on Khairyn Sar. Those born within nine months of the day are said to be gifts from Khairtai herself, after all. Those with the blessed with being a Khairtai’é frequently found success within relationships, love, and careers. Fertility meant more than simply sex.

Padmé is a Khairtai’é. She truly did have the making of a Queen.

Ellé speaks up from the couch, balancing her vibroblade on her fingertip effortlessly and watching you both. “...Obi-Wan, you do you have a brother?"

“Maybe a cousin?” asks Sabé, melodic and sweet, “A single cousin?”

“A sister, even,” Dormé croons, dropping her chin into her hand -- her voice goes a bit mopey, “I wish someone would bring me a gift for Khairyn Sar.”

It is akin to announcing your love to the world, after all.

Obi-Wan offers one of his trade-mark smiles. The dimples beneath the blonde shadow of his beard are charming and Padmé can’t help but grin as he watches you blink up at him with a moonstruck look that says it all:

You love him.

“I’m afraid not,” he apologizes, hand gracing the small of your back, “Though, if I find any formidable suitors of the Royal Handmaidens of Naboo, I’ll make sure I let you all know.”

“You better,” Dormé swats at his shoulder as she passes by, hanging her cloak and grinning when the Jedi leans to swats her back.

In the last few weeks, he’s become a fast friend -- they’re all within the same age, and Obi-Wan had fallen easily into a brotherly cadence when it came to the girls; you trusted them all, and so, he did as well. Happily. He’d known them all briefly from the time him and Qui-Gon had on Naboo during the negotiations with the Trade Federation... Dormé, Sabé and Ellé had all been on the Nubian by your side when you’d first met the charming Padawan.

“I’ve got to go,” he breathes, leaning to kiss the crown of your head, “Will I see you later?”

You nod, enjoying the warm pass of his fingers on your cheek.

“Of course,” you promise, “Dinner?”

"Dex’s?”

You groan happily, bending a bit in the knees as you nod vigorously at the thought of fries and a shake. Not the most glamorous meal, but a favorite of you both and a safe haven from the Senate and Council.

“Yes, please.”

Obi-Wan grins, tosses a wink, and sneaks out the door with a wave.

As soon as the door shuts, Dormé is quickly to speak.

“You better marry that man.”

“Someday,” a mindful smile, “For now --”

“For now,” Ellé points, “Please give that man a night worth remembering.”

“Ellé!”

You scold your sister-in-duty with a sheepish look of modesty on your face, swatting at her as you fall beside her on the couch. The others laugh.

If only you had any idea what was in store for both you and Obi-Wan.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

You meet him outside of Dex’s as the sun begins to set, happily falling into both his arms and the smell of fried food wafting from inside. It’s not often that you’re able to make the trek to the lower levels with him, and seeing the friendly Besalisk owner, Dexter Jettster, was a perk -- the four-armed man had always been kind to you. Fatherly, almost.

He’s tenfold that with Obi-Wan.

Dex happily supplies a hot plate of fries and two bantha burgers you and Obi’s way, free-of-charge. Dex mentions something about owing Obi-Wan for dealing with “those damn kids last week”. You raise a brow, taking a big bite of your burger, and Obi-Wan waves his hand.

“Street kids,” a shrug, “Pick-pocketing.”

“They stole the damn credit drawer!”

“Mm,” you mumble shaking your head at his uncanny ability to downplay every situation, “Always the humble hero, huh?”

He nudges you with his boot as he laughs, dropping his gaze into his meal. You have a way of making him feel sheepish. It’s been years, but your words of flirtation still strike him in his composure. His cheeks are rosy when he looks up, wiping sauce from the corner of his beginning-beard.

“You love it.”

“I do,” you waggle a fry in his face, spurring a breathless laugh from the Jedi, “Very much. So much, that I’m spending Khairyn Sar with you, in a diner, eating terrible food -- no offense, Dex... Says a lot, y’know.”

“None taken,” the cook calls out from behind the counter, “Merry Khairyn Sar, kid. Yer lucky, Obi-Wan! Those Naboo girls usually spend tha’ holiday with th’ man they’re set t’ marry --”

“Hear that,” you call, raising a finger and pinning Obi in his spot with an amused look as you both play-off your well-kept secret, “You’re lucky.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan clears his throat nudging your boot as you nudge it right back, “Aren’t I, Dex?”

“Sure are,” the Besalisk chortles, “If y’ weren’t a Jedi I’d say hurry up ‘n’ marry ‘er already!

Oh, if only he knew.

“Thanks, Dex,” you say sweetly, throwing an appreciative look the cook’s way, “And thanks for keeping this one in line.”

A big, guffaw of laughter meets your words and Dex hits the counter. “He’s trouble!”

“He is,” you shake your head, “He has everyone fooled. Everyone thinks he’s a flawless Jedi Knight, but he’s trouble. I’ve been saying it for years...”

Obi’s eyes crinkle with fondness. You mirror it.

“I love you,” he mouthes when Dex’s back is turned.

“I love you, too,” you mouth back.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

You like Obi-Wan’s quarters.

They’re very him.

Warm, quiet and neat.

The room could be considered a bit small, but with a reasonable sized refresher and a large bed, you find no reason to complain. There are a few trinkets lining the shelves above his bed -- tokens of missions and trainings.

Among them is a pebble from the beaches of the Lake Country; one he’d taken before leaving Naboo after the negotiations. You and him had spent hours on that beach, swimming and rolling in the sand, before things changed. Before Qui-Gon’s death and his rise to Knighthood.

He doesn’t have many belongings, but so is the way of the Code.

His bedroom is a familiar space, now. You’ve spent many nights in this room, tucked beside him in the vanilla colored sheets. You wish it was every night. But, you both knew you needed to keep suspicions low. You were just thankful that Obi-Wan’s direct neighbor, Aayla Secura, was wise enough not to ask questions.

The lights to his room are warm and low, illuminated strips of light coming from beneath the shelving -- the large bay windows that reach from floor to ceiling frame the colorful air-lanes illuminating the night sky of Coruscant’s Senate District. Like stars weaving a path, traffic moves slow across the horizon.

Obi locks the door behind him before his hands find your waist and he drops a kiss to your shoulder. You can feel the warmth through the layers of your cloak and dress, smiling as he fiddles with your hips and noses your ear.

“Do you want to see the gift?”

You nod, chewing your lip and turning to catch him in a quick kiss. The Jedi leans in, putty in your hands. Obi-Wan makes an appreciative sound when you hold his jaw, pulling him over you as you bend back a bit.

“Alright,” he says, a little breathless, before pecking another kiss, “Stay here.”

You do as your told, laughing as he takes two steps forward only to retreat back for another smile-laden kiss. He disappears into the walk-in closet; as he does, you strip your cloak from your shoulders and toss it on the bed.

Obi-Wan returns, sans his own robe, clutching something behind his back.

You quirk a brow, noting the incredibly excited look plastered on his face.

“Close your eyes.”

“Obi-Wan,” you warn playfully as you do as your told, “If it bites --”

“It doesn’t bite.”

“I swear,” you outstretch your hands, palms up, eyes closed tight, “It it bites...”

He’s laughing. “It won’t bite!”

Suddenly, there’s a cool, heavy weight in your hands. It’s glass, you realize quickly, and as Obi-Wan smiles, you peel your eyes open and quickly sigh in awe.

“Obi...” the bouquet is large, with three or four different flowering bursts of color nestled inside a large vase, “It’s beautiful.”

You’re quick to move across the room, placing the bouquet down on his desk as he hovers, watching you tut over the flowers -- all of them Naboo natives, you realize with a slack jaw. Your whirl around, handing finding his chest. He smiles, dimples kissing his face.

“You didn’t have to --”

“Oh, hush,” he chides, hand sweeping a circle along your lower back as you bend and admire the plants with gentle hands, “I wanted to.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“I only wish...” a soft sigh as he leans forward and pokes at the stem of a deep purple plant that’s clasped shut tightly, “This one refused to bloom, it seems.”

In hindsight, you should have known better.

You should have known what was going to happen when you reached out and touched the plant the same time as him. You should have known a puff of pink pollen would come flying out, right into your face. You should have known the smell would make you gag and Obi-Wan do the same.

You should have known.

You stagger back, grabbing his arm.

“Oh gods --”

“Open a window.”

“What the hell was that thing, Obi?!”

You should have known.

“Open a window!”

“It’s moving,” you screech, carrying the vase in outreached arms as your make a disgusted face and quite literally run to Obi-Wan who is throwing open the small window of his refresher, “Ohmygod, does it bite?!”

“I don’t care to find out!”

“It smells,” you choke, “It smells --”

“Give it to me --”

“What’re you -- Obi!”

Obi-Wan Kenobi, trained Jedi Knight and well-regarded rising leader within the Council’s tanks, promptly takes the bouquet from your hands and lobs it out the thirtieth story window of his quarters’ refresher in the Jedi Council building, vase and all, all while maintaining eye contact.

He quickly slams the window shut and drops his hands to his waist with a panicked look on his face. He looks pained, like he can hardly believe he just did that.

There’s a beat of silence as your mouth falls open, then you cry:

“...What was that thing?!”

“I don’t know!” he throws his hands as his agitation peaks, “The woman at the market said it was for Khairyn Sar -- she kept, gods, she kept saying it over and over --”

Oh.

“... Obi.”

“... What do you mean ‘Obi’?” Obi-Wan’s voice nearly splinters, panic striking hard and fast across the Jedi’s face at the slow realization in your tone, “Don’t say -- don’t say ‘Obi’ like that -- You know it worries me, when you say --”

“Did she say Khairyn Sar,” you annunciate the syllables slowly, moving from the bathroom and sitting on the edge of the bed as you dot the sounds with your finger in the air, “Or, did she say Khaitai Rysar?”

Obi-Wan blinks.

“... Is there a difference...?” he pushes a hand through his hair as you drop your head back and groan; quickly he breathes out a sheepish mutter, “From the look on your face, there’s clearly a difference --”

“Khairtai Rysar is a plant -- named after the two god’s who... they... it’s... Oh my gods --” you drop your face into your hands, not bothering to tip-toe around the subject any longer, “You bought a sex plant, Obi-Wan!”

He blinks. His mouth moves but no words come out. His brows climbs his face. He tilts his head. The look is owlish and mildly terrified.

A pause.

“... Excuse me?”

His voice is an octave higher than usual.

“Khairtai Rysar is a plant from Naboo,” you squeak out, flopping backwards onto the bed and groaning, “It’s a gift typically given to newly weds. It’s got a pollen that acts as an powerful hypnotic aphrodisiac --”

"Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“-- When we touched it, it must have blossomed,” you barely manage, rubbing your face and sighing, “The spores are extremely potent. Any contact with them is...”

Obi-Wan’s face falls and when you pull your hands from your face, you see him staring at the spattering of pink pollen across your nose and cheeks. You shoot up straight before pulling away your hands and gawking, realizing you need to wash your hands right now because you’re covered in the pollen --

Quickly, you dash into the refresher as your curse when you see your now pinkish reflection and make work on scrubbing your face and hands.

Obi-Wan had lucked out -- well, to a degree. The pollen had only caught him partially; cast off from when you’d staggered back and grabbed onto him.

“Oh, this is horrible,” you mumble, washing your face with ice cold water and staring at him in the mirror, “Horrible, but hilarious -- stop looking like you’ve murdered me --”

“I feel horrible!” he cries, face pulled into an apologetic look, “Gods, I’m sorry --”

“Maybe we can... just... sleep it off?” you offer, wiping your face with a towel he offers, “Right? I mean, I’d by lying if I said I wasn’t anticipating us sleeping together anyways --”

Obi’s fiddling with the facial hair along his jaw, nodding as you speak. “Well, yes. Considering the holiday -- I’d planned for it.”

“I mean -- I feel fine,” you wave your hands, “Do you feel fine?”

“Yes,” he nods, sea-green eyes watching your expression, “I -- I feel fine.”

You’re both panicking.

“Okay,” a little squeak, “So... let’s just... try -- try to sleep it off. For now.”

“And if we can’t?”

You hesitate. Both of you swallow.

“Let us cross that bridge when we get there,” Obi-Wan offers, sounding a bit pained, not even wanting to think about the answer to his own question.

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

Neither of you can sleep.

It’s been about an hour since the entire debacle began.

You’re both laying awake, staring at the ceiling, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Not that you can blame one another -- you both tend to shoot as straight as an arrow when it came to... stimulants. You really had no need for death-sticks or spice, and Obi-Wan was the same. Having come to terms with the fact you both will be out of control in a matter of hours is a bit terrifying, especially considering the delicate balance of things.

Hiding your relationship wasn’t easy.

In reality, it brought with it a wide array of challenges, including the whole fact that you and Obi-Wan, more often than not, needed to be quiet and quick about sex.

Your encounters were always sweet; always gentle and loving and brought on by moments of happiness or longing. Seeing him for the first time in a while always brewed up arousal in your gut -- you couldn’t help it. It came with the territory of love. Just seeing Obi-Wan smile somedays was enough to snap that coil and wind it tightly in your gut.

After all, he is so damn handsome.

Even now, looking mildly horrified and extra concerned, he looks handsome -- his profile illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from the windows.

The Jedi exhales, rubbing his face, and turns to eye you in the dark light of the room.

You’re already staring -- in the dark, he can make out the trace of a smile on your lips. It’s endearing, and it puts him at ease to know this big mistake hasn’t caused you to hate him

Yet.

“Do you feel any different...?”

You shake your head, pulling your lips into a grimace.

“Maybe I was wrong?” you mumble, “But I’ve heard others tell stories about the smell. Like... rotting meat. There was a guard once, when I was in the Naboo Royal Academy, who was out for an entire week on account of the plant. He’d just been married and...”

Obi-Wan swallows. “I can’t believe --”

“Ah!” you tut, raising a finger, “Stop -- if we’re both about to be off our minds on some aphrodisiac love pollen, it’d just like to remind you that this could be a lot worse.”

“Oh? And how’s that?”

You roll over, prop your chin up in your hand, and quirk a playful brow. “You know I’m good at riding things out --”

Both of Obi’s brows rise at your words, his face warping into something of curious contemplation -- he props his head up, mirroring your position in bed. “Has the pollen already gotten you in its grips, then?”

You laugh, ducking your head and snorting a little. “I’m just saying! Trying to stay positive.”

“You’re a wretched minx and you know,” he mumbles, leaning in to steal a kiss, “That I quite enjoy when you do ride things out. Ever the optimist.”

“So, worst case scenario...”

“We lock ourselves in this room for a week?”

“Or we just... get it out of our systems. Ride it out.”

Obi-Wan hums, flopping back down to the pillows. “Right. Ride it out.”

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

That bridge Obi-Wan had talked about crossing?

Well, it arrives a little past midnight.

And along with it, a roaring river runs below.

You wake up feeling like your body is two hundred degrees and climbing. At first, you’d just figured you’d had one too many covers on you -- Obi-Wan did have a bad habit of being a small space heater -- and so you’d opted to crawl on-top of the covers. But, even that’s not enough.

In your half-asleep haze, you’d nearly forgotten about the earlier events of the night. But, it’s when the sudden urge to strip flashes to the forefront of your mind, you remember exactly what had happened with that damn Khairtai Rysar plant.

You’re peeling off the spare tunic Obi had lended you in a flash, skin glistening with a feverish sweat -- you give in to the urge and nearly sigh when your skin hits the cool air.

Your eyes drift as you sway a bit, room spinning slightly from the quick movement.

The moon casts a cool glow over the man snoring softly beside you, his own shirt having been discarded a few minutes ago. His arm is over his eyes, his entire body above the sheets.

His trousers hang low on his hips and you watch him breathe out a sigh.

He’s dreaming.

The dip of his waist is where your eyes glue themselves, for some reason, and your lapse in reality draws to a conclusion between your legs. The ache there is... horrible. Suddenly, you realize you’re uncomfortable, and you shift in bed. Your mind feels like it’s six steps behind your body.

You lay back down, rolling over to bury your face into the pillow, and groan.

This is bad. This is really bad.

And from the timing of it, it was only going to get worse.

It wasn’t as if you and Obi-Wan hadn’t had sex before -- you had, plenty of times in plenty of places you maybe shouldn’t have, but this was different. This was... This was the sort of thing you’d both heard horror stories about. Hours and hours of feverish impulse, little to no control... Wonderful if you’re trying to conceive a child on the eve of Khairyn Sar, like the market saleswoman probably thought when she sold Obi the plant.

You sigh, a small smile worming it’s way on your face despite the circumstances.

You just want to skip to the part where you can both laugh about this.

You try and keep yourself present -- but it’s getting harder with the sensitivity to every slight breath coming from the body beside you. Your mind wanders as you try to count yourself to sleep; your mind has better ideas, readily delving into fantasies that feel like half-truths, and the ache between your legs worsens.

You’re mid-dream of Obi lapping between at your core when he moves, brushes your arm, and you jump awake.

“Sorry.”

You can only manage to grit out a muffled moan.

The Jedi rolls, ignoring the evident hardness that’s now painful in his trousers, and eyes you carefully -- you’ve stripped, the only thing on your body are the thin, red satin bottoms on your lower half. Sweat is glimmering along your back, and Obi-Wan feels a twang of guilt build in his chest.

He rolls, props himself up, and touches your spine. It was supposed to be a calming gesture, one rooted in apology, but...

It’s a mistake.

Your body reacts immediately, a gasp wringing itself from your throat as your fingers tighten in the sheets -- you grit your teeth, raise your head and nearly plead:

“Please,” a whisper before it all rushes out, “That... feels good.”

You can’t find the words to explain that his touch is like pour ice water over a burn. It feels wonderful. You squirm against the mattress as Obi tries to catch his breath. His lungs stutter and he ghosts his fingers along your spine once more -- this time, it sends a pang of arousal straight to his gut.

“I... I think,” his voice is hoarse and his throat is tight, “I think --”

You just chew your lip and nod, nose brushing the pillow as you remain face down. You feel it too.

It’s all he can manage. His brain is a foggy mess of fantasy and arousal. You’re the focal point of it all; the force around you is louder now, mingling between him and his sensitivities. His fingertips brush the dip of your spine and you inhale sharply, nerves alight at the contact. He can feel the sensation along his own spine -- it’s like a punch square in the gut.

Then, on the hazy impulse of some rose colored pollen, Obi bends, slowly, and kisses the blade of your shoulder.

You whimper, gasping slightly when his hand spreads flat across the back of your ribs and sweeps along your skin, bringing with it a electric sensation that throbs your sex with painful, empty want.

“Obi...”

“This is...,” he breathes, lips ghosting your shoulder, “Not good.”

“It hurts.”

He couldn’t agree more. His brain feels like it’s on fire. When he closes his eyes he only sees you, spread out beneath him and saying his name over and over and over -- fucking hell. His voice is low. “What do we do?”

You pull yourself up in bed, hair wild and eyes set in dark circles. You look dazed and far-away, but your attention is rooted on him.

You reach out and touch his chest, busying your touch with the thatch of reddish hair there. Your fingertips buzz and your body cools immediately -- Obi-Wan leans into the touch, his hand finding yours as he exhales a shaky breath.

“Ride it out?”

