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howaboutcastiel · 1 year

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Fire Within My Soul

Summary: Marc has a lot to come home to after leaving Cairo. He doesn’t even know where to start. Luckily, Steven does.

Word count: 3.2k

There shouldn’t be any content warnings for this chapter. A pretty short introductory chapter. You might recognize the first few paragraphs as I published it a few months ago, but now I have adapted it to be a multi-chaptered fic (20 chapters, to be precise). Each chapter can be read as a one-shot unless otherwise stated. New chapters every 4 days. Masterlist.

~~~

For the first time in years, it was Marc Spector who woke up confused.

He stirred slowly at first, the most at-peace and well-rested he’d been in over two months, and the silence pressed against his chest as he opened his eyes to see where he was. The old London studio apartment wasn’t exactly where he had expected to be—though, to be fair, there wasn’t anywhere in particular that he did expect to be waking up. He peered as far as he could to the front door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the blue masking tape that still covered the seam.

Marc retraced his steps. What was the last thing he remembered doing? He’d been in Cairo, in the Great Pyramid with his wife and Arthur Harrow. He could see the image in his mind of Harrow’s icy blue eyes, unmoving and glossy and somehow resigned to the blade that Marc had held over him. He saw himself in the reflection of them—not Steven, not Khonshu, just him—and he remembered the dull, squeezing pain in his lungs as the skeletal god urged him to plunge the crescent into Harrow’s skin. He had refused.

He remembered being set free, the lifting sensation of Khonshu’s healing armor withdrawing from his body. He could feel it all the way in his heart, the bright white feeling of the sullen god withdrawing his hold and relieving Marc’s debt.

He remembered his wife, Layla. She had reminded him of his freedom, of the autonomy he felt had been stolen from him. He saw the image of her shock and her pride and the resigned, blushing love on her face. Marc savored the picture of her in his mind. Yes, that was the last thing he remembered.

So how had he gotten here?

“Steven?” His voice was stronger than he had thought it would be. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth. “You there?”

Marc’s eyes unfocused without his permission. His heavy limbs seemed to numb just a bit, to feel lighter to hold. The pressure in his chest released as he breathed in.

“Hmm,” Steven hummed aloud. It was a sensation that would have to be gotten used to, Steven using the body while he was still awake. It wasn’t that he minded—quite the opposite, really—but it was such an odd feeling. He thought back to his own advice. Just breathe through it. This was much easier to breathe through than the constant thrashing back and forth for control. He could feel everything that Steven felt, though, and that was a hard thing to get used to. Steven was feeling much better than him right now.

“Can’t believe it worked.”

Marc chuckled on the inside, feeling Steven’s satisfaction and slight disbelief. A low rumbling of hunger spread across his stomach as he drew another deep breath. When was the last time we ate? As he moved to stand up off of the bed, set on surveying the kitchen for something to eat, his attention was drawn to the floor. To the sand.

The image was the same one he’d seen for the last two months—or what part of those months that he was awake—but it drew something different now. The cold, dry, and coarse powder underneath wasn’t the messy inconvenience that it normally was. It instilled in him something more than inconvenience. Something heavier. He brushed it off before Steven could feel it, forcing another lighthearted laugh. Steven let him to the front.

“I can’t believe you live in this freakin’ mess.” Marc stood to his feet, still getting used to the feeling of Steven there with him, able to take hold of his body at a moment’s notice. It almost felt like being stuffed in a heavy winter coat. Marc preferred the new arrangement, and it had been nothing short of an advantage in his battle against Ammit’s cult followers, but it was foreign to the way he’d lived his entire life. He took another step, trying to acclimate his muscles to the shared control, and he noticed as he started toward the kitchen that there was a second fish in Gus’s tank. He didn’t think much about the new inhabitant, admittedly more focused on stopping the hunger pangs in his abdomen. His foot extended in front of him, nearing the entrance of the studio at full force, and—

Oh. Right.

His weight shifted from under him as the ankle restraint jerked taut against the wooden column. Marc was able to pull his hands up just enough to protect his face from the fall, but the impact of the cold floor still knocked the wind from his lungs. He swallowed and coughed, rolling his eyes at himself for forgetting the same restraint he’d tied a hundred times before. After all, he was the reason Steven had bought the velcroed strap and the chain in the first place.

‘Guess we don’t need that anymore, do we?’ Steven pondered. Marc grunted a bothered noise of agreement and pressed his forehead against the floor. He wanted to feel better than he was feeling. If he was going off of his last memories, there was more than enough to be happy about. He’d saved the world and freed himself from the servitude of a cruel god. He’d made amends with Steven, came to an agreement about sharing the body with him. Marc was not in danger for seemingly the very first time in his life. He was safe and he was not alone. He knew that he should be ecstatic right now, but he just wasn’t.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

‘You just gonna lie there, mate?’ He felt a gentle tug at his limbs, a warning from his alter that he was growing impatient with Marc’s use of the body. Or, lack thereof. Begrudgingly, Marc pushed his weight to the side, folding himself into a sitting position at the foot of the bed. He brought his calloused fingers to the light blue strap. The ripping screech of the velcro burned in his ears. ‘What’re you gonna make?’

“I don’t know, bud. Something specific you want?” He pulled himself to his feet, groaning at the dull ache of his limbs. “Pretty sure all your produce is spoiled now. Sorry about that.”

‘I could really go for some sugar right now. Do you know how to make pancakes?’

“Not vegan ones,” he admitted. Marc opened the dingy refrigerator, pulling the oat milk from its place on the top shelf. “You wanna just make ‘em yourself?”

‘That, or I could walk you through it.’

He didn’t know why, but those words brought a warm feeling to Marc’s chest. Steven had done so much for him, had given so much for him, mostly without even knowing it. They had spent the short while that Steven had known him fighting tooth and nail. Marc had never heard Steven speak to him with patience and compassion. At least, not in this life. His gentleness in the Duat was unforgettable, to say the least. It was heavy, though, and it was overshadowed by the looming threat of Ammit’s release—not to mention the glaring fate of resting paralyzed in the sands of an endless desert.

Now, it was just them. Just Steven and Marc in their quiet, warm, and safe London apartment, and Steven was offering to teach him to cook. The feeling swelled in his heart, enveloping him in a glowing pink warmth that he was embarrassed to know his alter could feel, too. He shut the door to the fridge with a little too much force.

“Thanks, man, but not right now. I’m actually not feeling the pancakes, so I think I’ll just leave you to it.” Marc pushed himself back, coaxing Steven into the driver’s seat before he even knew what was happening. The ache of his limbs and the hunger in his gut dulled as he sank backward, but the longing didn’t stop, nor did the itching feeling that something still wasn’t quite right. The more awake that Marc felt, the more he realized there was still something missing. He didn’t want to think about that, so he pushed himself down.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Steven huffed as he gained control of the body’s movements. He opened the cabinet to pull out a mixing bowl. “After all the sleep you stole from me, you’re gonna watch me make these bloody pancakes. You don’t get to take a nap right now.”

‘What the hell does that have to do with this?’ Marc felt Steven holding him near the front. It was frustrating, but he was silently thankful for it. He didn’t really want to go away right now, he just couldn’t bear being at the front. ‘You’re not seriously mad at me are you? I thought we talked through all of that. I thought you… forgave me.’

“I did,” Steven smiled lazily. “I do. I’m only joking. Really, I wish you wouldn’t go, though. We just woke up.”

‘Yeah, well, I don’t really know what you want me to do. It’s gonna be boring just watching you make breakfast.’

Steven’s cheeriness started to melt a bit. He continued to pull cooking utensils from the cupboards, along with ingredients Marc hadn’t even known were in the flat. Marc cringed a little as he felt Steven’s demeanor change. It turned serious, shedding the satisfaction and elation of before. Steven hung his head a bit, and Marc could feel his cheeks burning.

“I just don’t want to be alone.”

So, that was that. Marc watched in silence as Steven mixed the batter, only adding occasional comments to remind his alter that he was still near the front. Marc didn’t think too often about eating good food. He ate out of necessity most of the time, not caring as much about the taste as he did fueling his body.

Layla always cooked the best food.

It was really eating at him. Of course it was, as it had been for the past two months. How could he have left Layla like that, with no explanation or word of assurance that he was even alive? How could he send those papers? How could he send them without signing them, forcing her to come and face him about it? He had put her through so much pain, and now he couldn’t even remember the way that they parted last. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

Steven cleared his throat, and Marc became acutely aware of the stabbing pain inside of it. He was close to crying, which meant that Steven was close to crying. Marc tried to calm himself, ashamed that he’d let all of his feelings weigh on Steven.

“Is there something you need to talk about?” Steven’s voice was soft and patient. It was funny how much it contrasted the voices Marc normally heard. Khonshu’s voice was never soft, and certainly never patient. Layla’s had been, once upon a time, but that was before he’d left her alone. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to him with such gentleness. “Marc? You alright? You know you don’t have to hide these things from me. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

‘I didn’t mean to do this. I want you to be able to eat your breakfast in peace.’ Shame burned on his cheeks and Steven made a point of fighting the sensation.

“They’re just pancakes, Marc. I’ve eaten a thousand breakfasts in peace before.” Steven wished, ironically, that they were still on that boat in the Duat. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Marc, to reassure him that he was really, truly there for him. Now that he understood, it was the strongest urge that he had. He wanted to protect Marc Spector. “I want to help. Let me help, yeah?”

‘Yeah. Okay.’

Steven sat them down at the kitchen table, pancakes plated with a dollop of vegan butter and a generous drizzle of syrup. He sipped his oat milk hesitantly, not used to eating with Marc so close behind him. “Now, then. What’s got you upset?”

“It’s, uh… it’s Layla.” He felt silly, saying it outright. It was no secret that Marc had trouble with sharing and caring.

“Alright. What about her?”

“I just--” Marc searched for the words. “I fucked things up so bad with her. I just miss her.”

Steven pondered over a bite of his food. His cheek felt wet, but he didn’t reach up to touch it. “Why don’t we give her a call, then? See when she’ll be back in London--”

“I can’t do that.” He was quick to interject. “She doesn’t want to talk to me, Steven. I can’t bother her now, not after everything that she’s learned about me. She probably hates me.”

“You don’t know that.”

Neither of them really knew what to say after that. Steven continued to eat his breakfast, slowly and deliberately enjoying the home-cooked meal. As he ate, even Marc had to admit that the warm feeling spreading through their stomach was somewhat calming. It was a long time before Steven had anything else to say. Marc had almost fallen back into that state of nothingness he enjoyed when Steven was normally at the front. His voice was startling.

“Marc, how much did she really know about you? Before Cairo, I mean. It sounded to me like you kept a lot of secrets.”

“Yeah. I did.” His throat was burning again. Marc’s shame spread through him like a fire spreads through gasoline. He had hidden so much from her, he may as well have hidden himself completely. “I don’t know. There was a lot she didn’t know.”

“You think maybe you should tell her?” Steven’s voice was hopeful even through the stabbing pain of swallowing. “ If she knows what it’s been like for you, maybe she’ll understand.”

“She won’t.”

“Well, I don’t believe that.” He was almost done with breakfast now. The sugar must be giving him a boost of confidence, Marc thought. Marc also thought that the confidence was in vain. Steven cleared his throat, fighting against the tension that his alter was putting in their body. “I think that you two can work it out.”

He stood from the table, taking his plate and fork with him to the sink to wash. Steven may have kept his apartment messy, but never dirty. As he began to run water over the dishes, Marc had a decisive thought that panged in his chest.

“Maybe we shouldn’t try to work it out.”

“Marc, don’t be ridiculous. She’s your wife. You said it yourself that you miss her.”

“I know. I do. But I can’t ask her to forgive me.”

Marc wasn’t really sure where Steven got his wisdom from. His knowledge, he could understand. That came from all of the textbooks and documentaries that Steven sucked up like a sponge. Not that. Steven had some kind of true cleverness that Marc couldn’t understand. It was times like this that Steven pulled that wisdom from wherever he learned it.

“You don’t have to ask her to forgive you, Marc. You can’t make her forgive you. What she feels about you is entirely up to her. You can ask her to listen, though. You can ask her to try to understand. I think after the last few weeks, she’d want to hear it. I think that you owe her that.”

And despite himself, there wasn’t a damn thing Marc could say to argue with that, because it was true. He did owe her that.

“Okay.”

Marc swept control of the body away from Steven. The feeling wasn’t so disorienting now. He even found it a bit welcoming. Steven watched from behind as Marc pulled the flip-phone from its place on Steven’s desk. It had been sitting there since the night Steven discovered it in the wall. Now, it felt ten times heavier in Marc’s hand.

He dialed Layla’s number.

The phone rang once. His heart started beating in his throat. The pause afterward was so long that he swore he could have lived his whole life in that gap. The air shuttered out of his lungs as it rang a second time and he gasped it back in just as desperately. He clamped his teeth together. What the hell am I going to say? The third ring sounded like it was mocking him. Marc squeezed his eyes shut and balled his fist and tensed his jaw and—

Click.

His heart jumped. It stopped mid-beat and sunk in his gut. He froze like a deer in headlights, suddenly forgetting every word that he wanted to say to her. The voice on the line was just as scared as him, and perhaps just as confused. It made his body run hot.

“Marc?”

He couldn’t remember how to speak. How was he supposed to form words? What could he even possibly say? Marc’s breath quickened and his heart beat against his chest like an ax against a tree. His mind was racing as the seconds passed and the silence grew. It raced until it couldn’t go any further.

“Layla, hi! It’s Steven.” Marc had to strain hard just to hear the conversation in the back of his mind. He was nearly all the way back into nothing, but he held onto the sound of Layla’s voice to ground him. “Are you still in Cairo?”

“I am.” Layla sounded hesitant. It wasn’t the tone that Marc was expecting, but he knew that she’d never yell at Steven. “And where are the two of you, then?”

“Oh, well… we’re back in London.” Now that he thought about it, Steven couldn’t remember exactly how they got back to England at all. Maybe Marc had handled that. “I just--we just wanted to call and make sure you were safe. Will you be back in London soon as well?”

There was a pause, and Steven took the opportunity to check in.

You still with me?

Marc focused as hard as he could. I am.

“I’m visiting family in Egypt. I’ll be a couple more days at least.” Her tone was more casual now. She sounded more like her old self. The one that hadn’t been betrayed by her husband time and time again. “And yeah. I’m safe.”

“I was wondering…” Steven backtracked, choosing his words carefully, so as to not misrepresent his alter. “We would like to meet up with you when you get back. Just to talk things out.”

Her voice changed again, back to hesitancy. “I don’t know, Steven.”

“Please? Just a dinner date or something. You can pick the place or whatever, we just need to talk with you. Marc needs to talk with you.”

“...a dinner date?”

“We don’t have to call it a date. Just dinner.”

Layla was quiet again. Steven could feel Marc holding his breath, though he had complete control over the body. She sighed heavily and Steven was still.

“I’ll text you when I’m back in town. But Marc’s paying for the food.”

The line clicked. Marc exhaled and retreated back into nothingness.

I’m tagging everyone because this is the most ambitious thing I’ve ever done.

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @magicwithaknife @rmoonstoner @nervouslaught3r @unavoidabledirewolf @sarcasm-n-insomnia @kbakery @mccn-bcys @gingermous @dennyreadsfanfic @rosequinn121 @avatarofseshat @damreonsgirl @dragons-are-my-favorite @k8esilver @competentpotato @theconsultingdoctor10 @notsochillnerd @rayrlupin @moony-artemis @nerdory10 @valkyrieace

@ahookedheroespureheart @mt2sssss @loki-hargreeves @starfirette @celeste412 @avengersinitiative2012 @sifinskies @unspokenmoon @maplemind @dear-odessa @mainstreambitchlife @hot-mess-express1 @toracainz @zarahbronstein @daughterofthequeen @am-3-thyst @romanarose @the-girl-king @stevengrants0wife @kezibear @eddiexmxnson @eveangeline-ishtarhani @wand-erer5

#steven grant #marc spector #moon knight #layla el faouly #marclayla #moon boys #masterlist #fire within my soul

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cloudbattrolls · 2 years

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Holy the Sea: Part 2

Thrixe’s remains all dreamed of pain and terror, each piece of him keening a variation of the same lament as he drifted through the deep, his conscious mind gone.

Each part of his shattered body longed to reform on its own, making a whole new body, but no - the cells remembered, shuddering, of someone like that who had tried to eat them once.

Their troll nature fought viciously against being consumed, lashing out with tiny, spiny tendrils at any ocean creatures that tried. They craved individuality.

They longed to be one soul again, even if that soul was one tiny facet of a much greater whole. It was still theirs, bound to the body they made together.

Thrixe’s body mourned. Its pieces tried to find each other; the ocean currents were unkind, swirling them deeper and deeper down where no moonlight could reach.

Then they were carried up to the surface again in swells and bursts of water, buoyed by song.

—

Thrixe blinked, his eyes slow to open and gummy with sand. He wiped them with a hand.

Wait.

He gave a strangled, croaky yelp as he remembered what the drone had done and sat upright - or tried to. The violet pushed himself a few inches upward before he collapsed back onto the cushions on the rocking metal.

Rocking metal?

“Don’t you worry about a thing.” Sang a voice softly, and he turned his head weakly and jerkily to look at…

Himself.

No. He’d never worn his hair like that, and he wasn’t quite that tall. Nor had his body ever looked that way.

The spots and fins were a little different too, if he looked closely.

“Who are you?” He whispered with effort, thinking of the Siren, but no, he’d banished her.

This woman sitting a few feet across on another cushion wasn’t trying to eat him. She looked at him with a gentle curiosity, her glow low and steady. She wore a colorful patchwork skirt and a short violet top, showing off the gills on her sides.

She paused at the question, fins flicking, then dug in her sylladex, a few odds and ends falling out.

She handed him an old, crumpled piece of paper with violet writing on it.

Zanzul Varzim.

He mouthed the words slowly to himself. So he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t fallen.

Once he would have felt hatred, fear…but she’d rescued him. She didn’t seem to want to hurt him. Was he being deceived?

Thrixe looked around the boat, a moderately sized one with enough things scattered about and signs of wear that it had to be where she lived.

He saw tarps, shears, cleaning equipment…and more personal affects, some small clay sculptures and little ceramic statuettes. He saw a door in the deck leading to a hold below.

The woman - Zanzul - watched him attentively, and he felt almost shy under her gaze.

How he had never known about her? How had the empire never found her?

How had she found him?

“Why did you save me?” He said slowly, voice rasping. “How did you know…?”

His words dropped off, even the act of moving his mouth exhausting. There he didn’t hurt at all, he felt more tired than he’d ever been before in his life.

Zanzul took out a lyre, a beautiful instrument Thrixe recognized from his history classes. The deep brown wood was polished to a shine, reflecting the pink and green moonlight, and she held it almost reverently. It was engraved with the crescent moons and with splashing waves, so detailed he almost felt that if he touched them, his fingers would get wet.

She started to sing and pluck the strings.

I heard him in my mind

Looked round and round to find him

High, low, didn’t know where to go

Silence flowed

I heard you too

You sang so loud and strong

I stopped, I sang along

I listened for you

She paused, face sadder, then sang on.

There’s no one else like me

No one I’ve ever seen

Please tell me who you are

Tell me why I hear you from afar

Though she’d clearly improvised the song on the spot, the rhythm and melody unpolished, Thrixe could feel its loneliness sharply.

She didn’t know what she was. If her horns were any indication, she was at least a few sweeps older than him.

He opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a croak. Zanzul grabbed a canteen of water and held it out to him.

Struggling, he took it and tilted it up, his arms shaking, spilling some on himself.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and took it from Thrixe to hold it herself; he was too weak to resist or complain.

After a few swallows he feebly waved for her to stop as he gasped for breath, then nodded for more.

It was humiliating, but her businesslike approach made him feel better about it. It reminded him of Ullane.

“I - we - we’re half horrorterror.” He said, once his throat didn’t feel so rough. “Us Varzims. Our line is hatched that way, our horrorterror ancestor is Growth itself.”

Zanzul considered this with thoughtful eyes, her fins rippling.

Thrixe tried to sit up again and failed. This was ridiculous.

His signmate flicked him on the forehead and he pulled a face. This was so annoying. His body was healed, so why couldn’t he just get up?

He tried to shut out the memory of the grenade. Of being fractured. Of becoming nothing but a scream and thousands of scattered pieces unable to see or hear a thing.

The violet shuddered, remembering the drone. Trolls were one thing, but that…

“You got a lot to learn, if you’d settle down.” Came the gentle chastisement in song.

“You’re like me.” She added in a more somber tone, still singing. “A vine of ivy's pushing her way through. And as she creeps along, she sinks her roots into the cracks, and pulls 'em back until the structure's coming loose.”

She pulled out a potted plant from her sylladex, a little succulent, and Thrixe watched as it burst into bloom and grew inches before his very eyes. Zanzul quickly put it away.

He blinked in awe. That was even faster than his powers. Zanzul went back over to him, helped him sit up, and pointed at the ocean around them.

The boat was surrounded by schools of fish, manta rays…did he even see a whale in the distance, blowing water out its spout?

Birds dived in and out, feeding on the plentiful schools.

Thrixe rubbed his eyes. Why was she doing all this? It was beautiful - Linnae would love it - but what was the point?

He looked at Zanzul questioningly, his glow brightening and fins flicking. She shook her head, expression grave.

“When it comes a-knocking at my door, what am I to do?”

He blinked, then it hit him.

“You can’t control it, can you?” He marveled. “This…happens, wherever you go. Even I don’t do that, not just by existing. That’s why you live on a boat, isn’t it?”

“Can’t hold it together.” She agreed softly. “Not you?”

He shook his head.

Her face fell, and she looked away.

There is a cure for your ills, one you must make yourself.

