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iiraven · 3 years

Text

Odyssey

Pairing: Poseidon!Armin x Reader

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: slow-burn, minor character death, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, Yandere behaviour, puppy play, piss play, body worship, throne sex, implied age-gap, oral(male receiving), hair pulling, collaring (without consent)

Word count: 9.8K

Synopsis: Armin’s quest for revenge leads him to you, daughter of a merchant and object of his infatuation.

Author’s note: thank you @bubbleteaimagines for hosting this collab and allowing me to join <3 Also, thank you @onyxoverride for teaching me how to write about pee!

Attack on Titan Masterlist

Present day:

If the river could speak, you wonder what it would say.

In the silence that surrounds the rushing of the water, you’re sure you would hear it. Sometimes, you’re sure you can hear it, but then you remember the dangers of trusting unfamiliar voices. Especially unfamiliar voices in a place like this.

No one goes near the river Shiganshina. And you forget the reasons why much too often.

It’s rocky, slippery, there’s no path to walk on, and the nymphs grow sharp teeth when men approach them, hissing and eyes glowing red. But that’s what makes it perfect for you.

Sasha first mentioned the river months ago, recalling the places on the island that her and her father avoided whenever they went hunting. You hadn’t paid much attention to it until days later, when Connie recounted with round eyes how Floch’s body was found beside the river Shiganshina, mouth full of water and eyes gouged out. You knew you needed to go there yourself.

A pearl necklace is what you stole. And under the guise of going to wash clothes at the well, you made your way south of your small island with only Sasha’s vague instructions and your intuition guiding you.

You could hear the ocean as you walked through the untouched woods, your heart hammering in your chest every time the waves crashed against the island’s cliffs. You weren’t allowed to see the ocean- you weren’t allowed to be around any large body of water, for that matter- but you still knew your island well enough to know that a step in the wrong place could lead you tumbling down the cliff.

You would die before you got to feel the water on your skin and that, you thought, would be the most tragic part.

As your feet began to sink into the muddy ground, you could smell the salty water, and a slight metallic scent behind it that only drew you in closer until you reached a clearing. It was small, crowded with foliage with only a few dead plants on the ground where you could only assume people had attempted to step foot.

And there was the river. It was small, its water emerging from underground before the tide pushed it to the edge of the island- to a waterfall. So loud that it could drown out any noise, any screams. You shivered. For a moment, you just stood back and watched. The water was was green, but so clear that you could still see the fish swimming beside the floating objects. Coins, silver, small statues, and whatever else hopefuls had tried to offer. You pulled out your own offering and whispered a short prayer before throwing the necklace in.

It could have been your imagination, but the water calmed. It was quieter. And, like that, you felt as if the river had opened up its arms to you. Strong arms that you have to be cautious not to spend too long within lest you get trapped.

Thankfully, you’ve learned to read the signs. You know when the river wants you to leave, when it wants you to keep your distance, when it wants to keep you close, and even when it wants you to bathe. Those are the special moments. It’s rare the river is calm enough for you to dip your naked body into, but surrounded by the cool water, you feel like you could stay their forever.

If the river could speak now, however, you’re sure it would tell you to fuck off.

Either that or it would tell you to come back when you have something more to offer its god than a single golden bead from your grandmother’s necklace. Only three are left on the thin string, though you think you might keep the last one to honour her death. After that, you’ll have to go back to offering coins and whatever other trinkets that will keep the god of this river sedated long enough for you to dip your feet into the cool water, maybe take a sip, and then return home before your father realises where you’ve been, much less where you’ve been unchaperoned.

The latter is hardly your fault. Sasha and Connie are too scared to step foot in the Shiganshina forest, let alone the river itself. And you can’t trust anyone else to accompany you, especially the servants whose tongue could slip at the drop of a golden coin. Your father would never forgive you for spending time in the territory of the God of the Ocean or- as he liked to call Armin- the destroyer of seas. And thus, being left alone seems to be the only way.

Well, that’s unless Mr Arlert decides to join you.

The owner of the stable who appeared on the island out of nowhere is the last person anyone would expect to be brave enough to spend time at the river Shiganshina. He mostly keeps to himself, only ever seen tending to his horses or immersed in scrolls of literature and poetry. And yet, he’s here almost as often as you are, almost as vulnerable as you are.

Despite his solitary nature, Mr Arlert has been quick to make himself adored. Mothers swoon over his charm, scholars constantly indulge in his curiosity, and sailors are fascinated by his knowledge of the world and its oceans. He’s no warrior, and already in his late twenties, but he’s still without a doubt one of the most eligible bachelors on Paradis. And, yet, to any marriage proposal sent his way, he declines with a polite “A husband is not what I am fated to become”. Even Annie Leonhardt- whose father Mr Arlert would constantly visit- had her heart broken. But no one blames Mr Arlert, of course, who was there to comfort Annie, to make her realise that she just needs to be a better person, that’s all. It’s not his fault her heart broke, Mr Arlert reassured.

Thinking about it now, you’re amongst the handful of women who haven’t been offered to the tall blond. And with that comes a sigh of relief as you drag your fingers through the water.

It’s not like you dislike him- the opposite, actually- but being with Mr Arlert is like taking the hand of an invisible man in the dark and letting him guide you.

His words constantly have your thoughts spiralling in directions that they shouldn’t be. Thoughts about leaving the island, thoughts about going to the ocean, thoughts about becoming a priestess. Thoughts you aren’t allowed to have.

You fate is bound to the home you were born in, a thick rope tied to your ankle, only letting you go as far as this very river. And Mr Arlert sits beside that rope, a knife in his hand, blue eyes staring into your soul, waiting. You’re not sure what he’s waiting for. But what you’re sure of is that to be taken away from the life you know of is an inconceivable fantasy. The unknown is a dangerous thing, after all.

The small island of Paradis may lie far away from the rest of the world, but their core values remain the same. A woman must grow up to either serve her father or her husband. Your fate has already been decided for you. And, frankly, if it means not having to share a bed with an old man who marries you for your dowry, you’re very happy with taking care of your father until the day that he’ll be put into the ground.

But then there’s always the third option. A woman who serves neither her father nor her husband will serve her god.

You had never been given that option by your god-hating kin. Simply suggesting a future as priestess would earn you at least five lashes, so why… why can’t you stop thinking about it? Your instincts have you blame Mr Arlert, but you know that your fixation began before he arrived on the island; all he’s done is vocalise your thoughts.

As a gust of wind blows the leaves and the salt from the sea gently caresses your cheek, you wonder who your god would be. Do you resonate with Pieck’s beauty, or Zeke’s creativity? Maybe. But as you look into your reflection, you know that your god is no other than Armin, the god of the ocean. The fates must think this is hilarious, but you just want to scream.

“It’s getting late. I wouldn’t want your father worrying about you.”

You jump at the sudden voice, turning around at the familiar face, leaning against a tree with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Mr Arlert.”

His footsteps are so gentle, as are his apologies.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve come to invade your space, after all.”

“It’s not my space, it’s Armin’s. The god is only letting me stay here.”

He smiles a knowing smile, one that you would usually find patronising on any other man. But Armin is charming, too charming for you ever to think that of him. “I suppose you’re right.”

He comes to sit down beside you, taking his usual place at your right- the voice of reason. It’s quiet for a moment, before you remember.

“Lemnos,” you say.

The blond smiles. “I’m not named after a place.”

And you roll your eyes, as you’ve done every time he’s given you a useless hint. “That hardly narrows it down.”

“Well, I can’t make it too easy of a game.”

“You can’t make it impossible either!”

“It seems like I already have.” And you’re not sure if you want to wipe the smirk off his face or just stare at it.

“What about Tree?”

Arlert laughs. “No, but you have one guess left.”

“What?!” You sit up straight, eyes wide. Now you really want to wipe the smirk off his face.

“You have seven guesses, and in the eleven months we’ve known each other, you’ve used up six.” His explanation is calm and rational enough for you to almost convince yourself that the rule has been there from the start.

“Wait- wait. I never knew about this!”

“I thought everyone did. It’s traditional wager rules.” Mr Arlert’s tone is sorry, but you know he’s everything but. So, you cross your arms and pout, hoping that staring him down might at least give you the smallest chance of winning your wager.

He leans forward, mirthful and you feel a shiver go down your spine. “What is it, little puppy, sulking because you’re afraid you can’t win?”

You flush at the implication of your loss- “No- no not at all- no”- before registering his actual words are and only then can you feel the heat rise and you’re sure it’s doing you no service. “I know I can win!”

“I know you can too,” he assures you.

You frown. “Are you being sarcastic?”

It’s his turn to flush. “No, not at all! You can win- the water god favours you, after all.”

And although you shrug, his words stick. They always do.

Before you go home, you pass by Armin’s temple and place at the foot of his statue the remainder of your grandmother’s necklace.

A year ago:

Amrin knew how fickle the gods were and he thought that this knowledge made him impervious to those feelings. He watched how Eren jumped from woman to woman daily, how Reiner picked and chose his battles without a care, how every single fixation a deity would have never lasted more than a year. He thought of how stupid it was to spend a life of immortality indulging in such temporary pleasures. And he looked down on his kin for that very reason.

It was only after one argument too many that Armin finally let it slip. The god of the sea was usually quiet, offering soft smiles, casual conversation, and minimal conflict. That was his only rule: keeps quiet before the gods of the pantheon as he takes his anger out on the humans below. But that day, he forgot about his rule.

Maybe it was the years of silence that caused the Eathshaker’s outburst, or maybe it was just Eren’s bored expression as he talked about his mistresses in front of Mikasa. Armin couldn’t take it. Gathered at a marble table beside all the Olympians, he scowled and told them how stupid they all were.

“Don’t you realise? You’re all wasting your immortality by being so idiotic, so fickle! Everything you touch becomes a temporary pleasure, ruined by your inability to act like real gods.”

He should have stopped; he really should have stopped. But the crack in the glass bridge had been there for years, and now the shards of glass were dropping down into the sea. “You might as well be human!”

The room went silent. Eyes went wide, and mouths gaped, but the gods opted for silence. Every deity wanted to speak up, maybe even draw their swords, but they were more intelligent than Armin was in that moment, which was more unusual than one might think. He had never snapped so violently before. Armin may have been aggressive, but he knew his place. Knew when to be docile. Now, he felt like he could crumble Olympus itself with his rage and bury the Olympians with their dead parents.

The king of the gods, however, leaned forward. His emerald eyes were unmoving, devoid of emotion though his lips tilted into a monstrous grin.

“You’re just as fickle as the rest of us, brother,” was all Eren said.

When Armin lunged at him, knocking the fine glass off the table, it was Mikasa who pinned him down. Arms locked behind his back, all Armin could do was watch as mirth flooded Eren’s face, and the god of the sky laughed. The bastard laughed and laughed and licked the small wound on his hand from a shard of glass. It healed immediately. Even their pain was temporary.

And like he had been doing for the past millennia, Armin found solice in his only rule: if he couldn’t take out his rage on his brother, Armin would take out his frustration elsewhere.

His first instinct was to find a woman, but the thought of seeking out temporary pleasure, from a mistress no less, reminded him too much of Eren. So, he descended to earth, trident in one hand as the other gripped the reigns of his horse and they rode for three days and three nights. That’s all it took for the god of the sea to find what he was looking for- someone deserving of his hatred.

There are many humans like the merchant. But most of their hatred is silent. And when it’s not, blasphemy often falls upon deaf ears. The merchant just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when his drunk rambles led him up on the deck screaming out Armin’s name like it was venom in his throat, until he could scream no more. He was drunk, but the merchant’s hatred for the god of the sea did not cease when he was sober.

And when Armin heard his name, the god wasted no time calling forth a storm to sink the merchant’s ship. He took care to ensure that the arrogant man watched each and every one of his men be swallowed whole, their bodies only resurfacing lifeless, before the storm calmed.

It took five days for the merchant to swim back to his island.

He never returned to the sea.

As the weeks passed, he relocated his home to help him stay away from any body of water and made sure that his family followed suit.

But Armin followed, and the merchant’s father died weeks later with saltwater water found in his lungs.

Unfortunately, that was not enough to sedate the god of the sea’s need for vengeance. Fortunately, it was not enough to sedate the merchant’s hatred either. The hubris didn’t leave him. Instead, it just grew and grew and grew until the merchant considered himself more of a god than Armin would ever be.

“Oh, oh.” Armin couldn’t help but smile as he watched the man urinate before his temple. “This is perfect, so perfect.”

Armin was going to show his uncaring brother how different he was from the rest of the miserable Olympians. As he stood above the island of Paradis, golden hair blowing in the ocean wind, the god vowed to begin his Odyssey. An eternal Odyssey. A journey that would last longer than the ten fleeting years he had with the Greek hero- a journey that would last longer than the universe itself.

And he knew exactly where to begin. A man’s most valuable possession: his child.

It was only after your grandfather’s death that Armin noticed you. When he first began watching the merchant’s household, under the guise of either a guest or a bird, he had been surprised to learn that the blasphemous man had no wife, nor children. Armin only realised his mistake one night, when you came to lay a blanket on the drunk man’s barely conscious body. The merchant had pulled you towards him, muttering apologies and you had wrinkled your nose before offering him a soft smile. “It’s okay, papa”.

A daughter sheltered from the world, it seemed.

The god had initially thought you were one of the servants. There were only two in the house, and your tasks were all similar. But as Armin began to watch you closer, he saw how you did have a life outside your home with friends, interests, men- a life your father was blissfully unaware of.

The merchant hardly left home- playing the part of the sick man- and you took care of him- playing the part of your dead mother- in a happy sort of agreement.

You didn’t speak about it to your friends, but you detested your doting role. Armin could tell. The way you wrinkled your nose every time your father walked through the door, the eye-roll when you were given a load of laundry. The god couldn’t help by laugh at how pathetic the merchant was that not even his only daughter- his lifeline- cared for him. The merchant didn’t know, of course. Your fake smiles and gentle hands were enough to deceive him, keep him sane. But Armin was going to break that pattern.

The merchant didn’t deserve the care of a woman. He didn’t deserve anything. So, Armin was going to take you away from him.

His initial plan was to kill you. Simple, efficient, quick. And then he thought of dumping your body somewhere far so that the search for you would break your father’s spirit even more. He hesitated, though, he wasn’t sure why, but he did. And then, you changed your routine.

After meeting up with the two individuals you called your friends at the Sunday market- instead of going back home- you carried on walking. Through the houses on the outskirts and into the dense trees, you almost stung your sandal-clad feet twice before reaching a river. The river had no god of itself, but you still threw in an offering and muttered. Stupid human. And then you sat beside the river and- nothing. Your routine was boring, obviously a ritual to let you escape from reality. Yet, he couldn’t tear away from you. The woman at the river Shiganshina was a different one than the woman who served her father. The one here relaxed her shoulders, cursed at the world around her, smiled- albeit randomly but it was real. He decided there that he would kill you tomorrow.

But when, the next day, you led him back to the river, Armin was lost in you again. Lost in your honestly, lost in your need to escape. He wanted to see more, he needed to see more. Metaphorically, of course. But when you began undressing, the pleated robes dropping to reveal soft skin and tender curves, the god of the sea realised that he wouldn’t mind literally seeing more of you. Armin had been with goddesses and nymphs and, hell, even Aphrodite herself, but never had he been this awestruck. He had to hold himself back. Even though the way you were bathing made it seem like you were worshipping him, water dripping from your body, wet hair hiding the swell of your breasts. Armin’s breath stuttered. He couldn’t reveal himself. He couldn’t.

So, he watched, and watched. Trying desperately to take in everything you were from a distance. Armin didn’t count the number of times he visited you before finally decided that killing you was no longer an option. He told himself that his change of mind was progressive. A practical choice to draw out his revenge into the most painful and convoluted Odyssey. To do that, he couldn’t kill you. No. He was going to take you for himself. Armin was going to turn the daughter of the merchant into a servant of the one God he detested.

Putting the thought into your mind was pathetically easy. As you walked past his temple on your way home, an echo of laughter emerged from the marble building. You paused for only a moment, but it was enough for Armin to catch the look in your eyes. It was one of longing, mixed with a curiosity that threatened to pull you in. But you seemed to catch yourself in the act and hastened yourself home.

And so, Armin’s true Odyssey began.

For his journey to progress, he had to meet you. Not as a bird or a horse or through glances as a guest. He had to meet you properly. This was the only way to draw you in, he told himself. The only way for you to submit completely and willingly.

Armin could have forced you too your knees, but he had to ensure that your father watched has his daughter chose Armin over him. And chose Armin you would. Every piece was in perfect place. The fates seemed to have woven a beautiful cloth of gold for the god of the sea.

What he failed to realise was that the cloth was in fact a snare- a trap which he will never be able to escape from.

Eleven months ago:

A short gust of wind had the pears in your thin basket tumbling down onto the rocky ground. You rushed after the fruit, crouching down to pick it up when a shadow appeared, and a hand reached out to pick it up for you. The sandal-clad feet were pale- paler than anyone living on this warm island and the robes a fine, ironed white. He somehow seemed to glow brighter than his clothes, and you purposefully let your fingers graze his as you picked up the fruit.

“Thank you,” you said, standing up.

You were hoping that he wouldn’t catch your staring. But even if he did, you couldn’t tear your eyes off him. He was lean, taller than you but not intimidatingly so and his eyes were like oceans that you found yourself staring into as he introduced himself as Mr Arlert. Just Mr Arlert. The new owner of the stables with a voice so soft, it took a moment before you remembered to introduce yourself.

“Y/N. And thank you, again.” It isn’t appropriate for an unmarried woman to be talking to a man on her own, but you couldn’t help but ask. “Do you have a first name Mr Arlert?”

His smile was contagious. “I do. But names are a powerful thing. I’m afraid I can’t give mine up freely.”

“Oh.” You scrunched your nose. “Can I pay for it then?”

You were dead serious, but the blond man laughed. How can someone look so pretty when they laugh? You wondered.

“I’m serious! I can pay you; name your price.”

Mr Arlert looked down at you, blue eyes twinkling. “I’ll think about it.”

“So, is that a no?”

“It’s a no, for now. One day I’ll tell you my name.”

He was sweet, so sweet, but you still gave him a sceptical frown, nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowing. Mr Arlert in turn gave you a sorry look before his eyes lit up and he pulled out from his brown satchel a small book of yellowed pages and a dusty blue cover, the gold embossing hardly visible. You nose only scrunched further.

“My name is in this story. It’s mentioned few times, but it’s an important one,” he said to you.

You took the book and flipped through the worn pages, immediately recognising the tale of Aphrodite and Ares. The lovers.

Why the challenge? You wanted to ask Mr Arlert but you knew the answer you your get would be too cryptic. Besides, you think, I like a challenge.

“How long do I have?” You asked instead.

“A year and a day.”

“And what will I get if I figure it out?”

At this, he pondered. But it seemed feigned, and you wondered, just for a split second, if the man had planned this from the beginning. But why? This was another one of your questions that went unanswered that day. Because before you could say anything more, Mr Arlert leaned forward and said, “Your reward will be divine”. And he walked away.

Nine months ago:

Life was well after Armin arrived. There was no other way to put it. Your father was confining himself to his room more often than before, and you were finding more opportunities to visit the river, leave the house and, eventually, you met the handsome baker’s son. Jean was kind, a gentleman, but not the arrogant type like most the men your age. You didn’t even feel too much guilt when you thought that spending a future with Jean- taking care of him and his home- wouldn’t be too bad. It’s quite pathetic that your life had been reduced to not being “too bad”, but the idea of marrying Jean sat on the comfortable line between reality and fantasy. Safety.

And then you were visited at the river.

Mr Arlert wasn’t even surprised to find you there, he had just smiled and sat beside you as you clenched your fists and forced yourself to smile back at him. You had always enjoyed him, his company, his challenges, but now it was like he was provoking you. The river Shiganshina was your river, your special place away from the hellscape that was the town. And now Mr Arlert had brought himself and his ordinary life into it.

You pulled your sandals back on, the crease in your brow evident. He clearly couldn’t get the hint. But before you could stand up, he spoke, and you paused.

“I wish I could jump in and swim away,” he said.

Curiosity got the best of you, as it often did with the man.

“The waterfall would kill you.”

The awkward laugh again. It had an effect on you so that your jaw couldn’t help but unclench. “If it means that I get to touch a waterfall, I wouldn’t mind, you know?”

You knew. You knew exactly what he meant. But you didn’t tell him.

“Didn’t take you as the suicidal type,” you said.

“I might get saved, who knows.”

“If you’re counting on me to jump after you, I’m letting you know I won’t.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I was thinking of more of a divine rescue.”

You finally looked at him, and- unsurprisingly- his blue eyes were glued to yours. What was surprising was his unwavering tone, his straight face. Mr Arlert was being serious. Why was he opening up to you this suddenly? So far, your interactions had consisted of him staring, you trying to guess his name, and him continuing to stare. In that order. You knew there was more to him, but it’s only now that you found yourself wanting to seek that out.

“You think Armin would save you?” You didn’t miss Arlert’s smile.

“I’m hoping I’ve gained his favour- done enough for him to allow me freedom via waterfall.”

It was your turn to smile. “You probably have, You’re at the temple often.”

“Thank you.” He blushed and you quickly pushed down the thought of how cute he looked. Sitting beside you, trousers rolled up and feet in the water, Mr Arlert looked more than cute. He looked like he belonged. You weren’t sure how that made you feel but, in that moment, you didn’t mind him entering your world.

“I think you would also be saved if you jumped into the waterfall,” Mr Arlert said.

You laughed. “Is that your way of saying I’m a nice person?”

“Something like that.” He paused. “I think Armin would appreciate your- uh- honesty. You’re like a priestess.” He laughs nervously at your expression. “You know, they have this personal affinity with the water and such.”

You knew exactly what he meant. How a stranger could read you so perfectly, you weren’t sure. But as you hid your smile between your hands, you wondered whether you were prepared to face the fear of the unknown. Maybe, with Mr Arlert, it would be a bit less unknown.

A few days later, Jean was announced missing. A search party was sent out and even Mr Arlert, on his recently acquired brown horse, couldn’t find him.

Present day:

Armin isn’t sure if he likes playing the part of the nice boy or not. Humans are simple creatures who praise him continuously and, without divine responsibilities, there is no need to take his rage out anywhere. But a god is who he is, and every day, he yearns to be seen as one. To be seen as one by you. He watches as you worship him, but you never look at him- not like you do the statues, or even the small river which you think is your only true connection to the god of the ocean.

You both want more, and you both know that, but you only ever admit it to each other when you sit beside that very river. There, in those moments, Armin feels a bit more like a god. Whenever he’s around you, he feels a bit more like a god.

He’s told you before, but your perfect honesty has made it easy for him to unravel around you. He wants to unravel around you in other ways, too, and he wants you to unravel around him. Armin can’t count the number of times he’s sat beside you at the riverside and wanted to do nothing more than to kiss those lips of yours, to press the hard cock that he hides inside of you and watch as your eyes roll back, and you call out his name.

But the God of the Sea is not Eren. Armin will earn you. And he’s very close to doing so. Not Mr Arlert. You have no interest in human men, that much is clear. You yearn for something more powerful. And you’re right. Only a god is worthy enough to stand beside you, lay between your legs, be in your arms. Mr Arlert is simply a means to push you to realising that the god in question is Armin.

In the meantime, he’s been nothing but patient.

It’s only when you come to his door one night, eyes puffy and red, that he lays his hands on you for the first time. He rubs your back as you cry and cry, fat tears refusing stop falling. You tell him about bout your father. About how, since he got better, he’s been refusing to let you out of the house, snapping at every moment and accusing you of being a filthy god-worshipper.

“He s-sai-d- he said we’re ‘gonna move away- said we’re gonna get as far away from the s-sea as possible.” You can hardly speak, though the tears have stopped, your voice still shakes violently. But Armin listens, he holds you close to him and repeats that everything is going to be fine.

You can’t stop thanking him as you leave, and he promises that his door is always open for you. “Whenever you call for me, I’m here,” Armin tells you. “Right beside you, always,” he adds as he watches you walk away.

He’s reached a new chapter of this Odyssey.

Present day:

You suppose your father’s death should have been expected. He was an old man, obviously depressed, and his only lifeline was his daughter who hated him.

You also suppose you should feel guilty. You don’t.

Familiar faces give their condolences and whisper questions of what is to happen to you now. You only pay heed to Sasha and Connie, though, who give you a soft hug before Sasha tells you that her family would be happy to take you in. You reassure her and everyone else that you have a plan, though your best friends are the only ones who seem to believe you.

“I heard Marie has a son who’s single, maybe they can-“

“You’re not actually talking about marriage here are you?”

“Well, the girl is all alone in the world, now! She needs a man to lead her on the right path.”

The old women are wrong, so very wrong. You don’t need a man. You’re fucking sick of men- sick of them all- everything they’ve created and everything they stand for.

What you need is a god.

The head priestess of Armin’s temple in unsurprised when you knock on her door with nothing but a bag and the clothes on your body. Those clothes are burned soon after, along with many of your other things, leaving your old life behind.

She tells you that you’re lucky there’s a place for you. The last priestess left running off with a man, “Which is a cardinal sin”, she makes sure to repeat every-so-often. The head priestess seems to hate men more than you do, sneering whenever Connie comes by.

Sasha and Connie are unsurprisingly shocked at your choice of work and even if they visit almost every day, they always tell you that they miss you. They think you’ve come the temple out of desperation- everyone does- and you let them believe. Because despite cleaning the marble floors or whatever other arduous duty you’ve been given, a smile is never far as you realise that you’re free from man. Indeed, explaining the truth to anyone would be far too difficult.

Well, except one person.

You’ve never missed anyone before. Not with your father keeping you so sheltered for most of your life. But as you push through the Head Priestess’ relentless schedule, you can’t help but miss Mr Arlert. He disappears after your father’s funeral, so you leave him a note at the empty stable with your final guess. You like to think he decided to follow his own path, you also like to think that he too wishes you were beside him, a guide in the unknown.

Present day:

The room is a box of marble, with a throne sat upon a dais at the centre and one fountain at every corner, each one sculped into a horse. The object of your interests, however, is the large bowl of water on the floor in front of the throne.

This is your initiation. You will emerge from this room not as an apprentice, but a Priestess.

You kneel down and lift the pot of clay to your lips. The head priestess kept on repeating how important it is to not put it down until you’re finished. So, you gulp the water down until you can see the image of Armin. You’re the one who selected the pot, with its faded paint depicting Armin and Hange’s fight for patronage of Sina. It’s a powerful image, but when you put the pot down, you come face to face with something very different. Armin is standing in a room-this room, you realise- and crouched down before him is a young woman, looking up in awe. It takes bit longer of a moment for you to realise that the woman is you.

Looking up slowly from the pot, the first thing you see is sandal-clad feet. Golden sandals, just as fine as the robes he wears, draped in perfect waves. The first word you think of to describe him is divine and it’s indeed accurate because-

“Mr Arlert.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

But you know that’s not correct. The man- no, not a man- before you is taller than Mr Arlert, by a foot and a half at least. His muscles are more prominent that the stable boy’s ever were, strong legs visible through the large slit between the layers of fabric draped over the god’s figure. Half of his shoulder-length hair is tied back using a golden pin whilst the rest frames his perfect, perfect face. You can’t help but think that Armin looks nothing like his statues- no medium of art could capture the ocean within his eyes, glowing in the dull light of the room. Then again, the stories didn’t capture the way the god acts either.

“Armin,” you say, this time your voice louder.

Now, you know.

His sad smile is familiar, but there’s something there that never was. “Oh dear,” he says. “I’m afraid you’ve lost out wager.”

Armin can’t help but compare you to a puppy, with large eyes staring up at him from your crouched position and an expression a perfect mix of excitement, curiosity, and shock.

You reach out a hand tentatively, but it hovers in the air between the two of you once you notice Armin’s raised brow. But he doesn’t rebuke you for it. After all, it’s only your first encounter with the god. He can’t expect you to behave perfectly, to adopt the right etiquette- no, he’ll have to train you first. Like he would a baby mutt. The thought makes him smile.

“I’ll accept any consequences, my god,” you say. Your voice sounds so sure of itself, so unlike your usual ramblings, those that Armin could and would listen to for hours. Right now, though, the certainty, it’s laced with desire that sends blood rushing south. You don’t notice. You’re too lost in his eyes to notice anything.

When he places his hand on your chin to hold it up, he can feel you shiver. “Such a perfect little worshipper,” he says. “I couldn’t possibly punish you.”

Armin can swear he sees disappointment in your eyes before he turns around and walks up the dais. The marble of the throne is cold beneath him, but the sight of you looking up at him with such longing is enough to warm him up. Now, Armin is sure you’ve noticed his growing erection because you crawl towards the dais, not yet climbing it, but close enough to see and lick your lips.

“Let me thank you at least, Armin.” He almost groans at the sound of his name. God, he wants to hear you say it over and over.

“Come here.”

And you climb up the dais only to pause before Armin leans forward and grabs your hips. Two lips, as if led by an invisible string, meet. You kiss like you’ve been waiting years for Armin and, in a way, you have. His tongue is inside your mouth quickly and he’s kissing, sucking, letting his teeth gently graze your lips as he revels in the feeling of you. As your bodies lean against each other, you can feel his heart hammering against your own. His chest is stone, but his lips are so soft and your hands find his golden hair. It’s also softer than it looks, and Armin can’t help but let out a moan as you gently tug.

When you pull back, his pupils are blown. “Thank me, then,” Armin says, breathless.

Sitting between his legs, your hand is tiny compared to his cock, and you can’t stop staring at it. Long and somewhat slender, but veiny with a flushed red top- he can see you gulp before you take an experimental lick at him. Armin’s hold on your hair only tightens and you look up at him, doe eyed and seemingly innocent.

“Put it in your mouth, pretty girl,” he says, guiding your head gently. “So obedient- Yes, exactly, just like-ah- just like that.”

But he doesn’t need to push down- no- he lets you set your own pace only because you do it so perfectly, almost as perfect as the wet noises you make. Armin doesn’t have time to be surprised, he’s just able to react fast enough to suppress his own moans so he can hear your wet tongue caress the base of his cock, as your lips create the perfect o-shape to accommodate him. Your drool is everywhere in a matter of seconds- his balls are coated with it, and so is your lap, where the spit seeps through the thin white fabric you call a robe.

“Like a puppy,” he murmurs. And you look up quizzically. “You’re drooling over me like a desperate puppy- a puppy in heat,” he grunts. “You just want to please me, don’t you? ‘S alright, puppy, I’ll let you do that.”

If you could nod your head, you would. Instead, your cheeks burn, and Armin is so lost in the way that you look- not even able to take his entire cock in his mouth- that his hips begin to buck unconsciously. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden impact, but he hisses and murmurs “What a good, wet hole. So good, good-”

The earthshaker is afraid that if he speaks any louder, his voice will slur into incomprehensible sultry sounds. But as you struggle to take his cock even deeper into his mouth, he lets out groans that go straight between your own legs. You moan around him, and the reverberations make his head roll back. God, you could stare at him forever. And he would let you.

“Look at me,” he says whenever your eyes go astray. “Look at your god.”

As his hips buck more violently, Armin can feel the pressure in his lower stomach, the impending orgasm and he wants to stop- wants to hold out the way he always has. But he can’t, it’s too much and he just cannot pull out of you. He simply pushes further and further into your tight throat, repeating your name like it’s a blessing. “fuck, puppy, ‘m going to- I’m going to cum down your throat. You want that, do you you’re your god’s cum- ah, fuck, ahhh”-

Pushing your head down to the base, both of his hands at the back of your head, Armin cries out you name and you can feel the warm liquid go down your throat, thick ropes filling up your mouth, some of it dribbling out. Armin reflexively pushes it back in your mouth, ordering you to swallow it all, to show how grateful you are. Of course, you oblige. But before you can even regain your breath, Armin suddenly pulls you off his cock. His pupils are dilated, and he wears an expression- anger? Shock?