Obi’s eyes are as large as dinner plates at the recommendation -- the usual green over-taken by his dilated pupils; his touches are hungry. He nods, Adam’s apple bobbing furiously as you shift closer.

“Ride it out.”

It’s a downward spiral from there.

You both surge forward, meeting for a kiss that’s like being plunged into an icy lake -- it soothes a bit of the fever, waves of relief coming in the form of wandering hands and messy love-bites. You roll yourself on-top of him, pushing your arms up beside his head and gasping when the Jedi grabs your jaw and pulls you right back down for a kiss that steals the very air from your lungs.

... This is different.

You whimper, collapsing to his chest -- and Obi shudders at the brush of your clothed hips against his own. He feels like he’s drowning in you, happily, and his whole body is alight from your touch. His brain is six steps behind his body and the room spins around him as he pushes himself up and you follow suit, sitting up in his lap.

Instantly, calloused hands snake around your waist and you have to bite your lip so tight you draw blood to keep yourself quiet when Obi-Wan’s mouth latches onto to the curve of your breast and bites a tender little mark there. Your hands shake, tightening into the tufts of hair at the base of his neck as he makes an appreciative sound at the reaction and blinks up at you from underneath thick lashes.

Gods above this is heaven.

Everything feels so... hot. Tight and needy and wet and just the mere pass of his hands along your waist has your squirming in his lap as his tongue draws up and around the swell of your right breast. In a flash, he’s taken the perk nipple there into his mouth and your body quakes.

In response, you fist his hair. Tight.

And he moans. Right against your skin, gasp worming itself from his throat as you get the message and tug again -- this time exposing his throat and allowing yourself to dive below his stubble and little sloppy little kiss there to his delight.

His whole world is swimming with pleasure and he can feel his own arousal throbbing eagerly in his trousers as your nails run along his scalp and drift to his beard, giving the hair there a gentle tug.

His heart stutters, mouth dropping open as you laugh greedily into his neck.

“You like that?”

A breathless nod; he’s stuck on the way you speak -- half-way in the room and half-way in his mind. Obi-Wan feels like his whole heart is going to give out; he can’t focus, to stuck on your body and the way the force is running directly between you both like a pool of water. Each touch casts a ripple and...

Fucking hell.

He flips you both, pressing you into the mattress with enough force to rush the air out of your lungs and make the bed creak; you can’t help but muffle a surprised laugh, shoving your hand over your mouth lazily as Obi-Wan noses your jaw and litters exploring kisses down your neck and shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes into your skin, stubble raising goosebumps along the hot burn of your fever. You shiver, fingers greedily looping into his hair as he bites a daring little mark into your décolletage, “You’re so beautiful --”

He sounds like he’s underwater. Your hearing is going in and out, eyes half-open to watch the sight of him drifting lower and lower and lower and...

Obi’s fingers brush the band of your bottoms and you gasp loud enough that his eyes shoot open and he moves to slap a hand over your mouth.

The motion is rough enough to spur you on, lending you to arch your back and laugh headily into the skin of his palm. You feel intoxicated -- like you’re tipping over the edge of a blissful high and every touch is enough to make your legs shake.

“I’ll be quiet,” you murmur, plucking at his fingers and watching his eyes grow darker -- you sit up, gripping his palm, before darting your tongue out to draw around his index finger. Instantly, the Jedi turns to putty, and he drops his head as he curses. You laugh, taking his whole finger in your mouth, before he pulls away and sweeps his hands under your bottom.

“Up.”

It’s not a request. It’s a demand.

Your lower abdomen burns with arousal as you do so, lifting your hips and allowing Obi-Wan to snag the band of your underwear and drag them down your hips. You can feel the wetness brush your thigh as he tosses them over his shoulder. Your legs shake a bit, hands winding into the sheets as Obi-Wan hangs himself off the bed and presses your legs apart with warm hands.

There’s no precursor, no build-up.

Not that you need any.

He just lays his tongue flat to your soaking clit and groans, like it’s the first meal he’s had in days. The vibration is heavenly. Your whole body goes hot-white at the sensation, need to feel full peaking in that moment; your arms collapse and you fall back to the sheets gasping as the Jedi between your legs traces the swollen, pink folds of your sex with his tongue. It feels like you’re not even in your body -- like you’re floating somewhere above the moon and swimming with the stars.

You taste like honey. Sweet. So damn sweet. And he can’t get enough of it.

The sensation of his mouth on your center isn’t the only thing winding the spring in your gut higher and higher. It’s... hands. Everywhere. Touching you where his hands aren’t -- across your waist and pinning your thighs down to the mattress as you squirm, in your hair and running across your breasts as you quiver. It’s like you’re the center of three people’s attention, and you realize with a wanton moan that it’s the damn force.

“Obi...”

He raises his heavy-lidded eyes only for a moment, arms wound around your legs as he holds the apart. A lock of his hair has fallen into his face and you can feel his stubble grace the inside of your thigh as he smiles.

“Sonofabitch,” it rushes out when a non-visible hand ghosts your jaw, trailing down your throat eagerly, “Is that -- is... Obi --”

“It’s me,” he mumbles, pulling away for a moment -- you can see your wetness along his chin as he sways a bit, his grip tightening on the flesh of your thighs, “I’m here.”

And all over.

You move to dig your fingers into his hair, only to watch one of his hands gesture slowly through the air and -- suddenly, both of your hands are above your head and you’re arching against the mattress.

“I’m busy.”

It’s all Obi offers in explanation for the action, jaw falling open as his tongue presses deep past your entrance; once, twice, and again. He rightly fucks you with his tongue, and you suddenly snap.

Your whole body quakes with an orgasm that sends your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. He coaxes you through it, tongue sweeping up your clit as you shake and moan and cry his name over and over.

“What a good girl.”

The reaction is wonderful -- but, it begins an even further downward spiral for you into the land of need.

Suddenly, the fever flares in the glow of the come-down. It’s worse. Hot and terrible and the ache between your legs isn’t stopping.

You mumble, bleary and quiet, trying to keep your voice level. “I n-need more.”

He does as he’s told, watching as your chest heaves and you continue to squirm despite the light hold on your wrists. In his mind, he traces the curve of your waist and you jump -- it makes him chuckle. It gives him enough time to let go of your thigh and slip his middle finger over your clit, down your folds, and past your entrance.

Gods, he loves you.

His name spills over your lips so sweetly, Obi has to catch his own breath.

It’s when he crooks a second finger deeply into you that he gets a real reaction -- this one stirring the haze in his mind and making his thoughts spin. You writhe and gasp and buck your hips down onto your hand, all while begging for more.

And who is he to deny you that?

Suddenly, the pressure for your wrists is gone.

You sit right up, hair a mess and lips pulled into a terrifying snarl -- you grab the back of his head as he shifts up the bed, slamming your lips onto his and clawing at his back; the Jedi can’t help the desperate whine that worms out of him.

Somewhere, far in the back of his mind, he hears himself promise to get Aayla an apology card.

“Lay down.”

Your voice is low, and Obi’s brows raise slowly -- he looks fucked out of his mind, but it’s just the pheromones and the force making it hard to think. He obeys the demand wordlessly, rubbing at his face as his head lolls back against the pillows --

Then, your hand ghosts along the imprint in his trousers and he sees stars.

If this is what you’d been feeling... Gods, he’s two beats from coming himself. It doesn’t get any easier -- maintaining some semblance of pacing and composure -- when you tug the hem of his trousers down and away.

Obi bites his knuckles so hard it draws blood.

Everything feels so... overwhelming.

It’s only elevated when your hands brush the warm flesh of his cock, eyes hooded with lust weighted lashes. Your bottom lip only brushes the underside of the head and Obi-Wan has to grab something to ground himself.

His arm bows above his head, securing itself to the pillow. You watch his bicep flex with a greedy gaze.

“You’re so beautiful,” you breathe, tongue darting out to slip flat along the very base of his shaft, “I love you -- so much.”

He can’t speak. Not at all. His mouth moves, but nothing comes out -- only a desperate sound of approval muffled against his knuckles when you take the tip of his cock into your mouth and giggle. The sound has his hips twitching at the vibration. You notice, and happily slip your mouth farther along his manhood.

Obi-Wan just swallows, inhales sharply, and muffles a needy moan behind both of his palms.

Your nails run down his sides, causing the muscles there to jump -- years of training has given him more of a physique than he lets on, and you find yourself watching him hungrily as you bob up and down his member. It’s sinful and in no way pretty, but Obi’s two beats from death’s doorstep when you pull away and swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Gods --”

You crawl up his side, kissing him hotly as he leans to meet you halfway.

“I -- I need to feel you,” your whisper, voice shattering, “Please.”

He sits up, moving quickly to drag your towards the edge of the bed -- you follow, watching as his cock brushes his stomach when he sits up; it’s all you can think about. Right now, the hollow ache between your legs is driving you mad.

Obi watches as you throw your leg over his hip; he can see the glistening of wetness running down your thighs there -- and the fact the room smells like flowers hits him suddenly. The pollen, he realizes. Which is better than it smelling like sex, which in a few hours, it most definitely will.

You hover above him, backlit by the moon and the sight of Coruscant’s night, and kiss him like it’s all you need in this world. Everything is mingling together, painting an overwhelming collection of synapses just trying to rid the pollen from your system. Every touch, every kiss, every breath... all of it is enough to have you needing more.

“Go ahead,” he breathes, watching as you nose his cheek and sigh, melting into his arm, “I’ve got you --”

You sink down on him and...

That’s it.

There’s no better feeling in the world.

Nothing like riding it out.

It’s all him and it’s wonderful and loving and thick and fits the need just perfectly. His fingers dig little half-moons into the skin of your sides as he gasps, mouth falling open as yours does above him. You don’t need time to adjust; you instantly pull yourself upwards and pack down the slick heat of his cock again. The fever washes away with every thrust, your need escalating to sheer bliss by the time Obi-Wan has finally begun to get his bears.

His grapples with you, words stringing together praise and adoration through messy kisses and delighted moans.

“Just like that,” he whispers, snapping his hips up into yours as you scramble to hold onto him, “Gods, you’re so perfect --”

You tighten a hold into his hair and pull, spurring his words to fall off into pleasure and for the sound to be smothered by a bruising kiss. He’s tipping into the territory of carnal, now, hands scaling your back to lift you up and guide you back down with enough force to make you see stars.

“S-shit --” you hiss, throwing your arms around his neck, “Again.”

So he does. Again and again and again and you’re shaking. Your legs are burning, pace stuttering into a disjoined slow -- and it prompts Obi-Wan to take the lead. You nearly shriek when he lifts you off his member fully and tosses you to the bed, forgetting their previous position in favor of one where he can fuck you right into the mattress.

Calloused fingers slip between your legs as you grin, legs spread wide and back to the sheets.

Above you, the Jedi’s smiling. “Let me do the work.”

A shaky nod; he climbs over you, bracing himself up on his elbow beside your head. His cock slips into you easily -- the sound you both make is akin to bliss. Again, the fever begins to receded. Now, his hands are in your hair and your legs are hiked around his hips. You can feel your muscles shaking with each filling of your core.

“I love you,” it’s muttered against your lips, bodies jostling with each impact of pleasure, “I love you so much --”

Your arms are tight around his neck when he bends, lifts your hips, and drives home.

It’s world-ending -- before you can even vocalize it, you’re screaming his name and coming so hard you swear you hear something in your chest snap. You shake, tightening harshly around his cock and working his own sudden orgasm out of him in a blink; suddenly, the whole bed moves an inch with a sudden push and the room rocks on impact.

BOOM.

He’s grasping at you, catching you as you writhe against the sheets and send him spilling a mess everywhere. Inside you, across your thighs, along your stomach. He can’t help but muffle the mantra of your name into the skin of your shoulder as he heaves and shakes and tries to grab your hips for stability with one hand.

There’s a moment, then two.

Then, Obi-Wan collapses next to you on the sheets.

His eyes are wide, chest rising up and down quickly as he swallows and turns to look at you beside him. You’re no better, arms spread out and jaw slack -- there’s a smile on your face, one that blooms into a laugh when you raise your head and stare down at the mess between your legs.

You drop your head back and Obi-Wan exhales slowly.

His voice shakes.

“... I feel better.”

“Yeah,” you muster with a tired laugh, “Me too.”

✶ --- ✶ --- ✶

The next morning is... interesting.

His room is a mess. You both wake to find nothing is where it was before. All the trinkets adorning his shelves have flown across the room and even the bed as moved an entire foot from its usual location.

There’s a crack in the wall where the headboard meets the dura-plaster.

You both wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a land-speeder, full throttle.

Obi-Wan sits straight up and you nearly scream when you see the state of his neck and back. He’s covered in dark purple bites, and running down his back are welts from your scratches. You’re in no better shape -- you face plant into the carpet upon first attempts to stand.

You both stand in the refresher, slack jawed and just as dazed as you’d been when you’d finally won-out the pollen last night, sometimes around two in the morning.

You just know that the girls are going to have a lot to say about this.

Obi-Wan spares you a single mortified look -- and you both burst into laughter.

Gut-wrenching, tear bringing laughter that sends you both out of the refresher and bracing against the objects in his room. He’s smothering a terrible snort when you try to speak.

“I can’t... I can’t believe --”

“Merry Khairyn Sar?”

You shriek, swatting at the Jedi’s arm as he descends into another bought of laughter. You can’t worm the smile off your face. At this point, you don’t want to.

“I need breakfast,” you point, gathering up your gown and robe from the day previous, “Before I can handle the trademarked Kenobi snark.”

“Dex’s?”

“I’d love to see you try and explain those hickey’s on your jugular to him,” you prod at his neck, earning you a delighted kiss on your way to change in the bathroom, “So yes.”

“Oh, trust me,” he waggles his finger, “I’ve got everyone fooled, you know --”

Obi-Wan eats his words when, after cleaning up, dressing, and straightening his quarters, you both step into the hallway only to come face to face with certain an exhausted looking Twi’lek.

Aayla Secura most definitely heard everything.

The apologetic look she offers is enough of a give-away as you cover your mouth and Obi-Wan guides you away before you can even utter an apology.

“Morning, Master Secura!”

Once you’re in the elevator, the laughter begins anew.

Obi-Wan will find a way to make it up to Aayla.

After all, it was a holiday.

Maybe not on Coruscant, but to the Naboo senators and delegates on Coruscant, it was.

#obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan smut #obi-wan kenobi lemon #obi-wan imagine #star wars imagine #nothing like. a little porn.#nightfall & daybreak

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latenightcinephile · 3 years

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#703: 'Marketa Lazarová', dir. František Vláčil, 1967.

Marketa Lazarová is a slightly unusual film for me, because its effects go slightly beyond my ability to articulate or explain them. I originally saw it at a Film Society screening in 2015 or 2016, back when I was able to go to movies at 6 p.m. on a Monday evening, and it enthralled me then, splayed wide across the screen at the Paramount in crisp black and white. I knew very little of Czech cinema at the time and, embarrassingly, still haven't seen very much. Coming back to it five years later, it still holds a lot of that arcane power that it had. Marketa Lazarová is simultaneously a meditative experience and a gut punch.

František Vláčil was one of the Czech filmmakers who was originally trained with the Army Film Division, which surprisingly became a breeding ground for avant-garde filmmaking styles. Vláčil became disillusioned with the types of historical films that were being produced at the time, which seemed to him to feature contemporary people pretending to be characters from the past. What was needed instead, he argued, was a more immediate form of historical cinema that made audiences feel like they were witnessing history rather than a lacklustre interpretation of it. In order to achieve this, he frequently joined his cast and crew on long-term shoots where they lived in the types of conditions that the characters would. Sets were built using traditional methods, and scripts were written using archaic dialects to avoid that common experience of characters speaking in a recognisably modern way. The shoot for Marketa Lazarová lasted almost two years in these conditions.

The film's plot concerns three groups. The Kozlík clan, a family under the helm of a robber baron, robs a noble entourage and takes Kristian, the son of the bishop, hostage. Before Kozlík's sons can return to claim their loot, a neighbouring clan led by Lazar steals the spoils. Lazar is saved from being killed when a vision of a nunnery on a hillside appears. One of the chief themes of this film, alluded to early on, is the conflict between paganism and early Christianity. The two worldviews are muddy and indistinct, but the difference between them is what drives a lot of the retribution in the film. Kristian falls in love with one of Kozlík's daughters, Alexandra, while Kozlík's son, Mikoláš, falls in love with Lazar's daughter, Marketa, whom he has taken as a hostage in retaliation for Lazar refusing to side with Kozlík against the king and the bishop. In addition to the religious dimension, then, there is also an ongoing theme of where one's loyalties lie - with existing morals (family, God) or with the person you love. Over the course of this epic, the fates of all three groups trend downhill: members of each of these bands are slaughtered and betrayed; Kozlík and Alexandra are imprisoned; Marketa is released by Mikoláš but rejected by Lazar. The film's conclusion seems to suggest that it is Marketa, and the future generations she helps to bring into the world, that will be able to overcome the divisions that affected the clans so catastrophically, but also acknowledges that these types of conflicts are part of the human experience.

As vast and interwoven the plot of the film is, it's not what makes the experience of watching quite so transcendent. What makes this film feel like an out-of-body experience is Vláčil's use of non-linear and non-realistic techniques. Parts of the film's story are told in flashback, but without any explicit indication that this is happening. At times we see disconnected, hallucinatory images that only make sense when they are contextualised later on. One example of this is an erotic scene between Alexandra (Pavla Polášková) and a young man, who we assume to be Kristian (Vlastimil Harapes). It's only later that we discover that this is a flashback to an abortive romance between Alexandra and her brother Adam (Ivan Palúch) - a man I had initially disqualified from appearing here because Adam only has one arm in the current scenes. Revealing that it is Adam propels the story forward in traditionally linear fashion, but also causes the viewer to reassess the film's earlier scene to determine why these images are included there. These images are made further alien by their unexpected visual qualities: the sex scene takes place in a field of summer grain, but most of the film's 'present day' takes place in winter and early spring. Rather than ascribe them to an unmotivated flashback, it seems easier to read them as a poetic hallucination, and then Vláčil returns to reorganise what we had previously believed of the narrative.

As well as the narrative structure, Vláčil frequently employs long periods of silence and a seeming mismatch of cinematography, where figures are either oddly close to the camera or absurdly far away. On a deep level, it feels like nobody, even the director, has total control over what is being portrayed - like we've entered a kind of fugue state in which cinema just happens regardless of how legible its results are. Although its filming process was so long, the resulting scenes feel accidental or improvisational, culled down from a vast amount of footage.

While many of these techniques give us the experience of watching a dream of an imagined past, these techniques are also quite violent and confrontational. Even when the shots are distant or filmed in long takes, they're cut together in a jarring way, and the lack of a straightforward narrative makes it difficult on the viewer too. The activity implied in this method of editing, a complicated soundscape and opaque narrative combine to make Marketa Lazarová a film that feels very immediate and present. As Tom Gunning put it, writing for Criterion about his early encounters with the film, "an energized mobile camera and abrasive editing peers into a primitive era of human history." Just as the characters of the film are quick to anger and quick to act, the film also lacks temperance. This is a film of life and death in its most vital forms, and so it makes a certain kind of sense that Vláčil would, in defiance of the typical historical film, try and remove any layer of modern logic or reason that would prevent us from experiencing the film's events in a visceral way. This is also why the myth of the werewolf hangs so heavily over the film - invoked a few times by Kozlík's wife, and present in the appearance of his children and their uncanny survival abilities - it both defies modern logic and refers to a particularly corporeal type of monster.

