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porkcutletbowl44 · 3 months

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Simon Riley/Reader and Keegan/Reader

Hi. I have come out of a almost 6 year writing hiatus and decided to start posting works again. (Yippie😅) I woke up in cold sweat one day about this particular story line and just started writing it down until I gathered the courage to share it... This is a snippet from the 2nd chapter I have on AO3 (I have no clue how to use AO3 in terms of writing OR Tumblr for that fact pls help 😭) but, I'd like to hear some thoughts about how it is, (yay or nay?) aaaannnnddd first ever post on Tumblr whoop! (Apologies for spelling and grammar I still haven't completely edited the chapters fully)

After a few weeks, the divorce was finalized. And those weeks quickly grew into just shy of two months. you didn't even notice, you didn't have the time to even keep up with your own body living in the present. Your daughter didn't deserve to see her mother in shambles like this. Didn't deserve to watch her parents divorce simply because of the lack of communication you hammered into her little head from a young age to express when she was frustrated her sippy cup lid wasn't screwed on all the way and spilled a sticky mess of apple juice all over her chest. Communication, that's an important ingredient. Remember. Communication cannot exist without comprehension. You can bring the horse to water but you cannot force it to drink. You thought you had it all, a loving husband, a beautiful child, a safe home, it was temporary. Ripped from your fingers like a purse stolen by a thief. You will only helplessly watch as your things are being taken from you.

You will continue to claw at your chest and whimper like a wounded animal.

It does not get easier, even right now when it's time for Simon to take Fawn for the weekend again. You can bear the awkward tension, that silence that makes your throat close up and forces your voice to a weak frail squeak. You kept your attention somewhat busy with your work laptop, there are only four emails and you take the time to thoroughly read them, typing calmly to avoid confrontation.

He stood in the kitchen quietly, watching your back. He had a strange lump forming in his throat, his expression hardening as he pushed down all of his emotions, trying not to focus on the guilt and hurt churning inside his chest.

You signed the papers, just like he asked you to.

Simon forced himself to speak, clearing his throat loudly, "Shouldn't you be packing Fawn's stuff?"

"Fawn insisted on packing herself," you gave a half-shrug, "I said why not? It's good for her to learn it and have the harmless joy."

He couldn't help but give a rough scoff at that. You would spoil her too easily. Simon took a few steps, setting his hands down on the kitchen counter, his gaze fixed on your form.

"She'll end up forgetting somethin'. I better go help 'er." He spoke casually, intending to go to check on Fawn and help her pack But something made him hesitate, his gaze snapping back on you. It only made his chest and lungs squeeze tighter as he looked at your closed-off demeanor. His eyes zeroed in on your fingers typing lazily, a strange suffocating feeling overcame him as he tried to figure out how he should address the lack of the wedding band on your finger.

Should he pretend like everything is fine? Would you want to talk?

There was an unnatural suffocating silence that felt like an elephant in the room, a strange tension between the two of you that only made him want to hold his breath. The air was so thick and tense- so unlike the normal energy in the kitchen that was once filled with the smell of your delicious cooking and the squealing laughter of Fawn whenever Simon would occasionally rough house with you while the both of you shared the foot space to cook.

"...You took your ring off," Simon observed in a quiet, defeated tone.

what did he expect?

you stop your typing, your fingers ghosting over typing basic Python codes to your coworker, and you look down on instinct before clearing your throat. Your finger is empty. You will not admit that you took it off once you heard the news.

"Yeah, I did. It's next to the coffee maker if you want it back—oh, congratulations on your engagement." You hesitated before even saying those words. You never thought you would have to say to Simon. Your throat was dry, and your tongue burned at each syllable.

His heart dropped the instant your words registered in his head, his expression darkening even more than before as a harsh scoff escaped him, his hands clenching tightly into fists as he tried to ignore the sharp pain in his chest.

"What…" His jaw hardened, and a look of disbelief crossed his features, "Who the hell told you that?"

"Johnny already told me," You replied, twisting on the stool to look at him, still in your work blouse and office pants.

"Of course he did.." He muttered beneath his breath, shaking his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. "Bloody Soap.."

Simon took a deep breath and turned to look at you, his expression cold and hard, his gaze dark and icy. The mention of his engagement only made his fingers clench on the counter, and his gaze darkened as he heard your cold, dry tone. His eyes shifted towards the band next to the coffee maker, his mouth twisting into a frown at the lone ring he bought you all those years ago.

That ring had been on your finger for 7 years.

Now it lay lifeless on the counter.

How the tables have turned.

"...thanks." He muttered out quietly, before looking back down at the floor.

"yeah well, I would have found out even if Johnny didn't tell me. I would have seen the ring on you either way." You crossed your arms loosely with a small frown. You also won't mention you saw his fiancée's post about it.

He has an unreadable expression on his face as his shoulders straightened. "It would've been a hell of a lot more polite if I was the one who told you." He muttered lowly, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his emotions in check. But the sight of you without the ring on your finger was eating away at him, like acid seeping into his skin. The mother of his child, divorced.

"You wouldn't tell me, I think that's why Johnny mentioned it...Fawn don't forget your toothbrush!" You called out, hearing her near the kitchen before bolting back down the hallway into the bathroom. You silently thank the universe for that interference.

A humorless scoff escaped him, shaking his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Johnny knew you, he knew that you were the type to get pissed off at secrets and such. So he told you, thinking it would be easier to swallow for you. 'It's not.; Simon muttered in his head, gritting his teeth tightly as he tried to hold back his emotions.

"for the best, right?" You mumbled under your breath, looking up at him.

He could feel the pain and hurt in your gaze as you looked up at him, making his heart clench painfully the longer he looked at you.

Of course it's not for the best.

He wanted more than anything to pull you into his arms, to kiss you, tell you how he regrets ever saying something so stupid, how he wanted to take everything back.

But he didn't.

He couldn't. So all he said was a cold: "You tell me."

You didn't reply, just humming quietly in acknowledgment before Fawn's happy self came into the kitchen practically bouncing with excitement to spend time with her dad. Simon watched quietly as Fawn barreled into the room with her bag in one hand, her excitement radiating.

He tried not to let his emotions show on his face, masking it with a neutral expression as he looked over at his daughter. It was impossible to tell her parents were going through a divorce. She was still young of course, so it wasn't that surprising.

Simon just couldn't help but envy her innocence.

A bitter thought in his head made him hate himself even more.

He couldn't help but try to hold that small smile that formed at his eyes as he saw her excitement, "You 'ave everythin' you need?" The question was mainly directed at you, since you were the one that knew what she needed.

You beckoned Fawn over, kneeling before her. You softly grabbed her shoulders with an assuring smile.

"Hairbrush? Socks and shoes? Jacket? And toothbrush?"

He hovered in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched you check over Fawn, watching how gentle you were with her. Simon scoffed at this, shaking his head. "She's a mini version of you."

A pang of longing hit him, watching how you cared for her, his heart feeling heavy.

"Check, got all that," Fawn confirmed, nodding her head excitedly as her bright eyes lit up.

"Good, you did a good job packing all by yourself." You forced a smile Fawn would believe, smoothing her hair back. You were proud of her after all, doing big girl things all by herself.

A wave of dread washed over him, he couldn't fucking stand this; that he was the reason. "Monster." something meanly cackled in the back of his head. He felt like a bastard for even having you sign those papers without fighting for it, watching everything he once had slip out of his fingers.

Watching how you forced a smile instead of truly showing it to your own fucking daughter.

God, he was a jackass.

"Remember your manners, be good, and you can call me for anything at all, okay? Anything you need, hun." You murmured, giving her little cheek a kiss.

He watched the two of you interact, his chest feeling heavy and tight. Fawn nodded her head quickly with a bright smile, giving you a big hug before waving a little.

"Bye, momma." She said cutely before rushing over to her father and grabbing his hand, waving her free one out.

His expression hardened, his gaze snapping on you as you looked away, keeping up the happy mom façade for the sake of Fawn.

He hated seeing you like this, forced to pretend like everything was okay when it was far from that. How was it fair for you to be forced to pretend to be happy? It didn't sit right with him, it just didn't feel fair. He held his eyes on you a moment longer before looking down to hold Fawn's hand in his.

"C'mon now, let's get goin'." He murmured gruffly, trying to muster a small smile for his daughter.

The walk to the car was silent, Fawn skipping her way to the car, Simon walking beside with her little handheld in his, his expression unreadable and cold. He stopped by the backseat of the car, opening the door to let Fawn in as he looked to the passenger seat. Where you would sit. Where you will probably never sit again.

His mind warred with it, a scowl crossing his face. He wanted you in the passenger seat, just like you used to always sit in. He wanted the same routine every time he picked up Fawn from school.

But he couldn't have that.

Simon gritted his teeth, shoving those thoughts aside as he forced his expression back to a stoic one, watching as Fawn climbed into the backseat and buckled herself in. He slowly shut the door with a quiet click, looking to the front and climbed into the driver's seat. The car started, and Fawn waved happily behind the window as they drove off. Mentally, you cuss Simon out to drive safely for Fawn before turning back inside.

#ghost x reader #ao3 fanfic #keegan x reader #fanfic #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #keegan russ #keegan x you #ao3 #cod mw2

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oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat · 8 months

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A Plot Hole and Reassurance

Ayy, another hurt/comfort fic because I have a problem. If ya want to be added or taken off the taglist, pls ask!

Pairing: Logince, gen

Trigger/Content Warning: insecurity, touch-starvation

Description: Logan doubts any and all creative merit he has. How could he be creative when he isn’t even Creativity? Roman doubts his own intelligence. How can he be smart when he struggles with basic logic? They both prove each other wrong in a wonderful brainstorming session, finally solving a plot hole the size of Thomas’ heart.

Extra: written for Day 5: Stroke of Genius of @loginceweek2024! And now to project on these poor men. Made myself cry, whoops. Relating to Roman as someone with a cognitive disorder. [Masterlist] | ao3 link

[read under the cut]

How can one be creative without being Creativity, and how can one be smart when traditional smart things are hard for them?

Surely, Logan can’t be creative. He isn’t Creativity. He’s Logic. He knows math and science and the stars. He can calculate in multiple variations, speak certain phrases in a multitude of languages, and spit out random facts without any prompt to do so. He’s reasonable for Reason and Critical Thinking and Common Sense. He isn’t creative, no matter what the Others say. No matter what Thomas may believe, Logan is Logic. That’s it. No matter how much he wishes he could understand Roman’s realm a bit more… it’s fine. He doesn’t have to be creative to be important, right? Even if he’s a part of a person who relies more on his creative merits for a career. And, yeah, the Chemical Engineering degree didn’t get him anywhere.

But he still needs his Logic! Everyone needs some Logic. Isn’t that how humans function best, with thoughts and reasoning? It’s fine.

Even when he really needs some creativity of his own to help with a ridiculously-sized plot hole, which no one can seem to find a solution to.

“How did this happen, again?”

“I don’t know, specs. Isn’t that your realm, hm? Aren’t you Logic?”

“Your point being?”

“My point is you’re the one with solutions! You, out of everyone else, have this unique ability to whip up solutions to problems that no one else sees. You have this- this super power that I’d be a coward not to acknowledge. You’re smart beyond belief, Logan,” Roman’s eyes sparkle when he gushes about Logan, almost forgetting himself and where he is.

Logan rolls his eyes, a light blush forming from the compliments he’s still not used to hearing. Ever since the unforchunate events of the post-wedding meeting, they’d gone to each other and apologized for their past mistakes. They’d been trying to rebuild their bond, which included Roman letting Logan know just how much he appreciated him. Logan has been a lot more kind with his criticisms, trying to be less harsh and more understanding. He’s always been astounded by Roman’s creativity and the way he ropes certain things together, and it’d been about time he told the Prince that. And every time he hears it, the royal has a hard time believing him. It’s been made clear just how much Roman’s been hurt and tossed around and used, and Logan’s done being a part of the cause. Now, even when they disagree, Logan makes sure Roman knows he’ll support him. He has his back, and Roman has his.

“It’s intelligent,” Logan playfully corrects, a small smirk tugs at his lips. “And… I don’t always have solutions, Roman. I’m not a- well, I don’t have superpowers. That’s absurd. I’m only a part of a human, much less a super one.”

Roman pauses, showing a look of concern that confuses the nerd.

“What were you gonna say?”

“What?”

“You were saying something but cut yourself off. What were you gonna say, specs?”

“It’s irrelevant-”

“Logan.”

Logan stops, snapping his mouth shut. He glances away, avoiding Roman’s worried face. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that he has someone on his side. Too used to being ignored by everyone and silenced, it feels too unreal. Sometimes. He tenses, his shoulders scrunching themselves up. His jaw clenches, and Roman can’t stifle the noise of concern that slips out.

Roman sighs, “I don’t mean to scare you, cosmonaut. It just worried me.”

“...don’t laugh, please?”

“Of course not, cosmonaut. I won’t huff and puff any sound.”

Logan exhales a small laugh at the fairytale reference. He bites his lip for a moment, stopping once he realizes. He closes eyes, takes a breath, and looks at Roman.

“I meant to say that I’m… I’m not a robot. I don’t always have the answers to things, Roman.”

Logan’s voice is so unsure and soft and cautious that it makes Roman’s chest ache.

“I didn’t think you were, starlight. I’m sorry if I made it seem like I did. You amaze me with your intelligence, okay? That’s all I meant. You’re so intelligent and thoughtful, and you excel at all these smart things that I just don’t. I’m not really smart, and you always impress me with that brain of yours.”

Logan relaxes his shoulders and unclenches his jaw as he processes Roman’s words. It feels better, knowing he impresses Roman. Roman, who’s creativity rivals the greatest artists. I mean, objectively. Don’t tell Remus he said that.

However, it’s now Logan’s turn to look concerned as he processes the rest of his prince’s words. Roman smiles confused as he tilts his head at his detective.

“What is it, specs?”

“You aren’t smart?”

“Well, yeah, I know that.”

“No- Roman, why don’t you think you’re smart?”

“I mean, have you met me? I’m Creativity, specs, that doesn’t really account for a lot of brains. That’s your domain.”

“Roman, how can you not be smart? Who told you, you weren’t?”

“I- um, what?”

“Who told you? I apologize if I ever gave off that, uh, ‘vibe’, as you say-”

“What? No, you didn’t. It’s fine.”

“Ro.”

Roman rolls his eyes.

“...is it because of the whole ‘el príncipe es estúpido’ thing?”

“Whaaa, no. It’s not important, specs.”

“It is, because it’s you and you’re important.”

Roman stutters before shutting up, looking away and crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Roman.”

He huffs.

“My prince, please.”

Roman risks a glance at his astrophile, softening when he sees his unrestrained worry on his beautiful face. The pet name makes him blush and dissolve his stubbornness a bit. That goddamn voice when he says it. For f*ck’s sake, how can one person be so good at doing that- that? That thing he does when he’s worried and gentle and soft. Goddamnit.

Roman sighs, “...maybe.”

“My prince, I am sorry I hurt you like that. If I could time travel, I’d make sure I never started in the first place.”

“You’ve already apologized, specs.”

“I know, but I’ll say it again if it helps. And it’s still hurting you.”

Logan holds out his hands, and Roman lets him grab his own as he unfolds his arms. The touch surges warmth through his arms and burns a deep squishy part in his chest. He gasps for a moment, trying to get a hold of himself as the fire in his heart crackles brighter than it has in a long time. He wobbles a little bit, and Logan holds him tighter as he does. The detective frowns, worry increasing.

“It’s not just- just- how’d you get so warm?” Roman’s eyes haze over as Logan rubs soft circles on his knuckles.

“Oh, Roman. You poor, poor thing,” Logan mumbles, cupping one hand on his face.

Roman’s now-free hand grabs blindly for Logan’s arm, gripping it like a lifeline. Logan strokes his thumb lightly across his prince’s jaw, and it wobbles slightly. Roman’s eyes grow misty.

“My prince, how long has it been since someone last touched you?”

“I don’t- please,” the Prince whines as his eyes shut, unsure what he’s even begging for.

“Shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Logan cups Roman’s face with his other hand. Roman responds by melting and grabbing his other arm, trying to ground himself in the surreal reality that this is real, he’s really holding my face, he’s really there. Roman can only lean forward to set his forehead on Logan’s as he feels him shake and become unsteady.

After a few minutes, Roman finally attempts speaking again.

“I need… I can’t think when you do this.”

Logan nods, reluctantly letting go of Roman’s face. The knight in gold, white, and red whimpers at the loss of warmth. He forces himself to ease on Logan’s arms, opening his eyes but remains looking at the floor.

“It’s not just the whole… ‘el príncipe es estúpido’ thing. I guess I, well, I’m not very good with the basic logic things. I’m not- I don’t understand common sense or the most basic of smarts. Not like you do, not in any way, and I’m not smart. How can I be smart if I can’t understand those things?”

“Can I touch you again, my prince?”

Roman glances up to Logan’s eyes the best he can with their head so close, and he nods. He stumbles again when he feels all the burning warmth rush back as Logan cups his face again. He goes back to everything he did previously, and it just melts the poor royal. Logan can’t hold back his coo as Roman’s eyes flutter shut again.

“Just because you struggle with a lot of cognitive smarts doesn’t mean you aren’t smart. Far from it. It simply means that your intelligence comes from your creativity rather than your logic. I think it’s wonderful how smart you are, Roman. You’re so creative and know how to tie together certain things and sew up loopholes without batting a figurative eye. I’m astounded by your intelligence. You impress me more times than I can remember with your problem-solving when it comes to using your creative merits for more than storybooks.”

Roman is breathless by the time Logan ends, feeling unnoticed tears fall down his face and over Logan’s hands. Logan gently thumbs them away as Roman sniffles, crying harder.

“I don’t know if I can believe you, Lo,” he cries.

“That’s okay. I’ll be here to remind you until you do, my prince.”

“Even when I do?”

“If you want me, then yes.”

“I do, I do want you, Logan.”

Logan smiles kindly, pressing a light kiss to his companion’s nose. Roman gives a watery smile in return. The detective lets go of his face and holds out his arms slightly, separating from his prince for a second.

“Come here, my prince. Come let me hold you- oof.”

Roman rushes into his astrophile’s arms, feeling Logan wrap around him tightly. He cries still, burying his face into his companion’s chest. Logan rubs bigger circles on Roman’s shoulder blades. It makes his precious royal gasp and his breath hitch as he leans more into him.

“There you go. Just like that, my prince.”

It takes a while- both unsure how long- but eventually, the burning slowly eases to a vibrant warmth in Roman’s chest. Logan leans his head back to look at his knight.

“Feel any better, hm?”

“Mhm,” Roman feels hazy and wonderfully fuzzy as he relaxes and slumps against his fellow Side’s body.

“Good. You think we can try working out the plot hole now?”

“Mm, yeah. Just give me a minute, specs.”

“Okay,” he says as he kisses Roman's hair.

A few minutes later, and Roman finally comes to. He blinks, easing out of Logan’s embrace. He rubs his red-rimmed eyes, mentally noting to fix his makeup later. He notices some of it got on Logan, along with wet tear-spots and snot.

“Sorry for getting all my stuffs on you,” he speaks softly.

Logan looks down, huffing amused.

“It’s quite alright, Roman. I can always wash it.”