“You’re not a virgin,” he hisses, teeth gritting against each other. His breath is frantic, uneven. It’s not a question and you begin to recognise his expression. Rage. “You’ve done this before.”

Fuck.

The God of the sea has his fair share of consorts and mistresses. Some of them virgins- though he never chases them the way Eren does- some of them not, but none have made him cum so fast. He would like to blame it on the year of pining, of restraint, but he knows better. It’s you. You do this him. You make him so wild, so willing, so pliant even.

In that moment, as he looks your worried face, so desperate to please, he thinks that he’ll never be able to let it go. You’ve consumed Armin and he wants to do nothing more than burn eternally. You must understand that- that you exist as his beacon, that’s where you’ll be your happiest, but those thoughts are too complex for a human. You, in your fragile state, can’t understand. It’s alright, he’ll just have to show you bit by bit that you’re his. But to do so, he must first take on the role he’s familiar with. That of the punisher.

“Who is he?” Armin snaps.

“It was only-“

“Who is he?”

You pause. Memories of nights spent together, huddled close and trying to keep quiet already fading. “Berthrolt Hoover.”

Armin’s shoulders relax, “I see.”

His breathing slowly goes back to normal, and, at the back of your mind, you know you’ve signed the young warrior’s death. But your worry is fleeting as Armin grabs you by the neck and hoists you over his knees, laying you down on your stomach effortlessly. “A priestess who isn’t a virgin?”

You look up as see Armin’s familiar sweet smile, but it’s laced with mirth that makes you forget the Mr Arlert he was before. You cry out at the first slap of his hand on your ass, more out of surprise than pain.

“I don’t think the people of Paradis will be very happy to hear that,” he says. “An unmarried woman giving herself away to a pathetic boy.”

Slap!

“I’m sorry!” you cry out. “It was a mis-”

He slaps you thrice.

“No excuses, dumb little puppy. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure this punishment.” His voice is deceptively soft, as if he is actually sorry. And when you look back up at Armin, his face betrays no malice. But it doesn’t show any cruelty either. Instead, there’s a fascination.

Armin has you sprawled across his lap, at his mercy and he is discovering you bit by bit. As a god. His cock twitches and then suddenly he tugs off the fabric of your robes and they disappear.

The way you squirm is half- hearted, and Armin has to laugh. “Embarrassed? Now of all times? I didn’t know you were such a prude. Or is this all just to compensate for the fact that you’re a whore in my temple?”

You shake your head, “I swear, I’ve never belonged to any man!”

Fingers trace the expanse of your naked body, soft enough to send shivers down your spine. “Oh? Really?”

“Yes yes, I swear, ah!” His fingers find your naked ass and they grab onto the flesh, massaging, groping, feeling you. Armin’s other hand rests on top of your head, stroking it gently and you’re so lost in his touch that you almost forget to speak.

“I belong to no man, I never have. Only you. It’s always been you, Armin.”

The god’s eyes widen, and he gently pulls you up from his lap only to seat you on it, upright and, this time, there’s so much more to admire. “You’re right,” he says. Armin captures your lips and this time, it’s longer, rougher. He doesn’t want to pull back, doesn’t want to lose the feeling of your soft lips against his, but his hands have already found your breasts and soon, his tongue joins them. You moan as he begins to lap at your breasts, leaving hickeys and spit in his wake as his finally finds your nipples and begins sucking them like a child as you whine and lean into him.

“You do belong to me,” he finally says, his voice partially muffled as he loses himself in the worship your breasts. “You’ve always belonged to me.”

And you can do nothing more than nod your head as your fingers tangle in Armin’s hair and you’re pulled into another kiss. His hand goes down your body, squeezing every single mound of flesh as if it needs to be touched so that when he finds your cunt, Armin can’t help but smile at how wet you are.

“Already, but I’ve hardly done anything to you?”

What a liar, but you don’t have a chance to tell him before he plunges a finger inside of you. “Oh, puppy, my puppy,” he groans at the contact the same time you moan, pushing your hips against his digits. “You like my fingers like that inside of you?”

“Yes, yes, I do, I really love them- it feels, oh my god, it feels too good!” you grip his shoulders, unable to do anything but desperately buck your hips at the smiling Armin. He knows what he’s doing, he knows that his fingers are giving you just that satisfaction, but it’s still not enough to bring you over the edge.

“Please Armin, please.” You squeeze his shoulders.

“Tell me what you want, tell me, I’ll give it to you- I swear.”

“I want to feel you, all- ah- all of you. I need to feel you inside of me!”

You’re not sure at which moment Armin removes his robes, but as he moves both of your legs so that you’re straddling him, your hands are on his bare, lean chest. The god’s nipples are flushed pink and pert, practically calling to you and you respond by brushing your fingers over them and watching him twitch ever-so-slightly in response. You withhold the urge to take them into your mouth, even as Armin rubs his cock against your cunt, releasing the sweetest of sounds.

He’s already leaking precum and it mixes with your juices so perfectly, his cock being dragged back and forth, only making you gush even more. “So messy,” he mumbles as he uses his tip to spreads your juices across your thighs. At this point, you can practically feel it throbbing, ready to be sheathed inside of you and the whimpers of your desperation echo against the temple walls.

When Armin slips inside of you, simultaneous gasps escape your lips. The god pulls your body closer to his as you throw your head back, stars in your eyes.

“Look,” he whispers. “Look how easily I slip in- it’s- it’s like your cunt is made for me.”

“Armin,” you whisper back. “Armin, Armin- ah- Armin.”

He sinks you down slowly, the stretch hitting every single spot that leaves your legs practically limp. The god is holding you up, whispering his own mantra that you can’t hear over your bliss. Once inside, your eyes look lock with Armin’s and he’s staring at you in a way he’s never done before. You’ve never seen pupils so dilated and the two of you stay like that as if making up for the moments when you should have been connected in this way. An eternity, it seems, the two of you have needed each other.

“I’m your god,” Armin finally says. “I’m your god and- hng ah-” He begins moving you up and down his shaft. “And I’m going to make you cum all over this cock- okay? All over your god’s cock.”

You nod your head pathetically as he lifts your hips and slams them down against his own. He is strong, ruthless in the way he bucks his hips up every time he lifts you from his cock, as if he can’t bare the empty feeling of not having your tight pussy clamped around him. At this relentless pace, you’re sure that the sound of your connecting bodies could penetrate even these marble walls. And yet, you don’t hold back. Thanks and praises spill from your swollen lips and Armin can’t help but lean forward and push his tongue between your mouth, as if he can absorb all of your word. “So good, so good, it’s- uah- I just want more, more of your cock, you fill me up so good!”

Armin can’t deny you. He pushes your thighs to your chest and picks up your entire body to fuck himself. He manoeuvres your body like a toy and as your tongue rolls out and your eyes become glassy, you begin to look like one too. The only sounds coming out of your mouth are incomprehensible, even as Armin attaches his mouth to one of your bouncing tits, you can only squeal.

“Such a good puppy,” he says between kisses. “Letting me use her holes like this. A god using a puppy’s holes- you should be- you should be grateful! Tell me, tell me you’re grateful!”

“I am!” you cry out. “I am grateful!”

“Good girl, good puppygirl.”

When Armin flips you over, you’re sat on his throne and he fucks into you harder, harder than he was doing before, and you swear his moans are louder too. He’s looking down at the movement of your stomach as if hypnotized by the way his cock disappears into you. And, in a way, he is. The fascination of being inside of you- just the idea even- is enough to make him want to cum.

The sudden position has him hitting new spots and the build-up is so fast, you hardly have the time to warn him. “Armin, Armin I’m cum-“

He grabs your face as you release around his cock, body spasming but unable to look away as Armin’s gaze burns through you. “Good girl,” he says. “Show me, show me how you cum. Just like that, just like that.”

He continues to plough his hips into yours and the spasms of your pussy leave him unable to hold back. “Inside of you,” he practically growls. “I’m going to cum inside of you- yes, yes, yes I am puppy. I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to show me how you take it yeah?”

You’re too far gone to even register the implications of what he’s saying, but he buries his cock in your warm walls and releases his cum inside of you with a heavy groan. “Just like that, just like that- I’m going to fill you up with my seed, puppy, my puppy.”

Armin feels like he’s emptied his balls- two powerful orgasms which leave his legs shaking violently. And yet, he pulls out of you slowly and stands back up to his full height, cock in front of your face. Almost instinctively, you rub your cheek against it, giving Armin soft kitten licks and he coos at you, stroking your hair. But he doesn’t push, he just holds his cock there and pumps softly as he stares at your fucked out face. Messy, covered in his spit, his hickeys, his bites, his cum- you look perfect, divine. Only one thing is missing. “I’m going to give you everything I have, puppy. And you’re going to take it, okay?” You nod and open your mouth for him and, immediately, a strong stream of pee emerges.

At the bitter taste on your tongue, your eyes roll back, and you spread your legs even wider, a welcome to the mess he is about to make. Armin accepts and angles his cock to release his pee over your chest, then your stomach, and then your already-throbbing cunt. He lifts a foot to rest on the throne and Armin doesn’t think he’s even seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

As if guided by an implicit will, Armin’s foot hovers on top of you and suddenly, he presses against your lower stomach. Your eyes snap back into focus as you whine out for him to wait, wait just a moment “I just had water,” you cry out. “It’s gonna- It’s gonna come out!”

But Armin simply grins. “Let it come out,” he says and presses his foot down harder. “Pee yourself dumb little mutt, be a good puppy for your owner.” The trickle that emerges is involuntary, but Armin’s grin is wider. “Yes, good girl, just like that. Let me see more, let me see more of you.”

The pressure that was holding the bowl of water back broke and you felt the warm liquid against your thighs before you realise what’s happening. Armin practically moans as he watches you whimper and struggle to hold your pee back as it spreads over the throne, the dais, and even Armin himself. He doesn’t stop until you’ve given it all to him.

You expect Armin to disappear.

You’ve given him everything. His goal is complete, you think, he has nothing more to do with you. But, as he has done many times before, the god surprises you. Armin’s body is heavy against yours when he collapses on top of you, but the weight is comforting. Despite the malaise of urine and cum rubbing against both of your bodies, you wrap your arms around the god of the ocean and hold him close.

Even as you close your eyes and lean your head back on the marble throne, Armin doesn’t leave you. Even as you open your eyes back up and see blue ones staring back at you, the look he gives you is so familiar and long hair in such unfamiliar disarray that you can’t help but smile.

He doesn’t ask why. Instead, Armin calls forth a stream of warm water from the adjacent fountain to clean the both of you. It feels like a fever dream the way floating droplets caress your bodies, and when Armin stands you up, his hands not leaving you, the perfume that suddenly envelops you is heavenly.

“Can I give you a last kiss, please?” you ask when your robe appears once again. And Armin leans forward to capture your lips, dragging his tongue on your bottom lip as if to taste you.

It doesn’t feel like a final kiss. You’ve had many of them- Jean, Sasha, Berthrold, your father, and even your mother, though you can’t remember it. This kiss is different. It feels less like a kiss and more like a promise, a vow. a shiver runs down your spine.

“I am your god,” he says and lifts his both of his hands slowly to wrap around your neck. “And you’re my worshipper.” You gasp as a cold sensation spreads around your neck, just below Armin’s fingers. It’s sudden, and heavy and when he removes his hands, yours fly to your neck and there’s a metal band there where there was none before.

“It’s sculpted from Hephaestus’ gold,” Armin says as he strokes his fingers along the metal. But he’s not looking at his gift, instead he looks at you.

“Armin- I- this is. But why?”

For the first time, he can’t read your expression. But it doesn’t matter. You belong to him. You always have, but now you know. And if it takes time for you to understand, Armin can wait. He’ll wait right beside you, always, always there to guide you.

“This is not the end of my Odyssey. My Odyssey is eternal,” he says before giving you another short kiss and disappearing, the warmth of his lips still present.

The gods might not all be fickle, you think, so you just smile sadly. But the gods are all selfish, so you touch the collar around your neck.

A/N: This is my first ever collab and I was- as still am- a bit insecure about how this story turned out so I appreciate all of your support ❤️. I would also like to apologise to my fellow history nerds for the historical inaccuracies.

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hxnmantii · 3 years

Text

Good little Kitten

tw: Dacryphilia, edging, pet play, a bit of degradation, mirror sex, humping, foot job (?), a bit of praising as well, Mentions of Master

Rating: M for Mature (+18)

Pairing: Sub! Kageyama x Gn!reader

A/n: Dom! Tobio this and Dom! Tobio that but what about Sub!Tobio hmmm?? Pillow Prince! Tobio?? Representantion people. Anyways this is my first fic for @ultimate-astridwriting event as well as my first smut I’ve written on here so please look forward to it. Creative criticism and comments are appreciated!

It all started with the stupid nickname Kitten. His teammates started calling Kageyama that after coming to the realization that he was not only obsessed with milk but had similar behavior traits of a cat. It didn’t really bother him much though. As long as it didn’t intervene with you or volleyball, he didn’t give a rats ass what they called him unless it was ‘the king’ but even then he became used to the insulting nickname. The real problem that sparked the flame was when you started calling him kitten, one of his teammates running their big mouthes to you about it.

Ever since then you slyly tuned into buying more cat items, coming home each day with something cat related whether it was stickers, thigh highs, or a cat bottle. Kageyama accepted the gifts nonetheless because he enjoyed the extra attention that came with it. That why he was unsurprised when you came home today carrying another baggie from the store.

“Y/n what’s in the bag?” He asks, his blueberry eyes watching your every move. He just knew that you were up to something, the ridiculously big smile on your face evident to that. You shimmy towards him before pulling out your lug for the day. A realistic looking black tail that ended with a silver metal plug, matching kitten ears and a collar met his curious glaze and he froze. To say that he didn’t even have the heart to ask what it was an understatement. At this point he just grateful you haven’t tried to feed him cat food.

“Who is this all for?” His voice meeting a range of disinterest although internally he was all over the place. It didn’t effect your excitement in the slightest for all you did was lean in closer. He audibly gulps.

“For you, babe.” You say as you push the stuff towards him only for it to meet his refusing hand. He pushes it back to you, an awkward smile on his face so he can politely decline.

“Oh..uh no thank you. I’m not into cosplay.” You giggle. You drop the cat toys on the couch to place your hand on his cheek and caress his cheekbones, his head naturally leaning into your touch. The smile never leaves your face as you watch him soak in your warmth. He look up only for his eyes to widen at the soft look of lust and adoration on your face. He can’t help but turn away from your daunting glaze, his cheeks turning a light pink. Of course, You don’t accept that because you slide into his lap and force him to look into your eyes by firmly but gently gripping his chin.

“It’s not cosplay silly. It’s pet play!” Your eyes are only met with confusion. His innocence was both pure and daunting. With volleyball being his main priority over everything expect recently you, it’s not a surprise. You explain to him what pet play was and how you use the tail. The color of tomato was understatement of what color he turned but you continued to stroke his cheek in hope that he was relax again.

The idea of completely surrending himself over to you whilst you coddle him and call him a good kitten but make him act like a cat gets him undeniably excited. He would never confess out loud though. But you knew, you always knew. Understanding Kageyama was like reading a book, his expressions that he could never hold back, telling you all that you needed to know. His dick twitches which doesn’t go unnoticed.” C’mon baby what do you say?”

“I want to be your kitten, Master. Please let me be your kitten.” Your Cheshire Cat grins returns and you hop off his lap to sit next to him. Piling up the toys into the bag, you wordlessly nod towards the bedroom and he’s instantly up and walking at almost an excited speed walk.

You meet him in the room to see him patiently waiting for you on the bed. You tsk while shaking your head disappointedly. “This won’t do. Kittens don’t sit on the bed especially not if they’ve been outside. Get down.”

No questions asked, he’s on the floor immediately although confused. He’s seen cats sleep on the bed so why was he not allowed on the bed. He wanted to ask questions but he was too embarrassed at his lack of knowledge on this topic to even muster enough courage to look at you. His eyebrows unconsciously furrow in concentration. You chuckle.

“Baby,” his eyes snap up to met yours, your amused glaze reigning down on him. “You’re thinking too hard about this. Not everything I tell you is going to be just like what a cat would do, okay? Remember this is just foreplay.”

“Yes Master.”

“Good.” You crotch down to his level, a smile decorating your face. You caress his face before running your hands through his black hair and similar to a cat he hums happily, leaning into your wispy touch. Your eyes widen. He was too damn cute.

"Such a good kitten," you whisper. Once again taking your place above him. "Strip and stick your ass in the air."

He hesitates momentarily, another bright red blush blooming across his face as his eyes drag towards the floor and he starts pulling his clothes off one by one, the silence only furthering his embarrassment. You leave him to it so you could bring the body length mirror from out the closet. Standing in front of him, you block him from looking at himself yet.

"You're going to look so cute as my kitten, baby." You whisper whilst putting the black cat ears on, the collar following afterwards. You then move behind him, the tail and lube in your hands. "Color?"

"Green" he mutters. You smile and rub your hands up and down his back in attempt to soothe his nerves. It's not like he hasn't taken anything bigger but exploring new kinks always made him nervous. "Okay kitten, i need you to keep your eyes on me. The whole time. Understand?"

“Yes Master.” You can hear him gulp before he lifts his head up to meet your eyes in the mirror . You give him a reassuring smile before drenching your hands in the slippery liquid and sticking your index finger. Immediately, you’re rewarded with a low moan. His moan spurs you on as you continue to slip it in out of his tight hole, making wet lewd sounds that only made his dick harder.“P-please more Master” He ask. In response, you kiss his strong back. “Of course my cute little kitten since you asked so nicely.”

You slide in your second finger next to the first and search for that spongy spot. You know you find it when he lets out a high pitched moan, arching his back more so he could meet your thrusting. You took it upon yourself to grab his dick and match your finger’s pace. His moans only getting louder.Every whine and mewl was absolute heaven to your ears as he allowed himself to be immersed by the pleasure he was receiving. Oh god he was almost there. The way you expertly fucked his hole while stimulating his dick at the same time had him closing his eyes, his arms getting weak with each bolt of pleasure.

His dick pulses. The ending was right in hindsight but just as he was about to cum, you stop and take your fingers off of him. He cries out, his eyes snapping open into the mirror. His tear filled eyes meet your disappointed ones. “What a bad kitten. Didn’t I tell you to keep your eyes on the mirror?” His frown deepens as he nods. “And aren’t you suppose to tell me when you come? Tsk tsk That’s two rules you just broke baby. Now I’ve gotta punish you.”

“W-wait I didn’t mean to...please..” His ocean eyes filled with tears that pulled your heartstrings and you almost considered not punishing him, almost. You unexpectedly stick your fingers back in his hole and add a third finger. A high pitch mewls escape his lungs as he grips the floor at the overwhelming pleasure. Quickly he was brought back to that high and once again he was pleading to cum. You continue the abuse on his hole only to snatch your hands out of his hole again. “Color?”

“FUCK! GREEN! PLEASE GO” You place a kiss on his ass and rub his hips soothing, watching his every expression through the mirror as you slide the large metal plug in. He lets out a silent moan at the feeling of being so full so quickly, his legs trembling with the new weight that kissed his prostate. At this point, his tears had spilled over, racing down his fac as he releases a shaky breath. “You did so well kitten. I’m so proud of you. Just look at how cute you look with your tail.”

He didn’t know when but at some point he had let his head fall to the ground. He slowly lifts his head and forces himself to sit upright, the tail sliding in deeper and putting more pressure on his prostate. The overwhelming pleasure makes him double over and he lets out a pussy throbbing moan. It was just too much so instead of looking at himself, he turns to look up at you with the biggest puppy eyes while grabbing your leg. Any humiliation he had earlier was thrown out, his only concern now being the ache in between his legs as he humps your leg pathetically. You can’t help but chuckle.

“It seems like your team has gotten it wrong. You’re more like a bitch in heat than a cute kitten.”

“Ahh p-please Master...I’ve been good..g..ood...I’m your good boy pleas.” You shake your head. You spoil him absolutely rotten. Removing your leg from his grasp, you salutner over to the bed.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty. Come sit in front of the bed.” Without telling him, he crawls to sit in front of you. He’s a trembling mess due to the tail still putting pressure on his prostate. A shiver runs through you as his tears run anew.

“You may cum but only from the tail and my foot.” He whines but comes closer none the less, grabbing your foot to apply pressure to his tortured, weeping dick. To make it a bit more fun, you turn on the vibration tail and he screams out in pleasure, almost cumming right then and there. You watch in amusement as he struggles to buck his hips against your foot, sobbing out incoherent words about cumming.

“Oh god ‘lease...ahhh p-lease can I-I c..um” he sobs.

“Go ahead kitten.” He sits back on the tail and allows the vibration to set him off. He’s cum hard, the fluid flying across his chest and almost touching his face. The aftershocks shake his body violently allowing him to let out one prolonged moan. You allow the vibration to run until he’s whimpering out from overstimulation. Immediately,he’s in your arms, breathing harshly in the crook of your neck.“You did so good baby. You’re such a good boy. Can you lay on your stomach for me?”

He silently nods and weakly moves onto his stomach so you could remove the tail. He lets out a high whine as you slowly pull the large butt plug out before helping him sit back up into your arms. You pass him the water that had been sitting on the nightstand while getting out the baby wipes and cleaning his body. He puckers his lips and you happily indulge, giving him a soft kiss before taking off the ears and collar.

“Thank you.” He whispers bashfully. You smile at him and run your hand through his hair; his hum of content vibrating into your chest. “Now let’s move to the bed okay?” He nods again and lifts himself into the bed, your worried self following. He pulls you into his chest and you snuggly up, the both of you falling asleep with smiles on your face.

#Kageyama x reader #Kageyama smut #tobio x reader #hq imagines #hq smut #Haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #tobio Kageyama x reader #pretty boys stay by the throne #princess’s red room

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years

Note

im not very sure if you're doing abcs for the trio but if u do could u pls maybe do C N O and S for vlad? <3

No worries! I don't see why not, my knowledge is just a little more limited for them is all~

Hope you enjoy these, lovely! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Aight y’all it’s time for me to put on my clown shoes as god intended

Though man, what a delightfully rainy day today to write =v=

Fluff ABCs Template here

Cuddling -- How does he like to cuddle?

He is a simple man, with simple needs.

That being said, I think he’s one for a lot of gentle affection. Despite appearances–I mean hell, he literally wears a necklace of thorns–he’s actually a very tender lover. Loves hand-holding, scooting close under umbrellas, making shapes out of the little beauty marks that dot her skin. He will take any excuse to hold her and run with it.

Ideally, I think he prefers privacy above all else, most typically in his room in the castle. This side of him, so soft with his love for her, belongs to her and her alone. He refuses to let anyone else kill his immersion the moment (cue Charles dragging Faust away from doing something disruptive and stupid), or indulge in the sight of her so rosy-cheeked and loving. Loves dropping little kisses to the crown of her head, her shoulders, the backs of her hands. He’s waited so many long years to be able to hold her close like this, to feel the heat of her blush and the tinkle of sweet giggles when he nips and pecks at her pretty skin. All of this, every single second, is beyond value to him…he cherishes each memory close to his heart, crystallized fragments of joy in a life so bereft of it.

His favorite position for cuddling tends to be a kind of side lean. Usually she’ll be lying down (or turned towards him, sometimes) while he’s on his side beside her (usually against a wall or the back of a sofa). He loves that he can gaze at her as much as he likes this way, he really can’t get enough. The person he was searching for all this time, right here, no sign of leaving…

Nightmare -- What is his worst fear?

Oh boyo boy. Oh boy...

Honestly, I really don’t see anything horrifying him as much as losing MC. I don’t think he’s a man above fear. He hates being abandoned, he’s afraid of the world being torn apart by humanity’s indifference.

But nothing compares to the shattering fear of losing MC.

I think he has a very particular intense fear about losing loved ones because of the nature of his life history. He is still deeply affected by his entire clan being wiped out by hunters, leaving him alone to carry the weight of that legacy and loss. While he couldn’t help but give his heart to the woman who saved him, the reality of his terror is undeniable. After so many centuries of searching, after so many years of feeling hollow and alone…Even now, he has never come to terms with the way his family was ripped away from him. To know the gentleness of love again, to finally have a hand to hold only to lose it…

Well, I really can’t imagine the terrifying result of that. I imagine he would be far beyond reason.

Whenever he has bad dreams of the very same fear, he is nigh inconsolable. He holds her very tightly without saying a word (which is unlike him) and she'll know not to let him go for a while. She murmurs calming things, promises of things they'll do together in the future, strokes his hair and rubs his back. They only leave the bed when he's feeling somewhat stabilized again, but even so he'll hold her hand for longer than usual days after. Embraces her more, finds any excuse to hide away.

Oddity -- What is one quirk he has?

I think one part of him that is overlooked is that he is a man very interested in the nature of contradiction, the duality that resides in all things–himself included. Some parts of his preoccupation are more obvious than others. For instance, he loves flowers due to the nature of their ephemeral beauty, but also enjoys trying to preserve them to let their appeal survive. There’s also the fact that flowers can look or smell lovely, but can harbor poisons strong enough to kill grown human beings. (Not unlike him.)

He is a vampire in which the front-end of his operations is a cathedral, and I imagine that was a purposeful move as well. There are so many angles to consider here, namely two obvious ones that come to mind. There is the non-threatening concept of the cathedral: in which people assume it is a safe haven, a place to seek care/assistance/prayer (not entirely so in this case, even if Faust plays priest.) There’s the possibility that vampire hunters are typically supplied by/supported by the church (not sure if this is the case here, but it is a common trope). That would mean Vlad would be using the face of the very human institution that ruined his life to enact revenge, to say nothing of the potential risk of hunters seeking sanctuary only to run into a den of vampires.

There is also wondering whether or not he purposely wears that necklace of thorns ;;;;; (For anyone unaware, there was the whole Jesus wearing a crown of thorns specifically as an extension of humiliation, branding him the “fake king" of the Jewish people.) My contention here would be that he is basically saying “lmao, I’m your suffering saint now.” Or maybe he’s just really into masochistic jewelry, I have no idea.

He appears to have a kind of obsession with subverting norms/conventional expectations, and I have to wonder if it runs with his general underdog theme…

Secrets -- How open is he with her?

Despite his generally guarded nature, with MC he is entirely transparent when they’re in a relationship. Unless he doesn’t want to scare her or simply feels something would be best shared at a later time, he makes no real attempt to hide anything from her. If she asks and he knows the answer, he’ll spill.

(Okay but sometimes it gets hilarious, because say Faust has been trying for years to get info out of him about some stupidly specific thing. And Vlad is always very evasive, dances out of reach, plain ignores him. MC asks and he’s just like “oh yeah, in 1582 I remember–” It’s a wonder Faust never throws hands about it, pisses him off so much LMFAO)

Before their relationship was established he hesitated more, largely because the nature of his existence and his ties to her were a lot to take in at the time. I think he prefers not to overwhelm her whenever possible. It’s very much a kind of “I won’t info drop on you thoughtlessly, but if you ask me a question I’ll do my best to answer with the truth.”

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp fluff #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp fluff headcanons #sometimes your honor he is babie #please enjoy giant scary babie man #no matter how old i get these type of characters never cease to be funny to me #he just barks at p much everyone but MC LMFAO #anywho i hope you enjoyed these!!! and that i answered to satisfaction úwù <3333 #requests are still open #asks #rambles #not incorrect quotes

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austarus · 3 years

Text

Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) x Reader Ballistic Confrontations (2/3)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

Word Count: 4578

Part 1 Part 3

Oliver’s eyes narrowed at the doppelganger he had struck down. What a fool. Oliver-X nudged the body with his foot before giving the unconscious Thawne doppelganger a rough kick to the chest. The impact of the sound was drowned out by the alarm. The body had lurched to the side and the man’s glasses flew off his face, yet still no response. A cruel smirk crossed the Dark Arrow’s features, secretly feeling satisfied on taking out his pent-up rage towards Thawne against a weak mirror image. A damned fool to not be prepared for a secondary attack. He should have known better. Oliver hummed to his thoughts, his eyes showing nothing but utter coldness. Ruthlessness. This was his path after all. Weak, just like the rest of this world. It’s so-called ‘heroes’. Pathetic. Oliver looked on with no remorse as he walked through the halls, boots.

“Such a shame.”

This is what needs to be done. An image of his Kara drifted to his mind, the way her body convulsed. The blood that lingered. Her smile fading. But Oliver-X shook it away. She would be fine with their forces at the warehouse, there was enough action going on in order to legitimize the scope of their distraction while he infiltrated his doppelgangers base of operation. Thawne’s labs- or as Oliver thought of it, Thawne’s Castle of Cards. He is the only one among them that knows it tech and secrets inside-out. The Queen doppelganger cracked his neck, readjusting the bow in his hand as he braced himself to face-off with the lackeys that were left over in this forsaken excuse for a laboratory. Everything is going according to plan.

***

Mick and Frost had already left, planning to intercept the Earth-Xers in the Speed Lab. Meanwhile you were to stay with the ladies as backup. Electricity hummed through your veins as adrenaline pumped. Multiple camera feeds showed your friends either fighting or getting dragged to the Pipeline. Still radio silence from the others. You gritted your teeth as your eyes focused on the screen where the fiends threw Harry into a cell like ragdoll. Their first victim. One thing was for sure, Oliver-X was here directing the grunts while his cohorts were distracting the dispatched heroes. Felicity had her tablet handy in case she needed to work her tech magic, shutting down the Cortex mainframe from being accessed by Oliver-X and his cronies. Iris had quickly suggested the vents were the best place to hide until they can determine what necessary steps you three would need to take to get to the others. The three of you would not succumb to the position of sitting ducks. Unfortunately, Iris didn’t have enough time to grab a laser rifle from the closet.

You climbed into the vents first with quiet movements, Felicity following and Iris behind her to seal the vent. Closing your eyes for a moment, you focused- tuning out Iris and Felicity’s hushed words of worry for their men and your friends. You tuned out the dull thrum of electricity that emitted from the labs’ computer system, focusing on one type. Cellular electricity. Human generated electricity. Snapping your eyes open, you lead them down a few routes. The two women chalked it up to your knowledge of the ventilation system as you’d hid here multiple times to escape the tension in the Cortex, but really it had been the intensity of electricity that steered you. The multiple electrical signals that spiked made you keen on navigating away from those corridors and rooms. More Nazi’s would be on guard there. One little scuffle with the wrong group could alert Oliver-X. You breathed a sigh of relief as the neural electricity passed by, unaware of what lies just above.

Iris didn’t know, neither did Felicity. No, they would never know. No one would. No one would ever know that you could shatter a person’s nervous system with a flick of the wrist. Never know that you can put the one of the most vital organs into cardiac arrest. Cardiac arrest usually resulted from an electrical disturbance in the heart. It's not the same as a heart attack. Shutting down cells, yet overstimulating neurons. How would the human body fare? They were… morbid curiosities that haunted you. But rather giving into those conjectures you settled for a milder solution, immersing yourself into the field of electrical neurophysiology rather than contemplating how a person can expire by your will. Eobard had been intrigued with your desire to understand the physiological field that your powers can be derived from. He helped you, of course, entertaining the electricity that sparked in your eyes with understanding. You breezed through medical articles and journals, understanding the neural circuitry and it’s outlets. Yet, your intent wasn’t to kill (not to his surprise), just to render an adversary unconscious for a period of time. Or in a speedster’s case, the ability to jumpstart their heart and motor functions. Stimulating a failing organ, should the situation arise. Even in a way to hypothetically understand how a speedster’s body can siphon off your generated electricity without harming their natural laws of the Speedforce.

