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nastybuckybarnes · 3 years

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Deep End - Five

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: He’s back. After all your best efforts at getting away, he’s found you again. And this time, he’s not letting you go so easily. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you to be his. Forever.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Language, Angst, Manipulation, Injuries,

Word Count: 3.2K

A/n: here we are, folks. What if I ended it like this lol that would be kinda gangsta of me LMAO

Deep End Masterlist

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

~*~

You push open the front door with a heavy sigh, setting the paper grocery bags down on the counter then resting a hand on your growing belly.

There’s a tiny flutter under your hand and you can’t help yourself from smiling.

The smile vanishes, however, when a hand grabs at your shoulder and forces you to turn around.

“Where the Hell were you?” Steve’s angry voice demands.

You look up at him in shock and confusion, looking over at the groceries.

“I-I just went to the store.”

He shakes his head, grabbing your face with one hand and stepping closer. You take a step back with each one he takes towards you, and soon enough he’s got you pinned against the wall.

His grip on your face tightens and you wince, fear overwhelming your body, making your heart race.

“Bucky said he saw you talking to someone. A man. Who was he?”

You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes.

“H-He was just asking me about my pregnancy. When I'm due, if I know what I’m having.”

It’s nothing but the truth.

“I give you freedom and this is what you do? You go and flirt with other guys? You’re my property. Don’t forget that.”

Your tears fall down your cheeks and into his hand, but he doesn't let go. Even as your chest heaves and sobs bubble out of you, he stays glaring at you.

“Please, Steve, stop. Y-You’re hurting me!”

His jaw flexes and he slowly lets go, only to cage you against the wall, slamming his fist against it in the process.

Your heart hammers in your chest, terror gripping you and freezing you in place as you remember what he did to Nat and her baby.

“I-I came home, didn’t I? I could’ve asked for help! Could’ve said something, but I didn’t. I’m here, again, even though I could’ve run away. I’m here. You have me! You have me.”

You slide down the wall, knees drawn up to your chest as you sob, the reality of your words and the fear doing a number on your emotions.

Steve’s anger slowly melts away, replaced with concern as he sees nothing but terror on your face.

“I-I didn’t mean to yell, honey. It’s okay, shh, come here.”

You don’t fight him as he pulls you into his arms and brings you upstairs into your bedroom, sitting you gently on the bed and pushing your hair away from your face.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, sweetheart I just... You gotta understand how nervous it makes me when you leave the house like that.”

You sniffle then slowly look up at him, your eyes bloodshot and tear-filled.

“Then why give me the freedom to leave?”

Your voice cracks and it makes his heart hurt.

“I... I want to trust you. That’s why.”

You take a few deep breaths, your eyes focused on your trembling hands as your heart starts to slow back to its normal rhythm.

“Ever since that night when Nat and Buck came over you’ve... you’ve been off. I’m worried about you, honey. I just wanna make sure that everything’s okay.”

He wants to know what Nat told you. What she said to have you acting like this.

Your eyes meet his, wet and full of fear as you whisper three words.

“Is it true?”

He has an idea what you’re referring to, and his heart picks up speed.

“Did...did you do it?”

He swallows hard and avoids your eyes, but that’s answer enough.

Some strange mixture of a gasp and a sob bubbles out of you, and you bring your hands up to cover your face as your shoulders start shaking again.

“I didn’t... I guess I did.” You sniffle and look up at him through your tears.

“If you want me to trust you... if you ever want any hope at having some semblance of normalcy, you’re gonna need to elaborate. I’m trying to play your little game but I just... I’m scared you’re gonna kill my baby too. That you’re gonna hurt Sarah.”

He shakes his head immediately, grabbing your hands and holding them softly in his.

“I would never hurt Sarah, or our new baby, okay? Natasha... she was becoming a liability. That being said, I didn’t go into it with the intention of hurting her baby but... I knew it could be a consequence.”

You wait for him to continue, your heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“When you burned the book... that wasn’t the only copy. Fury made sure there was at least one more, in case we ever needed it. Had his own group working on it, creating a new version of it. Natasha became a test subject long before I met you. Before I... took you.”

He drops his eyes and huffs out a sigh.

“We didn’t need to wipe her memory, we just... needed a way to make her more complacent. To make her realize that she can’t go off on her own and keep secrets like that. Especially when they involve you.”

Your chest heaves as you glare at him, your anger growing by the second.

“Did you kill her baby?”

The words are harsh like the crack of a whip, and he has to stop himself from flinching.

“It wasn’t my intention... but it was worth it.”

You choke on another sob, yanking your hands out of his grip.

“I didn’t know what the tea would do to her baby. It was just a mild sedative so we could get her to the facility and do the procedure. Get her to tell us where you were, where Sarah was. But then she... she started bleeding. I didn’t... I thought maybe it was just a side effect but then the doctors told us... (Y/n), you’ve gotta believe me. You need to know that I didn’t mean to...” he trails off and shakes his head, thinking about the niece or nephew that he could’ve had.

The son or daughter that he stripped Bucky of. The pain he inflicted upon Natasha. But he has you, so in the end, it was worth it.

You slowly look up at him, shaking your head.

“Why? You’ve done nothing but lie to me and hurt me. Why should I believe a word you’re saying?”

He swallows hard, reaching for your hand again only for you to yank it away once more.

“You want the truth? Fine. You’re not the first person that we’ve... taken. And I doubt you’ll be the last. Bucky... he had someone. Someone to help him control the soldier. But she turned out to be worse than him. We had to terminate her because she became a liability.”

He looks down at his hands, remembering how innocent she seemed. And then she snapped. Tried killing Nat and Bucky. Turned the redhead against them until Fury stepped in.

“Nat didn’t... agree with what we did. So we changed her mind.”

Your brows draw together in confusion.

He can’t mean... can he?

As if sensing your confusion, he elaborates.

“We didn’t do exactly the same procedure. But it... its function was the same. We needed her to forget certain things. To be our friend again while still remembering other things about the situation. And it worked. All I wanted to do this time was open her up to us again. Tell me where you and Sarah were. I never meant to hurt her baby.”

You shake your head furiously, tears dripping down your cheeks. “You’re a murderer. A disgusting monster. I hate you.” Your words are venomous and acidic, and Steve almost flinches at them, shaking his head.

“That’s not true, (Y/n). I love you.”

You laugh, the sound manic and for a moment Steve’s concerned.

“This isn’t love, Steve, this is obsession! It’s unhealthy! You’ve got me trapped here against my will! Y-You’ve hurt me and raped me and now I’m supposed to pretend everything’s okay? I’m supposed to play the good little housewife while you go around kidnapping and killing women? Killing other people’s children?! No!”

You stand up and try to move past him but he grabs hold of your forearm, rising to his feet with you.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His eyes are fiery as he glares at you, but you’re not nearly as afraid as you once were. No. You’re just angry.

You glare at him, rage burning through your body as you yank free from his grip and walk out of the room.

“You leave this house and I won’t hesitate to drag your ass right back!” He shouts.

But you don’t plan on leaving.

Oh no.

Why does he deserve his happy ending so much more than everyone else?

You turn to face him once you reach the top of the stairs, your heart in your throat at what you’re about to do. The damage it could cause.

At least it’ll get your point across.

“Why do you deserve a baby so much more than Natasha?” He furrows his brows, trying to figure out what your next move is going to be.

“I’ve given my life over and over for this stupid pathetic world. I’ve sacrificed my happiness time and time again. Do I not deserve something good?”

You take a deep breath and shrug.

“Maybe you do. But not like this.”

With that, you turn around and let yourself fall down the stairs.

Steve tries to grab you, he really does, but he’s just not fast enough.

He watches you fall, tumble down the stairs then lay still at the bottom, and for a moment all he can do is stare.

Memories fill his mind. Of you falling down the stairs. Then bleeding. So much blood. And your baby... gone.

He nearly falls down the stairs himself in his haste to get to you, two fingers pressing first to your pulse, then his hand is pressed against your belly, trying desperately to feel for the fluttering kicks you told him about.

It takes a minute, maybe two, and then he feels a small press against his hand.

He lets out a breath of relief then grabs his phone, calling the doctor.

~*~

When the doctor assures him that both you and the baby are okay, he’s relieved. But that only lasts for a moment before anger takes hold, powerful and persistent.

You can feel the anger rolling off of him when you wake up, and for a moment you’re afraid.

But hopefully, you got your point across.

He doesn’t deserve another baby. Not if that’s what he wants. He’s a terrible human being. And bringing a baby into the world with him as the father should be a crime.

“Where’s Sarah?” You ask, hoping to keep him as calm as possible.

“She’s having a sleepover with Morgan over at Tony and Pepper’s.”

You nod, your stomach dropping as you realize you’re alone in the house with him and he’s beyond pissed off.

Your mind races back to all the times he’s punished you in the past, and you almost throw up with the anxiety coursing through your veins.

“You ever do anything like that again and I swear I’ll make you regret it. I won’t kill you, no. My baby needs his mommy, but I’ll make you hurt. You’re lucky I’m not doing anything to you now.”

You swallow hard and look away from him in disgust, only for him to grab your jaw and force you to look at him.

“You need to stop acting out like this. I told you what happened to the last asset who became a liability. Fury shot her point-blank. A clean shot between her pretty eyes. Then he left her to bleed out on the bedroom floor while he fixed Nat’s memory. S’why she’s even still here and with Bucky. If she remembered what he did to that poor girl... she’d have killed him herself by now. But he needs to outlet to keep the soldier at bay. And he deserves her. Deserves some happiness in his fucked up life.”

You shake your head, disagreeing strongly with every word he’s spoken.

They're monsters. Natasha less so. A victim, like you, maybe. But the two soldiers? Monsters. Monsters who don’t deserve any happiness. They deserve nothing but a slow painful death and an eternity in the fiery pits of Hell.

“I told you, (Y/n), I didn’t mean to hurt her baby. If I’d wanted to, I’d be rubbing it in her face more. Showing off your pregnancy more. And if you think I’m gonna hurt our baby, you’re wrong. I would never hurt my babies. It kills me that you think I’d ever do something like that.”

“Can you blame me? You’ve already killed at least one baby.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks and you regret your words.

“You know what? I think you really need a reminder of your place, sweetheart. You’re mine. Maybe not my wife, yet, but soon enough. Until then, you need to know that you belong to me.”

His grip on your face is painful, but you don’t make a single sound.

No, he’s not going to win.

He doesn’t want to hurt the baby or cause unnecessary strain, so he can’t have you on your stomach like he usually would.

So he makes the most of you lying on your back.

He grabs your wrists and binds them above your head, hooking them to the ring on the headboard despite your struggles.

“Steve, no! Please! I-I... Don’t hurt me, please!”

He cocks his head to the side, watching you wriggle and strain.

“You’re mine, (Y/n). You belong to me. There’s no one in this entire world who��ll help you. You’re my property. It’s time you realized that.”

A sick smile spreads across his face as he remembers what made you obedient last time.

“You know, I think I know exactly what you need.”

He climbs off the bed and drops to his knees, rooting under it until he finds his special black box.

You wriggle away furiously, trying to break free before he can hurt you, but deep down you know it’s all for not.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he sits back down on the bed, worming his way between your thighs and flipping your dress up over your extended stomach.

“Please don't,” you whimper uselessly.

He strokes your inner thighs gently, then leans down to spit on your centre.

You flinch away, tears leaking from your eyes as you realize what he’s going to do.

“Please don’t,” you repeat, only to be silenced by him pushing something far too big inside of you.

You cry out, your back arching and sending shoots of pain up to your scalp. The added weight of your baby makes everything ten times more painful, and you can't stop yourself from sobbing as he forces every last inch of the thick dildo into your unprepared cunt.

It burns. Fire spreads from between your legs up your spine and the tears don’t stop.

“Stop! Please! I’ll be good!” He knows you won’t. Or, he just doesn't believe you. You want the pain to stop but you’re not actually willing to change your behaviour for it. Not yet. But you will.

When the dildo is finally fully inside you, he climbs off the bed and shoves the box back underneath it. He adjusts his pants then walks to the door, pausing to look at your trembling figure on the bed.

Your shoulders shake with sobs, and he feels pride swell inside of him.

Good. Now you’ll finally learn.

“You’re gonna stay here until you learn your place. I don’t care how long it takes. When you’re ready to apologize and be a good girl, then we’ll talk. But until then...” He shuts off the light and pulls the door closed behind him, leaving you alone, in pain, and in the dark.

Memories of the last time this happened stab at your brain, and you quickly start hyperventilating.

What’s worse than that, though, is the tiny voice in your head telling you to get off your back. That it’s not good for the baby if you stay like this.

But no matter how much you scream or cry for him, Steve doesn’t come to the door once.

~*~

He leaves you there for hours, or maybe days. It’s so hard to tell.

The room is soundproof, so no one can hear your cries and you can’t hear anything outside.

Even if people could hear you, it doesn’t really matter now.

You’ve been on your back for so long that you’re starting to get dizzy.

During your first pregnancy, you learned only that it’s bad for the baby to sleep on your back. You didn’t think you’d be feeling the effects of it, too.

But here you are, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, mind spinning and lungs struggling to pull in enough air to satisfy you.

It must’ve been several hours ago that Steve left if you’re feeling such strong effects of it. You’re not sure what the technical term is, but you know that you probably don’t have much time left. Your baby has even less.

Your heart aches. Each beat makes sadness bloom in your soul and you can’t stop it.

New tears fall down your cheeks, and all you want is to reach down and caress your belly, apologize to the life growing inside of you.

Apologize for hurting them, for who their father is. For the life you’re bringing them into.

Nobody deserves that.

But now... now you might not have to worry.

Every passing second sends the walls around you spinning faster and faster and faster until all you can do is let your eyes fall closed.

Sleeping will probably make it better anyway, right?

As the darkness creeps up, seeps into your limbs and chases the pain away, you pray.

You’ve never really prayed much before, but you do today.

You send a prayer to any and all Gods, the old ones and the new, and you ask for forgiveness.

You pray for the safety of your unborn child, and for that of Sarah.

A deep part of your brain knows that you may never open your eyes, and you want your daughter to know that you love her. That she means the world to you and you’ll do all that you can to protect her.

Thinking about Sarah brings a wave of strength seemingly out of nowhere, and for a moment you wonder if the Gods heard you. If this is them sending their aid.

You take a few deep breaths, building up as much strength as you can, and try your luck one last time.

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as it should be, and the room is so thickly padded that there’s no way he can hear you.

Hopelessness floods your body and you fall into it.

Your sorrow distracts you from the darkness until it takes hold of you and pulls you down, away from the world of pain that you’ve been trapped in.

And you feel peace.

#Dark Series #dark!fic #dark!au #dark!steve #dark!fanfiction #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x you #dark Steve rogers #dark steve #dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #Steve Rogers x reader dark fic #steve x reader dark fic #Steve rogers x reader dark fic

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a-is-for-abel · 3 years

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“It’s a very odd sensation, standing over your own grave.” prompt from @givethispromptatry

Crows barked, throaty and dry, from their perch high in the gnarled branches of the tree at the head of the cemetery. The letters etched into the granite before him shined and the heavy mist settled over his shoulders, oppressive and thick.

He counted the crows in the tree, a rhyme coming to mind as the black winged birds called into the fog. "One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral… Four-- Four for..."

A funeral… His brow furrowed. The name on the gravestone drew him back in and he eyed the letters. Bells from the steeple of a church coughed in the distance.

"It's a very odd sensation, standing over your own grave." He turned to see a man leaned against a tall gravestone, a lit cigarette in his fingers. "But you seem to be taking it rather well."

The man flicked a lick of hellish embers off the end and took a long drag. Smoke trailed from his lips and curled over his salt-flat empty eyes. "Say, you haven't died before have you? That'd make this a bit awkward-- See, I don't really do the whole doing someone else's do-over. Those contracts tend to get a little messy, if you know what I mean."

Dressed sharply in a suit jacket and trousers to match, the man didn't stand out quite that oddly against the backdrop of a graveyard. However, with no procession, he was out of place without the rest of the mourners to stand shoulder to shoulder with.

It was even harder not to notice the way he stood a little too tall, a little too pale, and a little too thin...

And the eyes--

He couldn't remember having ever seen eyes like that. Though, he also really couldn't remember how he had gotten here either.

The man frowned, cigarette dangled from his lips. "You're not very talkative are you. That's gonna make this a little hard if you don't at least start asking some questions."

"Who are you?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Ah, there it is-- Everyone always starts with that one. Never a 'where am I, how'd I get here', it's always the who are you?" The man shrugged. "I got a lot of names, kid. Just make one up, it'll probably be better that way."

Paul. It was the first name that came to mind, risen like the valleys of weathered hands and deep-set wrinkles the name brought with it.

"Paul?" The man hissed, eyes scrunching as he flicked the cigarette onto the ground and ground it out with the toe of his dress shoe. "Wow, you're real bad at this. Look, I'll settle for something like, uh-- How's Paal sound? Good? Great."

Even as Paal dismissed it, he tried to latch onto the name Paul and the hands that came with it. Somehow, he knew those hands had shown him how to hold a chisel and carve with the grain and not against it. That they had smoothed down his hair and lain flat against the crown of his skull as the other drew a new line against the door jamb, and he had childishly smiled at the inch gap that had grown between it and the old one below.

"Well, now that we got names out of the way--" Paal reached into his coat and pulled free a scroll. "Let's get down to business."

The parchment unfurled with a dry cough, ink dripped over the page and rearranged itself into letters that shimmered, ruddy and wet.

"So, for starters, my contracts are pretty straightforward. I don't do all that funny business the others do." Paal pointed to the second line. "The overall payment is going to be your eternal soul, of course. The only exception I'll make here is if you can name something of equal value and I also deem said thing of equal value. Now, don't get all excited. Not a lot of things add up to a human soul. Unless you'll be trading someone's else's soul as your payment. Simple math and all of that."

