#a really deep hole could be the vast even if you think its the buried ^_^ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inkedtae · 4 years ago

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orange tree ⇾ knj, kth. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ ares!namjoon x mortal!reader (f.) x apollo!taehyung

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ greek god au, established relationship (w/namjoon), smut, pwp, filth, poly au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ he built you a pathronon but you would like to expand its patrons… at least just for the evening.

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 7.4k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!namjoon, tattooed!namjoon, silver mullet!namjoon, dom!taehyung, blonde mullet!taehyung, sub!reader, a lil bratty!reader, rough sex, public sex, outdoor sex, angry sex, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), humilition kink, size kink, pain kink, jealousy, threesome, overstimulation, degradation, double penatration (in one hole), exhibitionism, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, oral (m. and f. receiving), deep throating, cockwarming, choking, manhandling, body worshipping, pussy worshipping, basically reader worshipping, pussy slapping, cum eating, clit biting, spanking, teasing, begging, spit play, breath play, breast play, pretty much an ungodly amount of filth :)))

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i’m a hoe :))

❧ banner by ⇾ @kimtaehyunq (thank you so much friend~)

❧ beta’d by ⇾ @nottodayjjk and @uhgood-dooghu (a million thanks to these cuties~)

❧ le playlist

⟶ commission for @jamaisjoons through ChangesWithLuv, supporting BLM

Beyond the holy village of Barthes, within a meadow of sun dropped marigolds, you lounge topless underneath an orange tree. Cool winds cut the late summer heat. The breeze hardens your nipples and prickles your exposed skin with goosebumps. Hair tousled, you bite into another orange slice. He did not care for citrus, until he tasted your lips. Then, he planted you an orange tree. He promised you good fortune and a long life.

“You will want for nothing,” he told you. “Just, behave.”

Behave. A word he’d used often with you. Jaw tense, he’d hiss the warning while fondling your breasts or cupping your sex. When he is furious, he is boundless. He fucks like a titan, remnants of a gracious god completely withering away. Tight grips, rough pounds, and seething threats that promise such painful pleasure, Kim Namjoon is a red hot planet of sexual destruction. So angry, so lustful, he serves you a cockful of discipline and then some. You are helpless. To his wrath, you are subjected. But, you don’t mind. The truth of the matter is, your body is always alive when buried under his.

“You’re a minx,” a deep voice states behind you.

You sit up, fruit juice trailing down your arm. Lips in a pout, you gaze up at the tall man behind you. Blonde hair, symmetrical face, sharp collarbone, broad chest and - he smirks - and, oh so sinister. How could a delicate smile be so devilishly sincere? And he brands you a minx… what does this handsome man know of you? How long has he been watching? Swallowing your bite thickly, you try and fail to fathom his beauty.

He pushes himself off the tree trunk and circles around you. His eyes dance around the thin, red blanket, the array of fruits, and braided loaves by the wicker basket before trailing up your exposed legs. A shiver snakes around your curves. The way his eyes devour you makes you think he did not stumble upon this hideaway accidentally. Namjoon took extensive measures to ensure no one would. No, this man knows. He must. Why else would he not question your presence alone under the only tree? He accepts it, expects it.

Pushing your sticky arms around your breast, you attempt to somewhat conceal yourself and ask, “Are you a traveller?”

He shakes his head. The wind plays with his hair the moment the sun emerges behind heavy clouds. Its natural glow lights up his figure, in all its holy glory. Well-toned, pierceless, inkless, chiseled features are all too accurate to be human. He is pure. There is very little scarring on his skin as well. He looks down right angelic, prophetic, utterly godly.

Has Namjoon really entertained your fantasies? You first made the suggestion off hand, completely innocent in your phrasing, until his face fell. Stone fierce gaze slicing through your soul, you couldn’t help but describe an ocean’s worth of desires involving more than one man by your side. You were fucked to tears against the tree until it’s branches were bare and the ground was covered in ripe fruit and loose leaves. You thought that would be the end of it. But now, as you carefully stare at the god while he shamelessly sips on your near nakedness, you wonder just how wrong you might have been.

“Have you come to watch?”

“To worship.”

Your arousal slicks your thighs. Pressing your legs together, you suppress the giddy shivers that caress your spine. Though excited, you really can’t believe Namjoon did it. It was a joke but, scanning the sun god’s frame once more, you’re glad he didn’t take it that way. Face flushed, you lie back in your previous position. On your side, breasts on full display, you toss your hair aside. As your lips part to question the details of his intentions, you catch a familiar silhouette by the sea, in the distance. Flickering your gaze between the two men, you wonder if this new god was sent to test your loyalty or limits? The figure nods. You smile.

Attention returning to the golden god, you ask, “Apollo, is it?”

“Taehyung,” he corrects.

“Is that the name you prefer I scream?”

He pauses. Those mismatched eyes widen at your intrepidity. Dazed in confusion, he scans your frame once again, as if reprocessing your presence. He’s underestimated your wits, you realize, but the newfound understanding in his eyes reassures you that it won’t happen again. Good. He’s a quick learner.

Quirking a brow at the blanket beneath you, he asks, “May I?”

You nod once. He licks his lips twice, bites on the bottom one, then seats himself beside you. On his side, bare chest on display, he takes in the scenery from this new angle. Flowers bloom under a peachy dawn, and the vast fields of greenery wither to sandy shores where the sea waves as a way of greeting. His cocky stare lingers on your boyfriend before settling back to your little shrine underneath the orange tree. It’s a parthenon all on its own, with you as the center of its divinity. This detail seems to intrigue him more than it should, but you assume it might also have something to do with being watched.

Taking his hand in yours, you feel the dimming warmth of the setting sun. Who’s manning the chariot, you wonder, and would he be willing to let you ride it? Your bones tremble beneath your flesh at the impression of a distant growl. Oh, right. You almost forgot Ares can read your mind. Being something of a soulmate, he’s connected to you in ways other gods are not. Another growl slices through your thoughts. Jealousy sounds so good on him. Hearing his frustrations, knowing he’s enjoying the way you indulge, flusters the anxious bundle of nerves at your core.

Taehyung chuckles. Inches away now, his hot breath fans over your cheek. Fingers trailing up from your hand, along your arm then to your neck, he wraps his hand around your throat. He presses his thumb in the divet just under your chin, teasing a choke but never actually going through with it. You wonder what Namjoon must be hissing by the sea. What kind of curses is he throwing? Just picturing his furious eyes and cliffed jaw tickles the pit of your stomach.

“You’re precious,” Taehyung whispers, lips pressed against your chin. “I understand why he hides you from us.”

Us? Olympus knows of your blasphemous citrus temple? Usually, this kind of revelation would grant you a lightning bolt to the heart and an eternity in Tartarus. Only this wakes something different in Taehyung. His breath shallows, erection pokes at your thigh. He’s aroused by the idea of worshipping someone as powerless as a mortal. Or perhaps, you wonder as Taehyung nibbles on your skin, he simply adores displaying his power. Either or, you decide to make the most of what your Ares has granted you. Gaze finding his broad frame again, you let out an exaggerated gasp.

Namjoon flinches. However, it isn’t until you press your body against Taehyung’s that he cringes. He shifts his weight, fist clenched by his sides and you swear you can see steam hovering over his head. Namjoon is livid. But, Taehyung is oblivious. Too consumed by your pleasure, he tightens his grip on your throat and trails his open-mouthed kisses down to your breasts. Nipple between his teeth, Taehyung groans in hunger. Tongue teasing, he licks to play, not to soothe any of the stings. Your toes and legs hook around his waist. Hips rolling, you tease a preview of what you have in mind.

Taehyung shifts half an inch away though. You know it’s not because he didn’t enjoy the gesture, the throb against your hip reassuring you just how much he would really enjoy it. It still hurts your pride, however. Twinges of humiliation taint your soft features. He offers half a smirk as a means of comfort.

“He told me you’ve got quite a mouth.”

Is that an excuse or explanation? In both cases, it’s weak. He traces your face, fingertips so soft you almost forget the indirect rejection. Charming, his tiger starved gaze reflects hints of amusement. You’re easy prey, a fact that crumbles your courage. He is not here to coddle your pride, to serve the goddess of this naturous parthenon, but rather to obliviate it. A pitiful pile of pleasure is all he wishes to make of you. Though, now you wonder, is he doing this because he wants to, or because he’s ordered to?

Eyes darting between Apollo and Ares, you swallow thickly. The wondrous glow in Taehyung’s gaze makes you pause. Perhaps you’ve been too hasty. Perhaps they were both counting on that. The humiliation returns ten fold and prickles your skin upon realizing how careless you have been. Too quick to show your keen interest in devouring a different dose of daylight, you did not make Taehyung work as hard as he should’ve. And knowing that must have been what Namjoon was expecting only festers your heart with anger. This isn’t an opportunity to indulge, you conclude, but to reprimand. The both of them want to sip on your submission. The role of a meek mortal amuses them more than it should. It turns you on more than it should. So, you pull away more than you should.

Laying back on your elbows, you redirect your gaze to the sky. You can feel both pairs of eyes studying you. Taehyung props himself up on his forearm and looks over at your suddenly calmed features. It’s almost as if you’ve never exchanged a word at all.

“Funny,” you restart, all cards hidden this time. “He never mentioned you.”

Angry, confused, perhaps both, Taehyung stares. He blink, blink, blinks before he fully registers what’s been said. You can feel Namjoon’s delight though. The pride he has in the way you sassed a rival resonates deep in your core.

As you shimmy out of your dress, Taehyung finally scoffs a chuckle. You attempt to ignore the way it lights your soul with desire and focus on Namjoon’s silhouette. He looks closer, lurking by the tall grass, though still near the sand. Fully naked, you try to school your features and pretend you don’t notice the way Namjoon’s jaw clenches while Taehyung’s falls slack. Your hands rests on Taehyung’s bare thigh long enough to make him shudder and your boyfriend growl. It’s almost all too easy to push Namjoon’s buttons. He hates it when you do something simply because you can.

“You abuse your power,” he always tells you.

And, with a smile, you always reply, “I don’t abuse anything, Joonie. You just can’t refuse it.”

Taehyung seems to prove this statement now, falling prey to the way you toy with him. Half focused, you’re paying enough attention to him to feel his frustration. Displeased with the way you have your eyes glued on the god of war, Taehyung huffs and inches closer.

“Do I need to plant you an orange tree?” he teases. Well, he attempts to anyways. The resentment in his tone seeps through instead.

You bite back a smirk. “You can try.”

His eyes flash with annoyance. Chewing on the insides of his cheeks, Taehyung raises a brow. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but you can safely assume he’s highly debating it. His eyes shift around the tree the two of you currently lounge under. Sparing you a glance, he scoffs. Perhaps he doesn’t think it’s worth it, you wonder. It’s no matter to you. All it really means is more time spent frustrating him, teasing him beyond-

The ground crackles, splitting open with the presence of new roots. Bare branches rise and twist around the orange tree trunk. The deep green leaves sprout. Then, ripe figs bloom. They dangle closer to you than the oranges do. You don’t have much time to really admire them, however, as a loud rumble rattles your bones. The sound is enough to snap your fearful eyes to the seashore. Namjoon is gone.

Shit. Have you taken this too far? Namjoon did plant this tree for you. He had never so much so as looked at another mortal. His allegiance, devotion, and adoration has been declared to you on more than one occasion. You are all he ever sees, thinks, breathes. Swallowing thickly, you mentally call him back. It’s all in good fun, you try to convince him. A quiet hum from the other side of the line is enough to soothe your anxiety. You lean back into the other god.

Taehyung couldn’t be less concerned. Instead of searching for Namjoon, as you seem to be interested in doing, he latches his lips onto your shoulder, a single hand cupping your breast. You gasp. Taking this as an encouragement to continue, Taehyung trails a wet arrangement of open mouthed kisses along your neck. Lips pressed to the shell of your ear, he hisses, “Quite a fucking mouth, indeed.” He digs his fingertips into the flesh of your breast and continues, “Might need some good dick to keep it in check.”

The thought is appealing. So much so, that you cannot help the way your eyes widen and glisten with interest. Having his cock shoved down your throat while he growls at the sheer sight of it alone has compelled your undivided attention. But, Namjoon’s rage still scratches at your bones, warning you against playing too much.

You scoff. “Who says I don’t already have that?”

Taehyung does not reply. Not a smirk graces his lips nor breath escapes him. He simply leans in for a kiss. You find yourself giving in all too quickly. He slides his hand down to cup the space between your thighs and you cannot find it within you to push it away. In fact, you spread your legs further apart and tell yourself it’s reactive. The jolt of your hips up into his hand though… that might’ve been calculative.

But the simple gesture of rolling your hips into his palm has shown all your cards once more. He reclaims the power, pulling away from the kiss and your sex. He clutches onto your hair, a deadpan expression the only means of emotion now. In huffing silence, he yanks on your hair, guiding your head down to his crotch. You hiss, the gesture proving more pleasurable than painful as you feel a fresh rush of your wetness further stain your legs.

His silk skirt, pinned up and hanging from his hip by an arrowed, gold pin, lies in a disarried pile beside him. His huge cock is all that stands before you. He’s thicker than Namjoon, but, even with its impressive length, it does not compare to your boyfriend’s size. Taehyung is massive, but Namjoon is monstrous.

Your mouth still salivates all the same. Tip oozing precum, Taehyung shoves your face against his balls. His thick scent rolls your tongue out. Heavy in lust, he mostly smells of lemons and cream. You’ve always adored citrus… Namjoon knows this well. And though you expected to feel your boyfriend’s anger at this revelation, all you feel on the other side is emptiness. You wonder where he’s gone.

Or, at least you attempt to wonder. The moment you feel the impression of Taehyung’s weighty balls against your lips, all your thoughts dissipate. You swirl your tongue around each one before dropping them in your mouth. Suckling, drool dripping, your enthusiasm cannot be hidden any longer. Moaning maniactically, your eyes roll back.

Taehyung gasps and hisses. The peak of his groans, however, surfaces when you wrap a hand around his thick cock. You were ready to start pumping until you realized a single hand barely even covers half of him. Both hands wrapped around his length now, you twist and drag them up and down. Every so often, you tighten your grip a bit and let out a throaty moan. He shudders each time, legs trembling from your attention.

On your knees, with your ass up high for any onlookers to easily see, the wind lashes at your heat. You squeal, then pull his balls out of your mouth to spit on his cock. The thick wad makes it easier to pump him. Brows furrowed, he runs a hand through his golden hair and shakily sighs… then his sight sets on something behind you. He smirks, white canines a dangerous nod to his power.

A familiar hand rests on the small of your back, the other landing a harsh smack on your ass. You scream and fall forward onto Taehyung, face fully buried in his cock now. He laughs heartily, running a hand through your hair as a weak excuse for comfort.

The hand behind you does not stop after one smack. It goes in for second, then third, and before you know it, your ass is burning with stings and pussy wetter than the ocean behind you. The pain ignites something viciously erotic, cradling your heart enough to make you whimper. It’s the idea of being used, you assume, and it only makes you perk your ass up higher.

His raspy scoff makes you shiver, spine tingling with excitement. He gropes onto your ass and grunts, “Don’t try to be a good girl now.”

Tangling his fingers in your hair, Namjoon uses this harsh grip to shove your face further against Taehyung’s crotch. He pulls back and tries again, making sure your mouth engulfs his friend’s cock this time.

“You want to suck his cock, huh? Then fucking suck, you little slut,” he growls.

Your face flames with embarrassment. You can’t even bring yourself to meet Taehyung’s gaze. He merely laughs through a moan, leaning back on his hands as he watches you choke on his cock. You really can’t take him all in one go; you haven’t even found a way to take Namjoon in a single motion. But, your boyfriend couldn’t care less. He pushes your head down and keeps it there. Your jaw aches, throat burns, contracting around Taehyung’s thickness enough to make him throw his head back. Tears spill and spill and you foolishly think this will be the height of his punishment.

Then, in he goes.

“Such a wet little bitch,” Namjoon hisses as he pushes his cock into your pussy.

You let out a strangled whine against Taehyung, much to his pleasure, and attempt to spread your legs, but Namjoon keeps them in place. They’re barely a hip’s length apart. The pain prickles against your pussy’s wall, making you gag a sob around Taehyung’s cock. The pressure of Namjoon’s huge dick behind you and the weight of Taehyung’s in your mouth trembles your posture. You shake under the intimidation and it doesn’t help at all that Taehyung’s dick is suffocating you.

Namjoon pulls your head up the moment he fully enters. Gasping, you try to catch your breath. You inhale deeply each time, worried Namjoon will shove you back down on Taehyung’s cock without warning. Instead, he gives you a quick moment to breathe, ramming in and out of you like he’s riding a stallion.

Taehyung, eyes half-lidded, admires the way you drool and babble all over yourself. You heave, holding his gaze long enough to realize he’s mocking you, tongue out and breathes exasperated. Then he laughs and Namjoon laughs, and your pride shrivels up. Dignity on the brink of shattering, you try to avoid his gaze, biting your lip to swallow your moans as Namjoon works his way in and out of you.

But Taehyung will not have any of that. He nudges your wet chin back to him and teasingly pouts. “Is baby embarrassed?” he asks, tone more menacing than that taunting gaze of his. You glare at him, but he doesn’t seem fazed. Cupping your chin, Taehyung squeezes your cheeks to pucker your lips. “Answer me,” he seethes.

Parting your lips, you’re about to confirm his statement when Namjoon grunts behind you. He thrusts his hips particularly harder this time and your balance crumbles. You fall over Taehyung. He catches you with his lips, his hand trailing from your face to your neck and gripping onto it like he owns it.

Namjoon is displeased. With a growl, he snaps his hips up, balls shoving their way in you too. Your teeth knock with Taehyung, causing him to grunt and glare at the god behind you. You watch him stare your boyfriend down while tightening his grip on your neck. He goes to say something, a curse judging by the placement of his lips in his teeth, but Namjoon pulls you out of his grasp before Taehyung can even get a syllable out.

Replacing Taehyung’s hand with his own on your neck, Namjoon pulls you back up against his chest. His other hand wraps around your waist. Lips to the shell of your ear, he hammers into you and whispers, “Don’t go forgetting who you belong to.”

You hold Taehyung’s hard stare. His face reddens, cheeks drawn into his mouth as he glares. You whimper, pouting and nodding to Namjoon, but neither one of them seems convinced. Taehyung’s brows raise as if you’ve given him some sort of sign, and Namjoon’s hissing warnings against getting carried away.

“Better not say his name.”

Out of sheer spite, you part your lips to utter the other’s name. However, the word is consequently pounded right out of your mind the moment it emerges. Neither god gives you another moment to develop a reply at all as they battle for your attention. A part of you wishes that each of them simply takes turns, but you already know how useless that would be. Neither one of them will be willing to wait and watch. Namjoon already slipped himself in, the act of watching being too distant for him.

And it seems to be the same for Taehyung as well. He can’t sit still, can’t just watch you get ravished by someone else. You catch the annoyed twinkle in his eye darkening every time Namjoon makes you scream. Swallowing thickly, Taehyung shifts so that he’s lying by your knees and pulls the plump, upper flesh of your pussy apart. Then, smirking, he dips his head in and enthusiastically sucks on your clit. Teeth grazing, he bites and nibbles, drawing the most high-pitched squeals out of you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pushing his face further against your pussy.

Namjoon huffs a groan against your cheek. Pounding in full force, he loosens his grip on you a bit. Your hips jolt forward, Taehyung’s teeth clamping down on your clit. You cry out, both hands back over Namjoon’s arm. The god by your knees did not escape unscathed either, his lips slightly bruised from the hit. He drags his gaze up to you, glare deadly.

Guts twisting in ecstasy and guilt, you whimper and shake your head. “Sorr-”

Your apology clinches in your throat as Namjoon tightens his grip on it. “Shut the fuck up, you filthy whore,” he grunts into your hair.

Taehyung catches onto Namjoon’s sly gesture quickly, hungry eyes aflame for vengeance. “Keep her still, or I’ll fuck her into the ground.” His deep voice tickles the swirling pit of your stomach. So rich and raspy, his dulcet voice guides you closer to your orgasm than you’d be brave enough to admit.

Subsequently, Taehyung relatches his lips to your clit. Namjoon swallows enough of his pride not to shake him off again. And you shudder as high doses of ecstasy creep over your nerves. It pumps your veins with excitement, anticipation and sheer joy. Even when they’ve mocked you and used you as a pocket pussy- a set of holes, you cannot deny how horny it makes you for them.

Namjoon huffs your name in your ear, whispering about your tightness, about how he knows how fucking close you are. “Baby is gonna cream,” he mockingly coos. “Do you want him to taste you? Are you that much of a slut, you want another man to taste you? He’ll get addicted.” Namjoon grunts thrice before continuing, “But you already know that, right? You want him addicted. You want him to worship that little cunt of yours, hmm?”

“Yes, yes, yes, oh fuck yes!” you screech. Whether it is in reply to his questions or simply a reaction to the dual assault of your pussy, you’re not quite certain. But, Namjoon is. And he’s irate. Shaking with anger, his pounds reach a pace unknown to gods, even Taehyung raises an impressed brow.

Your next intake of air cinches somewhere in your throat. You try to scream, to cry, to make some sort of sound as your cum rushes out of you. Gushing, slouching, your pussy makes enough noise that your mouth doesn’t need to. Both men fall victim to it - to you - anyway. Squirming in Namjoon’s hold, there’s very little you can do. Your mind is foggy, vision blurry, but it doesn’t stop either of them. A distant clash of throaty moans fill the fields, though you can’t register much of that either. Your ears are ringing too much to hear more than your own heartbeat struggling to keep up.

Taehyung growls, his hands constantly knocking against Namjoon’s. Your dazed gaze falls to meet his. Eyes blazed with sexual frustration, he claws at your hips and pulls you forward against him. Namjoon, however, keeps a strong hold on your waist. Your torso’s his for the taking. He grabs hold of your chin and whips your head back to him.

“You look at me when you cum,” he seethes. “Or you won’t cum at all next time.”

Half a breath escapes you in response, but it seems to be half a breath too late. Namjoon emits a raspy groan so sinister it would be a crime to simply call it a growl. He roars. You feel the vibrations of the sound in your spine, another dose of your cum rushing through you. Then, all too quickly, he lets go of you. It takes his hands off your chest for you to realize your legs gave out long ago. You instantly fall to your knees. Taehyung is quick to catch you in his arms. Lips inches apart, Taehyung looks ready to share some of his oxygen with you when Namjoon orders, “Turn her around.”

Taehyung glares over your head. Gulping, his lips twitch in a fake smile as he lifts you. You, however, cannot let him give in that easily. Besides, nothing is better than angering the god of war. His stubborn, victory-bound heart will not rest until you submit to him over Taehyung. And, throwing you into the enemy’s arms does not seem like he’s trying hard enough to win, to discipline you. So, after Taehyung turns you around in his lap, you press a passionate kiss upon his lips, slipping your tongue in for good measure. Taehyung snakes his hand between your legs too, fingers playing all too much for you to stay silent. Between kisses, you sneak a glance at Namjoon, finding Taehyung already doing the same thing.

Towering over you, skin inked, nipples pierced, muscles flexed and slick with sweat, Namjoon huffs. His jaw is locked, a gesture you’ve learned isn’t at all meant to be comforting. With his cheeks sucked in and a brow quirked, Namjoon jerks himself off to the sight of you so openly defiant.

“Open your dirty mouth,” Namjoon orders through gritted teeth. “I need to clean it out.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, his fingers ceasing their movements as he cups your sex instead. “So dramatic,” he teases, earning a cold stare from Namjoon.

You resist the urge to giggle, having to choose your battles carefully. Taehyung has already gotten too much attention anyways, you decide. Pushing his hand away from your pussy, you ignore the wet kisses Taehyung peppers upon the nape of your neck and gaze up at Namjoon with your mouth open.

He bites his lip to keep from smirking. And, with a loud, chest drawn groan, he releases his load all over your chin and breasts. The warmth of his cum sets your skin ablaze. It feels just as thick as it tastes. Licking around your face, you try to swallow whatever you can get. A little smile breaks out on Namjoon’s face, swelling your heart with pride.

However, Taehyung isn’t as moved by the gesture as you are. He tangles a hand in your hair and pulls your head back against his shoulder. “That’s enough of that,” he breathes over your face. Then he wipes the rest of Namjoon’s cum off with the pad of his thumb and pecks your lips. He rubs the cum into your nipples, teasing them between his thumb and forefinger.

You almost forget Namjoon's presence. That is, until he grabs hold of your ankles and yanks you right out of Taehyung’s hold. With a loud gasp, you’re on your back, legs spread and Namjoon at the center. He gazes lazily down at you, like handling your body is a casual passtime. There is something glittering within that suspicious ease, however. Something cocky, angry, and terrifying. Hand around your neck, Namjoon jerks you off the floor and shoves you back into Taehyung’s arms.

The golden god catches you with a grunt. He draws his brows together in confusion, silently questioning Namjoon. He parts his lips, but your boyfriend huffs, cutting him off. Namjoon grabs you by your bicep and turns you around to face Taehyung.

After making sure your legs are spread and straddling the other god’s waist, Namjoon seethes, “The simplest instructions.” His warm tongue darts out to lick the shell of your ear. Between nibbles he continues, “You can’t even follow the simplest instructions. That can’t be easily forgiven anymore, baby.”

You’re not quite sure what he means, considering he’s never punished you in this position before. Usually, being on top is a reward. He grants you a sliver of control, consequence free, when you’ve been well-behaved. This level of generosity is a rarity. However, as Namjoon pushes you further into Taehyung, with you wrapped around his torso, you begin to wonder what kind of punishment you’re in for, and which one of them is administering it.

