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arc-misadventures · 2 years

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What Does He Say In Silence

Now in the designated dorm room of the newly formed Team JNPR, sat Lie Ren, Nora Valkyrie, Pyrrha Nikos, and their newly appointed team leader, Jaune Arc. They sat upon there beds for the simple chairs they had been provided had been occupied by their sister team, Team RWBY, the members of which being, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, Yang Xiao Long, and their team leader one, Ruby Rose.

They all were tired from the days events, but they had to gain an answer to the one question on all of their minds, lest they never get any sleep again: How was, Jaune Arc speaking to them, without speaking.

Jaune: (I do hope such things like this are not a trend to be expected; explaining this over, and over again is rather annoying.)

He smiled cheekily as he fluffed his pillow upon his lap. Before turning back to his friends.

Jaune: (Okay, well to put it quite simply, I am an empath, it’s my semblance; I can read your minds, but the best I can do is psychically ‘talk’ to you in your head, but you can’t say anything back to me. Technically. And, I can read your emotions, I can tell if you’re hungry, sleepy, mad, and such things. But, I can’t look into your mind, and tell you what your favourite food is. Now, any questions?)

Jaune, smiled softly as he gave a a rehearsed speech, and his new friends all stared at him puzzled, trying to wrap their heads around having a friend being an empath.

Yang: So… You project your voice in our heads as a means of ‘talking’ to us?

Jaune: (Correct, but I have to establish the link, as it were first. It’s like I have to call you on my sctoll in order to talk with you, but you can’t call me back because you don’t have my number.)

Yang: That makes sense… Can you project anything else into our heads?

Jaune: (I can project my emotions emotions, and feelings about certain things into your heads. For example: my hatred of eating liver.)

Soon the group jerked forward as a wave of emotions flood their minds: Disgust, resentment, and bitter reluctance. All the feelings, Jaune felt as a kid when his mother forced him to eat liver.

Yang: Okay… That’s overwhelming…

Ruby: Wow! That cool!

Nora: Told you liver was icky, Renny!

Ren: But, it’s highly nutritious for you, Nora.

Nora: ICKY!

Weiss: I must ask you to refrain from doing that again, that was… uncomfortable.

Blake: Agreed.

Pyrrha: I didn’t mind. Honestly, I feel the same way about liver.

They could all hear a happy laugh echo through their minds as, Jaune smiled cheekily at their collective expense.

Jaune: (Don’t worry, you’re more likely going to hear a tune randomly in the back of your head if anything.)

Weiss: Why would we hear a song in our heads?

Jaune: (Because I’m trying to clear my head of a thought, or emotions. Or, I’m trying block out your emotions, and thoughts.)

Pyrrha: Our emotions; Are you picking up our emotions right now?

Jaune: (I’m always picking up on someone else’s emotions. My semblance is passive, it’s always active, and I’m always reading someone’s emotions, whether I want to, or not.)

Ruby: What is that like?

Jaune leaned back, his eyes looking skyward as he was contemplating on his answer. The all couldn’t help, but marvel as how in each of their minds the could feel the wandering, the interest, the intrigue, and the satisfaction of a conclusion to the answer he sought.

Jaune: (It’s like walking through a perfume store; the smells of all the different fragments is around you, but unless you leave the store, the smells are always there.)

Weiss: That makes sense.

Ruby: And, that was cool! I could feel how satisfied you were finding that answer!

Jaune: (Wait, you felt that?)

Jaune, looked around, and saw them all nod there heads in affirmation as he facepalmed at his slip up.

Jaune: (And, that’s why you’ll hear a song in your head every so often. Haa, sorry about that.)

Pyrrha: It’s okay, Jaune, at least we’ll know what to expect in the future.

Pyrrha gave, Jaune a comforting smile, to which he gave one in kind, but his smile quickly fell as he could feel, Ruby exude a wave of curiosity, and excitement.

Ruby: Ah! You heard me didn’t you!

Jaune: (Well, yes, that’s how an empath works.)

Yang: To be fair, Rubes, we could all tell how excited you were just by looking at you.

Ruby: Can you blame me?! This is such a cool semblance!

Yang: I know, but if you were a faunas you’d have a tail, and you’d be wagging it like crazy.

Ruby: Hey that’s not true!

Blake: Does stuff like this happen often to you? Picking up on someone’s emotions, particularly when they’re strong emotions?

Jaune: (Ha! You kidding, they can wake me up if they’re strong enough!)

Blake: Really? What happened?

Jaune: Well… I was eight, when I was woken up in the middle of the night, by overwhelming emotions I couldn’t describe at the time. Scared the hell out of me so much ‘I screamed,’ and woke everyone up in an instant. My parents, and my sister’s all came running into my room. Rushing to check up on me as I was panicking in my bed, making them all panic in turn because of my semblance effects were all giving them a mental feedback of my emotions.)

Yang: Like a dealing with a secondhand junkies high.

Jaune: (Yeah pretty much. It took a while for me to calm down, but when I did my parents begged me to tell them what happened. I had no idea what it was I had felt, because I never felt it before, so I shared it back to them…)

They could all see the blush that spread across his face, as a toon started to ring around their heads as he fought to rein in his emotions.

Yang: Oh, ho ho~! This should be good~!

Nora: What is it, what is it! Tellustellustellus!

Jaune: (Lets just say, my mother gave me a very detailed explanation of the birds, and the bees that night…)

The room soon burst into laughter as they heard, Jaune’s answer. There were many ways to learn about that, I doubt that was one way, anyone wanted to learn about it.

Yang: Oh, that’s beautiful!

Nora: That’s one way to learn about it!

Weiss: That’s really… Pfft! That’s really vulgar thing to experience.

Jaune: (You tell me; Its one thing to reach the climax, its another thing to get the mental feedback from someone else having one, particularly your parents?!)

The room burst into laughter again at the poor boys plights as he shivered in horror at those memories. And, as the laughter died the questions about him, and his semblance continued.

Weiss: So, Jaune if you don’t mind me asking, but can you actually speak, or are you a mute?

Ruby: Weiss, you can’t just ask someone that!

Weiss: Why not, it’s a fair question!

Jaune: (It’s okay, Ruby, it is a fair question. And, the answer is yes, I am mute. Been that way since I was a kid, probably developed my semblance so people could hear me.)

Nora: Cool!

Jaune: (But, yeah that’s it, I’m a empath who can feel your emotions, and scream in your head.)

Ruby: Can you actually do that?

Jaune smiled deviously as he recalled all the times he scared his sister’s in retaliation for the pranks they pulled on him.

Jaune: (All the time; either to scare someone, or to throw them off in a fight.)

Pyrrha: Ohh… clever.

Jaune: (Thank you.Okay! That’s all there is to know about my little semblance. We’ll have to do some training so you guys can get a handle of it.)

Pyrrha: Sounds good to me.

Ren: Sounds like a wise plan to me.

Nora: This is going to be so much fun!

Ruby: Can you teach us to?

Jaune: (Would you like me to?)

Ruby: Yeah! It sounds fun!

Yang: I’m game, Mr. Psyker.

Jaune: (Lame.)

Weiss: Agreed. I would be interested in learning how to handle your semblance as well, Jaune.

Blake: Since everyone else is, I probably should too.

Jaune: Great! We’ll start training later, i’ll let you know when. Till then, we best get some sleep. First day is tomorrow, and I’m exhausted…

Ruby: Yeah, we best get to sleep too. Night, Jaune!

Jaune: Night, Ruby, sleep well.

Weiss: Good night, Pyrrha.

Pyrrha: Pleasant dreams, Weiss.

Yang: Night guys!

Blake: Good night.

Ren: Sleep well ladies.

Nora: Good night! Watch out for the bed bugs!

Weiss: The what?!

Soon the door closed, and everyone made there way to bed, and as, Jaune climb into his own bed, he could feel the minds of everyone about him. The fears, and the excitement that tomorrow would bring to them. And, as he feel asleep a smile spread across his face because he could feel it to, and he couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring for him.

///

Okay! Lore dump, and semblance mechanics are done! Now the real fun begins!

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #nora valkyrie #weiss schnee #pyrrha nikos #ruby rose #lie ren

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gwynrielsupremacist · 3 years

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CONSTELATIONS

Read at AO3

The sound of the Shadowsinger’s heavy breaths plus the splashing from the bathroom echoed throughout the room

Azriel was fucked.

But really, really fucked.

His hands felt sweaty against the cool and soft fabric of his bedsheets, undone after so many times he had shifted his position while he waited for his mate to leave the bathroom and go into bed with him.

They had discovered that they were mates a few weeks ago, and they had agreed to take things easy.

But, the progress that was to occur that night, it overwhelm him

He raised his body, supporting his elbow and extending his muscled neck, trying to see if Gwyn would appear through the doorway.

He still didn’t believe that such a female, that priestess, was his mate.

He still didn’t believe his feelings were reciprocal.

Seeing she wouldn’t show up yet, he flopped onto the bed, running the back of his hand over his eyes, sighing.

Shadows crawled up his scarred fingers, trying to soothe his nerves, but nothing succeeded. He glanced at the time in the clock that sat on his nightstand. She had been in the bath for 30 minutes.

“Has something happened to her?” He asked.

“She will come, Shadowsinger” The shadows reassured him. “She’s as nervous as you”

He stretched the collar of his nightshirt to catch some air in his lungs. He normally slept shirtless and in simple black shorts that left little to imagination, but he supposed his normal clothing would make the priestess uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to be the reason for her discomfort.

He looked down at his hands, scarred and burned.

“You don’t deserve her. You’re just the bastard of an Illyrian lord”. His insecurities told him.

“That’s a lie, Shadowsinger. She loves you, and you’re worthy of her, as much as she is worthy of you” His shadows answered, attacking his own thoughts.

“You’re a blood-thirsty bastard, when she knows all your secrets, she will run away”.

“Attack those thoughts, Shadowsinger, those thoughts are nothing but your insecurities” They fought back.

“I am worthy of her. She loves me and I love her” Azriel thought, closing the insecurities with a padlock and tearing them outside, destroying it.

He sighted, placing a palm in his heart, noticing how his heartbeat was normalizing.

The shadows started to move, heading to the arc of his wings, settling there and calmly observing their master.

Azriel shifted, lying on his stomach, no longer hearing the sound of his mate splashing in the tub.

It had all started when Gwyn appeared in the training ring, while he was performing his night stretches.

Apparently, she hadn’t been able to sleep and had grown tired of reading the book she, Nesta and Emerie had started to criticize it, and had headed to the training ring to perform dagger exercises, finding Azriel there.

They had started doing combinations of lunges and dagger blocks and when they were both satisfied, thay headed to their room, hand in hand.

She had gone downstairs to the priestesses’ rooms for a moment, looking for a nightgown to sleep in, while he took a quick shower, wiping all the sweat from his body.

When he came out of the bathroom, dressed in his pajamas, Gwyn was already there, looking around the room.

His room wasn’t one of the largest in the House. He believed that Cassian’s was the biggest, with all his gadgets and gadgets he kept there, but his was cozy. He doesn’t need anything else.

Well, maybe a priestess sleeping everynight in his bed, in his arms. He wouldn’t mind.

In one corner was a study with two chairs, next to a three-seater sofá with a tea table in front of it. In the center of the room was where the huge bed was located, next to which were two chests, one with clothes and the other with weapons, in addition to the weapons that were hidden throughout the room.

The moment Gwyn saw him, she ran into the bathroom, and there she is currently.

The sound of footsteps startled him, sitting up and searching with his gaze for the gorgeous priestess, finding her grasping the edge of her nightgown uneasily, in the middle of the bathroom door.

The nightgown was a simple cobalt blue negligeé, with lace at the top, running down her creamy neck to the V of her breasts, ending below her knees.

It was simple, but fucking sexy.

He would already thank Nesta and Emerie for the purchase, because he was sure as hell it had been the choice of those two. He gulped, avoiding thinking of the bulge already forming in his pants.

Azriel smiled at her, tapping the spot next to him, inviting her to sit down next to him.

She smiled back, blushing as she approached the bed, sitting down and smoothing the hem of her nightgown, placing her cheek on the Shadowsinger’s shoulder, revealing part of her whitish neck and the curve of her breasts.

He was very screwed up.

“Are you okay?” Az asked, grabbing her hand and kissing her knuckles.

She nodded, letting herself be carried away by her touch, as she wrapped her hands around her body.

They felt silent, staring at each other while innocent caresses were made.

“Do you want a particular side or…? She asked, laughing quietly as she grabbed his hand and traced the scars on his hand.

“I have no problem” He shrugged, caressing her hand as he pulled her into his body, sitting her on his lap.

Gwyn blushed, realizing where exactly she was sitting, but he brought his legs together, letting her not to be sitting right on top of his cock.

“Thank you” She said as she brought her lips to his cheek, kissing it slowly, then hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

Azriel wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her cheek and murmuring “No problem” in her ear, then kissing her lobe, earning a shudder from her part.

Suddenly Gwyn raised her head and started looking around the room, her face puzzled.

“Where are your shadows?” She asked, searching the corners to see if they were there.

“Hidden, apparently” He explained.

“We’re here” Answered his shadows. “We didn’t want to trouble our priestess” They said as ribbons of night appeared out of nowhere, approaching the Spymaster’s neck, some of them touching and licking the wrists of the female sitting in his legs.

“According to them, they didn’t want to appear in case you felt uncomfortable with them” He explained, noticing how the shadows hid in the arch of his wings, observing from there the scene between the two lovers.

Gwyn chuckled, reaching out to a shadow, letting it surround her.

“I don’t mind if they’re with us” She admitted, as more shadows joined the already present. “They have never bothered me. In fact, they’re a comforting presence.”

Azriel laughed. A noteworthy laugh, out of the stomach.

“Do you consider my shadows a comforting presence?” A low chuckle came out of him, while he brought his lips to her neck and arranged small kisses in the area.

“Sure” She emphasized, noticing goosebumps on her arm. “Why should your shadows bother me?”

Azriel was silent, preferring to keep kissing her neck.

He noticed how she smiled, lightly grasping his hair, entangling her fingers in the fine strands of his raven hair.

He slid down onto the massive bed, getting Gwyn to straddle his thighs, earning a punch to the arm.

He feigned pain, grabbing his arm and twisting carefully from his wings, while he listened to her laughter and the whisper of the shadows running through their bodies.

“Enough of teasing me!” She yelled, red with embarrassment, as she climbed off his lap and onto her side, ignoring his laughter and attempts to roll her onto her back.

Finally Azriel circled Gwyn’s hips, pulling her closer to him, spooning, entangling their legs under the sheets.

“I’m not making fun of you” He lied, peppering her neck with kisses.

Gwyn turned, looking into his eyes as she teased him.

“Be careful lest I remove your tongue with my teeth” He flirted, earning a blush from her part.

She turned back, ignoring him.

Azriel lowered his gaze from the creamy porcelain skin on her neck to the area where their bodies nearly collided. discovering that the nightgown Gwyn was wearing had risen above her hips, earning a switch toward his cock from the sight of her panties, watching her long legs and thinking how they would feel if they were tangled around his hips as he slammed hard against her-

He noticed that the female in his arms began to tremble, realizing in that moment he had screwed up more than at any other time.

“Gwyn. Gwyn I’m so sorry” He apologized, moving quickly and putting a good few meters between both bodies, noticing the strong smell of arousal that was in the room. “Love, are you okay?”

She nodded, turning to find Azriel staring at her, eyes filled with remorse and concern.

“I’m sorry” She said, wrapping her arms around her body, tears falling from her eyes.

“She’s not angry with you, Master” The shadows commented.

“Who is she mad at then?” He answered them.

“With herself” They replied. “She’s angry for not having control of her body and therefore not being able to be intimate with you.”

He was silent for a moment, thinking about how to tell her what she needed to understand without her freaking out.

He reached out his hand, asking with his gaze for her to grasp it, taking both hands and intertwining them. That was exactly just what she did-

“It’s okay, love” He confirmed hers, soothing her skin with his thumb. “Let’s go at your pace, there’s no need to rush.”

She shook her head, looking at both clasped hands: “What if we can never be intimate because of me… because of my trauma?”

“Then we’ll not have intimacy” He assured her, bringing her knuckles closer and kissing them carefully. “I’m not with you for having sex, I’m with you because I love you. If we can’t have sex, then we won’t have sex.

She nodded slightly, moving closer to her body until they were nose to nose.

“It’s… my body… the problem” She confirmed.

He cocked his head: “Why do you think your body is the problem?

How can she think that her body, her gorgeous body, is the problem?

“Because you have had a multitude of lovers, surely with a better body than me, who will know how to satisfy you better than me” She told him. “I have… scars on the inner part of my thighs and hips and…” She replied while shallowly crying that little by little were falling down their teal eyes. “I have freckles all over my body and…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, preferring to hide her face on his neck while she tried to calm herself down.

He ran his hand across her back, making circles with his fingers to relax her muscles.

“Honey… Of course I have had many lovers, but I have only allowed one of them to know me thoroughly, and that’s you, my love” He replied, kissing the crown of her hair. “I haven’t seen your whole body, but I’m sure it’s just as breathtaking as I imagined it to be.” He murmured. grabbing her hand and kissing it softly. “And why the hell do you think I would hate your freckles?

She sniffed, looking into his eyes as he brought his scarred fingers closer and wiped the tears that fell from her eyes.

“In Sangravah they always compared us… Catrin and me” Gwyn recalled. “They always said Catrin was the beautiful one while I was the… cute one. I always assumed that it was because I had this hair and these stupid freckles.

Azriel had a painful time trying not to rip the head off those who said that to his mate.

“Well, that’s a lie, because you’re fucking beautiful and I love those freeckles”. He recognized as he traced patterns on her cheeks, following their path.

Gwyn began to blush, placing her mouth on the corners of Azriel’s lips, giving him small kisses and then hiding in the hollow of his neck again, leaving kisses there alike, earning a shudder from the male.

“This female is going to be the end of me” He thought, as he arched his neck to give her more room to kiss.

She laughed lightly, looking up, meeting Azriel's gaze locked in her lips.

The atmosphere suddenly was charged with the arousal of both, him and her.

They began to get closer little by little.

There had been very few occasions that they had kissed on the lips, and the tension of the moment could be cut with scissors.

They kept getting closer until there were only inches left for their lips to collide, breathing in each other's breath.

"Can I… Can I kiss you?" He asked. Always asking permission, always the safety of his mate first. If she wanted to leave things right then and there, Azriel would be happy just holding her through the night.

Azriel didn't discover that he had been breathless until she nodded, until both lips met in a noteworthy explosion.

It was a simple kiss, Azriel knew he shouldn't push until she decided to, but they were both too tired to deepen the kiss.

Gwyn parted her lips little by little, silently demanding the kiss to be deepened, and Azriel was perfectly willing to make his mate enjoy the experience to the fullest.

He parted his lips, letting both tongues collide shyly, kissing and kissing and kissing until they had to part to breathe.

They both smiled, peaking at each other's lips, until Gwyn dropped onto Azriel's chest, visibly tired and with her eyes almost closed.

"Are we sleepy, Berdara?" He teased her, kissing the top of her head as she nodded silently, burying her head deeper into his chest, inhaling the scent of cedar and night mist.

"Tomorrow we have training?" She asked him sleepily.

"Yes, we do" He replied, grabbing the sheets that had fallen by the side, leaving them on both bodies "I will wake you up, just sleep now, my love, you have earned it".

She smiled slightly, kissing his neck one last time as her breathing became more and more rhythmic. She had fallen asleep.

In his arms.

She had fallen asleep in his arms.

He smiled slightly, the only person who would allow to see that sensitive part of him.

"Good night, my love" He whispered in her ear, kissing the lobe and falling into the most restful and deep sleep he had in years.

——————————————————————————

Gwyn hadn't slept this well in a long time.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of his mate's room, illuminating the entire room. She turned her gaze, finding his handsome mate asleep peacefully, with one arm under the pillow and the other resting delicately on her stomach, protectively.

She smiled slightly, her gaze running over the man who shared the bed. His hair was facing everywhere from sleep, her wings curled up behind him, the membranes catching the sun's heat and forming shapes on them. She perceived, not with a little joy and excitement, that part of his shirt had risen, revealing his tanned abs.

She didn't know what time it was, but he was supposed to wake them both up, so she decided to put her head back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

She suddenly felt the arm that was on his stomach stretch, as did the other on the pillow. She had woken him up.

"You look like a cat stretching" She laughed, brushing away the hair that had fallen over his eyes, meeting Azriel's hazel eyes staring at her, clouded with sleep.

He smiled slightly, leaving kisses on her neck, causing shudders throughout her body.

"Let me sleep" He replied with a hoarse and dark voice.

"We have to go to training" She counterattacked, trying to lift his arm that fell under her hands again, without success.

"Five more minutes" He murmured, yawning.

"I can't believe the brooding Spymaster of the Night Court is demanding me five more minutes of sleep" She chuckled, pounding her arm.

He growled, nipping her shoulder playfully.

Gwyn gave up, letting Azriel lightly bite as much of her neck as he wanted.

They did not know how long they stayed in that position, the Shadowsinger kissing and nibbling the priestess's neck and shoulder, while she allowed herself to be done.

Finally he got tired, raising his mouth to meet hers, giving her a kiss.

"Good morning" He whispered between kisses, biting lightly on Gwyn's bottom lip, causing a sensation of heat to settle in the lower part of his stomach.