“But you’re always so clean, specs. What would you do if I ruined your reputation?” the Prince jokes.

Logan smirks playfully, “Then I guess I’d have to get you back.”

“And how would you do that?”

“Well, I can’t just tell you my secrets.”

“Logan, that’s not fair.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“No. No, I know that’s a trap, no.”

They both snicker at each other before calming down.

“Okay, now the plot hole?”

“Right. Well, it’s for the short story, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s see… so we come to the part where the protagonists are captured at the antagonists’ lair, and they know them already. So, how do they?”

Logan huffs, “I’m not very good with creativity, Roman.”

Roman gives him a weird look, but decides to brush it off for the time being.

“Well, how do people usually find out who you are without you telling them first?”

“If we look at history… usually, it’s because someone else told them.”

“Okay, what else?”

“I don’t know, Roman.”

“Well, neither do I! Come on, specs. Go deeper, keep thinking.”

Logan sighs, “Okay. Historically, it’s because someone who knows you already tells the other person without your knowledge. Like figuratively spilling a secret, if you want to go that far.”

Roman nods, “Okay, okay. How do we apply that to our main plotline?”

“Roman-”

“Specs.”

“Fine, if you insist so much. During wartime, there’s a trend of spies or double agents spreading country secrets.”

Roman’s eyes light up like spotlights as an idea forms.

“Oh my gosh, that’s it! Specs, you’re a genius.”

Logan blushes as he raises an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Do tell, Roman.”

“What if one of them were a mole, a spy in the ranks, a betrayer in their adventuring group? That’s how they know the protagonists and who they are. Oh, what if it’s the leader? I need my binder-”

Logan smiles as the plot holes gets resolved, glad he can help in any way. Roman summons his binder and a pen, flipping to the page they marked last session. He scribbles, excited as he writes, bursting and vibrating with creative energy.

“I’m glad it got sorted out, Roman.”

Roman’s smile is alike the Moon; bright, addictive to look at, and could be considered divine.

“If it wasn’t for your creative stroke of genius, it wouldn’t have been. I appreciate it, specs.”

Roman almost misses the small way Logan shrinks. The astrophile rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“I’m not Creativity, Roman. I can’t be creative.”

The aforementioned knight immediately looks up as he stops writing.

“And why not, faux serpent?”

“I’m not lying, Roman. I don’t have creativity. I’m Logic, not-”

“So? If I can be smart and sh*t, why can’t you be creative?”

“Because- because I’m just not.”

“Oh? Who said that I, a very not-logic-smart faucet, was smart but in my own way? The same logic applies to you, specs. You just proved you’re creative!”

“By what? Knowing historical facts?”

“Yes!”

“How is that creative, Roman?”

“It’s creative in your own way, Logan. You using your logic and facts to come up with a solution for a plot hole, that’s creative. That’s how.”

Logan scoffs in disbelief.

“Starlight, why don’t you believe me?”

“Because I can’t be creative! I’m not- that’s not how it works.”

“And why not? Why can’t you be creative?”

“Because I’m not you! I’m not Creativity. You and Remus have your own creative merits, and you know how to weave together irrelevant pilot points and make it make sense. You’re so impressive with how much intelligence and hard work it takes to do what you do, Roman. And I’m… I’m not you.”

Roman sets his pen and binder down on the nearest table, walking calmly towards his companion. He holds out his hands, just as Logan did for him, offering to hold his. Logan takes his hands silently, looking down at them rather than at Roman.

“Oh, starlight. You don’t have to be me to be creative. I appreciate all the praise, you know I do. You don’t have to be like me nor Remus. I mean, sometimes you two have frighteningly similar interests in subjects, which is just weird,” Roman jokes, squeezing his astrohphile’s hands, making him snort. “But you can still be creative, my dearest star. You helped me solve a horribly troublesome plot hole with that creative, wonderfully logical brain of yours. You’re just creative differently from Remus and I.”

Logan huffs, smiling slightly as he looks back up at Roman. Roman smiles back.

“I hate when you use my words against me,” he grumbles.

“Well, I guess you need to stop being right, then.”

“I thought I wasn’t right all the time, Roman. Admitting I’m right when you’re not, are you?”

“Hey- no, don’t you dare.”

“Don’t I dare do what?”

“No.”

They both break into laughter, yet again, and almost forget that they’re still holding hands.

“...can I hug you again, Roman?”

“I’ll do you better, specs. Let me finish the last bits of fixing this plot hole, and we’ll go cuddle and watch that crow documentary you wanted to see?”

Logan’s smile grows, “Okay.”

Roman plants a light kiss to his detective’s hand before he lets go and returns to his binder.

After he finishes writing, they do as promised. Roman summons away his pen and story binder, taking Logan by hand over to his room. He has a tv mounted on one of his walls, a remote on his bedside. He and Logan snap themselves into soft things and gather up on the bed, already summoning a few snacks and drinks. The Prince snaps, summoning a wipe and decides to clean the excess makeup off. They cuddle tightly together. Roman melts at how warm Logan is, and Logan feels reassured with Roman by his side. Roman clicks over to the crow documentary and presses play. As it starts, he leans his head against Logan’s shoulder. A small, fond smile tugs at the nerd’s lips.

They prove each other’s insecurities wrong and rest against each other for a while.

Taglist: @lost-in-thought-20 @thegoldenduckie

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scarlixy · 3 years

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The Assassin and the Mercenary

Cross posted on my Wattpad RebelsWing99 and my ao3 Scarlixy.

AGES:

Bruce: 39

Alfred: immortal

Dick: 25

Jason: 23

Tim: 20

Damian: 17 1/2

Marinette: 17

Stephanie: 20

Barbara: 26

"...you fucking got away," Damian says in a disbelieving tone.

Marinette smiles, "indeed I did."

"You fucking got away!" Damian says again in a happy and excited tone.

"You fucking got away!"

Damian starts to jump up and down and is shaking, smiling wide he takes her hand and whoops.

"I fucking got away!" Marinette says and joins Damian in celebrating.

All the while the batfam is standing behind Damian confused. "Uh...Damian? You gonna introduce your friend?" Jason is finally the one to speak up after a few minutes of watching the two teens.

Damian freezes and clears his throat. "...right. Todd, Grayson, Drake, Brown, Father, meet Marinette Dupain-cheng. My childhood friend."

"Your WHAT?" Tim screeches, he's standing just behind Jason while peaking around him to stare at the teen girl still holding Damian’s hand.

Marinette notices his staring and looks down at her's and Damian’s hand still entwined. Both teens blush and let go.

"Aww, Dami! You make our relationship sound so bland! We were enemies too!" Marinette sing-songs and Damian looks just about ready to forget all about the moment they just had.

"Oh my fucking god. The Demon Spawn has an enemy to lovers relationship none of us know about!" Jason ever the poet says.

"Why does she get to call you Dami and I don't?!" Dick says.

"She's so cute! Bruce, you have to adopt her, or 𝘐 will!" Stephanie says and from there the batfam descends into chaos.

While the others are fighting, Bruce asks a question to Damian and Marinette.

"Childhood friend? Is she an assassin?" Everyone freezes while Marinette smirks and takes a theatrical bow.

"Not exactly, Marinette Wilson, mercenary extraordinaire at your service. "

Damian groans, "Marinette I was so close to not being interrogated. So, 𝘴𝘰 close"

#daminette #fanfiction #maribat #marinette dupen chang #damiam wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #stephanie brown #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on wattpad #mercenary Marinette #childhood friends #enimies to lovers #daminette December day 27 #cause i just saw it fits

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waatermelon-sugaar · 3 years

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Bliss

Pairing = FO! Poe x reader

Words = 6k (don’t look at me)

Summary = You watch your husband throw a knife, sparking 18+ thots

Warnings = SMUT (18+ only!) KNIFE PLAY, reader masturbation, fingering (f receiving), violence, like one non-graphic sentence of imaginary blood, but no actual blood (PLEASE message me if you wanna know more before reading and I’ll answer any questions you might have :) )

A/N 1 = This is basically pure smut and I’m sorry, it’s all from that training video

A/N 2 = You and Poe are married in the fic, and love each other. There is also discussion of the scene involving the knife. In real life, this discussion should be much longer, and less one-sided, going through details with much more depth. If you ever try knife play in real life, please never use the knife during actual sex in case of injury. You should also always have a first aid kit, and certain places of the body (the neck, inner wrists, groin area) should never come into contact with a sharp knife because of the high risk of lethal injury. In this fic they do it because it’s fiction. Please always do your research and make sure your partner does too, make sure you keep communicating and also that you trust the person you’re with.

If you have any questions about the content of this fic before you read, send me a message, if you have questions about knife play, send me a message, I’ll be more than happy to talk about it!! (Actually I’ll talk about anything to anyone if you ever want to chat! ☺️)

Also PLEASE let me know if I missed any warnings!!

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

“What do you think … Captain?”

You pause for effect before pulling out Poe’s rank. It’s a little too tough and impersonal for your tastes, usually preferring the purr, the rough and ready of ‘Sir’, but you know that Poe enjoys the rare occasion when you do use it, and if it means you get what you want, you’ll call him every name under the sun. Your husband’s brown eyes darken as you pout, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

You’re sat on his desk, far enough back that you can swing your legs a little, hands tucked under your thighs, while Poe relaxes in his seat, looking like work, all sharp angles and dark looks. He trimmed his beard in the refresher this morning, emphasising his jaw, and that perfect, pink mouth. You can’t wait to get him home so he can relax properly. He works far too hard for a thankless job in your opinion.

Anyway, in your defense, it was Poe who planted the seed of the idea in your head in the first place.

You knew Poe was proficient at fighting, and weaponry, and that his skill in a TIE fighter was unparalleled in the First Order, but you’d thought that his particular area of expertise was constrained to blasters and other long-distance weapons.

Not knives.

You were supposed to be the best at knives. After all, Poe had recruited you to work for the First Order after watching you take down some disrespectful asshole who had been twice your size in close quarters, a small hidden knife strapped in your boot being the deciding factor in your victory. All over a dispute of cheating.

It was a shame, really.

All that loss of life … for nothing. All that chaos, just breeding more chaos, and who was the real winner?

Poe had shown you how nice it felt to bring order. He’d shown you how nice a lot of things felt.

So you’d just assumed that Poe wasn’t as good with knives, and therefore wasn’t as disposed to use them. You’d never asked, merely enjoying the way his eyes lingered on you when you practiced your skills in training, and really enjoying the sex afterwards. And even after a year of marriage, it had never come up.

But last week, you and Poe had been among a larger group of officers fighting your way out of a Resistance base after blowing their central intelligence systems. You’d shot once, twice and then a third time at a particularly stubborn oncoming Rebel, finally hitting them in the stomach, causing them to double over in pain.

Stars, your new job had made you rusty. You’d have to practice using your blaster more.

You’d stood over the rebel to deliver a final shot to their face, taking them out of their misery and turned just in time to see Poe throwing his blaster to one side, smoke issuing from it, and pulling a small knife from a holster on his thigh. Your mouth dry, you’d continued to watch as, almost in slow motion, Poe had thrown the knife with deadly accuracy, the small silver flash burying itself into the Rebel’s exposed neck.

Fuck that was hot.

Why was that so hot?

The rebel had stood there with an expression of surprise, cocky bastard, blood already dribbling, a bright red stream running down their throat, but you just had eyes for Poe. You’d ignored the way the Rebel’s body slumped to the ground with a heavy finality, and moved forwards, suddenly desperate to feel Poe’s lips on yours.

Damn the Resistance, and damn the rebels.

You would kiss your husband, and you would kiss him right now.

Poe had turned, his eyes automatically sweeping for you, surprise in his eyes at first at how close you already were, but he’d allowed you to push him into the dusty wall, one of your hands looking for his and twinning your fingers together.

Your deadly hands, spun together for eternity.

Your other hand is automatically reaching for Poe’s neck, fingers grasping at his hair, pulling his lips towards yours. You can smell his sweat, the familiar scent pooling under his cologne, filling you with a sense of safety, even amongst the very-real danger the two of you are currently facing. His free hand is already gripping your hip, pulling your body towards him as if you weren’t as close as you could possibly be.

It’s moments like these that you think the two of you are made for each other. You couldn’t imagine needing to kiss anyone else in the middle of a mission, couldn’t imagine anyone else letting you do such a thing, couldn’t imagine anyone else wanting you the way Poe wants you. The way you want - no, need - him.

The way he needs you.

Even though your eyes are closed, you can still see how Poe’s fingers moved, causing the knife to fly out of his hands, even as they grip your hips, one of his legs pushing nicely between yours, canting upwards slightly towards the ache you’re already feeling.

The movement is replaying over and over again behind your eyelids, and you never want to forget it.

Poe’s mouth slots perfectly over yours, and he gasps into you when you pull on his hair slightly. He’d had it cut recently, and it’s still a touch too short for your liking, unable to properly tug unless you hold the curls on top of his head.

You take the opportunity to taste him, dipping your tongue into his mouth, and he lets you, lets you bite his tongue, as his beard tickles your skin, scratching deliciously. And then you bite his lip as you pull away, and he groans deep, hitting your body lower, warming you up.

But you don’t let yourself move against his thigh. Not now. Not yet. Not even as you move your mouth to his throat, where his salt and pepper beard gives way to tan skin, kissing him desperately. You don’t stop, even as your hands untangle, and Poe reaches for your holster, raising your blaster and letting off a shot in your ear. You keep kissing him, following the line of his beard up to his ear, nipping lightly at his lobe, ignoring the sounds of a body falling behind you.

And now he’s plastering kisses to your skin, wherever he can get his mouth, on your forehead, down your cheek, along your arm, only separating from you as he delicately kisses each of your fingers. There’s further swooping low in your belly as you look at him, kiss swollen lips, hooded eyelids, dark eyes.

And then your gaze is broken, other members of the First Order catching up to you, whooping and hollering in success. Their shouts are enough to make Poe reach for your hand again, holding it as he pulls the two of you back to his TIE fighter, back to safety and freedom.

But the image of Poe throwing a knife didn’t leave you, even after the mission, taking up most of your brain during the debrief, and even popping into your mind later that evening, before Poe joined you in bed, where you found your hands trailing fire over your body, pinching your nipples, as you imagine Poe pressing a cold knife into and around the flesh of your breasts.

You’re naked, and the room is cool, goosebumps prickling along your flesh despite that familiar heat spreading through your veins, slowly burning you up from the inside. You can feel sweat gathering despite the chill, along your hairline, your upper arms, your stomach.

Once you’d started you couldn’t stop, pressing your thighs together as you worked yourself up, fingers teasing your skin as you imagined Poe walking in, still in his uniform. He’d stop at the end of the bed and just watch you.

And then he’d lean over you, still watching you with those dark eyes, and take out that knife, just tracing it up your leg, gently pressing it into the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your pussy, and you pause, with your head tipped back on your pillow, mouth open, eyes closed, imagining the feeling.

Letting out a small whimper, you’d lowered your hand, dipping your fingers between your folds, and delicately traced around your clit, spreading the wetness that had gathered throughout the day around.

You’d settled into your familiar rhythm, slowly building the speed and pressure of your fingers on your clit, letting out little gasps when you hit the spot just right. And then your fantasy Poe opened his mouth, and you imagined him playing carelessly with the knife. “Put a finger inside yourself.”

You remember letting out a noise of agreement, not quite a word, inching your fingers further down, when your imaginary Poe clarified. “Just one, baby.”

You’d immediately lifted your head in protest, even though he wasn’t actually there, and you could have done what you had wanted to, but you’d obeyed. It’s part of the fun. You’d slid your middle finger in with little resistance, and closed your eyes in pleasure, your head falling back to your pillow.

You’d bitten your lip, muffled any quiet sounds that escaped you, imagining again and again and again how Poe would look holding that knife, ready to use it on you, carve the cold metal into your skin, not hard enough to hurt you, but enough that you can feel cool trails over hot skin.

Your single finger was slowly pumping in and out of you, and you were so wet you could hear it in the silence of your bedroom, your small gasps gradually increasing in volume. When you thought you couldn’t bear it anymore, you’d imagined Poe telling you to “Insert another one baby.”

So you had, letting out a small moan as a second finger joined the first, and gasped out Poe’s name. It was easier than when Poe did it, your fingers being smaller than his, but you could still feel a slight stretch.

You’d kept moving your fingers, gradually circled faster, ground your hips down so your clit caught on your palm, curved your fingers inside yourself. Your breaths were coming faster now, shuddering through your chest as you imagined Poe trailing the ice-cold knife up your legs, getting closer and closer to the juncture of your thighs.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, you imagined locking eyes with Poe, and he opened his mouth. “Cum for me, baby.” His voice was velvet, soft, but commanding and familiar as your toes started to curl. You couldn’t hear the noises coming from your mouth anymore, only dimly aware that you were moaning, the sound drowning out the squelch between your legs.

Your orgasm was a slow builder, and you remembered the last time Poe brought you to orgasm, how he whispered filthy praises in your ear as his cock dragged slowly in and out of you, coaxing you through it then as his imaginary doppelganger does now, watching you gush and spasm over your fingers, legs shaking in pleasure.

After you’d come, you’d lain there, panting on your bed, sweat cooling your skin. Languidly, you’d raised your fingers, cleaning them off with kitten licks, the tangy taste coating your tongue and wishing Poe would come to bed, he always enjoyed watching you clean up.

Your fantasy confirming just how into the idea of playing with a knife you were, you’d stewed over the idea a little further for a couple of days, imagining how it would actually feel, sure that in real life it would be different. You’d curiously pressed the blunt side of a knife on your inner forearm one day when you were alone in the kitchen, sending furtive glances towards the partially closed door. Technically it was nothing special, technically nothing exciting, not in that way, and it was the blunt side, but it had still sent a delicious shiver through you. You could feel your heart rate increasing as you trailed the cold metal up your arm, biting your lip as heat pooled low in your belly.

You even went so far to press the sharp point into your skin, stopping short of making yourself bleed, but enough you could see a small indentation in your skin. Your little ‘exercise’ cemented the idea further into your brain, the idea of something so dangerous being used in such a vulnerable position was intoxicating.

You’d taken your time, thinking over the idea, and carefully considering. You wanted to be sure of yourself before bringing the idea to Poe. He wouldn’t judge you for changing your mind, but still, it would be a little embarrassing to change your mind. Poe was careful with your boundaries, always checking in when the two of you went a little further than normal, and you knew that this would be no different.

All this had led to you coming to Poe’s office on your break and asking what he thought. He was considering it, as you knew he would, leaning back in his chair. His eyes are raking over you already, but you give him time, even though your palms are sweating and you’re sure your heart rate is through the roof.

It’s only when he moves, fingers twitching in their grasp of the chair that you react, leaning forwards, your feet swinging slightly at the motion.

“Ok,” he nods, and before you can fling yourself at him, he holds a hand up. “But. We have to establish some rules, like what kind of knife are we going to use?”

You nod, already pulling up the bag that had been resting on the floor, slumped over and forgotten in your excitement. You rummage around for a second, trying to find-

“Here!” You hold the knife out for Poe to take, grinning at the amusement in his eyes. “It’s blunt on both sides, you’d have to apply some pretty serious pressure if you wanted to do any damage.”