Of course, these thoughts are fleeting as Taehyung’s fat cock prods around your pulsing hole. Sparks of bliss set to flames the nerves bunching around your clit. You shudder each time he brushes his tip against it. Petting your hair back just to grab it, Taehyung breathes a chuckle into the crook of your neck. He licks and sucks on your delicate skin like you belong to him. And for a split second, you almost think you do. The sweet, wet kisses and the way he eases into you only just has you forgetting that Namjoon is standing over you, watching as another god worships.

With a smack, your memories jolt back. The sting of both cheeks makes you all too aware of his presence now. You cry out, falling over Taehyung clumsily. The spank hit so hard, so fast that it even has Namjoon hissing from the impact. Even still, he smacks you again and again and again. “You still have no idea what you’ve asked for, do you?” he questions.

You thought you did. You hoped you did. But, as Namjoon spanks you with added force, you realize just how right he is. You whimper into Taehyung’s shoulder. He’s kept his cock warm in your tight, clenching hole when Namjoon begins to get vicious with his spanks. Chuckling and mocking you in whispers, Taehyung finds your suddenly all too obedient state entertaining. It flames your face with shame, your entire body caught between wanting another serving of cock or slaps. He imitates your whimpers, coaxing more tears out of you before hissing, “If you had any real shame, you’d get off my cock and go suck your boyfriend’s.”

“She’s a fucking slut,” Namjoon answers, landing another slap to your tenders cheeks. “Why’d you stop fucking her?”

Some humanity flashes in Taehyung’s eyes as you nuzzle your face against his. He mutters something incoherent, along the lines of, “She can’t handle it.”

“She can!” Namjoon grunts as he finally rubs your pain buzzed ass. A shaky whine escapes you and tickles Taehyung’s ear. “You can take it, right, baby?” he asks, digging his nails into your flesh.

You whine in agreement. It’s not enough. He needs to hear you say- scream it. Grabbing a handful of your hair, he peels you off Taehyung enough for him to get a good look at your face. He folds his hands under his head, smirking at the sight of you so shattered by pleasure of being in pain. Face flushed, wet, cum stained and eyes innocent, your features fold in raptured anguish.

Namjoon roughly kneads your right cheek while pressing the length of his cock against it. “Can you take the fucking like a good girl?” He mockingly coos. It juts a chorus of shivers down your spine.

You squeeze tight around Taehyung at the thought. He rasps your name. Namjoon growls lowly, rubbing himself against you as he warns, “You’re not gonna make me ask you a third time, are you?”

Taehyung shifts his hips, cinching your breath at your throat from the stroke of friction. Why did he have to be so big, so pretty and hot staring at you like that? Why’d you have to go tempting gods you know you can’t keep up with? You regret angering Namjoon, realizing that jealousy is the worst power trip you can feed a god. They both want to watch you fall apart, crumble into a pile of bones. Tears spill at the thought, pussy aching around a cock too big to adjust to. Every nerve feels so sensitive, so overused, yet you need to cum again.

No. You can’t take it. But, you’ll be damned if you tell either of them that. And as Namjoon lays another sharp smack on your cheeks, tingling with pain, you circle your hips around Taehyung’s and cry out a broken, breathy and utterly desperate, “Y-es!”

Taehyung grips onto your hips, pulling you half out. You expect to be plunged onto his cock with a new degree of force, but find another one attempting to squeeze in as well. Namjoon’s monster cock pushing into your pussy alongside Taehyung’s. Your jaw drops, eyes roll back as that viciously delicious stretch strangles your soul with bliss. He enters you slow, but sharp, knowing full well that the both of them cannot fit.

Neither cares. Both gods create a quickly speeding rhythm of thrusts into you. Body jolting forwards, breasts shaking over Taehyung’s face and ass bouncing against Namjoon’s hips. He hunches over you to groan your name in your ear, voice husky with lust and dominance. He repeats the word like a prayer. Every syllable drips slow out of his lips like thick molasses when his voice reaches such depth.

You try to lean back into him, but Taehyung keeps you in place with the tight grip on your hips. “Stay still,” he grunts against your nipple. Then, he sucks on it, teasing the little nub between his teeth.

You moan a little too loud at Taehyung’s ministrations for Namjoon’s liking. Both hands locked on your ass, Namjoon pushing your cheek up and against Taehyung. You lose whatever balance you had weighted on your arms, falling flat against the sun god with a squeal. His cock fully plugs into you and when he tries to thrust up against you once more, Namjoon growls, “Both of you stay still.”

A shiver tickles your spine with the wind. As Taehyung kisses your neck, you attempt to sneak a peek at your boyfriend over your shoulder and push your ass back into him. He’s sweaty and huffing. The peachy sunset behind him halos around his muscular frame. He’s so pretty when he’s mad, all those veins lacing his inked skin like little spider webs. His gaze finds yours, that annoyed look intensifying in his eyes when you wink at him.

And though it was completely innocent, it still switches something off in Namjoon. He shifts his tight grip on your ass to the small of your back then, all at once, presses down onto it with the entirety of his strength. A series of loud cracks elicit from your spine like the fire of a gun at the start of a race. And away go his hips as he rams in and out of your too full pussy.

Screams and sudden sobs pour out of you and onto Taehyung as the both of you get shaken by Namjoon’s force. You know your back isn’t broken, blown out maybe, but definitely not broken. You just didn’t think this would be the result of his jealousy and anger. Did he think you were mocking him with that wink, with Taehyung? Perhaps some mocking did occur with Taehyung around, but he’s always liked your snarkier side. He tells you to behave because he knows you won’t and adores it when you don’t. But, maybe you did take it too far, and give into Taehyung too much. You really wish you can say, with all this overstimulating and teasing and taunting, that you regret it all.

Only, you don’t.

Clutching tighter onto Taehyung’s shoulders, your tears fall as freely as your broken moans. Namjoon smacks his hips over your ass, pounding your pussy like it’s just you two here. It’s not as though Taehyung is lying under you, obsessing over how tight you are and just how amazing you smell.

“You know why he’s so mad right,” he questions quietly, voice strained. When you shake your head, he chuckles and whispers, “Because he knows how much better I make you feel.”

The whimper that leaves you was by no means a response to whatever Taehyung was going on about. Though he gives it to you great, he doesn’t compare to your boyfriend. You suppose Namjoon knows this too, somewhere within that deep connection you two share. Still, he holds you further down against Taehyung, practically melding your body into his, and thrusts at an ungodly speed just as he did when he caught you sucking Taehyung’s cock.

You’re not sure either of them understand the load of pleasure they are washing over you. Taehyung has his giant cock stationed in your pussy with his tip pressing continuously against your g-spot as Namjoon’s monstrous cock jabs at it again and again.

Body trembling, voice broken, you squeal, “I’m- ahhgh I’m gon-na cuu-uum.”

“Me too,” Taehyung husks in your ear. It has you clenching tighter.

Namjoon scoffs through a moan. “No, you’re fucking not.”

“But, Joon-”

A harsh smack against your ass silences your protests. “You know what to do when you’re close,” he grunts.

Yes, you do. But there isn’t much time to beg. You have two huge cocks in you and if he thinks he can coax some sort of plea-

“Fuck,” you cry as he spanks you again.

“ASK!” he roars, hands on your back just to make it crack all over again.

Drooling, whimpering, eyes rolling, you somehow find it in you to hold back your orgasm long enough to beg, “Please, fuck, just let me cum! Please, please, Namjoon!”

“Just fucking let her cum,” Taehyung grunts.

Namjoon snakes one of his hands up your spine, hips still ramming into you all the same, and latching onto your hair. Slowly, he peels you off of Taehyung and holds you against his chest. You screw your eyes shut in an attempt not to cream both their cocks.

With his lips at your ear, he whispers, “Look down at him.” After forcing your eyes open and down at Taehyung, who looks all too pleased with your ruined state, Namjoon orders, “Thank him for a good time.”

Panting, lips a spitty mess, you whimper, “Thank you for a good time.”

Taehyung rubs your thighs. “She’s just as fun when she’s a good girl,” he hisses to himself.

Namjoon chuckles, wrapping his free hand around your throat. “You’re my best girl either way,” he whispers to you. The praise makes you shiver, your orgasm almost slipping right out of your control.

“Please let me cum now,” you cry. “Please, I need it.”

Taking a deep breath of your scent, Namjoon peppers little kisses along your jawline. “Shall we all cum together?” he asks before nodding to Taehyung. The sun god’s hips jolt back to act and soon each one is back to taking turns to smash your already too sensitive spot.

You nod energetically. Truthfully, you don’t care if either one of them cums, just as long as they let you do it now.

Taehyung shifts one of his hands further up your hips, his thumb working fast and small circles over your clit. You’re quaking, head thrown back against Namjoon’s shoulders, eyes rolling and screwed shut when Namjoon orders you to look at him. You force them open enough to watch a wicked swirl of power and lust gleam in his eyes. With a single breath, lips hovering over yours, he whispers, “Cum.”

Your vision spots black before failing all together as an extreme dose of ecstasy floods your senses. Their growls collide with your breathless screams in a cacophony of pleasure with each shot of cum they fill you with. And you return the favour, coating each cock with more cum than you think you’ve ever offered. In and out, they still go, desperate to leave you dripping with the impression of both of them for days.

Namjoon spits in your mouth a bit and chuckles quietly when you still find it in you to swallow it. “You just had to be a fucking brat, hmm?” he groans as both his and Taehyung’s thrusts slow down. “Are you satisfied now?”

You hear his words and think that maybe you are processing them, but you really can’t find enough of your voice or energy to respond. Heaving, you know your body gave out well before he even got you in this position and blew your back out. You don’t even realize that you’re slobbering all over yourself until Namjoon licks it all away. Only little whimpers and whines manage to reply to him. It only strengthens that power blown look in his eyes.

Taehyung suddenly pulls himself out of you. Or rather, Namjoon pulls you up and off his cock. Then, he stands up on his knees and presses a soft kiss to your mouth, despite Namjoon’s annoyed groan. “And thank you for such a great evening, my-”

“She’s not yours!”

You watch through somewhat blurry vision as the two gods glare at each other. Taehyung then glances over at the fig vines laced around the orange tree. With a smirk, he nods. His hands fondle your breast one more time before he grabs what little clothes he came with. Then, with the sun, he’s gone.

Basking in the glow of the moon, Namjoon slowly pulls out of you. His touches are now all too gentle to even register, or maybe your skin is simply still on fire from such a rough fucking. Either way, he’s careful in how he handles you now. Cradling you to his chest, he helps you lay down. He kisses your forehead and mutters, “Take a deep breath.”

You do so. Again and again. When you’re breathing somewhat regulates, your mind finally catches up with where you are now. Resting in Namjoon’s arms, his silk skirt draped over your body like a blanket, you gaze up at the stars.

“He planted figs,” Namjoon mutters.

You shift against his chest before shrugging. “He did.” You’re not sure why that simple detail seems to tick him off so much. They’re just figs.

“Do you still like oranges though?”

It suddenly clicks in your head. His anger translating into worry. Does he really think that you’d give him up for Taehyung? He should know you well enough to know he’s your world. And if you weren’t so sore or weak, you would have gotten up and picked the ripest orange and shared it with him. Instead, you turn in his lap, suppressing the urge to hiss at the sparks of pain running up and down your back, and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I love oranges.”

He fights off a smile, but relief reflects in his gaze. “I’m sure they love you too,” he mutters like he hasn’t told you so before.

It all doesn’t matter too much anyways. He’s yours and you’re his. No other god, no matter how many times they stop by, will change that. This is, after all, your orange tree.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

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joannasteez · 4 years ago

Text

𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: EZ Reyes x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Mature Themes.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.7k

Credits to who made the gif @angelreyesgirl

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @brownsugarcoffy @elektriknachosss @queenbeered

Let me know if you’d like a tag!!!

✞

Your annoyance was simmering, daring to merge into the depths of some irreversible state of agitation. The engine of the classic Dodge Charger RT in your possession had, with incredibly poor timing, began to knock. The unsavory noise resonating into the thick air of the street, stilled heat of the day pushing back the regular ebb and flow of the Santo Padre streets to make way for the obnoxious sound of your engine. Your head was spinning, dazed by the bitter humidity and a steady brew of fear trembling in your fingers to dance just under the surface of your skin. The classic car was given by your father, who'd gotten it from his father, the mass of glistening matte black metal of significant value. If the engine failed, you'd be reduced to tears, wading in the dread of some existential crisis.

Your grandfather had had this car for twenty years, the imprint of his essence etched into the leather seats, and when he became grey and withered, he relinquished it to your father for another fifteen years, till finally, it was yours.

You pulled over just as the last knock sounded, the tremble in your fingers worsening. Your eyes welled, sure to leave a soft red glassiness. The need for air consumed you, the space to walk freely about, a puff of smoke or two maybe.

The pavement was hard under your feet, slam of the door accented by vexation. You picked behind your ear, that nicely rolled spliff safely kept and waiting to be lit. The lighter in your front pocket an easy grab, the flicker of orange a short friendly blaze as it singed the paper. The pull you took was slow, measured, as if to savor this minuscule moment of stillness that lived among others not so still. Not so peaceful. With release, you blew into the air, dried eyes taking in the vast blue of the sky. The never ending expansion blurring your vision as your mind sifted through slim courses of action. If you could just get the car to your garage, then you could figure the battery out on your own, saving time you didn’t have on a mechanics trips you couldn’t afford. All you needed was a—

"Need a boost?"

"Yes". The answer was so quick, it nearly gave you whiplash. The tension in your bones dissipating as you got rid of the sizzling flame around your spliff.

The stranger spun his car from its position just beside yours, the hood of it now facing yours head on before he turned it off and got out.

"Thanks so much for this".

"No problem. It's a nice ride you got, don't really see too many classics rolling around Santo Padre much", he said, eyeing the shine of the paint job. His fingers skimming the hood before he lifted it. "Where'd you get it?"

You step closer to him, a grin stretching your lips at his admiration. The RT was your pride and joy, the height of your ego bursting through to rise above some invisible ceiling whenever folks gave it compliments and stares of approval. "My dad had it for a while, gave it to me when he couldn't keep up with it anymore".

With a nod, he retrieved the cables from his trunk, the wide stretch of his back shifting just under the white fabric of his t-shirt to reveal the curve and ripple of muscles. They traveled down his arms, the bulge of them mixing with defined veins that ran across thick powerful looking fingers. He stretched one of those hands out toward you.

"Ezekiel Reyes".

You considered his hand for a moment, slipping it into your own as your eyes racked him with all the subtlety you could muster. It mustn't have been enough because that innocent friendly smile he gave you had turned into something more knowing. He knew you were checking him out but he didn't mind much. "Y/N".

His thumb skimmed the back of your hand just before letting go, turning his attention to attaching the cables to both cars properly. You minded his movements with the cables closely, triple checking the order in which he connected them with a hawks eye, a concentrated intensity that your dear old Charger RT deserved. Abruptly then, like the quickness of a blink or some single strike of lightning, a thought came to you. "Wait, not Reyes as in Carniceria Reyes?"

"Yeah it's my pops shop",

"Felipe's a real sweet guy. It's not everyday you can look through a deep book collection while the butcher cuts up your dinner". You paused, giving the beauty of his face another glance. "He should've warned me though, never told me both his sons were so handsome".

"You met Angel", he stated, a low dip in his tone. Was it disappointment?

"A couple of weeks ago. He was passing through when I stopped by to pick up somethings. He's a real charmer your brother, but I wouldn't worry. I don't think he's messed up your chances just yet", you flirted.

The assurance produced from him a toothy grin. "I'm not worried".

Silence took ahold of you then, anticipation of the moment charging the pressure in your chest to fall straight to your gut. ‘Please work' you whispered while swinging the door wide to slide into the warm leather of the drivers seat. With the key in the ignition, you twisted your wrist forward, a huff of relief puffing from your chest when the engine roars to life. You close the door quick, that relief bubbling under your skin, your head sticking out the window.

"Thanks again Reyes".

He stepped to the window, those warm endearing eyes taking in the summer glow of your face. His tongue slipped just over the plump flesh of his bottom lip. It was a rosy color, the curving dip of it enticing. He liked the way you said his last name.

"It's no problem".

You put your RT in reverse, backing away from his broad body. "See you around?"

"Maybe", he called.

You speed off, the rev of the engine blending into the ebb and flow of the town once again. Existence dipping into the horizon.

✞✞✞✞✞

You'd saw him again at some hole in the wall you frequented at. The smooth slow tempo of some classic 70s song strumming through the stereo to seep into your ears richly like fresh honey. The atmosphere was subdued, the short clinks of beer bottles and incomprehensible murmurs of frivolous conversations sating the air. It was the perfect place to think, to allow your mind to wander directionless through the never ending abyss of happenings and circumstances that had presented themselves down through the week. You made idle chitchat with the bartender about a laundry list of things of no particular significance, small smiles and light chuckles ringing from you both every now and then.

The night was going good, till you felt a creeping touch just at the low end of your back.

"Let me buy you a drink". The voice was rusted, withered by too much tobacco.

You held up the beer in your hand. "I've got already, I'm good".

This guy was tipsy, blood red creeping into his eyes, body swaying just the slightest bit. "Don't be like that, let me buy you another".

"I said I'm good", you asserted. The coolness of the bottle creating a tingling sensation in your hand. You'd crack it over his head if he touched you again.

"Sorry I'm late, everything alright?", another voice asked, but this one you knew. That deeply textured tone wrapping sweetly around your senses. You tore your irritated gaze set on the almost-drunk guy, softening it as you took Ezekiel in. He looked slightly different, refreshed it seemed, or maybe it was just his barbered hair. A Mayans kutte rested over him, comfortable like a second layer of skin, the black leather accentuating the swell of his muscles. You'd have to figure out later why your eyes diverted to them so often, they were becoming a hindrance to your thinking.

"Everything's good now", you played. Giving him a light peck to the cheek to sell the story. His arm wrapped around you in what appeared to be some reflexive reaction, all natural like he'd done it countless times before. When he realized Ezekiel wasn't leaving, the guy swayed away in true tipsy fashion. Mumbling incoherent things with a griped attitude. Ezekiel took his chair, the proximity of it in regards to yours making the point of his knee knock and slide the smooth plain of your jeans. You watched him take a glance over the bar before he called for a beer.

"Thanks for that".

"No problem", the corner of his lip turning up. "Seems like you've been needing my help a lot lately".

"Don't flatter yourself Reyes, this is just a coincidence".

"Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

Your face screwed up in a show of confusion, but you could guess quickly the reason for the question. "Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

He sipped at his beer. "Outside gets loud sometimes y'know, hectic. It's quiet in here. Good place to think".

"Exactly".

"A little unsafe for you though no?" And there it was.

"Everywhere's unsafe for me Ezekiel, I'm a woman. I mean I couldn't guarantee safety in my own home if I wanted to, but that's just how the world works". You paused, mischief rising in your face. "Don't worry though, I've got a little surprise for anyone who wants to test their luck".

"Oh really".

"Yeah, you men are dangerous out here. I gotta be prepared always".

His brows furrowed. "That's a bit of a big generalization to make".

"But if it's true it's true. Name one thing a man doesn't get dangerous about. Doesn't even have to be rejection", you say, turning to fully face him.

He considers the question for a moment, staring into the color of your eyes as if he'd find the answer in them. "Love".

"A man who loves, whose in love, would do any and everything, no matter how mad the shit is. He'd risk lives, his life even. If that's not dangerous then I don't know what is".

A speck of something lit in the hazel of his eyes. As if your words had brought to the present some memory buried deep within the grave of his soul. What you said hit rather close, closer than expected. "Who is she?"

"Doesn't matter, it's in the past".

"Humor me".

His jaw ticked before he spoke. "Her names Emily, but that shits all just history now. Doesn't matter". He turned the focus from himself. "What about you. Whose going all reckless about you".

"Who says he exist"

"You just did, I never specified who in particular".

So much for playing dumb. "His name is Jason".

"Sounds like an asshole".

You snort, the teasing of a headache coming as you thought on the insufferable man that was Jason. "He is. He's got that weird alpha male thing about him. Has to be in control of everything, doesn't know when to leave well enough alone".

The muted energy of the bar rose between the two of you, each taking quiet sips of your beer. You took notice of the way he surveyed the room from where he sat. That golden gaze sifting through the space and over bodies with quick ease. He was assessing, the gears in his head turning, calculating and considering every and all the possibilities of danger. It reminded you of someone.

"How long were you in for?", you ask.

"How'd you know?"

"You've been on the defensive since you sat down, lookin’ everywhere like someone's gonna up and shank you for no reason. My cousin was the same way when he got out, always looking over his shoulder". You shrugged. "Grew out of it eventually.

His eyes were a bit sullen, as if the truth would scare you. "Eight years".

"He was in for fifteen, and that prison shit is unbelievable, I mean the stories he's told me are crazy". You laugh suddenly at a memory, the resonance of it making him smile in admiration of the sound. "He did this thing for a while when he got home where he'd only have one knife, one fork and one spoon in his kitchen and I swear it was the funniest shit".

The smile falters, his body shifting awkwardly in the bar stool, embarrassed.

"Oh my God Reyes don't tell me you've been doing the same thing".

"In my defense I live alone".

"But what if you have a special guest over, you'd be a sorry ass host", you tease.

"If you wanted to have dinner with me then just say that".

You force away the heat daring to rise in your cheeks. "We have to take a trip to home goods before I even consider a dinner with you”.

You both give hearty laughs, till the vibration in your pocket pulls your focus. With a quick slip of your phone, you realize how fast time had gone on. “Shit I gotta go, but it was real nice seeing you again Ezekiel".

"It was good seeing you too".

You press your hand against his patch, laying a sweet lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Make it home in one piece for me yeah".

"I have to. You might need me again".

"I'm counting on it".

✞✞✞✞✞

You were a joke it seemed, the universe and fate in a gaming mood, as they were using you as a source for their own amusement. Commissioning their faithful associate to do the heavy lifting of masking their scents. The two of you were at the right place, at the right time again, what a damn coincidence. Before the present week, you'd never even seen Ezekiel's face, just learning of his existence a week or so before that, and now you'd seen him twice in a matter of days. This night being the third.

He was surrounded by men who donned the same kutte as him, curious eyes swimming through the sea of bodies as they did in every other setting, till they met yours. He came to you without a second thought, eyeing the tight leather of your pants and how they clung to your thighs. The cropped cut of your vintage top revealing skin he longed to touch. Since the first time he saw you his mind raced with thoughts of your voice, visions of your lips touching his skin again, plaguing his body with the desire to have you.

You stepped away from your group of friends, meeting him half way. "You're just stalking me at this point. Not that I mind".

He clutched the openings of his kutte, that signature grin lighting his face, even with the casting over of the nights darkness. "Something told me I'd see you again. How's your RT?"

"Good, resting in my garage. I've been kinda scary about replacing the battery".

"Why?"

"I'm good with cars don't get me wrong, but something about fucking it up just makes me sick. It's a lot of history behind that car. I don't wanna destroy it".

"Understandable", he nodded. Noting the caution behind your words, the way you spoke with such passion and care about the thing you loved. It was endearing.

The heavy crunch of gravel and sand tore through the beginnings of some silent stare, an undeniable enticement brewing. It was Angel.

"I see you met this asshole already", the older Reyes said.

"I'm not an asshole Angel, just 'cause I turned you down".

He sent a smirk your way. "You didn't turn me down, we made a mutual decision that you couldn't handle me remember?"

"Right. That's exactly how it went".

A call sounded through the dewy air of the night, signifying the start of a race. You started toward a cherry red car.

"That's me", you said. In regards to the call.

Ezekiel was confused, intrigued. "You racing?"

"Yeah, the mustang", you called, strutting over to your 1970's Mustang, adding the slightest dip to your hips. Giving the brothers something to admire, before dropping low into the leather seats.

With a quick twist, the mustang roared to life, the rumble tearing through the air, growling like a fierce rolling thunder through hazy storm clouds. Another car pulled up on your right, the blue electric color of it dazzling, clashing against the fine cherry red of your own to deliver a sweet contrast for the eyes that watched on in excitement. A woman, with a dangled bandana in her hand, set herself between your car and the other, whistles of admiration thrown her way as she gave the summer evening crowd an alluring smile. At the point of her finger you revved your engine, adrenaline pumping through your veins, rushing from your chest to pulse under your skin. The leather feel of the steering wheel was smooth, the grip you held to it steady. With the downward pull of her hands she set both cars to race and you pulled your mustang swift into the night.

The road before you was a muddled darkness, the outward spreading glow of your headlights stabbing it and tearing it apart as your wheels took a glide against the smooth road. At the mark line, you shifted your car into reverse, whipping left, back into drive, soaring back down the road to where the crowd watched and waited. Their rigid bodies of anticipation lit by your headlights, bellowing screams waning under the busting sound of your revving engine. Your mustang tore through the finishing mark, the tingle of victory surging through you.

Pulling back up to the crowd, you rolled your window down, a slim roll of hundreds placed in your hand by the guy who’d set the race up. You showed up to win and now you were done.

Ezekiel and Angel were a little ways away from your car, your voice carrying over to them. "A little party at my place. You and your guys are cool to come".

They both nodded, heading to their bikes when Angel answered after you. "We'll follow you".

Ezekiel swung his leg, resting on the seat of his bike as he buckled the helmet over his head, his fingers gripping the ape hangers, feeling the vibration of the engine as he followed the sleek vibrant red of your car. The afternoon he met you, he'd been turmoiled, plagued with the natural uncertainties that came with being a member of the MC. That new patch stitched into the upper corner of his kutte had bought a sense of pride and belonging he hadn't felt in forever, it gave him drive, fueled his determination, but as the saying goes, all that glitters is not good. Expectation deceived him, the reality of all things made clear. And that reality was shoveling makeshift graves for men whose names he couldn't even remember, but he remembered yours. Committed himself to it like the loving kiss he gave to the jar that held the remnants of his mother every time he stepped a foot into his fathers house.