But like any meta, there were hypothetical limits and lines drawn, even to a possible conclusion of short-circuiting your own body without careful proctoring. You’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t wanted to push your abilities further than that, but you hesitated. The desire was strong, but the darkness was too powerful. Could you afford the hypothetical blood on your hands? Would you be able to sleep at night, knowing that you’d be just another monster? Questions like that swirled in your head, but it’s the remembrance of your friends that you didn’t give into that… dark instinct.

You’d done it before. Once. On accident of course, but you were overwhelmed with anger and terror and fear that night. Trudging on, that moment resurfaced to the front of your mind. Your skin prickled as you remembered the sensation. Feeling the meta’s heart stop and mind short-circuit with neural electricity. The body shut down. The electricity out as if you’d turn off the lights inside the intruder’s body. You didn’t mean to. You were just scared. There was just… so much blood. Blood on the ground. Blood on Harry. Harry’s blood. Your breath hitched for a moment, but the two ladies behind you were none-the-wiser. Swallowing harshly, you pushed the image of the dead meta and Harry’s half-terrified/half-surprised face. You both never talked about that incident, nor did he ever bring it up to the others. It wasn’t his right to, after all. Two years had past, but that incident remained with you. You’d sworn that a moment like that wouldn’t occur. The guilt was too great on your conscious even if it was for self-defense. But…

Looking down from the vent opening, you realized your electrical instincts had brought you close to the entrance of the Time Vault. It was the one place Felicity and Iris can at least hold off in. You just needed to buy them some time. Felicity is more than capable of utilizing Gideon into locking the Time Vault, especially without Eobard around. After a few minutes had passed, you deemed that it was safe enough to drop down. You found the panel entrance, unlocking the pebbled room with your handprint to the side of the panel. Felicity and Iris jumped down, your plan dawning on them. You eased them in with a push. The fake panel wall reintegrated shut. You didn’t have much time.

“Find a way to get in contact with the Legends,” You spoke as the door had shut. “Smalls and Tinman should be aboard with Amaya.”

“What are you going to do?” Iris frowned as Felicity got to work.

“Buy you some time,” you breathed, pulling out your gloves. “It’s all that we can work with at the moment before the Dark Archer decides to play Cat and Mouse with us. If anything goes south, don’t look for me.” You needed to make sure.

“But-”

“Iris, please.” Your eyes trained on her, reluctance present in her demeanor. “Trust me.” She nodded. You left.

Now, who would be the cat and who would be the mouse, I wonder? You mused, climbing into the nearest low vent.

***

“Excellent, I will rendezvous at the warehouse,” Oliver-X nodded, his hand on his comm system. The heroes have been detained, her doppelganger seized. His own doppelganger caught. No more tricks. The labs were secure, remnants of the Earth-1 fighters detained. All is going according to plan. His lips twitched up.

“Did you know that the human body can only generate between 10 and 100 millivolts?”

You jumped down from the vent, landing perfectly on stable footing. The Dark Archer had his arrow and bow drawn in an instant, readily aimed at you. He watched you with careful, stormy eyes. You both stood in silence. One move and he could off me, but so could I. Your gloved fingers fidgeted; a subtle flicker of electricity honed there. “Such a fickle thing, really, when there’s an electrical imbalance within the body. Various things can go wrong.”

The Dark Archer’s eyes narrowed, noting the underlying threat in your words. “You’d be smarter to run. Wouldn’t want to end up like the others.”

“I don’t run from danger.” You smiled wickedly.

“Such naïve words from a hero.”

The dead meta flashed through you mind again. The blood on your hands. Would you do it again? For your friends? Your family? “I’m no hero.” Yes.

You two had circled each other in the dimly light room, tension thick in the air. Dust collected here and there, white sheets covered table and monitors. Oliver-X was amused, to say the least, his eyes locked on you with every intent to-

“-To my knowledge you have a speedster in your arsenal.”

He didn’t blink. “What of it?”

You rolled your eyes. Really, such a man with little words. “Take me to him.” Your hand balled into a fist The bulb behind Oliver-X shattered instantly, yet he did not flinch or look back.

As fun as this could be, I’m not here to play games.

“You are in no place to make such demands.”

Neither is he.

“It’s not a demand, just an innocent request. Indulge me, breacher.” You held your head higher, “You’re not the only one with a love.” You sensed his hesitation as he understood. So, you pushed. “The radiation is killing her, isn’t it? Flew too close to the sun, like poor Icarus.” You couldn’t help but taunt him. Oh, it felt good. Felicity had given you the run down, reiterating Alex’s hypothesis in regarding what she found in Kara-X’s blood cells. It didn’t take a genius to understand why they came here. Why they’d come now. With Eobard in tow. “Too much is too much, in the end. But… that’s why you’re here, right? To fix your love before- well, before the radiation eats at her.” You huffed a laugh and paused. Another lightbulb burst. Each out releasing electrical energy. “Right?”

An arrow whizzed past your head, hitting the wall behind you. The Dark Archer’s patience was running thin. You swallowed thickly but didn’t cower. Fear tickled the back of your mind, but you pushed it away. You needed emotions to overwhelm him into slipping. It clouded rational thinking in even the most skilled assailants. Eobard had drilled that into you.

Breep, breep, breep.

The SS alarm rang against his person. You tilted your head at him, curiously watching what he’d do next. If he chose to fight, then so would you with every ounce of energy in your system and that surrounding you. That comm, you could use that. That’s assuming it didn’t self-destruct when out of his reach.

Oliver-X grunted. His time was running, he needed to get to the rendezvous point. “Fortunately for you, I’m in a good mood. However, one foot out of line and you’ll be joining your friends on this earth’s makeshift cells.” He grabbed you by the upper arm and dragged you to walk with him. “That or an arrow to the heart.” Blunt just like Ollie. Well, this is better than being dead. Yay for progress.

***

Yawning, you shifted a bit in your seat. Your hands were bound behind you and there were two Nazi soldier guards to each side. In a sense, you were absolutely bored. Neither soldier paid you any mind and your hands were getting kind of numb from how long it’s been held back there. Basically Oliver-X dumped you onto them and gave them permission to kill should you escape your babysitters. Great. How long has it been? An hour? Two hours? Where were the others?

“So,” You broke the set silence. “Does this job give you guys any benefits, or do you guys have to like… find your own medical insurer? Does your Earth even do that?”

“Silence, we do not acknowledge such petty talk from someone of your caliber.” Soldier 1 had his finger on the trigger as he turned to you.

Someone’s crabby today. “Well, that was rude. I was just asking a question. Are you guys always this ill-mannered?”

“No, Ian just didn’t have his coffee today and he’s pulling some overtime.” Soldier 2 spoke up from polishing his weapon. Interesting, meaning that it’d be easier to take him out since he’s running on lack of sleep and is exhausted. This guy, though, seems more alert so I’ll maybe have to take his buddy hostage before whacking him.

“Devon! You’re not supposed to be fraternizing with the enemy?”

“How is it fraternizing if it has nothing to do with the General’s heart?”

I think he’s talking about Kara-X. “Devon does have a point,” you piped up. “Honestly, just-”

You blinked and Eobard had sped into the room, wind blowing as he had entered. Negative electricity deliciously licked in the air. Your heart skipped a bit as his red eyes met yours, but your mind anchored you. “Get out,” his distorted voice had hissed at the guards, both who had which shuffled out like ants. You weren’t going to miss them, though their bickering did entertain you. In an instant you were free from the power dampening cuffs and Eobard had drawn his cowl down from over his head along with his techy face shield-mask thing. Just seemed excessive. He took a step towards you with a hand outstretched, but you leaped from your chair and stepped back with a hardened look.

“Don’t touch me.”

A flicker of pain resonated in his eyes, something hollow hit your own heart, but this needed to be done. You needed answers from him, so you kept your distance. “This… isn’t the welcome back reunion I was expecting.”

“Screw whatever it was you were expecting,” You spat, eyeing the SS on his chest in lightning bolt form with disgust. It replaced his Reverse Flash insignia. “Nazi’s, Eobard? Really? What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re angry. Understandable.”

“Of course, I’m angry! You were gone. All of a sudden, three years ago. Erased from existence. And now you’re just… here. With Nazi’s no less. You hate them!”

He licked his lips, frustration present in his tone. He did hate them, every last one of them. “I was just trying to survive.”

“Really? Really? Like this?”

“I had no choice. I just needed some time. Time that-”

You shook your head at him, anger sparking within you. “-No, do not give me the whole ‘time’ bullshit. You can save that for Barry. You owe me an explanation before I decide to over-write every one of your friends’ brains here.”

“They are not my friends,” Eobard retaliated fiercely, he took a breath to calm down. “Did Barry not tell you?”

“Tell me what?” You questioned through gritted teeth.

“You want an explanation,” Eobard had spoken before he whisked you away to the top of one of the Central City towers. The air was crisp, drizzle cascading onto the city. You regained your footing; Eobard gripped your upper arms to steady you before letting go. Message received that you didn’t want him to touch you. “Fine, I’ll give you an explanation. When Barry saved his mother and changed the timeline, he had pulled me from that night and caged me. Like an animal. But,” The yellow speedster started chuckling to himself, doing the little pace he did when he did his monologues. Yes, he does it frequently. “He needed me. He needed me to fix his mistakes. He was losing his speed, his memories of the previous life he had. And oh, did I relish in making him say what he needed me to do the most.” You just rolled your eyes, arms crossing.

“Get to the point, Thawne.”

“One thing led to another and certain… things happened with the Legends and I ended up in the Speedforce after the Black Flash got me, after being erased again. Or so I thought. I… The Speedforce works in mysterious ways, you see. It punished me in for my deeds by sending me to the most miserable place in the multiverse.”

“Earth-X.”

“Precisely. You’ve seen just how ruthless they are, anyone with powers that had opposed them were decimated. I couldn’t die. Not again. I wouldn’t allow it to happen again. Not like that and certainly not at their hands.”

“But others can?”

That stung him. Eobard paused for a moment before his eyes reconnected with yours. “No matter what I could do, they would have found me out. To the expense of those lives, they were already targeted for death regardless of how they can plea or be helped. There’s a resistance group, it’s only a gamble of fate if they’re snuffed out or snuff out the Reich. I was confined to their labs because of my intellect and speed. My task was simple. Find a solution to Overgirl. Fast.”

“And that was to come here. To cut open Kara for her.”

“Here’s the tricky part that they don’t know,” Eobard grinned wickedly, giving you that little look that says he’s got a wildcard up his sleeve, “a heart that they’re so desperately chasing after won’t save Kara-X.”

Enlightenment flared up in your mind. Eobard took a step towards you, this time you didn’t back away. He recognized that look. “A heart won’t stop the cells in her body from replicating and contaminating the heart cells once more. You threw them a bone to get here.”

Eobard nodded, “I studied her anatomy, I’ve made the calculations. Even with a new heart she’d just revert back to her previous radioactive state. The heart would be a temporary fix, but her internal organs are all infected. Festering.” The man in the yellow suit rubbed his lips with two fingers, a move he does when his nerves were getting out of his control. When things were going south, and he needed to recalculate and try a different approach. “I manipulated the calculations in order to seem like the heart would be a reasonable solution along with pumping Kara-X with new blood. Didn’t take long, of course. But I made sure I was the only scientist working on this project. I couldn’t have a liability if others were involved, else they would have made sure I would never run again.” The speedster had marked those words grimly.

Your throat went dry. Death had been haunting Eobard since he had gotten stuck in your time, it even followed him to Earth-X, the place of his punishment. You could have lost him without knowing. You did. Back when he get involved with the Legends, apparently. The speedster stepped closer, the back of his gloved hand brushing against your cheek. You flinched back to reality at the situation, back to the reality of him. Eobard’s heart tugged at the idea that you were seeing him as the rest of those monsters. While he was one, he wasn’t like the ones from Earth-X.

“And Oliver-X is too blinded by his love for her that he’d go to any extent to get her back to 100%.” You summed up. Like how Eobard had done anything to come back here. You gingerly took his hand. What a mess.

“There wasn’t a moment when I hadn’t thought of you while there. But I needed a way back, I needed to get back here. Back to you. I wanted to come back, needed to or else I was going to go insane without you. I was going to lose my sanity and myself there. But the thought of you kept me together. And I would do anything. Even if it did mean ‘allying’ myself with them,” he had done air quotes around that word, “in order to get back here. To my Earth. To you.”

His words echoed in your mind. Anything could be anything. “That won’t excuse what you’ve done. What… what you’d been doing.” I can’t fathom the thought of him… carrying out those heinous crimes and missions. Yes, Eobard is no stranger to committing a felony or five. But to the degree of these Earth-Xers?

“No, it doesn’t.” He wanted to ask. Eobard so desperately wanted to ask for forgiveness, but he stopped himself. “But I hadn’t participated in anything regarding their goals. Just the Overgirl project. Oliver-X wouldn’t have allowed me to anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“You already understand the type of radioactive issue Kara-X is experiencing, provided by Oliver’s Kryptonite arrow.”

“Yeah, Felicity gave me the run down. Her cells have too much solar radiation. Cells subjected to such energy can be fatal to her system. The cells are essentially overwhelmed and overworked that they’re misfunctioning. There’s no regulation in her system or that regulation is waning.”

“The project was the cause… of her imminent downfall. She wanted to be stronger, fly higher, hit harder, so she ordered I subject her to solar rays.”

“Eo, did you-”

“Yes, I did.” He had said it without hesitation. The most logical thing he could have done. Oliver-X, he could handle in a fight. Only a bow and arrow with some fists being thrown, no problem. But Overgirl… “Solar radiation exposure in concentrated time increments were implicated to avoid suspicion on my part. And like I had predicted she demanded a higher dosage when given smaller amounts. Kara-X isn’t a patient person, when she demanded results, she demanded them now. I delivered. She is her own double-edged sword.”

“She was your death sentence,” You deadpanned, you squeezed his hand and he winced. She had broken his wrist earlier when he and Oliver-X were at it. She was not pleased with her threat. “Should you have slipped up.”

“When things don’t go her way she’d take it out on me,” Eobard mused, pulling his hand back to take off his gloves. Recovering bruises and dark spots were on his wrist. Your heart sunk further. “Blamed me for her sickness when even Queen understands it was her lust for power that drove her to this extent.” The genius saw hate flash in your eyes as he felt the electricity spark in the air. “It was either I take her out or the Flash and his friends given her remaining time.”

“Either one would have driven her to her death.”

“Quite frankly, it’d be better for the latter, but since Barry and his entourage were sent away.”

“What do you mean they were sent away?”

“…”

“I think it’s best if I don’t tell you, or else they’ll think something’s up if your reaction isn’t sincere.”

You pursed your lips and deeply frowned. You had gotten your answers, more than that, but then that led to ‘Where the hell did they get taken to?’ And then it hit you like how Weather Wizard hit Barry with an ice ball. Eobard raised an eyebrow at you, knowing you’d figure it out on your own.

“No.”

“I’m afraid so, t-” Breep, breep, breep. Eobard cursed, shutting off the alarm on his person. “We need to go back. Now.” Eobard swooped you up, your arms interlocked around his neck before he sped you back to the labs. Chit-chat over. Back to facing the real problem. Overgirl.

***

What awaited you was a scene you were not prepared for. Kara strapped down to a gurney under red light, one you can assume is dampening her Kryptonian strength to a mere human. She squirmed and grunted, but to no avail. She could not break free. Overgirl was smirking over her, such cruelty and intense demeanor a strange contrast to the kind and soft-hearted Kara you knew. Oliver-X watched with indifferent eyes as guards were stationed outside the med bay.

“I would stop squirming if I were you,” Kara-X mused. “Wouldn’t want your heart to give out already?”

“At least I have a heart.” Kara retorted.

Upon your entrance with Eobard, Oliver-X’s eyes narrowed slightly while Kara-X crinkled her nose. Kara’s eyes went wide but blinked her surprise away as she glared at the speedster beside you. She hadn’t forgotten how he said he’d carve her open from earlier.

“Kara,” you whispered, her eyes were brought back to you and you shook your head subtly.

“Well, well. I didn’t know you liked to play with the rats, Eobard.” Overgirl sneered at you and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her. Eobard gritted his teeth but remained silent. You’ve had worse scathing comments thrown your way since being with Eobard before the accelerator explosion. Being called a rat wasn’t anything. Kara-X frowned at your lack of response. “Now, who’s this little… rodent?”

“That’s none of your-“

“-His love.” Oliver-X cut Eobard off. Kara’s eyebrows went up from where she laid.

Kara-X drawled in morbid amusement with a clap of her hands, “How touching.” A twisted smile ran across her lips as her eyes scanned you and Eobard carefully. Eobard had placed restraints on you once more but had whispered to you that they were loose enough for you to slip out should hostilities arise. “Who knew that the bastard speedster had a heart. Such emotions. A person that actually ate up his lies and loved him. Just another monster. Interesting, interesting. Makes this all the easier to-”

“You lay one hand on her, and I’ll personally see to it that you never get your new heart and he dies an excruciating painful and slow death.” Eobard didn’t smirk at the Kryptonian-X. His words were slow and they were lethal. Rather his signature smirk appeared, “After all, I’m the only one fully equipped and to successfully perform your surgery before your time runs out.” He glanced at the wall clock, the second hand moving along with each tick. “Tick tock, time is ticking. For you.” Kara glanced between you and Eobard then to Oliver-X and her doppelganger.

“You insolent-”

“Kara,” The Dark Archer stopped her, a hand gripping her upper arm harshly. She looked him dead in the eye, so much hate, so much anger. Clouded emotions. Oliver-X’s own eyes challenged her in a silent match, “Enough. Let’s go.”

The pair left you and Eobard with Kara, but not before throwing disgusted looks your way. You turned back to Eobard, who had changed back into his normal choice of all-black clothing. You gave him a pointed look, which he understood perfectly.

Now what do we do?

75 notes · View notes

fanficsrusz · 4 years

Text

POWER - Henry Cavill Smut

Warnings: Smut.

Pairing: Y/n x Henry cavill

Summary: Y/n's plan to seduce Henry backfires but in a wondrous way.

Word Cound: 7.7k

A/N: Its been a while since I've posted anything and I feel a little nervous 😅. However I've missed the thrill of creating a world all of my own. I also apologise for any spelling/grammatical mistakes. I havent edited anything for a long time so yeahhh.

Please comment/reblog if you enjoyed ❤️

"You're drunk"

The accusation, issued through Henry's teeth, was an angered hiss and Henry's reaction was everything that Y/n could have wished for… And more.

Y/n forced a little hiccup, feeling it bubble its way through her body before it made its escape out of her mouth, and almost laughed at the thin set of lips across from her that stayed in a straight line.

He looked positively prim - just like he always did.

"No-" she defended, "-I'm happy". The correction came with a sly smile, her upper body leaning towards him across the bar, her inner amusement increasing as she watched his body stiffen in annoyance.

Henry was keeping a distance between their bodies, as if he thought her intoxication may be infectious.

The hold he quickly took to her waist was more of a brace rather than an intention as she swayed forward and then backwards.

"Don't you want me to be happy, Henry?"

Y/n pouted, tilting her head back and looking at him with what she hoped would be a sultry invitation. She laughed, a bold, wicked sound that drew a few glances from others in the bar. Henry stared stiffly over her head, swallowing the lump in his throat that had seemed to form as he grew more irritated with the woman's involuntary outbursts.

"For God's sake, Y/n, control yourself", he whispered tightly.

Was he embarrassed by her lack of inhibition? No. It was quite the opposite. He felt… lost. As if he had no idea how to act in the situation he had found himself in.

It was normal for him, the playboy, to taunt her with his fancy words, to distract her with his sinfully dark looks and honeyed phrases, but turn the tables and he wasn't quite so poised himself and Y/n felt a delicious thrill of power at the knowledge that she had him off balance.

She deliberately let herself go limp in his arms, and, when his grip relaxed in relief at the stability her body found, she quickly slipped under his guard, pressing the entirety of her body sinfully against him.

Her tactics immediately threatened to backfire as Henry's coldly rigid body seemed to be generating an incredible amount of heat and that in itself was enough for her to lose focus of her goal.

She rested her check against his chest and willed away her trembling response even as she measured his annoyance by the wildly uneven thump of his heart.

"You'll regret this tomorrow," he told her sternly, his hands tightening painfully on her waist.

"'Why in hell did you drink all that champagne? Do you want to make a total fool of yourself, jeopardise a deal with Dere-?"

"Rubbish. Derek thought I was as graceful as ever; he told me so," y/n said airily, thinking that it was too late to regret drinking at a business meeting with her boss and other potential clients.

Y/n moved steadily in his arms to prove it, brushing her breasts against his chest, hoping that the crushed velvet of her dress would hide the multitude of her sins that had seemed to accumulate quickly throughout the night and not to mention the past year that she had worked beside Henry, every single dirty thought she ever had about him portraying itself as nothing more than a red stain upon her cheeks and chest.

She had never been sinful before, always a dutiful daughter, just as she had later been a faithful business partner to Henry but there was only so much a woman could take before she had to take drastic measures. Now she was neither a daughter nor a business partner. She was Y/n Y/l/n. Herself. A woman before anything else and more specifically a woman with needs.

"You're the only one who thought I was wrong for declining the partnership" , she drawled mockingly, too caught up in her reckless self-absorption to monitor his surfacing awareness. "Chill out, Henry. If you can't fix it with a snap of your fingers, you might as well lie back and enjoy the open bar…"

The thud of his heart had settled down to a swift, arrhythmic beat that set up a sympathetic vibration throughout her body from her scalp to the soles of her restless feet.

There was a small pause as he manoeuvred her pliant body away from another couple that wanted to get to the bar. Then he tilted his head to look down at her.

"Chill out?" Amusement leaked through his iron control as he suppressed the grin he held in tight. " wow- I never thought I'd hear street-slang from that elegant, business-lady mouth of yours…".

For a second Y/n gulped, thinking she had lost all control of the situation that she had perfectly built up all evening but then Y/n moved dreamily against him, fully immersed in her ideal scenario.

She linked her arms round his back and arched her neck slightly so that she could see his expression.

"But I'm not a lady tonight, Henry, I'm a woman," she said huskily.

"Should I lie back and enjoy that too?" he enquired cynically.

That conjured up indecent images that for a moment left Y/n shocked, breathless even and if it wasn't for the distant sound of a glass breaking somewhere in the bar then she would have stayed in her trance like manner.

Her lips parted as she tried to say something sophisticated in response but she couldn't think of a thing and for a moment she feared that she had lost the edge. Y/n bit her lower lip and suddenly he had control over her again, his voice rough with threat, as he gave her a small shake.

"Behave yourself, Y/n. Stop being so fucking provocative. You should go home"

"I'm not ready to go home yet" she mewled, eyes darting over to the dance floor that served as a pick up ground.

Henry sighed, his eyes following her gaze

"One dance, that's all you get. Then I'm getting you out of here before you start leaping onto table-tops and doing the can-can!"

"What a killjoy you're turning out to be, Henry" with fresh fury, she suddenly spun out of his arms and danced freely for a few moments before cutting mischievously in on another couple. Soon Henry was glaring murderously over the shoulder of a blonde woman while Y/n languished in the sweaty grasp of a nervous young man who was very aware of the hovering blue-eyed menace.

When Henry cut back in a short time later, Y/n was relinquished with ill concealed relief.

"You're playing with fire, Y/n" , Henry warned, his firm hand taking hold of her again. This time he held her so captively close that she could feel the lines of his suit being imprinted on her velvet dress.

She had the feeling that if he had been able to shackle both her wrists behind her back without attracting attention he would. He wanted to cage her, tame her, but tonight, surrounded by the security of a crowd, she was determined to be untamable, just to see how far she could push him.

"Mmmm, I know, and I feel so gloriously toasty and warm," she murmured wickedly, waggling her eyebrows at a passing male.

Henry swore under his breath and pulled her flirtatious eyes away from any male that passed by capturing her gaze before she could perform some similar impropriety. He quickly brought his own hand to his mouth to mask his aggression in the pretence of courtesy. She had been right about the shackling.

"You're drunk", he repeated raggedly, more as if he was telling himself than her. She rather liked the hint of desperation that seeped into every word he spoke. It was almost as satisfying as having him grovel at her feet.

Y/n laughed, a sensuous 'cat-with-the-cream' look of satisfaction on her face as she widened her eyes and purred, "But not incapable, darling…".

She tamed a deliberate misstep as she spoke so that her leg slid caressingly between his thighs as they turned.

Henry almost stumbled as she lifted her knee, briefly applying the pivoting pressure of her thigh firmly to the juncture of his. Her provocation had an immediate effect and she drew back instantly, finally aware that her teasing had gone too far. But it was too late. Henry had reached the end of his tether.

"Fine -" he seethed, "-we'll do this the hard way then"

Five minutes later Y/n was belted roughly into the passenger-seat of her own car.

" I'm perfectly fit to drive, Henry" she raged at the man who slid angrily behind the steering wheel before inserting her keys into the ignition.

"I'm as sober as you are!"

" For your sake, I hope that's a lie, Y/n".

His voice was nothing but a growl and y/n felt the shiver that started in her groin slowly rise up through her spine.

"But if it is true then maybe you've done me a favour. If you were teasing me deliberately I don't have to feel guilty for what I'm about to do." his eyes stayed focused on whatever he was staring at, his fists curling tightly around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned pale.

"Do?" Y/n asked faintly as the car sprang into motion with far more power than she ever managed to coax from under the unimpressive bonnet.

"Did you think I would calmly walk away like an obedient lap-dog when you got tired of your little game ?"

"I...I... didn't think-" she began to splutter.

"No? Just instinct, was it? Trap the beast, then rattle his cage until he howls? Wasn't that your goal?"

"Henry!"

He hadn't looked at her since they had got in the car, driving with a narrow-eyed concentration, but now he slipped a grim sideways glance at her shocked expression and what he saw there seemed to ease his ferocious tension but the wolfish twitch of his mouth wasn't reassuring

"You did, didn't you? You really thought I'd let you get away with it. You didn't think I'd have the guts to drag you kicking and screaming out of there"

Y/n swallowed the dry lump in her throat. She had definitely underestimated her victim and definitely forgot to plan this far ahead.

"'I wasn't kicking and screaming," she protested weakly, avoiding the obvious answers he wanted.

"Not on the outside maybe. But your innocent act never did cut any ice with me" Henry's eyes glanced over at Y/n

Y/n clenched her fists tightly, until her nails dug into the palm of her hand, but she barely noticed. The only thing she was really aware of, was the sound of her heart throbbing against the cage of her chest.

It wasn't until she looked up into the rear view mirror, that she noticed she had been biting her lip so much so that they were almost as red as the lipstick that had wiped off hours ago.

"Scared, Y/n?" Henry jeered softly as she swallowed again, this time audibly. "You should be." he said lowly

"What about your own car?" she began weakly, hoping that practicalities might prevail where argument hadn't.

"I'll pick it up tomorrow." Y/n went quiet. This fantasy was easier to plot when she didn't have to concentrate on parrying his verbal thrusts and she tried to calm her nervous actions with whatever had made her think that she could best him at his own game.

She wished she were drunk but all she could do was hope that the drive would cool down that scorched male pride. All she could do momentarily was create another plan.

When they would finally get back to her apartment building she would placate him, contrive to convince him that it had all been a silly mistake. For all his threatening manner, she knew instinctively that he wouldn't use violence to enforce his threats. He didn't have to... all he had to do to seduce her was to take her in his arms and then she would be at his mercy. But once she had bolted her door on him she would be safe from her own wicked urges.

He could rage and huff and puff all he liked but he wouldn't be able to get in. The irony was rather quaint. All the security locks that he had insisted she have installed on her doors and windows when he first found out she lived alone in a not so friendly neighbourhood would ensure that her virtue remained unassailable - well for tonight at least.

Y/n had almost convinced herself that she had already outwitted him when she noticed the unfamiliarity of their route.

"This isn't the way to my home!"

He ignored her. The moving light thrown by the passing street-lights illuminated his shadowed expression. It was a hard mask of satisfaction.

"Dammit, Henry, where are you taking me?"

"I told you. Home."

"This isn't where I live."

"I never said I would take you to your home. I simply said 'home'. It's not my fault that you assumed I meant your home."

Henry turned into a steep, dark, curving driveway that seemed to drop away directly into the deep black glitter of a Lake that Y/n didn't even know existed in the area.

Y/n's heart was in her mouth as the car swooped towards the water, but when they reached the lower curve into darkness, security lights suddenly flickered on and she saw the brick paved courtyard clearly for an instant before the car was swallowed by the lower level of the house.

The garage door closed automatically after them, and for a moment after Henry cut the engine, the only sound in the softly lit enclosed space was the faint ringing echo of the metal door. Y/n was irresistibly reminded of the metallic springing of a trap. One that she had baited herself into.

"Welcome home, Y/n." Henry leaned towards her and she flinched, but he was merely flicking open her seatbelt.

She couldn't see him smile but she could hear the amusement in his voice as he continued, "No, not here in the car. I'm not so crude as to take up your generous invitation without due ceremony and at least a few comforts."

Henry leaned even further, reaching across her to push open her door, this time dragging his arm deliberately against her rapidly rising breasts as he withdrew.

"Get out. I'd prefer to go inside" he purred dangerously, pointedly placing her car keys out of reach in the inside pocket of his jacket.

" but If you can't restrain your wild passion and don't mind a little discomfort I'm quite ready and willing to make love to you against the dashboard"

Y/n was up and out of the car with as much alacrity as her fumbling apprehension would allow. His mocking laugh as he followed suit had her searching for the door, but he was there before her, opening it with a flourish and a small bow.

" After you. "

All the way up the narrow, spotlight staircase, Y/n was aware of the movement of her hips and legs, the breathless difficulty in her chest and, most of all, the steady, inexorable masculine tread that stalked her.

The room at the top of the stairs was shrouded in darkness, relieved by vague glimmering white shapes that made her gasp.

"Afraid of ghosts, too, Y/n? What a timid little thing you're turning out to be…". The murmured words smoked across the small area of vulnerable skin between her shoulder-blades, exposed by the discreet scoop of her gown, whispering across her sensitised nerves. There was a faint click and the room sprang into light.

The white shapes were sheets, draped over bulky objects.

Even the floor was covered by a dark green sheet, and the reason was obvious. The walls were stripped and primed, but had not yet had their first coat.

They were in the kitchen, Y/n guessed from the positioning of the shrouded fittings. Scattered about were cans of paint and rolls of wallpaper, brushes soaking in paint and the odd ladder or two. The only ghosts here were those of the tradesmen.

Yet, Y/n's heart continued to flutter with a deliciously disconcerting fear, an excited apprehension.

Without a word Henry took her by the elbow and ushered her impatiently through several more similarly dust-shrouded rooms with the unswerving instinct of a guided missile, not bothering to turn on any more lights.

The place seemed huge, and as silent and brooding as the explosively primed man beside her.

"You-you're redecorating!" Y/n grabbed at the chance to divert him from his relentless intention. Honestly it surprised her that she had known him for so long and yet had never seen his home, he didn't even talk of it much.

Henry didn't answer and she fell quiet.

He let her resistance slow him but he didn't let his grip ease. He had already been taken by surprise once too often that night.

"Have you been feeling hunted, Y/n?" Her answer was in her uneasy sidelong look. He smiled secretively. "Now you know how I felt this evening: like the helpless prey to your brazen huntress…" Y/n flushed, her whole body heating at his words. She had been brazen, utterly so, and she had enjoyed it far too obviously to try to deny it now.

Henry let her dwell on her folly for a moment before he murmured, "The answer to your question is…" his slow smile drew out the suspense for a wickedly long second "...perhaps."

His eyelids drooped, not quite hiding the predatory gleam that smouldered in the darkness. He was still very, very angry and he wanted her to know it.

"Certainly it turned out to be very convenient for you…"

His free hand came up under her other elbow and he stepped around to face her, forcing her backwards and into the realisation that while he had held her enmeshed with his equivocating words he had been slowly backing her to the wall.