His eternal soul? He looked at the cross atop the gravestone and wine-dipped stained glass and the pulpit of a church flitted to the forefront along with it.

"We on the same page here? You look a little lost?" Paal asked, tilting his head.

"Sorry, I just--" He furrowed his brow. "Am I dead?"

Paal pointed to the grave. "Is that your body in there?"

"I--" He looked at his hands. "I think so."

"I wouldn't say I'm a genius myself, but I think we can both put two and two together here."

He grit his teeth. "Right…"

"Fantastic-- Now, onto the good stuff." Paal pointed further down the parchment. "So, in exchange for said eternal soul, I grant you a few things. First off, you get to get up on your own two feet and walk out of that grave. A pretty good deal, right?"

"Deals go two ways."

"See, now you're catching on--" Paal pointed at him and then tapped the next line on the scroll. "Alright, so it's pretty damn expensive to bring a soul back to life. Maker's got an idea in mind and tampering with that's always gonna cost you a little extra."

"Do you mean money? I don't exactly..." He held his hands out, the empty state of his pockets hopefully obvious.

Paal laughed. "Money? What the hell am I going to do with money? No, no, no-- I need a favor."

"A favor?" He asked, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah! A favor. something pretty simple, actually. But to get that body back and with all your precious little memories intact, you gotta do something to pay for that. More than just signing off your soul, that is."

"And who exactly am I paying back?"

Paal grimaced. "You're asking questions you really don't want the answers to, kid."

"Fine." He rubbed at his jaw. "What's the favor then?"

"Bounty hunting. Or collecting, I guess?" Paal gestured vaguely. "Whatever-- Basically, a few folks deferred on their contracts and I need to collect on their souls a little early."

"How early is early?" he asked, squinting.

"Well, I'd say I'm a pretty generous dealer. I give you about how much worldly time you should've had-- Had things not gone absolutely shit for you." Paal held up a finger. "So, in this case, I'd be collecting these souls well before they croak from becoming all ripe and old like they normally would've."

"So, I get my life back..." He chewed the inside of his cheek and glanced at the cross on the gravestone. "Is that it?"

"Is that it?'" Paal mocked and then grinned. "Look at you, already driving a hard bargain."

"You wouldn't have come to me if my soul wasn't worth something."

"Did you come to that astonishing conclusion all by yourself?" Paal said flatly.

He glanced over the demon.

Or devil... Or whatever hellish equivalent he was supposed to be. The lack of the classic horns or even a tail made it hard to pin any kind of fiendish charm to him. Besides the eyes and the pallor of someone who's never seen the light of day, he looked rather ordinary...

And his memories, few and far between-- muddled even-- like he was reliving them from underwater-- As unreliable as those memories were, he still remembered sitting upon a pew in a sun-washed room, a pastor at the head of the church, attesting how the devil would always wager in ways that would seem fair and just, but never were.

"What else do I get?"

"Greedy, aren't you? Fine." Paal rolled up the scroll part way and pointed at a line halfway down. "You can't die. At least while you're contracted under me to collect souls. If you call on me and I deem the request reasonable enough I can and will help you. Think of it like, uh-- Praying to a guardian angel. Except I'm absolutely nothing like that and I'll actually show up."

"And collecting on these contracts? What does that entail?"

"Killing them, for starters." Paal said simply. "I can't exactly grab their souls when they're still kicking around like that. And a lot of them have found ways to sort of, eh-- protect themselves from me. But you're just a bag of bones, maybe a little bit juiced up when I'm done with you, but you'll be human enough."

He didn't feel like picking that last aside apart too much. "So, you want me to kill for you?"

"Yes."

"How exactly?"

Paal flicked his hand and the scroll snapped out of sight with a thwick. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled free a revolver. Six-shot, shined, scarred with engravings up and down the muzzle and wrapped around the barrel. Handle a bone-white ivory, pale and unblemished.

Paal held it out to him. "With this."

Dropped into his palms with little fanfare, he cradled it, as if a newborn lamb. He glanced up from the gunmetal shine after a beat. "I can't shoot."

"Oh, you won't have to. You just have to aim." Paal formed his fingers into a mock-gun and pointed it at his forehead before mouthing ‘pow'. "It does all the hard work for you. Unless you're into that kind of thing, then by all means I'll take the training wheels off of it and let you do the trigger pulling."

"No…" he swallowed, careful to keep the muzzle pointed away from himself. "Training wheels is fine."

"Fantastic. Do we have a deal then? All of this--" Paal gestured to the whole of him. "--for the meager, one time price of doing a simple chore for me."

He stared flatly.

"And your eternal soul after you've lived a long and happy life, but that's just semantics," Paal laughed, waving him off.

He tilted the gun in his palms and glanced down at his pockets. It wouldn't exactly fit very well… "Is there a holster?"

"Oh, right--" Paal patted his chest and fished around in his suit jacket before drawing out a belt. "Here. It's a bit used, but at least it's already worn in, right?"

Mottled stains scattered the edges of the leather belt and where intricate markings had been stamped and tooled into the holster itself.

"Thanks…" he said, pinching it between two fingers while trying to find a good way to hold the pistol with his other hand.

"Woah, don't sound too grateful there, champ," Paal said. "You'd think I wasn't about to do you the biggest favor of your life."

He paused in his inspection of the holster and gave Paal the flattest look he could muster.

"Get it?" Paal's grin dropped. "Not a funny guy then… Noted."

Finally, managing to holster the gun he slipped the belt around his waist and fumbled with the buckle before fastening it. "How exactly do we seal the deal?"

"Eager, are we?" Paal held out his hand. "Just shake my hand and that's it. None of that writ in blood nonsense."

He wrinkled his nose.

Paal flexed his fingers and held his hand out further. "Look, if you really need me to draw up a traditional contract and give you a copy, I can do that too, but it's dreadfully boring and I do enough paperwork as it is. I mean, what do you have to lose, honestly? You're already dead. I'm just offering you a second chance… and a little bit of revenge."

"Revenge?"

"No one ends up dead in a ditch with a pack of dogs eating their face without being fucked over somewhere along the road."

"I don't…" He knitted his brow. "It's hard to remember."

"Oh, it'll be like that for a bit. It gets better once we get everything settled. Trust me though, you've got quite the bone to pick with someone back up there. And I for one would love to see how it all pans out."

"This is a form of entertainment for you," he said flatly, eyeing the still outstretched hand.

"What's the harm in mixing business and pleasure?" Paal smirked. "Plus it'll be fun to see what you do."

"Can you not bring back the memories now?"

Paal tutted. "That's quite expensive, and we haven't made a deal yet."

"How do I know I even want to go back then?"

"Does it even matter who you were before if you get a re-do?"

He looked at the name on the gravestone. "Won't they recognize me?"

"Oh, no-- Uh, see, you're not going back into your original body." Paal grimaced. "I can only repair so much and those dogs really did a number on you."

"Great…"

"Don't worry though, I got a good one picked out for you. Close enough to be uncanny even. Just some little differences, barely noticeable."

He grimaced.

"Don't you humans love taking leaps of faith? What's with all the hemming and hawing? What happened to all that stupid recklessness?"

"Not all of us are stupid."

Paal groaned. "I would get stuck with the biggest coward this side of the Mississippi."

'Look, it's lil' yellow-bellied Bern!'

'Just take it from him. He's not gonna do shit-- He'd flinch at a fly if it looked at him wrong.'

'Pa said he's soft. That his own daddy made him like that.'

He blinked, flinching and scrunching up his eyes at the sudden, sharp jab that needled at his skull. "I'm not a coward."

"Then take my hand."

His head pounded, and if he really was dead he wondered why he could still feel that out of everything. If the sweat pricked along the back of his neck was more memory than actual sensation, or if the way his tongue had grown heavy in his jaw was all made up too. He eyed Paal's hand and the discolored fingernails, the sheet white skin, the odd scarring along the knuckles and on the palms.

'Leave and don't you ever come back here. And if I ever see you again, you'll be begging the devil to take your soul from me first.'

He grit his teeth, fingers curling into fists.

The voice bit across his cheek like knuckles, like blood on his tongue and smattered across his hands. It curled like snake oil and melted wax, like the dust settled over the rafters of an ever empty church and like floorboards stained with drying flecks of rust.

He reached for Paal's hand and Paal grabbed his wrist instead, wrapped his fingers around him and squeezed, hard enough he twisted with the motion. Paal didn't budge, no matter how he pried at him, and the hand burned-- Burned the way laying your palm across a sheet of ice stung and wormed its way deeper and deeper the longer you left it there.

He stumbled as Paal released him, clutching at his wrist and hissing. "What the hell?"

"Part of the contract. It'll fade in a second."

The burning stopped and when he let go of his wrist, a coiling band of white took its place. Sat snugly, flat and lined with black, was an ivory snake wrapped three times about his wrist. The head of the serpent rested along the heel of his thumb, eyes a nearly translucent blue. It faded, still standing out against his skin, more like an impossibly pale tattoo and less like the actual snake it was a moment ago. His arm ached dully with it, like he had come in from a long frigid day, and his fingers cramped as the feeling returned to the very tips of him.

"Oh, right-- You'll be needing bullets." Paal grabbed his hand and dropped a freezing piece of metal into it.

More followed as Paal fished around in his suit jacket for them. At the fourth one Paal paused. "What was that little rhyme you were doing before I arrived? I rather enjoy that one. The ending is always my favorite."

He watched where the bullets settled in his palm. The casings a blood-red ebony and the bullet itself the shade of bone.

"And four for birth…" Paal dropped another bullet. "Five for heaven..." Another. "And six for hell," Paal said with a smirk, manually curling his hand around the bullets and patting it. "Now keep track of those, they're not exactly easy to make."

He didn't tell Paal that he didn't finish the poem, that there was still one more line that needed to be said to complete it. Instead, he pocketed the bullets.

"Walk with me a sec--" Paal grabbed his shoulder and nudged him forward.

They meandered along the lines of graves, passing headstones that varied in shape and size, some cared for, with flowers and candles and even worn sepia photos left at their feet. Others were less fortunate. Grown over, dulled, and abandoned.

They stopped before one with a less modest headstone. A large stone cross jutted up from the top and an angel carved above the name of the soul that was laid to rest below their feet.

"You know, I really do think this is the start of a great partnership..."

He raised a brow.

"Marcus J. Bern--" He flinched at the name, not expecting it to fall from Paal's mouth so casually. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

He hesitated, shoulders drawing up, hand coming to rest on the gun at his hip. "Uh, you too…?"

Paal smiled, like he found that amusing. And he hadn't noticed how sharp his teeth looked until he was staring the oversized canines dead in the face.

"Now--" Paal said, placing his hands on his shoulders, dusting them off before squeezing lightly. "This might hurt a bit."

"What--"

Paal shoved him.

He fell and fell and the earth swallowed him whole.

Dirt and silt and death surrounded him. Impossibly endless and vast, the grave didn't catch him as it should have. And the chill that bit at his limbs gnawed feverishly, right down to the core of him until he felt a yell clog up with the hallowed ground packed against his tongue. Further and further he descended, gut flipping and twisting with him, until he thought this would be his new forever. That Paal had lied to him, and he would simply be doomed to free fall for the rest of eternity, until all returned to dust as it had once emerged and longer still.

Light broke up the darkness overhead and he reached for it, arm outstretched. The white snake coiled around his wrist writhed and burned at the first touch of it and dripping with pale ichor, his veins stood out a ghastly silver against him. A venom coursed through him as it wound further and further down, closer and closer to where his heart had thrummed to life and kicked against his ribs in a fevered fit. He clutched at his chest as the ground-- as something-- hurtled towards him.

Breath slammed into him with a rattling gasp and his eyes shot open.

Blinded, he blinked and squinted against the grace of a new day, trembling and shaking where he had woken upon the dirt. The cross of the gravestone cast a merciful shadow over him and he could see the tangled fingers of the tree beyond it.

Raucous caws chorused above him. A murder of crows dotted the grey sky overhead, having flighted from their perches high in the dead limbed oak.

One, two, three, four, five, six--

"And seven for the devil, his own self..." he muttered, hand falling to his hip and the gun now holstered there.

#writeblr #creative writing #writing #prose #prompt fill #original work #my writing #fiction #demons #gothic vibes #this is technically me testing out these two for a longer novel idea #the prompt just happened to fit really well #its a bit long but it got away from me #hell's comin' with me #making that the official tag for this i guess in case i ever expand on the two of them and the world etc #thank you for the prompt!!

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dreamingofaizawa · 4 years

Text

Short Stack

Okay, so I recently started a series called Saving Her Sanity, and I had only gotten one part posted. But the more I reread it, the more I really hated the way I’d written it. So I’m postponing that and starting a different series. It’s gonna be a real rollercoaster ride of emotions, so buckle up.

Pro Hero! KiriBaku x ProHero! Fem! Reader

**18+ Fic**

Warnings: Angst, fluff, habitual self-harm, dissociation, swearing from obvious sources, alcohol. Coming up in later parts: smexy times, biting kink, double penetration, unprotected sex, more angst, traumatic past (but not super detailed cuz I can’t handle that shit my heart hurts already)

Word Count: 6.9k

Author’s Note: Alright folks, the reader is a fucking savage and stronger than the fucking hulk cause why the fuck not? Tbh body type isn’t discussed, the only thing is that she’s short af and the angry pomeranian and redhead boulder are freaking giants. Also, everyone’s in their mid-late twenties here.

Part 2 - Part 3

Enjoy the read!

You dove out of the way of chunks of concrete, barely making it behind the corner of the alleyway. You took off sprinting, hopefully drawing the villain away from civilian activity. Thankfully he chased after you, onto an abandoned street, out in the open where you had the upper hand. Twirling around, you materialized a scythe and swung it straight at the enormous arm coming at you, nearly chopping off the villain’s fist completely.

He stopped in his tracks and howled in pain, giving you the opening you needed. You charged him and dropped to the ground, taking his legs out as you slid under him. A chain materialized in place of the scythe and you wrapped it around his ankles and his undamaged hand, hog tying him in place. You’d only been fighting the villain for about five minutes, and backup wasn’t going to be there for at least another two, so you put a quirk cancelling cuff on him and began to wrap his bleeding wrist to keep him from bleeding out.

As you waited for backup, you sat down and leaned against the villain, who’d passed out from blood loss, and tended to your own wounds from the encounter. Backup arrived, but it wasn’t what you expected. Instead of police, stomping toward you was none other than the number two hero Ground Zero. His vermillion eyes glanced between you and the villain that was quite literally twice your size, and the expression on his face looked ever so slightly confused at the scene he was witnessing.

He stopped at your feet, glaring down at you for a few seconds, looked back at the villain, then back at you, and when he opened his mouth to speak the most absurd thing you’d ever heard came from his lips.

“How the hell did you do that?”

You looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, slightly irritated at the implication behind the question. Without a word, you stood up and dusted the dirt off your butt. You walked a few yards away, pulled out your phone and dialed the police, making sure they came with a vehicle that could fit the huge villain. When you turned back around to face Ground Zero, you didn’t expect him to be so close to you. He leaned down so you were face to face, narrowing his eyes at you and letting out what sounded like a growl. “I don’t like being ignored, dumbass.”

You rolled your eyes and glared right back at him. “Well I don’t like to be undermined, Ground Zero. I may be small but I can handle myself in a fight.” And it was true. You were very small, at a whopping 5 feet tall (152 cm). His eye twitched and jaw clenched, and you could almost see the steam coming from his ears. Before he could retort, you saw something being launched from behind him. You swung your leg under him and pinned him to the ground just in time to dodge a manhole cover as it whizzed above your heads.

Without hesitation you launched toward the second villain that appeared and quickly had him immobilized and cuffed on the ground next to the first. You turned back to the number two hero, who was still on the ground watching you with wide eyes. You walked over and held your hand out to him, offering to help him up. To your surprise he actually grabbed your hand and let you pull him to stand. He didn’t let go of your hand, instead looking at it, bewildered.

“Can I have my hand back?” you looked at him blankly. He blinked a few times before releasing his grip. Soon the police arrived to take the villains, and once they left, you began to walk back to the agency since your patrol had ended a little while ago. Ground Zero ran after you and grabbed you by the wrist, turning you around to face him.

“What’s your name?” You raised an eyebrow at the man. “My hero name is Inventory. Now If you don’t mind, I’ve got paperwork to fill out.” He let go of your arm and walked alongside you. You knew why he was walking with you, seeing as you worked as a hero at his agency. As you walked into the building he turned to you with a quizzical look. Without even glancing in his direction you gave a small sigh. “Why am I not surprised that you don’t even know I work under you?”

He seemed slightly shocked. He made it a point to know who was working for him. After all, he couldn’t have anybody screwing up his agency’s reputation. Somehow, though, you’d managed to slip under his radar. Though considering your stature, hero rank, and the fact that you hadn’t made a single mistake since your debut, he figured he’d just brushed you off.

After you filled out all your paperwork, you changed out of your hero costume and into workout clothes and hit the agency’s gym. Like you always did, you went straight to the separate room reserved for sparring, expecting to have to go back out and find a partner. Today, though, you didn’t. As you entered the room, there was a certain angry blonde and a very muscular red-haired man sitting against the wall.

“Well if it isn’t short stack” Ground Zero called out to you. Well that’s one way to get you mad. You tilted your head sharply to one side, then the other, your neck popping loudly as you took a deep breath to calm your anger. “Hello, Ground Zero. I didn’t expect you to be in here. I’ll just leave you to it then.” The irritation seeped into your voice as you turned around to leave the room.