A seagull had landed on the boat’s railing, and the voice had come from its direction. Something about it sounded familiar.

Thrixe stared warily, Zanzul with less caution and more curiosity.

The bird’s eyes were black, and he could see its shadow warping and rippling across the deck.

His fins pinned back against his head.

“Zanzul.” He warned. “That’s a fae. Do you know what fae are?”

She nodded.

You helped your ancestor back to rest, to sleep in the depths at your behest. You helped us home; we’ll show you your own.

It looked at Zanzul.

You’ll no longer have to roam.

He opened his mouth to say he had a home…and found the words died on his lips.

Thrixe shook himself. The fae were trying to get to him, to both of them.

“No thank you.” He said roughly. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I don’t trust you.”

The bird blinked its dark eyes, and the boat went up and down in a particularly fierce swell of water, Thrixe jostling as he caught spray in his face.

There’s nothing to trust. You’re coming with us.

He struggled again, but still couldn’t get up. He cursed softly, hardly feeling guilt about his bad language. Of course they came for him when he couldn’t fight.

“Zanzul - ” he started to say, then realized she stood with more fae-possessed birds around her. They gazed up at her as if waiting for a command.

She looked at him, resolute, and his protests died on his tongue as he realized she was going to cooperate with them.

Thrixe shook his head violently, then stopped, feeling dizzy.

“Please, you can’t…”

A hint of apology flitted across her face as the rising wind tossed her braids around, the light dimming.

He looked up weakly. Clouds covered the moons, and he heard a rumble of thunder as the waves grew yet choppier, the sea life having long since departed.

Zanzul picked up her lyre again, eyes aglow, and she played. Now there were no lyrics to distract from the vibrant plucking of the strings. This music resonated with raw longing, a melody of loss and yearning for rest powerful enough that violet tears dripped down Thrixe’s face.

Bright crackling power arced out from her, oscillating like sound waves, wrapping around the boat and cradling it from the rain and the choppy surf. A translucent curtain of sonic energy shimmered around them, pulsing and shifting as if it were alive, vibrating his teeth and almost compelling him to sing along.

He felt as helpless to deny her as he imagined Uryali had been before his own plea. How could he resist this?

She’d come all this way to speak to him, to save him. Did he really have a right to deny her?

The birds took flight, staying within the confines of the musical bubble.

Zanzul changed.

She grew into a form that only vaguely resembled a troll, her lyre changing with her. Dozens of spiny extensions plucked at the lengthened strings.

Lightning struck the boat - no, lightning was absorbed into the lyre, the strings turned to crackling electricity, yet somehow she still played music from it.

Thrixe looked on in sheer awe. He had never done anything like this.

The music hit its peak.

The water turned from rough to calm so suddenly Thrixe fell to the floor and hit his head, unable to break his fall.

—

When he came to, Zanzul was in troll form and held him, and he blinked, trying to process what he was seeing.

A coral reef - except it wasn’t underwater, not fully anyway. Water covered the ground up to his ankles and impossibly floated in the air, in sheets and arcs, twisting and combining and breaking away again.

Overgrown stone ruins sat among the reefs as well, curious structures among them shaped from… from spiny starfish flesh, and a dim violet sky.

A familiar chirp came to his ears.

“Archimedes?” The violet whispered, shocked and baffled at the same time as his pet gryphon flew down to greet him.

What on Alternia was he doing here? Thrixe had left him on the island where the drone had attacked.

He cradled the creature in his arms as Zanzul let him go from hers and he stood unsteadily, limbs still weak, head somehow still hurting. As if he hadn’t healed. But how?

What was this place? Had the fae trapped them here for some unfathomable reason?

Zanzul looked…light, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She laughed and spun, her colorful skirt spinning around.

Wait. The plants weren’t growing because of her. Nothing was.

Those structures…

They weren’t his. Not hers.

A voice came from Archimedes, whose eyes shone black.

He left it for his descendants, but so few of you find your way here. Uryali the Muted must remain asleep, or his voice will deafen us all. But the pair of you may yet sing in harmony and bring us bounty.

For you are Lyric and Choir.

“My name is Thrixe.” The seadweller muttered, with little conviction. “I’m not…”

He trailed off as Zanzul, transformed once more, extended her tendrils to him, all her many eyes alight, rippling with excitement along her cilia, urging him on with her. He should look away, should insist she go back to normal.

Neither of them should be in this strange place, whether it had been made by Uryali or not. They shouldn’t put their faith in any of this; not the fae or their ancestor.

That was the sensible, troll thing to do. Who would trust him if he chose monstrosity willingly?

Zanzul looked at him with her many eyes, sympathetic, waiting patiently. Archimedes looked up at him expectantly.

Is this how he was going to spend his whole life? He had to, didn’t he? He had to repress everything wrong with him.

He looked at his signmate, happy and energetic, rippling and swaying to her own music.

Thrixe hummed to himself to try and soothe his head, still tired throughout his entire being. Tired from holding back for a long, long time.

With a soft sigh, the hybrid let Archimedes out of his arms, and his body warped and grew.

In moments the Choir stood tall and many-limbed, glow resplendent, laughing with his many voices in unrestrained joy.

THE END OF

AUTHORITY

#cloud writes #thrixe varzim #zanzul varzim #holy the sea #one part to go #next part we witness Thrixe: Full Weird

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tipsycad147 · 9 months

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Supporting Your Spellwork With The Lunar Phases

Energetics For Magickal Work

We have so many energies at play around us and within us that in order to more successfully cast spells, it makes sense to align yourself as much as possible with the universal energies around you.

One of the easiest ways to support the success of your spellwork is to use the supportive energy of the lunar phases. Every full lunar cycle lasts about 29.5 from New Moon to Dark Moon. And then it starts all over again. Night after night our fair Moon births itself and grows until She is Full and then She wanes until She dissolves into a darkness.

And throughout that dance, She pulls and pushes on the tides of the ocean, the fluids of our bodies and the moods we experience, all while transiting a new astrological sign ever 1-3 days.

Wax And Wane

As the Moon moves from it’s barely seen new sliver to its fullness, it grows, waxes, builds up in its gravitational pull. Then as the Moon grows smaller to our eyes, and begins to wane until it is obscured from view, or is a Dark Moon, it creates an energetic of pulling away, dying back, retreating.

In this way the waves that move to and fro are evident and we can see how it makes sense to time our spells in such a way as to coincide with the way the Moon is moving.

If you want to build something or add energy to something, you cast your spells between the New Moon and the Full Moon. If you want to let go, cut away, banish something you do it between the other side of the Full Moon and the Dark Moon.

This is also true of farming, which is not too unlike casting spells – plant seeds when the Moon is new, harvest when the Moon begins to wane.

The parallels with the Solar cycle and the seasons is a broader cycle or spiral that mirrors the Moon, only it takes a full year, four seasons to complete. All of nature works this way and because we are Witches, it’s a dance we are intrinsically drawn to.

The Energy Of Each Lunar Phase

The Moon is our dance, our spiral dance that we circle round and round while choosing seeds, planting them, nourishing them, celebrating their fruition and then harvesting and culling back to start all over again.

She is our tide, our blood, our mood and our mirror. We are creatures that are lead by the Moon whether we believe this or not. When we open our consciousness to this dance, we begin to become aware of her influence and how we too, wax and wane each month with this tidal pull that touches the very core of us.

An easy way to remember this is – as the moon grows, you cast to manifest and bring in, as it diminishes you cast to cut, release and banish.

Lunar Phases For Spellwork

???? New Moon: beginnings, renewal, setting intentions, manifestation spells, new slate, starting new ventures, love, and romance, health or job hunting, binding spells,

???? Crescent Moon: momentum building, taking actions, doing the work, feeding the wish, supportive casting spells, increasing protection,

???? First Quarter Moon: growth, effort, self-expression, nourishing intention

???? Gibbous Moon: evaluation, observance, meditation, gestation, refine, rapid growth or manifestation spells,

???? Full Moon: clarity, intuition, gratitude, celebration, the apex of creative activity, divination to bring something up into the light, drawing down the moon, empowerment, healing, charging tools, meditation, protection,

???? Disseminating Moon: reaping what you sow, harvesting, gathering, choosing among the bounty, sharing, generosity

???? Third Quarter Moon: release, letting go, eliminating bad habits and toxic people, destruction, refining, forgiveness, spell removals, recasting spells for extra waning power,

???? Balsamic Moon: reflection, relaxation, meditation, recovery

????Dark Moon: walking between the worlds, divination, rest, death or going fallow, banishing, neutralizing spells and doing shadow work

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alokastrology1 · 1 year

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Is your mood affected by Waxing and Waning Moon?

The new moon and full moon are merely two of the monthly phases of the moon, although astrological energy favours those times. While the new moon is for making resolutions and beginning a new cycle with a clean slate, the full moon is associated with feelings of plenty, celebration, and, occasionally, restlessness. However, since the majority of our time is spent during waning and waxing moon cycles, it is essential to understand how to most effectively use their energy.

Know how the waxing and waning of the moon affects your mood? Get an online astrology consultation by the world-renowned Astrologer Mr. Alok Khandelwal.

Understanding the trends in the moon’s cycles, in the opinion of astrologers, is essential to working with the moon. Knowing the patterns leads to a thorough knowledge of what you desire and how to attain it. When we are clear on our desired emotions, we may apply those feelings to our dreams and produce soulful manifestations.

The moon has a 29.5-day cycle, which is some fundamental background information on the moon. In the first phase of the cycle, light is created (the waxing phase), and in the second phase, light from the sun is lost (the waning phase). Discover how to enjoy each person’s energy to the fullest below.

What is a Waning moon?

The phase of the moon’s cycle whenever it loses brightness is symbolised by the waning moon, which occurs after the full moon and gets smaller each day. You might feel the fading moon’s effect on your energies and emotions as the light begins to recede.

What takes place while the moon is waning?

In the early stages of the waning phase, it’s crucial to reflect on your accomplishments and reap the benefits of your labour. The practice of turning within and using your intuition starts with this. It’s time to change your routine and use your energy more gently to honour the chance for transformation. So as an alternative to Bootcamp, consider yoga or a long walk; consume warming and grounding foods; and preserve your energy.

Astrology says lunar energy is quiet, mild, and associated with retreating inside, and the dark moon phases invite us to heed our instincts and be in our bodies. Suppression of the emotional body results in stagnation, which produces pain points and obstructions. That’s why the fading moon urges us to reflect and release.

When the declining moon turns into the black moon after that cycle, this may come to a head. Water moon signs appreciate this energy because moon signs reveal our deep emotional worlds. The intensity of the black moon, however, also affects all other moon signs.

A waxing moon is what?

After the new moon, the moon waxes till the full moon. The energy of the waxing moon is described as overt, outward, and extending; it encourages you to step forward and complete the tasks necessary to turn your ideas become reality.

What takes place while the moon is waxing?

During this moon phase, we have more energy to take action around our aspirations and accomplish our goals. Spending energy honouring the cycle of mobility and expansion is crucial during this stage. As the moon rises, so do life’s obstacles to personal growth.

Therefore, when the moon is waxing, be aware of any physical impediments in your path and come up with clever strategies to get around them. Look for fresh answers to old issues and work hard.

Getting things done and finding the drive to bring about change for growth are the tasks at hand during the waxing phase. This is often linked to emotions that inspire you and give you a sense of strength and creativity.

Read Also:- What are the types of Kaal Sarp Dosha as per Astrology?

What stages of a waxing moon are there?

Gibbous and crescent are the two names for the waxing moon phases. A new moon changes into a waxing crescent, 1st quarter moon, and finally a waxing gibbous moon in that order. The moon is growing brighter during this procedure.

What connection do wax and wane have with one another?

The lunar phases of waning and waxing are opposites. The waxing cycle mirrors the key stages: the New Moon of possibility, the First Quarter of intent, Full Moon of power. The fading cycle enters the prosperous Last Quarter before returning to the possible New Moon.

The moon’s cycles, which go beyond just waxing and waning, are closely linked to the yearly seasons. The solstices are the furthest points and the equinoxes are the rebalancing ones, while the lunar phases behave similarly.

What represents the moon?

Since the moon has existed forever (or at least for 4.53 billion years), it has acquired significance that goes beyond what is immediately apparent.

Astrologically and astronomically, the moon has significance. According to astronomy, the moon orbits the Earth, tugging on the oceans to produce tides and reflecting sunlight as the Earth revolves around the Sun. The way the Sun appears to reflect off the Moon’s surface is constantly in proportion to what is visible from Earth. The near side image, which is entirely visible, is called the Full Moon, while the far side reflection, which is invisible from Earth, is known as the New Moon. The Moon’s dayside is involved in the other phases.

The moon's impact on mood:

The moon’s phases have a significant impact on mood since they are strongly associated with feminine energy and feelings. The Moon has an impact on your mood since it enjoys exploring the secrets of the heart. The Moon deals with the invisible, audible, and unknowable. While acknowledging the need for peace and seclusion, it yearns to engage and connect.

Which signs are most impacted by the moon?

Cancer is the sign most associated with the moon in astrology, and water signs are most impacted by it. Water signs are inherently sentimental, introspective, and reflective. Having said that, not all zodiac signs are affected by the moon. The Moon is creative; it is not linear. It fits well with the flamboyant signs of Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius since it is a component of the creative cycle. In contrast, the fire signs correspond with the waxing cycle while the watery ones do the opposite.

Earth signs, on the other hand, don’t align with the moon as well. Taurus, Virgo, and Capricorn don’t comprehend emotions, hence they don’t get along with the Moon. Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius are all air signs that enjoy going with the flow. Because of this, they may connect the mind (air) and the emotions (Moon). While air signs prefer the waning phase, earth signs are familiar with the waxing cycle.

Read Also:- What is the Significance of Durva in Hindu Tradition?

#affects the waxing and waning moon #best online astrology consultation #online astrology prediction #talk to astrologer #vedic astrology consultation #waxing and waning moon #waxing and waning moon difference #waxing and waning moon in astrology #asttrolok #astrology

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silkenstarlight · 3 years

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in the softest hours of night

Summary: Bucky gets a haircut and (Y/N) helps him to fully wrench himself from the clutches of his past.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning/s: fluff, cuddling, kissing, mention of Bucky’s past trauma

Word count: 1.6k

Author’s note: this made me feel very soft

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The sound of Bucky singing in the shower always made you smile.

He didn’t know that you could hear him from your spot in the bedroom. Sometimes, you considered telling him that you were his audience, when the guilt crept in and you felt as if you were intruding on a private moment.

But, most times, you chose to lie beneath the blankets and listen.

You could only ever make out fragments of lyrics-- tonight, he was singing Gene Sullivan.

“When my blue moon turns to gold again… you'll be back in my arms to stay.”

It was soft and tentative, his breathy, murmured syllables of blues-y jazz and swinging pop bouncing off the tiles with a sweet, echoing reverberation. He seemed to weave in between thought and song, quietly uttered lyrics often followed by a long period of silence before he picked the melody up again at the next chorus. Sometimes, his words were rushed and garbled, as if he were leaning into the shower head’s stream to wash shampoo-scented suds from his hair. Other times, he embraced the song head-on, crooning confidently into the clouds of steam, as if he were imagining brazen trumpets and thrumming drumbeats backing his vocals.

Whenever his volume crescendoed like that, you couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face. He sounded so peaceful, so free, when for the past several decades, he had been the prisoner of his own mind. His singing was a small thing, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

You heard the water turn off and you turned onto your side, burrowing into the sheets and wiping any evidence of eavesdropping from your face.

A few seconds later, you heard his feet padding against the hardwood, and you turned to face him, smiling sleepily. He was bare, save for the white towel wrapped around his hips, minuscule water droplets rolling off of his muscled body with every step. His shoulder-length hair was drenched, framing his face in a slicked chestnut curtain.

He reached the dresser and pulled out the top drawer, picking out a clean pair of boxers. He slipped them on beneath the cover of the towel, and you smirked at his unnecessary, but courteous, sense of modesty. You had seen him naked before, but he still preferred to stay covered in nonsexual situations such as this. So traditional.

He unwrapped the towel from around his waist and tossed it in the dirty laundry bin, and then walked over to your side of the bed. You reached up to him and he eagerly climbed on top of you, grinning as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

You stayed like that for a moment, even though his wet hair slid against your jaw and his weight crushed the breath from your lungs. You didn’t care that you couldn’t breathe. You loved it when he was mellow. He was his truest self when he was at his most vulnerable, his eyes crinkling at the edges with affection, his lips turned upward in a toothy smile that stole your breath and colored your cheeks a rosy pink.

He shifted, pushing up to rest his forehead against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut before he pressed his mouth lightly against yours in a delicate gesture of warmth, his lips warm and soft. His hair fell against your face, brushing against your skin and tickling your cheeks.

You broke the kiss, dipping your chin down and giggling. You opened your eyes to meet his gaze.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” Bucky repeated back, his voice low, his tone similar to the one he used when he sang quietly in the shower. He returned your smile, until more of his hair slid down, blocking his vision of your face. He pushed it back with a dissatisfied grunt and frowned slightly.

He sighed. “Would you-- would you mind braiding my hair for me?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly, sitting up. “I don’t like the weight of it all. My hair, I mean.”

You sat up as well, instantly understanding the dual meaning behind his request. He wanted the hair out of his face, yes, but he also loathed the identity that was tied to it, the decades of mindless, brainwashed life that it represented. He hadn’t trimmed it since the forties, his hair an immortalized vision of his pre-war self, an artifact of the abuse he faced at the hands of Hydra. His hair carried the weight of a lifetime.

“Absolutely,” you responded.

He shifted, sitting at the edge of the bed, and you sat behind him, your legs caging him in. Despite the fact that he was almost naked, his modesty preserved by his plaid boxers, he was warm. You leaned into his broad back, savoring the heat that he provided, walking your fingertips lightly up his spine in a teasing gesture before brushing them through his hair.

“Your hair is really soft after you wash it.” Your fingers carded through Bucky’s shoulder-length locks, fingernails lightly scraping against his scalp. You brushed through the wet strands, gently untangling a few nasty snarls with adept ease.

“Well, I did have to borrow your conditioner. Hope that’s okay.” Bucky said quietly, his back to you as you separated his freshly-washed hair into three sections.

“I don’t mind,” you mumbled, pushing your tongue between your teeth as you began to concentrate on the braid. “Makes you smell good.”

He scoffed. “Did I not smell good before?”

You paused, strands held loosely in your fingers. “I-- well, yes.”

He huffed a laugh, but was silent after that, enjoying the dull tug as you weaved his hair into a neat plait.

You were reaching the end of the braid when a thought crossed your mind. You paused, still grasping the three separate sections, and looked at the back of Bucky’s head.

“You know, Bucky,” you said, voice gentle. “We could cut your hair, if it bothers you this much.”

He paused, breath stalling, and considered what you said. Although he hated the years of violence attached to his hair, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to completely sever it from him. So much pain, so much history, snipped off and swept away in the blink of an eye-- he wasn’t sure who he would be without it. He surely wouldn’t be the same man as he was before all of this, so smug and cocksure, so smooth-talking and suave, the perfect image of 1940’s lady-killing swagger. But, he also wasn’t sure if that even mattered. That was who he was before. Now, he had lived through years of torture, decades of service as a trained assassin. He didn’t know who he was anymore. Maybe a fresh start would do him some good.

“Can we?” His voice cracked, throat tight with a sudden urgent need to bid farewell to his past incarnations.

“Do you want to do it now?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Go into the bathroom. I’ll find the scissors.”

Bucky followed your orders, reaching back to undo the braid you had so carefully woven. Silken, freshly-washed strands slipped through his fingers until he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, waiting for you to rid him of this long-held burden. He stared at his reflection, the tired, light purple crescents that shaded beneath his eyes, the natural down-turned tug of his lips, the deep, worried crease between his brows. A hard knot of self-hatred began to form in his throat, but he swallowed it as he heard you approach the bathroom.

You slipped behind Bucky, scissors in hand, and tapped his shoulder. At your signal, he knelt, folding his arms in front of him and leaning his head against the counter to allow you easier access to his hair.

“You ready?” you asked, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

“Absolutely,” he said, nodding slightly, granting you permission to proceed.

You combed through his locks one last time, savoring their slippery, soft texture, their bristly split-ends. And then, you grasped a large section from the back and snipped.

You watched as the hair fluttered to the tiled floor below. Bucky smiled.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

Slowly, you began to cut away more and more sections of hair, trying your best to avoid creating any harsh, choppy lines. You weren’t a hairdresser by any means, though, so once the bulk of the length had been cut away, Bucky’s hair was a haphazard mess.

“Oh, god,” you breathed, shakily placing the scissors on the counter. “We’ll have to make an appointment with a hairdresser tomorrow.”

He stood, brushing stray strands from his shoulders. “That’s fine.” He turned towards you, not bothering to look at his reflection. “Just wanted to get rid of the length.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, whether in shock at his new appearance, or in embarrassment at your amateur handiwork, you couldn’t tell. But he just wrapped his arms around you, hugging you to his chest as you both shook with laughter.

He leaned back, reaching up to your face and tucking your hair behind your ear. “Let’s go to bed.”

You nodded and let him lead you back into the bedroom, turning off the bedside lamp and climbing under the sheets after him. He settled on his back and you wrapped yourself around him, tucked into his side, breathing in his fresh, soapy scent.

“Goodnight, doll,” he breathed, and you kissed his ribcage before letting his breathing lull you into the gentle space of sleep.

He simply smiled and stared up at the ceiling, a decades-old weight suddenly lifted from his neck. No longer did he feel the tendrils of his past slithering against his neck with every movement.

So this is what it’s like, to be free.

He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, tugging you just a little closer as he drifted to sleep.