Vláčil structures Marketa Lazarová with sudden intertitles that refer to the events and themes that we are about to see, in a poetic way that recalls the chapter titles of a 19th-century novel. 'On the Lot of Widows' and 'Who in the Past Brewed with Hops' provide the vantage point of someone placed about the action, narrating it to us in a distant sort of way. The music is similar: both ancient and modern, it frequently uses atonal incantations. Taken together, it feels like this story is being shouted at us from a distant time when things were more tactile. "The presence of animals and plants, the textures of stone and tree bark, of snow and marsh water," Gunning writes, "cling to us as we watch, often overriding the narrative."

The grand experience of watching this film is partly contradictory, then: this is a film that feels very modern, tells a story from the past, alludes to contemporary struggles, and when situated in Czech film history is wildly experimental. Gunning sees this film as being, in some respects, a statement about what Vláčil thought cinema could be, in those days of the 1960s where most national cinemas were experiencing their own variations on the New Wave that had developed in France. The experimental aspects of the films of Godard and Varda would be subsumed into the traditional toolbox of cinema and lose some of their vibrancy as a result - either directors would use them for blockbuster films or extend them into a new type of experimental film that was sterile and aloof.Considering this, it's worth appreciating exactly how daring Vláčil was being here: under a Communist regime, making a film about paganism, bestiality, sadism, incest, and torture. With all this darkness, Marketa Lazarová is a bright film, even funny at times. Humanity is a fallen, self-destructive thing, but there is something about this way of life, before it was layered deep underneath civilisation, reason and enlightenment, that was exciting and vibrant.

Does civilisation mean we lose something of our potential? The final narration of Marketa Lazarová tells us that these cycles of mistrust and anger are likely to repeat through the generations, but is that a price Vláčil thinks is worth paying? The urgency and difficulty of life in the distant past was inseparable from the superstitions of the time, but the urges were easier to sate, at least temporarily. The taming of these clans, like the taming of the avant-garde techniques Vláčil employs here, might have been inevitable, but this film shows that there is something valuable there nonetheless.

#1001 movies #František Vláčil #Marketa Lazarová #Czech film #epic

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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PARTY FAVOURS | A MYSTERIOUS INTERLUDE

first time reader click here

This is a scrapped chapter. Originally, I was planning to 1) give Reader a longer, more intense destructive streak before her ending up with Tony. I planned three or so chapters that involved an abusive Quentin Beck, but, ultimately decided that to be too cliché. 2) I had planned to write at least 30% of the fanfic in Tony's/third person POV. This chapter would have been number 11/12 - Tony would have rejected her advances in the lab & she would have got hooked on Beck's charming facade.

Why am I publishing this? It seems like a waste if effort to shelf it, plus, it's Tony's POV. You can skip it since it has no relation/bearing on the current story. Just a tiny "what might have been" tidbit.

It was a moment's notice. One second, they're standing in a group, laughing, soaking in the warmth from the fireplace, chattering amongst themselves, telling tall tales and sipping their liquor. It all goes black briefly, and then they are surrounded by darkness - it's nearly impenetrable, so thick that their voices echo in it.

Tony's body was encompassed by the nanotech suit immediately after his eyes and his brain adjusted to the rapid change of surroundings. His teammates, too, had their skills honed on an instinctive level - the faint thump of Mjölnir in Thor's hands, the golden-green glow of his brother's magic, whirring of Barnes' prosthetic arm. Steve's shield stayed tucked behind the living room couch but his enhanced physique and readiness to fight 24/7 has him covering the unenhanced Clint and Natasha in mere seconds.

Tony was mostly angry rather than afraid. The team was having a good time at his party and the chance encounters of weird shit like this had been reduced to nearly zero percent possibility thanks to Friday's screening process: supervillains, Hydra agents and the likes strictly prohibited on Stark-owned premises.

It was a strange coincidence Banner had to take a break to check up on one of his experiments not even five minutes before the rest of the team was experiencing the strange change in scenery. Speaking of Strange, the sorcerer also was nowhere to be seen - Tony distinctively remembered seeing Stephen ten feet away from the bar, engaged in a hearty debate with the lead of SI's Medical Engineering department.

"This is not magic," Wanda piped up from behind him, confused. "I don't feel anything on the usual frequency. It sounds more like Friday humming in the walls, like electricity."

Good to know, Tony thought. It was nice having someone who was familiar with the undiscovered side of science - after all, Tony had always considered anything 'magical' to be science he had not personally understood yet. Wanda's most redeeming quality in Tony's eyes was the fact that more often than not she seemed to be as clueless as everyone else when it came to her powers and didn't act so high and mighty as some other people. Cloaked people, and horned people, for example.

"The fuck, man? I was hoping, just one evening, one normal evening with my beer and wings," Clint whined. Tony could hear Natasha huffing in annoyed agreement.

"Mr. Stark, what are we going to do?" His very own spider-child, on the other hand, sounded distraught. Peter's voice has this funny thing it does when the boy is upset but tries to hide it: it quivers on the vowels, wobbles slightly.

Tony had to blindly grope the air for a moment before his arm found Peter's shoulder. The boy was shivering and took the offered comfort eagerly, folding into the older man.

"Okay, whoever is pulling this stunt, my advice is: don't," Tony sighed, 12 000% Done With This Shit™, exclaiming loudly. "If that's a prank, stop it or speak up. If you got beef, then you got some nerve doing this in my tower. Show yourself."

He could feel the fine hairs on his neck stand up as the team tensed next to him, readily gearing up to pounce. Peter was vibrating in Tony's arms and the billionaire suddenly remembered the curious side-effects of Peter's powers, the spidey-sense. It must have been going absolutely haywire - the kid nearly hyperventilated himself into a heart attack.

"Stark, I must apologise for the uncomfortable circumstances. Believe me, it was a necessity - you always demand attention, whereas I need people to pay attention to me for a moment. Don't worry, you'll get yours when the time is due."

The voice was vaguely familiar. Male, slightly nasal but quiet and creeping. Insinuating. It lacked the usual boisterous bravado of a mid-grade bad guy, Tony had to take an educated guess that the owner of the mysterious voice was well-off, white. Privileged. No hint of desperation in it, as if the man was pitying everybody.

"The fuck? Q, is that you?"

Oh shit, Tony realized in muted horror. She must've been hanging around somewhere in their vicinity - which wasn't unusual, the girl usually orbited around Barnes, Wanda, Peter or Bruce. All of whom were present at the party. Tony had forgotten about her, to his shame, somehow having had automatically assumed she trotted out of the room on Bruce's heels. His science bro and her acted like conjoined twins when it came to their scientific ventures.

"Stop talking," The man growled, the voice suddenly coming from a very different direction. Tony heard a distinctively feminine yelp, albeit muffled. Peter violently jerked in Tony's arms. The engineer put the superstrength of his suit to use, holding the teenager down.

"Aw, hell no!" She yelled, the indignant shrieking followed by the sound of a moist palm slapping something glass...y? "What the fuck? I am asking you again. Are you... Oh my God, are you wearing a fishbowl on your head? Ow, motherfu-" The rest of the sentence is muffled, garbled. Whoever this "Q" was, she obviously knew him and he had silenced her. And, apparently, Q had an uncanny choice of headwear.

Tony was sure the rest of the team had followed his lead on doing a spit-take. They've fought enough supervillains with more than questionable fashion sense but a fishbowl? That was new.

"Be quiet, baby. It's for your own good. I don't want to hurt you if I can help it," The Fishbowl chastised her.

Tony's confusion once again returned to irritation at the frivolous way the villain addressed his science buddy. Peter's friend would have been more accurate but Tony had put her into the 'science bro' category not too long ago. They were close, as much as they could be, with the age gap and totally different interests and... The immense amount of guilt Tony felt for his attraction towards the girl. He was a dirty old man and she was barely an adult.

Every damn day Tony did his best to avoid making a shiny, big, new problem. Yet her brains and her wit and the uncanny ability to pull anybody into a conversation had a firm hold on his attention.

"Leave her alone," Stark angrily declared, powering up a repulsor. "What do you want? Party crashing isn't allowed in my tower anymore."

"What I want, Stark, is for you to give credit where it's due," The man answered simply, giving Tony just enough time to shove Peter behind him towards Natasha and take a tentative step forward.

The soft glow emanating from the repulsor illuminated barely two inches around his hand. The darkness surrounding it seemed to swallow the light. Tony moved on quiet feet towards the voice, easily avoiding furniture. His memory was good and he knew his tower, his home, better than anyone else.

"Did I hear that correctly, you're accusing me of plagiarism?" Tony tried for indignant, hoping to provoke the man into an inevitable, drawn-out speech where he lists all the wrongs Tony ever did him, giving the team precious time to regroup and form some semblance of a plan.

"Yes," Q simply answered, pausing for a second. "I hope you enjoy your next adventure. It certainly will show you the potential of my creation."

Tony shared a muted sound of confusion with the rest of the team.

"Q, I am very disappointed," To Tony's horror, th girl stared talking again. She sounded somewhat breathless, and closer to him than before. "Stop it with the dick measuring contest, you're a grown ass man. Go work for OsCorp, or Hammer, drink your sorrows away." She sounded so tired. And even closer to him.

"This is not a dick measuring contest!" Q roared suddenly and wow, that man was unstable. "This was my life's work, my creation, he insulted, berated and threw away!"

"I get it, I really get the whole 'being discarded and thrown away' thing," She replied, somewhat sarcastically. "But you know what? I'll be damned and I'll be fucked if I give some piece of shit any more of my undivided attention. They don't want me? Fine, they can fuck off and take their complaints with them." Her speech was periodically interrupted by shuffling noises.

Tony didn't dare to interrupt, seeing now the possibility of Q being actually calmed down by a teenager (probably) quoting some teen drama TV show.

"But going full Joker? You're a brilliant man, Quen, I wouldn't even look at you twice if not for your brains and your baby blues, however I don't fuck with the bad guys. That shit kills," The hand that rested on the wrist cuff of Tony's suit unmistakably belonged to her. She had the remnants of some sort of wire around it, sleek and quicksilver-shiny, irritating the tender skin under it. "And I want to live. You've gone and pissed off an entire crew of supers and I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think, Quen," There was genuine sadness in her voice.

Tony stood silent in confusion.

Whoever this Quen was, they obviously shared a close relationship. Tony's brain ran through the list of her friends, her relatives - there was nobody named Q, Quen or even remotely similar. Natasha had mentioned a possible boyfriend at some point but the man sounded too old for that, he was at least thirty. Or maybe? Tony wouldn't put it completely past the girl, if judging by the blatant way she flirted with Bruce. With himself.

"Baby, this is not about you. I don't want to hurt you," Quen replied, a hysterical edge to his voice. Something began flickering in the distance, attracting Tony's attention to the shape of a man with a round sort of helmet and a red, billowing cape (hello, 2012-Thor!).

"Too late, Quen. You've tied me up and you went on to attack my friends. I've already told you that if you yell at me one more time, I will leave you. So I guess this is it," Her voice broke at the end, pitiful sniffles following the statement.

Tony watched the exchange, mildly uncomfortable and very concerned. The man yelled at her? That was absolutely unacceptable, however, what else could one expect from a maniac with a flair for the dramatic?

The girl bodily placed herself in front of Tony, standing, doing nothing but rubbing her wrists. It was then that the engineer noticed Q nearing them, the shape becoming distinctively closer. And - yep, there it was - the fishbowl on his head. It completely obscured him, making his face invisible, unrecognisable.

The man seemed rather fixated on the girl standing in front of Tony. He floated in front of her, ignoring Tony, taking her bound hands in his own. A brief click and a hiss later, her wrists were released and the contraption fell freely to the floor where it landed with an oddly heavy thud. Tony hoped there was no lead in that thing - supervillains were dangerous but lead poisoning was cancerous and fatal.

"Baby..." Quen timidly touched her face with a leather-bound glove. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry." Tony took the chance to examine the man's costume. If anything, it looked somewhat steampunk-y? There was a lot of bronze, and the chest brace had some sort of glowing lines on it. Power storage units?

She stared up, towards the man's hidden face. "M'sorry, Quen," She mumbled, going in for a hug. Or that's what Tony thought. The majestic cape that billowed behind Quen was unceremoniously yanked from his body as the girl ducked, covering herself with it, yelling: "TONY, NOW, SHOOT, SHOOT!"

Tony did just that, shot Quen flat in the chest and the man stumbled backwards, tripping on the cape - such a stupid, unexpected thing. But Tony knew, his girl was clever and resourceful. Pride swelled in his chest as he shot the man again, Rogers running out from behind him blindly, body-slamming Quen into the ground for good measure. Two hundred pounds of supersoldier later, the battle was over before it even started.

"No!" The villain shouted as Steve pressed and popped the hilarious glass contraption on his head. The accessory was no match for the Captain's super strength. Tony immediately recognised the man as his former employee, Quentin Beck, and it clicked for him. It was totally a personal vendetta.

"This stuff is tough, plexiglass, maybe," The Captain remarked, pointing at the scattered shards around Beck's head. "It appears to be augmented too, some kind of tech, I don't know. You're good at this, Tony," Steve chuckled humorlessly, roughly turning Beck around and securing his hands with a pair of vibranium-reinforced handcuffs. God only knew where he'd gotten those from.

"Good at what? Making enemies?" Stark couldn't resist the self-depricating joke.

"Stop it, Tony," Natasha's gently admonishing voice interrupted Steve's incoming lecture. Tony, for once, was thankful that the Widow interrupted. He was in no mood to listen to another one of Steve's speeches.

"Who do you work for?" That deadly gleam in Natasha's eyes was terrifying and Beck was only a man.

"I don't work for anyone but myself, thanks to Stark," He spat venomously.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow in Tony's direction.

"Fired him years ago, this guy was going nuts. Brilliant but crazier than a bag of cats," Tony replied, feigning nonchalance. He could feel a mild headache begin to gnaw at his skull. "We worked on a project together, he got upset that I refused to weaponize it. We had a falling out. End of story." With that, Tony stood up, retracing his suit to only leave the gauntlets on his hands, gathered the various pieces of tech the good captain had removed from Beck's persona and made way towards the nearest table.

Or where he thought it was. All of them were still surrounded by the uncanny darkness. The anxiety that Tony forcefully shut down reared it's ugly head as soon as he lost physical touch with his teammates. He stumbled, his foot catching onto something on the ground.

"Ow, motherfucker!"

"Buttercup, I haven't fucked your mother nor I plan to," He snarked back automatically, flooded with relief at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Hope so. She'd probably bite your dick off if you try," A hand was groping his calf and then she stood up in front of him, still clutching the ridiculous cape. It appeared to be a source of light, which was very strange. The girl looked positively demonic, illuminated by red light, face scrunched up, eyes puffy, and clothing in disarray.

"You good?" Tony managed to choke out, confusion and worry and anxiety making his chest tight.

"Balmy. My boyfriend is a homicidal maniac with an inferiority complex," She sassed, an edge of panic to her voice. "Oh, and he tried to kill one of my best friends. I am fine and dandy."

"Your boyfriend?" That was the only thing Tony heard. Bat-shit crazy Beck, his babygirl's boyfriend? There was no way in Hell he'd allow such a thing...

"My ex-boyfriend, I guess," She sighed, removing the cape from her persona. Refusing to meet his eyes, fiddling with the hem of her top. "Here," The girl abruptly thrust the cape at him. "This is a funny thing, it's like a hologram but you can actually touch it. You should, uh, probably disinfect it, or something. I've been on-uh, around it many times," It was so unlike her, the fumbling, the embarrassment, Tony wanted to wheel her straight to medical to check if she's gotten concussed again.

Then his brain caught up and all he saw was red. Figuratively and literally - the cape was still in his face, loosely hanging from her outstretched hand. She must've seen the look on his face.

The step she took back was quick and worrying. "Forget I said that, I don't know why I said that. Oh, god."

"What were you thinking?" Tony inhaled a solid lungful, prepared to make his opinion very clear. "Getting involved with a lunatic! For a second I actually thought you were smart, there isn't a chance you missed that the guy is short of a few marbles," His voice was quiet, the one of a calm fury. His words cut deeply and he could see the hurt, the shame in her eyes, on her face. Tony knew he'd regret it later however his brain insisted it was a necessary evil. He continued ranting until he ran out of breath. "Not to mention he's, what, twice your age? And he yells at you and tells you to shut up? It didn't ring any alarm bells in that pretty little head of yours?"

"Tony, stop," Steve's hand landed on the engineer's shoulder and he simply shrugged it off, staring at the quivering girl in front of him.

She was crying, silently, few tears pooling in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, leaving ugly streaks in her make-up. Tony expected her to sass him, to argue back, to yell obscenities like she usually did when something or someone upset her but he was met with hurt, stunned silence. His worst fear came true when she looked away, shrugging.

He'd seen this sort of dejected shrug the time her father drugged her and... She just took it. She expected it, even, his outrage, his disappointment. Being hurt and mistreated was the norm for her, Tony realized belatedly. There were too many parallels between them both that made him uncomfortable deep inside. His chest felt tight, regret washing over him like a tsunami wave.

"I'm turning on the lights, close your eyes for maximum comfort," Strange's voice announced suddenly, causing everybody to jump and shudder. Tony complied begrudgingly. The sudden influx of light was painful even from behind closed eyelids. His headache became a full-on dull throb.

"What happened?" "Are you okay?" "Is everybody alive?" Resonated across the room. Tony spied several small drones smoking and crackling next to the exit door, Stephen Strange closing a portal he must've used to evacuate the civilians.

The puddle of red holographic cape on the floor. And her hastily retreating back. Damn.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

#party favours #bun writes #Quentin Beck #tony stark fanfiction

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tomyo · 3 years

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Ducktales 2017 is gonna have me crying.

I haven't been able to watch the series due to college taking away too much times but I've been happy to finally get a chance to catch up and I'm slain. What gets me the most is the casualness of the world. They keep it fantastical and immediately fill it with a wide cast ranging from greek gods, superheros, and the supernatural but it never feels zany. Gearloose has been a favourite example of this, he is literally a mad scientist unable to really function with greater society. He has almost no empathy, curses society for misunderstanding him while also trying to appeal to investors and reasonably attempts to fire his intern when he's out of order. There's just something so bizarrely grounded in a way I can't fully place, sometimes it's show don't tell being well used, sometimes subtext, and sometimes just that they don't pause for dramatic effect. Before you know it, the horse with a statue head or the ghosts of Christmas just feel natural.

In interesting ways that feeling reflects the Duck family. When I think about it, Ducktales 2017 is pretty align with Venture Bros. A family known for adventures and the real ways the out there can be normalized. Everyone in the cast is capable of fighting and out manuvering their opponent. Season one's finale really shows it off as you watch chauffers, trained spies, and office workers quickly turn into a specialized tactical unit. I remember before being able to watch it being mystified and going frame by frame through webby's fighting. Remember Sokka's iconic fight against his master, how the master highlights each skill that makes the choreography so beautiful? Weeby and Magica are doing all of that and it's not even the focus of what they're doing. This is someone she's never even faced and not only keep low to stay out of range but even uses Magica's own barrier against her and slide behind her. There's something just so ingenious about that.