Of course, the jackass had to go and say something else. “What? You too scared to spar against me? Am I too big for you to handle?” God damn it. You both knew you had taken down much larger opponents than him, and you knew it wasn’t very smart to fight your boss, but at this point you were pissed. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath through your nose.

He stood up and began stalking towards you, his heavy footsteps ringing in your ears. You dropped your duffel and whirled around, walking to him and meeting him in the middle of the room. At least sparring was only hand-to-hand combat, because you knew he’d easily overpower you if he could use his quirk. But you trained almost exclusively in hand-to-hand, because your quirk wasn’t combat related.

As you dropped into your fighting stance, he narrowed his eyes at you, clearly confused at the odd stance you were in. In all your years of training, you had developed your very own fighting style. He quickly shrugged off his confusion and put his arms up in front of his face, ready for whatever you were about to throw at him. The two of you stood there, waiting for the other to make the first move. As predicted, his patience ran out and you easily ducked and dodged the first few quick jabs he threw.

He kept throwing punches, each one a little more intense, and you could see he was getting irritated from how you were dodging every single one. Soon enough he was lunging at you with each punch he threw, his anger getting the best of him. Five minutes of him punching and you dodging had him fuming. You hadn’t even thrown a single punch. Still, it was a game of cat and mouse with you dodging everything he threw.

The whole time he’d been aiming at your face and shoulders, keeping his strikes high. But suddenly he launched at you and his right fist aimed straight for your stomach. Got him. You planted your right foot and spun counter-clockwise, grabbed his wrist with your left hand, grabbed his shoulder with your right, and used his own momentum to fling him over your head. He landed on his back with a thud, all the air pushed out of his lungs from the impact.

You knew he’d have to take a few seconds to get up from that, and that meant you won the match in a single move. You stood over his head, smirking down at him. He glared up at you with eyes wide as saucers, wheezing from the throw, and the redhead cackled from his spot against the wall. You kneeled down and hunched over, your noses inches apart, and said, “Still think you’re too big for me to handle?”

Staring down at him, you stood again and walked over to the redhead. “Hi, I’m (y/l/n) (y/n), hero name Inventory.” You introduced yourself and held your hand out for him to shake. He took it and introduced himself as Kirishima Eijirou, a.k.a. Red Riot. You walked back over to Ground Zero and once again held your hand out to help him up. This time, he slapped your hand away and got up himself. “The name’s Bakugou Katsuki,” he said, scowling at you.

Kirishima got up and came over, “Come on Bakugou, don’t be a jerk just cause you lost. Sorry about that (y/l/n), he’s just prideful.” You chuckled lightly, waving it off, “It’s fine. I’ve heard ALL about Ground Zero’s friendly personality and peppy attitude. Anyway, It’s been fun, but I should get going.” Kirishima stopped you before you could walk away. “Hey, (y/l/n), we were gonna go out for drinks after this, you wanna join us?” You looked over to Bakugou, who didn’t give any input, choosing instead to glare at the corner. “Sure I’ll meet you outside in ten.”

You picked up your duffel and went back to the locker room to change into your civilian clothes. The bar was only a couple blocks away, so you all left your stuff in your cars and walked over. Bakugou didn’t say anything the whole way there, still wallowing in his humiliating defeat. You, being the smartass you are, decided to poke the bear.

“Stop sulking Bakugou, I haven’t lost a sparring match since high school. Besides, if we were to use our quirks you’d most likely win the match. You don’t gotta be all depressed about it.” His head snapped toward you and his hands popped and crackled at his sides. It was probably meant to scare you, but you only put your hands up in mock surrender.

When you got to the bar you all ordered your drinks and sat down at a booth. Kirishima looked at you and started asking questions. “So, (y/l/n), if you’re so sure you’d lose to Bakugou’s quirk, what’s yours?” You answered him like you answered everyone else who’d asked you the same question. “Basically, it’s like an inventory in a video game, hence the hero name. I can “store” things in a pocket of space and materialize them whenever I need them,” then you held out your hand and materialized your car keys and cell phone.

His eyes went wide and he started gushing about how cool and convenient that is. Meanwhile, Bakugou just rolled his eyes and mumbled “showoff” under his breath. Kirishima elbowed him and told him to behave, making you giggle at the dynamic of the two. Despite being at a bar, the only one that drank any alcohol was Kirishima. What really shocked you was that he was a terrible lightweight, and getting him to walk back to the agency was proving extremely difficult, because he was leaning nearly all his weight on you and Bakugou didn’t bother to help.

In fact, Bakugou was busy snickering at the sight of you trying to keep Kirishima from stumbling out onto the road and taking you with him. You’d be lying if you said Kirishima wasn’t heavy, but years of weight training and hero work pays off cause you could easily squat over 200 lbs even if you were tiny. So about a block from the agency, you’d had enough of trying to keep Kirishima from falling over and you just stopped walking.

Kirishima was too out of it to notice. But Bakugou turned and started teasing you for not being able to handle the weight. You just rolled your eyes at him. Before Bakugou could move and take him off your hands, you took a deep breath, and hauled Kirishima onto your shoulders in a fireman carry. Bakugou’s jaw dropped, and he froze in place, just staring at the scene in front of him. That both annoyed you and made you extremely proud, cause you just impressed the number two hero. You were sure the scene was at least a little funny, a giant hanging off your tiny frame, but you ignored it.

Once you had Kirishima secured on your shoulders, you started the trek to the agency. Again, Bakugou was completely silent, but you could tell it wasn’t because he was sulking. Once you were back at the agency, Bakugo led you to his car and got Kirishima settled in the back seat while you stretched out your arms, popping your shoulders and neck. You were about to say bye and head back to your car when Bakugou stopped you.

“Thanks for carrying him. It was impressive. Unexpected,” he said, not making eye contact, “And the match earlier…You did good. I haven’t been beat that bad in a while.” It almost looked like he was blushing, but it was so subtle you couldn’t tell. You smiled softly at the compliments. “Thanks, Bakugou. I had fun. I’ll be going now.” You turned to walk to your car, but he stopped you again. “Oi, short stack!” You froze at the name, and turned around with a sickly sweet smile on your face, “Yes, Bakugou?” “What’s your number?” It was your turn to be shocked. But you got over it and recited your number to him as he punched it into his phone.

When you got home it was just after midnight, so you got ready for bed and lay down to sleep. The next few days passed relatively quickly, occasionally running into Kirishima or Bakugou. There wasn’t any villain activity in the area, and your gym time was productive. You got a couple of people to spar with you when you needed it, and spent any extra time weight training.

The next day you were off, just like every day you had off, you went straight to the agency and hit the gym. You spent a solid hour at the punching bag and went to go spar again. This time there were five others in the room, which was extremely rare. Normally the room was empty. Two pairs were already going at it, so you asked the fifth if she wanted to spar.

You’d already worked up a sweat at the punching bag, but you needed the spar, so instead of finishing quickly you made sure to take a couple punches and throw a few before ending the match. You kept the same partner for a few matches, winning each one, and soon the others were watching as you won two more rounds.

The partner you’d been sparring with tapped out to get water, and someone else quickly took her place. You immediately jumped into another match. And then another. And another. Soon they tapped out as well, and by then there were a few more people filing into the room to watch. It confused you, because you’d never seen more than ten people in the padded room, but you ignored it and began another match with yet another partner.

After another few rounds, your new partner tapped out, and you decided it was time to get some water. But it wasn’t until you stepped back out into the center of the room that you realised nobody else was starting a match. Nobody else was sparring with anybody, all their eyes locked on you. As you looked around the room, you noticed it was getting crowded with people, all your previous opponents had already left, and a new opponent stepped out to challenge you.

Now this was strange. Even with your opponent getting into his fighting stance, you looked around the room, confused as to why there were so many people. You dodged a jab, snapping your attention back to your opponent. Well that was a dirty move. At his next swing you ducked under his arm, lunged to his side and swept his legs out from underneath him, ending the match before he could even blink. Playing dirty gets you knocked the fuck out as far as sparring goes for you.

The crowd that had gathered cheered at the quick takedown, and yet another opponent stepped out. You lost track of time, sparring dozens of different opponents, never losing a single match. If you began to tire all you did was end the match quickly to regain energy. After you went to refill your water for what must have been the 20th time, you checked the clock. It was already noon. You’d been sparring for five hours.

When you went back into the room, another opponent waited in the middle. You apologized and said you had to leave, and the crowd dispersed within minutes. You showered and changed, and as you left the locker room you got a text from a number you didn’t recognize.

Oi short stack, what are you doing right now?

Correction, you knew EXACTLY who this was.

You:

Just got out of the gym. Why?

Bakugou:

Where?

You:

At the agency

Why?

You didn’t get a reply, but you didn’t need one, cause Bakugou was waiting for you outside the building, sitting in his car, with Kirishima in the passenger seat. “You haven’t had lunch yet right?” Bakugou asked. You shook your head no. Kirishima spoke this time, “Great! Let’s go eat, I’m starving!” Bakugou rolled his eyes and told you to get in, and you chuckled as you got into the back seat.

During the ride Kirishima asked about your day, and you told him about the strange occurrence while you sparred, with a crowd forming to watch and people popping out of nowhere to challenge your winning streak. “Wow (y/l/n)! You still haven’t lost? I should spar with you and see if I can win!” You giggled at that and agreed to spar with him next time. And you kept reiterating how strange it was that there’d be so many people in the room at once, when normally there’s only a handful at a time.

They both questioned it but soon shrugged it off as Bakugou parked the car in front of the sushi restaurant. Lunch was a whirlwind of Kirishima asking you questions, you asking them questions, and Bakugou bickering at Kirishima when he ignored Bakugou entirely. It was fun seeing the two so close. Eventually the conversation rounded back to your sparring matches earlier.

“So how long were you there? If a crowd formed you had to have been at it for a while.” Kirishima asked, trying to figure out how long you’d fought people. You answered sheepishly, a bit embarrassed that you’d lost track of time so easily, “Well...when I checked the clock it’d been about five hours.” Both of them froze, staring at you with wide eyes. Your face burned and you took a sip of your water. Bakugou was the first to talk. “You’re a fucking beast.” Kirishima’s expression went from shock to concern. “Are you ok? Like, how are you not passed out right now?”

You assured him you were fine, and explained how much time you spent in the gym nearly every day, even after patrol. Your gym time only seemed to surprise them more, and after they told you about their gym schedule, you realised just how much time you spent in the gym, and the more you thought about it, the more you realised how lonely you were.

Kirishima seemed to catch on to your stress and smoothly changed the subject. After lunch, Bakugou drove you back to the agency, and Kirishima asked if you wanted to go to their place for drinks. “Sure, as long as I don’t have to carry you again,” you laughed. Kirishima turned and looked at you, his cheeks nearly as red as his hair. “Wait...you carried me?”.

Bakugou barked out a laugh. “Yeah shitty hair, she threw you over her shoulders and hauled your wasted ass back to the car.” Kirishima’s face somehow burned brighter and apologized profusely, but you waved it off. “Nah, it’s fine! Besides, if Bakugou wasn’t being such an ass I wouldn’t have had to carry you. I just got sick of trying to keep you standing upright while he snickered at me being short.” Bakugo scoffed. “Well you’re definitely not tall.” “I don’t need to be to kick your sorry ass.”

At that Bakugou went silent and Kirishima exploded in a fit of laughter. “Put a sock in it shitty hair! And you!” Bakugou glared at you in the rearview mirror, “I’m gonna beat your stubby ass next time!” You looked at him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Ground Zero?” He growled at the mention of his hero name. “Yeah short stack, it’s a fucking challenge.”

Soon the car parked in the parking garage, and you all went up to their shared apartment. It was spacious, and very modern. Bakugou pointed out the bathroom and went to the kitchen to grab three bottles of beer. The three of you settled into the living room and the conversation went just like lunch did. Most of the questions were directed at you, and you answered honestly.

The questions were generic and friendly, what you like to do in your spare time (besides going to the gym), your favorite foods, colors, your likes and dislikes, your pet peeves. After the first round of questioning you’d only got through one bottle of beer. “Hey, what other kinds of alcohol you got?” you questioned Bakugou. He got up and listed his menu from the kitchen. You asked him for a glass of the cream liquor, and he returned with a glass filled with the liquid.

After hours of aimless conversation and a few more glasses, you found yourself slowing as the alcohol permeated your system. That was your signal to ask for a snack and water, and you stopped your intake of alcohol. Bakugou caught on to your self cut-off. “You don’t need to limit yourself. We’ve got a spare room if you need to stay the night, and if you need to call in tomorrow the agency has plenty of people to take over your patrol.” His statement shocked you, and you looked at him like he was crazy.

He spoke again, “If you’re cautious about sharing a place with two guys, Kiri’s nearly wasted already, he can’t do shit, and if I were stupid enough to do anything I’m sure you’d kick my ass before I got within a foot of you. As for tomorrow, both of us are off, and like I said, the agency is not short-staffed. And i’ve got meds if you’re worried about a hangover, and I don’t mind lending you clothes if you need them.”

You were stunned. Completely and utterly bewildered. But he made good points, so you decided to take up his offer to spend the night. “You know what, I’ll stay. But I'm gonna slow down with the alcohol, because hangovers are a bitch to deal with even with painkillers.” And with that, the three of you continued talking. Soon Kirishima passed out and Bakugou hauled him into his room. Surprisingly enough, when he came back out he actually engaged the conversation.

He asked about your fighting style, how you developed it, how long you trained. Most of his questioning was about your physical strength and tenacity, nothing personal. But then he asked why you spent so much of your time in the gym instead of with friends. And you answered honestly and bluntly, probably mostly because of the alcohol. “To be honest, I’m not much of a social butterfly. I don’t really have friends, because I don’t ‘make friends’ with people. In fact, you could call me antisocial. I don’t really like talking to people. I don’t speak unless spoken to or unless speaking is necessary.”

And he only dove deeper. “Why not? The world too scary from down there?” he teased. You laughed darkly at the comment, choosing to drain your glass of alcohol in favor of answering the implied question. He looked at you and raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“You avoided the question.”

“Well it wasn’t really a question, just a jab at my height again”

“Yeah, and you didn’t jab back.”

You huff, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about.”

“Just drop it Bakugou.”

“I won’t drop it. Not until you give me some kind of answer.”

“Are you always this insensitive or is it just the alcohol?”

“Spill it (y/l/n).”

“Ugh fine! But I’m not giving you any details.” You crack your knuckles, take a deep breath, and a long drink of water before you talk again. “I used to like making friends. But all the friends I made turned out to be liars and fakes. I was used. A lot. After a while I finally had enough, so I stopped approaching people. I decided if people want to be in my life they can approach me. I got good at reading people, and I shut them out fast if they weren’t good for me.” You sighed, praying that was enough to sate Bakugou’s drunken curiosity. It wasn’t.

“And if people approached you with the intention of using you? If you read them wrong?” he pried. Screw it. You already spilled this much right? Might as well get it out. “I got really good at pretty bad things. I don’t usually read wrong, because I’m suspicious of everyone that walks into my life.” Internally, you prayed that was enough for him. “What kinds of bad things?” Well that’s unfortunate.

“Things like eavesdropping. Spying. Hiding. Manipulation. Lying. Deceit. Long story short, I have trust issues. It’s easier to keep people at arm’s distance than make friends that could hurt you.” At that, Bakugou goes quiet, his eyes studying your face. And you stare back at him, waiting for the judgement that comes with opening up to people. Waiting for the ‘maybe you should openup more’ and ‘just give people a chance’. But his answer is unexpected. His face softens ever so slightly as his eyes lock onto yours, his voice low, soft and somewhat comforting. “Sounds rough.” You look away, trying to keep your breathing steady, not giving tears the chance to fall, “I’m gonna turn in. Good night, Bakugou.”

Moving quickly, you disappear into the spare room and curl up into the bed sheets. Why the hell are you crying? You’d talked about this before. So why now, of all times, are you suddenly sobbing into your hoodie, clinging to it like your lifeline? You try your best to keep quiet, hoping the only other person awake doesn’t hear you. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you hear the door handle turn, and you freeze, closing your eyes and steadying your breath, going completely silent in mock-sleep. It was a technique you’d perfected long ago, turning off your emotionsin order to avoid confrontation.

You hear heavy footsteps, knowing who it is that just stepped in. He was the only other one still awake. You feel the bed behind you dip, and strong arms curl around you and turn your body, burying your face into Bakugou’s solid chest. His deep voice rumbles softly in your ear. “I know you’re not sleeping shorty. I listened through the door and heard you crying. Just let it out.” And before you can stop them, the tears you’d willed to disappear begin to pour down your face. So you sob into his chest, his arms tightening around you as your entire body shakes.

Soon you’re drifting into sleep, your body giving in to exhaustion. You’re in a deep sleep, and Bakugou stays there, holding you, until the last hiccups subside. He leans away to look down at you, and brushes strands of hair away from your face. “How long has it been since you’ve cried, princess? How long since you bottled up those emotions inside you?” He questions your sleeping figure. He presses a soft kiss into your forehead, gets up and tucks you under the blanket before silently leaving the room and going to bed.

When you wake up, your eyelids are heavy and swollen, making it hard to open them. You tenderly massage them open, remembering the reason they’re so puffy and sore. Despite the discomfort of your eyes, you feel refreshed and light, a weight lifted off your chest that you didn’t know was there in the first place. No, it was more like it’s been there for so long you’d gotten used to the pressure. Slowly, you sit up and blink away sleep.

You check the clock and it’s 8 am, a couple hours later than you normally get up. At the foot of your bed is a set of folded clothes. You quickly change out of the clothes you slept in, and into the t-shirt and sweatpants that you assumed were Bakugou’s. As expected, they’re giant on you, but they’re comfortable, and they smell like Bakug-- NO. Stop. You shake the thought out of your head as quickly as it came and go out to see if either of the guys are up.