"Good morning to you too" She replied, stroking Azriel's back, careful not to touch her wings, the shadows nowhere in sight.

Gwyn had already received that talk about Illyrian wings from Nesta and Emerie, who were the first to discover that the two were "together". She knew perfectly well that she shouldn't touch Azriel's wings without his permission.

Suddenly Azriel tensed, and Gwyn feared that she hadn't been careful enough and she had touched something she shouldn't have until a shadow came to view and settled into his ear, telling him something.

The Shadowsinger grabbed the sheets that had moved, covering both bodies at the same moment someone opened the door.

"AZRIEL, GWYN IS NOT IN HER…" Nesta interrupted in the room, almost ripping the door out of her place, Cassian behind her.

But while Nesta's gaze was concerned, Cassian was trying not to laugh at that very moment.

Cassian knew perfectly well why Gwyn was not in her room that night.

"H-Hi" Gwyn greeted, watching her best friend's reaction.

Nesta was speechless, staring at the Spymaster, then Gwyn, and then her mate, realizing why Cassian wasn't the least bit worried.

"You knew it! You knew where Gwyn had been and you made me scared about her safety!" Nesta screeched, too loud for Gwyn's newly awakened hearing.

"I was imagining where Gwyn might have been," Cassian laughed, casting glances at Azriel, who growled menacingly at Cassian and Nesta, demanding that they immediately leave her room.

"See you at breakfast," Cassian announced, to which he was met with another higher-pitched growl from Azriel, closing the door and leaving both lovers in the room again.

Gwyn began to laugh, to which Azriel looked at her strangely, not understanding why his mate laughed when those two had caught them.

"It was very embarrassing" She said, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes, getting up from the bed and approaching the leathers that she had brought from her room.

She turned to find Azriel sitting on her bed, staring at her with amusement in his eyes.

"Are you going to stay there all day or are you going to help me train?" To which she earned a crooked smile from her mate, getting up and heading to the bathroom to change clothes.

She left the room to change into another bathroom, meeting Nesta, looking at her with love, as if to say:

"I am proud of you, sister."

TAG LIST: @bookish-isha @imsointobooks @shisingh @feyretale @niaacotar @flora-shadowshine @tealnymph24 @trashforazriel

#gwynriel #gwynriel fic #azriel #gwyn #acosf #azriel x gwyn #acotar #gwyneth berdara #acowar

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hothian-snow · 4 years

Text

Sparagmos: First Draft

To celebrate me reaching 32K with my WIP, here’s a bunch of drabbles which inspired the initial first draft. I might reuse one or two scenes, but not the stuff with Darth Zhorrid. Both Yen and her master has changed a lot through my second revision of the fic too, and so has my writing style. Enjoy!

Darth Kharopos knew damn well that he was intimidating. He must be, lest all the other Darths devour him whole. He was also acutely aware of the effect he had on Yennevyr. It was almost amusing, the sudden change in her posture, her back snapping straight the moment he stepped into the room. Her deference towards him, the soft words and lowered eyes. Was she eager to please, or eager to survive?

From her quick feet and mind, he thought it was the latter. Self-preservation was a necessary trait among the cutthroat Sith, but for his apprentices - his legacy - he wanted more. He thought with her keen eyes and her outsider’s perspective, she’d be able to see the Empire for what it was. To see beyond the rabble, beyond the rat’s race and see what truly mattered. Instead, her eyes were puffy and pink, the next morning they met during saber practice.

Pathetic.

And it wasn’t a one off occasion too. Every time she’d come back from a particularly grueling mission, her mind was elsewhere, her blows lacking the conviction he’d expect from an acolyte worthy of being called his apprentice.

Drawing his attention back to the current practice, he swung a saber at her, the saber deflected mid-swing by a well-placed parry. He stepped aside, and noted how her feet were firmly planted into the ground, readying the body to absorb the weight of a heavy thrust or jab. A defensive stance- again. Must he truly hurt her for her to finally switch to the offense?

The tip of her saber was shaking, her stamina running low.

With the ease of swatting a fly, Darth Kharopos knocked the saber out of her hands. Scowling, he walked away, not pausing to glance back..

*******

Something was different. Clearly, something had changed.

Yet, it was less of a change or a growth and more of a pot bubbling over, the pressure and the heat exploding, the fragile cage of a badly crafted glass teapot cracking, its jagged shards flying into the wall before smashing into sharp little pieces.

Something flared in her eyes and her single red blade came to life, slashing in his direction.

He stepped right and striked left. She jumped back, moving like a spooked jungle-cat, before bouncing back forward with an unexpected speed and thrusted her saber towards his form. He blocked her, catching her blade with the end of his own. Her stance buckled under his strength, and so she slid her saber away but not before suddenly twisting her grips - shifting form, right in the heat of combat, inches away from her enemy - and plunging the blade into where he stood. Darth Kharopos spun his double-bladed saber, creating a quick shield that deflected away Yennevyr’s weapon.

The weapon flew out of her hand.

He felt her clearly. Frustration. Loathing. Wrath.

Their force bond was never this strong, but now he could feel her closer than ever. The way her heart raced, the blood thumping in her ears, her ragged breath and barely held back sobs- it was a dam broken loose, her force presence like a whirlpool throwing the cold serenity of his mind into chaos. Decades of careful restraint and calculating control kept him from drowning in the waves of her emotions.

Yennevyr, with her lithe form and dancer physique, sent a butterfly kick towards his head. Darth Kharopos reeled back. He could’ve blocked her again, that he was more than capable of- but his senses were screaming, alarm bells ringing.

With that distraction - that uncharacteristic distraction, that daring, was so different from the cautious acrobat who used to dance in and out of his range - she summoned her saber back, the hilt smacking into her palm with a loud slap. Fluid like water, she leaped and swung the saber like a guillotine axe above his head. Eyes wide, Darth Kharopos raised his saber up to form a cover, digging his feet into the sand below as the impact hit him. Yennevyr was not relenting.

Her eyes were scarlet. Those amber orbs now glowed red, the color looking like freshly spilt blood against her snow-pale skin. It reminded him of the first time he saw a total lunar eclipse: the moon bled red, as if someone had stabbed its white soil and the wound began gushing glistening ruby.

He let her hit him.

*******

Despair was an emotion Darth Kharopos never experienced, not truly and certainly not personally. Whether that was an indication of mental strength or privilege, he didn’t know.

Lord Atala’s death hit them all hard; the empty space where his mother once stood still felt like a void. Darth Kratais second marriage with Darth Labrys could never fill that gnawing, missing hole, but the woman’s hands were tender and her gaze was warm and when she whispered words of comfort to him, it felt like he had a mother again. Her presence had gentled his father’s severe disposition, and when she brought about his half-sister - Tatyan - into the world, the younger Sith Pureblood felt like a tiny bird fluttering in his palms. She truly was worth protecting.

When his father passed, it felt like a bad dream had come again.

Except this time, mother was grieving and Tatyan was bawling and they all cried together.

“Never show weakness in front of outsiders”, Darth Labrys said. “But here, we’re family.”

Because of family, he’d never known despair.

He was used to inflicting it upon others, though.

Hearing prisoners beg for death, attempting to gouge their eyes out as if the act could wipe away the vision of seeing their loved ones writhing as lightning tore through them, was something he’d grown accustomed to. He saw it coming like a holofilm in slow-motion: the moment where a war veteran’s mind was about to break, their will and determination ready to be shattered into dust at just a single jab. He always made sure their descent into madness was quick- no need to prolong the suffering. Genuine torture was only reserved for the worst of his enemies. It was satisfying, forcing some arrogant Republic general to their knees and making them scream, or exposing some tough Jedi for the weakling they were, like ripping open a bandage to reveal the ugly pus beneath.

How then, had he become so numb to the agony of others, that he missed seeing the same signs in his apprentice?

She was in despair, so upset she wished she’d died.

The circular burns on her arms looked like the ones he was used to inflicting upon Republic foes. It was an easy interrogation technique: stamping a recently deactivated lightsaber onto bare skin, the still-hot metal like a sizzling brand. And when he gazed into her eyes (oh sweet Yennevyr, when was the last time he truly looked at her?), they were dead. Empty glass orbs that had given up on life, if only her heart would just stop beating and give up on her too.

“Do I disappoint you, my lord?”

There was no mockery, no snippy retort in her voice, only pain.

*******

“I’ve always wondered how the law would work out in the long run,” Darth Labrys said, her voice lilting through the holocall. She was referring to the law to bolster Imperial ranks with worthy slaves and aliens, the law which also applied to the Sith. “You can’t expect a slave or a foreigner with no background, no exposure to Sith culture or history to integrate smoothly into Sith society without intervention, much less demand top performances from them.”

Not to mention the consequence of overwhelming power suddenly awakening within someone never taught to wield it, Darth Kharopos thought. The dark side was intoxicating, and one could lose themselves to everything from bloodlust to misery.

“I’m not advising you to go easy on her… but do be understanding, Tyrkos.”

His mother warned that even with the best medicine or therapy available, it would take time, and heavens knew that the Sith journey was already difficult enough, requiring one to fall apart and be reborn from the ashes, to kill who you were for what you could become.

Trust between Sith, especially master and apprentices, was rare. Now, he doubted she’d ever place her faith in him beyond hoping to one day take his place.

*******

Is this how I die? Darth Kharopos thought.

Every breath felt like hot knives stabbing his lungs. The rebreather was dying on him, for he could taste soot in his mouth. Collapsed against the cool floor of his hideout, back leaning against a bloodied wall, his apprentice loomed over him. How embarrassing, for his apprentice to see him so helpless.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she cried out. “Master!”

He thought he’d take that secret to the grave, to ensure that the fallout was minimal. Sith Pureblood, heir to the Rosokor family, involved in a light-side conspiracy. Should he be exposed, the Dark Council would have his mother’s and sister’s heads.

He pleaded for her to understand.

And if she didn’t, he wouldn’t blame her.

Her left hand clutched his holocommunicator where the damning evidence of his treachery laid, and in her right hand was the scarlet lightsaber, poised for execution. In the months under his tutelage, she’d grown into a stunningly beautiful Sith assassin indeed.

He closed his eyes.

“Tell me how to help.”

In shock, his eyes snapped open.

Her eyebrows were scrunched up but whether in anxiety or concern, he could not tell. There was a flush in her cheeks, and wildness in her eyes. Against his every expectation, Yennevyr chose mercy. She chose a chance at the Light. She chose him.

Master, did you not choose me, on Korriban? You saw something in me. I see something in you, too.

*******

Yennevyr hated mopping up blood. She had watched her late father’s maids do it all the time, his underlings scrubbing a crime scene clean. She later played the role of the domestic servant, doing the same back when she was enslaved under the Hutts, whether it be with spilled drinks or bloodstains from a brawl. She wasn’t afraid of blood- the coppery stench just smelled revolting.

Her master bled liters, the liquid forming sticky pools beneath his broken body. Sealing the wound wasn’t too difficult once she found the medkit, although her clumsy handiwork would definitely leave a scar. What was even more concerning was her master’s breathing, the fact that it sounded agonizingly labored and worryingly irregular.

With effort, they managed to haul their way to the hideout’s medical wing before he slipped into unconsciousness.

When his armor was stripped away and it was only his form in plain robes on the simple bed, her master looked more exhausted than she’d ever seen him. Heavy fatigue was written all over his sleeping face. It reminded her of those times she woke up especially early to see the Kaasian sunrise, the soft orange peaking through grey, stormy clouds. Some days, she deduced how master had been running some secret errands the night before, and she’d spot him limping home, his feet dragging, with an uncharacteristic slouch burdening his usually proud posture. Logically, she knew her master was no more or less a person than her, but to glimpse him tired and worn out had shocked her.

She spent the night by his side, the implications of her actions becoming clearer with each passing moment.

To reform the Sith society from inside out, she thought. A lofty dream. When did I become such a cynic?

With curious eyes, she glanced at her master’s resting form, the sound of his still ragged breathing filling the room. She wouldn’t even need a lightsaber; all she had to do was wrap her hands around his neck, and squeeze. She wondered if suffocation felt like sleep.

Oh, will I ever see you this vulnerable again?

Instead, she gingerly placed a palm on top of his limp hand, entangling her fingers with his. His hand was warm.

*******

After the suspicious death of Darth Jadus, Darth Zhorrid - in her sick ways - sought to consolidate her position as a Dark Lord of the Sith.

As if the Council would stand her, Yen scoffed. After they’ve sucked her dry of whatever knowledge Jadus may have passed down to his daughter, she’s dead.

It was no secret that her master disagreed with many of the actions taken by Darth Jadus, but he’d always respected the chain of command, bowing whenever the Dark Councillor requested his presence, amicable before his superiors. This time, however, Darth Zhorrid asked for her master and would not expect anything less than absolute submission.

“Wait outside, Yennevyr. Do not interfere no matter what happens.”

Many may claim force cloaking to be an act of defense, like the Jedi Shadows who’d rather sneak past their foes than needlessly spill blood. Perhaps she truly was like that, in the past. Eager to run, to dart in and out unseen. Conflict-avoidant.

But a cloak was also a tool, like a viper’s green scales that blended into the grass, obscuring fangs and venom. To take it a step further: force cloaking was manipulation. It was to force upon someone a false visage, to bend the mind of onlookers to the point of them rejecting the evidence of their own eyes, denying the existence of a sword pointed at their head. On Korriban, Yen had figured out how to twist her force cloak, inverting it so that her opponents’ visions were plunged into darkness and the world became invisible to them.

It only took hearing her master scream for the first time for her cloak to become a dress.

The scent of ozone reeked through the semi-closed office door. By god, no matter how many times in the past she’d angrily fumed - fantasizing of sweet it would be to give her master a taste of his own medicine - actually hearing her master who had just barely recovered from his previous ordeal now screaming under the powers of some bratty Darth who probably did not even deserve that title...

Yen’s hands curled into a fist, and she was surprised by the anxious lump that formed in her throat. She took in a sharp inhale and when she breathed out, the Force coiled around her like serpentine tendrils, slick and cool. Shadows rested around her shoulder blades like a fashionista’s scarf.

Or for her enemies, a noose.

When her master stumbled out of Darth Zhorrid’s office, a hand clutching at his side, she took the opportunity to peer into the slit of the half-opened office door and caught the Dark Councillor’s sadistic gaze. Yen gave a smile.

*******

Yen had always been good at force cloaking. But this time, instead of projecting the lie of invisibility, she’d chosen an illusion- a glamour, a mirage. To project something false into the world required unwavering will and mastery over that image.

Her mask was fueled by hatred.

Never had she thought she’d one day hate anyone more that she hated the Hutts or herself, until she met Darth Zhorrid. That pathetic mix of insecurity and sadism was infuriating. She had read up on Darth Jadus’ treatment of his daughter. It took everything for her not to barge into that office and wring that sick woman by the neck and ask her if she thought she was the only one who had ever faced abuse. Everyone faced pain at some point in their life. Suffering was the story of all beings, especially so if you were Sith. Yet, when she hated herself, Yen only hurt herself. Unlike Zhorrid, she’d never tortured others as a way to lessen her own pain, to hide her weakness.

And for that, Yen wished Zhorrid was dead.

But not before providing use for her and her master, of course.

Wearing the Force - the fabric of the universe - as if it was a garment, was an act of complete domination. With a smile, she had sparked a flame of interest within Zhorrid. With a light touch of her fingers, she’d quicken or calm the Dark Lord’s pulse, the woman’s heartbeat hers to command at her pleasure. In a blink of an eye, Zhorrid would forgive her master for any misdeeds he’d supposedly done, and most importantly, Zhorrid would leave him alone.

Why pay attention to some grumpy old Sith when the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen was standing there in front of her eyes?

A drugged cupcake ready to be eaten.

Darth Kharopos felt his stomach sinking when he received the holocall requesting that Yennevyr go meet Darth Zhorrid in her chambers. His muscles tightened, as if readying for battle. He wasn’t scared of that snooty brat; anything she threw his way he could take. But Yen, his student, his ward, his protege, his apprentice-

She was smiling.

The Force swirled around her, draped all over her form like a dress blowing in the wind. It was as if she wore a robe of woven flesh, of slithering serpents and tendrils that wrap and cling and coil. There was a gleam in Yen’s eyes, her russet eyes mirthful, radiating confidence. The last time he remembered seeing his apprentice so self-assured was when he was bleeding on the cool tiled floors, her red lightsaber hanging over his head like a bloody guillotine.

“My lord, I am every bit your apprentice. Trust that you’ve taught me well.”

When Darth Kharopos was later summoned to Darth Zhorrid’s office, Yennevyr sat on Zhorrid’s lap like an overpriced poodle. What Zhorrid did not see was the undulating threads latching onto her, their ends sinking into Zhorrid’s skin like a snake’s fangs, or parasites whose teeth pierced her bloodstream, draining her dry.

“Ah, you’re here, Darth Kharopos,” Zhorrid said with a grin. “Very good, you look very nice indeed, perfect for the job.”

Darth Kharopos only nodded, his eyes glued to Zhorrid’s pale hand which stroked Yen’s hair as if she was some exotic pet.

“I need you to look into two places: Belsavis, and the Arcanum.”

Belsavis was a tightly guarded secret he was privy to knowing, but his heart skipped a beat when he heard the name ‘Arcanum’. The Emperor’s property. Jedis have died to get a glimpse of the space station, and there were words of a rogue Dread Master recently robbing the place. Was it even under Intelligence’s jurisdiction?

A squeal snapped him from his thoughts.

“So you do know about the Arcanum!”

Her voice went from a slimy purr to an abrupt shriek. He felt a hard shove and invisible cold fists pinning him to the wall. His legs hung in the air, and he glared at that wretched woman.

“My lord,” Yennevyr murmured, her doe-like eyes widening at Darth Zhorrid. “My master’s a Darth of Imperial Intelligence. Is it not his role to know all that is going on?”

The pressure released and soon he was free. Zhorrid made a noise of agreement, muttering ‘Yes, yes… you’re right, of course.”

Zhorrid began ranting, a semi-coherent monologue punctuated with giggles and sudden screeches on the unfairness of her fate and the need to prove her worth to the Dark Council. Before her anger boiled over, a force tendril planted soft kisses on Zhorrid’s lips, quieting the woman’s anxiety in one swift move.

When the Dark Councillor appeared distracted, Darth Kharopos broke eye contact and glanced at his apprentice. He suppressed a shudder, seeing the predatory glint in Yennevyr’s eyes. Everyday, they grew more scarlet.

You will drink my words, or I will pour them down your throat.

*******

Belsavis he took care of alone, but as per Darth Zhorrid’s orders, he allowed Yennevyr to accompany him on the mission to the Arcanum. It was perfect: with every eye glued to the young rising-star commander, a Sith not-yet-a-lord with the bewitching presence of a black hole, nobody noticed him slipping away, leaking whatever information he could find on the Emperor to Republic SIS. His heart thundered the whole way, but every time he looked at Yennevyr - black hair tied up in a bun, a saber and light armor ready for combat - he felt like he could breathe easy again.

The mission was a success. They tracked the thief, Lord Tagriss, down to Ilum. His dualsaber stabbed a hole in the Sith Lord’s chest, and he felt his apprentice’s pride flared through their bond the moment Lord Tagriss’ dead husk fell into the snow.

When they returned home, she was ready to be a Lord.

“From this day onwards, you are known as Lord Soteira,” he declared, his apprentice kneeling before him. “It means savior.”

His apprentice stood up. When she looked at him, something swirled in his chest.

You honed my blade and sharpened my edges until they are lethal. You scrubbed away the rust, and revealed the blood-soaked truth. Master, don’t feel guilty thinking you turned me into something I already wasn’t. I’ll try to reach for the Light as you want me to, my lord, but don’t pity me if I fail.

#fic: sparagmos

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k-renne · 5 years

Text

SENSELESS

SUMMARY: It was torture, the way you smelled. You had no idea how much he wanted you, the sweet little omega who was so clueless to what you did to him it was maddening. At this rate it wouldn’t be long before he breaks

A/N: In which alpha!Clyde screws you senseless, warning slight dubcon (i’m not really sure but just in case), dom clyde/sub reader - everything under the cut

TAGS: @thecurlycaptain

Ignoring his needs was getting harder everyday, when you graced his bar with your sweet scent and pretty smile it all just called his name to fuck you and make you his. To forget reason and follow his primal instincts. Oh how he dreamed of sinking his teeth into your pretty little neck, let every alpha know that you were his. It was unbearable.

Clyde was good at concealing his desire for you, creating a safe haven for you at his bar not to be bothered by alphas (except for him of course). It was nice for you, a lot of the men in this area would be gross with you. The stereotypes about your nature always brought so many assumptions, but fuck if you just wanted to go out without being hassled for once. You were enough of a regular that everyone knew not to bother you at Duck Tape, that you wouldn’t accept drinks from everyone except the bartender.

It didn’t help that the bartender was a sight to look at, Clyde was a powerhouse behind the bar. Just the broadness of his shoulders and chest, he exuded alpha strength like it was a wet dream.

Your staring didn’t help Clyde, neither did the sweet little smiles you gave him. If only you just asked him, he’d give it to you. He was waiting for his chance really, didn’t wanna come on too strong and scare you away like most alphas did. But fuck he wished you tried to conceal your scent just a little bit more, you probably had no idea the effect it had. He could smell the days you were aroused, scent so thick it made it hard to breathe. He thanked every higher power that he could conceal his crotch behind the bar, lest you see that he was half hard.