The knife is - and there’s really no other word for it - pretty, with a black blade, and decorated handle. It’s small, about 15 cm long, but the metal is heavy, and one that will stay cold for a long time. It had raised a few eyebrows when you’d asked for a pretty knife with two blunt edges, but you were a Dameron, and had some sway of your own. If you told those lower than you to obtain a specific knife discreetly and with no questions asked, so it happened.

Poe takes his time examining it, admiring it from all angles, shooting you another look, this time filled with pride.

“I did my research.” You flip your hair as if it was nothing, omitting how expensive the final bill had been, and how you’d charged it to your work account.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, still looking the knife over. Then he rests it in his lap, so he can roll up one of his sleeves, talking all the while. “Now tell me what you want me to do to you.”

So you do, explaining you’d quite like to be blindfolded but not restrained, to keep your colour system as the safeword, all while Poe is pressing the blade at different angles into his forearm, testing out different pressures.

When you pause, watching him, Poe glances up at you. “Go on.” Is all he says, and you nod, swallowing.

“I’d quite like it if you pulled the knife along my legs.” Your voice is quiet, but sure. “And maybe the same with my arms.” You pause, feeling nerves rising inside you and reminding yourself that this is your husband.

“I think… pressing the blade around my breasts would be sexy.” Poe pauses as he presses the flat edge of the blade into his forearm. “Just tracing around,” you continue, slightly braver now you have piqued Poe’s interest. “Maybe you could hold it against my throat? I don’t… I don’t know when, exactly, but I think it would be hot.”

You take a second, breathing deeper and you raise your chin to meet Poe’s gaze, feeling more confident as you continue. “Maybe you could hold it against my throat when you fuck me.” Poe’s gaze is fire, burning through you as he loosely holds your knife in his hands. “Maybe you could blindfold me and tell me that you wish the knife had a sharp end so you could carve your initials into my skin, showing that I belong to you.”

“And,” you start to move now, hopping off the desk so you can straddle Poe, easily plucking the knife from his hand, and looking down at it. “Maybe one day I can use it on you, and I can tell you how much I want to carve my initials into your skin.”

“Because we belong to each other,” Poe murmurs, his voice low. You nod in agreement, mouthing at his pulse point, and trailing sloppy kisses above the cut of his uniform. “I’d love that, sweetness.” His hands are running up and down your sides. “I love you.”

You just hum happily, content to be breathing in Poe’s scent, to feel surrounded by him. You’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and you just sag into Poe, the knife pressing slightly into your stomachs as you nose at his throat, unwilling to face the inevitable departure.

“What is it?” Poe’s voice is once again hard and forceful, impatient with whoever dared to interrupt.

“Sir?” The voice is young and you turn slightly, just enough to spy a young recruit in your peripheral view, not quite brave enough to enter the room, instead choosing to dither in the doorway, holding a number of files. “I’ve got these for you to sign.”

Poe just huffs, not bothering to address the recruit. You know what’s about to happen so you untangle yourself, before leaning over to grab one last kiss from Poe before the evening. It starts off innocently enough, a small peck on your husband’s lips as a goodbye, but then you back for another. This time his mouth is open as it meets yours, and you happily deepen it, despite the awkward angle that you have to hold yourself at. Your earlier conversation has fuelled your desire, revving you up, and the idea of waiting is hellish.

You taste all of Poe, moving one hand to his face, moving to feel the slight scratch of his beard underneath the pads of your fingers. His hand moves to cup your jaw, and you forget about the recruit standing in the doorway until there’s a slightly awkward shuffling in the corner.

So you break away, slowly, unwillingly, Poe’s mouth following even as you stand to your full height. “See you later,” you murmur, leaving your blunt knife in his lap, and pressing one more quick kiss to his cheek.

His hand catches yours as you leave, and he lowers his lips to your knuckles, soft lips juxtaposing with the harsh strands of his beard. “I love you.” They’re commonly said words between you, but they never lose their power, especially not when Poe says them, like you’re a goddess on a pedestal and he’s an unworthy sinner who wants nothing more than to worship at your feet. Said reverently, like it’s a privilege to love you.

The recruit is forgotten again as you look back down at Poe, still unable (or maybe unwilling, you’re not entirely sure) to tear yourself away. This time it’s a small, almost involuntary clearing of the throat that makes you duck down again for a kiss on the other cheek. “I love you too.”

Poe flashes you a quick smile, before all softness leaves his face and he turns to the files the recruit is holding out for him. You admire him for a second by the door, proud of the terror that Poe can instil in those below him so easily.

***

You’re lying on your bed when Poe enters the room. He’s already taken off his shirt in the refresher, exposing his chest, the warm glow of small lamps around the room making his chest look more golden than usual, as though he’d been touched by Midas. The belt holding his trousers up is slung low around his hips, and you can just see where his snail trail mixes into a darker bush, just peeking over the top of the fabric.

You’re wearing some of your favourite lingerie, bra matching your panties, straps criss-crossing your hips, and outlining your breasts. It’s soft against your skin, the satin material outlining your curves, allowing your nipples to poke through the flimsy fabric. Part of the reason that it’s your favourite is because Poe loves it so much.

You’d heard him enter your rooms, so the book in your hands is just for decoration, more concerned with the way you look resting among the pillows, upper body raised artfully against the headboard as you wait for your husband.

It still gives you a rush to call him that, and you idly wonder if it’ll ever fade.

He’s put his holster on, the one he wore on that mission, the strap doing nothing but emphasising his thigh. You recognise the handle peeking out of the shaft, and your mouth goes dry with excitement.

And Poe’s only looked at you, silent as he takes you in. Just his presence can have such an effect on you. When he does speak, his voice is hoarse, and your eyes flick down, admiring the already large bulge in his trousers. “Fuck baby.”

You swallow, your breath already coming faster, you look at Poe like it’s the first time, tracing the outline of his shoulders as if you don’t already know them by heart. He’s wearing his necklace, a familiar sight, the only change being that the ring that used to hang on his breast bone is now on your left hand, but Poe still never takes it off.

You plan on moving to Poe, plan to blow his mind before he can blow yours but before you can he’s already crawling on top of you, holding his weight on his forearms either side of you, dipping his head down to kiss you.

This kiss isn’t like the one in the office, more hungry, more urgent. There’s none of the calmness simmering between the surface, Poe’s let go of his control.

You automatically hook your legs around his waist, already canting your hips upwards as you grind on the seam of Poe’s trousers.

You separate your lips from Poe’s, moving down his throat, kissing, and biting as you go, beard scratching the skin on your face, pleasurable little bites of pain. When you can, you grab hold of his chain between your teeth, tugging on it slightly.

You move your hands up to bury your hands in the neat curls on top of Poe’s head, pulling in tandem with the chain.

And just like that, with a flash of fluid movement, the knife is pressed dangerously against the column of your throat, pushing your head back onto the pillows, forcing you to release the chain. It’s cold, and feels sharp, and Poe’s using it to force your chin back and up, pressing into your skin.

“Are you going to behave?” His voice is a growl.

You just grin at him, ignoring the thrills shooting up your spine, and the way your legs are tingling with excitement.

“Maybe you should use that knife and find out.”

Poe just rolls his eyes in response, fishing into his pocket as he leans back. “Put that on, sweetheart,” he instructs, tossing you a small square of black silk, your blindfold. “And lie back.” You do as you’re told, putting the blindfold on carefully, adjusting it around your hair for comfort, before scooting down the bed and lying back.

You close your eyes behind the blindfold, never enjoying the sensation of seeing darkness, and instead feeling like you’re floating as you wait for Poe to do something.

“Colour?”

Stars you can’t tell where he is.

“Green!” Your voice is embarrassingly desperate but you want to start and what is taking Poe so long? Why isn’t he touching you yet? You can hear him moving around the bed, feel the slight disturbances in the air, but you’re still not entirely sure where he is.

The first thing Poe does is pull at the waistband of your underwear. You lift your hips, helping him pull them off, and then you wait. You can hear Poe breathing, but he doesn’t do anything for a moment and you’re free to let your imagination run.

Has he discarded them, and he’s just watching you? Admiring you? Or is he holding them up to his face, still in awe of how wet you get for him, smelling you, tasting you, without you even knowing? You’re wet, you can feel the heat gathering between your legs, but has it been enough to leak onto your panties?

And then the foot of the bed dips, Poe travelling up to straddle you, coming to a rest on your thighs. He sits there for a moment, not moving, and you keen for him, desperate for him to start doing anything.

You can’t see the look on his face, can only imagine his expression, and it’s driving you wild.

When the knife first touches your skin, it’s a shock, cold thrills shooting up your arm from where the knife is resting lightly on the inside of your wrist. You giggle, releasing some of the tension building in the room, causing Poe to lift the knife from where it’s resting, instead leaning over to bite the skin under your ear, his chest brushing yours. “Concentrate,” he admonishes you, but you can feel him smiling against your skin at you, that softness that comes easy to him when it’s just the two of you.

You arch your back towards him as he stays there, enjoying the feeling of his chest against yours, the way his warmth spreads through you. You can feel his chain trapped between your bodies too, a warm, comforting presence, at such odds to the knife in Po’e hand.

You giggle again, his beard tickling your neck when he drops a kiss, when you feel the knife turn on your skin and curve up your arm. It’s cold, and sharp, and if you didn’t know it was blunt, you’d be worried about the amount of blood running into the bedsheets. The sensation is enough to stop your laughing, and you take in a breath, short and barely audible.

Poe’s sat up now, away from you, and you arch your back towards where he must be, desperate for contact as he travels the knife slowly up your arm and across the front of your shoulder.

You struggle to press your legs together, already attempting to relieve some of the pressure building. Poe doesn’t miss your subtle squirming, kissing the soft underside of your jaw, before talking. “That feel good?”

You nod, whining out a “Yes Poe, it-it feels so good, don’t stop, don’t stop, stars.” Poe adjusts himself, bringing one leg over your thigh so he can fit a knee at the junction of your legs. One of your hands flies down to grab Poe’s thigh, clumsy fingers looking for him before spreading across his warm skin. Your other hand is already fisting into the sheets at your side.

“Poe.”

It’s a whine, high-pitched and a bit pathetic, even as you shift your hips down, feeling the delicious grind of Poe’s uniform catching on your bare pussy, imagining the mess you’re leaving on his uniform not for the first time, feeling oh so good when you angle your hips in a certain way to press your clit. You’re soaked, you can already feel it slightly on your inner thighs and you dimly remember a time when you were embarrassed at how easily Poe aroused you.

He uses the knife to push the straps of your bra down your shoulders, cold and slow and achingly painful, but Poe doesn’t slide them all the way down your arms, even as he allows you to keep grinding your hips down against his leg.

He lowers his mouth to your breasts, mouthing at your nipples through the thin fabric, a wet heat pooling and you mewl in protest, impatient and wanting more. Always more.

More, more, more.

You don’t think you could ever get enough of your husband.

And his beard. The skin on your breasts is soft, sensitive, and you can feel the burn already, even through your bra. Each scratch sends a thrill up your chest, settling in your throat as you let out small noises of enjoyment for your husband.

Poe moves under your breasts, kissing and nipping at your exposed skin, and you move your hands to his head, fumbling a little at first, your knuckles accidentally knocking into the side of his face when you misjudge the distance, until you find his thick curls.

They’re soft under your fingertips, and you tangle your fingers in, tugging every now and then. Poe’s moving at an excruciating pace, and you want more now. Your arms are caught slightly in your bra straps and you impatiently push them down, not liking the restraint.

“Please, Poe.” You struggle to find his head again, before giving him another, harder, tug, and now it’s Poe’s turn to moan against your skin.

“Baby,” He sounds just as broken as you feel, even as he keeps his hands on your shoulder, the knife resting gently against the column of your throat.

Poe peels your now-wet bra from your breasts, undoing the centre clasp and allowing it to fall to the bed at your side. He kisses somewhere on your stomach, moving his free hand down, slipping through your folds easily, and dipping in his fingers, spreading the slick that’s gathered there, and you widen your legs further in an automatic attempt to make it easier for him.

You can’t help it, lifting your hips when he slides in one finger, gasping in pleasure. Poe gives you a second to adjust, before stretching you with a second finger, and you can feel his smirk as he kisses your stomach, crooking his fingers towards your sweet spot a couple of inches inside you, moving slowly as he teases you.

His chain just touches your skin when he kisses you, each movement jostling it a little, and you giggle, pulling at it in a futile attempt to control Poe’s movements.

Warmth is spreading all over your body despite the cool knife, and you can feel droplets of sweat beading, on your face, your neck. You’re sure there’s sweat on your breasts and stomach and legs too, but you don’t care.

Poe moves the knife from your neck, and you’ve lost your concentration, unable to figure out how he’s lying, lost in the sensations of the cold glide of the knife over your sweaty body as you moan, Poe working magic with his fingers. You can feel his weight on top of you and you allow yourself to float further, willingly losing yourself in the sensations.

“Colour?”

Poe’s voice is hoarse, even as he keeps moving his fingers inside you, building you up and up, the knife hesitantly pressed on the underside of your breast.

Your arch your back towards him enthusiastically, gasping out, “Green! Poe, it feels so good!”

The knife starts to circle the flesh of your breasts, pushing in the side of one, before Poe moves it to the other, and you’re sure your nipples are hard. You’re trying to push your body up, Poe making you feel light and airy and like he’ll raise you above such mundane things as lying in a bed.

His fingers are moving in and out of you now, and this is so close to your fantasy from the other day that you come close to your peak embarrassingly fast.

“You really like this, don’t you?” Poe’s purring in your ear, and you tip your head towards him, mouth falling open in response. You do. You do really like this.

The only sound you can make is a strangled moan, and you hope Poe knows what you mean, his fingers speeding up with your confirmation. He keeps talking, as though you’re going to be able to answer, his voice only spurring you on. “I bet you can’t wait to do this to me, my filthy little thing.”

“Do you want my cock? I can’t wait to get you bouncing on my dick again.”

“You’re so wet for me, you’re dripping around my fingers.”

And stars, you are wet, Poe’s fingers sliding in and out with a practiced movement, his thumb flicking at your clit, and you can hear the squelching of Poe’s fingers in your pussy, even as blood starts to roar through your ears.

“Fuck,” you swear, panting, your body hot. “Fuck, Poe. Poe.”

It’s like his name is the only word you can remember, the only word allowed to pass your lips, a prayer, a chant, repeated over and over again as he lifts you higher.

And then the tip of the blade is on your nipple and you’re going to come, you can feel it, your legs tensing even as your hips writhe on the sheets below you, keening for Poe, still desperate for more.

You cum with a breathless gasp of Poe’s name, hips bucking upwards into Poe, your pussy clenching around his fingers which don’t stop moving as he works you through it. He moves to kiss you, noses bumping as he adjusts his position, slowing the movements of his fingers as you continue to spasm helplessly below him.

And this is better, because as you come down from your high, your heart beating like a drum in your chest, you can feel Poe’s chest against yours, his heart beating nearly as fast as yours as your lips move slowly against each other.

Your hands come up, pushing the blindfold onto your forehead, preventing any sweat from dripping into your eyes and you take in the sight before you. You’re unintentionally giving Poe your bedroom eyes, you know, unable to open them fully, still giddy from pleasure. There’s a lazy smile on your lips as you drink Poe in.

His hair has become disheveled from your hands, errant black curls flopping everywhere, including his own forehead, which is gleaming from a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes are dark, that lovely brown colour almost swallowed whole by his pupils and his lips are pinker than usual, swollen.

He’s straddling your thighs, one hand resting on your hip with glistening fingers, the wet catching on your sticky skin while his thumb idly draws patterns into your skin. Poe’s other hand is holding onto the knife, and you let your eyelids dip, unable to keep them open for much longer.

Poe gives you a minute of rest, allowing you to catch your breath, before he moves. You don’t think anything of it, until you feel the knife on the inside of your thigh, scraping up your leg like an old-fashioned razor.

You slowly lift your head, opening lazy eyes and watch as Poe slowly moves the knife up. There’s slick liquid on your legs, proof of your release, proof of how much you enjoyed Poe, how much you enjoyed the knife, now collecting on the edge, white and shiny on the blade.

Your mouth’s dry and you can’t tear your eyes away, you and Poe concentrating on the same spot.

And then, oh maker, Poe closes his eyes, and fuck, he lifts the knife up to his mouth. There’s a flash of white teeth, pearly and sharp, then a swipe of his pink tongue, and your cum is gone, Poe swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Stars, he’s going to kill you.

There’s a drop stuck to his beard, but you can’t move, frozen as arousal courses again through your body.

Your heart is hammering in your chest as though it’s trying to escape. This time it’s your turn to move, pushing Poe down and straddling him, settling into his lap.

This isn’t the end.

***

Taglist: @darthdameron

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

#first order poe dameron #FO! poe dameron #FO! poe dameron x reader #fo! poe x reader #knife play

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ratmonky · 4 years

Text

Blind Date

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: alcohol, breeding, oral sex

AO3 Link

whoops didn’t post it here

Sometimes Nanami wished he knew what his life would be like if he were a normal person.

He would be married, he guessed. Living in a large apartment with his wife and two kids while he worked without rest. He would die in his home, in his bed, surrounded by his family with guilt because he would wish he had done something more exciting in his life before it ended.

That was why he was here, that was the speech Gojo had given him to convince him to meet up with a potential lover.

“Are you ready for your order, sir?”

Nanami raised his hand as a ‘no’ and slightly smiled, “Not yet, I’m waiting for someone.”

He took a sip from his wine, looking out from the window of the restaurant. He checked his watch and sighed, he couldn’t believe the person he was supposed to meet was late. Two hours late.

Wasn’t he too old for blind dates anyway?

Maybe he should leave now and make up an excuse before Gojo’s friend arrived.

Or just leave without saying anything, he didn’t owe anything to Gojo in the end.

Yet… Nanami stayed, hours passed and the waiter kept asking him if he was ready for his order but he stayed.

Only when it was a couple of hours later, he realized that Gojo’s friend wasn’t coming. He got stood up.

An enormous wave of anger washed over him and he felt embarrassed. He had been waiting here, all excited like a high school girl for nothing. He was angry at himself for believing he would be able to trust Gojo or his friend.

He paid for his tab and left the restaurant, he felt even more ashamed of himself when the waiter who had been serving him whispered something in a waitress’s ear and she discreetly giggled just as he walked out of the door.

Unable to go back to his cramped apartment with no one waiting for him, he found himself in a bar.

He sat by the counter and ordered a whiskey, taking quick and big swigs from it until the bartender refilled his glass.

Whether it be the chatter or the faint jazz music playing in the low-quality speakers of the bar, it helped ease his anger. With each swig of his whiskey, he started to forget about his day.

He forgot about Gojo’s mocking tone as he spoke to him into going on a blind date, Itadori’s curious questions about his love life, and finally, Gojo’s friend who he hadn’t even met.

“Excuse me.”

You were already staring back at him when he turned around.

“Is this seat taken?”

Nanami didn’t know what to say, he was unable to move his mouth so he instead gestured to you to sit. He turned back around and realized his glass was empty. After a quick wave at the bartender, his glass was full once again.

“Can I get a cocktail-” You stopped yourself and sighed. The bartender was already on the other side of the counter and chatting with other customers.