You quickly get your answer when you see Kirishima lounging -- freaking SHIRTLESS -- on the couch. Talk about eye candy, damn. Like sure, his hero costume doesn’t exactly hide anything, but it’s different when he’s laying across a couch in nothing but gray sweatpants. Again, you clear the thoughts before they screw you over, and greet him. “Hey (y/l/n) how’d you sleep?” “Pretty good, thanks. I’m surprised you’re up so early Kiri.” He laughs at the observation, “Yeah. Bakugou got me up a little while ago and I couldn’t go back to sleep.” Yeah, that makes sense. You nod and make your way into the kitchen, and as expected, Bakugo is there.

“Good morning Bakugou,” you greet him. “Morning shorty. How’d you sleep?” You answer with the same reply you gave Kirishima a few seconds ago. You lowered your voice a little and leaned slightly toward him, “Thank you, by the way. For last night. I really needed that.” He just nods, focusing his attention to the fridge to find breakfast. Satisfied with that, you turn and head back to the couch and chill with Kirishima until Bakugou calls you to the table to eat.

You ask them what they do on their days off, and today the plan was just to stay in and lounge around the house, not doing much of anything and just relaxing. So, that’s what you did. As the hours passed, you found yourself liking the company of the two men, despite their imposing size. You didn’t feel small with them. But the question lingering at the back of your mind was why? Why were you so comfortable around them?

Thoughts buzzed around in your head like a hurricane, mixing with the doubt that they were in any way comfortable with you, and the fear that they were only using you for what men always seem to want. Soon you were telling yourself all the bad scenarios that would end in them leaving you all alone again. You didn’t even know them all that well, but you had become attached and were already bracing yourself for the inevitable loss of the two. The memory of crying to Bakugou last night swirled into your mind and wouldn’t disappear.

You were spiraling into a panic like you always did when people got close. But it was hidden, suppressed, contained. Whenever you panicked it never showed, the only telltale sign being your sudden need to scratch the soft flesh on the inside of your elbow. You hadn’t scratched in so long that any previous wounds had completely healed over, the only evidence left were small patches of discoloration, only evident if you stare long enough. That was about to change as your nails dug furiously while you stared off into space.

Kirishima was the first to snap you out of your spiral, grabbing your wrists and shaking you out, calling your name frantically. Your senses began to drift back, and the next thing you noticed was the sting on your forearms and the light stain of blood on your nails and fingertips. Your eyes drifted from your wrist up to your inner elbow, and you winced at the sight of blood seeping out of the shredded welts. It looked like it should have hurt more than it did.

“Bakugou! Get the first aid kit from the bathroom! (y/l/n)’s bleeding!” Kirishima called out to him. You heard quick heavy stomps and a curse from the blonde before he came over to examine your arms. He looked at you, and you looked back at him, still dazed from your inner turmoil. He knew from that look you were out of it. Instead he questioned the redhead to ask what had happened while he was in the kitchen figuring out what to make for lunch.

“I don’t know! I was watching tv and when I turned to ask her something she was staring off into space and scratching at her arms! She was bleeding before I even turned and I grabbed her before it could get worse.” Bakugou clenched his jaw and went to get a wet washcloth to clean up the blood. You were watching this all unfold before you, still not quite attached to reality. When he returned, he put the cloth on his lap and grabbed your face in his hands, stroking your cheeks with calloused thumbs. He called your voice, attempting to ground you, and didn’t stop until you finally took a few quick breaths and blinked, answering him with a small ‘sorry’.

He grabbed your wrists, which Kirishima had already released, and spoke to you in a hushed tone, but still strong and intense. “(y/l/n) I need you to listen to me. Are you allergic to anything? Anything at all?” It took a few moments for you to regain your mental balance, but you shook your head. “No. Nothing.” He let out a soft breath and with that he began to clean and dress your arms, wiping away blood and cleaning your fingers and nails in silent concentration.

By the time the entire ordeal was over, the different sensations from the sting of the alcohol wipes to the cool ointment and the soft gauze had grounded you completely. As Bakugou went to put the first aid kit away, Kirishima reached out and gripped your shoulders, looking over your face and into your eyes with tender concern. “You okay little pebble?” He moved his large hands so they rested at the sides of your neck, his thumbs gently brushing at your jaw.

You blush lightly at the endearing nickname and the new sensation of his hands. Leaning slightly into one of his palms, you nod. “Yeah, I’m okay. I don’t really wanna talk about it, but I’ll be just fine. I just got distracted.” He looked at you with a face that said he didn’t believe your excuse, but he’d drop the subject because you asked him to. Letting his hand release you, he gives you a toothy, mischievous grin. He leans in closer to you and nearly whispers, like he was about to reveal the world’s biggest scandal.

“That was the most gentle I’ve ever seen Bakugou. Thanks for bringing that side out of him,” he says, flashing another smile. You giggle a little at the thought of the explosive male being gentle, not quite believing it if you hadn’t been subject to it. Then you remembered why he’d been there, tending to the wounds you’d subconsciously inflicted on yourself. Your eyebrows knitted together lightly, remembering the spiral and being shaken out of it by a panicked Kirishima. When Bakugou came back, you grabbed one of their hands in each of yours.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you say softly. After a few moments of silence, you decided you owed them an explanation of some kind. “And thank you for catching me. The scratching is a nervous habit when I’m stressed. I thought I got rid of it, but obviously I haven’t. It’s been a long time since it happened last, and it was triggered by my own drifting thoughts. It’s purely subconscious and I don’t realize what I’m doing until the pain becomes too unbearable and snaps me back to reality.”

By the end of your explanation, the two were looking at you with concern and understanding. Kirishima gently smiled, and Bakugou’s features relaxed, when you squeezed their hands appreciatively. The comfortable silence was suddenly broken by a low growl. You laughed at the comedic timing of your stomach and glanced at the clock. It was just after 12:30, and Bakugou got up to go make lunch. After eating you asked to wash your clothes, and asked to use the shower. Kirishima got you a spare towel and plastic wrap to cover your newly dressed forearms. Five minutes under the hot water and you were already feeling suffocated. The steam clouded your lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe.

You knew you had a problem with hot water. You always have. Jacuzzis were never relaxing for you, and you loved the cool water of the ocean the deeper you dove toward inky blackness. You turned the handle in the shower, letting the water turn cold. Your body shivered slightly from the sudden temperature change, but quickly relaxed as the cold water washed away all the stress from a few hours ago.

When you had finished up you went to go relax on the couch again, settling into the space between the two. Now with your mind clear, you began to wonder something that you probably should have wondered a while ago. How tall were they, really? They stood over a foot taller than you, so they had to be at least 6 feet tall. You looked from one to the other, your head swiveling back and forth, before you decided to just ask them.

Bakugou barked out a deep laugh, “Why you wanna know shorty? Finally realizing how scary we look from down there?” You rolled your eyes at him, but he answered anyway. “I’m 6 foot 4 (193 cm).” Kirishima looked down at you and beamed, “I’m 6 foot 6 (198 cm).” Bakugou scoffed, and you giggled at the blonde getting upset over height. Suddenly you bounced up from the couch and turned to the two, barely containing the thought that suddenly popped into your mind. Out of the two, the redhead seemed like the more likely to carry out your request, so you turned to Kirishima with wide excited eyes and a lopsided grin like a kid in a candy store.

“Can you carry me?!” you blurted out a little too loud. Kirishima blushed hard, and then you realized how ridiculous the request sounded and rushed to explain. “Sorry! That sounded weird right? I just wanna know what life looks like from that high up! I’m only 5 feet tall so…” you rambled a little before Kirishima laughed and stood up. “Sure little pebble.” He turned you around and squatted down, put his left arm around your waist and right arm against your thighs just above your knees and told you to lean back and sit on his arm.

Once you were seated snugly, your back pressed against his chest, he stood up and you gasped a little from the new angle. The floor looked so far away, and you knew that if Kirishima decided to hold you by your armpits your feet would dangle a foot from the floor. Bakugou looked up at you from the couch and scoffed. “Alright shitty hair, put her down before you drop her and she breaks her legs from the fall.” Your hilariously rebellious brain took that as a challenge. You smirked at Bakugou, his eyes daring you to do exactly what you were thinking. But before you could move he looked at the redhead behind you, and the arm around your waist tightened as he reached to grab his right bicep. He slightly activated his quirk, locking you in place.

“Aw, c’mon! You’re no fun! I’ve jumped from buildings before and landed perfectly fine!” You whined as you squirmed in Kirishima’s arms. Both of them laughed at your struggle, and once again, your brain instantly settled on ‘challenge accepted’. You quickly surveyed your surroundings, going about the best way to escape Red Riot without damaging any of the heroes’ property.

Before either of them could react, you materialized quirk-cancelling handcuffs and clasped one side around Kirishima's left wrist. The instant it went into effect, you brought your foot up and back down into the redhead’s stomach just hard enough for his grip on you to loosen up. When his right arm dropped to grab his abdomen, you slipped down along his body, grabbed the free cuff on your way down and snapped it around the leg of the coffee table, Kirishima landing flat on his ass with an ‘oof’.

Once again, Bakugou just stared in shock. You crossed your arms and smirked at him, “What was that about dropping me, Bakugou?” He was silent. Kirishima chuckled from his spot on the ground. “Damn, you’re a sneaky one little pebble.” You turned back around and took a deep bow. You materialized the cuff’s key and released him, storing them back in your quirk’s storage space. Finally recovering from his shock, Bakugou looked at the time and said, “Alright, short stack. Let’s go spar.” You turned to him and spoke what your brain had thought only moments before. “Challenge accepted.”

#kiribaku x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #kirishima bnha #bakugou bnha

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crystalessenceswrites · 3 years

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Heyyy I wanted to submit a f!reader x commander wolffe request. I was wondering if you could do #18 ("Are you wearing my shirt?") and #13 ("Touch yourself for me.") from your smut prompt list (or one or the other or both in one fic ahah srry if its a lot to ask)? Anyways, I love your work thanksss~

Thank you lovely!! Means a lot to hear folks are enjoying my writing!! Two prompts is totally fine and thanks for these two, they worked really well together. I hope you enjoy!

Sorry for the wait on the follower celebration requests all, writers block decided to hit at the worst possible time.

Commander Wolffe x fem!reader Rating: E (18+) Warnings: explicit sexual content, masturbation, fingering, very light d/s tones, praise kink if you squint, Wolffe is a smug ass

Another cycle another credit. Well, that would be the case if any of you were getting paid for fighting in this Maker forsaken war. Instead, you and the rest of the Order traversed the battlefields in the name of peace, surrounded by men born and bred to fight and die for the Republic. The harsh reality of it all was beginning to rub you raw, leaving you with a pounding headache as you stalk away from the bridge. Anger. Frustration. Desperation. Emotions not befitting of a jedi. Emotions that leave you reeling.

It is automatic. Returning to your own quarters does not even cross your mind. You find yourself keying in the code to your commanders’ quarters through muscle memory. The one place in the universe where you can find solace these days with the one person who understands. Your mood drops a little more when you find the small space empty. He had left the debrief on the bridge before you, so you’d assumed he’d be waiting. You’d seen the recognition flash in his golden eye during the meeting, he well knew what kind of mood had settled over you. Hopefully, he wouldn’t leave you alone for too long.

With a sigh you start to shed your layers across the small space. Boots at the foot of his bunk. Plastoid bracers on the desk next to his neatly stacked holopads. Robes over the back of the chair. Clones don’t truly own anything but what Wolffe did have to call his own was always well kept. Armor cleaned and polished after every mission. Blasters maintained at the end of the day. His greys hang perfectly pressed in the closet, just in case. His two extra pairs of blacks folded with an unnatural precision. A precision you promptly destroy when you go digging though his trunk. Even after an industrial wash cycle his shirts still smells like him. If you could not have him right now, his clothes would have to suffice.

The oversized article does soothe some of the raging storm in your head. Climbing into his bunk you try to let the silence lull you into something akin to meditation, a half-hearted attempt to sort through your emotions like they taught you back at the temple. It was so much simpler back then without the future of the galaxy hanging in the balance. Before you considered breaking every rule for him. Maker how your world had flipped upside down since this war started.

Lost in your mind you do not catch the hiss of the door sliding open or the heavy footsteps cross the small room. The deep rumbling voice though, that snaps everything into place.

“Mesh’la, are you wearing my shirt?”

You’re not sure why he asks, there’s no denying it when you’re sitting in his bunk in nothing but his shirt and your underthings. Wide-eyed you nod up at him, toying with the hem resting across your thighs.

“Stealing my things now, cyare?”

Well, you would not call it that, “borrowing.”

The corner of his lip quirks up as his gaze stays pinned on you. It was nice to see him in such a good mood. Hopefully it would rub off. “For some reason I don’t believe you,” he chuckles.

You pout, though Wolffe is not fazed in the slightest. Not that a big lip and doe-eyes ever fazed him. He could be as stoic as he needed to be when he was in the mood to tease. And judging by the smirk growing on his lips he was more than in the mood.

“Tell me, cyare, why exactly are you “borrowing” my shirt?” setting down his bucket he pulls a chair up so he’s sitting across from you, eye trained on your curled up figure.

“I missed you.”

He flashes that smirk again, “oh really?”

You nod, watching him grow smug.

“Then why don’t you show me how much you missed me? Touch yourself for me.”

Heat rushes over you at Wolffe’s command. The things this man could do to you with a few words and a look. Biting your lip, one hand drags down your stomach, a small attempt to tease the commander for a moment as you toy with the hem of your panties.

Wolffe grunts and holds out his hand, “give them here.”

With another doe-eyed nod you slide the damp garment off, placing it in his waiting grasp.

“Good girl. Now show me that pretty pussy, cyare.”

Shifting back so you’re leaning against the wall you spread your legs wide, giving Wolffe an unobstructed view of you now sopping slit. His unabashed groan sends shivers down your spine.

“Go on, touch yourself for me.”

He does not have to tell you twice. With one hand you drag your fingers through your folds, coming up to circle your pearl. With the other you paw at your chest through his blacks, twisting and pinching your nipples just like Wolffe liked to do. It does not take long for the coil to build deep in your core. Wolffe’s heated gaze only turns you on that much more. He follows every movement, every gasp that falls from your lips, every touch that has you squirming under your own ministrations. Slipping one finger, then two, into your aching hole has him humming in quiet appreciation. Your head falls back against the wall as you reach so desperately for that spot to relieve the pressure.

“What’s wrong, cyare?” he smirks, leaning forward as if he needs a better vantage to watch you whimper from, “can’t cum?”

No, you can’t. Your fingers have nothing on his thick digits. No matter how you try you cannot seem to fill yourself the way he does. “Please, Wolffe. In need you.”

His grin is downright feral as he stalks towards the bed. With one swift movement the clone has you pinned beneath him; legs spread as he swats your hand away. Without preamble he plunges two fingers as deep as he can reach while his thumb attacks your clit. Everything about his touch is overwhelming and you gladly surrender, mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he brushes up against the spot you’d been so desperate to find.

“Look at you, mesh’la,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, “so greedy for my fingers. Taking me so deep.”

“Oh fuck, Wolffe!”

His mouth trails hot and heavy down the column of your throat, nipping and kissing the soft skin as he continues to wreck you with his fingers. You’re helpless to do anything but grip onto his shoulder, nails digging into scarred skin as you pant and writhe beneath him.

“Think you can take another, cyare?”

The thought alone has you whimpering for him. “Y-yes.”

“Good girl,” he growls, adding a third digit at your weeping entrance.

The stretch alone sends you straight to the edge, the coil in your belly ready to snap and plumet you into bliss. “Wolffe- I’m gonna-”

“Do it,” he presses all three fingers against the spongy spot inside you with a come-hither motion, finally breaking the damn, “cum all over my fingers, ner jetii.”

White hot pleasure rolls over you in wave after wave as you flutter around his fingers. Wolffe doesn’t pause for a moment, continuing his thrust as you ride out the high. Always relentless in prolonging your pleasure. He does not pull away until you’re boneless and speechless.

“That wouldn’t have anything to do with why you missed me, now would it?”

Smug bastard. Rolling your eyes, you attempt to squirm away from his hold.

“Ah ah-” Wolffe clicks his tongue, refusing to let you escape- “I still gotta show you how much I missed you, cyare.”

#wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe imagine #tcw #tcw imagine #nsft #x reader #requested #crystalessences writes

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simpingforthisonedeer · 3 years

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Chapter 11: Sons & Daughters

SFW version here

Summary: Holly is involving herself in things she shouldn't be, like telling the Wizard King he is doing necromancy. Aika plays matchmaker and then has tea with Lord Silva. The Captain of the Royal Guards "greets" Aika and the faceless assassin from the final battle returns. 6563 words

Notes: Heyo folks! Im back 😎 I stopped waiting for the Spade arc to finish so I’m posting now. It’s gonna be really fun from here on out cus we’re slowly easing into the plot so I can’t wait😋

Tagging: @ckjwnnbc @thoughtfullyrainynightmare @lyranova @elysianluv

“Good Morning, Julius!” She chirped from where she was seated on her mother’s lap, completely unaware of tension.

A smile lit up his face. He was truly happy to see her again. He faintly wondered if he would get an opportunity to ask about her magic.

"Good morning, Holly! How wonderful to see you again! Are you here to spend the day with your mother?"

"No, I'm about to go to the CLK headquarters to go see Uncle Fueggy, and Leo!" He raised a brow at the name. Uncle Fueggy?

"Good morning, Julius," Aika greeted as casually as she could as her arms tightened around Holly.

His face softened when he looked up at her. She felt her face heat up under his gaze. It always seemed like he was looking through her.

"Good morning, Aika." His low voice raised goosebumps on the nape of her neck. "I just wanted to inform you that I will be touring the bases and will hold a conference with the Captains. I was wondering if you would like to accompany me? It would be a simple way to come out of the shadows as well, now that your amulet is gone," he explained, his voice the epitome of neutral.