He found you flustered, out of yourself with anxiety in the dimming light of the afternoon, and then at the bar, body rigid, eyes wired and ready to do your worst to a guy who could barely keep his posture straight, and now he was following behind you, backing his bike toward the sidewalk that laid just in front your home.

Upon entry, the knock of the speakers bled a thumping bass that pulsated through the floors. Your home had seemed to expand with every new corner that came into view, the walls pushing back to make room for the swell and scatter of bodies. Sweet smells mixed with more pungent ones, the hazy aroma of weed slipping past him as he walked further into the house. A hand placed itself at his side. It was you.

"Can I get you a drink? A beer or something".

"Yeah a beer is cool".

You intertwined your fingers with his, leading him to the kitchen where the sound settled some. Beer bottles clinked, the air releasing as you opened them, handing one over to him.

He gave a quiet "thanks" before sipping, eyeing the way your lips wrapped around the top of the bottle to taste the liquid. They looked soft, full and alluring. He redirected his gaze before the temptation overtook him to do something impulsive that had the prospect of unnerving you. His eyes flitted to the side of your face, an illustration about two inches or so etched into your skin. He hadn't noticed it till now.

You could feel him staring as you tasted the beer, the heat of it tingling your skin. "It's a dagger".

He reached forward, thumb skimming over the finely crafted design, it was a professionals work. With the simple touch of his thumb, your nerves were riling, heat rushing to pulse under your skin, he could feel it. It drew him closer, lured him in. "Did it hurt?".

"Like hell, but when you've felt more painful shit, tattoos like this don't really compare". You lifted the hem of your top some, bringing his fingers to feel the raised skin there. Four inches or so worth of a healed gash rested under his considerate touch. "Got it when I spent a year and a half inside. Grand theft", you admitted.

The reasoning behind telling him wasn't sound in the slightest bit, but what was reasoning when Ezekiel had awakened such dormant feelings inside you. With those beautiful, sunny colored eyes and the warm hand caressing your side, you were liable to tell everything. Truths you hated and dark secrets that laid deep inside your past. You reached up to lay a kiss to those pouty lips, the feel of them mesmeric, dazing. Fulfillment burdened itself onto you, finally you'd got a taste of that rosy pink bottom lip, and now your body was calling for more. Begging for it with such longing that you licked your way through his mouth, his tongue acting in kind. It was slow and all consuming, his body pressing you into the counter to surround you.

"Come with me", your voice airy. Breathless. You lead him to the back of the house. Your room first on the right. A gasp left you when your feet left the floor, body in his arms as he laid you against the fresh feel of the sheets. You kicked your shoes off with ease but the discarding of other pieces left behind a sinking feeling, a pressure forming in your chest to push down straight into your gut. He was glorious, the plains of his skin bound by rich thick tanned muscles and long veins. The dilation of his pupils darkened the air around him, physique imposing. This is what you’d wanted, Why were you feeling so anxious all of a sudden?

"What's wrong?"

Your body had raced miles ahead of your mind and now you were trying to catch up. "I don't know, I just... I feel..."

"Nervous".

"It's sounds so stupid when you say it out loud".

"But it's not, It's natural, and I'll do whatever you want me to do. Whatever makes you feel comfortable baby".

He sounded so sure of it, it made you believe him. You laid against the pillows, beckoning him with the outstretch of your fingers. "C'mere".

He obeyed, body atop yours, your legs wrapping loosely around his waist as your head tilted up to give those lips another kiss. It was messy this time, fueled by desperation, your tongues slow to lick as they tasted each other's. The remnants of beer still there. He took hold of your lip, sharp teeth pulling before he kissed his way down to the heated flesh of your neck. There he sucked, bombarding your skin with pressure causing your hips to grind against the coarse fabric of his jeans. The thin cotton layer of your underwear leaving you to erupt with a fresh wave of need. He feathered kisses down your body, pushing your legs up and apart to open yourself for him. A shudder drove down your spine, that soft wide tongue of his licking so close to where you needed him. He peeled away your underwear leaving you bare before him.

"Talk to me baby. What do you need".

You could hear the pulse of your heart in your ears. "Take care of me Ezekiel, make me feel good".

He hummed, loving the airiness of your voice. So drenched with need for him you were. He was methodical despite the desire boiling in his blood threatening to burn through his skin, so he'd settled with toying with you for now. Giving that sweet glistening clit teasing licks. They were measured, the constraint of them existing solely to wreck you, to kill your resolve completely till you were reduced to in-apprehensible words filled with air. The wide-ness of his tongue felt so good, your nails running over the faded part of his head as your hips drew tight circles.

The teasing, the game of it all. He didn't know but you loved it so much. "That feels so good baby, so good", you praised.

Your words were disembodied, wandering in another plain of existence as they rolled off your lips. Your senses were bursting at the seems, and then reborn again to erupt on impact when he sucked against your sensitive nub, lapping your slick salaciously. As if he'd been starved for years, only just finding you now. The line of your spine arched, waist swiveling, grinding to meet his wet tongue. A low "fuck" fell in the air as your felt the rise of your impending release. With taut, rough fingers he hooked at the back of your knees, pushing them into the sheets. The action opened you completely to him, no choice but to surrender to his will and the feel of his lips as he drew you closer to the edge.

"Please, I'm so close", you whimpered. Vision splotchy, thump in your ears intensifying.

He sucked at you again, holding his lips still as your body shook. Quivering against the sheets. He reverted back to soft licks, tasting as you rode the high.

He rose when you settled, eyeing the heavy rise and fall of your chest as he did away with his jeans. "You Ok?"

It took you time to register the question but when you did, you threw a pillow at him. "You just sucked the soul out of me, don't ask me that damn question".

He laughed, watching your eyes dim in bliss. You hadn't noticed, but he'd done away with his underwear as well, the weight of him causing the bed to dip as he came up to where you laid. His thick fingers rolled you over, setting your face to rest against the pillows as your hips raised in the air to rest against the hot flesh of his length, the veined skin laying along your slit. You moaned in anticipation, pushing back against him.

He gripped your cheeks, spreading them to see the quivering flesh of your opening, the flushed pink shinning in the dim light of the room. His tongue slipped against his bottom lip again, reveling in the taste of you as he pushed in. He groaned, and you gave a single fleeting "yes" , the thickness of him giving a delicious stretch, rigid length hot as he pushed and pulled in and out of your depths in a slow manner. Wanting to test the waters same as he did moments ago before building you back up again. The squeeze of you made his chest tight, head swimming with delirium.

"You feel so good mama, so tight around me", he groaned.

His thrust were dizzying as they picked up to set a steady pace, your hips rolling and pushing to take him deeper. To reach that place in you that would force your vision to blur and be replaced by disfigured stars. You reach to lay a finger at your overstimulated bundle of nerves, rubbing the soft slick flesh with lazy pleasuring circles that spurred the knot in your gut to grow. A single tear fell to dampen the pillow, your depths tightening at how full you felt, at how unrelenting the stimulation of his strokes were.

The sharp drive of his hips made you go rigid, the vice like grip you formed around him causing him to fall into his own high. Pace going all slow sloppy to ride out the blissful feeling.

He pulled from you, both your body and his collapsing against the bed. His face formed with satisfaction, a beautiful buzz running through him. "You know what this means right?"

"What", you asked.

"We’ll have to see each other around more often now".

#ezekiel reyes x reader #ez reyes x reader #mayans mc #ez reyes #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes imagine #ezekiel reyes imagine #joannasteez

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nsfsprince · 4 years ago

Text

Hold Me Close (And Watch Me Coast)

As a Dragon Hybrid, Roman’s body is easily twice as big as the average human’s, let alone Logan’s. So, it’s really no surprise that sex between the two with their vast size difference is.. incredibly intense.

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Wordcount: 1.5k

A/N: Sooo.. This fic is like, incredibly self-indulgent? There’s unfortunately little to no plot, just steamy activities and a an expansion on this au’s take on Roman, Remus, and Patton’s Human/Dragon hybrid anatomy.(and a guilty acknowledgement that this au is, at its baseline, all about the size difference kink by default akdladklj) This is technically their first time together, not counting the numerus times they ended up grinding against each other till they came. (also i’m like extremely nervous/embarrassed posting this aight)

MINORS DNI

Warnings: Size Kink/Size Difference Kink, no like this is Very Intense Take on Size Kink(you’ve been warned), edging, vague descriptions of distinctly Not Human Genitalia(that may get drawn later but shh), gentle but intense penetrative sex, heavy descriptions reflective of deep penetration kink(?), Roman doesn’t directly check in like he should but he’s watching over Logan’s reactions like a hawk, plus Logan is completely on board the entire time, Overstimulation, lots of dirty talk and praise. A slight deviation on how human anatomy works to avoid actual realistic bodily repercussions and maintain a willing suspension of disbelief. If I missed anything please let me know!

Additionally, thank you all for your encouragement to post this(or anything to this blog for that matter), it’s genuinely appreciated and has helped so much!!

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Logan couldn’t help but squirm, his bound hands fisting the soft sheets of Roman’s nest as said Dragon oh so slowly fingered him open. Filthy praise had been dripping from Roman’s lips with every maddingly slow press into his entrance, the pads of his large fingers just barely toying with Logan’s prostate to keep him squirming and gasping.

They’d been at this for what felt like hours, though truly Logan really couldn’t be sure how long they had been at this. Every time Logan would near a peak, Roman would withdraw his fingers and press infuriatingly slow and soothing kisses to his shoulders until the peak had drifted far enough to begin again. It was pleasurable torture and Logan was losing his goddamn mind.

“When you promised you’d prep me, I didn't think it would mean ‘edge me to tears,’” Logan had groaned during one of those long pauses, having nearly come from the fourth thick finger prodding into his hole before Roman had pulled away.

“Oh love, you've never taken a cock as big as mine before, and trust me when I say I’m adamant to have you orgasm the moment you’re seated completely on my cock. Then, once you’re finally fully lax and loose from that first mind-melting orgasm, I’ll get to give you a real Dragon Railing. I'll pull out every single orgasm left inside of you and then another,

“I'll come inside again and again and fill you up so full. I’ll pleasure you till your orgasms dry and even then still pull just a few more 'til I know you'll still be feeling my Claim in you for weeks after.” The Dragon purred.

Logan visibly shuttered at the statement, his cock twitching in interest at the promise.

"Of course, there's also the added benefit of my Magic. It'll keep your body healthy and stable as I practically rearrange your guts over, and over, and over," Roman continued, a large hand cupping over Logan's weeping cock and giving it a tight teasing squeeze.

Logan's thighs trembled as Roman's re-slicked fingers pressed back inside, scissoring him open just that extra bit more as he laved a sharp kiss just behind his whining sub's ear.

Logan could scarcely understand it, just how much he wanted what Roman was promising, his half-hard cock eagerly dripping precum onto the soft sheets below.

He knows that Roman is big, he's seen it at rest through Roman's likely purposefully tight trousers time and time again. He knows that even when soft, he could still easily choke on just the head alone.

It wasn't exactly surprising though, considering Roman was himself a Dragon/Human Hybrid, and thus his entire body was at least twice as large as Logan, if not more. At a staggering 6'10", Roman's broad and muscular stature easily dwarfed Logan's stout 5'4" body, right down to the size of their cocks.

He also knows full well that it is going to ruin him mentally, knowing he'll never be satisfied with anything other than Roman. Maybe Logan just has a bit of a thing for his lover's size at this point, or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he just loves anything and everything that's Roman. He doesn't mind that fact either, seeing as Roman is the only one he's ever loved like this, and is the only one he plans to spend the rest of his life with anyway.

And he was more sure than ever, laying there pinned and having been edged to hell and back for who knew how long, that he desperately wanted Roman to utterly ruin him with his monstrous cock.

For a moment his entire worldview narrowed down to those four large fingers thrusting back and forth into his hole, now unhesitatingly stimulating his prostate. He keened and cried out, unable to buck into it with Roman's free hand keeping his hips in an iron grasp.

Right as he felt the now familiar feeling of his peak readying to crash down around him once more, Roman pulled out and away all together.

He let out a confused whine at the complete loss of his lover's weight over him, unable to look or move to find him with his arms still bound under him.

"Shh, shh, I'm right here my little mouse. I haven't left you," the Dragon soothed softly, briefly resting a grounding hand on the dip between Logan’s shoulders as the sound of shuffling clothing and slick movements filled the air.

All at once, Roman's weight returned, and Logan found his knees pushed apart by Roman's own coming to press in between them. Roman's scaled bare chest pressed searingly hot against Logan's own similarly unclothed torso, his large muscled arms bracketing in Logan's chest and shoulders on either side. His head dropped, pressing a gentle soothing kiss to his favorite spot near the crook of Logan's neck.

Any words Logan had been planning to say were flushed out with the shuttering gasp that escaped him. His thoughts scrambling as the thick unusually tapered head of Roman's slick cock rubbed teasingly against his hole for a moment or two, before finally, finally starting to sink inside.

Logan could not be faulted for the absolutely embarrassing keen that escaped him when Roman's hips gradually bore down with all his weight to sink his cock inside. He could feel through where their back and chest met how Roman’s chest was rumbling with a deeply pleased, nearly subsonic growl.

"Relax, little mouse, you're still so tight inside love. How am I going to bounce you on my cock soon if you don't relax?" Roman purred, one arm curling around and pulling up Logan's hips to ease the other's strain, "Think about how good it'll feel once I'm fully inside. Good little mouse, that's it, relax."

The prince found himself whimpering helplessly, his trembling back arching and shaking knees trying to spread wider to accommodate for the Dragon's unyielding massive cock. Roman's four thick fingers had just barely opened him up enough to actually keep it from being truly painful, barely keeping it to just a deep pleasurable ache.

It was all he could do to keep his trembling body lax, barely restraining himself from clenching down when inch after ribbed inch proved thicker than the last. Even wilder, he could still feel where the large tapered head was inside, spearing deeper than Logan had ever thought he was capable of experiencing- And the length still just kept coming.

It felt like ages before Roman finally buried his cock as far as it would go without continuing any painful forcing. Logan's hard little cock was weeping precum steadily, the other's monster of a cock pressing relentlessly into every sweet spot he didn't even know existed.

Roman finally stills, lightly worrying a few hickies into the skin of Logan's shoulders and throat with his teeth, waiting for Logan to adjust.

The prince could barely tell how he felt. it was undeniably heady, at least, to feel his lover so deep that his stomach ached in protest. His upper torso alongside his jaw had gone lax in pure awe, eyes screwed shut as his trembling legs were now completely useless at keeping him up. If it weren't for Roman's strong arm holding his hips up, Logan probably would have collapsed completely to the floor by now. That is, unless the other's massive cock could have ended up also keeping his poor hips in place, if given the chance that it remained stuck inside. An experiment for another day, surely.

"How are you feeling, love?" Roman purred, his voice cautious and calculating.

"Hnng" Logan keened artfully in response, clenching around the others cock in retaliation. He wouldn't see Roman's pleased grin in response, too deep in subspace and blissed out to suspect his lover's next act of mischief.

"Good boy, being so good for me. Alright then, going up!" Roman purred deviously.

Suddenly Logan found his entire body shifting as Roman pinned him to his chest and pulled him upright onto his lap. The Dragon settled down to the floor just enough to still maintain their balance as he let gravity pull Logan back down onto his cock.

The momentum that carried him pulled him perfectly back down the inch and a half he'd lost on the way up, before pressing him even further down as his weight additionally settled into position over the others cock.

That deep protesting ache in his stomach returned twice as loud from the sharp prodding the head of Roman's cock gave. It made Logan want to squirm away for the sharp few overwhelming seconds that he was stuck feeling it before suddenly feeling Roman’s hands press down on his hips. His head jerked back with a strangled moan as the tip of Roman's cock testingly pressed even deeper at the action.

And then Logan finds his hips suddenly flush with Roman's and the last inch and a half of Roman's cock plunging completely inside him. The deep ache that had sharpened with the final push was suddenly overwhelming his senses, and was inexplicably starting to feel really fucking good now as the head of the others cock seemed to finally manage and get.. even deeper, somehow.

Logan's hips instinctually jerk after a moment, purely overwhelmed with the cacophony of signals being sent to his brain, finally spiking that deep ache into a kaleidoscope of pure oversensitive pleasure. Before he can even really process the feeling it has him practically shouting Roman's name as he peaks harshly and comes all over his heaving chest and twitching hips.

Roman's hands pin their hips together, rutting slowly to continue carefully stimulating Logan's trembling body through his first orgasm. Eventually he paused to let Logan collapse against his chest, the prince obviously lost to his fucked-out bliss.

"We've only just gotten started, are you spent so soon, little Mouse?" Roman purred delightedly.

Logan just whimpered, dazedly shaking his head and spreading his legs once more even as it created a feedback loop with that terrible, wonderful, blissful ache.

"Good Boy."

#not safe for sanders #nsfs logince #prince writes #nsfs fantasy dragon au #heed the warnings #hi yes this was incredibly indulgent aight it's all about the overwhelming impossible pleasure #i left out descriptions of romans horns tail and wings bc they didnt interact much but i promise you #logan loves to grab Roman's horns as he rides him #and Roman's wings and tail are always curled protectively around them #ask to tag

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xenia-cenia · 4 years ago

Text

Bennett x Fem!Reader - Aster

A/N: The last post kinda blew up so of COURSE I’m doing more in this style. Also he’s totally the son of the pyro archon I don’t take criticism

Fun fact: at the end I legit started to blush a little bit.

Trigger/Content Warnings: Regicide/murder, violence, PTSD/nightmares, kidnapping, light swearing

Word Count: 3,560

Request: No

Summary: Everything that has been Lost will eventually be found; be it Princesses or swords.

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Very few places in Teyvat still bowed to royalty and Mondstadt was no different.

The people of Mondstadt bowed to alcohol and freedom; the people of Liyue bowed to commerce and wealth.

But you did not hail from Mondstadt or Liyue - you were born into a country far away from Archons and Visions. A country that was set under siege 10 years ago, a country that lost its rulers with a swift slash of a sword.

Rumors spiraled of the young princess escaping with a woman who burned with embers in her eyes and infernos in her hands. Some say the women took the princess only to end the royal line herself, others say she raised the child as her own. As more and more time passed on, people agreed that the woman never existed and the princess died during the attacks.

“Bennett!” You shouted from the balcony overlooking the entryway of Mondstadt. The white-haired boy's head snapped up, a smile growing on his face. You jumped over the balcony and ran to him, “How was your adventure?”

“I found so much treasure!” He began sorting through his pockets and eventually brought out a small bag, he opened it and brought out a golden ring with a raven insignia pressed onto the blue jewel attached to it. He extended his hand and smiled shyly, you slowly set your right hand down on his extended hand. The ring slipped onto your finger perfectly.

“Woah,” you gaped at the ring, admiring the way the jewel seemed to absorb every bit of light, “Where did you find this?”

Bennett chuckled nervously, not wanting to tell you the truth of how many traps he fell into while receiving the ring, “J-just found it... y’know... lying around.”

You looked up at him and narrowed your eyes, “Benny...”

He scratched the back of his head and mumbled under his breath, “I only almost died like... twice.”

“Bennett!” You yelled and lightly smacked his arm, “Don’t risk your life for this stuff! We’ve talked about this.”

“But you looked so happy when you saw the ring...”

“And I’m happier each time you come home to me! Promise you won’t do this anymore!”

“But...”

“Promise!”

“Fine! Fine. I promise I won’t risk my life for gifts anymore.” He sighed but couldn’t contain the soft blush on his cheeks.

“Thank you.” You grabbed his hand and squeezed them, “Really, thank you. I... just please don’t get hurt for me.”

He smiled brightly and kneeled slightly to match your height, “You’re the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me, (Y/N).”

You laughed and began to jog away, “Where did THAT come from? Barbatos save me, you’re so cute.”

“Cute?!” Bennett half-laughed half-yelled in shock, “(Y/N)!” He started running after you, “(Y/N)! You can’t just say that and run away!”

“Come and catch me then!” You giggled as he chased after you. It didn’t take long for him to catch up to you, grab you by the waist, pick you up and spin you around. You laughed and looked at him, “How come I’m nearly as tall as you, yet you can still effortlessly pick me up?”

He smiled and nuzzled his chin into your hair, “I spend all day fighting hilichulrs and climbing mountains, did you think I couldn’t pick you up?”

“I guess I knew you could, I just didn’t think you would.” You spun out of his grasp and grabbed his hands, “Ooh, that reminds me! You have to hear about this story I just found!”

“Yeah?”

“It’s so cool! It’s about Vanessa...” as the two of you walked back to your small house, you regaled him with stories you had read that day, gushing over the vast history that Mondstadt had.

When you had finished talking, the moon had taken its rightful spot in the sky and called you and Bennett to sleep. You lied on the bed and waited to feel Bennett's warm body press against your chest, his heavy arms draped over your sides. Within moments of him getting into bed, he fell fast asleep. You smiled and buried your head under his chin, letting sleep overtake you.

Screams echoing in your ears, you bit your lip as tears fell down your cheeks. The dress you had treasured was torn and burnt, you could hear pounding footsteps outside your door, looking for your head to hang on a wall.

You didn’t know when this started, all you knew is that you needed to hide. You tried your best to block out the noise, but you could still hear their death thralls and see your parents extend their bloodied hands towards you.

“Run.” They had whispered. And run you did.

You ran down the twisting corridors, you hid under your Father's desk and prayed to something - anything - that you would survive this and see your family again. But even as a 6-year-old, you knew that your chances of survival were slim to none.

Soft footsteps slowly made their way across the room, you felt heat begin to boil your skin. A woman kneeled down and set her blade on the ground.

“P... please don’t hurt me.” You shook.

She smiled; a warm and comforting smile, “Are you (Y/N) (L/N)?”

You stared at her with wide eyes, your heart sinking into your stomach. This was the end. You were going to die here. Your family's legacy would crash and tumble, the last thing you’d see was this woman's bright green eyes and smile.

She outstretched her hand, “Come, Princess, I can save you.”

You woke up with a deep gasp, sweat and tears mixing on your face. You looked at Bennett who was still sound asleep, you slowly slid out of the bed and took deep breaths.

How long was it since you’ve last this nightmare? What was it about sleeping next to Bennett that caused you to see the woman clearer? You shook the thoughts out of your head and decided to take a walk to clear your head.

Flower picking always seemed to calm you down. You crept outside your house and into the Mondstadt fields to reminisce in the familiar scents of flowers. You sat on the ground and quietly hummed to yourself, completely lost in thought, not noticing the figure watching you from a distance.

Slowly, he crept up to you until he grabbed your wrist. You jumped in shock and smiled nervously. “Hello?”

“What are you doing... out so late at night?”

“I... um, just picking flowers.” You used your left hand to gesture around, “It’s so pretty out, I just couldn’t sleep until I brought a few home for my boyfriend...”

“Oh?” The man kneeled down, “Boyfriend, eh? What’s he like?”

“He’s... well, he’s really unlucky.” You looked around to see if he had any allies with him - but even if he did you knew you couldn’t take him in a fight. You were more of a kind soul than a violent one. “He’s probably expecting me home any minute now, so I should really go...” you began to pull out of the man's grasp when he tightened his grip on your wrist.

“What a pretty ring.” He held your hand up to his eyes, “Not as pretty as you, of course.”

“T-Thank you?”

“Would you mind if we took a walk? I get a bit lonely walking through these fields all by myself.” He cheerily laughed.

“I... my b-boyfriend...”

He smiled brightly but his grip began to become painful, “I’m sure he won’t mind, will he? Oh, speaking of! I never got your name, how rude of me.”

“I really need to go.” You tried to pull out of his grasp again.

“Now, now. I know those eyes. Right, Princess?”

“Pri-” you began, but before you could finish your sentence he swung at your chin and you crumpled onto the ground.

“What a great find!” He chuckled to himself as he lifted your unconscious body over his shoulder, “The amount of money we’ll get for her...”

Bennett woke up the same way he does every day: with a sore neck and on the floor. He sighed and sat up, happy that he remembered to put pillows on the floor last night. He looked at the empty bed and smiled to himself, you were probably out picking flowers or meeting with some of your friends. It always made him happy that you had things to do while he was out adventuring, but it always made him happier when you stayed near the city.

It’s not that he didn’t trust you. You weren’t naive or sheltered just... not someone cut out for battle. He had tried countless times to teach you how to fight, even got his Dads involved, but you always seemed hopeless.

Your stance was wrong, you’d drop the sword or you’d nearly poke someone's eye out. Eventually, you decided to just stay near. Stay safe. Fighting simply wasn’t your thing - and that’s fine! He’d be okay with it either way.

He changed into his clothes, headed out of his house, and walked around Mondstadt. Katheryne smiled and waved hello, he walked over to her and asked about new commissions. She gave him 4 more and bid him good luck, before he set out he asked if she’d seen you today.

“(Y/N)?” She rocked back and forth on her heels, “No... I don’t think so.”

Bennett felt concern but quickly shook it away, “Tell me if you see her!”

As he set out on his commissions, he found himself being distracted. Not seeing you when he woke up was normal enough, but Katheryne not seeing you? That was weird. He only even asked as a formality - Katheryne always saw you. She always chatted with you before you met up for midday tea.

He palmed the hilt of his sword as he began walking to his second commission of the day, completely lost in thought and not noticing the small hole in the ground. One misstep was all it took for Bennett to trip and roll his ankle.

