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inkykeiji · 4 years

Text

all she want is payback for the way i always play that shit

characters: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaah yikes, sorry it’s so long???? the first part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you wont make it back; touya + reader have been fooling around for just under six months, our innocent lil good girl reader is the teeniest, tiniest bit more firm now. jealousy makes people crazy, yk how it is. touya is marginally softer for like, a second or two. | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), public sex, cheating, drug use, generally toxic relationship (possessiveness, jealousy), size difference, dubcon if u squint i guess???, the tiniest bit of cumplay

words: 11k

synopsis:

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

In early February, your parents finally tie the knot.

“Now it’ll be official,” you remember Touya whispering in your ear, the night before. “I will officially be your niichan,”

The wedding is gorgeous—elegant and classy, just like Rei herself. A wintertime wedding is so beautiful, you tell Rei as she’s busy being fawned over by several stylists, adding the finishing touches to her hair and make up. She’s absolutely stunning, a lacy ivory dress clinging delicately to her small frame, accentuating her natural curves. It glitters gracefully in the pale sunshine streaming through the large bay windows, sparkling any time she moves.

Touya doesn’t sit with his family. Their eyes sear into your flesh, although Touya keeps his stare pointedly in front of him, glaring at the alter. But you can feel their gaze on your skin, can feel their eyes travelling up your body slowly, critically, sending shivers skittering up your spine. It makes your skin crawl, both of your hands curling around Touya’s, a tangled knot of fingers resting in your lap.

You’ve never seen his other siblings before. Rei talks about them sometimes, but never when Touya’s around. You know that once every month, the three of them join Rei and your father for a family dinner, but you’ve never had the pleasure of attending.

You’d missed the first family dinner by fluke, held up late at the library studying for midterms. But every occasion after that, Touya had made absolute certain that you weren’t there. You hadn’t thought much of it the first time it happened, too enraptured and tangled up in Touya to care, grinding desperately against him in the backseat of his car as his tongue forced its way down your throat. But then it happens again, and again, and it becomes too coincidental to ignore.

“Why do we never go to those dinners with your siblings?” you’d tried to bring it up subtly the third time you guys skipped out on dinner, heart thudding in your chest and gentle voice quivering slightly.

Touya sighed, raking a hand through his hair roughly, eyes not straying from the road ahead of him. It’s complicated, he told you in a quiet voice, and you were so startled, so shocked by his sheer, unadulterated honesty, that you couldn’t find your voice, rendering you incapable of replying. Touya didn’t bother looking over at you, didn’t need to, to know that his response surprised you.

The other Todoroki’s are all strikingly beautiful—not that you expected any less. The one with pure snow-white hair and gunmetal grey eyes captures your attention the most, looking as if he’s around your age. He smirks at you when he catches your stare, giving you a small, polite nod—though you can see that tiny glint of mischief in his eye, the same glint you’ve seen in Touya’s a thousand times before. Choking on a surprised gasp, you rapidly avert your gaze, eyes snapping back to the pile of hands in your lap.

Touya notices, of course, because Touya notices everything. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes yours tightly, just a little too tight to be comforting, as his eyes dart to his siblings across the aisle, glare losing most of its heat when it meets his brother’s stare.

Tense shoulders relax, falling slowly with the measured breath he exhales as he turns back to glower at the alter.

You know other guests are staring at you—you can feel their eyes, too. You know the pair of you look more like a couple than siblings, know you should both probably put some distance between yourselves, at least try to keep some semblance of normalcy, some masquerade of a typical sibling relationship.

But Touya’s knee is bouncing, and he seems…unsure. It’s unsettling, really—Touya always seems so confident in himself—and you can almost feel the tense anxiety rolling off of him in heavy waves. So instead of scooting away from him or untangling your hands, your other palm finds a spot high on the thigh pressed tightly against yours, small fingers beginning to knead the flesh.

Sapphire eyes find yours, and he gazes down at you with an odd sense of fondness in his stare, the tiniest smile ghosting across his lips. It makes your chest swell with pride, makes you want to grab his face and crash his lips against yours, forces a tingling warmth to spread through your veins. It shouldn’t, but it does.

He barely lets you leave his side that day, keeps you glued to his body, an arm wrapped tightly around you. He’s a constant, looming, protective presence, glaring at anyone who dares to look at you for more than a second.

“Touya-nii,” you laugh a little while leaving the ceremony, watching as one of your cousins immediately averts their eyes. “That’s my cousin,”

“And I’m your brother,” he says flatly.

You suppose he has a point.

The two of you find your parents and the rest of Touya’s siblings—yours too, now, you guess—standing around a limousine, beckoning you over.

Rei begins to explain their protocol for pictures—and yes, you both have to come—but you aren’t listening. Their eyes are on you again, you can feel them, gliding up your skin, taking sharp note of the way Touya has you pressed flush against him, the way your arm is wrapped firmly around his waist, little fingers twisting in his suit jacket as your heart begins to speed up.

Touya can feel it, too, and he looks down at you in concern, his thumb caressing your shoulder, before he meets the stares of his siblings with a glare so ferocious you’re surprised it doesn’t turn them to ash on the spot.

They offer for you to ride in the limo with the rest of them, Touya cutting them off as he curtly declines their offer—no thanks, you’ll take his car instead and meet them there.

Rei tries to reason with him, but the pointed look he gives her causes her to trail off mid-sentence, holding his eyes for a moment before a sad smile settles on her face, nodding once.

✰ ✰ ✰

Shinjuku Gyoen is nothing short of stunning in the wintertime. It had snowed this morning, around six AM, blanketing the garden in a soft layer of pure white powder, glittering delicately in the early afternoon sun.

Wide eyes drink it in as your face presses against the glass of the car window, your breath fogging it up. There’s something so whimsical and dreamy about snow, you think, about the way it softens even the sharpest of edges, the way it makes everything look prettier.

“You’re so cute,” Touya remarks, watching you from the corner of his eye, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“I’ve never been here during the winter,” you murmur in response, still captivated by the grounds.

Rei and your father are immediately whisked away by several photographers to do their photos alone, leaving the rest of you to litter the parking lot.

But the moment they disappear from view, Touya’s got you trapped between his body and the cold metal of his car, lips moving against the shell of your ear as he whispers filthy promises, things that force soft whimpers from your lips, things that make your legs feel like they’re about to give out as heat pools deep in your belly. He knows, of course, smirks and teases you even more when he feels you squeeze your thighs together helplessly, tells you you’re his perfect little slut and vows to reward you for being so good as soon as he can.

His other siblings are staring, you try to tell him in a quiet, broken whine.

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, pushing his hips harder into yours, practically grinding his hard cock against your waist. “Let ‘em. I bet they’d love to watch me fuck you stupid, huh? What do you think about that, baby? You want them to watch?”

A pathetic sound hitches in your throat and you bury your burning face in his neck, a low, wicked laugh rumbling deep in his chest.

He doesn’t let up on the absolute filth spilling from his mouth until he can hear your father hollering in the distance, calling for the kids and waving the five of you over.

✰ ✰ ✰

Pictures take too long, and Touya’s antsy by the end of it, picking anxiously at his cuticles as his knee bounces. He’s hauling you out of there the moment you’re officially released, a strong hand wrapped tightly around your wrist. You can hear his mother calling for him, and you look back at her desperately, mirroring her worried frown.

He doesn’t even wait for the rest of them to pile into the limo and leave, immediately rooting through his pockets the moment he’s in the safety of his own car, pulling out a little baggie of white powder. He can feel your wide eyes on him, watching his every movement, but his hands are beginning to shake, and panic is starting to rip viciously at his throat, and he just needs it all to fucking stop.

“There’s no way I could endure this shit sober,” he explains as he searches for something in the powder, cursing when he doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for. Frantic cobalt eyes dart around the car, landing on the glovebox, and he leans over you, hastily pulling a reflective object from the compartment.

It’s a mirror.

A tiny, circular mirror that he uses to tap out a line, fingers unsteady and breathing slightly laboured. The gentle sounds of his platinum credit card colliding with glass echo throughout the car.

Hovering over the small mirror, he pauses, a finger pressed to his nostril. He almost wants to tell you to look away, almost does, but he knows you’d disobey either way.

He doesn’t like doing drugs in front of you—you’re too precious, too pure and innocent and he doesn’t want you around anything that could potentially tarnish that. But he also can’t stand that look you get in your eyes, almost like you’re scared of him, on the rare occasions that you have caught him.

He nearly snaps at you when you quietly ask if you can help, if he needs someone to hold the mirror steady, currently balancing on the center console compartment, but you’ve got that goddamn look in your eyes, wide and terrified.

No, he says sternly, telling you that he doesn’t even want you near this stuff, much less touching it.

But cocaine highs don’t last long, he explains to you when you ask about the little round white pills clacking together in his pocket. You’re positive he shouldn’t be mixing drugs like that, positive that your apprehension and disapproval are written clearly across your face, based on the simmering look he shoots at you.

Don’t fucking start.

So you don’t. You swallow down your worries and sit nice and pretty and good for him, just like you’re supposed to.

✰ ✰ ✰

He only leaves you twice, briefly, throughout the entire night. The first is almost immediately after you enter the reception venue.

Depositing you near the head table, he tells you to stay put before he hurries away. You know where he’s going, what he’s about to do, an odd ache taking root and throbbing deep in your chest.

He’d scold you if he could see you, able to read your expressions like a fucking book, would tell you not to cry for him—he doesn’t need your pity. The words cut through your mind in a snarl, and you work hard to rid your face of the frown marring it; he’s already having such a difficult time today, and the last thing you want to do is upset him more with your concern.

Distraction, you need a distraction. Wide eyes scan the extravagant ballroom, all shimmering golds and beiges and crystal chandeliers, searching in a frenzy for something—anything—to rid your mind of images of pretty boys with inky hair and white, white, white.

You swear you hear your name, then Touya’s, hissed out in a sharp whisper, and your gaze lands on a small group of people not too far from you, with snow and fire for hair—the other Todoroki’s, huddled in a loose circle.

The air around you just feels off, you catch his sister saying in a low but frantic voice, eyes darting between her brothers. She sounds worried about you, you think, and it makes you feel weird. She shouldn’t be worried about you; Touya takes fantastic care of you. It isn’t any of their business anyway, you can almost hear Touya sneering in your head, and he’s right. You know he’s right.

Her brothers don’t look too keen on discussing the subject, especially the youngest, who keeps pulling at his collar and fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“Well, why don’t you go and tell her that yourself,” the one with white hair says, grey eyes connecting with yours. She whirls around quickly, mouth snapping shut when she finds your face. Her lips morph into a smile half a second later, and she waves you over.

You avert your eyes, hands tangling nervously in front of you. No. You shouldn’t go. You really, really shouldn’t go. Touya told you to stay put, and you can’t bear to think—don’t even want to consider—how furious he’d be if he found that not only had you moved, but you had moved to talk to his siblings.

You must spend too much time deliberating, though, looking back up to find them advancing towards you, only a few feet away. Your heart’s pounding almost violently in your chest, breath accelerating with each step closer.

“Hi,” she’s saying warmly as she reaches you, causing you to subconsciously take a step back. “We haven’t had a chance to meet. I’m Fuyumi,”

You want to say your name, to introduce yourself politely, but your lips are sealed shut, only able to manage a small sound of affirmation.

“Shouto,” the youngest says, cold heterochromatic eyes glancing at you for a moment before looking away. “M’Shouto,”

“I’m Natsuo,” the man with white hair smirks down at you, eyes burning into yours.

Some of your anxiety melts away as you meet his stone eyes; there’s something comforting about the way that he has Touya’s smirk, Touya’s mischievous glint to his gaze, Touya’s playful lilt to his voice.

You feel like you can breathe again when you’re looking at Natsuo, so you keep your stare directed at him as you stutter out your name, gazing up at him through your lashes.

“You always miss the family dinners,” Natsuo accuses with a knowing smirk, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Y’know, eventually, our parents are going to catch on,”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins, chills crawling on your skin. He knows?

And he says it so nonchalantly, so casually, as if he’s discussing the weather and not the fact that Touya deliberately kidnaps you to fuck your brains out in his car every single time they gather for one of those dinners. Fuyumi and Shouto look over at him with brows furrowed in confusion, but you choke on a gasp, coughing a little and nodding.

Touya returns then, saving you from having to respond.

“What’s wrong?” he’s asking immediately as his hands find purchase on your hips, pulling you back against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you lean on him, heart finally beginning to slow.

“N-Nothing, niichan,” you wrap your arms around his, hugging them to your chest, and he squeezes you in reassurance.

“You sure, baby?” Sapphire eyes search your face as you tilt your head back to look up at him, scanning for any sign of distress.

He shouldn’t be using that pet name here, not in front of his blood siblings, not loud enough that any of the passing guests can hear him with ease.

He shouldn’t.

But that doesn’t stop it from sending sparks skittering up your spine, heat beginning to coil in your tummy. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said you didn’t get some sort of twisted satisfaction at the loud gasp that leaves Fuyumi’s chest, or the sharp intake of breath Shouto chokes on, coughing as he tries to cover it up, all at the drop of that one, simple, four letter word.

Touya loves it, too—you can see it in the way his smirk grows into a full smile, a grin big enough to crinkle the edges of his eyes, can see it in his gaze, in the way his cobalt eyes almost sparkle at their reactions.

Your gaze flits back to the three people standing in front of you—your step-siblings, your mind corrects—eyes gliding over their faces slowly.

Natsuo looks thoroughly entertained, a stupid little grin stretched across his face, amusement dancing in his eyes. Fuyumi and Shouto, on the other hand, look thoroughly uncomfortable, shifting a little in place, their faces screwed up with poorly masked disgust.

Touya’s smile drops the moment he looks back at them. Azure eyes scan the faces of his siblings cautiously, giving Natsuo one quick, sharp nod of acknowledgment before his gaze lands on the youngest. And the glare Touya gives him is nothing short of terrifying, practically snarling at the boy, a rough, dangerous sound that gets lodged deep in his chest. It makes the boy cower away, shuffling ever-so-slightly closer to his sister, who shakily glares back.

Lips tugging down into a frown, you look up at Touya, forehead creasing in confusion. He’s still glowering at the kid, eyes narrowing just a little before he huffs and turns away, leaving without speaking a word to any of them.

“Don’t you ever talk to them again,” he’s murmuring as he whisks you away, something malicious in his voice. “You’re my little sister,”

You nod obediently, promising him that you won’t, reassuring him that you didn’t even want to as you relay the entire situation. But he can see it, the curiosity swirling in your eyes, a question dancing on your tongue.

Because although Touya appears to be on seriously awful terms with his younger siblings, Natsuo seems to be some sort of exception. From the interaction you just witnessed, you’re able to deduce that something, some line of communication, must be present between Touya and Natsuo, evident in their shared looks and swift, discreet nods.

He sighs, irritation coating his voice as he demands that you spit it out already.

It makes you jump a little, but the words come tumbling out of your mouth the moment he commands them to, powerless to disobey a direct order.

“Does that include Natsuo?”

Your voice is so tiny that he barely hears you, brows knitting together. There’s an odd look in his eye as he observes you—something that isn’t quite jealousy, but close to it—nose twitching a little as he considers.

“Alone, yes,” he finally says. “With me around it’s fine, I guess. But you are not to speak to him alone, do you hear me?”

Yes, niichan, of course, niichan.

✰ ✰ ✰

Dinner is absolute torture, and the two of you can barely keep your hands off of each other. It starts innocently enough, discreetly enough, with palms on thighs, fingers brushing down arms, hands interlaced under the table. But the need to touch grows, and grows, and grows, these simple actions too teasing to satisfy that dull burning in the pit of your stomach, flaring a little more each time his fingers press into your thigh, or his thumb runs across your knuckles.

And you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t start acting up now, not while the two of you are seated at the head table, looking out amongst the guests—a few months ago, you would’ve never thought to do something so indecent, so dangerous, in such a public place. But you just can’t help it, you’re getting restless now, brain going hazy with thoughts of him as your fingers trail up his thigh and ghost over his lap.

“Getting bold, are we, princess?” his hand catches your wrist, holding your palm in place and grinding up into it. His voice is low, head tipped towards you, sapphire eyes dark. A breath catches in your throat and he smirks, an evil little quirk up of his lips, raising an eyebrow at you in expectation.

You’re lucky they’re seated in a straight line instead of a circle, he murmurs in your ear, Natsuo snickering beside him. “Imagine what your daddy would think if he could see you, acting like such a desperate little slut in front of all of these people,”

A soft, broken moan escapes your lips without your permission, thighs squeezing together in an attempt to combat the heat pooling in your panties. Someone down the line of the table says something, but you’re too enticed by Touya to hear them, your father writing off whatever the remark was with an easygoing smile.

“Oh, those two are always in their own little world,” you hear him dismiss, voice sounding muddled and distant.

“Be a good girl and sit still,” Touya growls in your ear, grip tightening to near bruising.

“But niichan,” you whine, much too loud, gazing at him with glazed, blown eyes. “Niichan,” you repeat, leaning forward to whimper in his ear, fingers flexing around the bulge in his trousers. “N-Need you,”

“If you can’t behave, niichan won’t let you cum later,” he breathes, though his voice is stern, heavy with the weight of the threat.

A pout forms on your lips as he releases your wrist, firmly placing your hand back in your lap and holding it there for a moment, a silent warning for your wandering fingers to stay put.

But he’s up and out of his chair the instant dinner’s over, moving so quick his seat wobbles a little as he grasps your hand tightly in his, practically yanking you up and dragging you along behind him.

The best thing about these fancy venues, he’s telling you as he strides through the halls, cerulean eyes searching for something, is that they have single person washrooms.

The granite is cold on your cheek as Touya shoves you up against the wall, head bouncing a little as it whacks against it.

You whine and he laughs, a cruel, piercing sound echoing off the walls.

“Aw, baby,” he coos contemptuously. “Did that hurt?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut against the throbbing pain radiating through your cheek.

“Poor little thing,” he hisses, lips against your ear as his hands begin to bunch up your dress, gliding over your silk covered thighs, hands fisting in the material as he goes. Pushing it up around your waist, he leans back, hands travelling over the globes of your ass and kneading hard enough to make you cry out.

“You’re a slutty little brat, y’know that?”

Deft fingers hook in the waistband of your thong, all delicate baby pink lace, Touya snickering about how much of a whore you are, wearing such skimpy, slutty panties, as he lets the elastic snap back against your skin.

A little shocked gasp escapes your lips as he begins tugging the dainty fabric down your thighs—you had expected him to merely push them to the side, but he forces you to take them off entirely, stuffing the soaked material in his pocket.

“You think you can just tease niichan like that and get away with it?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head against the wall.

“No,” he murmurs, hips grinding against your bare ass. “Good girls don’t tease their niichans without delivering, do they?”

“No,”

“On your knees,” he orders, spinning you around and stepping back just enough to allow you to sink to the floor. “Get my cock wet,”

Little fingers work quickly, eager to obey, as they undo his pants, practically salivating as you free his cock from its confines.

“Your cock’s so pretty, niichan,” you breathe, eyes glittering with pure, potent desire as you take it in your hands, tongue darting out to trace the prominent veins.

“No teasing,” he growls, a hand knotting in your hair. “I wanna see you choke on it,”

You nod as best you can, mouth instantly falling open, reduced to nothing more than a wet, warm little hole for him to stuff.

And then he’s shoving it down your throat, the hand fisted in your hair holding your head still, and you gag around it almost immediately, working to force you jaw open even more.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he rasps out, voice echoing off the walls of the washroom.

The praise has your heart soaring, has you sucking hard around him as he thrusts into your mouth, coating his cock in thick saliva and desperate to hear more. It’s intoxicating, every quiet moan you manage to pull from him, every breathless good girl that falls from his lips, makes you feel lightheaded and heady and dizzy for more.

His hips pump a few more times before he’s pulling you off his cock completely, devious smirk forming on his lips at your whine of protest, and commanding you to go bend over the sink.

Calloused hands are bunching your dress up around your waist again, toe of his shoe kicking at your inner ankles and forcing your feet further apart.

He doesn’t bother stretching you out, not because he doesn’t have the time to, but because he simply doesn’t want to. It’s truly one of his favourite things, to see tears fill your eyes while his cock stretches your cute little pussy, and he knows you love it too, don’t you?

Yes, niichan, of course you do.

His cock glistens with your saliva, sufficiently wet that it slides in easily enough, with minimal pain for him. And the soft groan he lets out as he watches your little hole struggle to take him, paired with your sweet little whimpers of his name, is nothing short of gorgeous.

It has your pussy fluttering around him, pulling a breathless chuckle from his lips as he fills you to the hilt, hips pressed against your ass.

And then doesn’t fucking move.

Your brow furrows, eyes meeting his in the mirror. You try to fuck yourself back on him, but he’s too quick, hands stilling your hips immediately and tutting in disapproval.

“Niichan,” you whimper. “N-Niichan, please fuck me,”

“Do you think you deserve it?” he’s asking, tongue tracing the shell of your ear as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “After the way you behaved at dinner?”

“M’sorry,” you whine, wiggling back against him, his fingers digging into your flesh as he stops them, grip tightening. “Couldn’t help it, wanted you so bad,”

“Of course you couldn’t,” he smirks, hips starting to move slowly, teasingly, stilling after only three simple thrusts. A hand reaches down and finds your clit, forcing a gasp from you as his thumb brushes over it, back and forth, back and forth, featherlight grazes that have you arching back into him, trying to press further into his touch.

“Think you can cum just like this for me?” he asks, beginning to thrust shallowly again, just enough to have the head of his cock dragging against that spot buried deep inside your cunt, that spot he knows so well, then nudging your cervix. “Hmm?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, breath starting to come out in short little pants.

“Then do it,” he demands in a whisper, eyes still holding yours. “Show niichan how pretty you look, cumming all over his cock,”

And the combination of his deep, rough voice rumbling against your back as praises tumble from his lips, his thumb and cock, and the fact that anyone within a fifteen foot radius of this washroom could probably hear you, has you cumming within minutes with a sharp cry of Touya-nii!

Touya laughs at how pathetically quickly you came, about how easy it is to have you creaming on his cock, heat seeping into your cheeks as you try to look away.

“My turn,” he breathes, yanking your head back up by your hair, fingers finding root in the intricate updo that has begun to fall apart. “And I wanna see your face as I fuck you, so keep your damn head up,”

And then he’s slamming into you with enough vigour to propel you forward, face pressed against the mirror, toes barely touching the ground. Every moan and whimper and mewl he forces from your throat fogs up the glass, leaving tiny glistening drops of condensation as they fade.

You’re trying so hard to keep your eyes open, to watch him as he fucks you, because he always looks so damn pretty.

He’s stupidly attractive, with his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, first few buttons undone and collar popped, revealing his sharp collarbone, smooth ivory skin stretched taut across it. Ebony hair clings to his forehead and neck delicately, coated in sweat, and he’s emitting the most glorious noises, heavy pants and little broken whines, peppered with praise.

Nails bite into your flesh as he holds you in place, hips snapping relentlessly, your fingers curling around the porcelain sink.

“You want niichan’s cum?” he growls in your ear, eyes burning into yours. You whimper in response, nodding against the mirror. “Yeah? Then fucking beg for it.”

Pleads are spilling from your lips immediately, nothing but senseless babbling as he pounds into you.

“Please, niichan, please, need it, your cum, stuff me with your cum,”

“That’s it,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “I want every single person in this godforsaken hall to hear you, I want every single person to know how much of—” he cuts himself off with a shuddery curse. “—How much of a slut my baby sister is,”

“Pretty please,” you whine out the words, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fill me up with your cum, niichan, I-I want it,”

His hips still just as your cunt clenches around him, cockhead pressed tightly against your cervix as he fills you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

He pulls out a few moments later, and you uncurl your fingers from around the rim of the sink, wincing at your appearance; lips bitten raw, hair beginning to fall from it’s elegant style, body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

You look back at him to find him already staring at you, expectantly, impatiently, hands jittery as he quirks his head towards the door.