Nanami took a quick glance in your direction, he hadn’t realized it before but you were alone. He had thought you were going to sit next to your date or friend when you had asked for the seat next to him. As he looked around his surroundings he saw that the counter was mostly empty with many unoccupied seats, yet you were sitting next to Nanami.

You were struggling to get drinks for yourself, you were clutching on your purse and shifting on your seat anxiously whenever the bartender moved yet didn’t notice your presence.

The next time the bartender moved, you had already given up on whatever cocktail you were going to order.

He sighed, even when his mind was slurred with alcohol he was unable to be selfish for one moment.

Nanami lifted his hand and waved to the bartender, within that second, the man was standing in front of the two of you. He reached to grab the whiskey bottle to refill Nanami’s glass but Nanami put his hand over his glass and turned to you.

“What were you going to order?”

His question made you surprised but almost immediately your mood had lightened, you smiled before talking. “Something sweet and cold.”

The bartender nodded and went away to grab some fruity liquors and ice while you were thanking Nanami for his help.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” You turned your body towards him and placed a hand on your chest with your cheeks tinted bright pink. “I’m kinda embarrassed now, was it that noticeable that I can’t order something by myself?”

“I wouldn’t say so.”

“I’m (name) by the way, what’s your name?” you asked when the bartender placed your cocktail on the counter.

Although on any normal day, he would have ignored a talkative woman like yourself, drinking made him a little social.

“Nanami. Nanami Kento.”

“Tell me, Nanami Kento, what do you work with?” Crossing your legs, you relaxed your posture.

Nanami couldn’t help but curl his lips as he turned on his seat to face you. “I’m a businessman.”

“Ahh,” you pouted, “Isn’t it boring?”

“It is,” he said, the lie itself was harmless, he knew he wouldn’t meet you again tomorrow or anytime in the future. “What about you?”

“That’s a secret!” You winked with a smile.

“So, unemployed?”

“Hey! Don’t just assume on your own!” With a laugh, you playfully pushed him. “That’s mean, you know.”

Nanami chuckled, he took a swig of his whiskey.

Following his lead, you took a sip from your drink. Your brows raised and your smile grew at the taste. “This is delicious,” you remarked, holding out your drink towards Nanami. “Try it.”

For a moment, he looked confused but from the way your eyes were sparkling, he couldn’t refuse. He hesitantly took a sip of your drink through the straw.

“Isn’t it yummy?”

Out of courtesy, he nodded.

Although he didn’t have a sweet tooth nor liked others invading his personal space, seeing you giggle and tell him all about yourself or whenever you brushed your hand against his forearm while talking made him feel at peace somehow.

As you two continued talking to each other, he became more talkative, by the end it felt like you were staring at a completely different person. His unapproachable aura was gone, replaced by something else entirely.

By the time Nanami remembered to take another swig from his whiskey, the ice in his glass had completely melted and the drink probably tasted awful. He refused to drink the ruined drink and yet… he didn’t feel like ordering another glass either.

You had just finished your second drink and looked like you were getting ready to head out.

Decidedly he called the bartender over and paid for his and your drinks.

“You didn’t have to,” you cooed, placing your credit card back in your purse. “How can I thank you?”

“It’s nothing. Don’t bother,” he replied. In his mind, it was a way of him thanking you for cheering him up. He got up from his stool and fixed his blazer, buttoning up the buttons he had undone while talking to you.

“Okay, thank you.” You paused as you were about to leave. “But if you want, we can go to my place and I can pay you back there?”

Your suggestion made Nanami raise his eyebrows. Even though the two of you were set to split and head your separate ways, he followed after you and left the bar. You didn’t say anything if you noticed how he basically ran after you.

Nanami hadn’t realized it until now but the attraction he felt towards you was mutual, he couldn’t tell it back in the bar because his mind was slurred with alcohol and he had thought you were just being over-friendly but he was certain about it now.

You were a beautiful young woman and seemed like you were interested in him as much as he was interested in you.

You two kept walking, side to side, without speaking. When he mustered up enough courage to talk, you spoke instead. “I only have beer in my fridge, I hope that’s fine.”

He hummed in response and he noticed you two were heading towards a small building. He followed after you into the building, up the stairs, and into your apartment.

The place was small but it had enough space, that was his first impression.

Nanami shrugged off his blazer and grabbed a coat hanger before hanging it on the coat rack properly to prevent it from creasing. His eyes were scouting the small living space before they landed on your gorgeous figure.

The way you moved gracefully and confidently without trying too hard made his thoughts go south.

You kicked off your shoes and reached to grab a coat hanger to hang your own coat but Nanami grabbed it from your hands and threw it on the shoe rack. You opened your mouth to say something but his lips stopped you.

You had your arms around his neck in seconds out of pure habit. His head-spinning smell invaded your nostrils and you felt him placing hands on your hips.

Then you finally managed to understand the way his eyes had been looking at you in the bar. He had been seizing you up from the moment you had walked up to him.

When he had kissed you, it had been a moment of him losing his composure but you could feel his desperation. His tongue moved inside your mouth to desperately savor your taste, hoping for you to remember his taste mixed with yours.

Nanami tasted of cigarettes and whiskey, which, although you didn’t mind, made you aware of your own taste. Faint traces of the fruity liquor and white wine you had drunk earlier.

His moving hands brought you back to the moment. You felt his palm press against the soft flesh of your ass and his fingers groped your ass as he roughly felt the shape.

A wave of arousal hit you and you pressed your thighs together, pulling yourself away from the kiss. “I…- Let’s go-”

Your feet were no longer touching the floor, instinctively you held onto Nanami while he walked further inside the hallway, carrying your weight like it was nothing.

You wanted to tell him which room was yours but he had already found your room. He kicked the door shut behind himself before walking up to your bed and throwing you down onto the soft mattress. You laid still, watching Nanami undo his tie and unbutton his shirt. His eyes, those smothering eyes were on you, admiring your beauty.

When he finally unbuttoned his shirt, he shrugged it off from his shoulders and gently folded it, putting it on top of your dresser.

Your breath hitched when he looked at you with a smile before unbuckling his belt. The metal sound filled your ears and echoed in your room. He took off his pants and gestured to you to come closer.

Like hypnotized, you sat up on the bed, waiting.

He moved towards you, standing right in front of you until there wasn’t any space left between the two of you. He placed a hand on your chin, gently lifting it up.

Your eyes were on his, he stared down at you, smirking mischievously. You weren’t sure what was going through his head but you didn’t want him to be the only one who was undressed. In a swift motion, you unzipped your dress and let it fall from your shoulders to your waist.

Nanami offered you a hand and when you took it as you stood up, your dress hit the floor. Stepping out of your dress, you were about to sit back on the bed but Nanami pressed a hand on your shoulder, pushing you down.

You got on your knees, eyes aligned with curiosity.

Nanami placed your hand he was holding on his growing bulge.

Your cheeks flushed bright red but you did as he wanted. You hooked a finger around the waistband of his boxers and pulled it down slowly. The waistband snagged his growing erection, it bounced as you pulled it down. You gulped audibly, he was bigger than you had expected.

Hesitantly, you looked up to him, he was watching you intently.

Not wanting to disappoint him, you opened your mouth and wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. You sucked gently on the pink tip until he placed a hand behind your head, pulling you towards himself all the while the girth of his cock forced you to open your mouth wider to be able to take him in.

Nanami let out an audible breath and petted your head to encourage you.

His cock was only halfway inside your mouth but you felt like you would unhinge your jaw if you even tried to take a millimeter more.

Proving you wrong, Nanami surged his hips forward, making you take more than half of his cock in your mouth.

Your drool overflowed from your mouth and spilled down to your chin as he continued to move. You looked up, hoping that if he saw how uncomfortable you were, Nanami would pull out but he was already watching you with amusement.

He had this menacing look on his face, his eyes were half-lidded, mouth agape.

Your body shivered in anticipation of what he could do to you, pressing your thighs together, you tried not to gag when he grazed your throat with his cock.

Nanami was impressed with your dedication to let him do as he pleased. He liked the obedience.

Although he would have liked to see if he could make your nose touch the hairs on his crotch but you were already at your limit. He sighed, he was already a little tired from everything he had done today. He was also very drunk, he was aware of the situation but at the same time, he wasn’t because you were like a dream come true.

He took pity on you and pulled out from your mouth.

“Isn’t it yummy?”

It took you a moment to realize he was mocking you and you laughed as you were coughing,

The two of you moved back to the bed, he climbed on top of you. His stare on you was like a predator getting ready to eat its prey.

“You look even prettier under me,” he said, smiling at you as he wiped your drool away from your mouth.

“I’d look better on top,” you went on to say. Your eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and sharp features.

“Witty, aren’t we?” His smile grew wider, his voice deeper than normal.

You parted your lips to answer but he took the opportunity to push his forefinger inside your mouth, he didn't avert his gaze from you, instead he chuckled softly.

Nanami pressed his finger into your tongue, looking at you expectantly.

You wrapped your tongue around his finger, sucking it inside your mouth. He pushed his finger further back after adding another finger into your mouth, nudging into your throat to test your limits.

“Good girl,” he said when you swallowed around him to take his fingers further down your throat. There was room for improvement in the future. Finally satisfied with your mouth, he exhaled a warm breath to your face and pulled his fingers out.

A voice closer to a silent moan came out from you.

“You’re quite sensitive.” His hand landed on your inner thigh, caressing the soft flesh before kneading it gently. You trembled when he ran his fingers up your thigh and his other hand cupped your chin, making you look at him in the eyes, his smoldering eyes wandered over your cute features before stopping on your lips. “Or… could this be your first time?”

You softly gasped, your cheeks flushed bright pink which gave him his answer.

Dumbfounded, he smiled wickedly, his hand went further up your thigh, and out of shock you closed your thighs but fingers were already brushing against your folds.

“Do you want me to stop?” he took a staggered breath.

“No,” you stammered. You couldn’t deny how aroused you were. Not when your juices had already soaked your panties. “Just… please be gentle.”

“I don’t think I can.” Nanami’s words left you petrified. “I can’t hold back, (name).”

His hand between your legs slid up until he could run his finger between your folds. He smiled because of how wet you were. His erection between your bodies poked your stomach. You moaned at the realization, your hands weakly pulling at his chest.

Nanami smirked at your reaction. Then he pulled at the tender skin of your folds just enough to expose your soaking wet entrance to his hungry eyes.

Nanami leaned forward and his hands went to fiddle with your bra. Once he managed to unclasp it, his hands slid up your body, taking your bra with them. You helped him and shrugged your bra off your shoulders.

As you were about to fall back down on the mattress, Nanami abruptly lifted you up and slammed you down onto his cock for the first time. You cried as the head of his cock tore through your hymen and his cock stretched your virgin walls. He froze inside of you from the way your walls were squeezing around his cock.

You let out a whimper, your lips parted, and moaned his name in need.

He had already pushed himself balls deep into you, filling you up to the brim so perfectly but it wasn’t enough.

An animalistic instinct took over him and Nanami tentatively pulled out before slamming you back on his cock. His pace was merciless. It was incredibly rough, each thrust deep and penetrating. He gritted his teeth as your virgin walls sucked more of his cock, and he roughly thrust inside. He grabbed you by your sides, his nails digging into your skin as he mercilessly began pounding in your pussy.

Your arms wrapped around his neck and your fingers twirled around his straight hair, moaning quietly into his neck each time he hit a sensitive spot. Nanami’s thrusts became stronger and more animalistic each time you screamed or whimpered.

Your eyes rolled back to the back of your head, completely lost in the sweet ecstasy of his cock stretching your virgin pussy out.

Nanami slammed into you with an amazing force, tearing a silent scream out of you as the tip of his cock pressed against your cervix.

Nanami knew that everything in his life had led him up to this moment, he had to make you his, he wanted to make sure that you only belonged to him.

He let out a low hiss as your walls tightened around his cock and pushed inside of you for the last time and his hot seed spurted out from his cock and spilled inside your womb.

Completely drained and covered in sweat, Nanami threw himself on the bed next to you.

As the two of you were struggling to catch your breath, he came back to his senses but he was far too tired and drunk right now. He instead wanted to enjoy the afterglow.

He forgot all about his problems and shitty day as you crawled closer to him and wrapped a hand around him.