What particularly stands out to be too is Donald. I've always understood Donald Duck as the character who will get his comeupits in the end. Short tempered, self serving, cocky, and likely to be bested by the smart allec foil. He's the don't of the do/don't example. While he's certainly kinder I'm Ducktales, he's now presented as the helicopter parent who spoils everyone's fun. The text of the show says Donald isn't seen as cool, at least in the eyes of his nephews. The triplets are clearly now the main character (as apposed to scrounge in the previous interaction) and we can even see this by the fact they've now been given normal voices to be easier to hear. The juxtaposition the reboot is presenting us is how they as newcomers see their mudane uncle against the adventurous, eccentric, and wealthy head of the clan great uncle as well as other family members or associates.

But what's mostly crazy about this is they continue to see him as that. Even as they continues to learn not only of Scrooge but Donald's exploits, his casual greeting to a Greek god that idolizes him, taking command when there's a reason to fight, etc. He's still the lame one in their eyes.

So then we get to the latest episode I saw, Last Christmas, and it overwhelms me.

The boys have not known what it was like to grow up in the duck clan and we can really see that gap in this episode. Mind you, Dewey recently took part in defeating a witch out for world domination. He immediately drags Teen Donald along to find his mom and something to note is he leaves through the window of a stories high mansion and makes it to the ground in a few leaps. So it sets the standard for Donald's much higher skill.

The most obvious difference is how Donald's just willing to lick what could be his sister's blood. He's not even speculative, he's just unimpressed. Like he says, adventuring is juvenile to him. Where Dewey tumbles down a hill of snow, he slides with ease; when Dewey hides from the monster, Donald climbs up a tree like it's second nature and begins attacking the wendigo. The one that especially gets to me is when Della cuts them down. The striking image of his arms apathetically dangling, the hair flip, how I bothered he is at the idea of fighting with a guitar shifting around on his shoulder. It's really such an anime sense, like the slightly unhinged OP character you find.

I also want to deviate a moment to talk about Della's appearance, how she grapples the net trap with ease and talks about capturing one of the most well known fairy tale figures like she was trying to find just some rabbit or such. The twins almost kind of have the feeling of kids of doomsday preppers. That uncanny feeling of watching children feel so familiar with survival skills and tacticion even adults have lost touch with.

The dropdown shows not only the twins skill level over Dewey but also their relationship in their lineage. Again to gush over teen Donald's animation, he drops down with hardly any brace for impact, only briefly having his hand on the ground before getting up in a limp relaxed stance and an unfocused expression. Della on the other hand immeadia adjust herself into a proper fighting position showing her eagerness to fight as she delivers a challenge. It really solidifies what we know about them, how she always is after the next journey while he kind of sees it as there's better things he could be doing. And this carries through how he prioritized raising and keeping the triplets safe even more so than their mother had.

Like I mentioned before, the mcduck clan and the Ventures share a lot in common with how a famous patriarch defines the identity of the family as well as how each family member takes to that role laid out before them. For a lot of shows, the spectacle of concepts brought up in Ducktales would big it down and I actually see it a benefit to characters often being nonplused and capable when faced with daunting obstacles. But in some ways that suggests a general ennui for the clan. The mcducks/ducks are estranged from the rest of duckville and have numbed themselves over time. We see Rusty Venture deal with the consequences of having an unstructured and unsafe upbringing but rarely is it brought up in Ducktales (which to be fair it's a kid show even for as emotionally mature as it is). Della's disappearance was just the one tragedy where things went too far.

By the end we see the twins not even theorize but call out Dewey as a future relative and know protocol enough to stop him from revealing anything. I saw another user point out how sad it actually is when it's shown Donald remembers this night and what it must of meant as he raised the kid he met. But it also says a lot that in that moment as kids that Dewey clearly was emotional over Della and how foreboding it would be to have an unknown they needed to be warned about with not even a when to put it to. When you think of how even Webby says she's hardly known other kids before the boys, it apparent how isolating this home must be. When Dewey first finds Donald, the hallway he's in looks rundown, like the room was out of the way in a less used section of the house. That maybe the twins rarely saw other people.

At the end, Dewey returned along with his uncle as both realize how nice it would be to stay with all their loved ones singing carols next to a painting of Della's legacy while Donald and Della only have each other to be with as the huge portrait of Scrooge hangs over them.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #della #della duck #donald duck #i could've also brought up how the isolation shows why Donald not being around on xmas upset della so greatly #and how his gift is a mainstay of her design #but thats probably a given

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

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CHAPTER NINE OF ANTHEM INFINITUM IS FINALLY FINISHED AND UPLOADED

Chapter Nine: Mother, Daughter, Sister, Queen <- AO3 LINK

Defiance Bay is a city that could use a woman's touch.

Full chapter under the cut~

—

There was ‘too strange to be true,’ and then there was 'too strange not to be true.’

The former was usually easy enough to determine, at least for a woman of Sagani’s age and experience: she’d be a piss-poor mother, hunter, and leader were she to give credence to every tall tale a guilty child or unscrupulous trader told her. But sometimes a situation was just unusual enough, skirted that line between plausibility and absurdity just so, that Sagani found herself well and truly baffled. Like now, with these kith.

They’d seemed like a regular bunch of adventurers at first glance, although a motley one. They’d been chatting amiably amongst themselves when they’d noticed her, and if she hadn’t heard them talking about a carved bear– and if Itumaak hadn’t nudged her hip and whined, pointed eagerly at the strangers with his whole body– she probably would have ignored them entirely and let them disappear down the road, over the horizon.

Leaving her alone. Again. And still at square one.

So she had cast her line, and had been completely knocked off guard at the response she’d gotten. She had been expecting the folk man– the big blonde with the country drawl– to do what Dyrwoodan men tended to do and bloviate at her until he lost interest and herded his mismatched crew off to their next thrilling adventure. But instead, he had crouched down to regard Itumaak with childlike delight while, to Sagani’s mild surprise, the redheaded orlan had stepped forward and taken the conversational lead.

What with all the bigotry against orlans she’d heard tell of since arriving in the Dyrwood (and the handful of incidents she’d witnessed firsthand), Sagani hadn’t anticipated the leader of this little pack to be one– and a woman at that, although her foreign accent cleared up some of the confusion. Listening to her bold, clear, confident voice, Sagani had been unable to stop herself cocking an eyebrow and cracking a bemused smile at this strange little encounter.

And it had only gotten stranger the more they’d conversed. While answering the orlan’s questions about her hunt for Persoq, Sagani had noticed the giant aumaua behind her scribbling frantically on a sheet of vellum, his excited eyes darting between the orlan and herself. She’d also noticed the folk man ignoring the conversation entirely to focus on trying to get Itumaak’s attention, as well as the elf standing alone in the back who may or may not have been talking to himself behind his grimoire.

And then the orlan claimed to be a Watcher. Sagani’d had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes upon hearing that one again. And here she’d been, expecting more slack-jawed farmhands. Gods, these people were odd.

Yes, Sagani, they’re a bunch of freaks. Not like you, a middle-aged female long game hunter from an isolated village on an island in the arctic who’s searching for a dead man with her snowy white fox.

Maybe that was what had made her put Persoq’s bear in the other woman’s hands, that guilt at thinking her and her companions odd when Sagani had such an unusual story herself. And at least these people were actually friendly, for once. She still hadn’t decided whether they were necessarily trustworthy or not– the orlan was probably about as real a Watcher as that last “Watcher” she’d met– but she could at least fairly confidently tell that they weren’t about to pull some kind of shit. Body language was too relaxed, atmosphere was all wrong for violence or trickery. Hel, this girl wasn’t even asking for coin. So why not let her have a go at it?

And now, watching the little woman sway on her feet and stare like a sleepwalker, Sagani was starting to wonder if she had made the right decision after all. She wasn’t normally an easy woman to rattle, but something about the orlan had changed, something behind her eyes, and it lent her an eerie, uncanny quality that made Sagani’s skin crawl.

“What’s going on?” she blurted, hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. “What’s happening to her?” Itumaak finally snapped at the annoying folk man, curling his lip and snarling, and the big blonde backed off as the fox leaned into Sagani’s side.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” the man stammered, “prolly shoulda warned you about that. She gets like that when she’s doin’ her watchin’, or… whatch’ call it.” He dug his thumb into an itchy spot between his eyebrows, side-eyed Itumaak. “…Your fox bite?”

“Yes,” she muttered, eyes still fixed on the orlan woman, on Persoq’s bear.

“Can I pet him anyway?” The man’s blue-green eyes shone with sincerity.

“Worry not, madam! She’ll come out of it soon enough,” the aumaua interjected, tucking his writing tools away in his satchel before peering intently at the adra carving in the orlan’s hands. “At least, she seemed to come out of it rather quickly when she spoke to the spirits in Caed Nua. This might be an entirely different experience, as far as I’m aware.” He chuckled and gently waved his gigantic hand in the redhead’s face, and she stared through him, completely unresponsive. “Fascinating, isn’t it? I wonder what she sees…”

Sagani glanced up at the huge man, careful to keep the orlan and Persoq’s bear in her peripheral vision. “You’re telling me you all came from Caed Nua? That old keep west of here? I was told that place was nothing but a wraith-infested death trap.” She felt her heart drop, just a little. Yup, that’s what I thought. Too strange to be true.

“Sure’s Hel was,” the folk man grumbled, his tone suggesting he knew from experience. “'Course, that was before we showed up.”

The little huntress narrowed her eyes at him. “Care to explain exactly what you mean by that?”

The shy elf finally spoke up, cringing with embarrassment as he drew closer to the front of the little group. “Er– begging your pardon, madam; what my cohort meant to say is– Well, come to think of it, actually, perhaps introductions are in order–”

“Cliffs,” the orlan gasped, and Sagani’s focus was back on her in an instant, Itumaak yipping softly with surprise. To her credit, everyone else jumped too, startled by the little woman’s sudden return to consciousness. But still, she couldn’t afford surprises like that, especially when it came to Persoq’s bear. Never again. Beast’s Hooves, woman, never take your eye off your quarry…!

The orlan shook her head and blinked, finally seeming to come out of her reverie. “By the sea, I think,” she continued, trembling slightly as she placed the adra carving back into Sagani’s waiting hands. “Pretty high up, but we still got a snootful of that salty ocean spray.”

Sagani’s gaze flicked rapidly between the green-purple lump in her hands and the woman in front of her. “…What? I– what just– what did you do?” That was nothing like the last “Watcher” she’d dealt with, and she knew he was full of shit. But it didn’t necessarily mean this girl was on the level, either.

“…Watched, I suppose. Well, it’s not just watching. It was more like… being inside someone else’s head, feeling what they feel as well as seeing what they see.” The redhead rubbed her eyes, smiled wearily at Sagani. Reminded her of her youngest waking from a nap too early. “In this case, I was inside Persoq’s head, or his reincarnation’s, anyway. Damned disorienting, I have to admit. And it tends to make me look a bit foolish at times.”

“Right. I’ll bet.” Too strange not to be true? …Maybe. Maybe not. The ranger stuffed the carving back into her pack, not quite ready to admit defeat yet. “Y'know, after my story about that charlatan Watcher, I’d have thought a 'real’ Watcher like you would have more to say about the experience than that.”

“A woman after my own heart!” The aumaua butted in again, looming up behind the little orlan like a sunrise. “I’d love to hear more myself. She only ever gives us the barest hints of what she sees, what the spirits tell her! …Although,” he added sheepishly, “I understand sometimes the scenes that play out before her are… not exactly easy to talk about.”

“Yes, Caed Nua and the Endless Paths are not exactly locales with happy pasts, Kana,” the elf chided gently before turning to Sagani. “I know we must seem… an unusual bunch, madam, and you’ve no reason whatsoever to trust us. We were each just as skeptical when we initially met her, and just as shocked as you the first time we saw her peer into the aether. But she has proven multiple times over to each of us that, ultimately, this is no act: she is a Watcher, truly.” He pursed his lips, fidgeted, wrung his hands together– but his face was open and honest.

Gods, they’re persistent! If they’re liars, at least it seems they’ve all got their story straight. “You realize I don’t even have any coin to offer you for… for whatever that was.” She knew how dangerous this could turn out to be, what a stupid mistake it might be to trust these strangers, but she could feel herself wanting to believe them, needing her long, difficult search to finally yield a solid lead…

The little woman shrugged, unconcerned, and turned to the road in front of Sagani, shouldering her pack once more. “Didn’t ask for any coin,” she stated simply. “Knowledge seeks freedom, we say in Ixamitl, and the freer I can make it, the better.” A cheeky grin popped up on her face. “…Although, if you’ve a tent, we’d trade you for it. Someone ruined ours.”

The folk man tore his attention away from Itumaak’s fluffy, rapidly swishing tail to regard the orlan with indignation. “Hey, c'mon, Axa, I said it was an accident–”

And as if on cue, he was silenced by a crack of thunder. All of a sudden, the humidity and the smell of ozone were overpowering, and the gathered kith all turned their faces to the heavens.

The first drop of rain hit Itumaak on the nose, and he sneezed.

“Welp.” The big blonde sighed dejectedly. “Sun was settin’ anyway. Guess I’ll get started on a lean-to for us.” He trudged off into the nearby brush, and as they followed behind him, the aumaua and the elf gave Sagani polite, awkward waves. The orlan woman– Axa, as Sagani knew her now– watched them go and then turned back to the huntress, raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question. The rain was starting to come down in earnest now.

Oh, come on already–

“I… There’s… uh, a little rock outcropping about 15 minutes’ hike southeast. Should fit five and a fire 'neath it. And a fox, of course.” Sagani reached down and scratched Itumaak behind the ears, and he pressed his head into her strong, steady hand. His reassurance comforted her, and she smiled.

Axa smiled back at the dwarf, her cohorts turning back toward the two women. “Well! I never thought I’d say that that sounds more appealing than my current projected sleeping arrangements, but here we are. You’ll lead the way, I trust?”

Just remember, Sagani: if you wake up tomorrow and Persoq’s bear is gone again, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.

The huntress nodded and chuckled. “Sure will. Follow me.”

—

Honestly, it wasn’t as if Axa didn’t know how farfetched her whole story sounded, especially after listening to herself recount it aloud to a stranger. She was also self-aware enough to recognize that she and her companions probably came off as... eccentric, at best. So in the end, she couldn’t really blame the dwarf for being wary of her and her party– anyone would be– even though they had told her nothing but the truth.

It would certainly be a lot easier to convince the huntress of her sincerity, though, if the truth could stop being so gods damned bizarre as of late.

Axa couldn't help but feel like the more of her story she told, the more a liar she made herself look, and the older woman's guarded body language and skeptical expression weren't very encouraging in that regard. She was a mother, she'd told Axa at the camp that evening– five times over, although only three of her children lived yet– and Axa could tell she was a seasoned veteran of the child-rearing arts. She'd borne that accusatory, incredulous glare from her own mother ten thousand times, and it hadn't made any difference to her whether Axa was telling the truth or not either.

–Serpent's Wings, I don't want to hear it anymore! He's not some poor stray tom you rescued from the gutter! He's not even a proper priest, Axa; he's a strange, sick con man who was lucky enough to find a softhearted, foolish girl to–

She winced at the memory. Yes, thanks, Mama. Helpful as always.

Then there were all the things she wasn't telling anyone about yet, let alone this woman she'd just met. She wasn't concealing anything especially damning, just perfectly mundane, boring, everyday intensely painful and private experiences and memories, including some that might explain a few things about her current circumstances. But as usual, every time she was presented with an opportunity to open up about herself, Axa just... clammed up instead. The Ordhjóma thing, for instance, had come up again in an otherwise pleasant dinnertime chat about the southern lights over Nasitaaq when Axa had absent-mindedly mentioned the time she had seen them in the White that Wends, and then she'd had those questions to deflect. She knew there was nothing inherently shady about it, but even so, just the act of politely declining to elaborate on her time in the Land or to speak any Ordhjóma for her curious audience made her feel nervous and guilty, as though she were withholding evidence instead of simply keeping a private matter private. Mercifully, everyone seemed to let it go easily enough, but Axa couldn't shake the feeling that Sagani in particular held it against her.

And if it wasn't what she said or didn't say making her appear suspect, it was the series of ludicrous coincidences that now passed for her everyday life. According to the Lady of Caed Nua's trusted local guide (the smoke-addled fool who'd nearly gotten his fingers bitten off by Sagani's fox), the cliffs from her vision of Persoq just so happened to be a few hours west of Defiance Bay. How convenient, then, that she and her crew were headed that way anyway, and how generous of them to offer Sagani a place in their traveling party. It was all the truth, of course, and intended in the spirit of benevolence– but all the same, it sounded like such an obvious contrivance that Axa had almost not wanted to say anything at all, to save them both the embarrassment.

But when the dwarf had accepted, had shrugged and sighed and told her to "lead the way," Axa had had to actively stop herself from shooting back, "Are you sure?" Even though it was perfectly understandable, Sagani's obvious reticence to trust her (especially while she was actively electing to travel with her anyway) still stung, and it frustrated Axa that she couldn't quite figure out how to not let it make things awkward during their long hike to the city. Each of the menfolk had approached her on his own at one time or another and inquired discreetly after her health and mood, each noting how unusually untalkative she was, and each time she found herself too stubborn to admit why. They were damn near crossing the bridge into the city proper by the time the orlan was finally tired of torturing herself about it, and she impulsively squeezed her left eye shut, hoping for some insight–

–Sometimes, with some kith, there just ain't nothin' for it but to just keep on livin' your truth, Lil' Blossom. Just let 'em be, and you just go on bein' true t' yourself. They'll come 'round, with time... or they don't, 'n you cut 'em loose. Th' true o' heart will follow. Either way you're better off than y'were before, worryin' yourself sick about what some blowhards think–

Wael had answered the spontaneous prayer with a promptness that had startled her almost as much as the answer itself. She hadn't thought about her father in some time, but it seemed the Lord of Mysteries had reached down into her mind and plucked out exactly the right memory for the situation. It was something Papa'd told her back when she was a little girl, tormented by peers far crueler than the kith she was keeping company with now, and she had come to him for advice not on revenge, but on how to get them to like her. At the time, Axa had balked at essentially being told that sometimes there was nothing one could do about another's unfair opinions of them. But in time, she came to see the wisdom in his words, and she found that the less she tried to shape herself to please others and the more she focused on cultivating her own identity and interests, the truer the friends she kept and made.

Not that she'd ever had a very broad circle of friends. She was more like her mother than her father in that way.

She lifted her head, cast her gaze over the small group of oddballs and misfits trailing merrily along behind her, and a sudden, fierce sense of camaraderie rushed through the little woman. She felt tears well up in her eyes, and she quickly brushed them away with the back of her furry hand.

Good advice, Papa. Thanks. ...and thank You, Eyeless One.