She ushered Holly off of her lap and stood up as she clasped her cloak pin, slight regret crossing her face,

"I’m sorry, Julius. I have to go settle a territorial dispute between the city-states Roma and Amor." While it wasn't necessary to provide details, her Uncle recommended that she tell him minor details of her company to encourage Julius to trust her more about his own work.

She had only noticed after Master Raymond pointed it out but Julius may tend to seem casual and open but that was just part of his charm. He asked a lot of questions but rarely ever revealed any details about himself but most people don't notice it because he was so charismatic.

"What does that territorial dispute have to do with you?" Holly grumbled as she crossed her arms. She wanted her mom to come visit Fuegoleon instead. It’s a big achievement becoming captain! It’s like becoming a general.

Aika layed a gloved hand on her head as a small smile crept up her face.

"My company owns a big part of the land they're fighting over so it's a matter of who I will be paying the taxes to." Holly was always very aware of her mother's work and it was all so fascinating. She was glad she explained this stuff to her in a way she could understand. She hated not knowing things.

Aika looked up and addressed Julius again who was listening in interest.

"Then, I would have to have tea with Lord Silva, and hopefully finish that before I have to go introduce myself again to the Royal Guard who take lessons from me once a week. They don't remember me because of the amulet I used to have."

"Oh! I've heard about some faceless teacher giving lessons to the Royal Guard from Master Raymond." Julius touched his chin thoughtfully. "He told me it was you...It was the amulet you were wearing right? Would they even remember your lessons if they couldn't remember your face?"

"Yes, and of course. They only don't remember the identity of their teacher." She tilted her head when she noticed the time. "I must be going now," she announced as she pulled out her communicator. “I will talk to you more when I return.” Aika brought the device up to her mouth. "Ellie, to Roma please." A portal opened up next to her. "I'll see you later, Julius. And Holly," she gave her a stern look. "Behave yourself. Don't bother Fuegoleon too much, okay?” She sighed. It was his first day as Captain but he permitted Holly to come visit him anyway. She worries how much he showed favoritism towards Holly. “And no mischief,” she added.

Holly nodded somberly, suppressing a grin. It was perfect that Julius had walked in when he did. While it wasn't necessarily mischief, she needed to inform him of something that may be considered a bother in her mom's books. She may not exactly like him yet, but this was important. It was her very first, very real mission.

"Yes, mom. I love you!" She blushed when her mom gave her one of her infamous headpats. "Be safe!"

Aika smiled down at her daughter. "Of course." She nodded at Julius who winked at her in response. She blushed as she shook her head and ported away.

"Julius?" Holly called seriously, her face turned away from him. He briefly feared that that wink may have been too much in front of her.

"Yes, Holly?"

"Are you going to the Crimson Lions Headquarters first?"

He raised a brow.

"Yes. How did you know that?"

She turned around with a mischievous grin.

"It's the closest base to the capital, so logically you would go there first."

"Wow!" He didn't expect deductive reasoning from a 10-year-old.

She smiled proudly.

"So, could I come with you? I'm going there too and I want to tell you something."

That piqued his curiosity. She had something to tell him?

"That mark you and mom are wearing on your forehead." She tapped her forehead. "Do you know what that is?"

Julius stilled at her words. Should he even be talking about this?

"It's a mark from a magic item," he answered cautiously.

"Yeah, I overheard. But do you know what the rune actually means or represents?"

"Er, no?" Where was she going with this?

"Well, the Nordic runes, the Hebrew alphabet and the Star of David are derived from the six-rayed star."

He quirked his brow again. He never knew that and it was fascinating information that he could delve into. But why did she sound so serious?

"The top part of the Tree of Life, also known as the Tree of Sephiroth or Sephirah is also derived from the same rune."

Julius's eyes widened. The elves who used to live near Hage worshipped the emanations in the Tree of Sephirah. Was the Swallowtail their relic? But the first Wizard King had a log of how he invented it so was it inspired by the elves?

"Any magic related to the Sephirah is life magic, used in resurrection, necromancy, reincarnation etcetera etcetera. It's forbidden magic."

Chills swept through him. Oh. Now that she put it that way, that was exactly what he was doing wasn't he? He reasoned that it was so that he could revive himself but that was technically necromancy, wasn't it?

"Mana and life essence are one and the same and you are storing your mana in it right? So that means you are storing your life energy," Holly narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. "And also, there are elves in other countries who might find it a great offence that you are wearing Sephira's mark, especially when you don't worship it." She looked pointedly at the cross he wore.

"How do you know all of this?" He asked as he mirrored her suspicious gaze.

"My mom's old teacher, who is now my teacher, is an elf and a High Priest of Sephirah. He told me. He knows a lot about the divinity part of forbidden magic. And in order to learn about the light, you need to know the dark so yeah, he knows about all of this." She walked past him towards the door leading to his office. "But please don't tell my mom I know because she doesn't want me learning about the darker parts of forbidden magic yet."

He followed Holly into his office, thinking about how surreal this all was. A ten-year-old was just casually telling him off about necromancy and religion.

"Then why are you telling me this?"

"Because the Triad in the Spade kingdom and their Devils would target this kingdom more aggressively if they knew that someone was bearing the mark that represented the antithe—" She wrestled with the word. "Antithesis to them." She raised her arms defensively. "I'm just telling you what my teacher told me." He was a prophet for Sephirah. Someone who had also achieved Enlightenment, which granted him the ability to bear the Image of God, Imago Dei, and not go blind or insane. He and the other Enlightened Ones would receive direct orders or visions from God that they must carry out. He told her that she needed to tell Julius Novachrono that he must be wary of the mark on his head. When she asked him why, he told her it was more for her sake than him but the message must be relayed nevertheless.

His words worried Holly because did that mean she must be wary of the mark too? She worshipped the sun gods which were emanations of The God so they will be merciful towards her if she made a mistake. Right? Holly wasn’t so sure.

After all, there was no law dictating that God must be fair.

Julius stared long and hard at her. That was very heavy information for a child to bear. And how did her teacher know all that information about the Spade Kingdom? Why did he want to relay it to him? He needed to think on this because there is a very real threat from Spade that could kill him and if he had no way to come back, who was going to protect Clover Kingdom? He needed to keep the mark.

"Alright." He said simply. He would think about this later. "Who's Uncle Fueggy?" He asked with a bright smile, changing the topic. A child shouldn't dwell on such things.

Holly blushed at that question, ignoring the bizarre way his mood quickly switched up for now.

"Fuegoleon played with me a lot when I was a kid so it's a habit," she explained sheepishly.

"Oh, is your family close to the Vermillions?"

"Well—" Her mom did not want her to tell anyone about her and Mereoleona unless she said so, so she couldn't say anything. "You have to ask my mom about that."

"I see..." Julius did remember the tense looks former Captain Leonardo and Aika shared. There seemed to be some history. Well, he could ask Fuegoleon himself when he goes to their base. If Holly wanted to accompany him, he doesn’t see a reason why she shouldn’t.

He proffered his elbow to her with a dashing smile. "Shall we go?"

Aika landed unsteadily on the study floor as she tossed her cloak and folders on the desk. Ellie followed behind her, eyes blank and wide as she just tried to process what she just witnessed.

"Are they going to be fine...?" She asked, pointing shakily at the shrinking portal behind her.

Aika leaned on her desk as she pinched the bridge of her nose, staving off an oncoming headache.

"Of course they're going to be fine. The two kings are in love with each other despite how much they fight."

"What?!”

“Yes. It is obvious to most of the officials in the room, myself included.”

“I—” Ellie sputtered in shock as Aika continued.

“Usually, I don’t play cupid but in a show of unity they were trying to impose both their taxes on me and I can’t have that. Our branch on the disputed land is a small one and it would go bankrupt if they did that. So I did the next best thing. I paid the wait staff and guards off so that they would direct the two kings to the same private lounge when they adjourned for recess and lock them for the entirety of the break.”

Ellie gaped at Aika and her crazy idea.

“They’ll either talk it out or kiss and make up.”

“...But how would that help us?”

“This plan could only work because I have a good rapport with both the kings. I proposed a plan where they could split the money from one single tax evenly between themselves. If they talked it out calmly and away from prying eyes, they would go with my plan. If they kissed and made up, their first compromise together as partners would be to go with my plan as well because they are both favorable towards me. They were only being unfair because of the tension between each other, not with me.” It was guaranteed that it would go either way. She didn’t play fair and not use her Time Magic with her own company. She could see what choices she could make that could lead to a favorable outcome for her and her company.

She knew what investments to make, where to take risks and where to back down, but only if she could think up various solutions to her problems. If she couldn’t think of any plan, then her foresight would offer her nothing.

She could only see if the plan that she thought up works or not but her foresight couldn’t offer her a plan itself because there technically would be thousands, if not millions, of ways any situation could play out. If she had visions of all of them at once, with the information overload, she would be dead instantly. She has to come up with a plan herself and confirm its success. It was better that way because it kept her sharp.

“What if the—er, tension between the two escalated to a physical fight?”

Aika plopped down in her armchair with a sigh. She had thought of that as well but she didn’t need to worry about that.

“Even if they did have a fist fight, I’m not worried because those two would not go to war over personal vendettas. I think it would relieve some stress between them actually. In the end, they will calm down and end up compromising on my idea. So either way, whatever manifests in that room, hate or love, I’ve no doubt they will be coming out of it a little bruised,” she smirked as she crossed her legs.

Ellie let out a laugh at her boss’s suggestive look. Aika was relieved she could reassure her. She tended to worry too much about such things. Evan, Jayce and Ellie do not know that she used Time Magic. So they sometimes wondered how she was so sure about her decisions. After years of wondering, they just chalked it up to forbidden magic.

"Ready for round two?" She asked, referring to the tea they were about to have with Lord Silva. Ellie hummed affirmatively as she shook her head in amusement.

"I have only been as far as the gates to the Silva Mansion. Is that alright, ma'am?"

"Yes, Ellie. That is perfect." They quickly freshened up and stepped into the portal and the grand gates of a white, picturesque mansion came into view. With it's steeples, domes, and solid, white brick walls, it would be more appropriate to call it a castle. Daunting gates made of black metal framed tastefully by green vines slowly swung open when their feet touched the cobblestone.

Aika and Ellie shared a cautious look and took the first step forward together.

When they reached the burnt, spruce wood doors, Aika stared at the tacky gold eagle door knockers in exasperation. Ellie reached for them without a second thought and knocked twice, the loud noise startling Aika. The spatial mage looked at her apologetically as the doors seemingly opened by themselves to reveal the Lord of the house standing in the middle of the foyer, his back ramrod straight, hands linked behind him as an ever-present scowl eased into a bored expression in some resemblance of courtesy.

"Welcome to my home, Madam Tolliver and..." His gaze landed on Ellie. "And uninvited guest," he sneered as he took in her appearance. It was obvious that she was a commoner and even worse, a foreigner. Her big, red eyes, soft nose, and plump lips all encompassed by skin as dark as the sea stood in direct contrast to his features. The only trait they seemed to share was the snow white hair that seemed to shine with an otherworldly glow.

Aika cleared her throat when Ellie's brows furrowed to glare back at the older man.

"I hope you don't mind my maid accompanying me. She's a close associate of mine that assists me in anything I need."

Lord Silva's eyes snapped back to hers as he pursed his lips.

"She may wait in the gardens. The matters we are going to discuss are rather... delicate."

Aika turned to her and nodded permissively. There was no reason for her to stay. She could simply go back to the headquarters but the more area a spatial mage covers, the more places they could travel to, and the more valuable they would be. It would be...advantageous for her to be able to travel directly onto the Silva property if she needed to for any reason.

A servant led Ellie away while Lord Silva motioned her to follow him. She side-eyed the paintings she passed by, but one in particular made her pause mid-step. It was undoubtedly the painting of Acier Silva. It was gigantic as if to immortalize every detail on her beautiful face and the frame was grand and ornate. Lord Silva stood stock still next to her, looking up at his former wife with eyes full of utter adoration and heartache.

Aika looked away, allowing him to have his moment.

When she noticed his feet move away, she followed him, putting that little moment of vulnerability behind them.

He led her to a well-lit sitting room with big windows and a view to the gardens that was breathtaking in the afternoon sun.

Aika faintly wondered how Holly was doing.

Another servant poured them tea and quickly left the room, leaving them in tense silence. She looked out into the garden, clearing her mind and bringing the tea to a much more lukewarm temperature with her magic.

"I apologize for my behaviour on that day," Lord Silva said evenly. She turned to him with slightly raised brows as if she had just noticed his presence. "Whether it was wanted or not, you saved me and I should be grateful to you for that."

"Should be," meaning he wasn't.

Aika looked pensively into her cup.

"Tell me, sir," She peered up at him through her lashes. "How many children do you have?"

He stared at her for a moment, lips parted, before he finally answered,

"Four."

"Have any of them struck your mind before the earth struck you?"

"Excuse me?"

She took a sip.

"I'm sure you need no repeating."

"How dare you ask me such a personal thing?!"

Lord Silva's voice raised several notches, immediately setting Aika on the edge but she restrained her tone and body language.

She quietly stared at him straight in his eyes and he scowled back, refusing to back down for a minute. When he realized she wasn't either, he wrenched his gaze away with a derisive scoff.

"You still haven't answered my question. I'm sure that's not very polite in Clover society," she added lightly. He huffed as a sneer crawled up his face.

"Neither is asking such questions."

"Think of it as payment for saving your life."

"The debt can only be fulfilled when I save you in return."

"You will never save me." Lord Silva's gaze snapped up to her's with a jolt. Blank eyes were downcast at her cup as her left cheek twitched in annoyance.

It seemed like she slipped up once more. It has been happening a lot recently. What was wrong with her?

"What?"

"I meant that you would not have an opportunity to save me." She cleared her throat. "Answer the question for me at least, as your saviour and as a mother."

He was taken aback by that.

"You are a mother?" He asked incredulously.

Aika smiled internally. Information must always be timed perfectly. She had used the truth to both change the subject and reveal a detail about her in a show of false vulnerability that would no doubt encourage him to open up a bit more.

"I am." She smiled lightly. "I have a daughter. Nearly ten."

"So do I..." Lord Silva's shoulders relaxed slightly. He wrapped his hands around the cup comfortingly as he sighed. He caved under her persistence and answered,

"No, I haven't. I haven't thought of them at all."

Aika let the silence envelop them for a moment.

“If you abandoned your children and died, how do you think Lady Acier is going to react?"

He stared at her in shock. How dare she be so casual with him?

"Whether you go to the Underworld or the After, it would be hell either way. If the father of my child died to follow me into the After, leaving our daughter, believe me, I would raise hell."

He looked away pensively when her words struck him.

“I suppose you’re right...”

And with that, Aika was done with what she came for. She gave him something to think about and hopefully it would snowball into something better for him.

She stood up as she set her cup down.

“I’m glad we agree. I don’t believe there is much to discuss.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “I pray that your retirement is as peaceful as today’s afternoon.

“We are not done yet.”

Aika looked up with a raised brow.

“Your Uncle.” she twitched at the mention. Silva senior smirked at her as she sat down in interest.

He knew.

“Yes, Raymond told me you were his niece. He also told me about your company.”

She picked her cup up with a sigh.

“You two fooled the rest of the world into thinking that you were enemies.” She took a sip. “It seems like that is not the case.”

“We were rivals, but we are also comrades,” he retorted defensively. “But back to the point. He told me about your company, Eidolon.”

She tensed at the name. It was very rare to hear the name of her company. It was both a secret and not. It was vast and well-known but it was strange hearing a Clover citizen discuss it.

“He told me that he was allowed to recommend one person if he wished, to work for your company,” he conjured a sheet of water that materialised into a thick binder of papers. “And he recommended me to your company.” He placed it on the table in front of her. “This was the paperwork and possible contracts I could sign that he gave to me. I have no plans to sit around during my retirement. I want to join the dungeon raiders.”

Aika threw a perplexed look between the papers and the man who stared intently at her for her response.

She opened her mouth open, and snapped it shut when nothing came out. She was at loss for words.

When she asked her Uncle to maybe recommend someone in the future, she meant someone young, adaptable and full of potential. Not a recently retired Magic Knight Captain who is well known to be classist and most likely racist, and too old to learn anything new like a language or a culture.

She was so close to blurting out a rejection but she stilled her tongue. She threw up a polite smile and pretended to sift through the papers in interest.

“I will...consider it,” she finally answered tightly. Silva Senior seemed to be oblivious to her annoyance as he clapped his hands together.

“Well, that’s settled then!” He stood up with her and led her to the door with a wave of his arm.

Aika pursed her lips as he allowed her to pass him. He threw a cold look at her back. He didn’t want to spend any more time in her presence than he had to. He was stubborn but he knew how to pick and choose his battles.

“I must go pick up my maid,” she informed him as they walked in long strides, both eager to relieve themselves of each other’s company.

“Ah, yes of course. I shall show you around the gardens on the way if you don’t mind.” He really didn’t have to but he was just playing the role of a polite lord. And he played it well too. Any sign that they had a heart-to-heart was gone, replaced with brittle formality.

“Thank you, but I have another appointment and I must get to it soon.”

Aika must introduce herself to the Royal Guard, but this time, they will not forget her.

Ellie’s portal directly landed them on the training fields in Clover Castle. Aika adjusted the shoulder brace that clung to her crimson half-cloak that covered her left shoulder. Her longsword hung from her waist, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. She appreciated how time magic always helped her get ready quicker.

“And who might you be, porting into Clover Castle without permission?”

Aika looked up and a finger crystallizing with ice was pointed between her eyes, threatening to engulf her any second. She tilted her head to the side to stare at the owner of said finger.