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kirishoshego · 3 years

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Right Place, Wrong Time//Kiribaku

!!!MINORS DNI!!! 18+ONLY !!! Summary: Kirishima and Bakugou are wanted bulgars and usually a top tier team, but a change of your plans thwarted their plans. So of course you were scared and more than shocked to see two (hot, you can’t lie) strangers standing in the hallway, with you only wrapped up in a towel.

Remark: A big, big thank you to @misterhoneyyandere for inspiring me with this post and letting me use their ideas to write this fic (an AIzawa one will be following, hopefully soon) that’s very lovely of you Mister Honey (Also this is my first time writing about a threesome)

TW: nswf: non con, voyeurism, masturbation, choking, gagging, oral (male and female receiving), double penetration, anal, size kink (I just love big Kiri, sorry not sorry), belly bulge, praise and degrading, slapping, spitting

It was a nice and relaxing night for you, the sun was still out, on it’s way to disappear for a few hours and letting the moon shine in it’s full glory. At first you were sad about your friend cancelling your weekend trip. You were so exited after this stressful month, but of course you didn’t want to force them to come out when they aren’t feeling well. So you decided to go grocery shopping, buying yourself some luxurious self care items and fancy take out. Who said you need to go out to have a fancy weekend? You sat outside, enjoying the food and eating your takeout, when the weather turned chilly and the sun now completely gone when you decided it was time for you to go back inside. Closing the sliding door to your garden, making sure it was locked, you made your way into your bathroom, the bathtub inviting you to a warm, wet evening, covered in bubbles. New and old candles were scattered around the room to add to the soothing atmosphere around you. While water was pouring into your tube, your bath bomb sizzling, you went to grab some matches, lightening up the candles, filling the room with your favorite scent. Spotify had a lot of things to offer and after a few minutes you settled for (xy). Before you stepped in you turned off the water, making sure the temperature was just right. Your hair was tied back so it won’t get wet and you put on a mask, setting your glass onto the wooden board next to your phone. Feeling your tense body relax as soon as the water surrounded you. Everything was just perfect. “Shitty hair, are you 100% she’s gone? The car is still in the fucking drive way,” Bakugou whisper yelled at his tall friend who was crotched down next to him. “Her little appointment book said she will be out the whole weekend with a friend. I even heard her talk about it yesterday morning, she’s definitely gone,” he reassured Bakugou, who had a scowl on his face. “Fine, then let’s go! You have the list of the things we want, right?” Kirishima huffed and pulled it out of one of his pocket. They made their way into the backyard, making sure there are no traces left behind that could be backtracked to them. Bakugou pulled out the spare key to your sliding door, you didn’t even noticed that it was gone. While Bakugou had to check downstairs and wrap everything up, Kirishima went upstairs. That was, until he heard the noise coming from the bathroom. At first he thought he was just imagining things but then he could hear it again. Someone was in the bathroom, moaning.

He almost dropped the vase in his hand, catching it before it could make any noise. The red haired man made his way to the ajar door, his eyes landing on your small frame. The dimly lit room was filled with your soft moans and pants and the way the flames were swaying gently, letting him see everything he needed, everything he wanted. The bubbles were now almost gone so he had the perfect view on the way your skillful hands played with your clit, the other hand stroking your chest. Kirishima felt his huge dick harden at your private show for him and he couldn't help but watch the scene unfold in front of him while playing with himself through his pants. Your eyes were closed and your was glistering, goose bumps adoring your skin. He wanted to play with your rack, bite them, suck them, bruise them, to taint you for everyone but him. Eijirō started picturing you riding him, watching his cock disappear into your tight, wet cunt, moaning out his name. God, he wanted to wreck you in every possible way. Would you let him do it? “Eijirō, what the actual fuck?” Bakugou pulled him out of his train of thoughts, looking at him angrily, ready to yell at his partner. A big hand on his mouth shut him up and Kirishima signed to him to be quiet. He moved from the door and pointed at you, riding out your orgasm. The smaller on of the two pulled the other one away into the bed room, hitting his biceps. “I thought you double checked you idiot!” it took everything in him not to scream, but he knew that would only scare you off and he can’t deny that he wasn’t turned on by what he just saw. “I did! I told you I did, you know I’m extra careful with this shit. How am I supposed to know she will stay last minute?”

They heard you shutting off the water and had a silent fight, debating what to do now that they were a few minutes away from getting caught. You wrapped yourself up in a towel, humming a song, your attention occupied by the candles around you. After you blew them all out you wanted to go to the bedroom, cursing yourself out for forgetting your book in the living room. You sighed, walking down the stairs, which were leading you right into your disaster. Flicking the switch your eyes immediately found the book you were currently reading, but much to your surprise you also found your sliding down wide open. “Hm, I thought I closed it,” you wondered, making your way to the door, sliding it shut and turning the key in the hole. What you didn’t expect was a buff, blond man to look into your eyes through the reflection of the window glass. You shrieked and turned around, grateful that your towel stayed in place. “Get the fuck out of my house you pervert!” you yelled at him, throwing the nearest object you could grab into his direction. Sadly, he could see it coming from a mile away and grabbed it without any trouble, putting it down on the table next to him. You took off, running upstairs and into your bedroom, locking it behind you, praying that he will just give up and go. It wouldn’t even bother you if he would take a few things, you just didn’t want him to hurt you or do something even worse. “Now, now, sweet cheeks, that’s not very kind of you. We don’t want to destroy your door, do we?” a low voice spoke, far too close to you for your liking. As you opened your eyes you were met with a black cladded stomach. A quasi giant stood right in front of you, his red eyes crescent as he smiled widely at your frightened expression. He towered over you, his one large, broad hand next to your head and your were sure if he would grab your face it would be covered completely. You punched him in his balls, waiting for a reaction, but whatever you hit was rock hard, hurting your hand more in the progress than him. Then you tried pushing him away, hitting him against his muscular chest, yelling at him to leave you alone, that he can take whatever he wants but just leave you be. He let you have a fit for a view minutes, enjoying the fact that you were so absolutely helpless and no matter how hard you try to fight against him, it wouldn’t change the fact that he was about to pound you into your mattress soon enough. “Shitty hair, open the fucking door,” he could hear Bakugou groan from outside, knocking on the door harshly. The tall stranger in front of you picked you up, as if you weighted nothing more than a feather, throwing you over his shoulder and keeping you in place while you try to wiggle your way free. He opened the door for his partner, the hot headed man stepping through, looking at your towel cladded frame, his eyes landing on the now exposed swell of your plump ass. “Let me go, you stupid asshole,” you hit his back, biting into it which caused him to let go and hiss in pain. You fell down, scrambling to your knees, holding the fabric tightly while making your way to your window. The red head grabbed you by your neck, pulling you back into him and holding you in place while your back was pressed against his front. You could feel something twitch at your back and your tried getting away, but with one swift motion he had you turned around, your face now in his hand, the other one wandering to your hand that was holding the knot. “There is no need to cover up, it’s not like I haven’t seen you in all your beautiful glory before,” he licks his lips, pulling your hand away, the towel now falling to your feet. You tried everything to cover yourself up, your hands in front of your chest but his big hand had yours within a second, exposing every inch of your body to him and his friend behind you. As you noticed his size you gulped, struggling in his grip. You looked at the guy behind you, noticing that he sat in your armchair, watching you getting manhandled. The taller one pushed you down into your bed, crawling on top of you, looking into your eyes while his knee made it’s way in between your legs, the rough fabric of his black jeans rubbing against your clit. “Tell me baby, how did it feel, fucking yourself in the water? Did that satisfy you?” his voice was husky, his knee moving up and down and he could see your nipples hardening again. He loved the way your eyes grew wide when you realized he had been watching you, so innocent and helpless. “See, I don’t think it did. I think it only left your wet little cunt begging for a big cock, what do you think?” he looked at Bakugou who agreed with him. “I bet she just wants the two of us to use her like a little toy, fuck her and fill her up,” the blond said, making you tear up. “Please don’t,” you whimpered, looking into the red eyes of the man on top of you. Kirishima pouted at you, wiping your tears away with his sleeve. He brushed through your hair a couple of times, mustering your face, watching as the tears continued flowing down your soft face. “Oh baby, no, please don’t cry. Don’t worry I’m going to stretch you out properly, don’t want to hurt you, do we now?” He went to your neck, kissing you up and down, trying to find your sweet spot. Your body betrayed you, a quiet moan leaving your lips when his soft lips found it and you could feel him smirk against your neck before biting into it roughly. You yelp in pain, slapping him when he came up, his eyes darkening. “Keep doing that, it’ll only make me fuck you harder,” he whispered into your ear, biting and nibbling your earlobe. His hand went down your stomach, up again to your chest where his hand found amusement in teasing your tits, massaging them roughly. His lips trailed down soft kisses, nibbling here and there at your sensitive skin, before he stopped above your erect nipple. Red eyes flickered up, first to yours, then something behind you. Before you could register what was happening a veiny hand grabbed your tied up hair and pulled it down, so your head hung upside down from the bed frame. His other hand forced your mouth open, then pushing his thick cock down your throat making you gag around it. While Bakugou fucked your throat with no mercy, drool and tears mixing on their way down, Kirishima continued playing with your chest, licking, blowing, biting, sucking, marking. Plump lips made their way down south and a groan slipped out between them when Kiri’s face was in front of your pussy. “Would you look at that? Someone is enjoying herself,” he teased, kissing your inner thighs, left and right, trailing hot kissed up until his tongue licked a long stripe along your folds, his lips wrapping around your most sensitive area, sucking softly and making his sharp tongue flick all around it. The blond was a groaning mess, calling you all sorts of names, telling you you’re a whore for getting wet from what they are doing to you. He loved seeing his dick go in and out of your throat, feeling you swallow, or try to swallow, around his shaft. Red eyes watched you getting eaten out and he almost couldn’t believe this was real, he really was having a threesome with his best friend and one of the hottest women he ever laid eyes upon. Your crying and fighting made this a whole lot more fun for him, he always liked them fiesty. But, he would have never guessed that Eijirou would enjoy this as well. It’s always the one you least expect it from. Secretly he was hoping this won’t be the last time they’ll use you like that. He could picture the two of them break in again, maybe when you calmed down a bit, feeling save again. Or maybe you would even let them in, let only them fuck you. Maybe they could get you addicted, he bet they could. His broad hand landed a slap to your right tit and Bakugou watched as your eyes opened in shock when Kirishima’s pointer finger circled around your asshole. You dug your nails into Bakugou’s muscular thighs, shaking your head and he released you, at least for a short moment. “Don’t push it in there, please, I beg you, nobody has ever been there, please stop,” you begged, pushing yourself away from the man between your legs, but his large hands gripped around your thighs, pulling you back in while Bakugou held your hands down, observing Kirishima’s skilled, wet finger slowly disappearing into your tight, clenching hole. He had enough of your whining and decided to push his underwear into your mouth, gagging you. You pulled the red hair, hoping to hurt him enough to at least pull his finger out again. He only moaned as a response and you noticed he started fingering you even harder, the tip of his second finger now joining his first finger. “Oh stop crying, we all know you’re about to cum, don’t pretend like you're such a prune,” Bakugou barked at you, standing up and walking over to you, slapping you across the face before the same hand went around your throat, squeezing your sides shut and that’s when you could feel your first orgasm crash over you, moaning into Bakugou’s underwear, shame immediately haunting your mind. “There we go you fucking bitch, see, what did I tell you? You’re a nasty little fuck toy,” he laughed, watching the way you squirm in Kirishima’s grip, who was now inside of you with his third finger. The blond came all over your face and chest, panting and going back to the chair, getting ready for round two. Kirishima was slurping, eating you out as if your pussy was his last meal. He found your almost full lube bottle under your bed, using it around his fingers to hurt you a little less. His huge dick was throbbing, begging for him to just fuck your tight ass, but he really didn’t plan on adding murder to his list tonight, so he took his sweet time and by the way your body was reaction you didn’t mind either. When he finally felt like you were prepped enough half an hour later you had two more orgasms already, each one of them more powerful and shaming than the one before. The makeshift gag was still doing it’s job. Keeping you from begging none sense, like they should stop, how you don’t want this, even though you knew deep down you loved every second of it, and making your moans sound even filthier. “Katsuki, come here and look at this, watch how she clenches around me,” you really wanted to die on the spot. You felt so small and embarrassed, having both man watch you getting touched against your will and yet you felt your body getting hotter as they starred at the scene unfolding in front of them, your cunt getting wetter, begging to be filled, squeezing around nothing. What was wrong with you? How could you... How could you enjoy getting used like a rag doll? Covering your face you screamed into Bakugou’s boxers as Kirishima slowly moved his fingers inside of you. Kiri thrusted up and down, twisting his fingers, scissoring you as he added more lube. Both of your holes were a mess, glistening with cum and lube and if his dick wasn’t leaking pre-cum from his angry red tip already, he could do this for hours. He can’t wait to feel you tremble and squeeze around him the same way you do around his fingers, almost as if you never want him to go again, wanting to feel stuffed. Greedy little whore. What would it sound like if you moan his name? Could you even do it? Or would you be too much of a mess, fucked dumb, only slurrying your words, not making any sense.

Your body arched from the bed as yet another orgasm hit you, pulling Kirshima’s hair even harder. “I think it’s time we go up a notch,” Bakugou suggested, his cock hard again, needing to be inside your wet hole. Apparently his friend agreed, slowly pulling out his wet fingers and he couldn’t stop himself from licking around it, dipping his tongue in and watching you twist and turn. He picked you up from the bed, holding you close to him and giving you a moment to calm down from what was happening to you. Taking the water bottle from beside your bed, he took out the red underwear, your mouth dry and sore from being kept open the whole time. Tipping your head back he made you open your mouth, watching you swallow the water. “What do we say when someone is being nice to you?” Bakugou asked from your bed, ready to have you on top of him. “I’m not going to thank you,” you bit back at him, hiccuping through your sentence while you were still shaking, pushing Kirishima’s hand away from your face. “Fine, then have it your way,” he said, smirking at you. Kirishima had you under full control, his one arm wrapped around your upper half, while the other hand played with your pussy. He pushed you down onto the bed, on top of Bakugou who was waiting for you. No matter how hard you braced yourself against Kirishima, who opened your legs for Bakugou to fuck your cunt, he didn't even budge one bit. Like you didn’t try to use all your power to stop them. Bakugou’s middle and index finger went up and down your folds, amused at your pitiful act of pretending you didn’t like it while being betrayed by your own body. Tears slipped onto your open lips while you couldn’t stop moaning the more you were teased. Once he was done he stroke his dick along your folds, his tip dipping inside every once in a while. Kirishima had enough of the teasing, his dick swollen and pulsing, so when Bakugou was almost in you again he pushed you down, making you scream at the sudden stretch and Katsuki groaned, feeling your walls around him. “Damn Kiri, even though I stretched her out she’s still so fucking tight around me,” his hips snapped up and down, watching your boobs jump up and down every time he pushed himself all the way in. He started playing with them, squeezing them, rolling your nipples between his fingers, feeling you squeeze around him.

“I bet you never had someone as thick as me inside your sloppy little pussy, isn’t that right? When was the last time someone fucked you properly? Has anyone ever made you cum?” you looked everywhere but him, biting your lip to not make a sound, not wanting to give him what he wanted. In return he slapped you across the face, pulling you close to him by your neck. He spit into your face with no warning and pushed two of his fingers inside your mouth as you gasped. “Stop fucking ignoring me slut! I asked you a question,” he slammed into you harder and you choked out a no, your cheeks heating up, feeling humiliated. “That’s why you’re touching yourself isn’t that right? Because nobody knows you’re a cock hungry whore that needs to be used. Nobody knows how to handle you, huh?” he looked at Kirishima, who got undressed, his cock hitting above his belly button, pre cum running down his shaft. Bakugou locked you in, his arms wrapped around you, so you can’t move while he stopped his thrusting, waiting for Kirishima to get onto the bed as well. He smeared his pre cum all over your ass cheeks, dipping his fingers into you once again before you could feel his tip on your entrance. You stiffed at the sudden movement behind you and the red head stroked your back soothingly. “It’s going to be okay, you are doing so well, I know you can take me, don’t worry,” his right hand found your clit and he played with it lazily, making you relax a bit. Bakugou could feel tears on his shoulders, hearing small sobs from you. “No need to cry anymore, we got you, we know how to treat you right,” and with that he slammed into you, causing you to scream out in pain because no amount of foreplay could have prepared you for how huge this man’s dick was. Your back was on fire, your hole stretched to the max and you felt so awfully stuffed. After a short moment Kirishima started moving slowly, watching your hole wrapped around him. No one could ever take him completely before, some even passed out. He had to keep you. You were perfect for him. “Shit, this is so fucking hot,” the sight of what was in front of Bakugou made his cock twitch inside you. Kirishima pulled your body up so he could see what Bakugou was talking about. When his red eyes landed on the bulge in your belly he lost control. This was the hottest thing he ever saw, even in his imagination he could never picture it this filthy, this hot.

He pushed you down again, pounding into you, spanking your ass, causing you squeeze around both of them with every blow given. Bakugou took this as his signal to move again, the feeling of your pussy around him and Kirishima's cock in your ass making his wildest dreams come true.

It didn’t take long for them to find the perfect rhythm, Bakugou playing with your chest while Kirishima held you in place, one hand locking your wrists behind your back and the other one around your neck, squeezing it shut from time to time.The pain was quickly replaced with an intense amount of pleasure. Your sobs were replaced with loud moans, the feeling of both holes being stuffed by strangers made you see stars. You never thought something so forbidden and wrong could feel so good, could make you feel such ecstasy. While one of them pulled out almost completely, the other one slammed back into you. Your room was now filled with sinful groans, moans and screams, your scents mixed together. You lost count of how many times you came around them, but you knew that the following days will be sore and painful. You hated yourself for letting this happen, for not being more aware about your surroundings. And you felt so humiliated, so mortified about the fact that you loved feeling both cocks inside of you at them same time. Loving the feeling of cum on you, loving the feeling of Kirishima's hand controlling your blood flow, how Bakugou played with your tits, slapped them, bit them, squeezed them. Most of all you hated the fact that you felt yourself pulsing around them when you spotted the bulge in your stomach, a sight you can’t forget and to be honest didn’t want to forget. You know you couldn’t stop what was happening, so you let it happen, let yourself enjoy the hottest and kinkiest night in your life, a small, sinister voice in the back of your head even begging for this to not be the only time these two hot, well-hung men will fuck you. “Bakugou I can’t hold it back for much longer,” Kirishima moaned, biting into the crotch of your neck, leaving some marks behind. “Me neither,” he confirmed in a deep, husky voice. Their thrust turned sloppy, but didn’t soften. The rhythm now all over the place as the men chased their high. In a matter of seconds both cocks twitched feeling their cum spurting inside of you. While Bakugou cursed like a sailor, Kirishima turned your head to him and kissed you harshly, praises falling from his lips.

The tall man pulled out first, watching his cum drip out of your messy hole, slowly flowing down to your cunt, Bakugou now pulling out as well, mixing their liquids together. You were a shaking mess, heavy pants leaving you, your eyes closed, feeling drained and stuffed at the same time. Kiri laid you down softly, observing every inch of your fucked frame. He spotted a small bulge in your abdomen, almost getting hard again at the sight of their huge load of spunk. You were between both men who were covered in sweat, trying to catch their breath. “What are we going to do now?” the smaller one to your right asked. “I don’t know about you, but I will definitely keep her,” answered Kirishima, who caressed your back. “Shitty hair, if she talks we’re screwed,” warned Bakugou, turning to his side to look at his friend. “What do you think darling? You get to stay alive and fucked properly whenever you want and we get to keep you as our good little cum slut? You know we ruined you for anyone else, nobody will be able to make you feel as good,” he kissed your bruised neck, grinning when you twitched at his touch. You knew there was no way around, they could find you again easily and he was right. You didn’t want to admit it, but no matter how hard you would try, you would never find anyone who could make you feel the same way they did. “Deal?” “Deal.”

©Kirishoshego//do not repost on any platform

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nessaxc · 3 years

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Every Part Of You || Oikawa Tooru

You feel self-conscious about your stretch marks, and Oikawa shows you just how much he loves you and your stretch marks.

~ Rating: Explicit, 18+

~ Words: 1.9k

~ Tags: Smut, Fluff, Comfort Sex, Cunnilingus, Lap Sex, Praise Kink, Pet name

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You walked down the stairs with a frown on your face. Ten minutes earlier you were staring in the mirror at your reflection, gazing at the new marks stretching across the skin on your stomach. Running your fingertips over the raised scars lightly as your eyebrows creased at the silver streak running across your abdomen. You already had stretch marks that were smaller and easier to conceal, but these were out in the open. Huffing slightly, you pulled the long shirt back down to cover your body and unlocked the bathroom door. With each step down the steps leading into the living room where Oikawa was, a new inquisition leapt to the forefront of your mind. What if Oikawa finds it ugly? What if he hates them?

The questions were flooding your brain as you finally reached the bottom of the steps, your nerves shooting through the roof as you looked over at Oikawa who was searching for a movie to watch. Deep down you knew he wouldn’t mind your scars at all, he was always so supportive with anything you approached him with, no matter how ridiculous it was. Every time you walked downstairs, dressed up and ready for your date night, Oikawa could never stop the compliments. But a tiny part of you was always hesitant over talking to him about your insecurities.

“Hey, Y/N. You alright?” Oikawa concerning tone pulled you from your thoughts and you blinked out of your daze, realising you had been stood unmoving at the bottom of the stairs.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, just lost my train of thought for a second,” you smile at him, walking over to the sofa and flopping down next to him.

“You figured out what we’re watching yet?” Side-eyeing him, you saw on his face that he had no luck in choosing a movie, the defeat slowly becoming evident in his features. It took about twenty minutes to finally find something to watch, twenty long minutes of playful arguing over movie choices like children. Oikawa’s hand snaked around your waist as you cuddled into him. He played with the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly to brush his fingertips along the skin of your hip causing you to tense at his touch slightly. Oikawa looked over at you, his brows furrowing in confusion at your ministrations.

“Baby, are you sure you’re okay?” You met his eyes, his soft, chocolately orbs gazing into yours.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, shuffling slightly to face him properly. “Anything,” he responded, his hand that was on your waist shifting to run up and down your thigh.