“We can’t leave together,” he says, as if it’s obvious, even though you stumbled into the washroom together twenty minutes ago.

He needs more.

You nod, slow and dumb, staggering a little on your trembling legs. Grasping the doorknob you pause, turning to look at him again.

“What?” he asks as he searches through his pockets, not bothering to glance at you. He can feel your eyes on him.

“Um...” you shift nervously from foot to foot, lip caught between your teeth.

He looks over at you sharply, brows rising as if to ask why are you still here?

“M-My panties, niichan,”

Oh.

A wicked smirk spreads across his face, eyes twinkling, brows relaxing.

“What about them?”

“Well, I—I can’t return to the reception without them,”

“Oh, and why not?”

You pause, blinking a few times, at a loss for words. Why not? Because you can feel his cum beginning to trickle out of you, mixing with your juices and dribbling down your inner thigh?

“Exactly,” he says, when you take too long to reply. “Now be a good little girl and go. I’ll be out soon,”

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t go back into the ballroom, terrified that you’ll be ambushed by his—your—siblings again. Collapsing in one of the plush chairs, you cross your quivering legs tightly in a desperate attempt to keep the cum oozing out of you from getting on your dress.

People are looking again, probably think you’re drunk based on the way you teetered over to the seat, or the way your hair’s begun to come undone from it’s intricate updo, wispy strands framing your face.

He returns from the washroom only a few minutes later, eyes finding you immediately. There’s a stupid, smug smirk on his face, thinks it’s so cute that he fucked you so good you can’t walk, can’t even get up, that you need your niichan to help you.

A pout forms on your lips, eyebrows furrowing. “Not funny,”

“Very funny,” he chuckles as his hands snake under your armpits, hauling you to your feet. You stumble a little, bumping into him and he laughs again, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and propping you up against him.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,”

“Oh, niichan,” you murmur and he pauses, glancing over at you. You reach up, your thumb swiping across his nose to collect excess white powder.

“Thanks,” he breathes, winking at you. You hum noncommittally, about to rub your thumb across his white dress shirt to clean it when he catches your hand, bringing your thumb to his lips and licking it instead.

It isn’t discreet. It’s slow and deliberate, tongue sticking out of his mouth, flattening it against your thumb and dragging it up, from base to tip. You’re sure someone saw that, but you can’t be bothered to care, not when another bout of intense heat rushes to your core, forcing you to squeeze your legs together, trying in vain to keep Touya’s cum from seeping out, from your juices traveling down your leg. A soft whimper leaves your lips, breathing beginning to accelerate as your eyes bore into his, now half-lidded and dark. He holds your gaze for a moment before something snaps.

“We need to go,” he says, voice firm with no room for negotiation. “Now.”

And, God, his voice is rough and raw and fucking dripping with desire. It’s got you nodding before he’s even finished speaking, a flock of butterflies invading your stomach at the downright sinful grin he gives you in response. Such a good girl for him.

Despite the fact that you’ve barely recovered from your previous orgasm, you nearly moan at his look alone, the urge to kiss him burning through your veins and alighting your entire body in direct juxtaposition to the shivers his eyes just sent rippling across your skin. The insatiable need overwhelms your senses, and it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous, how captivated he has you, entirely wrapped around his slim finger and hanging on his every word, how you’re positive that, in that moment, you’d do anything he asked.

You wobble awkwardly in your heels, legs still shaking and having trouble keeping up with Touya’s swift pace. You’re about to ask him to slow down just a little so you don’t break an ankle, when you bump into your father.

Who just so happens to provide you with the perfect excuse to leave early. You can practically see the gears clicking into place in Touya’s mind, sapphire eyes glittering as a sinister smirk spreads across his face.

Your father’s eyes widen as he observes your appearance, strands of hair sticking to your clammy face and eyes half-lidded, chapped lips beginning to crack, leaning heavily against Touya and seemingly too weak to stand on your own.

“Hi dad,” you greet hoarsely, wincing a little at how grating your voice sounds.

He frowns immediately. “Jesus, sweetheart, are you feeling alright? You look…” he trails off, forehead wrinkling with worry.

“Oh, she’s not feeling too good,” Touya says softly, smoothly, just the right amount of concern and compassion in his tone.

“Oh no,” your father breathes, frown deepening. “That’s terrible,” he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head. “Do you think you’ll be able to tough out the rest of the reception?”

You begin to croak out an answer, but Touya speaks over you.

“She’s burning up, sir,” he informs him, and it isn’t a lie—not exactly, anyway. Technically, if your father were to feel your forehead, your body temperature would be above average, a result of Touya fucking the absolute life out of you a mere ten minutes ago.

Touya looks down at you with painfully sympathetic eyes, but you can still see that little glint of mischief, buried under all of that artificial benevolence.

“Maybe I should take her home?” Touya muses, looking back at your father, mimicking his anxiety effortlessly.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “I think that’s the best thing to do,” his eyes dart to yours. “You really don’t look well,”

Oh, you’re sure you don’t. Resting a little more against Touya, you play up the symptoms a bit, whimpering quietly as little fingers twist in his shirt, nuzzling your face against his side. A soft noise of endearment sounds at the back of his throat, large hands readjusting your body to support you better.

Another whimper falls from your lips, but this time it isn’t from pretending you’re ill. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, slimy and cool as it drips down your inner thigh, and a sick thrill shoots through your body, abused cunt throbbing greedily.

Rei comes up behind your father then, wrapping her arms around his midsection and resting her chin on his shoulder, eyes flitting between the two of you carefully.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I’m gonna bring this little princess home,” Touya explains, nodding his head at you in indication as he speaks. “She isn’t feeling very well, poor thing,”

And it’s scary, scary how terrific he is at lying, how easily he slips into that niichan role, the one painstakingly crafted and flawlessly maintained around your parents, the one he’s perfected at this point.

Rei doesn’t say much, only cooing in sympathy, remarking that it’s such a shame, but your father’s eyes soften. “Such a good big brother,” he praises, clapping a hand on Touya’s shoulder.

Touya has to consciously work to smother the smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he responds.

“You have no idea,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Your parents don’t come home that night, opting to go straight to the airport from the venue, embarking on their honeymoon immediately.

It’s nice, playing house with Touya, having the entire place completely to yourselves. He’s been home an awful lot these past few weeks, more than he ever has in the past, and you get to experience things you never could before.

Every morning and every night, you cook breakfast and dinner together. You go grocery shopping together, wash the dishes together, fold the laundry together, all while stealing kisses in between; little domestic things you didn’t really do with your parents around.

You spend every night that they’re away in his bed, being fucked into his mattress, surrounded by the smell of him—campfire and Marlboros and expensive cologne—absolutely full of him in every sense.

You wake up in the mornings with his hand between your legs, playing with your cute little clit, or his cock pressed against your ass, grinding until you wake up. You have sleepy, slow morning sex while you’re both still half asleep, and it’s the most gentle he’s ever been. It consists of lazy, sloppy, messy thrusts against each other, hips meeting halfway—just grinding until he gets too impatient, though he usually lets you cum two or three times before he finally flips you over, trapping you under his body and slamming his hips into you, growling and grunting, your legs pushed up and folded on either side of you.

You get to fuck in the kitchen—not that you hadn’t before, but this time you get to take it slow. He eats you out while you sit on the counter and then fucks you into oblivion and it’s nasty, it’s disgusting, it’s so good. He cums so much that it’s leaking out of you, onto the counter, his chest heaving as he observes it with an odd little smile and a soft “fuck,”

And you get to fuck in the bathtub, that big jacuzzi in your parents room, water and bubbles sloshing around as you bounce on his cock, loud cries echoing off the walls.

It’s going great, until the last weekend of the honeymoon, a mere few days before your parents are supposed to return.

✰ ✰ ✰

A party.

Keigo tries to talk him out of it, tries to at least talk him out of letting you stay.

“She shouldn’t be here,” you hear Keigo hiss under his breath as guests begin to fill the house, Touya snorting in retort.

Keigo doesn’t think you should be around any of this at all—there’s no reason you should have to witness this shit, you catch him growling, gold eyes blazing. No, not a poor innocent babygirl like you, this isn’t the place for you.

But Touya’s too stubborn, too selfish to let Keigo take you out for the night. He knows he’s right, would rather not have you around these people, but he doesn’t have a fucking choice. The thought of you being out of his sight, out with another man, has anxiety rising in his throat, panic clawing at his chest.

As a result, you spend the entirety of the party being passed between Touya and Keigo. There are so many girls here, so many people you don’t know, wide eyes scanning the living room as your fingers twist in Keigo’s hoodie.

Niichan’s busy, Touya tells you, when you ask why you can’t just stay with him, when you ask where he keeps disappearing off to. Niichan’s working, don’t you know? Be a good girl and stay with Kei.

You can tell that Keigo isn’t happy about it. He coos softly when you timidly ask if he’s upset that he’s stuck babysitting you all night, in the middle of an apology when he cuts you off.

“It isn’t your fault, songbird,” he murmurs, gentle fingers tracing the curve of your face.

He’s even angrier at Touya when he takes that first girl back to his room, because the look on your face—the way it crumples accompanied by a soft, hurt sound caught at the back of your throat—kills him.

And it isn’t like you don’t know about his side whores. You do. They’re customers, he had snapped at you, the only time you had ever asked about it. But it’s an entirely different thing to actually have to witness it with your own eyes.

You can’t help the flare of jealousy that rises in your chest every time he takes a girl by the hand and leads them to his bedroom. It stings, burns, feels like a fire’s been lit in your chest, filling your lungs with dense smoke and making it hard for you to breathe.

Keigo tries his best to distract you, gentle fingers on your cheeks turning your face towards him, golden eyes softening in sympathy. He keeps you as preoccupied as he can, but it still isn’t enough. Your eyes are drawn to Touya every time he’s in the room—an automatic, instinctual reaction you couldn’t control even if you wanted to.

And every time you watch a girl giggle into his ear, or hop up with him, that fire smoldering in your chest blazes, rages, has you wheezing and hissing and pressing a palm flat against yourself, a desperate attempt to get the pain to stop.

Tomura’s here, too, though he’s sitting in a shrouded corner on his phone, the light from the screen reflected on his pale face, colours flashing intermittently. He looks absorbed with whatever he’s doing on there—probably playing a game, Keigo tells you, but why are you interested, anyway?

You don’t know, you aren’t sure, you can’t exactly put it into words. He terrifies you, but he sparks a morbid curiosity in you, too. He’s so silent, private, almost inobtrusive; and yet Touya never lets you anywhere near him. Your eyes keep flitting his way, as if trying to will something to happen, staring at him longingly and hoping he’ll look up from his phone for a split second and catch your gaze, that he’ll somehow magically get the hint that you’re desperate and dying to talk to him, and take the first step.

But it doesn’t happen.

Touya is thoroughly unimpressed each and every time he finds you sitting on Keigo’s knee or lap, leaning back against his chest as he speaks with that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, but there isn’t much he can do. The third time he returns to take you from his friend he can tell you’re beginning to get tired, can see it in your eyes, in the way you’re cuddling into a warm chest. He debates sending you to bed right then and there, but you protest, little hands tangling in Keigo’s hoodie.

“Aw, she’s alright for a little more, isn’t she?”

Touya’s sharp jaw clenches twice and he exhales slowly through his nose, eyes darting between your faces.

“Fine,” he says, although it doesn’t seem fine.

And you are exhausted, straddling Keigo’s hips, face pressed into his shoulder and hot breath evening out softly against his neck. Fingers ghost up and down your spine nonchalantly as Keigo talks softly to the people around him, his laugh vibrating against your chest and filling you with an odd, tingly sensation, a warmth that seeps through your body. You snuggle a little closer to him and he coos, readjusting you in his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you tightly to him.

“Don’t wanna go to bed with him,” you whisper, words muffled by his skin.

Keigo hums in question, squeezing you once. “Who, songbird?” he presses his lips to your ear as inconspicuously as he can, lidded gold eyes lazily scanning the room for your brother. “Touya?”

You nod sluggishly, little fingers curling in his hoodie, a silent plea not to let you go.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Keigo says softly with a small chuckle, but it sounds off to your ears—sad, even.

“Don’t wanna,” you repeat, pout evident in your voice. “Wanna stay with you,”

You wouldn’t have noticed the way his chest hitches at those four words if you weren’t pressed flush against it. But you feel it, feel his breath getting caught in his throat, reverberating against you as he clears it quietly. Unexpected guilt sours your mouth, makes your stomach turn to a block of heavy lead, weighting your body down.

“You know you can’t, sweetheart,” he finally responds, voice cracking just a bit, right on that last word. “Don’t hurt your niichan like that, he loves you,”

No he doesn’t, you want to say, but you can’t seem to force the words from your mouth, opting to shake your head instead, eyes shutting tightly against the burn of tears.

“He does,” Keigo says, more sternly this time. “Don’t doubt that,”

But you’re not so sure. If Touya loved you—really loved you—would he have disappeared no less than three times tonight, each with a different girl, leading them into his bedroom with those dark glittering sapphire eyes while they gaze up at him like he hung the fucking moon himself?

Honestly, is that even a question you want answered?

You keep your face buried in Keigo’s chest to block it out, to keep yourself from watching your big brother as he flits around the room, handing out discreet baggies in exchange for ridiculous wads of cash and talking in hushed voices, in code, to men who look much too old to be at a house party.

Eventually, Touya returns to retrieve you, bending down and speaking softly.

“It’s time for bed, princess,” A hand pets your head, and you flinch away.

“Hey,” you feel the couch dip beside you as he sits down. “Look at me,”

You’re shaking your head, trying in vain to press even closer to Keigo, but that doesn’t stop Touya from reaching out and gripping your chin, forcing you to face him.

Crystal eyes search your face carefully, wide and alert—he always works sober, you found out. He can tell you’re upset, can see it written plain as day across your face, eyes glassy with your lips set in a deep pout, eyebrows pushed together. Exhaling harshly, he closes his eyes, fingers rubbing at his eyes in exasperation.

“C’mon,” he says lowly, wrapping a hand around your bicep and tugging as he stands.

“No,” you nearly growl, shaking your head and viciously pulling your arm from his grip.

Touya stares at you for a moment, like he cannot believe you just had the audacity to tell him no, before he speaks, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “What did you just say?”

Keigo’s sitting up straighter now, more alert as your body subconsciously curls into his chest, cowering away from your big brother. “Y-You heard me,”

Snorting in disbelief, Touya raises his eyebrows as his tongue runs along the front of his teeth, huffing out the remnants of a chuckle before his smile drops completely, blue fire blazing in his dark eyes.

“Get up,” he snarls, hand in a vice grip around your arm as he yanks harshly. The force of it has you practically falling off Keigo’s lap, though Touya catches you roughly before your knees hit the hardwood, hoisting you up by your arm to stand on unsteady feet.

“Move.” He instructs, giving you a shove in the vague direction of his bedroom. “Now.”

His chest bumps into your back and you stumble forward, yelping softly. He keeps pushing like this, strong hand clasping your shoulder so tightly you’re sure you’ll have five little bruises in the shape of his fingerprints in the morning, driving you to walk with the sheer force of his body.

“No,” your whispering, trying desperately to turn back and look at him as you approach his door, tears flooding your eyes, frantically shaking your head and trying your damnedest to plant your feet, heels digging into the floor in an attempt to stop him from pushing you forward.

“You really gonna say no to me a second time tonight? In less than fifteen minutes? You think that’s wise, baby?”

You don’t—of course you don’t. It’s probably one of the stupidest things you could do, in this situation.

But even though you know, know this isn’t a smart move, know you shouldn’t be testing him like this—challenging him like this, especially in front of so many people—you’re powerless to control the words that tumble from your lips next.

“I don’t want to sleep in a bed that’s been infested by your whores,”

They come out as a hiss—you don’t mean for them to, but they do, voice quivering under the combined weight of your fury and fear.

That gets him to stop, entire body going rigid. Icy dread rushes through your veins, panic clawing its way up your throat, forcing uneven breaths through your parted lips. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you brace yourself for the impact of his bellowing voice, shoulders tensing in anticipation for the blow, for him to really snap.

Except then he starts laughing, his hand relaxing around your shoulder, spinning you around to face him as he backs you up against his bedroom door, caging you in with his body.

“That’s what this is about?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you blink twice in disbelief, prompting hot tears to finally spill over. “I—Wh-Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being silly, princess,”

It hurts, stings like three massive spikes just shot through your heart, causes a tiny whimper to sound from deep in your throat, chest hiccupping with pathetic little half-sobs.

“Sil…Silly?” Time feels as if it’s slowed, your sluggish brain having trouble comprehending the situation unfolding.

His lips pull down into a frown, eyes narrowing slightly as he regards you with extreme precision. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds far away, muffled, like you’re underwater and he’s speaking to you from above the surface. “Hey—”

Your head’s shaking again, in slow, delayed motions from side to side. “No,” you whisper. “No.”

You feel nauseous, and the proximity of his presence is only making it worse, making you feel like you could hurl at any moment. Little hands find purchase on his chest and push, stomach lurching painfully as your head spins.

He catches your wrists easily, holding them together in one large hand, his other coming to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

Thick silence settles between the two of you as Touya’s eyes study your face slowly, noting the tears flowing steadily down your face, the way your breath stutters with sobs you’re so desperately trying to hold back, the way your entire body trembles.

“Are you seriously upset over this?” he asks, laughing a little.

Your gaze holds his, tears casting a thick, gleaming screen across your eyes.

“Yes, Touya,” you whisper, wishing your voice didn’t sound as small and weak as it does. “I’m seriously upset,”

That’s the first time you’ve used his first name—just his first name, void of any honorific—in a long, long time.

It gets him to pause again, his usual and well-worn mask of passivity melting away for just a second as shock crosses his face. Then his features are hardening again, brows knitting together and creasing his forehead, eyes narrowing into near slits.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he spits harshly, the words cutting into your flesh. “You know none of them mean a thing,”

“Then why do you fuck around with them?” you shoot back almost immediately, voice fading into a whisper.

He glares at you, as if you’re wasting his precious time with such childish questions when he’s told you this already, and you can see the blue fire simmering in his eyes.

“It’s late,” he says curtly, voice sounding off to you. “You need sleep.”

You try to fight him on it, but he’s too quick, reflexes too swift, and he shoves you into his room, door slamming shut less than a second later.

Tears obstruct your vision as you stumble around, finally finding his desk chair and collapsing heavily. You don’t even bother trying to open the door, know it’s locked without having to hear that soft click! as the lock turns into place.

He’s right—it is late, well past three in the morning, and you are utterly exhausted, drawing your knees up to your chest and curling up in the plush chair.

But no matter how tired you are, you absolutely refuse to sleep in his bed. The party’s dying down, you can hear Touya’s muffled farewells as guests begin to leave while you fade in and out of consciousness.

You think you might’ve heard Keigo say something, might’ve caught the word stay, might’ve detected the annoyance laced in Touya’s voice as he responds, but you’re too worn out to reflect on it.

At some point in the night, Touya reenters his room, chuckling a little at your antics and carrying you to his bed.

The move wakes you, and you weakly protest—no, you don’t want to be in this bed, please, just let you go sleep in your own bed—but Touya ignores you entirely, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you tightly to his chest.

It’s then that the tears start up again, salt staining your puffy cheeks, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

“Shh, baby, shh,” he hushes you, nimble fingers combing through your hair. “I’m here, right here,”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Touya over these past few weeks, it’s that he becomes marginally softer in the middle of the night. Your fingers twist in his t-shirt, trying in vain to pull yourself impossibly closer, Touya making a soft noise akin to a coo in the back of his throat.

“I’ve got you, niichan’s got you,”

You hate it. You hate that he’s the only person you want comforting you right now, as you lay in his bed, surrounded by the smell of cheap perfume and clinging in desperation to him, needing him close, needing his body heat warming you and his hands on you. You hate the way your sobs come harder the more he soothes you, the heavy ache in your chest almost bruising, crushing your lungs and making it near impossible to breathe.

But you crave his comfort nonetheless. It’s a special kind of comfort, one that’s difficult to describe, one that only comes from the love and adoration and protection of a big brother.

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

There’s something in his voice that makes you stop, pause, his words reverberating in your mind. He sounds almost like…like he’s upset over this fact, like he wishes that you didn’t have all of him.

You want to press for more, to probe and prod and pick away at it, but exhaustion finally claims you, rendering you incapable of speech, your tongue moving sluggishly in your mouth as you desperately try to form words.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s grey when you wake, only a few hours later, eyes sticky and dry from lack of sleep. Your head is pounding, feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, lips cracked and dry from dehydration, and a painful lump forms almost immediately in your throat when you get a whiff of sickly sweet artificial vanilla, then another of intense, synthetic citrus.

The tears are starting up again, collecting in your eyes and clouding your vision. It makes you nauseous, makes your skin crawl and your chest burn as your throat fills with acid. The tears sting, but you blink hard to keep them at bay. You will not cry, not in front of him, not in his bed surrounded by the remnants of those other girls, not again. You refuse to give them the satisfaction.

You spring up quickly, halfway through climbing over Touya’s body when a strong hand latches onto your wrist.

“No,” Touya mumbles, face half buried in his pillow. “Stay,”

“No,” you whisper, pulling yourself free from his grasp and hurrying out of his room. You can smell them on your clothes, on your skin, and it makes you want to scrub your body under scalding water until it’s raw.

Everything hurts—it hurts so much it feels like your chest is collapsing in on itself, like you can’t breathe, gasping for air as you stumble onto the porch, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stop and realize you have nowhere to go.

Touya has cut you off from all of your friends at this point; any spare time you had was now claimed by him.

And that’s exactly why he doesn’t bother rolling out of bed to follow after you, isn’t worried about you going anywhere, knows you can’t leave him, no matter how badly you want to. No, not a precious little girl like you, with nowhere to find refuge.

You sit down heavily on one of the front steps, vision so blurry with tears you’re barely able to make out the figure advancing towards you. They’re finally escaping your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you blink twice, trying to clear them. Your chest stutters under the force of a sob you’re desperately trying to hold back, clapping both hands over your mouth in an attempt to silence it.

“Hey—oh no,” Keigo breathes the moment your watery eyes look up at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, causing more tears to leak out as your shoulders shake, whole body trembling from the force of your sobs, poorly muffled by your palms.

“No, no, no, sweetheart,” he’s saying as he rushes to sit down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders tightly.

Keigo’s the closest thing you have to a friend now. And really, you should be embarrassed by the way you practically fling yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest as your hands form fists in his t-shirt. He’s a little startled by your borderline violent reaction, but he recovers quickly, arms encircling your body and pulling you against him.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, one hand rubbing your back while the other pets your hair. “Hey, it’s alright, I’m here,”

And you hate the way his words almost directly mirror Touya’s, the way his low sultry voice turned gentle and soft as he carded deft fingers through your hair echoing almost painfully in your head. But Keigo lets you cry, lets you stain his t-shirt with salty tears and saliva until you’ve got nothing left, never stopping his compassionate motions.

“You…Stayed the night?” you pull back a little, the fact that he’s still here, blonde hair all mussed up from sleep, finally dawning on you.

“Well, yeah,” he says, a little bashful as he looks away and ducks his head. “Wanted to make sure you were alright, s’all. Last night was…” he trails off, frowning. “What happened?”

Golden eyes search your face, his forehead crinkling in concern. A beat of silence passes.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but…” kind fingers move to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll feel better if you let it out, promise. And, not to brag or anything, but I’m preee-tty good at this kind’a stuff,” he chuckles a little.