It was the Captain of the Royal Guards, Sal. The rest of the guards were in various groups, exercising or sparring but they all paused to stare at her.

“Hello there, Captain,” she greeted. “You wouldn’t remember but I was the one helping you train your men and I came to reveal my face today.”

Sal raised a brow.

“Is that so?”

He brought his sword up and down in an axe cut where her exposed shoulder was at an unprecedented speed. But Aike blocked it with a dagger she reflexively drew from her forearm where it was strapped.

“Attacking without a warning,” she drawled. “How rude.”

Sal grinned at her.

“No real fight has a countdown.”

She pushed his sword away from her face as he slackened. She took this moment to tie her hair at the nape with a ribbon and drew her sword.

“I see that you wish to test me.”

“Well, Master Raymond did say something about forgetting someone before he left, but I didn’t forget the way they fought.” He rolled his shoulders as his smile fell away and a sharp glint in his eyes surfaced. “Would you mind a spar?”

Aika sighed heavily. Sal wasn’t the one for chit chat, always got to the point in an almost rude fashion. She will make this quick, just as he would prefer it.

“On your mark.”

He threw himself forward with his ice magic propelling his feet and clanged his sword against hers. While Aika pushed with her sword hand and shoulder, she wrapped her other hand around the hilt of his sword where he attached his hand to it with ice so it wouldn’t slip off and she crushed it so the ice encasing it broke.

Sal’s eyes went wide and with the element of surprise, she twisted the sword out of his slippery hand and threw it to the side, far from his reach.

He launched himself upwards with a tall pillar of ice before she could attack him but she laid a hand on it and melted the pillar with her time magic and it instantaneously turned to water. She pretended she had water magic and this just helped solidify that lie.

When he dropped and rolled, Aika quickly moved to kick him to the side mid-roll but he grabbed her ankle and knee and tripped her onto her side. She threw her sword away as she fell and waited for Sal to come close. He tried to pick her up by the leg but she used the momentum to wrap her legs around his thick neck and she squeezed hard .

She rocked forward and backwards as he choked and he toppled face first but he braced himself with his arms. Aika used this opportunity to reach back and grab his ankles and wrenched them backwards so he couldn’t use his legs.

The leg lock around Sal’s neck slackened and so he inserted his hand between her calves and made a tube of ice that forced her legs apart, freeing him from the chokehold. Aika broke away from the ice clinging to her pants and shifted her hips to straddle his back and grabbed his arm and forced it behind him.

“Give up,” she finally said. Sal struggled in her grip and tried to use his musculature to overpower her strength but it was no use. Aika had always had an abnormal amount of physical strength.

He stopped struggling and tapped the ground twice with his free hand.

“I surrender!” His voice strained.

And just like that, she rolled off of his back and offered a hand to him. Sal took the proffered hand and stood up as he rolled his neck with a grimace.

“That grip was not expected at all. What do they even feed you?” He asked as he scratched his beard.

“Same thing as they feed you. I just don’t have a tendency to flex my muscles like you men,” she said lightly as she covered her smile with her hand. Sal was often funny when he wasn’t terrifying his guards to do their job right. Talking to him was always fun and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t happy that she finally got to talk to him as herself and not some faceless cryptid who whooped the guards asses once a week.

“No shit.” The gathered crowd moved closer to listen to the exchange. “You’re covered from head to toe like a nun!”

Aika let out a laugh.

“Far from it actually!”

He leaned in as if to tell her a secret but whispered loudly, “But I would be lying if I said anyone in this castle is a saint.” He thought for a moment. “Well, except maybe the new Wizard King. Met him earlier today. He was really nice and young. Didn’t seem to be ruffled by too much and was full of boundless energy like a puppy.”

Her mind couldn’t help but conjure up images and memories. A wide smile framed by little dimples that kept her distracted. The passionate way he discussed magic without an end. A soft, content look that he would give her when she added onto his rants.

Aika felt her ears burn up. This infatuation was too much. She was not a schoolgirl yet there she was blushing like one.

“Yes, he is like that a lot.”

“Oh, you know him personally?”

She sighed as she let a smile take over her.

“Something like that.”

“Oh.” Sal smirked. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “Well, Madam Tolliver, wasn’t it? My name is Sal, Captain Sal.” He offered a hand for her to shake. “But I’m sure you knew that.”

“I did, and you seem to know mine as well.”

“Master Raymond made sure to brief the entirety of the Castle staff on many things after the final battle.” She nodded in understanding. Sal motioned at the crowd of guards who were speaking in low voices.

“Well, do you have anything to teach or train us for today? We can catch up over drinks later.”

Aika crossed her arms and scanned her surroundings. She recognized some of the faces among the crowd and Evan and Jayce gave her a thumbs up when she spotted them. Ellie moved to lean on the castle wall where the shadows provided reprieve from the afternoon sun. Sal had a mischievous smile that only served to increase the dread among the guards. The rooms overlooking the training grounds were some libraries, conference rooms and some lounges for the Wizard King to use.

Aika took a deep breath. It was hard not being anonymous. She couldn’t just rely on people to forget the things she will say or do in the future now. She had to watch herself in the future or consequences will follow her.

“Last time, some of them mentioned wanting to practice offense and defense because we practiced intelligence gathering last time so I suppose that?”

She looked to Sal for approval.

“Yes, that sounds good. I’ll keep watch.”

He still had that smile on his face and she wasn’t sure why.

“Okay, everyone!” She raised her voice to catch people’s attention. “My name is Aika. You may call me Miss Aika. I was the teacher who had been training you all alongside Captain Sal when Master Raymond was still Wizard King.” The crowd began to murmur amongst themselves at her words. “That being said, we’re going to be practicing offense and defense today.”

Aika drew a circle around her with a sword, a meter wide, as Sal moved away to stand next to Ellie in the shade.

“Your task is very simple. You have to push me out of the circle in any way you see fit. All of you have to do this at the same time. But of course you can’t all crowd me at once because you might hurt your allies so this tests your teamwork too if you wish to work with other people.”

Someone raised their hand.

“Yes?”

“Will you be attacking us too?”

“I will attack if someone attacks me inside the circle but I will not initiate any offense yet. I will also be defending myself. Blocking, deflecting, and cutting down attacks. I may even send back one of your spells back towards you. You are all allowed to attack me however you please. But think of this exercise as a way to coordinate against one enemy so don’t all rush in at once.”

As Aika spoke, they all slowly moved to surround her at a good distance. She could see the gears shifting in their minds as a strategy formed in their heads. Unlike the Magic Knights, who can go on solo missions or in small teams, the Royal Guards must protect the castle as a one big team. These training exercises have been especially frequent the past few years because of the constant wars with Diamond and Spade kingdoms. And since King Augustus had been crowned, he had been especially insistent on everyone being able to protect him.

“I am ready when you are.”

They didn’t even give her a moment to breathe. Everyone on the front line shot their long-ranged spells at her. All the trajectories were different. Some were straight and some were arching over her so it was difficult to simply just jump and let them collide but she had no other option.

Aika jumped high and tried to make it seem natural when she weaved through the ones still in the air and took this moment to see where the next attack was coming from. Close-range fighters readied themselves to ambush her, no doubt going to use the smoke of the spells that exploded below her to their advantage. Her position is set in that little circle so there’s no uncertainty as to where she will be.

When she landed on her feet, amidst the dense smoke, three people leapt towards her, wielding various weapons. Her objective was not only to push them aside but to knock them out or else they will keep coming back. One woman with a spike-less morningstar swung at her but Aika subtly slowed down the force and when another attacker lunged at her back, she sidestepped and sped up his speed and he was smacked right in the shoulder by the woman. She froze in shock at how she accidentally injured her ally.

Aika’s circle was getting cramped so she kicked them both away and used the momentum to kick the next man right in the side of the neck. She studied enough anatomy during her college years to know that she kicked him perfectly in the vagus nerve and he was knocked out cold as his daggers slipped out of his hands.

The smoke dissipated as she rolled him out of the circle with her foot.

She tied her hair up tighter as she taunted,

“Who’s next?”

There was an immediate response.

Golems rose out of the ground, their bodies burning with the enchantments of different elements. She was briefly impressed with how quickly they infused the mana of multiple mages into them.

They all tried to swarm her but she finally drew her sword and swung in a wide arc. As they were all cut in half and the mana escaped, she drew it all to her.

Her head whipped towards a loud cheer that came somewhere from above. The distraction was dangerous but if she was being honest, she had nothing to worry about. What was the worst that could possibly happen?

Aika’s heart jumped when she saw Julius who was waving enthusiastically from a window. He must be using one of the conference rooms that was overlooking the training grounds. A familiar ginger headed man also leaned forward behind the Wizard King in confusion and was surprised to see her when he spotted her. Her heart warmed at the familiar face. It had been weeks since she had seen Fuegoleon and now he was Captain.

She waved at the both of them with her sword hand as she held the other hand up to hold the growing ball of mana. She should go congratulate him as well.

Just as she refocused her attention back to the fight on hand, a figure came lunging at her with a sword but she quickly blocked. Aika couldn’t help but feel surprised when she strained against his strength. She couldn’t see the entirety of the man’s face except for his growing grin. All her instincts seemed to awaken at once, screaming at her to move, but her skepticism and curiosity kept her still.

Then in a strange turn of events, he let the sword slip out of his hand and his other hand seemed to reach for her stomach, but curled into a tight fist and punched her right under her ribs.

For the first time in years, Aika went flying. She was slammed against the castle walls, creating a sizable crater. Her breath was knocked out of her and her head spun but a brief surge of rage quickly sobered her. She thrust her arm out as she whispered,

“Mana Zone: Mana Hands.”

A swarm of invisible hands materialized all around her and one of them quickly brought her sword to her as she picked herself off of the wall.

Aika took in the sight of her opponent who wielded enough strength to punch her that hard.

A young man whose hood covered half of his face, smirked at her as a slight young woman stood next him, wearing a familiar mask framed by flowing blonde hair that spilled out from either side of her, swaying in the wind as she held up a bow, ready to shoot.

Aika had to look twice as her eyes went wide. It seemed like a bizarre dream when the mask stared back at her. It was the same archer who broke her amulet.

Her hand curled around the hilt of her sword.

And they had some nerve coming back to face her head-on.

Notes: There's a fight scene the next chapter and we see Fuegoleon!! WOOO so I'm excited for that🥰 Also, yes, Sal already knew her because the previous Wizard King refreshed his memory in detail but he was just messing around with Aika LMAO

#black clover #julius novachrono #oc: aika tolliver #julius novachrono x reader #julius novachrono x oc #black clover julius #julius & aika #demons run #demons run fic stuff #demons run chapter 11

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vannahfanfics · 3 years

Text

Heavenly River

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo

Hey, everyone! It’s my pleasure to share my story for Written in the Stars: A BKDK Tanabata zine!

Izuku held his hand flat over his brows as he stepped outside, shielding his eyes from the intensity of the sun burning in the azure sky. It was a cloudless day, so there was no solace from the bright sun rays spearing down from the heavens. However, there was a pleasant breeze to cool the hot, humid July air; it ruffled Izuku’s tousled pine-green hair and the fabric of his dark seaweed-colored yukata. He adjusted the emerald-hued sash around his waist, more to fidget than to actually fix it, and then pulled out his cell phone to check his notifications. He brightened when he saw a text from Katsuki, who had agreed to come with him to this year’s Tanabata festival.

Almost there, loser. You’d better be ready, or I’m leaving without you.

Izuku chuckled under his breath before shooting his friend a quick text to confirm that he was indeed ready and waiting for his friend to arrive, then stowed his phone back in his pocket. He slid his hands in the pockets of his yukata as he stood on the landing of his mother’s apartment complex. She had hung kuzukago on either side of the door; the white basket-like arrangements of paper strips swayed gently in the breeze, beseeching the winds for blessings of tidiness and thriftiness.

The neighbor to the right had hung kinchaku patterned with pretty floral paper; they’d fallen under hard times since the husband had been laid off from his job. Izuku whispered out a quick prayer on their behalf, wishing them improved fortunes and good luck. Their other neighbor had hung several chains of paper cranes in their windows, as their grandmother had recently fallen ill with pneumonia. Izuku had recently heard she was on the mend, and he hoped that this information was still true. She was a lovely lady who always brought Izuku’s mother homemade cookies when she visited, so Izuku hoped she would recover and be discharged from the hospital soon. Along the underside of the balcony, fukinagashi streamers swayed in the breeze with their colorful tails ruffling along the wind like Orihime’s fabled weavings.

People need wishes more than ever, Izuku thought as he leaned against the metal railing framing the walkway and looked out to the street below. Though All for One and Tomura Shigaraki had finally been defeated, the scars of their reign of carnage were still evident even months later. Across the street, they were still rebuilding the apartment complex that had been utterly destroyed in a fire; bits and pieces of the charred shell were piled in the brown grass to be collected by the garbage trucks later. Hope was still fragile in the community, so this Tanabata festival could hopefully restore faith and positivity in people.

“Oiiiii! Nerd! Stop starin’ off into space and get the fuck down here!”

Izuku glanced down to see Katsuki standing on the sidewalk. He was wearing that scowl Izuku had come to know as an odd symbol of affection, and his hands were buried into the pockets of his maroon yukata. Izuku called down to him in greeting and then took off in a trot, hopping down the steps and rounding the corner to join him on the sidewalk. Katsuki’s vermilion eyes burned in the harsh summer sun, but they were still less fierce than Izuku had known them a little over a year ago.

“Yer mom ain’t comin’?” Katsuki questioned as they set off in a leisurely walk down the sidewalk, subconsciously matching each other’s strides.

“No,” Izuku confirmed with a shake of his head. “She went the other day, so she’s spending the day making yakitori and takoyaki for dinner! If your family doesn’t have plans, Kacchan, you’re more than welcome to come by after and eat with us!”

Katsuki tilted his head to the side, an expression of consideration on his face.

“My folks somehow got roped into workin’ today, so I might take you up on that. Sure as hell beats cookin’ for myself.”

Izuku couldn’t help the happy smile that appeared on his lips; they hadn’t hung out for summer vacation very much due to their respective training regimens, so Izuku was delighted that he would not only be able to attend the last day of the festival with Katsuki but also have him over for dinner. “Wait, though, they aren’t doing the paper boat ceremony until midnight.”

“That’s right! I was thinking that we would spend the day enjoying the festival, go home for dinner, and then go back to do the paper boat ceremony. I know that’s a little past your bedtime, though, Kacchan,” he grinned teasingly and elbowed his friend in the ribs. “Will you be able to handle it?”

“Who the hell do ya think you’re talkin’ to?” Katsuki cried indignantly, jostling Izuku’s shoulder with his own. “O’course I can handle it! Damn nerd, where do ya get off thinkin’ you can insult me like that?”

Izuku laughed as Katsuki flung his muscular arm around his shoulders and jerked him against his side to grind his fist into the top of Izuku’s head. It was a good thing that his hair had always been unruly anyway, because Katsuki couldn’t muss it up too much. Izuku laughed airily when Katsuki shoved him away. The blond buried his hands back into his pockets with a snort, looking away at the large fukinagashi the city had suspended from the light poles. The large ball of yellow, orange, and white flowers hung from the streetlamps, the sunlight catching on the rustling streamers to cast playful shadows along the ground as the pieces curled and fluttered.

“Do you know what you’re going to wish for?” Katsuki asked him after several minutes of silent walking. This caught Izuku by surprise, and he turned to blink at him with wide emerald eyes. Katsuki was still staring out at the road, eyes lidded as he watched the cars trundle by.

“Actually, no,” he said and rubbed the back of his neck while he looked up at the clear blue sky. My goal is to be the number-one hero, but… for some reason, I don’t feel like wishing for that, he thought with a small frown. He’d been wrestling with it leading up to the event, and here it was the first day of the festival— he had to make a decision at some point. “I’ll figure it out when I get there!” He laughed nonchalantly and then looked back at Katsuki. “What about you?”

“I don’t know either.” Katsuki’s voice was flat, and Izuku could tell that he was thinking hard about it. I guess he wants his wish to be important… After all they had been through, Izuku could understand that. They’d endured so much together and grown up so fast. Smiling wanly, Izuku gently bumped his shoulder with Katsuki’s, prompting the blond to look at him with raised eyebrows.

“Don’t worry, Kacchan. We’ll figure it out!”

Katsuki blinked at him, then turned away with a small “tch.” However, Izuku could see that the minute tension had left his shoulders and the stoniness had eased out of his expression.

It was a short walk to the shrine where the festival was held. The street leading up to the shrine was laden with the handcrafted paper ornaments strung from the oak trees that framed the path. On either side of the cobblestone walkway, local vendors had set up their wares; the savory scent of yakisoba floated on the air, making Izuku’s mouth water though he’d just eaten breakfast not too long ago. There were vendors selling handmade ornaments, the pair of them walking past the hairpin maker who came every year, their stall a huge hit with the local girls. Izuku spotted several of them already decorating the ornate updos some of the festival goers chose to wear that night, the hair pins adding just that much more to the look. In the corner, a small troupe of stage actors were recounting the story of Orihime and Hikoboshi for an enthralled crowd.

“Wow, look at the crowd— and everyone looks so happy, too,” Izuku marveled. It seemed that the fair bit of hope the festival offered had drawn many people out of their homes, and he was relieved to see most of them wearing genuine smiles.

“Well, it’s been a shitty few months,” Katsuki shrugged. “They’re gonna latch onto anything positive that comes their way.” Izuku supposed that was true, but it still made him happy for the civilians. They’d all endured a lot— they deserved to celebrate a festival, to wish for mundane things instead of seeing tomorrow.

What did he want to wish for, though?