You fiddle with your fingers and, Oikawa notices your nervous tick. “You love me, right?” His eyebrows shot up at the question. He wasn’t expecting that query to come out of your mouth.

“Baby, of course I love you. Where’s this coming from?” He covered his hand with yours, rubbing soothing circles.

“I just-I wanna know if you’d still love me if I had…body imperfections or something.” You chewed your lip as he pulled back slightly, startled.

“Y/N, you have no imperfections.”

You chuckled slightly, “Tooru, everyone has imperfections.” But he wasn’t having any of it. “Nope,” he claimed, “babygirl you are the most perfect woman in the world.”

You giggled, shaking your head slightly as you gave him a half-smile. Cupping your face with his hands, he looked into your eyes, trying to decipher what was going on. “I would love you no matter what. But, you gotta tell me, is there something specific that’s bothering you?"

Your eyes dropped slightly as you continued to bite at your lip, "I found some stretch marks on my stomach and I didn’t know how you’d react.” Oikawa’s head tilted slightly as he registered your words. “Oh, sweetheart, I love you, I love every part of you. Your stretch marks are beautiful, and I love them just the same.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his, filled with compassion and sincerity. “You do?” Your whisper was barely audible as you forced it out. Oikawa nodded, his palms dropping from your cheeks to bring your hands up to his face, kissing your knuckles. “Baby, everything about you is perfect. You should never feel uncomfortable telling me about this stuff. I’ll never think any different of you. Never."

Oikawa leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours in a sweet, comforting kiss. You felt his hands travel down your body, one to your waist and one to your thigh. Within seconds you were led on your back whilst he hovered over you, your breath mingling with his from how close he was. His hands found the bottom of your long shirt, pulling slightly and looking into your eyes for any uncertainty. When you didn’t stop him, Oikawa lifted your shirt over your head, tossing it over the television that was still playing the movie you had put on earlier. You looked up at him, expecting him to lean down and kiss you, but he did the opposite. He leaned back on his haunches and looked at you. Observing you.

"What?” You questioned his actions, confused as to what he was doing exactly.

He shook his head, cocking it to the side as his eyes raked over your body. “I just don’t understand how you don’t realise how flawless you are.”

Your heart jumped at those words. Your face broke into a small smile as Oikawa leaned down, kissing you deeply, tongue tracing along your bottom lip. Almost upon instinct, your lips parted and his tongue slipped inside your mouth, licking at each tooth and into each crevice. You could feel him hardening against your thigh as his hips slotted between your legs, his jeans rubbing against your bare skin. Oikawa’s lips left your own, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before trailing wet kisses down your jaw to your neck, and sucking at your pulse point. Your back arched at the sensation as your fingers entangled themselves in his hair.

“Tooru”, you moaned as his lips trailed lower, eventually resting against your lower stomach.

“I got you baby. Look so beautiful.” His skin tickled your sensitive skin as he kissed over your marks, taking care to give attention to each scar ample affection to each and every one, never leaving one feeling neglected. “So lucky to have you in my life baby. So pretty.”

Oikawa’s fingers hooked around your panties and pulled them down your legs, flinging them over the back of the sofa. His kisses travelled lower until you could feel his breath against your slick heat. “So ready for me. Could stay between your thighs forever, babygirl.” His words alone were such a turn-on. He always knew what to say to make you writhe under him, make you wetter than pansy petals after rain. Before you could respond, Oikawa licked a stripe up the middle of your slick. Your mouth fell open as one of your hands gripped his hair, the other hand grabbing the sofa as your hips involuntarily bucked into him, desperate for his touch. He chuckled against your skin, the reverberating feeling going straight to your core. “Easy baby. I wanna take my time with you this time. Show you how perfect you are.” And with that, he delved back into your pussy, licking and sucking in all the right places to make you fall apart beneath his touches. His tongue dipped into your aching core, pulling a throaty groan from your mouth, one unrecognisable to you. “Taste so good. Would have you for every meal if I could.”

“Fu-fuck Tooru. I’m gonna-” you were cut off by Oikawa sucking harshly at your clit, expertly working his tongue on it. The feeling pulling you to the familiar warm sensation only Oikawa could make you feel. Your back arched off the sofa and your grip in his hair tightened as a warmth flooded through your body, making your whole body shudder with pleasure as Oikawa lapped up your juices. “Love hearing those pretty little moans of yours. Got any more in you?"

He stayed buried in your folds until it became too much, only pulling away when you forced his head away from you with the little strength you had left. His mustache was coated in your slick, his eyes hungry for you. Pulling his own shirt off, he kissed his way back up your body, leaving a trail of your release in his wake. After what felt like a lifetime, he reached your lips, kissing you deeply as you tasted yourself against his mouth. Oikawa’s arms wrapped around your back and leaned back, pulling you up onto his lap.

"I want you to ride me, baby. You look so beautiful when you ride your man. So pretty bouncing on my cock.” God, how could you refuse this man?

Your hands snaked between the two of you to release his sweetpants. After his sweetpants and underwear were discarded somewhere in the living room (you were gonna have a hard time finding your clothes later), you rose on your knees, lining his cock up with your entrance. Oikawa fused his lips to yours as you slowly sank onto his cock, his tongue licking into your mouth. Once fully seated inside you, Oikawa’s hands drifted down to grip your ass, holding and kneading at the flesh with his fingertips. “So gorgeous, baby. Looking so damn perfect, up on your man.”

You smiled, moving your hips slowly as you adjusted to his length, the tip scraping deliciously against the aching spot inside you. His hands gripped your hips while your palms laid on his chest, heart thumping rapidly in his chest as you rode him at a slow, aching pace. Your hips sped up as you felt your second orgasm approaching fast and hard. Like a tsunami building up inside you, threatening to spill over at any point. Oikawa’s thumb found its way to your clit, rubbing circles as your head fell back in pleasure, mouth open as you moaned his name.

“Oh god, Tooru, gonna cum,” you managed to breathe out, nails digging into his bare chest, most likely leaving indented half-crescent shapes in his skin.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me. Soak me like I know you can.” Oikawa’s words pushed you over the edge, your orgasm flooding you, pleasure searing through your veins as you clenched your walls around him. “Goddamn babygirl, always look so gorgeous when you cum for me. Like a goddess. I don’t deserve you sometimes,” Oikawa’s strained the last couple of words as you clenched harder around him, drowning his cock in your cum. Triggering his own release, you felt as he coated your walls, warm ropes of cum painting your insides. Panting heavily, you collapsed onto Oikawa’s sweat-slicked chest, fingertips trailing patterns across his chest. His hands ran up and down your spine, trailing along the ticklish spots on your hips.

“Thank you, baby,” you mumbled, tipping your head up to kiss his jaw. He chuckled, tilting to look down at you.

“Baby, you don’t need to thank me. I’ll happily do that any time you want. But you’re perfect, and I’ll tell you that every minute of every day if I have to.” Oikawa kissed the top of your head as his arms around you tightened. “I love you Y/N, all of you.”

“I love you too, Tooru.”

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to your man’s lips as the movie credits rolled, visible on the part of the screen that your discarded clothes weren’t covering.

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ryuu-to-sobakasu-hime · 3 years

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Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime (Belle) Novel | English Translation | Chapter 6

**This is a machine translation. I put it together by extracting text page-by-page from a .pdf version of the Japanese novel, and running it through Google translate. I have only minorly edited some of the more confusing lines to make it more read-able. It is still a very rough translation, but it’s good enough to understand what’s going on. If there is anyone out there who wants to properly translate the novel, I am more than happy to edit it, if you’ll contact me.**

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Chapter 6: Encounter

The crescent moon shining on the equator moves and brings darkness to the world of "U". In the city of "U" that continues like a big river, Az and others were overflowing more than usual today. There is a mysterious feeling of exhilaration here and there, and it seems that everyone is restless. Countless net news is broadcast in various languages. "... Soon, at 20:25 standard time on 'U', Belle's biggest live concert will take place here at 'U's spherical stadium."

The city of "U" is basically a "skyscraper" and a "park."

It consists of repeating two types of modules, "(Park)". However, there are some other special modules. One of them is a spherical module called "Stadium". "..... The number of Az that can watch at the same time in the world is said to be 100 million or 200 million, which is unusual for a newcomer who appeared within 6 months ..."

As you approach the spherical stadium, you can see that many small units are gathered together to form a sphere. It passes through the gaps of each unit and enters the inside. Each unit has multiple windows. The shape of the window matches the shape of the screen of the smartphone, and you can see Az in it. That is the audience seat of this spherical stadium.

A myriad of Az are waiting for the start of the live. The start time has come. The space of the wide sphere gradually darkens with the driving sound. The units are getting closer to each other and the gap is narrowing. Eventually, a roaring sound was heard. The gap between the units was completely closed, and the space was surrounded by darkness. A red line like the equator emerges in the darkness. It's the beginning of the live. Music starts. A huge drop of water can be seen floating in the center of the space. In front of this mysterious sight, the audience grabbed a sight of what was about to begin.

The huge water droplets began to emit light from the inside, shaking the surface with surface tension. A number of glittering lights are generated and are stored in water droplets. Eventually, the water droplets filled with light burst like a big bang. When a large amount of droplets diffuse into the space, a mysterious object that reflects light appears behind it. A huge splash with a dozen meters, assembled from delicate beads.

At the tip of the dress is Belle, me.

"Woooooooooo ...!"

The cheers of Az and others like the rumbling of the ground boiled up. Mosaic-like light is emitted from the countless windows of the audience seats. In response to the light, the color of the beads that make up the dress changes in a complex way. These are special beads whose brilliance changes depending on the light. It's the best outfit, coordinated by the best designers, from headdresses to high heels. I swam in the space, changing to various colors in response to the light. The parts of the huge dress are separated like a multi-stage rocket. In the meantime, it will be separated. The beads swirled like the swell of the sea, transforming into a virtual fluctuation of the sea surface.

Three whales with headphones appear there and slowly snuggle up to me in the center. The whales are top-notch dancers hired for this concert. When one of the whales hits the surface of the sea with its tail fin to the music, a beautiful wave appears. The crest has spread. Another one also hits the surface of the sea. The ripples overlapped. The other one blew up the tide from his nose. Next is my turn. Like the whale I mentioned earlier, I surrendered myself to music, twisted my body, and hit the surface of the sea. Ripples spread beautifully. I twist my body again and hit the surface of the sea, ripples piled up. And, like the squirting of a baby whale, I rushed out of the sea. The whales come in again and swim and dance in the calculated combination. I sing at the center. The sparkling flash of the audience seats reaches the dress, changing the color of the beads one after another. What a beauty. The colors that would never appear without each of the light from the windows of smartphones are a collaboration between me, the designer, and the audience. And again, it's a one-time art that can never be reproduced in the digital world where reproduction is natural. I finished singing proudly.

"Ooooooooooooooooo!"

The roaring cheers of Az and others shook the spherical stadium. The flashes in the audience seats disappear all at once, returning to the darkness of the equator. The prelude of the second song begins, and the next set of graphical steel frames slides from above and below. During the blackout, the producer of this live, Hiro-chan’s Az, slipped in.

"Belle is the best. I'll go next."

"Yes."

Hiro-chan’s Az threw a piece of cloth in her hand. It fluttered around my body and turned into a patchwork dress. This is also the work of the same designer as the bead dress, and is woven with fibers that change when exposed to light. Suddenly, there was a strange noise.

"ah…"

The gap between the rugged stadium and the spherical stadium opens a little.

"Who? You opened the door without permission!" Hiro-chan’s Az yells.

Someone invaded through a small gap in the unit. A lone Az at the beginning.

And then a group of Az. They are moving at high speed just past the audience unit. I can tell that the audience in the window is upset by this happening.

Hiro-chan’s Az is very angry. "Get out of here, asshole!”

The lone Az appears to be escaping from the group chasing him.

"Is he being chased?"

They go around the perimeter along the equator of the spherical stadium. The group of chasers was divided into two.

"Jeeze! What is that guy?" Hiro-chan’s Az looks up in the air and asks. Avatars all over the world instantly raise chat balloons:

《Dreki》

《Long》《continuar》《naga》《Dragon》《lass》

《Ejderha》

"Dragon?"

<<It's an ugly monster-type Az that lives in “U.”>>

Two protruding horns. Long nose. Sharp fangs and claws. The characteristic is exactly the dragon itself, and the impression is like a violent beast. Still, the crimson cloak with a raised collar and the white frills peeking through the sleeves of the suit reminded me of something like a nobleman. A mysterious balance in which this opposite nature coexists. The thin, sharp look that I could see in the gaps between his long, curly hair seemed mysterious to me. On the other hand, all his chasers have the unified appearance of a white battle suit with a red line. It looks like a group of justice heroes. The dragon flipped the cloak and I thought that he had soared, but then he twisted and plummeted. With a tricky move, he tossed the chase and swung it off in a blink of an eye, and this time he headed for the other group, which was split into two. Really. The stone mask Az, who leads the fist chaser group, thrusts in without fear. The two collided violently at the front. A fierce spark is scattered. The dragon extended his fist at a speed that my eyes couldn't follow. The chasers flew like pebbles. As it was, it emitted light like glitter and ice crystals, and stopped moving. The data was corrupted by too much blow and it froze.

I watched the dragon in a daze.

"Amazing…"

"What is he?" When Hiro-chan’s Az asked, the balloons answered immediately.

<<A few months ago, he suddenly appeared in the martial arts hall of "U" "He’s been breaking the record of consecutive wins since then" "But he has the worst fighting style">>

"How?"

When Ryu landed on the unit on the wall and turned around, he attacked the other group that he had just shaken off. He does not give them a chance to escape, and defeats them one after another with a quick move. Iconography of crystals, showing freezes, floats here and there.

《Spoil the game》《Attack until the data is corrupted and unusable》《It's like trying to get rid of my anger》 I was stunned and stared at the dragon without words.

"Ah..”

I noticed a lot of patterns on his tattered back.

"That is……?"

<< This is a nasty guy who is like the bruises on his back >> Adds a balloon. I saw it to make sure.

"There are so many bruises ..."

The group of chasers is increasing in number before I know it. When the Az of the dreadlocks led by him points to go, more than 10 members scream and head for Dragon all at once. It is one versus ten, but he heads for the fight without hesitation. The dragon rolled out his knife at a blazing speed. The chasers are beaten one after another.

"Waaaaaah!”

Even the last one - bang, smashed down in a breath. The dreadlocks Az was shocked to see that his allies were wiped out in an instant. While making a strange voice, "Woooooo!", He headed for the dragon in the dark clouds. However, immediately after that, Dragon knee-kicked him in the face. Then the upper combo is decided. The dreadlocks Az was blown off.

Hiro-chan’s Az listens with interest. "Who is chasing him?"

《The Justices》

"Justice?"

<<They insist on keeping the justice and order of U.>>

There are Az looking down from a distance. Like the Stone Mask Az and Dreadlocks Az, they were the executives of the Justice Corps. They are strong people who seem to be allies of justice. Half are female. Hiro-chan’s Az made a convincing voice when she saw them.

"Hmm. That's why they look like heroes."

A large number of the justice corps surround the dragon with various weapons such as spears, hammers, and blue swords. The members screamed and attacked all at once. It seems that there is no chance for the dragon to win. The dragon slowly crossed his hands. And he slashed the space at a tremendous speed. He slashed the men as if he were really manipulating a sword. A dense army corps bursts out all at once. "Waaaah!”

At the same time, it gave off a glittering and crystal-like light. The overwhelming strength of the crowd is breathtaking. The dragon turned his back and slowly got up. Justice corps executives were stunned and said, "What a terrible thing ...!"

"What can they do if you hurt them that much?"

"Is it okay that you’re the only one who is not wounded?” With that as a trigger, some spectator Az and others booed.

"That's right!" "You messed up Belle's concert!" "How will you take responsibility?” The voices eventually spread throughout the spherical stadium.

"Apologize to Belle!" "Give us back the time you wasted!" "Get out of here!" "Get out!" I looked around the stadium in a kind of strange atmosphere. Most of the Az on the spot are throwing a fierce boo like a rumbling at just one person. A dragon standing alone in the center. The bruise on his back seemed to me like a wound that had been hit by countless boos. I asked him unintentionally.

"You…"

The dragon turned around slowly and looked at me with a keen eye.

[............]

"Who are you..…?"

I asked unquestioned questions at will. Then the dragon opened his mouth for the first time. It was a muffled voice, like a filter.

"...Don’t look.”

"Huh?"

"Don’t look at me."

The dragon's gaze peeking through his curly hair indicates refusal. I can't hear any more.

At that time, there was a sharp voice that echoed in the spherical stadium.

“Dragon!!”

A man is standing. "I can't forgive you anymore ... I can't forgive you! If I don't defeat the dragon, I can't keep the peace of 'U'!"

"Is that the leader?" Asked Hiro-chan’s Az.

<<Yes. He is Justine>>

It was a blue-eyed Az with blonde hair. His toned, muscular, majestic body reminded me of strength and courage, and the white battle suit that wrapped around him represented his noble personality. He deserves to be called a hero, a mighty man, an ally of justice, a savior.

Justine raised his right arm and pointed to the coat of arms on his wrist. "Look!"

The Metamorphose coat of arms was wrapped in light and became huge, transforming into a winged metal lion head. A jewel-like lens body pops out from the lion's mouth by bolt action. It's like a cannon. Justine raises the gun and shows it off.

"This is the true light that protects the justice and order of 'U'! We will definitely unveil the evil dragon!" He declared in a voice that pervaded the entire "U". Then, banners with the names of the companies came flying one after another and piled up behind him. It seems that these supporting companies support his activities. Hiro-chan’s Az pointed with her eyes rounded.

"Look, the number of sponsor logos!"

"What is Unveil?"

To my question, Hiro-chan’s Az answered "Unveil" with the gesture of Peek-a-boo. Justine holds his right hand to aim at him, and the inside of his lens body shimmers like a mosaic. The particles focused and emitted a green light. Pow! The light cut through the darkness and headed straight toward the dragon. The dragon barely avoids the light. The particles focused again on Justine's right hand and fired two shots in quick succession. The dragon kept a sufficient distance and avoided it carefully. It seems that he is very cautious about this unknown light. "Nuu ..." Justin groaned, lowering his right hand. A long, thin light that moves far away. There is too much distance to hit Dragon.

He signaled, "Door!" In response, the justice executives scattered in all directions. Soon, the gap between the unit and the unit begins to move, and the interval narrows.

"Eh ...?" As it goes on, the brightness disappears. The spherical stadium was engulfed in darkness, with a completely closed sound. Many searchlights owned by the executives turned on all at once. It illuminates a dragon at one point in the center of intersection.

"You can't run away anymore, dragon! I'll uncover your origin right here, you ugly thing!"

Justine's speech wowed the audience.

"Ooooooooooo!"

The field is in full favor of Justine. Hiro-chan’s Az also goes along.

"Good, do it ~~!"

Origin? Uncover? Can he do that? I wondered. Justine said earlier, "The true light that protects the justice and order of 'U'(that green light) will surely unveil the evil dragon." The meaning may be "to clarify who the real person who controls the dragon is.” It means that there is no privacy that should be equally protected by the security of "U". I understood that was what he meant by "unveiling." If it's aimed at the dragon, which is hated by all over the world, everyone will be convinced it’s the right thing to do. But what if I was in his position?

Then, the story is different. I don't want to be unveiled. Anyone wouldn’t. Shouldn't that be the case? Shouldn't security equality be maintained? Executives approach the dragon with a searchlight. The dragon blocks the light with his hands, as if he hates the dazzling lights. However, the executives continue to shine a strong light without mercy. The dragon moves because of the glare, looks like he can't get rid of it. Justine aims carefully from a distance. The searchlight is caught. It seems very easy to shed light on the dragon that has stopped moving. Kuun ……, and the inside of the gun lens shines brilliantly, and the light is focused.

"Get him!!” Hiro-chan’s Az screams with excitement. Next to that, I kept staring at the dragon.

[.............]

The dragon looked up at me as if he had noticed me. His eyes met mine and my heart pulsated.

"Huh?"

From the narrow center of the searchlight, the dragon jumped towards us. The search light suddenly loses sight of the dragon and sways in a confused manner.

"Uh!"

Once Justine lowered his gun in the situation, but quickly repositioned it, he fired two consecutive shots. However, passing through it, the dragon rises at high speed and heads straight toward us.

"Ahhhhh!"

I and Hiro-chan’s Az are upset by the oppressive feeling and cannot move. The dragon approaches at a tremendous speed. Collide!

"Kyaaaa!" We screamed. But the dragon barely slipped beside us. A violent gust of wind occurs with a slight delay. The dragon rose as it was, turned around, and landed on the steel frame of the set. Hiro-chan’s Az was angry and looked up. "You’ve got to be kidding me, you idiot! What if Belle had been injured?"

Dragon approaches us again. "Ah!" The dragon rubbed right next to Hiro-chan’s Az and I, who were shrinking tightly, at a tremendous speed. His goal is the executives of the Justice Corps.

"Waaaaah!” The executives screamed, throwing out searchlights and escaping in all directions. As soon as the dragon did not let them escape, he swung a steel frame over his head and approached.

The light of the searchlight went out, and the area was surrounded by darkness again.

Only the cruel hitting sound and the painful screams of the executives echoed there. What's happening in the dark? Invisible horror dominated the field. Justine shouted, unbearably. "Open the door ..., open the door!"

A gap in the spherical stadium opens to follow the instructions. When it got brighter, I saw the sad appearance of the executives who were knocked down and couldn't move. How many Az did the dragon beat in this short time? It was overwhelming and strong. Justine stepped back, stiffening his face.

"This ... this shouldn't be allowed ...!"

The dragon flew with recoil when he released the steel frame he had in his hand. I look up at him with my eyes. Justine shouted to swear revenge.