“Got in a fight,” you whisper, eyes staring intently at the brick wall behind his shoulder as your chin trembles slightly, memories of last night flashing through your mind.

“A fight? With Touya?” Keigo moves his head a little, forcing his face into your field of vision and catching your face with tender fingers when you try to look away.

“Yeah,” tears are beginning to well up in your eyes as you think about it, the sheer fact that you’re in a fight making your heart feel like it’s ripping itself to shreds. A chaotic storm of emotions brews in your chest, switching mercilessly and swirling together so quickly that you can’t even tell what they are. Your insides feel all jumbled up, and trying to decipher what the heck’s going on only makes your head ache more.

They torment you, a deep sense of anguish finally settling at the core. You’re confused, livid at Touya for being such a jackass; jealous, because you want him all to yourself; heartbroken, because you want—need—his approval, desperate to hear him tell you that you’re his good little baby girl.

You want to be his good little baby girl.

But it isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. Get used to it, he had told you once, when you had complained about something so silly, so simple as him eating the last ice cream cookie sandwich (he made it up to you, of course, telling you he wanted to taste your cream—such a cheeseball—and making you cum three times before taking you out to buy more).

No, it isn’t fair, but you don’t care. You want him to be yours, too.

Keigo tsks, bringing your attention back to him, mouth set in a hard line as sad eyes watch you. “What was it about?”

“I-It…H-He—” a shuddery breath cuts you off, and Keigo draws you into his arms, holding you against his chest as the sobs start up again, sobs that make it feel like your body’s about to tear apart, desperately clutching Keigo to try and keep yourself together.

“Oh, songbird,” he coos, rocking you gently. “Is it…Um, the other girls?”

“Yes,”

“But you know you’re his favourite, right?”

“D-Does it even matter, if he’s still fucking them anyway?” you ask, pulling back suddenly as hot anger flashes through you. “Why does he need them? Am I—” a sob cuts you off, but you swallow it, persevering. “Am I not good enough?” your voice breaks on the last word, fading into a whisper, big teary eyes scanning his face almost frantically, seeking an answer in his expression.

Keigo blinks, surprised by your sudden brashness, then gives you a small, sad smile. “Only he can answer that, sugarplum,” he whispers, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray tear and wipe it across your cheekbone. “But just because he’s fucking around, doesn’t mean that you can’t, too,”

Your head tilts to the side, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Give him a taste of his own medicine,” Keigo shrugs, leaning back a little. “He definitely deserves it, for making an angel such as yourself so upset,”

You sniffle a little, wiping at your nose with the paw of your sweater as you consider the prospect.

“Y’know, it technically isn’t cheating, since you guys aren’t in any sort of official relationship to begin with,” Keigo reminds you gently, nudging just a tiny bit more.

It isn’t right—you know it isn’t. You’ve never been one to fight fire with fire, often preferring to avoid conflict and drama, but you’re so hurt; you’re so angry at him—angry at the way he reacted, as if it was you in the wrong, angry at the fact that he doesn’t even seen to care about your feelings on the issue, because he knows you’ll come running back either way, angry because he’s right, as evident in the way pathetically clung to him last night—that all you want to do in that moment is cause him a shred of the pain he’s causing you.

It’s an impulsive decision that has you pulling out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts, thumb jabbing at Tomura’s name—Touya had given you his number for emergencies only—before you have time to think it through, before you have time to regret it.

Tiny thumbs fly across the keyboard, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline accelerates your breathing.

Hey. Let’s hang out.

Keigo inhales through his teeth next to you, and your eyes dart to him in surprise, as if you had forgotten he was there.

“Well,” he begins, though his voice sounds odd to you—unlike his usually nonchalant, happy-go-lucky manner. “That’s, uh, definitely one that’s gonna hurt him, songbird,”

You look back down at your phone to see Tomura typing a response.

Yeah, definitely. Pick a day.

“Good.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #no idea how this MONSTER grew so much???#big apologies #part two is DARK and it is coming tomorrow!!!#tw pseudo-incest #tw toxic relationship #tw dubcon #tw drugs #tw cheating

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kuroopaisen · 3 years

Text

a matter of taste || nanjo kojiro (joe)

➵ you need to ask kojiro something. in private.

wc: 1.3k

warnings: f!reader

“Hey, Kojiro?” Your eyes are downcast and your voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the sound of his blood pulsing in his ears. The hallway’s sparsely populated with other teenagers, all of them disinterested in the two of you.

“Yeah?” He tries to keep his voice measured, perhaps even devil-may-care.

A moment of silence. You press your lips together, as though you’re grappling with your own thoughts.

Kojiro thinks he’s going to lose his mind.

“Can I talk to you?” You swallow, finally daring to meet his eyes. “Alone?”

You’re blushing, and you look so damn cute it’s taking everything within him to stop his mind – and his body, for that matter – from getting ahead of him.

“Sure,” he nods, trying his best to appear nonchalant.

You’ve never spoken to him like this before. Never so nervous, so… bashful. It looks cute on you.

He wonders if he should say something. Would calling you cute be too forward? Although, with how you’re acting, standing in front of him with pink cheeks and an air of general nervousness… maybe it’d be just the right thing to do.

Before he can say anything, you scuttle off, glancing over your shoulder as if to encourage him to follow.

He already knows where you’re leading him to; the roof is technically not a restricted area, but the implicit rule is that nobody has any good reason to be up there. Not that that’s ever stopped the now of you before.

His heart is racing at frankly unimaginable speeds now. Even skating doesn’t raise his pulse this much.

He jogs after you before you totally disappear from sight, his pulse beating in tandem with each leap up the stairwell.

Is this actually happening? Are you really about to confess to him?

He knows it’s not good to make assumptions, but he can’t help it. Why else would you be so secretive, so desperate to have this conversation away from prying eyes? And he’s been making a concerted effort to flirt with you more these days. Sure, you seem to play most of it off as a joke, but he can’t blame you for that. Maybe he needs to tease you less, give you a compliment or two.

You waste no time sitting yourself down on the concrete wall, resting your back against the metal bars that reach high above your head.

Kojiro sits himself down next to you, putting just a little distance between you. He can’t be brash – he won’t ruin this.

The two of you sit in silence for a long moment as you chew your bottom lip, an expression of pure disconcertion on your face. Kojiro just watches you quietly with a gentle smile on his face.

He could get used to this side of you.

“God, this is so embarrassing,” you groan, finally breaking your silence as you run a hand through your hair.

“Take your time,” Kojiro smiles, unsure as to how much longer he can hold out.

You close your eyes, cheeks flushed and fists clenched in your lap.

Maybe he should just take charge and put you ou—

“Do you know is Kaoru’s got a crush on anyone?”

Wait, what?

“Kaoru!?” Kojiro stares at you, mouth hanging open and heart dropping to his stomach. It’s too late for him to mitigate his reaction. He could only hope you’d read it as a joke.

“Yeah?” You raise an eyebrow at him, a hint of hesitation in your voice. “What’s the matter?”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for him,” he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. He’s running on instinct, not even bothering to hide the scowl marring his face.

Kaoru? Kaoru? You brought him up here to talk about Kaoru?

“Don’t be rude!” You whine, kicking his shin with your foot. Kojiro barely feels it.

But it’s enough of an answer.

It’s strange. He can’t quite describe what he’s feeling as melancholy. Even shock seems too severe. But he’s feeling something, something new, something palpable, something he doesn’t know how to untangle.

Disappointment? Regret? Pain? No, those all sound too extreme. This sadness is milder, but he already knows it will be more persistent. The mundanity makes it worse; it’s an ache, not a sting. And an ache always leaves a ghost behind, a phantom of pain you can never predict.

“What, do you have a thing for pretty boys then?” Kojiro sighs, leaning back on his palms.

You punch him in the arm. It doesn’t hurt.

He doesn’t respond to that, instead turning his attention to his shoes. You’re quiet for a long moment, fiddling your thumbs together. He probably shouldn’t find it cute, but he does. Fuck.

“I just think he’s cool,” you mumble, looking up at the sky.

“It’s the lip ring, isn’t it?”

You stick your tongue out at him and scrunch up your nose. “No. I liked him before I knew he had that dumb lip ring.”

It’s been that long?

Kojiro swallows, his thoughts crossing over each other and muddling together in his head.

How could he have gotten it so wrong? Sure, you’d been friends for ages, so any affection between you was natural. But Kojiro had felt that something new had been brewing, something that’d transform whatever existed before.

But nope. He’s just a fucking idiot.

“I have no idea if he’s into anyone,” Kojiro sighs, looking up at the sky.

It’s a nice day. Clear, but not too bright. Perfect conditions for skating.

Ironically enough, it feels the kind of day nobody would expect to get their heart broken on. You haven’t even rejected him – not directly – but that somehow makes it worse. If you’d turned him down, that’d be fine. The two of you could work past it.

But no. You had to go and have feelings for Kaoru.

Is it because he’s smarter? Because he seems like the kind of guy who’ll grow up rich? Or do you just have a thing for longer hair? Or maybe you like that cool, collected type.

It’s useless to speculate. It’s not like he’s going to change himself – and he doesn’t want to. It’s dumb. He’s dumb. He just wants to go to the dock and practice. Slam his board against a few walls and work his frustration out.

“I can ask him, if you want,” he says. That, more than anything, felt like accepting defeat.

“Don’t do that,” you whine, “that’s so… childish.”

“Well are you gonna ask him yourself?” He snorts. He’s trying to play it off. Trying to keep you in the dark.

Your cheeks burn once more, but now Kojiro finds them painful to look at.

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean, I’ve been dropping hints, but I don’t think he’s noticed…”

“He’s not good at picking up on that sort of thing,” Kojiro shrugs. The conversation is so casual it’s almost as if he didn’t feel like someone had stuck their hand into his guts and messed them around.

The last thing he wants to do is advise you on how to woo Kaoru of all people. He’s not a masochist.

But you’re his friend. You have been for so, so long. You trust him with this. That meant something, right? It’d be pretty lame of him to brush you off, wouldn’t it?

It’s fine, Kojiro tells himself. It’s fine.

Other girls have shown interest in him. It’s not like he’s undesirable – he could definitely get a girlfriend if he tried. He knows that. And hey, if the two of you had become romantically involved, that’d probably just complicate things.

This is for the best.

This pain in his chest, this discomfort rooting itself through his gut… it will pass.

Kojiro tries to smile, but he can’t make it reach his eyes.

You’re too preoccupied with the sky to notice.

#kojiro x reader #kojirou x reader #joe x reader #kojirou nanjou x reader #joe x you #kojirou x you #sk8 x reader #rowan writes sk8 #first sk8 piece and it's. this #i'm surprised #and if i say this is a prequel to something else i'm working on?#well we'll have to see how far my current interest takes me

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aplatonicgryphon · 2 years

Note

How do I know if I'm aplatonic or just have social anxiety?

Social anxiety tends to be anxious feelings (fear, worry, uncertainty, etc) about socializing with people.

Whereas being aplatonic is about not experiencing platonic attraction: not feeling a platonic desire or pull towards people to try to become their friend.

To me, being aplatonic and having anxiety are easily seperated from each other, but I wouldn't be surprised if others have them intersect in a way that's difficult to untangle. I can't speak on that experience, so I encourage anyone reading to add on if they want to! Even if you aren't aplatonic or don't have anxiety, if you have anything to add on about platonic attraction or socializing it would be helpful as well!

But for now, here's some of my personal experiences with anxiety. Maybe something here will help you.

I'm Grey-Aplatonic so I do experience limited platonic attraction. And one time I had a squish on a classmate of mine. I thought they were really cool and I knew we had a lot of shared interests so I wanted to talk to them, but I was really anxious and nervous about socializing with a stranger. I stressed over coming up with what to say to start a conversation and worrying that they would find me weird if I approached them, so I never did. I felt platonic attraction but my anxiety held me back from acting on it. Each time I saw them in class I wished I had the confidence and resolve to work up the nerve to talk to them. That was my one and only squish on a stranger, and it was quite frustrating for me because of my anxiety. We only ever talked a handful of times when we happened to get in a group discussion together in class. I always wanted to chat with them more about non-school things, but my anxiety sadly always got in the way of that.

When it comes to people I don't have squishes on, my social anxiety works a lot differently and my reasons for wanting to socialize are much more reciprocal in nature. I'm out shopping and I need to ask a clerk about an item and I really wish I didn't need to. I like someone's shirt and I want to compliment them, but I chicken out and they walk away and so I just forget the idea. There's not any platonic feelings for these people, but I'm anxious about these interactions anyway.

And looking back at my social anxiety for my other classmates around that same time as I had that squish. I was also just as anxious about socializing with them as I was with my squish. For example, I had two classes with this extroverted girl. We talked and got along well, but I didn't feel much desire to befriend her. She was nice and friendly and we'd talk in class since we sat together and we had mutual friends of friends, but in the moment I could take or leave the idea of being friends with her. If it happened, I would have been okay with it and happily been her friend. But it didn't bother me that we were only ever just classmates that sat next to each other.

I assume that alloplatonics with social anxiety would feel similar to my first example. They probably often feel drawn to people platonically and wish they could become friends, but their social anxiety becomes an obstacle of anxious fear, that either holds them back or they successfully overcome. Whereas I've only experienced that kind of frustration once, they've probably felt it many times before.

This is all just my personal thoughts and experiences, though. And I'm not sure if i have an anxiety disorder (i'm not diagnosed but i've been looking into it) but I do have a lot of anxiety and experiences shaped by that. So take it with a grain of salt, I guess?

The only other way I know that my anxiety may intersect with being aplatonic (although I'm not sure if this is social or more generalized anxiety, and its technically more an intersection with me being loveless and not feeling much "love" or tertiary attraction), but I personally deal with my anxiety giving me a lot of guilt about my friends and platonic relationships. The whole "what if my friends don't actually like me?" anxiety thing, but also with another layer to it because my anxiety further tells me that my aplatonicism, lovelessness, and disconnect with platonic relationships would be the cause and blame of them not liking me.

I hope at least something here helped you out or gives you something to think on? And once again, anyone is welcome to add on!

#apl #questioning apls #apls with anxiety #apl resources

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themalhambird · 3 years

Text

Growing Up Broken: I Talk About My (A)sexuality For 4 ¼ Pages.

I am asexual.

No, this doesn’t mean that I’m some form of plant budding off copies of myself if I get enough water and sunlight. It’s a shame. I could do a lot with multiple copies of myself- get someone else to do the dishes, the cleaning, my schoolwork…

I am asexual.

Asexuality is the absence of sexual desires or feelings for other people. I say absence deliberately: sexual attraction is not something that I lack or am missing. I am not going without. I’m just a 23 year old who has never once felt the desire to have sex with another person, who couldn’t describe how it feels to “fancy” someone if there was a gun to their head, who thinks women and men and anyone in between can sometimes be stunningly beautiful, would possibly be nice to cuddle- but kissing on the mouth seems like it would be a really weird thing to do.

I am asexual, and it’s almost Pride Month, and so I want to untangle some of the thoughts in my head and spin them out on to paper, to try and lay out my feelings about my sexuality, or lack thereof, and what it’s like growing up when no one bothers to tell you that not experiencing sexual desire like, ever, is a thing. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

It’s 2014. Puberty has doing stuff to me for the last two years or so: periods (urgh), breasts (neat!), underarm hair (why do I have to shave this? no one’s gonna see it), growth spurts (I’m getting taller than my older sister. I want to keep going till I’m taller than mum). The only thing not happening is wanting to have sex, something the nurse who came to Talk To Us All About Growing Up back in 2009 assured us Year Sixes would definitely happen as soon as puberty hit.

Still. It’ll happen soon, probably. Sixteen is still a bit too young to be having sexual feelings, right? The boys…really not interesting at all, but the other girls are pretty. I like their hair. I like the shape of their bodies. I just don’t fancy any of them. When we’re told to imagine our future husbands or wives in class (don’t ask my why, I’ve long forgotten the point of the exercise, I just remember that) I picture a wife.

(Lesbian is the first label I apply to myself. I stick it on tentatively- keep peeling it off my shirt and putting it back somewhere different like I’m not quite sure where it fits. It’s not wrong, necessarily. I’m just not certain it’s right. I like girls a whole lot better but I’m not saying I could never love a guy. I’m just not attracted to them. I’m not attracted to women, either- but I feel like I will be. When I’m old enough to feel that kind of thing. )

Sex Ed lessons are mortifying. We’re asked to list all the sexual terms we know on an A3 sheet of paper. I don’t know what half the things other people say mean- blowjob, 69, masturbate, porn . I don’t know how other people know these things either. We’re sixteen. It’s too young.

That summer I play Sebastian in an abridged version of Twelfth Night and it convinces me to take Drama at A-level, although I didn’t at GCSE. The drama classes teach me two things. First of all, I don’t like acting women. I prefer breeches rolls. I don’t know why. We’re talking about my asexuality, not my gender confusion, so let’s put a pin in that and move on to point two. My drama class teaches me that everyone my age is having sex, or wants to have sex, or is planning on having sex soon; sex is a constant, every class, every conversation. Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. So apparently sixteen (seventeen) isn’t too young after all.

It’s like this. One day you wake up and you realise that everyone else is speaking a language you don’t understand. Suddenly, sexual feelings aren’t something that no one your age is having but you’ll all develop soon- it’s that sexual feelings are something that everybody your age is having apart from you. People your age are dating, kissing, fucking, and it’s not something you’re interested in doing, necessarily, but you still feel so horribly left out. Like you’re missing some kind of major milestone. You try not to let it bother you- you watch Buffy every Monday you get to see your dad. (You watch loss of virginity be portrayed as growing up). You read. (The books you pick up all involve love and love always seems to at least imply sex). You- google things. You google the words you didn’t understand in that sex ed class. You google “how to tell if you’re attracted to someone” in case there’s some secret signal your body sent you that you missed. You feel like you should know if you’ve ever felt sexual attraction but then maybe you’re just really, really dumb. Maybe there’s something wrong with you. The NHS website reckons that if you’ve got a low sex drive you ought to see a doctor. The girls in your drama class keep talking about boys and sex and sex and boys and you aren’t really interested in either of those things. You cling to the thought, lesbian and hope that when you get to university, you’ll stop being so repressed. Girls are pretty- but the ones at school are either your friends or kind of mean. Of course you don’t fancy anyone there. University. University will save you. (Boys are sometimes pretty too. There are boys at school whose personalities are nice enough- who are the type of man you wouldn’t mind dating one day maybe- but you can’t ever picture yourself having sex with one. Dicks seem weird and really not the kind of thing you’d want inside you. I mean for fuck’s sake- why? You can’t even get a tampon in.)

I don’t like looking back on this. Sixteen, seventeen year old me was starting to get pretty freaked out. I like looking back at the first year of uni even less, because if seventeen year old me was freaking out, eighteen year old me was buying alcohol. That’s how it goes, right? Sex and alcohol. You see it all the time on T.V. Fictional people get fictional drunk and fictional cheat while they’re on fictional breaks with their fictional partners. David Tennant is pretty. A man at work is handsome and more importantly intelligent, into Shakespeare, into good conversation. The label switches from lesbian to ‘bisexual but heavily skewed toward women’ and I cling to that as tightly as possible because after that, I’m out of options. It is impossible that I’m not feeling sexual attraction: the whole world screams about sexual fucking attraction all the fucking time, I’m obviously just too uptight, I obviously just need to relax-

I once drank a whole bottle of wine in what was essentially one go. I paused for breath, but that was about it- I don’t think I even bothered with a glass. My goal was to get myself drunk enough that I could feel sexual attraction. I thought that the best way to go about things- to finally ‘grow up’- would be to get super drunk, and then leave the flat and find someone who would screw me. I reasoned that I would enjoy it once I was doing it- after all, the whole world pushes sex as this wholly desirable thing for any normal adult to want, even need- so I would like it once I was doing it and then I would be fixed. Fortunately, drinking a whole bottle of wine when you’ve never had more than a single glass of champagne or a couple of glasses of rum and apple juice before in your life gets you past “lowered inhibitions” to “can’t walk straight or upright” very quickly. I got as far as the bathroom, threw up, a lot, and staggered back to my room. I woke up at 3 pm the next afternoon feeling stupid for drinking, and mad at myself for still being a virgin.

I had a lot of problems in my first year of university and not all of them were about my sexuality crisis. I was isolated, fairly friendless, and not really cut out for socialising with my housemates who were probably all lovely people, but I find new people painfully difficult and hiding away seemed easier. But the feeling that there was something broken inside me because I wasn’t experiencing what everything seemed to be telling me was one of the most vital parts of the human experience- sexual attraction to other people- contributed to my general feelings of self-loathing and disgust. I attempted to induce sexual desire in myself by drinking on several further occasions, although never quite to the same extent as the first time. I’m not sure whether this counts as self-harm, but it certainly wasn’t healthy.

I didn’t know asexuality was a thing.

I knew I wasn’t straight- I’d known that for a while. I learnt that I enjoyed reading, talking, even writing about sex, as long as it was sex between people who weren’t real, but fantasising about fictional characters having sex and fantasying about myself having sex are two very different things. The former happened fairly frequently. The latter didn’t happen once, and still never has. My second year at university was better than my first: I was living with friends, I was further away from campus which meant I had to walk more, which probably helped, I had also started to make several friends online with whom I could happily chat even when I wasn’t in the mood for ‘actual’ people. I used bisexual to describe myself because on the rare occasions I thought about romance, I couldn’t really see myself ruling out anyone who was willing to put up with me.

I’m not quite clear when I first heard the term ‘asexuality’. I became aware of it gradually. Someone I followed on Tumblr identified as ‘grey-ace’. Characters from my favourite fantasy series were being headcanoned as ‘asexual’. At some point I must have learnt properly what that meant.

It sometimes feels like there ought to have been a lightbulb moment- like I should have seen the word, seen the definition, and instantly seen myself. But it is very, very hard to delete the message- ‘sex is important- sex is what grown-ups do- sex is what you should want to do’ – that the world constantly sends to us: in advertising, in entertainment, in the conversations of a drama class that always circled back to that topic, to the detriment of the sole seventeen year old who wasn’t really bothered. To embrace asexuality seemed like I was giving up on trying to fix myself, on waiting for the right person to come and make everything better. On the potential of their being a right person. I can wrap my head around people having casual sex very easily. It’s romantic love without sexual desire that I’m scared won’t work- how am I supposed to know if it’s love without there also being physical attraction? No romance arc that I had ever seen was without an element of sexual tension. So, no lightbulb moment for me. No switch going off- “aha, at last, that’s what I am!”. Just a gradual thought washing across my mind every now and then, like the tide rushing up a patch of sand and drawing straight back, leaving only dampness to show where there had been a good half-inch of water only a moment ago.

I might be asexual?

And ‘I might’ becomes ‘I think I am’, and the tide starts coming in. ‘I think I am’ became ‘I am’ at some point or other.

I am asexual.

I find reassurance in knowing that there’s a word for what I am, for how I (do not) feel. I am asexual. Not broken, or damaged, or too uptight to properly feel, or too dumb to recognise what I do feel. I am asexual- I have an absence of any sexual desire for others and that’s perfectly okay. I might fall in love one day. I might not. I don’t know how you’re supposed to know if you have the capacity to fall in love before you find yourself doing it. It might be nice to have a wife. It would also be nice to have a cat. I could cope with it just being me, a cat, and good friends for the rest of my life. If I fall in love- if I am capable of falling in love- it will just mean I am asexual, but romantic, and I will have learnt something new about myself. The point is-

The point is, I am incredibly lucky that I stumbled across Asexuality before I got myself hurt trying to force something that wasn’t there. The point is, this world assumes that sexual desires are the norm, and maybe they are, but that just makes it all the more important that people know that they aren’t abnormal for not experiencing sexual desire. To all the people who need to hear it: You are not broken. You are not alone.