"Hey. ...You feelin' alright?" This time, it was Sagani herself who drew up next to the orlan, concern plain on her motherly face. Itumaak's nose brushed Axa's fingertips on her other side, the fox giving her a cursory sniff before returning to his mistress. "You've been pretty quiet these last few hours. Nervous, now that we've made it to the big city?" She nodded her head in the direction of the city gates, no more than a stone's throw away now.

Axa wondered, looking at Sagani's kind smile and knitted brow, how she ever could have thought the older woman had borne her any ill will. "Not really, no. I grew up in the second-largest city in the Plains, so tall buildings and busy streets don't faze me much. I've just been... lost in thought, I guess." She smiled back briefly before tilting her head just so, to obscure her face with her burgundy curls. Just in case.

"You're not still hung up on that Magranite priest we met on the road, are you?" Kana closed the distance between himself and the two women in a few broad steps, sensing that the tension in the group was dissipating now, positively famished for a good chat. "In truth, I still am, a bit. I certainly hope we don't meet any more of his sort beyond these gates!"

"Still feel like we kinda overdid it there," Edér piped up, picking at the bandaging on his fox-bitten fingers. "Sure, he was a weird, rude prick, but did we really have to set his beard on fire after kickin' his ass?" Despite his words, the farmer still smiled fondly at the memory as though reminiscing on some old childhood mischief, chuckling as he spoke.

"He called Axa a vicious, unrepeatable slur, Edér," Aloth huffed, clutching his grimoire close to his chest as the group passed over the long bridge into town. "Honestly, he's lucky he got away with his head still on his shoulders, never mind his beard."

Axa's gaze shot to Sagani, eyes wide and innocent even as she fought back a feisty grin. And in response, the huntress laughed, clapping Axa gently on the shoulder. "Now that sounds like a good story. Maybe tell me over a drink once we get settled in at the inn."

'Be true to yourself, and the true of heart will follow you.' Good advice, indeed, Axa thought, smiling back at the dwarf as the party approached the gates of Defiance Bay.

—

As soon as their party had crossed the threshold of the city proper, they'd turned to a local rabblerouser for directions, inquiring about points of interest and general information about the city. He'd filled them in while still trying to hold court with the group of refugees and protesters crowded around him, adding in his own fiery criticisms of animancy and the local constabulary (along with his endorsement of the local vigilante militia), and as soon as the opportunity to escape had presented itself the little band of adventurers had beelined for the nearest tavern, a busy little neighborhood eatery and inn called the Goose and Fox.

Bit strange, that name. Sounds kind of predatory for a house of respite. Sagani glanced down at her own fox, and then chuckled to herself, shaking her head. ...Alright, maybe I'm looking a little too hard into this.

She noticed Axa looking at her quizzically, so she leaned over and murmured: "Here, stop me if you've heard this one: An orlan, a dwarf, a folk, an elf, an aumaua, and an arctic fox walk into a bar..."

"The bartender looks at them and says, 'What is this, some kind of joke?'" Axa quipped back, not missing a beat. It was a punchline from a different bit, catching Sagani off guard, and both women laughed loudly enough to draw attention. In particular, that of a sour-faced elf with a rag draped over his shoulder who frowned and pointed at Itumaak, shaking his finger at the beast as he scurried out from behind the bar.

"Hey, hey, c'mon now, ladies, no loose animals in the dining area– Is that a dog, or...? Either way, tie it up outside, please. This isn't the Salty Mast." He spat the last few words from his mouth like a foul-tasting venom and turned to resume his duties, only to find himself nose-to-chest with Edér.

"He's an arctic fox, actually," the large man drawled softly, his tone hovering between casual and threatening. "And he goes where we go. 'Sides, he's clean, and he don't make no trouble. Not 'nless there's trouble with us. Which there ain't. Right?" He smiled amicably, looming over the sweaty little man as Axa stepped forward to intercede and the rest of her crew discreetly slid into a corner table.

The blonde and the redhead returned shortly, followed by a husky orlan barmaid loaded down with stew and brew for the party of five, plus a little something for Itumaak. They talked while they ate: planning, mostly, about what to do with the rest of the evening and the days to come. The Hall of Revealed Mysteries, temple to Wael and the largest library in the Dyrwood, was a high-priority destination, as was the Ducal Palace in First Fires, for the war records Edér was after. According to the talkative fellow by the gates, First Fires was also where Axa could find the temple of Woedica, and hopefully some clues regarding the enigmatic Leaden Key. And, of course, eventually they'd have to head for the western gates to escort Sagani to the cliffs where she might meet Persoq.

Even though your initial offer wasn't an escort to the cliffs. Only to the city. Sagani smirked as she considered the implications and nursed her tankard. You that eager to prove you're really a Watcher? Or are you just hoping to keep me on a little longer as a hireling you don't have to pay? She watched them eat and talk and drink and laugh, and when the orlan caught her staring, she smiled and offered the huntress a toke from her pipe.

...Frost's sake, Sagani, she thought as she politely waved the proffered whiteleaf away, maybe she's just nice.

Soon enough, she was pleasantly buzzed and half-listening to Aloth and Kana argue about whether to visit the asylum in Brackenbury when she noticed that Axa's attention had drifted as well– to the folk woman at the table nearest the back wall, the one who kept her face out of the lamplight and stared grimly into her ale.

Sagani nudged Axa, indicated the woman with a nod of her head. "You know her?"

"No." The redhead rose from her seat, wiping her mouth and knitting her brow. "But I know that look." She spared a glance at the lads– Edér, his eyes shut, blissfully gnawing on a hunk of beef the size of his hand; Kana and Aloth still wrapped up in the discourse on animancers in the Dyrwood– before striding purposefully towards the solitary woman, Sagani close behind.

It took some coaxing, but they got her talking. She told them her name was Kaenra, and that her fiancé had recently struck up a close friendship with svef, had started bringing strange, unsavory people around to the house to use. That he'd become distant, and then violent, and that now all she wanted from him was for him to take his grandmother's ring back and fuck off out of her life. Sagani watched as Axa listened, watched as she bristled with righteous rage, her eyes lingering on the woman's fresh bruise as she squeezed the ring tightly in her fist.

"I'll make sure he gets it," she vowed.

And so it came to pass that Sagani found herself spending her first evening as a tourist in Defiance Bay firing off arrows in a stranger's kitchen and siccing Itumaak on the drug-addled thugs in the study. Judging from the reactions of the rest of her retinue, apparently this sort of thing wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for Axa: the girl had a thirst for justice, it seemed, and she damn well meant to slake it.

Before long, they were all standing above the cowering, bloodied homeowner, a man called Purnisc who struggled to explain himself to Axa's satisfaction. Turns out he had been dealing svef, too, and when his supplier had found out that he'd been pocketing more than his fair share of the profits–

"–they sent the kneebreakers downstairs," Sagani finished for him, "and the wizard to replace you. Literally." She shook her head in wonder. It really was just like one of her Vailian crime novels.

"Replacement wasn't much of an improvement on the original." The little redhead was steaming mad, and she made no move to hide it as she leaned over the battered man, finger in his face. "You silly bastard, you really thought you could steal from a professional criminal, and lie to your woman about it, and you're just so gods damned clever that no one could ever possibly be the wiser?"

The man's blacked, swollen eyes went as wide as they were able. "You... you've talked to my Kaenra? Is she alright? Sh-she doesn't know I was selling, does she? Oh, gods, please don't tell her. I'm so sorry for putting her through all this. Please don't–"

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Axa's cry came shrill and piercing, her typical rich, smooth voice consumed in the fire of her outrage. "Kaenra sent us here to return your ring because of your lies, you crooked little shit-for-brains! She loves and respects you! And you'd have us lie to her again?"

The pathetic man had withered under the orlan's verbal assault, and Axa seemed to have made her mind up about him as the group marched solemnly back to the Goose and Fox. But after returning to Kaenra, after telling her what Purnisc had done, the little woman once again defied all reasonable expectations.

"He's just an idiot, not a monster," Axa assured the other woman, "and he still loves you. And although he did a damned foolish thing, he never meant to hurt you. You just need to decide for yourself whether he's worth a second chance." Her violet eyes shone with tears as she spoke, Purnisc's ring on the table next to the women's clasped hands.

When Kaenra smiled and said she’d think about it, that was when Sagani suspected that even if it turned out she wasn’t a Watcher, this girl might really be something special after all.

—

Axa could feel them watching her as they settled into their room at the Goose and Fox that night, could feel them wanting to know. Not only so they could understand why she had done what she had with Purnisc and Kaenra, but also so they could (no doubt) uncover and examine all the painful, humiliating life experiences behind her every decision, all her successes and failures, and then judge her accordingly. Like kith will, she thought, of course. That’s normal and healthy to think.

Genuine concern mingled with morbid curiosity, hung palpably over the group like a scythe posed to reap as everyone sat and waited for Axa to break the oppressive silence. So she drained her goblet, emptied her pipe, got out her whiteleaf, and with a grim sense of determination, she told them about it.

About the career she'd built back in Ixamitl, where she had lucked into a scholarship to a prestigious lore college, bestowed on her by a generous politician acquainted with her father. Because she'd always loved to learn and hear stories about kith from around the world, she had chosen to put her good fortune to good use and study to become a naturalist, concerning herself with the cultures and languages and histories that constituted the kith population of Eora.

While most of her colleagues had decided to specialize in Vailian– a popular choice for the political or business-oriented crowd– Axa fancied herself an intellectual, and so she had challenged herself with mastering Ordhjóma: the exotic, mysterious language of the Glamfellen, separated for 10,000 years from their tropical Sceltrfolc cousins in the far-flung, frozen south, in The White that Wends. She had thrown herself into her studies, blowing through massive tomes and ancient scrolls like a hurricane, outperforming her peers with ease. Within four years, Axa had risen like a Dawnstar to the top of her class.

And then the field work had begun.

"It's one thing to read about a people, learn their language from books and study up on their culture," Axa explained, stuffing her pipe slowly, taking her time. "It's quite another to visit their homeland, speak with them, live among them. I was barely seventeen, I'd never even been out of the city..."

Kana winced, painful recognition in his black eyes. "Culture shock can be particularly difficult for younger scholars. We have certain expectations after all our years of academic study, and to find out that the genuine article doesn't quite match up to the image in one’s head can feel disorienting and disappointing. There's not only the shock, there's anger at the natives, and then the guilt over said anger..."

Axa accepted Aloth's proffered light while Kana trailed off– it always delighted her, using arcane flame for something so trivial as a smoke– and sighed. "That's what was really odd about it. I experienced some culture shock, but ultimately the problem wasn't me. It was them. I know it sounds like I'm just being bitter, but... honestly, for whatever reason, the whole village really was actively freezing me out."

"Nice," Edér chuckled, grinning at the unintentional pun until Aloth's glare chastised him back into solemnity.

"No one wanted to talk to me," Axa continued. "Oh, I tried, incessantly, but they just... kept turning away, or answering with nonsense or... or riddles. My colleagues had little difficulty integrating, but I felt like my presence was just barely tolerated by the villagers. I tried asking the other lore students about it, but they either feigned ignorance really well or they honestly couldn't tell what these Glamfellen had against me."

"Some sort of... racial prejudice, perhaps?" Aloth looked as uncomfortable as he sounded, but at least the topic was broached. Axa shrugged.

"I don't think so, but I honestly have no idea. The other three scholars with me weren't orlans, but they weren't Glamfellen either. And no one ever specifically said anything about my being an orlan."

Sagani nodded. "In my experience, while most Glamfellen tend to be as standoffish as any elf– no offense, Aloth– they don't usually have specific prejudices like that."

"Right? Ordinarily, unity and hospitality are taken very seriously in the frozen south; to support one another is indispensable to survival. Nevertheless, I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong by them, and it was driving me out of my gods damned mind. I was supposed to be studying local accents, dialects, and colloquialisms, but that's somewhat difficult when nobody will actually speak with you. So, I ended up spending a lot of time eavesdropping on people, mostly outside, by myself."

Sagani shook her head, drawing her whetstone across her hunting knife. "Bad idea to go it alone out there in the White. All kinds of dangers hiding in the snow."

The orlan huffed a sharp, sardonic laugh. "You're telling me. That's how I met Vaargys."

As soon as his name was out of her mouth, Axa could feel her entire demeanor transform, and the atmosphere in the room with her. It was the first time she'd said his name since she'd left home, and even though she knew they'd already been listening, her audience really seemed to be listening now. She felt her face get warm and her eyes sting from the impending tears, so she turned to the window, trying hard to focus on the streets outside and not at her own reflection in the glass.

Come on, girl. You’ve run far enough. It's time you faced this.

"I spotted him from afar one day at dusk: a dark, distant, shaggy figure out there among the rocks, shambling around just beyond the village's borders. It took me a few minutes to even realize he was kith. My colleagues noticed me watching him eventually, warned me away from him: the 'wild man' the locals called the 'Cursed Vagabond,' the 'Exiled Priest.' And he was out there all alone, struggling to survive because nobody wanted him around, and no one would say why..."

"You had a lot in common," Aloth murmured gravely. It wasn't difficult to see where this story was going. And he couldn't help but think it sounded similar, thematically, to one he knew quite well.

"Kith will paint a face on a rock with their own blood if it means they can have someone to talk to," Sagani sighed sadly, sympathy heavy in her chest. She could see where this was going too, and she dug her fingers into the thick fur on the back of Itumaak's neck for comfort. He grunted in appreciation.

"I introduced myself, like you do. He was... cautious, but receptive. It helped that I'd brought gifts." Axa smiled with fond recollection, despite herself. "We got to know one another, and over time we became fond of each other. We started sharing meals and stories about ourselves, our lives. He told me he was a priest of Wael, self-taught, and exiled from his clan for venerating the Eyeless Face instead of the Beast of Winter... He let me get close to him, cut his hair, tend to his wounds..." The tears spilled over at last, and she paused for a moment, hid her face.

"And you fell in love," Sagani finished for her. Classic. Tale as old as time.

Axa smiled again even as she brushed her tears away, dragging her little fist across her golden cheeks. "And I fell hard. I was his first real friend, gave him his first kiss. And very soon, I became his first lover." The men blushed and looked at the floor. Axa and Sagani paid them no heed.

"I was fascinated by him, and he adored me. We made our own little world together there in the caves, in the snow. And we lived there, separate from everyone and everything else. Until I had to return to Ixamitl, of course. But I had a plan: Before I could talk myself out of it, I asked him to marry me– the very night before I was to return to the Eastern Reach. ...Gods, I had known him for only five months."

"And... wait, how old were you?" Edér spoke up for the first time since Axa had started her story, confusion clear on his face.

"I– Seventeen, almost eighteen by the time I went back home," she clarified, miffed at the interruption. "I'm twenty-two, now."

The blond man held his hands out in front of him, squinting at his fingers, baffled. "And... and how old were you when you left home? Hey, how old was he?"

Kana sighed and leaned over, patting him on the shoulder with one huge hand and confiscating the man's pipe with the other. "Erh– Never mind that now, my friend. Please, Axa, continue." He smiled that big, toothy smile at the little woman, and she blinked very slowly.

"...I brought him home to meet my family and colleagues, to assist me in my studies since all I'd really brought back from the Land was him, and ultimately, hopefully, to become my husband. In the interest of brevity– albeit somewhat belated– here’s how all that turned out: my family and colleagues hated and distrusted him, and after I had defended him so fiercely I'd alienated myself from my peers, I found out that about three-quarters of everything he'd ever told me about his home and his language was complete horseshit and all of our work together was complete bunkum. So! I burned it all in a big bonfire behind our house before telling him to leave and never come back."

She had ticked her misfortunes off on her fingers as she’d described them, her hands trembling, and then gesticulated fiercely before letting her fists fall to the small tabletop before her. "And then... I left, too. And now, here I am."

...Gods, that was easy. Much easier than I thought it'd be. Why was it so–

She rambled on before she could lose her nerve. "So. That's why I... wanted to do that for Kaenra. My fiancé lied to me and fucked up my life, too, and I can't just ignore that kind of shit when I see it anymore." She sighed, turning to the window again with her pipe still burning away in her hand. "Vaargys is the reason I had to leave my home and everything I've ever known, because his lies ruined my career and my academic standing and my reputation. How could I just stand by and watch it happen to someone else?"

"Yet, you advised Kaenra to forgive Purnisc?" Aloth twisted his fingers together in his lap, staring at them rather than looking at Axa as he spoke. "After... all he'd done?"

Sagani glanced at him, narrowing her eyes as he reached up to smooth his hair– and wipe away a stray bead of sweat in the process. Is it my imagination, or is he...?

Axa kept her gaze fixed on the street below. "Yeah, that sort of surprised me too, to be honest." She spotted a stray soul, its violet wisps of essence drifting slowly amongst the city goers, and she squeezed her eyes shut, felt them burn behind her eyelids. "I suppose... I just got the feeling that it wasn't too late for them, that what they had for each other wasn't so broken it couldn't be repaired. Vaargys and me... not so. There was no coming back from what he'd done, and we both knew it."

"Whatever became of him? Of Vaargys?" Kana leaned forward eagerly, his eyes shining with compassion. For once, he actually wasn't taking notes on the conversation, and Sagani noticed that, too.

Axa opened her eyes, and saw the lost soul on the street no more. She shuddered. "After I confronted him, Vaargys simply... left. Vanished into the horizon, just as abruptly as he'd first appeared to me. And then, I got to clean up after him– after us– all alone. I wasn't up to the task; wasn't really up to the task of anything but hiding in bed and regretting my life decisions up to that point. I could really only scrape together the wherewithal every now and then to go out and sell off or give away all the ridiculous trinkets and baubles we'd accumulated together. A few of the things I tried to get rid of turned out to be stolen, of course– big surprise, Axa, he's a thief and a liar– which did my already brutalized image no favors. Nor my purse, when I was obliged to pay out of my pocket for his chicanery."

"Villain," Kana spat, shaking his head slowly. "Scoundrel! ...Oh, how dastardly, to sow discord between the woman he loves and her neighbors and colleagues, then to abscond, completely free of reproach!" His sorrowful frown was as huge and expressive as his smiles always were, almost theatrically so.

Sagani just barely looked over in time to spot Aloth surreptitiously roll his eyes, and she couldn't suppress her grin. I thought so. Ondra's Lure, they're pretty obvious now that I think of it...

The elf cleared his throat and took the reins. "Shall we assume, then, that your family and friends were unable or unwilling to aid you in your time of need?"

Axa scoffed. "My little brother was sympathetic, but ultimately powerless to help me. He's stuck too far under our mother's thumb. He's a Godlike, and it's made things... difficult, for both of them. He feels obligated to her. As for our mother, she blamed me for my own misfortunes, for 'shacking up' with a man like Vaargys in the first place. So... that sort of says it all about our relationship. My father hasn't been in the picture since I was 13, and any non-academic friends I hadn't already traded for school, I ended up trading for Vaargys. I'd made him my whole world, and he–" She stopped herself, puffed on her pipe. "I don't... really make new friends easily. Never have."

Kana laughed good-naturedly. "With all due respect, present company seems to indicate quite the contrary."

"Ha! Since becoming a Watcher with her own castle who offers to help everyone she meets solve all their problems, I do seem to be quite popular, yes," the orlan agreed with a wry smirk. "...I jest, of course. In any case, the friends I do make, I tend to keep. And cherish." She smiled at Kana earnestly, and now he averted his eyes and went ruddy in the face.