"I'm no one's convenience," she spat, determined not to see the effect his calculated menace was having on her already chaotic nervous system.

"You have to admit you qualify in one or two forms of the dictionary meaning, Y/n," he drawled, driven to foment her the way that she had tormented him. "You're certainly suitable for my purposes and needs and you're close by... but no, I don't suppose you could be considered "easy to use"...

The fear that had inhibited her flared into an open temper at his overt mockery.

"If you think I'll let you-" "-Challenging me, y/n?" he interrupted softly, and watched her hesitate as she realised the certain consequences of goading him from her very vulnerable position.

"Actually," he continued almost kindly, "it's a little late for second thoughts. You've led me this far with your little game. Now it's time to pay the piper…" He dipped his head and to her tingling shock bit her gently on the side of her satiny throat. She reared back, but there was nowhere to go, no escape that didn't involve going through that broad-shouldered, lean-hipped wall of male arrogance!

"led you! You're the one who practically kidnapped me" She was appalled to hear the breathy lightness in her words when she had meant them to be firm.

"Mmm. Exciting, isn't it?" He bit the other side of her throat. "Just think how thoroughly helpless you are right at this minute. You're in a strange house, while I know every nook and cranny. All the exits are deadlocked. Even if you ran, where would you run to? I'm stronger than you are. bigger, harder, faster. You can't get away, no matter how hard you try. I can do anything I want with you. And there's nothing you can do about it, except…"

" Except what?" The mouth skimming her throat was having as violent an effect as his taunting words, arousing the deeply buried desires that she had tried to deny.

" accept what you caused" She felt the curve of his lips against her smooth skin, heard the amusement in the sensuous rumble.

He was laughing at her.

He wasn't content with merely seducing her. No, he wanted to humiliate her, too.

Sudden panic struck and with a fierce surge of strength she shoved at his solid chest. To both their surprise, he staggered back, far enough for her to dart away. With a roaring curse he gave chase.

Y/n's heart hammered as she scuttled from the safety of one covered piece of furniture to the next. She froze, listening for the direction of his pursuit, but Henry had also stilled. He was out there somewhere, crouched and aware, listening, just as she was, waiting to pounce. Her skin prickled hotly and she could feel the blood pulsing heavily through her veins. Y/n shivered with a strangely febrile excitement. She peered around what appeared to be a small table and saw a graduation of the blackness - A doorway!,

Taking a deep breath, she took to a low crouch and ran for it. As she did so she felt a rush of air as close as a blow and a throaty growl. He had only just missed her! She couldn't help letting out a little scream as she abandoned stealth and bolted, darting breathlessly to the darkened room.

Henry was never far behind and at first she was grateful that he didn't switch on the lights, the better to find her, but as his taunting laughter infiltrated the night she realised that he was revelling in the chase...and so was she!

Her inner certainty that Henry would never physically hurt her, even in genuine rage, gave an added piquancy to the situation.

She had challenged him in the most clemental way possible and he was responding in a way that was as different and exciting as he was.

The panic which had precipitated her flight became a delicious terror as the teasing game of hide-and-seek continued.

Sexual tension flourished in the shrouded silence like a living thing. He was no longer in a hurry to catch her, whispering silky-voiced threats into the night that curled her toes and dampened her palms, describing in sensual detail what was going to happen when he found her.

It didn't take Y/n very long to break. When Henry suddenly went quiet her imagination ran riot. She pressed herself even more tightly against the reassuring solidarity of what appeared to be a sideboard and quavered, "Henry?".

There was no answer and she tried hard to sound convincingly calm.

"Henry, this is ridiculous. Why don't you turn on the light and we'll talk about it sensibly?" Sensible was the last thing she felt but she couldn't stand the waiting no longer.

Y/n was just close enough to the edge of her self control to try shameless grovelling.

" All right, so I acted foolishly this evening. Now you've got your revenge and now we're even aren't we?"

Silence

"okay fine , yes, I admit it!" she cried. "I pretended to be drunk to tease you but…"

Silence,

"I did it because... because I didn't expect you to respond." And may God not strike her down for that awful lie!

"I wanted to annoy you, that's all. It was wrong of me. Childish. I'm sorry. I just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine. You always seem to have this - control over me. I just wanted to get under your skin for once."

Silence

"Henry? Henry!' Her placatory tone slipped badly.

" Fuck!, stop it. Henry, this isn't funny anymore!"

A soft chuckle floated out of the darkness. Y/n was too disorientated to guess its direction and she whirled a full circle.

" I'm not playing your stupid game any more, Henry, so you may as well come out. I won't try and run away again. I promise."

Silence.

Y/n began to tremble, not from fear but from helpless desire. Dammit, why didn't he come out and finish what she had started already. There was a soft sound to her left, a tiny echoing click that acted like a trigger on her taut nerves, catapulting her automatically to the other wall of the room, where she backed hastily between two tented objects that provided her with a solid sense of security. A false sense, she discovered, when a hand suddenly whipped across her mouth from behind, smothering her scream.

"So much for your promises, Y/n," came the clipped murmur in her ear. "That was only my cuff-link. You ran straight into my arms."

The hand across her mouth tightened as she tried to protest, and an arm lashed around her waist, drawing her back against a hard, familiar body. He hadn't lied in his silken whispers. He was just as aroused as she was by their foolish game.

She stood there for a moment, her head against his shoulder, trembling and breathless. She tried to speak and tasted the sweat of his palm. Instead of dropping his hand he trailed it deliberately across her lips, his fingers curving into her parted mouth, stroking the inner surface of her mouth and fondling her tongue with an intimacy that was far more shocking than any explicit sexual caress.

Her heart thundered in her breast as he softly probed her moistness, scaling the breath from her lungs, as he whispered, "Do you like this, Y/n? Your mouth is like wet satin, wrapping around my fingers. Use your tongue, tell me if you like the taste of me…" The sheer intoxication of his husky plea made her moan and he quickly let his hand drop.

"Am I hurting you?"

She couldn't answer and his hand continued to fall, until it settled on the firm roundness of her left breast, his palm cupping her, feeling the pounding tumult within.

" You...frighten me," she managed to say, her taste buds tingling with each word, drowning in the full flavour of him.

"This isn't fright, Y/n…" His hand tightened and then released, to flatten and move against her in soft rotation, compressing the flesh in a way that made her tremble even more.

"This is excitement. You wanted to be caught, didn't you? You're as curious about me as I am about you, only you wouldn't let yourself admit it. Tell me now if this is not what you want, Y/n, because from here on in I can't guarantee my control…"

As he issued his rough command his hand moved to explore her other breast. The hand around her waist strayed, fingers splaying against her velvet belly, digging into her softness, reaching for the ache that was forming in the pit of her stomach. His mouth was moving against her shining cap of hair, seeking the sensitive hollows at the nape of her neck.

He was handing control to her because she made him feel wildly out of control. She had never driven a man so wild with desire that he didn't know what he was doing...

"Henry, God, -"

"don't say no, Y/n. Not now." He spun her tightly in his arms and she made a discovery that drenched her with sensuous delight.

"Your clothes…"

He had taken off his jacket and tie some time during his dark pursuit and unbuttoned his shirt so that it hung free from his broad shoulders. The hands that she had placed against his chest met with bare skin- hot, damp, satiny skin covered with thick, soft hair. His heart was almost leaping from his chest and he shuddered as she pressed her palm harder against him, marveling at the strength and power rippling beneath the skin.

"I got hot, chasing you," he said. "I still am. Wanting you makes me that way. Hot and so ready that I can hardly stand!"

He made a subtle movement with his hips and groaned as he brushed against the thick velvet folds of her dress. She felt a fresh moisture break out on his skin and in an instinctive gesture of acceptance leaned forward to nuzzle it from his chest, her mouth inadvertently brushing against one of his large, flat nipples in his nest of hair.

He made a choking sound in his throat, arching back to give her free access to his upper body and in the process ground his swollen hardness against the juncture of her thighs

"do it"

Y/n barely heard his ragged plea. Henry was so exquisitely responsive to every tiny movement she made, even to the very breath from her lips upon his skin, that he was soon deep in the toils of a dreamy delirium.

She wasn't aware of the rip he made in the back of her dress when his shaking hands wrenched the zip down, only of the molten sensuality of his gaze as he steered her into a shaft of light near the window and studied her breasts. nestled in their cups of pure white lace.

"Did you wear this for me?" he asked thickly, roughly tracing the outline of the lace across the curving swells. "Did you want me to take off your dress tonight, Y/n? To admire you like this?"

His arousal was so flatteringly intense that she couldn't deny him the truth.

"Yes…"

She closed her eyes, gasping as she felt the stroke of his thumbs across the seams, finding the rigid tips that were evidence of her own desire. He made a sound and she felt him kneel to pull her velvet gown over her hips, revealing the white panties and suspender belt in the same simple lace design as the bra, demure yet sexy in their essential femininity.

He made another sound, this time deep and guttural, his hands running up the backs of her thighs, pulling them closer and parting them slightly.

She opened her eyes, clutching at his naked shoulders as he moved his mouth hotly against the lacy front panel of her panties and pressed a string of kisses from the soft skin at the tops of her stockings to the deep, frantic pulse at the hollow of her hip.

Y/n could feel the cool air along her pussy as warmth settled there. Rough hands sent a shiver through her body as they ran the length of her thighs, kneading her ass before finding their way back to her pussy, and pushing her panties to the side for a better look at what she had to offer. Y/n shook and he purred in approval of her reaction.

Henry pressed forward until Y/n felt his lips along her folds, teasing her before delving deeper. Y/n gasped at the first taste, the tip of his tongue poking at her entrance, her arousal spilling forth. Henry ran the length of her pussy until he flicked her clit, the twitch it brought forth made him snicker into her skin. He dragged his tongue along her clit again, grazing it over and over as her pelvis flinched unwillingly.

“shit,” she hissed, trying not to moan though it felt so good.

Y/n clung onto his shoulders, the buzz she felt in her stomach coming closer to finding its release. Her thighs trembled as he grew more persistent, his tongue agile as it drew forth an orgasm but just before she could relish in the exquisite feeling, he pulled away. It had been almost a year since you had been pleasured by anything other than her own hands and this was starting to drive her mad.

The sight of his dark head moving against her and the sensations he was creating made her cry out in helpless need and he looked up, a dark blush crossing his face when he saw her starlit expression.

He stood and kissed her on the mouth until they were both breathless. Then, still holding her, he reached behind him, dragging the sheet off the nearest object.

It was a smooth, polished mahogany dining table, it's dark surface reflecting the muted lights from the moon.

Y/n imagined him laying her down on that smooth hardness and leaning over her, feeling the melting pleasure of his touch.

Henry turned her, pressing her hips against the carved mahogany edge.

"I've never made love on a table before," she whispered raggedly, hoping that she wouldn't disappoint him with her relative inexperience. No doubt he was used to women who were terribly adventurous and sexually sophisticated. She thrusted the jealous thought away and linked her arms around his neck, reminding herself that she could make him shake with passionate need. She could make up with enthusiasm for what she lacked in experience and he would never know the difference.

He stilled and she was afraid that she had destroyed the moment with her naive little confidence. Henry lifted his head and looked at the table behind her. Then he stopped and swept her off her feet, lifting her into his strong arms.

"No, not here," he said hoarsely. "The first time should be in a bed.." He began to move with Y/n in his arms and she turned her hot face against his broad chest, adoring him for caring enough to make this exactly right for them.

"I don't want to wait." She told him shyly of her need and his arms tightened, the muscles of his shoulders and neck bunching into prominence as his stride quickened.

"You won't have to." He turned into another doorway, dipping an elbow against the wall until twin lamps glowed, their light filtered into a soft, golden delicacy by the cloths that swathed them.

Henry didn't let her go as he removed the covering over the bed and stripped back the dark feather quilt. When he finally put her down it was on to crisp white sheets that released a lavender fragrance to mingle with the heated scent of arousal that perfumed their bodies.

Henry stood by the bedside, looking down at her. Then he spread his hands, revealing the light tremor that shook his hand ever so gently.

"Look what you do to me. You make me weak. No one has ever had that effect on me" Y/n reached out a hand and touched his trident stomach.

"You're the strongest man I know," her hand ran down his stomach and over the muscle underneath as she moved down to his belt. She tugged at it gently

"I want you" she purred.

The knowledge of their mutual desire flared in his hungry eyes, hardening the planes and angles of his face until it looked as rigid as his body under her exploring hand. He caught her wrist before she would have touched him intimately, folding her arm back into the pillow behind her head he knelt beside her.

"Say it again. Say my name."

"I want you to make love to me, Henry." Her words were a promise to give him all that he wanted and more.

"No more running?" he raised his eyebrow jokingly and Y/n shook her head, unable to speak as he unclipped the front fastening of her bra, sensing that he wanted her to lie quiescently as he bared the last secrets of her body.

She felt shy, like a precious gift being gloatingly unwrapped, but she didn't resent his moment of purely masculine triumph. The glory of the moment was also hers, this beautiful man that she had known for so long finally hers. He was giving himself to her and asking nothing but what she was willing to give in return. For tonight and perhaps for many nights to come she would let him satisfy the hunger in her soul, colour the cold grey corners of her world with a warmth and vibrant life that would dispel, at least for a time, the loneliness she had come to accept many years ago.

"I want you, too…" she whispered as she welcomed the joy of his touch.

Henry undressed himself with a fumbling haste that she found inexpressibly exciting and when he came down on to her she gasped at the violent energy of his enthusiasm. Y/n stared up at him, his cock hanging out for all to see.

The controlled, disciplined man she had grown to know vanished completely. In his place was a greedy, intemperate, ardent and impetuous male, urgently intent with plundering each and every lavish pleasure of flesh.

Henry smirked, his hand slowly pumping his dick a few times before he bent down and slid the tip over her slit and pushed inside roughly, allowing her no resistance as he filled her entirely.

This moment when he took her would live vividly in her memory forever.

The shocking reality of his first thrust stilled them both but then he stilled, chest shaking, half across her body, his head buried in the curve of her neck.

'Surely he's not going to stop now,' y/n thought hysterically as her body slowly adjusted to the agonising fullness, and she felt the involuntary ripples of tension begin to absorb him even more deeply into her being.

Y/n dropped her head back as she let out a low growl as he thrusted sharply, allowing a moment between each as they were jolted into the bed. His hands were on her hips, holding her down as he slid in and out.

Relax and enjoy was about all Y/n was capable of doing as his sensual onslaught built towards a fiery climax. He devoured her, feasting on her body with blind hunger, biting lushly into her skin, sipping and suckling the sweetness from her achingly swollen breasts as his hands adjusted her body around his, moaning and shuddering so violently when she even lightly caressed his body with her own that she resorted to merely riding the exquisite storm as he sank deeper than before.

Henry groaned and y/n felt a sudden burst of warmth, his cum leaking down her legs as she let the feeling of her own orgasm near

She plunged a hand into his sweat-drenched hair, and pulled his head back.

"Henry-"

The moan came quickly and she hardly recognised him as she gawked up at him. His mouth was full, reddened, the skin drawn tightly over the bones of his face giving him a lean, hollowed-checked wildness, his deep set eyes open but blank with inner turbulence. He looked almost totally insensate.

Y/n felt shaken by a sudden wave of tenderness as his cock slid over a soft spot inside her, her fingers curling tightly into silky-damp hair.

"Henry--"

The tenderness flooded her being and was just swiftly followed by another wave of intense feeling as Henry stiffened and pulled back slightly, the pupils of his eyes contracting, his jaw clenching as he fought the blind instinct that was relentlessly driving him.

"I hurt you, didn't i." he gritted. "I went too fast for you. I'm sorry." He moved up on his braced arms and tried to withdraw further but she stopped him, almost sobbing.

"No... oh, no"

Henry hesitated and she moaned again, this time a bitter protest, "No, please, no, not yet…"

Y/n's pussy tightened and she murmured in delight as he slowly thrusted against her again, her sensitive walls sending a thrill up her spine.

She was fighting to hold on, and he watched, puzzled and then fascinated, as she moaned, her eyes wide with a strange fear and confusion. Her fingers slid laxly out of his hair to clench and unclench helplessly on the pillow. A deep rosy flush spread up from her damp, heaving breasts to mantle her throat and face. He realised then what was happening to her and waited, afraid to move again for fear of breaking the wondrous spell, watching hotly as the inexorable momentum built swiftly to a flashpoint.

Only when she rolled her flushed cheek sideways into the pillow did he move, cupping her face with his strong hand, forcing her to look at him.

"No, let me see... let me watch it happen to you...I want to watch"

Her eyelids fluttered at his husky command, her blush deepened, but she was too enraptured to feel embarrassed, too stunned by the speed of it all to deny him anything he asked. Her mouth trembled and parted and she began to gasp in light, shallow breaths that made her flushed breasts quiver deliciously, invitingly.

He bent and touched a stiff pink nipple experimentally with his mouth, very gently. She jerked and cried out, exploding beneath him in a series of violent convulsions that almost unseated him. He gripped her thighs and held her steady while she sobbed and moaned and poured herself into him, and then, as she melted lovingly around him he at last began to move, uncertainly echoing her undulating movements until he established his own powerful rhythm, this time driving her with him, until his raw shout of exuberant satisfaction signalled that the whirlwind was spent.

In the morning Y/n was grateful for the resilience of her relative youth. Even after a long hot shower, her muscles ached with the extravagance of her strenuous exercise. She felt as if she had been battered, not by one whirlwind, but several. And she had. If she had thought that Henry's incandescent passion would swiftly burn them both out she discovered, through the ravishing reaches of the night, that she was marvellously mistaken.

His desire, like his curiosity about her body, had proved insatiable. And, although the second and third time they made love it was not with the stunning speed of the first, it was still fiercely, gloriously energetic. He encouraged a boldness in her that she hadn't known she possessed.

He made her feel unutterably sexy, as if she was the only woman in the world who could satisfy his lavish appetite for lovemaking, and he devoted and demanded the same kind of single-minded commitment to creating pleasure that he did to his more worldly objectives. In short, he was every bit the fantastic lover she had imagined he was.

Y/n smiled to herself as she sipped her coffee. Was this a case of being hoist by her own petard? If so, everyone should have such a virile executioner!

"You look quite disgustingly smug."

Henry had showered, brought her coffee and toast in bed and casually dressed in front of her with the ease of a man who was thoroughly satisfied with himself and the world in general.

"You're looking fairly smug yourself," she answered boldly.

"Making love in the morning obviously suits us both and in the evening, and at night. By the way, what are you doing at lunchtime?" Y/n couldn't stop blushing and Henry smirked.

She wasn't that bold - yet.

If she and Henry were lovers for long she didn't doubt that she could become very, very brazen.

"Eating," she said repressively.

Henry refused to be repressed. "you're a wicked, decadent woman." He leaned over and tugged at the sheet that was tucked over her breasts and down to her waist. Y/n squeaked and held out her cup, afraid she would spill some of the hot liquid as he bent to lightly kiss her rosy softness.

" is all of you on the menu, or just selected divine parts?"

"You're a glutton!" Y/n murmured weakly, closing her eyes, shivering at the tingling pleasure his delicately teasing tongue evoked.

"Ouch!" Henry winched, The coffee having splashed onto his cheek as y/n unconsciously let the coffee cup slip.

"Serves you right." She didn't pull up the sheet, sitting primly among the crumbs and cotton sheets, deliciously aware of the contrast between her nudity and his dark, formal suit as he moved away.

He had told her he had an early meeting --one reason for the necessity to rouse her just after dawn by making love to her sleepy, languorous body.

Waking up to find Henry inside her was just one of the new, fresh pleasures of life!

"Will you meet me for lunch? This meeting should be over by then." He straightened his tie in front of the mirror then walked back to her.

"If you want me to…" He cupped her chin, reminding her of the way he had refused to allow her to hide from him last night.

"I want you to. Make no mistake about that, y/n. I have no regrets. None."

"Good." She lifted her chin and tried for a little of the sophistication he was no doubt used to. "I wouldn't like to think that I had disappointed you."

To her annoyance, he laughed. He straightened, letting his fingers trail down her throat. "There wasn't much chance of that, believe me."

"Oh, are you so confident of your prowess?" she snapped defensively, feeling suddenly restless and mentative. "You can turn any woman into your personal love machine?"

He seemed unruffled by her irritable crudity, a strange smile still playing around his lips.

"On the contrary. I'm afraid I have no basis for comparison."

"What?" Y/n stared at him blankly.

He scooped up a slice of toast and bit into it. "Couldn't you tell, Y/n? Was my gift such a paltry thing? I thought one's partner could always tell."

What was he talking about? To her horror, Y/n suddenly realised that, although he had used protection afterwards, that first, rough coming-together had been utterly spontaneous and Henry certainly hadn't held back. Did he purposely try to get her pregnant? Was he not really the man she thought he was? No- that couldn't be it.

"What gift? T-tell- me. what?" she stammered, raising her cup to hide the quiver of her mouth, hoping he wasn't going to prove as selfishly arrogant as she suspected!

" Why, that it was my first time, of course." And, as she continued to stare at him uncomprehendingly over the top of the cup, his smile gentled into a tender warmth. "You were my initiation, Y/n. I gave you my virginity, you gave me my manhood."

And, leaving her gasping and choking with shocked disbelief, a pool of hot coffee soaking into the sheets around her, he calmly turned and walked out of the house, a new found pride in his stomach and so much more to be discovered.

Taglist (added in reblog ❤️)

#Henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x you #henry cavill one shot

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mylittlemystery · 3 years

Text

Impish Interest

Summary: Angie can’t help it if she’s a little mischievous; a playful nature is necessary for living a fulfilling life, after all!

A/N: I’m still on a big ‘lee Kork kick, so please enjoy two instances of him getting destroyed back to back. There’s also a very lighthearted innuendo and some mentions of Korekiyo’s sister ahead, so please keep that in mind as you proceed.

Angie Yonaga was acutely aware of how great of a privilege she had been granted by being allowed to attend the illustrious Hope’s Peak Academy, but even that knowledge couldn’t stop her free spirit from growing weary at the monotonous routine of a student’s daily life. She was bored, plain and simple. The fact that her fellow classmates seemed utterly uninterested in her propositions of ways to kill time certainly did her no favors, which had led to her wandering the largely abandoned halls this afternoon with a pout clouding her expression. Classes had ended for today, but the Ultimate Artist was in no rush to hurry back to her dorm room; instead, she dragged her feet against the smooth tiled floors as she let out what had to be her fourth pitiful sigh in under an hour. Her attention was piqued, however, when she noticed one of the doors to her right was slightly ajar. Curiously, she hurried over and poked her head inside.

Korekiyo Shinguji was knelt on the hardwood floor, his bony fingers carefully sorting through an assortment of papers splayed out before him. Despite him being the only one left occupying the space, he seemed to be in no obvious rush to finish up with whatever it was he was doing. He was a man who enjoyed peace and quiet, so he oftentimes lingered behind when school had wrapped up for the day. It could be inferred that he was fairly immersed in his studies - if he had noticed the other snooping on him, he showed no signs of it.

Angie let out a delighted gasp at the sight of one of her pupils, and she skipped over to his backside with great haste. “Kiyo!” she squealed as she threw her body weight on top of his own, wrapping her arms and legs around his torso in a rather clumsy embrace. “I’m so glad you’re here! I thought I was going to have to go to bed feeling all depressed tonight!”

Korekiyo, unprepared for the sudden attack of affection, flopped onto his stomach before he could steady himself. Stifling back a huff of annoyance, he did his best to brush aside any documents that weren’t trapped underneath him. “Hello to you too, Angie,” he returned the greeting in his typical flat tone. “Now, do get off of me, will you? I’m afraid you’ve already damaged some of my reports…”

“Oh, sorry!” Angie chirped as she got back on her own two feet, though her wide smile and her cheerful voice made said apology seem insincere. “I wouldn’t want to disturb your work, Kiyo. After all, you always make sure to refrain from interrupting me when I’m praying!”

Korekiyo chose to stay silent towards this remark, instead pushing himself back up onto his knees and collecting the remainder of the assorted files. They were slightly crumpled from being abruptly crushed, but other than that remained vastly unharmed. With a gentle sigh of relief, he set those aside as well and turned to face his eagerly awaiting classmate. “It’s alright - it seems they only suffered mere surface level harm. Now then, how can I help-” His voice was rudely snatched away from him as soon as he was tackled onto his back.

“Nyahahaha! Now you can keep me entertained, Kiyo!” Angie gushed as she straddled the other’s waistline, either unbothered by or unaware of the implications such a position might carry. “Since nobody’s here, we can play for a very long time without disturbing the peace!”

“Disturb the peace…?” Korekiyo echoed as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Kehehe...I wonder, what sort of game are you thinking about?”

Angie got a hearty chuckle out of such a response. “Don’t worry, we won’t be exercising today!” she reassured, though her hands quickly working to unbutton the other’s jacket definitely didn’t add any credence to her words. “I just want you to be my canvas!”

Korekiyo hummed in thought at this development. He knew as well as she did that he could easily toss her off, what with the latter weighing about as much as a rag doll, but he instead allowed her to press on with her handiwork. “A canvas, you say? I wonder, do you intend to paint on me?” he wondered aloud as the cool air nipped at his now bare skin, shivering ever so slightly as the shorter girl parted both ends of the dress shirt that lay hidden beneath his uniform.

“Well, not quite. I need to stock up on more paint, so we’ll just have to use the brushes here!” Angie admitted as she retrieved one of the aforementioned objects from the belt around her waist, twirling the small handle in between the index and middle finger of her left hand. “That part doesn’t matter, though - Atua says you’ll still make a wonderful participant in this little game of ours!”

“Ah, I see. Are there any rules to this game?” Korekiyo asked as if this was the most natural occurrence he had ever experienced. “If I am going to participate, I want to do so properly.”

“Oh my, I almost forgot!” Angie exclaimed as she clapped her palms against her cheeks. “How silly of me! Okay, okay...all you have to do is be my canvas for thirty minutes! Sounds easy, right?” She leaned her upper half over to one side as she blinked down at the much taller individual expectantly. “Well, aren’t you going to ask if there are any rewards for winning the game? I assure you there are - Atua always honors those who have pleased him!”

Korekiyo couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the other’s bemusing antics, but he decided to continue humoring her nonetheless. “Then, pray tell, what is this reward you speak of?”

“I get to be your canvas as thanks!” Angie practically squealed as she clasped her hands together over her heart. “Doesn’t that sound like fun, Kiyo? Now, come on - will you allow me to use you as my canvas? We can start our countdown as soon as you agree!”

Korekiyo pondered on this for a minute, giving himself a sufficient amount of time to weigh his options. “Mm...I suppose that would be alright,” he finally consented. “Just keep an eye on the time, will you? I don’t want to spend too long away from my work…”

“Of course, of course! You needn’t worry, Kiyo; Atua’s business hours will end for the day soon enough, anyway!” Angie promised eagerly, clearly itching to get started with their little activity. Adjusting the paintbrush so it was now carefully gripped by her fingertips, she took a quick glance at the clock on the wall of the room as to make note of the starting time. “Alrighty then! Let the game...begin!” With that, she began carefully mapping out invisible doodles with the tip of the cluster of bristles against the now exposed abdomen.

As soon as the soft shudder of the brush greeted his skin, Korekiyo sucked in a sharp inhale through his suddenly clenched jaw. “O-oh,” he spluttered as the realization of the challenge of this so-called game truly dawned on him. She intended to use his own nerves against him…

“Nyahahaha! Ticklish, Kiyo?” Angie crooned with coyish glee as her delicate strokes slowly started to pick up speed. “There’s no need to be embarrassed about it - that’s what makes this game so fun!” A devious smile curled across her lips as she watched all the tiny quivers and shakes her actions were rewarding her with. “Gitchie gitchie goo~!”

Kiyo bit the inside of his cheek harshly enough to draw blood, but it was more than worth it in his opinion if it meant he could restrain his reactions. The fibers of the tool tickled terribly, what with every square inch of his skin erupting into goosebumps, and it took an incredible amount of willpower to quell the urge to laugh flashing against his mind. He didn’t like to lose his composure, especially not in front of someone like Angie…

Speaking of which, the girl’s usual peppy smile had melted into a tender pout at the lack of a response. “Hey, why are you holding back?” she whined almost like a toddler throwing a fit over not receiving a desired toy. “Atua wants to hear lots of laughter, you know…” She dipped the tip of the paintbrush into the taller man’s trembling navel, twirling it around in determined little circles. “Now, be a good little canvas, and let Atua hear your beautiful laugh! Come on, Kiyo - tickle, tickle, tickle~!”

This sudden line of secondhand praise took a huge chunk out of Korekiyo’s resolve, and, if that wasn’t enough, that sweet coo of a tease truly did him in. He hadn’t experienced baby talk in many moons, and he had forgotten the length of the extent of which it flustered him. He felt as though his brain and bones were turning to mush...not surprisingly, the mirth he had been desperately holding back came tumbling out within seconds. “K-kehehehehehehee! N-nohohohohohoo!”

Angie’s face lit up like a spotlight at the much anticipated response, and that signature smile of hers was back in a flash. “See, doesn’t that feel so much better?” she crooned down at him, gazing at the tittering mess with a playful twinkle in her eyes as though he was nothing more than a baby bird. “Laugh as much as you please - don’t be afraid to let yourself go! It feels great to be happy, no?” Throughout her exuberant spiel, her little spins hadn’t paused for so much as a moment. “Round and round, round and round, round and round~!” she sang as she pressed on. “My, that must really tickle!”

The verbal torment was becoming far too much for Korekiyo to handle, even more so than the physical variant. “P-pleeheeheeheeheease, dohohohon’t tehehehease mehe!” he whimpered in such a giddy tone of voice that it was nearly impossible to take him seriously. For all his protesting, however, he still hadn’t lowered his arms down from where they had landed when he had first been pushed to the floor - above his head. It was almost like there was some unseen force pinning them down for his attacker… “Ihit’s ehembahahaharrahassihihihiing!”

Unfortunately for the flustered anthropologist, Angie’s smile only morphed into something downright devilish at these pitiful pleas for reprieve. “Aw, can poor Kiyo not handle being teased~?” she hummed in a tone dripping with vindictive sympathy. “I’m afraid you’ll have to bear it for now; taunting the canvases is one of Atua’s favorite parts of this process!” Finally deciding to give the belly button a rest, she rested her chin atop her writing hand thoughtfully. “Now, what should I doodle on you…?” She contemplated her options for a minute, giving her ‘lee a much needed chance to gather his bearings. “Ah, I know! How about some smiley faces, hm?”

“Nohohohohohoo!” Korekiyo cried out as those horrendously overwhelming sensations started back up on his abdomen once again, and he began twitching back and forth underneath the girl’s body weight terribly. “Ihi cahahahahahaan’t - I c-cahan’t tahahahahaake ihit!” His face was starting to grow just a little bit sore - he wasn’t used to smiling period, let alone for this long of a duration of time.

“What, you don’t like them?” Angie responded in a dramatic display of naiveté, knowing full well that his complaints were not about her choice of artwork. “Hmm...well then, how about a message?” With that, she began tracing the outlines of invisible letters on the already well abused tummy. “I think if I let everybody know that you’re Ticklish Little Kiyo, you’d be asked to act as a canvas much more often~!”

It was that one word - little - that made Korekiyo come close to melting into a wad of laughing putty. He hadn’t been called anything along those lines since childhood, when his beloved sister would cradle him in her arms and blow raspberry after raspberry into his stomach, and he was starting to react much like how he would’ve back then. He could practically hear her musical giggle echoing off the deepest corners of his mind.

“Ticklish, my little Korekiyo~?”