I’m not sure how to wrap this up. I feel like I should say something profound or something. But I think I’m just gonna leave it like this:

I am asexual. Asexuality is the absence of sexual desires or feelings for other people. I say absence deliberately: sexual attraction is not something that I lack or am missing. I am not going without. I’m just a 23 year old who has never once felt the desire to have sex with another person, who couldn’t describe how it feels to “fancy” someone if there was a gun to their head, who thinks women and men and anyone in between can sometimes be stunningly beautiful, and possibly be nice to cuddle- but kissing on the mouth seems like it would be a really weird thing to do. I am not broken. I am not ‘going through a phase’ or ‘looking for attention’ or ‘trying to be special’. Everyone’s special, fuck you. Knowing that I am not the only person to feel how I feel makes me feel like I’m standing on solid ground. May all people experiencing the same confusion and distress over their sexual orientation that I felt growing up find their way safely to the same solid ground: you are not broken. We’re not broken.

#asexuality #wow this got long #no i haven't proof read it i just wanted to get it off my chest #discussion of sex tw #alcohol tw #self harm tw #(mostly just in case I'm not sure if it counts or not)#I don't know what this is except a long winded account of growing up asexual when you don't know that's a thing and how you cope with that #or- y'know- don't cope with that #maybe someone else will find it helpful or relatable idk

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green-and-grey-kenaz · 3 years

Text

Ghosts of Venice

Language: English

Characters: Nico di Angelo (Percy Jackson Series), Ezio Auditore (Assassin’s Creed)

Summary:

While trying to find out more about his past, Nico di Angelo travels to Venice where he meets a shadowy figure, the ghost of an assassin. The self titled Ghost King is rather used to commanding the spirits of the dead, unfortunately this ghost seems intent on giving him advice, whether he wants it or not.

The spirit of Ezio sees a lot of himself in a young teenager, who's come to Venice looking for answers and has the shadow of death over him.

Word Count: c. 2 500

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32877292

Nico stared down at the people passing by on the streets and tried to piece it with the fragments of memories he’d slowly been recovering. Had Venice (Venezia) been this busy when he had lived here all those years ago with his mother and Bianca? Did they have quite so many boats (and quiet so large)? If he walked through the streets long enough, would he find the house that he had once lived in? Would he know it? His mother had been the daughter of an ambassador, she must have been somewhat important and the house somewhat grand but that didn't narrow down his options. Nico wondered who lived in what used to be his home. Might he have cousins and if so, did they now live there?

The answer would have been to walk the streets and see if any memories resurfaced and that had been Nico’s intent but even in the dead of winter he felt like there were too many tourists. Nico did not mind the bitter cold that blew in from the mountains carrying flecks of snow that were not confined to the mountainous hillside but neither did the visitors. They just pulled their gloves and coats closer around them. Nico stared down at his own hands, a slight purple tint to them. Like so many things, he could ignore it but his body was annoyingly physical and took repercussions. Unfortunately he had no lira to his name (Nico frowned, it was the euro now) and while he was not opposed to a little bit of theft, he'd rather avoid it if possible.

Crossing his arms, he pressed his fingers against his sides with a begrudging awareness that loosing his fingers to frostbite would likely be to his detriment. His dark gaze returned to the city below him. It would be quieter once the evening set in.

“È bella, no?” A voice asked.

Nico jumped, nearly falling off of the tower he was perched on. Behind him was a white robed, a pointed hooded casting a strange shadow over his eyes which glittered uncomfortably bright in the darkness. There was the stench of death around the man and not just because he himself was not counted amongst the living. Nico could tell that this spirit, who ever he was, had killed many people. It clung to him, a miasma upon his very being but he did not seem bothered.

The more pressing concern though, was that somehow this spirit had managed to appear without his notice. That was something the son of Hades was not used to. Far down below him he could sense the lares, angry spirits that seemed so endemic to Italian cities and they had generally accepted his orders to keep back. This ghost seemed completely unbothered by the aura Nico was giving off. Another reason to be cautious.

“What are you?” Nico growled, pulling out his sword and pointing it straight at the ghost’s chest. Most would shy away from Stygian Iron but this figure seemed unbothered as he moved to stand next to Nico, who’s sword followed the ghost’s movements but he just stared out across the city.

“I have been many things but what I am more than any is a free spirit.” He answered, turning to look down at Nico and pushing the hood down to reveal young features, he couldn’t have been much more than eighteen and there was a certain carefreeness to him . It did not put Nico at ease.

“Nobody is free.” He said slowly. The stranger gave him a look that stunk of pity. Nico jabbed his sword forward, stopping shy of the ghost’s chest.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He growled.

“If you think that this is the first time I’ve had a sword pressed to my chest, you would be sadly mistaken, piccino. But perhaps your question should not be what am I but why am I here?”

“Don’t talk to me in such a familiar way.” Nico snarled, doing his best to force the ghost to leave. The Undead were his domain and they would listen to the son of their master. The teen sighed and leant against the wall.

“I too came here with much anger and hatred in me. Anger at the world, at the failure of justice and most of all anger at myself although I did not know it then.”

“I don’t feel that.” Nico said stiffly although he could feel a rising panic. Had he summoned this spirit without realising it? He should have a stronger grasp over his powers but this man seemed to know too much about him and if he had summoned him that would explain not realising until he was here.

“Hm.” The shade agreed, staring back out at the city.

“Who were you?” Nico asked as an uncomfortable silence lapsed between them. He may prefer the company of the dead but even they grated on him if they wouldn’t bend to his will.

“My name is Ezio Auditore da Firenze, although I doubt you have heard of me. If you had, I would have rather failed in my work.”

“What did you do?”

“I was an assassino.” Ezio said as if it were no matter. Nico looked out across the city and wondered about the angry shades down there.

“I gave my victims their rites. They should not linger.” Ezio assured, guessing the direction of his thoughts although Nico wasn’t so sure in the truth of Ezio's words – he had met some very stubborn and angry spirits during his time in this world. Again he felt the urge to ask this shade what exactly was he but that had gotten him nowhere. Instead, he got the feeling that Ezio would be cryptic when it suited him (never trust spirits, they always had an ulterior motive, usually wanting life).

“Do you want something?” He blurted out. Ezio was not leaving and seemed to have every intention on staying. It was irritating when he was here to be alone, couldn't the spirit take a hint by Nico sitting alone in the tower? Of course, he could shadow travel out of here but Nico did not particularly relish the idea of having fled from a spirit. It set a bad precedence.

“I do not want anything but to offer my advice and support.” Ezio said and he looked at Nico with a gaze that stopped his heart. The smile on his face was warm and accepting, just like Percy when he smiled with his friends. Nico’s hand clenched and the stones beneath his feet began to tremble. Not ideal when you were in a tower.

“I do not need help. I do not need advice.”

“I find the people who don’t need help are perhaps the ones who most require it. I certainly wish I had thought to ask for help more. I was not as alone as I thought I was and I would have been happier to not remain in my solitude.”

“Maybe I like being alone.”

“Perhaps. But if you did, would you insist so much on it?”

Nico frowned. Finally he lowered his sword and took a seat next to Ezio, feet dangling over the edge. It occurred to him that it would be easy to simply slip over the edge and plummet to the earth with just one wrong move. Perhaps he could shadow travel before he hit the ground, perhaps he couldn’t. He wondered whether his father would care.

“I used to live here.” Nico said softly. “But I don’t remember it. I thought by coming here I might get some memories back. My mother and sister…” His voice tightened.

“They are not here.” It was a soft observation.

“My father wiped my memory of my mother…. Of her death. My sister died not long after… Someone I knew failed to save her.” He glared at the ground below.

“A man my father trusted signed his death warrant, and the one for my brothers and myself. It was fortune that I escaped although they did not.” Ezio said, almost easily but there was a catch in his throat. Nico felt his heart ache with that catch and he stared down least Ezio see emotion in his eyes. “It is why I came here. There was a web behind their deaths and it was a web I desired to untangle. Or rather burn.”

“I can’t ki… There is no possibility of vengeance for me.” Nico sighed, head drooping. His mother had been killed by Zeus’ thunderbolt and Bianca had died killing the automaton that killed her and while it was Percy who had failed to save her... He was Percy. It left him feeling somewhat empty.

“That may be just as well. Vengeance made no man happy.”

“It would be a good first step though.”

“I cannot count how many I killed in the name of vengeance, only to realise that killing those who had wronged me would not bring peace. It takes greater courage and strength to build, il mio giovane amico, than it does to tear down. I realised that only too late in life.”

Nico’s nose wrinkled at the familiarity this man had slipped into.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Then perhaps you should tell me. Or someone.” Ezio said gently. He may be a ghost, but the wind ruffled his hair.

“No one would understand.”

“Perhaps that is the great thing about talking to one who is already dead. Does it matter whether I understand or not?”

“Will you leave me if I tell you?”

It wasn’t a plead. It was exasperation, Nico told himself. And it certainly wasn’t a desire to push someone away so he could mope in solitude and generally feel bad for himself. What did it matter that this long dead man had lost his family. Ezio was dead and not living with the realities of it. Ezio had been able to get vengeance and was happy like Percy. His fingers twisted the ring and perhaps he should have felt that but apparently they were numb now.

“If that is what you still desire.”

Nico frowned, thinking. Ezio was dead and if there was one thing that the dead were good at, it was keeping secrets. What was more, he had been an assassin and that sort were notorious about taking their secrets to the grave. Still…

“And you were not sent by my father?”

“Your father?”

“Hades.”

Ezio frowned and leaned back so he was stretched precariously on the wall. If he’d been alive, a small nudge would have been enough to send him plummeting.

“I have not met Hades in my life or my death. The only fortune I had was to once meet the goddess Minerva.”

Nico frowned.

“You mean Athena?”

“She informed me she has had many names.”

Nico made a note to ask his father about that. He’d never thought about how the Roman gods were so similar to the Greek ones.

“That means… you were mortal. As in not a demigod?” Almost all the ghosts he spoke with had ancestry with one of the gods. They tended to leave more of an impact and he certainly would rather understand the enigma of this spirit that he could not control.

“You would be the second godly figure I have met.” Ezio smiled. It was too warm and friendly.

“I wouldn’t say I was godly.” Nico muttered. “I’m the son of Hades. That kind of puts a damper on any relationships I might he able to have. Who wants to hang out with someone who’s more comfortable with the dead and darkness? I can see the fear in their eyes when I turn up at meals, how they shift uncomfortably away from me at the fire in the evening. No one wants me because I don’t belong. No one wants a reminder that death will come to them eventually.”

“I may not know what it is like to be the son of a god of the dead, but I know what it is to be an assassin and to many I was the kiss of death. I could have chosen to walk alone and in many ways, I had. I could have had love, for so many did love me and I would have only given my love too freely, yet I kept my ways to myself and pushed those I had left away.”

“I have no one left.”

“You have your father.”

“He’s… busy. And I don’t exactly get on with Persephone.”

Ezio placed a ghostly hand on Nico’s shoulder and he flinched. It was warm and suddenly he felt filled with promise and hope. He felt Ezio’s anguish as he pushed his way towards the gallows only to hear his family drop to the jeers of the crowd. He felt the young man’s burden as he guided his traumatised mother and sister to the only place left to them. Nico could feel his anger as he killed his childhood rival that had helped put in place the events that had caused everything to go wrong. He saw the deaths that Ezio had caused in his grief and determination. He could feel the drive that corrupted the carefree youth who had once run over the tiles of Florence. And he saw the love that fought within Ezio’s chest. He felt the love and companionship that Ezio had found with Leonardo Da Vinci and the Thieves. The growth from anger to acceptance and wisdom. The realisation that he could trust his sister to defend herself and mend that bond tossed aside decades ago. The warmth of brotherhood and found family that built around that. Ezio’s knowledge in his dying moments that his greatest achievement had been what he had built and not torn down and he was happy with that.

“You care greatly, although like me, you believe that it is not something that you can’t allow yourself to feel.”

Normally these things weren’t a two way streak and Nico pressed his lips together. That was too presuming of Ezio, to read his own feelings and heritage.

“I don’t care.” But his words did not have their usual bite.

“I think you do, Nico di Angelo. You have put so much of yourself into helping others at the expense of yourself and I do not see this being something you can escape. You care deeply yet you do not let them know all you have risked. Do you know what the creed of the Assassins was?”

Nico shook his head and Ezio rose to his feet, standing on the edge of the tower.

“We work in the dark, to serve the light.” A ghost of a smile went over his lips highlighting a scar that glistened in the weak winter light. With a pang, Nico felt a kindred spirit. He gave Ezio a nod.

“Until we meet again.”

The shade leapt into the air, arms outstretched as if he could fly. He twisted through the air and Nico stared after the descending figure who shifted into shadow moments before he would have hit the ground had he been alive.

#Assassin's Creed #percy jackson series #heroes of olympus #Nico di Angelo #Ezio Auditore

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echo-three-one · 3 years

Text

Whatever It Takes : RELOADED

Augustus' burner phone is the key to locating Nero but the team discovers that it's more than just Nero that's behind all of this. Will the former 141 soldiers find out what Nero is up to? Will Alex rescue Samantha?

Table of Contents

Hello! Ray's Back in his game!

Chapter 16 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

My Damsel in Distress

"Alex"

Task Force 141 - Disbanded

On a plane off to somewhere

General Shepherd.

The name sent Alex's blood boiling from rage. He couldn't believe that a high ranking official would actually betray them and could still run away from it.

It's no secret that he wanted 141 out of the Nero scene. But why? He knew full well that Samantha doesn't have access over the address but he still took her? And he also knew that this little team won't walk away without her safe. Alex wondered what's running inside the snow-caterpillar-stache's little brain. He couldn't even say his name now.

He clenched his fists, feeling the thick leather gloves he wore for battle. It was a devastating day for him. They just bonded for a few moments here and there and now she’s already taken away from him. He couldn’t keep count how many times it happened. It was frustrating.

“So, which safehouse are you bringing us today?” Alex joked with his former CO. Jack looked serious as always, he never gets these kinds of humor.

“Same one in Brazil. It’s the most forgotten and spacious. No one’s going to come looking for us in South America.” Jack replied, looking worriedly at Alex.

“I know when you’re preoccupied Alex. What happened afterward?” Jack turned to him and Alex knew he had to open up. He deserved the truth anyway.

“I uh… I fell for her, Jack. I know I told you that I won’t but it just hit me.”

“Like a fucking brick…” Jack interrupted and chuckled.

“All I can say is that you’ve done a better job than I did when I fell in love. I could still see your determination towards your work. Or maybe because she’s still involved in all of this.” he added, causing Alex to relax his tensed shoulders.

“It’s good to have you back, old man.” Alex shook his hand and smiled. With all the problems around him, it was good to have someone close to him to talk to. He was glad Nero didn't kill him back in the Gulag.

“Yeah. Me too, and it looks like you’ve got yourselves a determined bunch. Especially that guy.” he noted, pointing to Soap who was sitting with France. Alex remembered how the two of them met at the Gulag and in that short span of time Jack was able to read the whole guy’s personality.

“Soap? Yeah, he’s an achiever. Heard he’s top of every obstacle course back at the base.” Alex mused, looking at the two. They were sitting together quietly but Alex felt jealous. He could've been doing that with Samantha right now. Now that she's ready to hear the truth about them.

"Yeah. He's got some fight in him. I'm sure we'll defeat Nero even with this little band right here. And I'll do my best to be of assistance to you." he patted Alex's shoulder and went back to check on Nikolai.

Safehouse 110197, Brazil

Alex remembered that this place was compromised, but then again that was the CIA mole's henchmen that found them here and they're no longer affiliated with Nero. Or he picked this place because no one would think of going back here after being compromised. The Reverse Psychology card. Either way, Alex didn't mind.

As the team slowly scattered around the house and prepared everything, Alex took note of some changes since his last visit. More beds were added and supplies got restocked. Even the bullet cache looked reloaded.

The team loaded off everything they salvaged, or stole, from the 141 and set it all up. Ghost prioritized the tech stuff while the women fixed the bedrooms. Alex offered help but was denied by Gary saying "Your face still hurts so don't over exert yourself, we can do this on our own."

So Alex plopped by the central couch as Ghost untangle the wires, putting them on their respective slots.

"You holding up okay?" The masked man asked as soon as Alex released a deep sigh.

"I'm worried about Samantha." he replied, resting his hands on the back of his head.

"She doesn't have the address, what does Shepherd want from her?" Alex added, his tone raised like a kid complaining.

"I have no idea. But I do have something else. Information on the surprise attack at the 141." Ghost said, as Jack and Price moved toward them and discussed the contents of Augustus' phone.

"That bastard gave away our location." Price cursed.

"So his plan to disband us would be successful." Alex added and Ghost nodded.

"Why get Samantha though? He knows we'll be coming for him." Ghost added and the rest of them speculated their theories.

"Augustus failed to get her so Shepherd did it for him? For what?" Jack noted, reviewing their whole mission for reference.

"Something bigger, I presume." Price spat and everyone fell silent. The rest of the team except for Gary and Maxine gathered for a short briefing. Everyone gave away their take as to why, some of them made sense while some reasons don't add up. And thinking about it was only making them more frustrated.

Everyone looked serious until they inhaled the fresh aroma of dinner from the kitchen. Alex turned and saw Gary and Maxine, smiling while serving up the team's dinner. He could sense something him and Samantha once shared in this place and it looked like the Safe house did it's charm once again.

"Now that's bloody good cookin'" Price announced and everyone laughed. He wasn't the kind of person to say those kinds of things, but he did, and it was all they needed to ease the tension of not knowing what's next.

They never gathered like this before, together, happy and noisy. The two oldies sat on the opposite edges of the round table while Soap, France, Gary and Maxine sat beside each other on the left. Simon and Alex sat on the other side, an empty chair resided beside them.

"Don't worry lad, we'll rescue her." Price muttered and Jack nodded. Alex smiled as they started to eat some food.

"Hold on a minute!" Soap exclaimed causing everyone to halt.

"Thank you Lord for thy blessings which we are about to receive. Amen." he muttered while everyone looked at him.

"Amen!" they all said in unison and wolfed down Gary and Maxine's delicious meal.

"This tastes so good! Just like Mom used to make!" Francine chewed happily. Maxine stared at her supposed to be sister and smiled.

"It does?" she breathed.

"Mmhmm.. I was always jealous that you two were so close together in the kitchen, everything I touch turns to a culinary mess." she frowned and made everyone else laugh. Soap stared at her in amazement.

"You and me both, France." Jack agreed. The gang bonded throughout dinner and enjoyed the company. Alex volunteered on the dishes and France offered to help.

"You think she's going to be fine?" Maxine asked as she checked the contents of the fridge, looking at Alex who looked very focused on the dishes he's cleaning.

"She's been kidnapped a lot of times now. I think she's used to it." Alex attempted to joke, but the tone of his voice was far from kidding.

"Aye, That lassie's a tough one. Don't worry Alex. We'll get her, Shepherd's bound to make a mistake anytime soon." Soap commented from behind him while leaning on the kitchen island.

"I told you I can handle assisting Alex on my own!" France giggled as she wiped the plates dry.

"Aye! I know! Can't a man just enjoy some time with his girlfriend?" he raised his hand mocking surrender. France turned back and crossed her arms.

"Ahem. Girl space Friend. There's a space in between." she scolded and MacTavish just chuckled.

"Whatever you say, Babe." he joked once again as he stepped out of the kitchen.

"Ugh. That guy's so full of himself." France groaned. Alex and Maxine exchanged glances and laughed, causing the female soldier to worry.

"What?" she asked.

"You two look cute together." Maxine chuckled, closed the fridge and walked away.

"We're not together!" France yelled, making sure Maxine would hear it wherever she went.

"We will be soon!" Soap exclaimed from outside, followed by collective laughter from the group of men with him.

Alex groaned and looked at his watch. It's already 3:36 am and he couldn't sleep. He slowly got up and looked around. On the huge bed, Jack and Price slept peacefully as evidenced by the loud snoring. Beside him on the floor was Soap, Roach and an empty spot where Ghost was supposed to sleep. The girls occupied the guest room.

Alex slowly got up and carefully assisted his metal leg, trying not to make noise as he waltzed to the balcony where he suspected Ghost to be.

And he was right, Ghost sat by the railings on the terrace, not a single expression of fear etched on his face. A face Alex saw for the first time.

"Can't sleep?" the former CIA asked. Ghost slowly turned his head and nodded.

"I'm just contemplating…" he muttered, the tone of his voice sound defeated.

"We caught ourselves in a crazy situation, huh?" Alex chuckled trying to make the best of the situation. Ghost didn't seem to like the vote of happiness as he clicked his tongue and sighed.

"I'm into France… but it looked like she's happier with John." he spat. From what Alex heard from Roach, Ghost was not the kind of person to open up. And this was all too surprising for him.

"I… uh…" Alex stammered.

"Look, I'm also sorry… You don't have to reply… I was about to vent to Gary about this but he seemed too preoccupied with Maxine and I didn't want to bother him."

"Look, it's okay. Ghost."

"It's Simon, Simon Riley."

"It's okay Simon. That's life. You win some, you lose some." he consoled. He tried to make it as positive as possible but he was also down in the dumps, like him.

"Thanks for the honesty. I just realized how devastated you must be. I never got to hear your story until Gary told me. It must've been tough losing her over and over again." Gary talked without looking at him.

"It's like I've been cursed to lose her and save her all over again." Alex complained.

"Like Link." Simon announced like it's a great metaphor which Alex didn't get.

"Link?"

"Like from the video game. Where this knight was always out to save her damsel in distress. It's got many different variations but it's always the same name. Generations have passed and Link was always destined to save Zelda." he said in amusement.

"My damsel in distress…" Alex noted and looked up at the stars, wishing that wherever Samantha may be, he hoped she's safe and also thinking of him.

Next Chapter : Delayed Flight

Notification Squad my beloved

@smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @whimsywispsblog @beemybee @ricinbach

#horRAYfic #whateverittakes #reloaded #alex echo 3 1 #john soap mactavish #john price #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #i miss yall

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whitelionspirit · 3 years

Text

Pale Fire: Hard Days and Happy Birthdays 1/2

Paring: Ace x Reader

Series: Modern au of the life of Ace and the reader

Scenario: Even after a short few months there is still a lot you don’t know about your newly proclaimed best friend. Like why he doesn’t celebrate his birthday and why his friends and family are used to it.

wc: 1.7k

warning: angst, hurt/comfort, abusing alcohol, fluff

A/N: Hello! Sorry for the lack of updates but writer’s block hit sudden and hard. Anyway I wanted to get this out yesterday but here we are and now it’s in two parts because it became longer than I had intended. Hopefully by next week I’ll be all caught up and open the inbox again! I hope everyone had a good holiday and an even better start to the new year! I’m happy people have enjoyed my writing as well means a lot! Also this isn’t edit at the moment.

The end of the year was fast approaching with only days left it felt strange to you. The fact that your first semester of college was finally over. The past few months had been wild if you could pick a word to describe it. You never imagined you would have so many friends or just good memories in general. You had gotten lucky when being paired with Perona.

She was rather strange but you really would not have her any other way. It was because of her that you met Zoro which from there meant you would meet everyone else. The collection of them were all vastly different and it made you feel included somehow into their strange little family. Though it was your friendship with Ace that you didn’t expect.

He was loud, angry, and shameless among other things you could rattle off. For some reason he had quickly taken a liking to you and it was all over after that. He had this way of coaxing you to come out of your shell and express yourself in ways you had never done before. He stunned everyone when he declared you were now his which didn’t settle well with any of the girls plus Sanji. Perhaps it was the five year age gap that threw most people off but it didn’t bother you that in the way most presumed it did.