Sagani and Aloth surprised one another, simultaneously faking coughing fits to cover their derisive snorts. Kana went even redder, but still managed a sheepish smile as Axa quickly redirected back to the topic at hand.

"In any case, it was my mother who gave me the idea to relocate to the Dyrwood. She brought back the notice advertising the caravan from the marketplace, threw it at me as I lay in my little nest of quilts and despair, and told me I had better either try and do something to rebuild my life or I may as well just return my soul to the Wheel to start a new one, save it some time and trouble."

"So... in response to your fiancé sabotaging your career and your reputation in your own home community, your own mother told you to... choose between self-exile and suicide?" Aloth spoke very quietly, very carefully. When Axa nodded and shrugged, puffing nonchalantly on her pipe, he couldn't quite come up with anything to say to that.

"As harsh as it sounds," she pressed on as she rose and crossed the room to stand before the hearth, "I agreed with her. I still do. Mama grew up a slave and only finally earned her freedom by running away, so maybe she's biased, but... I was never going to be able to move on like that, lying around like I was dead already, surrounded by bad memories. I had to do something, get up and get out. And she dropped a nice, pre-packaged escape plan in my lap, just like that. Nicest thing she'd done for me in a good long while. ...So. That's what lead me to the Dyrwood."

"And then it lead you to the bîaŵac, the Engwithan ruins, the machine," Kana murmured, rubbing his chin and studying the little woman. "Perchance, did you ever pray to Wael that you might live an interesting life? Because if so, you've had your wish granted many times over!"

"It's funny," Axa sighed as she bent and tapped her pipe against the bricks of the fireplace, "you'd think I'd hold a grudge against Wael, allowing Their priest to make a fool of me like that. But in the end, I had to admit that although he betrayed my trust and wrecked my life, Vaargys hadn't actually ever violated any of Wael's tenets. ...Made me rethink the gods, a bit. Maybe he was a true servant of Wael after all, sent to guide me here for some reason. And I do still pray to Wael for guidance, on occasion."

The aumaua sat up in his chair, beaming. "Ah! Shall we go to the Hall of Revealed Mysteries tomorrow after all, then? We can ask the scriveners' opinion!"

"Gods! I spill my guts to you, and you're still thinking about going to the library?" Axa shook her head and chuckled. "You're a mystery, Kana."

"Wait, so... you were gonna marry the pale elf?" Edér mumbled into his pillow, half asleep and trying to kick his boots off. "But you're an orlan. Would that... how would that work?"

The little woman threw the sheets back on her bed, using a little more force than she'd meant to. "Another mystery, Edér," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "Mysteries abound."

The other two men winced as Sagani laid a gentle, steady hand on the orlan's shoulder. "Hey. ...Hel of a day for all of us. Let's call it a night, yeah?"

"Let's, yes." Axa turned and smiled wearily, placing her little hand over the huntress'. "Thank you. All of you. Truly. Tomorrow... tomorrow should be easier, I think."

—

The next morning, Axa woke facedown on the floor halfway between her bed and the door to the room.

The rest of the day proceeded along the same lines.

They made for First Fires first, to visit the Ducal Palace and discern the fate of Edér's brother from the military records, as well as square away some lingering paperwork dealing with Caed Nua. Naturally, they came away from the Palace with no answers for Edér, more paperwork to do with Caed Nua, and a new, even longer list of tasks and priorities.

"You Watchers do that every time you roll into a new town?" Sagani stretched and yawned and Itumaak did the same, both of them glad to finally be back outside. "Introduce yourself, get involved in local politics, promise the townsfolk you'll visit the caves from their visions for 'em?"

"Sure she does," Edér grinned over the dwarf's shoulder. "How d'y'think we met her?"

Axa sighed, rubbing her bleary eyes. "That seems to be my routine since moving to the Dyrwood, anyway. No better way to earn a bit of coin and endear oneself to the locals than to offer a helping hand. The better to 'establish myself in the city,' too, I suppose– apparently a necessity if one just wants to access one little simple gods damned war record." She looked up at Edér with sympathy.

"Perhaps we might start realizing that goal by familiarizing ourselves with the local constabulary?" Aloth waved a slender finger in the direction of the squat, imposing keep that housed the Crucible Knights. "If what the... representative from the Dozens we met yesterday eve says is true, it sounds like they're well in need of the assistance and more than capable of affording your fee."

"Oh, they're more 'n capable of plenty," Edér grumbled as the party approached the stone arch and started up the stairs to Crucible Keep, "but it don't mean they'll actually do what they say they will. The Dozens, they got the opposite problem: they like t' say they done shit they haven't."

"As long as they pay us and help us get you your war records, they can talk all they like and I'll do the doing." Axa flashed her feisty, confident smile at the first Knight she spotted in the great hall–

–and within twenty minutes, she was storming back down the steep stairs, red-faced and fuming, her companions trailing nervously behind her.

"'Orlans aren't suited for the work,' he says!" she spat, flinging her hands about, teeth bared in anger. "We're 'too hostile,' he says! And then Clyver just... throws some bullshit fetch-it job at me and dismisses me like I'm a child!"

"Now, Axa, please, just– just try and calm down..." As soon as Kana said it, Sagani winced in sympathy for the stupid man. Oof... Wrong approach there, lad.

And she was right. Axa whipped around so fast that the huge man stumbled backward in surprise, nearly tripping over his own feet. She reached up to jab a finger into his solar plexus while her eyes, narrowed into slits like thin violet blades, cut into him. "Never tell me how to feel, Kana, never again. Or by the Beast, I'll show you fucking hostile."

She whirled back to fore, marching away with her fists clenched at her sides, leaving Kana to stare after her and press his palm to the divot she'd poked in his belly. He watched as Sagani and Aloth followed close behind her, before he turned to Edér, eyes wide with bewilderment.

The blond chewed his pipe stem, giving the ochre-hued lad a look of pity. "First time pissin' off a woman? Or... just an orlan woman?"

"Hardly," Kana chuckled, "on either count. Why, it's not even my first time pissing off that particular orlan woman!" He shook his head, slowly ambling after the little woman, taking his time to catch up. "Although that barrel of powder was already well primed to explode, and not without reason. I suppose I just had no idea how serious the anti-orlan sentiment really was around here. Evidently, even the justiciars will make brazen, odious assumptions about a perfectly amicable visitor like Axa based on nothing more than bigoted superstition! And with the four of us standing right there alongside her, no less!"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but... I wasn't gonna say anything." Edér looked away, scratching at the back of his neck, and Kana turned to rebuke the man before realizing, with no small amount of shame, that he hadn't said anything to the justiciar to defend Axa either. He fell uncharacteristically silent pondering this, and Edér thumped him affectionately between the shoulders, passing the other man his pipe in the spirit of brotherhood. For whatever reason, it made Kana feel worse.

It didn't take the two men very long to catch up to the others. They had come to a dead stop not too far away, the three of them standing just beyond the threshold of a nearby building– or, what was once a building. The burnt out, crumbling ruins of Defiant Bay's temple to Woedica appeared to Edér and Kana to be rather unremarkable, considering its purpose and patron. Weeds poked up through the broken stone, insects and small vermin skittered amongst the scattered bricks.

And there Axa stood near the center of the ruin, still as a statue, staring into thin air. The clouds shifted with the wind, and a thin, feeble sunbeam dragged itself slowly across the district, catching her in the light for just a moment, but she made no sign of noticing.

Kana sidled up timidly behind Aloth, peering at the little woman over the elf's head. "Is... is she quite alright? I didn't upset her that badly, did I?" He looked to Sagani, hoping to see an encouraging face, but found the huntress entirely fixated on the orlan woman instead.

"Don't worry, Kana, it's nothing to do with you." Sagani's voice was quiet and clipped, and her face wore concern and shock in equal measure. "She's just... talking to a ghost."

"Oh– why, so she is!" Kana still stood behind Aloth– reminding himself of hiding behind his mother as a child after he'd angered one of his sisters– but he leaned forward all the same to better observe her. Sure enough, the signs were all there: her blank eyes, her unsteady stance, her lack of response to stimuli.

"Told ya, she just does that sometimes," Edér quipped, returning some of the dirty looks they were starting to draw from passersby. "We let her. She seems t’ like it."

Aloth leaned away from the giant chanter looming over his shoulder. "The shock starts to wear off after you've seen her do it a few times," he assured Sagani politely.

And as if on cue, Axa suddenly shuddered and blinked, coming out of her trance dazed and slightly paler than before. Her voice was shaky, but she kept it under control. "...The temple proper is underground. We can reach it through the catacombs, on the south side of Copperlane. That's... where we'll meet her. The Queen that Was." She turned to her comrades and found Sagani in front of her, the older woman's face a shifting landscape of wonder, fear, pity.

"You really are a Watcher, aren't you?" The way she said it, Axa knew Sagani believed it, now.

She smiled weakly. "I am, yes. For better or for worse."

—

Kana Rua breathed deeply of the sea air as the band of adventurers wandered through Ondra's Gift, and a powerful, heart-wrenching homesickness hit him like a punch to the gut. The smell of the ocean was the smell of home to him, and he'd been landlocked so frequently as of late on his journey across the Eastern Reach that he'd started to find it hard to recall the exact details of its tangy, briney aroma. Although the winds from the bay that swept across him now didn't smell quite like the ones he'd enjoyed back home in Tâkowa– rather fishy smelling, this particular shore– they were still a fond reminder of his coastal home, a kindness from Ondra Herself to him, here in Her namesake district in this faraway land.

Chest and mind alike full of the heady fragrance of the waves, he smiled down at Axa, and the little woman smiled back, giving his elbow a gentle squeeze. She had apologized to Kana for her earlier outburst as soon as she'd had time to process her conversation with the ghostly Woedican worshipper, and he had responded with a lengthy apology of his own for his cowardly silence during her earlier confrontation with the bigot at Crucible Keep. Before long, they were laughing and jesting as though nothing had ever happened. Neither of them could stay angry with a friend for very long, it seemed, and both were amenable to a sincere admission of guilt and a genuine attempt to make amends.

And he couldn't deny that the more time he spent in conversation with her, the more he found himself blushing and grinning stupidly, stumbling over his words. Though it felt... coarse to dwell on it, he couldn't help but wonder if there might be something between the two of them. We suffer misunderstandings here and there, but ultimately, she seems rather fond of me. And I have to admit, she's a stunning little beauty... She's strong, principled, fantastically clever... And her charm–

"Smells like a kraken took a shit out here and died," Axa groused, her lip curling back in revulsion as she tried to peer around the other pedestrians crowding the street. "Gods, I detest the sea. ...We must be lost. Isn't there supposed to be an inn around here somewhere?"

Kana cringed as his amorous daydreams quickly deflated. "Ah... there is, yes, the... Salty Mast," he replied reluctantly. "But, erh, you might not wish to give custom to–"

The crash of a heavy wooden door being flung against masonry shattered any sense of tranquility left in the muggy afternoon. Everyone on the street, Axa and crew included, quickly turned to the source of the clamor: a tall, slim woman in silver armor and purple silks, evidently doing her damndest to tear the door to the Vailian Trading Company office off of its hinges on her way out of the building. She appeared to be Ocean Folk at first glance, but when she whipped her head of thick, dark hair around, her feathers–

Her feathers, cerulean and emerald and azure, caught the late afternoon sunlight, fluffed up and fluttered in the breeze. Axa could hear the others around her gasping, whispering, but she–

–a gift, honeycomb, a gift from the Sky-Mother Herself! Oh, Axa, look at him, look at your beautiful little brother and she'd looked and seen feathers, feathers and blood and wet, pink flesh–

–had seen an Avian Godlike before.

"Gods damn that son of a cur!" Her voice was smooth and melodious despite her fury and fervor, and as Axa approached she found herself met by a pair of sharp, golden eyes that rivaled her own in intensity.

The feathered woman sneered, gesturing to the building she'd exited seconds before. "Ado. Looking for work? You could try your hand at running a down-on-its-luck Vailian Trading Company. There'll be a good position opening up soon enough, provided you don't mind mopping up your predecessor's blood before assuming his duties." Her Vailian accent was strong and rich, and she glared at the badly abused door, arms crossed over her chest, careful not to obscure the five suns on her breastplate.

Axa looked at the door herself just in time to see a frantic little fellow inside scramble to shut it as best he could. She turned back to the woman before her, whose scowl cut ever deeper into her striking features. "Uh. W‐well–" It took the little woman longer than usual to find her voice– "Enough coin, and you'd be surprised how well damn near anything'll clean up."

The scowl eased up, for a moment. "True enough. Verzano's just lucky he's not getting his payments in steel these days. Or not yet, anyway." The armored lady cast her piercing gaze at the orlan one last time– pinkish-white membranes sliding up out of the corners of her eyes– before striding purposefully up the road Axa and her companions had just come down.

No one spoke until the brilliant woman had vanished into the crowd, and then it seemed like everyone had something to say all at once. Axa had to lean in close for Sagani to hear her over the din. "I know we made a promise to take you to those cliffs," the redhead told her, "and I do intend to honor that promise. But do you think you'd mind if we made a brief diversion?"

Sagani saw Axa's violet eyes lingering on the ruined front door of the VTC branch office, and the little huntress grinned, Itumaak perking up at her side. "Don't mind a bit, Watcher. Never could resist a good mystery."

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #watcher axa #this only took *checks notes* ...five months to write #thank you for reading!

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louiserandom · 4 years

Text

Of Nosebleeds and Allergies

Rating: T

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara

Summary: The sight of Madara waltzing around in the summer heat half-naked, muscles flexing beautifully, causes Tobirama to have an unexpected nosebleed. To hide the true cause from his overbearing Anija, he blames it on aggressive pollen allergies.

It seems fine, until it isn't, because of course Hashirama would then assume that his Mokuton is a devastating allergen and starts sobbing because he now has to stay away from his beloved baby brother.

A/N: for @tuliharja who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS MADNESS, SOMEONE ARREST HER😤😤😤 but also thank you asdfghjk i had WAY too much fun writing this😂😂😂😂 this is peak flail. PEAK FLAIL i tell you

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 enjoy!

It's a cursed day, Tobirama decides.

For one, he'd always remained blessedly ignorant over why exactly Izuna swoons practically every time Tōka accidentally flexes her muscles—though whether or not it's ever truly accidental is up for debate—until today.

Today being the particularly sweltering mid-summer day when virtually every citizen of Konoha is frying alive, apparently, with only Tobirama, whose body temperature is naturally cooler due to his enhanced affinity for water, feeling perfectly content.

Madara, on the other hand, doesn't seem as comfortable, and that's Tobirama's only fully coherent thought before his mind blanks at the sight of Madara taking his shirt off, in their shared office no less, and stretching out his arms in a decidedly indecent manner.

Tobirama swallows heavily. Madara decides then to take a drink from his water bottle, so sloppily that stray droplets trickle from the corner of his mouth, along the column of his neck down his chest. Tobirama's brain, in turn, short-circuits.

Fuck.

Tobirama wonders if it would really be that strange if he runs away through the window right this second. Or douses the office with a Water Dragon.

He clenches his fists. Sighs. Berates himself for his ridiculous thought process.

Maybe Tobirama is overreacting. All right, maybe he's definitely overreacting, because of course, he logically understands that were it not for his stupid, godsdamned uncontrollable crush on the Uchiha Clan Head, he wouldn't be phased by the current display. He takes care to keep his face neutral and his posture more or less relaxed, focusing his gaze on the papers before him and away from the thick, bulging muscles, the tantalizing expanse of exposed, slightly tanned skin. It's more than a little horrifying for Tobirama to catch himself imagining how he'd licking the thin sheen of sweat on Madara's collarbones, chest, abs and—

Well. This is going nowhere.

Tobirama closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, frantically thinking of dead kittens and bloody battlefields in order to ward off the scorching flares of arousal.

Annoyingly, it doesn't work. He opens his eyes only to see drops of red on his—well, what used to be his top-priority tax proposal, and it takes his malfunctioning brain a few seconds to realize that he's been hit by what used to be Hashirama's constant plague during his sexually hyperactive teenage years.

A nosebleed.

A fucking nosebleed.

He scrambles for a tissue, keeping his gaze fixed downward and hoping to the gods Madara hasn't noticed the debacle.

"What the fuck is wrong, Senju?" Just Tobirama's luck. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Tobirama says, shaking his head erratically, "I just—I'm fine. A random nosebleed. Nothing to worry about, just—keep working." He even does a little wave with his hand, which is reminiscent of the flailing that's supposed to be Madara's specialty.

By the Pure Lands, this is embarrassing.

Madara watches him with narrowed eyes and then, because the universe doesn't care for Tobirama's mental stability, stands and walks over to him, removing the tissue from his face and inspecting the damage. Pale green flashes in Tobirama's vision, and he shuts his eyes closed, half-petrified, half-savoring the warm, comforting tingle that is Madara's chakra sizzling through him as he presses his fingers to the bridge of Tobirama's nose to heal him. The sensation stokes Tobirama's increasingly uncomfortable erection, making him resent the delectable pleasure.

(This is probably the gods' revenge for all the times he'd broken the laws of nature with his experiments. It's maddening.)

"Just a couple burst vessels," Madara says with a nod, finally (albeit regrettably) removing his hand. "Probably because of the damnable heat, yeah?"

"Mmhm," is all Tobirama manages, throat dry and mind ever more foggy as he's treated to a close up of Madara's taut, dangerously enticing nipples.

"You should maybe work from home the rest of the day," Madara suggests, pressing his palm against Tobirama's forehead. "You don't appear to have a fever, but you are a little flushed." He smirks then. "I thought you were blushing. It's a—it's a nice look—whatever, shut up!" Madara jerks away from him suddenly, both hands flailing a little.

Now that's... an interesting comment. Something to think about later.

"When did you become a mother hen, Uchiha?" Tobirama teases while Madara stutters through a bunch of incoherent insults. At least this is the Madara he knows and—likes, a welcome contrast to his uncanny concern earlier.

"Tch. Like I care," Madara glowers, "get a heat stroke, whatever, I don't give a shit. I mean—I do, but only because your brother would cry and get snot all over me if you get sick."

As if on command, Hashirama struts right through the door, the wood disassembling and patching itself back again once he's inside.

"Good morning!" he sing-songs.

"Stop abusing the fucking door!" Madara and Tobirama shout in unison.

"Oh, come on," Hashirama whines. "The door doesn't mind—I'd know!"

"We do," Tobirama says.

"Yes, and I also mind your presence," Madara growls. "You have your own office, so get the paperwork you need and fuck off."

"Madara, don't be so—Tobi. Tobi! Is that blood?"

Tobirama rolls his eyes. Great. Just what he needs right now.

"It's just a nosebleed, Anija. You don't need to heal it, Anija, Madara already did. Please, for the love of the gods, keep quiet." It takes all of Tobirama's self-control to keep his voice level as he talks alongside his brother's panicked whining, and it takes a particularly hard shove for Hashirama to shut up and focus on him. "Anija. I. Am. Fine."

"Okay," Hashirama breathes, worry never leaving his eyes, "you're fine—for now. But what if you get another nosebleed? How much blood did you lose? Is it the weather? Are you sick? Did Madara hit you, do I need to beat him up?"