He almost feels lightheaded with hysteria in the best way possible, and he practically bathes in the warmth blossoming up from behind his ribcage. “Nooohohohohoo!” he nearly squealed, more so at his own thoughts than anything else. “Nahahahaat thahahahaaaat!” It was delightfully torturous, the kind of torment that he never wanted to end.

Almost as if she had taken a glance into a crystal ball, Angie’s ministrations slowly ground to a halt. The soft clatter of her paintbrush reverberated around the room as she let it fall to the ground, fixing the other with a sly look. “You know, Kiyo,” she began as she stole a quick gaze towards the clock, “it’s already been fifteen minutes and you haven’t asked me to stop yet! That’s usually common of Atua’s canvases, but not for you, huh?” She cocked an eyebrow as her smile grew significantly warmer thanks to the unexpected burst of knowing adoration. “Nyahahaha! Having too much fun, hm~?”

Korekiyo could feel his cheeks flush at the taunting remark, a rather endearing cherry red blush spreading all the way up to the tips of his ears. He didn’t want to admit how nostalgically joyous it was for him, how every touch made him feel safe and secure - hell, he could scarcely picture said words making it off the tip of his tongue. Rather, he chose to merely bury his face in a raised forearm in reply - he couldn’t stand the shock of those impish eyes against his figure.

“Aw, there’s no need to be shy; the fact that you enjoy it so much just makes you an even better canvas!” Angie reassured with a surprising amount of sincerity, not really understanding why the other student was so embarrassed about all of this. After all, what’s there to be humiliated about over a little tickling? “Okay!” she abruptly exclaimed as she clapped her hands together. “Get ready, ‘cause it’s time to go after your tickle spot!”

“Wh-whahat?” Korekiyo murmured breathlessly, still trying to gather his tangled mess of thoughts, but he quickly managed to draw his own conclusions when the little minx began wriggling curled fingers just above his sides. He could feel his heart do a swan dive all the way down to the soles of his feet, and his eyes grew as wide as a pair of dinner saucers. For barely an instant, he wondered if he’d let his little secret slip when he was in her company...no, he couldn’t have done something so foolish. So how did she-

“You always get so jumpy whenever somebody prods you here, even if it’s just to get your attention!” Angie prattled on almost like she had read his mind. “I know this just has to be your tickle spot! After all, Atua told me so - He said you’re just barely holding back a squeal every single time! You must be waiting for someone to finally give you a true tickle here, hm~? Well, today is your lucky day!”

Korekiyo didn’t even get the chance to feel mortified before he was practically shrieking his lungs out, legs nearly kicking a desk that rested nearby as long fingernails grazing against the bare skin of his sides set his nerves ablaze. His facial expression was practically contorted into something of utter mirthful hysterics, tears pricking at the corners of his now tightly shut eyes already.

“Aha, I knew it!” Angie cheered triumphantly, fingertips picking up speed thanks to the bountiful encouragement. “Wow, even I couldn’t imagine that these sides of yours would be quite so ticklish! You must feel so overjoyed right now…” She let out a dreamy sigh as she gazed down at her damn near screaming victim, pure contentment written all over her face. “Are you enjoying being my canvas, hm? You certainly sound like you are - you’re laughing so hard you’re almost crying tears of joy~!”

It didn’t take much longer after that for said tears to fall, trailing down Korekiyo’s cheeks far enough to slip under the hem of his mask. He couldn’t recall the last time he had been forced to cackle for this long of a length of time - hell, he couldn’t recall the last time he had let out a noise beyond a soft chuckle - and, as such, it was beginning to take a toll on his train of thought. He felt like he was trapped in a haze of nostalgic giddiness, finally allowing himself to completely unravel at the seams and squeal like a little girl. When the first raspberry was blown, however, he let out a sound akin to something coming from a dying bird.

Angie tilted her view up towards Kiyo’s face, her tiny titter birthing from his crazed expression only succeeding to tickle his abdomen even more. “So, so ticklish,” she murmured in an almost trance induced state, unable to restrain herself from driving the other further into the pit of mirthful hysterics. “Hm...you wouldn’t mind if we forgot about the time limit, huh? You’d probably like to be Atua’s canvas for the rest of your days, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you~?” She breathed a sadistic sort of hum. “Wiggling around like a tiny inchworm, unable and unwilling to squirm away!”

For a brief moment, Korekiyo’s head felt as though all the contents within it had been siphoned off to one side. He could tell he was going to faint soon if this didn’t let up, but he just as quickly discovered that he didn’t care. He wanted this delectable feeling of pure ecstasy to last forever - he wanted to drown in these waves of unbridled joy, to get washed away on the tides of security...he could die right now, and he would be more than pleased with it-

“Time’s up!”

Like a record catching on its player’s needle, the overpowering sensations ceased rather abruptly. Ever so slowly his jumbled thoughts began to smooth themselves over, the hazy feeling behind his brow bone dissipated, and his burning lungs came down from working overtime to deliver the necessary oxygen to keep him conscious. Panting like an overworked sheepdog, strands of his hair sticking to his sweat drenched face, his watery gaze eventually managed to focus on Angie once more. “Wh-what?”

“You made it through a whole half of an hour!” the petite woman chirped most delightedly, pressing her palms together just in front of her chest contentedly. “Congratulations, Kiyo - that means you win! I knew you could do it!”

“Oh,” Korekiyo murmured, having enough of his senses back to feel a slight tremor of embarrassment at just how far he had let himself go. As he felt the other remove herself from atop his waist, he managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. “...Remind me, if you will, what my prize will be?”

Angie let a sweet titter of a giggle flutter from her lips, and she hung her torso over to her left like a marionette with faulty strings. “I get to be your canvas now, Kiyo!” she reminded the lithe individual rather eagerly, as though she was utterly oblivious (or uncaring) of the repercussions such a statement could carry.

A flicker of malevolent mischief began to tie itself around the anthropologist’s heart, such an emotion effortlessly reflecting itself against his amber eyes. “Kehehe...is that so?” he hummed as he carefully got to his feet.

“But...you’ll have to catch me first~!” With that, Angie skipped out of the classroom, leaving only the echo of her giddy laughter behind.

Momentarily taken aback by this sudden development, Korekiyo stood there watching the doorway through which the artist had just slipped through. Then, with a bemused shake of his head, he walked off to do just that.

#writing #fanfiction #danganronpa #korekiyo shinguji #angie yonaga #miyadera shinguji #tickling #tickle #tickles #tickled #ticklish #my posts

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asflametosmoke · 3 years

Text

james farrow analysis (+ oliver and richard as they relate to him)

so last night i stayed up until 2 am messaging with my friend about iwwv, and what is tumblr for if not posting your 2 am ramblings. (i’ve streamlined and expanded on them a bit.)

massive spoilers for the whole book under the cut.

(edit: i realize now that the cut doesn’t show up on mobile, sorry 😬)

part i - james farrow + heroism

james’s casting archetype is the hero/lover/prince, but he actually subverts tropes of traditional heroism/heroic characters.

he doesn’t really have classic heroic traits. he’s not really brave, he’s slight of build, he’s intelligent yet manipulative.

he doesn’t really fall in love with the ingenue, wren. he sleeps with her, but more than anything, he does it to make oliver jealous. and i didn’t read his protectiveness of her as something that comes from a place of romantic love. you’re welcome to disagree, of course, because that’s a bit ambiguous, but most of the squad is protective of wren. james isn’t unique there. we see oliver and even richard, in his own way, feeling protective towards her. it’s not really an indicator that he loved her.

he falls into the trope of the hero killing the tyrant (richard), but it’s not a heroic action when he does it. it’s not a noble slaying. it’s the desperate act of a cornered animal.

he has what you might call a “hero complex”, a need to save and protect everyone. but this backfires hugely. his need to protect wren leads to him going into the woods to find richard, which, as we know, ends up with richard dead in the lake. his need to save oliver (and his own guilt over not having been able to save him) leads to the deterioration of his mental state, even to the point where he feels the need to disappear.

part ii - james farrow + villainy [buckle up, this is a long one]

here’s where it gets interesting. there are a lot of moving parts here:

he says he wants more variety on his resume, to not play heroes and lovers and princes all the time.

in gwedolyn’s class, he says he immerses himself in every character he plays, but can’t always find himself again afterwards.

he gets cast as macbeth.

he gets cast as edmund, the villain in king lear.

over the course of acts iv and v, he goes slightly insane.

james’s casting in the role of macbeth is arguably the inciting incident. it’s the root cause of richard going off the rails. it’s also the first time he plays a villainous character (macbeth is the tragic hero, sure, but when i say “villain” i mean it in the moral sense), and it virtually intoxicates him.

being cast in the role of edmund is not, of course, the only thing wearing on his sanity throughout acts iv and v. but it doesn’t help either. he says, “i want to hurt the whole world.” ultimately, this stems from his trauma from killing richard, but it’s no coincidence that he got himself cast as edmund while in this state. he wants to hurt the whole world, as james, and by immersing himself in edmund, he finds rhyme and reason for it.

not only that, but it’s through edmund and lear in general, through the vessel of villainy and tragedy, that he’s the most honest before his confession. in act v, scene ii, he gets drunk and desperately tries to talk to oliver through lear. there’s a lot to unpack in this scene, but here are some of the highlights:

“they’ll have me whipp’d for speaking true; thou’lt have me whipped for lying, and sometimes i am whipp’d for holding my peace.”

i’ve never read lear, so i can’t contextualize this in the play, but it’s very relevant to james. he’ll be punished (sent to prison) for confessing, but oliver can’t take any more lies.

“‘where is the villain, edmund?’ i asked. he smiled crazily and echoed, ‘“where is the villain, edmund?” a pause for punctuation, yes? but not the playwright’s - commas belong to the compositors. “where is the villain edmund? here, sir, but trouble him not - his wits are gone.”’

james isn’t really talking about edmund here, of course. he’s talking about himself, calling himself a “villain” and admitting he’s gone more than a little crazy with guilt and fear (“his wits are gone.”) he thinks he can’t be saved. but his hero complex and archetype are still important here. he’s been deemed the hero for years, and now all of a sudden he’s committed murder. his complex, his need to save everyone that in part stems from the role he’s been given for his whole career, is at war with his new belief that he himself cannot be saved.

“‘no less than all - and more, much more. the time will bring it out!’ he wrenched his arm away and smoothed the front of his shirt, as if he were trying to wipe his hands clean. ‘some blood drawn on me would beget opinion / of my more fierce endeavor.’”

clearly, this is a reference to richard’s death. james knows he’s running out of time, and soon enough his secret will be revealed one way or another. it also shows his guilt: he’s trying to “wipe his hands clean”, presumably of figurative blood, and he thinks he deserves to be hurt for his “more fierce endeavor” e.g. killing richard.

part iii - james + richard + oliver + royalty

princes fall into james’s archetype along with heroes and lovers.

kings fall into richard’s archetype along with tyrants and conquerors.

in the woods, richard repeatedly calls james “little prince”, placing james “below” richard in both literal and figurative stature.

after james’s confession, oliver says “worthy prince, i know’t” to him onstage even though he’s supposed to say that line to camilo.

he’s reclaiming the word from richard, in a sense, and telling james that no matter what he’s done, he’s still a “worthy prince”. he means everything to oliver despite the fact that he’s a murderer, and despite the fact that he himself doesn’t believe he’s noble anymore (though he desperately wants to be). it’s quite literally a love language for oliver, and perhaps the closest he comes to a declaration of love.

part iv - james + richard + oliver + the water [this is also a long one]

richard wants to see james drowned, and oliver is the only one preventing this.

the first appearance of this motif is on halloween, when richard tries to drown james in the lake.

this foreshadows james’s eventual fate. whether or not he truly drowned in the end is, of course, a point of contention. for the purposes of this analysis, i won’t take a position on whether or not james is alive, and i will address it with the same ambiguity that canon gives it. however, regardless of whether or not james is alive by the end, it’s undeniable that he went under the water, and in a sense, it was richard that dragged him under. filippa says, “it was the guilt, oliver.” and once oliver isn’t there to comfort him, enable the two of them to forget richard for a little while, it’s only a matter of time before his guilt weighs him down so much that he feels the need to disappear from his own life. even if he’s not dead, he’s certainly not james farrow anymore, wherever he might be.

james reveals that richard kept pushing him towards the dock. it’s unclear if he really intended to drown james or even push him in the water, but it’s not unlikely that this was his intention.

in the dock scene (act iii, scene i), james tries to dive into the water to save richard’s life, and oliver stops him. but oliver goes into the water himself in that scene (to make sure richard’s dead before they call the police). this parallels how in the end, oliver will turn himself in and falsely confess to save james.

finally, there’s the epilogue. when filippa tells oliver “james is gone”, oliver sees richard’s ghost again. “there he sits, in lounging, leonine arrogance. he watches me with a razor-thin smile and i realize that this is it - the denouement, the counterstroke, the end-all he was waiting for. he lingers only long enough for me to see the gleam of triumph in his half-lidded eyes; then he, too, is gone.”

this is the confirmation: from oliver’s perspective, at least, richard has always, always wanted to drown james. it was certainly his intention at halloween. while to us, it’s unclear whether or not that was his intention at the dock, oliver believes it was. so he sees richard’s ghost again and gets a final confirmation of what he’s always believed. richard, as oliver sees him, is finally satisfied.

but we’re not done. how could i be, without addressing the pericles in the room?

disclaimer: i’ve never read pericles, so as with lear, i’m not going to contextualize the monologue contained in james’s “suicide note” in the play as a whole. that’s a separate analysis, albeit an interesting one i’m sure, for someone with more shakespeare knowledge than me. (although i have read caesar, so i might analyze iwwv and caesar some time in the future.)

“alas, the sea hath cast me on the rock / wash’d me from shore to shore, and left me breath / nothing to think on but ensuing death.”

right from the outset, we see that james might be alive. he’s been “wash’d [...] from shore to shore, and left [...] breath”. the water has transformed him (to use a christian metaphor, almost like a kind of baptism. i think. i’m Extremely jewish so i might be using that wrong.) but not necessarily killed him.

death consumes james’s thoughts, and it likely has since he killed richard seven years earlier.

“what i have been i have forgot to know; / but what i am, want teaches me to think on: / a man throng’d up with cold: my veins are chill, / and have no more of life than may suffice / to give my tongue that heat to ask your help; which if you shall refuse, when i am dead, / for that i am a man, pray see me buried.”

all the life has slowly been sucked out of him since he killed richard to the point where he’s little more than a shell of a man by 2004, so he decides to disappear into the water. again, whether or not he’s dead, he’s clearly not living the life of james farrow anymore, wherever he may be. so he’s disappeared. he may not be dead, but james farrow, the identity if not the man, did drown in that freezing water.

and yet, he has just enough of a will to live, just enough of a desire to be known (and perhaps loved) that he writes this note and puts oliver’s name on the envelope. he’s not ready to drown just yet. maybe the water didn’t care and drowned him anyway. but maybe, just maybe, it saved him.

part v - conclusion/author’s notes

if you stuck around all the way here, to the end, wow. thanks for suffering through my ramblings. seriously, thank you. and congratulations i guess.

i tried to write a tl;dr, i’m sorry, i failed. i know my strengths, and conciseness isn’t one of them.

i do wanna say this, though: james farrow is not a good person. neither is he a bad person. iwwv does not deal in moral absolutes, or really any absolutes at all. and i do feel like we as a reader base and fanbase don’t always do the best job at acknowledging james’s moral complexity. (or oliver’s, or meredith’s, but that’s another post for another time.) this is not a direct callout to anyone in particular, nor is it an attack. it’s really just meant to be food for thought.

#iwwv #if we were villains #iwwv spoilers #james farrow #oliver marks #richard stirling #analysis #tw suicide #tw drowning #tw death #tw murder #tw water

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gallickingun · 3 years

Note

Mirio telling you, “you take me so well sunshine.” While he pounds into you.

tw: overstimulation; size kink; dumbification; d/s dynamic;

ps, reminder that ~drabble requests~ are open! currently accepting for bnha, haikyuu, jujutsu kaisen, a:tla, & dragon ball!

You’ve been here for hours, it would seem, bracing your body for each agonizing inch of the heavy thickness that is settled between the apex of his hips. It is the pleasurable sort of pain, the kind that bares your soul and brings stardust to cloud your vision, when you feel like you’ve been split in two but there is nothing but starshine leaking from your heart.

“God, you’re pretty,” his voice is still that familiar kind lilt that he always bears, but now it is a few octaves lower, his head ducked into your neck so he can hide the way his brow bunches with a mixture of effort and frustration.

Mirio kisses your jugular and you swear your pulse pounds loudly in your ear, drowning out the sound of his guttural moan when you buck your hips up to try and drown yourself in the length of his cock, until he’s suffocating in your tight, wet heat. He grits his teeth and leans back on his haunches, thigh muscles rippling under the pressure of this new position, “I’m so proud of you, you know? My little sunbeam.”

Your hands reach for him, all bulging biceps and a smile, and your fingernails latch into his shoulders like tiny spears, barbed wire clutching his muscled back desperately. Mirio never once waivers, never once winces as if you were putting him in pain. His body is sturdy, a density that you can only figure out in your wildest of dreams.

“Y-Yeah, T-Toga,” you manage to whimper, your thighs trembling under the strain of his cock sheathed in your plush walls. You gulp and the start of a sniffle makes your chin wobble, “W-Wanna be good, please! I’ll-I’ll take it all!”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell you that he’s only halfway into you and you’ve already started crying, your sweet little body shaking under the threat of his bulking form and everything that comes as a result of his size. Mirio leans down to kiss your nose, calloused palm pushing any stray hair away from your face and then settling on your neck. His thumb seeks your jugular, hot and pulsing against his fingerprint, and he smiles, “I know you will, sunshine, you’re already doing so good. We don’t want to overwhelm you now, though, do we? Gotta take it slow.”

“No!” your cry is childish, borderline infantile in nature, but he knows it comes from a place of frustration and not malice. Your pretty irises glaze over with tears, shining pupils blinking up at him as you try to formulate a full sentence. He snickers at your effort, the barely-there bite of your nails into his skin, your knees bobbing against his torso in an attempt to get him to push deeper, and your adorable snarl that tells him you can take whatever he’s willing to give you, if he’d just try.

“No?” Mirio’s question makes your mouth shutter closed, molars grinding against one another as his hips meet your ass, cock withdrawing from your gummy walls only to press further in when he snaps himself closer to you on the follow through. You cry out but it is a euphoric sound, the whites of your eyes the only visible thing as your voice dithers to a whimper.

You clutch onto him as if you might be the one to fly through the wall as he increases his pace, still never forcing himself fully into you, but far enough that the salacious stretch brings tears to your eyes. It is a burn that fuels the fire in your belly, the knowledge that he’s got you flayed open on his cock, and even when you beg him for all of it he’ll never fully be able to meet you at the hilt, makes your mind burn. Your hands press to his pectorals when he pushes too far, the heels of your palms dug into the plush muscle and skin, watching as his tanned flesh gives way to your shoving.

“Be a good girl for me, starshine,” Mirio kisses your wrist and it draws your attention from the conjunction of your hips to his face, to watch the movements of his lips as he speaks, “If you push me away again, I’m gonna think you want to be done. Do you wanna be done?”

Mirio pauses the assault of his hips against your thighs, large palms wrapped around the supple skin of your legs to hold you in place against the mattress. You blink up at him dumbly as you shake your head, a new welling of tears blurring your vision, “P-Please, no, please fuck me, p-please, wanna feel y-your cock, want you to come in me. I wann-ah!”

The strings of wanton words that leave your lips have his cock hardening again, the head throbbing against your entrance, stretching you even further than before. Your nails scrape down the length of his torso, leaving angry red lines behind to accent the various scars that pucker his body. As his body stings, he drops his head down so his cerulean eyes are hidden from you, lower lip tugged between the bite of his teeth so he can channel some of the pressure building up in his lower belly.

“You think you can do it?” his voice is quiet, words warm against your chest as he exhales. His head is tilted just slightly, almost enough for you to make out his features down to his jawline. You feel the heels of his hands pushing on the bottoms of your thighs closest to your backside, and it guides your knees upward until your cunt is wide open, slickened with translucent white arousal and clenching around whatever length of his cock he’ll gift you.

Instantly, you are nodding your head, promises and oaths falling from your lips in excess. Your hands find his face to cup his cheeks, fingers slipping between blonde locks as you beg him for every last iota of resolve he has left. You want it to slip away like a balloon, forgotten at a carnival. You want him to forego any hesitancy, any thought that you cannot take his cock. All you want is to feel each squelching inch as it pressures the cavern of your insides until you think you might burst open and bare your soul to the world.

“I-I can,” your lower lip wobbles and then juts out just slightly, “I can! I-I will!”

The gentlest of smiles overtakes his features, and you want to kiss him until you can feel the warmth of his spirit invading your space. So, you tug against his jaw with your most free palm, begging him quietly to silence your mewls with the heat of his mouth. Mirio is quick to oblige, the bow of his lips seeking out your own, searching for the plush of your mouth until he’s swallowing your spirit whole. The wet muscle between his teeth searches your gums and laps against your teeth, all the while his palms have folded you backward so he can better loiter over you. His cock twitches in begging, the desire to be encapsulated by your gushing folds and soft innermost parts only servicing to enlarge the shaft of him even more so than before.

“All right, honey,” Mirio digs his fingers into your skin until you know there will be bruises, and then he begins to maneuver his hips backward and forward at a gentle pace. Your tongue peeks from your teeth to swipe against your bottom lip, and Mirio capitalizes on the moment to suck the muscle into his own mouth, tasting your fruit tea from earlier and the flavor makes him hum.

Your thighs burn already, but you know if you fall slack then Mirio will hold you steady, so you let the tension relax and you turn into a ragdoll in his grip. You feel the shaft of his cock drag along your walls, and your eyelids flutter shut so you can immerse yourself in the pleasurable sensation. Even though you cannot see his smile, it is still there, never wavering, and it stirs him to kiss both of your ankles, laving his tongue over the bone for a short moment before continuing to volley attention between both legs.

He is near ready to bottom out when you open your eyelids to show glazed pupils, and Mirio grunts out a laugh, “Have I fucked you stupid, starshine? Are you silly for my cock?”

Your hands roam the planes of his chest and shoulders, thumbs and middle fingers digging into his skin to feel how his muscles ripple with each thrust forward. Mirio plants another kiss between your brows, stationary until your skin relaxes and he’s sure you’re not uncomfortable. He sighs against your cheek, administering another kiss before he leans back to admire you in full, “Can’t do anything without me, can you sweetheart?” And when you don’t answer in full sentences, he knows that you have fallen off of the precipice of subservient and begun to drown yourself in something much deeper. He sighs, kissing your left ankle one last time, “Let me help you, then.”

And now your body is truly on fire.

His cock stretches as he snaps his hips upward at a relentless pace that has the wooden stands of the large bed creaking under both his ferocity and your combined weight. Mirio rests a hand beside your neck, his thumb grazing your collarbone to give himself some sort of anchor to the moment, and you keen, licking your tongue all around until he presses the pad of his thumb against the middle of your mouth. His knuckles are large and his hands are proportionate, meaty and calloused from years of battle and growth.

You know there will be bruises along your ass tomorrow, but you cannot be bothered, not when that saccharine sweet voice comes floating through the night air with a reassuring, “You take me so well, sunshine,” and then it’s like he’s given you permission to take flight.

#mirio x reader #mirio smut #mirio togata x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #mirio togata smut #my writing #morgan writes bnha #anonymous

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yeochikin · 4 years

Text

late night talks. | k. hongjoong

a/n: hehe my brain kept going brr every time i tried to finish this so i understand if this was a bit sucky. please excuse any mistakes, and feedbacks are very much appreciated! 🥺✨💖

word count: 3k+

main focus: hongjoong x fem. reader

warning(s): none, really!

“y/n, our life saviour, our queen!” you heard wooyoung’s dramatic wailing as he instantly engulfed you into a hug as soon as you stepped foot into mingi’s apartment, where you and the boys were gathered for a sleepover during the weekend.

with a roll of your eyes, you knew exactly the reason why he was suddenly all clingy. your hands were full of snacks and drinks that they had wanted you to buy on your way to the place for the sleepover, though of course, maybe some extra few snacks for them as well.

totally not because of you wanting to spoil them, not at all.

“wooyoung, i swear you’re gonna make me drop these snacks all over the place if you don’t let me go.” you whined, your tone laced with feigned annoyance as you spoke.

being the cheeky boy as always, wooyoung merely gave you one last squeeze in the hug before dragging you further into the apartment where the rest of the boys were as he announced your arrival.

there in the living room, you watched as jongho and san were sat on the carpeted floor. the two had their eyes glued to the television with their thumbs furiously mashing against the buttons of the controllers in their hands, giggling to yourself as you watched san throwing his head back with eyebrows all furrowed as it seemed like he had lost a match against the other boy before letting out a whine to rematch.

yeosang and mingi were sat on the couch as they watched the two boys with amusement written in their eyes, yeosang occasionally making witty remarks as he watched the gameplay while mingi acted as if he was the spokesperson throughout the game. it was only when wooyoung mentioned that you were there that the boys turned their heads to look at you, immediately greeting you with a huge smile on their faces before mingi stood up to give you a tight hug to which you returned with your free arm, moving the plastic full of snacks so it would be dangling on your arm.

“woah, you bought a lot of snacks!” yeosang exclaimed, popping up next to you as his eyes were trained on the bags full of the said items, then stretching his hand out so he could help you carry them, which you gladly accepted as soon as you started to feel your hands growing a little tired.

“hongjoong and yunho are in the kitchen with seonghwa!” you heard jongho say, you sending him a grateful smile in response as you let your legs lead you to the kitchen, where the mentioned boys were in, with yeosang already a few steps ahead of you.

that would explain the delicious smell wafting into your nose as soon as you stepped foot into the small apartment. no doubt the trio were probably cooking up something in the kitchen for tonight’s dinner.

walking into the kitchen, you instantly saw hongjoong. or rather, almost bumping into the brown haired boy as it looked like he was about to exit the kitchen. with a sheepish smile plastering itself on your faces, you sidestepped to let him pass through but of course he couldn’t read your actions as he mirrored yours, ending up in the same position as before. with a second try, it only led you to the same result with the two of you sharing a sheepish chortle.

by the third attempt, and before you could even move, hongjoong moved his hands to rest themselves on top of your shoulders so you wouldn't budge, promptly turning the both of you around so you were in the kitchen, and hongjoong was right outside. with one last shy smile from the boy, he turned around to join the rest of the boys in the living room, telling the boys to clean up the mess in the living room so they could gather in for dinner later on instead of the small kitchen.

being mingi’s best friend since you were in 4th grade, the two of you were pretty much attached to the hip with how close the both of you were until you started college, due to both being in different classrooms. you were thankful that mingi would still find you whenever the both of you had lunch together, and it was also from there that you were introduced to the new friends mingi had made in his class. though, the first meeting was rather awkward for you, really.

you see, being a shy person, it was a little difficult for you to mingle around, much less in a loud group. however, that didn't mean you were completely lonely either as you had a few other friends in the other classes you took if mingi was not in any of them. you tend to hear people joke about how mingi was the extroverted friend who adopted an introverted you, which you can't deny. it was kinda true in some way.

after being introduced to mingi’s friends and spending a little more time with them when they invited you out to join them at a pizza place one time, you had learned that they were entertaining to be with, even finding yourself cracking a few jokes here and there, mingi watching you proudly from the side.

yet, as much as you enjoyed the boys’ company, there was still someone who somehow you had a hard time interacting with. dark brown haired boy, the one who would always seem to have his nose buried in his notes with earphones plugged in his ears, lips moving silently as he read through the words he wrote out.

kim hongjoong.

it wasn't because he was giving you a cold shoulder nor was he ever rude to you by all means! rather, he seemed to shy away from you whenever you tried to start a conversation with him. you brought up the topic with mingi one day, a pout on your lips as you wondered if there was anything wrong with you or you said the wrong thing for hongjoong to act that way around you. but your taller friend could only laugh, patting your head reassuringly to say that hongjoong was merely a shy person.

of course, that was a year ago.

now, hongjoong has finally started to warm up to you, even to the point of letting you listen to some of his songs before the other boys could, wooyoung whining in a playful manner in the background as you got to be the first person to listen to the former’s piece. it was no surprise he was immersed in his own little world back then due to majoring in music in college.

“earth to y/n?” you heard a deep voice reaching into your ears, making you snap back into reality, eyes instantly meeting seonghwa’s raised brow.

it seems that the only people left in the kitchen were seonghwa and you, wondering to yourself how long you had been standing in the middle of the doorway to the point you failed to realise yunho had already left.

“what’s going on in that head of yours, little one?” you heard him say, never failing to throw in the little nickname he had for you, as he was busily stirring the pot’s contents.

waving it off as nothing, you walked over to his side before rolling up your sleeves in case he needed any help, mouth already watering from the scent of stew filling your senses. as if he could sense your hunger, seonghwa could only chuckle as he gently asked if you could prepare the bowls and plates for all of you, to which you gladly did so.

it only took you a little more later for you and the boys to finally gather in the living room as all of you shared the events that had happened prior to the sleepover over dinner, giggling to yourself at how the wooyoung and san teased the oldest of the boys, who was playfully threatening to stab them with a fork. but all of you knew he would never as he had a soft spot in his heart for all of his close friends.

after dinner, all of you had cleaned up the living room before changing into your sleeping attires, deciding to play a game of among us before bed. that was when the chaos would start.

you watched the boys with amused eyes as hongjoong and yeosang kept suspecting mingi for being too quiet when in reality he was just doing his tasks. your eyes went wide in disbelief as soon as your character died in the game just as you were about to finish starting up the reactor, lifting your gaze from your phone to silently glare at jongho, not wanting to out him for the sake of fairness of the game, the boy having a proud smirk playing over his lips yet he remained stoic throughout the whole round.

as soon as yunho reported your body, all hell broke loose. a series of accusations thrown in after another, jongho actively making the others turn against one another, mingi yelling that he kept messing up the swipe card task in admin when seonghwa asked why he had stood there for a long time.

“it’s yunho! he self-reported the body!” wooyoung yelled out, pointing an accusing finger over at yunho, the latter’s eyes widening in surprise at the sudden claim.

“you were with me the whole time, i even scanned in medbay!” he defended.

“oh right, never mind.”

sadly, the round was skipped as jongho ‘claimed’ it was far too early in the game to vote someone off just yet, much to your dismay.

in the end, jongho had won the game, him cheering as he threw his arms up in the arm. yunho pouting playfully as he sulked, saying he had the last task until yeosang died in the game. you could only offer him a light pat on his shoulder.

“it’s okay, at least you didn’t die a minute into the game.” you say, earning a round of chortles from the boys.

“another round in a different map this time?” hongjoong asked, which all of you agreed without a word.

needless to say, the remaining few hours before sleep were spent playing the game where trust amongst yourselves was nowhere to be seen along with shared laughs at how each of you kept accusing the wrong person. without your knowledge, you fail to realise a pair of eyes that had kept glancing your way throughout the whole game.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

you woke up with a start, body immediately sitting up on the couch you were currently situated on as you felt your breathing growing all ragged, eyes frantically looking around the place as if you were afraid that you would still be stuck in the horrific dimension you dreamt of earlier prior to waking up.

to your relief, your eyes were not met with the spiraling dark abyss of your dream didn’t apply to the waking world. only, the familiar decoration of mingi’s apartment was what your pupils had set on. looking off to your side, you saw how the other boys were already peacefully asleep, most likely all tuckered out from the games all of you and the boys played earlier.

san was tightly hugging an extra pillow close to his chest next to wooyoung and yunho, the latter slept on his back peacefully as light snores left his lips. at first, you couldn’t really tell who was the one all curled up underneath the blanket right next to jongho, but with the tufts of blonde locks peeking out underneath, you could tell it was yeosang. on his left, was mingi who slept with his mouth slightly ajar, his leg was placed over yeosang’s lower half while seonghwa took space of the more larger couch than the one you were on. but one of the boys were missing, and that would be hongjoong.

judging by the sliver of light that had peeked out from the door near the hallway, which was the bathroom as you recalled mingi had pointed out earlier when you arrived at the apartment when you needed to use, you had made the conclusion that hongjoong had gotten up earlier than you to use the bathroom.

checking the time on your phone, you realised that you had woken up in the little hours of dawn. despite still feeling the heaviness of sleep weighing on your eyes, you were still a tad shaken up from the dream you had earlier. the image was still fresh in your mind every time you close your eyes. it was then you decided to make your way to the balcony to clear your mind, tiptoeing carefully as to not wake the other boys up, or accidentally stepped on them.

as soon as you stepped foot on the balcony, quickly shutting the sliding glass door behind you, you were met with the shining light from the moon, the cool night breeze gently caressing your skin to leave goosebumps in its wake. a contented breath was heaved out of your lips once you leaned against the railing, the cool metal pressed against your arms yet you paid no mind to it while your gaze was plastered on the stars shining around the moon.