"I will be sure to unveil you!"

As if he couldn't hear such a voice, the dragon went out of the stadium through the gap between the units on the ceiling and disappeared somewhere. I kept looking at the empty space where he had disappeared into.

"Who are you……?"

-------------------

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Dcx2NedPVBEdbfQaU-WC0pJMRmn20ASn7HSC0KY9R7E/edit?usp=sharing ~ Google Doc of the English-translated novel.

ryuutosobakasuhime.wordpress.com ~ English fan-site for Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime where translations, scans, and other content is posted.

#belle #belle movie #belle 2021 #ryuu to sobakasu no hime #ryu to sobakasu no hime #ryu #ryuu #studio chizu #hime #mamoru hosoda #竜とそばかすの姫

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ikeromantic · 3 years

Text

Superstition

Written for @alerialumina as part of my 500 follower celebration

Mitsuhide, Magic, Something Blue, and Surprise Me!

Approx 3500 words because I don't know how to do short sometimes

Mitsuhide did not put much faith in superstition. Neither gods nor demons nor spirits. He did appreciate the weight others put in those beliefs though. It allowed him to appear more powerful, more mysterious, than he was. So he handled inquests like these with utmost care.

Several women were missing from this farming village, and all he had to go on was a flash of blue out in the fields. He and his fiance finished interviewing the villagers earlier and that yielded no clues. None of them seemed craft enough to pull something like this off. So Mitsuhide was searching the fields with his little mouse and Kyubei was in the forest looking for any sign of people camping or passing through.

“What exactly am I looking for,” his fiance asked. She was leaned forward, staring at the trampled ground as if she might find the missing girls under an overturned rock.

Mitsuhide smiled. “Signs that someone was here - someone who isn’t normally. Anything out of place or strange or - “

“Like this?” She bent down and picked up a small stone. When she held it up, the light turned it blue like the ocean on a summer day.

He reached for her hand. His fingers disappeared for a moment in brilliant burst of blue light. It was so sudden and so bright that he couldn’t see when it was gone. Mitsuhide clamped his eyes shut against the painful radiance. “Did you see that? Are you alright, little one?”

“My lord?” Kyubei’s voice came to him from the distance. “I saw a blue -” He stopped, realizing his lord was alone. He wasn’t a man to ask the obvious.

Mitsuhide blinked away the blue spots in his vision. His eyes felt dry and hot as he rubbed at them, trying to see. The stone was gone, his little one - gone - and Kyubei was running toward him from the forest edge.

There were no footprints around, besides their own. No holes in the ground. Nothing.

When Kyubei reached his side, the vassal grabbed his shoulder for a heartbeat. As much comfort as he could give his lord - as much as Mitsuhide would accept from him. “I will organize a search party. We’ll send a message back to Azuchi requesting more men, more resources.”

“Yes, do that.” Mitsuhide knelt down, brushing his fingertips over the spot where she’d stood. His eyes worked out from that spot. There had to be something. A slight reflection caught his eye, and he reached for it. A stone. A tiny, clear stone. It felt warm in his palm. He stood and slipped in into his pocket, thoughtful.

Kyubei watched him for a moment, as if expecting some emotional reaction. When he was sure his lord would not do anything impulsive, he turned and ran toward town.

Inside, Mitsuhide was furious with himself, terrified for his beloved, and worried he would not be able to find her. But on the outside, he only smiled his thin-lipped grin. He couldn’t afford to feel any of those emotions. Not until his little mouse was back in his arms. Right now, he had to focus on what had happened. He had to find her.

The little crystal in his pocket held some answers, he felt. But what, he couldn’t begin to guess. Mitsuhide was sure that it was the source of that blue flash - though he had no evidence. Simply the lack of any other cause. It wasn’t much to go on. He could understand now why the villagers believed it was an angry spirit. Some displeased kami or wicked demon . . .

He walked slowly, lost in thought. With all the tricks he had at his disposal, this should be easy to figure out. Could it have been a gunpowder reaction? But there’d been no smell from it. And no sign after. No smoke. No flame. And that light had been blue. Bright blue.

The shadows of the trees hung over Mitsuhide the further he went, and soon his white haori was lost in the dense, green foliage. He barely noticed the leaves as they brushed his sleeves. The branches, he moved aside without thinking about it. His body moved forward while his mind worked.

The sun fell behind the tree tops and slid below the horizon. Still, Mitsuhide walked. He didn’t want to go back to the farming village until he knew how to proceed. He couldn’t bear to face Kyubei, or the reinforcements from Azuchi. But answers weren’t coming any faster in the dark. The kitsune warlord was well and truly stumped.

Weary, he finally sat under a large oak tree. He turned his face up to look at the night sky. A pattern of dark leaves and glittering gems. Mitsuhide reached for his pocket and took out the clear gem. He held it up the way his little mouse had. There was no blinding flash of blue, but the gem did begin to emit a soft, pale light.

Surprised, Mitsuhide let go.

It hung in the air above him.

Mitsuhide was not a man given to superstition. He didn’t believe in gods and demons. He didn’t put faith in magic. But he believed what he saw with his own eyes. He snatched the gem, closing his fingers around it.

Then he stood and cleared his throat. “I have your . . . magic stone, kitsune! If you want it back, you will have to make a deal with me.”

There was a rustling sound in the brush, and then a pair of glowing golden eyes. The creature slowly came closer, pushing through the branches and leaves. A small, red fox with nine brushy tails. It circled Mitsuhide, eyeing him warily.

“Are you ready to make a trade?”

The kitsune snarled, fur bristling. “Give me back my gem and I will let you live.”

Mitsuhide raised one eyebrow. “That’s not much of a deal. I think I’ll just keep it then.”

“No!” The kitsune barked and stood up on its hind legs. “It is mine and worth nothing to you. Why should you get anything of value for it?”

The warlord shrugged. “Perhaps I like the way it looks.” He gave the kitsune his best crescent moon grin. “You probably don’t have anything I want anyway.” Then he turned to walk away.

The kitsune growled and raced in front of him. Branches reached to bar his path and the gnarled roots of trees tore free of the earth to cover the path back. “I could give you wealth?”

“I have that.” Mitsuhide picked his way over the roots and pushed past the trees.

“Power?”

“Also mine. Just . . . forget it. I like this gem. And you really have nothing I’d want. You can just go back to your fleas and carrion.”

“I am . . . a god! I protect this land! The villagers ask me to bless their fields and their daughters burn prayers in my name! You can’t talk to me like that!” The kitsune grew in size and now stood eye to eye with the man.

Mitsuhide wondered if he might have overplayed his part, but he knew backing down now would be worse. “I am no farmer, you little forest-thing. Now get out of my way.”

The kitsune whined and growled, pacing ahead of Mitsuhide. Its tails lashed the air and a hum of energy followed it in the darkness. Finally it stopped and turned to face the man again. Shining white teeth and eyes like molten gold pushed close. “You are alone. I can see that much. The one thing you lack . . . is a wife. I could get one for you.”

“Could you?” Mitsuhide stopped. “I don’t think you can. You are trying to trick me.”

“No! I could get you any kind you desired. Dark haired, light haired. Soft and round or slim and flexible as a willow . . . We’ll trade! A woman for my gem.” The kitsune’s lips curled up in a hungry smile.

Mitsuhide pretended to consider this offer. “I don’t know. If you gave me a woman, she would run as soon as your magic wore off. And then I’d be alone again and without this very nice stone. Besides, I don’t know if I’d like any of them.”

The kitsune whined low in its throat. “No! No! They would stay because they want to. I don’t need magic to lure a woman, nor to get her to obey. It is because they like me!” The fur melted to a sable red kimono, as the fox changed its form to that of a human man. “What if I let you pick the one you like? And if you don’t like any of them, I could find you a new one?”

“I don’t know.” Mitsuhide tapped his chin. “What if I agree to come and look at them, to ask them questions, and all you get in exchange is my promise to consider your offer? I think that’s fair. After all, if you are telling me the truth, then we will both end up getting what we want.”

The kitsune’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t trust Mitsuhide a bit, but he believed he had the upper hand. “Alright. I’ll take you to my home. But you must promise me you’ll never share the location with anyone. If you do, your life is forfeit.”

“Agreed.” Mitsuhide knew the kitsune would not be foolish enough to show him its lair without such an arrangement. He surely wouldn’t be. Besides, he didn’t need reinforcements. This was a battle of wit, not arms.

The kitsune smiled and suddenly, the tree branches and roots withdrew to their normal positions. “Then I will agree to your offer. Once you see what I can grant you, I know you will return my gem.”

He led Mitsuhide through the forest until they reached a high cliff. The kitsune gestured for him to continue but the warlord stopped short.

“This path is not to my liking.”

“It is the fastest route,” the kitsune replied.

Mitsuhide considered. “Alright, then you go ahead and I will follow.”

The kitsune ran and leapt gracefully into the air. His feet were held aloft by his magic and he hung in the air. “Well?”

“Ah, my apologies. It appears I lack your grace. I won’t be able to take this route afterall.” Mitsuhide sighed. “I guess I will have to go back to the village alone.”

The kitsune yipped. “No! Wait! We don’t have to take this route. There is another that might be more suited to your mortal feet. I’ll show you.”

“No, that’s alright. I don’t want you to go to any trouble.” Mitsuhide waived the spirit away.

“It’s no trouble!” The kitsune hurried to walk beside the warlord, guiding him onto another path. “This route is more scenic anyway.”

Mitsuhide smiled his crescent moon smile. Clearly the fox-spirit did not understand yet that he wouldn’t be fooled by simple tricks. He let it lead him on, keeping his eyes open for the next prank.

They walked through meadows of flowers and whispering bamboo groves. Past singing brooks, and distant fire-lit villages. The kitsune finally stopped at the base of a mountain. A large stone blocked a crevasse in the rocks ahead. It was as big as a house and heavier than any one man could lift.

The fox-spirit grabbed it with his human-like hands and rolled it out of the way. He gestured for Mitsuhide to go in.

“Is this your home,” the warlord asked, peering ahead. He knew it was. The way was lit by earth-bound stars and the glow of fireflies. Tiny flowers crawled up the rock walls and in the distance, he could hear women’s voices.

“It is,” the kistune said proudly. “Go in, and I will follow.”

Mitsuhide shook his head. “I don’t think I want to. It is musty in there and the air is still and hot. I don’t like being places where I cannot feel the wind.”

The kitsune frowned. “It will only be for a moment. I am sure you will see the perfect woman for you. Then you can trade me for that gem you have . . .”

“No. I don’t think I’d be able to stand it. Being closed in, with that rock blocking the night air. No. I will return to the village. Thank you though, for the nice walk.” Mitsuhide turned to leave.

“Wait!” The kitsune growled and flung itself in front of him. “What if I leave the door open? Then you can go in and still feel the night’s wind. Will that be enough?”

The warlord considered. “I suppose it might be. But it’s too much to ask you to swear an oath to leave it open for me. Then you might not feel safe. I really should just go.”

“I swear it! Here, look, I will go in first so that you can see the door remains open.” The kitsune entered the crevasse, almost dancing with eagerness to lure Mitsuhide inside.

“I guess I will follow you then,” the warlord decided. This was, of course, exactly what he wanted.

He followed after the kitsune, noting the treasures it had stashed in shelves along the walls. Ancient weapons, rare flowers, gems, and precious metals. Paintings thought lost to time. A greedy man might have made a deal for any of it, but Mitsuhide had just one goal in mind.

At the end of the path, the crevasse opened into a valley where a large manor sat. And there, in the courtyard of the manor were all the missing girls. They were dressed in fine silks, with perfumed hair, wrists and throat adorned with precious gems. They sat on blankets amidst the flowers, sipping wine. Or on benches reading books. Some laughed together in little groups. But they all looked up as the kitsune approached.

“He’s back,” one called, and a horde of giggling girls surrounded the kitsune for a moment.

Mitsuhide ignored them, his amber eyes searching for the one face he had to see. She had to be here, she had to be ok. And there she was. Sitting alone on a bench, a book open on her lap. His little mouse.

She looked up and her eyes met his. She jumped to her feet, about to run to him, but he shook his head. It wasn’t the time yet for honesty. So his little one adjusted her spot on the bench and pretended to keep reading.

The kitsune pulled himself free of the women and gestured for Mitsuhide to join him. “For the gem, good man, you can take your pick. Surely one of these lovelies is enough for you?”

“I don’t know.” Mitsuhide tapped his chin. “They all seem very fond of you. I wouldn’t want to take them unwilling.”

The kitsune held one girl by the chin. “If I told you to go with this man and love him, would you do it?”

“For you? Anything,” she breathed. Her eyes were wide and dark and empty.

Mitsuhide knew then that these enthralled women must be under a spell. They wouldn’t simply leave if he gave them the opportunity. “That’s just your magic. I wonder what they would say if you withdrew the enchantment from them. I don’t think any of them really love you.”

This stung the kitsune’s pride. “Of course they would! I am handsome and smart. And I give them nice gifts! They all love me.”

“Mmm, just because you enthralled them. I don’t want a woman bespelled. I think I will just go home.” Mitsuhide turned to leave.

The kitsune whined and yipped and wiped at his face with his hand. “Ok, Ok! I will banish the enchantment and you will see how much they adore me!” He beckoned the women to stand around him. Even Mitsuhide’s little mouse stood and joined the circle.

“My beauties,” the kitsune said, “I will release you. You must show this sad little mortal how much you love your fox-husband.”

The girls all swore they would, of course. Then the kitsune raised his hands and there was a flash of blue light.

Mitsuhide blinked away the brilliance. The women were wandering the courtyard, confused. Some were crying, others looked lost or afraid. Only his little mouse stood with her shoulders back, waiting for a signal from him.

“Well?” The kistune gestured. “You see, they still love me.” He grabbed one and kissed her. She slapped at his arms ineffectually until he let go. “They will love you too. So choose and give me back my gem!”

“Hmmm.” Mitsuhide nodded, walking slowly around the girls. He stopped and asked a few of them where they were from, how old. These were the girls from the village, and some from even further away than that. None knew how long they’d live here with their kitsune-husband, or how they’d arrived at this place. And they all wanted to go home.

The kitsune was nearly bouncing on his toes in eagerness, so close was the return of his gemstone. “Did you find a girl you like?”

“I was just thinking. If I pick a girl, what’s to stop you from taking her away later? All these girls you took from somewhere. They are mothers and daughters and wives. I would not want to trade my pretty rock and in the end have nothing.” Mitsuhide took out the gem. It still shone with a pale light. “I may just keep it afterall.”

“What? No!” The kitsune jumped into the air, more like a beast than a man. His tails lashed in all directions. “I would never do that. I swear! Whoever you pick, I will promise not to lure them here again. You have my oath! Now give me the gem!”

“That is generous of you,” Mitsuhide conceded. “In that case, I will take your deal. I choose . . .” He gestured to the courtyard expansively. “All of these girls.” Then he tossed the kitsune the gem.

The fox-spirit caught it and realized too late that by accepting it, he took Mitsuhide’s deal. He howled in anger. His body blurred, and the human shape disappeared into a monstrous red fox. “How dare you take all my beauties from me! I will kill you and eat you!”

Mitsuhide’s little mouse didn’t wait for a clear signal to go. She grabbed the hands of the girls nearby and urged the others to follow. They all ran down the twisting canyon path through the crevasse, and out of the kitsune’s den.

The fox-spirit would have followed. Its eyes burned with a red light, angry at being deceived, but Mitsuhide distracted it.

“What a ridiculous spirit you are, promising me a fair trade and then wanting to kill me because you don’t like the terms you agreed to,” the warlord called.

The kitsune tried to step on him with one giant paw, but Mitsuhide leapt out of the way. He dropped behind him some of the caltrops ninja favored. He didn’t wait for the response. The warlord ran down the path, following the women out.

Inside the canyon, the kitsune growled and cursed in pain. It limped after them, snapping its long, sharp teeth.

“We need to block the path,” Mitsuhide called to the women.

His little mouse nodded, and rounded the women up to push on the boulder. Mitsuhide joined them.

They strained against the hard stone, feet sliding in the dirt. The kitsune came on, its growl so loud that it shook loose stones on the mountain, and made their bones shiver. Still, they struggled.

The rock shifted the smallest bit. And then a bit again.

“Come on girls! Just a little more,” the chatelaine cried.

Mitsuhide wasn’t sure they would make it afterall. He reached down to loosen his sword in its sheath. If he had to fight, he would be ready.

“I can smell your fear, foolish man,” called the kitsune. “You stopped running. I wonder what you think you can do against me?”

“Maybe I’ve already done it,” Mitsuhide shouted back. “How do you know you are going where you think you are? Or that it is me you smell . . .” He laughed.

And that was when the rock finally broke free and rolled into the crevasse, blocking the path. It wouldn’t hold the kitsune for long, but perhaps long enough.

“I beat you fair and square, fox spirit,” Mitsuhide shouted. “Let that be a lesson to you! Never mess with a kitsune-warlord’s wife! Even if you are a kitsune!”

“I can’t believe you came for me,” his little one said. She threw her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“Mitsuhide held her close, his heart beating hard and fast. “I thought the same, my love. But I couldn’t let you go, even if I didn’t know how or where I would find you. But now that I have you in my arms, I’m not letting you go again.”

“As if I would let you.” She laughed and cried all at once, and held onto him as tight as he held her.

Of course, there was no rest for Mitsuhide Akechi. He had a task to finish, and it was getting these women back home. So he and his little one guided the women to the nearest town, and eventually, back to their homes and families.

The kitsune never forgot about the white-haired man that took his wealth of women. And just maybe, he appeared to the warlord later. But that is another story entirely.

#ikesen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #fairytale au #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #follower celebration

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little-butterfly-writes · 3 years

Note

Hi love, i have an idea for our beloved scientist lucien from mlqc. If its okay i would like to request a oneshot about reader being so jealous that she even cry and lucien reassure her , smut lucien x mc ✨

A Jealous You

Hey darling, this was such a delicious request. I got a bit carried away because I can relate to the jealousy and insecurities.

Wordcount - 1844

Warnings - NSFW!!!, Jealousy, Insecurities, Refusal of a few meals, Unprotected vaginal sex, internal cumshot, oral sex (female receiving)

A/N - I named the other woman Hana, sorry to anyone with that name! You are MC.

I watch from behind the pillar in Lucien's lab. A woman is talking to him in his office. It looks like she works here, she's wearing a white lab coat similar to Lucien's.

I wait until she leaves before going into his office. Lucien greets me with a smile before wrapping his arms around my waist. "Hello, my little butterfly." He kisses my forehead. "Did you have fun spying on me?" He asks.

My eyes go wide at the question. Lucien chuckles softly, holding me close. "I didn't know that you saw me." I mumble, resting my head on his chest. "You can't hide from me, baby." He coos gently. "Who was that, Lulu?" I ask, looking up at him. "She's an intern that just graduated. She'll be here for a month." He answers. I sigh softly, placing my palm on his chest as he gently sways me. "Don't worry, my eyes are only on you." Lucien says.

We stay like that for a few minutes before packing up to go home. We spent the night cuddling together in our apartment.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed. I checked my phone to see that Lucien had to go to the lab because the intern made a small accident. I groan and get up, stumbling into the bathroom.

I look at my reflection. 'That woman has prettier hair than I do. Her body is so nice too, she's stunning,' I think to myself. My nitpicking goes on in my mind until I hear the front door open.

I go outside to the living room, wearing my comfy clothes. I can't help but think that the intern doesn't look like this, she's probably wearing nice clothes and looking pretty.

In a sour mood, I start up some tea in hopes it'll cheer me up a bit. Lucien places a bag on the kitchen island. "I brought breakfast for you." He wraps his arms around my waist. I sigh, melting into his arms. Lucien kisses my cheek.

He pauses for a moment, looking at me deeply. "Have you been crying?" He asks, voice full of concern. I shake my head 'no'. "Don't lie to me, MC, your eyes are red."

I sigh, looking back at him. "Yes, I was. I just saw a sad video about a puppy and got a bit sad." I lied. Lucien nods, kissing my cheek again before placing the pastry on a plate. I stare at the food, thinking about how that lady must not eat pastries whenever she wants. I shake my head, returning to my tea.

Another day passes, my mind filled with doubt and insecurities. I haven't eaten as much as I usually do. Lucien seems worried, but I keep telling him I'm fine. He doesn't press, but he definitely knows something's wrong.

I walk into Lucien's office, seeing the intern. Lucien walks up to me, placing a hand on the small of my back. "Hana, this is MC. MC, this is the intern I told you about." Lucien's introduction finally gives me a name.

Hana. What a beautiful name...a lot better than mine.

I force a smile. "Oh, Professor was talking about me?" Hana says, voice sweet like honey. My jaw clenches, of course it's melodious. My nose stings, prickling up to my eyes. I force myself to extend my hand, almost robotically. "Nice to meet you." I say, attempting to keep a steady voice.

We finish exchanging pleasantries, Hana leaves with a cheerful goodbye to Lucien. The second she's out, I let a quiet breath of air out. Lucien turns to me, hand still on my back. "My love, when will you tell me what's wrong?" He asks, rubbing my brow with his thumb. "I'm fine, Lucien. I promise. If anything comes up, I'll tell you." He sighs, pressing his forehead to mine. "If you say so." Lucien pecks my lips.

While walking out, the dean of the university nearby stops us. "Hey, Professor Lucien! Here's an invitation to the charity gala the school's hosting. You and your girlfriend should join us!" He slightly pleads. Lucien chuckles, holding me by my waist. "It's Saturday evening, correct? We'll be there." Lucien confirms. I nod along to his statement.

Saturday night rolls around. Lucien bought me a new dress to wear to the gala. Donning the dress, I apply some light makeup as Lucien gets ready.