The reason he had plagued your mind a lot recently was because his birthday was two days away. While you were excited about getting your new friend gifts and a supposed party to happen. You found out that their wouldn’t be a celebration, nothing at all. Ace hated his birthday which made you quite disappointed.

You didn’t push the subject when Sabo gave you the bad news. He had smiled sadly at you as he patted your head and moved on with his day. If no one wanted to speak of why then you wouldn’t push it. Ace would tell you if you asked you know he would but you didn’t want to pry it seemed to be a rather sore subject for everyone.

So you went about your week as you usually would which was more so spent at the three brothers apartment. You were currently splayed out on the couch with Luffy, Chopper, and Vivi laying on top of one another. It was a comfortable squeeze with Chopper’s head tucked into your lap and Vivi’s thigh bumping against your own as Luffy splayed out over her entire lap as she played with his hair. The only light coming from the flashing tv and that of the Christmas tree still up in the corner of the room.

It was a nice feeling to be surrounded by friends in a place you considered homey. The sudden buzzing of your phone dragged you out of your thoughts. Pulling the device from your sweatpants pocket you saw the familiar name lighting up the Home Screen.

Firefly

As he had so happily put into your contacts months ago. You smiled as you slide your finger across the text opening the phone.

“Work is so boring today, tell me something interesting.”

You roll your eyes at his response Ace worked a rather fascinating job in your opinion at least. Though he says his previous job had been cooler before the accident. You texted him back before closing the phone.

“You should really pay attention to your job but if you really want something good. Luffy choked on a piece of food today and Vivi had to give him the hemilich maneuver. It was a real sight I have all on video.”

You sent the text and closed your phone again only for it to vibrate. The message highlighted with a laughing emoji making you smile as you place the phone on your lap. Closing your eyes as you listen to the background noise of the tv.

You were awoken by the sensation of someone putting a blanket over you blinking your eyes open sleepily. The blurry image above you stopped before continuing and backing away as you drifted back off to sleep cuddling close down into the soft material. The sounds of chatting is what finally woke you up this time around.

They were soft almost trying not to wake up or anyone else who was still asleep. The room was dark when your eyes opened, the only light coming from that of the kitchen and even that was dimmed. You could barely make out the voices but there was definitely more than one. Pulling your arm upward you realize that it had actually been covered by a blanket. Your brows furrowed at how it got there, as your hand finally landed on your phone. The screen lit up showing the time it was half past 9 p.m. making you groan.

You had missed dinner, the sudden grumbling of your stomach reminding you of it’s emptiness. “Thanks, stomach.” You mumbled as you looked around you to still see everyone was still asleep. Chopper had moved over so he wasn’t on top of you, but Vivi and Luffy were now cuddling up one another in their sleep. The sight made you smile as Luffy’s soft snores were let out against Vivi’s neck. The voices broke through your train of thought again as a sharp “No” was admitted.

Curious but not wanting to be nosy you carefully untangled yourself from the pile. You walked towards the kitchen quietly as the voices became more distinct. The soft tremor of Ace’s voice was heard as he hissed at the slightly higher one of Sabo. Were they fighting? You thought which would be odd because they almost never fought unless it was over something serious. Over the few months you had known them you had only seen it twice. So whatever they were disagreeing on must be rather important or personal perhaps.

“You such an idiot you know that right?” Sabo said.

Peeking around the corner you could barely make out their appearances through the doorway which was blocked by the door being half way closed.

“It’s nothin’ I’m an dult I can do wha- I wannnt.” Ace said his words sounding muffled.

You frowned as Sabo sighed making you wonder if Ace was actually drunk and Sabo was trying to hide it.

A sound of shuffling could be heard as someone started walking. “Ace, come on you’ve had enough of tha-.” Sabo words were cut off as the shattering of glass echoed through the otherwise quiet house. The noise alone startled you momentarily before you decided to make your presence known.

You pushed the door open into the kitchen and the sight that greeted you was rather amusing. Sabo was hitting Ace upside the head while the freckled man pouted. He was gazing down at the red liquid splashed across the title flooring.

Sabo looked up at you and sighed. “(Name) could you hand me the mop and broom it’s in the closet across the hallway”. He pointed behind back the way you had come.

“Ugh, yeah sure are you guys alright?” You questioned.

Sabo just nodded not really akwoldging you as he hauled Ace by the sleeve of his shirt and put him into a seat at the breakfast bar.

You walked to the closet and opened the door it was dark inside but you didn’t need to see where the objects were. Grabbing them you closed the door and headed back into the kitchen where Sabo was staring at Ace in frustration.

You looked over at him he was leaned over the counter his forehead laying against the wooden surface.

“Here.”

Sabo sighed and reached out for them as you placed them in his grasp.

“Is he alright?” You asked unsure.

“He will be but it really isn’t anything new he is like this every year.” He said as he began sweeping up the glass.

You bit your lip as you stood there wondering what you should do. You wanted to be helpful but it seemed like a private matter that Sabo could easily take care off.

“If you want you can put him in his bed,” Sabo spoke without looking at you as he dumped the glass into the trash bin.

You looked at him and blinked as if you weren’t expecting him to answer your worries. Walking forward you stood next to the man who was groaning softly into his chest. Gently placing your hand on his shoulder to not startle him you also opened you mouth to talk.

“Ace.”

He groaned again as if acknowledging you.

“Come on let’s get you to bed, alright?” You said as he got up without a fuss.

....

Once inside his room you guided him slowly to the bed as all his dead weight was laid on top of you. It was extremely uncomfortable but you bared it as you mostly threw him onto the twin size bed. He landed awkwardly on his face as the mattress squeaked under the pressure. You sighed at the sad sight as you picked up his feet and hauled him into the bed. You weren’t going to baby him or be gentle.

Ace mumbled from where his face was planted in the maroon sheets. You rolled your eyes and shoved at his shoulder hard enough to move him slightly to were yup could hear him speak.

“I’m fine (Name) you can just go.” He said with no heat behind it.

You huffed and crossed your arms in annoyance at his statement.

“I’m not going until you get into bed Ace.”

The man just sighed as heaved himself upward and began shimmering his way out of his work pants. His button down followed surely until he left in a a plain undershirt and his boxers. The sight alone made your cheeks redden as you quickly hid your face into your hands.

“Well, are you happy?” He asked as he pulled his comforter around his body.

“Y-yes! I’ll be going now, I'll see you tomorrow!” You said your voice went a pitch higher as you left the room shutting the door behind you.

As soon as you left the room you groaned as you leaned your head back against his door. Well that just happened even though nothing actually occurred just him taking off his clothes to sleep. Patting your flaming cheeks to come yourself you stepped away from the door. Only to hesitate as you looked at the door as concern took over. As you ponder about what exactly could have him so uneasy and so unlike the man you knew.

#one piece #portgas d. ace x reader #op imagine #one piece imagine #pale fire series #one piece x reader

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Text

A Thirst Like Flames

Part 6/6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

Ship: Gerlion - Rated: E (for smut) - Also on AO3

Rated E - for smutty reasons.

Dandelion shivered as he wrapped his heavy burgundy red cloak around his shoulders. Kaer Morhen had some of the most beautiful views in the continent but it was bloody freezing. It was his first day at the keep and he had yet to meet the other witchers, too exhausted when he’d first arrived, barely conscious as Geralt dragged him through the gates. One bath and a good nap later, he felt more like himself again. If not a little nervous, not too dissimilar to stage fright he’d experience in his youth. His heart felt like it was racing in his chest and his fingers tugged at his clothes, needing something to do.

The sound of his footsteps reverberated in the draft halls, the acoustics just perfect for a performance. Dandelion made a note to bring his lute down to dinner once they’d settled in. Geralt’s family had probably heard of him, maybe even heard his songs through other, less talented, bards, but Geralt was the only witcher from Kaer Morhen that he’d had the pleasure to meet.

And oh it certainly was a pleasure.

The scent of cooking venison filled his nose as he drew closer to the kitchens, making his stomach rumble in anticipation, and he could hear the sounds of laughter.

“Ah, found them,” he cheered to himself, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The feathered bonnet that was usually perched on his head had been left behind in Geralt’s room, instead the thick woollen hood was keeping his ears warm, and completely messing up his hair.

Dandelion had hoped that he would look his best when meeting Geralt’s family, but alas the cold had rather scuppered that dream. So, he took a deep breath and held his head up high before entering the room. As expected the witchers fell silent, Geralt’s eyes found his across the room, and it was easy to get lost in his gorgeous golden gaze. Dandelion winked at his witcher before turning to the rest of the room. There were more witchers there than Dandelion had been anticipating. Geralt had only told him about three other remaining Wolf School witchers, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert. The silver haired witcher resting closest to the fire with a book in his hand was most likely Vesemir. Another golden eyed witcher who bore a striking resemblance to Geralt, aside from the vicious scar that ran across his cheek and his dark brown hair, was probably Eskel. That left a third witcher with golden eyes, who he assumed to be Lambert, and two others. One had long flowing dark brown hair, and startling blue eyes, the other bald with a thick dark beard and green eyes. The latter two both had dark tanned skin that was striking in comparison the chalky white skin of the Wolf witchers.

“Greetings, I am so sorry I’m late. I do hope that Geralt wasn’t too much of a grump without me,” he flashed a charming grin at the occupants of the room.

Lambert burst into fits of laughter and stood up, pulling Dandelion into a tight hug, lifting him off the floor. The air was forced from his lungs and he squeaked as his legs were suddenly dangling in the air, but warmth bloomed in his chest. Lambert was supposed the most prickly out of Geralt’s family, and Dandelion had apparently won him over purely by teasing his own grump of a witcher.

“I like this one, Geralt. He can stay,” Lambert laughed as he dropped Dandelion back to the floor.

“Ah, why thank you, Lambert.”

“Geralt was inconsolable, pacing the floor, pulling his hair out. If he hadn’t already gone grey….”

Geralt growled from the corner which set Lambert off again. “Shut up.”

“Oh bite me,” Lambert snapped back.

“Boys!” The elder witcher, who Dandelion was sure was Vesemir, barked and the two younger wolf witchers fell silent. “We have a guest, try not to act like animals.”

“Well-” Eskel started to say with a crooked grin, “-we are wolves.”

Dandelion giggled and strutted across the room until he reached Geralt’s chair. The seat next to his witcher was vacant but it didn’t matter. Dandelion fell into Geralt’s lap, pressing his lips to his cheek. “I think it’s sweet that you were worried about me, darling. Now then, are you going to introduce me?”

“They know who you are, Dandelion.”

Dandelion scoffed and rolled his eyes, running his hands through Geralt’s hair. It was surprisingly untangled, still soft and well conditioned despite the hike up the mountain. As he carded his fingers through the silver locks, Dandelion could smell the gentle scent of chamomile, the oil that he’d bought for Geralt on their first anniversary before their journey to Kaer Morhen. His usual lavender oil was too strong for Geralt’s heightened sense of smell, but the chamomile was subtle enough and helped to calm the witcher even when he was high on those blasted potions.

He began to separate the strands of Geralt’s hair, fingers working nimbly as he continued to speak. “They may know me, but I am afraid I wasn’t quite in my right mind when I arrived. I only know of your family, dearest, and unless I’m very much mistaken. I’m not the only visitor this year?”

“Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert you know,” Geralt gestured to the golden eyed witchers in turn. “Aiden,” he pointed to the blue-eyed man who had now settled onto the seat next to Lambert and was happily draped across the man’s lap. “Coën.” The green-eyed witcher smiled back at him. “And this is Dandelion, my bard.”

“I am absolutely thrilled to finally get to meet you,” Dandelion cooed at the witchers, not bothering to look at the braid in his hands. He’d done this so many times that he could probably do all but the most complex designs in his sleep. When he wasn’t playing his lute or scribbling away in his notebooks, he often needed something to do with his hands. Otherwise he felt restless. Geralt had noticed and suggested the braids. Dandelion had tried, and was still trying, to get his witcher to let him curl his hair, but Geralt was being stubborn about it. “Geralt has told me so much about you,” he lied.

Eskel chuckled. “That would be a first.”

“And probably a last too,” Lambert agreed.

“Fuck off,” Geralt grumbled and Dandelion giggled, poking his witcher’s nose with one elegant long finger.

“Be nice to your brothers, Geralt-” he chided before brushing his lips against Geralt’s ear, “-or else we won’t get to enjoy that fantastically large bed of yours later.”

The other witchers in the room all groaned, just as Dandelion had suspected they might, but he played innocent and smiled brightly up at them all, launching into a tirade of questions to divert their attention. Kaer Morhen was fascinating and Dandelion wanted to know everything! He was particularly curious as to why there were two witchers from other schools in the keep. There was just so much potential in just this one room! Dandelion’s reputation as the White Wolf’s bard and poet was about to get a makeover, he would be the barker for witchers everywhere!

The evening passed in merriment, music and mirth. Wine and liquor were spilled, and the roast venison was simply to die for. Dandelion kept a hand on Geralt at all times, in his hair, resting on his thigh, his arm, his shoulder. After a year together, Dandelion still couldn’t quite believe that he was allowed to love this beautiful, kind and generous man, and that he was loved in return, but Geralt showed his love and devotion every day.

It wasn’t poetry and roses like Dandelion was used to, but it was Geralt’s own unique language of love that Dandelion delighted in learning, and he’d always been a quick study.

No, Geralt’s love was more heartfelt than any superficial trinkets or flowers that would die. It was woven into the very essence of Dandelion’s lute, each note the instrument played, every word that fell from his lips. The love shone in the stars above their camp as they cuddled together for warmth, Dandelion’s chest pressed to Geralt’s back as their limbs tangled together. It was in the breath of each kiss, the swing of his swords.

Geralt’s love was all encompassing and it was his.

Or perhaps he was merely a poet in love.

What did it matter? The result was the same. They were happy together, despite the darkness in the world around them, there was light, like the flames that danced in the hearth as Vesemir began to snore.

Dandelion sighed, rubbing his nose along Geralt’s jaw and kissing his neck. “Time for bed, my love?”

Geralt grunted and swept Dandelion up into his arms. The world spun and Dandelion squeaked as he hurried to fling his arms around Geralt’s neck, not that he thought Geralt would drop him, but, well, it was always better to be safe, and it gave him an excellent excuse to continue kiss the pale skin of Geralt’s neck. The bruises never lasted more than an hour but it didn’t mean that Dandelion couldn’t try. He giggled as he nipped at the skin below the witcher’s ear.

“Would you two get a room?” Lambert groaned.

“Oi,” Aiden swatted his boyfriend over the head, “don’t be a spoilsport, we could always watch.”

Dandelion winked at the Cat witcher, making Lambert flush a deep red. “Out!” he barked.

“With pleasure,” Geralt chuckled, carrying Dandelion through the halls and back up to their room.

It didn’t take them long to disrobe, lips moving in slow languid kisses as they caressed and touched and held each other close. Dandelion’s fingers hooked under the chain of Geralt’s medallion, the only item left between them, and he held the silver wolf in his hand before kissing the cold metal. The witcher shivered as the medallion once again rested on his chest and Dandelion moved on to kiss the pale pink scars that covered his shoulders.

“I love you, dearest Geralt,” Dandelion hummed, and Geralt’s finger hooked under his chin, lifting his head so their lips once again met in a soft kiss.

They’d made love before, but this was Geralt’s room, not some shit-hole of an inn, or in the exposed elements of nature’s forests. This was a home, more importantly, it was Geralt’s home, and he was honoured to finally be a part of it. There was a whole new level of intimacy which warmed Dandelion’s heart, like the sun rising over the horizon, flowers blooming in the spring and fluttering cries of the birds to bring in each new day.

Geralt lifted him up, carrying him towards the bed and Dandelion could feel the anticipation, lust and arousal begin to cloud his mind in a dizzying haze. His witcher was looking at him with the utmost adoration and oh did that make his heart sing. As his back hit the mattress, Geralt stopped and stared at him, a calloused finger brushing against his cheek. It was almost too much, burning in its intensity.

Dandelion let out a nervous giggle, leaning into his lover’s touch. “What is it, my dear?”

Geralt just shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Poppycock,” Dandelion declared, reaching up to capture Geralt’s lips in a quick kiss. “Tell me, darling.”

“You look beautiful.”

Dandelion felt himself blush. His hair was fanned out behind his head and he was sure his face was the colour of the sweetest roses but he was nothing extraordinary, certainly nothing that Geralt hadn’t seen before. Yet this fire that burned between them felt entirely new, and his witcher’s expression was so tender, so heartfelt.

“You look beautiful,” Dandelion echoed, and then because he was a poet. “Radiant as the sun, and as ethereal as the moon, my darling, my dearest, my… hmmph!”

Geralt cut off his ramblings with a kiss and Dandelion wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling him closer. They had time to savour every moment, every touch, every kiss. They had forever.

#the witcher #geraskier #gerlion #geralt x dandelion #geralt/dandelion #wolfie's witcher writing

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bedlamsbard · 4 years

Text

Part 8 of the other side AU! No, this isn’t the final section; at this point I’m afraid to say that there’s one more since I think I’ve said that the last three times.

Previous: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

6.8K below the break. Please note that I don’t warn.

***

“Kanan.”

His smile when he raised his head to her was automatic, lingering on his lips before he seemed to grasp the seriousness of her tone.

He was so handsome it took her breath away, and he was here, he was here. Hera flattened her palms against the door behind her and said his name again, just for the sake of saying it and not immediately wanting to weep. “Kanan,” she breathed.

He took a step towards her, reaching for her hands before stopping when she didn’t reach back. “What is it?”

Hera had spent the day with the other Hera and her family, which had been just as odd an experience as the previous day’s – just as emotionally fraught, because her little cousin Xiaan had been there too, and the last time Hera had spoken to Xiaan she had just moved into her new dormitory at the University of Alderaan, with a few of their cousins along to visit. All of them had been there when the Death Star had destroyed the planet. Not here, she thought. That won’t happen here. She was certain of that now. Bail Organa had the Death Star plans, and the circumstances meant that Xiaan Syndulla wouldn’t be going to university anytime in the foreseeable future. What had happened to Doriah and Xiaan – and presumably to the rest of her missing first cousins – in this universe was terrible, but at least they were still here and alive. She understood why Doriah had been so upset to hear that she had a half-human child, too.

She looked up at that child’s father and smiled, drinking in the sight of him. He was beautiful, still the most handsome man she had ever seen even with his younger counterpart to compare him with. “I love you,” she said..

Kanan smiled a little, crookedly. “I love you too.”

“Will you go to bed with me?”

He curved his palm gently against her cheek, and Hera smiled up at him. His hand was big, and warm, and very alive, the calluses from lightsaber and blaster use still half-familiar after all these years. “Yes,” he said gently, and kissed her.

Hera put her arms around his neck as she kissed him back. “I haven’t done this for a very long time,” she murmured.

“None of those rebel heroes wanted to comfort a beautiful widow?” Kanan asked, only a very slight hint of strain in his voice.

“Well, Lando Calrissian offered,” Hera said, and had to laugh a little at the expression on Kanan’s face. She kissed him again and said, “You know I’ve never been interested in anyone except you.”

Which was why it had been so much of a shock the first time. There had been people that Hera had found attractive, but even years later Kanan was still the only person, male, female, or any other gender, that she had ever wanted enough to act on it.

Kanan kissed her again, the stubble on his jaw scraping against her skin. Hera kissed him back, trying to get her jacket off at the same time and mostly just succeeding at getting her arms caught in the sleeves. “Wait –”

She stepped back until she could untangle herself from her jacket and hang it up. She took her gunbelt off after that, even though the holster was empty since the other Hera and Kanan still hadn’t returned her blaster and Hera hadn’t had a reason to ask.

“I could have terrible scars,” she said slyly, and saw Kanan raise an eyebrow.

“I’ve told you to stop crashing starfighters.”

“I’ve never crashed that many,” Hera said. “I mostly don’t fly combat anymore – I command shipside.” She shrugged as Kanan raised an eyebrow. “I also ran one of the pilot training centers for a while, when I went back to duty after Jacen was born, so I wouldn’t be in combat.” She hesitated for a moment, uncertain if Kanan would take offense at the fact that she had gone back to duty at all after having a child, but all he did was nod.

“Well, I hope you weren’t crashing those ships.”

Hera laughed and stepped up to kiss him again. “I wasn’t the one crashing ships. I had to keep taking over them on remote because some of those recruits had a little more enthusiasm than skill.”

“Mmm, sounds like someone I know.”

“You had better be talking about someone who wasn’t planning on taking her clothes off in the next five minutes,” Hera teased.

He winked solemnly at her. “I know a lot of bad pilots, but none of them are in this room.”

“Modest, aren’t we?” Hera caught his hands in hers and guided them to her waist. “Speaking of taking my clothes off…”

He grinned and kissed her again, tugging her shirttails free of her pants. “Well, if you’re going to be pushy about it, I guess I could help.”

Hera shivered a little as his fingers skated over her bared skin. She didn’t hate being touched the way she could tell the other Hera did, but she wasn’t accustomed to it anymore either. As it happened Lando had propositioned her, using almost that exact phrasing, but it had been good-natured and no more than half-serious. He would have taken her up on it if she had said yes, but hadn’t been bothered that she had said no, just gotten her a drink and talked with her about some ideas he had for adapting pod-racing to Bespin before Han and Leia had called him away with a better offer.

She put her hands up to cup around Kanan’s face as he started to bend his head to her shoulder, smoothing her thumbs over his cheekbones. He raised his head to her, smiling, and Hera said, “I love you. You – you believe me, don’t you?”

Kanan laid his hand alongside her cheek and said gravely, “I always knew.”

Hera shut her eyes, then opened them again because she couldn’t bear to not be looking at him as long as he was here. “I made a mistake, not telling you before.”

“Hera –”

“I love you,” she said again. “I need you to know that, Kanan, I love you, I love you, I love –”

He kissed her. “I know,” he said against her mouth, the words humming against her lips. “I always knew. I’m sorry if I made you think I didn’t.”

Hera was crying softly; she wasn’t even aware of starting, just that there were tears running silently down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. “I’m love you, I’m sorry, I love you –”

Kanan kissed her again, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. “I know,” he murmured, “I always knew. It’s all right, Hera, I’m here now. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” she said furiously. She touched his face gently, reassuring herself that he was real, then put her arms around his neck again and drew him close to her. “I made you doubt me,” she said, low-voiced. “And then I never had a chance to make it up. I had to live with that.”

“I never doubted you,” Kanan told her. “Hera, I love you. I just –” He hesitated. “I don’t know what I wanted. I knew something was coming, and I didn’t know what it was, and I was afraid.”

“You knew we were running out of time.”

“No. Yes. No – I don’t know. It doesn’t work like that.” He tipped his forehead down against hers. “I’m here now. You did that. You did that.”

Hera folded her fingers against the back of his neck, shuddering, and whispered, “You’re here,” uncertain if she was trying to convince herself or telling Kanan a simple fact.

“I’m here,” he told her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise me,” Hera said, but shut her eyes, because she knew from his moment of hesitation that he couldn’t promise her that any more than she could promise him. “No, I know,” she corrected herself. This had been a nice vacation from reality – literally – but she was going back into a war and she was taking Kanan with her. And both of them knew exactly what that meant.

He kissed her gently. “I’m here now,” he repeated.

“I used to dream about you,” Hera whispered.

“You’ve got me.” He ran his thumb gently over the line of her cheek, brushing the tears away. “I’m here.”

Hera kissed him again. They were pressed so closely together that she could feel his heartbeat, and he was very warm and very alive in her arms. “I love you,” she whispered. “Will you take me to bed, please?”