“don’t lean too much or you’ll fall.”

you jumped ever so slightly at the sudden voice, immediately tearing your eyes away from the sky to the figure making themselves present next to you, mimicking your position against the railing. a low breath left your lips as a hand rested itself on your chest, calming your heart.

“you scared me, joong.” you replied, only to receive a quiet chortle from the male next to you. judging by the slight rasp in his voice, you figured that he had just woken up just before you did.

“can’t sleep?” he asked, leaning against the railing as his head tilted to the side in question.

a little smile made its way over your lips before turning your gaze back to the sky’s canvas once again, giving hongjoong a brief opportunity at how the moon’s light shone against your features. from the curve of your cheekbones, to your eyes that could rival against the stars with how they seemed to glint with unspoken emotions in them.

“a bad dream, rather.” you answered, the dark brown haired boy nodded understandingly.

“would you want to talk about it?” he offered, moving a bit closer next to you, the both of you now standing side by side underneath the moonlight.

with the sight of you growing a bit hesitant followed by a shake of your head, hongjoong could feel a slight twinge in his chest. not because of how you rejected his offer, but rather the slight fear in your features washing over for a split second before it was replaced with a smile on your lips made you look vulnerable. reaching a hand out, he gave your head a gentle stroke, murmuring how it was alright if you didn’t want to do so.

you, on the other hand, felt your body freeze at the touch before relaxing into his touch, somehow finding comfort. the action was small, yet it managed to give you quite an impact as you find yourself leaning against his touch.

“we can talk about anything you want to keep your mind off of it until you are ready to go back to sleep, we can even stand in silence, and i’ll be okay with that.” you heard him say, his tone laced with a welcoming warmth that sent your mind at ease.

and with that, you agreed. the two of you stood in the balcony staring up at the moon while talking about whatever had crossed your minds that ranged from what your favourite colours were to what had made you decide to choose the courses you were currently majoring in.

it was a rare moment between the two of you to be able to talk so openly like this, and if you were being honest, the you back then would probably be in disbelief to know that hongjoong and you could actually talk about any topics that came to mind without the tense atmosphere, or rather, not anymore. but you weren’t complaining, you are pretty much thankful that the two of you finally started to open up more with each other.

“joong, do you remember when we first met?” you asked, slightly surprised to see him already looking over at you once you turned to look at him.

with a hum, hongjoong turned around so his back was rested against the railing, arms folded in front of his chest as his lips pursed in thought.

“we met when mingi invited us to lunch on his first day of college, no?” you couldn’t help but to smile at yourself, he remembered.

“well.. remember when we were so awkward with each other?” you added, hongjoong emitting a low chortle at the memory, slightly cringing at the same time as well.

“i thought you hated me on our first meeting with how quiet you were.” you said, the male’s eyes widened at your sudden confession, quickly reassuring you that was not the case.

“it’s more like, i didn’t know how to interact with you.” he answered after a brief moment, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.

your head tilted ever so slightly to the side in question, patiently waiting for him to continue whatever he had meant by that. though it would be a lie to say a rush of thoughts made its way through your mind from all the possibilities of what he had thought about you when the two of you first met each other.

“though, i am not at all saying i saw you in a negative way or anything like that!” he defended after seeing the conflicted expression painting over your face, the two of you now staring into each other’s eyes, your own widening in surprise.

“something about you somehow made me feel a little nervous to the point i didn’t know how to act around you, as ridiculous as it sounds.” hongjoong added, feeling the tips of his ears grow warm, purposely avoiding your gaze on his face by staring down at the dimly lit streets below.

silence made itself present between the two of you, and hongjoong swore that he could almost hear your eyebrows furrowing out of confusion, clearly not understanding by what he had meant by that.

“and.. why is that, if i may ask?” he heard you say, confusion evident in your tone as you spoke.

now gathering enough courage to look at you, the brown haired male reached a hand out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the corners of his lips twitching up into a gentle smile as the hand that tucked your hair rested itself atop of your head.

“you intrigue me, one way or another, y/n l/n.” he said, the simper on his lips growing wider upon catching the slight pinkish hue itself blooming itself over your cheeks.

“mingi was right, you do get flustered easily.” he teased, a clear attempt to lighten the atmosphere, causing you to sputter out gibberish words in response along with a light slap against his shoulder.

“and hit hard.” he groaned, rubbing a hand on the spot where you hit.

“that’s for making me think that you hated me or something back then, you dummy.” you merely replied with a shrug, a cheeky smirk curving your lips at the way hongjoong stared at you after letting out a scoff.

the both of you stared at each other in silence for a few more seconds before bursting into a fit of giggles, hongjoong playfully nudging his shoulder against your own while you retaliated with a nudge of your hip against his. the two of you spent a little while longer in the balcony than you intended just talking underneath the moonlight until you could feel the sleepiness starting to become apparent after feeling how heavy your eyelids were getting.

this, did not go unnoticed by the other.

“head on in and get some sleep, okay? i heard mingi’s planning to bring us to the new cafe in town down the street.” you heard him say as you stifled a yawn behind your closed fist with a nod of your head.

“what about you?” you asked, pushing yourself off of the railing.

“i’ll stay here for a bit, i’ll go in soon, i promise.”

with that, you could only nod your head in reply as you made your back inside, not before bidding the brown haired male a gentle ‘goodnight’, to which he returned with a wave of his hand. once he was sure you were inside and the sliding glass door was shut behind you, hongjoong switched his gaze back up to the sky as he heaved out a low sigh out of content.

“you really do intrigue me, muse.”

137 notes · View notes

anonymousbaev · 3 years

Note

Rfa + minor trio being jealous seeing mc with another member pls. ty if u do :DDD

*Angst* RFA+Minor Trio being jealous seeing Mc dating another member.

Enjoy! (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`) *Angst and NSFW warning*

☆Yoosung☆

"Congratulations..." They were the words he sent in the chatroom when you and Seven made it official.

Only he knew they were empty words though.

He really liked you, hoping to confess to you one day. Sometimes he had even imagined having a family with you.

But that was just how deeply he loved you.

Somedays he would just wish you'd broken up with Seven and ran into his widely opened arms.

Somedays he would wonder if it would've been him by your side if he had confessed his love a day sooner.

He always cursed himself out for thinking that way afterwards though.

He should be happy.

He has to be happy, for his two precious friends.

He avoided you and Seven for months, years... putting on a bitter smile when he had run into you at a RFA party occasionally.

It felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, he knew he had to get his feelings over with. But he just couldn't let you go so easily...

It wasn't until Seven proposed to you, in front of all the guests and members at the party.

He kept repeating the words in his head, "Please say no, please say no, please say no..."

But of course, you agreed and Yoosung sent you both his second congrats.

A few years later he started dating a girl he met at his vet.

Yoosung eventually got married to her and he was able to treat you and Seven the way he had before everything.

Yoosung and his new wife would never have the same connection he did with you though.

I mean she didn't have to go through getting compared with Rika.

He was happy with her, and you were happy with Seven.

He told himself, he was content with his life. And, he eventually came to believe it.

☕️ Jaehee ☕️

When Jaehee found out about your relationship with Zen through the radio, she joked that she was offended she had to find out through the internet and not personally by you or Zen.

She was confused about her feelings at first, she knew she was feeling jealous... but towards who?

She brushed off her feelings, convincing herself it was a neutral fangirl jealousy.

That wasn't until she found out how Zen broke your heart during an argument and you stayed at her house.

She felt so angry, how could he do that to you? He should've cherished you, loved you, because that's what you deserved-

That's when she realized, those feelings... weren't towards Zen but towards you.

Without even realizing it, her feelings for you have gotten so deep, she fell in love with you.

But it was too late when she did, because you were able to make up with Zen and you even told her you were going to get married to him.

That officially broke her.

She kept a straight face, continuing to work at her café for 2 years.

That was when you announced your pregnancy and even her hard metaled heart delicately snapped.

She cried silently in her house as she read your chats.

"Why am I crying?... I should be happy for her..." she repeated those words as she cried herself to sleep.

The next day she told the RFA she was going to leave, in order to travel the world to further her knowledge in her business.

You were sad, everyone was. But she promised to keep in touch.

She was able to keep her promise for a year. Until she fell out of touch with everyone, even you. And you used to be her best friend...

You were upset, why did she suddenly block you out of her life?

But only Jaehee and god would know how you had unknowingly broke her heart, because you never heard from her again.

♬ Zen ♬

Why did it have to be that trust fund kid, out of everyone else?

Himself for example... either way he just wanted you to be happy.

But sometimes he would wonder, if he had gone more less with those flirtatious jokes, would it be him next to you?

Did you think his flirts were nothing but a casual way of joking like Jumin told you?

Now only he would know, that he was being serious. That all those 'lighthearted' flirts sincerely came from his heart.

The way you were strong enough to have everyone open up to you, and the way you sincerely cared for everyone of them.

He fell in love with you, and he knew he would never be able to find another person like you.

But he tried his best to get over you. He still wanted to remain friends at the very least.

If he wanted that, he had to accept your relationship with Jumin...

Zen tried to love someone else, a beautiful woman he had worked with in one of his movies.

But when he saw you come in to congratulate him as Jumin held your waist his heart broke.

Eventually though, he proposed to the woman and at the wedding he felt shame because in the church, at his wedding with someone that wasn’t you...

He thought you were the most beautiful woman there.

“Why are these feelings still lingering?!”

Years passed... later finding out his wife has had several affairs, but he wasn’t one to judge. When he still had you in his heart.

He lived his life solely for his career in a loveless marriage life, until he finally shattered. He couldn’t take these feelings anymore, and when he left, nobody has heard of him again.

♛ Jumin ♛

It seemed as if he was cursed.

Every woman he had fallen in love with, the only two woman he’d felt emotions to, they all belonged to Kim Jihyun.

Although he’d never showed it, when you and Jihyun announced your wedding, he was bitter, “Already? Did you two even get to know each other, after all that happened with Mint Eye?”

He drowned himself in wine, everyday.

One day he even sat curled up on the floor as he soothed Elizabeth the 3rd in his arms as he whispered, “Nobody will take you from me...”

The past months he’d been out of character and he was aware of that.

Eventually, he was slowly able to return to his old self again but the only things that surrounded him in his life was his cat, work, and wine.

He never wanted to feel those emotions for you again because they were painful to get over. But had he truly, gotten over you?

He would’ve done everything to make you his if you didn’t belong to his best friend, and he knew V deserved his happy ending, after everything he had been through.

But what about himself?

You had a feeling, something wasn’t right. Jumin was different.

And everything poured out when all three of you went to get dinner, all the emotions stacked up spilled out in a single second.

The next morning you found yourself in Jumin’s bed as he slept next to you shirtless, with your clothes also coldly left on the floor, your heart dropped.

Then, you looked to your left to find Jihyun also sleeping next to you.

That was the start of your relationship, all three of you came to the negotiation that the two men would share you, to which you gladly accepted, because it was your idea.

You were sure it was a great idea because all three of you were totally content on it.

Others would point fingers, while some would worry, “Isn’t history repeating itself? Maybe not in the same way... but in a ominous way just like before. They’re dragging themselves into a toxic relationship again.”

You and the two friends didn’t care though, because all three of you was sure this was an absolute fantasy...

👓 Saeyoung 👓

With all the flirty jokes the two of you would send, everyone that had seen you and Saeyoung, they were sure you and he had a fling.

That’s what Saeyoung thought as well, that there was something between the two of you, but you must’ve only seen him as a friend because he was paralyzed for minutes as he watched you in Zen’s apartment.

You and Zen knocked down furniture desperate to embrace one another as your lips pressed against his, eager for his touch.

When Zen turned you against the wall as his slender hands reached under your skirt, Saeyoung didn’t want to see anymore.

He wanted to give you both the privacy, but it was also because he couldn’t bare the pain of watching you anymore.

That’s when he noticed Saeran behind him with his ice cream. “Was that Mc?”

Saeyoung nodded with a grin to act like he was fine as he tried getting back to work, Saeran rolled his eyes and threw away his finished ice cream in the trash.

That was when Saeyoung finally broke down, and he wasn’t sure why because he used to always tell himself he would be ready when this day came.

When he tried focusing on his work and it seemed impossible, Vanderwood offered him to come back to the agency. Saeyoung accepted the offer.

He grows further from the RFA and more immersed in his works, but still occasionally enters the chatroom to see how you’re doing.

His heart stings with a bitter smile when he sees the selfies Zen uploads with you and your son that has the same white hair and scarlet eyes as your now husband.

He’s happy to see you with a good life, a good life he thinks he was never capable of giving you...

🌚 Saeran 🌚

When he came home and started to live with his twin he’d been separated from for years, it’d be a lie if he said it wasn’t uncomfortable living with you as well.

He barely knew you except for the fact that you were Saeyoung’s girlfriend.

That was until Saeyoung eventually had to get back to his hacking work after devoting his months of time to Saeran alone.

You started taking care of Saeran, and it was awkward at first because he didn’t want you anywhere near him. The first two months were full of him just screaming and attacking you.

But eventually he realized how patient, loving and sincerely caring you were.

You became the only person he wanted to be touched by, and he wanted to be the only person able to touch you.

Of course he’d never said anything because you were the girlfriend of his brother.

Sometimes you would even give him cuddles, only supposed to be friendly hugs but Saeran didn’t think the same, because he loved you. In a different way from how you loved him.

When he couldn’t trust himself from you anymore he told you to stop coming near him.

It hurt you, because you didn’t know why, but you agreed.

You and Saeyoung never noticed how painful it was for Saeran when you kissed, and hugged each other in front of him.

He sealed his emotions away... for the happiness of his twin, and you, because he knew damn well his brother was good at making you feel loved.

♧ V ♧

He saw you as an angel, one that’d helped him realize the toxic of his relationship with Rika, one that’d helped him realize he was capable of real love.

But he had felt lost when he knew that the person he would experience true love with would never be able to be you.

Because you were already with Jumin, and V would never interfere with that, Jumin was his best friend, and he knew how well Jumin cherished you as his wife.

Whenever the people around V would ask him when he would find a new lover, he brushed it off. Sometimes hinting that he would probably never.

They all assumed it was because he had never truly gotten over Rika, but little did they know he had already realized it was never love.

Yes, the lingering feeling of guilt may have been still over him, but you were the one in his heart. He always caught himself staring at you at parties.

V wanted to avoid these feelings because he knew the dangers of it.

He avoided you and Jumin as he focused on his art, and Jumin didn’t have the time because he was always busy with you or work.

You noticed Jumin and Jihyun slowly falling out of touch. So you arranged dinner at a restaurant.

You drank until you were drunk.

V chatted with Jumin, it was a neutral talk between friends. They decided to drink until their hearts desires that night.

V was eventually the last one half sober with his high drinking metabolism while Jumin fell drunk next to you on the table.

V rests his head on his arms as he admired you for what felt like hours.

That was when he lightly placed his cold hands and lightly brushed your cheeks.

It was an selfish move, one that he would only know of. He softly apologized to the both of you and called Jumin’s driver to pick the two of you up before leaving.

The next morning, Jumin told you Jihyun had left to travel somewhere with the promise that he would be back one day, when he had gotten over his feelings. You and Jumin didn’t know what feelings he had been talking of but hoped he’d be back soon.

However the both of you gave up, when even phone calls wouldn’t reach him, and you were sure he’d never come back.

That was probably the first promise V gad ever broke.

🧸 Vanderwood 🧸

Vanderwood didn’t think much of you, just the fact that you were Saeyoung’s girlfriend.

But that was it, even when the two of you had occasionally lived together for a while when he was a “maid” for Saeyoung.

That was until he and Saeyoung came back from dangerous missions, wounds and scars all over their body, you would always scold them and treat their wounds.

The little actions you did for him fluttered his heart and he’d always feel envious seeing you with Saeyoung.

He drowned himself in work so he could distract himself from all the unnecessary feelings in his heart.

You would never have to find out about his feelings because there was no need.

You were as happy as you could be with Saeyoung and he didn’t need to ruin that.

He also didn’t really think he had a chance anyway.

But he knew what kind of dangerous job he and Saeyoung had.

So sometimes he’d wished you had just ditched Saeyoung and met someone with a far more normal life so Vanderwood would have to stop worrying about your wellbeing.

But at the same time he was glad you were Saeyoung’s girlfriend so he could always watch you from close.

Although you would never be his, close was enough for him.

Masterlist

98 notes · View notes

translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 35

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 35

The bungalow was surrounded by aged trees, blocking the sunlight year-round. A chill ran through his body as he walked into the building. The faint musty smell and moisture in the air reminded him of a basement filled with children's toys. Lin Yan followed the Zhongshan man into an office with an old-fashioned wooden table. On the table, there was a large stainless steel thermos. The desktop computer occasionally made some buzzing noises. The office was close to the toilet. It didn't take long for the smell of amonia to rush into his nose.

"Sit down, Lin. I'll grab the contact information of the recent archaeologists that were there. It's still locked in the cabinet." The Zhongshan suit man said as he poured Lin Yan a glass of water in a disposable paper cup. "The files on the table are more than 20 years old. They were just transferred out of the archive room. Feel free to look through them."

"Thank you for your help." Lin Yan said politely.

"No, it's no trouble at all. It's great to see young people so active nowadays. We all heard about what happened with the porcelain appraisal. That was really something. Professor Chen wouldn't stop bragging about it when he got back." The Zhongshan suit man chuckled. He placed a bowl of melon in front of Lin Yan then grabbed his key and left.

Lin Yan sat at the table and waited. The office decoration was old but good quality. The real leather swivel chair was comfortable to sit on. The shade of leaves outside the window blocked the sunlight. A sparrow leaped lightly among the branches. It flapped its wings and flew away.

There were a lot of files about the Ming tomb on the table, sorted into vellum envelopes. Lin Yan flipped through them. They included a large amount of background information on the time period, project approval forms, equipment rental statements, reimbursement vouchers, and so on. An envelope labelled 'Staff Information' caught his attention. Lin Yan brushed off the dust and opened the envelope. There were several smaller envelopes inside with labels written in faded ink. The top one was labelled "1987 Shanxi Archaeological Team Payroll", followed by several others, such as rosters, contact information, etc. The bottom one was marked with the word 'important,' written in red, and the label read: List of work-related casualties and compensation details.

Casualties? Lin Yan picked up the envelope. It was very thin. It was almost like there was nothing inside. The glue on the seal had expired and could be opened just by a light tear. The brownish-yellow paper had become hard and brittle after not being handled for a long time. Lin Yan carefully slipped his hand in. The envelope was empty. Only after fumbling inside the envelope for a while did he find a small thin piece of paper. The hand-drawn table lines were smudged at the top. At first glance, he knew that whoever wrote it had drawn it in a rush. The ink hadn't dried before they dragged the ruler across the page.

A series of footsteps echoing in the hallway approached. Lin Yan jumped, instinctively shoving the paper back into the envelope. it took him a second to remember that he had been given permission to go through the documents. The old information always gave him an anxious feeling, like he was intruding. He felt like a thief, fleetingly travelling back in time from modern times.

The footsteps moved further away. Lin Yan carefully examined the paper in his hand. Everything had also been written in pen. The names, reasons for compensation, amount of money compensated and other items were divided into columns. Lin Yan skimmed over the columns, heart bursting with fear

"Li Erzhuang, hand fracture, compensation of 30 yuan for medical expenses, collected and signed for."

"Sun Dapeng, psychosis, compensation for medical expenses of 150 yuan, collected and signed for."

"Wang Aiguo, psychosis, compensation for medical expenses of 150 yuan, collected and signed for."

". . ."

All the remaining reasons for compensation written in after the names were for psychosis, but the diagnosis details are all blank. The signature on the back was pretty crooked, too. Some of the ink was written so lightly that it was barely visible. Back then, villagers weren't very educated and many could only write their names. He glanced at the page filled with awkward handwriting. When he reached the last two lines, the signature column was blank. After a double-take, the column for the reason for compensation was listed as 'dead'.

"Jun Xiangdong, Jiang Ying . . . did these two die?" Lin Yan gulped. He carefully flattened the paper and muttered: "Compensation of one thousand yuan . . . Hey, that's weird, for these two people. How come it's written that their compensation hasn't been claimed? A thousand yuan was considered a huge sum of money in a village at that time . . ."

Lin Yan confusedly opened the envelope containing the staff list. He pulled out a stack of yellowed paper, flipping through each of them. Besides the detailed information of the students sent by the university who participated in the excavation of the Ming Tomb, the rest were locals. Most of the villagers were uneducated. They only filled in their name, age, gender and village name. Lin Yan counted them. There were 13 people in total. The oldest was only 24 years old, and the youngest was only 16 and 17. Eighteen-year-old children make up the majority. Lin Yan recalled what the professor said and let out a sigh. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for those children to be haunted by illusions and see their friends die in front of them in such a strange way.

It was too much to think about. Lin Yan glanced back at Xiao Yu. The ghost was standing leisurely by the window with his arms crossed, looking at the scenery, as if this had nothing to do with him.

When turning back to Jun Xiangdong and Jiang Ying's forms, Lin Yan was surprised to find that the information left by these two people was almost blank. Compared to the information awkwardly filled in by the other villagers, only their villages and names were listed. Written next to them in black pen were the words "wage uncollected".

Lin Yan stared at the list of villages and frowned. He mumbled: "They're all foreigners? No wonder no one got any money after they died . . ." As he turned over the page of information on the two, there was only one last name at the bottom. The name on this page was Wang Zhong. Similar to Jun Xiangdong and Jiang Ying, there was almost no information is almost blank. He also wasn't a local. Written in big black letters in the upper right-hand corner was: "Wage uncollected".

"Wang Zhong, Wang Zhong . . . This person isn't on the compensation list." Lin Yan glanced through several forms and muttered: "Was he so afraid that he ran away without even getting paid?"

Lin Yan was immersed in a few old documents when, suddenly, the office door squeaked open. Zhongshan suit guy rummaged through the file in his hand as he walked in, muttering to himself: "What's going on . . . "

Hearing his voice, Lin Yan hurriedly put down the files and stood up. Zhongshan suit guy stepped in and waved his hands: "Sit down and sit down. My memory's not what it used to be. Obviously, I put it all away before I went on a business trip. Why can't I find it? "

"What can't you find?"

"Professor Chen said you are looking for the staff roster from the Ming Tomb archaeological expedition in Shanxi. I purposely found it and put it together. The cabinet was opened just now and everything else was there. The fortune-teller's information is the only one that's gone." Zhongshan suit guy shoved everything back into the folder and said to Lin Yan: "Look, everything is numbered. Everyone has one. I filled it out when I joined the team. I kept a copy of it for payroll statistics."

Lin Yan flipped through several forms, each of which was detailed with the staff’s name, ID number, telephone number, address, working hours and position, etc. Indeed, like Zhongshan suit guy said, the number between No. 34 and No. 36 was missing. But the information from the 30th onwards was very brief, some even only listing names and phone numbers. Those people are temporary workers. No. 34 was hired to drive a tractor. No. 36 and 37 were temporary cooks. The form ended on No. 37.

No. 35 should be the mysterious fortune teller.

"This man wasn't part of the team. He came to watch over things with a feng shui compass. He stayed to explain his plan for the excavation then left. He negotiated the price with me and said that he would wait to get paid until his method was proven useful. We had the money ready to go but he never came to get it, otherwise, the financial account would have been recorded."

Everything was done so neatly. Lin Yan stared at the extra space between No. 34 and No. 36 and furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't even want the money? What was he after?

"Please think it over again. Did you take it out before and put it somewhere else?" Lin Yan was a little impatient. "Or did another colleague take it away?"

Zhongshan suit guy rubbed his hands and stroked the key in his hand in confusion: "Impossible. I'm the only one with a key to the cabinet. I had organized everything and locked it in the cabinet before I left on the trip. It was gone as soon as I got back."

Lin Yan's heart skipped a beat. This seemed too coincidental. He glanced back at Xiao Yu. The ghost was staring at the door with furrowed brows and didn't respond to him.

Seeing that Lin Yan's screwed-up expression, Zhongshan suit guy picked up the paper cup on the table and filled it at the water dispenser. He put it back in front of him and comforted him: "It's okay. You sit and drink some water and eat some melon. I'll keep looking for it. I remember when that man first came and spoke in a mysterious way, no one believed him. He left a phone number and address, saying we would definitely have to call him again. And he was right."

"Where did I put it . . ." Zhongshan suit guy talked to himself while fiddling around in the office. Lin Yan wanted to help but was pushed back into the chair. He was forced to stare at the desktop screen saver. A bright, shimmering mass of lines shifted on a black background. Green, red, and blue lines slowly changing, becoming larger and smaller, rolling into a big mess. He couldn't make sense of it.

"Today isn't a good time. If you come at another time, you could ask someone else. Actually, today is our day off so the whole building is empty. I'm the only one who came here for a reason."

Lin Yan smiled embarrassedly: "That's too much trouble for you." Then a thought struck him and he casually mentioned: "There are still people here. I just heard footsteps in the hallway. They just passed by but didn't come in."

Zhongshan suit guy was washing his hands in the washbasin by the door but abruptly stopped when he heard this and looked up: "Impossible. There's no one in the building but flies. There are only three offices, I just checked them and no one's there."

Lin Yan took a sharp breath. He looked towards the dark corridor in the doorway and suddenly felt an ominous feeling.

Maybe it was just him passing by to check the information, Lin Yan reassured himself. When the sun changed its angle, a few loose beams of light penetrated into the room through the gaps in the leaves. The soft yellow light peaked in. The dust dancing in the light fell onto the dark brown tabletop. Beams jutting to the side illuminated a cactus that had been watered too much, its petals hanging down limply.

"Hey, I remember, wait a second." A hint of excitement flashed through Zhongshan suit guy's voice. In the lower part of the glass cabinet, he pulled out an old jacket and searched through the pockets. He fished out a crumpled note from a small pocket in the lining. He fumbled with the crumbled note, studied it over, muttering: "Right, right, this is it."

Zhongshan suit guy slapped the note down in front of Lin Yan's eyes: "The address and phone number."

Lin Yan's expression relaxed.

By noon, the weather was getting hot. Zhongshan suit guy turned on the fan. The buzzing of the fan blades and the rustling of the papers being blown rang out incessantly. Lin Yan put the phone up to his ear and held a pen in his other hand, scribbling on a notepad, the tip of the pen trembling slightly because of the anticipation.

"Beep . . . beep . . ."

". . . The number you have called is temporarily unavailable."

The voice of the phone message came four times in a row. Lin Yan and Zhongshan suit guy exchanged a glance. He dropped the receiver and languidly stretched. Looking at the lower part of the note, the address handwritten in pencil looks familiar. Where had he seen it? Lin Yan tugged at his collar. He wanted to unbutton it to get some air, but he suddenly remembered the string of hickeys on his neck and he hurriedly buttoned it back to the top.

There was a splash of water from the water dispenser, followed by a series of gurgling noises. A thought flashed through his mind. Lin Yan froze in place with his cup in his hand, like the solution had smacked into his brain like a hammer strike.

"Mr. Chen, what does the fortune teller you mentioned look like?"

Zhongshan suit guy thought for a moment and recalled: "It's been a long time so I don't remember clearly. He looked like he was in his 40s or 50s. He's about the same height as me, and his hair is very short."

Lin Yan gulped and entered the address into his phone's GPS. The green route map was displayed, extending all the way to the northwest.

That's it. Lin Yan stared at the red dot indicating the destination in the upper left corner and quietly thought to himself: I found you, temple master.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #danmei novel #danmei #chinese bl #bl novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi

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bubonickitten · 3 years

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Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: The process(es) of resigning from a terrible, no good, very bad assistant position.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 22: discussions of eye-gouging/eye horror (not graphic); brief mentions of spiders/arachnophobia; anxiety/panic symptoms; lots of dissociation/dpdr; Peter Lukas being a manipulative shit; Lonely-typical content (including fear of abandonment & some abysmal self-esteem on Martin’s part); allusions to police violence & Hunt-related themes (re: Daisy’s past actions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 22: Resignation

Georgie paces in a slow circle, alternating between biting her nails and picking at her bottom lip – entirely immersed in her own thoughts, judging from the faraway look in her eyes. Jon hasn’t seen her this overwrought since the last depressive episode he witnessed. Just watching her is enough to make his chest tighten with vicarious unrest.

Wary of contributing to a vicious feedback loop between the two of them with his own customary pacing and handwringing, he forces himself to keep his knees locked and hands at his sides. Still, he can’t help rubbing his fingertips together and rocking minutely on the balls of his feet.

“Why don’t we sit?” Jon finally interjects, wincing when it comes out more curtly than he intended – more like a command than a suggestion, but luckily without any accompanying static.

Be mindful, he silently chides himself: being on edge like this only makes him more susceptible to accidental compulsion.

“What if something goes wrong?” Georgie whispers. Jon doubts she even heard him beneath her nervous refrain. “What if –”

“Georgie?” Jon tries again. No response. He steps into her path and places a hand on her shoulder. “Georgie.”

“What?” Georgie raises her head, but she isn’t looking at him so much as she’s looking through him.

“I think you should sit down?”

“What?” Georgie says again, sounding utterly lost. Her eyes are darting around the room now, as if she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

How the tables have turned, Jon thinks grimly.

“Come on,” he says, taking her hand and guiding her to the nearest chair. She offers no resistance, trailing behind him like a flagging balloon. When he presses on her shoulder to coax her into a sitting position, she goes easily. Keeping hold of her hand, he drags another chair closer to her and takes a seat.

Okay. Now what?

Jon jiggles his leg as he wracks his brain for the right thing to say. She deserves more than handholding and awkward silence, but soothing words have never come naturally to him.

“Do you, ah… do you want to talk about it?” Jon cringes at his faltering delivery. “I’m sorry, I’m – I’m still not very good at this,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh – then immediately shuts his eyes, kicking himself. Why are his attempts to relate to others always so clumsy and – and weirdly self-centered? “I mean –”

“I’m scared,” Georgie blurts out.

“You… what?” Jon tilts his head. “But I thought – you don’t feel –”

“Fear?” Her clipped, brittle laugh dies in her throat. “No, I don’t. And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?”

Jon strokes the back of her hand with one thumb, but remains silent. She always elaborates on her own time, given some space to order her thoughts.

“I don’t feel… terror,” she says slowly. “After I had my… encounter, I did a lot of research on how the brain works. Trying to understand what was happening to me, you know?”

Jon nods. He’s intimately familiar with that urge. As a child, he went through a spider phase, as his grandmother called it, obsessively seeking out any information he could on them, hoping even then that he could conquer his fear if only he could see the world through a detached, academic lens. There were plenty of academic odes to the spider to be found; no shortage of enamored arachnologists waxing poetic about the wonders of evolution and the vital role that arachnids play in their particular ecological niches.