His brother teased him on his little crush on one of his regulars, but Clyde’s growl when Jimmy sat next to you showed him that maybe it was a little bit more than a crush if Clyde was getting that protective of you. “I guess he’s in a bad mood?” You shrugged to Jimmy, his eyes widened at your cluelessness.

You enjoyed seeing Clyde, he was a bonus to this bar, but a part of your brain never clicked the whole alpha omega thing together. That maybe his treatment of you was more than just politeness, more than just a respectable alpha.

Clyde enjoyed jerking off during his breaks in the back office, silently challenging you to say something when he came back smelling like sex. You always squirmed a little more after that, and it made him grin. Sometimes he just had to take care of himself.

“Listen sweetheart, I gotta ask why ya haven’t been claimed yet.” Clyde shook his head at you, if he had the chance he’d just snatch you up.

“Oh um I don’t know-I’ve just never well, I’ve only been with betas.” You confess.

Clyde huffs, “Ya mean to tell me, you’ve never-not even during your heat?” He lowers his voice, leaning over the bar counter. His mind was on a roll with the implications, that you’ve never felt the stretch of a knot.

You gulped, his questions were making you feel hot all over. “N-no but I’m sure its not much different.” You lied. You knew what it could be like, you heard from other omegas, you saw it in porn but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. You liked being subversive to your nature, and to some extent it was simpler that way.

Clyde let out a gruff sound, shaking his head. You frowned, it felt like he was disappointed in you. “S’nothing wrong with bein’ with an alpha, I-he would take good care of ya. S’like we’re made to make ya feel good, wouldn’t ever hurt ya.”

You had to cross your legs, to you being with an alpha was like a taboo-a dark desire that you tried to suppress. But you couldn’t seem to deny anymore that given the option, you’d let Clyde have you in any way he wanted to. And maybe that was why you kept coming to his bar.

“Maybe not you Clyde,” You replied to him softly. You trusted him not to hurt you, but not everyone.

He gave you a sweet little smile at that, taking in a deep breath of the spike in arousal in your scent. It was so heady he was getting hard, you were being nice still but it was frustrating. You were clearly fighting with your nature, and you were missing out on so much pleasure. Worse you didn’t know how much you were teasing him.

Later Clyde was mad, you were being kind to Earl as you talked to him on your way out- another alpha, and Clyde knew you didn’t see him like that but still...it was irking him. It was getting harder and harder to see you show off your pretty neck free of any claim, and watch all the other alphas at the bar just fawn over you.

“Earl, I know you didn’t mean to, but ya know how I feel about her.” Clyde sighed.

“I know Clyde, she came up to me. Poor girl has no idea what she’s doing to you. I think she’s just tryin’ to be nice.”

Clyde let out a frustrated groan, “She’s gonna drive me crazy one of these days.”

Earl raised a brow, normally his friend could handle himself a little better. “How long has it been for you? Is it gettin’ to that time...”

Clyde frowned, thinking back to his last rut. “Shit,” He cursed. That explained things, why he was acting more possessive and much less reasonable. Almost letting it slip out how good of an alpha he could be to you.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t come in if starts to happen, just let me know Clyde.”

He nodded, that would have to do it. He couldn’t have you in the bar on the cusp of his rut, you’d surely bring him to the brink.

A few days later Clyde could feel it, the rush of hormones made him hot all over, he felt more aggressive, and the overwhelming desire to fuck an omega deep in his core. He’d have to close the bar early tonight for a few days at least, luckily it wasn’t the weekend.

It was quiet tonight, the bar was pretty much empty besides for Earl sitting outside.

“Hey Earl, thought I’d stop by and pop in after my shift.”

“Miss, I don’t know if you wanna go in there. Clyde’s about to have his rut, he says he doesn’t want you here. It’ll only mess with him.” Earl stood up, blocking the door.

“Well-” You felt your cheeks get hot. “That’s the thing I sorta needed to talk to him about something.” It was embarrassing. You couldn’t tell Earl what you were gonna ask Clyde to do to you.

“And I’m sure it can wait.” He crossed his arms.

You knew it was probably going to end in one way if you went into Duck Tape tonight, but maybe that’s just what you wanted. “No Earl, it can’t. I’ll be just fine, don’t you worry about me.” You began to push past him.

Earl had the inkling that you knew just what you were doing, so he let you past. It was time for him to leave before the inevitable happened.

His scent hit you like a huge wave, almost had your knees buckling. You had never experienced this before, been around an alpha in his rut. Clyde reeked of dominance, of sex, and it was making you wet. Clyde stared at you from across the bar, chest heaving. If you came over to him, that was it. He was going to have you or he’d have to lock himself out back. Your sweet scent was accelerating his rut, and he growled.

“Sweetheart ya must be a fool to come in here when I’m like this, only askin’ for trouble.” Clyde’s voice was low, warning you. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the bar, his jaw clenching as you sauntered on over to him. He shut his eyes trying to quiet the voices screaming in his mind, fuck her, make her yours, fill her sweet pussy with pups.

He couldn’t pretend anymore.

Clyde was on you in an instant, backing you up into the nearest corner as he pressed his nose against your neck, running it along your skin. “C-Clyde,” You whimpered. His body was so strong and hot against yours, pressing himself firmly against you made your knees feel weak.

Clyde greedily sucked on the skin of your neck, he wanted to make sure you smelled like him-and fuck you tasted so sweet. His kisses were sloppy as his hand gripped your hip, pressing his hard cock against you. “Feel this sweetheart? This is what ya do to me, sweet little omega ya have no idea how fucking hard I get for you.”

You could feel it, he was so big. The thought of your polite alpha bartender having a big cock, big to match the rest of him, sent you arousal straight to your core.

Clyde grinned, “Mmm I can smell your sweet pussy darlin’, smell how fuckin’ wet it’s gettin’.” He slipped his hand between your thighs to cup your pussy, his big paw of a hand rough and hot, stronger than your hands ever could be.

You looked away, feeling embarrassed. You felt such a strong urge to submit, just let Clyde take complete control, show you what he’s been holding back.

Clyde tsked, “Ain’t having none of that sweetheart, now you look at me.” He tilted your face to look at him, touch surprisingly gentle.

You panted as you looked at him, his big brown eyes swallowing you whole. Clyde stroked the side of your face sweetly, thumbing your quivering bottom lip. Even in his rut, he was still sweet with you. “I always take good care of what’s mine.” He assured you, before sliding his tongue in your mouth. His kiss was rough and filthy, made you grab on to him for support because it had you feeling boneless.

Clyde picked you up in his still strong arms and bent you over the corner of the bar counter so your ass was hanging over the edge. “Can’t wait no more,” He growled, and you felt him tugging off your pants. You helped him get them off by lifting your hips, your cheek pressing against the cool surface of the bar.

You were buzzing with arousal, gasping as you were completely exposed to Clyde. Your pussy drooled and Clyde ducked down to catch your sweet wetness in his mouth, his lips meeting your soaking pussy. He moaned in praise of your taste, his beard scratching at your thighs. This sweet fucking pussy is mine!

You couldn’t help but spread your thighs apart for him, Clyde rewarding you by shoving two fingers into your entrance and curling them against your walls. “Fuck you’re so wet sweetheart, ya taste so good, could spend the whole day eatin’ you. But tonight I need-” His chest heaved as he caught his breath. “-Need to fuck this tight little pussy, and I can’t wait no more.” He growled.

You heard Clyde’s pants hit the floor, pulling out his meaty cock to take his fill of you. He teased you enough to make you moan for him, sliding the hot head of his cock against your clit. But soon he was spearing into you, splitting you open with the delicious size of him. Your walls stretched to accommodate him, Clyde’s thumb rubbing your clit to help you along. He didn’t stop till he was fully seated, panting at your tightness. Even now you could feel yourself gushing around him, his scent alighting your senses and the feeling of fullness making you gasp.

Clyde grunted as he began thrusting, using all of his strength as he slammed his hips into yours. You could barely breath, he was fucking you senseless. “Take it sweetheart-take it you’re mine.” Clyde growled. Seeing your pussy swallow his cock, how slick you were getting around him, only spurred him on more.

“Gonna creampie this sweet pussy, fill it with my pups.” Clyde smacked your ass.

“Mmm please!” You whined submissively, the way Clyde was manhandling and fucking you was bringing out your darkest desires. You wanted it, you wanted him to fuck you so hard you couldn’t walk, that he’d have to carry you as his cum dripped down your thighs.

“S’right baby, you’re mine. An every fuckin’ alpha in this bar is gonna know it, know I claimed ya right here on my bar-my omega.” You could only moan at his words.

As he rammed his cock inside your pussy you could feel your orgasm coming, and Clyde could sense it with your walls clenching around him. “Ya gonna come sweetheart? Cum right on my big cock?” He teased you as he rubbed your clit, bringing you over the edge as you cried out his name.

He kept rubbing, rubbing until you were oversensitive and making you cum all over again. Seeing you cum at his hands made Clyde’s knot begin to swell inside you, your walls milking his cock. “Gonna cum in this sweet pussy-mmph,” Clyde grunted as he spilled his load inside of you, hot cum locked inside with his thick knot. You came a second time, making more cum spurt inside you, fill you up.

Clyde’s hand soothingly rubbed the small of your back, pushing back your hair to expose your neck to him. You could feel his teeth against your neck, so close and he could just mark your, truly make you his. You knew he was holding back as you felt his hot breath against your skin. But you didn’t want him to, “Do it,” You said softly.

Clyde snarled as he claimed you as his, his mouth coming down hard on your neck. A wave of pleasure hit you and you felt completely full of him, “Yours,” You sighed happily.

Clyde was doing his best to try and snuggle you right there on the bar counter, his warm body protectively pressing against you as cum began to leak down your thighs with his loosening knot. He nuzzled against his mark affectionately, kissing and licking at it. “I’m takin’ ya home sweetheart, our home.”

#clyde logan x reader #clyde logan #abo #filth

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honekitteh · 5 years

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Fic: Countdown - Chapter 6

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: M Genre: Angst, H/C, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor, Canon-typical levels of poor decision-making Synopsis: A distress call leads the Jedi Battlemaster to Ziost, but time is running out. Follows the storyline of The Rise of the Emperor and inserts missing scenes. Warnings: See Chapter 1

“This is a door?”

Kira nodded to me as I walked towards the circle window like fixture on the left side of the entrance hall of the People’s Tower. I tried to keep my focus on the entryway to the next level of the building as opposed to the corpses now laying at our feet. The amount of bodies that were being thrown towards me to try to prevent us from our path, with little more purpose than for just simple mayhem and death, was overwhelming. There were very few meditation techniques that could fully block out the scent of the dead at this point, but I needed to press on. The fate of this world felt like it was slipping out of my grasp and it felt like it was up to me.

Again.

I couldn’t find the way to open the door easily, looking around for the controls. I reached out with my senses. “Locked.”

“Typical Imperials,” Kira huffed, “So rude to guests.”

I frowned as tried a few things with the Force. “I’m not sure I can bust it myself.”

My friend took a step up and closed her eyes. Then she shook her head. “I doubt even the two of us could do it alone, even if one of us was on the other side. Unless Lana is miraculously right there, we’re on our own. We need something else.”

I frowned. Not really willing to give up quite yet, I tested the door again with my senses.

“Jyana, I think we need something with a bit more explosive power.”

I sighed heavily. “Fine. What do you have in mind?”

Kira scanned the entrance hall. There was a large holographic map of Ziost on display on the middle console. She took a scan beyond it. “There’s something over there, but I think we’ll have to fight our way there.”

“Sounds about normal,” I sighed.

We worked our way over there quickly, myself leaping into battle with a Sith Lord. I only felt slightly bad about engaging him in battle, cause I was fairly sure he’d want to thwart whatever we were planning on his own volition. I couldn’t tell how long he’d been under Vitiate’s puppetry, but it didn’t matter now. A poor imperial medic was unfortunately in the crossfire, which was something that I did feel terrible about. But our situation did not give us a lot of time to reflect or regret. We had to keep moving.

When the enemies had fallen, as they refused to stop until they were ended, I noticed the thing Kira thought she had seen. I picked up the rocket launcher and looked at it with great suspicion.

“That looks promising,” Kira said.

“This might be overkill,” I stated looking at it and checking to make certain it was loaded.

“Pft,” Kira waved that off, “No such thing as overkill.”

“Let’s move.” I put the rocket launcher over my shoulder, loosely letting the strap on it secure it there. I looked back towards the door and frowned. “Did you invite more friends to the party?” I asked motioning towards the four imperial commandos that were now between us and the door.

“I need to hire a new party planner.”

I was getting so tired of fighting, but I tossed my lightsabers to draw the commandos’ attention. I wasn’t sure I was quite comfortable opening with my typical leap into the fray. Adding the rocket launcher to my back would wreck the physics of the leap or at least set it off that I wasn’t sure I had the right read on it. I already had a habit of overexerting and I really could not afford to do it at this stage. I was already exhausted. I knew the final battle was soon, but I could not completely estimate how much longer I had to go. I couldn’t go overboard now, not at this stage.

Kira pushed the last of the four back as he fell. She frowned looking down at them. A glance up at me showed me she was feeling what I was. Overwhelming sorrow. Both of us knew what it was like to be out of our own control. Both of us had broken free, but it did not pass without some level of scars. Such was our life.

We got to the door and I unholstered the rocket launcher. This wasn’t my first rodeo. I checked all the mechanisms, made certain the ammo was set just right.

“Maybe we should knock first?” Kira asked.

“This is me knocking,” I said and fired.

The explosion shock the building and threw both of us back. Startled at the reaction I dropped the rocket launcher and used the Force to cushion our fall.

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

I stared at Kira as I picked myself up off the floor.

“I gotta get me one of those!” she said as she was pointing at the rocket launcher.

“Later. We don’t have any way to reload it and we’ve got to keep moving.”

“No fun.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes and jumped through the door.

It felt like Vitiate had an endless supply of bodies to pile up between us and our destination. It also took a great deal of concentration to focus on jumping up along the elevator shaft to the next level of the building. The screams of the dying, the terror, the fear, all the feelings of deep buried rage kept trying to overwhelm my senses.

“Watch out!” Kira shouted as turrets opened fire on us after we gained our footing on the floor.

A flick of the lightsabers sadly was not all it took, but we did make fairly quick work of them.

My wrist computer blinked at me, telling me that I had an incoming call. I flicked it on as we were besieged by another group of soldiers.

Lana’s voice came through the call saying, “Before we go ahead with this... you and I should talk—in person. I’ll see you shortly.”

I frowned then looked down at the coordinates now showing on the small data viewer after the comm cut off.

“This way.”

I looked at the forcefield over the door to the room that Lana had indicated and let out a heavy sigh. Kira motioned there were electrical panels on the outside of each door. Nodding we both threw a wave of the Force at the panels, causing them to explode. This knocked the forcefield down.

There were many civilian employees within the room. I tried to raise my hands in a defensive pose. “I don’t want to hurt any of you...” I said before they started to lunge at Kira and I, shooting and even some just trying to go at us hand to hand. I sighed, looking at each of their eyes as they fell, fighting to their last with no control of their own bodies. The silver eyes, showing their actions belonged to him.

In the corner of my eye, a green and black cloak flicked by, moving towards the console in the back of the room. Kira and I sheathed our sabers and moved to join Lana.

“You’ve made it,” the Sith Lord stated without looking up as she pushed on the controls, “Good. Time is short—so is reliable assistance.” She fiddled with the holo communication controls on the console and continued talking without really looking back at me. “I have Agent Kovach assembling a suppression team out of whatever droids he can find, so I approached another agent to assist us.”

Theron Shan appeared on the holo and he looked around between us and did what could only be described as striking a pose. He rested his hand on his hip with ease and comfort that belied the exhaustion that was evident in his eyes, even from within a holo communication. I raised my eyebrows and gave a sigh. I partially wondered if he was trying to play it cool with Lana. Then again, this is Theron. There were so many layers behind the surface. I am not entirely sure how many I’d seen behind, but there was a selfish part of me that would like to think that I was one of the few that had.

Of course, now was not the time to think about those kinds of things. Lana addressed him quickly, “Are you in position?”

“Yeah, but this setup isn’t anything like what you described.”

“So what you’re saying is you can’t figure it out.”

“Don’t get all…” he sighed and put his hands in front of him, “I’ll figure it out.”

“We’re about to begin, so that would be nice.”

“He has Teeseven with him, he’ll be fine,” I quickly cut in.

Theron gave me a grateful nod and cut out the communication.

As soon as his image flickered off, I asked, “What exactly are we about to begin, Lana?”

“You’re going to make Vitiate angry. So angry that he’ll place all his attention on killing you.” She punched in some controls on the console and then turned to look at me. If I didn’t know better, she had a very Jedi way of masking her emotions, but that could be partially from how she had to keep her mind focused on defense, lest the incorporeal former Emperor decide to take her body for a ride. She continued on, “When the time comes, you’ll lead him to an electrostatic weapon stored there, in the heart of New Adasta. It’s meant to be a last resort against major civil uprisings, but Theron’s modifying it to be non-lethal. With the reduced charge, its radius of impact will diminish.”

I raised an eyebrow and shared a glance with Kira before looking back to Lana. “You have a weapon designed with the sole purpose of killing your own people?”

Lana waved it off as if it was a non-issue. “It’s not as if we install one in every metropolis. We nearly lost New Adasta to unrest once before.”

“Well in that case...”

I could see her eye slightly twitch, but she ignored my snide remark. “Shall we get started?” she asked and pointed towards the holo comm device.

Suppose it was time for my performance art masterpiece of a monologue. I really hate monologuing. But certain people seemed to love it. Maybe it will do the trick.

I took a deep breath and nodded to Lana and she opened the comm. “Vitate! I am the Battlemaster of the Jedi Order. I’ve struck you down once already. Today, I’m finishing the job. Today, you will face justice.”

Lana cut off the communication and glanced over at me, her expression unreadable except for very obvious exhaustion.

“I think that did it?” I questioned, pondering over if I should have monologued longer, or been harsher, and I almost got caught in my train of thought until Lana cut me off.

“I have to go now. There’s much to be done.” She sighed heavily, “Too much. I shouldn’t have come here, truth be told.”

I reached out and took hold of her shoulder. A year or so ago, she might have flinched at the contact, but not today. “Be strong, Lana. Stay focused. You’ll be fine.”

She offered me a tired smile. “Thank you. We’ll see if you’re right.”

I looked behind me after I pressed the button to call the elevator to the top floor. Master Onok and Master Landai were both unconscious, but free. I could still hear their voices demanding for me to kill them, even though they weren’t really their own voices. I electrocuted them. They would make it. Doc and Lord Scourge were on their way to retrieve them and get them off world as soon as they could. I needed to focus though.

As I stepped in the elevator and punched the controls to take us up, I wondered if Lana’s plan would work. Kira gave me a poke. I gave her a tired smile. She was right. There was a time and place to dwell on what has happened since I stepped foot on this planet, and now was not one of them.

We walked onto the platform to find Theron and T7 working on opposite sides of the entryway.

“That’s it, Teeseven,” he called out to the droid then looked up from his work to see us. He gave a quick nod and what I thought was a slight smirk to me and continued, “Got it set up for as big a non-lethal burst as we can manage.” He looked over to T7 as the droid unplugged himself from the wall socket. “Thanks buddy,” he said to the droid then turned back to Kira and I. “Should be enough to zap anyone in range into a nice, long, involuntary nap.”

I looked up at the large device that was on the ceiling over the open air platform. Frowning I muttered lowly, “Should be?”

Theron shrugged. “Hard to come up with a one-size fits all solution. Lot of guesswork involved. Wish there was a way Teeseven and I could have done a test run before...”

As his vocalized thought trailed off, I looked back towards the entry point I had just come through. I didn’t sense anything quite yet, but I could feel it wouldn’t be too long.

“They’ve got to be closing in,” Kira stated aloud, echoing my own thoughts.

“Then come on,” he said, waving me over to where he had a device waiting for us, “We need to be shielded.” I followed him, still studying my surroundings. He straightened up after ensuring the shield was properly set and looked to me. “Okay. We should wait until they’re good and close.”

I closed my eyes briefly, allowing my senses to reach out to get a good feel for how much time we had. It wasn’t much. I moved slightly closer to Theron and said softly, “I wasn’t sure when I’d run into you again. Not the greatest circumstances, but still.” I very nearly reached to him but halted myself with a small glance behind me. It wasn’t Kira though that I sensed when I could feel we weren’t alone.

He offered a weak but knowing smile. “Maybe next time the lives of an entire world won’t be in danger – but, yeah, feeling’s mutual.”

I felt my heart flip flop a bit at his smile and met his with my own. Soon though, I could feel them. His amber eyes shifted from mine to behind me. Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I took a deep breath, then reopened them to follow his gaze. Kira had already drawn her dual-saber, its green light reflecting against the metallic floor.

Theron pulled out his data pad and started tapping. “Okay, here comes the puppet brigade. Fingers crossed…”

It was a fairly sizable group, Imperials, Republic troops, and even some Jedi. I silently cursed the Chancellor and added it to the growing list of matters I will add to a report, should I bother to file one. At this particular moment, the choice words I had planning were significantly less Jedi than they had been the beginning of this entire fiasco. The horde moved closer and Theron triggered the device.