Nanami closed his eyes and smiled, feeling at peace.

~~~

It was a week after Nanami ran into Gojo.

“Ah, hey, Nanami?”

The blonde man ignored his friend and took a whiff of his cigarette yet his friend walked up to him nonetheless.

“You know, my friend said she waited for you for hours yet you didn’t show up at the restaurant last week, that’s mean of you. You should’ve told me you weren’t up to meeting her.”

Nanami paused, “It was the other way around.”

How dare she lie about it after she made him wait there for hours and embarrass himself?

Gojo scratched his cheek, “She said she was waiting for you but at some point, she realized you weren’t coming and left.”

“What are you talking about, I was in the restaurant waiting for her.” Nanami rolled his eyes, irritated at his tone.

“Eh?” Gojo was even more confused now, “If you’re not going to admit chickening out at the last minute that’s fine but you missed your chance.”

“I’m not interested in your friends either, trusting you was a mistake.” Nanami flicked the ash from his cigarette and stared at Gojo. “I am not looking for anything right now either.”

Gojo hummed, “I was just trying to help you, I thought you and (name) would get along well.”

(name)?

Nanami glowered at Gojo. “What did your friend look like?”

“Uhh, she’s got healthy skin, sparkling eyes, and soft hair. She’s flirty and shy, I’d say she’s about this tall.” He tried to measure (name)’s height in his mind and point it out to Nanami but his friend stopped him before he could.

“Did you tell her who I was, my name, or what I look like before sending her out to a blind date?” Nanami asked abruptly.

“I don’t think so…” Gojo realized. “Isn’t that why it’s called a blind date though?”

Nanami dragged a hand down his face and chuckled to himself in disbelief. How stupid could this manchild be?

“It doesn’t matter anyway, she said she was seeing someone else right now.” Gojo laughed, “How does it feel to lose to a lame businessman she met at the bar, the same night she was supposed to meet you?”

“Happy,” he replied with a smile.

Gojo stared at Nanami and shook his head in disbelief, “Sometimes, I feel like you’re way too stoic.” He left after he noticed Nanami was in his own world, it would be impossible to tease him anymore today.

In Gojo’s absence, Nanami fished his phone out of his pocket to check his screen. The messages he read were all from you, telling him that you were going to cook for him tonight and how he had forgotten his shirt at your place.

He beamed brightly, taking a one last whiff of his cigarette and then crushing it with his foot. For the first time, he had someone waiting for him at home. He wanted to hurry home without working overtime just so he could be with you.

#*clenches fist* gotta post vanilla so ppl ignore the mess of a chapter i wrote for dnd #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader

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silluuuu · 3 years

Text

In Plain Sight, ch. 11 - Who You Really Are

hello my friends, i just posted the Final chapter (!!!) of In Plain Sight, three years in the making! thanks again to @justpocketchange and @chichirichick for betaing!! I've posted the summary a ton of times in the past, but here it is one more time, for posterity:

In a world where everything is black-and-white until you find your soulmate, one learns to navigate in shades of gray. When Soul, an agent tasked with recruiting operatives for the FBI’s tech division, gets a tip about Maka, a sharp-witted hacker flying under the radar, their story is bound to be a colorful one. For SoMa week 2018’s ‘complementary’ theme.

chapter 1 here; chapter 11 here !

Beginning under the cut!

The next morning, Maka is awakened by a soft, insistent buzzing beside her head. Each time the sound lapses, it picks right back up again, pulling her slowly out of sleep. Eventually, still half-curled in the fetal position, she puts the phone to her ear and sleepily asks, “... Hello?”

“Uh, hello,” comes Liz’s voice through the phone, sounding both sarcastic and stressed. “Good morning. Now tell us everything.”

“Oh.” Maka blinks twice. “Oh my god!” She sits up in a rush, rubbing at her face. “I forgot to call.”

“Yes,” Liz observes, her voice carefully neutral. In the background, Maka can hear Patty laughing. “Next time I forget, I won’t get in trouuubblleeee!!!” she declares.

“Sorry,” Maka says with a little grimace. “It was a really late night. I crashed right after everyone left.”

“It’s fine,” Liz says, and Maka imagines her shrugging. “If I weren’t so sure you could beat him in a fight, I would’ve called in the national guard by now, though.”

Maka laughs. “I’m honored.”

“Hey, enough chit-chat!” Patty yells. She still sounds far away, so they are clearly on speakerphone. “Spill.”

Maka thinks about how to explain. “It went… perfectly, honestly. All according to plan.”

Liz lets out an approving hum. “He’s predictable.”

Maka thinks of the whispered apology that she definitely didn’t expect, and isn’t quite sure if she agrees. “I mean… mostly, yeah.”

She takes them through the play-by-play, and as always, they are a great audience - laughing at the right times, and appropriately amused by Soul’s discomfort. When Maka recounts Black*Star breaking her door down, Patty lets out a little whoop as Liz groans. It reminds her that she still needs to make him pay for that.

“So… what are you gonna do now?” Liz asks, once the story is complete.

“I’ll... go into the office on Monday, for sure,” Maka hedges. “I still don’t know if I’ll take the job, though.”

“Very responsible,” Liz says, teasing, because they both know what she’s really asking about. “And what are you gonna do about your soulmate?”

Maka is quiet for a minute, indecisive.

“...Wanna hear something fun?” Liz asks, taking pity on her. “You might get mad at me, though.”

“I can’t be any more mad at you than I was at Soul,” Maka says with a shrug. “Or... than I am.” She pauses, unsure of how she’s actually feeling this morning. “Anyway. Go ahead.”

“Okay,” Liz says. “He texted me yesterday afternoon. Told me he was gonna tell you last night.”

That is a surprise. “And you didn’t think to share this information with me?” Maka asks.

“We thought about it…” Patty hedges, entirely unapologetic. She is closer to the phone now, so her conspiratorial tone is extra clear. “But we didn’t wanna mess up a good plan.”

Maka just laughs. “You guys are kind of evil, you know that?”

Patty lets out another round of maniacal laughter that proves Maka’s point. “He had it coming,” Liz says, equally unrepentant. “Also, yeah. We’re having fun.”

Maka decides that it’s time to get out of bed and she pushes the sheets back, ready to make tea, when Liz adds, “He isn’t, you know.”

“Huh?”

“He isn’t evil,” Liz clarifies. “An idiot, absolutely. But not evil. He really didn’t try to tell you last night?”

“I... didn’t give him that many opportunities,” Maka admits. “But no, he didn’t.”

As she says it, her phone vibrates, and she pulls her ear away from the phone to see a text.

[[ wanna talk today? if thats ok? ]]

A smile twists the side of her mouth at the irony. “Hey, guys? I… think I’m gonna head out.”

“He just texted you, didn’t he?” Liz says, amusement coloring her voice.

Maka blanches, and she’s thankful that neither of them can see it. “Maybe.”

“Predictable,” Liz repeats. Maka’s no longer sure if Liz is talking about Soul or about her, which is a bit unsettling.

“All right!! Go get ‘im!!!” Patty yells aggressively into the receiver.

Given her tone - and the fact that it’s Patty - it’s impossible for Maka to tell if she means it in a romantic sense or in a vengeful sense. And honestly, Maka’s still deciding which one she wants.

Maybe there’s still time for a bit of both.

Read the rest on AO3!! :)

#soul eater #soulxmaka #soul eater fanfiction #my writing #in plain sight #WE DID IT FRIENDS #that's a wrap on IPS!!!! :) :) :)

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picnokinesis · 3 years

Text

fic writer review

tagged by the wonderful @swinging-stars-from-satellites whoop!! Let’s go!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

Fourteen! It was thirteen until yesterday, which appealed to me a lot, but I decided that posting pirate!thoschei was worth changing that number hahaha

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

394,102

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

Technically five, because I’m not counting Avengers and MCU as two different fandoms hahaha. But they are: Doctor Who (2005), MCU, Stargate Universe, The Greatest Showman, and X-Men (comics) - the latter, though, wasn’t really for that fandom, because I was writing a TGS X-Men au hahaa

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

Liminality , with 195 kudos - I am not surprised about this one, since it’s probably the most ‘readable’ of my fics, being a oneshot, not shippy, and also not being stupidly long haha!

Renegades in the Ring , with 144 kudos - I didn’t realise how much kudos this one got? I guess it helped that the fandom was very active when I first posted this. Alas, if only I had finished this one...I have a lot of nostalgia for the idea, but I don’t think I’ll ever return to it, simply because it would take about as much effort as campervan au is taking me right now.

i need a place to hide (before the storm begins) , with 125 kudos - which I am genuinely SO happy about because ahh! This is my big project and to know that 125 people said ‘yes this is good’ is just...really really nice?? Especially when it’s such a niche, specific au.

Tropospheric Disturbance , with 125 kudos - honestly, I’m surprised this one has as many kudos as it does, since I regularly forget I even wrote it hah! It’s a weird one, because it’s not actually in my usual writing style, but I am very proud of it!

and they did live by watchfires , with 109 kudos - and I’m really really happy to see this one here, because I think this is probably the favourite thing of my own that I’ve written.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

YES absolutely!! I love comments so much, and I really love to ramble about my stories because I almost always have a LOT of thoughts hahaha

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I mean, it’s probably a toss up between i need a place to hide (because I ended it on that twist/cliffhanger), Retrograde (which is another cliffhanger ending, leaving all the characters in a REALLY BAD situation), or maybe the new problem kid, you’ll taste all the salt in my lungs, because, uh, it basically ends with the Doctor saying ‘the person I was before this moment is dead’ HAHAHA. But, to be honest, I don’t know if I would call any of those endings VERY angsty? They’re more like ‘AHHH WHAT HAPPENS NEXT’ endings rather than angst. I don’t tend to write angsty endings because I love angst but I always prefer to end it on a hopeful note...otherwise it feels very unsatisfying for me to write, personally.

7. Do you write crossovers?

Technically? I mean, I see Renegades as an au more than a crossover, because it’s merely set in the same universe as the X-Men comics, and the only crossover element is Nathaniel Essex being in it...and I never even wrote those scenes hahaha

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

Nah, people are wonderful!

9. Do you write smut?

Since I’m sex-repulsed, this is a hard no HAHA

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know!

11. Ever had a fic translated?

I have not

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Me and @sunshinedaysforever have a collab-wip graveyard in our dms HAHA - but I am actually working on cowriting a fic with some other wonderful folks at the moment! I am. Supposed to have my part finished by the 6th. Hm.

13. All time fav ship?

Right now, it’s thoschei/spydoc, but I wouldn’t necessarily say that’s my all time favourite, because my favourite changes a lot. I do have a HUGE amount of love for Clintasha and Rush/Young though!

14. WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Hmmmmm, there’s a few. I mean, at the moment, I feel like The Grandfather Paradox will NEVER get finished, but I like to think that if I’m still into Doctor Who enough when I finally finish campervan, I might take a crack at it? Grandfather Paradox is more solid atm than some of my other wips...(see: deathless, disarmed). Oh, I know which one I almost certainly won’t finish - this one I came up with waaay back before In the Wind, which is set between O55 and Telsa, which is about telepathy and not listening to warnings from the past, amongst other things.

15. Writing strengths?

I’ve been informed that I’m really good at character voices, and I also think that I’m quite good at expanding characters we see very little of and fleshing them out a lot more. I’ve had to do that a lot for campervan and it’s been really good fun!

16. Writing weaknesses?

I think I can get kinda tangled in the emotional plot lines sometimes, and it makes everything get convoluted and messy and hard to follow? Also I’m not very good at...taking a good metaphor and expanding it? If that makes sense. I’m also actually kind of terrible at subtle, clever foreshadowing because half the time I don’t know what’s happening HAHAHAHAH but sometimes I do manage it!! I’m trying to do it in campervan at the moment. Also I. Can’t write short things HAHA. My characters always think and talk a LOT and sometimes that’s good, sometimes not so much

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I’m actually doing it currently in part 5 of campervan, since Gabriela and Jamila both speak portuguese (and I’m learning portuguese!)

18. First fandom you wrote for?

On ao3? Stargate Universe. On the internet? The Avengers. Ever? Uh. I honestly don’t know. I made up ocs based on two unicorns in the aftercredits sequence of a My Little Pony VHS tape, does that count?

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

I mentioned it earlier, but I’m extremely proud of and emotionally attached to and they did live by watchfires

If anyone wants my ao3, it’s right over here!

And oh, who to tag!! No pressure, of course, but: @sunshinedaysforever @theplatinthehat @taardisblue @hetzi-art @krebkrebkreb @echo84 @theoreticalabsurdity @1-of-those-things @walker-lister @timelostdoctor and anyone else who wants to!

#taka gets tagged #this was an interesting one!!#thanks for the tag!

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clumsyclifford · 3 years

Text

you read my mind (better to leave it unsaid)

(x)

here you go @cringeycal i hate you <3

read it here on ao3

Calum’s not tired enough for this time difference.

Sixteen hours is too many. One day is not enough time to adjust to a whole new circadian rhythm. Their 7pm concert is 11am to Calum, and by the time it’s over it’s smack-bang in the middle of the day in Calum’s brain, and the fact that it’s dark outside is really, really fucking him up.

“This is really, really fucking me up,” he mutters, pulling the curtains of his and Michael’s hotel room shut with a swish.

“What is?” Michael’s voice echoes from the bathroom, where he’s brushing his teeth. It’s a strange choice, since Michael also brushed his teeth before the show and they haven’t eaten anything since then, but whatever.

“The fact that it’s dark outside and I feel like it’s the middle of the afternoon,” Calum says. He pulls his cap off his head and throws it aside, ruffling up the matted hair underneath. It’s nice and air-conditioned in the room, and the sweat sticking Calum’s shirt to his chest from the show is starting to dry. It strikes Calum that he doesn’t need to be wearing his gross sweaty t-shirt anymore, so he pulls that off, too, and throws it in the general direction of the hat.

Michael makes a kind of humming noise. Calum can hear the sounds of a toothbrush, and takes no offence at Michael’s non-answer. He kicks off his jeans and flops back onto the bed, revelling in the cool air on his sticky skin for a minute before sliding off to put on some clothes.

Michael traipses out of the bathroom. He’s still in full show attire, and he’s wearing the camouflage baseball cap from before, a pastel galaxy of lavender hair sticking out underneath it. Calum likes this colour on Michael. A lot of the time Michael makes his bizarre hair colour look good, but this time, the hair colour looks good on its own, which is a refreshing change of pace.

“You look tired,” Michael says.

Calum frowns. “I’m not. And no I don’t.”

“Fine, you look cosy.”

“That’s not the same thing at all.” The sweatpants and hoodie Calum have donned are cosy, but in his mind it’s still that lazy break between lunch and dinner where the only way to kill time is to play video games. He blinks owlishly at Michael. “You look…colourful.”

Michael snorts a laugh. The only colourful part of him is his hair; his attire is all-black, as usual, but Calum is pretty focused on the hair. Maybe the jet lag is getting to him more than he knows, because all Calum can think is that Michael looks yummy, deliciously kissable, and he wants to tangle his fingers in the lilac mess that is his hair and make it worse.

“You look…like you’re plotting something evil,” Michael returns, strolling towards Calum. He grins. “Stop staring at me! What are you planning?”

“I may be delirious,” Calum solemnly informs him. “What time is it?”

“Midnight,” Michael says without checking. He steps even closer. “Stop staring, you weirdo.”

“Make me.”

“No offence, but you look like you might snap and go serial killer,” Michael says. “I’m not kissing you, crazy eyes.”

Calum blinks. His gaze refocuses, flitting around Michael’s face too quickly, like trying to calibrate himself. “What if I kissed you?”

Michael shifts his weight, barely a foot away, and smirks. “That’d be okay.”

“I would never snap and serial killer kill you,” Calum says, frowning as Michael’s words finally pierce the thick haze of jet lag clouding his mind. “If I killed you it would be deeply personal and I’d leave a note and everything.”

Michael bursts into laughter. “This is why I say you’re insane!”

“I’m not insane! I’m adorable.”

“Adorably insane.” Michael calms down and catches his breath. “Well? Are you gonna kiss me or—”

“Stop calling me insane and we’ll just see,” Calum says, except then he kisses Michael anyway because he’s tired of not kissing Michael and this argument is not worth the time they’re wasting not kissing.

Michael’s hands immediately find their way to Calum’s waist, pulling him closer so they’re flush against each other. In the stillness of the room, Calum’s own heartbeat is loud in his ears. He wonders if Michael can hear it, or feel it, or if he’d find it strange if he could. They’re just friends who kiss. There’s nothing strange about that.

Anyway, Calum’s a man on a mission, and his palms slide up Michael’s arms and shoulders, framing his face for a second, then continue around the back of his head to the unexpectedly soft strands of hair at the back.

Victory.

Well, almost victory. His fingertips bump against the brim of the cap on Michael’s head, and Calum grabs the hat and tugs it off him. The gesture makes Michael choke on a laugh and pull away.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s in the way,” Calum insists, taking advantage of the pause to push Michael’s hair off his forehead. A blissful smile breaks across Michael’s face, but he shakes his head anyway like he has to at least pretend to mock every single thing Calum does.

“It’s part of my look,” he says. Calum drops the cap carelessly to the floor and wraps his arms around Michael’s neck.

“Don’t care,” he says airily. “My enjoyment of our kiss is more important than your aesthetic.”

Michael breathes a laugh. “Rude.”

“Rude of you to wear a hat and hide all this sexy hair.”

“Oh, I see. It’s all about the hair.”

“Yeah, duh.” Calum leans their foreheads together. “Pick a bad colour and this is over.”

“Better not pick a bad colour, then.”

Calum smiles. “Don’t think a bad colour exists for you,” he admits. And I don’t think anything could convince me to end this, no matter what I say.

Michael is quiet, watching him, and after a moment of silence he leans in to kiss Calum again, like it’s the only adequate reply he can come up with.

Calum threads his fingers through Michael’s lilac hair and imagines the colour staining his skin, leaving an amethyst residue on his fingertips. He drags his hands down to Michael’s face, imagines leaving a lavender trail, marking the trajectory of his touch. Smudging violet across Michael’s cheeks with his thumbs.

Michael doesn’t taste like lavender or lilac — he tastes like mint toothpaste — but the colours are so vivid behind Calum’s closed eyes that he can swear he can taste them on Michael’s tongue.

When Michael pulls away, Calum licks his lips and opens his eyes. He’s disappointed to find Michael looking like Michael, no extraneous hair dye anywhere, all pale and pink lips but no purple in sight beyond the disaster that is his hair.

“Um,” Calum says, catching up to his own train of thought. “I think I’m tired.”

“Wow,” Michael says. “Hard for me not to take that personally, Cal.”

Calum grins. He’s not sure if he’s tired so much as just ready to call it a night. Otherwise he risks ruining this perfect ending to their day. Any day that ends with kissing Michael can’t be that bad.

“Hey, I could keep going,” he says.

Michael shakes his head, then hesitates, then kisses Calum once more. It goes straight to Calum’s toes, to the tips of his fingers. Somehow, the last kiss is always the best one.

“Well I, for one, am fuckin’ beat,” Michael says when they’re separate again.

Calum resists every single urge to just keep kissing him. If it were up to him they’d never stop. The only reason he ever lets up is the promise that at least they’ll get to do it again the next day. Even now, with the post-show exhaustion catching up to him and Michael basically swaying where he stands — even now, he wants to steal one more, one for safekeeping, one to lock up in a memory box Just In Case.

That would be insane, though.

“We need to sleep,” Michael says. “Or at least I need to sleep.”

“Fine, I’ll sleep,” Calum says. “But dibs little spoon.”

Michael sighs. “Fine.”

Calum kisses his cheek, then leaps backwards and lands on the bed spread-eagle. He doesn’t even have a chance to readjust before Michael’s climbing on top of him like a baby goat or a particularly needy cat. “Oof,” Calum says. “Get off me, stupid.”

“Technically, I think this counts as you being the little spoon,” Michael observes, which is absolutely not true and complete bullshit.

Calum jerks his shoulder until he dislodges Michael from on top of him. “You’re still in your show clothes, you disgusting pig. Put on some pyjamas at least, Jesus Christ. I’m not cuddling with your sweaty arse.”

“Alright, fuck, chillax,” Michael huffs, clumsily stumbling off the bed and over to his suitcase. While he changes, Calum pushes the covers back and snuggles up underneath. It’s wonderfully warm with the blanket and the hoodie and everything. Calum sighs contentedly. “Don’t forget to turn off the lights,” he adds.

Michael finishes changing into sweats and a t-shirt and kills the lights. On his way back to the bed Calum hears him almost trip. “What the fuck is this?” Another pause. “Oh, it’s my hat.”

“Whoops,” says Calum. Michael finally returns to bed and crawls under the blanket where Calum’s made himself comfortable. “You looked pretty good in it. I just really— I wanted to touch your hair.”

Michael kind of laughs quietly. “And? How was it?”

“Delicious,” Calum hums. He grabs Michael’s hand and presses a kiss to his palm. “Very tasty. Would touch again.”

“You can’t— that doesn’t even—”

“Shh. Shhhhh. Just let it happen.”

Michael sighs. His arm wraps snugly around Calum’s waist, and Calum takes back his thoughts about jet lag. It doesn’t seem like such an issue anymore. “I love you, weirdo. Goodnight.”

“Love you too,” Calum says. He yawns, which leads to Michael yawning; they both giggle, but then silence descends, and Calum falls asleep surprisingly quickly after that, with Michael breathing in his ear.

#michael clifford #calum hood #malum #malum fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #how many different ways can i talk about the color of michael's hair challenge #hey who was i saying that my next fic would be a fic i had no idea about #amanda? look amanda i was right #who knew #written while tired

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andromachesimp · 3 years

Text

wow i keep forgetting to post the fact that i’ve updated here, whoops. anyways, new chapter of sacrificial (a fence fic) is up! we have a new beta reader to add onto my squad of lackeys and make the fic less crunchy, we have a bit of grody shit goin on, we got angst, and we got mmm why is he hot all mixed in to one chapter. also we broke 100k words! waow.

anyways, full thing is up on ao3 (ink above), but there’s a surprise snippet below for those who are intrigued

—