Bennett winced in pain and slowly brought himself out of the hole, “Just my luck, huh...” He reached into his backpack, pulled out medical supplies, and set to work on mending his wounds. On the ground, he spotted a few picked windwheel asters scattered around. He pulled himself over to them and smiled to himself, imagining the smile on your face when he brought your favorite Mondstadt specialty home to you.

As he twirled the windwheel aster between his fingers, he recalled his earlier unease. With a quick shake of his head, he replaced it with happier thoughts. He pulled himself up, tucked the windwheel aster into his belt, and headed home.

The unlucky boy more stumbled than walked home, beating the pain with fantasies of your smile.

As he arrived back in Mondstadt, he walked over to Katheryne who perked up when she saw him.

“Bennett!” She called, “You’ve been gone a while. Did you complete your commissions?”

“Not really,” he laughed quietly, “ended up rolling my ankle.”

“Oooh,” her eyebrows knit together, “I think Barbara is still working tonight.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. I can just sleep it off.” He began to step away when he remembered something, he knocked onto the counter with his gloved hand and shot a big smile, “Oh, that reminds me. Have you seen (Y/N) at all?”

Katherynes concern fell into nervousness, “I... I was going to ask you that.”

“I gotta go.” He broke out into a sprint towards your house, the pain from his ankle seemed insignificant compared to his pounding heart. As if some lucky break, he didn’t trip or run into anyone on his way home.

He threw the door open and yelled, “(Y/N)?!” No response. He searched each room in the house, tearing apart every spot that you could even possibly be hiding in before ran to the Knights of Favonius headquarters. He practically barreled through the door to the library and with heavy breaths looked a startled Lisa in the eyes.

“Bennett?” She took a second to regain her composure, “Oh, actually, have you seen (Y/N) lately? We just got a new book I think she’d-”

Before she could finish, Bennett left the library and ran into the Acting Grand Masters office.

“Master Jean!” He panted, his arms shaking as he held the edges of the doorframe.

Jean looked up at him, piles of paperwork covering her desk, “Can I help you?”

“Yes! Yes, you can!” He walked into the room, tripped over his feet, got up, and sat down in the chair, “You’ve heard of (Y/N), right?”

“(Y/N)...” she repeated, “Oh, yes. I have. She helps me out every now and then.”

“Have you seen her at all today?”

Jean leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen against her lips, “No, I can’t say I have. Why?”

Bennett groaned and leaned forward, “I don’t know where she is! I woke up today and she was gone, which, yeah, is pretty normal for her but still! Not you, Katheryne, or Lisa have seen her! I’m really scared - she can’t fight and she keeps going out to pick flowers really far away! Please, please help me find her.”

She folded her hands, “What’s your name?”

“B-Bennett!”

“Bennett. Take Lisa with you and look around Mondstadt. If you still can’t find her, come back to me and we’ll discuss this again. Understood?”

“I’ve looked around Mondstadt!”

“Okay,” she exhaled, “I’ll organize a search party.” Jean stood, grabbed her vision, and walked with purpose.

Bennett sat in the chair, shaking. “(Y/N)... where are you...”

You woke up with a pounding headache and with something wet pressed against the side of your face. There was a tight rope binding your hands behind your back and chains connecting your feet to a small metal cage you were trapped in. You sat up and took deep breaths, trying to recall what happened.

“1 million mora? For a princess? We can do better than that.” A voice sneered.

“How do we know she’s really the princess?”

“Wait until you see her eyes! The Lost (L/N) Princess and she fell right into our hands! Hah! How lucky!”

You looked around your surroundings, other than the cage you were in, it seemed like a normal campsite. You didn’t quite recognize the area you were in and that worried you.

“H... hey!” You called out. The two voices fell quiet and eventually, two men came into your view.

“You’re awake.” A young man with orange eyes and dusty brown hair spoke, a purple face mask concealing his mouth and nose.

You narrowed your eyes at him, recognizing him as the man who took you hostage, “Where am I?”

The second man who had a hat covering his face kneeled in front of you, happiness beaming in his light blue eyes, “Well, I’ll be damned. It really is her.”

He grabbed the chains on your feet and pulled you towards him, “I’ve been looking for you for so long.”

“Let me go.” You growled, “I swear to god when Benny finds you-”

“Benny?” The man wearing the hat turned towards the masked man, “Whose Benny?”

“Her boyfriend, probably.”

“Hmm...” he leaned back and thought for a moment, “Well, you know what they say about loose ends...”

“W...wait.” Panic began to tear through your body, “Wait, please don’t. Oh, god, no. Please don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you ask just... please.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Well, stay put.” He opened the door on the cage and motioned for you to open your mouth, you complied. He ripped a piece of cloth off your clothes and tied it around your mouth, “Can’t have you screaming for help now, can we?” He chuckled and shut the cage again.

“What do we do now?” The masked man stood, anxiously bouncing on his heels.

“Find the boy.”

“And?”

“Well,” the man sat in front of your cage, pulling down his mask and showing you a bright grin, “See how much he wants his beloved back.”

You glared at him with tears in your eyes, trying to push the gag out of your mouth but to no avail.

Bennett sat on your bed, trying to keep himself from crying. 3 days. 3 days you’ve been missing. He wrapped himself in your clothes, taking deep breaths and trying to smell you on whatever remnant he had left.

The smell was fading.

He choked back tears and focused on you. Your smile, your voice, your favorite story, anything. Anything at all.

A loud knock at his door made him jump. Excitement and nervousness built into his feet as he ran to the door, maybe the Knights found you, maybe it was you. He threw the door open and saw a small slip of paper on the ground. With shaking hands, he picked it up, and when he finished reading its contents he couldn’t stop himself from crying or collapsing onto the ground.

Benny -

You probably want to know where (Y/N) is. She’s safe. For now, at least.

You have 24 hours to either get 30 million mora or something of equal value to

get her back safely. If you miss the deadline, we will sell her to the highest bidder. Deliver the money to the great tree in Windrise.

Come alone.

Proof that we have her is attached.

On the other side was a lock of your hair. He clutched it to his chest before carefully tucking it into his satchel, and just like that he took off searching for each mora or item in your house that could even possibly have value.

He would have sold the clothes off his back if it meant he’d see you again. But in the end, he fell short.

Not even 1 million mora.

He walked to the great tree, hoping he could strike some sort of deal. With his sword at his hip, he knew what he had to do.

The unlucky boy shook as he set the sword against the tree, his eyes filled with tears as a single man came from the shadows.

“You didn’t bring anything?” He scoffed, “She really loves you more than you love her.”

“She... she’s alive? Thank... thank the Archons.” His head drooped in relief, “M-my sword. It’s worth at least 30 million mora. Take it.”

The man stepped forward and inspected the sword, “Hm.” He practiced a few slashes with it, “Yes, this seems like it’ll catch a fair price.”

“Where is she?” He pulled himself to his feet, “I gave you what you wanted... where is she?”

He laughed under his mask, “Long gone. As we speak, she’s being pawned off.”

“Wh... what?” Bennett stepped forward, “I did what you asked.”

“Yes, you did. A 30 million mora sword and whatever she sells for... now my buddies and I will have the life we’ve always wanted.”

“That’s not fair.” He began to feel his blood boil under his skin, “You... you can’t do that.”

Bennett saw red, and the next thing he knew his sword was back in his hands and he was marching directly to you.

Wrath and fear forced his body on and it only increased tenfold as he saw a group of people standing around a cage, one of the men counting mora as he loudly spoke about your name to the onlookers.

Fire roared inside of him, their arrows and swords burned the moment he got near. Everything was burned to ash, except for you. He turned to the cage and felt his chest constrict as he saw tears pooling down your face and a gag keeping you silent.

He dropped his sword and ran over to the cage, it didn’t take him long to open the lock and remove the gag.

“Benny!” You gasped when you could speak, “Oh, god, Benny, I was so scared. T-They... they said they were going to kill you.”

“I’m here, it’s okay.” He broke the chains off your feet and untied the rope around your hands, “Can you walk?”

“I... I think?” He helped you out of the cage, but you immediately stumbled when you touched the ground. He wrapped his arms around your waist and caught you.

“I’ll carry you. Are you tired?” He sat you on the ground for a moment as he sheathed his sword, before picking you up bridal style and making sure to tighten his hands around so he wouldn’t drop you.

“A... a little.”

“I bet,” he beamed, “Bennys Adventure Team is here to help you!”

Your laughter dissolved into coughing.

Bennett frowned and held you close, “When we get home, I’ll read you a story.”

“About Vanessa?”

“About anything you want.”

You leaned into his chest and wrapped your arms around his neck, “As long as it’s you... I don’t care what it is.”

He was going to respond, but he noticed your eyes fall shut. He leaned down to make sure you were still breathing, smiled to himself, and began the long trek home.

Whenever you wanted to pick flowers or do anything outside of the city, he’d always offer to come with you. He doesn’t want you to go missing again. At night, he draws you close against his chest as he sleeps.

#benny x reader #bennett x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact bennett #genshin impact benny #one shot #oneshot #x reader #x reader fanfiction #fanfiction #bennett x you #benny x you #happy endings #saved by bennett #saved by benny

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 5 years ago

Text

Suit Up

Summary: Tony wearing the suit just really does it for ya...and he’s noticed.

Characters: Tony Stark x female reader

Words: 3,154

Author’s Note: Yea, that’s right, I fell down the Marvel hole. I tried to avoid it as long as I could, but in the end, I had to admit defeat.

Warnings: explicit smut, explicit language, uh...is suit porn a warning?

The coffee machine gurgled as you stood at the mansion’s vast kitchen counter, eyes glued on the wall-mounted TV screen. The newscaster was debriefing viewers on Iron Man’s latest victory, how he had saved dozens from an armed-robbery hostage situation at one of the largest banks in the city. Everyone had gotten out safely, the bad guys were all in cuffs, and the news outlets had a breaking story to keep them busy for the day. Adoring fans took turns gushing into the journalist’s mic about the famed superhero, making the side of your lips quirk up a bit in pride.

The moment was then ruined by a high-pitched whooshing sound overhead, signaling Tony’s return. You winced at the chaotic bang of him crashing through walls and falling down into the lab, followed by muffled yelling and cursing.

“Every single time,” you muttered with a shake of your head, not even wanting to know what expensive piece of equipment he had probably just destroyed with his graceful landing.

Grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard, you took your time filling them with the freshly brewed coffee and adding the appropriate amounts of cream and sugar to each one. Taking a deep breath, you picked up the cups and reluctantly headed downstairs to assess the damage.

Sure enough, the debris was still settling, clouds of freshly-startled dust particles floating through the air as you descended the steps. Tony was currently out of view, but you could hear the heavy metal footsteps of the suit as he strode around while barking orders to FRIDAY.

You and Tony had been dating for a while now, and the past few months had found you spending more nights here with him, rather than at your own apartment. No one had been more shocked by the relationship than you, especially since your initial assessment of the older and richer man was that he was well-aware of, and confident in, his place in the world. A man who knew his own worth and...oh, to heck with sugar coating it. You had initially thought he was a prime asshole, with a capital A.

It wasn’t until your social circles kept throwing you into each other’s paths that you started to learn about the man beyond the narcissistic exterior. Sure, he was eccentric and an arrogant jerk at times, but he was also attentive and caring when he wanted to be. Once he realized you weren’t sticking around for his money or to grace his bed for a night or two, he showcased a loving side of himself behind closed doors that the rest of the world wouldn’t guess existed.

And the sex. Dear god, the sex! Your breath sped up a bit just thinking about last night’s escapades, at how he had edged you until you were a begging, writhing mess beneath him, before sending you over the cliff and making you come again and again...and again.

He had quickly awakened a side of you that had previously lain dormant, making it his personal mission to discover all your secret fantasies and make them a glorious reality. Tony was a kinky motherfucker, and as it turned out, so were you. And yet, there was still one fantasy that you had hidden from him, one you tried to keep buried way down deep and struggled not to let show.

At the bottom of the stairs, you passed through his extensive security measures and stepped into the gigantic lab, rounding a corner towards the sound of grumbling. Tony turned around at the sound of your approach, still fully encased in the suit. The coffee cups almost fell out of your hand when the aforementioned hidden fantasy locked glowing eyes on you from across the room. Legs now quivering, you continued into the lab and shakily set the mugs down onto a nearby workstation.

Oh, had you forgotten to mention? Yea, the suit was your fantasy.

More precisely, Tony in the suit was your fantasy. You weren’t sure when exactly this kink had started, but you had been strangely attracted to him wearing the Iron Man suit for a while now, and didn’t know how to make it go away.

Part of the appeal was the psychological symbol of all it stood for: peace and safety for those who hadn’t previously known such luxuries. There was so much power in that symbol, not to mention the physical prowess Tony had while wearing it. The virtually-indestructible superhero strength alone was enough to make your panties wet.

Then there was the design of the suit itself. Sleek, strong lines of metal that were shaped into the form of a man, yet also...it was just not human enough to make you shiver in a way that had utterly shocked you the first time it happened. The robotic mask with its stern-set mouth and glowing eyes sent a tingle of fear down your spine whenever they focused in your direction, but the fact that you knew it was Tony under there also gave that fear and intimidation an edge of desire. And it wasn’t just the aesthetic of the suit that attracted you, but how Tony acted when buried within its grasp. He strode with arrogant claim into whatever arena he wore it, the power and confidence he exuded plain for all to see. And whether from the suit itself or the result of the authority he claimed while wearing it, the glistening gold mask also projected a slightly deeper, grittier version of his typical voice, one that could have you flat on your back and begging within seconds.

That same voice was now speaking in your direction, causing sweat to form on the back of your neck...and was followed by the snap of metal fingers inches from your face, jolting you out of the daydream you had been slipping into. Shit! You realized that he had been trying to get your attention for God knows how long, while you stood there practically drooling on yourself while fantasizing about him.

Real smooth, you have the ‘keep this fantasy to yourself’ routine down so well, you internally admonished.

Clearing your throat and wiping sweaty palms down denim-clad hips, you asked, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Trying to act unaffected, you gave Tony what was hopefully a calm smile.

“I asked if that was coffee,” he said, the suit staring at you so intensely that it almost made your brain go offline again.

“Yep, sure is!” you responded with an unnecessary amount of exuberance, mentally kicking your ass all over the lab for acting like a fool.

He stalked over to the workstation to pick up a mug, and you couldn’t prevent the loud inhale, body frozen to attention, as he strode closer until he was well within your personal space. The mask fell away long enough for him to lift the coffee cup and take a sip, and in that moment, he locked eyes onto you with a knowing gleam, before the mask closed back up and he returned the mug to the table.

He knew.

Needing to get out of there, to get far enough away to calm your racing heart and panting breaths, you turned and started speed walking towards the staircase. You barely made it two steps before an unyielding metal hand wrapped around your bicep and twirled you back into the suit’s massive form. Pushing your free hand against the sleek chest of alloy was futile, as Tony herded you backwards until your lower back bumped up against the workstation.

Goosebumps broke out along your arms when he leaned down, that glowing gaze inches from your face. Unable to stand their intensity, you closed your own eyes tight, a whimper escaping parted lips when a thick metal thigh pushed between your legs, effectively pinning you in place. Then that voice came from right above you, offering the choice of ecstasy or escape.

“Do you want me to stop?”

The logical part of your brain screamed at you to say yes, to get the hell out of there before this went too far down a path from which you couldn’t retreat. But the other part...the one that had touched yourself to the fantasy of this very scenario more times than you cared to admit...that part was begging you to give in.

Suddenly, strong fingers gripped your chin and jerked it upwards, startling your eyes into flying open and locking onto that captivating gaze.

“I asked a question, sweetheart. Now, use your words and give me an answer.”

Licking dry lips, you stared up at him in fascinated arousal and whispered, “No.”

Head tilting slightly to the side, the grip on your chin didn’t let up. “Sorry, I don’t think I heard you properly. Try again.”

“N-no,” you said, voice louder but still shaky. “Don’t stop.”

As if that was all he needed to let loose, the hand at your chin fell down to join the other at your hips, fingers bunching into the hem of your shirt and jerking it up over your head. He didn’t even bother to unhook your bra, just used the suit’s strength to rip it right down the front and toss it to the side. You moaned at the sensation of your nipples pebbling into tight points against the smooth red and gold chest, his unyielding thigh still pressing up against the crotch of your jeans.

You yelped in surprise when one of his large arms swept out behind you, knocking both the coffee cups and assorted bits of lab equipment off the workstation. You barely registered the sound of breaking glass, head spinning when he lifted you up on the edge of the flat surface as if you weighed less than a feather. Leaning back onto slightly unsteady hands, you watched as he flicked the button of your jeans open and jerked them down your thighs, followed quickly by your panties being torn off, leaving you naked before him.

There were so many unique sensations, coupled with the knowledge that one of your wettest fantasies was about to come true, that your body felt overloaded to the point where you were already squirming restlessly and on the verge of begging. He groaned at the sight, powerful fingers gliding down your waist and suddenly squeezing into your hip so tightly that you gasped at the pain. “Careful,” you whispered.

The fingers lessened, but only by a hair. “I wouldn’t hurt you, sweetheart. At least-” He cocked his head consideringly, “-not more than you’d enjoy.”

At that, the cool metal fingers drifted down so that both hands grabbed your ass roughly, making you groan and jolt forward as he stepped fully between your thighs and pulled you in against him. The length of him towered above you, both overwhelming and arousing in its reminder of how helpless you were against him...of how much you wanted to be taken.

The fingers of one hand glided up the front of your stomach, their surface so smooth compared to Tony’s rough, work-calloused hands. They circled your breast lovingly for a few moments before changing pace and pinching your nipple hard enough to make you whine. The entire time those slitted, glowing eyes fixed intently on your face, measuring your reaction to each touch.

A sudden cry broke from your throat at the shocking feel of cool metal between your thighs, his other hand palming your cunt before dipping a finger inside and giving a few experimental strokes. Your head fell back between your shoulders at the deliciously taboo feel of him adding a second thick finger, thighs widening and hips arching upwards with invitation. He fucked you steadily, obscene noises emerging from both your mouth and cunt as his fingers scissored to stretch you out in preparation for his cock.

You groaned in disappointment when the fingers slipped away just as your orgasm was building to a peak. Your head lifted to voice a protest that quickly died, eyes widening when you caught sight of the large metal erection that was now hanging between the suit’s legs. Licking suddenly dry lips, you stared at the thick appendage in awe and said, “I don’t remember that being a feature of the suit.”

He pulled you down the table until your ass hung off the edge, supported only by his hands. “It’s a new edition I added, just for you.”

Your face must’ve showcased your thoughts, because he gave a dark chuckle that caused an answering pulse in your cunt. “Oh honey, did you really think I haven’t noticed how wet you get for Iron Man?”

You should’ve felt embarrassed, should’ve given some sassy retort. Instead, you gave an undignified whimper and arched instinctively into him when the stiff tip of his metal cock bumped into your clit before lining up at your dripping entrance.

Your mesmerized gaze was transfixed on the sight of him entering you, hands coming up to grip at the unyielding shoulders for stability as he opened you up with slow, steady thrusts. Gasping at the initial contrast of cool metal invading wet heat, your flesh quickly warmed him up and adjusted to the unyielding shape. He was buried so deep that you almost couldn’t breathe, making you feel utterly dominated by his large form.

Clenching your hip with one hand, he braced the other one flat on the table before drawing his hips back, cock sliding slowly out before a quick snap of his hips slammed it back in. The movement was unexpectedly intense, Tony having underestimated the suit’s thrusting power, and you cried out at the burst of pain-edged pleasure. He immediately froze, so attuned to your body after months of learning what each noise and response meant to know that he had pushed a bit close to your limits.

“Shit, sorry,” he whispered huskily.

It took a few seconds to catch your breath, but then you let out a breathy giggle to let him know it was okay.

“Guess there’s a learning curve to fucking in this thing,” you teased, rolling your hips to let him know it was okay to continue.

“Guess it’s a good thing that I’m a genius,” he grunted with another thrust on the last word, this one less harsh but still deep enough to make you hiss and dig your nails against the inflexible crimson shoulders.

He continued that way for a few minutes, driving into you with just enough force to tinge the building pleasure with a tiny bite of pain. You reveled in it, in the way it made you feel claimed and his.

He suddenly straightened to his full height, causing your hands to slip back to the table for balance. His hands slid up to grab your ankles, anchoring your weight on them and spreading your thighs wide as he powered his hips in a deep, steady rhythm. That stern face stared down at you, and his strong grip left you powerless to do anything other than lay there and accept his unrelenting thrusts. Looking down, you gave a guttural moan at the sight of your juicing glistening along his metal cock, at how your pussy wrapped around his girth and accepted him over and over.

“You love this, don’t you?” he taunted. “Next time you see Iron Man on TV saving someone, all you’re gonna be able to think about is how it feels to fuck him.”

The words ramped up your pleasure, sweat dripping down your temples as you lowered to your back on the workstation and moaned underneath that glowing gaze. And just when you didn’t think the situation could get more intense, another little attachment popped out of an unidentified portion of the suit. It was a small, smooth cylinder, and you watched with curiosity as it drifted down between your legs and...landed directly on your clit...and started vibrating. Hard.

Keening at the sudden stimulation, you unsuccessfully tried to squirm away from the intense vibrations of the device. But the hands at your ankles and cock in your cunt kept you locked in place, forcing you to accept the overwhelming sensations. The pressure between your legs became almost unbearable, warmth suffusing your body as muscles tightened with impending climax.

“Yes, that’s it. Come all over this cock. It was made for you, now use that pretty pussy to make it yours.”

That was the final push you needed, the combination of the powerful thrusts, vibrations, and filthy words igniting the match of your orgasm, and the sparks crackled out from between your legs to engulf your entire body in flames.

He didn’t stop, riding you through the pleasure until your legs were shaking so hard it was a wonder he didn’t lose his grip. Nails clawed at the smooth surface of the workstation as you cried out his name over and over, until the orgasm died down to simmering embers and your voice lowered to a whimper.

Only then did he slow his movements, decreasing the pace until he came to a stop deep inside you, the clit vibe retreating into the suit as your walls continued to clench with aftershocks around the thick metal cock. When your thighs had stopped quivering and your eyes went from glazed to able to focus on him, he slowly pulled out, drawing one last full-body shudder out of you, as if your body couldn’t help but protest the loss.

He pushed you up the table so that your hips could rest on the edge, legs dangling lifelessly over the side as you laid there panting, unable to summon the energy to move. Leaning over you, the front part of the mask parted and Tony’s face came into view for the first time since he’d taken that single sip of coffee. His pupils were dilated and mouth slightly parted with his heavy breathing. When he leaned down to kiss you, your arms found the strength to lift and wrap around his neck, a spark of renewed desire igniting in your belly at the hungry way he laid claim to your mouth using lips, teeth, and tongue.

You gave a little squeal of surprise when you were suddenly lifted off the table and into the suit’s arms. Striding through the lab, he beelined for the staircase. You looked up at him in question, and he curled up the sides of his lips in that trademark Stark smirk.

“Iron Man had his turn fucking you in the lab. Now, it’s my turn to fuck you in our bed.”

Suddenly losing patience with the boringly human method of walking, he used the suit to lift off the ground and fly up the stairs to the bedroom. When there, he proceeded to remind you that, while the suit was a fantastic sexual fantasy, it could never compare to the love of the man who wore it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Forever tag list (if y’all want off just let me know):

@hannibalssweaters @strangersangel9 @bamby0304 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @wheresthekillswitch @ericuhlorain @foofyschmoofer @magpiegirl80 @efeysa @peachtickler69 @supernaturally-lucky @favs-imagines @multireality @twdncgan @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @yuuki1000may-blog @crzcorgi @sunriserose1023 @breakfast-of-a-teenage-killer @winchesterswoonathon @is-this-you-manning-up-sammy @vizhi0n @kellyn1604 @embracetheapocalypsewithme @backseat-negan @opheliadawnwalker3 @superprincesspea @beltz2016 @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @letsby @jobean12-blog @readsalot73 @reclusive-cat-lady @girlwiththepapatattoo @nerdstackular @thatprettymvthafvcka @sarcasm-is-my-native-tounge

Others who showed interest in this: @opheliadawnwalker3 @risingphoenix761 @megmeg-chan @eleanor-gillespie @retroxvailles @trinittyy

#ash writes #tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark smut #iron man smut #marvel smut #marvel fanfics #tony stark x you #tony stark fanfics #tony stark fanfiction #mavel fanfiction #marvel #fanfiction #smut #iron man #iron man x reader #rdj #robert downey jr

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liibrii · 4 years ago

Text

Kita Shinsuke x gn!Reader

Synopsis: Hitchhiking through the countryside you catch a ride from a handsome stranger, which just might turn out to be the greatest decision of your life – or your greatest mistake.

wc: 2k || thriller-ish, mystery-ish

a/n: heavily inspired by one of my all time favourite songs; The Count of Tuscany. tbh this fic was just an excuse for me to listen to it on repeat for several hours :P as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

In the bathroom of the roadside gas station you change into your best clothes and brush through the tangles in your hair, wash your face, scrub your hands to make sure there's no dirt beneath your nails. No one in their right mind would pick up a scruffy looking hitchhiker.

You decide to stand outside where everyone who drives in to fill their gas tanks will notice you. On a small chalkboard you bought for a few hundred yen in a convenience store you write the name of your destination with the prettiest writing you manage and even add a smiley face. That should do the trick of gaining attention.

You've almost reached your destination already. The western sea of Japan. Being born on the eastern coast you have watched the sun rise above the ocean your entire life. At least once in your life you want to see it sink in the vastness of the sea hugging your homeland.