"Hey!"

Tobirama scoffs. "I find it insulting that you think I wouldn't beat him up myself," he says, "especially considering his pathetic defeat in our last sparring match."

"You cheated, you fucking dick—"

"But none of the above," Tobirama goes on, silently laughing at Madara's attempts to get past Hashirama and presumably strangle him. "It's just..." His eyes trail treacherously over Madara's straining biceps. "Aggressive pollen allergies," Tobirama blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

The right thing to say, too, because Hashirama heaves a massive sigh of relief.

"Oh. Gods, well, allergies are easy to treat at least," he says, "but they're still dangerous, Tobi, and they can hinder your breathing! You'll need to stay inside a lot, of course, and I'll prepare some medicine for you, and—"

"Stupid fucking Senju," Madara grumbles, a bit calmer now and simply glaring at both of them, arms crossed. "Make sure to stay away from your precious brother too, since your Mokuton is one big fucking allergic hazard," he sneers.

Well, fuck.

Hashirama's expression twists into one of terror, and Tobirama sorely laments the lack of much-needed alcohol in their vicinity.

"I'M AN ALLERGEN, OTOUTO," the God of Shinobi screams, his eyes welling up with tears. "No, no, no, that means I'll have to stay away from you and gods, all the trees I grew in the village—"

"Why," Tobirama says, fixing a confused Madara with a glare.

"—I'll have to draw away all my chakra and probably seal and oh no, think of the children! What if I've already caused deadly allergic reactions—"

"Why would you do this," Tobirama sighs as Madara grows more and more baffled by the spectacle. He obviously meant it as a (poorly contrived) joke, but has apparently forgotten that Hashirama is an idiot.

"—Tobi, you have to move out immediately!" Hashirama shouts at him, shaking is shoulders, then recoils with a yelp, and Tobirama senses him forcefully toning down his chakra. "And far away from me, until I find a suitable treatment—oh, Madara!" He turns to his friend. "Since Tōka and Izuna are on their honeymoon, Tobi should live with you for a while—I mean you've finally confessed and you can spend quality time together! Just, you know, don't sleep with each other until Tobi—"

"WHAT THE FUCK," Madara shrieks.

What the fuck, Tobirama's mind echoes.

"I DIDN'T TELL HIM, YOU UTTER ASSHOLE." Madara lifts Hashirama by the collar and pins him against the wall. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"But you told me yesterday—"

"I lied!"

"Well, you can tell him now," Hashirama whines, prying Madara's hands off himself, "while I quarantine and de-Mokuton everything, because Tobi could suffocate and die, Madara, this is serious."

"I won't." Tobirama raises his voice to be heard over Madara's cursing. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a massive headache setting in. "Anija, you do not need to quarantine yourself. It's all right. I am not allergic to the Mokuton."

"How can you know?" Hashirama demands, managing to restrain Madara's hands behind his back. "You've never had allergies before, only this year when we've basically moved into a village half-built by my jutsu, Tobi! It all fits."

"It doesn't," Tobirama growls, "because I'm not allergic at all. I lied. Go away."

"Why do you two keep lying to me? And then why did you have a nosebleed?" Hashirama tilts his head to the side, confused.

Tobirama sighs. "Madara hit me. We need to talk it out."

"Wh-what the hell, Senju?"

"What?" Hashirama growls, just as Madara yelps as his hands are squeezed tighter.

"I hit him first," Tobirama lies through gritted teeth, "and he hit back. Stop fretting. Now if you leave, I promise we'll talk, make up and maybe even hug it out like you always force us to."

Hashirama blinks. "Hm." He slowly releases Madara and drops the scowl, though his eyes remain narrowed. "You'd better be telling the truth this time. If you're not, I will ground both of you and issue a decree for that if I have. And I expect both of you over for dinner today along with detailed explanations from both sides because this kind of behavior is unacceptable," he chastises them before stalking towards their desks, grabbing the paperwork labeled for him and heading out in the same atrocious way, through the malleable door.

Leaving Madara and Tobirama drowning in a very uncomfortable silence that stretches on mercilessly.

Madara clears his throat, speaking first,

"Fuck."

With that concise assessment, he stalks back to his desk, dons his shirt back on and hides his face behind the high collar, slumping onto the chair like a disgruntled porcupine.

"So," Tobirama starts.

"Your brother is a menace."

Madara's chakra rages throughout the whole office, now almost painful as it burns against Tobirama's senses. He sighs.

"So," Tobirama says firmly, "when Anija said you meant to confess..."

Madara sinks further into his chair, half-concealed by his desk at this point.

"He meant—you like me?" Tobirama asks, wincing as Madara's chakra flares further.

"I hate him," Madara seethes.

Tobirama rolls his eyes. Such childish behavior.

"Well if that is what you were trying to tell me," he says, "I was going to say that I might—"

"Not attempt to kill me?" Madara cuts in.

Tobirama resists the urge to throw something heavy at the infuriating man. "That I might possibly not completely hate you too."

This has Madara fumbling to raise his head above his shirt only to gape at Tobirama for a few tense moments.

"Well, why didn't you tell me earlier?" he demands and even has the gall to sound offended.

"Why didn't you?" Tobirama parries. So many things would have been easier if he had, Tobirama's far-too-frequent hard-ons included.

"Because," Madara glowers, "because—why should I be the one to take initiative?"

Huh. Another interesting observation.

Tobirama smirks. "Fine then. This is me taking initiative: I say we ditch Anija's friendship bullshit and go get dinner together." He flinches. "Ditch him for as long as we're able, that is."

Madara blinks. "Dinner?"

"At your place," Tobirama suggests, dipping his voice lower, "if you'd like more privacy?"

Considering his embarrassing reaction to Madara's earlier display, it's viscerally pleasing for Tobirama to see the man blush, dark eyes glazing over prettily.

"Oh." Madara's lips curl in a grin. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

"Perfect." Tobirama barely reining in his own giddy smile. He motions to the thankfully small piles of paperwork they've left to get through. "Let's take care of these quick then, before Anija has the chance to sabotage us."

Madara huffs out a laugh. "Please. He'll be stuck with those missives until midnight, and that's if he's lucky."

"Do you remember that time when Anija had work to do and then didn't do it?" Tobirama muses.

"Hm. You mean every single time?"

"Exactly."

It's a bit of a surreal pattern that follows, both of them falling back on their usual banter, only with the added weight of their revealed feelings hanging over them. It's a comforting weight, for Tobirama at least, and for once, it doesn't feel wrong to let his gaze linger on Madara's lips, focus on the way his tongue darts out to wet them, stoking Tobirama's fantasies about how they'd feel against his own. His staring must give him away, though, and it's a few minutes later that Madara falls into abrupt silence, his eyes suddenly widening as he proceeds to stare at Tobirama like he's grown another head.

"Wait a second. Did you happen to have that nosebleed because—"

"Because you're an idiot," Tobirama interrupts him, his insides growing cold with renewed embarrassment, "and that raises my blood pressure."

Madara's mouth shuts, curving in a devious smirk. The bastard. Of course he wouldn't be fooled.

Tobirama clears his throat. "Listen, the sooner we finish work, the sooner we can leave and go on that fucking date," he says with a pointed glare. "So concentrate."

"As you wish, Tobirama," Madara drawls, a teasing glint in his eyes, "wouldn't dare to disobey."

Somehow, even without outright taunts, Tobirama feels like he's been defeated. It doesn't matter, though; what he may lose in dignity, he’ll make up for by preserving his outward composure.

Besides, the next hours give him the added pleasure of seeing how the mere promise of a romantic outing ramps up Madara's usually sluggish productivity to an astonishing degree.

It's a good day after all, he decides, and about to get much better.

#madatobi #tobimada #fanfic #madara uchiha #tobirama senju #humor #romance

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vicunaburger · 4 years

Text

Imperfect and inhuman, are we?

Fandom: School of Rock: The Musical (AU Verse) Chapters: 2/? Pairing: Dewey Finn x OC (Magdalena Newton) The Players: Dewey Finn, Magdalena Newton, Ned Schneebly, The School of Rock Students Word Count: 1,779 Warnings: M for Future Things

Notes: Oh yeah, this was a thing I was doing.

Chapter 2 - Evening - Serenade

It was that near perfect sort of weather outside: the kind where it was cool enough to open all the windows, but not cold enough to warrant breaking out the portable heater and pointing directly at his feet. Instead of shutting himself away in the makeshift “soundproof” corner of his apartment, Dewey decided to take his personal jam session out onto the fire escape.

He had long since chased away the neighbors who took issue with his might tributes to the rock gods, so he wasn’t too concerned with having the police called on him.

Again.

Noise complaints carried expensive ass tickets.

Besides, using an acoustic guitar dampened the noise enough to satisfy the holdout residents around the building.

“Why is this G sounding like an A? Are you out of tune- fuck!” He mumbled though the impromptu song, angrily adjusting the strings. “I thought I fixed you when the humidity changed.”

“I don’t know that song,” a voice from the alleyway below called up to him. “Play Freebird.”

Startled, Dewey nearly fell off the windowsill onto the harsh, metal grating of the fire escape. Setting he guitar -gently- on the floor of the apartment, he climbed outside, peering down over the shaky railing to the ground below.

Looking ever so much the small, porcelain doll from such a height, he spotted a familiar woman wrapped in a winter white coat. Her dark hair spilled over one shoulder onto the pristine fabric, reminding him of one of those ink blot tests the Horace Green resident counselor would give the faculty every month.

She waved up to him, but it was hard to read her expression from such a distance. He could only assume she was in a good mood from her cheeky joke about requested another song. Then again, he had yet to see her in a bad mood.

Dewey was surprised -in the very best way- to see her so early in the evening. Magdalena had a habit of catching him as he arrived home from late night practice; it was uncanny how she always seemed to sneak up on him, barely making a sound as she approached him on the sidewalk. Normally, he could hear a pin drop from six feet away, but she was something else.

They would exchange pleasantries before she would continue her trek down the sidewalk toward the city proper, “to work” as she explained. She made no attempt to elaborate on what sort of job started so late at night; so, he guessed it was something medical.

Or she was a classy hooker.

Didn’t much bother him either way.

“Hey, Snow White!” Dewey called down to her, “Hold on, I’ll be right down.”

He near leapt back into his apartment, scrambling around on all fours, picking through various piles of laundry on the floor. They were organized – in a way – by the level of wear they received throughout the week. Obviously, something on the fresher side was the goal; it would be mortifying to pick out a shirt that had food stains or some other sign of his lack of forethought to hit the laundromat last week.

Magdalena always looked like a million bucks striking down that grimy sidewalk, whereas he looked like he rolled around a thrift store clothing bin.

He had gotten most of his wardrobe from thrifting, but she didn’t need to know.

“Aaaah – I’ll be right down… gimme just another minute.” He grabbed a sweater vest from under his bed, jamming it over his head as he yelled toward the window. “I don’t want you being late… for… whatever you would be late for!”

Struggling with the vest, as he had somehow managed to slip his head through an arm hole, he failed to notice the woman sitting politely outside the window.

Magdalena watching him angrily try and right himself; amused that he was taking such great pains to dress nicely for her sudden arrival. Frankly, what he already had on was enough for her, as she enjoyed seeing him so vulnerable?

No, casual was a better choice. Sometimes the nuance escaped her.

“No need to shout, Mr. Finn.” Magdalena finally announced herself, wanting to end his struggles. “I can hear you perfectly well.”

Dewey stopped midway removing the vest, dropping the garment to the ground, and pulling his t-shirt down over his stomach. It had ridden upward in his haste, exposing his midsection entirely. A bright blush spread across his cheeks, noting the fact she had been starting directly at the exposed pudge of his belly. Was it because of the pudge? It was the pudge, he concluded, her staring at him for any other reason was making a beeline for cheesy porn fantasy territory.

“What- how did you get up here?” He asked, blinking slowly.

Magdalena tilted her head, mirroring is blink, “The stairs.”

“Well, yeah duh the stairs, I meant like how you got up here so fast. There are like fifty steps up to this floor-” He sat on the windowsill across from her.

“Fifty-three steps.” She corrected him gently, brushing some stray hair behind her ear.

“How do you- “Dewey began.

“I counted.” Magdalena finished for him. “I passed all of my arithmetic courses some years ago, Mr. Finn, as I’m sure you have.”

Pausing, he ran a hand through his mess of hair, trying to smooth down his perpetual bedhead fluff. Magdalena’s hand twitched with the impulse to run her fingers through his hair, wondering if it would be as soft as it looked against her sensitive skin. It wouldn’t have been too hard to just reach over a little, just for a brief moment to keep that sensation as a memory.

Two things kept her impulse in check: one, social convention would frown upon such a familiar gesture of affection towards a man she hadn’t yet spoke a thousand words to altogether. Two; she dared not cross the threshold between the fire escape and his apartment.

Fire escapes were public, specifically owned apartments were not.

“I… sound like a complete jackass when I talk to you. I’m usually better? Sometimes. Most times. Promise. Swear on my vinyl collection; may it melt if I’m lying.” Dewey scratched the back of his neck nervously.

Shrugging, she gave him a small, reassuring smile, “Well, I don’t know anyone personally to compare your behaviors with, but I’m hardly offended by what you say.

Dewey looked about to cry, which she couldn’t be sure if it were because of her response, or the chill in the weather. He leaned forward, elbow on his knees, with his chin in his hand. The fact that his upper body was now technically beyond the windowsill was not lost on her, her eyes flicking down to calculate the angle between his head and the window frame.

He sighed heavily, taking note of her impeccable posture, “You’re so… polite, ya know that? Like those women in fancy drama movies on PBS. Sitting around waiting to marry some fancy lord or whatever. Why are you up here talking to me anyway?”

“Oh, well, shouting from the street would be grossly inappropriate. My mother, she always says, ‘Magda’” She deepened her accent, hunching slightly, “ ‘If they cannot be close enough to hear you speaking softly, they aren’t worthy of hearing what you have to say in the first place.’”

“So, you came up here because you wanted me to hear you better?” Dewey tried to piece what he could through the thick, eastern European accent she had donned. “I would have come down! Now you’ll get that coat all covered in rust and I’m gonna feel bad about it. And that’s gonna make me break out the wallet so you can get it dry cleaned, because I need to be a gentleman.”

Magdalena laughed, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, “I can get it washed, no charity required. It’s just a coat; but a Mr. Finn is unique, so I will gladly sacrifice something that can be replaced.”

The rocker stared at her, his jaw a little slack, “…are you real?”

“The eternal question plaguing the greatest minds in history.” She played with the ends of her inky hair, twisting it around her fingers, “Maybe. Maybe not. In this instance of sitting with you, yes, we are real in relation to each other. Then again, when I leave, you might not exist until I come back. Or vice-versa.”

“Terrifying,” He replied, shaking his head sadly.

Seizing the opportunity, she reached over with her free hand, patting his shoulder softly, “Quite; but I could always be wrong, Mr. Finn.”

Dewey reached upward, placing his larger hand upon hers, frowning when he felt how cold she felt, “Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were freezing? Here.”

Before she could stop him, he took hold of both her hands, pulling them inside the warmth of the apartment, rubbing them between his own hands to generate heat. Magdalena’s arms felt like their were being pulled through a nest of razor wire, her very sinew feeling as if it were being peeled back from her muscles.

She steeled her expression, biting her tongue to keep from screeching in pain from his selfless gesture, trembling head to toe with the effort. He thankfully didn’t notice her discomfort, cupping his hands around hers and puffing warm breaths against her cold skin. What should have been a tender, friendly gesture was being overridden by her compulsion to stay outside. His permission needed to be verbal, not physical. Words were powerful things in her experience.

Her head was pounding, her vision growing blurry with the pain streaking through her veins like acid. Faintly, she could feel a small drop of blood leaking out from her nose, trickling down her to her lip, and falling onto her lap.

Dewey must have taken his attention away from her hands, his eyes growing wide as he let her go, “You’re bleeding? Are you okay? Snow?”

The woman pulled her hands toward her body, one of them going up to try and hide her bloody nose, “Oh! I’m… forgive me, it happens occasionally. Not your fault!”

The moment her hands were outside the threshold of the window, her body felt perfectly normal. No pain, no throbbing headache. Just as she had been moments before.

“Allergy medication. Sometimes with the dry weather… ah, still, I apologize for the gruesome interruption.” She took a handkerchief out of her coat pocket, wiping away the blood as best she could. “Did I get it all? Less hideous?”

Leaning forward, Dewey pretended to examine her face, struggling to keep a stern expression, “Well, less hideous than you usually are, so it’s a start. Might take a little more work to get you from hideous to tolerable.”

Magdalena pouted, stuffing the handkerchief back into her pocket, “I’ll enlist your help to make sure I’m daresay presentable in the future. Goodnight, Mr. Finn, I expect a better song choice tomorrow.”

Writing Tags: @amywright @mrgeuse @hoodoo12 @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @a-subconscious-manifestation @asriells @missihart23 @heknowshisherbs @clairjohnson

#school of rock musical #school of rock broadway #school of rock fanfiction #dewey finn x oc #school of rock AU #writing time

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dramaqueeenamby · 5 years

Text

Focus | T. Odinson

A/N: It’s so late. I- Don’t ask. This ain’t proofread at all, so I apologize in advance. I’ll tag more of ya’ll tomorrow. A bitch is tired. Also, OC’s name is basically a huge hint for the ending.

I don’t own the GIF. Found it on Google.

Warnings: Trash ass Smut (first time, fingering, oral, etc).

Words: 4.5K

“You come to me, a king, so boldly, so forthcoming, so confident, with such a request inappropriate for a woman of your status.”

Heavy footsteps sounding throughout the room informed Ashake that he’d stepped off his throne, no doubt moving closer to her, each footstep sending a surge of fear up her spine. Countless prayers to the gods failed to abate her anxiety or the terror that wrecked her body.

Such a task for a servant, even for one with such favor among the Queen, it was uncanny.

A deep swallow and a small gasp when a long, thick finger moved under her chin, forcing her head up.

His deep eyes bore into her golden brown ones. Her features were soft, cheeks on the chubby side, her skin golden-hued and glistening under the heavy lights in the throne room. Thick eyebrows framed her eyes that were large and stretched, an indication of her nervousness.

Her long, thick, onyx hair with white highlights was tied back and braided down her back.

The teal gown was made of thin fabric that allowed him to see the fullness of her breast, the outline of her dark nipples, the curvature of her hips, shapely legs, and plump backside he could see from the front.

As the infamous God of Thunder drank in the sight of the young woman before him, Ashake prayed for a way to escape. This was beyond her scope of expertise and certainly bypassed her level of comfortability.

She loved her country as much as the next person, even Queen Masika, who Ashake considered more of a friend than an employer, but she loathed that she’d been charged with carrying out such a request.

Beseeching the strongest being in all of the realms for not only a litany of resources for her people, but soldiers, an army, to help them ward off the vile dark elves. It was becoming too much for her country, and they’d exhausted resourced from all of their allies.

Queen Masika was desperate for assistance, and though her pride made her swear that she’d never seek help from the god. Centuries ago, they'd been involved, briefly, but the split was far from amicable.

One thing Masika valued more than her pride was that of her people. And her people needed her to do something to save them, and fast.