They walked to the end of the small street, where long fronds of bamboo framed the entrance to the shrine. Paper strips hung from their dainty branches, colored rectangles that swayed among the bright green leaves. The wishes of hundreds were imbued in those simple tanzaku— everything from pleas for academic success to wishes for love to grand hopes for world peace. Beneath the sprawling bamboo were small circular tables, where the colorful bits of paper sat beneath glass paperweights. They waited in a short line to walk up to the table; when Izuku picked up the pen and grabbed a blue strip of paper, he hesitated a moment while he debated what to write on the strip.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Katsuki silently debating as well. It was strange, their mental debate. After everything they’d done, everything they’d seen, did they feel invincible? Is that why they had nothing to wish for? Or perhaps there was so much they wanted to see the world become and so much they wanted to do themselves, there were infinite possibilities to wish for now. Izuku smiled wanly and looked down at the blank rectangular strip of paper, the canvas to paint a wish of goodwill. He twirled the pen around in his hand, trying to think of what he wanted to wish for most in the world right now.

Finally, it dawned on him. He hunched down over the table to neatly scrawl on the tanzaku: A world where people’s wishes can come true.

Katsuki was still writing as Izuku stepped aside and walked to the bamboo fronds. He stood on his tiptoes to use the small loops of string to tie it on an empty bit of the plant, suspending it among hundreds of other wishes. He stepped back to admire the bit of blue fluttering among the rainbow of colors, while Katsuki passed by him to hang his wish beside his.

“What did you wish for, Kacchan?”

“Idiot,” Katsuki huffed as he turned around to walk back. “If you say it out loud, it won’t come true! I’ll tell ya after midnight, maybe.” Izuku blushed sheepishly at that; he’d quite forgotten that bit of superstition. He didn’t know if Katsuki actually believed it or was simply giving him a hard time, but it really didn’t matter.

They enjoyed the small festival for the rest of the afternoon, starting with the play, since it was starting over as they came out from the depths of the path. They sat with their legs tucked underneath them on comfy cushions (among a bunch of little kids, Katsuki was eager to grouse about) and watched the rendition of the love story. Izuku had always found it kind of sad that Orihime and Hikoboshi were only permitted to meet one day out of every year, but he also marveled that there was a love so strong that not even three hundred and sixty-four days of separation could lessen it. At the end of the play, they joined the actors in singing the traditional song— well, Izuku did. Katsuki would rather drop dead than sing, especially in front of a bunch of elementary-schoolers.

After the play, they stopped at the yakisoba stand for lunch. Izuku swirled the fried noodles around with his chopsticks to scoop bits of pork and cabbage, then spooned them into his mouth. As he slurped up the noodles, Katsuki glanced at him out of his peripheral vision.

“It’s almost strange,” he remarked. Izuku raised an eyebrow at him, and Katsuki looked down into his half-eaten yakisoba with pinkening cheeks. “Going back to normal after, you know… everything.” Izuku swallowed his noodles, looking at Katsuki with widening eyes. Though they were better friends now, he’d never grow used to these melancholic moods Katsuki drifted into. Katsuki’s red eyes were lidded while he pushed the noodles around his plate, pulsing with a serious sadness so unlike his usual explosive personality.

“Yeah,” Izuku agreed quietly. He found his own appetite waning, so he pushed the plate of noodles away and leaned his arms on the counter. “But… You can’t hang onto the past forever. At some point, you have to let the darkness fall behind you and walk toward the sun.”

“Tch. What are you, a fucking poet?” Katsuki snorted, but as always, his words were in direct contradiction to the small smile curling over his lips. Katsuki gathered up a large chunk of the yakisoba and then continued contemplatively with his mouth full, “Towards the sun, huh?”

Izuku smiled, then pulled his plate back toward him to finish it. He wouldn’t want to insult the chef that made the delicious meal, after all.

After finishing lunch, the two of them headed to Izuku’s house. They joined his mother in the kitchen to help her prepare dinner. Katsuki worked on dicing chicken breast into small cubes to skewer, while Izuku prepared the batter for the takoyaki. While they worked, his mother regaled Katsuki with stories of Tanabata festivals past— particularly her favorite tale of Izuku wishing to be like All Might every single year leading up to his acceptance at U.A. Izuku hid his bright red face in the refrigerator while pretending to look for the octopus tentacles, while Katsuki just guffawed about what a groupie he was.

The scent of frying batter and grilling chicken filled the kitchen as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky. Izuku’s mother had begun singing the song, and Izuku had taken it up as well, annoying Katsuki with their repeated trills of the tune:

“The bamboo leaves rustle, shaking away in the eaves.

The stars twinkle on the gold and silver grains of sand.

The five-color paper strips I have written.

The stars twinkle, they watch us from heaven.”

Katsuki’s lips couldn’t curl into a deeper scowl as Izuku waltzed around him, poking him in the cheek with a leftover octopus tentacle. Katsuki snatched it away and slapped him lightly across the cheek with it, leaving a slimy mark on Izuku’s skin.

“Oi! You sing that song one more goddamn time, I’m gonna fry you into a takoyaki ball!” Katsuki threatened while gesturing wildly with the floppy tentacle. Izuku and his mother just laughed, quite used to Katsuki’s angry outbursts. Katsuki nursed his irritation with a melon soda, clenching the can in one hand while flipping the chicken grilling in the skillet with the other.

It was about seven in the evening by the time the three of them gathered around the kōtatsu table with the spread of food. His mother turned on the television to watch the annual specials— which were just more dramatizations of the traditional story— while the two boys tore into the food with relish. Katsuki had always praised Inko’s cooking skills like the foodie he was, and though he’d probably never admit it aloud, he loved her takoyaki. He plucked ball after ball from the plate to pile them into his mouth until his cheeks bulged like a chipmunk’s.

“The hell you laughin’ at?” he grumbled when Izuku burst into laughter. Izuku just shook his head and used his teeth to slide a piece of the sauce-soaked, tender chicken from the skewer in his hand. He would have laughed if someone told him a year ago that he’d be sitting at the kōtatsu with Katsuki enjoying the Tanabata festival, even more so to be told they were exchanging friendly banter. The realization made a joyful smile spread over Izuku’s face, one that didn’t miss Katsuki’s attention.

“Oi. What are you thinking about?” Katsuki asked, the scowl morphing into a curious look. Izuku’s smile just widened, and he reached out to pluck up one of the takoyaki balls with his chopsticks.

“I’m just thinking about how nice this is, Kacchan. My mom doesn’t remember this, but,” he said, dropping his voice while his mother cried tearfully at the separation of Orihime and Hikoboshi playing on the screen, “A few years ago, I didn’t wish to be like All Might. I wished for us to be friends.”

Katsuki’s cheeks flushed a bright pink as he released a choking noise. He covered his blush with a broad hand, and he averted his gaze. Izuku chuckled at his shy reaction and took the opportunity to steal another takoyaki ball.

“Damn nerd,” Katsuki huffed with undeniable affection that made Izuku’s heart warm. “You can’t just say shit like that, you know. Now stop stealing my fucking takoyaki. Don’t think I didn’t notice. We may be friends, but I’ll still break your arm.”

They watched the special programs until about eleven, then set off again back to the shrine to participate in the paper boat ceremony. This time, the crowd had gathered at the nearby river, which babbled along another pathway leading to the small shrine. Dew clung to the hem of Izuku’s yukata as he walked on the edge of the cobblestone path where the grass grew. He and Katsuki retrieved their wishes from the bamboo branches, then took one of the prepared paper boats to place the wishes inside. Afterward, they set off to find a nice place to set them adrift.

They sat down on the edge of the bank to wait for the clock to strike midnight. Izuku held the fragile paper boat in his lap while he eased off his sandals so he could dip his toes in the cool water. Katsuki sat next to him, cross-legged and watching the water current swirl in the concrete canal. It was a far cry from the Heavenly River from the story, but Izuku could imagine its beauty with the way the starlight played over the babbling water.

“You know, we’re kind of like Orihime and Hikoboshi,” Izuku said after a while. Katsuki looked at him like he’d absolutely lost his mind, which made Izuku flush and hurriedly explain, “I-I just mean that at the beginning it felt like… You were on the other side of the river from me, Kacchan.” This made the blond settle down, so Izuku continued with a wan smile. “It felt like you were miles ahead, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch up… But little by little, I did, and now we’re on the same side of the river. I guess. Sorry. That was a weird metaphor,” he laughed nervously, playing with the edges of the paper boat.

“It was fucking weird,” Katsuki sniffed, then looked out to the water. “I get what you mean, though.” His voice was soft, a rare hint of gentleness that Izuku still couldn’t believe was sometimes directed toward him. “Just make sure you don’t fall back to the other side of the river, dumbass,” Katsuki said after a second, elbowing him gently in the arm.

“Hehe, I won’t,” Izuku chuckled and elbowed him back.

Then, fireworks lit up the moonlit sky, indicating that it had turned twelve. Izuku and Katsuki crawled to the bank to gently push the paper boats into the water. They watched them drift along the current, joined by hundreds of other little sailboats. Then, Izuku jumped to his feet while tugging eagerly on Katsuki’s arm.

“Come on!”

He ignored Katsuki’s confused sputters of protest as he dragged him up the bank to the walkway overlooking the river, which was lined by red railings. Izuku gripped the railing, searching for their two boats drifting alongside one another, and then pointed them out with a smile. The moon bathed them in a white glow, making them almost luminescent in the brilliant light. The light also played over the water to make it seem like they drifted on rivers of glittering diamond.

“Hey… What did you wish for?” Katsuki asked him suddenly, and Izuku turned to look at him with a soft smile.

“A world where people’s wishes could come true.”

Katsuki raised his eyebrows. Under the pale moonlight, the pink hue that rose to his cheeks was rosy pale. Katsuki bit down on his bottom lip, but that didn’t suppress the little chuckles that bubbled out of his throat.

“Me too.”

Izuku’s smile brightened, and then he turned to look out at the water. It was full of paper boats now, all glowing in the white light streaming down from the cloudless sky. He felt Katsuki nudge him, because of course he couldn’t let the moment pass without another jab.

“What a waste though, ‘cuz it’s my wish that’s gonna come true, nerd,” he teased. Izuku had to laugh and shake his head. Only Katsuki could make even traditional wishes during Tanabata into a competition. He supposed it didn’t matter though, if only one of their wishes were granted or both— either way, it meant happiness and peace for those who needed it most. That’s all Izuku could ever want. He watched those boats drift down the heavenly river, where hopefully the gods would pluck them up on the distant shore. They would read those wishes, and fulfill their hopes.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#bkdk #dkbk #bakudeku #dekubaku #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugou #my hero academia #mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero

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strabbyshortcake · 3 years

Text

champy’s charhouse

Gramble and Boots meet for the first time.

tw for mild violence.

Champy’s Charhouse sat smack dab in the middle of a whole lot of nothing, along a lone strip of highway that ran east to west through vast cornfields and strips of forest and swampland. True to its name, the steak was always overdone, but the potato skins were to die for.

Gramble usually went with one or more of his housemates, but Wambus was tired, Triffany was busy with grading papers, Yosie had a cage match tonight and Bronica had plans with her girlfriend already. That was alright, though. Gramble could have a good time on his own.

He borrows Triffany’s car, pulling up in the dusty parking lot as the sun’s about to set. The parking lot is already full of various mud-splattered beaters and pickups, many of which he recognizes. Funny that he could think of himself as a local now and feel a hit of pride about it. The bright orange neon sign buzzes above his head as he walks in, heading right for the bar to find a seat with a good view of the stage. True to form the place smells like burnt meat, but even as a vegetarian, it’s a comforting smell, mixed in with sweaty fur and soil and beer.

Triffany had gotten him into one of her favorite rock bands, the Velvet Knives, so he’d borrowed one of her old band tees to wear for the sets some of the local bands were playing tonight. He settles in, orders his potato skins and a coke, and watches as the first band gets their equipment set up. Once the music starts, everybody seems to be having a great time, clapping or singing along. That is, until the front row starts getting restless.

“This sucks!” calls a bright orange grumpus from the bar several seats down. His buddies laugh, a few of them hurling their own insults to the irritation of the other patrons. Several of them wear jackets with the letters of a nearby college fraternity on them. Rowdy college kids were nothing out of the ordinary though. Gramble was sure they’d be kicked out if they kept on heckling.

The band, in good humor, plays on, finishing their song before the singer decides to address them. “Sounds like we got a couple ornery hogs in the audience,” she says, grinning, showing her fangs. “Well, ain’t nobody keepin’ you here. If you go on squealin’, someone’s liable to shut you up.”

One of the frat kids hurls a bottle. It smashes against the back wall of the stage.

“Hey, now!” the band’s drummer calls, ducking. “C’mon, there’s no need for that!”

The grumpus next to Gramble, who seemed to be a part of that group, grabs his own bottle and starts to move his arm back. Gramble grabs him by the wrist, using his other hand to yank the bottle out of the other grump’s paw. “Cut it out!” he tells them, baring his own teeth. Out the corner of his eye he can see the two coolers the bar employed moving toward the bar. They’re both big, but so are the frat kids…

The guy he’d grabbed snarls, ripping his arm out of Gramble’s hold. He’s got golden fur, and two sets of slightly-crooked fangs. “You want me to throw you instead, pipsqueak?”

“You wanna lose a hand?” Gramble snaps in return. “Quit actin’ like you were raised by raccoons, you goddamn fool!”

He hears glass shatter as one of the other frat kids jumps off their stool, swinging a paw at the cooler who’d reached him. The rest of them seem to take this as a sign to do the same, converging on the coolers with teeth and claws bared. However, Gramble doesn’t see what happens next as the grumpus next to him grabs him under the arms and slams him onto the bar. Gramble yelps, coughing as the wind is knocked out of him.

“You hicks take everything too personal, you know that?” The frat kid growls, looming over Gramble. “Ain’t even worth it to bite you. I’d probably get some kinda disease.”

Gramble kicks him in the chest. He grunts and staggers a little, enough to give Gramble a second to sit up, only for the frat kid to come back and punch him directly in the nose. Gramble sees stars, reeling and nearly tumbling off the bar, digging his claws into the marked wood of the counter to keep himself from falling. Blood dribbles from his nose and lip, bitter and metallic. Hopefully the jerk had cut his knuckles on one of Gramble’s teeth.

Still dizzy from the punch, he feels strong hands seize him by the shoulders and twists around, blindly snapping his jaws shut over frat kid’s arm. The frat kid curses, grabbing Gramble by the neck with his free hand. He digs his claws into the thick ruff surrounding it, either to try and yank Gramble’s jaws off or strangle him. Gramble had let his fur grow long and shaggy around his neck and shoulders and it thankfully keeps those claws from getting in too deep.

“Asshole! You’re gonna wreck my jacket!” he hears the frat kid cry as they struggle together. Maybe, Gramble thinks, he should have thought of that before starting a bar fight. In the darkness of the roadhouse he can see the other kids still embroiled in a brawl with the coolers and several of the other patrons, though it’s impossible to tell who’s on what side by now. Nothing he can see but a lot of flying fur and flashing fangs under the neon lights. He shoves the frat kid’s arm away from his neck, wincing as those claws tear some of his fur out.

A building roar from outside catches the attention of some of the patrons, who extract themselves from the brawl and look towards the door. It’s the guttural growl of a motorcycle, a huge one from the sound, drawing closer until it stops in the parking lot and sputters out. Most of the patrons scurry back to their tables, leaving the frat kids standing by the bar, puzzled and disheveled. The guy holding onto Gramble lets him go so he slides off the bar and falls onto the floor with a thud, knocking one of the stools over.

“What?” he hears one of them grunt.

The doors swing open as another grumpus enters, ducking slightly just to get through the doorway. Even from the other side of the room, Gramble can see she towers head and shoulders above most of the other patrons and is broader by at least half, and these were not small grumpuses. Each thump of her dinner-plate-sized paws on the floor makes the cutlery laid out on the tables jingle musically as she approaches. Her fur is the color of pine needles. The bar lights glint ruby in her eyes.

She frowns down at the frat kids, at their neon orange leader. “Is there a problem, here?” Her voice is a deep, husky growl, the sort you could feel in your ribs. In the bar lights Gramble can see the glimmer of a badge pinned to her leather jacket.

“No problem,” the leader holds his hands up defensively, a cowed smile on his face. She doesn’t even have to bare her own teeth. Her sheer bulk is enough. “We were just havin’ a good time.”

“I know your kind. You’re too stupid to have a good time.” She lashes out, grabbing a fistful of his scruff and dragging him towards the door like a kitten. He briefly tries to struggle before giving up, letting her hurl him out of the roadhouse like a sack of stale hamburger buns. As she turns back to the rest of the group, they sheepishly file out, the one Gramble had bitten clutching his bleeding arm.

“Thank you so much for comin’ by, officer Timberheart,” Gramble hears the bar’s owner (not Champy himself, but his son, Shester) say as he emerges from the office he’d been hiding in. Timberheart, huh, Gramble thinks to himself. So that was her name. It sounds so sturdy. A perfect fit for her.

“Aw, it’s no problem,” Ms. Timberheart tells him. “I was already in the neighborhood.”

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”

“Maybe next time, but thanks.”

With the commotion now died down, the conversation of the other guests begins to filter back in as everyone takes their seats again, resuming whatever they’d been doing before the fight had started. Gramble starts to pick himself up but stumbles, grabbing for one of the barstools. Maybe he’d been hit harder than he thought…

The noise gets Timberheart’s attention. She turns towards him, picking up the downed stool as she crouches. Even now she towers at least a good two feet over him when he’s standing. He blinks up at her concerned expression. She’s got a very soft face, now that he can see it clearly. Her eyes are big and gentle, her features framed by her thick, fluffy coat. Her nose is even shaped like a heart.

“You alright there?” She asks him. “Looks like they roughed you up good.”