“Are you...feeling alright?” Nick asked, figuring it was probably a good idea to make his presence known. “Better?”

Seiji blinked, slowly turning his gaze onto Nick, still flexing his fingers. Huh. Nick had never noticed that he had nice hands.

“Is it your turn to keep watch?” Seiji inquired, his voice lowered.

“Yeah. It’s kinda late, I don’t think we were expecting you to wake up tonight.”

There was a moment’s pause before Seiji nodded. “I’m feeling alright,” he finally said. There was something strange about the way he was speaking; it was almost as if he was still on another plane of existence. “Better than before, though it’s fuzzy to recall.”

“That’s good,” Nick remarked. “Really good. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Seiji hummed his reply, slowly laying back down. “I won’t distract you anymore, then. Go back to keeping watch.”

“You’re not really distracting me, it’s alright.” Nick sat up, but Seiji was waving him off.

Once again, Nick was left in silence. But at least Seiji was doing better, that was what mattered, and a massive weight was off of Nick’s shoulders just knowing that. Breathing came normally again, his lungs no longer constricted by too-tight ribs. He returned to the position he’d been holding to keep watch, bringing his knees back up to his chest.

Seiji broke the silence again after a few minutes in an almost inaudible murmur. “Thank you, Nick. For helping me.”

“Of course,” Nick replied instinctively. “It’s what friends do.”

Seiji hesitated before speaking again, whether it was from minor horror or confusion, Nick couldn’t tell. “Are we...friends?” Seiji asked.

Nick found himself stopping in his tracks to turn and look at Seiji, really considering his next set of words. “I mean, I think so,” Nick finally said. “It’s kinda bound to happen when we’re traveling together like this.”

They sat there for a moment. Nick didn’t know if he should have taken it back, but Seiji nodded slowly after a moment.

“Then we’re friends,” he agreed.

#sacrificial

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nbrook29 · 4 years

Text

but baby, it’s cold outside

So, I might have written a thing 🤭 Robbe’s photo related thing to be more specific.

Also on ao3!

----

“Wow, who knew making a fire could be so sexy?”

Robbe heaves a long-suffering sigh and looks at the sky above him in hopes it gives him strength to deal with the dork also known as his boyfriend.

“Don’t you sigh at me, Robin, you’d agree with me if you could see yourself right now.”

The tone of his voice is enough to let Robbe know Sander is currently in his teasing mood and lives to rile him up.

He looks very pleased with himself when Robbe turns his head to give him an eyeroll, even more so when he notices the smile tugging at the corners of Robbe’s mouth. At the eyebrow wiggle he then receives Robbe stops fighting the smile altogether and laughs quietly at Sander’s antics, his chapped from cold lips cracking a little.

“Will you help me or you’re just gonna stand there looking pretty, huh?” he lights another match but it’s immediately blown out by the wind and he lets out a small whine in frustration.

“But you’re doing so good on your own! I can cheer for you though?” Sander’s offer sounds almost genuine but the blossoming smirk acts like a tattletale and yes, Sander is definitely in the mood.

And Robbe can’t even be mad that he’s a little shit because he’s a sucker for him and that smile and they both know it. So he just shakes his head in feigned resignation, giggling when Sander actually does start cheering for him, whooping and clapping his hands, and just being embarrassing in general.

It’s getting noticeably colder with the temperature dropping significantly since they left Sander’s house over an hour ago. There has been a warning of a blizzard coming to Antwerp this evening but it feels like it may come sooner than anticipated.

They went for a long walk in the afternoon to get a bit of fresh air and to enjoy the dearly missed for years snow after being cooped up in their respective bedrooms for days and days on end, cramming for finals (Robbe) and finishing up projects (Sander). The sound of fresh snow crunching under their shoes felt like freedom at last, both of them instantly turning into 8 year olds, threatening each other with snowballs and making snow angels, soaking half of their clothes in the process.

For the artist inside of Sander, the winter wonderland-like scenery was like a wet dream, his fingers clicking away on his vintage camera every two minutes or so, making their walk extra slow. Robbe didn’t mind though, being long acquainted with Sander’s artistic habits and indulging him every time he turned his big eyes on him to request them getting off their track a bit to take a photo of yet another thing looking awesome covered in snow. And then after every picture taking his hands into his own to rub his freezing fingers in order to warm them up because Sander refused to wear gloves. Granted, they weren’t very practical for operating a camera but still. Robbe had a very personal relationship with these beautiful hands so it’s not like he could just let them freeze off. It was basically his duty. The sweet smile Sander shot him every time he did it was an additional bonus.

They grabbed a coffee from their favorite coffee shop at the corner of Sander’s street but the wonders that the warm liquid did to warm them up has been long gone by now. Robbe is pretty sure the sound that’s coming from his left side is actually Sander’s chattering teeth so he doubles his efforts and after a few attempts he finally manages to make fire pit lit up. His boyfriend lets out a loud whoop and then immediately comes closer, wrapping himself around Robbe’s small body from behind and holding his palms above the new source of warm.

“You know,” he starts as Robbe pokes at the fire a few times and throws a piece of wood in it and letting it burn before melting into Sander’s embrace and warming his own hands over the flames. “I already knew I’m dating a skater boy but I had no idea I’m also dating a scout boy.”

Robbe snorts. “Lucky you because otherwise you’d freeze to death. I’m expecting your gratitude anytime now.”

Hey, he can be a little shit too if he puts his mind to it.

“Well thank you, baby,” Sander purrs sweetly into his ear, placing a kiss on the spot on the side of his neck currently not covered with scarf causing a shiver go through Robbe’s body, only partially due to his cold as ice lips.

He tilts his head to the left and presses a lingering kiss to his mouth, his eyes closing and knees buckling a little within seconds when Sander licks into him, his hands landing on Robbe’s hips to steady himself. It’s slow and unhurried, a bit uncomfortable given the position they’re standing in but it’s not like either of them actually cares.

They do care though when the darkish grey clouds over them decide it’s high time for some snow so they’re forced to separate, Sander letting out a sorrowful sigh, burying his face in Robbe’s neck and circling his waist with his arms, refusing to let go.

“Come on, let’s go before it gets really bad,” he laughs quietly when Sander shakes his head petulantly, his fringe tickling Robbe’s cheek in the process.

“I don’t want to,” he groans but after a few minutes he lifts his head slowly, surrendering. But then he dips his head again under Robbe’s jaw as if to test something. “Hey, you smell nice. Is that a new aftershave?”

“Yeah, you like it?” Robbe asks expectantly.

Sander pretends to think for a second. “Wait, I think I need to check again,” he replies before burying his cold nose in the hinge of his jaw. Robbe lets out a high-pitched squeak at the sudden coldness and tries to squirm away, giggling as Sander instead of letting him go places little (cold) kisses along his jawline. Once he manages to kiss every square of it he backs out with a triumphant smile, barely dodging Robbe’s incoming elbow.

“After a closer inspection, yes, I do like it, I like it a lot.”

“Cool.”

Robbe tries to hide his smile, pleased with Sander’s reaction because he wants to actually keep his cool but he fails and Sander sees right through him, chuckling when he realizes the slight blush on Robbe’s cheeks has little to do with cold. Surprisingly, he decides to let it go and not tease him about it which Robbe is lowkey grateful for because it’s embarrassing how gone he is for him.

Before they leave the lakeside, they both take a picture with their phones of the now extinguished fire, or actually what’s left of it. Robbe is first to post it but Sander’s photo is better, obviously, his skills at tweaking it to look just right far more superior than Robbe’s. Once Sander’s done, he puts away his phone with a tongue-in-cheek smile and Robbe is already dreading what he’s going to find in the caption. He taps on the app icon and groans.

Fire made by my firebreather 🌬️🥶❄️☃️💙 #scoutboy

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

Sander blows him a kiss, ignoring his scoffing as he entwines their fingers and pulling Robbe along to finally get them moving, the snow getting stronger the longer they stall.

Robbe forgets all about Sander’s embarrassing caption when he realizes they are still about 20 minutes away from his house and he’s almost soaked to his underwear. Sander’s in a better state than him, his leather jacket despite not giving much warmth keeping the snow from getting through, and so are his ankle reaching shoes.

They can’t exactly take a tram because the snow caused a huge gridlock, people honking at each other left and right with trams stuck in between. They try to run for a while but the pavement is too icy and it quickly turns out that one wrong move is going to cost them a broken bone. But Sander looks determined to get them to his house as quickly as possible once he notices Robbe’s soaked through clothes and his violently shivering body so they end up getting there in under 15 minutes.

Thankfully, his parents had left the heat in the house turned on before they went to the movies so once they cross the threshold they are bathed in a delightful warmth. They take off their shoes and jackets, but then Robbe lingers in the entry, aware of his dripping clothes and not wanting to make a mess at which Sander just rolls his eyes and drags him to the upstairs bathroom.

Robbe has troubles to keep his teeth from chattering and when he sees himself in the mirror, his lips are slowly turning a weird shade of blue so he peels off all the soaked layers while Sander turns the shower on, making sure the water is hot enough to stop Robbe from turning into a smurf. He has that deep wrinkle between his furrowed eyebrows and he’s acting like a man on a mission helping Robbe get off the soaked clothes and collecting a fresh share of his own for him to put later on.

“He-ey, calm down, I-I-I’m f-iiii-ne,” Robbe stutters out because when Sander gets all worried about him like this it’s best to squash that seed right away.

“Tell that to your lips,” he scoffs, worrying his own lip between his teeth. “Come on, get in.”

Robbe sighs and decides it’s probably best to just let him fret a little. He lets himself be maneuvered into the shower and then snorts at Sander’s unsure look on his face as he hovers near the shower door, clearly wanting to join in but not wanting to intrude.

“Ar-rre you seriii-oouus?” he asks, groaning in relief when the hot water hits his back. “What are you wai-iii-ting for, get in, you’re all wet too!”

That puts him in motion and Robbe laughs when he sees him shedding his clothes off in record speed, jumping on one leg when he tries to get off his wet skinny jeans, before joining him and pushing his face directly under the stream.

“Fuck, it feels so good.” Sander turns his head back and forth, letting the water wet his hair before he takes a good look at Robbe. “You’re feeling better?”

He delicately thumbs at his lower lip and the sweet gesture makes Robbe smile and give his finger a side kiss, then turning his head slightly to place another on the center of his palm.

“Yeah, I think circulation is back,” he jokes, wiggling his toes.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s my fault, if I hadn’t been fooling around we would have gotten home before it got so bad-”

“Sander, shut up, it’s not your fault it snowed harder we anticipated,” Robbe looks at him with disbelief.

Of course Sander would blame himself.

“But-”

“No buts. Period.”

Sander doesn’t look convinced so to avoid any further doubts, Robbe stands on his tiptoes, looping his arms around his neck and shuts him up with a kiss. It definitely helps to warm him up faster.

“So like... no butts at all?”

Robbe blames it on the almost-hypothermia that it takes him a few seconds to get the joke.

“Oh my god you’re unbelieveable,” he laughs into his finally smiling mouth and deepens the kiss, Sander’s wandering hands effectively erasing any cold-related feeling from his mind.

#wtfock

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mallowstep · 3 years

Note

I love the new PO3 au you just posted on AO3! Could you tell us more about it?

happily!

first off, the au summary (because i still have to add that to the ao3 series whoops)

holly, jay, and lion, kits of leaf and crow, are a year old when they leave home. it's good for wanderers to spend time away from their family, to find their own path so they know they want to be there. most return home. holly, jay, and lion, kits of heretics and codebreakers, are a year old when they meet their mother's kin. it's good for wanders to know their kin, to strengthen family ties. most are welcome. holly, jay, and lion, kits of leafpool and crowfeather, are a year old when they stand in the camp of thunderclan and finally stop and wonder what warriors know of wanderers.

so yeah, ig we can call this "wanderer au" while i figure out the title for the main work.

as the summary reveals, squilf is not a pov character. she's important, but she's not a pov character. hjl are the focus.

i've done a lot of stuff with types of cats, mostly loners.

there are recluses, cats who live on their own. if they move around, they're drifters. if they live in a human area, they're dwellers, if they live in a wild area, they're nomads.

wanderers is a broader class of bands of cats, anywhere from two to twenty, that travel together. they're typically kinship based, but not always. the unit term (e.g., a group of wanderers) is band. a band that sticks to human locations might be called a company, but the distinction isn't very important to most. bands that never frequent human areas are very rare, so there isn't a specific name for one.

cats who live in groups in one place are denizens (of their location). the unit term is colony, and most have a preferred specific term. (like the warrior clans, the tribe of rushing water, etc.)

"rogue" is a fairly derogatory way of referring to a cat outside of one's own group. it implies a lack of any manners, sensibility, etc. most cats get on very well with others, as long as territory is respected.

troublemakers is basically a more polite way of saying rogue.

"kittypet" is generally seen as rude, although this can depend on the cat. most prefer to be called housekeepers. some consider themselves dwellers, if they live in a barn/generally aren't close with their owners.

an uncollared cat used to live with people, but now is some form of loner. this can be a mark of pride, or a mark of shame.

mendicants are loners who interact with humans, with the intention of getting food or affection. it can be polite or rude, depending on the intentions of everyone involved.

i'm probably still forgetting some, but like i said, i've been working through some stuff with this.

okay, now i'm going to talk more about the au set up/details, so read more!

leafpool and crowfeather interact with a group of wanderers fairly early on, who kind of get them introduced to the culture. while wanderers' culture is highly variable, there's common decencies, territory etiquette, etc., to learn.

if you've read "without warning," you know i like to make loner names somewhat "cats don't know what weird names are." leafpool and crowfeather stick out like sore thumbs (dew claws?), so they change their names to leaf and crow to avoid being mislabelled as troublemakers.

holly and jay are fairly standard wanderer names, especially for bands that stick mostly to wild areas. lion is pretty rare. it's more common in city cats, who might have heard it around a zoo. still, they grow up considering themselves wanderers. leaf and crow don't have much good to say about the clans, after all.

when they're a year old, they go on their own journey. it's a wanderer's rite of passage/coming of age: leaf and crow effectively had their own by running away.

(it's where the tradition comes from; most cats tend to leave their old homes to become wanderers around a year old.)

anyway, they decide to head to the clans to meet leaf's kin. (wanderers, being matrilineal and matriarchal, don't really care about their father's kin.) of course, they know what the clans are like, but it's not until they meet a thunderclan patrol that calls them loners that they're like, "oh, these cats have no idea what our lives are like! fun."

in thunderclan, their main goal is to meet sandstorm, squirrelflight, any of squirrelflight's kits, and firestar. they're supremely frustrated by the amount of weight everyone is treating their return with.

and that's basically where we start! (it's where astatine ends, anyway.)

so yeah y'all are welcome to continue sending in questions!

#ask #anon #au drop #whitewater #mine #txt #essay #warriors culture #loners #loners culture

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crystalirises · 4 years

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Even Gods Bleed

Hello! So this is a prompt given to me by chaoticbandito in ao3 and I have their permission to post it on Tumblr :)

Also, slight explanation Quackity still has some beef with Techno here but Fundy is not part of the Butcher Gang and instead lives with the SBI (why? Because I said so.).

Tommy is rescued from exile instead because Phil can be a good dad in this prompt XD. Lastly, the differently formatted one lines (bold or italics) are meant to be the voices.

Did I forget Ranboo? No. He's sleeping, I swear!

Yes, I forgot about Ranboo because I am a fool ;-;

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Techno let out a tired breath of air, glancing down at his younger brother who was busy tending to their sheep companion. Ghostbur glanced over at him, a toothy grin on his face as he gave Techno a little wave. A trail of blood was left in their wake as they stumbled towards the cabin they're entire family lived in. Techno wondered when Quackity would finally realize that attacking him was fruitless… and to think the duck hybrid had tried to drag Ghostbur into it. Techno growled under his breath, wishing that Quackity would just get the message and leave them all alone.

"Are you sure Quackity will be alright? I think you killed him with too much force this time." Techno grunted at the question, slightly irritated that Ghostbur had completely forgotten what had just occurred a moment prior. He casted his blood red eyes at his transparent younger brother, feeling all sense of annoyance disappear as he looked into those warm brown eyes. Ghostbur needed to forget, best not let him remember Quackity threatening to kill Friend in front of them. Techno would give up a life if it meant Ghostbur could never remember his trauma. "Friend says thank you, by the way. I don't know what for but I'm so glad you two are getting along. You and Sally used to fight a lot when she…"

Ghostbur stuttered to a pause, an eerie silence following, only interrupted by the occasional loud gust of wind. A blizzard was in the air, he could sense it. Techno simply sighed, knowing what came next. "Oh. Hi, Techno!"

"Hello, Ghostbur." Techno winced, gritting his teeth as though speaking took too much of an effort. He shrugged it off, too focused on getting his younger brother home before any other nuisance decided to show their face. The sun was beginning to set in the distance, the harsh chill of snow biting at the tips of his ears as he took in another deep breath. He'd never thought he'd hate the cold as much as he did right then. "We're headed home."

"Oh? Where did we go before?" Ghostbur's airy voice barely registered, his mind stuttering to a stop as he strained to remember what his brother just said. Ghostbur floated into his view, his eyebrows drawn together. "Techno?"

'Uh oh…'

'Do we tell him?'

'Duck's fault'

'TechnoPain'

'awwww concerned Ghostbur…'

'snow is cold'

'DO WE TELL HIM???'

'no, you nerd'

'Blood…'

'let him find out—'

"Techno?" The voices ceased their chatter, their whispers disappearing into the back of his mind as he simply gave Ghostbur a small nod. Ghostbur placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he searched for something. Techno patted the ghost's hand before trekking back towards the cabin. The sooner they get home, the sooner Techno could retire to sleep. Although why he felt the need to sleep was beyond him. After a few minutes, the pair stopped a few paces near the entrance. Ghostbur still hovered behind him, gaze strangely fixated on Techno's side. Techno gave him a short glance before reaching out towards the nearly frozen doorknob. Darkness had begun to seep into their surroundings, the brutal tundra air beating at his exposed skin. Techno shivered, clutching his blue coat with his free hand. "Techno, why didn't you—"

He threw the door open, cutting off the ghost's sentence as he stumbled his way into their warm home. He waited as Ghostbur and Friend made their way inside, closing the door with a soft thump behind them. Techno didn't stay behind to listen to whatever it was Ghostbur had wanted to say. Quickly draping his coat on the coat hanger, Techno walked deeper into the cabin, intent on making his way to bed. He wanted to sleep. His body ached for it.

"Hold on a second, mate." A familiar chuckle reached his ears as a pair of injured white wings blocked his path. Phil emerged from one of the rooms, a soft smile on his face. "Dinner should be ready soon, would you like—"

'potato soup again?'

'hmmmm no dinner tonight…'

'this should be fun'

'oh whoops'

'potatoes have ruined our lives'

'Phil'

'Tell Phil'

'Philza'

'Dadza'

'DADZA—'

Phil was not a man who was scared easily, having spent nearly half of his waking days nursing his one remaining life. No, he was not a faint hearted man. Once, he was a king. An angel whose very presence struck fear into all those who heard the flap of his wings. He was Philza Minecraft, after all. Yet, as he watched his eldest son topple to the ground, his breathe stuttered to a stop. He stood there frozen for a moment, heart beating madly in his chest until he finally found it in himself to move. He crouched down beside Techno, his hands hovering above his son's all too still form. A metallic scent reached his nose, his eyes flickering about until he saw crimson seeping out of Techno's side. He heard the crack of feathers, his wings morphing into sharp steel at the thought of anyone daring to even hurt one of his sons. Phil tried to keep himself calm, revenge could wait. He had a son to take care of, "Fundy! Tommy! I require a bit of assistance here, please!"

He hears the rush of footsteps from above as he tried to press his shaking hands against the wound. Ghostbur floated into view, his pale ghostly face turning nearly transparent as he took in his brother's unmoving form. Phil wished he could comfort his son but he couldn't, not when he himself was too busy trying to bite down the panic and rage that threatened to spill from his chest. How dare… how dare they try to take away another one of his sons? Phil bit down the bottom of his lip, forcing his mind to concentrate on Techno. His poor son who looked too peaceful, felt too cold to the touch. Phil was going to rip into whoever had the fucking gall to come to their territory and attack one of his sons. He gritted his teeth, nearly cracking them as he tried to quell his fury and horror.

'Killza…'

His blood was wet with blood, reminding him of a time where he had been in this situation, where had to watch one of his sons die by his blade. Phil held back his sorrow. Techno wasn't going to die. Phil won't be losing another son anytime soon. It was a deep cut on the side, but Techno will survive it. He will survive it. Techno wasn't going to lose one of his lives like this. Not if Phil had anything to say about it.

Tommy and Fundy finally reached him, their faces stricken with surprise as they saw the limp form of Technoblade. Phil bit back his dry chuckle. Of course they were surprised, no one had ever seen Techno so vulnerable before, but Phil had… once. They quickly snapped out of it, reaching out to help Phil as they all made their way towards Techno's room. They struggled to place the pig hybrid onto the bed, but after a while, they finally did it.