Would a train or a bus bring you to your destination faster? They would, sadly your wallet disagreed with that option. Hitchhiking really was the best option even if you often waited for hours with no luck. Still it wasn't all bad; one time an elderly lady stoped to give you a lift. You sat in the back as the front sit was occupied by her dog who excitedly turned to sniffle and lick your face, begging for scratches. She made you stay for dinner and even prepared a futon for you to sleep. “All my children and grandchildren moved to the big cities.“ She scratched behind the ears of her dozing four legged companion as you drank tea while sun slowly set behind the hilltops. “Slowly but surely we are bein' left behind. Seein' someone so young come 'round makes these old bones incredibly happy.“

Following morning she wished you good luck on your journey. Her name and address are written in your dairy. When new year comes in a few months you mustn't forget to send her a gift. You watched her stroll away, one slow step after another, dog trailing behind, her back bent under the weight of years. Is that what the future holds for you?

You try to keep a positive outlook, at least you get to see the beauty of the countryside. The green hills and vast fields of rice swaying in the wind are a sight that takes your breath away. Summer's coming to an end. It will soon be harvest season.

Your legs are starting to hurt. Hours have passed and nobody pays you even a second glance. Under the hat your hair sticks to your skin, droplets of sweat trickle down your back. You're all but ready to give up and start looking for a place to stay the night when a man about your age approaches.

He has caught your eye before. Something about his overalls and silvery hair glimmering in the sun made him stand out from the others. He kept glancing over at you while filling his tank.

“I'm not goin' as far as ya want,“ his eyes glance over the chalkboard you're holding. “But if ya want I can give ya a ride to the next town over.“

You eagerly nod. “That would be great!“ You offer him a hand. “You can call me y/n!“

His hand is calloused. Hand of someone working outside. “Kita.“

Ride is comfortable. Kita is more on the quiet side but once you mention how pretty the landscape looks with all the swaying fields he laughs . It's a bright sound that makes your heart skip a beat. He tells you he works the fields, not all you see, but many of them. Talking to him quickly becomes easy. To your surprise you find you have a lot in common. When you arrive to the town and he stops by a small inn offering rooms you're almost reluctant to leave his company. He hesitates when taking your backpack from the back seats. “I know we just met,“ he softly says, “but could I take you out for dinner? Maybe tonight?“

How could you possibly say no? You've been travelling on your own for the past two weeks and the loneliness is starting to get to you. And he's cute.

When he picks you up a few hours later he's wearing a nice button down. He combed his hair though you preferred it when it was all messy. “I'm not late am I?“

“No, I'm just a bit early.“

“Here,“ he shyly averts his eyes when he hands you a small bouquet of spider lilies that have yet to open in full bloom.

Your cheeks flush. It has been a long time since anyone gifted you flowers. “Thank you,“ you say, sincerely.

Kita takes you to a small family owned restaurant down the street. He opens the door for you and pours you tea while you skim through the menu. Talking to him is so easy. He mentions he used to play volleyball back in high school, that many of his old teammates went on to play professionally. Embarrassed you have to tell him you know very little about volleyball. As you speak his eyes linger on your face. Sports have never been your strong suit, you admit.

“Don't feel bad over it,“ he reassuringly smiles. “So how come yer travellin' these parts?“

Your dream of seeing the sunset over the sea seems so simple when you tell him but Kita nods. There's wisdom in his eyes you don't usually see in your peers. Why are you so relieved he doesn't find your dream childish? “I just want to see the country, get to know the land and the history,“ you eagerly continue.

“There's an old castle ruin not far from the town. Tourists often visit it. If ya want I can show ya 'round,“ he offers.

A trip to ruins does sound nice. Even a little bit romantic. One more day staying around couldn't hurt, right?

Kita's smile widens when you agree. “I'll pick ya up tomorrow. Would around midday be alright?“

For the rest of the night you're all giddy on the inside. You can't wait for tomorrow to arrive. Kita walks you back to the inn and waits till you're inside before heading his own way. What a gentleman, you think to yourself. Meeting someone like him was the last thing you expected.

Whatever road lead to the castle in its days of glory has long since been claimed by the nature. Kita walks with steps of someone who has walked this path a thousand times before. You trail behind him, your clothes getting caught in branches all the time. When he sees you struggling he slows down and even offers to carry your small backpack for you.

“This castle used to be really important back in the days,“ he explains while you catch your breath. “It's strategic position is really important. There's a legend my grannie used to tell me. Durin' the Sengoku period the youngest son of a shogun fortified himself in this castle and defended it for months. Then his enemies dug tunnels beneath.“ He offers you a hand to help you climb over a pile of rubble marking what once were the castle walls. “Filled them with wood soaked in fat and set it aflame. Castle crumbled and buried hundreds of soldiers beneath it. Some say the son of the shogun still haunts this place.“

“An interesting story,“ you say, ignoring how every hair on your body stands up.

By the time you reach the ruins you're drenched in sweat and yet once the view of the valley beneath opens up you forget all about the fatigue. You step closer to the ledge and peek over it. The side of the hill plunges straight down. Deep below you see tree tops. If you slipped -

A hand grabs your shoulder. “Careful. The stones 'round here often crumble.“

You murmur an apology. Kita's hand lingers on yours, his eyes following when you walk away to have a closer look at the ruins. They're covered with grass and small trees sprouting from the crack between stones. Funny, you can't see any tables with information about this place. Having a map would surely help with orientation. You can't be the only tourist with a knack of getting lost.

Kita approaches you with a smile. “Wanna see somethin' really cool?“

You follow him inside the ruins. “Watch yer step,“ he holds the branches of a lonely tree so they don't smack you as you walk by, “it's easy to trip 'round here.“

Walls here are better preserved, higher. The shadows they cast seem longer. You follow Kita inside the labyrinth of crumbled stone. An uneasy feeling of being watched grows inside you as your approach scares off a flock of birds.

Kita pushes away a curtain of poison ivy to reveal a gaping hole where the walls lean on the cliff towering above. Cold gust of wind makes you shudder. “Here,“ Kita offers you a torchlight. Your hands are cold. Fingers barely capable of wrapping around the black plastic.

He turns to you, his eyes carefully examining your face before he enters. “Ya comin'? Be careful where ya step, the stairs are slippery.“ He offers you his hand. It's warm.

“There's a natural cave beneath the castle.“ His calm voice echoes through the winding staircase. “Apparently it used to have a small pool for the nobles to cool in durin' summer. It's filled with rubble now.“

Light of the torches casts eerie shadows on the walls. Stone surface under your fingers is cold and damp. You follow Kita through a narrow hallway and soon enough you reach a small cave. It probably used to be bigger but a part of the ceiling caved in.

Rubble crunches under the soles of your shoes. In the eerie silence all you hear is your breathing and unsteady thumping in your chest. Somewhere in the distance perhaps a ghost of a long deceased soldier- you curse yourself in your head. Why are you trying to scare yourself?

You look up to see stalactites growing from the ceiling. How many thousands of years old must they be?

“They only grow about a millimetre per year. Must be tens of thousands of years old.“ Kita's voice makes you jump. How did he know exactly what you were thinking?

Only now you notice he's standing between you and the exit to the hallway. His eyes are fixed on you. He's closing off the only exit. Pounding in your chest quickens. This place is starting to suffocate you.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

You really did follow a complete stranger into a cave beneath an abandoned castle. What an idiot. Naive, trusting idiot.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

Slowly, like water dripping from the ceiling it sinks in you may not make it out of here.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

Ah, don't be stupid! You still have years to live! A boring office job to take on! When was the last time you spoke to your friends?

Kita's eyes never leave yours as he steps closer. In the dim light it all seems so- Kita wouldn't- But you don't know him, do you? Torch rolls from your shaking fingers.

Is this really how it ends? Hidden from the sunlight, caught like a mouse in a trap of stone and cold cutting to your bones? You can't breathe. Will they ever find you? Tears well up in your eyes. Why? What have you done to deserve this?

You're shaking. Will you ever see the sunset over the vastness of the sea? Will you lay beside the unfortunate soldiers from centuries ago till you become only clean, nameless bones?

A shaky plea for your life is all you manage to stammer. Through the tears his face is just muddled colours. Is this really how you die?

Warm touch of his hands cupping your face, thumbs wiping away tears, his soft, gentle voice, paralyse you. “Hey, why are ya cryin'?“

#kita shinsuke #kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #kita imagine #kita #hqcorenet #inarizaki x reader #inarizaki x y/n #hq #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #libri scribbles #before spider lilies bloom

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mk-wizard · 4 years ago

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Optimus Prime is always the hero...?

Hello, fans. If you recall, a while ago, I brought up that in the IDW comics, Megatron tried to stay on the straight and narrow, and actually succeeded at it. So much so that even burying the hatchet with Optimus was on the table. In short, we have seen in the comics and in War for Cybertron that Megatron has what it takes to be a good guy because he is complex and not black or white.

In the midst of that, I got asked by a random person a while ago in a passing comment that I feel I still need to answer because it was just that interesting and worth giving thought. I warn you that this question may seem controversial and the type of thing that you would only expect to happen in wish fulfilment fanfiction, alternate universe or the Shattered Glass series, but trust me when I say it does merit thought because Transformers has become a very vast universe over the years and the characters have become very complicated. If it is possible for Megatron to go good, then is it possible for Optimus Prime to go bad?

I admit that if you asked me this question five years ago, I would have flatly told you “no” and kept it at that, but after writing an adaptation of Jekyll and Hyde my way that delves into the complexities of morality and how it affects our actions for better or for worse, it got me seriously thinking how it could possibly play out. After giving it some thought, I have come to the conclusion that it is not only possible for Optimus Prime to be an antagonist in a story, but a very compelling one.

To understand this, you need to be aware that an antagonist is not necessarily a villain or malicious. In fact, some of the most iconic and possibly destructive antagonists meant well, but did terrible damage either because their vision became an obsession that blinded them or because they had unresolved issues that caught up with them. In the case of Optimus, as good as gold as he is, it would be a bit of both. In both Prime and War for Cybertron, we see a very serious flaw in him that is too great to be ignored. Optimus is both incredibly stubborn and very set in his beliefs which can has proven to be both a disadvantage and a danger to those around him. He has a lot of trouble accepting facts if they conflict with his ideals or morals of how he believes things should be. It is a flaw that Wonder Woman also struggled with except unlike her, he is not as flexible when it comes to accepting that he is wrong. Optimus is so stubborn to the point where he will burn himself with up to ten packs before finally accepting even only the possibility that maybe he should stop playing with matches. This also reveals that Optimus has an egotistical side and while it is one that is with good intent in that he wants everyone to be happy and safe, but he is not willing to admit his vision just doesn’t work and in fact, hurts people.

For example, he believes Cybertron and its solar system would be a happier and more peaceful place if all Transformers were Autobots which I think everyone can agree with me when I say that this vision is not realistic nor true. Being an Autobot will not automatically make you a safer person to be around and swearing allegiance to the Prime doesn’t mean you will actually live by your oath. Also, for a lot of bots, the Autobot lifestyle was the source of a lot of pain and hardships such as for the slaves, gladiators or poor. To them, switching to another faction was their salvation. You cannot expect to go back to being Autobots when another lifestyle was how they got out of the hole. Another thing to consider is that some Transformers are law abiding and good, but just don’t want to be Autobots because honestly, why should you stop being who you are in order to prove you’re a law abiding citizen? Imagine going to a new place, having a clean record and wanting only a quiet life, but you’re denied entry simply because you refuse to renounce the faction you were born, raised and created an identity behind. This is essentially what Optimus did to the youngling Wedge who was initially a Deceptcon and while Wedge was too young to realize it then so he did without seeing the gravity of what he was asked to do, but imagine what is going to sink into his head when he realizes what he’s done.

Then you’ve got Transformers like Junkions, Maximals, Predacons, Insecticons (more recently), Pretenders and possibly more where being the faction they are is rooted into their CNA (Cybertronian DNA). They can ONLY be what they are and even they change a symbol, everyone will still see that these bots are not Autobots and will inevitably have an impact on society. Not to mention it is pretty darn cruel for the law to command someone to wear a mask or pretend to be something when their own biology screams that they are something else. The implications and oppression behind such a notion is just harrowing. Before I digress any further, the point is that Optimus’ spark is in the right place and on paper, it sounds like the ultimate Utopia where nobody feels the urge to conquer anyone because everyone thinks, looks, acts and believes the same, but... that is not the way the real world works. In the real world, evil is not an event you can just prevent. It exists everywhere even within the Autobot faction and being different is not just a basic right of all people it is nature and evidently, the will of Primus. This makes Optimus Prime famous quote “freedom is the right of all sentient beings” all the more ironic because deep down, his own view of the free world isn’t really free at all.

This brings us to the next point which also has a huge influence on Optimus that we have to consider and how it opens up the possibility can you could play an antagonist role in general. He is very traumatized by the war and this comes up subtly in Prime and in the Rescue Bots. Optimus uses the term “Decepticon” as another word for “evil” and he isn’t the only bot who has been through the war to do this. It is a realistic type of trauma that even the noblest of heroes will exhibit and just the fact that he would not even welcome a child like Wedge into a loving home unless he converted to Autobot is telling at how extensive this trauma is. This means that Optimus has a stigma towards Decepticons that is so severe that affects his judgement and even his actions. Chances are, it has also affected the way he sees factions and Decepticons. I highly doubt he would be willing to be friends with one even if they were harmless which is something that does get explored in the IDW comics a little. It is also only a matter of time before he starts having other episodes, PTSD and other things that will set off his paranoia further. This has nothing to do with him being good or bad. Optimus is a good person, but he isn’t perfect and war changes a person.

As the evidence and character development suggests, I think Optimus can make a very good antagonist for the right story and maybe, just maybe, there should be a series where is. Keep in mind, I say antagonist not bad guy. Optimus should never be painted as a bad guy not even when he makes bad decisions. He is not Unicron who has malicious intent and he isn’t Megatron who solves everything with hostility. Optimus Prime is a guy who has been scarred emotionally and physically, and doesn’t want that to happen to others to the point where he will inevitably go too far at times. That is normal and actually, to be expected. However, unlike most TF antagonists, he would eventually listen to reason and want to make a compromise, but not without some conflict. After all, learning to adapt after the war and remake Cybertron is a battle within itself and it is only now that Optimus along with other bots have a chance to finally begin healing. That will take time and work.

Since Hasbro is doing a prequel series, it is possible that they will do an epilogue series that deals with this and I don’t think it is a bad thing to show kids that war leaves scars. Learning to stop reacting to every bit stress with hostility is a real struggle for veterans.

Anyway, all of this is just my opinion and I would like to know what yours is. Do you think Optimus Prime being an antagonist could be possible?

Thank you for reading and as always, stay safe.

#transformers fandom #transformers fanfiction #transformers optimus prime #optimus prime #fan theory #transformers #war for cybertron #megatron #good #evil #morals #trauma #after the war #antagonist #faction #cybertron

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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

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Bruised

For @scribbles97 ::hugs you silly:: It is only little, but it is Scotty with a dash of Virg being Virg.

Sometimes the prescription is simple, if unexpected. A little Scott hurt/comfort.

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

Thunderbird One shuddered as she slid into dock, her whole fuselage groaning as if in relief. As she relaxed, her airframe creaked, losing heat to the cool of the hangar and for a moment everything was still.

Scott let his shoulders loosen, his whole body slumping in his pilot’s chair. One by one, he uncurled his fingers from the controls, his joints stiff from holding them so tight.

His head dropped back against the headrest and his eyes closed.

God, damn.

Breath hissed between his teeth as he let it out as if he had been holding it in all afternoon.

It certainly felt like he had.

They couldn’t save everyone.

They couldn’t.

But god, how he tried.

He drew the breath back in and activated pilot retrieval. One’s main viewing hatch folded back and the platform extended out from the dock as his chair unfolded to meet it.

Even then it took him a long moment to move.

“Scott?” John startled him. “You okay?”

He drew his shoulders up, straightening automatically. “Perfectly fine, Thunderbird Five.”

There was a grunt from orbit. John didn’t believe him.

Scott was not surprised.

A sigh and he pushed himself out of his seat and onto the delivery platform, forcing the correct stance so he didn’t abruptly end his career on the concrete floor far below.

Machinery that had no concept of emotional state hummed smoothly and retrieved him back to solid ground. He took the last step.

Scott stared at his elevator for a solid minute before turning to the stairs and taking them instead.

He needed to move. Needed start his heart beating again. Needed to rescue himself from that vast hole that was sucking him down into its depths. That same empty hole those dead eyes had lured him to once the boy’s life had fluttered away and…

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with a gloved hand.

It was always the eyes that got him.

These ones had been brown, somewhere between Virgil’s and Gordon’s and…oh god.

Move.

He threw himself up the stairs. Fortunately, there was a lot of them and they made his body work hard. By the time he made it to the locker room, he was panting.

His own breath was harsh in his ears and had a helplessness to it he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He shed uniform. His gloves hit the bench, followed by his baldric, his boots skidding across the floor. Struggling not to think, he unzipped his flight suit and shed the thick material, barely acknowledging the cool air as it hit the bare skin of his arms.

Another moment and he flung off his undershirt and shorts and padded over to a shower cubicle naked as the day he was born.

Goose pimples raised on his arms.

The shower was as hot as he could get it. But not hot enough to wash away the bruises he had no doubt Virgil would be targeting the moment he laid eyes on his eldest brother.

Scott’s sigh couldn’t be heard above the water spray.

Body scrubbed clean…ever so clean…red raw in places…the Commander of International Rescue stood under the steaming shower and closed his eyes.

You can’t save everyone.

It was his father’s voice. The same voice that came to him in all difficult moments. Grey eyes, reassuring smile and a strength Scott wished daily that he had. Jeff Tracy was a legend, bigger than life. Jeff Tracy was his father.

Jeff Tracy was a voice that guided him, that saved him, held him tight and prevented him from falling into that pit of despair that sometimes just loomed.

He turned the water off and let the remains drip off his body.

His left thigh was turning an ugly purple.

Damn.

Another sigh and he pushed aside the cubicle door and grabbed a towel.

It was big, extra fluffy, sky blue and all Virgil’s idea. He could still see his brother making his case for luxury towels in the locker room where they were needed. Mental health, he claimed.

Scott, Air Force to the core, had used abrasive cardboard squares masquerading as towels enough times to acknowledge the difference and how right his little brother was. It wasn’t a luxury; it was a necessity.

Scott buried his face in deep cotton as the cool air wrapped around him. Another moment and he was rubbing himself dry, his thigh, left ribcage and arm complained. The ache was creeping up on him. He hadn’t really noticed other than the sharp collision when he had initially fallen.

But he hadn’t had time. Arms full of dying rescuee with a building on its way down…he did what he had to do.

Still, it hadn’t been enough.

First John and then Virgil yelling at him over comms. He was fine. The teenage boy was dead, but Scott Tracy was fine.

Just fine.

He scrubbed his hair dry, trying his best to ignore the fact his left arm hated being lifted above his shoulders.

Hair hung in his eyes and he brushed it aside, irritably.

Somewhere outside the rock walls of the locker room a familiar roar swelled and he knew Thunderbird Two and his three brothers were moments away from invading this quiet space.

Scott straightened. It was inevitable. Virgil would not let him escape again, but there might be a few more minutes alone if he got his shit together.

One of the advantages of flying the fast ‘bird. First dibs at the showers and that moment to gather himself before his brothers cornered him.

Digging through his locker, he found some underwear, loose pants and an old t-shirt. His usual casual wear beckoned, but even he knew he wasn’t fit to go out again, even if Virgil hadn’t grounded him yet.

He wasn’t stupid.

Tomorrow, yes. Today? He needed a stiff drink and time to himself.

So that is exactly what he did. Detouring to the drinks cabinet, he nabbed himself a bottle of scotch and two tumblers. Two, because he was a realist.

Hair still a damp mess, he skipped up to his rooms, grabbed his tablet, and hid on his own private balcony. From here, he could see the Island, the villa below and the sky to the south. Mateo had birds hovering over it like it always did in the early evening as the day started winding down.

His eyes randomly tracked a lone bird, different from the others, coasting past high above the Island.

He threw himself into an overly plush lounger. Again, a sky blue and Virgil-instigated. Scott had returned from a mission several years ago to find it sitting on his balcony. Not a word had been said, but he knew it was Virgil. Just like the towels, it wasn’t extravagance, it was mental health and Scott had to admit to curling up in the contraption on many an occasion since.

The tablet, bottle of whisky and tumblers landed with a thud on the wooden table beside it.

His body creaked as he folded into the chair and he was reminded that he would likely have a medic brother on his ass sometime soon.

He lay back and closed his eyes and forced every to muscle relax.

And tried to ignore the eyes etched into his mind.

Only to be startled awake as someone loomed over him.

“Hey, hey, it’s only me.” Familiar, soft baritone and deep brown eyes, Virgil was crouched down beside him. His brother’s hair was still curly damp from the shower and he was frowning…at the bruises on Scott’s arm. “Just chasing you up after that fall.”

Scott shifted on the lounger and his whole body protested. Damnit. “I’m fine, Virgil.”

“I’ll decide that.” That prompted the ghastly yellow scanner light to flicker across his body.

“Virgil!”

His brother’s lips thinned to a line as he read the scanner’s readout. “You’re off rota at least twenty-four hours, possibly more.”

“I know that.”

“I’ll note that against your diagnosis of ‘fine’.”

Scott glared at his brother.

Virgil rolled back on his heels, eyes assessing in that damned medical way of his.

“Virgil, I’m okay. A few bruises. I’ll live. Stop worrying.” He hated being the source of anxiety.

Still, his brother stared, his frown emphasizing that scar between his eyebrows.

“What?!”

Virgil’s eyes didn’t waver. “Sit up.”

“Why?”

“Scott…”

Fine. He pushed himself up out of the lounger and sat on its side, frustrated as all hell as to why his brother was being such a pain.

Virgil rolled onto his knees and before Scott could do anything, he found himself wrapped in a massive hug.

His brother’s arms, ever so strong, built for heavy lifting, held him tight, but gently, Virgil’s damp hair brushing his cheek as his head rested on Scott’s shoulder.

Startled, it took Scott a blink to return the gesture, his longer arms flailing for just that moment of surprise before curling around red flannel. “Virgil? You okay?”

His brother’s only answer was to tighten his hold a little more.

Scott frowned, unsure what the hell was going on, but Virgil didn’t let go and Scott could only stay tensed up for so long before he was forced to relax into his brother’s embrace.

“What are you doing?” It was asked against flannel and his own breath was warm against his lips.

Virgil still didn’t answer, but one large hand crept onto the back of Scott’s head, fingers stroking hair.

What?

But somehow the question never made it to his lips. Somehow, his body began to melt, each muscle falling limp, those strong arms taking the place of the tension in his body.

Fingers carded through his hair.

“Virg…” But it was little more than breath and he found himself blinking rapidly.

No.

Still, Virgil didn’t stop. Scott could feel his brother’s steady pulse, thrumming against his neck, his chest moving with each breath.

Scott closed his eyes.

Ever so warm.

He could have struggled, fought, pushed his brother away. But…

Brown eyes vacant and hollow. The image had him flinching and the arms around him reacted, shifting just a little. His brother’s baritone rumbled a reassurance he didn’t quite hear.

But still Virgil held him.

Held him.

Scott had no resistance left.

That baritone rumbled again and his brother’s free hand began stroking his back.

Nonsense words. His brother was spouting nonsense words.

But Scott’s eyes were closed and his body spent. He wilted into his brother’s arms and found himself breaking on the inside.

Vacant, hollow eyes.

So young.

So like a little brother.

Scott scrunched up his face, fighting his own reaction. But Virgil was still rumbling, still stroking his hair.

A single tear escaped to dampen red flannel.

No.

He let the wave of grief wash over him, but refused to react, waiting for it to wane away.

His heart beat too fast and it left him exhausted.

And still Virgil held him.

He lost time for a bit there. Eyes closed. Warm flannel. His brother’s voice. A small part of him resisted it. Virgil was a little brother despite their closeness in age. Scott should be the comforter, always…

But the little boy who had lost his mom, the young man who had lost his dad…the commander who lost a young teenager in his arms today…took that moment, grabbing it like a life line and accepting what his brother was trying to give him.

He sat there, he didn’t know how long, just existing, warm and safe.

Perhaps he would have fallen asleep right there in his brother’s arms, whether he would be embarrassed to admit it or not, but there were bruises and aches and eventually he was forced to gently pull away.

Warm brown eyes peered up at him, still worried. Virgil’s hand was on Scott’s knee as if he didn’t want to let go.

“Thanks, Virg.”

That hand squeezed his knee in acknowledgement. “Lie down and get some rest.” His little brother stood up and walked out of sight a moment, only to return hauling another lounger, this one in a deep green. “John’s coming down in the morning. We can debrief then.” Virgil grunted as he put the lounge down. “Grandma has an eye on Gordon and Alan, but the Fish has a new Buddy and Ellie series and Alan is hip deep in that latest game of his. I think they’re good.” He threw himself onto the lounge and the structure creaked under his weight. He lay back, crossed his feet at his ankles and closed his eyes. Virgil was obviously here for the long haul.

Scott wasn’t surprised.

The scanner lay discarded on the table.

A sigh and he lay back just like his brother. The sky was beginning to pink in the east, the echoes of a sunset he couldn’t see lighting up Mateo.

He felt far more relaxed than he had earlier. A tension had been eased, while not entirely, that would take time, lessened considerably.

He eyed his medic brother. The man looked like he was going to fall asleep. The sight of him had Scott yawning.

Damn him.

But it was thought with fondness and with a sudden urge to reach out and hug his brother again.