“Yes.” He smiled down at her, then kissed her again as he dropped his hands to the front of her shirt.

Hera shifted back a little so that they had more maneuvering room and let go of him so that getting undressed would be slightly less complicated than staying tangled up together would be. She watched him as he undid the fastening on her shirt, shivering at the slight roughness of his callused fingers against her skin, and again as he drew his hands deliberately up across her stomach to her breasts. She was wearing her own bra, but had borrowed the shirt she was wearing from the other Hera in lieu of having brought a change of clothing; it hadn’t been on the list of things anyone had thought about back when they were planning this op.

“I remember this,” he said, his breath warm against her ear.

“I’d hope so, since for you it’s only been about a week and it wasn’t like you didn’t have a lot of experience with them before,” Hera said, grinning despite herself. She helped him get her shirt off, then unclasp her bra, which he did with what she considered a reasonable and enjoyable amount of generous groping. She kissed him in exchange for that, one arm looped around his neck, then laid her hands against the front of his borrowed shirt and smiled at him. “My turn.”

He grinned back at her.

His shirt was easier to get off than hers had been, and once Hera had stripped him out of it they spent a few more minutes kissing before they got down to the serious business of getting the rest of their clothes off.

Hera shifted a little uneasily once she was standing naked in front of him, both a little relieved and a little disappointed that he couldn’t see her. He couldn’t see the jagged scar that cut across the outside of her right thigh and halfway down to her knee, but it wasn’t as though he didn’t know it was there, and he –

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” she told him, resisting the urge to lick her lips. “Even with the hair,” she added gravely. “Between you and your – your counterpart, it’s growing on me.”

“Is his short too?” Kanan arched an eyebrow, amused. “Well, don’t expect it to stick around unless you want to help me keep it trimmed.”

“Anything to keep you from cutting it yourself again,” Hera said. She reached for his hands, shy, and then hesitated. It might have been only a few days for Kanan, but it had been six years for her.

Kanan stepped close to her, smiling, and Hera raised her face to him. He kissed her, lipping her mouth open slowly as Hera put an arm around his shoulders, feeling the muscles of his back flex beneath her palm. She shivered as he moved his mouth from hers to press a kiss to her jaw, then down the line of her throat. He put his hands against her waist to brace himself as he kissed his way down her collar bone, lingering on each breast and making her shudder before he continued downwards. He sank to his knees with boneless grace, his mouth still moving over her skin as Hera laced her fingers across the back of his skull, his cropped hair soft against her palms.

He kissed the faint, nearly-faded stretch marks on her belly, then the sharp edge of each hip bone. His hands brushed across her thighs, then paused on the scar. His white eyes shone through what Hera had always thought were absurdly long lashes for a man as he raised his head to her.

“What happened here?”

It took Hera a moment to remember how to speak. “My starfighter got shot up,” she admitted. “They had to cut me out of my X-wing.”

“I told you to stop crashing ships,” Kanan said gravely.

“It wasn’t a crash –” she started to say, then gasped as Kanan moved his mouth to the wet heat between her thighs. When Kanan finally leaned back, grinning, his mouth shining, Hera had to force herself to unclench her fingers, shuddering.

“I didn’t crash,” she managed to say. “I was teaching. One of my students shot me down. By accident.”

Kanan’s eyebrows climbed. “Even the Phoenix Squadron newbies know to check which way their guns are pointed before they pull the trigger.”

Hera fought down her pang of regret at the mention of Phoenix Squadron and tugged him to his feet, pulling him into another lingering kiss. “Lots of new recruits after Alderaan and Yavin,” she said after she drew back, breathing hard. “Not everyone has combat training, you know.”

He kissed her back. “Live rounds in training, though?”

“That goes for the mechanics too, but the cadets were supposed to be shooting at targets. That weren’t me.”

“I’d hope not.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and took another deep kiss from her as Hera put her arms around his neck. She felt pleasantly shivery in his arms, but nowhere near satisfied, not yet. She pressed her hips meaningfully against his, catching her lower lip briefly between her teeth as Kanan moved his hand down from her waist.

“For the record,” Hera breathed against his mouth, “I’m not having sex on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed, even if we have to go up a ladder to get to it.”

Kanan grinned, kissed her again, then drew back enough to take her hand in his. He led Hera across the small room to the bunk; Hera tried not to watch his backside in case she forgot what she had said two seconds ago and had him on the floor.

They went up the ladder with a great deal of giggling, kissing, and enough good-natured groping that Hera was gasping when she landed on her back on the narrow bunk. She put an arm around Kanan’s shoulders and pulled him down for another kiss. Kanan braced himself between her thighs, kissing her back.

“I missed you,” Hera said softly against his mouth. She needed him like she needed to breathe, shifting her hips as she tried to urge him to stop teasing her and get inside her. But she needed him to know this, too. She couldn’t tell him enough times. “I love you.”

She felt his lips curve in a smile against hers. “I love you too,” he murmured.

He curved a hand around each thigh and Hera hissed through her teeth, reaching down between them to help him one-handed. She felt rather than heard her low groan as he pressed into her, digging her nails into the hard muscle of his back. It had been a long time.

Kanan dropped his forehead briefly to her shoulder, breathing hard. For a few moments, neither of them moved, overwhelmed, then Kanan whispered, “All right?”

Hera shifted her hips a little and felt him breathe in sharply. “Yes,” she said, “yes – better than all right.”

He turned his head, meaning to kiss her neck. Hera caught his mouth with hers, hooking one foot over the back of his ankle as she did.

“Come on,” she gasped as they began to move together. “Come on, love –”

Her whole body was sensation. She let her attention still from its usual restless inventory of facts and figures, tactics and personnel, to nothing more than Kanan and his body against hers. He was a revelation, and she sank into him.

“I missed this,” Hera mumbled against Kanan’s neck sometime later. She felt too loose and relaxed to even raise her head enough to look at him, just let the words hum against his skin as he stroked a hand across the small of her back. She knew it didn’t matter whether or not he could hear them; he would know what she said anyway. “I missed you.”

“I love you too,” Kanan said. He sounded sleepy, but his voice was clear. His thumb moved in soothing circles across her skin, making Hera sigh with pleasure.

She could hear his heartbeat, feel his chest moving up and down with every breath. He felt solidly real, alive and beloved and there. “Kanan,” she said softly, just to feel his name in her mouth and know he would respond.

“Mmm?”

“Marry me.” It wasn’t what she had meant to say, but the words came out anyway. She pushed herself up on an elbow as Kanan went still, watching his face with a sudden start of panic that washed away her weariness.

He put a hand on her elbow to reassure her. “We’ve never talked about that,” he said, his voice quiet. He didn’t add that the last few times they had seen each other, he had been trying to convince her to talk about their relationship, though marriage had never come up.

Six years for her, a few weeks for him, Hera remembered, not for the first time. She sat up the rest of the way – it felt important to be sitting up for this conversation. Kanan pushed himself up too, taking her hands in his.

“Do you want to be married?” he asked her.

“Yes,” Hera said, though she took a minute to think about it first. Not about whether she meant it or not, because she did, but she knew Kanan wouldn’t appreciate a quick answer, not after the way they had left things six years ago. She squeezed his hands and said, “I love you. I want to be with you. I want to raise our child with you. Besides, the Alliance – the New Republic – has tax benefits for registered domestic partners.”

Kanan blinked. “Tax benefits? Since when do we pay –”

“New Republic, love, not just the Rebel Alliance anymore.”

He sighed. “That’s a real government, isn’t it.”

“That was the point of the whole rebellion,” she pointed out, her mouth quirking. She leaned forward and kissed him softly. “There’s a veteran’s pension too.”

“There are a lot of things that have changed.”

“A lot of things. Not everything.”

“No,” he agreed. He kissed her back, his mouth warm against hers. “Not everything.”

“I want to marry you,” Hera said again. “I want to be married to you. If – if you want –”

“Yes,” Kanan said. He kissed her again. “Yes.”

Hera put her arms around his neck. They went back down onto the bed together, Hera pressing Kanan down into the mattress as he smiled up at her. She kissed his mouth and murmured, “Do not knock me up again, I don’t have time to be pregnant right now.”

“All right,” he agreed gravely.

She smiled and kissed him again, running her hands down his bare chest. Kanan put an arm around her waist, flattening his palm against the small of her back.

“I love you,” Hera said again, the words humming against his lips. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

The next few days, waiting until they could return back to their own universe, were the closest Hera had come to a vacation in years. Even on her infrequent trips back to Lothal or Ryloth to see her son Hera was working, going over reports or on holocalls with other members of the Rebel Alliance. She couldn’t do any of that here except make lists that might or might not be relevant for this universe. She spent more time than she cared to admit in bed with Kanan, sometimes making love and sometimes just talking. It was very good to have someone she could just talk to again; as a flag officer she couldn’t confide in her subordinates and seldom had anyone else of her own rank around. While Zeb was sometimes around, mostly her old crew was somewhere else and Hera couldn’t talk to them just because she felt lonely. Kanan knew her – maybe he didn’t know her now, but he had known her then, and he was learning fast.

The Syndulla’s Gamble left for several rotations – Hera got the impression that they couldn’t be away from the Free Ryloth fleet for very long – then returned. Hera was able to introduce Kanan to both her parents, an experience that made her sheepishly nervous. They weren’t her parents, not really, but they were at the same time, and she wanted them to like Kanan and Kanan to like them. She was cautiously optimistic afterwards that it had gone well. Even if this Alecto Syndulla wasn’t her mother, she wanted her to like Kanan.

Maybe it shouldn’t have been so easy for her to relax considering the circumstances, but Hera had been in the war long enough and seen enough things – both strange and terrible – that now that the initial shock had worn off, she couldn’t bring herself to be much bothered. The other Hera and Kanan were pleasant enough, even if they both made Hera feel terribly old, and…she had Kanan. That was what she had wanted for a long time, and having him now was almost more than she could comprehend.

Their next to last night on the Ghost, the other Kanan woke them all up. Kanan felt the edges of the younger man’s nightmare bleeding into his own dreams, a welter of pain and terror and the durasteel strength of the Grand Inquisitor, and dragged himself to wakefulness a full minute before the other man started screaming.

Hera jerked awake beside him. Kanan forgot what bed he was in and fell the six feet from the top bunk to the floor, catching himself in a crouch that jarred every bone in his body and made him bite through his own lip. He stumbled out of the cabin and had a moment of blank confusion as he tried to remember which room he was in and which room the screaming was coming from. For a moment past and present seemed to blur together, the veil between universes slipping as he reached out with the Force to steady himself. He heard conversation from the direction of the common room, Zeb and Sabine teasing Ezra with Chopper’s occasional interjections, and smelled the familiar acridity of fresh paint from the room behind him – Sabine’s room. He shook his head and it was gone again; he crossed the hall and went one cabin over.

The other Kanan had already stopped screaming by the time the door slid open for him. He was curled into a knot on the far side of his bunk, his Hera leaning over him; she looked up as Kanan came in, but he didn’t. He felt her hesitate as he came towards him, then she scrambled off the bunk so that he could crouch down beside it. He was vaguely aware of Hera following him in, drawing the other woman aside.

Kanan could hear the younger man weeping, nearly soundless. He reached out with the Force before he followed through with an outstretched hand, feeling the other Kanan flinch away from him in both body and mind. For a moment he felt the other Kanan’s blind panic threatening to drag him down into his nightmare, the real world starting to fray away around him, then he drove himself down deep into the Force. He cast his mind out for an anchor, starting to reach for Hera before he sensed something else instead, something that would work better for this sort of thing. Kanan let the solid, familiar strength of the holocron hidden beneath the bed anchor him, distantly noting that to his senses it felt the same as his own had. Exactly the same, as if somehow the two were one as far as the Force was concerned. Only when he was certain he wasn’t going to lose himself did he feed himself into the other Kanan’s nightmare.

The boy’s terrified mind seized on him with so much strength that Kanan felt his tie to the holocron stretch under the unexpected strain before it finally settled into the weight.

He opened his eyes to bright sunlight.

If he had been in control of his body the shock of being able to see again would have made him hesitate if only for an instant, but he was a passenger in someone else’s nightmare. He was aware at once of the ache of recently cracked ribs, healed enough that he could move without difficulty aside from the occasional painful twinge if he turned too fast or tried to bend over at all. Pressure against his face took him by surprise, a hard mask covering nose and mask and sealing against the sides of his face; he felt the other Kanan’s weary familiarity and resignation, and the faint, constant pain where the edges wore away at his skin.

A hand closed on the back of his neck. Kanan’s mind flinched away but not his body; he didn’t have to look up to know that it was the Grand Inquisitor’s – the Hunter’s – hand on him. The Pau’an’s grip wasn’t hard enough to hurt, though all he would have had to do was squeeze and he could have shaken Kanan like a massiff with a pikobi. He could tell from the boy’s distant, barely comprehending misery that the Hunter had done just that before.

The complicated tangle of the boy’s conflicting emotions made his stomach turn over. There was hatred there, which Kanan had been braced for; there was also love, which he hadn’t been. He could sense the same ties of apprentice to master that he had felt before, stronger now from proximity, and still so fresh that the psychic wounds made by their creation had barely scabbed over.

It took him a moment to realize that they were breathing together, the other Kanan’s breath unnaturally slow for a human, in time with the Pau’an beside him, his heartbeat slowing to match his master’s. When the Hunter raised his head, Kanan looked too – not a beat behind, but at the exact same moment.

They were standing at the edge of a broad purplish-green expanse of manicured lawn. There was a big mansion behind them, but the two Inquisitors’ attention was on the large pavilion set up at the center of the lawn. The distant sounds of conversation, laughter, and music came from the pavilion.

The Hunter released him.

Any relief that Kanan might have felt was lost in the wave of bloodlust that went through him. He could tell, just barely, that it was external rather than internal; it felt a little like what he had read about what the Jedi called pack instinct, though usually that only appeared when there were a dozen or more Jedi – or Force-users, he supposed – intent on the same goal. He couldn’t tell if the boy was aware that it came from the Hunter rather than from inside himself; he couldn’t tell if the other Kanan cared. He supposed at this point it didn’t make a difference.

As the two Inquisitors started across the lawn, moving with the smooth, inhuman grace of trained Force-users, it struck him that it was entirely possible that that moment of bloodlust had only been a part of the other Kanan’s nightmare, not his memory.

They were at the entrance to the pavilion before anyone realized they were there. It was a trick that Kanan had never learned the knack of, a way of using the Force to suggest to any observers that what was seen was only what was expected. To the guards positioned outside the pavilion – their rich livery suggesting they were the private bodyguards of whoever owned the mansion behind them – it must have appeared as if the two Inquisitors had appeared out of thin air.

Kanan flung a hand aside, sending the two nearest guards flying as they started to reach for their weapons. He and the Hunter were moving in perfect lock-step as they entered the pavilion, the nearest occupants only just starting to turn and stare at them.

He wasn’t even aware of reaching for the lightsaber on his belt, just that it was suddenly in his hand, the gleaming red blade springing up before his eyes. The Hunter had his in hand as well.

Kanan had already known how fast a single Jedi, never mind two, could go through a troop of battle droids. He had never thought to wonder if a Jedi – a trained Force-user – could do the same through other human beings.

He found that out now.

He could feel the younger Kanan’s mind flinching away from the nightmare, from the memory. If he could have closed his eyes, he would have, but the boy had seen exactly what he had done, and Kanan did too. Real or imagined, the boy was trying to lose himself in the killing, to numb himself enough to stop thinking about it and just go on with it. Kanan was aware in a vague kind of way that it wasn’t the first time he had done something like this, nor would it be the last.

He flexed mental claws as if digging his feet into Lothal’s rich earth, feeling the strain of the holocron binding him to the real world. The kid was strong in the Force, as strong as Kanan – obviously, and his control slipped for an instant as he reminded himself of that. It wasn’t strength versus strength; it was the blind, panicked terror of the kid’s nightmares versus Kanan’s greater experience and control.

The kid fought him with the terror-strength of a cornered animal. The abattoir dissolved around them as the boy’s mental claws raked him, a hound’s teeth snapping before Kanan slapped him down with one paw in reflexive defense. He was only half aware of having taken this form in the Force, fitting himself into paws and claws and teeth so he wouldn’t be distracted by the knowledge of his own physical body. The kid had done the same, reflexive; shadowed and smaller than Kanan but with the air of a creature that would chew off its own limb to get out of a trap.

They tumbled through the Force, a half-acknowledged welter of memories and nightmares – mostly the kid’s, though he was aware of the shared horror of Order 66, of his friend Stance’s death, of being lost in the living dark beneath the Jedi Temple as a youngling. The other Kanan fled him, and Kanan might have let him go if they hadn’t already been tangled up in each other, so that he dragged Kanan behind him into the dark even as Kanan tried to free them both. His tie to the holocron flexed, but held; he was vaguely aware of Hera’s hands on his shoulders in the waking world before the kid caught him in what might have been a killing grip in the real world, his hound’s teeth closing on the back of Kanan’s neck, and they fell out of the Force into another nightmare.

Literally fell. The back of Kanan’s head connected with a hard surface beneath him, making his skull ring. He was half-aware of his counterpart fading into the waking nightmare of the memory, leaving him a passenger again.

He was so frightened.

Not him, he realized a moment later, but the boy – a little younger, with a splinted wrist, a bruised eye swollen nearly closed, and a newly split lip. Other injuries too, half-healed wounds, none more severe than the wrist in its splint. He flinched as a black-gloved hand closed around his throat and dragged him to his feet – really flinched, not just the reflexive mental flinch from before.

“Again,” said the Grand Inquisitor, releasing him.

Kanan took a staggered step back, rubbing at his bruised throat, but put his good hand out anyway and called his fallen lightsaber into it. It was an Inquisitor’s lightsaber, double-ended and with a curved half-moon guard. He must not have had it long; the kyber crystals in it hadn’t attuned to him yet.

The Grand Inquisitor – the Hunter, here – watched him with what might have been a smile on his pale features. Kanan wouldn’t look at him straight on, keeping his gaze slightly averted as he ignited one blade of the lightsaber and brought it up before him in a guard position.

The Hunter already had his lightsaber in hand, the blades deactivated at the moment. Kanan watched him through his good eye as he prowled sideways, the back of his neck tickling. He didn’t reach for the Force, no more than the subconscious knowledge of it that every Force-sensitive had, but that failed him this time; he turned to parry a blow that never came and the Hunter backhanded him hard enough to split his lip open again. Kanan staggered backwards, his mouth full of his own blood.

The Hunter caught him by the chin before he could recover, fingers digging into his skin. Kanan swallowed reflexively, gagging on blood, but all of his attention was on the Hunter’s cool yellow eyes. The confusing tangle of emotions that Kanan had felt in the boy earlier wasn’t there yet, not in full; the kid was terrified of him and hated him despite his best attempts not to fall prey to that, and there was a burgeoning hint of something that wasn’t love, not yet. The connection was already there, the tie that bound master and apprentice, and the kid knew it with despairing certainty.

“You are the Force made flesh,” said the Hunter, his voice soft and dangerous, and Kanan flinched at every word. “You earned your lightsaber on that truth. You gain nothing by denying it now.”

Kanan’s mouth worked silently.

The Pau’an looked at him for a long moment, his gaze boring into Kanan’s eyes, then he released him with a jerk. “Again,” he said.

The boy fumbled and nearly dropped his lightsaber, making the Hunter frown. He was shaking so badly that there didn’t seem to be much point in fighting the Hunter, but he ignited the blade and brought the weapon up anyway.

The Hunter just looked at him for a moment, his expression suggesting further disappointment, then he moved his hand and the lightsaber slipped free of Kanan’s fingers before he realized what was happening. Kanan flinched from him, wide-eyed, terror humming through his veins as the Hunter seized him again.

“A lightsaber is only a tool,” he said. “You are the weapon. We are the weapons.”

In the nightmare if not in reality the other Kanan’s terror was overwhelming, blanking out his awareness of everything around him. The numbness that had come later wasn’t present yet; he was all raw nerve endings, the shadow of the dark side scraping against him whether or not he reached for the Force. But already all of his attention was focused on the Hunter, his rapid, shallow breathing starting to slow to match the Hunter’s, his heartbeat doing the same. He wasn’t doing it consciously; Kanan was aware of the overwhelming pressure of the Hunter’s mind on his, forcing the master/padawan connection onto the open wounds left behind by Depa Billaba’s death.

Ezra, Kanan thought, with sharp, genuine fear that he felt reverberate down to the kid. He had never thought of the shattered connections left behind after Master Billaba’s untimely death as a vulnerability, never thought of them at all in the face of the horror that the Force had been after the Purge. Of course, he had never had anyone take advantage of it – had never even considered that that was a possibility. It was something only someone trained as a Jedi could or would have done.

The kid’s exhausted, all-encompassing terror was beginning to fade, too focused on the Hunter to sustain fear. It had an almost soporific effect on Kanan; he grabbed for the Force and pulled, lashing out with mental claws.

The Hunter vanished as the younger Kanan turned on him, his panic back in full force. Kanan reached for the holocron, meaning to drag them both back to reality, just as the boy flung himself at him. They tumbled through the Force in a welter of bad dreams and memories, into Kanan’s own private nightmare.

Flame roared up around him, heat pressing in from all sides, and he heard Hera scream.

His mind went blank with panic that he was vaguely aware he hadn’t felt at the time. He took one breath, two, heat searing his lungs –

– and the kid pulled him out.

Both of them hit the floor of the cabin, gasping for breath. Kanan threw himself sideways immediately, feeling the other Kanan’s momentary reaction to Kanan’s weight on top of him. His mind was still too scrambled from the succession of nightmares to concentrate on the Force; he heard rather than felt Hera scramble towards him, kneeling down beside him. He turned his face into the smooth warmth of her thigh, gasping for breath as she flattened her palms against his back.

The sound was mirrored by the younger Kanan’s ragged gasping. “Don’t do that again,” the boy said when he had caught his breath.

“Sorry,” Kanan said; the words came out muffled against Hera’s skin. He turned his head enough that he could speak clearly and repeated, “I’m sorry. I thought that would go differently.”

“Not your fault,” the kid said, a little stiffly.

“Love?” Hera whispered, stroking a hand over the back of his neck. “Are you all right?”

“Give me a moment.” He turned his face back into her thigh, breathing in her familiar scent – nothing at all like the acrid smell of burning fuel or the coppery tang of blood. He was vaguely aware of the other Hera doing the same with her Kanan, but didn’t make any attempt to listen.

“All right,” he said eventually, and let Hera help him up. He drew the Force around himself as he did, sensing the other Kanan still kneeling on the floor with his face buried in his Hera’s shoulder. Belatedly he released his tie to the holocron, and winced as he felt the boy flinch; he had sensed that. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Not half as sorry as I am.” The other Kanan’s voice was muffled. He felt Hera – the younger Hera – glare at him, and winced.

He didn’t bother telling either of them that he hadn’t expected that outcome, since that was self-evident and the boy could pluck it from his mind anyway. He just folded his hand into Hera’s and left the cabin.

“Are you all right?” she asked him again once they were back in their own cabin with the door closed.

Kanan put his arms around her. She was warm and very real, comfortingly alive in a way that made the rapid pounding of his heart slow – to human normal, not the slower pulse common to Pau’ans.

“Kanan?” she insisted when he didn’t say anything.

“Yeah,” he made himself say. “Yeah, I will be, I just need a moment. I did something stupid.”

She guided him over to the bench below the bunk and sat down beside him. He could still feel the other Kanan’s terror thrumming along his nerves and pushed it out of his awareness with a force of effort; it wasn’t his to know.

“You didn’t mean to.”