"Tommy, can you get me some bandages and a healing potion." Phil's voice was but a whisper, yet he heard Tommy leave the room anyway. Phil placed a hand on top of Techno's head, petting his son's soft pink hair.

"He'll be okay, right? He isn't…"

"He'll be fine, Fundy."

"... Technoblade never dies…?"

"That's right." Phil smiled at his grandson's words, that old phrase bringing a bit of comfort to him as he glanced over at Fundy. He placed a hand over Techno's, his fingers cold to the touch. Fundy didn't need to wait before grabbing the folded blanket, placing it over Techno to keep him warm as they waited for Tommy to come back. Fundy twitched, picking at the sleeve of his shirt, his gaze never leaving his uncle's form. Phil knew how sensitive Fundy could be at the sight of… probable death. "Thank you. You should probably go check on Ghostbur, I'll handle it from here."

Fundy gave him a small nod before rushing out of the room, nearly bumping into Tommy who had brought more bandages and healing potions than necessary. The blonde tried to mask his fear, but Phil knew his sons, knew their small gestures and what they meant. Tommy's bright blue eyes were blown wide open, his fingers twitching as he made his way to Phil's side. Phil gently took everything from his son's hands, holding onto one of the healing potions as reached out towards Techno. As he slowly helped Techno drink the potion, he could hear Tommy pacing behind him, his sneakers scuffing against the wooden floor. "I'm going to kill the son of a bitch who did this. Ohhhh, when I get my fucking hands on them— I mean, h-how dare they come in here and hurt Techno? What fucking—"

"Tommy, I'm going to need you to calm down. We'll talk to Techno in the morning and strategize, but for now you can help Fundy with Ghostbur." Phil slowly sat back down, empty bottle in hand as he turned to face his youngest son. Tommy looked like he wanted to argue, his hands curled into fists as he glared at the wall. If there wasn't an impending blizzard, he had no doubt Tommy would be rushing to fight whoever had done this. "Tommy, please."

"Is Techie going to be okay?" Tommy turned to him, the shine of tears in his eyes as he rubbed a hand at his mouth. His poor son… they'd recently just saved him from exile. "He's going to be okay, right dad? He's Technoblade!"

"He'll be fine, Tommy."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Now, go ahead. I'll stay here."

Tommy hesitated for a minute, his brows creasing together before he finally stomped off into the hallway, screaming profanity at an invisible enemy. Phil shook his head, taking one of the bandages as he focused his entire attention to Techno. The wound was beginning to heal, the potion's effects fixing the damage done against his son. A scar would remain but he knew Techno wouldn't mind it, scars already littered most of the piglin hybrid's skin, what was one more to him? Phil began to dress the wound, knowing that Techno would still feel sore tomorrow regardless of the potion. He nearly cursed as he dropped the bandage, his hands still shaking from the sudden scare he had just gotten.

New L'Manburg was dangerous, far too risky and too paranoid than any nation he's visited. To come to their home under the pretense of hurting one of their own was an unofficial declaration of war. Phil reached for another roll of bandages, wrapping up the wound the best way he knew how. A part of him thought of how he shouldn't be so well-practiced in dressing wounds, thoughts of the times where he's had to help his own sons flashing through his head. Though he knew quite well that at least two of his son's were grown adults, he couldn't stop the undeniable guilt of knowing that they'd been exposed so badly to the cruelties of the world. He'd lost one son to death, and yet it felt as though he'd lost all three.

Techno was plagued by voices.

Wilbur was dead . His poor son is gone .

Tommy was haunted by his exile.

Phil laid his head against the mattress, a hand still holding on to Techno's. He was going to keep his family safe. He'd let them heal here… in their cabin. Phil wasn't going to let them break. Never again. He was here, and he'll die before anyone dared try to hurt them.

He stayed and fell asleep by Techno's side, his hand's hold never wavering even as he woke the next day. As he glanced up, a pair of warm, blood red eyes greeted him. A smile found its way to Phil's lips.

"Good morning, Techno."

"Good morning, dad."

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;-; I've never even written Phil or Techno ;-;

#Technoblade #philza #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #fundy #angst #maybe idk #rip I've never written for Techno ;-;#mcyt

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fleetingpieces · 4 years

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Everything we were CH 4

I was kinda waiting to post the chapters I already have for this fic, but work is keeping me hostage and I couldn’t finish MOIAM and I miss writing, so here ya go

Enjoy some marauders❤️

Special thanks to @knittingdreams for being such an amazing friend and beta❤️

Please check the tags for CW!

Masterlist ¦ Ao3

Chapter 4

“GRYFFINDOR!”

When the Hat announced that to the whole school, Sirius felt the blood leave his face. His thoughts were all jumbled. He had always felt a bit different than the rest of his family, and in the last few years he’d started drifting further and further away from them. But the Blacks had always been in Slytherin. Yes, he had thought about the possibility of this happening, and some part of him actually felt relieved, but it was still a shock to hear. His first reaction was to look up to the Slytherin table, smiling slightly at his cousin. When he saw Narcissa’s fuming glare however, his smile fell and he looked down. It had only been a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity before the gryffindors erupted in a wild applause and cheer.

He quickly took the Hat off and walked to the table, feeling dumbstruck, until his eyes found James’ and the boy gave him a thumbs up with a happy grin. Sirius relaxed a fair amount after that, kind of enjoying the bemused faces smiling up at him as he took a place on the bench.

The red haired girl from the train, Evans, was the second student to be placed in Gryffindor. Sirius tried to make some space for her, given that they were now housemates, but as soon as the girl recognized him, she threw a pointed look his way and promptly ignored him. Sirius rolled his eyes. What a stuck up.

Then a boy named Remus Lupin got called to the front and sat down with the Hat, shifting nervously. After only one second, Sirius saw the boy’s body go completely still, his face turning awfully pale. He wondered what the Hat could be telling him. But then the boy got sorted into Gryffindor as well; he came to sit down next to Sirius in a dazed state similar to the one he himself had been in.

Two more girls were consecutively placed in their house. The gryffindors were almost howling at this point, but Lupin was looking down, not noticing anything around them, stuck in his own thoughts. So Sirius decided to take the initiative. They were going to spend basically 7 years together after all.

“Hello.”

He was faced with bright amber eyes, and it was only then that Sirius realized it was the lad from the station. The boy gave him an apprehensive once over, before his eyes stopped at the sleeves of his robes and stayed there. Sirius tilted his head as the silence dragged by. Then Lupin’s head snapped up and he replied shyly.

“Um, hi.”

Sirius smiled, somehow reminded of Regulus. He thought about something to say, but before he could come up with anything interesting, the students around him started cheering again, and a pudgy blond boy sat in front of them. Sirius suddenly thought of James and tried to locate him between the remaining students, finding him just as he was called over by Professor McGonagall.

When James put the Hat on his head, a sudden fear took hold of Sirius. What if James was sorted into another house? They had bonded so quickly the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. They wouldn’t be able to spend much time together if they were in different houses, and what if Sirius couldn’t make other friends?

His thoughts were put at ease fairly quickly though, as James was sorted into Gryffindor as soon as his bum had touched the stool.

The rest of the evening was a breeze of happiness for Sirius, with just a little prick of doubt. He knew his family was a bit obsessed with the snake house and purebloods, but surely they wouldn’t hate him for this. He could still achieve great results at school even if he was a Gryffindor, and he’d never really liked Narcissa anyway, so she could just bugger off. His parents wouldn’t care, right?

However, he forgot all about that uneasiness when they were guided through the castle to the common room, and he and James struck an animated conversation with Nearly Headless Nick. All in all, it was a great start of his school life.

***

There was a draft coming from one of the windows of the big Charms classroom, making Remus shiver. He pulled at the sleeves of his jumper to cover his hands completely, the movement reminding him how uncomfortable he felt in his new uniform. He wasn’t used to clothes like this, most of his wardrobe at home was muggle. Jeans and sweatshirts were so much better than shirts, trousers and Merlin, that damned tie. How the hell was anyone able to make that thing look good and not a rumpled knot was beyond him. The only redeeming fact about the piece of clothing was whatever charm came with it. Remus had been surprised that morning before breakfast, when he’d gone through his trunk and found that his tie and the lines at the cuffs and neck of his jumper had changed from black to bright red and gold. He was faintly aware that he shouldn’t have been so surprised by it, but he just couldn’t help but try to figure out which spell was used on the school uniforms.

A loud thump beside him made him look up.

“Man, how did you find the classroom so fast? I’ve been wandering around for ages with those bloody staircases and whatnot. Had to ask a prefect to help me!” Pettigrew ranted, noticing with a weary glance that he was the last one in, but he seemed relieved that the class hadn’t started yet.

Remus gave him a noncommittal hum. He had been avoiding the other boys as much as he could since the feast last night, which wasn’t easy given that apparently all four of them would be sharing a dorm together. It made things so much more complicated. Remus had to take special care to get changed in their private bathroom, he didn’t want any of them seeing his body.

Pettigrew opened his mouth to say something more, but then Professor Flitwick appeared behind the desk, standing on top of a pile of books that didn’t look too steady, if you asked Remus.

“Alright students, please take out your wands,” he said with a squeaky voice. “Today we are going to learn about the Levitation Charm. This charm is an excellent test of your magical skills, wand control, and above all, patience!”

Remus felt the excitement filling him up. Finally, he would be able to try his new wand! He hadn’t dared use it at his house, to risk giving the Ministry an excuse to visit them and find out about him. No, Remus had been very careful and had pushed down on his anxiety.

But now he could finally try his hand at some spells!

Looking up at the Professor with bright eyes, he listened carefully to the explanation, taking in every detail of the demonstration. He actually knew most of the theory already, as he had read about it while at home.

“Now, try it yourselves. Don’t forget to do the right wand movement!”

Remus looked at the big white feather in front of him. To keep the nervousness from showing, he gripped his wand tightly, feeling a warm sensation spreading to his fingers. The students around him were chanting the spell out loud, the swish of wands drifting through the air, whoops of joy when someone got it right.

It’s ok, calm down already, Remus thought to himself.

He squared his shoulders, flicked his wand once…and nothing happened. His eyebrows drew together as he tried again. Nothing. He could clearly hear other students had succeeded already, but his feather was as unmoving as it had been when he’d set it on top of the desk. Maybe he was doing something wrong? After a few more tries with the same result, Remus started panicking. Was he not good enough? Did he have zero magical skill? Would the Headmaster realize he’d made a mistake and send him back home?

Then a darker, scarier thought crossed Remus’ mind. What if it had to do with him being a creature? Was he too much of a monster already that he couldn’t use magic anymore? His condition had taken so much from him already, that he wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Remus was scared to look up, but if his lack of magic was a characteristic of his kind, he had to make sure that no other student had noticed. No one could know. Glancing around, he saw Pettigrew waving his wand frantically, sweat forming on his forehead, the white plume in front of him lying lazily on the table. With a tiny bit of hope, he noticed that quite a few students were still having problems, even if most of them seemed to have gotten at least some reaction from their feathers. Except from him and Pettigrew, that is. Apparently, they were the only ones not accomplishing anything.

Remus exhaled a relieved breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He wasn’t a complete monster yet.

The teacher had said they would need patience, so he kept trying and trying, purposefully avoiding to look at Potter and Black, who were making their own quills clash around in the air while laughing. The theory was all in his head, the words and wand movement fresh in his memory, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around the way magic was supposed to work. The practical part of it was completely new, he had no reference as to what it should be like, as he hadn’t had any way to practice this at home.

Just as the bell rang, Remus felt something clicking in his head. The feather made a turn in the air, making his heart skip a beat, and he smiled happily as it hovered shakily in front of his eyes.

“Merlin, at least you were able to do it in the end,” said Pettigrew with a bitter scowl.

The pudgy boy had only managed to make his quill toss and turn on the table top. Remus gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I think yours was taking off that last time.”

Pettigrew's face lit up a bit, and Remus wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Was that comment too friendly?

“Good on you, Lupin!” said a voice from behind them. Remus turned around to face Potter, who had Black sitting right next to him. “A lot of people don’t get it on the first lesson. At least that’s what my Dad said.”

Remus didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell if they were making fun of him or not. All the other students were leaving already, the sound of shuffling feet on the hallways filling the air. So he gave Potter a small nod and hurried out as well, leaving the boys slightly stunned. He knew he was being rude, but he didn’t know how else to interact with them. It would be better if he didn’t have to do that at all.

The first year gryffindors had some free time before lunch and, thinking about ways to keep himself busy, Remus decided to explore the castle a bit. It really was a pain to get around without getting lost, Remus had only found the classroom by following other students discreetly. He wanted to get acquainted with every hall and passage, and he really wanted to figure out the pattern of those bloody moving staircases. He’d nearly fallen five floors that morning when one of them started moving just as he was getting on.

Remus reached the hallway on the third floor, thinking about how nobody seemed to mention anything about the multiple dangerous things the school housed. Maybe that was why he’d been allowed to attend.

He was so distracted that he didn’t notice there was something in his way until he bumped face first into it. Rubbing his nose and cursing under his breath, he looked up to find Avery, the bulky first year from Slytherin, looking down his nose at him.

“Watch where you’re going, you dirty scum.”

The boy was barely a few inches taller than him, but he was wide; his arms were probably three times the size of Remus’. His short dark hair was cut in a way that made his jaw look sharper and his brown eyes harder. Avery had his arms crossed over his chest, studying Remus like he was a piece of meat. Remus raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

The situation reminded him an awful lot of some experiences he’d had with some neighbourhood kids when he and his family had lived in East Sussex. Avery seemed like the kind of mindless bully that would love to pick on Remus just because of his small and scrawny complexion. Those other kids had certainly enjoyed making him their preferred target. But it was precisely because of that, that Remus knew to keep an eye on his surroundings and scurry when necessary. So he went around Avery, muttering a half-hearted apology and trying to move along, but was soon stopped by another figure that came from behind the slytherin.

“What’s the problem here?” a tall boy with platinum hair drawled. Remus contained a whine and looked up, he’d almost gotten away. There was contempt in the bloke’s voice as he looked at Remus. “Who are you?”

Remus silently studied the blonde for a second. The way he held himself, like he was royalty, was similar to Black’s, but different at the same time. His robes were equally expensive, he had a green and silver tie, and a badge pinned to his chest. Of course he was a prefect. Remus had that kind of luck. There was something in the older boy’s pale blue eyes that was making Remus’ hairs stand on end; he looked like he could be trouble, the kind Remus was aiming to avoid as much as possible.

“I’m Remus Lupin.”

“Lupin?” the prefect sneered. “I’ve heard about your father’s preferences. You are a half-blood.”

It wasn’t a question, so Remus didn’t deign to give him a reply. The way he’d said the last word though, as if it was rotten garbage in his mouth, had Remus frowning. What did that even mean? The bloke was making him nervous, and Remus tried not to shift in place. He didn’t want anyone looking at him that closely, let alone a prefect. No one could know.

“Um, who are you?” his voice sounded smaller than he would have liked, and Avery smirked as the prefect narrowed his eyes at Remus.

“Watch your mouth, boy. It’s Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy. You’d do well to remember my name.”

As Malfoy took a step forward, a large group of students appeared around the corner, almost bumping into them when they filled the whole corridor. Remus decided to use that chance to get away before things could get worse, and as the students walked past he blended in with them and disappeared into another hallway. He’d learn to recognize when someone was best to avoid, and Malfoy was definitely someone he didn’t want to cross paths with more than necessary.

Remus walked fast, trying to put as much distance between them as possible, and went in the first room he could find. Closing the door behind him, he leaned into it and closed his eyes. It was his first day of school, and he’d already had to escape from some possible bullies. He wasn’t kidding himself, the kids from his old neighbourhood had no idea why Remus was so weird, but he knew the students at Hogwarts would be able to tell if he showed enough signs, if they saw his scars. He hoped running away hadn’t made things worse.

Sighing, Remus opened his eyes again and was stunned to see where he’d ended up in his haste.

Books.

Thousands of books, right in front of him, neatly organized on shelves. He glanced around with his mouth slightly open. Rows and rows of bookcases, going from one wall to the other, filled the room. There were only a handful of windows that filtered the morning light, giving the space a calm atmosphere. A few students were sitting on the tables scattered all over the big room, but everything was so very quiet; the only sounds were those of quills going over parchment and pages turning.

Remus walked ahead, his eyes glued to all those old volumes, until he reached the front desk and a woman with a deep scowl appeared in his line of sight.

“Are you lost?” she barked.

She was looking at him as if he didn’t belong there. Remus felt himself shrink under that look, but the temptation was too much to just let it slide.

“No, um…are we allowed to borrow any of these books?” He knew that his eyes were wide, probably making him look a bit insane, but he couldn’t erase the expression from his face. To his surprise, the woman’s glare dimmed a little bit. Not enough to make her look less scary though.

“You can borrow any book, except for those on the Restricted Section.” She pointed to the back of the library, where a rope separated some books from the rest. “You’ll need a signed note from a teacher to have one of those checked out. The other books you can read here or take out of the library, if you get my permission first. But I warn you, if you tear, fold, smear or damage these books in any way, the consequences will be quite severe.”

She fixed him with a stern look, and Remus smiled shyly.

“I will be very careful, I promise.”

The librarian looked mildly surprised, but Remus wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. He was staring in awe at all the knowledge sitting in the room, waiting for him to dig into it. The charm they’d learned that morning had been harder than he’d expected, but he was pretty sure he had figured it out now. Maybe he could find a corner of the library to tuck himself away and practice some more. He could even find out which spells they would be learning, and try to learn them ahead of time to avoid himself more embarrassment. Remus hoped that if he practiced enough, he would be able to understand magic better and struggle less. Smiling to himself, he set off to explore the tall shelves.

#everything we were #eww #fanfic #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #Remus Lupin #remus x sirius #Sirius x Remus #Sirius Black #Marauders #marauder era #hp marauders #marauders fic #hogwarts #cw: slurs #cw: mention of bullying

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fleetofshippyships · 4 years

Note

Prompt: post cannon xicheng for "when will you finally believe you're good enough?" feel free to rephrase if you want 😊

Whoops, don’t mind me, rocking up 7 months late with this prompt fill 😅

So this wound up being over 6k, so here’s an excerpt, the full fic can be read here on AO3

Warnings: Alcoholism, Unhealthy/Unfulfilling Relationship, Low Self-Esteem, Miscommunication (but then eventual communication), Angst, Open/Ambiguous/Bittersweet/Hopeful Ending

Excerpt:

“You have never asked me to come to Gusu before,” Jiang Cheng said some time later, when Lan Xichen was on his third cup of tea and kneeling closer to the bath than he’d intended to.

The food was growing cold, but Jiang Cheng showed no signs of moving.

Lan Xichen studied him. He was still sitting with his eyes closed, but he was far from relaxed. There was tension in every line of his body. He was holding himself as if he was ready to leap out of the bath and run. It was difficult to look at his body in such readiness, so Lan Xichen abandoned is place kneeling beside the tub and moved behind him, picking up a comb and gently working it through his hair.

“You have never asked to come,” he replied carefully.

It was not the first time he had combed Jiang Cheng’s hair while he bathed and, for a moment, he wondered if Jiang Cheng had taken it down precisely in the hopes Lan Xichen would comb it. He had admitted once he found the gesture soothing, that he liked the feel of Lan Xichen’s hands in his hair. It had been a rare expression of want from him, but he had been drinking at the time.

Jiang Cheng made a dismissive sound that Lan Xichen could not begin to guess the meaning of. Was it that he did not wish to go to Gusu, or that he did and he expected Lan Xichen to already know?

How had they come to this point? How had Lan Xichen failed so completely to notice that they never talked about what they wanted? That they barely talked at all anymore?

“You never expressed any interest in anything more than me coming here to you,” Lan Xichen continued. The conversation was long overdue, even if he had not realised until just before dawn that very same day. “And you never ask for that either.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t speak, and the only sound in the room was the soft slide of the comb through his hair.