“Go to sleep, Scott.”

Virgil didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

Scott sighed and looked back up at the sky. It had been a shit day. Not the first. Probably not the last. Vacant eyes still haunted him and probably would for some time, but a pair of rich, brown eyes full of life and not a little love had somehow managed to take the edge off. His brother had filled that cold vacuum of a hole with warmth.

Virgil began to snore and Scott was forced to smile.

The snoring was probably fake, but it was lulling nonetheless. Safe and home.

Loved.

Scott closed his eyes.

And let himself drift away.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy

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aaronbleyaert · 5 years ago

Text

Tomorrow is a Hundred Years Away

And even as I’m pouring the last drops of our second pot of coffee in your cup I’m still trying to tell myself that I’m not going to make another pot, but even my own mind can’t keep a straight face at the thought. I decide to pretend a third pot was the plan all along and pour the water in for another go before bringing your coffee back and setting it down with a little flourish.

You sit as you do, as we do, every morning, at our big ugly kitchen table: two 30 somethings who are more than happy to slowly sink into the staid portrait of a classic old married couple. We sit side by side, our legs touching, comfortable in the warm silence our two bodies create. The very thing that my teenage self feared most has come to pass: I'm living the life of a happily married woman, wife to a man I adore. The horror of comfort! The terror of wedded bliss! All of those years spent scared of being tied down, of being locked in a marital prison; all for naught. My life, this life, here with you - the whole thing almost feels like too much to wish for.

I watch as you gaze out the window, trying to burn it into my memory. “Remember this, Stephanie.” I think. “Remember, remember, remember.” I try to lock this moment, this one perfect moment, right now, here, of you and I just like this, away down deep where it can’t be touched. Where it can live, somewhere inside of me, forever.

Of everything I’ll lose in the next few months, moments like these are what I’ll miss the most.

I remember when you and I sat here - looking out this window, just like we are now - for the first time. That first early morning, having our first coffee together in this house, looking out at the tendrils of early morning mist still stubbornly clinging to the tops of the pines; I remember how the trees seem to stretch out forever like a lush green carpet across the valley before disappearing off into the low hanging clouds in the distant sky. It felt like all the good in our lives was laid out right there in front of us, just waiting for us to step forward into the future and live it.

“Would you look at that” you said on that morning, a little kid giddy with excitement. “The trees, the clouds, the sky, the world, the planets, the stars; all of it right out there, right outside our humble kitchen window. The whole sum total of existence, all trapped behind a single pane of glass.”

We sat there in quiet reverence, knees touching, marveling at the vast beauty of the world beyond our window - breathless at the thought that nothing less than the all of existence was sole spectator to you and I, and that moment: Our first morning spent together. I remember gently knocking wood; a quiet wish that this moment would last forever - or that somehow, in some future life, I could live this moment again, Over and over and over, for eternity.

“What a sight.” I said.

And then you leaned over and kissed me.

Looking back at my life, at our life, that moment is maybe the happiest I've ever been. I wanted to trap it like a firefly in amber and live inside it for a hundred million years. But, of course, the Great Unspoken Tragedy of Time is that it keeps gently nudging us forward, ushering us past what truly matters while muddying the clear waters of purpose with petty wishes and self-important worries. Eyes up! Face forward! Onward! Onward! A brighter future lies just around the corner, it says! A better life! All the while, the happier tomorrow is quietly slipping by the beautiful present into the yearned for yesterday. The next moment is always only a moment away - whether or not you want it to be. We cannot make a home in the present, so we must make that home in our memories. And to lose that home is to lose everything.

Not wanting time to push me forward into the next few minutes and the confession I have to make, I look down and watch my fingers trace the raised patterns of thick paint on the table. God. This table. If there is anything in all of creation that is completely impervious to time - and not to mention ugly - it is our kitchen table.

This thing must weigh a million pounds. A heavy hideous stout old beast slathered with cheap white paint, it’s almost pretty. Like one of those ugly dogs that are cute, it’s where hideous and adorable meet back on the other side. It’s my secret hope that the table is actually made from some kind of beautiful wood; Walnut, or Rosewood. Something valuable. Or Teak: The wood of royals. Wouldn’t that be a trip? Something majestic under all this crap paint? As the doctor visits have mounted and my life has started to come apart these past few weeks, it’s been all I can do to not take a steak knife and scratch off a little of the paint to take a peek underneath to see if my suspicions are true. I can just see the Antique Roadshow now:

“Stephanie: Good news! Your boring old kitchen table is actually a teak treasure from the jungles of India, brought by the explorer Francisco de Almeida in the year 1505! How did you come about it?”

“Well, Mark, it’s a funny story; it was actually our kitchen table for years and years, just sitting there, quietly, as we had our coffee every morning. Anyway, one day - ”

“Wow. How funny.”

“Right? Anyway, one day I had been going through a lot of medical trauma and so to distract myself thought just popped into my head: What if there was something special about our ugly table?”

“Something special, Stephanie?”

“Yes! Something special - you see, it used to be covered in this awful white paint.”

“Thick, cheap, white paint?”

“Yes, Mark. Exactly.” (audience laughs)

“Oh no!”

“Oh yes! And I just started thinking: This table, this ugly, heavy, but otherwise rather unassuming white table - what if there was something more to it? Something special, underneath? Something more beautiful than what we could see on the outsi - “

Hey, what are you thinking about?

I blink quickly, and look up, returning from the Roadshow set to your kitchen. Our kitchen.

Nothing, I say. Why?

You just looked like you were thinking of something funny.

I look back down at the table, at the white paint. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

I open my mouth to tell you my theory about the table and its secrets, about the Antique Roadshow bit with the 1505 Francisco story in this Mark voice I made up - but instead what comes out of my mouth is not the theory about our (your) table and its exotic secret, but instead it’s the thing I need to tell you. The thing I’ve been needing to tell you for weeks. The Truth.

I’m sick.

I’m really really sick. Like, the kind of sick where people don’t get better sick. I hear myself using some of the same words the doctors used when they told me: Rare, Degenerative, and eventually, the only word that matters in these sorts of cases: Terminal.

You look at me in disbelief, your wide, beautiful eyes not wanting to accept what I’m saying - much the same way, I imagine, as I looked at the doctor when she told me the news. Only she also used other, bigger, more doctory words like “transmissible spongiform encephalopathy”. I don’t tell you these words; it feels like to say them aloud would be too much like dark magic; too much like summoning an evil I don’t want. Although, at this point, what’s one more curse on top what I’ve already got?

You look down at your hands. You look at them for a long time. I wonder what you’re thinking. Then you quietly ask how much time we have left. I notice you say we, not me. You’re sweet.

I press my bare feet into the cold kitchen floor, trying not to cry and trying to figure out how best to tell you the truth without actually having to say it out loud. The silence settles around us like a dark cloud; a flock of big black birds, all watching with their beady eyes, waiting for an answer. Minutes pass. The clock ticks quietly in the hall.

It’s when I tell you how long that you finally start crying. We lean into each other, our bodies comforting each other in their own way. Our coffees sit on the big ugly table, untouched, steam rising lazily into the cool morning air.

Definitely shouldn’t have made that third pot.

***

When I was a kid, I lived next to this kid named Phillip. It was never Phil, just Phillip. One Summer, Phillip and I for some reason became obsessed with digging this hole. I don’t honestly remember how it started; maybe one of us had seen something on time capsules, or maybe we wanted to try to find out if the water table really existed. Whatever. Kids are stupid.

What I do remember is that, one day after school, Phillip and I for some reason started digging this hole on the side of his house. And every day after that, after school, we would run home, go back to the side of his house, and work on The Hole. Deeper and deeper. Wider. Steeper. Down down down. You’d think that we’d get sick of it - after all, you’re just digging a deep dumb hole, there’s nothing down there but more dirt you dummies - but that wasn’t the way we saw it. To us, it wasn’t just a hole; every spade of earth we turned over was a chance for a new forbidden discovery, a new illicit thrill. Arrowheads! Haunted pottery! Old machine parts! Every day we ran to The Hole, shovels in hand, with the same thought: What new thing would we discover today? What new piece of magic lay secretly buried, all these years, just out of sight, waiting to be discovered and pulled up into the light to be born into a spectacular new life? What beauty lay hidden just under our feet, lost down there in the cold black earth?

Our all-consuming daily digging obsession went on and on past the end of the school year and well across that whole summer; The Hole got so big and deep that we started putting a tarp over it to keep the rain out so it wouldn’t become a flooded mess. In the end though, it met its fate like all childhood adventures: Boring reality butted in. One day, Phillip’s dad walked around the side of the house, found the hole, and made us fill it in. When we protested, he just shook his head: “You spent your whole summer on a hole. Youth is wasted on the young.”

***

My brain is so weird; sometimes I think it knows things that I don’t. For instance, I’ve recently started catching myself thinking of “our” things as “your” things:

Your car.

Your house.

Your bed.

Your ugly kitchen table.

Your life.

Your life after me, of course I mean. What will that be like, I wonder? My life always felt so rushed: I dashed to work, I hurried home, I raced to the store, I ran to the bus, I worried about missing the train, the dinner, the movie. Why? Why did I do that? Why was I worried? My whole life I’ve had plenty of Life left to live, but I spent it all driving a million miles an hour to a million different places - only to get there and be worried about what I was doing next. Onward! Onward! Missing out always felt like a fate worse than death. How wrong I was.

Now that my life is ending, and there’s an actual clock counting down, I couldn’t care less. I don’t rush anywhere. I don’t race to any event. I don’t worry about making the movie or missing the bus. There will be other movies, other buses. Now that my future has fled, what’s most important is what’s around me, right now. It’s only at the end of my life that I’m realizing that life really takes place in between the times we think will matter; the moments I didn’t pay attention to were the ones that mattered most. Turns out the real beauty in life was there just underneath the surface after all.

They say those who fail to learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat them - but that’s wrong. No one gets to repeat anything. We should be so lucky to given such a chance; mistakes or not.

***

My first thought is that I am freezing cold. Why am I so cold? And why is everything in my bedroom orange? I look around, and it takes me a second to realize that I’m not in my bedroom. I’m outside. What am I doing outside at night? The orange glow from the streetlight throws wild, unfamiliar shadows on the trees by the side of the road. What is this? I hear you screaming my name from somewhere far away. As if in response, the icy winter wind gusts out from between the black trunks of the barren pines, pushing me in your direction. I turn, my legs stiff, and begin walking towards where I think you are, but it’s cold and -

I wake suddenly in our (your) bed. It’s morning. I look around, slowly. The terror of the bad dream slowly drains out of my chest in the white glow of the morning. I look over; you’re still asleep. I desperately have to pee - a side effect of the medication - so I slowly pull the covers back and roll to the side to get out of bed without waking you. As I put my feet on the floor, I notice they are bloody and scratched; black with dirt. Not a dream after all.

***

One night, I call my mother for our weekly catch up - but her phone keeps ringing and ringing. This never, ever happens. She always picks up. Concerned, I find you in the living room half watching the TV while doing your crossword.

I’m worried about my mom. I say. I think she’s in trouble. Maybe hurt.

You look up, sharply. Hurt? What do you mean?

I just tried to call her. It just keeps ringing and ringing. Should we call someone to check on her?

Your face changes. I can tell you don’t want to do this, that it hurts you to do this, but it’s something you feel that you need to do. You pause, then carefully put your crossword aside.

I think your mom is okay. Come here for a second.

You stand, and I follow you into the kitchen. There is a piece of paper taped to the wall next to the phone that I’ve never seen before. It is written in all caps with a big black marker and says:

CALLING YOUR MOM?

LOOK AT THE CLOCK.

IS IT AFTER 8PM? ------> YOU HAVE ALREADY CALLED HER TONIGHT.

IF YOU HAVE ALREADY CALLED, SHE WILL NOT ANSWER.

DON’T WORRY, SHE IS FINE.

You look at me, and at the clock. My eyes follow yours. The clock reads 8:34. I slowly nod. As I put the phone back on its cradle, I read the note again. It’s in my handwriting.

***

Even as I’m pouring the last drops of our second pot of coffee in your cup I’m still trying to tell myself that I’m not going to make another pot, but even my own mind can’t keep a straight face at the thought. I decide to pretend a third pot was the plan all along and pour the water in for another go before bringing your coffee back to the table and setting it down with a little flourish.

You sit as you do, as we do, every morning, at our kitchen table. It’s a heavy old thing slathered with cheap white paint. It must weigh a million pounds. I secretly suspect (read: hope) it’s actually something beautiful underneath; walnut, maybe. Or teak. The wood of royals! Something exotic - wouldn’t that be a trip? These past weeks it’s been all I can do to not give in to the thought and scratch a little bit off with the butter knife to take a peek. What if it’s something valuable? Like really majestic? Hidden under all that hideous thick paint uncaringly slopped on. The more I think about it, the more positive I am: Someone, at some point in history, decided to cover this regal, majestic table in terrible thick white paint. But did that change what the table was, underneath? It changed the way we (I) looked at our (your) table, but didn’t change what the table was, inside. What an epic crime it would be if the table believed that it was just this white coated monstrosity. That it forgot what it truly was, underneath the thick paint. Does it still count as something beautiful? Even if I’m the only one who knows it?

Not wanting time to push me forward into the next few minutes and the confession I have to make, I look down and watch my fingers trace the raised patterns of thick paint on the table. My life, this life, here with you - the whole thing almost feels like too much to wish for.

I watch as you gaze out the window, trying to burn it into my memory. “Remember this, Stephanie.” I think. “Remember, remember, remember.”

***

It can be hard to see yourself as you really are. To try and see the truth of someone else? Nearly impossible.

So years ago, I came up with a neat little trick: whenever I would a take photo, I did something sneaky: I would count to three, and then pretend to take the photo. Everyone would smile. Then, believing it was done, they would relax - and that’s when I would really take the photo, capturing everyone in that one unguarded moment. We are really only our true selves when we believe no one is watching. Those moments that are in-between; those are only real moments that matter.

***

I am outside, in the darkness. No orange light, now. On all sides, I am surrounded by branches that claw at me with their long, sharp fingers. No matter which way I turn, they are there, raking their nails across my cold, tender skin. When I was younger I used to live in a hole with a kid named Phillip - not Phil, but Phillip - and every Christmas morning, Phillip would hide under his bed, hysterical, refusing to come downstairs and open his presents. He thought that Santa Claus was a giant bearded fat man in a red suit with long, sharp claws who would crawl down the chimney into the house while you were sleeping. We would sit in our hole, in the dark, and Phillip would tell me in a high whisper about Santa: That he could see deep into your soul with his ancient watery yellow eyes and knew in your heart how you felt - if you had acted bad. If you had darkness in you. It petrified Phillip. Silly Phillip, I think, as I stagger through the cold forest in the dark, the branches scratching my arms and face. The bearded man only wanted to bring you his gifts. The bearded man. With the claws. He would crawl down the chimney while we were sleeping, he would slither into our heads with his long claws and wrap himself around our hearts, knowing how we truly felt. Click click click his claws tapping against the old wooden floors in our house in the night, scratching and scurrying over to the plate of treats we had left out for him; an offering to the long clawed greasy red shadow that came every year in the night. Traveling on the night air, high up in the black sky, soaring on the sharp cold winds that roar right at the edge of space across the slumbering world, the only witness to his flight the endless flickering points of pale flame, flickering white stars long dead, like the countless white grubs in the steaming fresh earth of endless turned spades, that one hot sticky summer we spent digging our hole. Phillip died not long after we filled in our hole; died that winter, his blood leaking out into the bright white snow. His dad put him in a different hole, down in that cold dark earth where everything is alive and nothing lives. Phillip, not Phil.

A sudden winter wind knifes through the dark woods, scattering a small flurry of snow and bringing a gasp to my lips. There is rot in these woods, I think, suddenly afraid. It feels like something is watching as I stumble around; something ancient and hircine, watching with watery yellow eyes, crouched somewhere I can’t see. A low sob escapes my chest. I don’t want this. Please. Long brittle fingers eagerly scrape against each other, somewhere high above against the black night sky. It’s cold. So cold. Off in the distance, a faint voice screams for Stephanie. Who is Stephanie?

***

It’s morning.

I am sitting in your kitchen, at your table, as you set a cup of coffee down in front of me with a little flourish. It’s cute. Our first date, and already the consummate host! You will make some woman very happy one day, I think. Knock wood that it would be me. It would be nice to sit here with you, morning after morning, day after day, and have this sort of life together. My younger self would recoil at the thought - me? A happily married woman? Content with starting my every day off like this with you - I can just picture my younger self screaming bloody murder. I laugh at the thought. Us, every morning, like this, at this table? A dream. Almost too much to wish for.

Although, this table… It is hideous. Who would paint such a beautiful table with this cheap white paint? A shame. A crime. It has the look of such a pretty, ornate table; you can nearly see the beauty, just underneath the surface. But in your home, this ugly table stands alone - the rest of your house has the look of a woman’s touch. Tastefully decorated, but lovingly lived in. I wonder who you used to live here with. How it ended. Did she break your heart?

My eyes wander back to the table. I wonder what really is underneath? I can’t stop thinking about it.

When I was young, my neighbor and I spent the summer digging a hole. To everyone else, it was two weird kids digging a weird hole. But we did it because we had a crush on each other and didn’t know how to say it. So, instead, we spent every day together, digging - it was as good a reason as any to be in one another’s company and not have to awkwardly talk about it. When the hole got deep enough, we would sit in our hole, our special place under the tarp, and make up stories about the things we were going to find; buried treasure, magical pottery; old robot parts. One day, when I was in the middle of a story about a bank robbery and how the gang had no choice but to bury their loot and split up before they were captured, he leaned over and kissed me. It was my first kiss; a small moment in the middle of an unbearably hot, sticky Midwestern Summer under a tarp in a big wet hole next to a house - but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. I kissed him back.

There are few things more true in this world than the beauty of a small moment.

When you’re not looking, I take your butter knife and scrape some of the paint at the edge of the table. The wood underneath is dark. Excited, I try to press into it with my thumbnail. It’s hard! Teak, I’ll bet! I love teak. How beautiful! I smile to myself. A teak table painted birdshit white. Who knew? The wood of the royals, right here under all this cheap paint. A thing of beauty, just waiting its turn to be rediscovered and once again have its moment in the sun.

I look over to see you watching me, smiling with your big wide eyes. Did you see me scratch your table? I smile back. What a beautiful smile you have - and I tell you so. It’s flirting, shameless; I know. But what do I have to lose? A handsome man like you, single? Inviting me here, into your home? Making me a morning coffee, of all things? Almost too much to wish for.

You ask if I’m hungry; I’m not, but I want to stay with you here in your house for as long as I can, so I say yes. An obvious trick. You laugh and pull out a pan to make some food. It’s quite the production; you drizzle oil into the pan like a ballet dancer; you crack the eggs like a ninja; you drop the salt and it spills all over the floor. I love it. I love it all. I am laughing hysterically, in spite of myself.

I look out the window: The trees, the world, the sky, the stars; all trapped behind one single pane of glass. All of it just a spectator to you and me and this moment - this one, lovely moment. How can I be so lucky, I think, to live a life that would have just a single moment like this. How lucky to be alive at all. So many years I lived rushing from place to place, right by moments like this, instead of living in moments like this. Youth is wasted on the young.

You look up from the sizzling pan. Ugh, that smile again. Lord. I can’t. My heart beats faster. Do I have a really have a shot with this man? This wonderful man, as I sit at his ugly royal teak table in his beautiful house? Expertly assembling my breakfast on a plate, you glide over with a little dance, and set the plate down. Suddenly, I’m starving. Pulling your chair close, you sit next to me, our bodies almost touching. It is sublime.

You run your finger over the edge of the table, over the small scratch I’ve made in the paint. I didn’t notice before, but I see now that it’s next to countless other small scratches made by someone else. Sadness flickers across your face, and you look up. Our eyes meet.

It's teak! I can't help but exclaim. The wood of royals!

You break into a laugh.

What a perfect moment, I think. Time pushes us forward - but please, just this once, let it wait. Let me live right here for just a moment more: in our house, at our table. Here, with you. Silence settles around us like a warm blanket. The clock ticks quietly in the hall.

I look out the window. The trees, the world, the sky, the stars; all is still.

What a sight, I say.

And then you lean in for a kiss.

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lake-arrius-caverns · 4 years ago

Text

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 10: Lost In The Ashes

once again i advise to read on AO3 if possible bc better formatting n stuff ✌️

summary Fahjoth is dragged along to accompany Ribyna on a dirty job. When their only way of navigation is lost, Ribyna takes it upon herself to lead the way, with unexpected results.

content warnings violence, blood, minor character death

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

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The yurt loomed in the distance, still and silent aside from the soft rushing of waves rolling and breaking against the shore. The peace along this stretch of Azura’s Coast was unspoiled, aside from the footsteps of the twins as they crept closer.

Fahjoth wasn’t at all sure how he felt about being dragged along on Ribyna’s next assassination. On the one hand, he disapproved heavily of what she was doing. On the other, he knew better than anyone how difficult it was to sway Ribyna once she had her mind set on something, so at least this way he was able to keep an eye on her and offer assistance if things got tough. Their one saving grace was that the target, Odaishah Yasalmibaal, lived alone on the coast, far away from any town or city where there would be witnesses to report them.

Fahjoth cringed at that notion. Witnesses. He felt as culpable as an accessory to murder.

Once they reached the yurt, Ribyna motioned to Fahjoth to stay still and silent. He obliged, watching as his twin approached the door and drew her weapon, perhaps expecting resistance. After a moment during which she seemed to be gathering her nerves, she flung open the yurt door and charged in.

The reaction was instant. From outside, Fahjoth could hear Yasalmibaal’s furious cries, cursing and insulting Ribyna to the deafening clashing of blades. Fahjoth was a bundle of nerves, possibly even more so than Ribyna, but as he tried to edge closer to the doorway to peer inside, he was almost flattened by two flailing bodies as they tumbled out of the yurt, yelling and snapping at each other like rabid wolves.

Then Ribyna was on the ground, her shortsword held up lengthways as Yasalmibaal bore down upon her with a war axe of his own. She struggled to keep him at bay, kicking out against his armoured midriff, and Fahjoth gasped.

“Ribyna!” he exclaimed, drawing his own sword, but Ribyna snapped him a response without breaking eye contact with her target.

“Don’t get involved!”

With strict orders not to intervene, Fahjoth could only dither on the edge of the fight and watch helplessly as the two continued to brawl. Then, Ribyna’s boot found its way between Yasalmibaal’s legs, slamming hard against his groin and inciting a grunt of pain from the stricken man. As he slumped to the side, desperately trying to regain his strength, Ribyna sat upright and thrust her dagger into his throat without hesitation.

As she yanked it free, the blade left behind a deep puncture hole in Yasalmibaal’s throat that began to gush blood in a rapid free-flow, painting everything in the vicinity a stark red. Fahjoth crouched beside Ribyna to check her over, but quickly became distracted by the sound of blood spattering against the dusty ground, as well as Yasalmibaal’s rasping gurgles as he fought for breath and struggled to remain upright. With his chest now coated in a slick dark stain, he dropped into a weakly convulsing heap, occasionally twitching as he bled out. After some time, he moved no more.

“Gods...” Fahjoth murmured, feeling rather sickened by the scene. “Well, is that it, now? Are you done?”

Ribyna began wiping her dagger blade on the nearest soft surface, which happened to be Yasalmibaal's trouser leg. "Yup, that's it," she confirmed. "No point hanging 'round now. Let's get back to Vivec."

"Ugh. Right now? We've been walking for ages," Fahjoth complained. "A break would be nice!"

The journey from Vivec City to Azura's Coast certainly hadn't been quick, nor had it been particularly easy. After departing from Vivec the twins had headed east, on the road for hours on end until they reached Molag Mar, where they had stopped overnight. The following morning had seen them up at the crack of dawn to continue onwards, following the coastline — oftentimes having to wade through the shallows themselves to navigate around jagged rocks and cliff faces — until they had reached Benserib Camp, Yasalmibaal's home. Fahjoth wasn't looking forward to the journey back.

However, it seemed that Ribyna was keen to get going; as soon as she had finished cleaning her blade, she stood up and sheathed it, looking remarkably unruffled — albeit with her hair a mess and back now covered in dust. "Oh come on," she goaded him, rolling her eyes. "Don't be a pussy. A slow walk back will be fine. Anyway, I think I've figured out a shortcut."

Fahjoth certainly had his doubts. "Really? Where?"

"Yep! Look," Ribyna said, drawing her map out of her pocket and holding it up to show Fahjoth. He held the other side so that Ribyna was able to point with her free hand, cringing as she left a smudge of blood on the parchment. "If we cut across the Ashlands here, we can go straight down to Vivec without needing to go all the way around the coastline again."

"The Ashlands?" Fahjoth frowned. Cosades' words floated to the forefront of his mind:

“I don't think their tribes tend to be particularly welcoming to outlanders, so watch yourself if you’re ever wandering in the Ashlands.”

"What if we come across Ashlanders?"

"Pfft, fuck 'em!" Ribyna scoffed. "Come on!"

"Ribyna—!" Fahjoth groaned. But Ribyna was adamant, and he had no choice but to trot along in her wake as she set off further into the dusty, ashen wastelands spanning central Vvardenfell, the sun already obscured by its many jagged peaks.

——————————————

The further they ventured into the Ashlands, the greater Fahjoth's feeling of foreboding grew. The endless valleys, already steeped in shadow, became darker and darker with the setting of the sun. Traipsing across the cracked ashen ground, Fahjoth broke into a sweat as they passed by pools of magma, beautiful but deadly and glowing as bright as a flame in the gloom, seeing his twin sweltering just as much as he was in the stifling heat.