“That doesn’t make it less stupid.” He pressed his face down into her shoulder, then kissed her neck just for the sake of feeling her pleasure in the Force. It was clean, and honest, and utterly hers. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“The screaming woke me up.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Let’s go back to bed. Unless you don’t want to?”

At the moment Kanan couldn’t think of anything better than curling up in bed with Hera in his arms, especially with a closed door shutting them off from the rest of the world. He kissed her neck again, then followed stood up and nearly brained himself on the top bunk. His body still felt not quite his own; he could feel his eyes straining to see in a way he hadn’t done in years. Phantom pain from injuries he had never suffered made him wince and Hera turn towards him, radiating worry.

“I’m fine,” he told her.

“Mm-hmm.” She cupped her hands around his face, studying him, then kissed him quickly. “Come on and sleep it off, love.”

#cut scenes and concept writing #other side au tag #as always comments are appreciated #especially as I'm not having a great time just now

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voxofthevoid · 4 years

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Taking It Up The Ass Isn’t Character Growth - A Rant

So, in response to an ask a while back, I said I had a rant brewing on fandom and sex positions, and well, a lot of you wanted to see it, so here you go. You literally asked for it.

Disclaimer: This is going to talk a lot about top/bottom roles in slash fic and fandom attitude towards them and is heavily filtered through the lens of my own tastes and experiences with fandom. I’d also like to be upfront that I am 100% in favor of people writing whatever fictional content they want, and it’s not what fandom does with characters that bothers me but rather how that translates into attitudes towards real, live people. Also, this is the essay version of a slow burn AU because I regurgitate my entire fandom history before getting to the point. Beware.

I discovered fan-fiction around a decade ago, had no clue what the hell it was, got hooked and dived deeper. I started participating in fandom circa 2013, and I was fairly young and also completely inexperienced both sexually and romantically. The fandom in question was Hannibal and my ship of choice was Hannibal/Will. It was/is a very chill fandom in general, but we had our drama. And chief among the contentious topics was—you guessed it—the top/bottom debate. I can’t actually remember any other topic that was discussed and argued for so ardently in that fandom, at least in those days. Even after I drifted away, I came across a few posts on the matter.

Generally, you had two camps—people who supported strict roles and those who were in favor of switching*. And because we’re a society plagued by illogical assumptions, the strict role camp mostly had people who thought Mr. Big Bad Cannibal in the Fancy Suits wouldn’t take it up the ass because he’s older, more experienced, more mentally stable, and of course, more ‘dominant’ in personality. Yes, that sentence is chock full of problematic shit. I am aware. Lots of people were aware and argued strongly against attributing top/bottom roles to personality. I don’t remember anyone arguing as enthusiastically for Top Will, but those voices were also there. But the general idea was that assigning strict top/bottom roles to a male/male couple was casting them in a heterosexual mold and thus, the progressive option was to make them switch. Strict roles also garnered comparisons to “yaoi” and uke/seme stereotypes, which was of course bad and fetishizing and we, the Western media fans, of course had to do better. Stealth racism is fun to untangle.

Anyway, I lapped up the woke juice. Partly because I was a baby queer from Buttfuck Nowhere, Asia, who had zero exposure to LGBT+ communities and what queer folks did with each other. Partly because it was the stance taken by most of my favorite writers so it seemed like a good position to emulate.

Emulate it I did. Most discussions I had about this happened in private with the handful of close friends I had in fandom. Where it really showed was in my writing. I made sure to write switching—maybe not in every fic, but then I alternated between fics. Thing is though, I did have a preference. I liked Top Will. I created and consumed a ton of Top Hannibal, and sometimes it was okay, sometimes it was not, but I couldn’t pinpoint why it made me uncomfortable. Back then, I thought I was a cis questioning/bi girl and once again, the impression I got was that not being MLM, having a preference was automatic fetishization. So I tried my best to justify my preferences, to my friends at least. I think what I said was that fandom was skewed towards Top Hannibal, and I liked the opposite because I’m a contrary fuck. Which I am, to be fair, but this was just me desperately trying to figure shit out without being offensive.

That’s the line I touted all the way until 2018, which was when I fucked off to grad school in A City, finally freed of Buttfuck Nowhere and able to actually date. At this point, I was settled in my sexuality (girls only) and questioning my gender (non-binary or trans guy). I had also tentatively figured out during undergrad that I’m an exclusive top and a Dom. Actual attempts at dating cemented that, yes, those are my preferences, about as flexible as a steel rod. Cue motherfucking epiphany over my fanfic tastes.

And see, over these years, I was engaging intermittently with fandom. I dutifully wrote switch couples. I also continued to have rigid tastes and continued to explain it away as being a contrary fuck—to be fair, until Steve/Bucky, my preference did seem to be the opposite of the larger fandom preference. But correlation, as we know, isn’t causation. Until Steve/Bucky, I continued to write versatile couples because I honestly didn’t have the guts to just say I liked it just one way. I do now but even then, I feel compelled to add that it’s because I want to see my own taste reflected in fic, so I write/read the character I relate to as a top, it's not that deep etc. Would I be as forthright if I didn’t have that reason? Would I have such strict preferences in fic if I didn’t have strict preferences IRL? The latter’s a mystery, but the former isn’t—I wouldn’t be because fandom is still entrenched in the same ideas that got me to this point to begin with.

In every fandom I’ve been in, I’ve seen some version of this debate go around. Sometimes, it’s one party saying “why would you write Character X as a bottom, he’s so Reason A” and a reblog chain that insults the OP and/or extols the virtues of switching. Sometimes, it’s a general-ish message that says they don’t understand why people have strict preferences when we all know real gay couples switch. Sometimes, it’s blanket statements that accuse anyone with preferences of fetishizing. Sometimes, it’s the same reasoning that gets you “Character Y is a top because of Reason B” transposed on versatile couples except this takes the form of “they switch because they’re equals.”

Ya’ll, I’m fucking tired.

I have long since lost count of the number of stories I’ve seen where an exclusive top learning bottom and liking it is character growth. Where a character who prefers to bottom taking a turn on top is empowering.

Isolated, these are fine. But I’ve seen enough of such stories that it’s distinctly discomfiting and a major squick. Sometimes a trigger, if I'm too immersed in the story. I’m not going to try and burn an author at the stake because they pissed me off. I am just going to close that window and quietly handle my shit. People can write whatever they want. But this one theme hits too close to home, as you can see from this 1.6k rant.

My friend (also my ex-girlfriend) and I had an all-out bitching session about this the other day. Both of us are kinky fuckers who have rigid, complementary roles we prefer and we have both had our grueling days of struggling to reconcile our sexual tastes with our ideologies precisely because of how these things are frowned upon in conservative and progressive circles. Seeing that in fandom, of all places, is both insulting and exhausting. Topping and bottoming aren’t personality traits. Neither is D/s. It’s sexual preference and power play. It really does not have to be that deep. I am not exorcising childhood trauma using the bodies of women. My partners, former and current, have not been brainwashed by the patriarchy. We will not become better, more complete individuals once I magically stop being a stone top and my partners embrace the joys of a strap-on.

I have, with my own two eyes, seen someone say that in a really committed relationship, of course the couple will switch.

Bullshit.

It’s transparent bullshit. This does not get attributed to cisgender M/F couples. Even when the automatic assumptions of woman = bottom and man = top get addressed, switching isn't presented as the default. No one’s saying “oh, if you really love your husband, you’ll peg him”. I do know butch/femme sapphic couples get their own share of shit. Because it’s all heteronormativity, right? Can’t have any other reason for top/bottom roles.

You have two extremes with “so who’s the woman” on one end and “it’s woke only if they switch” on the other, and as far as I’m concerned, they’re equally damaging. There shouldn’t be a pressure, however subtle, to conform your taste in fiction to some arbitrary idea of progressiveness. People are going to like whatever they want anyway; all this does is create an atmosphere where those likes can’t always be freely expressed without a lot of mental gymnastics. We’re seeing so many versions of this in the pushback against so-called problematic content, but smaller, subtler versions exist too.

Fictional characters aren’t real. They can be whatever you want them to be. And yes, other people will often want them to be the exact opposite of your ideas, but that’s just how things work. Meanwhile, the people behind these usernames? They’re real. No one should be throwing real people under the bus to ‘protect’ characters that don’t exist. Hannibal Lecter doesn’t care whether he gets fucked or dismembered in Author B’s fanfiction, but the discourse that surrounds the dick up his ass? That does affect flesh and blood people.

I am not claiming that this is the only attitude in fandom. Middlegrounds do exist. Plenty of people abide by fic and let fic and there are folks who pipe up to say not every RL queer couple switches. But it’s often the extremes that reach most people. That was certainly my experience, and I’m not the only one.

I don’t really know how to end this post. It is 100% a rant and one that’s been building up for a while. Bottom line is that people’s sexual behavior varies wildly and whenever you attack sexual tastes in fanfic by saying it’s unrealistic - or worse because let’s be real, that’s a very tame word choice - please remember that there’s likely someone out there who practices it.

* I’m using switch and versatile synonymously in this post. It’s mostly concerned with top/bottom debates. A lot of what I’m saying is also echoed in portrayals of and discussions surrounding D/s dynamics, but I’m not addressing that as much for now.

#fandom #top bottom discourse #wow that's a tag #here it is the rant i promised #because i don't quite trust tumblr i feel compelled to add that this is ofc not some kind of attack on actual people who switch either #you do you man #live your best life #vox has opinions

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alittlewhump · 3 years

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Unbidden - Epilogue 3

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: none, this is fluff city

Morgan was deep in concentration. He was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he picked at his hair, untangling it carefully. It was slow going, it seemed, and based on his expression he wasn't having a great time of it. The sudden onslaught of wind and rain had taken both of them by surprise this time, and made an absolute dog's breakfast of his hair.

"It's easier for me to get the snarls out of my hair when I start at the ends and work my way up," Blaise said. "Want some help with that?"

He hummed a vague assent and she took up a position behind him, starting with the part at the back of his head that would be the hardest for him to reach. He didn't seem to mind her touching his hair, generally, and she enjoyed it.

"If you braid it," she suggested after a minute or two, "it might help it keep from getting all knotted up like this."

"I don't know how to do that," came the response after a moment.

"Oh, it's easy! I can do it for you. And maybe teach you, after!" Was it weird to be so excited about this? No, she decided, it wasn't. He knew all sorts of stuff and taught her new things all the time. It wasn't often she got to return the favour.

"All right," Morgan said, and Blaise grinned to herself as she moved on to the next section. It went a lot faster with both of them working on it. Gods, it had been a long time since she'd braided anyone else's hair. Or her own, for that matter. It was faster to just tie it back. But it was the sort of activity you didn't just forget how to do, and she tried not to bounce with excitement once Morgan was ready.

"Here," she reassured him, "I'll keep it nice and loose so it doesn't pull." It went faster than she would have liked, but braiding was one of those things her hands liked to do almost on their own. In only a couple of minutes, Morgan's hair was tamed into a neat plait, secured with a nice little bow in the leather hair tie. "All done," she announced, and peeked around to see his reaction.

He ran careful fingers along the length of it, taking the tail over his shoulder to peer at it in wonder. It suited him, having the hair pulled back from his face. He wasn't traditionally handsome, not by a stretch, but he had a good face with features that were interesting to look at. His eyes were bright and clever, widened now as he examined her handiwork, not squinted as they often were when it was sunny or when he was trying to see something that was a little further away. The lashes framing them were longer than they seemed at first glance, probably because they were white like the rest of his hair, and that made them harder to see. The high lines of his cheekbones were striking without a curtain of hair blocking them off, accentuating the natural sharpness of his other features. She staunchly avoided thinking too long on the tiny white scars that littered the skin of his face irregularly, some on his cheeks, some by his eyes, some by his mouth. They weren't as stark and shocking as the big ones on the rest of him, but they were just as new. And she still hated them. They stood out against the otherwise reasonably smooth texture of his skin. That was a little weird - she'd never seen him shave, but he'd never had facial hair, either.

Oh, fuck, he was looking at her now. He'd said something. She went back over the sounds in her memory, but they didn't resolve into anything like words. Shit. "Sorry, what? I, uh. Started daydreaming. Didn't mean to."

"That's all right. What were you thinking about?"

"Not a lot," she dodged the question. It would definitely be weird to say she was just… enjoying looking at his face. Actually, that wasn't too far off from what he'd said, that first uncomfortable night on their way to Tristram. Maybe it would be fine. "Just taking a good look at you. I like your face. Have you ever grown a beard?" she added quickly as doubt started to settle on his features like a cloud crossing in front of the sun.

"I… no," he said, bringing his hands up to touch his cheeks in a motion that seemed almost like he was trying to hide. "I've never… had facial hair. It doesn't grow."

"I don't think you're missing out on anything," Blaise reassured him, looking up at the ceiling of their temporary shelter just to take her gaze off of him. "It's probably not very comfortable. They sure are scratchy, anyway. I can't imagine having something like that on my face all the time." That mental image took her by surprise, and she laughed aloud. Morgan looked at her questioningly. "I just thought how funny I'd look with a little moustache, like Telash," she explained.

Morgan tilted his head a little. "I think a style like Devak would suit you better," he said, the tiniest hint of a smile playing around the corner of his mouth. Devak had a massive bushy beard that had gone halfway down his chest and tickled unbearably between her thighs. The thought was even more ridiculous than the one she'd come up with, and she laughed so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

Morgan didn't laugh with her, but the smile stole more fully onto his face. He shifted a little to lean up against her shoulder. That was really nice, how comfortable he was getting.

"Thank you for helping me with my hair," he said. "I like it very much." Then, more quietly, "It doesn't bother me, you know. Being ugly. You don't have to pretend like I'm not."

Blaise bit her tongue. You aren't ugly, she wanted to say, but that wasn't going to go over well at all. He was going to think she was lying to him. "I'm not pretending anything," she said instead. "You're interesting to look at. And the only time I've really seen you with your hair back was that one time in Kurast. But if you don't like it, I won't, like, stare or anything."

"I'm used to being stared at," he said. Of course he was. He looked like a kid and an old person at the same time, small and white-haired but not wizened or bent. He wore a hood sometimes, but even then he still stood out.

"And I'm used to sleeping on the ground," she shot back, "but that doesn't mean I like it. You can tell me if you don't like when I do something, Morgan. I need you to tell me, or else I won't know."

"I know. I really don't mind when you look at me. I just… wasn't expecting it. Earlier. When you said you… like my face. I'm not… I don't… one moment," he said, and closed his eyes briefly. Blaise felt a little bit bad about how flustered he seemed to be. Maybe she'd have to take it easier on the compliments, avoid commenting on his appearance if he was going to be so sensitive about it.

"You need me to tell you when I'm uncomfortable," he said after a moment. Blaise nodded. "I need you to tell me things plainly as well. There are a lot of things I don't understand." He paused. "Especially interpersonal things. Like attraction. You… say that sort of thing to your partners, the flattery," he clarified, and it clicked.

"I'm not - no, I'm - all right, okay. I'm not attracted to you," she reassured him, which was one of the weirder things she'd ever had to reassure someone about, but he relaxed noticeably. "And even if I was, I know you aren't interested. I'd never push you into anything."

"I appreciate that, thank you." Morgan looked at his hands, fidgeting a little by pressing his fingertips together. "How do you know?" he asked next, quietly. "When you're attracted to somebody? What does it feel like?"

Blaise considered her response. Morgan was clearly serious about the question. He was always serious, pretty much, although apparently he also knew how to be hilarious and just hadn't been using that skill. It was just a weird thing to ask about, for a man who was probably older than she was. But hey, if this meant another opportunity to teach him something, great.

"I've never really thought about it," she said before the silence could get too long. "I know it when it happens, though. It's kind of like when you're hungry and you smell something really good cooking, and you just want to eat until you're full. Except it's not food you want, it's a person."

Morgan frowned a little, thoughtfully. Blaise had thought it had been a pretty good explanation. "Think about the prettiest person you've ever seen," she tried instead. "Or handsomest, or whatever."

"All right."

"Now, you picked someone, right? That's a kind of attraction, thinking someone looks good."

"I think I'm doing something wrong," he said, brow still furrowed. "I've never felt… hungry… about a person."

"Not even the prettiest one? You didn't want to touch her, or kiss her, or anything?"

"No. I don't like those things. I just wanted… I suppose I just liked to look at him," Morgan said softly, and holy shit, he looked so sad all of a sudden.

"Well, for me," Blaise said, maybe a little too quickly, "it's like an urge. Like an itch where the only way I can scratch it is to be touching the person I'm attracted to. Ideally in, uh, a sexual way." Hopefully this wouldn't be too weird. It felt like it might be getting weird. Why did she always have to make it weird?

"I understand the… mechanism of sex," Morgan said, looking more perplexed than sad now, which was a step in the right direction, "but not the desire. Do you really just look at a person and feel that you want to couple with them?" Blaise tried to keep a straight face. He just sounded so skeptical.

"I mean, I like to get to know them a little first, usually, but basically that's it, yeah. Not everybody feels it the same way, or at all," she added. "Some people get that feeling all the time, like me - you've seen some of my partners, you know I'm not picky. But some people only ever have eyes for one other person. And some just aren't interested at all, and I'm pretty sure that's normal too. The smith by our house was like that, when I was growing up. Never married, never had kids. Didn't want to do much of anything other than work her forge. She was gorgeous, too, could have had her pick. I guess she did, though, in a way."

That last little bit had been calculated to set Morgan at ease. It was interesting to know a little more, but it had been fairly obvious since Lut Gholein that he didn't have the same experiences as she did. After all, he'd been faced with a flock of beautiful, highly skilled courtesans and immediately tried to flee, then set up a deal with one of them to keep the rest away. Blaise tried to observe him without being incredibly obvious. He seemed very deep in thought for a while, and she did her best to let him sit and digest but the urge to move around started to creep under her skin. She freed her hair from its ponytail one-handed and raked her fingers through it.

"Thank you," he said eventually. "For explaining. I think I understand a little better now."

"Any time," Blaise replied, and she meant it. "Now. You ready to learn how to braid?"

"Yes, please."

Blaise moved to give him a good view of the back of her head. "All right. Let's start with the basics, nothing too fancy. You need three sections, like this." She separated her hair simply, starting low on her head like she'd done for him. "Then you just take turns putting the pieces on the sides into the middle. Left, then right. Left, then right. You can cross the pieces over each other or under each other, just so long as it's always the same."

"Oh, that's… could you do it slower?"

"Sure." She raked the braid out of her hair and started again, slowing the movements of her hands so he could see more clearly as she manipulated the sections. There was a lot of flipping of her hands, she realized, and little movements with her fingers she hadn't really been conscious of doing.

"Didn't have any sisters to teach you how to deal with all that hair, huh?" she asked, hardly thinking. Morgan was silent. Shit. Her stupid mouth. He hadn't ever really talked about his family, had he? Probably a touchy subject. Maybe they didn't like that he'd decided to join the Order of Rathma. Couldn't blame them, really. She kind of hated it herself. Time to steer the conversation away a little. "How come you keep it so long, anyway?"

"I don't like having it cut," he said quietly. "It feels better when it's long."

"Oh. That makes sense." It would certainly feel weird for her to have short hair. She listened to the rain beating down outside. It was making her a little sleepy. "Rain's making me kind of sleepy," she said. "Might grab a nap until it lets up." Morgan gave a soft hum, the small little noise he did to let her know he'd heard her but didn't have anything to add. Blaise sat back against the wall of the shelter and raised her arm in invitation. "Come on," she encouraged. "If you want."

He only hesitated a moment before moving in to press against her side. Blaise smiled to herself. This was perfect, finally, not having to worry about making him too uncomfortable with her casual touches. He knew he didn't have to accept it, she'd made sure that was clear. But she was glad he did anyway. He deserved more affection, more comfort. More everything. She let herself drift off in the steady patter of the rain, embracing her closest friend. Yes, this was perfect.

#my writing #story: unbidden #epilogue

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mattmurdocksscars · 4 years

Text

Miscommunication Ch. 7

Well, lovelies, here it is! Sorry to make you wait so long for an update but it is a long chapter, so I hope that makes up for it!

Warnings: Language

Pairing: First Order!Poe x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2538 oops

Tag List: @himbopoes, @writefightandflightclub, @mellow-f1, @imaginecrushes, @ladyflyer20, @kiaralein, @oakleyves, @nacida-en-la-luna, @morgannope @criminal-cookies @thegirlwiththebook @twomoonstwosuns @awesomefandomsunited @thesoftdumbass @writingforhoursonend

This gif is the whole mood of this chapter and my life

Returning to the Finalizer was easy. The hardest part had been convincing Dameron to let you pilot. The man was convinced he was fine to fly, but you refused to let him when he likely had a concussion. You finally won the argument by firmly telling him that if he didn’t sit his ass down in the copilot chair and let you get the two of you home, you wouldn’t let him near you for a week. He’d settled down with a grumble and a glare, but you took the win. You commed ahead to Kylo to let him know the two of you were returning, that there had been a slight hiccup in the plans and your informant had been a bust. He wasn’t particularly pleased but understood that it was out of your control. You settled back into your seat and watched the stars pass by. You could feel Dameron’s eyes on you but waited to see if he would speak first.

“You didn’t tell him.” You turned to look at him and found his dark eyes set on you, staring you down. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Kylo and I will debrief together following our arrival and I will speak to him there. When Hux isn’t around.” You told him simply.

“You’ll get reprimanded for not returning to the Finalizer without me.”

“Is that concern I hear, Dameron?” You teased. He huffed and looked away from you, staring out the viewport of the ship. “You forget that I do not answer to Hux. I am not even fully First Order. I work for Kylo Ren and no one else. He will not punish me for not leaving a comrade behind.”

Your voice was firm, completely unconcerned for yourself. Dameron still didn’t look at you.

“You realize I still have to report to Hux, don’t you?”

“My plan is to tell him that while we were attempting to make the exchange, the client revealed he was with the Resistance and we were attacked. You were simply injured in the fighting.” You said it so nonchalantly and Dameron’s head whipped back to face you. He had to blink against the sudden wave of dizziness that hit him at the fast movement, and you winced in sympathy. You hesitated before reaching out, smoothing his hair back to look at the wounds on his face. He watched you, seeing the way your face softened just slightly. “If you truly want to tell him the truth, we will. I won’t face any consequences but I’m not sure if you will.”

“You would lie for me, sweetness?” Dameron’s dark eyes looked you over, taking you in. You brought your hand to cup his face and smiled.

“I’ve already killed for you, Dameron. You think I won’t lie as well?” You breathed out. His pupils expanded before he reached for you, dragging you over to him before kissing you deeply. He groaned as you settled in his lap, his arms crushing you to him. His kiss was all consuming and he didn’t stop until the two of you were gasping for air. He cupped your cheek and just took you in. Your flushed cheeks and swollen lips. The way your pupils had almost swallowed your irises.

“We’ll tell the truth. Hux already believes you aren’t doing your job properly.”

“Then let me handle it. You need to go to medical when we land anyways.” At that, Dameron frowned. You knew he was annoyed at the prospect of going to medical and waited for the argument to follow.

“I’m fine. I don’t need some nurse droid fussing over me.” He grumbled. You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“You’re fine? Hmm. So, this,” You hand flew forwards, pressing against his ribs and he groaned in pain, “doesn’t hurt?”

“You are ruthless, sweetness.” You just stared at him, eyebrow raised and waiting. “Fine. I’ll go get checked out but ONLY if I get to see you afterwards.”

“I’ll find you as soon as I’m done debriefing.” You had time to carefully run your fingers through his hair before the console beeped, indicating it was time to drop out of lightspeed. You untangled yourself from Dameron and took your seat. You dropped the ship from lightspeed, the Finalizer appearing in all its imposing glory. You easily guided the ship in and landed. You could already see Kylo and Hux waiting for you two and sighed. Rolling your neck to release some tension, you stood and helped Dameron up. The two of you exited the ship and upon being seen by Hux and Kylo, were instantly approached.