Lan Xichen breathed slowly, focused on the feel of the comb in one hand and the hair he was holding in the other. He didn’t want to ask, but he knew he had to, knew he should have asked it a long time ago. Even if the answer was as he had always assumed, the question still needed to be asked. It would lead them to everything else.

“Jiang Cheng, do you really want me here?”

The hair slipped from his hand as Jiang Cheng turned in the bath, gripping the edge and staring at him with an expression Lan Xichen didn’t understand.

He knew that Jiang Cheng wanted him, that was obvious whenever they were together, whenever Jiang Cheng whispered pleas for him to stay only to forget them by morning.

But Lan Xichen needed to hear it in the light of day. He needed to see if Jiang Cheng could say it. If he trusted Lan Xichen enough to say it to him.

He averted his eyes and lowered his hands to his lap, holding the comb tightly as he waited. The questions that would follow would be harder, he had to prepare.

“You know that I do,” Jiang Cheng finally said, his voice low, almost angry.

Lan Xichen closed his eyes. “In what capacity?”

“Capacity?”

The anger was more obvious. Lan Xichen opened his eyes to see it twisting Jiang Cheng’s features, but not his eyes. His eyes held nothing but fear.

Read the full fic on AO3

#xicheng #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #the untamed #mxtx #lan xichen #jiang cheng #my fanfic #prompted works #*#ylime94 #asked and answered

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keichanz · 4 years

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Neighbors | ch. 2

hey guys. remember this fic? i finally wrote finished the second chapter two years later lajefilauhefajf whoops ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Kagome jolted awake with a startled gasp, shooting upright in bed as her arm, on its own accord, swung out in front of her as if to catch something – or maybe catch herself from falling. For a solid minute Kagome did nothing but drag in ragged breaths, eyes wide, her arm trembling slightly from holding it aloft. Finally the glaze over her eyes seemed to clear and she blinked her vision back into focus, into reality as her consciousness slowly registered the nightmare had ended.

A flash of white caught her attention. Dazedly Kagome stared at the white gauze wrapped around her hand, uncomprehending what exactly it was for several seconds as her sluggish mind struggled into full wakefulness. Snippets of memory slipped through the haze that clouded her mind; the sound of glass shattering, a brief weightless feeling, red smeared across her hand...heavy pounding on her door, a flash of silver, of deep, burnished amber—

“Ya alright?”

“Grease dog.”

“Inuyasha.”

“Inuya—ah.”

Without any warning the pain finally registered in her hand and Kagome sucked in a sharp breath as the recollection of last night’s events came rushing to the fore. Putting away dishes, cutting her hand, falling…Inuyasha coming to see if she was all right. Her ankle developed a dull throb, reminding her of how he’d carried her out of her apartment, drove her to the hospital, and carried her inside. She remembered the needles, the fear it instilled in her, how she’d hid in Inuyasha’s shoulder. How he’d talked the entire time, distracting her so she was able to relax and forget about what the doctor was doing.

Blushing as she recalled the low timbre of his voice and the solid strength of his arms beneath her, Kagome winced as the pain in her hand turned into a burning throb that was getting increasingly difficult to ignore. She bought the appendage into her lap and inspected the white bandage, trying to recall the doctor’s instructions concerning the injury. Truthfully she couldn’t remember much after Inuyasha had announced the treatment was finished so she must have been on auto pilot up until Inuyasha carrying her back out to his truck. Then she remembered nothing so she must have dozed off on the way back home.

Her blush darkened at the implication that her handsome neighbor had carried her to bed, however it was impossible to stop the pleased smile from curling her lips. She already owed him so much for coming to her rescue and seeing to her care. But knowing that he hadn’t stopped there, taking her to her room and putting her to bed? It astounded Kagome, how someone she barely knew could be so thoughtful, and Kagome hoped she’d be able to make it up to him. She was grateful for all he’d done, and she wanted to make sure he knew it.

Kagome’s smile widened and she nodded determinedly to herself. “Right. First things—ow.”

Hissing as her right ankle twinged, Kagome moved more slowly as she swung her legs off the bed and carefully placed her foot on the floor. It still hurt like hell but she was pretty sure she could still walk. The ace bandage prevented her from seeing if there was bruising or swelling, although she didn’t think it was sprained, just a bad twist, which she was thankful for. She still had a lot of unpacking to do and having a sprained ankle would put a damper on her plans.

Wrinkling her nose as she contemplated on what to do next – she knew walking on it would slow the healing but she didn’t exactly have a choice, nor did she own any crutches – something on her nightstand caught her attention. Turning her head, she found what looked to be a wrinkled receipt sitting on the table with a scrawled message. Instantly Kagome’s heart quickened and she snatched it up, unable to stop another smile from blossoming as she read the short note.

Text me in the morning # in your phone

- I

God, how stupid was it that such a simple, completely generic and normal message left her heart pounding and her stomach fluttering?

Oh my god, Kagome, get a grip! It’s just a dumb note! You barely even know the guy; it’s completely ridiculous to fawn over a stupid wrinkled receipt!

Kagome read the message again and butterflies took flight in her belly.

Oh, god. She had it bad.

Kagome moaned and let her head roll forward on her shoulders, lifting a hand and racking fingers through her hair. She let the paper fall to the floor, stared at it for a minute, cursed, then stooped down to pick it up and place it back on the nightstand. Scowling at how ridiculous she was being now, Kagome shook her head and resolved to push those thoughts to the back of her mind to dwell on at a later time.

A much later time.

Sucking in a breath, Kagome braced her hands on the bed and slowly pushed to her feet, baring her weight on her left leg and using the nightstand to keep her balance. Biting her lip, she carefully let her right foot rest on the floor before slowly shifting to bear her weight on it a little at a time. As expected her ankle protested but she grit her teeth through the pain and forced herself to take a tiny, shuffling step. To her surprise and utter relief her ankle didn’t give and she breathed through the pain as she took another one, slowly limping her way toward the door, trying very hard to ignore the pain that ricocheted up her leg as the idle thought of what the time was floated across her mind.

Somehow she managed to make it to the bathroom without incident and shuffled out only a short time later. As much as she wanted one, Kagome didn’t think she could handle a shower right now, not with her ankle as it was. And with her hand the way it was, it was probably best she avoided getting it wet, at least for now. She’d do a Google search later on how to properly clean and treat a post-stitched wound, or something.

She gimped her way to the kitchen, finding it was getting slightly easier to walk even if the pain didn’t exactly lessen. It was halfway down the hallway that she remembered about the shattered glass she’d have to clean up and she gave an involuntary pitiful whimper. Man, she really didn’t think she’d be able to sweep it all up, not when she could barely—

Kagome stood in the doorway to her kitchen and gaped at her clean floor. Seconds later a warm, not at all unpleasant feeling blossomed in her chest and spread outward. The corners of her lips flickered into a smile as a soft blush colored her cheeks, those damn butterflies once more taking flight in her belly.

“Inuyasha,” Kagome murmured and leaned against the jamb with a soft sigh. So not only had the man taken her to the hospital, carried her to bed, and practically tucked her in, he’d also had the consideration to sweep up the shattered glass that had littered her kitchen floor.

Damn, Kagome mused, biting her lip as she carefully shuffled over to the car counter that bisected her living room and kitchen. Just sweep me off my feet while you’re at it.

Feeling a mite flushed and resisting the ridiculous urge to giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush, Kagome hopped up onto one of the bar stools with more difficulty than usual and swiped up her phone. It had been sitting there since last night while she was putting away dishes and she wasn’t surprised to find it was only at 10% charge.

Still enough to send a quick message, though, she mused with a little smile and checked the time—just after 9 AM. It was a reasonable enough time; he should be awake, right? Granted, they did get back fairly late and though she couldn’t remember the exact time, she knew it’d been closing in on midnight when the doctor finally finished stitching up her hand.

It's just a text, Kagome reasoned and opened up her contacts, ignoring the way her stomach did that weird swooping thing again. Even if he is still sleeping, he’ll see it when he wakes up.

Opening her messages, she immediately zeroed in on the latest one sent and the smile that split her face was embarrassingly giddy. Inuyasha had sent himself a text, just a simple and short “hi,” but it had her heart pounding nonetheless as a squeal bubbled up her throat and good god she was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush now, for heaven’s sake!

Shaking her head and telling herself to get a damn grip, Kagome fired off a simple “Good morning! :)” before deliberately setting the mobile onto the counter and carefully climbing down from the stool. She knew that if she just continued to sit there waiting for him to reply, she’d drive herself crazy wondering if he’d received it or not and she’d constantly check her messages to see if she had one back yet. She might as well pass the time by doing something productive and not acting like a teenaged girl with her first crush, so with a grunt Kagome hobbled her way back to her bedroom.

After brushing her teeth, taming the unruly waves of her hair into some semblance of order before promptly putting it into a messy ponytail, and changing into some clean clothes, she was feeling a little more human than before. Donned in a simple t-shirt and black capri leggings, Kagome deemed herself ready to face the day’s challenges and shuffled back out into the kitchen, using the walls and pieces of furniture to help kept most of her weight off her ankle.

Amazing what a little bit of deodorant and a fresh pair of panties could do to a woman’s confidence, Kagome idly mused and started up her Keurig before hopping over to the counter. The hope was evident in her eyes as she woke up the screen to her cell and then her entire face lit up with a smile.

2 new messages

So he was awake. Leaning against the counter, Kagome eagerly opened it up, telling herself that she wasn’t being ridiculous. She wasn’t.

morning

how you feelin?

Resisting the urge to immediately start firing off text after text, reassuring him that she was fine and then expressing her endless gratitude with even more messages, Kagome bit her bottom lip and flicked her gaze to the door. It just felt too…impersonal, thanking him via text message, especially after all that he’d done for her. She thought it would have better impact to tell him face to face, to let him know just how much she appreciated his help and how grateful she was to him. It was hard to express that kind of thing through text, after all, and Kagome was nothing if not thorough when it came to something like this.

So, considering all of that…perhaps her attractive downstairs neighbor wouldn’t mind a brief morning visit?

Mind made up, and stubbornly ignoring that damn giddy feeling again as it welled up in her chest, Kagome left her phone sitting on the counter and slipped her feet into a pair of hard-soled slippers before heading toward the door. Her ankle and hand were both throbbing and she told herself she’d take some painkillers after she probably conveyed her thanks to Inuyasha. No doubt she’d probably already overdone it from all the moving around she’d already done that morning and she resolved to a day of rest on the couch, some Uber Eats, and Netflix.

After she got back, of course. First there was a certain golden-eyed, devilishly handsome grease dog she had to talk to and profusely thank for his thoughtfulness.

Exiting her apartment and letting the door swing shut behind her, Kagome made it to the top of the stairs before realizing she had a bit of a problem and she pouted in frustration. Dammit, how was she going to get down the stairs with a bum ankle? She eyed the railing and winced; while wholly intact, it didn’t look very sturdy and Kagome didn’t trust it to hold her weight if she leaned too much into it. So she supposed that left one other option left because she was getting own those stairs, goddammit.

Heaving a sigh of resignation, Kagome rolled her eyes and knelt down before falling back onto her butt with a grunt. Then, lifting her foot to keep her weight off of it, Kagome scooted on down the stairs one by one, feeling a bit like a child, but knowing it was the only way without possibly losing her balance and falling down the stairs.

Several minutes later and with a slightly sore butt, Kagome used the railing to heave herself to her feet. She deliberately didn’t think about how she’d get back up the stairs as she hobbled the few feet to Inuyasha’s door. Sucking in a bracing breath, and trying to control the wild fluttering of her heart rate, Kagome lifted a hand to knock gently—

The door swung open before her knuckles could make contact and she was left blinking up into the scowling visage of her downstairs neighbor.

Kagome blinked. Smiled. “Hi.”

Inuyasha crossed his arms and glowered down at her. Wearing a tight black t-shirt and dark-washed jeans, he looked rather intimidating with those stern golden eyes glaring at her with clear disapproval and his mouth turned down into an annoyed frown.

Kagome’s smile faded a little at his less than receptive greeting and she felt a flush coloring her cheeks. She shifted her weight and didn’t miss the way his eyes flashed down to her ankle. His scowl deepened and she suspected she knew the reason for his apparent irritation.

“Um…how did you—”

“I heard you on the stairs,” he cut her off before promptly bending down and sweeping her up into his arms.

Gasping sharply, Kagome could feel her face growing very warm as Inuyasha effortlessly carried her into his home and then set her down onto his two-seater couch, being careful not to jostle her ankle. Wide-eyed and face very red, Kagome watched as he sat on the coffee table before her and wordlessly held out his hand.

She blinked at him. He wiggled his fingers, clearly impatient, and when all she did was stare at him, Inuyasha sighed, reached down, and lifted her foot to prop against his knee. Tugging the slipper off, he carefully began unraveling the bandage around her ankle, needing to see if it had gotten better or worst since last night. He could feel the weight of her slightly stunned gaze on him as he worked but he ignored it, trying valiantly to keep a tight rein on the anger simmering just below the surface.

“Idiot,” he snapped as the bandage fell to the floor and lifted angry amber eyes to lock with sheepish caramel-colored depths. “What the hell were you thinking going down those stairs by yourself? You could have fallen and ended up with something far worse than just a sprained ankle! What part of ‘stay off of it as much as you can’ didn’t you understand, stupid girl?”

Indignant that he would immediately assume she walked down the stairs, Kagome leveled him with a mulish glare and pursed her lips. Color filtered into her cheeks at the obvious reprimand and she huffed, crossing her arms.

“First of all, I didn’t walk down the stairs, I scooted, and second, how else am I supposed to get around when I don’t own any crutches? Oh wait, just let me go fetch the bloody wheelchair I keep stashed in my closet for a random twisted ankle!”

Inuyasha snorted at her “scooted” comment and tried very hard not to grin at that highly amusing mental image his brain supplied as he gently prodded at the swollen flesh of her ankle. Kagome hissed and flinched. His ears pinned against his head and his frown deepened as he carefully turned her ankle over in his hand.

“Sprained,” he repeated, studying the light bruising that was starting to come in. “Not twisted. It’s mild, though, so should heal within a few days. Provided you stay off it like you should have been doing.”

Kagome frowned. “But the doctor—”

“Is an idiot,” he finished and gently let her foot back on the floor. “And it was probably the end of his shift, you were no doubt his last patient, and was probably too tired to give a rat’s ass if it was twisted or sprained, so he didn’t and just said to stay off it. Which you didn’t.”

“Well, unless you expected me to fly to the bathroom—”

He gave her a look and she rolled her eyes.

“Okay, okay, I get it. Jeez, I’ll stay off the damn foot.”

Satisfied, Inuyasha grunted and stood up. “You want anything to drink? Coffee?”

Kagome perked up at the prospect of hot coffee. She’d meant to make herself a cup but then promptly forgot about it when she decided to come down here instead.

“Coffee would be great,” she said but then faltered when Inuyasha walked toward the kitchen without another word. “Wait, Inuyasha! Ah…damn.”

Huffing, Kagome deliberated for about half a second before getting to her feet and limping her way after him. She was determined to thank him, dammit, if it was the last thing she did!

When her ankle started protesting too much, she hopped the rest of the way and managed to reach the doorway before having to stop to rest, leaning against the doorjamb. Standing in front of his coffee machine, Inuyasha’s ear flicked behind him before he looked over his shoulder at her and then promptly muttered a curse, rolling his eyes.

“Inuyasha,” Kagome said and tipped him a smile as he started toward her. But before she could continue, the half-demon bent down, wrapped his arm around her thighs, and promptly hoisted her over his shoulder.

Kagome squeaked in surprise, the blood rushing to her face to paint it a lovely scarlet color as Inuyasha stalked back into his living room and dumped her back onto the couch.

“Stay,” he told her, jabbed a finger at her face with a pointed look, then disappeared into the kitchen again, grumbling under his breath.

Kagome pouted and sunk back into the couch, glaring mulishly at the dark flat screen television across from her. For lack of anything better to do since she was evidently sequestered to the couch while Mr. Moody made her coffee, Kagome took in her surroundings.

She suspected that at one point in time, the entire apartment house had been one unit before it was split in two and what she was staring at now was the original décor. Inuyasha’s walls were covered with that fake wood paneling and the carpet, while clean, was faded red shag. A huge, old brick fireplace took up one corner of the room and she had to wonder if some of the shelving on the walls was original, too.

Honestly, Kagome liked it. It was charming, cozy with a rustic feel to it, and for some reason it suited the half-demon in the kitchen. Despite just having met him last night, she got the sense that he liked to live simply, without all the bells and whistles that her own upgraded apartment had.

The upstairs must have been a more recent addition, Kagome surmised. Or at the very least had a recent renovation to attract more tenant applicants. If she had to guess, the oldest thing in her own apartment was probably the furnace. She didn’t mind, though; why fix what ain’t broke, right?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Inuyasha walked in from the kitchen holding a streaming mug of delicious java and a plate of what looked to be toast. Kagome blinked in surprise as her mouth twitched upward. He’d made her breakfast, too?

He set both items on the coffee table in front of her and Kagome saw that the toast was in actuality a toasted sandwich with a fried egg and tomato. Her stomach rumbled in appreciation as her heart warmed even further at her neighbor’s seemingly endless consideration. Goodness, at this rate, she was going to fall—

“Wait,” Kagome said when Inuyasha once again started to leave. Thankfully this time he stopped, half-turning toward her and cocking a single brow in silent inquiry.

“Thank you,” she blurted.

Inuyasha shrugged. “It’s just coffee and the sandwich was easy—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Kagome gently cut him off and then gave him a warm, genuine smile. “I mean, thank you for everything, Inuyasha. For coming to see if I was okay last night after I fell, for taking me to the hospital, for…”

She blushed. “For putting me to bed. And yes, for this, too.”

Kagome gestured to the coffee and food and leveled him with another soft smile, her eyes glittering with unconcealed appreciation and warmth.

“Just…thank you,” she said sincerely. “I came down here because I wanted to tell you that in person, not through a text. Sorry for making you worry.”

Inuyasha stared at her and could feel his cheeks warming with a slight flush because yeah, she had worried him when she’d come down those stairs by herself. Wench was clearly more perceptive than he’d anticipated and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that yet. One thing he was certain of, however, was that when she smiled at him like that his stomach did this weird swooping thing and something warm blossomed in his chest. His mouth suddenly felt dry and he had to swallow once, twice before he felt like he could speak again.

Ah…shit.

Not trusting his voice to not crack and hoping his face wasn’t as red as he feared, Inuyasha merely nodded before disappearing down the hall.

Pleased her gratitude had been adequately conveyed and recalling how cute he’d looked while blushing, Kagome finally allowed herself to enjoy the breakfast Inuyasha had so generously provided. The sandwich was delicious, the coffee was the perfect temperature, and she didn’t know how he’d done it, but her attractive silver-haired neighbor had added the perfect amount of cream to sweeten it just how she liked it. The man was a Godsend and hell yes she was grateful that he was her neighbor and not someone else’s.

She’d just polished off the sandwich and was settling back into the cushions with her coffee cradled in her hands when Inuyasha reappeared and her eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise. He’d put all that glorious silver hair up into a haphazard bun and was in the process of jamming a black ball cap onto his head as he headed for the door. Kagome blinked. Was he leaving?

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked, watching as he shrugged on a leather jacket and grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter that divided the two rooms, similar to her own.

“Just gonna run a few errands,” he rumbled and double checked to make sure he had his wallet and phone. “Stay put. I’ll be back soon.”

Kagome frowned. “But—”

Before Kagome could even draw in the breath to gasp, Inuyasha was suddenly right in front of her and leaning down with his arms caging her on either side. Her eyes widened and her face erupted in color, butterflies taking flight in her belly as her heart skipped a beat.

Staring directly into her eyes and trying very hard to ignore how fucking wonderful she smelled, Inuyasha narrowed his eyes and growled, “Do. Not. Move. From his couch. I’ll know if you did. Capisce?”

Eyes side, Kagome swallowed thickly, licked her lips, and nodded.

Inuyasha’s gaze flicked to her mouth then back to her eyes too fast for her to process before he emitted a low grunt and pushed away. Kagome released a breath she didn’t even know she was holding and silently watched as he headed toward the door.

She bit her lip. “Inu—”

He stopped, jabbed at finger at her, and Kagome’s jaw clicked shut. Satisfied, Inuyasha opened the door and exited his apartment, closing the door behind him.

Kagome stared at the door and stayed put…for five seconds. Quickly, in case he came back for whatever reason, Kagome got to her feet and hobbled as fast as she could down the hall toward the bathroom.

Hey, it wasn’t her fault her bladder decided to tell her she had to pee right before he walked out the door!

#neighbors #part 2 #inukag #inuyasha #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag fanfiction #keizfanfiction

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