Unfortunately, a phobia – especially one arising from acute trauma – tends to be resistant to reason and reality. His obsession only ever yielded heart palpitations and lucid nightmares. Despite that failure, he never stopped clinging to that idea that if only he could know everything there was to know about a thing, he could finally scrape together some semblance of control over his fear.

In many ways, that fixation is exactly what drew him to the Magnus Institute.

Unless the Spider really was pulling the strings all along, he thinks, and then: No, we are not going there.

“As far as I can tell,” Georgie continues, “my sympathetic nervous system still functions. I can still experience all the physiological aspects of sympathetic arousal – and fear is only one possible trigger for those sorts of responses. What’s missing is my capacity to interpret those responses through the lens of fear. To emotionally process or identify them as fear.

“I can still experience anxiety, to an extent – or something close to it. But mostly in the context of worrying about others, being scared for them. I mean, I can feel apprehensive about the possibility of experiencing pain or loss or failure myself, I have a stake in my continued existence, I can recognize danger, but sometimes it feels… I don’t know – mechanical, almost? There’s just always the feeling of something missing. Something important. And there are times when I feel that void more acutely.”

“Like now.”

“Yeah.” Georgie looks away, chewing her lip in silence.

“I’m listening,” Jon coaxes, sensing that there’s more she’s holding back.

“It’s just… hard to feel like a full person sometimes, you know?” Georgie says helplessly. “I worry sometimes that it – I don’t know, does a disservice, I guess, to the people I care about? Like no matter how much I love someone, it isn’t… complete? Or – genuine, in the right way? It’s – hard to find words that actually describe it. There are times when it feels like I’ve lost something vital that made me human, that made me me, and it’s… difficult to reconcile who I was – who I could have been – with who I am now.”

“That I understand,” Jon says softly.

“I know.” Jon wishes he was less familiar with the sad smile she gives him just then. “It’s just… I remember a time when I would have been terrified of all this. Not just worried, or upset about someone I care about being hurt, or devastated by the prospect of losing someone I love. Terrified. And knowing what I should be feeling – what I would have felt at some point – is… it’s unnerving. There’s a void there that shouldn’t be there. It’s like… having part of you gouged out and left hollow. An absence that’s so present it’s almost visceral.” She frowns. “Does that make any sense?”

“In my future I had a Flesh Avatar reach into my chest and wrench out two of my ribs, so… yes, actually.”

Georgie blinks several times, then laughs breathlessly. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Jon returns a cautious smile, but the levity evaporates after a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that you don’t have to have access to the full spectrum of human emotion in order to count as human. And I don’t think any of this makes your concern for others any less heartfelt, or – or comforting. You might not be the same person you were before you were marked, but that doesn’t make you any lesser as a person.”

“You should try applying that metric to yourself sometime,” she replies, not unkindly.

“It’s –”

“Don’t say it’s different,” she cuts in. “Just… keep it in mind, okay?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try.” Georgie nods, but says nothing. Jon grips her hand a little tighter. “Listen, I – I know you’re worried for Melanie, but I think it’s going to be alright? I can’t predict the future –well, I have knowledge of one possible future, but that’s because I lived it. I don’t have any precognitive abilities, or anything like that. But… it turned out okay last time.”

Until I jump-started an apocalypse –

Jon reins in the thought before it can gain momentum. Georgie doesn’t need his brooding right now.

“Melanie is a fighter,” he says instead, offering a tentative smile. “And she has you.”

Georgie shakes her head. “I can’t believe you came out of the apocalypse sappier than you were when you went in.”

“Side effect of traversing a post-apocalyptic wasteland with a hopeless romantic, I think.” That gets another little chuckle out of Georgie. “I mean it, though. I think Melanie will be okay, especially with you looking out for her. Not to mention, the Admiral is a perpetual serotonin generator.”

“You really miss him, huh?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve pet a cat, Georgie?” Jon practically whines, playfully dramatic. It manages to keep the amused smile on Georgie’s face, he’s pleased to note.

“Maybe I should bring him by sometime.”

“Absolutely not. This place doesn’t deserve him.” Georgie snorts. Although Jon is reluctant to ruin the temporary shift in mood, this is as good a time as any to broach a subject he’s been dreading. “Also, I, ah… I don’t want you to feel obligated to continue visiting here.”

“What?” Georgie says, eyes narrowed.

“If you have to take a step back,” Jon says carefully, “I’ll understand.”

“I mean, I might not be able to come by as often as I have been, especially while Melanie is still recovering, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be around at all.” Georgie’s frown deepens. “I’m not about to cut you out of my life, Jon.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to. But – no, listen,” Jon insists, seeing Georgie about to protest. “What I’m trying to say is – I know Melanie wants to put as much distance between herself and the Institute as possible. If it turns out that you staying involved in all of this is too close to home, then… well, I don’t want her to feel like she’s still trapped in the Institute’s orbit, is all.”

Or mine, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to be a reason for Melanie to feel unsafe. In the past, he has been – and that’s not who he wants to be.

These days, Melanie has come to view him more as a fellow captive than a complicit enemy. Lingering resentment still sparks to life from time to time; she still struggles with her anger, and once or twice, she’s had to leave a room for fear of that rage boiling over. Overall, though, she no longer directs the majority of her ire towards him. When they do butt heads, it hasn’t gone much further than bickering – and even that feels comforting in its familiarity and mundanity. Almost companionable, in its own way.

Most significantly, ever since their talk, Melanie hasn’t once likened him to Jonah Magnus. Jon doesn’t know if that’s because it’s no longer an automatic association at the forefront of her mind, or because she’s consciously watching her words around him, actively taking care to avoid tripping that perpetual trigger. Either way, Jon is grateful.

But Jon also knows that he’s inseparable from the Institute. Despite his intentions, and regardless of whether or to what degree the others hold him personally responsible, the fact remains: he’s embroiled in something unspeakably evil, and that poses a danger to anyone who stands too close to him.

Georgie doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking the time to seriously consider his words. He’s always appreciated that about her, as uneasy as these moments of silent suspense can make him.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” she says eventually, “once she’s recovered enough to have that discussion. I don’t know how she’ll feel about staying in direct contact herself, especially at first, but… I doubt she expects me to cut you off. And I imagine she’ll still want to know how everyone is doing, even if she doesn’t want the details.” She glances up to meet his eyes. “Anyway, regardless of how often I visit in person, I’m still going to be checking in with you, so answer your damn phone, will you?”

“I do answer my phone,” he says defensively. “I just… forget to answer texts sometimes. And I don’t get service in the tunnels –”

“Well, come up for air and cell service from time to time.” She wrinkles her nose. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can tolerate being down here for hours on end –”

Jon startles slightly as the trapdoor creaks open above their heads. Georgie stands as Melanie makes her way down the ladder, hurrying over to fold her into her arms. Basira follows behind, closing the trapdoor behind her as she goes.

“Mission successful, I take it?” Jon says quietly as Basira approaches him, giving Georgie and Melanie a moment to themselves.

“Uneventful,” Basira says with a shrug. “A few sidelong glances, but otherwise, none of the library staff even acknowledged us. Definitely didn’t seem keen on asking why we were rummaging in the repair supplies.”

“They probably didn’t want to know.”

“Yeah.” A small, rueful smile crosses her face. “Some of them used to talk to me, you know. Nothing personal – we weren’t close – but… when I returned a book, they’d ask what I thought of it, give me recommendations, that sort of thing. Now, though…”

These days she prefers to wait until everyone has gone home for the day before visiting the library, Jon Knows. He also Knows that the library staff are well aware that she’s the one pilfering research materials in the dead of night – and that they have no plans on confronting her about it. She never leaves a mess, after all, and always returns items to their proper places once she’s finished with them, which is more than can be said for many of the students who make use of the library’s resources.

“You know, I don’t think any of them have looked me in the eye for months.” There’s a distinct note of regret in Basira’s voice. “They just watch me out of the corners of their eyes when they think I’m not looking. I don’t know if that’s because they’re afraid of Lukas disappearing them for fraternizing, or because everyone is leery of the Archives these days, or because I’ve just become less approachable. Maybe all three. Suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

Jon knows the feeling well. Before he can answer, though, Melanie clears her throat. Jon looks over to see her facing his direction, one hand clasping Georgie’s tight enough to blanch her knuckles.

“This is it, then,” Basira says solemnly.

“Yeah.” Melanie closes her eyes and breathes a long, shaky exhale. “It’s time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me there?” Georgie asks.

Melanie shakes her head. “I don’t want you to see that.”

“But –”

“She won’t be alone,” Basira says. “I’ll be right outside the room.”

Melanie faces Georgie fully, taking her other hand as well. “The plan hasn’t changed. Basira will call 999. I’ll make it quick, and – once it’s done, Basira will come in and sit with me until the ambulance gets here.”

“I have a general idea of what the response time should be like,” Basira adds, looking at Georgie. “If we time it right, Melanie will have medical assistance within minutes. I can come get you when the paramedics get here, if you want to ride in the ambulance.”

Georgie nods and tightens her grip on Melanie’s hands. “Is that okay?”

“Only if you want,” Melanie says haltingly. “But – maybe try to avoid looking too close, if my eyes are uncovered? It’s just – it probably won’t be pretty.” A stressed laugh claws its way out of her throat. “Potential trauma fodder, you know? I don’t want to worry about you remembering me like that every time you see me, even after I’ve healed.”

“Okay,” Georgie replies softly.

“It shouldn’t take long. Just – wait here with Jon until then, okay?” Georgie nods again, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Speaking of which –” Melanie glances at Jon, as if just now remembering his presence. Startled by the sudden direct eye contact, he reflexively straightens his spine and stands at attention. “I guess this is goodbye, huh? For a while, anyway.”

“I, uh. I suppose it is.”

“Right. So, um… good luck, I guess?”

No disclaimers or ill will tacked on this time, Jon notes privately.

“You too.” He forces a smile, but he suspects that it comes off as awkward rather than reassuring.

“Try not to die.”

“Yes, ‘not dying’ is relatively close to the top of my to-do list.”

“If I come to find out that you’ve gotten yourself killed and broken the eldritch employment contract binding us all to this place after I’ve gone and gouged my eyes out, I’m going to be livid.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jon says wryly.

“Seriously, though.” Melanie’s smirk melts away, taken over by a somber, quiet sort of intensity. “Either beat Elias at his own game, or get the fuck away from this place the instant you find an out. Whichever comes first. Preferably without any of the self-sacrificial bullshit.”

Fractious as its delivery is, the demand is oddly touching, coming from Melanie.

“I, uh… I’ll do my best?”

“You’d better.” Melanie nods – a curt but cordial dismissal – and turns her attention back to Georgie. “Hey,” she says, her voice going measurably softer, releasing one of Georgie’s hands to reach up and cup her face. Her watery smile belies her mental state: resolve warring with trepidation. “Look at me?”

For a long minute, she studies Georgie’s face, clearly enraptured. Jon forcefully tears his gaze away from the intimacy of the moment.

“Okay.” Melanie takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “I’m ready. I’ll see you soon, okay? Or – well, I won’t see you, but – you’ll see me, and I’ll…” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, whatever – you know what I mean.”

Georgie lets out a tearful chuckle, and Melanie relaxes marginally.

“I’m sure about this,” she says. “I promise. This is what I want – a life with you, away from all of this. And if this is the price I have to pay, then… I’m okay with that. Really, I am.” She stands on tiptoe to give Georgie a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie says, leaning down for a return kiss, smiling weakly against Melanie’s lips. “See you soon.”

When Martin first heard the bustle outside his door – coworkers venturing outside their solitary offices to trade whispered questions and eager gossip as word of paramedics in the archives made its way upstairs – his stomach gave a little lurch: a combination of horror and wonder. He hadn’t expected Melanie to change her mind – he knows how determined she can be once she’s settled on a course of action; how desperate she was to extricate herself from Elias’ – Jonah’s – schemes. Still, though, faced with the reality of it, he found himself in awe of her nerve.

That was yesterday. Martin didn’t get much work done, preoccupied as he was. He isn’t having an easier time of it today: his attention keeps slipping away to linger in remembrances of sterile hospital rooms and muted hallways, thoughts drowned out by the ghosts of sirens and beeping machinery.

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

Martin jolts in his seat, heart leaping into his throat. It only takes an instant longer for his alarm to mutate into aggravation.

“Peter!” Martin spins around to glower at the man. “How many times do I have to–”

Peter flaps a dismissive hand. “To be honest, Martin, the drop in temperature tends to tip most people off. The only reason you continue to be surprised by my arrival is because you’ve become acclimated to the Forsaken.”

The revelation is slow to sink in, a stark chill blooming in Martin’s chest and snaking its roots outwards. Only now that it’s been brought to his attention can he feel the nip in the air.

“Here I was certain you were becoming estranged from our patron, but it seems I needn’t have worried.” Peter’s smile is laced with malice. “Or should I?”

Martin says nothing, eyes wide and stinging from the now-conspicuous cold. Peter sighs, folds his hands behind his back, and begins a meandering back-and-forth pace.

“Our success is dependent on your voluntary isolation, Martin.”

“Yeah.” The word turns to fog as it touches the air, and Martin finds himself transfixed by the sight. “You’ve said.”

“It seems you need a reminder.”

The condescension dripping from the words is enough to drag Martin back into the present moment. Heat rises in his cheeks, contrasting with the temperature in the room and making the chill that much more noticeable.

“You still haven’t told me your plan,” he snaps. “You keep expecting me to just – go along with whatever you’re scheming, no questions asked.”

“You ask many questions, Martin –”

“Yeah, and you never answer them! You’re so – so bloody cryptic about all of this.”

“Martin, Martin,” Peter says, placating in the most patronizing way possible. Martin bristles: he hates the way Peter says his name. “There’s no need to get so worked up –”

“If you want me to be a partner in – in whatever it is you’re planning, you can’t expect me to go on blind trust!”

“I’m still conducting my own research,” Peter says mildly. “I would rather not confuse you with extraneous details before I have all the kinks worked out.”

“I’m not an idiot –”

“Rest assured,” Peter interrupts, “if I was capable of stopping the Extinction alone, I would. Unfortunately, it will require someone touched by the Beholding.”

“Why?”

“Because it requires this place, and this place” – Peter’s lip curls in distaste – “is the Eye’s seat of power. The One Alone has no dominion here.” Martin crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You are the only one who can do this, Martin.”

“Why?” Martin repeats.

Judging from the muscle ticking in Peter’s jaw, his limited supply of patience for conversation is precipitously depleting.

“No, really,” Martin presses, “why me? I mean” – he spreads his arms out with a scornful chuckle – “look at me. I’m not exactly hero material, am I?”

“That really depends on you. I can’t force you to cooperate. It won’t even work unless you’re a willing participant.”

“And what makes you think that your plan is the only way? You – you keep going on about how it’s my choice. Well – what if I choose to work with the others? It can’t hurt to have more eyes on the problem –” Martin rolls his eyes at Peter’s unconcealed revulsion. “Yeah, I know. No one would ever accuse you of being a team player, obviously. But I can be the liaison; you don’t have to interact with anyone at all.” Would prefer you don’t interact with anyone at all, Martin thinks. “I mean, that’s already my role, isn’t it? Dealing with people so you don’t have to?”

“Martin,” Peter says, low and dangerous.

“I’ll do it off the clock, even. I’ll isolate myself in my office during the workday, or whatever” – Martin gives a flippant wave of his hand – “and continue researching the Extinction.” And practically running the whole damn place on an assistant’s salary, he grouses silently. “After hours I’ll pursue my own research with the others.”

“Part-time isolation will not suffice to equip you with the power you’ll need.” Peter presses his lips into a pale, rigid line. “Be reasonable. Are you really willing to risk an apocalypse, just because you can’t appreciate solitude?”

“If it starts to look like there’s no other option, I’ll reconsider.”

“And if the Extinction emerges while you’re wasting time searching for an alternative that doesn’t exist?”

“Based on the limited information you’ve given me, I don’t think the Extinction is going to just… emerge overnight. I’m still not even convinced it’s going to be worse than any other Fear. I mean, the Flesh is relatively new, isn’t it? And it didn’t… leave the fear economy in shambles, or whatever.”

“It isn’t about competition, Martin.” Peter releases a slow plume of fog through his nose before continuing, voice cool but simmering with pique just under the surface. “The Extinction is different from the other Powers. It is defined by widescale eradication. The other Powers may seek to change the world, but none of them strive for a world without us.”

“But what makes you so sure the Extinction would?”

Peter’s eyes narrow. Ignoring him, Martin runs his thumb along his bottom lip as he replays Jon’s impassioned conjectures on the matter: It thrives on the potentiality of a mass extinction event, not the fulfillment of one.

“What’s to say it wouldn’t be just fine with the world as it is, like the End?” Martin says, more confidently now. “People have been prophesying about the end of the world for – all of human history, probably. I doubt we’ll stop anytime soon. Maybe at its core the Extinction is just… the fear of an uncertain future. And a particular future doesn’t have to be realized in order to inspire fear, as long as the potential is always there. It’s about the suspense – the ‘what ifs’, the unknown, the – the lack of control in it all.” Martin laughs. “In a way, that’s… that’s what most fears boil down to, isn’t it?”

“The stakes are rather high to gamble on a thought experiment, don’t you think?” The temperature plunges a few more degrees as Peter speaks. “I think that the most important ‘what if’ you should concern yourself with is what if you’re wrong?”

“And what if I’m not?” Martin counters. “You act so authoritative, but aren’t you also just speculating? When I agreed to work with you, you told me you would provide me with evidence to support your theory. So far, I’m not convinced. You’re going to have to give me more to go on than just ‘trust me.’ I mean – if it’s between trusting you and – and trusting Jon, and the others? You can’t really be surprised if I choose them over you.”

“Oh, Martin,” Peter tuts, shaking his head with derisive, disingenuous pity. “Since when has the trust you’ve placed in others ever been reciprocated?”

“I trust him,” Martin says defiantly.

“But does he trust you?” Peter pauses for effect. “Of all the times you’ve allowed yourself to form attachments, has anyone even once genuinely returned those affections?”

Jon did.

Whatever expression Martin is wearing brings a sneer to Peter’s face. Martin clenches his teeth and ignores him.

Jon does, he corrects. Present tense. He said as much.

Martin still can’t fathom what Jon could possibly see in him, but Jon wouldn’t lie about something like that, right? He wouldn’t.

…would he?

No, he wouldn’t, Martin chides. You know he wouldn’t. Trust him.

“Sure,” Peter persists, “you may open yourself up to the potential for something more, but you know as well as I do that it won’t last. Is the inevitable loss really worth the risk?”

“I don’t know,” Martin says. He tries to ignore the slight quaver that insinuates itself into the declaration. “But if I never take the risk, I’ll never know, will I?”

“I think you already know the answer.” Peter’s pale eyes glitter with spite. “Remember what it felt like, languishing at the Archivist’s deathbed. Recall the state you were in when you first came to me.”

The words are incisive, sliding under Martin’s skin and lodging there like shrapnel. He can feel his confidence waver, the conviction he stood fast on only seconds ago splintering underneath him like thin ice.

“How many times do you think he can court death and survive? He all but died stopping the last apocalypse; he was willing to bury himself alive for a woman who tried to kill him. How do you think he’ll react if you tell him about any of this? You think he’ll listen to reason? Trust in your judgment?” Peter fixes Martin with a smug, hungry look. “Or will he throw himself in front of the first bullet he sees?”

He already knows about all of this, Martin reminds himself. Jon isn’t about to sacrifice himself on account of the Extinction. Moreover, he seems to be genuinely committed to working as a team rather than striking out on his own.

But he also sees himself as a cataclysm waiting to happen, says the nagging doubt skulking in the far corners of Martin’s mind. As much as Jon insists that he doesn’t want to die, he’s already lived through one apocalypse. Martin has no doubt that Jon would sacrifice himself to prevent another, if it came down to it.

Jon is a powder keg of fear and guilt, and there is no shortage of potential ignition sources waiting in the wings. It only takes one untimely spark to set an archive ablaze.

“I trust him,” Martin repeats to himself, but the statement is rendered feeble by the leaden, frozen knot unfurling in his chest.

“Can you really weather another round of grief?” Peter continues, triumphant. He knows he’s found a gap in Martin’s defenses; all he needs to do now is twist the knife. “You’ve already done your mourning, cut the infection off at the source. Let him back in, and you only open yourself up to more pain. Better a numbed scar than a wound that never heals, don’t you think?”

“No.” There’s something off about Martin’s voice – as if it doesn’t belong to him; as if it’s originating from outside of himself, faint and frail and faraway, smothered by the cold, empty fog clogging his lungs. “N-no, I…”

“Connection is a fleeting, fickle thing,” Peter persists. “It’s a lie people tell themselves. The truth is that we are all alone. In the end, all we have is ourselves. Think about it.”

Unthinkingly, Martin shrinks away as Peter steps closer.

“You asked for more evidence.” Peter slides a few statement folders onto the desk. “Take some time to yourself. Consider whether you’re willing to wager on the fate of the world.”

When Martin looks up, he is alone.

“It’s so loud,” Daisy mutters heatedly, stalking to and fro like a panther in a cage. She scratches furiously at her forearms as she goes, blunt fingernails leaving faint red stripes on pale skin.

“Daisy,” Jon says evenly, “I think maybe you should –”

“Itch I can’t scratch.” She pivots on her heel, retracing her short path in the opposite direction. “Feels like fire under my skin.”

“I don’t think clawing your skin off is going to help.”

Daisy barks a laugh. “With what claws?” She stops short and brandishes the backs of her trembling hands, fingers splayed to highlight nails gnawed to the quick, ragged cuticles stained rust-brown with dried blood. “Dull now.” Her eyes go unfocused, staring vaguely at her hands as if she doesn’t recognize them. “Too dull.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he means it.

It never gets easier to witness her like this, frenetic and fraying in the throes of the Hunt’s compulsion. These spells have a way of making her features look sharper, her mannerisms more animalistic. She’s all protruding bones and sallow skin, but that seeming frailty does nothing to tame the violence thrumming in her veins. If anything, that all-consuming hunger only makes her more fearsome.

Jon’s strict rations have given him an underfed, pinched look as well, but at least he has something. Not enough to put meat on his bones, so to speak, but enough to stave off starvation. Daisy, though…

When Jon takes a step forward, she rounds on him with teeth bared and a snarl in her throat. Jon flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re afraid of me.” Daisy exhales an exhausted rattle of a laugh, as if vindicated. “Good. You should be.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jon says. “I have an overactive startle reflex. Always have, really.”

“You’re lying.” Daisy breathes heavily through her nose, fists clenched at her sides now. “Admit it.”

Jon knows what she’s trying to do. She wants him to lash out, to bite back, to make her bleed. He’s uncomfortably familiar with that craving. It’s like looking into a mirror.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he reiterates.

“Liar,” Daisy hisses, fixing him with a baleful glare.

He’s seen her like this many times before, hunger-ravaged and swamped by bloodlust. She’ll doggedly bash herself against the nearest witness to her shame like a ship crashed against a jetty, driven forward again and again by cresting waves of guilt and self-loathing until she’s free-floating wreckage. Every time, it gets more and more difficult to gather up all the debris and repair the damage. Jon fears that one of these days, the storm will pass and there won’t be enough pieces left to put her back together.

“I’m not a knife you can cut yourself on, Daisy,” he says patiently.

Daisy looks positively mutinous, mouth opening and closing several times before erupting: “Why wouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

“I used to be,” Jon admits, leaning back against the tunnel wall to take some of the weight off his bad leg. “Before the Buried. I was terrified of you. Dreaded every moment I had to be alone with you. Thought it was only a matter of time before you finished the job.”

“It was,” she rasps out – and with that, her shoulders slump and her fists relax to hang limply at her sides, fingers jumping and twitching with the last dregs of her agitation.

“I know. But then you changed. You were different, after the Buried. As afraid of yourself as I used to be of you. As afraid of yourself as I was of myself.” He looks her in the eye as he speaks. “I looked at you and saw my own fear reflected back at me. There are so many things to be afraid of. You were – you are trying very hard not to be one of them.”

“If I’m afraid of me, you should be, too.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Jon asks, shaping each word carefully to keep the compulsion at bay.

She pauses, considering the question.

“No,” she says eventually. “Afraid for you, sometimes.”

“As I am for you.” Jon’s tentative smile fades after a moment. “I’ll admit, I do have… reflexive reactions, sometimes. There were a few incidents where I walked into the breakroom and you were holding a knife, and my fight-or-flight response kicked in before my conscious brain could catch up with reality.”

Daisy squeezes her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. When she opens her eyes, the look on her face isn’t pleading so much as it is resigned. She isn’t asking for forgiveness. Jon doubts she ever will.

It’s just one more thing they have in common.

“I know,” he says quietly. “To be clear, I don’t feel unsafe with you, as you are now. It’s just… flashbacks. They can be – unpredictable. And if I’m already feeling on edge, or – or not quite present, it doesn’t take much to set me off. But,” he adds, giving her a serious look, “I don’t want you walking on eggshells around me. That only puts me more on edge.”

“Fine. But will you tell me if I do something to scare you?”

“Yes.” She made the same request last time. “But I’ve never had to. You could always feel when I was afraid. From a few rooms away, even.”

“Yeah,” Daisy says with a choked laugh. “Your blood is – very loud sometimes.”

“And now?”

These episodes tend to be capricious. Sometimes, what seems to be the calm after the storm proves to be only a lull before a second wind. If the way she’s wobbling on her feet and favoring one leg is any indication, Jon suspects that the worst of the flare-up has passed for now, taking her adrenaline surge with it. Still, he waits for her confirmation. Daisy takes a minute to mull over the question, head cocked slightly to the side as if listening.

“Quieter,” she says.

With that, Jon lowers himself to the ground and sits with his back against the wall, beckoning her over to take a seat. She hesitates for a moment longer before following his lead, slumping down next to him with a labored sigh.

“Sorry for growling at you,” she says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Daisy tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You said I ended up going back to the Hunt last time.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“September. But – but that doesn’t mean it has to happen again,” he adds hurriedly when he sees her face fall in a mixture of anguish and resignation. “It was – sort of a perfect storm of extenuating circumstances. Like I said before, if you didn’t let the Hunt back in, you and Basira would likely have been killed. But I think you knew you wouldn’t be coming back from it. Before you changed, you made Basira promise to hunt you down and kill you.”

“And did she?”

“She lost track of you in the chaos. You gave chase after one of the Hunters. Once you killed her, the other Hunter started hunting you. For revenge.” Jon’s voice drops to a low murmur. “A few weeks later, the world ended.”

Which makes it sound far more passive than it actually was, but Jon isn’t in the mood for a scolding should he opt for an ‘I’ statement.

“And then what?”

“You were a full-fledged Hunter in a – a perpetual fear generator of a world,” Jon says grimly. “Do you really need to hear the details?”

“Tell me,” Daisy says. “Please.”

Jon understands the need, but recounting the apocalypse never gets any easier. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“When I opened the door and let all the Fears into this reality,” he begins, “the world was divvied up into thousands of different domains, each belonging to a different shade of terror. With few exceptions, most people were confined to one domain – usually whatever aligned with their deepest fears. Avatars and monsters were subject to the Ceaseless Watcher, but otherwise able to exercise control over the humans in the domains of their patrons. Most seemed to stake out territory and settle in one place – customizing their own little spheres of influence, creating playgrounds of their own making. But some got around. You were one of the ones that traveled.”

“What was –” Daisy grimaces. “Who was I hunting?”

“Well… in that place, no one got what they deserved, only what would hurt the most. And people are rarely afraid of just one thing. Most were magnets for multiple fears. The more nomadic Avatars and monsters would gravitate towards whatever individuals were most susceptible to their power, so to speak.” He bites his lip. There’s really no tactful way to phrase this next part. “In your case, you had a roster of specific targets that you were tracking. Former prey. Whether you were drawn to them because of their own fear of you, or because some part of you judged them to have ‘gotten away,’ so to speak… I’m not entirely certain. It may have been a bit of both.”

“I see,” Daisy murmurs. “Guess it makes sense that I would rank high among some people’s greatest fears.”

“Basira was tracking you when we ran into her. We were with her when we found you.”

“And was I… still me?”

“Yes and no,” Jon says hesitantly. “You were you, in a way, but only a small part of you. The Hunter. Everything else was buried too deep. Drowned. Even if I could have brought you back, it would have killed you. You – you didn’t even recognize me, or Martin. You recognized Basira – saw her as pack, wanted her to join you in the Hunt – but…”

“You were prey,” Daisy says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You never did manage to grow a self-preservation instinct, did you?” Daisy squints at him. “I went full monster on you, and you still want me to sit next to you now.”

“You had sharper teeth then,” Jon says drily. Daisy scoffs and nudges his shoulder with hers. She doesn’t draw back after making contact, and when Jon doesn’t pull away either, she leans into him.

“Basira kept her promise?” Daisy asks after a minute.

“Yes. She didn’t want to, but…” Jon swallows thickly, the memory of Basira’s heartbreak bringing to mind his own. “It wasn’t an easy decision.”

Daisy rubs at her chest with one hand, as if to soothe an ache. “It wasn’t fair for me to ask that of her, was it?”

“Maybe not,” Jon sighs. “It seems fair choices are hard to come by, for most of us.”

“I… I don’t want her to have to make that choice this time.”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s never going to stop, is it?” Daisy glances at him, allowing her head to rest lightly on his shoulder. “It’s only going to get worse.”

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say?

“Melanie got away,” Daisy says, a tinge of bargaining in her tone. “She managed to purge the Slaughter. And break away from the Eye.”

“Her situation was… different from ours. She wasn’t as far gone as we are. The Slaughter hadn’t fully claimed her, and the Eye never took her as an Avatar. But you’ve been living with the Hunt for most of your life; I signed myself over to the Beholding the moment I became the Archivist. We’ve become… attached to our patrons, dependent on them for survival. Symbiotic, in a twisted sort of way.”

“You really don’t think there’s a way back, then.”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ve seen it before, in my future, but – the world was different then. During the apocalypse, I was able to, uh… shift a person’s status from Watched to Watcher. I – I mean, technically everyone was Watched – the Eye had dominion over everything – but I could give someone control over one of the smaller domains. Create new Avatars, for lack of a better term.

“But turn a Watcher into solely the Watched, and they would typically unravel. I don’t know if that’s because the full focus of the Ceaseless Watcher’s gaze just happens to be lethal – particularly for Avatars aligned with other Powers – or if an Avatar is simply unable to survive being cut off from their patron regardless of the means of separation. I do Know that I wouldn’t have been able to survive being cut off from the Eye unscathed. I was… too much a part of the Eye in that reality. Not sure about now. For either of us.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying ‘no.’”

“I’m not saying no, I’m saying that I don’t know. Supposedly escaping the Buried was impossible, and here we are.”

“Apples and oranges,” Daisy says sullenly.

“Maybe. I think it’s all too complex for clear-cut categories. Even the hard-and-fast ‘rules’ are only as strong as our collective belief in them. Almost like our expectations shore them up. I’ve witnessed all of reality being rewritten – all physical laws and supposed universal constants reshaped to center the Eye.” He reaches one hand up to tug on the hair at the back of his neck. “After all I’ve Seen, it’s difficult to conceive of anything being categorically impossible. Between all the dream logic and reality bending, there’s plenty of space for firsts and exceptions to the rules.”

‘I don’t knows’ are where the hope lives, Martin said once. At the time, Jon teased him for being a hopeless romantic, but truthfully, Jon was just as hopelessly endeared by Martin’s belief in such things.

“Have you talked to Georgie yet today?” Daisy asks, apparently ready to change the subject.

“Oh, uh – yes. This morning.”

“And?”

“Melanie was out of surgery and stable, but she wasn’t awake yet. Georgie promised to call tonight with an update.” Assuming nothing major comes up before then, a worried voice in Jon’s head supplies. He shakes his head to jog the thought loose. “Speaking of Georgie… have you given any thought to her suggestion?”