That Theron even had to modify it to be non-lethal was not lost on me. As I saw the soldiers all be stunned and fall to the ground, I could not help but wonder what the result would have been had that modification not been made. The Empire, putting a weapon in one of its capital cities with the capability to kill a vast amount of their own citizens? If they had one of these in New Adasta, they could have it on Kass City, or in a number of other cities. But why? Because of riots? Gee, I wonder why anyone would riot against a ruling body that had no regard for their lives.

My eyes glanced over to a Republic soldier that had collapsed. Were we even better? The Republic should be better than this. Theron followed my eyes and let the shield dome collapse. He approached the soldier and knelt. “This one was closet, took the biggest hit.” He reached for his neck, checking his pulse as I walked up beside him. I looked out towards the door and across the landscape of unconscious bodies. “Still alive,” Theron confirmed, relief in his voice, “We did it! Let’s just hope we got all of them.”

“Let’s hope,” I murmured, still scanning the surroundings. Something still felt off. This moment was far from over, I could feel it.

“We should call Lana now, see if she has a plan for what’s next.”

The bodies began to float in the air. “I have a better idea,” a booming male imperial voice spoke through the woman sauntering onto the platform. With a small flick of a hand motion, the bodies crashed back away from her, clearing a path. Her eyes yellow and wild, she smirked as she drew her lightsaber.

“Master Surro.” Theron’s entire stance sunk and he moved to stand between me and the unconscious puppet army and the approaching Jedi Master. “No...” I lightly reached an arm to his shoulder, trying to pull him back and shift him behind me, but he stood his ground.

“Watching you believe you had a chance; it’s amused me.” Master Surro raised her hand sluggishly as if it were pulled by string, the Force lifting a dazed Imperial lieutenant into a sitting position. “Now this whole charade is pathetic.”

I shifted my own position, trying to assess the situation and moved in front of Theron. Not soon enough, as Master Surro summarily executed the dazed man she’d just set up. The range of emotions in the man beside me went from shock, to horror, to anger. It took a great deal of my own willpower and Force meditation to not absorb Theron’s pain and have it fuel me and complement the dread that I felt; the very dread I’ve been feeling rising since the moment I’d received his distress holo.

Master Surro’s lips turned in a cruel sneer. “Now, how do you wish to die? In combat or on your knees?”

Lana raced from within the building, lightsaber drawn and poised to attack.

“Go away, little Sith.” Master Surro easily shoved the approaching Sith Lord with a shove. Theron moved in front of me again and drew his weapon but was immediately lifted in the air. He gave me a wincing glance before he was unceremoniously thrown against the wall and crashed the ground. I looked between Lana and Theron and took the last reserves of my energy to take a deep breath.

Glancing back to Master Surro, I furrowed my brow and drew both my shoto. The Emperor controlled puppet smirked. “This has nothing to do with your friends. This is you and I.”

Igniting my sabers, I leaped into the air.

The original clash was brief, a flurry of blades. Kira flanked our opponent, trying to keep her busy. There was no way that she was going to let me fight alone, even if I sensed that was what Master Surro desired. We just had to stay vigiliant.

If I could keep my eyes from glancing over at Theron long enough to stay focused.

Of course Surro, no… not Surro, Vitiate… he figured out my distraction and pressed the attack on me, completely ignoring Kira who was trying to sneak attack from behind. I tried to block a downward strike with both my shoto but I lost track of my direction and Surro took the opportunity to kick me and Force push me at that moment. The push knocked me near complete off the edge and drop my shoto completely. I reached out quickly and barely grabbed hold of the edge.

I took this time to reflect on my life choices. Trying my hardest to keep as many people alive as possible, even the possessed jedi that Vitiate used to try to taunt me. Kill them, he had said, I won’t mind—and neither will your dear ally.

I sighed. I tried so hard to compartmentalize my feelings. It wasn’t working. I took a deep breath. Theron’s been through worse, he’ll be fine. They’ll all be fine.

I heard a squeak as I sensed Kira get knocked out, not far from where Lana was. Closing my eyes, I found my sabers and lept into the air.

I landed on the other side of Master Surro, flipping overhead her before she’d noticed I’d gotten there it seemed. She gave me a sneer. “Why won’t you die, little girl?”

“No matter how powerful you are, I’ll never fall to you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Confident—to the end.”

My lightsabers returned to my hands, I ignited them and pressed the attack. I did not relent, I would not back down, and he had to know that.

It took some time until Master Surro finally collapsed at my feet. I took a deep breath and studied her, not wanting to take any chances. When she looked back up, her eyes were their natural color.

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #theron shan #kira carsen #lana beniko #t7-01 #female jedi knight/hero of tython #oc: jyana kai #otp: come what may #fic: countdown #ziost #swtor: rise of the emperor #swtor #fanfic

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flowingfloweringdrinks · 4 years

Text

Welcome to my first blog post! This is a very self-serving blog in which I dump all of my innermost thoughts which are piling up like planes over Atlanta these days. It’s been less than two weeks and my inner dialogue MUST be heard! I chose this blog name for a few reasons:

1. It’s cute

2. If I stop blogging when the quarantine is over, hey, no judgment (I’m not great at sticking with projects)

3. It made me think of that Sesame Street feature where there was this small little cartoon character on the side of a drinking glass. They used (I assume) stop-motion animation to have the guy go from glass to glass and the theme song was, “Teeny Weeny Little Super Guy.” Anyone remember that? No? Just me? Cool.

Also as a public service I will be posting nature photos so that you have something to look at besides horrible virus warnings.

Speaking of which, today I did something I’ve never actually done before. I went on a run and then a bike ride back to back because OMG OUTDOORS, one thing I’ve certainly never done before. But during my bike ride every time I saw a plant or flower of interest I got off my bike and took a photo of it.

Many people are posting that the upside of this whole quarantine thing is that it gives us time to pause, stop, and reflect on life. Well, my first instinct is to just keep moving. Just keep swimming, as Dory would say. I got caught up on all my household chores. My house is cleaner than its ever been and in a twist of irony, I can’t invite anyone over to show it off. I hung pictures I’ve been meaning to hang for months. I repaired a necklace. I did art projects. I made videos for my job. And after all of this, I found out, none of those activities are meeting my need for social interaction.

I was getting depressed and it was time for ACTION! So I did something I swore I’d never do again, I signed up for another six months of Match.com. In the past, I’ve only had negative experiences from online dating. 100% negative. Which I guess is self-evident by the fact that I’m STILL SINGLE. But alas, I digress.

It turns out this whole quarantine situation has somehow created a uniquely ideal situation for me and my online dating. In no particular order, I shall list them below:

1. Volume. The sheer volume of responses has been overwhelming. Why? Because everyone is bored AF and lonely and most, like me, are stuck at home. I’m not the only one with the brilliant idea to turn once again to the world of online dating. It’s like that parable of Jesus and the fishermen. They didn’t catch anything all night of fishing and then he tells them to cast their nets again and they catch so many fish they can’t pull up their nets. I suppose comparing the Corona Virus and subsequent quarantine to JESUS is in horrible taste, but, welcome to my blog, mothafuckas! We gonna get politically incorrect as HELL up in here! And also cursing. Lots of cursing in my blog.

2. Clearly, volume does not a match make, so there must be other factors. And there are! Turns out finding out how someone is handling this quarantine is what I have termed, “Automatic Douchebag Indicator”. Here’s how it works: Step 1: message someone and ask them how they are handling the quarantine Step 2: If they say quarantine-shmarantine and then launch into a soliloquy about how this whole quarantine situation is ridiculous, then you block their ass. Dating hack. You’re welcome. And lest you think I’m making this up and that didn’t happen, I assure you it DID. I’m talking to you, Gideon. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

3. Social distancing. I tell you, my friends, social distancing + meeting people for the first time on a date = Heather’s Dream. Did I tell you about the time I went on a date and at the end of the date the guy said to me, “So are you gonna give me a side hug like you did last time or are you gonna give me a real hug?” I just met you, motherfucker, so forgive me for not wanting to press my boobies (small though they are) against your chest. Seriously, we’ve spent less than four hours together. Back. The. Fuck. Off. Needless to say I ghosted him (because I’m so great at confrontation. Should add that to my resume) and needless to say, he was puzzled by my lack of response. Here’s a question to all you guys out there: In the comments, tell me, would you rather have the naked and unvarnished truth about why I don’t want to see you any more, or would you rather be ghosted? There is no weird third thing. I’m not gonna lie to you or give you a fake reason. Your choices are truth or silence. I personally believe silence is the better option. So now if I don’t want to hug a guy on the first, second, or even 15th date, I don’t have to. Holding hands? EWWW!! Germs! GTFO! It takes me a few months to develop feelings for anyone so I figure, if I start going on my 6 feet of social distancing dates now, by the time I’m even remotely inclined to make physical contact with the guy, this quarantine will be over and I can jump his bones, all 200 pounds of me because you KNOW that’s how much I’m going to weigh after this thing is over. Culinary arts degree + too much time on my hands + making all the cocktails = cue “Chunky” song from Madagascar 2.

So I really have no idea how this whole dating thing is going to go, but the good news is that I am taking action! I am the master of my own destiny, if not my own density! Things I “always mean to do but never get around to” include meeting guys/dating and being a writer. Turns out this quarantine is forcing my hand and pushing me to do both of those things. I guess I should be grateful. It’s easier to feel happy on days like today when the weather is idyllic and I’m sitting on my front porch typing this and basking in the sun. Whether you are basking in the sun or staring at the rain, I hope you are making the best of this situation.

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yodawgiherd · 5 years

Text

Candyman

Rating : M

>>> Read on AO3<<<

Originally, I wanted to do something altogether different here, but then ch. 116 happened and few people I follow went insane over Eren's abs (not that I blame them, boy’s a snack).

So, I made this instead :D

Enjoy!

Levi almost forgot how good it felt, with the recent weeks spent buried in annoying paperwork. The rush of a fight, the strain of body, the way his senses sharpened, and mind cleared, one singular goal remaining in his mind. To win, to defeat whoever was on the opposite side of the ring, who just happened to be his sister. Mikasa’s lips were thinly pressed together, with sweat beading on her forehead, a proof that she was taking this duel as seriously as Levi was. She always took her opponents seriously, no matter who they were, and Levi thought that it’s surely a very good trait to have. After all, you never truly knew who you’re fighting. She was keeping her distance, trying, testing, hoping to find a way through her brother’s defense, but it was perfect so far. Levi might not have much tournament experience himself, but he had an amazing talent and years of hard work behind his moves, and when he gave it his all, he was an amazing fighter. Then again, so was Mikasa. The hits landing were fast, and strong, shaking Levi’s body, but he kept his hands up, searching for the true moment to strike. Patient, and silent, like a wolf, waiting for his moment to bite. And as on cue, he got one.

The footwork was easy to miss, but he knew Mikasa like the back of his hand, or he liked to think that he did, the years they trained together giving him insight into her fighting style no one else will ever have. The tiny step back, the spacing and preparation, it gave him a very short notice of the high kick that was coming, but still, it was a heads up, and he took full advantage of it. The plan was simple. Block the kick, push her leg away to upset her balance, and step closer in order to fully abuse the hole in her defense. Bracing himself, Levi took a wide stance, expecting the inevitable. The kick landed like a thunder into his block, the sheer strength alone making him stumble a few steps backwards. Okay, he was right about his prediction but simply underestimated the power of the attack, as he was now the one reeling backwards, unable to do anything but prevent himself from falling on his ass.

“Damn, you actually caught that.”, Mikasa had a surprise written all over her face, hands dropping to indicate that she was ready to take a breather. One that they both desperately needed. “I was sure that I had you this time.”

“Too slow.”, he gritted through clenched teeth, working his shoulders before the stiffness had a chance to set it. Fuck but that last hit stung. Luckily Mikasa didn’t seem to notice his struggle, casually drying her sweaty face with a towel.

It was amazing seeing her grow like she did, both as a person and as a fighter, and Levi couldn’t help but feel a sense of achievement, watching her now. Back then, when she first came to him, she was broken, shattered, without a goal in life or any guidance that could show her any. It was Levi, no one else, that picked up the pieces and melded them back together, made her into the successful young woman that Mikasa is today. Sure, he made some blunders along the way, but who wouldn’t. And if she was just a hair’s breadth away from beating his ass, then so be it. What trainer wouldn’t take pride in his trainee’s strength. Through the years, Levi molded a champion, and while he of course knew that Mikasa’s hard work and dedication was essential to becoming who she is today, he allowed himself to be selfish for a minute. It felt good.

“I missed this you know.”, she said, interrupting his self-praise.

“Missed what?”

“Fighting all-out, really sparring, I couldn’t do it ever since An… ehm.. I mean, couldn’t do it for a long time.”

It was rather obvious what she wanted to say originally, but Levi was not the type to rip open an old wound. He had enough of those himself.

“What, Eren isn’t up to the task?”, he asked instead, trying to ease the tension. Successfully, since Mikasa chuckled.

“Oh, you know him, he’s doing his best.”, Eren was strong, that was for sure, and after helping her train for years at this point, more than an adequate opponent, but the likes of Levi or Mikasa were still a class above him. Must be the Ackerman genes. “Give him a few more years and maybe he’ll get there.”

“Indeed, I can totally imagine you two clashing for the title of an MMA champion.”, Levi snorted, “You’d probably start making out or some shit.”

Mikasa didn’t even have the decency to blush.

“That’s possible. Fighting always gets us…. hmm… excited.”

“Yo, keep the details, I don’t need to hear them.”

“As you wish brother dear.”, taking a measured sip of water, Mikasa stretched, groaning in satisfaction at the pleasurable soreness of her muscles. The talk about Eren however did make her remember something, so putting her bottle down, she got Levi’s attention by clearing her throat.

“What?”, he blurted.

“You never told me; how did your talk with Petra go?”

“So, you know her name huh?”

Mikasa shrugged.

“Well she was at the party, so we talked for a few minutes.”

“It was okay. I explained to her why I had to make such an exit from college, and she seemed to understand. We’re cool now.”

“Cool? Just cool?”

He narrowed his eyes at her smirking expression.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Petra, Hange… You know, out of all the people I know I never imagined you being in a love triangle.”

The casualness of her tone, the smirk, everything about the way she pronounced the accusation made Levi’s blood boil. Hey, he loved the girl, but what did she know?

“What? What triangle? There’s no fucking triangle. Shut up.”

“So defensive…”, Mikasa clicked her tongue, the smile remaining, “I wonder why…”

“I said shut up.”, throwing the towel over the ropes again, he took his fighting stance, nodding at his smirking sister. “Get ready brat.”

Mimicking his movements, Mikasa fell into her own, a bit more relaxed stance, nodding right back at him.

“Bring it on, midget.”

And soon thoughts about anything else but the sparring disappeared from their minds, as the thrill of a fight overwhelmed them once again.

Of course that Eren talked big, coming home from work, the classic rant that he’s not tired at all, while his lids were literally dropping, and that they can do something together, no problem. But Mikasa saw the same behavior on a number of occasions already, so she suggested watching a movie, something relaxing after a taxing day. Sounds good, doesn’t it. Exactly as she predicted, Eren fell asleep about five minutes after they sat together on the couch, head dropping back. She waited for a moment, to see if he perhaps wont wake up after a short nap, but judging from the sounds he was making and the overall stiffness of his body, Eren was done for the day.

Turning the tv off, and gathering his considerable bulk in her arms, she couldn’t help but grunt as his full weight settled in her embrace. Normally she had no problems with carrying him, but today’s workout was especially taxing, and that combined with the sparring against Levi, who wasn’t holding back at all, exhausted her more than she anticipated. Eren was broad shouldered, tall, and the muscle mass she helped him build herself came back to haunt her now, weighing down at Mikasa heavily. Yet it wouldn’t be Mikasa Ackerman if she backed down from a challenge. Pressing her lips together in determination, she braved the journey up the stairs to the bedroom, not letting out another sound, lest it doesn’t wake Eren up. Successfully finishing her escort mission, she carefully laid him to the bed, diving in after too, ready to call it a night. Or so she thought.

For reasons unknown to her, sleep just avoided Mikasa, making her roll left and right, unable to find any rest. It didn’t make sense. She was dog tired, exhaustion deep in her bones, but still, her eyes couldn’t remain closed. Sighing, she turned on the other side again, restless eyes sliding over Eren, who was understandably obvious to her trouble, lost in whatever dream he was having. Out of options, Mikasa decided that she just might as well watch him sleep for a while, that might inspire her body to finally snap out of it and do the same. With one hand behind his head, facing the ceiling, Eren was the picture of peacefulness, his features completely still. Usually, Eren was the one watching her sleep, and while Mikasa found it kinda creepy at the start, the soft looks and touches grew on her, and a few times she even only pretended to be asleep so she could bask in his loving gaze. Well, since she can’t sleep, she might as well try that too.

Shuffling a bit closer, Mikasa leaned in, inspecting Eren’s face from up close. He always had a pretty face, nice to look at, although it was different, now that the most dominant part of it, his blazing green eyes, were hidden beneath heavy lids. Tracing the shape of his chin, Mikasa couldn’t hold in a soft giggle when her fingertips encountered a very short stubble. Eren really needed to shave in the morning. Over the neck and down, she took her time in admiring the rise and fall of his broad chest, still remembering how skinny he was when they first met. Lot of hard work on Eren’s part, but the results were rather mouthwatering. Before meeting him, Mikasa never saw muscles as something nice to look at. Society doesn’t really judge female beauty by how distinct her abdominals are, does it. They were functional, allowed her to be faster, to hit stronger, to last longer during her workouts, they weren’t an aesthetic. But then Eren and his fascination with Mikasa’s midriff came around, and suddenly she found herself reevaluating her beliefs. What did it matter what others wanted, if her boyfriend could spend literally minutes just tracing the outlines of her abs, grinning like a child who got a new toy.

And now, years down the road, Mikasa was the one staring at Eren’s stomach, feeling her excitement spark upon seeing the subtle movements of his core. Maybe he had a point. Biting her bottom lip, she slowly dragged the cover lower, exposing more and more of the very nicely outlined abdominals. Splaying her fingers on the warm tanned skin, careful not to put too much pressure on him, Mikasa did what Eren always enjoyed, and started tracing the shapes of each individual part with the tip of her finger. It felt funny, and admittedly even a bit exciting, because damn it but her fiancé was hot. Realizing that it was partly her doing too, as she was the one who pushed him to go to the gym with her in the first place, Mikasa decided that it’s time to enjoy the spoils, and dived in with a renewed vigor. Poking and prodding, fully engaged in her task, Mikasa didn’t even notice how Eren’s eyebrows furrowed, and the little groan of discomfort that followed, but he didn’t wake. Just as she was running out of ideas of what to do, another thought struck her. There was one more thing that Eren loved doing to her stomach, one that he arguably enjoyed even more than just touching it. Risking a quick look up, making sure that he was still sleeping, Mikasa leaned even closer, and after a moment’s hesitation pressed her lips against the abs. Wasn’t the first time she was kissing this area, that was for sure, but she’s never done it before with Eren sleeping, and it gave her a rush of adrenaline. It felt like she was doing something forbidden, but who doesn’t want to be the bad girl from time to time. Bold, she stuck her tongue out, licking a broad stripe along the muscles, and that seemed to finally cross the line, because above her, certain someone cleared his throat, making her look up.

“So… uh…. Do I want to know what you’re doing?”

Eren’s gaze was half sleepy, half surprised, as he was looking down at her with total confusion on his face. Slowly, Mikasa hid her tongue back inside her mouth, trying to find any explanation for her actions. But she came up blank.

“Nothing?”, she tried.

“Well, it did look like you were licking me from my perspective.”

“Nah…”

“Right…..”

The irony was so thick in his reply that it was enough to make Mikasa snap.

“And what if I did?”, even with her cheeks coloring, she held his gaze without flinching, “You have your mouth on me all the time, maybe I wanted to get a taste too!”

Lame excuse, really, but it’s not like she had any better one.

“I do, don’t I…”, Eren seemed to be thinking about her statement for a second, but when he looked back at her, his eyes had a new kind of fire inside them. One that Mikasa knew very well. With a twist and flip, she was on her back before she realized it, with Eren looming over her, a huge grin spread on his lips.

“Now that you mention it,”, his lips were close, and Mikasa thought that he’s going to kiss her, but then he moved past, whispering into her ear instead, “I think that I’ll go for a midnight snack.”

In her disheveled state, Mikasa was just about to ask him if he can make her something to eat too, but then she noticed the way he sliddered down her body, littering kisses everywhere, and it finally clicked for her what kind of a snack he had in mind.

“I love that you wear those tiny tank tops to bed.”, he murmured, lips brushing Mikasa’s defined abdominals as he spoke, reversing the position he found himself in after waking up, “Leaves the best parts uncovered.”

Mikasa was just about to inform him that she knows very well that he likes them, and it’s partly the reason why she is wearing them in the first place, but Eren was on a mission, so her explanation got cut off because he moved fast, kissing his way between her legs, to the place where she wanted him the most. Eren took it slow, teasing her, enjoying the way she arched against him, the way the heels of her feet pressed against his back, desperate, needy for his attention. He loved making her come undone, both because he genuinely enjoyed pleasing her, but also because knowing that he has the power to make Mikasa Ackerman, the undefeated queen of the ring, who always beat him so effortlessly when they sparred, the overall toughest and strongest woman he knew, trash helplessly beneath him and sob his name, begging for release, one that he allowed her only when he had his fill, was quite an ego boost. Only when the last tremors of her finish began leaving Mikasa’s body, Eren made his way back up, coming to stop in front of her flushed face.