“What happened?” Hux sounded furious and you did your best to contain your eye roll.

“I think we can all agree that Captain Dameron needs to be taken to medical. I’ll debrief the two of you in my office, if that’s alright?” Your tone was strictly professional, and you could tell Hux wanted to argue but Kylo was already dismissing Dameron and turning to head to your office. You easily matched pace with him and Hux had no choice but to follow as Dameron headed in the opposite direction. When the three of you reached your office, you rounded your desk and the two men stood opposite you.

“The information exchange was a set up.” You told them straight out the gate. Kylo was not known for his patience and you had no interest in testing him. You told them everything that happened, from the Resistance wanting you first then Poe to the way you decimated the camp. You handed over the bit of information you were able to gather, and you could tell both men were disappointed with the way the mission went.

“Thank you, Captain. It’s unfortunate that this was such a waste of time. If this is all you have for us, you’re dismissed.” Kylo stated simply, already heading for the door. Hux’s voice stopped him.

“Wait a moment. Your Captain broke protocol. As soon as she realized the mission was compromised and Captain Dameron was captured, she should have returned to the Finalizer. She needs to be punished for her insubordination.” Hux was looking particularly smug but you just looked at him, a slow smirk forming. When Kylo turned back to face the General, you could feel the anger radiating off of him.

“Her insubordination saved your Captain’s life. I’ve let you meddle in her work until this moment, but you will not think to tell me how to handle my agents. Her ability to adapt and adjust plans is the reason she’s been so successful. Now, if you’re quite done pretending to be her commanding officer, you can leave.” Kylo’s voice was cold and brokered no argument. Hux was pissed but knew better than to argue with the man when he was so angry. He shot you a filthy look before leaving the room. Kylo watched him retreat, staring at the door long after it closed.

“Sir?” You were a little concerned at his stillness. Usually Kylo’s rage was followed by a flurry of activity so to him completely immobile was concerning.

“I believe General Hux is attempting to purposefully sabotage your work. You will exercise extreme caution from now on, understood?” Shock settled on your face, but you immediately agreed. Kylo left the room and you slumped into your chair, burying your head in your hands. You were too tired for this shit. It had been too long since you’d last slept and dealing with a power struggle between Kylo and Hux was not on your list of things to deal with. Resigning yourself to dealing with it later, you stood and left to find Dameron.

You checked medical first only to find him gone. The medical droid told you that he had been checked out and sent to his room. With a sigh, you turned from medical and began your trek to his room. You were almost there when a call of your name had you stopping. You looked back to see Hux approaching you, a sneer on his face.

“General Hux, is there something I can assist you with?” You asked, facing him and placing your hands behind your back. You kept your shoulders back and head held high, refusing to let him intimidate you.

“Just because Kylo won’t do anything about your insubordination, doesn’t mean I have to let it slide. You will stay away from Captain Dameron and you will not take any missions for the time being. You have been failing too often lately and the council is starting to become concerned that your loyalties do not lie with the First Order.” You narrowed your eyes, glaring at the man standing in front of you.

“Allow us to set things straight, General Hux. I do not answer to you. I do not take orders from you. You have no business even attempting to tell me what to do and I’m sure Kylo will love to hear how you tried ordering me around. If you’ll recall, you were the one who insisted in Captain Dameron accompanying me on this mission, so it falls to you that he was captured and injured. Perhaps you’ll remember that the next time you decide to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.” You watched as his face contorted in anger at your words. You knew provoking him wasn’t a good idea, but you’d be damned if you let him think he could try to order you around.

“Then I will simply tell the council you refuse to listen to reason. You’ve no business being in the meetings if you won’t even follow simple protocol.” He was pissed, and you were surprised he didn’t say more before he turned and began stalking off. You sighed.

“Armitage!” He stopped but didn’t bother to look at you. “Did it ever occur to you that we didn’t have to be enemies? We’re both working towards the same goal. We don’t have to be friends but is the animosity really necessary?”

He stood there for a moment before continuing to walk away, not giving you a response. Rubbing a hand down your face, you cursed lowly. You never wanted to be in the middle of a pissing contest between two men. You found yourself once again thinking that you were too tired for this shit. You continued on your way to Dameron’s room, stopping in front of his door and knocking lightly. It took a few moments for him to open the door, and you were just beginning to think he had fallen asleep, when the door slid open. Dameron stood across from you, dressed only in the pants of his uniform and the bandages that were wrapped around his chest. You felt the tension in your shoulders ease away at the sight of him. He looked just as tired as you felt, and you found yourself smiling slightly at his disheveled look.

“You look like shit, Dameron.” You told him, laughing softly at his offended look. He reached for you and pulled you into the room and his arms. You hesitated before letting your arms wrap around his waist, taking his weight when he leaned against you.

“How did the debrief go?” He murmured.

“About as well as expected. Kylo thinks Hux is purposefully messing with my work and Hux threatened me in the hall. A usual day in my life.” You felt him tense at your words and ran a soothing hand down his back. “I can deal with them, love. Come, we could both do with some rest.”

“I was just about to take a shower, actually.” You had been trying to steer Poe towards the bed in his room, hoping to get him to sleep some so you could return to your room and sleep as well, but stopped at his words. He gave you a cheeky smirk and you already knew what he was going to say. “Care to join me, sweetness?”

Huffing a laugh, you shook your head. “As delightful as that sounds, I am exhausted. I was honestly planning to get you to lay down and fall asleep before I snuck back to my room.”

Dameron frowned at that, his brows furrowing. His dark eyes looked you over, taking in your now ruined dress and the way your body seemed to sag in exhaustion. He let out a slow breath and left you to walk over to his dresser. He rummaged around for a moment before returning to you and handing you a shirt. It smelled of him and it took everything in you not to bury your face in it and breathe him in.

“Stay…” He said it so softly you almost didn’t hear him. Your head shot up to look at him, shocked at the offer. “I’m going to shower and then I’ll come to bed. Stay. Change into that and sleep here.”

You couldn’t refuse an offer like that and nodded slowly. Dameron leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips before turning and disappearing through the door to the fresher. You heard the water kick on but still, you stood in place. You stared at the shirt in your hands for a few moments, thinking your options over.

You could leave. Set his shirt down on his bed, leave the room, and never look back. That would be the safe option. Just returning to the way your life was before you’d ever met the Captain. Before you’d laid eyes on his jet-black hair and caf colored eyes. Would you ever be able to forgive yourself if you did, though? Whatever this was that was building between you and Dameron, it was enticing. You’d been alone for so long, with the exception of Kylo.

You’re not sure how long you stare at the shirt in your hands, but you eventually find yourself slipping off your dress and sliding the shirt on. It’s big on you, falling your thighs, and smells strongly of Poe. You fold your dress, setting it on the table and then pad over to his bed. You reached for his covers but hesitate before you can pull them back, once again caught in your thoughts. You hadn’t noticed the sound of the water shutting off and you jump when arms wrap around your waist.

“If it’s too much, you don’t have to stay.” He settles his chin on your shoulder, leaning his head against yours. His gesture and words cement your decision, and you carefully pull his sheets back. You turn to press a kiss to his temple before separating from him and crawling into his bed. He stood for a moment, just watching you. He was taking in the way you looked in his shirt and in his bed and if he weren’t so kriffing tired, he would have taken you right then. You could see the look pass over his face, but he simply settled in next to you, laying down with sigh.

It didn’t take long for either of you to fall asleep. Throughout the night, the two of you adjusted so you were sleeping curled together. For the first time in a very long time, both of you slept soundly.

#miscommunication #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron x fem!reader #first order poe x reader #first order poe x female reader #first order poe dameron #first order poe #first order reader

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raiseyourcups · 3 years

Text

You broke the ship?

A Cabur One Shot

Pairing: Din Djarin/Original Female Character Warnings: None, other than Aili wanting to kill Mando like usual, some more UST sprinkled in here, Word Count: 1.1k Also on AO3

Masterlist

Summary: Mando breaks the ship. Aili is not impressed and tries not to just kill him when she finally sees the problem. Mando regrets asking for her help by the end.

Note: Takes place between the end of Chapter Four: Sanctuary and Chapter Five: The Gunslinger. This didn't really fit within the main story itself so here it is separate.

They had stopped moving, Aili noticed suddenly. Her hands paused in the middle of cleaning her blaster. Why had they stopped in the middle of space? There was never a good reason for stopping in open space, especially when you had a bounty on you. She placed her blaster down on the weapons bench and waited for the sound of the Mandalorian’s footsteps.

“Have you ever repaired a ship generator?” Mando asked from behind Aili, his voice modulator doing nothing to hide how sheepish he sounded.

“You broke the ship?" Aili asked, turning to stare up into the Mandalorian's t-visor with a withering glare on her face. She clenched her hands into fists before she could convince herself to grab her blaster again.

"I didn't say that.” He had the gall to sound annoyed with her now and Aili raised her brow and gave him a look. It was the same one she used to give the girls even back before they got to Nevarro. It never failed to make them admit what they did.

She kept the look on her face as she asked, "But is it broken?”

"...yes."

Aili let out a heavy sigh, pushing away from the weapons bench and standing up. "Lead the way.”

"What?”

"You asked if I could fix it and unless you wanna be a sitting duck in space while bounty hunters are looking for us, show me what's broken,” Aili said slowly as if she were talking to a child.

Mando stared at her for a long second before nodding, turning back around to lead Aili to the generator room. She saw that the Child was in his cradle and Mando had it set to follow after him, probably to make sure the kid didn’t get up to any trouble. There was nothing that could have prepared her for the Mandalorian opening the door to the gen room.

Aili stared in stunned silence at the mess before her in the gen room. It was smoking and the room was hot. “What the kriff did you do?” She turned and asked the Mandalorian who had the audacity to shrug his shoulders.

“You’re helping, you know that right,” she stated more than asked. There was no way she was going to fix all of this by herself especially since she wasn’t the one who messed it all up. She had no idea how the ship had been running up until this point.

“I assumed.”

“Well go get your tools because right now? You have your work cut out for you.” Aili let out a sigh as Mando left and put her hair up into a messy bun to keep it out of her face. She hoped this wouldn’t take too long because it was hot in there. As soon as the Mandalorian was back, they got to work.

The tension in the room was getting thicker with every passing second. Even the Child was staying in his cradle without complaint as he watched the two humans work on the tangled...everything. Aili had already taken off the jacket she usually wore and tied the top of her flight suit around her waist leaving her upper body exposed in her tank top, the heat of the room getting to her and she wondered how the Mandalorian wasn’t just absolutely sweltering.

Maybe he was but she wasn’t about to ask him. This was all his fault anyway so why shouldn't she let him suffer? Even if she sometimes wondered what exactly he looked like underneath all that beskar. She shook her head of the thoughts, she really didn’t need to know the answer. She was content just knowing that he was an idiot. She was also convinced that it was just the heat making her think crazy things.

She was halfway in the control panel, attaching wires in their correct spots. She wondered how Mando would have done this if she hadn't been with him because it was a small space. She paused, fingers untangling a wire, he'd probably try to get the Child to do it. She let out a sigh and backed out of the panel just in time to see Mando about to mess up her hard work.

“No, that doesn’t go there,” she kneeled next to him and grabbed his arm before he could attach the wire in the wrong spot.

“Then where does it go?” Mando asked, voice coming out equal parts confused and aggravated.

Aili let out a long sigh, she knew how he was feeling because the heat was getting to her too. But one of them had to keep their cool until they fixed all the wiring. "Not there. Put it back where you found it.”

“This is where I found it.”

“This is your own ship, how do you not know how to fix it?”

“You telling me that you could fix your ship?” Mando questioned, tone more defensive than before.

“Yeah, yeah I could because unlike you, I read the manual after I bought it.” Aili snapped before taking the wire from his hands and leaning over him to put it in the right spot, her free hand on the ground beside Mando’s thigh bracing herself up above him. She didn't notice the way he tensed under her or the way he shifted once she was upright again. “There. Now-”

He cursed Cara for the comments she had made on Sorgan. He cursed Aili for almost never keeping her flight suit on all the way. Now he was noticing things he, probably, wouldn't have noticed before. He didn't hear Aili say something until she smacked him on the arm right below his pauldron. That seemed to be her favorite place to hit him to get his attention because there was no beskar.

"What?" He asked dumbly. He hadn’t even noticed that she had been speaking.

"I said, everything should be fixed now," Aili repeated herself, eyes narrowed in annoyance. First she does most of the work and now he can’t even give her a simple thank you. When he still didn’t say anything she let out a long sigh.

“Well if you’re done trying to kill us, I’m going to bed. Don’t bother me unless we’re actually about to die,” Aili said, anger tinting her voice. She stopped and picked the Child up from his cradle, planning to put him down for the night as well. She left the Mandalorian in the gen room with a huff. She missed the stare he was giving her from behind the helmet as well as the way he swallowed hard before finally getting up from his spot on the floor.

“Fuck.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x original character #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x oc #mandalorian imagine

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raendown · 4 years

Link

Pairing: YamatoNaruto Word count: 2487 Soulmate au: The one where you can hear what they're thinking whenever you consciously try to listen

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 220

Tenzo knew his soulmate within moments of meeting them. He really hadn’t expected that. After the life he’d led and a continuing lack of proper social understanding he’d expected it to take a very long time for him to figure it out if and when they finally met. There had been times he’d bemoaned the fact that their mental connection didn’t extend towards an ability to have actual conversations, limited only to allowing them an ear in to each other’s thoughts at will, but after so many years of worry it seemed there had been nothing to fear on that front. Unfortunately in all the time he’d spent wondering what they would look like or how their voice would sound out loud Tenzo had forgotten to wonder about one thing. Only one detail, yet such an important one. He’d forgotten to wonder at their age.

Looking at the still growing bundle of energy in the clearing ahead of him, Tenzo did his best to identify each of the emotions coalescing in the hot tangled ball around his heart. Shock, clearly, was the foremost emotion, that fate had chosen to bond him with someone so much his junior without even allowing them the mercy of meeting after Naruto had fully grown. Confusion was also a large part of it, although he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he was confused about or if he was simply feeling generally off-kilter. Years of rigorous training had the back of his mind reminding him that such emotions would make for poor concentration on the mission awaiting them. But there were still so many other feelings woven throughout the stranglehold suffocating his heart that he just knew he would never be able to untangle them all for a proper look.

Was he disappointed? Tenzo couldn’t say. He could admit in the privacy of his mind that Naruto’s features were already handsome but at the same time he felt almost dirty for even noticing. The boy was only seventeen.

The best thing he could think to do at the time was to hold his silence. Whatever his feelings about this situation, it would surely be for the best if he figured them out for himself before admitting to this child that they were matched. Before that first day was over it was obvious that Naruto was not the sort to take big news quietly or keep it to himself either. Tenzou felt certain the boy would understand if he simply put off such an awkward conversation until he was sure they could both be ready for it.

Unfortunately the longer he held his tongue the less sure he became, a year or two quickly turning in to half a decade almost before he realized, and Tenzou suddenly found himself adrift in a post-war utopia with everyone around them finding the places they were always meant to be, leaving him far behind. He wondered sometimes if Naruto even really noticed that he’d never found his bond. In the wake of the Fourth Shinobi War the boy - more of a man now than a boy - found himself awash in suitors of all genders, handing out dates left and right like he had a well of infinite love for anyone who wanted a taste. And Tenzou, well. He wanted a taste. It may have taken just over five years for him to finally admit it to himself but the rare glimpses he allowed himself in to Naruto’s thoughts showed him to be as genuine as the face he showed to the rest of the world. It would have been very difficult indeed to find a heart as true as Naruto’s.

Some days it was harder than others to understand why or how he had worked himself in to this stupid corner, unable to speak and yet unwilling to hold his tongue. On those days when the loneliness he’d built for himself became too much he found himself often drifting to the roof of the administration tower. It was always peaceful up here. Most people in the common forces assumed that the Hokage’s ANBU would be camped out here on lookout at all hours of the day and yet such assumptions only meant it would be too easy a spot to be ambushed. Generally they avoided it, letting the rumors fly free to encourage any possible attacks away from their true hiding places, and that left the roof free for a despondent ex-ANBU to sit with his back to one of the massive pillars while he looked for answers in the stars above.

The last thing he expected was for anyone to join him there. Or rather, the last thing he expected was for Naruto to be the one who finally interrupted his mournful solitude.

“You don’t mind?” Naruto pointed at the spot beside him but didn��t bother to wait for a reply before flopping down to the ground so close their shoulders brushed together. Tenzou peeked at the younger man from the corner or one eye.

“I thought you had a date tonight?” he murmured.

“Eh, he was boring. Kept going on and on about how I saved the village and he’s so grateful I would even give him the time of day and blah blah blah.”

Tenzou smiled against his will. “After all those years you put in to making the village recognize you, you don’t like it when they do?”

“Oh for sure!” Naruto puffed up his chest. “I like being someone that others can look up to! It’s just kind of annoying when they treat me like I’m better than them somehow, you know? Just ‘cause I got real strong doesn’t mean I don’t want to have normal conversations and stuff. I’m still just me.”

More than anyone else Tenzou knew that, it was one of the reasons he had slowly fallen in love, and so he nodded without trusting himself to speak. His silence must have been noteworthy somehow because when he didn’t get a verbal response Naruto turned to lock their eyes together with an unreadable expression. Tenzou knew he could have simply dipped in to the other’s thoughts. He could know everything he wanted to know in just a few moments. Instead, like the coward he was, he merely blinked and waited for Naruto to speak first.

He didn’t have long to wait.

“You know...sometimes we build things up in our heads and it gets bigger and bigger until one day you realize it’s just never gonna be the same in reality as it is in your head.”

“I’m sure if you told him he was making you uncomfortable that he would have backed off a little,” Tenzou said. Naruto gave him another look he didn’t understand.

“No, I wasn’t talking about that guy.”

“Oh.” At a loss, he turned his face away and looked back up at the stars. “What were you talking about then?”

For a long minute Naruto said nothing and the feeling of expectancy that hung in the air between them was honestly baffling. It was hard to imagine what the other might be waiting for without reaching across the connection between them to listen firsthand. Forcing himself to have patience, to his shame, required falling back on some of the old repression techniques he had learned under Danzo’s rule.

“I was talking about you.”

Only five words, a simple message delivered in quiet tones, but they stole the breath from Tenzou’s chest as he whipped his head back down again to stare at the man beside him.

“W-what do you mean?” he asked breathlessly. Naruto was grinning openly in amusement.

“You know that this connection thing works both ways, right? I know I’m kind of a knucklehead but I’m not really stupid, dattebayo!”

“I...I never…”

Waving a hand to cut him off, Naruto chuckled a bit. “You didn’t know I knew. I know. We can both hear each other’s thoughts and stuff so, I mean, it wasn’t all that hard to figure it out. You were really uncomfortable with it for a long time so I figured you’d be even more uncomfortable if I made you talk about it. Just being friends is still great!”

“You...but...I…” Now more than ever before it seemed that words were beyond him.

Because Naruto was right, this connection between them was a two way street. Just as it was for every other pair of soulmates in the world. How that detail could have escaped him for so many years was a mystery - although Tenzou distantly suspected it probably had something to do with willful ignorance. He was grateful for the uncharacteristic patience as he struggled his way through the revelation that he had apparently worried himself in to knots over nothing. For multiple years. Evidently Naruto had figured it out quite early on. Still, once his brain could finally process anything beyond the wild siren noises of panic he couldn’t help but get stuck on something quite specific.

“Just...being friends?” he managed to get out. To his utter bafflement Naruto flushed, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Should have known you’d catch that, dattebayo. You’re a really great guy! And you’re my soulmate! It’s okay if I like you, right?” The nervous chuckle he made sounded so out of place from someone usually so brash and confident. “But, uh, hey! It’s okay if you’re still not comfortable. Just because we like each other doesn’t mean we have to do anything with that if you don’t want or if it still bothers you that I’m younger or something. Just, maybe you could think about it?”

Tenzou swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat to croak out, “You think of me like that?” A moment later he breathily added, “You know I think of you like that?”

His answer was a helpless laugh as Naruto shrugged. Either he’d run out of words or he was listening through their link and realized that all these massive bombs he was dropping were just a little too much for an aging and poorly socialized ex-ANBU to handle. Ask him to assassinate the head of another village and Tenzou would approach his given task with a cool head. Ask him to face his own emotions and the only thing he was likely to accomplish was a few weeks of serious but confusing thoughts, no actions.

Several minutes passed before it was obvious that neither one of them knew what to say next. Naruto had laid all of his cards on the table, he was clearly waiting for some kind of sign for where to go from here, and it took a while before Tenzou realized he would have to provide that sign. Leaving it up to him to drive whatever was happening here was clearly a bad decision.

As he proved when the only thing he could think to do was to lean over and crash his mouth against the younger man’s with all the pent up emotion of someone who had been keeping a secret for more years than he wanted to count. Despite the fact that Naruto had only just confessed to sharing his feelings it was somehow still a jolt to feel him respond in kind with a low groan. With no clue what he was doing Tenzou did something for the very first time in his life; he threw logic out the window and let his emotions rule him. It was something he had always admired about his soulmate, something he’d always wished he could bring himself to do, and later it would occur to him how fitting it was that it was this leap of faith that brought them together at last.

When the kiss ended Tenzou discovered he was panting with the exertion of his own heartbeat, not embarrassed only because his partner was breathing just as heavily.

“Yeah?” Naruto mumbled.

“Yeah,” Tenzou whispered back. Neither of them needed to elaborate. The connection between them had never been so open. All of Naruto’s thoughts streamed in to his mind almost as though the man were projecting them as hard as he could and the sheer happiness they both felt in this moment was enough to quell every fear that might have arisen.

“For real? We can-?”

Since he really didn’t have any better of a handle on his words yet Tenzou chose actions instead. This time when he moved Naruto met him halfway and both of them had to chuckle at their own awkwardness as their teeth clacked together. It was, somehow, a perfect moment. Just the right way to remind them both that they were human and messy and that it was okay to be those things. Tenzou closed his eyes for a moment just to breath. When he’d come to sit up here on the roof tonight he’d expected nothing more than to spend another few hours pitying himself for the seemingly impossible situation that he’d put them both in. Now…

“All those dates with all those different people,” he ventured slowly. “They weren’t real dates, were they?”

“Kind of. Lots of people want my attention and it doesn’t really hurt anyone to give them the time of day - so long as I don’t let things go too far. Mostly they just want to say they went out with the hero of the village, not many of them were really interested in me as a person. As long as you were still worried about being together I figured...why not just make all those people happy without actually having to break any hearts?” Naruto looked a little nervous like he wasn’t sure that was alright but Tenzou found himself slumping with relief.

It really was just like Naruto to give so much of himself like that. And as much as Tenzou had always been fine with Naruto finding companionship in others when he himself had refused to step forward, it was still an odd sort of relief to know the other had actually been waiting for him all along.

“Don’t break my heart, okay?” he said.

Naruto didn’t say anything, only pulled him in for a kiss that didn’t miss this time, but he didn’t have to use words. Everything he was feeling was right there in his thoughts. Tenzou reached out to cup the back of his soulmate’s head even as he let his mind sink in to Naruto’s where everything he had ever wanted was right there waiting for him. It was amazing how avoiding these little glimpses as much as possible had denied him what he most desired for so long but what was done was done. There was no point crying over past mistakes.

Feeling more carefree than he ever had before, Tenzou let the world drift away and filled his mind with the one man he now looked forward to filling his future with.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #yamanaru #yamato #tenzou #naruto #fanfiction

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