“What,” Daisy says, drolly skeptical, “playing a video game?”

“I realize it’s… somewhat out of the box, but it might be worth a try. Like Georgie said, there are multiplayer games where you can, uh… hunt down other players.”

Daisy plucks absently at her collar, glowering at the opposite wall as if the bricks there committed a personal offense. “It’s not the same.”

“A simulation might not come close to a real hunt, no, but – you might still get something out of it? Maybe?” Daisy directs her scowl up at the ceiling. Jon only digs his heels in, undeterred. “There are even some that have a survival horror theme. An aesthetic that already puts players in the mindset to be frightened, you know?”

“People play those games for fun, Sims.” She finally looks at him, eyes narrowed. “It’s about thrills, not mortal fear.”

“Sometimes genuine fear can sneak through. Haven’t you ever been so creeped out by a horror story that it stayed with you after nightfall?”

“Not really?”

“O-oh. Well, some people have that experience.” Jon gives an awkward little cough. “Anyway, under the right circumstances, a game can get the adrenaline pumping as well as a chase can. A fight-or-flight response doesn’t necessarily require a real physical threat.”

Daisy raises her eyebrows, transparently cynical. “Do you really think the Hunt is going to be satisfied with jump scares and – and low-stakes adrenaline rushes filtered through a screen?”

“No,” Jon admits. “But it might take the edge off. Sort of like reading old statements does for me. Not enough to stop you starving, but maybe enough to distract from the hunger pangs. At least temporarily. If nothing else, you did say you need a new hobby, and it’s not like this place is overflowing with viable entertainment options.”

“I guess,” Daisy sighs. “I mean, it’s not like I’m paying rent. May as well squander my paycheck.”

“If that’s the case, you should see if that eBay listing for that vintage The Archers board game is still up,” Jon says drily. “Last I checked, it was £2 with no bidders.”

“Yeah, and £30 shipping.”

“Sounds like £32 well spent, if you ask me.”

Daisy snorts and bumps her shoulder against his. “You, Jonathan Sims, are an absolute menace.”

Adrift and thoroughly divorced from the concept of time, end of the workday passes Martin by without his notice. Once again, he wonders whether Peter deliberately assigned him an office with no external window, not only to put another wall between him and the rest of the world, but to make it easier for him to lose track of time.

For an interminable stretch of time he sits catatonic, mind peppered with sporadic sensory input: Dead-weight limbs, listless and foreign-feeling. The brush of fabric resting against bare skin, every point of weightless contact a violation. The distant ticking of clockwork, rote and irrevocable.

Stand up, comes the thought, detached and intrusive: an instruction he cannot parse; empty phonemes wafted into a vacant mind, abandoned there to echo and disperse until they lose all meaning. A fragment of a signal from brain to nerves to fingers presses numb fingertips to thumbs, a cautious test yielding no sensation but for the vague, spongey give of flesh.

Then the body ostensibly belonging to him is on its feet, the connection between floor and soles disturbingly incongruent with unreality. Walking now, every footfall jarring in its impact; every step stretched and blurred like a botched time-lapse photograph; every molasses-sluggish forward motion met with invisible resistance, like swimming against a sludgy current.

He does not remember how or when or under whose direction he arrives in the Archives, swaying at the threshold of the Head Archivist’s office. Empty and still. Silence so pervasive it’s almost tangible. Viscous and inexorable. Trapping him like a fly in honey. Drowning.

When next he becomes aware of his surroundings, he’s wavering at the bottom of a ladder. Walls curving up and over his head, a brickwork warren stretching on and out into the murk.

Standing in place. Hovering like an afterimage. Rootless and incorporeal. Searching for… staring at… calling to…

There: something real.

“Martin?” Jon’s breath fogs the air as he speaks, but the way he says the name… his voice seems to cradle the word, shielding it against the cold. He sits up straighter, keen gaze sweeping the area like a lighthouse beacon. “Martin, is that you?”

That’s me, Martin thinks, and then, wonderingly: He says your name like it’s something precious.

At that thought, Jon’s eyes land on him like a searchlight.

“There you are.” His soft smile immediately falters, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

He’s sat on the floor with his back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest, and Daisy pressed up against his side in a mirrored position, sharing a pair of corded earphones. Daisy is already thumbing at the screen of her phone, presumably pausing whatever it is they’re listening to, as Jon removes his earbud.

Martin opens his mouth to speak, but the air in his lungs has turned to viscid fog and the confused tangle of half-formed thoughts in his mind refuse to coalesce into actual words. Jon exchanges a glance with Daisy, who is already moving to stand. Martin wants to object – she doesn’t have to leave on his account; he can see that they’re busy; he’s fine; he’s just overreacting – but before he can cobble together a protest, she’s halfway to her feet, gripping the wall for support.

“I’m alright now,” Martin can hear her say.

“You’re sure?” Jon asks in a low murmur.

“Yeah.” She winces as she straightens her spine. “Knowing Basira, she’s still pouring over the same statements as she was this morning. She could do with an interruption.”

“Can you manage the ladder?”

Daisy stretches her leg out, testing her mobility. “Think so.”

They give each other another long look, a shared nod, and without another word, Daisy staggers her way to the exit and mounts the ladder.

As it does every time he witnesses these displays of unspoken understanding between them, an ugly pang of jealousy burns in Martin’s chest – some combination of envy, inadequacy, longing, and loneliness. Possessiveness, almost – and an instant later, the shame sets in.

But then the trapdoor closes, Jon looks Martin in the eye again, and the sincere, tender warmth sheltering there is enough to leave Martin reeling. It’s hard to comprehend anyone – let alone Jonathan Sims – looking at him like that; difficult to reconcile requited affection with a lifetime of fruitless want. Martin can’t shake the feeling that it will always be this way – and that his inability to trust in unconditional love is precisely what makes him so unlovable in the first place.

Jon clears his throat and pats the floor beside him. He’s seated on a blanket, Martin just now notices, folded over several times to cushion the hard ground.

He’d better not be napping down here, Martin thinks to himself.

“Martin,” Jon says, in that impossibly soft tone he’s taken to using around Martin these days, “I’d like you to come sit, if you’re amenable.”

It’s such a Jon way of phrasing the invitation, and the familiarity it engenders has Martin accepting without a conscious thought. He settles himself beside Jon, close but not touching. Those few inches of distance manage to be simultaneously loathsome and assuring. Martin lets his hand rest in that vacant space, fingers clenching around a fistful of blanket.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jon’s hand twitch, as if fighting back the urge to reach out and touch. Instead, he starts to rub the fabric of his trouser leg between his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you need right now?” Jon asks.

“I…” Martin pauses, unsettled by the sound of his own voice, grating and almost unfamiliar to his ears.

“Take your time.”

It takes a minute for Martin to wrap his mouth around more than one syllable.

“Nothing,” he says, the weight of the word nearly pinning his tongue in place.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Several more minutes pass before Martin is able to construct a full sentence.

“I’m just being stupid.” The words seem to echo faintly in the tunnel, despite how quietly he says them.

“What do you need?” Jon asks again.

“Nothing,” Martin repeats dully. He doesn’t need anything.

Jon doesn’t immediately respond. Martin can feel himself go rigid, anticipating… what – aggravation, impatience, disengagement? But Jon only runs a thumb along his jawline, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Okay,” he says eventually, “what do you want, then? What would – what would help you feel better right now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Martin says in a voice so feeble it’s nearly inaudible. He flexes his fingers uncertainly, chasing after any physical sensation at all, only to find them numb and deathlike. The helpless sigh that shudders out of him wants to be a whimper. “I just – didn’t – don’t – feel real. Feels like I’m not really here.”

“Hmm.” Jon looks at him – really looks at him, taking his time to study Martin’s face. “Well, I can confirm that you are here.”

“You… you can see me?” Martin asks meekly, pleadingly, dreading the answer.

“Yes.” Jon pauses. “And if you’re agonizing over being a bother, don’t, because you aren’t. I always like seeing you.”

He should trust Jon – he does trust Jon – but it’s still a constant struggle to drown out that Lonely part of him that insists that isolation is safer, more dependable, and far more habitable. Unthinkingly, Martin reaches over, hand trembling in the air above Jon’s, fingertips just barely ghosting across scarred skin.

“Would you like me to hold your hand…?” Jon ventures.

Martin’s fingers curve inward as he pulls back slightly. “I, um.”

“You can say no,” Jon reminds him.

“I… I want it, but I – I – I don’t know if I can handle it right now, and I –” Martin draws back entirely, flapping both hands in frustration, trying to relieve the pins-and-needles sensation prickling through his veins. “I hate this. I hate being like this.”

Martin grimaces at the outburst, but Jon doesn’t seem to be judging him. Instead, he’s looking off to the side, a crease between his eyebrows now, as if he’s working through a problem.

“No skin-to-skin contact,” he says to himself, and then he looks to Martin. “Pressure helps me sometimes, when I feel like I’m not real. You could… lean against me? If you want.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to,” Jon rushes to reassure him.

“It’s – not that I don’t want to. I guess I’m just…” Martin can feel himself flush with embarrassment. “It’s daft, but I’m worried that I’ll be – I don’t know, incorporeal, or something.”

“I distinctly recall you telling me that you’re not a ghost.”

It takes a few seconds for Jon’s deadpan humor to sink in. When it does, Martin nearly chokes on a surprised laugh.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was a ghost,” he says, cracking a smile. The tight, bitter-cold knot in his chest yields just a little, like ice disintegrating under a spring thaw.

“In my defense, I was quite distraught at the time.” Jon’s eyes wrinkle at the corners and Martin is struck by overwhelming fondness. He doesn’t pull away when Jon reaches out, open palm hovering just above his shoulder. “May I?”

Cautiously, Martin nods.

“Hmm.” Jon applies the lightest touch at first, watching Martin’s face carefully. He waits until Martin nods for him to continue before he presses down more firmly. Before long, Martin can feel the warmth of Jon’s hand through his jumper. That warmth carries over into Jon’s smile. “Feels solid to me.”

The confirmation comes as a relief, as foolish as that makes Martin feel. He braces himself and leans against Jon’s side, releasing his held breath when his body meets with tangible resistance. At first he worries that Jon, scrawny as he is, won’t be able to support the weight, but he doesn’t budge when Martin melts against him. After that, it’s a struggle for Martin to keep his eyes open.

Jon must notice, because he whispers, “You can rest. I’ll be here.”

Martin doesn’t even have the strength to nod, let alone the energy to argue. He allows the steady rise and fall of Jon’s chest to lull him into an almost meditative state, his mind still floating somewhere outside of himself, but now tethered to the ground.

Then the silence starts nipping at his heels.

“Too quiet,” he mumbles. “Talk to me?”

“What about?”

“Anything.”

“Did you know that highland cattle have a double coat?” Jon says after a minute of consideration. “It insulates them against the cold. The outer layer is long – the longest hair of any cattle breed, in fact – and oily, which helps ward off the rain. Underneath is softer, almost woolly hair.”

Once Jon gets started, those little scraps of trivia soon progress to a nearly encyclopedic lecture. It doesn’t take long for Martin to lose himself in the rich timbre of Jon’s voice as he goes on about various Scottish breeds of cattle. Although he doesn’t fall fully asleep, Martin manages to drift in and out of consciousness enough that he loses track of time once more. This time, though, it’s a comfortable daze: there’s someone to keep him from straying too far.

At some point, he unthinkingly seeks out Jon’s hand. Jon presses his thumb into the center of Martin’s palm, rubbing small circles there, coaxing Martin further into peaceful relaxation.

“Sorry for interrupting you and Daisy earlier,” Martin murmurs groggily into Jon’s shoulder.

“Oh, we were just listening to The Archers.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Martin asks, opening one eye to scrutinize Jon’s expression.

“Unfortunately not.”

“You like The Archers.”

“Good lord, no. Blame Daisy.”

“Daisy likes The Archers,” Martin says, even more dubiously, sitting up now to squint at Jon.

“There are stranger things.”

Martin snorts and nestles into Jon’s side again. “If you say so.”

“Feeling better now?” Martin reflexively snuggles closer. Jon laughs softly, a little puff of a breath that rustles Martin’s hair. “I’m not going to deny you cuddles if the answer is ‘yes,’ you know.”

“Cuddles,” Martin whispers, the word dissolving into a clipped giggle.

“What?” Jon tilts his head. There’s a puzzled scowl on his face, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he should take offense. It’s impossibly endearing.

“Cuddles,” Martin repeats, in a poor approximation of Jon’s voice this time. “Not a word I ever expected to hear from you.”

“Quiet, you,” Jon huffs, but he can’t disguise the way his indignant pout cracks into a smile under the weight of his own amusement. He almost seems to preen, as if pulling a laugh from Martin is a victory on which to pride himself. He reaches up with his free hand, pausing just above the top of Martin’s head. “May I?”

At Martin’s affirmative, Jon begins to comb his fingers through Martin’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. For the briefest of moments, some primal fragment of him recoils from the contact, instinctively unnerved by the vulnerability inherent to such closeness. Martin spurns that voice, breathes through its fit of angst and panic, and leans into the touch.

Little by little, step by step, he’s acclimating. He just wishes that it wasn’t such a process each and every time he lets his guard down like this.

“Bad day?” Jon asks once Martin settles.

“Something like that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Martin groans. “But I should.”

“Only if you want to.”

“No, you should know, I just…” Martin heaves a wearied sigh. “Peter’s back.”

Jon gasps like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. The hand stroking Martin’s hair abruptly stills; the other, still clasped in Martin’s, constricts like a death-grip.

“Did he hurt you?” The question is steeped in an artificial, fragile sort of calm, but Jon can’t quite mask the intensity buzzing just under the surface: fear, protectiveness, and desperation all intermingled and reinforced by that ominous inkling of power that, despite his intentions, lurks behind every word.

“He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Just… trying to get me to recommit to the Lonely.” Martin scoffs. “And of course he was trying to do it in a way that would make me feel like it was my idea. Get me to convince myself that it was what I wanted, rather than something he was pressuring me into.”

“Of all the Powers, the Lonely is one of the most insidious, I think,” Jon says quietly. “It seeks out victims who already have one foot in the Lonely, reinforces those fears, promises kinship – a paradoxical form of it, anyway – and then it just… waits. Spend enough time disconnected from the rest of the world, and it doesn’t take long to start telling yourself the lie that it’s for the best. That it’s what you are; that it’s all you’re meant to be.”

“And I fell for it,” Martin mutters.

“Anyone would, subjected to the right conditions.” Jon waits until he catches Martin’s eye before he continues. “It isn’t your fault. This is what the Fears do. It’s what they are. They find an opening, they sink their hooks in, and they pull you under. They don’t let go until either you drown or you learn to breathe fear. The only way out is for someone to throw you a lifeline, and even then, the odds aren’t great. And the Lonely in particular – one of the first things it does is make it difficult to even conceive of a lifeline. It’s hard to catch hold of one if you never think to look for it.”

“I thought you hated convoluted metaphors.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately the Powers That Be tend to elude any sort of straightforward, concrete discussion,” Jon grouses. “Just one more reason to begrudge them, really. My point is, the Lonely is an insufferable liar and so is Peter.”

“What do you know, they’re perfect for each other.” The remark succeeds in putting a lopsided smirk on Jon’s face, much to Martin’s delight. “Anyway, Peter said his plan won’t work unless I’m voluntarily Lonely.”

“He’s right, although his plan has nothing to do with the Extinction. He needs you to choose the Lonely because those were the terms of his bet with Jonah. He poaches you out from under the Eye – gets you to pledge yourself to the Forsaken – and he wins, with the Institute as a prize. He fails to convert you, he loses, and he does what Jonah wants, which is for me to be marked by the Lonely.”

Jon says that last part so nonchalantly. As if it’s a foregone conclusion; as if he’s become so accustomed to dehumanization that it doesn’t even give him pause. Martin grits his teeth, biting back a surge of anger on Jon’s behalf.

“Yeah, well,” he says tightly, “Peter bet on the wrong horse.”

A sharp intake of breath leaves Jon sounding strangled when he says, eyes wide and lips parted, “Oh?”

“I mean, he can’t just sic the Lonely on me like he would any other victim, right? That wouldn’t count as a win. He needs me to choose it. And I’m not going to do that.”

“Yeah?” The expression of unguarded, cautious hope dawning on Jon’s face makes him look years younger.

“Yeah,” Martin says, feeling increasingly emboldened. “The funny thing is, I don’t – I don’t think I ever chose loneliness. I never wanted it – that was just a lie I told myself, and the Lonely just – echoed it back to me. S-so Peter’s out of luck, because if there are other options, then the Lonely will always be involuntary. Because it’s not what I want.”

“You – you mean it?” Jon brightens, leaning forward.

Martin’s heart skips a beat and flutters hummingbird-quick against his ribs. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jon smile – not like this, that is, beaming and uninhibited and altogether breathtaking. Immediately, Martin decides that he wants more. It seems wrong for something so exhilarating to be so rare.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, and it doesn’t matter, because Jon is in his lap, and Jon is nuzzling into his shoulder, and Jon is here and solid and so, so alive in Martin’s arms, breathing warm and steady into his neck, smiling against his skin, hands scrabbling at his back to cling to his jumper. Martin’s fingers seek purchase of their own, and then something clicks.

“Jon,” he says, leaning back just far enough to confirm his suspicion, “is this mine?”

“Are you just now noticing?” Jon asks, devastatingly fond. “Martin, I’ve been wearing this jumper off and on for the last several weeks.”

“You have?” Martin all but squeaks, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “No. No, you –” Jon’s grin is widening, leaving Martin increasingly flustered. “I – I mean, yes, you have, obviously, I know that, but I – I – I –” Martin gulps, mortified, as Jon finally fails to contain his suppressed laughter. “Look, I didn’t recognize it until just now, alright?”

“Well,” Jon says, ducking his head to chuckle softly against Martin’s throat, “it’s mine now, and you can’t have it back.”

Which is fine with Martin, really, because he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t helplessly charmed by the newfound knowledge that not only is Jon an unrepentant clothes-thief, but apparently also an insatiable cuddler.

End Notes:

To address Martin’s concern: Jon does, in fact, nap in the tunnels sometimes. Listen, with Jurgen Leitner (derogatory) in absentia, there was an opening for the position of Beleaguered Tunnel-Haunting Hermit and Jon has all the necessary qualifications.

So anyways, who else thinks Peter’s bio on a dating app would probably just be that “every living creature on this earth dies alone” quote from Donnie Darko? I bet he thinks 'survival of the fittest' means 'every man for himself'. What an insufferable clown.

No Archive-speak in this chapter to cite.

I wanted to make a joke about a The Archers-themed Monopoly, so I asked duckduckgo if it was a thing. Sadly, it is not. There IS, however, a 1960s The Archers board game, and yes, there ARE eBay listings for it.

The first section of this chapter was written before eps 190-192 dropped. I think it still lines up well enough with what we saw of Melanie & Georgie’s characterization in these most recent episodes, with the qualifier that things have gone very differently in this AU compared with canon. (Also, I took some liberties wrt Georgie’s not-feeling-fear thing, obvi. Some of it matches with the most recent episodes, some of it not so much, but I decided to keep it anyways.)

Oh and I think I might have given myself cavities with the last section of this chapter. (I’m aro-spec; it’s hard to tell when I’m going over the top, but hopefully it’s fluffy without being overly cloying.)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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prettieparker86 · 4 years

Text

The Ghost of You is Close to Me

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Sadness? set pre-WWI

Note: I’ve been trying to find my writer’s voice again. It’s felt lost and so far away from me. I still don’t feel it’s back per say. My previous characters still feel foreign to me. But when I feel the urge to write now, I try to listen. Not quite sure what this is. Watched a WWI movie the other night and this sort of rushed out of me like a flood, so I let it pour. For this I really tried to imagine what Tommy was like before the war based on the little pieces we've gotten from the show. And I wanted to explore the idea that she sensed he'd never come back, which in a way he didn't. His body did, but not the Tommy from before.

I’m not super well versed in the Romani culture and what knowledge I gained in the past feels mostly lost, I apologize. I was trying to find the word for horse, Grast was the closest I could. As with cozonac. I’m not sure if it’s really a traditional food. My research said it was. I’m trying my best. My intention is not to offend. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks

Don’t know what I’m suppose to do, haunted by the ghost of you.

It only takes the sight of him to send you running. As fast as your horse can take you, holding tight to the notion that as long as you never stop running then he never leaves. You hide away to the place you would always run to as children. Back when Tommy's mum would drag the whole Shelby brood up into the hills, running away from her pitiful life in the city and Arthur Sr.

Its a grove of trees overlooking a deep fertile valley, the spot where you use to steal away as children. Long before you knew adults could run away from their grief as easily as little ones, and there was no mistaking it, you were running. You secure your horse to a tree branch where she can nibble away on the overgrown grass encircling the base of trunk, and settled atop a rock that's yours as much as it is the earth's. A rock that has only grown smaller over the years as you've grown bigger. Your family comes to this hills nearly every spring. As a child it never seemed different, now all you see is the changes.

Everything changes, this you know, but you swear if you just sit there long enough this change won't find you. It wont be so. Tommy wont leave. You're oldest companion. Your dearest friend. Gazing out at the valley blanketed in a tapestry of green hues, shadow and light, as the overcast sky moves above you - you tell yourself he isn't leaving. Even though the steady ache in your heart makes it feel like he's already gone. You miss him, before he's even left. You miss him... The words echo through you in shuddered vibrations that sting at your eyes, even worse at your heart, as a rogue tear manages to break free and make a run down your cheek before you briskly swipe at it.

You can't imagine him not being there. Being unreachable to you. You cant imagine not listening to Tommy's thoughts, his sparks of creativity, or the way he can make you laugh. You cant imagine him not being there. The hole he will leave, the one already opening up inside you feels unbearable, sickening, and you just want it to go away. Who will be there when you need someone most? Who will convince you things will turn out ok or you should keep fighting even when neither feel true? Who will know you? Who will see you? Really see you and genuinely care? You never felt you took his friendship for granted, never mistakenly felt there were others who could fill such big shoes, and yet now, as the chill of a breeze sweeps by you, sending goosebumps to prickle on the flesh of your arms, you wonder if you cherished that gift enough. You wonder if it meant the same to him and if he will miss you as deeply once you're gone.

You try not to think about it. You've been trying not to think about it since you received word Tommy had enlisted. You've kept yourself busy, both in mind and your hands. Filling the moments whenever he would start to creep in. But in the end its pointless. Because the more you try not to think of him, try not to miss him... The more you do. Its like trying to stop the rain by shaking your fist at the heavens. Futile and maddening. You see him when you're with the horses, whispering and enchanting them the way only his tongue and heart can do. You see him in the glow of a campfire where he'd often gets lost in his thoughts, scribbling them down or creating a loose sketch. You see him in the charming smirk of a young man, or a joke he once told you. He's everywhere. Inside you. A part of you. And denying that never made it less true.

And the thought of living without him feels terribly sad and lonely in a way your heart feels pathetic to admit and yet hopeless to reconcile. It isn't any place you want to be and yet you also have the sense to understand you have no say in that. You feel immersed in the overwhelming ache of your heart, the one that's been plaguing you for days now, when you suddenly hear the stir of your horse behind you. You glance back and watch as she pawns happily at the earth beneath her hoofs, snooting and pawing at the ground as Tommy appears nearby. She loves him. They all love him. You've often teased he's more horse than man and no one notices that more then the horses.

Tommy meets her joy with firm pats along her neck and gentles strokes to her mane and nose. "Hey girl" He greets.

Seeing him standing there both fills your heart with joy and deeper sorrow. Lean and strong, his hair tousled from his ride over, with those piercing sapphire eyes that cut you like a knife and see right through you at a glance. The sight of him like an old beloved quilt, comforting and well known, now tattered and tore as he rips from your life.

"Little bird", he says as your eyes meet. A name he gave you so long ago you cant even remember how it came to be.

"Grast", you answer back.

"How did you know I would be here?" You ask as you look away, not wanting him to see the turmoil brewing in your eyes the way you know he will.

Tommy shrugs easily, "Just knew." Just knew because he knows you, in a way most will never get to know you. Same way you trust in the way you know him and the ways he's shares himself with you.

When Tommy comes to sit beside you, it takes every ounce of willpower not to hug him desperately, beg him to change his mind, beg him not to go, but you don't, because you're sure it won't change anything.

"You heard," Tommy says, the grit of his breath stressing the weight of his words.

"You're a damn fool, Thomas Shelby. What did the crown ever do for us?"

He chuckles lightly to the fire on your breath, the bite in your words and you can see in his eyes he knows they only come from a place of love and concern for him.

"They need fighting men to win a war. " He tells you, as he pulls a cigarette from his breast pocket and strikes a match. Telling you things you both already know. As if it were that simple. As if the need for more men didn't come from the loss of the ones they have.

"Well then I oughta sign up. I can fight." You carry on as you snatch the cigarette hanging from his lip. Allowing yourself to feel the anger this situation ignites inside you, because anger feels far more powerful and safe than heartache and fear.

"ey, god help any man that stands between you and your cozonac." Tommy teases you, the crook of his mouth curling as he await your reprisal. Knowing your tales of blunder and greatest mishaps better then anyone. Your stories are his stories, your journeys connected.

You gasp in mock offense. "He would have eaten it all! Fistin’ it down like the whole roll was his!"

"A good stab of your fork put an end to that, didn' it?"

"He shouldn't have been so greedy." You feign defense and tug hotly at the cigarette, fighting back the smile pulling at the corners of your mouth to match Tommy's devilish grin. A battle you quickly lose as he elbows your side and snatches back his smoke before you jab him back. And just like that you aren't mad anymore. That's something only Tommy can do, make you laugh when you want to cry. Because he knows you... your dearest friend. The keeper of your secrets, biggest fears, and dreams. It's a gift to be known. An even bigger gift to be known and cherished for who you are. You never thought it wasn't, but you didn't realize how much you needed that gift until it was being taken away.

You both grow quiet against the steady decent of the sun at your backs. The low crinkle of burning paper fills and hovers in the space around you both as his cigarette burns down, subtle like the smoke dancing in swirls past his lips. Its the quiet moments that haunt you now. The hours and space he once filled in your life. The echoing loneliness that you know will only expand and grow in his absence. Those hours eat at you, devour you. Gnawing away until you feel raw and desperate to make them stop, because you swear you can't take another moment in that place. Only this time you know it wont stop. There will be no reprieve, no mercy, your best friend is leaving and you can't stop him. And when he's gone, this- This torturous way of existence, with its crawling of time, absence of joy, and echoing loneliness, it will fill the space his light once illuminated in your life. Like thick dark clouds rolling in over the backcountry hills to settle in around you and call you there home.

Tommy has his reasons, none more then Greta you suspect but you cant help but feel he's choosing the war over you, that he's abandoning you, as preposterous as you know that notion is. But there's nothing logical about missing someone. You can't reason it away with facts and rationality. And it doesn't care that it feels like it's killing some part of you. Nobody tells you missing someone is a physical sensation, a state of being above all else - like an empty or upset stomach, like a punch to the chest or falling off a horse that leaves you winded. It's not merely a thought and it's more than an emotion. You feel it in your bones, the tight hollows inside you, the vibrating ache of longing, the chill that settles in under your skin.

Sitting quietly side by side, you rest your head upon his shoulder. All the girls love Tommy, they always have. With his charming smile, deep set eyes that reach into the soul with a glance, and his devilish humor, its easy to see why so many would be drawn to him. And there was a time even you were too, but there was always too many things in the way and what you've built instead is deeper and more intimate because its not bound to the fickle confines of romance.

Closing your eyes, you can see it all so clearly in your mind. Replaying like a reel at the pictures... Wading in knee high murky pond water and reeds in search of frogs to catch. Covered in filth from head to toe as you battled on rain soaked mud hills with John to see who would be crowned king of the mountain. Sneaking off with mum's herbs and spices into the woods to craft witches brew and cast magic. Building campfires from dried old birch tree branches by the moonlight, to bathe in the scent of it, and tell old spine-chilling tales. Gazing up at the stars on warm summer night, seeing who could count the most. Lying awake late at night by candle light trying to read each other's mind. Hiding in the haystack to terrorize Arthur and any unlucky girl he tried to steal away with for a moment alone. Dragging you off to your first pub in Birmingham and knocking some bloke on his ass when he tried to get handsy. Trying to teach you to drive on slick muddy streets, as you swore at him like a sailor when he wouldn't stop laughing. The keeper of your deepest secrets as you are of his. The person who tried to offer you hope in your darkest moments and celebrated you greatest success. Who genuinely listened to you and sought out your thoughts on matters. The person you trusted most with the innerworkings of your heart and mind. The one you trusted would be there.

All of it feels like yesterday. The memories still fresh and vivid. The thought there wont be more to make constricts your windpipe, tightens your heart, as tears you couldn't possibly hold back any longer fill dangerously to the brim of your eyes... You don't know how to do this. You don't know how to live this. You don't know how to say goodbye to him. To let him go. Watch him disappear from your life. And the truth is... You don't wanna know. You don't want to say goodbye. And a part of you feels hurt this seems so easy for him, though you don't actually know it is. And the part of you that knows Tommy's heart, suspects it isn't so easy for him to say goodbye to you either.

The thought you might never speak to him again leaves a frantic feeling trying to rip free from your chest. How do you find peace when you long for someone still there but just beyond your reach, drifting further out to sea by the moment? How do you let them go when everything inside you screams to pull them back in? The tears feel warm as they fall down your chilled cheeks onto the shoulder of his jacket. He can't see your tears, but you swear he can feel them as he pats at your knee in an old comforting gesture you've grown to trust will be there. As Tommy pulls away, you fight with the urge to rapidly wipe away your tears and keep your pride. But as your eyes meet, you realize there's no room for pride here. Staring into his eyes you fear the silence that's already invading the space he holds.

But then he touches your face and you remember to breathe. Though his hands are rough from work, the pad of his thumb feels soft, full, and steady against your skin as he gently wipes away at the tears fallen on your face.

"I'm coming back." Tommy promises you, and you want to believe that more then you've ever wanted to believe in anything. That he will return to you. But you've heard the news of the war, the dyer news that continues to abound. And something deep and sharp within you whispers it isn't true. He isn't coming back, and that quiet piercing whisper radiates more loudly within you then the words on his lips.

"Let's make a fire," Tommy suggests as he gives your knee a final pat. You can see in his eyes he's trying to mend your heart, soften the blow. A solemn smile of acknowledgment creeping around the corners of his mouth, as if anything in the world can be solved by a stiff drink or roaring campfire.

You nod in agreement, there's nothing the dancing flames, glowing embers, crackling branches, and heady smoky aroma can't clear from your mind. Nothing like bathing in a campfire to wash your mind and soul clean.

You rise from the rock in slow unison. You gaze across the rich fertile valley below as it slowly descends into darkness all around you. Vibrant greens from early now turning to deeper winter tones as night begins to envelope all that you see. This place you know. This man you know. As you turn back to Tommy, watching as he moves past the horses.

Your eyes fall closed for a moment as you call to him. You pray he can hear you. The way he use to when you were children lying awake late at night, pretending there was magic between you. "Dearest friend... I love you and perhaps I always will. I see you're headed on a road, and I don't know where it leads, but you will take a part of me with you. It's been yours a long time. I hope you remember its there, I hope you protect it and treasure it. But I won't stand in your way, because that's what it means to love someone more then yourself." You whisper to him, not with your lips but from that place in your heart that already belongs to him. The one he gets to keep. You embrace the truth that your world will never feel the way it did before. You will never feel like you did before. That a part of you dies with him as he slips away. You acknowledge this new reality for what it is, whether you know how to live it or not, whether you even want to.

You take a deep breath and slowly open your eyes.

He's gone.

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #I'm trying my best

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