“You want to sleep now?”

To Eren’s surprise however, Mikasa shook her head, pulling him closer and pressing her lips to his, while wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Make love to me.”, she whispered in between the kisses, a certain need in her voice that Eren was more than happy to fulfill. Pressing his forehead to hers, Eren slowly pushed in, in completely no rush, watching her lids flutter and mouth drop a bit open as he filled her.

The activity had a certain intimacy in it, one that couldn’t he found anywhere else. There were no toys, no bindings, no roleplaying, no costumes, just them, pure and raw, as close as they physically could be. Sure, there were much better positions to reach deeper, to do it faster with more strength, a better angle, but like this, staring into each other’s eyes, this was exactly what they needed right now, and it was more than good enough. When Mikasa came, it wasn’t with a scream, but a choked gasp, followed by a long exhale, her walls collapsing around Eren’s shaft to squeeze it, the stimulation overwhelming. Three thrusts later, he was done, breathing heavily into her chest, where he fell for the moment being. It was rather comfortable resting place, made even better when her slender fingers began to comb through his long hair.

Minutes later, when their bodies calmed, Mikasa tapped Eren’s shoulder, making him look up at her.

“What’s up?”

“Can we talk?”

“Sure thing babe.”, rolling to the side, Eren groaned as his back hit the mattress, turning to his side after to get a better look at his lover, peeking at him over the rim of the covers. “What about?”

“I’ve been… thinking lately.”, seeing how quickly he began answering that, she held up a finger, “And if you’ll say that stupid “You can do that?” joke, you can look for a new girlfriend.”

Eren zipped his mouth. Uninterrupted, Mikasa continued.

“I’ve been trying to figure out, what are our limits?”

His brows furrowed in confusion.

“Limits of what?”

“Well, you know…”, her cheeks were already red from the physical activity, but somehow they managed to get a shade deeper, “vegan steaks.”

“I… I’m not sure I understand…”

“It’s just, we’ve done some really crazy stuff together, and we keep digging deeper and deeper, so I just find myself wondering, when do we call it quits? Lately, I’ve been spending basically every evening tied up, and it doesn’t matter if its shibari or the bed cuffs, in costume, or in some play. I’ve had the collar on me so much that I almost forgot to take it off before going out this morning!”, the memory was still embarrassing, especially when Mikasa imagined what would Levi say if she turned up at the gym wearing a leather collar around her neck. But somehow, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, the thought of it was also just a little bit… hot?

“That would be funny.”, Eren grumbled, earning a judging look from her.

“You know that some people do that, don’t you? Wear stuff like collars publicly, and… other things.”

He just shrugged, not sure how to react to that.

“So where is our limit? Am I going to start wearing a collar around my neck 24/7? Am I going to live in a cage here? Are you going to take me out for walks on a leash or something?”, worst of all, even just thinking about this, Mikasa could feel the familiar excitement smoking in the pit of her stomach. Oh lord, if she was already this far gone, what could even help her? Dropping her voice lower, she sighed. “Will I need to be tied up to even get aroused in the future? Or spanked? What is going to happen to us?”

Eren seemed to ponder over her outburst for a few seconds, working his jaw, but after that, he simply shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”, Mikasa looked up, arching an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I’m saying. Look Miki, all these roleplays and stuff, they are amazing, but the most important part of it is just you, nothing else. I can’t even imagine doing things like that with anyone else.”, reaching out, he ran his hand over her upper arm, “We can do what we want as long as we both want to try it, but you never have to fear that I’ll try pushing anything onto you that you’re not comfortable with. Ever.”

“So it’s okay with you if we just drop the act and just go at it like this?”, blinking her greys at him, Mikasa felt like she could melt in that warm look that Eren was giving her, “Sometimes I just don’t want to be hardcore fucked, sometimes I just want to, you know, make love.”

“Please,”, he snorted, “The day when I’ll say no to that will be the day I die.”

She grinned back feeling the insecurities thaw inside her heart.

“Have I told you that you’re awfully sweet from time to time?”

“Of course. My friends call me sugar candy man.”

“No they don’t.”

“True. But they could.”

Chuckling, Mikasa wrapped her arms around him, feeling Eren return the hug as she buried her face into his chest, the sleep finally washing over her body.

“I know I’m sweet, but please don’t lick me again.”, he whispered into her ear just as she was going under, smiling when she groaned against his skin.

Perhaps for that reason, Mikasa’s dreams were filled with abs made of different types of candy, which tasted pretty good when she tried them. All things considered, it was quite an enjoyable one, as far as dreams go.

#eremika #fanfic #snk #snk 116 #ᕙ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ #aot

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bts-love-sweat-tears · 6 years

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The one ring to bind them all, or just a solitary, cranky demon, part 5

Title: The one ring to bind them all (or just a solitary, cranky demon), part 5

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Type: fluff, angst, romance, demon!au, arranged marriage!au, royalty!au, gothic!au

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: literal emotional manipulation, mentions of previous injury, massive amounts of cheese, just a lot of interpersonal drama: jealous boyfriend.

Word Count: 2,435

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4

A/N: I’m sitting here drinking cherry blossom sake and feeling ashamed that it took me so long to post this- I meant to have it out on Halloween for spooky season. But instead I re-wrote it about 50000 times. I’ve been feeling very soft lately, so this got a little more romantic/cheesy than I normally do! Also good luck resisting Jimin, who can literally manipulate emotions. P.S. The Southern Realm is inspired by Southern Spain (think Granada), and the Greek Isles (on my bucket list).

There will definitely be part 6….eventually. I should really focus on gainful employment (sigh….the negative sides of capitalism). Let’s hope the “Keep Reading cut and everything else works. Send me feedback, comments, theories, whatever! I’m grateful for your patient support <3

Yoongi’s arms are secure around you, and his shoulders block out some of the blinding light. You struggle away from his grasp, awaiting the inevitable post-teleportation nausea. But either he was gentler this time, or your body is busy trying to stem the internal bleeding, because it never comes.

Instead of nausea, you were overwhelmed by the brightness around you. After the indeterminate (and seemingly interminable) time you spent in the Western Realms, the Southern realm was positively blinding in its beauty. Around you are blue-domed buildings, contrasted against pristine white walls. Though you have never seen the ocean, you had heard of its existence and can only presume that the glittering expanse you see between the gaps in the buildings must be it. The air smells salty, somehow, and if it weren’t for the pounding in your ribs you might have wondered more at the rhythmic sound of water, which you could only assume were waves.

But the pain forces you to narrow your focus to your more immediate surroundings. You are in some kind of terraced garden. There are fountains filled with tranquil, reflective water, and palm trees swaying in a phantom breeze. The flowers are leafier and more exotic than you could have ever dreamed. A demon of shadows, Yoongi looks tired around the edges of his eyes, but otherwise is as imposing as ever.

Your presence does not go unnoticed, and a young looking boy stands from the chaise lounge where he had been idling. There are others there, but they are seemingly at his disposal, deferring to his every move. Based on this fact alone, you know he is someone important. When he gets up, there is something unmistakeably predatory in his smooth gait, something almost sexual, and you realize that you have just met your next demon prince-Jimin?You try to think back to the endless lessons with Hobi, but all your mind can handle at the moment is the sinister spreading warmth in your rib, Yoongi at your side, and the newcomer in front of you.

As he nears, you realize that his clothes are just as excessive as his garden. His shirt is almost sheer, spun from the finest threads you have ever seen, and his linen pants are immaculate. Combined with his bare feet and the thinnest of gold circlets peeking through his dark locks, the effect is something akin to the angels that had graced the large cathedrals you had been lucky to visit with your father. But you knew from the same, sometimes gruesome, religious art, that angels were more than ethereal beauty and puffy feathers. They were heavenly warriors who could dispense eternal damnation or salvation with only minor inconvenience to themselves.

Jimin turned, eyes glittering. As you suspected, something lethal lingered behind his clear eyes. While you knew that logically you should be cautious, particularly after the reception you had received from Taehyung and Jungkook, all you could feel was warm waves of happiness as you stared into his gaze. Yoongi cleared his throat uncomfortably, but you simply couldn’t tear your eyes from Jimin’s. He moved closer.

Without much warning, he leaned over and placed his hands gently on your ribs. Yoongi’s hands were usually cold, the few times you had touched, but Jimin ran warmer. Still cool, but the faint lingering warmth of the first sunny day after a long and dreary winter. The longer his hands lingered, the more peaceful you felt.

If the garden hadn’t been so quiet, you would have likely missed Yoongi’s sharp intake of breath.

“I’m right here, Jimin. Could you tone it down?” He said, voice tinged with an aggressive edge that you’d heard only rarely.

“Prince Yoongi,” Jimin practically purrs, “do forgive me. It has been positively ages since I’ve encountered a human, let alone healed one- I’d rather be safe than sorry. Particularly with such a pretty patient.” He winked at you and you felt your cheeks warm.

Yoongi humphed, but Jimin ignored him, eyes studiously trained on your ribcage. Under normal circumstances, you would have likely been irritated by both his presumption and the fact that they were talking as though you weren’t even there. But as Jimin continued his ministrations, you felt yourself drift into a deep, peacefully silent sleep. Luckily, Yoongi was there to catch you as you fell.

You awoke to a solid presence at your back. Momentary panic set in, until you hear a familiar raspy voice. Goosebumps raise on your skin, though not entirely from chill.

“Just me, warmheart.”

You roll over slowly, careful not to damage your injured rib. Yoongi is there, eyes dark, but hair smooth. Calm, then, but watchful. You blush, despite months of cohabitation. Old habits die hard, as the saying goes. You think back to your conservative father, and then banish him as quickly as he came.

Yoongi smirks, and gently squeezes your hip in jest. It felt so natural that you hadn’t even noticed that it was there. As though he can read your mind, his voices your embarrassment.

“That’s what bothers you, warmheart? Someone fierce enough to take on the Western demons, and withstand Jimin’s empathy is embarrassed by sharing a bed with your fiancé?”

You smack him lightly. “Don’t say it like that!”

His grin widens. Sometimes, in these quiet moments, you’re in awe of the beautiful boy that resides in the centuries-old demon. You’re not sure if its luck or fate, but you thank whatever forces brought Yoongi into your life.

Yoongi’s face becomes serious. “I missed you, while you were gone. I waited centuries for you, yet only a few days apart was making me crazy.” Now it is his turn to blush, and suddenly you see the appeal of the blushy tropes from your (not-so) secret stash of courtly novels. You are brought back to the present by the grim thought of Yoongi’s displeasure, should he ever find out that you made such a comparison. You know that he would never hurt you, but certain tomes might go missing from the library. A fate truly worse than death.

His gaze can’t meet yours, but his arms have snaked around your back, pulling you closer. “Please don’t waiver in your feelings. I know Jimin is….tempting, but what we have is real.”

“You think me so weak-willed?” You can’t decide whether to be flattered or offended.

You raise your eyebrows but allow him to continue.

“Jimin is an empath-a particularly rare and ancient kind of demon.” You say nothing, unfamiliar with the term, so Yoongi continues. “He has what humans would call charisma, but amplified. Not only can he read someone and understand their feelings, he can actually manipulate them, change them to suit his wishes.”

Your eyes widen slightly, though you’re still lethargic. You wonder if you are witnessing Yoongi jealous for the first time in your blossoming relationship. Instead you ask simply,

“And how is that related to healing?”

“So much of pain is actually mental. In your case, your rib was damaged, but also hurting you was your perception of the pain. You’d have to ask him more-he’s explained it to me, but I never had the patience to understand his lectures. In any case, the mental and the physical are closely linked- he expended more power than was strictly necessary healing you, and I’m not sure what side effects there may be.”

You’re not sure what is making Yoongi so insecure, so you opt to act more boldly than you normally would. You snuggle closer, flush against his front. Your head tucks perfectly under his chin, and your nose rests close to his collarbone. His arms tighten around you and he stills, seemingly finally peaceful. He smells absolutely amazing- earthy but clean. A strange new hunger fills you, but you push it back. Under your ear, you can hear his heartbeat.

Lightening the mood, you crack a joke. “And humans think demons don’t have hearts.”

He scoffs at that, a welcome sound. “Yeah, now if only mine would quit running off and getting into trouble.” You’re grateful once again for the darkness, lest he see how red your face and ears are at the moment. Who knew that he was such an insufferable flirt?

Not trusting your voice you lapse back into silence. Yoongi’s breathing is even and calming. Ever since Jimin’s ministrations the pain in your side has subsided considerably. You can still feel it if you stretch or lean into it, but otherwise it’s hard to believe that Jungkook punched you only this morning. It feels like a million years ago. You ponder the passage of time as you slowly but surely drift off to sleep, tucked up against Yoongi. It feels right,and you have no dreams.

You awake with a start, the moon blindingly bright outside of your window. Really, here, there seems to be very little distinction between outside and inside, and there is no glass separating you from the enticing night-time view. Suddenly restless, you get up, sure not to disturb Yoongi, who is sleeping like the dead, the silent rise and fall of his chest the only thing letting you know that he still lives. You don’t know if he is exhausted from the day or if he is alway like this-it occurs to you that this is the first time you have ever seen him sleeping. In the human world, the two of you had stayed awake at night, getting to know each other. In his house, you had your own wing, though you spent your days together. It’s strange to you how short a period the two of you have known each other, but what scares you more is how quickly his life has become inextricably tied to your own. Realizing that these thoughts won’t allow you any more sleep, you venture into the garden.

The water babbles softly, like something out of a fairytale, but otherwise the terrace is still and silent. The activity of the servants has subsided, as any sane person is asleep. The moon is shining bright enough to illuminate at least a basic outline of most of the garden, and you contemplate whether this can possibly be the same moon from back home. Through the gap in the nearby buildings, you can see the ocean in the distance. You had noticed it earlier, but had been more concerned about your loss of blood. You stare at the diamonds the moon paints in the ripples of the water as it laps the shore somewhere out of sight. It is hypnotizing, and you have no idea how long you’d been staring before you noticed Jimin at your side.

In the darkness, he is little more than a wispy outline, despite the moon. You chalk it up to his flowy apparel, the same thing he was wearing this morning. Seemingly, wrinkles are not something that afflict Prince Jimin. Likely, they are not even a word in his vocabulary,you think wryly to yourself. His eyes slide over to you, and you stop yourself from staring at his immaculate profile.

“What amuses you, little human?” His voice is like a whisper of the softest silk. Despite Yoongi’s early warning about manipulation, you can’t find it in yourself to be scared of this gentle soul.

“Just wondering how you keep your clothes so neat” you say, smile curving the edges of your mouth upward. His gaze lingers there.

“Suddenly, I understand my brethren’s fascination with humans,” he chuckles, gaze never leaving your own. “Pray tell, is this something you concern yourself with every new person you meet? Have I violated some unspoken human etiquette?”

You blush slightly, and he chuckles again. It is melodic-really, there is no other word for it. “Not at all. It just seems unlikely to end the day in the same state that you started it in.”

He smiles again, eyes crinkling into crescent moons. For the briefest of moments, your heart patters erratically, before resuming its original beat.

“What an entirely human viewpoint. Your lives are short-the blink of an eye, a sunrise and sunset, a turn around the sun. We live forever and are unchanging. We exist, as though in suspended animation: change so slow, we barely notice as we turn to stone.”

He’s clearly speaking in a riddle, and before you can guess as to which famed scholar he might be citing, he continues.

“Which is why, little human, I would like to try something-to assuage my endless boredom.” You wait, wondering what ridiculous test he might have in mind, thinking back to your time with Tae and Kookie -not that you would call him that to his face.

He moves closer, placing his warm palms on either side of your face. His gaze meets your own, and you blush again. You don’t look away, but nor do you move. You expect heart palpitations, nerves, a nervous stutter-all things you’ve experienced at one point or another with Yoongi, but you feel: nothing.

Prince Jimin’s gaze grows more fierce, his hands heavier on your cheeks, and you continue to wait.

“How entirely interesting, and infuriating.”

Suddenly, he is gone, and you are standing in the garden, even more perplexed than when you’d been listening to his earlier imagery. You turn, eager to return to sleepy Yoongi’s comforting embrace-something sane in the insanity that is the demon world.

But he is already there, across the terrace, eyes alert and glittering.

“What are you doing awake?” You ask, and you hear the guilt in your words as you speak them.

“I could ask you the same,” he says, voice low and menacing. “Did I NOT just finish warning you about what he could do? And here you are……subjecting yourself to it like some kind of perverse experiment?” His words are biting.

“Yoongi, why are you so angry? Literally nothing happened. I woke up because I couldn’t sleep, and he appeared a while later,” you say soothingly, trying to placate him.

“Well, maybe he can’t hurt you, but you can certainly hurt me,” he said, sounding exhausted once again. “Do you know how scared I was when I woke up again and you were gone, after being severely injured earlier today? And then I come out here and find you two staring each other down, his hands on your face?” He runs his hands over his face, before promptly turning and stalking off.

You stand there, stunned, and then it hits you….. Was Yoongi jealous?

#btsguild #hyunglinenetwork #bts fluff #bts angst #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts demon au #bts royalty au #bts arranged marriage au

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gimmesumsuga · 6 years

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Sweeter than Sweet (57)

Pairings: Jimin x reader, Yoongi x reader, Jimin x Yoongi, Namjoon x reader, Taehyung x reader + others as the story progresses

Warnings: Explicit descriptions of sex, unprotected sex, fingering.

Word count: 3.6K

Previous / Next

Getting back to Yoongi’s car is a little tricky given his current incapability to keep his hands to himself. It’s not exactly a long walk back to where the car’s parked, but it takes you ten times longer than it should do when you have to keep stopping along the way for Yoongi to pull you into darkened corners every few minutes, seemingly unable to resist sampling your lips over and over again.

The streets are more crowded than they were before, full of Friday night thrill seekers, and yet Yoongi no longer seems to care - not even when a group of guys catcall and holler when they spot the two of you clinched in a tight embrace against a shop window.

“ Oppa, what’s gotten into you?” you giggle breathily. You wish you could see Yoongi’s face but it's nestled snugly in the crook of your neck, hiding just out of view. Your scarf would keep you warmer, but it’s difficult to care about wind chill whilst Yoongi is layering kiss after kiss upon you in its absence.

“I miss you, princess,” he murmurs between them, arms wrapped tightly around your waist to keep your body close to his, “Jimin’s been hogging you for weeks.”

“It almost sounds like you’ve been counting,” you tease, your hands finding their way into Yoongi’s coat to shy away from the cold.

“And you haven’t?” Yoongi growls, jutting his hips forward at the same time so there can be no doubt about just how aroused he is. He chuckles darkly at your harsh intake of breath, kissing his way up your neck till he’s nuzzling into the hair behind your ear, nipping at the shell of it.

He’s not wrong. Since Namjoon's instructions to lay low Jimin’s kept you almost entirely to himself for every hour of every day that's gone by, and as lovely as it’s been to have so much time with him you can’t deny that you’ve missed those precious moments alone you used to have with Yoongi. And it’s not just the sex that you’ve missed, either. You’re craving the intimacy of falling asleep in his arms, the quiet affection ever present when you look in his eyes, and tonight’s date has only served to reinforce that desire - amongst with others.

“Of course I have,” you admit, slipping your hands up the back of Yoongi’s t-shirt to skim across his lower back as another lewd shout finds your ears. It originated from a circle of men stood outside of a bar a few doors down, whose leering grins visible even through the cloud of cigarette smoke that surrounds them. “Yoongi, people are staring…”

Yoongi straightens up to his full height at the worry he hears in your voice, turning his head to meet the eyes of your observers whilst his hands continue to move restlessly at your waist.

“Let them look,” he says, not bothering to lower his voice as he stares them down. They're all far taller than Yoongi - both older in appearance and heavier set, too - and yet something about the slight, black-haired boy intimidates them into averting their eyes just mere seconds later. Perhaps it's some innate, primal sense of predator and prey that does it; Yoongi's threatening aura making it very clear which title belongs to whom. “It’s the most they’re gonna get.” He steps back, cocking his head and smirking as he slips away. Taking your hand he leads you fearlessly through the onlookers, leaning in to whisper, “You’re mine tonight,” just loud enough for them to hear, his possessive tone making you tingle from head to toe with excitement.

Your impatience for Yoongi’s touch only seems to intensify on the return to the car, growing exponentially with every step, and by the time you’ve reached the parking lot you’ve become almost as handsy as he is, unable to let go lest somehow he disappear. Inevitably, though, Yoongi does eventually step away, separating himself from you with a knowing smile in an attempt to unlock the car, only to have you lean yourself against the door, blocking his way. You turn your body into his, coyly biting your lip whilst hooking your fingers through his belt loops playfully, swinging your hips. He eyes you with amusement, the corner of his lip twitching into a smile that’s hidden once you lean forward and plant your mouth firmly on his.

All the cars that had occupied this parking lot when you’d arrived so many hours ago are now long since gone, and so is any sense of embarrassment you’d felt at Yoongi’s earlier public displays of affection. Now that you’re alone amongst the concrete, bathed in a spotlight of orange lamplight with Yoongi’s skilful tongue pressing its way between your lips, your thoughts have turned entirely singular in nature. You want him, badly, and judging by the urgency with which he kisses you a similar desire must be preoccupying Yoongi, too. He devours you with it, his hands grabbing hastily at your clothes whilst he presses himself against you, growling softly in the back of his throat.