“Ah…” Gramble’s not sure if he’s still reeling from the punch, but his stomach for sure feels knotted up, and he hadn’t even been hit there. “…y-yeah, I’m alright. I tried to stop one of ‘em from throwin’ stuff at the band. He didn’t appreciate it...”

“Good of you to try.” She grabs a handful of napkins from the counter, handing them to him. “Here, get yourself cleaned up. I swear, these out-of-towners think they can just swagger in here like they own the place, cause a ruckus and then leave when things start to get a lil’ too spicy.”

Gramble presses the napkins to his bleeding nose, noting with a twinge of disappointment that she’s got a gold wedding band around one of her fingers. Ah, well. Nothing stopping him from getting to know her. “I dunno how some folks can act like that… Like they were raised by wild animals.”

“That’s a little unkind to wild animals, don’t you think?” She chuckles. “What’s your name? Haven’t seen you around, I don’t think.”

“Oh, it’s… I’m Gramble.” Sniffling, Gramble smiles, hoping there’s no blood still on his teeth. “I guess I’m kinda new in town. Been livin’ here for about a year, now.”

“Gramble? You’re a friend of Wambus and Triff’s, ain’tcha? They said they were entertainin’ some sorta house guest when I saw ‘em a while back. Anyway.” She offers him a massive paw, one he could easily fit both his own in with room to spare. “Name’s Beautricia, but everyone just calls me Boots.”

Gramble accepts the paw, giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Boots! I hope I’ll see you around?”

“Oh, you will.” She smiles, showing just a hint of her fangs. “Take care now, Gramble. Enjoy the rest of the show.”

#bugsnax #fics #gramble gigglefunny #boots timberheart

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myidlehand · 4 years

Note

Oooooh, prompts? Don't mind if I do. I know you love Eskel (and so do I). So I was thinking some G/E/J where they get up to some sort of shenanigans, preferably when two team up on one. But your real challenge is to incorporate the word monsterbutt into it. Thank you so much for doing this ♥️♥️♥️ I really like your writing, as you know.

Alright, for those who don’t know I asked to be sent prompts because I’m very closed to hit 1000 followers on this blog and I wanted to celebrate.

This is gonna be the first answered prompt of my “Road to 1000 followers celebration prompt 1/7!” Every time I get one new follower I will post a prompt until I reach 1000.

Now to the prompt!

I didn’t quite get the two team up on one, forgive me, but(t) the idea cracked me up too much and I kinda took the monsterbutt idea and just WENT WITH IT. My apologies 😂

The Butt Of The Joke

“A monsterbutt?”

“A monster’s butt,” Jaskier says nodding again very seriously.

“A… monster’s… butt…” Eskel repeats slowly.

“For the fifth time, yes, the BUTT OF A MONSTER.” Jaskier answers, exasperated.

“Why a monster’s butt?”

“I don’t know Eskel, I'm not in Yennefer’s head!”

“Hum…”

Jaskier pushes off the table he was resting against and starts pacing in the room. On the bed, Eskel scratches at his scars, perplexed, his shoulder brushing lightly against Geralt's arm when he moves to sit more comfortably at the edge of the bed.

“Do you-” Geralt catches his hand to stop him from scratching “-know if she needs a specific kind of butt?” Eskel doesn’t recall ever asking something this ridiculous.

“I…” Jaskier stops pacing and turns towards them. “Well, she just screamed a lot of things at me, so maybe? I don’t know, I was mainly trying to avoid the stuff she was throwing at me. All I heard really was ’I need monster butt’ while I was running away.

“Maybe you could go back and ask, so we get the right one?” Geralt proposes hopefully, letting go of Eskel’s hand and getting up to find a clean shirt to put on.

“I have another proposition. Since you and your big… Well everything, were the reason Yennefer’s dresses got all stretched AGAIN last night, YOU go ask her how to redeem yourself while I go back to bed and Eskel makes it up to me for making me go see how mad she was this morning all by myself.”

“Sounds good,” Eskel says, catching Jaskier by the hand and making him fall forward, catching Jaskier gently before quickly rolling them both on the bed, pinning Jaskier under him.

“Oh hello there,” Jaskier says quietly with a playful smile, looking up at two beautiful amber eyes. His hand immediately go under Eskel’s shirt, to stroke his flanks gently.

“Sorry for asking you, that was cruel,” Eskel says, before lowering himself to put a kiss on the side of his nose, then finding Jaskier’s throat to give him gentle kisses that send a shiver of pleasure all along the bard’s spine.

“It was very cruel. Indeed I’m going to need lots of those kisses to feel better.”

Eskel chuckles but obliges.

The spell breaks when a pillow comes to hit them both in the face. Eskel let his arms go and flop against Jaskier's side, burying his face in his neck, his arm possessively around Jaskier’s side.

“Focus!” Geralt growls, not very mad but getting a little distracted himself by the sight of Eskel and Jaskier together on their bed. “We need to figure this out,” he says, putting his shirt on.

“Oh, WE do, do we? Why do I get included in this when I wasn’t even there in the first place?” Jaskier says incredulously.

“It’s not our fault you passed out before we decided to try that again.”

Eskel mumbles something against Jaskier’s throat.

“What’s that love?”

“I said,” Eskel raises his head just enough to speak “You would have looked damn good in a dress.”

“I look good in everything, but I appreciate the compliment,” he answers, planting a kiss on top of Eskel’s hair. His fingers come up automatically to start stroking his head and Eskel answers with an appreciative little sound that makes Geralt wonder why he’s up and wearing clothes anyway?

“Why do Lambert get to be excluded from this ridiculous conversation again? Seems unfair, mainly to me”, Jaskier says dramatically.

“We’ll get him once we decide what to do, get dressed Eskel.” Geralt answers, shoving at Eskel’s legs a little to make him move away from Jaskier, which he does reluctantly.

“We should go before Yen gets really mad.”

“But what are we going to hunt exactly?”

“I don’t know! I heard Vesemir say there’s a couple of young forktails up in the mountains.”

“Lambert’ll never trek the mountain for half a day by this temperature just to bring back a dead forktail for Yennefer to dissect or whatever she’ll do with it”, Eskel answers, with a snort while putting on his clothes.

“Do you need an entire forktail? I mean maybe just the… er… rear area would be enough?” Jaskier asks, sitting up.

“You know I might be mountain folk, but I don’t fancy going up the mountain by this weather either.”

“We could go to the mines?” Suggest Geralt.

“Do Kikimores even have butts?”

“I don’t know I’m not a butt monster specialist Eskel, you’re the one who likes to study anatomy!” Geralt answers, getting more and more frustrated.

“Alright, alright! Don’t be grumpy!” Eskel answers, putting a light leather chest plate on top of a heavy chemise. “Tell you what, we’ll go to the stream down south. I’m sure we can find a couple of drowners there. It’ll be easy. They have human-shaped bottoms and they aren’t too heavy to carry.”

“Hate hunting drowners,” Geralt mumbles irritably, putting on his armour.

“I know,” Eskel says, giving Geralt just a small peck on the lips, amused

“Haven’t even got breakfast yet”, Geral grumble.

“Come on, we’ll eat on the way,” Eskel says, grabbing both their swords and tugging at Geralt’s sleeve with his other hand. Geralt goes unwillingly.

Jaskier smiles at his Witchers and decides to just go back to sleep. The bed is still a little warm from the night before and smells like all three of them, it’s lovely.

Two hours later he’s startled awake when frigid water comes splashing down on him, dripping from a very soaked, very grumpy Geralt, looking at him from above and smelling strongly of rotten fish.

“Monster bile Jaskier. She needed monster bile!”

***

I’m sorry it was so stupid but I found it funny? I hope you did too

#geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #the witcher #the witcher fic #crack #Tumblr fucked the formating sorry #its on ao3 too if you'd rather read there #geraskiel #tumblr prompt celebration

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ankewehner · 4 years

Text

Livetweet of accidentally getting into fairyland...

Best twitter thread ever?

https://twitter.com/NeolithicSheep/status/1330548523721515013 Shepherd: Oh hey Ursula, do you have the number for those people who take out invasive plants still?

Ursula: Probably somewhere, yeah. They said they didn’t usually work on such small properties, though, and I don’t know if I’ve got an infestation worth their time.

Shepherd: Ok but what if I say "kudzu" to you, can we throw enough money at them to make it worth their time.

Ursula: If you say “kudzu” to me, I will panic, scream, and come running to Dogskull with a flamethrower.

Shepherd: Ok well I suggest driving but maybe pack up the flamethrower. Ursula: OH MY GOD YOU FOUND KUDZU OH GOD WHERE IS IT ARE YOU SURE IT ISN’T JUST WILD GRAPE

Shepherd: YES I KNOW WHAT WILD GRAPE LOOKS LIKE THANK YOU anyway I was walking Beamer this morning after the deer ate breakfast and the white deer was walking down toward the back of the property, you know that low tucked away part? And I thought, well, we'll just trail after her at a polite distance and if I'm lucky I'll find some of her fur caught on a bush! Wouldn't that be great! So we kept going past the big ass fucking oak trees that make, like, that weird arch? And there's kudzu.

Ursula: What big oak trees?! There’s no big oak trees back there! It’s all pine!

Shepherd: Yeah you know, the two really big motherfuckers that look like English oak. They're like, way the fuck back there.

Ursula: There are no English oak on Dogskull. Are you sure you weren’t trespassing on the Freemason’s property?

Shepherd: No they're closer to the front I think? Who's next door to them? Also I thought Dog Skull was 7 acres? Because I should be off it and hitting the road by now.

Ursula: Next door to them is the people with the trailer on its side. Do you see any trailers lying on their sides?

Shepherd: A lot of oak trees, a little bit of kudzu, zero trailers in any orientation. Some birds and squirrels. Oh hey Beamer found a nice pond.

Ursula: Okay, this is important. Do the oak trees still have leaves on them?

Shepherd: Yeah but so does the one up front. Oh wait. These are, uh, still green. Like summer green.

Ursula: Right. Okay. This could be a problem. Give me a couple minutes, we have to take trash to the dump and then I’ll look some stuff up. Meanwhile, DON’T EAT ANYTHING.

Shepherd: You mean in case it's poisonous, right? Like THEORETICALLY if I didn't see this tweet until just now and HYPOTHETICALLY I found an apple tree and ate an apple, that would be fine?

Ursula: ...that would not be fine.

Shepherd: Beamer didn't want any, which was weird I thought.

Ursula: INDUCE VOMITING! INDUCE VOMITING!

Shepherd: He didn't eat anything! I'm not going to gag my dog for not eating an apple!

Ursula: Not the dog! Induce vomiting in yourself! Every chunk of that apple needs to come out before you digest it!

Shepherd: FINE. I have puked it up. It was a really good apple, too.

Ursula: Oh thank god. Whew. Okay. The alternative was that you were gonna need a cold iron enema and I wasn’t sure how to do that on short notice.

Shepherd: Oh hey fun fact, "cold iron" is just, like, iron. It's not a special kind or anything!

Ursula: Do you have any on you right now? Beamer’s collar or tags or anything?

Shepherd: Collar hardware is all aluminum these days, otherwise it rusts. Let me pat down my pockets. Syringe of dewormer? Is that helpful?

Shepherd: Anyway I don't want to alarm you but uh. I can't find the trail I followed? So you and Kevin will need to go over tonight and give the boys [i.e. oxen] a hay bale and the goats and sheep two.

Ursula: No! I am scared of cows! We have to get you out of there! Look, I have a bunch of Llewelyn books from my teenage pagan days. I’m sure Scott Cunningham or Silver Ravenwolf covered this somewhere.

Shepherd: Scott Cunningham seems like a really drastic measure just because you're afraid of some cows. But sooner or later I'm going to run out of cigarettes so sure, why not. Oh!! The boys' bow pins are in my pocket, I was going to sand them today and oil them! They're very definitely iron!

Ursula: That’s good! That’s very good! If anyone tries to talk to you, keep hold of those! Now let’s see...do you consider yourself a “solitary practitioner?”

Shepherd: Ursula I'm an ornamental hermit, you don't get much more solitary. Also so far the only person who tried to talk to me was a frog.

Ursula: ...what did the frog say?

Shepherd: "SMOKING KILLS." I tossed it back in the pond.

Ursula: *rubs forehead*

Shepherd: Fucking frogs are all alike, I'm telling you.

Ursula: I really wish these authors had spent less time on “why Wicca isn’t Satanism” and more time on “what to do when you’ve strayed into the fae realms.” I mean, I understand it was the political climate of the time...

Shepherd: I feel like nobody really covers that last one anymore. You have 4 hours until the cows want dinner.

Ursula: Silver Ravenwolf suggests making your magical working space more inviting with stencils? These books spend a surprising amount of time on interior decorating as a vital part of ritual magick. I never noticed that when I was fifteen.

Shepherd: Yeah me neither honestly. It's remarkably unhelpful when you're stuck in faerie and your collie is getting bored. Shepherd: So you want me to... Build a magical working space and stencil it?

Ursula: I can’t actually see how that would help matters. Maybe I should check the Foxfire books instead.

Shepherd: I... Don't remember them having anything relevant, but I might be wrong?

Ursula: They have everything. Ooh, this one is about how to scald the bristles off a hog!

Shepherd: A) I already know how to do that and B) I do not have a hog, sufficient firewood, or a hog scrubbing brush here. FOCUS, URSULA. FOCUS.

Ursula: Sorry, the ADHD meds haven’t kicked in yet today...uh...let’s see...avoid whippoorwills, if you see any?

Shepherd: I do that already, otherwise they steal your toenails.

Ursula: If you harvest apples, leave one on the tree or it attracts the Devil.

Shepherd: You told me not to eat the apples! Am I allowed to eat the apples now??

Ursula: No! These are hypothetical apples! NO EATING! I tried to look up deer in the Foxfire books and there’s a story about somebody’s grandpa wrestling a buck in a mill dam and drowning it, but I don’t see the relevance here. I mean, Grandpa does sound like a badass, though.

Shepherd: I feel like I shouldn't wrestle deer here. What if I try telling Beamer to find his sheep?

Ursula: Well, research has hit a small snag. I tried googling for the foxfire books and kudzu, in case there was something about fae kudzu portals, right? But it turns out your Twitter is the third hit. Shep, we may BE the experts.

Shepherd: Uh oh. OK. In that case, you and Kevin go over to Dog Skull. Hitch up Cole and Cannon and take them back to the oak trees. Put a logging chain around one and yell real loud "LET SHEPHERD OUT OR WE START PULLING"

Ursula: Oh hell no! I read tree law Reddit! I know how this ends! Do you want us to get sued by Freemasons?!

Shepherd: I DON'T THINK THE FREEMASONS ARE THE PROBLEM HERE, URSULA

Ursula: I DON’T TRUST THEM WITH THEIR LITTLE LEVELS AND SHEEPSKINS AND WEIRDLY OCULAR PYRAMIDS Also if you see a pyramid with an eye on it, don’t eat it’s either.

Ursula: Okay. Never mind the Freemasons. I wrote a book about this once, I think. White animals, scary fae, random magic deer. It was set in Finland, so you may need to fashion some umlauts, though.

Shepherd: I've got my chore knife, I can carve so many umlauts. Do I just put them in trees until I get back?

Ursula: First of all, are you wearing pants?

Shepherd: YES I'M WEARING PANTS YOU WEIRDO

Ursula: t’s a legitimate question! I mean, I’m not wearing pants.

Now Shep, this is very important. You have to take off your pants.

Also your shoes, your hoodie, and probably Beamer’s collar.

Shepherd: Ursula. Why are we getting naked.

Ursula: To break the misdirection spell! Put your clothes on backwards!

And possibly inside out? Shit, there’s a bunch of different sources. I don’t know if they have to be inside out, but definitely backwards.

Uh...let’s see...hmm, backwards definitely. Inside out might be for leshy. Leshies? Leshys? What’s the plural form, do you think?

If you happen to see any giggling green hairy dudes, ask them what the plural form of their name is. That’s gonna bug me.

Shepherd: Beamer's collar doesn't have a backwards! I'll turn it inside out. And my clothes backwards and inside out, got it.

Shepherd: There's just, like, frogs. And squirrels. I can hear music though! There might be a dance party, I could go ask about green hairy dudes?

Ursula: STAY AWAY FROM THE MUSIC unless it’s the Freemasons I guess

Shepherd: No it's more folk music. The Freemasons play, like, Michael Jackson.

ANYWAY clothes are backwards and inside out. Beamer's collar is backwards and just to be thorough I tied the rope end of his leash to his collar instead of using the clip, so his leash is backwards too. He's pulling me away from the pond!

Ursula: Tell him to go find his sheep!

Shepherd: I have so instructed him! Hopefully there's not, like, the faerie equivalent of really good sheep here. Hey do you want me to grab you an apple

Ursula: No, they don’t come true from seed, but if you can cut me a decent slightly whippy twig with a few leaves, I might be able to root that sucker.

Shepherd: ...you want me to pause a collie on a mission while I test the whippiness of twigs??

I HEAR MOOING. I SEE PINE TREES.

Ursula: GO TOWARD THE MOOING

Shepherd: THERE'S THE OLD RUSTED OUT METAL THING! I'm back! On uh the opposite side of the property from the one I left from.

Also there's a goddamned chorus frog calling.

Ursula: Yeah, they do that.

Ursula: THANK GOD THE KUDZU IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PORTAL

...oh, and you’re back, that’s good too. Very pleased.

Shepherd: Anyway you don't have to feed the boys. Unless you want to?

Ursula: There is no situation where I will WANT to feed your giant-ass death bovines.

Also, what have we learned about following the white doe into the woods?

Shepherd: She knows where the really good apples are?

Also my boys are tiny!!

Ursula: ...I’m gonna go take a nap.

#Ursula Vernon #NeolithicSheep #Faerie

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