As soon as we arrive, my eyes are drawn to Hana. She's wearing a beautiful dress that hugs her body, strapless and showing off cleavage. The light lavender color matches Lucien's eyes, her makeup complimenting it. Black hair curled perfectly lands on milky skin.

I sigh, feeling simple. Unworthy to be by Lucien's side. Hana's perfect compared to me. I squeeze Lucien's hand tighter. "We'll say hello to the dean, maybe get a dessert and then we can go. Is that okay?" He says while wrapping an arm around my waist once more.

I nod, swallowing hard and moving to go see the dean. As we wait to talk to him, Hana comes up to us. Lucien's hand is now interlaced with mine. "Lucien, I'm going to get a drink. Be right back." I say, letting go of his hand. I move to grab some water, staying close with my back turned so I can listen in on them.

Everything I hear from them is mumbled. There's so many people talking near me. I focus, catching Hana's words. "Lulu, I know you have a girlfriend, but I really think we should be together. I mean, we're both scientists and work with each other...I think I'm better for you."

My heart sinks. She's right, she is better for him. I choke back a sob, blinking tears back furiously. Lucien's voice comes up clear, "With your position, you should call me Professor Lucien. And my relationship with MC is perfect, I love her for who she is and she loves me the same way. Do not try and convince me that you are better than her." His voice is still sweet, but a lot firmer.

I hear her sigh, clopping off in high heels. I hand the glass back to the waiter, moving towards the exit.

Lucien follows me, quick by my side. "MC, wait." He pulls me into his arms. I hide my face in his chest. "Lucien, I don't want to stay. I'm going to go home." I cry. He cradles me gently, leading me outside. "I know, baby. I'll take us home." He hushes.

The car ride home is silent. Lucien holds onto my hand as he drives while I look out the window, tears streaming quietly.

Lucien holds me close as we walk up to my apartment. I let out a few sobs, trying to stay quiet.

We walk in, Lucien locking the front door. "Let's go wipe your makeup off." He whispers. I nod, going into the bathroom and washing my face. When I walk out Lucien is in the bedroom. Waiting for me.

I walk closer, stopping to look at myself in the full-length mirror. Lucien comes up behind me, wrapping both arms around me. "Is this what's been upsetting you?" He asks, rubbing circles on my stomach. I let out a small yes. Lucien sighs into my hair, kissing there softly.

"I know you are jealous of her. I want you to know that you're all I want." He kisses my temple. I breathe in deep, relaxing back in his arms. "You're the only one for me, there's no one else I want to love." The whisper in my ear makes me tear up again. "But there's so many better people than me." I choke out.

"To me, you're the most gorgeous woman I know. Your heart is always accepting of anyone in need. Your intelligence is brilliant to matter what. I'm proud to call you mine." Lucien turns me around, kissing the corner of my eye. He unzips my dress, slowly. It's like he's unwrapping a fragile gift. I wrap my arms around his neck after he removes my bra. "Thank you, Lucien. I love you." I sigh. Lucien hums, grabbing my rear and squeezing lightly.

Lucien lays me gently on the center of the bed. "I love you too, my love. My one and only." He kisses down my sternum, moving to my stomach. "My soulmate. Mine. So gorgeous, inside and out." Lucien removes my panties softly, happily staring at my core. I try to shift my legs closer, but Lucien holds my thighs apart with a tut.

"No baby, let me love you." The words a honeyed murmur against my legs. He kisses up my thigh, ending them on my clit. Lucien goes for another, licking a long stripe against my slit. I moan when his tongue trails my labia before shoving his tongue into my sex. The wet muscle thrusts slowly, his thumb pressed on my sensitive nub. Loud cries escape my throat as he licks me up faster. I feel like withering away from the tortuous pleasure. Just as I'm about to reach my climax, Lucien pulls away. He wipes away the arousal covering his chin. I whine, wanting my orgasm he tempted me to.

"My love even tastes sweet. What else could I need in a partner when I have you?" Dark lust swims in his eyes. I sit up and help him undress, slowly becoming impatient. Lucien lays me back down, working himself in his hand. The first inch he slides in burns slightly, but I want more. I hold onto him tight, not wanting him to leave me. He waits a minute for my tight heat to adjust to him before pulling back, only for him to push back in.

I whine, my hips bucking up for more. Lucien kisses me, fingers toying with my sensitive nipples. His thrust steadily increases speed, his groans sounding against my skin. Lucien strokes my hair away from my face. I dig my fingers in his shoulder, leaving little crescents there.

A particularly hard thrust makes me moan loudly. "Are you almost there?" He sweetly asks, moving his thumb back to my bundle of nerves with another hard thrust. As a response, I squeak, my orgasm surprising me as I clench around him. It must trigger him as well, hearing his deep grunt. We stay like that for a few minutes, panting and holding each other. The warm liquid is already leaking out of me.

Lucien pulls out, leaving the room. He comes back seconds later with a wet cloth, gently wiping sweat and mixed essence from my body. He delivers a sweet kiss as he puts some clean panties on me. Lucien goes back to the bathroom to clean himself off. I move under the covers, already feeling exhausted from tonight.

Lucien comes back, wearing his briefs and snuggling up to me under the covers. "No matter what, I will love you forever. You are mine, and I am yours. You are the only woman for me."

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

Text

Broken Eyes

Summary: After the shock of Sky turning on her, Bloom loses her way through the maze and runs into the guards coming for her head. Icy interferes and saves her life just for a piece of Bloom’s vision of the world.

I don’t typically use present tense but I felt it fit here. Let me know how it worked out!

Broken.

The morphix barrier between Bloom and Sky may have withstood his attack but Bloom’s heart wasn’t that lucky. Of course not. Valtor is meticulous in his planning and cutthroat in his nature. A perfect reflection of her. Something so fragile didn’t stand a chance.

It is broken like the blue leaking out of Bloom’s eyes as she runs through the maze blindly. She takes a wrong turn leading her farther away from her friends and then another one putting her on the path of danger. She is losing herself in the pain numbing any sense or intuition–a creature of passion, Valtor said and set out to prove it as if she needs more of Bloom’s flames burning her gaze–to collide headfirst with the guards crawling all over the place in search for her. She’ll never find her way out.

She’ll never find her way out.

The thought bleeds in her magic, stabbing her to break her body into pieces, easier to transport in front of Bloom. On the line of fire. It isn’t the first time she puts herself there. Fire has never been a match for her ice. Then Bloom challenged her – a burning heart amidst the dark sky.

The guards drop dead from a single ice needle in the heart each.

Her nails spill Coven blood digging crescents into her palms.

Another breath of pain scorches through her as she prepares to join the bodies she’s just left behind, turning to look at Bloom.

Her eyes are broken stained glass. Still rich in emotion as it drains out of them in floods that can drown her own flames and Icy, too, if she doesn’t freeze them.

Her fists are frozen at her sides as the blue shards pierce through her with insistent shock. Bloom’s gaze never tears away from her. She has no eyes for the dead guards. Only for her. For her own safety. For the breath she didn’t lose.

“You saved my life.” A screech comes out as the cogs desperately turn inside Bloom to grind the ice covering them to dust and shake it off.

Broken. Broken. Broken.

She is broken.

Sky shot an arrow at her.

Icy protected her.

She helped the moron cause more damage. He shattered Bloom’s heart into pieces still dripping from her eyes and she destroyed her world. She pulled the ground from underneath Bloom’s feet and turned her existence upside down. For all the doubts Bloom has suffered in her relationship with Sky, she has never once had to question Icy’s hatred. She saved her life and shattered the frame Bloom knew how to fit into.

“Aren’t you going to deny it?” Projecting. Bloom’s eyes are all over Icy looking for a place to exist in her frame now, for a way to make sense of the situation, for a feeling she can fit inside the remnants of her heart.

“Don’t be stupid.” It is impossible to deny an objective fact.

Icy has done the impossible before. She stole the Dragon Fire. She escaped from Omega freeing Valtor alongside herself and her sisters. She found the one way to destroy the princess the ruins of whose kingdom are far more tailored to Icy’s tastes.

Maybe it is time to stop breaking through the restrictions of reality. Her next move can snap Bloom in half.

“Right.” Bloom finally peers at the dead men lying harmlessly behind Icy’s back where her heels can crush the pulpy mess left of their hearts. Yet, Icy’s heart is the one wailing now in the heavy silence while Bloom’s eyes crush it like two petals plowing through ice. “You want to kill me yourself.”

“Do you ever listen to what I say?” If Bloom isn’t asking, she’ll have to be the one to throw a question mark she can grab on to out there.

Bloom’s eyes widen in tact with her chest expanding to shelter the breath Icy has allowed her to take. She’s heard her.

“I’m...” Her voice dies when she finds no words to continue the thought. Just the smothering freedom of endless possibilities. When you’re nothing, you can be everything.

Icy doesn’t have that option anymore. “You’re still in danger.”

She is a fool in love. She will pay with her life – one way or another. She will pay for helping Valtor break Bloom. She will pay for breaking her silence the moment Sky was out of the picture even though it will not last.

None of it will last. Bloom will put herself back together. Valtor will disappoint Icy. And Sky will be back with a new frame for their picture perfect delusion.

The only thing that might last is the crack in Bloom’s eyes. Her gaze is sharp now even through the blur of tears drying like stains on her vision. The blue is gaining in intensity like her soul is flaming again. And there’s a crack in the glass wall between them. Icy is not just a villain to her anymore, an enemy. And Sky is not there to keep her looking at the montage of the happy moments they’ve had that he’s playing on repeat to give her deceptive stability.

There is a crack in Bloom’s eyes, a piece missing from her stained glass that Icy took and stuck in her own heart so that Bloom could see her through the hole in her perfect world even as she turns and runs away from her without a single word.

For that Icy will spill all her blood. It is hers to give. It might even have the strength to break through the spell Bloom has caught herself into.

A spellbound fool. She has been ever since she first touched magic while Icy was on the other end of the universe busy breaking her own heart.

#winx club #winx icy #winx bloom #bloom x icy #blicy #winx sky #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #200fc

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call-signvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Ignite the Spark pt. 1

So I quit my shitty job today. Yay me! With the extra time I had today, I got a chance to finish the first chapter of a Poe Dameron series I’ve been working on. Let me know what you guys think!

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Summary: After years of undercover work for the Resistance, the daughter of Luke Skywalker has returned. Arriving on Ajan Kloss to a warm greeting from General Leia Organa, the Reader is given a gift and has their first meeting with everyone’s favorite pilot.

Pairings: Poe Dameron x Skywalker!Reader

Tags: talks of the Force, a few flashbacks, Poe being embarrassed lol

Word Count: around 3k

When your transport landed on Ajan Kloss, you weren’t sure you would be cut out for this. You’d spend so much time on backwater planets, filtering information to the resistance and doing your best to go unnoticed. You were so used to not interacting with anyone that the thought of being around so many people on a bustling base was a bit scary. All feelings of reservation were swept away, however, when the door of the transport opened to reveal the face of an older woman. Her hair was different since the last time you had seen her. Her face was aged from the many years of fighting the good fight for the rebellion. Her eyes, however, had not changed a day. They gleamed and twinkled in the dying twilight. Her smile made them sparkle even brighter as she reached out toward you.

“Aunt Leia,” you stepped off the transport and into her open arms. “It’s been too long.”

“Yes, it has. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have kept you away.” She smiled lovingly, taking your face in both hands.

“I brought the data you asked for. I’ve got it all here.” You said, pulling a flash drive from your jacket pocket.

“That’s wonderful, Stardust.” You beamed with pride at the mention of your childhood nickname. “Lt. Connix, will you please take this data to the command center. Start running a detail immediately.”

“Yes, General.” Lt. Connix took the flash drive and was gone before you could blink.

“Beaux, see to it that Lt. Skywalker’s bags are placed in her quarters, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Beaux gave you a quick wave before stepping onto the transport and out of sight.

“Now, Y/N, I want to give you a quick tour before you settle in. I’m sure you’re exhausted but I want you to be as familiar as possible with everything on this base. This is your home now. No more field missions, I need you with me.” Leia smiled again, taking your arm and leading you toward the left wing of the base and toward the living quarters.

Home. Leia was the only thing you had left. Wherever she was, that’s where your home would be.

After showing you where your quarters would be located as well as the mess hall, med bay, and a quick tour of the Command Center, you were ready to get settled in for the night.

“Well, Y/N, if you need anything tonight, my quarters are right down the hall. You should have a data pad on your desk all charged and ready to go. It’ll have your clearance codes as well as any information you’ll need to know while on base. I’ll need you with me in the morning to debrief that data. It should be downloaded and ready so make sure to give it a look over before the morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You said, smiling softly at the older woman.

“Goodnight, Stardust.” Leia gave a quick wave before walking out the door.

Turning on your heal, you took a quick second to familiarize yourself with your new home. Being the niece of the general had its perks. Your quarters were small, yes but they were cozy. A small bookshelf and dresser were along the wall to your left, a double bed and desk and chair to your right. The data pad Leia had mentioned was right where she said it would be, all charged and ready to go from the looks of it. Straight ahead was your own private refresher. After unpacking your duffle of clothes, along with your rucksack containing a few personal mementos, you decided to take a quick shower before bed. You could wake up early and review that data for Leia. It wasn’t like you hadn’t spent the last 5 years gathering every piece of intel you could on the First Order.

Grabbing a fresh pair of underwear, a grey tank and a pair of sleep shorts from your dresser, you stepped into the refresher. Ten minutes later you were scrubbed clean and feeling surprisingly relaxed. It was amazing what a proper shower could do. Opening the door and stepping into your room, you turned to hang your towel on the desk chair when you spotted something you hadn't noticed earlier. On the desk were two boxes accompanied by an envelope. Scrawled across the front in a familiar script was the word “Stardust”. Opening the envelope, you began to read:

Y/N,

For far too long I have kept you in the dark and for that I will always be in your debt. Please accept these as tokens of my sincerest apologies. I hope at least one of these will help light your way. I understand if you’re conflicted but I have hope that one day you will be able to continue your training. Your fathers only wish in life was to see you follow his footsteps. Maybe we can fix that now.

All My Love,

Leia

Setting the letter to the side, you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. Picking up the smaller of the two boxes, you opened it to reveal a small jewelry box. Lifting the lid, you gasped allowed. Nestled on a small black pillow was a beautifully woven silver chain. Placed ever so delicately in the middle of the pillow was a pendant. Pulling the chain from the box, you let it dangle in front of you in the soft light.

You never thought you would see this necklace again. Your father had given it to you when you left the Jedi temple to be with your aunt Leia all those years ago. When the temple fell and Kylo Ren rose to power, your necklace went missing in the night. That was almost 8 years ago now. Yet, here it was right in your hands like it was never gone. You ran the compass shaped pendant through your fingers, letting the wave of sadness and nostalgia run over you. On one side, a golden crescent moon surrounded by three silver stars embellished the surface. Turning it over, there was an engraving: Stardust.

You gingerly pulled the chain around your neck and adjusted it to size. That’s why you had always loved this necklace.

“It will grow with you, Stardust.”

Sniffling, you took a look at the other package. Thinking back to the note, you already knew what it was. How Leia had found it, you would never know but would be forever grateful. This box was longer, over a foot in length. The box was made of a soft wood that smelled faintly of burned embers. It had no exterior markings and no obvious way of exposing its contents. Slowly, you lowered the box to the floor. Taking a seat in front of it, closed your eyes. Reaching out with your mind, you felt it: The Force.

“The Force is all around you, Y/N. Reach out with your feelings and let it flow through you.”

“Okay, dad.”

“Ahem.”

“I mean: Yes, Master.”

The box gave no notice it had even opened. If some random onlooker happened to be watching, they would be none the wiser. You knew, however, the moment it happened. Lifting the lid, your breath caught in your throat. The inside of the box was lined with a soft, deep blue velvet pillow the color of the night sky. On top of the pillow, an emblem was stitched into the fabric. A shooting star wrapped in what looked like wings. Atop this pillow was a smooth cylindrical object, covered in beautiful ancient markings. It had a slightly curved handle for better grip for your smaller hands. You always favored nature and practicality over dominance and your build had reflected that.

“You must gather your crystals quickly, younglings. The cave is only open for so long. We don’t want any of you getting stuck in here.” You could hear his soft chuckle even now.

Picking up the silver object, you ignited the switch. Your room began to buzz with the soft whir of noise from the object in your hand. Ethereal, green light radiated from the source. You disengaged the ignitor, taking the smooth metal in both hands. How could it have survived? You looked everywhere after the temple was burned and never found it. Had Leia had it all this time and was just waiting for the right time to return it? Who had taken your lightsaber?

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of frantic beeping coming from the hallway. Quickly, you slid the blade back into the box. Tucking it away under your bunk, you scrambled to the door and hit the lock. The door opened with a soft shlick and you stepped into the hallway. Another round of agitated beeps could be heard coming down the hall followed by what sounded like combat boots. Coming around the corner was a small round droid, a BB Unit by the looks of him.

“BeeBee-Ate, I’m sorry! Buddy, our room’s not even this way, where are you going?” a male voice called after the little droid.

“What do you mean you're telling Leia?! It’s the middle of the night, pal. She’s most likely asleep.”

Leaning against the door to your quarters, you began to understand the little guy. He was angry because someone named Poe left him alone with the ship. AGAIN. And got captured and made him worry. AGAIN. You gave a slight chuckle as the little guy rolled by, angry beeps the whole way. Punching your code back into your door panel, you were just about to step back in when a voice called out to you. Stepping back into the hallway, you were greeted by a Resistance pilot. He was still wearing his bright orange flight suit. His thick, curly hair stuck up in odd directions from his helmet. He gave you a soft smile and waved.

“I’m sorry for all the noise, it's been a weird day.” The pilot smiled at you apologetically. “I hope my friend didn’t wake you.”

“No, I was awake.” You smiled back, taking a step out of your room and into the hallway. “Just checking to make sure everything was alright. The General, however, won't be too happy about being disturbed.” You nodded toward the little droid, now rolling his body into your aunts' door at full force.

“Gods, BB-Ate! It’s not that serious! I -” the pilots voice stopped in his throat as the shlick of the door BB-8 was throwing himself into slid open. The little droid went flying full force into the now open quarters of General Organa. You heard a loud clang followed by a series of confused beeps and whistles from the little droid.

“Dameron, you nerf herder! Get your droid out of my room right now or so help me not even the Force will be able to save you!” the General stepped out of her quarters and into the hallway, glairing toward the man to your right. You had to cover your face to hide the smile that was creeping onto it.

“General, I am so sorry.” a deep blush began to creep up the man's neck and onto his face. “I tried to get him to calm down but he just wouldn’t! He insisted - “

“I don’t care, Dameron. Get him out of here NOW. You’re obviously alright so whatever it is can wait until morning.” Leia said, placing one hand on her hip. You hadn’t seen Leia this irritated since you were a child. You were glad that look was fixed on someone else for once.

“Yes, ma’am.” The pilot said, lowering his eyes. “C’mon BB-8. It’s time for bed.” The little droid gave what you interpreted to be a light grumble but complied, rolling out to meet his master. Turning on his heal, the pilot gave you a light nod and started off in the direction he came from.

“Y/N! Ben! Get in here.”

“I told you not to take her lightsaber!” You whispered to your cousin, jabbing him in the ribs.

“She’s my mom. I can take whatever I want from her.” Ben smirked at you and you rolled your eyes.

“Whatever, Bantha-breath! I’m gonna tell her you said that!” You skipped off toward your aunt's voice, Ben chasing close behind you.

“Y/N, you okay?” A hand touched your arm, bringing you back to reality.

“Yeah, Aunt Leia, sorry. I think I’m just tired.” You yawned, covering your mouth lightly. “Hey, who was that guy?”

“Oh, that’s Poe. Poe Dameron. He’s a pilot, leader of Black Squadron.” Leia said, exasperation in her voice.

“Like, THE Poe Dameron? Wow.” You laughed lightly, shaking your head.

“He’s a good guy, just has his head in his cockpit most of the time instead of down on solid ground.” Leia said, shaking her head with a smile.

“No, it’s not that. I just thought he’d be taller.” You both smiled, enjoying the joke between the two of you.

“Well, between you and me, he really is the best pilot I’ve ever seen.” your aunt gave you a little wink before turning to go back into her own room.

“Even better than...” but you stopped yourself, letting the thought trail on.

“Almost. Maybe.” you could hear the smile in her answer as the door to her room shut behind her.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x skywalker #star wars #reader insert #star wars fanfiction #fanfic

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sadaakirah · 3 years

Text

Swelter : Rumour Has It

"I'll hold you to your promise, Mikasa."

Finally wrote Part 3. Thank you for reading parts 1 and 2 💗 I am terrible at summaries.

Part I / II / III

Levi wears something akin to worry on his visage when he takes in the indentations of the battle-hardened leather gear on her muscled arms slowly disappearing under white fabric.

Mikasa turns around to see her half-dressed Captain get up from the chair where she had been draped over not too long ago.

The large windows behind him usher in a cool breeze and show the crescent moon against a darkening sky.

He comes to a halt several steps before her with lighted lamp in hand; the fire flickers wildly against the cool breeze and the orange lights dance against his unreadable face.

Her calloused fingers graze over the worrisome folds between Levi's eyebrows, ironing them down into a peaceful expression placed on top of a strikingly more youthful man.

"I'll be handing this over to Armin first thing in the morning, and I'll take the day off to check out the property," her gaze points to the piece of paper on his desk. "But I trust your choice nonetheless, Captain."

"Your decision on the matter is still important."

He leaves out to me but she catches it nonetheless and offers up a genuine smile in response. A myriad of visions of home surface into her mind.

"Tell me about the house again, Captain," she asks, bending down to slip a boot on slowly.

"Two storeys, two bedrooms in the top floor, large arched windows" Levi states concisely - she thinks of a home bestowed with her embroidery, her mother's and her grandmother's -"a garden in the back and a large tree overlooking a small lake. Right, that sounds perfect," she adds, stretching her toes out in her well-worn boots.