But Masika could not find herself to leave her throne, fearing the Elves would hear of her absence and attempt to attack, something she refused to risk. So she opted for Ashake, her most trusted servant, sending her on a secret passage to Asgard as the Queen’s mouthpiece.

It was rare, most royals imploring each other directly, not through third parties.

But in times of war, protocol was often discarded.

As was the case here.

Ashake breathed in relief when he dropped his hand and stepped back, providing a modicum of distance between them.

Trembling in her stomach increased as she managed a few words. “If I may speak, your highness.”

Thor nodded. “You may.”

“We are a small nation, my king. Our resources are finite, our numbers dwindling. Both civilians and soldiers. The elves-”

“If I wanted a briefing, I could consult with a council,” he scoffed, turning on his heel. “Tell your queen that if she wishes for my aid, she must do so in person.”

Shit. Ashake’s confidence, brief from the onset, minimized with each dismissive comment that left his mouth. Still, she had a mission to accomplish, and she couldn’t allow her fear to prevent her from doing that.

“You would allow innocents to die?” She shouted after him, frozen in her spot as he spun around, eyes narrowing.

“Excuse me?”

Breathe. Ashake had come too far to back down. It was now or never. “You are a sworn protector of all inhabitants in the nine realms. You have a responsibility-”

“Remember before whom you plead!” He raised his voice, hiding hid surprise when he saw her fist clenched at her side. It intrigued him. Perhaps there was more to her than met the eye.

“Would you allow your personal feelings for Queen Masika to stop you from doing what is right?” When he failed to respond, she continued. “She will give you whatever you want.”

Thor stepped forward and chuckled with disgust, darkly informing. “There is nothing Masika has that I want nor need.”

Her stomach dropped, but she was relentless. “There must be something-“

“I said, Masika,” he interrupted. She furrowed her brows and tensed when he reached his hand over and his coarse fingers feathered her clavicle. “You, however, well, that is a different story.”

Now, she was confused. “I-I don’t understand.”

“Come now, I don’t take you for daft.” He smiled softly, and for some reason, it helped to placate her nerves, but why? “It’s simple, really. You desire my aid, and I…..” She watched his eyes roam down her body, lust dancing in his mismatched orbs. “You.”

A tiny gasp escaped her full lips. Did she hear him correctly? Surely, he wasn’t implying that..no. Impossible. He was a king. A God. He’d bedded Masika, arguably the most beautiful woman in all of the realms, why would he want her? A servant?

His sexual needs could definitely be satisfied by other women of higher rank and status than herself. Desperation seemed unbecoming of someone like the monolithic man before her, but why-

“You think too much, Ástvinur,” he commented, moving his hand down her arm, the back of his hand gliding down and moving to the small of her back. Slightly, he tugged her closer. “I will grant your request if you fulfill mine.”

At that point, she was only partially listening. There was no need to listen anymore. He was simply repeating himself, though she could understand why. Perhaps he thought repetition would breed acceptance.

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“I-If I do this, then-then you will help us,” she whispered, eyes slammed shut.

She unconsciously grasped for his armor as he brought his lips down on her neck. “I will personally deliver Malekith’s severed head to your queen.” The cavalier tone of his voice in conjunction with his lips, soft and warm against her flaming skin, it was so….contradictory.

Forcing away the tingling in her stomach, she applied pressure on his chest, forcing him to stop, the cessation producing a frown.

From her.

“And I have your word on that?”

He stared at her. No malice. No arrogance. Not even lust. It was….intrigue? She didn’t have much time to evaluate because his smirk returned seconds later as he gave a small nod. “You do.” She swallowed. Again. “Now…..” Ashake watched him offer his hand. “Do I have yours?”

Screaming in the deepest pit of her conscious, begging for a listening ear, there was doubt. Was this all a ploy? Was the king toying with her? Was this just a game? Something along the lines of what caused the cessation of his and Masika’s relationship?

However, as curious and doubtful as she was, the fear of what she stood to lose if she didn’t do this, that terrified her. Masika, their people, a nation depended on her, and she refused to squander this opportunity.

She accepted his hand. “Yes.”

————

His bedroom was massive, but that seemed to be a recurring theme for Asgard as a whole. Everything was so large, so grand, so elegant. She wondered if her home too once emanated such sentiments before the war destroyed the majority of it.

A large, open balcony captured her attention, her feet carrying her near the shining sun. Lifting her hand to block the portion that screamed at her sight, slightly blinding her, she took it all in.

It was so…quiet. So peaceful. The skies were clear, not a cloud in sight. Smoke invaded neither her nostrils nor her vision.

“It’s beautiful here.” Ashake felt him behind her, and strangely enough, his presence was comforting. A warmth that sparked from his body transferred to her, creating an invisible layer of relaxation.

Meanwhile, Thor continued to observe her, watching and studying. She was breathtaking. “Indeed.”

Ashake lifted her chin and reluctantly pulled away from the breathing sight, gradually turning around to face him. She terribly wished to forgo sharing this, but felt it necessary, and judging by his size, vital. “I-I’ve never been with a man.” His fingertips moved across her clothed hips. She felt him still. It surprised her. Did she surprise him?

“You’re concerned I will hurt you,” he easily extracted the real reasoning behind her disclosure. “An unwarranted worry.”

She lifted and narrowed her eyes. “Says the God.”

The corner of his lips lifted, and she shifted on her heels. It was the first time she’d seen him smile. It was….nice.

Ashake reached for his arms as he brought his hands to her hips and tugged her against him. Her nails pushing into his skin, her head craned back, she met his intense stare.

“I will be gentle with you, Ástvinur.” Licking her lips, the young woman found her hands moving across the extensive span of his chest, his armor cool under her fingertips as thoughts of when he planned to remove it would occur. His body heat was comforting and, well, desired. “Nor will I continue if that is not what you wish.”

Her head snapped up at that. Was he seriously implying that….

No.

More mind games.

But the way he was looking at her, the way his hand moved to her cup her face, Ashake felt a sense of authenticity coming from the king.

She believed him.

And still, for reasons, she couldn’t really explain nor understand, turning back around, she started to undo her gown. Untying the sash around her waist, pushing down the thin straps on her shoulders, her eyes shut at the moment the material fell to the floor, pooling at her feet.

Stepping out of the soft dress, she slowly turned around. Naked in front of a literal god, insecurities swooped in as she moved her arms across her chest to conceal her breast.

Thor recognized the intent behind the action and quickly moved to grasp her.

Eyes meeting, she offered no resistance as he gently lowered her arms.

“Don’t hide from me, Ástvinur.” His hands went to the bare indentures on her waist when he sighed. She was so soft, her scent addictive, and the innocence gleam in her eyes as she looked up at him had his dick hardening by the second. “You are so....so beautiful.” His hand moved up ever so slightly, his thumb caressing the underside of her right breast. “And your body....”

Her face was inflamed, incensed by the loving words coming from his mouth. Never had a man spoke nor looked at her the way Thor did. It was both intimidating and exciting.

But before she could respond, Ashake’s hand was in his hair, her fingertips pressing into his scalp. Mouth partially open, she bit down on her bottom lip and moaned quietly as his mouth latched onto her breast, sucking and kneading her.

His tongue flicked against her nipples causing sensations she’d experienced but never to this degree.

She moved her hands to his shoulders and then his face, pulling him up and kissing him. Typically, she would never be so forceful. He was a king. She, a servant, for a kingdom that wasn’t even technically his. It was his right to be in control, but her body was playing to another tune, one that was equally reciprocating his desire.

Ashake felt his hands move to her ass as he hiked her onto him, their lips never parting as he walked them over to his bed. Carefully lowering her down, her arms remained attached around his neck as he finally moved from her lips to her neck and her breast again. He seemed especially fond of those.

Her stomach flipped when his hands moved down to her cunt, his fingers grazing her folds. A pop sounded when he released her nipple to examine the wetness coating his fingers. A smirk came across his face.

“Look at how you wet you are for me. What a good girl.”

She moaned when his fingers returned to her core that was seeping between her thighs and wetting the bed beneath them. A strange mixture of a moan and a groan left her mouth as he teased her entrance with his index finger.

He didn’t rush it, didn’t force it, eyes watching her facial expressions closely for any sign of discomfort or pain. When he saw none, he entered another and another, each digit both stretching and milking Ashake whose own hand shot out to grab his wrist as he began to pump her.

“Oh, fuck.” Eyes still closed, one hand grasped for the sheets, the headboard, anything, the other, still over his, for what reason, she knew not. A part of her wanted to tell him to stop, not because she was in pain, quite the opposite.

It was a level of bliss she hadn’t knew existed. She’d worked herself plenty of times but never had she been brought to this level of euphoria. His strokes, his movements, his speed, it was all of an expertise level that felt catered specifically for her.

Like he knew exactly what she wanted and how she needed it, and she fucking loved it.

“Your h-h-highness-“

“Ah.” He slowed down, dropping his fingers, his thumb tapping her sensitive clit. “My name. Say it.”

He slapped her pussy. “Thor!”

A chuckle. “Good girl.”

Ashake wasn’t exactly how long he teased her. That’s what it became after some time. He was seeing just how undone he could make her with only his fingers. Perhaps it was an egotistical thing, or maybe he truly sought to bring her endless pleasure, not that the reasoning mattered. It felt good, and that was all she cared about.

Numbing and tingling through her body for a second or maybe third time, and she found the inner strength to speak again. “T-Thor, p-p-please.” Pushing his hand away and clenching her damp thighs together, she panted. “I-I-I need you.”

“Hmm?”

She hissed. He knew exactly what she was saying, and playing dumb only irked her. Did he want her to beg?

“I didn’t hear you, Ashake.”

Another gasp. This was the first time she’d heard him say her name, and of course, he chose the perfect time to say it.

“I-I.” He palmed her mons pubis, making her stomach flip. “I want you to f-fuck me, p-please.”

“There it is,” he grinned, moving back to remove some of his armor. Direly eager, she also sat up to help him, her hands roaming his chest in amazement. She’d never seen a specimen as beautiful as him. His muscles were strongly defined, large, ripped, and surprisingly soft under her touch. His skin was smooth and warm, that heat, she breathed it in, breathed him in.

“Now was that so hard?”

She glared as he chuckled, lowering his body back over hers before stopping to grab her ankles.

Falling back on the bed, she frowned as he moved his hand to the back of her thighs. “What are you doing?”

He said nothing, pushing her legs back so that they were nice and spread. She used what little stomach muscles she had to peer at him.

“Such a pretty cunt.” He murmured, eyes glossed with hunger. “I bet you taste equally divine.”

If Ashake thought his fingers took her to places unheard, his mouth completely snatched her soul. Thor’s hand shot out to stabilize her stomach as she shot up from the first lap of his tongue against her pussy.

Each flick and lick forced her to jerk back, desperate to move up the mattress and away from him. It was just too much, but each time she tried to separate, he tugged her closer, burying his face in her cunt.

He may have been the king, but at that moment, she was the divine one because he ate her out like she was his last supper.

Tears spilling down her face from it all, her moans and tugging eventually became too much as Thor released a quiet growl. Seconds later, in a shift she barely had time to process, she was sitting on his face, his arms restricting her thighs.

She was trapped, and even more, the depth of his mouth reached deeper. Ashake was sure that the entire palace knew of what was occurring with their king and this foreigner, but she cared not. Squeezing the headboard and scraping her nails against the wall, all she could focus on was the god underneath her who was convinced would be her undoing.

“Shit, Thor….”

Overindulgence seemed to be an issue on the Thunderer’s part. He was clearly complacent and comfortable, able to continue without respite, but for Ashake, that was far from the case,

Once again, he was taking her to a place where she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to return or not. This was no man, no, a mere mortal could not deliver to another human what Thor was giving her.

Satisfaction and absolute pleasure seemed to be the only things he knew how to grace her, and she was receptive and grateful for all of his blessings.

Eager as well.

Eventuality, he recognized that she’d had enough, and truly, while he was quite comfortable, he also desired something else.

Sliding down to his chest, she grabbed at his shoulders and smashed her lips on his. Moaning at the taste of herself on his mouth, she hugged him closer, partially paying attention to how he used one hand to rid himself of his trousers, that was until she felt something long, hard, warm, and thick against her ass crack.

Naturally, looking over her shoulder, her eyes fluttered as he kissed her chest only to double in size when she took it in.

His penis.

It-she truly had no words. She’d always heard whispers that Stormbreaker wasn’t the real thing to fear, and she now fully understood what they meant.

Her whole life became one big question, still not bigger than what lied before her.

“H-how is that-I don’t-is it safe?”

Thor chuckled. Her innocence was endearing. Alluring, as well.

“Come.”

Ashake held onto him as he laid on his back, staring up at her with intrigue. For her, she was just confused.

“What are you-“ She stooped, dumbly realizing the obvious nature of what he wanted. Her face flushed. “I-I don’t-I am still unsure if it’s safe.”

He gave her a small smile, and Ashake found herself returning it. With each second, she felt closer with and to him. “I told you I will not make you do anything you wish not to.”

The same apprehension she felt earlier toward his alleged reneging on his reward in their agreement was no longer present. She now fully believed him with everything in her. Why? Well, perhaps, he’d just fucked the disbelief out of her.

It was plausible.

Nervously chewing on her bottom lip, she inhaled deeply and reached behind her. Grabbing him, she foolishly tried to allow her fingertips to touch, but it was no use, his girth too encompassing.

Slow and gradual strokes, she felt his heat transfer and course. His eyes finally closed as she continued to work him, both for his pleasure and her preparation.

Finally, after gaining enough courage and swallowing her fear, she positioned him by her opening and slowly lowered herself.

It was far from perfect. There was burning, undeniable stretching, ripping (not literally), and just a feeling of being so overtly stuffed that she almost felt like she couldn’t breathe.

But he coaxed and walked her through it all, reminding her that she could stop whenever she chose to.

She didn’t.

Finally, when he was entirely sheathed inside of her, and Ashake felt comfortable with movement, she began a slow rock of her hips.

Forward and back, forward and back, forward and back. It was a slow, sensual rhythm, and she watched Thor’s face the entire time to ensure she was hopefully bringing him some type of bliss, especially after the indescribable orgasms he’d blessed her with.

“That’s it. Good girl. Look at how well you take my dick.” Placing her palms on his chest, she steadily increased her speed, her own moans In synchronization with his. “Just like that.”

“Yes, oh my god, fuck me, Thor.”

The heat was no longer restricted to bodies, it filled the room, dominated it. Heat from confidence, from sexuality, from the intimacy of it all.

“Keep going. Ride me, love.” Ashake cried as his hand came in contact with her ass, the slap echoing throughout the room. She didn’t care. If anything, it edged her even more.

Bouncing on top of him, the slapping of his balls against her, she milked down his glistening dick, her weeping pussy having made a complete mess all over him, her, and his bed.

But again, neither had any complaints, and when Ashake recognized the sparks in his eyes, for a second she was startled, but him sitting up and smashing his lips on her just sent another wave of her cream down their conjoined appendages.

“Mmmm, you’re so deep in me, my king. Please-ah-don’t stop.”

Her voice, her clenching, her screams, Thor was finally almost on the receiving end of overstimulation. Cradling her against him, he switched them over so that he was straddling her.

His thrusts were focused, powerful, and deep. Her nails broke the skin on his back, blood dripping down his shoulder blades. Afraid that she was being too loud, she attempted to muffle her cries into his neck only for him to pull away.

Kissing the underside of her jaw, he whispered into her. “I want them to hear it. To hear you. To hear how good I’m fucking you.” He grabbed her thigh and hiked it against his hip, making her scream form the deeper angle of his thrusts. “Let them hear that this sweet cunt is mine and mine only.”

The tears continued to spill as he absolutely wrecked her, her pussy throbbing as he continued to milk and drain her from anything that she had to offer. He wanted it. He wanted her.

And he’d have her.

Bodies spent and almost entirely depleted, Thor finally came, shooting his ribbon of warm, white, cum inside and all over her cunt. The sight of it thrilled him, especially the idea of what it could potentially mean for him, for them.

Ashake wasn’t entirely sure what she expected to happen after they were finished, but given how she knew how it was for servants who doubled as mistresses, she gathered the little bit of strength she had left and attempted to sit up.

Not even seconds later, his arm reached around her and pulled her into his chest. “Where are you going?”

He spoke into her neck, her back pressed against him, forcing her to look over her shoulder. “I just-I thought you’d-want me to go.”

“Stay, please.” He sighed into her skin, placing the softest kiss against her back. “I will depart in the morning with Asgardians Army and the Valkyrie-“

“Wait. Tomorrow?” Turning on her back, she brought the sheet up to her chest while his hand rubbed circles against her belly. “So soon?”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “A deal is a deal.”

She winced. She’d almost forgotten the entire reason behind.....this. The word “deal” was a lot more incriminating now.

“Well, I will come with-“

His eyes hardened. “No.”

She paused. “What do you mean-“

“I don’t want you anywhere near that place.”

“That place is my home,” she defended. “What? Do you expect me to never return?”

“You can return when it’s safe, and I’ve dismembered those elves with my bare hands,” he spoke coldly, chills down her spine. Recognizing the fear he may have caused, he brought his hand to her face. “Please-remain here where you will be safe from the carnage. When all is well, I will send for you.”

“Queen-“

“I will handle Masika,” he assures, grabbing her thigh and swinging it over him. Ashake easily scooted closed and laid her head against his chest, his hand on the small of her back. “I will handle everything.” A beat. “I will protect you.”

——————-

Masika stood on the balcony of her bedroom. The skies were littered with smoke, dark from burning buildings, and the streets covered with debris and sheet-covered bodies.

It was something almost out of a horror movie, and it made her sick.

“Victory is near, my people.”

“Are you sure?”

She turned around, his dark hair and beard both grown out and unkempt. The shield strapped around his forearm still cracked and dinged with the dirt and dried blood.

She waited for him to take it off, to remove his shirt as well before he made his way over to her. Arms around his neck, she stole a kiss.

“Have you heard from her?” His blue eyes bore into her. He was always so tense these days, but she could not blame him. He’d spent his life consumed by war.

It could change even the best of folks.

“Not yet.” He sighed. “Do not worry, love. Ashake is my most trusted servant. If anyone could handle this, it is her.”

“What about him?” Steve challenged. “We both know how he is.”

“What do you mean?”

“He could know.”

She gasped and dropped her arms. “No. Impossible.” She turned away. “She doesn’t even know so how could he?”

“When thunder and lightning reunite-“

“Child’s tales!” Masika spat, her voice rising in anger and volume. “You can’t seriously believe that foolery, can you?”

“Maybe you should.”

Masika crossed her arms and turned away. “And maybe you are a fool. Ashake would never betray me, betray her people. She’d soon rather die.”

Steve recognized that the conversation was at its end so he headed for the bathroom to shower and rid his body of the day's battles only to stop in the doorway. “And you’ve sent her in the arms of the man who will see us all dead before he allows her to die.” A beat. “I just hope for your sake, for all of us, you’re right about her.”

----

#thor #thor x reader #thor x oc #thor odinson #avengers #thor fanficition #marvel #marvel fanfiction #thor x black!reader #thor x black!oc #heimdall #odin #ares #norse mythology #mcu #thor fanfic

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