“You're making it very hard for me to be patient, princess.” If his tone were any different you might well think Yoongi was complaining. As it is, the only discernible emotion you can hear is lust; lots of it. Your hand slips down from his leather belt to the swell of Yoongi’s erection trapped inside his jeans, spurring a hitch of breath when you grasp the length of it in your palm. He grabs a hold of your wrist and pins your arm against the cold metal of the car with a thud, his eyes darkening when you insolently squirm your hips underneath him. “How am I supposed to resist fucking you right here, right now when you keep do things like that?” A slow, lustful smile spreads across your face under Yoongi’s gaze, absentmindedly licking his lips as it appears.

“Don't,” you answer simply, voice thick with desire. Using Yoongi’s momentary confusion to your advantage you slip from his grasp, smile growing as you take the car keys from his pocket and unlock the door. You reach behind you and curl your fingers around the handle of the rear door as Yoongi hungrily watches every sway of your hips. “I can’t wait any longer, oppa.” You wrench open the car door and sit on the edge of the leather seats, casting one last glance from under your lashes Yoongi’s way before scooting yourself back until your shoulders meet the opposite door.

It takes less than a two beats of your overexcited heart for his pale, familiar face to appear in the open doorway. Yoongi peers inside, his hands placed on the roof of the car as he relishes in the sight of you laid out so invitingly across the length of the seats, already slipping off your cardigan as you stare back at him with come-hither eyes. You watch as he scans your surroundings, tongue dabbing nervously against the corner of his lips as he considers your offer, but it’s really only a matter of seconds before Yoongi’s throwing caution to the wind and climbing in after you.

He closes the door behind himself and you welcome him by spreading your legs to make room for his slim form to fit between them, the rate of your breath increasing as he tears off his coat and throws it into the front seat, his eyes never leaving you. Yoongi’s body melts atop of you, molding with yours as he seizes your mouth with his, claiming it with a ferocity that’s as overwhelming as it is arousing. You wind your arms around him, hands tugging at white cotton that still lies across his shoulders as you kiss. You want to touch him, to feel his cool skin beneath your fingertips, and as though he can read your mind Yoongi moves away for just long enough to tug his t-shirt off, the muscles in his triceps flexing attractively as he pulls it over his head. It falls somewhere into the footwell as you lean up to meet his mouth halfway, tugging him back down with your hands in his hair, his finding their way onto your waist.

Your body aches and burns beneath Yoongi’s touch as it wanders up beneath your sweater, one hand cupping your breast through the lace of your bra as his hips grind lazily into yours. His kiss may be passionate but no gesture he makes is rushed or taken for granted. Hidden from view of the outside world by the car’s tinted windows, Yoongi takes his time to enjoy you.

A soft, beseeching moan of your lover’s name escapes your lips as soon as they can speak, his mouth abandoning the sweetness of it to linger its way across your neck instead. Goosebumps arise across every inch of your skin as you feel his fangs graze your skin, your back arching and pushing your breast further into his groping palm. You know Yoongi won��t bite you, not with Jimin’s collar wrapped possessively around your throat, but you know he wants to - the jutting of his pelvis into yours and the deep-throated that groan he makes tells you so.

Yoongi abandons your breasts long enough to strip you of your sweater - a somewhat difficult task all tangled together as you are - but as soon as it’s tossed aside he starts making his way down the length of your neck, folding himself almost in half in the cramped backseat to descend onto the slopes of your breasts. He cups them through your bra as his mouth fixes on the flesh, sucking open-mouthed hard enough to make you gasp but not enough to leave a mark. Jimin’s displeasure at the hickeys he’d left on your neck so long ago must still be fresh in his mind, enough to make him move on a little sooner than you would like, licking and kissing his way down your stomach until he’s at the waistband of your jeans.

“Yoongi, please, ” you whine as he skims along its edge, his thumbs rubbing circles into the inside of your thighs as he spreads them as wide as the denim they're wrapped in will allow. He looks up at you, fixing you in his black-eyed stare as his mouth curves into a gentle, teasing smile, finally making efforts to begin taking them off.

It proves even more difficult than removing your sweater had been, and both of you end up dissolving into laughter when you almost kick him in the face whilst flailing your leg to try and get them off. When the laughter fades all that’s left is Yoongi’s wide, gummy smile beaming down at you as he caresses your hips. The pure adoration you see in his eyes has your heart swelling to twice its normal size inside your chest, beating hard, and you sit up abruptly to fling your arms around his neck, pulling him into a loving kiss. Your enthusiasm catches him off guard, ‘oomphing’ when your mouth meets his and chuckling once again when he peels you off of him after a moment or two, lying you back down with a firm yet gentle hand on your stomach.

Luckily, Yoongi had had the foresight to remove your underwear at the same time as your jeans to avoid the risk of further possible injury. Well, lucky for the two of you, maybe, but not so lucky for the car’s leather upholstery. Every shift of your hips that’s spurred on by Yoongi’s fleeting touches has your arousal - copious in its amount - smearing onto the seat below you. You’d been shivering when you’d first entered the car, the leather freezing cold underneath you, but your body’s heightened state of arousal has soon warmed things up to a comfortable temperature, even with Yoongi’s lack of body heat to contend with.

“I always forget how beautiful you are till I see you like this again,” he tells you softly, hands resting on either side of your pelvis as his eyes travel the length of you, roaming upwards till they meet yours, “You never fail to take my breath away… every time.” Yoongi’s unfettered words of praise make you blush deeply, the air temperature around you rising further as your blood turns to lava, desire scorching through your veins.

Yes, you’re craving the feel of him inside of you, and yes, the need for physical release is becoming almost painful the longer Yoongi’s fingers tease their way up the inside of your thighs, but what you’re longing for more than anything now is the intimacy that comes with it. You want him to show you that he loves you in the only way he seems to know how; with every part of you locked together, tangled up so tight that to separate would seem a rather cruel and unnecessary thing.

You inhale sharply when the tips of two of Yoongi’s fingers first make contact with your clitoris, melting into a moan when he circles the sensitive bud, your eyes falling closed. He gathers your wetness off of your folds, running his fingertips from bottom to top with a featherlight touch until your body is practically aflame, your hips tilting towards his hand in an attempt to tempt him inside.

“Yoongi...” you whisper shakily, prying your eyes open to look down at him, the desperation in your voice all too easily heard.

“It’s ok, princess,” Yoongi reassures, words as gentle as his touch, “I’ve got you.” He slides one solitary, long finger into your heat, and there’s been so much build up, so much anticipation, that even that most slender digit has you crying out, your head tipping backwards. It narrowly misses banging against the car door, but you’re so preoccupied with the slow thrust of Yoongi’s finger that you barely acknowledge it.

“More, Yoongi, please…” Always the generous lover, Yoongi gives you exactly what you crave as you ask for it, a second finger slipping in alongside the other to stretch you further. The heel of his hand sat snugly against your mound gives you the perfect pressure to grind down on, and as you circle your hips, pleasure chasing, Yoongi lays on top of you once more.

He doesn’t kiss you right away like you’d thought he would. Despite your pouting, parted lips, Yoongi simply stops and looks, his fingers still curling tenderly inside you to stretch you open. You stare into each other’s eyes for a moment that feels like it lasts forever, and when Yoongi finally leans in to claim possession of your lips you press your palms to his naked chest, exhaling a sigh. You feel him shudder with impatience as your hands wander lower, tracing the vague outline of abdominal muscles with your fingertips.

“Are you ready for me, gongjunim? ” Yoongi purrs, planting kisses to the corner of your mouth. The motion of his fingers becomes slightly rougher as he speaks, more purposeful, pleasure flooding through you with every firm press against your g-spot.

“So ready,” you confirm breathlessly, undoing his belt as you kiss his cheek, his chin, the base of his neck; all that you can reach. Although the loss of his fingers grieves you, the anticipation of what’s about to happen has you biting your lip, practically trembling with excitement as you watch Yoongi slide his jeans and boxers down along the curve of his behind to sit at the base of his buttocks. You reach for his erection as soon as it springs free, encircling it with the warmth of your palm and giving a few eager strokes that have Yoongi burying his head in the curve of your neck, groaning softly.

Gently lifting your thigh, Yoongi settles himself between your legs, his length brushing teasingly against the entrance to your core. The heat of you, the way you arch your back and moan in longing for him… it’s almost more than he can bear. When he can wait no longer - when you’re lifting your hips up from the seats to slip the tip of his slick, swollen cock between your lips - Yoongi kisses you once more, allowing himself to begin the agonisingly slow descent inside.

“O-oh…” you moan, fuller and fuller with every inch, your walls clenching around his length and squeezing it tight. It feels so right to have him inside of you, even better when he starts to move, Yoongi’s fingers tangling in your hair as his hips move back and forth.

The car fills with the sounds of your love-making as it begins; the bushing of skin, the creaking of leather, and a combination of your stilted, laboured breaths. It’s certainly not the most comfortable location you’ve ever had sex in, but it’s perfect regardless, your bodies moving in unison in the small amount of available space.

Things start off slowly, in the beginning, Yoongi’s hips rocking into yours as he savours every thrust, his lips moving restlessly between your mouth, your jaw and your neck. Your hands that’d been holding onto his shoulders so tight travel up into his raven hair, running through the silky-soft strands and then onto either side of his face as he moves, holding it where it now hovers only a few inches above yours.

You open your eyes, quietly panting in the semi-darkness and biting your lip to hold back the emotion that overwhelms you as you admire Yoongi’s face. He looks… serene; dark eyelashes splayed across creamy skin, his slender lips barely parted to let out quiet expressions of pleasure.

“I love you,” you whisper, your fingers cradling the angle of his jaw, thumbs brushing the flawless complexion of his cheeks.

You hadn’t even realised you were about to say it. There was no forethought, no planning, no great expectation of the event, but there it is. It’s said, it’s done, and you don’t regret it for a second, heart soaring as Yoongi’s eyes snap open to search yours, like he can barely believe what he just heard.

“What?” he blurts out, somewhat blunt and inelegantly, his body falling still atop of yours.

“I love you, Yoongi,” you repeat, unable to withhold the smile that spreads across your face, “So much.” There’s a moment of silence in which you’re suddenly very aware of a bead of sweat that’s inching its way down between your cleavage whilst you’re staring into each other’s eyes.

“ Gongjunim… ” Yoongi trails off, his hands moving to mirror the actions of your own, cupping your face. He’s never looked so blindsided before, so totally caught unawares, his small eyes widening, lips forming a hesitant, almost disbelieving smile. Every single emotion that fleets across his expression is clear as day to read, for once, and after the sentiment has had the chance to sink in, it fills with a look of awe and affection; a love so raw that it takes your breath away.

He licks his lips as they part, but rather than speak Yoongi seizes your mouth with his own, kissing you ferociously as his fervent motions begin again. He’s suddenly urgent, driving his body forward with hard, deep thrusts, the bones of his pelvis digging into the flesh of your thighs, driven into a frenzy by your heartfelt confession.

“I love you,” he gasps between kisses, “I love you.” Fixing your bottom lip between his teeth Yoongi tugs on it until you’re gasping, digging your nails into his back. “ God, I love you.” Now that he’s said it once it seems as though Yoongi can’t stop, chanting it again and again as he fucks into you. He sits up as best he can under the low ceiling, letting go of your face to grab onto your hips and drag you onto his cock, trying to get deeper and deeper. Your mind is reeling, overwhelmed with pleasure and the joy that threatens to bubble over into tears at hearing those three precious words after all this time.

“Yoongi!” you cry out as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing it harshly as you grab onto your own breasts, bouncing so enthusiastically with Yoongi’s thrusts that they’re almost spilling out of your bra. “O-oh that feels so good, f-fuck.” Your orgasm is fast approaching, heat pooling deep in your pelvis as Yoongi’s cock breaches your hot, wet core over and over again, slamming against your g-spot. Your walls are contracting around Yoongi’s length, warning him of your impending climax and pulling him towards it too, his thighs starting to quiver.

“I’m close,” Yoongi groans, chest rising and falling unsteadily, “Cum with me?”

“Yes, yes,” you pant back, reaching out and taking hold of his hips, pushing back against him to get the angle of his thrusts just right. “Oh god, Yoongi, oppa, I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna make me cum!” You do, fingernails marking crescent moons into his skin.

“Sh-shit,” he curses under his breath as you fall apart underneath him, so entranced by the sight of you that Yoongi barely realises he’s about to cum until it’s already happening. Even as it does - even as he’s filling you with his cum, emptying himself into you in drawn-out groans of pleasure - he can’t take his eyes off you; throwing your head back, arching your back off of the sweaty leather seats, your thighs clenching around his hips as though you’re trying to trap him inside… his name pouring from your lips over and over in endless throes of ecstasy.

Yoongi’s kissing you when the haze of it finally starts to clear, your legs shaking on either side of him, his thumb rubbing at your cheek, the others in your hair.

“I love you, princess. I always have.”

#sweeter than sweet #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts vampire au #yoongi smut #suga smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi/reader #suga x reader #yoongi fluff #jimin x reader #jimin/reader #vampire!yoongi #vampire!jimin

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chickenscript · 6 years

Note

How would the Rottmnt guys comfort their grieving friend after their family member passed away?

A/N: this was the second prompt sent in and i really went for it while writing. i’ve been in a pretty rough mood lately and funneled a lot of how that feels in. i also have personal experience with loss and i tried to input a lot of that so the reader’s thoughts could feel more convincing. enjoy?

It struck you and your uncle so incredibly hard.

Out of nowhere, your grandmother was suddenly ailing. She was a healthy, elderly woman for all the years you’d known her and took good care of herself, so when her retirement home rang your uncle up, a thick fog rolled in over the two of you. It was unexpected- sudden and swift tempered information that terrified you both. The home staff said they believed she could pull through, but your uncle threw that to the wind and wasted no time. You were going to her, that was that, and you couldn’t agree more. Anything outside of leaving - school, work - was put on hold and you packed up, and your uncle drove with reckless abandon all the way upstate to Albany through the night with the exception of a few pitstops. The ride gave jitters time to sink under your skin and while you were determined to see your grandmother, undeniably, you both could tell there was a storm catching up to you.

Naturally, you stubborn gits refused to leave your grandmother's bedside as soon as you got there. You were there up until the hour came that the doctor, stricken with the grimmest set of eyes you’ve ever seen, made you hold your breath as he delivered his last answers of what was going to happen from here. And it wasn’t good. The storm you and your uncle were hoping to outrun was here, and the worst was happening.

It was like someone was drowning you with pounds upon pounds of stones in your belly. You could barely look your grandmother in the eye as your uncle let you share your sentiments first. You felt a little suffocated after he left. It was easier feeling the way you did when you knew there was someone else who felt the exact same, if not worse there with you.

When you sat down beside your grandmother’s hospital bed and held her wrinkly, pale hand, all you could think to do was retell all your favorite moments with her. She laughed along hoarsely and chimed in softly with a sickly voice. She told you to calm down in the middle of one of your retellings, she could feel you shaking.

You tried to suck it up, really did, and when you felt you could say no more to her and kissed her forehead- you bid a half quiet goodbye as she touched her finger pads to your face. Then you let your uncle have his one last moment with her as you waited outside the room, back against a wall as you tremored with pure anguish.

Your apartment was never more quiet than when you got back.

You two were shells of yourselves, dragging your feet everywhere and not wanting to be particularly productive from that night onward. Your uncle was given an entire two weeks of leave to mourn, and yet somehow managed to leave midday most times and come back just as the wee hours started to creep in. Or when the morning was.

You drifted from your friends, distancing yourself from them and schoolwork, and went out for a lot of walks with Jigsaw. Getting lost to the city stretches. But, it was looming over your head that you knew you had to break this silence you forced over you and your friends. You couldn’t handle another harried text or voicemail from Mikey, or another chorus of texts and missed calls from his brothers that shared his worry.

It took an angry April knocking down your door on the fifth day of this emotional mayhem to finally get the guts to tell them all what happened.

Raphael is first.

You ask him to meet you at the restaurant your grandmother used to own so you can get over being afraid to go there. All the familiar sights and smells anchor you as you both slip into the closed dining establishment.

Your grandmother relinquished ownership to her sister in her retirement, and you’re not as close to her since she lived up in Syracuse, but she was there for the funeral and gave you a shoulder to cry on. She looked so much like your grandmother and even shared the same thyme scent, that it scared you to high heaven.

But it was also so comforting.

She left the restaurant’s design untouched and she only drove down every few months to stay in the apartment attached to it to see how things in the city were going. From the brick stone ovens that had been there for as long as the building’s foundations were, to the linoleum floor tiles, warm colors and rustic decorations. It still felt like the Italy your grandmother spoke of so fondly in tales she would regale when you were small and pudgy, and just learning how to chase the other toddlers. It wasn’t even her home country- Columbia was, but her father hailed from Italy and god was she ever in love with all he told her about it. It made her travel there as often as she could in her youth- which was sadly only ever once.

The 1960’s weren’t a good time for travel when you weren’t wealthy. You were only upset that she still kept a picture of herself and her husband hung on a wall with other family members - few that were actually ever around - and Italian villas she got to visit.

The fact your grandfather was never any good to your uncle after he divorced her and his damned store - that she helped him buy - was sabotaged, rubbed you the wrong way.

At least she looked happy and youthful in the picture.

“That her?” Raph asks over your shoulder.

You hum and there’s a familiar prickle in your eye for the third time today.

“Yeah. Thanks for uhm, meeting me here. I know it was hard to leave the others back at the lair with no explanation, but…” you needed to explain how you felt to everyone one by one. Otherwise, you were sure to get overwhelmed.

“It’s all cool Snapper.” he liked to call you that after your scrappiness.

You do the best you can to smile and hang the picture back up on the nail jutting out from the wall. It was bent in a hook shape and looked like it had been there for ages. Knowing your grandmother, it probably was.

“How’re you feeling today?”

There’s that part of you, your temper, that wants to snap in offence that you felt the same since the day it happened. But, you don’t feel that anger anymore from when she died and you felt like you all could’ve done something- anything to make her time here longer. It just wasn’t sane to cling to the idea that it was someone else’s or even just your fault your grandmother died.

It was the first hurdle your mourning presented to you.

“No that awesome Big Red. I’ll be honest.” you take in a big breath and bump your shoulder to his forearm, “But I feel a lot better with you here.”

“Like, coming here isn’t so scary.” you say as an afterthought.

You remember just coming up to the block, not even being near the building yet or climbing the fire escape to the roof, made your tummy swirl with dread. Like if you took another step, something might strike you down. But you banished the feeling when you got a text about Raph almost being there. It let you summon courage and helped you to the restaurant roof. You couldn’t be standing here without the encouragement that came from knowing your friend was here too.

Not to judge how you felt or that you avoided him and his brothers for the past school week, but to support you.

You dismissively swipe the bullet of a tear that welled up in your eye.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” you could tell Raph was struggling to figure out how to comfort you.

You weren’t giving any clues and death was a foreign concept to him. He probably only knew it in the form of Splinter’s vague story; the one about his wife and child from his old life before he was a rat. You know since you met them a year ago that they’d only ever had one scare, and it mostly only effected Leo.

“Nah, I mean…” your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

You felt the urge to just talk about her. About everything that was coming to mind about her not that you felt the nostalgia of the restaurant come at you. You think of her, and thyme and sugar cookies, bandeja paisa brunches and batches of bacalaítos you could eat all on your own.

So you do.

You tell Raph about all the foods she would make for you, and how she was more often than not, your babysitter. You tell him about how after you had to start living with your uncle, that was around the time she retired and moved to Albany. At first, you and your uncle would swing by the restaurant as often as when she was there, but it didn’t feel the same without her tittering from the kitchen or her sitting at your table to talk with you instead of help wait tables or oversee food being cooked.

Your mom would be the one to shoo her back to work.

A much more dull ache in your chest shook the tides and you really started to have a hard time talking and just breathing.

It was okay though, you were glad to be able to let all this out and maybe this was just a sign that you were done with flushing out memories for today. Lest ones you barely remember would come back up and really wreck you.

Raph is rubbing wide circles in your back as you collect your emotions again. He’s so patient, and you wonder how someone with anger like you was able to whip it into shape the way he had. You reach for his dawdling hand and drape yours over it. You only really cover the space between his thumb and forefinger.

“Thanks Red.”

Raph leans over to bump your head with his, smiling benevolently.

“Need to let anythin’ else out? Or do you wanna go to the lair for dinner? Mike said he was making something ‘specially for you.”

You wonder what the young cook could have magicked up this time and nod distantly.

“Yeah. I think we should go.“

But you would come back.

You felt you needed to.

So, the next day you have Don meet you at the restaurant.

It was well past the closing time when you jimmy open the window of the apartment above it again and sneak in through there. And again, its like an eerie ghost town inside. All the chairs were on the tables, the window blinds were shuttered and the only sound was coming from the groaning freezers in the back, and the odd car outside. Something about it is somehow less bearable than last time, but then Don bumps you with an elbow and you feel less alone, and like you were about to be pulled into shadowy straits or something.

“So, what does it uh, feel like.”

You know Donatello isn’t asking to be insensitive; he honestly doesn’t get it.