Levi hums his approval, low in his throat.

Blue specks in his gunmetal eyes measure this Mikasa before him - bathed in an afterglow, the embers of light reflected on the sheen of her forehead, with her loosened tongue, loosened limbs.

"Enough space for the beginnings of a humble tea shop downstairs, and there's a tea plantation nearby."

Just like the plans he had told her about 5 months ago, when they found each other awake after the nightmares failed to let sleep take them, right after she had divulged wanting to settle down far from the walls, with a small cottage and a flower garden and an aging tree to look over her aging self and her house.

It became difficult for Levi to reconcile the image of the better half of Humanity's Strongest leading a simple, predictable life, alone and with all the time in her world to ponder about the blood on her hands as her mind flips through well-archived nightmare fodder.

So instead of telling her that he cares too deeply to let her be miserable, one night under a full moon they had discussed the post-military benefits that would go into purchasing property, the climate perfect for growing tea and flora and everything under the sun except how much they would miss each other's ever-constant presence, the knowing lone figure knocking on the door at night that would keep the nightmares at bay after waking up, the cup of black tea that would appear at Levi's desk when he needed it the most, the clothes torn from training cadets that would end up magically sewn the next day when Mikasa had forgotten to take care of them.

Ever the pragmatic duo they finally settled on pooling their post-military funds together to look for a place of residence that would suit their shared needs.

"And if you do want to take responsibility, you'd be working for free for me in that teashop."

Despite herself, she looks at him, with apparent surprise that he had still been mulling over that word in his mind.

She wonders if he would name the shop Ackerman Tea and chuckles at the afterthought.

Too late in the effort of sobering herself from the afterglow, the words leave her mouth without being put through a filter first.

Her next words aren't loud, but they are true.

"I promise to take responsibility, Captain. For all my insubordination, the times you had to drag my stubborn ass away from danger, for all the times I injured you." She gathers her raven locks away from the back of her neck, where the strands clung uncomfortably, and into a small bun. "But working in your sweatshop without pay was not what I had in mind."

She pushes his soft hair back and places a tender kiss to his forehead- her lips cool againt his heated skin.

Levi's heart constricts momentarily - would he dare even think about it, the home and the peace she was offering him now?

He takes the letter into his hands again, and presses his lips together with the frustration he refuses to exhibit.

"You say that like you're the poster child of obedience now", he deadpans, instead.

This time, she tosses him an unimpressed glare, something she had picked up from years of training and learning under him.

"Could we hold a house-warming party?"

Levi shifts his gaze down to take a cursory glance at the paper, goes through the motions of reading, while Mikasa starts buttoning his shirt.

...15th Commander, Survey Corps, Armin Arlert

Levi grunts.

"I'd be more than delighted to celebrate the last day I ever have to see those brats."

She had never heard that term being uttered so affectionately by him before.

This letter is intended to serve as my official resignation...

"We can hold it under that tree. I could wear that blue dress Historia gave me."

Mikasa runs her hands over his buttoned shirt, smoothening away any creases from their bout of passion earlier today.

...two weeks from the aforementioned date...

Levi's eyes scan the slanted inked letters, till they begin to lose focus halfway down the crinkled paper.

based on my spotless record...receive an honorable discharge...

He hums his consent, but it's not a blue dress he sees.

He sees Mikasa clad in white and lace, the lights and the leaves playing with shadows across the angles of her face, while he reaches up to tuck in a lock behind her ear.

"Expect nothing less than the sharpest suit on me," Levi adds with mirth.

Mikasa thinks of her Captain, who took hold of her bloody, shaken frame, pulling her back to this world following Eren's inevitable demise, in the days when Armin and her had refused to look at one other; could not look at one another, knowing what they had done to their own family.

Mikasa thinks of the same strong arms, swaying her to the soft tunes at Armin's wedding, his muscles cascading under one of his impeccable dark suits.

She doesn't let herself think of worn-out memories spent on the coast during the war. She thinks of Levi's strong arms and Armin's softened smile and finds her own happiness in between. Those were happier days, and Levi had been there to see them with her too.

..been an honour and pride working alongside my brave comrades and superiors...

"We'll invite our closest friends and comrades."

Levi wonders if he could dance with her again, if she would let him.

He still recalls the coolness of her cheek against the crook of his neck, the gentle smile on her lips that day, as they danced with sand between their toes.

Would she wear that smile for him?

Would their comrades cheer and cause a ruckus like they had at Armin's wedding?

"Don't forget the wine."

Levi thinks of Erwin and the bottles of fine wine he had bequeathed upon him, aging away in the cellar.

Levi thinks of leaving two chairs empty - one at the head of the table and another at his left.

Mikasa's warm hand is on his hips now, as she gingerly pulls his belt through the loops, an act so affectionate, it should not have been.

He thinks of that same warm hand again, intertwined in his own, at his right side. She had always been his right hand.

He painfully wonders how many seats she would leave empty at the table if the thought had ever occurred to her, but decides to not dwell on that.

...Sincerely, Lieutenant Mikasa Ackerman.

In its stead, he thinks of a companionable silence between the two of them, one they had shared many years ago when she stopped trying to actively spite him. Mikasa humming a tune and working on her embroidery; Levi sewing the last cravat she ever ripped.

"Thank you for everything, Levi." Mikasa looks at him, setting the buckle in place.

Levi tilts his head. He's studying the number of her lashes, the seconds spanning between each blink, the quiver of her lip as she starts and stops to say something else.

The manner in which he studies her is so methodical she almost steps away.

He doesn't realize he's tracing heiroglyphs into her inner wrists until she shivers under his ministrations. It pulls Levi back to the moment.

For the first time, he decides to voice his thoughts honestly. When he speaks, he looks straight at her.

"I'll hold you to your promise, Mikasa."

Her breath hitches. Levi doesn't need to clarify which promise.

In response, she kisses him, gingerly at first, her lips molding onto his smile.

This kiss is different than before- it is softer, it is Mikasa hesitant but daring to ask for more.

Levi pulls her closer to him and pushes her against the desk this time, deepening the kiss.

Each of his touches is too deliberate, too sure and Mikasa feels her body aflame again. The kiss is now bruising.

Mikasa aligns herself to him. Her deft fingers start undoing the task they had been preoccupied with moments back. The buckle clatters and comes unfastened.

They make love slowly, cautiously.

After that they fuck at a pace so wanton, it is the second time that day that Levi screams her name without restraint.

Approved and signed...Captain Levi Ackerman.

The next morning the new cadets are unable to come to terms with Mikasa's sudden resignation notice, when they find themselves at the mercy of a balding subsitute, instead of their Lieutenant.

The next morning, Mikasa is surprised to find Levi taking the day off too. He says it is to show her around the property, to make sure she doesn't get lost as if she's some newborn babe.

But in all honestly, he wants to burn the image of Mikasa and him swaying across wooden floors, their only audience being the sunlight filtering in from the large, arched windows.

When they get back later that night, it is Armin who takes it upon himself to call Mikasa and Levi into his office, and tell them of the unsubstantiated rumours that have been making rounds among the cadets concerning Mikasa's pending resignation.

"Apparently you and the Captain fought - nothing new here - except the events concerning the incidence this time are alarming."

The Commander's grave gaze flickers from the duo in front of him, both wearing mirroring quizzical expressions of their own.

"Mikasa, some terrified cadets say they saw you throw Levi over his own desk! And Levi, another one swore she heard you screaming at Mikasa from outside your office. Is there something I should know?"

"Nosy, shitty brats", Levi mumbles under his breath.

"Pardon, Captain?"

"Nothing of that sort...happened. Unsubstantiated rumours from cadets in heat-stroke." Mikasa squeaks in, her face slightly reddening. Armin chalks that up to the summer heat.

"Alright then, I'll take your word for it."

Armin clears some documents away from his desk, and places Mikasa's resignation letter in front of the pair.

"Mikasa, you still need to submit an address before you are eligible to apply for the post-military funds."

Mikasa fishes a piece of paper containing the details of her, their, new residence, and hands it to the Commander.

Armin studies the address in his hand carefully. He looks up at her, with his features softened by a genuine smile.

"See you in Chlorba next week, Mikasa", She returns his gesture before shuffling out of his office.

"And your new address, Captain?"

Levi stalls for a second then taps his index finger twice against the paper Mikasa had left.

"Well, guess you're not carpooling with the rest of us next week, Captain".

Levi decides that leaving now would keep matters simple, and he closes the door to surface into the corridor, where he unsurprisingly finds Mikasa waiting for him.

Armin chuckles to himself slightly, happy that his best friend is in safe hands, happy that his Captain no longer keeps his own happiness at an arm's length away.

"Ah, rumours indeed."

----

Thank you so much for reading my first Rivamika fic. Your comments made my heart very happy. 💕

When and if I improve at writing, I plan on revisiting this and editing this fic a bit more.

Sure hope the Ackerman duo keep experimenting with their new dynamic from the last chapter 💦

#rivamika #mikasa ackerman #levi ackerman #rivamika fic

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mandadoration · 4 years

Text

before the winter

summary: anon asked: I am LITERALLY BEGGING on my KNEES for a sliver of Din (from that black and white drawing) with a breeding kink. He looks like he fucks wild, like supet dominant, almost primal, but extremely caring. Mando is definitely territorial over his girl. Bitch looks like he invented the breeding kink... I unfortunately cannot help that I am a whore for that man - Fool + anon asked: Could we maybe get some breeding kink din? Claiming his girl in the ultimate way, making her take his seed and punishing her if any falls out. He wants to breed her, wants to fuck himself and his seed so deep she will always be his, telling her dirty things while he does it, how she'll always be his, how she is going to take his cum like a good girl and not waste a single drop

word count: 1, 6222

pairing: clan leader!mandalorian x reader

warnings: smut, breeding kink, mild bondage

a/n: so the context behind the drawing by @magichandthing is “what if clan leaders dressed like this” and so uh

I’ve taken some liberties with thinking about if this were the case (i.e. clan leaders =/= covert leaders, but still in high standing? maybe some sort of council?) I’ve also amended the Ways of the Mandalore and Mandalorian culture to try and explain his dress.

Also kind of expanded on this post?

Read this on AO3

In the turbulent times of today, trying to make sure the Ways of the Mandalore didn’t die out were crucial. Mandalorians were an endangered way of life already, and the current political climate wasn’t the best environment for expanding. Secrecy and discipline were enforced. Mandalorian coverts were hidden with high security and discretion. All members of the covert had to be on the same page at all times to reduce risk. After all, the best way to stop something was to stop it from happening in the first place. All of these preventative measures, but time marches on without a care. A new generation had to be brought up.

Foundlings were to be revered, but there always seemed to be an undercurrent of tragedy underneath all that. A foundling wasn’t taken in by a clan unless they were all alone, and as death tolls rose, more and more were orphans. There seemed to be an increase of that, it seems. Young children left alone in the cruel world forever torn apart by war. As Imperials do anything and everything to scrabble for power, numbers were growing seemingly by the day as more and more children were taken under wing. They were cared for, and even loved, for a found family was just as important as beskar.

But a child born into a clan was something to be celebrated.

“Mando--”

Which is why your whimpering voice and the wet sounds of your bodies meeting were echoing around the empty chamber as Mando takes you from behind.

As a result of circumstance, the Way has amended itself a little, and life became different compared to what it was in the past. It still retained the heart and soul of Mandalore, staying true to the real meaning of what it means to be a Mandalorian, but times have forced change, especially concerning clans. For example, within their home turf, clan leaders forwent the usual pomp of beskar. Of course, anywhere else, and they would proudly show off shining armor and the best gear. The show of bare skin was a testament that they have earned their title through blood and body, a way of showing their status. To have the grace to bare their skin, especially in these dangerous times, was an immense show of power.

For you, it just means less layers. Less layers meant Mando could sheathe himself into your warm heat faster. Less layers meant it’d be easier and more convienent to fuck a child into you.

You weren’t a Mandalorian. You weren’t a foundling and you didn’t swear the Creed, but you were unequivocally Mando’s, and you were his to take whenever he felt like it. It’s a high honor to catch the eye of a clan leader, especially one as selective as Mando, and you became a person of intrigue when it was revealed you weren’t bound by the Way. Despite the eyes that follow you and the ever-so fleeting touches from others in the covert, the marks that never failed to show on your throat far above what any collar could hide spoke more than words.

The last time someone put their hand on you, Mando had no hesitation on showing what happens when someone fucks with something that belonged to him.

Paz Vizla’s broken arm was a testament to that.

Mando puts a firm hand on your back and pushes you down, keeping you face down, ass up as his hips snap forward against yours. Each thrust makes you scoot forward the slightest, and punched out moans seem to be the only sound you can make beyond the occasional garbled sound of his name. His grip is bruising on your hips, and he pulls you back to meet him halfway in an effort to increase his pace. Mando’s breathing is labored, a soft groan going through his vocoder every now and then, but he’s rather impassive considered how brutally he was fucking you.

Mando’s beads and necklaces have long since been discarded, and his pants are only shoved down far enough to reveal his cock. You wish he could pull you flush against his chest, but the horns soldered onto his helmet prevents you from getting too close. You don’t mind, and you mind even less in those rare moments you’re on top, holding on to those horns for stability as you fuck yourself on him. But Mando had descended upon you far too quickly and without any preamble that you had no time to even ask him what was going on. Clothes were taken off, and if too much of a hassle, ripped off, his belt secured around your wrists and shoved to the cold floor of his room. Your hands are bound in front of you with it, the Mudhorn buckle, the symbol of his clan, glinting in the low light of the room. He at least had the sense to lay his cloak underneath you, and the fur trim gave your hands something to grasp at.

You only feel the slightest bit of guilt when your tears soak the fine fabric.

Mando moves his hold on your waist to your arms, yanking you back as your back arches and lets Mando somehow sink deeper into you. The moan you let out is filthy, and you think through the haze that you’re being a little too loud, and others were sure to hear. So you bite your lip, teeth tugging on the soft skin as you try to stifle the sounds, only for you to yelp when Mando slaps your ass before he goes back to hold onto your arms.

“Let me hear you, sweet girl,” he breathes. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”

Your shoulders are straining at the joints from the angle you’re held up in, but you’re so close that you ignore it in favor of increasing your moans tenfold as per his request. In turn, a deep, guttural growl emanates from Mando, making you clench around him.

“Fuck,” he snarls. “My sweet girl, so- so tight, so willing, and all mine.” He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust that makes you shake. Mando slips out of you, chuckling under his breath at the needy whine you give, and flips you over so that you’re on your back. One grabs your bound wrists and pins them above your head, and the other comes down to lead himself back into your blushed hole, the sweet drag of his cock curling your toes and making you see stars. As you stare up at his helmet with glazed-over eyes, you can see how truly debauched you look in the reflection. Hair mussed, face flushed, eyes shining with unshed tears, seemingly frozen in a permanent state of euphoria. That’s what Mando saw when he looked at you.

You wish you could kiss him.

And that’s another thought that’s fucked out of you as Mando resumes his previous pace. Harsh, unforgiving, and with a clear purpose in mind.

He leans in as close as he can. “Are you going to cum with me?” Mando croons. You nod frantically, half delirious from the rising rush of your orgasm, and give a moan of appreciation when Mando dips his hand down to rub at your clit, matching it in time with each thrust. “Where do you want me cum?�� he asks, and it’s a misleading question because you know all he wants to hear is you beg for it. “In your mouth? On your face? Wherever you want, sweet girl, I will do it.” Mando’s voice is so tender and soft, borderline condescending compared to how ruined you feel. He’s close, you can tell, the strong, corded muscles under his skin jumping and straining to maintain an even pace, and he gets awfully wordy when he’s about to cum.

“In me!” you gasp out, clenching and unclenching your hands, nails digging into your soft palms. You strain against your bonds, wanting so badly to bring him close, to touch him. “Please, fuck, Mando, cum in me!”

“Anything for you,” he grunts, “Anything for my sweet girl,” and with one final swipe at your clit with the rough pad of his gloved thumb, you’re cumming, mouth open in a soundless scream as your eyes roll back into your skull. Mando buries himself to the hilt, moaning through the voice modulator as he releases inside of you, and from how much he absolutely fills you, his hot cum has nowhere to go but out, leaking over his cock and smearing over your thighs. His cloak is definitely stained from that.

As you start to come out of your haze, whimpering one last time with a hoarse voice as he slips out, the ridge of your entrance catching on his head, you’re glad that your hands are bound because you’re sure you would’ve torn up Mando’s back with your nails. You run your fingers over the crescent marks dug into your palm.

Maybe he’s into that. You’ll have to ask some other time.

Your heart rate picks up again when Mando makes a displeased sound, almost disappointed, running a finger over your abused entrance. “That won’t do,” he sighs, and he scoops some of his leaking cum to shove it back inside your hole, not caring when you jolt and sigh with each insistent press of his fingers.

You give him a breathless, “What?” and Mando just hooks his arms under your legs to bring him flush against his hips again.

“I said, ‘That won’t do’,” he repeats, slower this time, and your face reddens again when you feel his softened cock twitch against the cleft of your ass. “Because you’re a messy girl, and I’m aiming for a child before winter comes.”

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore @lavenderl3mons @jokersdoll @creamysacrilege @blondecity

Pedro Tag: @mrsparknuts

#mandalorian reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin reader #din djarin x reader #my writing #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian #mandalorian imagine #smut #magichandthing #every day we stray further from gods light and i am the shepherd leading you all away #clan leader mando #clan leader au

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plush-rabbit · 4 years

Text

Can I Ask You Something?

| Part 14 |

You close your laptop with a sigh and crawl out of bed to put it away. You raise your arms over head and arch your back, letting out a soft moan when your back lets out a pop. You sigh and shake your hands. “I should shut it down properly next time,” you mumble to yourself, eyes growing misty when a yawn that you can no longer suppress breaks free from you.

You lie in bed, covered under blankets and your phone pulled close as you scroll through your social media, smiling softly and hearting pictures. When another yawn moves past your lips, you slide your phone onto the nightstand and pull the blankets closer under your chin, finally allowing your body to rest.

You’re pulled out of your sleep with a hand clamped over your shoulder, shaking you out of your slumber accompanied by a raspy voice telling you to wake up. Your mind still foggy with sleep, you raise a hand and weakly wave off the sudden motions, mumbling incoherent words that are laced heavy with sleep. The shaking stops and the hand is removed, and you melt back into bed a small grin on your face and then your eyes shoot open. You scramble to turn on the lamp and wince when the glow from it makes your eyes sting.

Your bleary vision lands on a dark figure and you open your mouth to scream when a hand clasps over your mouth. You let out a muffled cry when your head collides with the headboard, tears springing to your eyes and a dull pain filling your already cloudy mind. You kick your legs out and they are entangled in the blanket, your chest is rising and falling heavily, a surge of panic and fear coursing through your veins. Your arms go stiff at your sides, your nails digging into your thighs and you’re shaking.

“Fucking- Just relax. It’s me. It’s me,” a raspy voice calls out to you, the hand clamped around your mouth loosening.

You blink back your tears and one slides down your face and disappears into the hand. Your eyes flicker around your room until they hand on the assailant. “Tomura?” Your voice is muffled and slowly the hand leaves your mouth.

He stands in front of you. His hair has grown longer and it’s a snowy white. He has faded marks around his neck and when you glance down, all air escapes your lungs when they land on his left hand- he wears a metal brace and you can only see two fingers peek out of it. When you look back, he has bags under his eyes but he stands tall. He stands dignified and his gaze meets yours and unlike you, he doesn’t look away.

“Why—”

“Just shut up and let me think.” His eyes finally turn away from you and land on your dresser, eyes narrowed and glaring at the bottle of cream that stands there. The hand at his side curls in and out of a fist and he lets out a harsh breath. His eyes come back and you stiffen under his gaze, your nails marking your skin with crescent shaped reminders. He stares at you for what feels like eternity, his eyes burning with an intense flame in them and his foot is tapping on your floor at a rapid pace. Abruptly, he turns around and buries his face in his hands. He’s agitated and cursing under his breath.

You glance to the side and you’re dumbfounded. It’s a strange thing to watch where he’s unnerved even if he did break in and shake you awake. It makes you forget that he’s a villain. Right now, with sleep slowly fading from your mind and body, it feels as if he just woke up from a nightmare during a sleepover. Your shoulders slump and you let out a quiet breath.

“Do you want a glass of water?” You whisper, glancing at the door and your hands unfurling from your sides.

His body stiffens and you nervously swallow. He turns around slowly and you recoil involuntarily when his eyes meets yours. “I’m getting on the bed.” You don’t have a chance to respond- not that you would have anyways- when he crawls into bed, sitting down on the space next to you.

Both of you sit in silence. You grow agitated and your eyes slowly begin to droop close with your head nodding off. Sleep is powerful thing- it erases time in the blink of an eyes, it sends anxiety to the back of the mind- it wins over you when you have panic coursing through your veins and pumping your heart at an erratic pace. He doesn’t move an inch. He sits upright when his back against his bedframe and hands in lap. He’s quiet and you want to call out to him. You want to hug him. You want to scream and pound at his chest. You want to curl into him and pretend that he’s still Tomura and you want to sleep. You want him to touch you. You missed him. And now here he is, less than a foot away from you in your bed and all you can do it sit idly, forcing yourself to stay awake as adrenaline begins to pump itself into your body.

You sit with your back against the bedframe, the pain in your head dulling by the second and the blankets are crumpled at your feet. You slowly reach over to grab them, feeling his eyes on you and when you bring them back, you turn around and hold them close to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly, it pounds in your chest, shaking your ribcage and you think you’re close to seeing it pop of out your chest and stain you in scarlet. Your legs still shake and you clamp a hand down at them in a weak attempt to stop them.