Fahjoth was already having plenty of regrets, even before his foot slipped on some loose stones and he came dangerously close to falling onto a stream of sluggishly bubbling lava. Fortunately, Ribyna had been close enough to grab his arm before disaster struck.

“Watch where you’re going, you fucking idiot!” Ribyna had snapped as she hauled Fahjoth backwards to safety.

As if it was his fault they were stumbling through a magma-ridden wasteland.

And as if that wasn't enough to solidify the notion that Ribyna's 'shortcut' had been a terrible idea, it wasn't long before they were besieged by scorching winds, carrying a blanket of choking dust that obscured the path ahead of them with a thick crimson haze — an ash storm.

After a short while of struggling through, Fahjoth slowed to a halt. “We have to stop somewhere!” he yelled, desperately shielding his face and raising his voice to be heard above the roaring of the wind. “This shit carries the Blight!”

Ribyna turned to squint at him, her scarf wrapped tightly around the lower half of face. “We can’t stop now! We’ve got nowhere to stop! Just don’t breathe it in,” she replied, and Fahjoth groaned with exasperation. Even with his mouth and nose covered by his own scarf, the simple matter of being in the midst of the ash storm — and knowing what it could bring with it from Red Mountain — was making him feel sick with anxiety. The dryness in his mouth was not helping, instead making him think that he had somehow managed to inhale dirty, disease-ridden ash and grit even through the scarf’s dense fabric.

And so the trek continued. Every time Fahjoth tried to persuade Ribyna to stop and take shelter, she would only counter it with a stubborn rebuttal that made him want to tear his hair out in frustration. At one point, when they could barely see two metres ahead and the winds howled viciously around them, Ribyna stopped to unfurl her map.

“Look, we’re about here,” she shouted, pointing to somewhere on the southern edges of the Ashlands. Fahjoth had no idea how she could be sure of that, but before he could voice his concerns, Ribyna ploughed on. “We just passed that lake, so we’re literally like an hour away from Balmor— AGH!”

Fahjoth watched in mute horror as the wind whipped the map clean out of Ribyna’s fumbling fingers, snatching it away into the deep red gloom. Ribyna made an attempt to catch it, grabbing wildly at air thick with dust, but the map had vanished within seconds.

With his heart already settling somewhere in the region of his stomach, Fahjoth buried his face in his hands and let out a groan that gradually rose in volume and pitch until it was almost a muffled scream. “Great! Fucking fantastic!” he exclaimed, glaring furiously at Ribyna, who merely stood there and looked sheepish. “What now, then?! I’m sure you’ve got another brilliant idea that’ll just get us even more lost — if it doesn’t kill us first!”

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, during which Fahjoth could almost hear the gears ticking over in Ribyna’s head, she spoke up with much less conviction than previously.

“We just keep going straight ahead,” she answered. “Balmora is due west. So we just keep going in this direction and we’ll get there.”

Fahjoth rarely wanted to strangle his twin, but this was one of the few occasions where he wished to do nothing but. But what other choice did they have? Ribyna’s plan was a terrible one, but it was their only one. So he shut up and trudged along after her, saving his energy to fight against the storm rather than with his sibling.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple as Ribyna had hoped. The path ahead was not straight, but winding and twisting and up and down over hills and mounds of ash and dirt. And after passing through a vast ravine where they were forced to turn north and follow the natural path that stretched along its base, Ribyna began to pick up the pace.

“I think we’re nearly there! I can hear a silt strider!” she called to Fahjoth, who again had his doubts. This area looked nothing like the pleasant grassiness around the southernmost regions of the West Gash. Even with the ash storm still raging around them, Fahjoth could tell that they were still in the Ashlands. But, sure enough, they soon found themselves on another road — not just a road, but a real footpath — and now Fahjoth too could hear the solemn cries of the silt strider himself, even over the wind. Moments later, the lofty walls of some kind of settlement faded into view through the haze.

Without another word the twins rushed forward, passed under the arch marking the entrance and made a beeline for the nearest inn — not very pleasantly named The Rat In The Pot. It wasn’t quite the South Wall Cornerclub, but as far as warmth and shelter went, it would do.

Ribyna’s sense of direction had been just a little bit askew. They may not have returned to Balmora as planned, but they had made it to Ald’ruhn.

——————————————

“Right, what are you having? I’ll get the first round in.”

Fahjoth settled down at a small table near the bar, taking care not to disturb the candle that sat flickering merrily on its surface as he let out a heavy sigh. After their long journey, he relished the chance to sit down somewhere warm, dry and relatively safe, despite being in an unknown area. “Are you sure, Beebs?” he asked as he turned his gaze up to Ribyna, who simply nodded impatiently and gestured for him to go on. “Alright, well, I’ll have a mazte then, ta.”

As Ribyna headed over to the bar, Fahjoth sat back and quietly watched the occupants of the inn. Ald’ruhn was Redoran territory, he knew that, so he was surprised to see how diverse it was; a Breton woman stood behind the bar and the punters included a Khajiit, an Argonian, and a Dunmer who was quite unlike any Dunmer he had seen before. Piercings and scarifications bedecked his face, and his clothes were more reminiscent of pelts and crafted leathers than anything Fahjoth had seen being worn by the town- and city-dwelling Dunmer he saw day-to-day. A curious thought occurred to him: was that an Ashlander?

Did Ashlanders even venture into House Dunmer territories? Fahjoth to his knowledge had never seen one before, but that didn’t exactly prove anything. While he pondered this interesting occurrence, he watched as the Dunmer struck up a conversation with Ribyna.

How odd, he thought. Over the chatter of the other punters, he couldn’t make out what they were saying, but Ribyna looked as surprised as Fahjoth was by the man’s approach. After some time, the man departed, and Ribyna returned to the table with two bottles clasped by the neck in one hand, and a cloth pouch in the other.

“Well, that was weird,” she said, taking a seat and sliding one of the bottles over to Fahjoth.

“Yeah, it looked it. What was all that about?” He accepted the drink with a murmur of thanks, then nodded to the pouch that Ribyna had placed onto the table. “What’s in the bag, anyway?”

“Two hundred drakes.”

Ribyna’s answer caused Fahjoth to almost spit out the mouthful of mazte that he had just swigged, forcing him to splutter and swallow it far more quickly than he had intended to.

“Two hundred?! Did that man give it to you?”

“Yeah.”

“What for?”

Ribyna shrugged, a look of mild bemusement on her face. “He asked if we were going to that Ghostgate place. And if we were, he asked if we’d look out for some lad who’s going up Red Mountain. Or something. I dunno, I wasn’t really paying much attention...”

“And you didn’t think to... I dunno... ask? And get the full story?” Fahjoth frowned. “So what was the gold for? Some kind of reward?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t matter, though. We haven’t got to do anything.”

Now Fahjoth was even more confused. “So he gave you gold... for no reason? Surely he’s expecting us to go and find this person?”

Ribyna suddenly grinned. “That’s the best part! He literally told me he doesn’t even care if we don’t go. I think he was glad to see the back of this boy, to be honest.”

“Are you sure?”

“Course I am! Or don’t you believe me?”

“No, I believe you,” Fahjoth replied hurriedly, “I just think it’s... well, a bit weird.”

“Me too, but I’m not gonna question it.” She waved the matter aside with a flick of her wrist. “Listen, don’t worry about it. I’m not. Basically, I just got us some free gold for our drinks tonight and our ride home tomorrow morning. No need to thank me.”

Ribyna was looking very pleased with herself as she drank her mazte, but Fahjoth still had reservations.

“Did you even get his name?”

“Who?”

“That man! Or the boy we’re meant to be finding, actually.”

Ribyna blew out in derision. “What am I, a detective? Anyway, it don’t matter! It’s not like we’re actually going to Ghostgate anytime soon, is it?”

Fahjoth was about to protest, but on seeing the severe look Ribyna gave him over the brim of her bottle, he sighed. “No, I s’pose not...”

It wasn’t long after the twins finished their drinks that they decided to retire for the night, but it was a while before Fahjoth was able to sleep. He was still awake long after Ribyna’s deep breathing indicated that she had drifted off, while he remained staring at the ceiling in the dark, deep in thought. Ribyna may have been able to dismiss the request as easily as the Dunmer himself, but Fahjoth could not bring himself to do the same, and the thought played on his mind until the tiredness took over and he eventually fell asleep too.

————————————————————————

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #tes #tes fic #morrowind #dunmer #dunmer oc #nerevarine #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfic #TES III: Morrowind

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ateezmakemeweep · 5 years ago

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richboy!seonghwa (part 7)

word count: 4k

fluff

(part 6) (series masterlist)

you walked into school on monday and was immediately thrown off by the pure elation and excitement buzzing around the school halls; students were chatting and clapping and skipping, actually skipping, to class despite it barely being eight o’clock in the morning. it was a stark contrast to how every other day here has gone, people eyeing others warily and closing themselves off into tiny, designated cliques.

but today, it really seemed as if everyone was excited and in good spirits, even the teachers. so you figured that, maybe, people just had a really nice weekend and were coming down from the high.

but the excited chatter hadn't stopped for a single second, the classrooms and hallways and bathrooms just humming with an overwhelming excitement.

you were sitting in third period now in bewilderment because what the hell could have a herd of rich kids this happy?

but you wouldn't dare turn around and ask if something was going on, the girls behind you in a deep discussion about the new gucci fall line they can't wait to get their hands on.

"i'm buying these after school and will obviously bring them tomorrow!" you hear one of them squeal behind you, "i can't believe it came so fast."

you keep your head buried in your notebook, getting an early start on the homework until the bell rings for fourth period.

you almost make it there in one piece, getting excitedly jostled and snubbed before you're pushed into a hard body. your head shoots up to meet the tall figure's face, a frantic apology already pouring out of your mouth.

"hey, it's okay," his voice say sweetly, eyes looking overwhelmingly soft and kind, "uh, could you actually-" another person whacks into you, causing the boy to gently grab your shoulder and bring you over to the side.

"i'm sorry, i just... i'm new and a little overwhelmed and need some help," he mutters out, "you look like the nicest person i've come across so far."

a little giggle leaves your mouth, sympathizing easily with the boy. "i just came last week, i get it," you tell him, "do you need help finding a room? i still don't really know the building myself but i can try to help."

"uh, the library? i have to get books for my next class."

"oh, yes okay, i eat there!" you unnecessary blurt out and his eyes soften, probably because you're not eating with friends in the cafeteria like a normal person. "it's right down those stairs, then straight down that hall and make a right. it's kind of hidden but there's a little sign on the top of the wall with an arrow."

he bites his lip nervously, nodding his head while looking down at the paper he knows won't be of any help. "okay, well hopefully i can find it," he laughs out, "thank you! i'm yunho, by the way."

"y/n," you say, giving him a little wave and feeling your heart tug at the fact that he's so tall and large but looks like a scared child starting kindergarten. "you're doing great, its okay."

a nervous chuckle leaves his mouth, shaking his head with large, pleading eyes. "i don't think so but it's time...to face them again," he says fearfully, looking out at the sea of rambunctious students.

a giggle leaves your mouth as you bravely lead the way, pushing through the crowd and bidding him a quick last goodbye when you nearly pass the room. you barrel into the doorway, grateful you're on time and not surprised when, again, all of your classmates are hyperactive and filling the room with lively chatter.

you hurry to the back, throwing your bag and books down before plopping in your seat. conversation next to you causes you to turn your head curiously, eyes immediately darting towards the window so you don't get yelled at for eavesdropping.

"if i have to share a room with her, i'll kill myself," the girl dramatically says to her friend whose deep chuckle causes her to hit him.

"i'm serious! we wait for this trip every year and it'll be completely ruined if i have to deal with her messy ass. she even snores!”

"like you can't afford your own if you wanted to," he sarcastically remarks and she just scoffs, her side eye catching your gaze before her body turns towards you.

"new girl, are you going?"

being addressed directly causes you to jump, eyes avoiding her cold ones and because you're used to the cruelness of this school, you know she's not genuinely interested in whatever she's asking about.

"going where?"

she rolls her eyes, mumbling something unintelligible to the boy next to her. "the senior trip," she has as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, "every year, the senior class goes to a ski resort for a week. how did you not know hear about this?"

but before you can answer, she's cutting you off with snarky comments and insincere concern.

"then again, i guess you don't talk to anyone so how would you know. and you probably couldn't afford it anyway, right?"

you resist the urge to roll your eyes because don’t these people get tired of throwing that one around? you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to figure out if you should even entertain her or just turn around.

"you never know when to shut your mouth, do you?" a deep voice interrupts and you turn to see seonghwa leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, staring at the girl with a dark, agitated expression. when did he get there?

"okay but is she lying," the boy next to her finally speaks and seonghwa lets out a humorless laugh, turning his head to the side before getting up to stand over his desk.

"i can't do shit to her but i won't hesitate to smack you," he growls, about to reach out for him when you pull him back by his shirt.

"okay, stop that," you whine quietly and the two of them are looking at you both in shock, confused and thrown off more so by seonghwa ready to burn a hole through their faces than your boldness to reach out and touch him.

he turns to look at you and you smile softly, shaking your head subtly because ‘it's not even worth it,’ you mouth. he blows air out his nose, throwing the duo one more harsh look before sitting in his seat and turning to face you.

"well good morning to you," you quip sarcastically and he rolls his eyes playfully.

"it was until them," he spits before his anger face softens slightly, "i don't know why everyone has to fuck with you."

"it's fine, she’s right, i probably couldn't afford it anyway," you tell him honestly. "but i was wondering what managed to get a group of spoiled brats so excited today," you tell him playfully, hoping to ease his agitation.

a scoff leaves his mouth, narrowing his eyes at you and the smile you were trying to fight breaks out over your face.

"i only see one brat here," he teases lowly and your eyebrows wiggle sarcastically causing him to smile.

"but yeah, it's some...tradition everyone looks forward too," he tells you, "just an excuse to not do any work and get drunk behind the teachers backs."

"sounds fun," you say dryly, "are you going?"

he simply nods his head, informing you most of the class is going and you resist the urge to frown because now you won't get to see him for a few days.

but then you perk up a little thinking it'll probably be a peaceful, quiet week, no one around to call you poor every five minutes.

that'll be a nice change.

"oh, well that will be fun!" you say excitedly but are only met with a nonchalant shrug from the boy. "what, you don't think so?"

his eyes roam over your face and you resist the urge to bite your lip, suddenly taking a vast interest in cracking your knuckles. his tongue darts out to lick at his lips, "well, i think it'd be more fun if-"

your teacher barreling through the door cuts him off and you giggle when a heavy sigh leaves his lips, putting a finger to your mouth in a 'sh' gesture. he reaches out to ruffle your hair before turning around in his seat as you try to calm your racing heart.

it's bizarre because you feel like you've known him for longer than you actually have, finding his touch comforting and familiar, but also exhilarating, like something your body won't ever go into a frenzy over. he could barely do anything and your stomach tightens, heart starts to race, brain goes into-

but before you can dwell on all the things seonghwa does to you, you shake the thoughts of him from your head and listen to your teacher drill on with the lesson until the bell rings forty minutes later.

you stand up after gathering your things and, like clockwork, an arm shoots out to block you from the aisle. you look up at his awaiting gaze and raise an eyebrow, "you know, i'm almost always late to this class because of you!" your hand comes up to poke his chest but he doesn't budge, wrapping his hand around your finger before taking his hand in yours.

your eyes widen as he does so, more complaints dying in your throat and you don't know if you wanna slap or kiss the smirk off his face.

"you were saying?"

slap. you wanna slap it off.

"why do you do this to me." your words come out as breathy whine, much more breathy than intended.

"do what?" he asks, turning his head to the side as he takes a step closer to you.

his body is just a few inches away from completely grazing yours and you know for a fact if you feel any part of him touch you, you’ll pass out. pass out right there on the floor at the feet of a boy you continue to be flustered by. and how embarrassing would that be.

almost as embarrassing as him staring down at you the way he is right now, like he knows about the very thoughts plaguing your mind.

you squint your eyes at him, quickly snatching your hand back and shoving his shoulder lightly. the room is emptying out fast now, the quiet classroom a stark contrast to the muffled chatter outside in the hall.

"i'm gonna be late," you whine, looking at him with pleading eyes.

"are you sure you're can't go?"

your eyebrows pull together as you turn your head to the side in confusion.

"what?"

he rolls his eyes looking down at you and yeah, you definitely wanna slap him.

"where!? to my next class?"

"no, not your next class," he bites back, a dry sharpness in his voice but his eyes holding no malice.

"then what are you talking about, i don't know!” you sigh, exasperated. “you know what, it doesn't even matter because i'm going to class and you're not gonna-"

his hand shoots up to cups your cheeks, squeezing them slightly and successfully silencing you in record time. your lips are puckered out, wide eyes looking into his as you swallow nervously.

his hand is so large and warm on your face with such a firm grasp that it has your mind racing. because okay, maybe you wanna kiss him. just a little, just a enough to get his ever present smirk off his face. or better yet, why not both a slap and a-

"why am i so captivated by you," he says lowly, almost as if he's talking to himself.

his finger is trailing over your lips, the cold metal of his ring right under your jaw and you’re positive cardiac arrest is gonna set in any second now. because his words (one word, in particular) and gentle, teasing touch and intense gaze is proving to be just too much for you.

you can feel your eyes bulging out of your head because you knew you were...captivated by him the second you saw him. but those were for obvious reasons. he was unlike any person you've ever seen before, handsome looks and alluring charm that anyone with eyes could see.

but you? someone like him captivated by you? you'd have half the mind to laugh right in his face if his words and voice and hands weren't making your heart jump out of your chest right now.

your mouth opens and closes, mind going a mile a minute but completely at a loss for words.

which is why you stupidly parrot yourself from just a few moments ago, uttering "what?"

he bites his lip to hide another smirk, loosening his hold on your face before giving your cheek one slow stroke with his thumb.

and then, just like he didn't do anything, he removes his hand, slinging his bag over his shoulder before peering down at you one last time.

"i'll see you...when i see you," is all he cryptically says and now you're even more confused because why wouldn't he just say see you tomorrow? and that's when a light goes off in that slow brain of yours, jumping like a bolt of lightning ran through you.

"oh wait!" you say but his back is retreating down the aisle already, nearly out the door when you squeak out, "were you talking about the-"

you watch as he walks out the door without another word or glance back. "trip," you mumble into the empty classroom and you let out a sigh, trying to calm your racing heart because you're still not over his use of the word captivated.

who says that? and why did he say it to you? you’re half tempted to get a dictionary just to double check the meaning of the word captivated.

suddenly a sea of students burst into the classroom and you have a sinking suspicion it's because no one wanted to enter when park seonghwa was still in here, with a girl no less. you can barely get your feet to move before the sound of the bell ringing quickly snaps you back to reality.

"shit!" you yelp out, the students turning to stare you down and you smile innocently, bowing your head politely before rushing out the door.

"shit," mingi mutters lowly when you sit at your designated library table a period later, vigorously erasing his paper and looking up when he feels your presence.

"hi," you whisper quietly, "is it a bad time? i'm sorry, i could come-"

"no," he says quickly, eyes moving to meet yours, "it's okay."

you smile softly at him, sitting down next to him and taking out your sandwich. you watch silently as he continues to write and erase, eyebrows furrying and body tense as he works through a sheet you now see is a math handout.

and it's not until you're done eating and sit there wordlessly for a few more minutes that you break the silence.

"do you need help?" you squeak out and his expression is so unreadable when he looks at you, you immediately mistake it for him being insulted.

"i'm sorry, i just..i think i was learning this with the tut...yeosang..last week, so.."

"no, yeah, no," he stutters out before quietly chuckling, "i mean yes, please."

you smile softly, leaning in closer to mingi as you start to explain the equation in the same way yeosang did last week. he had made it seem so simple and straightforward, the teachers and textbooks putting such complicated twists on it but him talking about it like it was basic addition.

and just fifteen minutes later, mingi's completely done with the rest of the worksheet that he'd been hopelessly confused by and ready to rip into pieces.

"that asshole really knew what he was talking about, huh," he grumbles out and a giggle leaves your mouth as you nod.

"i know, right."

he puts the paper away and takes out a large thermos, slurping a mouthful of noodles sloppily.

"you're not still seeing him, right?" he asks with a mouthful of food and you shake your head.

"no, i'm caught up...i really wasn't that behind," you tell him, "and they really didn't want a scholarship student using a tutor anyway."

mingi rolls his eyes at the implication, knowing all too how the teachers here probably reacted.

"for the better, that kid's a dick."

you laugh at mingi's forwardness, the nonchalant way he throws around insults while scarfing down food and looking like a giant baby in his large glasses.

"he's actually not that bad," you find yourself saying and you wish you could say that you were surprised that you just defending him. but after having him help you and then further acknowledge you at seonghwa's house, to act as if what he did wasn't commendable in the slightest, might have changed your perception a tiny bit.

but mingi's staring at you with wide, surprised eyes, like you forget the complete and utter verbal lashing he gave you less than a week ago.

"okay, he is a little bit," you admit because, okay, he is kind of a dick, "but he...i...he also helped me at a party the other night and it was...let's just say, thank god he did."

the pit in mingi's stomach hints at him not to push the issue any further.

"well that's good then," he says softly, scanning your face and understanding even more just how much he really helped you. "but he still shouldn't have been so mean to you."

a smile crosses your face at the tone in mingi's voice, a small giggle ringing through the quiet library. "you're right," you tell him and he nods his head.

you hear the sound of the library door opening, footsteps walking over to the table next to you and you turn to see a familiar tall figure. your face brightens in surprise, an excited gasp leaving your lips.

"you found the library!" you squeal a little too loudly and a harsh "sh" is whispered throughout the room.

yunho's head pops up and a big smile crosses his face, eagerly nodding at you. "i did, thanks to your directions."

you smile at him, side eyeing mingi and then looking back at yunho to see if he's okay with inviting him over; you wave the boy over when mingi nods his head.

yunho walks over, taking the seat next to you and laying out his many textbooks.

"thanks, see, you're still the nicest person i've met here today," he laughs out before lowering his voice, "is everyone here always so..."

"obnoxious?" mingi offers and a surprised laugh leaves the boy's mouth.

"i was gonna say chatty," yunho says, "but then the second you talk to them, they act like you're from another planet."

"you noticed too!" you say, "apparently a ski trip is all it takes to get these rich kids excited and talking to each other."

"ski trip?" yunho asks and you shrug your shoulders.

"i don't know, some tradition for the senior class or something. are you going, mingi?"

the both of you look to the boy after he doesn't respond to find his eyes narrowed and aimed at someone across the room. yunho looks over his shoulder as you wave your hand in front of the boy’s face.

"mingi?" you squeak out, noticing his harsh gaze and locked jaw. you break him from his stare down though, his eyes moving to yours as a little questioning hums leaves his mouth.

"are you going? on the ski trip?"

"not if you paid me," he grunts out and another chuckle leaves yunho's mouth.

"i like him, he's also nice," he tells you cheerfully and a broad smile makes it way on your face.

"mingi, yunho, yunho, mingi," you say as an official introduction and mingi nods his head at the smiling boy.

"are you new?" his deep voice asks and you find yourself bubbling with happiness that mingi's so openly talking with the boy. you thought he had seemed shy and closed off but he seems fine with yunho; but you also don't really know him that well yet.

you listen as yunho tells you about his old school, coming to find out it's apparently the rival school of this one and you have to laugh imagining the way rich teenagers probably pit against each other.

"now that i think about it, they do a ski trip too," yunho says, "imagine they're all there at the same time."

"double the stupid," mingi mutters and you muffle your giggle with your hand.

"y/n, are you going?" yunho asks and you shake your head.

"no way, not something i could afford," you tell him honestly and his eyebrows shoot up in confusion.

"oh, silly me, let me address myself the way everyone else here does," you sarcastically say before putting your hand out, "hi i'm y/n, scholarship student which without fail has now translated to poor girl. so please, if you could spare some change or canned food."

"oh, jesus christ," yunho mutters and you giggle at his annoyance before shrugging.

"yeah, i don't know but it's okay..apparently, my shoes were the dead give away though."

"your shoes are nice," yunho says and just as your about to thank him, a new voice interrupts.

"your new friend's a liar."

you stiffen at hearing the voice, a quiet growl already leaving mingi's voice at the presence of the boy.

"hi, yeosang, nice to see you," you say sarcastically and a smirk covers his face.

"nice to see you, y/n," he says just as sarcastically before turning his gaze to mingi, "and you, pretty boy. gonna try to crack my head open again?"

"i was thinking about it," mingi bites back and yunho can only watch with wide eyes at the encounter.

"okay, let's not do that," you say, a nervous laugh bubbling out of you before you see yunho sitting there looking lost. "this is another new student, yunho."

yeosang looks at the boy unamused, lips not even twitching when yunho gives him a friendly, bright smile.

"hi!"

"you gonna waste my time and ask for a tutoring session also?"

your body draws back slightly as you bite your lip because ouch and you pretend your feelings aren't hurt by lashing out at him.

"in case you forgot, it wasn't my idea," and because that's not enough for your bruised heart and ego after just defending him you say, "why would i have asked for someone like you?"

he rolls his eyes at your snark, leaning against the bookshelf and crossing his arms back to a complete state of disinterest.

"are you going tomorrow?"

"why do you care?" you ask and your voice sounds a little too clipped for an innocent question.

"san and wooyoung were harassing seonghwa to find out during lunch," he tells you, his head still pounding from the two boy's constant whining and questioning.

"oh," you say, voice sounding small and a little touched that the two boys were asking about you, you had actually really liked them. you resist the urge to pout because now even if you wanted to go, you still can’t.