Holding his hesitant, offered hand made it easier to describe to him.

You breathe in like you need an inhaler, “Like uh, like someone punched a hole right through me. Through here.”

You knock on your sternum and scoff lightly.

“Does that make sense Dee?” you look Donnie in the eye and there’s the glimmer from his abnormal eye shine.

You’ve seen it before, but you forget about it all the time. Like how you forget that your friends aren’t entirely human. They make it easy in your defense with how they act. They’re like every other hot blooded teen, including you, just in a vastly different vessel. And, they had their quirks, sure, but nothing that really bent back to them being mostly turtle. Except the occasional animal outburst- a hiss here, a Mikey retracting into his shell there. Besides that, all the things that would be considered part of their freakish, mutation flaws by most folk, you knew them as the four teenage brothers you were bonded to by the threads of friendship.

Now, you also knew them as the people who were helping you through a time in your life that had rocked your core.

You squeeze Donnie’s hand to ease you through the sudden stir of hurt. The type only tragedy can custom make, and you feel him rub your knuckles. He’s been getting better at gestures like that and you like to give yourself credit for his improvement.

“Enough.” the turtle shrugs and cocks his head at you, “Raph told me that you told him a lot about your grandmother, do you need to let out anymore stories?“

You remember how much your rambling had swelled the thin, tense air you felt, and you were compelled to tell him about the disaster that was your grandmother trying to teach you how to make arepas- you don’t even want to remember how you got dough on the ceiling. It was so embarrassing and a blush was already coloring your cheeks.

It was also the first time you laughed in a week and it made your heart flutter.

This felt so much better than the hurt of losing someone and made your memories of her feel like less of a plague. Don might not get that last bit, or any bit of what devastation did, and you hoped he wouldn’t ever have to because shit, it sucked.

No one should have to lose anyone, but that was how the world went.

Your laughter flattened out as you reach the end of your tale and you gave Don’s larger hand another squeeze, tightly interlocking your fingers.

“Let’s get out of here.” you don’t mean for it to sound like a rushed breath, but Don just nods and complies.

When he helps get you back home, you find your uncle is out - probably for a drink with his own best friend - and Don stays with you through a movie that you fall asleep halfway through. Propped in his lap with a death grip on one of his hands and dribble beginning to stream down the side of your chin.

Apparently, prying you off was like getting a bear trap open. Or that’s what he said in the text he sends you in the morning after a hope you slept well, my hand still feels asleep and a trying heart emoji.

You smile into your pillow - he must have tucked you in too - and breath easier for the rest of the day.

But then you have talk to another turtle brother.

Again, you’re guiding around a turtle teen with only one light on in the whole restaurant so no one would know you were breaking in for a kind of impromptu therapy session with a mutant. You don’t really reminisce like the other nights, you feel too numb to, and just answer trivia Mike throws at you. They all have to do with what it’s like to have a grandmother. You try to answer them the best you could so he can have a rough grasp on the concept. He’s only ever had two different forms of family and was fascinated by all the other ones out there. You let him take down and look at the pictures hung up, explaining who or what was in them, and then meaning of certain knick knacks on shelves. You tell him about all the different types of food that’s been made here, and that really perks his interest.

All the talking really gets your mind off of things, and the walk back to the lair is filled with Mikey talking about how much he wants to try to make the dishes you mentioned.

He admits he still doesn’t really get what your grandmother was to you after a couple of movies in his room, and you decide to just sum it up the best you can.

Kindness and firmness - only when it’s needed -, kisses on bruises and bumps and slathers of vicks cream even when all you had was a suspected sniffle. Lots of watching her cook, sometimes petty thieving when it came to things that accidentally stayed in the shopping cart past the checkout, and just the love a grandparent can only have for the child of their child. The over-complicated description came flowing out of you and you grin warily at Mike’s confused face when you’re finished.

Like his brothers, Michelangelo honestly doesn’t understand the pain you’re feeling and you can see him trying to. Eyes a conflicted shade of blue green. You discovered they sometimes changed colors depending on his emotions - or reflected eye shine like Don who explained how it was part of the mutation only the two of them shared -, and since he was usually high on happiness, the green never came out much.

He butts his forehead against yours and takes your hands, looking at them thoughtfully with a pout.

“I’m sorry you feel so bad- is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he’s got a hopeful gleam to him.

You gently smile and butt his forehead back.

“Don’t worry about it Mike, you guys just being here is enough.” to an extent. You still felt the hole from death's double barrel shotgun aching in your heart.

Mike smiles, but its shifty and half dishonest. He’s worried, but he doesn’t pressure you for more.

“Okay.”

You breathe and hold it in.

Yeah. Okay.

“Let’s order some pizza yeah? I’m actually hungry tonight.” you get up from the conglomeration of pillows on Mikey’s floor with the grunt of some elderly person who’s joints are locked up with peanut butter.

All the other nights before this, you were just sort of shoving food down your throat for the sake of sustenance and not actually getting to enjoy any flavors. You’re not sure tonight will be different though, until you feel Mikey grab your hand to hold as you walk down the hall.

For some reason, when you finally invite Leo to meet you at the restaurant, your mind starts to betray you.

You swear you can smell hints of Colombian cuisine and imagine the scene of a bustling kitchen with your grandmother singing to the radio and the softness of thyme wafting above all else. It makes you put on the brakes and nearly sink to your knees. Leo is your crutch and immediately asks what’s wrong, defying his usual carefree demeanor. You’re clumsy, sure, but you never just buckle like that. He was concerned that you were skipping out on sleep or meals again.

You’ve never done that either before now.

“Just…remembering n’ stuff.” you battle with your voice to cooperate.

Leo doesn’t ask you questions to help you piece together your feelings and just hugs you to his side so you can swoop your arm around his waist like his was around your shoulder. It really helped you feel grounded.

Leo admits his brothers told him most of what was happening with you and how you felt. He’s curious about this person who was so near and dear to you, and wanted to know whatever you personally had to say to him about her. Unless you didn’t want to say anything, that was okay too. You weren’t sure where to start anyway, all the other times you just went off on great, big tangents that seemed to never end, but tonight, they don’t come that easy.

You lean into Leo, staring at your least favorite picture in the restaurant. You glared emptily at your grandfather’s smiling face and then looked softly to your grandmother’s.

She has this soft blush and her hair is tousled by some unseen breeze like her ruffled blouse. She’s so happy, she reminded you of a sprite. Beautiful and striking. That ache in your chest was no longer furious and hungry for your suffering, it dulled and the lack of grief left you unsure how to feel. Like you forgot how to do it at all with how slammed you were by sadness and it’s relatives these past few, long days. You felt direction-less and emotionally drained. You wanted to lay down and sleep for a few centuries, and wake up to see how things went while you were gone. You wonder if that’s what dying is like and we all just wake as ghosts to see the world we left to an impermanent, eternal sleep.

“Hey, you blanked out.” Leo tells you and take some of your weight off his side.

“Sorry, I’m just…tired. And I don’t know what to tell you about her, honestly. She was,” you stare at her picture again and chuckle softly, “she was a spitfire. Even in old age- you would have liked her. Maybe Don too. She made the best jokes, mostly about her own son.”

Leo smiles with you, “Sounds like a cool lady. With all the stuff Mike told me, I can see why you’d miss her.”

Your arm slacks a bit where its around him, “Yeah.”

You always would. No doubt. But you wouldn’t hurt like before. The pain will always be there in small doses, but you had them to counteract it, to medicate it,

Something to fill the void left by loss. Maybe not back up to the top or ever as full as before, but enough.

You look up at Leonardo and his warm, sympathetic stare.

Certainly enough.

“Let’s go home eh? I’m bone tired and ready to call it a night.” he can tell you’re not referring to your uncle’s apartment, but that’s the first time you’ve called his home that without stuttering and replacing the word with lair like it should be.

Leonardo stares at you for it, but doesn’t point it out. Instead, half of a grin curves his mouth.

“Home it is.”

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt michaelangelo #tmnt raphael #angst #grief #they love you so much #oneshot #reader insert #x reader #anon prompt #loss #friendship #platonic #comfort #imagine #my writing

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randomly-random-jen · 6 years

Text

Uncalled For Actions (1/?)

A Girl Genius fanfic written in sentences.

At the beginning of the month, I decided to try a new format to break through my writer’s block. Instead of a set number of words to write every day, I chose to write a certain number of sentences--one sentences on the 1st, two sentences on the 2nd, etc., updating the post each day with the new set of sentences.

As that repost is getting extremely long, I’m condensing the first 14 days into one post and starting a new one for the rest of the month.

When Gilgamesh Holzfäller is fourteen, he’s taken on as an apprentice to Baron Wulfenbach as part of a program to produce the next generation of leaders in the Empire--a group that will hopefully get along (although most see this as wishful thinking on the Baron’s part).

He’s learned a lot over the months of shadowing the Baron, but nothing has prepared him for his most challenging assignment: confronting the skeletons in his closet.

PART 1

“I’m telling you,” Gil said through clenched teeth, “this is a really bad idea.”

The Baron regarded him over the edge of the newspaper he read with a withering stare. “Please sit down, you’re agitating the Jägers.”

Across the room, a couple of Jäger guards snickered to each other. Gil glared then crossed his arms, staring out the porthole–pointedly not sitting. The Baron went back to reading his paper with a rustling flourish, the Jägers continued to giggle and Gil pouted as Sturmhalten grew large on the horizon.

* * *

Tarvek watched from his window as the great Wulfenbach airship docked with the tower across the castle. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle a moment before he smelled Anevka’s perfume flutter in ahead of her.

“That’s sure a big one, isn’t it?” she said, leaning against the other side of the window.

Tarvek huffed at her terrible incorrectness–this was nothing compared to Castle Wulfenbach.

“So, how much of a disaster do you expect this farce to be,” his sister asked with humor in her eyes.

“Unmitigated,” Tarvek answered flatly as the stewards ran around the roof opposite of them, tying off the airship. It was almost showtime.

“Oh, come now, baby brother, I thought this was your thing–politics and intrigue-”

“Members of the Fifty Families under one roof with the Baron–this is a nightmare.”

“Always the optimist,” Anevka said with a sigh, patting his cheek affectionately. Tarvek slapped her hand away, and she left–her tinkling laugh following behind.

Across the courtyard, the airship was finally secured and the gangplank clanked down with a hiss of steam that matched the puff of Tarvek’s breath against the cool windowpane.

“I know you’re there,” he said suddenly to the silent room.

From the shadows, the small girl materialized, her wild red hair held in place by a golden headband. “Not fair,” she said, lip out in a pout.

Tarvek ignored her petulance. “Report.”

Violetta glared at him a moment longer–probably considering if she could get away with murder at the age of ten, he imagined–but eventually snapped to attention. “The castle is at capacity; we await only the Baron and his en- entou- entourage.”

Tarvek smiled at his reflection as she tripped over the new word he’d taught her earlier in the day. “How full are we talking?”

“Not including the castle residents and staff, fifty-four delegates of the Fifty families, their apprentices, 270 attendants, and about a hundred Smoke Knights.”

When Tarvek made no comment, Violetta shifted her weight nervously. “Do you really think something bad is going to happen?”

“With the various branches of our family involved, it’s almost a given.” He removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Just keep your eyes open and stay out of sight, okay?“

Violetta didn’t answer, and when he replaced his glasses, he found himself alone again. She was getting good. She was going to need to be better.

* * *

The deck shuddered slightly as the steam winches kicked in, slowly tugging the airship closer to the landing tower of Sturmhalten Castle. The castle itself looked like the dozen others Gil had visited in the months since officially becoming the Baron’s apprentice, if not a little more war-torn–almost as if the residents failed to repair the century’s old scars of battle as a matter of pride. Knowing what he did of the Storm King myths, it probably wasn’t far from the truth.

“Gilgamesh,” the Baron called without looking up from his paper, “stop fidgeting.“

Gil winced, dropping his hands to his sides before he worried the buttons right off his new greatcoat–a habit he thought abandoned years ago. It was this place–Sturmhalten and all it represented–that was twisting his insides into knots. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he mumbled to his reflection in the porthole.

Across the compartment, the baron sighed, snapping his paper shut with the flick of a wrist.

The expected lecture was interrupted by a flurry of fur and velvet bursting through the door.

The Jäger guards darted out of the way of the diminutive human-canine hybrid the Baron had picked up from an ousted Madboy in Vienna–something about wanting minions as loyal as his dogs.

“Herr Baron,” he called, waving a paper.

“What is it, Barkley?”

Barkley bowed, his snout nearly touching the floor. “Initial reports from our spies inside Sturmhalten, sir. Already five assassination attempts thwarted.”

The Baron took the paper and scanned it. “Only five? I would have expected more.”

“The delegates from two of the Fifty Families have fallen to a mysterious illness producing bizarre symptoms,” Barkley continued.

“What symptoms?”

Barkley’s ears flattened against his skull. “Apparently they cluck now.”

That got a raised eyebrow from the Baron. “Cluck?”

“Yes, and they’ve grown feathers, but only when a bell rings.”

"Sounds like early-stage Oxfam’s Hypnotosia–very contagious. They’ll need to be isolated before the entire summit is laying eggs.”

Barkley nodded. "There have also been rumblings of monsters under the village.

“Well, it is Sturmhalten–I would expect nothing less.”

The Jäger next to Gil clapped his hands. "Monsters? Now hyu iz talkink.”

“No, Skurzi,” the Baron interrupted sternly. “No Jägers at the summit–that was the agreement.”

Skurzi sulked, shoulders hunched. “Hyu say dat now, but just hyu vait until a monster iz chompink on hyu head then hyu vill be all like, ‘why Hy not listen to Skurzi. Oh, howz Hy vish Skurzi vas here to fightz dis big scary monster.’”

The other Jägers nodded in agreement, but the Baron didn’t look at all swayed by the argument.

Gil watched the entire exchange with interest–he’d only recently been taken on as an apprentice, and found the day-to-day running of the Empire predictably tedious but also exceedingly fascinating where personnel was involved. Especially the Jägers. As much trouble as they caused, Gil wasn’t quite sure why his father kept them around but hadn’t found the nerve to yet assuage his curiosity.

The Jägers continued to grumble as they all followed the Baron through the decks of the airship but veered off when they got to the hatch to keep out of sight. Barkley hurried over to the rest of their party, leaving Gil alone with his father.

His anxiety ratcheted up with every clank of the gangplank lowering into place. He’d been excited months ago when his father took him on as an apprentice–some new Empire program to ready the next generation of rulers–but this assignment was going to kill him. There was absolutely no way it ended well.

The Baron suddenly reached out, slapping Gil’s hand away from the button of his coat. Gil cradled the injured appendage to his chest, shooting his father a withering glare. "You could have just said,” he muttered.

“You will be on your best behavior and none of this moping.”

Gil’s glare intensified. “I’m not moping–I have genuine misgivings about this meeting, and you aren’t listening to me.”

He hadn’t meant to say all of that, but his boldness seemed to soften his father’s characteristic sharp edges. “I know you’re worried about seeing the young prince again, but time marches on, Gil.”

Time marches on? An electrifying anger built in Gil, filling his chest and spreading outward like lightning until the tips of his fingers and toes burned.

"That kind of betrayal isn’t something you just forget,” he spat through clenched teeth. How could he think Tarvek would ever be over it when Gil still hadn’t forgiven himself, and he wasn’t the one betrayed?

A hand clamped down tightly on his shoulder. “Control yourself,” his father commanded.

Gil seethed, eyes blazing, electricity crackling around him. Everywhere colors popped extra saturated and bright; sound returned more crisp and clear. Thoughts bounced around his head at supersonic speeds yet his brain didn’t struggle to keep up, and at the same time, reality seemed to slow down allowing for enhanced clarity. The increased harmonics of his voice finally registered, and he blinked, resetting the world around him.

He took a deep breath, letting it out in a shudder. “I’m sorry–I didn’t mean to.”

“The same passion that fuels the Spark often intensifies other emotions, and you must learn to restrain them lest they overwhelm your reason.”

If triggering his Spark was that easy, this trip just got a whole lot more complicated.

[PART 2]

#girl genius #girl genius fanfic #gilgamesh wulfenbach #klaus wulfenbach #tarvek sturmvoraus #anevka sturmvoraus #violetta mondarev #story: uncalled for actions #sentences #days 1-14 #writing in jager is hard

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jamesvehrlinger · 6 years

Text

Deep Stone Crypt

//...INITIALIZING…

//INITIALIZATION COMPLETE

//EXECUTE: SUBROUTINE:[DEEPSTONECRYPT]

//...PARSING...

//PARSING COMPLETE

//EXECUTING SR:[DSC]

I exhaled, opened my eyes, and I was there. I’d heard stories, but it was unlike anything I’d ever expected. The weak breeze, roving the hair on my arms and cloth on my chest. Sensations I hadn’t felt for a lifetime, maybe more. I let my jaw slack, feeling the tendons and cartilage stretch and settle. I licked my lips, and turned my face skyward. Blue, in every direction, spots of white here and there, and at my feet, green. I took in my surroundings, an infinite field of grass, about knee-high. I felt it run up against my calves, it itches, but I didn’t feel the urge to scratch, only to savor it.

With a quick breath, I recollected myself. I had to remember, remind myself the nature of this place, what I had to do. I scanned the horizon, one turn-a-round, squinting, two turn-a-rounds, focusing, three turn-a-rounds, closing my eyes. I came to rest, and opened them.

There it was.

The obelisk dominated my view. It was but a speck on the horizon, but it’s presence alone overwhelmed me. My breathing became quickened, my vision darkened. I fell to one knee and steeled myself. By revealing the obelisk to myself, I had stated my intentions. And, this place did not want to indulge me. I rose again, and focused on the distant object, and I began. I had missed walking, although the way my mechanical joints locked and shifted tried it’s best to mimic it, there truly was nothing like the feeling. I have no knowledge of how far I walked, or how long I took. What snapped me out of my focus was the dirt. I nearly fell as the ground depressed, catching me off guard. Recollecting myself, I scanned the area.

I had reached the first border.

I continued on. No longer shielded by grass, my lower legs were vulnerable to the ever-intensifying breeze. I shivered lightly. Here, there were no more grassy plains. Stretching as far as the eye can see, there was dirt. Upturned, and unkempt. Here, every step began to drag on. I did not tire, but a thin layer of perspiration formed on my forehead, and my underarms. On my old hydrophobic chassis, these drops would have run down to my chin, and hastily dripped off. I ran my hand along the moisture, treasuring it’s warmth. As I continued, I began to notice something in the dirt. As I lifted my foot, the displaced earth revealed them. Had they been writhing or wriggling, it would have been a sense of familiarity. But, alas, the worms that inhabited this soil did not. Their bodies static, they were an unnerving reminder of the reality of this world. Nothing lives here. As I began to see the white line crest the horizon in front of me, the sun waned behind. The last yellow-orange lines retreated from the sky as I felt the sand caress my bare foot.

I had reached the second border.

The sand was pure. It was not unkempt, like the dirt. Although the small crests and troughs stretched for miles, there was a terrifying uniformity to them. As I walked, I thought back to a lesson I had been taught in my past. None of these memories had times or places, only feelings, or brief recollections. I believe the lesson had been on Chaos Theory, more commonly known as the Butterfly Effect. In a desert, no matter how small or insignificant a factor, even a wind so weak it could only move a single grain of sand- would eternally change it. As the wind began to pick up, causing my clothing to ripple, I stared down into the static sand.

I turned my head skyward. Here, no moon had risen to replace the sun. Instead, great bodies swirled and twisted on the canvas of the sky. Had I the time, I would have laid back and basked in their majesty. For a moment, I stopped and craned my neck around, entranced by the great scene unfolding before me. As my knees become weak and my chest became pressured, I panicked and began again. As I quaked, I shut my eyes and continued, driven only by the Obelisk. I reopened my eyes, and fixed my gaze into the distance, the obelisk was nearly the size of a deck of cards now. I did my best to block out the events occurring above my head, and focus on what transpired within.

Once they return, no one can recall why they entered this world. There are different theories, ranging from computational neurodegeneration, to a price which must be payed for entry, tax collected by the world itself. But, anyone which has entered will tell you. Why they are here is irrelevant. What matters is what they take back with them.

I was snapped out of my trance by a surge of warmth. Opening my eyes, I saw a great monolith of fire arising before me, much larger than what had disappeared mere hours before. The Obelisk was nearly the size of me now, it’s dark, imposing shape silhouetted against the mass of heat made me acutely aware of the cavity in my chest. I pressed on.

The ball of flame had climbed high into the sky when I felt the burning. I recalled my foot in shock, and looked down. I was met by my own reflection. Bringing my gaze upward, I saw it.

I had reached the third border.

For an eternity, all I could see was glass. I squinted to look upon it, as the harsh light reflecting off it caused my eyes to water. I felt the floor with my hand, feeling the intense heat snaking its way through my fingers made me wince. I dreaded the pain I was about the endure, but as my body began to shake, and my nose began to bleed, I knew I needed to continue, lest my journey would end.

Each step was a trial in of itself. I should have grown accustomed to the pain, but the world did not allow me that luxury. The heating and cooling of the soles of my feet had made the skin weak, it was not long before drawing my foot from the plane became near-unbearable. My feet had become red and raw, what little outer skin was left stringed off, trailing with every step. As I pressed on, I howled in pain.