“When did you figure it out?” His voice cuts through the silence and your hand curls deeper in the blanket.

“A bit before you came over the second time,” you reply after a moment. “Remember when I started talking about that friend? When I cried in front of you and gave you a gift?” You voice cracks and you stop talking.

“You haven’t told anybody?”

“Who could I ever tell?” Your laugh is bitter. “We knew each other for a while after that. It would have made me like an accomplice or something.” You think you’re going to die here. You wish you would have at least been asleep for it.

“You’re lying,” he accuses you.

“Tom—”

“You could have gone to the authorities and told them I was blackmailing you. There were a lot of things you could have done where you came out as the victim who was manipulated by me.” You can feel his eyes bore holes in the side of your head. “So, I’ll ask again- why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. Your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton and your desperate to reach over and grab the water bottle that stands idly on your nightstand but you’re afraid to make any sudden movement. “I think… You let me know your name. You let me see your face.” You take in a deep breath and exhale it for just as long. “I don’t think I could handle it if I betrayed you like that.”

“Look at me,” he tells you and you know better than to disobey him.

You turn slowly to meet him, your bottom lip sucked between your teeth slowly rolls out and your eyes won’t meet his.

“I told you to look at me.” His voice is gentle; and it sounds more of a request than a command.

“I can’t,” you whisper, closing your eyes and bowing your head.

You hear him mutter a curse under his breath. “How?” When you don’t answer, he presses. “How did you find out?”

“Do you remember that attack that happened near the park? The one that I fell at?”

“Where the people tripped you?”

You nod slowly. “Bingo,” your hands clench the blanket tighter. “Well it was the day after that. I uh, I don’t know why but I- I felt compelled to learn more about it and well the news links lead me to you.” You open your eyes and slowly raise your head. He meets your eyes and your breath catches at your throat. “Well then I forgot about it when you called,” you smile softly, “and then I remembered your face and I thought and I tried making excuses for it but-” your eyes shine with unshed tears and a shaky breath makes your chest shudder. “Your picture popped up on one of the news sites. It was a bit blurry but-” your voice cracks and you stare at your lap- “I thought that couldn’t be you. You were nice and had nice eyes and you had a nice smile,” a tear slips, “but it was you.” You chew on your bottom lip, dragging your teeth across the soft skin. “I didn’t like that it was you.”

It all happens abruptly and it shouldn’t surprise you but you still stiffen under his touch and stop breathing when his hand grips your face tightly. His face is close yours and you can feel his breath that fans across your lips. “I could kill you,” he whispers but the threat doesn’t match his soft tone.

Crimson eyes flicker to your lap when your hand slowly unfurls from the twisted blanket, the soft turquoise lands softly still bundle close together. You hand is shaky as it moves towards his face. Your heart skips a beat when you grasp his face in a reflection of what he’s doing to you. Where his hands are dry and calloused, yours are soft and delicate; they’re featherlike on his skin. It’s easy to break out of your grip, but he doesn’t. He allows himself to feel your touch. You’re shaking and tears slip out, but you still sit by him, you still look at him with sorrowful expression. You still touch him.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I guess you could kill me.” Your forefinger strokes the corner of his lips before coming to a still when his canine gleams in the yellow lighting.

“What will you do if I do kill you?”

“I think I’ll cry,” you whisper, your eye breaking away from his when your thumb strokes at his bottom lip and traces over his scar. “What will you do?” Your hand slides down and ghosts over his neck, you see his Adam’s apple bob and you tut. Your fingers are delicate over his healing and healed scars. “What will you do?” Your hand leaves his neck and he can’t breathe. “Will you cry? Will you destroy everything I own?” When he doesn’t answer you press on. “If you do, can you at least leave a note saying I ran away? I don’t want my family and friends to worry.”

His hand tentatively leaves your face; his fingertips stroke your skin with soft touches full of desire and reluctance. Under your chin, they mold into a fist and he presses the flat under his thigh. He looks away from you, his eyes focused on the wall in front of him. “I hate you,” he says softly, his voice full of emotion that makes it crack and sound broken whispered in the middle of the night.

The lump in your throat won’t go down, and you let out a shaky breath, nodding your head softly with eyes full of pained tears. “Yeah,” you lick your lips, “I like you too.” Your hands slide odd your lap and rest in the space between the two of you. His arm twitches in response and you lower your head, closing your eyes so the tears don’t escape. You take a deep breath and force yourself to look at him, your bottom lip quivering as the words leave your mouth. “How did you realize it? It took me a bit and then when I did it- I didn’t take it well.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

He frowns. “Why didn’t you take it well?”

“Because at the end of the day you’re Shigaraki and I’m a civilian who’s too scared to do most things.” You feel your chest grow tighter. “And you? How did you take it?”

“Tried to deny it,” his voice is light and genuine.

“Makes sense,” you say in a weak voice. “It’s an unlikely relationship, isn’t it?” You joke, your smile not reaching your eyes.

You watch as he moves to sit beside you, his legs crossed and you follow suit. You can’t look into his eyes, always stopping at the tip of his nose looking away from him. He was a text message, a disembodied voice, a person in front of you, a friend who held your neck in his grasp, and now he sits in front of you and tells you that he likes you while sitting on your bed as if he didn’t just break in. You missed him. You tried to forget him- his memory only bringing misery to you. Yet here he is in front of you, sitting cross legged and waiting for you to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know what to think,” you whisper, looking down at your hands, playing with the drawstring from your shorts. “I’m happy but,” you trail off, not finishing your sentence and when you meet his eyes, he nods dolefully.

He’s in front of you and you sit there. You raise your hand and your fingers jump when they touch his face. He’s tense for a moment before he relaxes into you and you move your hand, sliding it down to his neck and underneath, you can feel his steady pulse and your chest tightens. Your hand returns to cusp his face, your thumb tracing his cheekbones and fingers stroking at his jawline. Your fingers glide over his skin and your eyebrows knit together when you see a scar. Your fingertips run over a blemish and the bumps and ridges and they solidify who he is- they make him real.

“You have so many scars,” you mumble, your eyes beginning to gloss over, a wistful smile tugging on the corner of your lips.

“I can never give you a normal life—” his lips part and he tilts his head, pressing further into your palm and letting his eyes flutter to a close— “not until I do what I have to do.”

Your eyes are heavy and sting with tears, with a shaky breath you begin to speak, “I know that you can’t,” your voice cracks and he opens his eyes, “but I still like you- a lot. And, I don’t want you to go again.” Your voice is soft and in the comfort of your room, in the middle of the little life that you’ve made for yourself while a man with scars littering his body nestled into your palm, it makes it all that much more intimate. “I can hold you. You don’t have to give up your dreams.” There’s a pause and you ran you hand back to his throat. His pulse is rapid beneath your fingertips. “I trust you.”

You sniff and wipe your eyes. “I uh,” you clear your throat. “What’s on your hand? Did you break it?”

His eyes widen a fraction. “You didn’t see the news?”

“Just enough to get the gist. I uh, heard there were causalities. Did you have something to do with it?” He nods and you turn your head. “Yeah,” you chuckle humorlessly, “I thought you did.” You turn back to face him. “So what happened?”

“My hand got crushed.” He says it so nonchalantly that it takes you a second to process the true meaning behind his words. He clears his throat. “Just three fingers. The other two are fine but I have to wear the brace for the time being.” When you don’t respond, he looks through the corner of his eyes and frowns when you stare intently at the brace that covers his hand.

He holds his hand out to you and the brace is just a brace, but to you, it’s painful to even look at. You take a shuddering breath and start to cry.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispers, slowly curling in the two fingers that he has left, ready to pull away. “I have control of it.”

“You’re-” your voice breaks- “you’re missing fingers,” you say miserably, your words interrupted by hiccups. Your bottom lip wobbles and your shoulders shake softly as you cry, your body hunched in on itself with your hands bunching the blanket underneath.

He’s silent for a beat. “Yeah, it happens.” He clears his throat and sits up straighter. “The other guy looks worse. I promise,” he tries to make light of it, one corner of his lips tilting upwards but falling as you continue to sob.

He jumps when your own hands clutch his, your skin digging painfully into the brace but you don’t let go and he makes no motion to tell you. You lower your head, shamefully, tears still slipping down and catching in his hand. “You’re hurt,” you whisper, your voice catching. You sit in front of him on your knees, holding tightly onto his hand as you cry in front of him.

“I was hurt. Not anymore.” The words are meant to be comforting, but they have the opposite effect- you cry harder, biting down on your lip to muffle your pained whimpers. “Stop crying.” His own voice breaks. Even after so long, he still cares deeply about you.

“I can’t stop,” your words slur together pathetically. “I can’t.” He watches you with hurt eyes, his hands perfectly still, not daring to move even when your tears pool into his palm. He doesn’t know how to comfort you. You’re crying because of him, he’s the one injured and you’re on your knees sobbing, holding onto his broken hand like it’s the only thing that’s keeping you grounded. And he realizes with a wince that it is- time went fast for him, all of it a blur, a blink of an eye and suddenly everything was where it should be and he lost a few things on the way, but every war carries its casualties. But you weren’t involved in the war. You sat at home and kept him company. And now you sit in front of him, the red blanket that he loved is crumpled and meshed with the lighter turquoise one- you’ve lived your life without him and so has he. “You got hurt. You lost-” you hiccup- “you lost part of your hand,” you curl in on yourself still holding onto him.

You hold onto him as if he’s you’re lifeline. Your tears flood and you weep into his open palm. Whatever rationality that you held, any fear or anxiety, is gone and it’s replaced by sorrow and helplessness. You’re quite literally putty in his hands, you missed him. His sits in front of you but he isn’t the Tomura you once knew- he’s different now. His hair is longer and it is now a snow white color, he has scars that mar his skin, a brace holds his hand together. He stands taller and his eyes hold pain behind them and all you can do is cry and cling onto him like a child.

“I missed you.” He holds his breath as he waits for your reply, watching your shoulders come to a still and your eyes slowly meet his. They’re bloodshot and tears stain your cheeks. Your bottom lip is red and swollen. “Did you?”

You nod slowly. “I missed you too.”

He pulls his hand away from your tight grip and your fingers stretch and reach out to his retreating hand. He holds his palms open in front of him and when he turns to you, and his arms are spread open. He calls your name and looks into your eyes. A wave of confusion is washed over your face before you take in a deep breath and throw yourself on him, burying your face in his neck, nuzzling into old scars and whispering incomprehensible words to his ear. You give out quiet sobs, your hands clutching the back of his coat and you feel safe. You push yourself closer into him, letting your eyes flutter to a close while you hold onto him.

He holds you tightly and he’s thankful you’ve hidden yourself from him. His eyes widen and lips are pulled into a tight line. His eyes glass over and his fingers thread through your hair. His hand slides through your hair and his fingers trail down your spine and with a nervous breath, he slips his hand under your shirt and gasps when you tighten your grip on him. You don’t erode under his touch. You stay as you are, buried into his neck and whole.

Your sobs soon turn into whimpers which quiet into deep breaths where you can feel your eyelids droop, tears still catching and dripping and marking his skin. Your grip on him softens and you think you can asleep in his arms with his fingertips rubbing shapes into your skin. Your hands slide down his back and you pull away from him, turning your face and covering it with a hand. You sniff and shiver when his hands slide out from under your shirt and ghost over your sides. You open your nightstand drawer and grab a travel pack of tissues that you keep stuffed away for emergencies and shakily open the packet. You shakily pull out a few and hand them to Tomura where he takes them without resistance.

Tears stain the once pristine white tissues and you hold them gently in your hand. You swing your legs over the bed and count the stripes on your socks. When another pair join you, you look at him and lean your head on his shoulder, choosing not to comment on how tightly he grips the tissues in hand and the wetness that still dots the corner of his eyes. The bed whines as you both get off, the used tissues getting tossed into the bin in the corner of your room. You look up at him and when the lump in your throat begins to take form once again, he sighs and runs a hand down his hair, looking to the side and squeezing his eyes shut. You get off of the bed and he follows in suit, the bed groaning under the shift in weight and you toss the used tissues into your trashcan. He pulls you into a hug and you bury your face into his chest, leaning your weight on him, you’re soothed by his heartbeat.

“I missed you Tomura.” You close what little space is between the two of you with a small step. “I missed you so much.”

He holds you tight in his arms, a soft curve in his back as he buries his face in your neck, eyelashes fluttering softly across your skin, his nose pressing into your skin and inhaling your scent. His lips are chapped and broken, pressed against your soft skin which beats under him. His breath is warm and his lips glide across your skin as he breathes and lets the silent words etch themselves upon your skin. His hands rest on your back and slide down, smoothing every wrinkle that marked your shirt. His hands glide across your back and slip underneath your shirt, where you only melt further into him, a low hum vibrating in your throat and tickling his nose. His hands are calloused and feather light on your sides, dancing above and pressing down to leave imprints of him on you. He folds into you, burying himself and greedily taking your warmth and love. Tomura stands tall, but bows to you.

His hair pools around him in a silvery halo, an arm under you and a hand latched onto your shoulder. You rest on your side, head nestled above his shoulder and your eyes trace the fading scars that paint his skin. You have an arm thrown across his stomach, his shirt riding up and exposing skin where the pad of your fingers tickles his skin. An arm is bent into your chest and you hold the hand with the brace, his remaining fingers hooking around yours firmly.

“Hey,” he whispers, fingers tapping your shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?” He rolls his shoulder where you lay and you rest your chin on him to look him in the eyes.

“Of course, Tomura,” you smile softly, inching closer to him. The hand tracing on his stomach comes to a stop and you tug the blanket further up his chest.

Red eyes flicker down to your lips and he swallows. “Can I kiss you?” Both hands curl tighter on your skin. His chest stops rising and he goes still beneath you, holding your gaze. He clears his throat and his eyes flicker to the left. “I—”

You capture him in a kiss. It’s a quick peck, a soft brushing of your lips against his, and with a shuddering breath against his lips you deepen the kiss, pressing yourself deeper to him and a low whine sounds in the back of his throat. It’s a slow and unsure kiss, where teeth clash and your breath hitches with hands and limbs shift and nudge into each other while trying to find their place.

Your chest rises and falls and you look at him. His eyes are wide and lips are parted and he runs his tongue across his lips. You feel his trembling breath fan across your lips and there’s a moment of stillness where you two stare at each other, eyes soft and face slightly flushed only to be broken when his arm snakes and presses down your back, pushing you against him. Your hands cradle his face and his own hold onto your back, fingers curving over your shoulder and the other resting on your side.

He’s covetous, pressing you deeper against him, hands running under your shirt and fingers hooking under the collar, gasping, broken breaths whispered against your mouth. It’s rushed and makes it feel as if you’re being consumed by the sun. He takes your breath away, greedily taking you all for himself, a smile playing on his lips when you mewl, holding tighter onto his face. You grow flush and the blanket above warms you to his core and you slide a hand away from his face and rest it on his neck, curving your palm around his heart beats erratically you chuckle breathlessly. You pull away, a grumble of protest spoken softly only to be quieted by another peck.

His hands are cold, cooling your body as they stay in place and hold you; his smile is warm and gentle, shining at you like the sun on a summer’s eve. You kiss down his neck, humming in response when he chuckles softly, arms wrapping around you and holding you in place.

You’re ceiling is dark, illuminated only by glow-in-the-dark stars that glow a pale yellow that’s already began to dim. His hand plays with your hair, holding it above and wrapping it around his digits and letting it slip out only to repeat the process.

“I don’t want you to go,” you speak softly, lips brushing against his neck and smiling softly when he jerks in response.

“I have to,” he replies, voice tight and matching your own softness.

“What happens now?” You curl your leg around his and let your hands trace the edge of his brace, run over his fingers and commit the feeling to memory.

“I spend the night,” his fingers curl over yours and the one wrapped around you, digs into your skin.

“But you’ll leave,” emphasizing the last word in a strained whisper, holding tighter onto him, as if that would prevent him from leaving.

“In the morning-” he sighs, twirling your hair in his hand- “before you even wake up.” Your hair spills out of his grasp and his hand returns to you, ghosting over your skin.

“I don’t want you to go,” you murmur.

“I’ll come back.” You feel his lips press against the crown of your head and the pull away slowly.

“When?”

“When I’ve won.” He makes it sound so easy, a promise that won’t be broken, and he whispers it, letting it fill the silence.

“Tomura,” you whine, pulling away from his neck and looking at him through glassy vision, brows furrowed and you pout at him.

He shakes his head and looks away- a faint dust of pink appears on his face. “Or whenever. It won’t be as often. I have things to do.” His hands hold you tighter.

“But we’ll stay together?”

He looks at you. “Of course.” He nods his head and kisses the corner of your mouth. His lips are salty and wet when he pulls away. “Of course.”

“No more getting hurt.” He nods. “And you can’t die on me.” He doesn’t nod. “Tomura, you can’t die.”

He presses his lips against yours. They’re wet and salty and you gasp with his touch but you kiss him back just the same, your hands tugging his hair and going down to grip onto his shoulders, your nails digging into the thin fabric of his shirt. His hands lower onto your hips, pulling you closer to him.

“I’m not going to,” he whispers against your lips, taking in a breath before he presses himself against you.

“You promise?”

He holds up his pinky. “I pinky promise.”

Your shoulders slump and you give him a soft smile. You push his pinky back, folding it back into his palm and you bring his hand up to your lips and place a feathery kiss on the knuckle of it. “Come back to me soon, okay?”

He nods solemnly, letting his knuckle linger on your lips. “I will.”

“You’ll win?”

“Do you want me to?” His brow bones raise at his lips are parted as he asks, a wariness on his voice as if your permission was all that he needed.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. He pulls away his hand but you keep a lock on it, sliding it down to the space above your heart. “I- I don’t like all the killing or the destruction and while heroes aren’t all that great either,” your breaths are shaky and you have to hold tighter onto his hand to calm yourself, “I don’t like the death that’s going to come.”

“I can’t change that.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“When I win,” he inches closer to you and welcome it, “I’ll bring you with me.” Tears sting at his eyes, and he turns his face to bury himself into you, tears slipping slowly down his features and staining the pillowcase.

You smile sadly at him, a lump in your throat appearing and making your words sound broken. “You’ve gone soft Tomura.” You wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“It won’t be easy-” his chest shudders as the words leave his mouth- “being with me.”

“Of course it won’t be,” you reply, holding his hand in yours and running the pad of your finger down his brace, “but, you’ll be there.” You turn your head and press a kiss against his collar bone. “It’ll be worth it if it’s with you.

“I’ll be there and you’ll be here,” he replies. “You make it worth it.”

“And you aren’t dying.” He nods. “If- If I hear that you died, I won’t forgive you,” your voice cracks and he nuzzles deeper into you. “I mean it, Tomura. I’ll be angry and I won’t forgive you.”

“I won’t die.” He pauses. “I’ll be gone for long intervals of time.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know.” He pulls you closer. “I have a lot more things to do now, so I’ll be busy whether I like it or not.” He kisses your temple. “But I’ll be back before your know it,” he whispers to you. You nod. “You can come with me.”

“I can’t.” A tear slips and you turn to bury your face into his chest. His heart beats fast under you and his grip around you tightens for a moment before loosening. “I’m not cut out for the life you live.”

He heaves a sigh and stays silent, hands holding you tighter, his fingertips lightly scratching at your skin. You both are silent, your words hanging overhead and as much as you would try to deny it, as much as he would try to convince you to go with him, to take his hand and runaway, it would fall on deaf ears. He knows you tell the truth. He was raised for this life, wanted to be a hero and ended up murdering his family, you grew with a family and craved friendship. And for now, while he still hasn’t achieved his goal, he can accept your hesitance, he won’t hold it against you, won’t manipulate you, he’ll hurt, he’ll cry when you’ve gone to sleep, but he’ll accept you. You’ve accepted him, flaws and all; he can do the same for you. He’s always going to return your love.

He nods and runs his hand over your arm, lulling you to sleep, letting his eyes flood with tears and seep out. He lets his eyes close with you in his arms, his breath slowing and deepening, mumbling a good night to you where you respond with sleep laced in your voice, slurring your words together and he purses his lips when he feels your lips press at his collarbone and drag down his skin.

The blinds are left open and bright sunlight enters the room and pulls you out of your slumber. You moan in your sleep and your hands curls around the empty space. Your eyes shoot open and you rise with palms pressing down on the mattress. True to his word, Tomura isn’t next to you. His space is cold and it feels a bit harder to breathe. You grab the pillow he laid on and hold it tight in your arms, nose buried deep into the pillow and unshed tears sting your eyes.

You hold the pillow tight, never letting go, tears that wash down your face, dot at the pillow and there’s an aching feeling in your chest, one that is only healed when you remember his touch on you, how he kissed you and gripped tightly at your skin. You smile softly through the tears and wipe them with the back of your hand, holding your hand against your chest.

You grab your phone and curse yourself, forgetting to ask for his number or any other means of communication. You sniffle and hold the phone tight in your hands. You’re exhausted, your body still heavy with sleep. You’re revived, smiling at the thought of him, the blanket still faint with his scent and you let it rest on your bed in a pile. Your walk to the kitchen is slow, touching the walls, making sure that everything is still real, that you aren’t alone and that last night, was reality, that you can still feel the brace under your fingertips, you can still remember the cool touch of his skin, the warmth of his smile and how he took your breath away with his kiss. It was real. And he’ll be back.

You enter the kitchen and lean against the counter, eyes still blurry with sleep and you run a hand through your hair, when your phone vibrates in your hand. You try to keep the hope in your chest snuffed, not daring to cry so soon after you’ve just seen him. The message makes your lips curve into a grin and you giggle, pressing the phone against your chest.

Unknown:

[The offer still stands if you want to come with]

[This is Tomura btw]

You read his words over and over, smiling wide that it hurts your cheeks and filling your chest with happiness and a light feeling that makes it feel as if you’re going to float away. You phone buzzes again and a new message fills the screen that makes you giggle and bounce in your step.

[Love you]

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#can i ask you something #ciays

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