"well, tell them thank you for thinking of me but i probably won't be able to make it," you say and you can even hear how your voice sounds a little dejected now.

"how sad," yeosang says before pulling himself off the bookshelf and standing near the table. he eyes mingi one more time with a sarcastic smile, waving his fingers at mingi in a goodbye.

"nice catching up, mingi," his deep voice sings before he's met with one of mingi's finger.

the boy’s smirking as his eyes meet yours now, seemingly no expression in his pretty brown eyes and you wanna look away but you can't. he just stares at you for an intense one, two, three, four seconds and you try so hard to look for a hint of any emotion in them.

but there's nothing, no hint of like or dislike or interest or no interest and then he's turning to head out the door. you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding and shit, you thought seonghwa was impossible to read.

"i hate that guy," mingi grumbles and yunho nods his head, feeling himself visibly relax with the boy now out of sight.

"there's something so scary about him!" yunho whispers like he's gonna hear him and you giggle because you can't help but find him cute.

"right," you tell him, "it's his eyes i think."

"certainly not his height," mingi quips and a tiny snort leaves you, hiding your face in your hands.

"y/n's right, it was his eyes," yunho comments, "they're scary and cold but there's also something..." he pauses as he looks for the right word, "captivating about them."

your head snaps up at the word, seonghwa's voice echoing in your head.

"why am i so captivated by you?"

"ah, stop it," you mumble to yourself, smacking your temple lightly as you shaking the thoughts from your head; mingi and yunho stare at you like you have two heads.

"sorry," you mumble, "just an uh...interesting word choice."

the two boys look at you strangely before the librarian warns you there's a minute until the bell. you all thank her politely, gathering your things and getting ready to stand up.

"well, i'm sorry for intruding, by the way," yunho says, "i just...the cafeteria was too daunting."

"believe me i know," you tell him softly, "so don't worry, you weren't intruding at all."

yunho smiles at you softly and you're about to tell him to come back when mingi beats you to it.

"you can sit with us again...if you want," he says softly and you resist the urge to squeal because there's something so sweet and wholesome about the offer.

"yes! you should! pleaseee!" you add, smiling up at him and you could cry when you watch his cheeks start to blush a soft pink.

"oh, my gosh okay, just stop smiling at me like that," he says, putting his large hands on his pink cheeks causing you to giggle. the bell rings five seconds later and the three of you go your separate ways, waving goodbye to them.

"see you tomorrow!"

and really, you had every intention of doing so. but apparently, someone else had other plans.

a few minutes after the final bell, the teacher in charge of chaperoning the senior trip hears a knock at the door and gives a warm smile to the student entering.

"oh! hi there mr-"

"sorry it's late," his voice cuts her off apologetically as he hands her a sealed envelope.

her eyebrows furrow in confusion, she had just been going through the payment list last night and swore she had saw he had paid already?

"didn't you already-"

"oh, it's not for me, it's another student's payment," he tells the teacher, "y/n, the new transfer student."

(part 8)

#seonghwa #seonghwa fluff #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez series #moodboard

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missingartist · 5 years ago

Text

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 19

The portal snapped closed behind them sending the trio spewing over the hard granite floor. Dust and grit curled up into billowing clouds sending the three into a fit of coughs and splutters. Jaskier poked his head up between a pair of legs and one hand that frantically twitched at the side of his neck.

‘Whose ever knee that is, while that is very pleasant, I am not sure Geralt would appreciate either of you doing that.’ Jaskier bit out, worming his way out from the bodies.

‘I forgot how low the floor was in here’ a muffled groan forced its way out front somewhere beneath the flailing limbs, a white-haired head popped up gazing around the battered room.

Vesemir had his blade raised and thrust in one of the bodies face before he even recognised the blossoming young woman and her annoying bard. Typically, the Witchers stronghold was only occupied during the most barren winter months, when work was made difficult from the weather. Most creatures limited their attack in the colder weather, drowners trapped by thick ice, wreaths. Kilmore and ghoul attack slowed to the point there was very little money, and it made more sense to hole up in the warmth of the great hall with food and ale sharing stories of the beasts and women they had met in the months of isolation on the path. But for Vesemir the appeal of riding another two months was unappealing, and there was much to be done at Kaer Morhen, the place had fallen into disrepair and could stand to have two months patch up before the others arrived. So, the flash of light and the three sprawling bodies was unexpected.

Cross-eyed, the bard stared down the blade of the Witcher, who grunted down in annoyance.

‘Vesemir long time no see, how are you? You old….Witcher.’ Jaskier smile nervously up at the gruff man.

‘Vesemir!’ Ciri greeted, standing up and pulling the bewildered former kitchen maiden with her.

‘Ciri! My girl, you’ve grown’ he pulled the slim girl into a bear-like hug lifting her off the grown entirely. ‘And who is this?’ Vesemir puffed out, catching a glimpse at the cowering girl edge herself toward the bookcases.

‘This is Adva…student of Triss, currently first of Yennefer’s hit list, suspected mermaid and Geralt’s soul mate, like actually soul mate.’

Blinking across at the older man, terror surged beneath the brunette skin. The gaze was heavy and piercing as the man all but dropped Ciri to her feet to look the mermaid up and down. Anxiety was back, and she felt like she had back in Brightwater under the scrutiny of Cersi, Tradi or the Vivian. It made her realise how bare she felt in the flimsy clothing Ciri lent her.

‘We need help…figuring out the mermaid and soulmate part.’

Ciri pulled back from her former teacher and smiled at the nervous girl, who eyes now focused solely on her ragged boots.

‘Well… I think we are going to need more chairs in the library. Anyone you annoy Yennefer enough to get on her hit list is always welcome here.’ Vesemir greeted, pulling Adva and Ciri toward the library.

‘Tell me everything. Bard bring three more chairs from the celler.’

‘Brilliant just brilliant’ Jaskier sighed as he made his way through the vast stronghold.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Geralt could not close his eyes; every time he did, he saw Adva being huddled into the portal in the strong embrace of Jaskier. Her retreating figure was etched into his mind for the past three days. The tightness of Ciri blouse over her breast and stomach, the lacing at the top of the shirt could not fasten so in an attempt to make them fit she had pulled the sleeve down into a peasant blouse, exposing her neck and that spot in which he buried his head in it during their night together, the pure scent that intoxicated him. Her hips had strained against the tightness of the dress, Adva hips the more shapely then his young ward, soft and supple, his hands still burnt in remembrance of how his hand buried into her ample hips as he ground into her feeling the wetness against me.

Scrunching his eye shut, he was forced to relieve that look on her face, the sadness and misery. He wanted to talk to her explain, but as soon as he advances towards, she flinched and retreated behind Jaskier. A furious range formed inside him, Jaskier, the man he had to save so man times who stuck his nose in one to many times, he had dragged her off for him, his little flower, his love, his siren, HIS MATE. Blood dripped from his hands as eight half-moons cut pieced his golden skin, the warm liquid dripped over his fingers and splattered noiselessly against the dirt way he lay. He could not bring himself to care or even feel the mild pain; he felt nothing, just the burning desire to regain Adva, to have her in his arms and wearing his mark as soon as possible. Without her, near him, he felt weak, near collapsed when she had abandoned him, but at the same time field with rage, he laid waste to the Garden, burnt the roses and reduced the fountained to a pile of stones. Before climbing on the back of Roach and riding day and night though forest, bogs and towns to reach his Witchers home, stopping only long enough for the horses to rest and Yennefer to reapply the paste to the runes on his skin. The fever still gripped him, the balm now lasted only a few hours, but he refused to let them stop for the briefest moment to reapply the substance. Instead, he had to feed the need to be close to her; so he rode on closer and closer to Kaer Morhen. As soon as they passed the town of Bastion, he could smell that scent on the wind, apples, and the sea. It calmed and excited him; a pang of anxiety took hold of him. It was something that he never felt before, a panic that gnawed at him for the inside out. He needed to get to her, to explain, to talk and to comfort.

Being told she was not human and possibly a mermaid in the span of a few hours was a shock. Geralt blink and he saw her distress flash against his eyelids, the tears. It broke him, and he wanted to comfort his mate, but it was Jaskier who swooped in. A silent growl shook his chest as he dug his fingers deeper into his palms, the blood flowing more freely, oozed onto the mud. At the minute, he couldn’t care less about any of them, Jaskier, Triss, Yennefer even Ciri could all go to hell, he could carry Adva away to live in a cave for all he cared as long as he had her. Geralt never thought he was a possessive man, but by the gods, he wanted to have every inch of her and give himself completely over to her. The overwhelming feeling pounded against his temples, and the sharp ache cut through his head as he was brought out of his musing by the harsh whispers behind him.

‘You have never loved him. You just love the idea of someone being there. You treated him more like a lapdog than a lover.’ Triss snapped.

She poked at the fire angrily as glared at the Yennefer, who in her usual fashion wore a plunging neckline that dipped down to her navel, it was tight and revealing and not a travelling dress, but it not sure practicality was what Yen was going for.

‘Don’t you think I deserved someone.’ Yennefer half whispered; half yelled.

‘Of course, I do. But you were horrid to her. You know what she reminded me a lot of you when you first came to Arteuza. Lost and scared searching for a place. She even had her own Tisssisa in Tradi and Cersi, a bully who prodded and poked, filling you head with the position. But you managed you had the power and support to getaway. She did not. Have some sympathy.’ Triss glared into the crackling fire.

‘I sacrificed my motherhood for that. You have no idea what I have surrendered.’ Triss growled.

‘You sacrificed nothing. You gave it away.’ Triss countered, giving her a pointed look. ‘You wanted power and don’t try and kid yourself. I love you like a sister, but sometimes you can be so obtuse.’

Yennefer was becoming increasingly hostile as the days went on, switching from lost little girl to savage man-eating banshee. Every jab and goading comment ground down on the Witcher who pensively look deep into the horizon but Triss knew Geralt; his body was rigid and tense, he didn’t eat or sleep just stare into the fire or huddle up with his back to them for the few brief hours he let the horse rest. And there was only so much more he would be able to stand before he snapped, and she fears that Yennefer would be on the receiving end of that or worse it would get Geralt off in an unbound rage, and he would do something that he would forever regret.

‘You seriously believe Geralt belong to her.’ Yennefer stood and pace in front of the fire, casting a frantic shadow against the trees.

‘That your problem, you think Geralt belong to someone. Adva genuinely cares for him. And she did not cast him out over his doing the right thing. That right he told me…honestly, you have no idea how spoilt and nasty you sounded.’

‘Well, to me, she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.’ Yennefer smirked at her; it was her character smirk, the one she used when she was right.

‘That because she thinks Geralt prefer you over her, and she doesn't want to be blasted through the floor again.’ Triss ranted, in a hoarse tone. ‘You draped your self over him, what was she to think.’

‘If she were truly his mate, don’t you think she couldn’t be apart from him. Even if I were draped all over him, do you think he has really changed? He’d have a different woman in his bed every night; she would be pandering after him. Trust me; I spared her the hurt. I bet she had already moved on to Jaskier…’

‘Enough’ Geralt roared, bolting up in bed. ‘Don’t you two have anything else you can talk about.’ He snapped and stood.

Two of the two women, he loomed menacingly over them, his body stood to his full height as he glared at them with dark eyes. His sword was clutched tightly in his hand, glistening murderously in the moonlight. Trails of sweat mixed with the blue rune and melted down his skin, it was hard to see any of his bronzed skin beneath the mess of sweat and paint. The fever seemed to take hold on his with a vengeance, his breath was coming in heavy pants, as he looked at both the woman.

‘Geralt…we didn’t…’

‘She wouldn’t do that….not with Jaskier, she needs me’ Geralt gritted out. Triss took a step back, the frantic look in his eyes scared her.

‘Please…. she could barely look at you when they left. Could not help but notice she seemed really attached to Jaskier, they have the whole of Kaer Morhen to themselves…lots of room for screaming. I bet she is currently in one of those lush four posters spread open and Jaskier buried deep into her pussy.’

Yennefer laughed. The sound tinkled against the trees and into the night air, it was the only sound that would be heard apart from the occasional crackle of the fire and a distant owl hooting. Triss honestly could not comprehend what was happening in Yennefer head, if she really understood what was happening if she truly believed that Geralt wouldn’t actually hurt her. That he could do serious harm to her with his blade or signs. Part of her wanted that, it ashamed her to say, but Yennefer had been taking every opportunity to push the Witcher to his breaking point, she took great pleasure in it. Yennefer was hurt, and that made her deadly. Still, Geralt wasn’t his normal passive self, who let her push and ordered him about, he wasn’t that lonely puppy craving attention and companion anymore, he had love, or would have true love soon with someone that was wholly different for the mage, someone who was his and his alone.

What happened next surprised Yennefer but not wholly Triss. Aard, the telekinesis push erupted for Geralt’s hands, sending them flying backwards. The purple eyes mage hurtled backwards, through the fire and hit a nearby bolder with a sicken crake. Triss was lucky that the full force of the blast was direct at the other mage, she only caught the edge of the blast sending her stumbling into a pile of leaves and rotting vegetation was cushioned her fall. In horror, she watched as the Geralt leapt over the fire, sword raised, and he swung. She couldn’t bare to watch, screwing her eyes she waited. The sounds a metal hitting stone echoed in the clearing. Then a deadly silence. Peaking out from behind her corkscrew curls, the blade was inches from her face her violet eyes staring wide at the sliver of sharped silver.

The silver-haired Witcher growled and grunted like a rogue animal, terrified and panicked. ‘Never…never would she bed with another…. She is MINE!’ he roared.

‘HOW DARE YOU ATTACK ME! AFTER ALL, I HAVE DONE FOR YOU!’ Yennefer howled sending out a wave of fire out, knocking her attacker off her.

Groaning in pain, he rolled out the way of another blast before twirling to his feet, with all the grace of a dancer. The sword hummed as he twirled the heavy blade, the wind screamed as it cut through it. Yennefer raised her hand before her as Geralt stood, budging muscle strained against his armour, eyes fierce and deadly. Plenty of times Yennefer had seen the fierce warrior beat down floes with nothing but his trusty sword but never had she been on the receiving end. Magic would be useless, and Geralt could inflict significant damage if he didn’t kill her.

‘Geralt…Stop! I am sure Yennefer was just being Yennefer. Adva is just confused right now. Finding out your part mermaid and a soulmate to a Witcher in the same day as behind attacked by a crazy Mage is hard to get your head around. You two are soul mates, meant to be. She just needs time to understand and get her head around it all. I am sure she is holed up in one of the rooms waiting for you, alone.’ Triss cried as she jumped in front of them. ‘You need to calm down…please. For Adva.’ Triss called, softly

The three stood tensely for a moment, both women's eyes on him as he glanced between the two. Panting hard his eyes bleed black, hands tightening on the hilt of his blade.

Snort pushed itself through his nose as a ‘Fuck’ howled passed his lip as he threw down his sword. Spearing one last glance at the mages, he disappeared into the forest.

‘That little bitch has done something to him. Geralt would never…’ Yennefer huffed, brushing the dust of her dress.

‘When are you going to accept you have lost.’ Triss rolled her eyes as she picked up the silver blade, sliding it back into his bindle on Roach, before sitting back down near the fire and waiting for his return. ‘Rest up; we will be riding on as soon as he gets back. We need to get to Kaer Morhen as soon as possible.’

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This originally wasn't gong to be a chapter but I felt like it needed to. Someone messaged me on tumblr about why Geralt didn't chase after her through a portal, from what I remember from the books and games Geralt hated portals and only uses them when absolutely necessary so I thought it was very Geralty plus those two need a little time apart. And there will be plenty of time for Geralt to chase after her *drools* can you imagine being chased by jealous Geralt. What did you think? I wasn't sure about the fight but Yennefer was being very annoying. Plus things Geralt and Adva life is hotting up and they have a lot to pick through so it gonna be interesting. And Vesemir! The love I have for that man! Please leave a comment!

@fandom-lover-4 @sageandberries-png @wastingmypotential @luxyash @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @crazynocturnalkiki @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @broco8 @introvertedmouse @threepupsinapuddle @pastelblogsposts

#geralt imagine #geralt x reader #witcher geralt #geralt smut #geralt of rivia #Geralt #geralt x smut #geralt x oc #netflix the witcher #witcher netflix #witcher 3 #thewitcher

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years ago

Text

Overgrown Metal

Series Summary: Almost two decades ago, the fae rose up from beyond the veil with technology far surpassing the human race, quickly taking over after laying waste to nearly everything in their wake. Now eight paths cross to right the wrongs on both ends, working to uncover secrets that would have rather stayed hidden

Chapter 5: Bow With Hope

Summary: Enter Patton.

Trigger Warnings: death mention. If i missed any please let me know.

General taglist: @im-an-anxious-wreck (if you’d like to be tagged for all works or specific ones feel free to ask!)

Patton sighed gratefully as the great doors closed behind him, quickly straightening before anyone could see and hurrying down the main street to the tallest building before anyone could catch him and ask too many questions. His jaw clicked painfully as he tried to subtly stretch it out and hoping no one would notice just how fast he was blinking behind his rather large glasses. Too many potential questions, too many potential conversations, too much of everything and honestly why wasn’t he there yet he was in impeccable shape and walking fairly quickly and-

He nearly crashed into the front doors of the building not having noticed tripping his way up the steps. Blinking a few more times he shifted his pack to one shoulder somewhat painfully considering its weight and nudged the door open slowly and just enough for him to fit through, slipping in fast and shutting himself and the inside away from any potential prying eyes. Dropping the pack carefully he slumped against the frame and let his eyes adjust, the milkiness nearly cleared from his vision as he stretched his mouth open as wide as it would go. Being mute outside the walls didn’t give you many opportunities or use for that matter for opening it very often, defaulting to clenching his jaw an unhealthy amount and making it a relief when he finally returned to his city and no longer had to worry about keeping up any pretenses.

Looking around revealed an unsurprisingly empty lobby, the converted hotel expanded almost impossibly wide and making the light fixtures work twice as hard to banish the shadows from the furthest reaches of the room. Several staircases led up and away to various sections of the building, though only a couple led down into the depths where he and others of his current status were rarely ever permitted to tread. Waving away the sadness that threatened to swell at the thought he simply sighed again and hoisted the pack back over his shoulder, oddities from a nearby Undercurrent ratting softly within it. He wondered briefly what the residents of the underground towns actually called themselves- certainly something better than the blatant derogatory name Societies had given them. The nicer ones were nearly identical to Patton’s own city: well structured layers of markets and power plants and homes all buried safely beneath the ground to adapt to their rapidly changing environment.

Of course he wouldn’t care to live in one...he didn’t even really care to be living in a Society despite the “safety” it promised him especially being as high up as he was. Given the choice he’d be a wanderer as so many were now, refusing to settle down where either roots or branches would eventually chase you out or kill you as you tried to hold them back. Vast open plains were really only a temporary solution as wildlife continued to grow and shift and spread without mercy or care for what it was destroying to create whatever ideals were behind it. Shaking his head once again he made his way to the nearest staircase. There’d be time for thinking later...maybe. For now he needed to deliver what he managed to find and hopefully it would be enough to pay him with a day pass to the cemetery; his superiors didn’t want the past to hold anyone back which was fine with Patton- it just meant he worked incredibly hard to be able to earn his time with who he had lost.

Finally getting to the door he needed he took the time to give his jaw one final stretch, mouthing out a couple words to practice their shapes before he had to talk again. His vision had finally cleared fully leaving his dark brown curls the only thing obstructing his vision. Carefully they were pushed up and away, tucked neatly behind his ears before he smoothed the front of his still dirty tunic. Wincing he tried in vain to brush as much of it off as he could only to give up after barely half a minute as the dirt made it clear it was there to stay. Stern voices chiding him for his lack of professionalism were waved away quickly. His job was tough and dirty and there was really nothing he could do to help with that unless they decided to transfer him to a different purpose. These assurances fell somewhat limply as he sucked in a breath. He would never trade his purpose for anything, dangerous as it could be and even with the added drawbacks. He was free to roam out there- within a time frame but still. He could see how the world was progressing and how life was coping, he could see grass and “trees” rather than the industrial colors of his Society, and most of all he could look for-

Gripping the straps he straightened one final time and placed his hand on the door knob. There would be time for thinking later; right now he had a job to finish. Swinging open the door before he could change his mind he stepped in, head down and shoulders back before shutting the door behind him. Nothing happened for a full minute, the only sound in the room Patton’s own quickly beating heart and the gentle tinkling in the bag as the trinkets shifted with his fidgeting, Five minutes had passed before he slowly lifted only his eyes to scan the room, realizing with a start that he was completely alone.

Cheeks burning with slight embarrassment he walked forward towards the thin envelope with his name on it on the wide oak desk. Placing the pack beside him he opened to reveal a small wad of twenty dollar bills and a note most likely written by the direct herself.

Patton,

If your past findings have been anything to go by this should be enough to pay you for what you’ve brought back this time, though action will be taken if my assumption is incorrect. The day pass included was taken from your pay, I took the liberty of sparing you a trip.

Faris

Blinking in surprise he quickly shuffled his pay to find that there was, in fact, a day pass included. His stomach squeezed uncomfortably at the thought of his routine being known so well but the organization he worked for was a rather tight knit group so in the end he supposed it made sense. He nudged the bag closer to the side of the desk and turned to leave, only briefly wondering why the director hadn’t been there this time before quickening his pace back towards the way he came. If he hurried he’d be able to use it now; he’d scarcely thought of much else his entire trip outside the walls.

Walking as quickly as he dared through the silent lobby he found the long familiar flight of stairs and hurried down them, barely stopping ;long enough to shove the pass through the slot before nearly crashing into the second door he hadn’t been paying attention to today.. Schooling his annoyed expression as the pass was logged he reached immediately for the door as he heard the beep, mood sobering immediately as the cold musty air hit his face. The cemetery was a quiet place, as they so often were, and hung heavy with the warm smell of earth contrasted just shy of unpleasantly with the crisp air of the underground cavern. Here the dead lay still in whatever a family could scrounge to wrap them with, most only in their best clothes laid as carefully and respectfully as possible in the holes dug by those who cared for them. Families weren’t allowed to see the dead laid to rest, too painful a thing to watch with the limited amount of technology they had, the director had said. Patton would have gave everything- he glanced up at where his feet had automatically taken him. His son’s grave.

His tight smile turned genuine as he kneeled in front of the stone, tears already pricking his eyes as he stared at the name written there. He brought his arm up slowly, palm resting on the corner of the smooth stone he had picked out himself: smooth and just big enough and slate gray with obsidian cracks spidering at the side. He always liked smiling in the cemetery, hoping that if God forbid his sin’s soul lingered he would see his father smiling and be comforted. He knew if he was ever a spirit he wouldn’t want to see his family mourn him, pain cracking their usually cheerful features. No. He’d rather them smile with the memories of their time spent together, and especially for his young child, he smiled as wide and as long as he could, simply absorbing the silence and trying his best to turn the cool indifference of the stone into warm comfort with the simple touch of his palm.

“I always wondered who it was you put all your hard earned savings towards. Though I’m deeply curious patton: if you’re mourning him down here, then why look for him up there?” Patton froze at the cold words tossed at him so carelessly, matching the rest of the room and sapping what little warmth he himself had left to offer. Standing carefully he schooled his face into what he hoped was an open expression and turned, meeting the deep brown eyes of Director Faris.

She really shouldn’t be this intimidating he thought to himself as he bowed his head. The director was his height and only slightly chubbier, dark suit with a crisp lab coat laying carefully over it filling the picture of professionalism. Really the only thing scary about her was the necklace she wore with their society emblem carved into a small pendant, the snarling muzzle of a dog glinting in the low light. Her stern gaze never wavered from him, much as he wished it would, and the air between them had grown incredibly uncomfortable by the time she cleared her throat to indicate he could answer.

“Blind hope I suppose.” He offered weakly. “Thank you f-”

She waited patiently for him to clear his suddenly very dry throat, trying desperately to clear the gravel of disuse from his voice before he tried to speak again. “Thank you for including a pass with my pay, the saved trip is greatly appreciated.”

“Blind hope that he survived and somehow escaped your notice for ten years?”

“A father knows.”

“So does a leader.” Faris stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You always have so much trouble simply letting go Patton. Let the past be.”

Patton bit back the retort of his purpose that was given to him by the director herself was finding relics of the past along with whatever could be made from present materials to bring back to the city. His purpose relied on the past and people finding new ways to innovate it so it fit into the future. That to simply let the past go- well, wasn’t so simple. He cast a longing gaze to the smooth stone sitting obliviously in the dirt, Faris’ eyes following sharply.

“Whose body do you think is down there if not your son’s? How little respect do you have for us if you think we would deceive you on such a personal level?” Patton felt a wave of guilt wash over him at those words, looking down shamefully. “Have faith, Patton. This world has no more room for questions.”

As the director's hand fell from his shoulder at last she gestured as she turned away, taking confident strides to the stairs. “Follow me when you’re ready; I have other things to discuss with you.”

Pressing his lips together, Patton took one last look at the grave marker. Doubt curled not for the first time in the back of his mind, an ever growing sapling digging its roots ever deeping in the bed of questions he had surrounding the Society in which he lived and the people put in charge of it. As one of the head researchers it didn’t sit right with him that Faris allowed so little to be questioned, instead offering up faith as the sole reason to follow whatever whim the higher ups decided to pursue. He worked only a small branch of the Society, so much was left behind closed doors he very rarely if ever had access to. There was always, always room for questions.

“I will never stop looking for you.” He whispered quietly enough so he was sure faris wouldn’t hear before turning and hurrying towards the steps. “I promise you, Virgil.”

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#false writes #overgrown metal #patton sanders #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #og charater #death mention #tw death mention

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