As I had began to lose feeling in my feet, I did not feel the heat subside. I had kept my eyes shut forcefully, a vain measure to mitigate the pain. As I opened them, I turned around and saw the great mass of flame wandering past the horizon. I exhaled. Hopefully I would pass the next border before it rose again. Had I known what I would endure that night, I would have wished for tenfold the pain of the scorching day.

The wind had now grown to a whip. It caused my eyes to dry and squint when gazing towards the horizontal. I turned my gaze downward to avoid it. As I stared into the glass plane, I became aware of a terrifying realization. As the same bodies of the night prior began to dance their number in the night sky, their visages were reflected as far as the eye could see. I could no longer avert my eyes from their enchanting movements. As I focused on the movement of my feet, their song wormed its way into my mind. First, it was a melody I heard in the whipping wind. Then, it was in the squeaking of my feet on the glass. Not long after, I began to hear it in my heartbeat. I clamped my hands over my ears in vain, shaking my head and screaming to drown out the malicious melody which infested my brain. Realizing the measure was hopeless I began to flail my arms in front of me, batting at manifestations of my own rotting consciousness. I began to turn, spinning around, wailing like an infant. As I fell to my knees and pressed my forehead into the ground, I screamed at my own reflection, begging it for help as it did me. As I watched the blood begin to seep from my eyelids, and the color drain from my face, I felt my resolve renewed. As the rhythm weighed down my appendages, I regained my footing and forced myself forward. As I stared down at my feet, moving one after the other, I took a great risk. I closed my eyes, and focused on the song. It tried to dominate me, but instead of trying to resist, I allowed it. As it filled the cavities of my mind, it’s fingertips guided my thoughts. But, every poke or probe or pull or push, I responded in kind. Rather than fighting the song’s influence, I matched it. I began to move lighter and lighter, until I began to dance. First a skip, a twirl, then a jump. I had embedded myself into the music of the spheres. I kept my eyes shut, and continued to move within the rhythm, until the number ended.

As the music softened into a whisper, I landed and opened my eyes. Although the Obelisk had grown into a towering figure in the distance, the light of the rising sun glinted off of something much closer. In front of me was a sword. A claymore, fit for a knight. It sat embedded in the black stone which splayed out as far as I could see.

I had reached the fourth, and final, border.

I had heard stories of the final test. As it had been told, everyone’s was different, but they all centered on one act. Relieving oneself of the past, killing it if need be. The brutally perfected instrument of death which sat in front of me confirmed this notion. Compelled beyond myself, I clasped my hand around the sword’s hilt, and drew in one motion. The large weapon should have been moderately heavy, if not more so. But, as I swung and let it fall to my side, the blade felt weightless. As I moved it, it seemed to leave something of a trail behind it, resembling white, etheric light. As all previous thresholds before, I held the weapon at my side, and began to walk. It was not long before I saw them. A horde cresting the horizon. It felt as though it had been an eternity since I’d seen another person, but rather than comfort, I felt dread. The same principle as before came to the forefront of my mind. In this world, nothing lives.

As I approached them, I could barely make out one silhouette from another. The Obelisk had grown to such proportions, the great shadow it cast enveloped the scores of people, myself included. My eyes, assailed by the now whipping and unceasing torrential winds, could barely open beyond a sliver. As I grew closer to the front lines of the crowd, I felt a shift in the world. I stopped, and to my great surprise, I felt nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief, and knelt. In this world, one does not grow tired, but I still relished in the opportunity to be off my broken and blistered feet. My bliss was short-lived, however. As I turned my gaze upward, a silhouette had separated itself from the scores, and was walking toward me. I rose to my feet to meet them, but they stopped meters away. From this distance, I could discern the face of the person that stood before me. A woman, indescribably beautiful, stood before me. As I studied her face, I felt a great swelling in my chest. A feeling unlike any I’d felt in a lifetime. Had I known this woman? Had I loved her? I stood, mystified by the sight, until my trance was broken by the cracking of the ground beside her. A sword rose from the crevice, identical to my own. She took the blade in hand, and raised it it to me. Knowing what was about to happen was inevitable, I raised my own in kind. As the woman closed the distance between us, and began to strike, I protected myself. I easily parried and blocked her attacks, but I could not bring myself to strike back. As the Obelisk’s shadow receded and revealed us to the sun, the features of the woman’s face became illuminated. She looked indistinguishable from a human, indistinguishable from me, but when I looked into her eyes, I saw nothing. Her face may have been contorted in anger and hatred, but the vast emptiness of her eyes betrayed my only comfort. As I threw her off balance, and slashed across her chest, I repeated the mantra to myself. “Nothing lives here.” I repeated the phrase ad nauseum as her body slumped in front of me, I averted my eyes from her now-lifeless body. No, that’s wrong, she never had any life in her to begin with, I reminded myself. I heard the ground begin to crack again, and when I lifted my head the cadaver was gone. I exhaled, and focused my gaze forward again. Another silhouette separated itself from the crowd. As the colossal shadow receded, I saw his face. He was younger, couldn’t have been more than 20. My hands quivered as I raised my sword, this face was different, I knew this face. I was determined to make it quick, I knew if I dragged it out it would only be more painful. I deflected his first strike, and swiftly felled the opponent. Tears stained my cheeks, as my son’s body fell, and returned to the rock.

I do not know how many days and nights passed as I thinned the herd. Eventually, they began to blend together. Oh how I wished I had fatigued, I wanted my muscles to scream, and break, but that would release me from this hell, and this world was bent on keeping me in it’s clutches for ever longer. Some of the faces I knew, some I did not. Some of them I loved, some of them I did not. Some of them, I had to force myself to enact the killing blow, some of them, although I deny it to myself, I relished in watching their corpses fall. What surprised me the most, is that I never became numb. How a cut will eventually lose its sting, or an ache will dull, this was not so. Every strike opened a new wound, and I knew they would never heal, not until this was over. So I kept on, slashing and slashing, as the sun fell and the planets rose, over and over.

I did not realize when I felled the last of the crowd. All I know is that once the bodies stopped coming, I stared, and reflected. As I ruminated on the ordeal I had endured, I found, to equal parts disgust and surprise, that my heart was light and my head was clear. I was confused, where had all the anger and sadness gone? It was not as if I was happy, or even contempt, but where all that emotion had been, now there was only a void, an indescribably empty space. As I ran my hands over my coldening chest, I understood. I had begun to return. Now that my time here was capped, I moved with a renewed urgency. The Obelisk had dominated my view, it’s unfathomably large figure seemed to stretch for miles, stretch around me like long, coal-black appendages. The winds had began to impede my movement, I used my hand to shield my eye as I took long strides toward the Obelisk. As I grew closer, I came upon it. The transition from the rough crag rock to the smooth stone stairs was jarring. I would’ve recoiled my foot, if I could feel how cold it was compared to the rock. But, unfeeling, I descended all the same.

Once I had lost sight of the remnants of sunlight, I felt the wind subside all at once. The all encompassing black rock seemed to absorb any monocum of light in the stairwell, but that did not impede my movement, I no longer needed it to see. As I descended, the low hum that seemed to come from everywhere intensified in my head. I rubbed along the side of my head to, but where my ears had been had already been replaced by cold steel. I intensified my pace.

As I entered the final chamber, the light startled me. I drank in the majesty of the scene in front of me. Angular and clear wires run along the walls and floor, all leading to the console which served as the centerpiece of the room. Above it, a small ringed orb floated, bobbing up and down as it turned. Within it, purple specks seemed to move, appearing and disappearing too quickly for a human eye to see. As I walked towards it, the humming intensified until I could feel it reverberating in my chassis. Unfazed, I outstretched my hand toward the artifact, and rested my hand on it.

I became bathed in light. As my eyes blinked open, and I adjusted to my surroundings, I recalled it. Letter by letter, the word etched itself into my mind. C-A-Y-D-E. Cayde, I said it out loud to myself. It felt natural. As I stood up from the table, I said it out loud again.

“My name is Cayde”.

#destiny #deep stone crypt #fiction

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spring-emerald · 7 years

Note

For the “send a word and you’ll write a fic one..” the word is cookies :)

I forgot to send you a ship in my last ask lol! But ushimoni

Ahhh… I’m sorry it took me while to get to this. Writer’s block got me beat T_T

This features Yoshihiro-kun! He first appeared here, in case you need a reference. Thank you for your patience my dear!

Moniwa’s jaw drops atthe sight of Ushijima wearing a comfortable Henley, when he opens the door and welcomeshim to their home.

“I’m glad you madeit, Moniwa-san,” Ushijima says with a soft smile, stepping aside to let Moniwain.

It took a few moreturning of his brain gears before Moniwa actually does step inside.

“Ah, yes, thank youfor having me, Ushijima-san.” He bows hastily. “Pardon the intrusion,” hemumbles, taking off his shoes in quite an exaggerated manner as an excuse toavoid looking at Ushijima. His face feels warm as it is, he doesn’t need tospontaneously combust in front of him. He needs to get a grip if he wants tosurvive.

“Moniwa-sensei,you’re here!” Yoshihiro exclaims, head popped out from the doorway of what Moniwaassumes to be the living room. Moniwa gives a huge smile. Before he can sayanything, Yoshihiro’s bouncing up towards him, with arms wide open, that Moniwainstinctively squats down and anticipates the hug.

It surprised him tosay the least, because Yoshihiro-kun doesn’t act this much excited when he’s atthe day care, but Moniwa supposes that it’s because he’s at his mostcomfortable place- his home.

Yoshihiro lets himgo, but takes his hand. “Come on, Moniwa-sensei. Let’s make some cookies!” Hepulls at Moniwa’s hand with both of his own.

Moniwa laughs at howcute his student is. “Alright. Lead the way then,” he says, standing up andlets himself be pulled, but not before glancing at Ushijima, who’s watchingthem fondly. He catches Moniwa’s eyes, and the small smile he has gets wider,crinkling the sides of his eyes in the process.

Moniwa ducks hishead, feeling the blush return in full force. Even after few dates, he stilldoesn’t know what to make of Ushijima, and what to make of their buddingrelationship. They’re still just on the ‘going on dates’ stage, and he’s reallyenjoying himself, especially Ushijima’s company. He thinks the other man alsofeels the same, because he still keeps on asking Moniwa out, whenever he’sfree.

But he still hasn’tasked Moniwa about being, well, boyfriends, or something. Moniwa doesn’t wantto assume, and he doesn’t have the courage to ask him first either, so now, hefeels that they’re quite stuck in an impasse, so to speak.

Not that it bothershim.

Well, maybe just alittle, but it’s not exactly a big deal. It’s just that he wasn’t expecting tobe invited to their home, this early in their dating. He’s fully aware thathe’s not here for a meet and greet session or anything like that, since it’smore like a “Yoshihiro wants to bake some cookies for Onee-sama, but we bothdon’t know how to bake, so it would really be a big help if you could come overand help us” kind of thing.

Which… gives Moniwa abit of clarity actually, about this whole situation.

Of course,Yoshihiro-kun is technically the reason why he’s here. And if he thinks aboutthat, thinks that this is just some sort of a home visit to one his students,and not a home visit to the person he’s currently dating, it puts things in adifferent perspective. This little excursion is nothing to get nervous orblushy about.

But why did Ushijimahave to wear Henley and look so good while he’s at it?

His musings werebroken when Yoshihiro offers him an apron, which he takes with a gracious smileand soft thanks. Yoshihiro then turns around. “Can you please help me tie theapron, Moniwa-sensei?”

When Moniwa comes upfrom tying the apron, he sees Ushijima’s done pushing a stool in front of thecounter and Yoshihiro takes his place there, bouncing on the balls of his feet,eager to get started. Moniwa’s also surprised that all the ingredients theyneed are placed rather neatly on top of the counter. Both Ushijima andYoshihiro, waiting for him to don the apron, so they could begin.

He hastily puts iton, then takes his place Yoshihiro’s other side, taking the tablet Ushijima isoffering. He looks down and reads that it’s the simple recipe Ushijima musthave pulled up, as reference of what they’re going to do today.

“Alright,Yoshihiro-kun and I will start with this,” Moniwa says, pulling a large bowl,the flour, baking soda, and salt, closer to him and Yoshihiro. “WhileUshijima-san can get the butter, and sugars mixed, using the mixer?” He casts aquestioning look at Ushijima, who in turn nods and sets up his tool andingredients.

Moniwa puts thetablet in the middle, so both of them could see the rest of the instructions,but focused on helping Yoshihiro figure out the measurements, and letting theboy put in in the large bowl. The boy is definitely an easy student, able tofollow his instructions really well, and he finds himself whisking theingredients all together.

Moniwa takes thistime to check how Ushijima is doing. The taller man is leaning closer to thecounter, an egg in hand, clearly reading the instructions. Then he standsstraight and proceeds to crack the egg on the edge of the mixing bowl and dropit in. He did this twice.

It’s then Moniwarealized that the sleeves of his Henley is pulled up on his elbows, showing offhis impressive forearms. And because that wasn’t enough, he actually hadcracked the egg using only one hand.

Moniwa feels kind ofthirsty. Never did he think seeing someone crack an egg one handed would besuch a turn on for him, but apparently, it is.

Ushijima lifts hishead and Moniwa almost gives himself a whiplash with how quick he turned hishead just to avoid being caught staring.

“Is this enough- whyis your face red, sensei?” Yoshihiro, bless his soul, is looking up at him.

Moniwa almost, almosttopples the bowl the child is holding, in surprise. “It’s nothing,Yoshihiro-kun. Just feeling a little…warm.” He says, making a show of fanninghimself, while biting the inside of his cheeks, quite hard it almost broke skin.“Anyway, let’s put in the mixer.”

Thankfully, the restof the mixing and scooping went with little fanfare. They are just waiting nowfor the second batch to finish baking, while the first one cools off on thecounter. Yoshihiro has taken to sitting on the stool he stood up on, and sits afew steps away from the oven. He’s watching the cookies rise and bake withutmost fascination.

Ushijima is washingthe materials they used, while Moniwa helps him out by sealing the excessingredients and putting them back to their respective cabinets, with Ushijima’sguidance.

The last thing heneeds to put back is the bag of flour, but it’s located on the topmost shelf,which Moniwa has difficulty of reaching at the moment. He could do it with thehelp of a stool, but he doesn’t want to bother Yoshihiro. So, he’s pushing thebag of flour up, with his two hands, trying to reach the shelf on his tippytoes, hoping that once the bag reaches the edge of the shelf, he can just pushit back.

Moniwa’s breathinghitches when he feels solid warmth on his back, and large hands cover his, helpinghim push the said bag of flour. It calls his attention to the beautifulforearms, quite straining at the action, and he feels his face warm up atUshijima’s proximity. The flour is effortlessly returned to the shelf, but hedoesn’t rest his feet flat, because he’s sure that if he does so, his back willmeet Ushijima’s chest. And what with all the close calls they’ve had today (andsome inappropriate thoughts he had to whisk away), this one is definitely goingto let all his efforts go down the drain.

Moniwa pulls hishands down and away from Ushijima’s hold and keeps it close to his chest, wherehe can feel his heart hammering.

“Th-thank you,Ushijima-san,” he stammers.

Instead of steppingaway, like Moniwa hopes, Ushijima brings his hand down and lets it rest onMoniwa’s hips. Moniwa squeaks in surprise, forgetting his tippy toes, he landson his feet abruptly and collides with Ushijima’s well-muscled chest.

“Are you alright?”Ushijima’s voice is sounds closer than Moniwa thinks and he’s afraid to turnhis head. He nods furiously, not trusting himself to speak, lest he onlysqueals out unintelligible noises.

But Ushijima doesn’tlet go and wraps his arms around Moniwa’s waist and Moniwa feels a soft pair oflips on his awfully warm cheeks.

“Thank you forhelping us today,” Ushijima says softly, his low voice caressing the shell ofMoniwa’s ear.

This is too much forMoniwa’s heart and sanity. Ushijima’s overwhelming physical affection issomething he never actually expected from the man, but damn if it’s not makingMoniwa feel like a flutter of butterflies had taken residence in his stomach.

Before he can reply and probably do somethingstupid like turning his head to the side to meet Ushijima’s lips and kiss himsoundly, the oven dings.

#haikyuu!!#ushimoni #hq fanfic #ushijima wakatoshi #moniwa kaname

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hottytoddynews · 7 years

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The beauty of the new year is our momentary hope that we can actually do better.

It is the same in sports. In football, you hope the second half will be a turnaround. In tennis, the next set will surely be better than the first. In golf, there’s always the chance to improve on the back nine.

There is something about an arbitrary division in time that gives us hope, or at least a chance to pause and think how we could do better.

We all have so many faults, but one thing I love about humans is our unending effort at doing better next time. These optimistic aspirations are encapsulated in our timeless ritual of New Year’s resolutions.

Probably the most common resolution is to be a better person. This is a noble resolution but the hardest one of all to fulfill.

I see it in my wife and children daily. Every morning that they wake up, I can sense an effort to do better this time. I hope they see that in me. Unfortunately, the stress of the day takes a toll, and bedtime can be a grumpy time around the Emmerich household. So one of my resolutions is to shut up and go to sleep when I get grumpy.

Here’s another technique I have been trying out: Try to pretend that you have been long since dead and God granted your request to go back one last time and spend a night with your family.

Would you be mad when you noticed an unwashed plate? I don’t think so. Instead, you would be overwhelmed by their beauty and your love for them. You would want to sweep them up in your arms and hug them with all your might.

Of course, restraint is necessary when practicing this technique, lest you scare them. They might be wondering why Dad is acting so weird. But you get the picture.

I have played guitar all my life, a gift that I, unfortunately, take for granted. I rarely play anymore. (However, feel free to listen to 100 or so of my songs on You Tube.)

Over the years, I have written a few original songs. One of my favorites is a ditty I call “Time Stops for No One.”

We’ve got a day when everything is fine How long will it last? Happy smiles, a joyful time It goes by fast Dig down deep, enjoy the moment Time stops for no one In a few years, this will all be long gone Time stops for no one When you think of everything we have Seems such a waste Let’s try hard to see the good Before Heaven’s Gate Dig down deep, enjoy the moment Time stops for no-one In just a blink, this could all be long gone Time stops for no-one Yes, I know, it’s easier said than done Why is this so? It’s all laid out right before our eyes And yet we let it go Dig down deep . . .

The other most popular New Year’s resolution is, of course, to lose weight and get in shape.

Over the years, I have written about intermittent fasting, which is the only thing that has ever worked for me. The problem is, it works so well that I figure I can lose weight any time I want, which means I never do.

However, this year I am growing comfortable with the idea of a natural body weight, which, for most of us, is a few pounds more than our cosmetic ideal. Your natural body weight is the weight at which additional pounds are quickly lost by minimal effort.

For instance, I look best at 155. Yet I find my scales gravitating around 162. If I balloon up to 165, just thinking about not eating will bring me back down to 162. However, to go down to 155 requires intermittent fasting and overcoming the annoyance of hunger sensations. So my resolution this year is to accept that I do indeed have a natural body weight and to come to terms with that.

Fortunately, I have enough Scottish blood in me to ensure some degree of weight stability. I am too cheap to buy all new clothes. I’m still wearing blue jeans from high school. Half my suits were hand-me-downs from my father and are more than 40 years old. Now I have handed some down to my son John, who is roughly my size. How cool is that! A three-generation suit. (Not that anyone wears suits anymore.)

I have some reason to be optimistic in the coming year. The year 2017 is the last year that I will ever be a father of three teenagers. Wow, was that all it was cracked up to be! All the warnings were dead on.

Of course, it makes sense. Nothing could be harder in life than to grow up. The true transition from child to adult occurs in the teenage years. It’s hard for everyone.

True, young children are growing up too, but they are more manageable. Teenage transition is much more stressful on parents, because we are having to deal with our loss of control—not to mention the dreaded onslaught of hormones.

It is made infinitely more difficult in this age of technology when young people now have access to about all the information and temptations in the world right at their fingertips on the smartphone.

The smartphones first appeared just as my children entered their teenage years. I was a parental guinea pig, and I sure didn’t appreciate it.

I can remember when the first smartphone appeared and teens started carrying them everywhere. When I first got one, I typed in XXX and was mortified at what I saw. I called the cell phone company and said, “Do you realize thousands of young teens are running around with these phones and they have no blocks or filters on them at all?” The response I got? “That’s not our problem.”

Fortunately, parental controls are much more advanced today, but I worry about all those kids who were exposed to all that in their early teen years.

I was a fanatic about tracking teen texts and blocking pernicious sites, but in the end I failed. At one point, I handed one child my phone and said, “Go to it. There’s no way you can hack these filters.” He did it in 30 minutes. That’s when I realized we had entered a brave new era of parenting.

But all’s well that ends well. At the moment, the Emmerich family is enjoying a period of relative tranquility, which by normal standards is still chaos.

After a failed first launch, John is now doing well at Belhaven. Lawrence has a high school degree and 16 college credits from Montana State University. (How you can get college credits from kayaking in New Zealand is a mystery to me, but nothing surprises me with that child.) Ruth, my easy child, is studying harder than ever before.

Here’s to the New Year!

Wyatt Emmerich is the president of Emmerich Newspapers, Inc. in Jackson.

The post Wyatt Emmerich: The Beauty of the New Year appeared first on HottyToddy.com.

#hottytoddy #olemiss #oxfordms #oxford ms #mississippi #university of mississippi #the grove

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