#i was gasping and straight up guffawing through the whole thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chil2de · 3 years

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hi yes the benimaru fic i mentioned earlier— fire force fandom will you let me in please??🥺🥺 i don’t know what i’m dealing with fanbase wise mmfldjfj sometimes it feels like i’m head over heels for bens by myself so... i’ll drop this here for now.. see how it goes and i’ll continue w/ a second part if ff isn’t dead

nsfw themes throughout, so please read my disclaimer if you’re new. enjoy :)

w.c: 1.7k, characters: 9.6k (incl spaces)

there’s a certain sluggish quality that plagues your movements. it’s not fatigue or incompetence. or so benimaru would hope.

his mix matched gaze glosses over your unnecessary movements. that extra exhale you hiss, the additional bat of your eyelashes and the excessive perspiration that drips onto the earth below.

“stop.” he commands, tone low and stern as it pierces through the open air.

“huh? captain shinmon, i’m fine. we can keep going.” you huff through laboured breaths, pausing to gasp and drink in the plentiful oxygen around you.

“it’s one thing if you’re overworking your muscles. it’s another if you’re running a fever. go inside.”

“b-but captain-“

benimaru shoots you a dead stare, keeping his statement rooted deep where he stands.

judging by the bruises that adorn your knees, you know better than to disobey the captain.

“waka! have you seen (l/n)?” konro lingers in the doorframe of the main communal area, gaze scanning for one of his colleagues.

“she’s in her room. why?”

“her room? she has a few errands to run. is she feeling okay?”

“she’s running a fever.” benimaru exhales, shifting to get up from the table. he lightly scratches the back of his neck, adorning that usual aloof facial expression.

“in the middle of summer? how’d that happen?” konro chuckles through a small glimpse of bewilderment. of course he’d be concerned for one of his best recruits.

“hell if i know. what do we need? i’ll head out.”

if anything, benimaru is probably the sole reason why you’re running a fever. why he subjected to railing you underneath water that felt like it was nearing sub-zero was beyond you. it’s not like he’s about to admit he enjoys fucking his special little fire soldier. how he relishes and engrains the sight of your fucked out facial expression deep into his head, burning the image into his retinas. shit, you wouldn’t be surprised if the reason why he sometimes spaces out is because of you.

it’s always been blatantly obvious that you’re the captain’s favourite, no matter how much he denies it and how many glares he shoots at the people from other companies. you’re always left apologising for his behaviour, attempting to keep a straight face.

for the one time you dragged him out to patrol with you, and the amount of incessant whining, complaints and bribes you offered your captain, after a full month of lovely slow burn he decided to come along with you. he just up and left, had the audacity to turn around and ask you why you’re still standing there. benimaru always kept his distance to yours close, in fact the separation was almost minimal. you could feel his shoulders ghost over you.

every time he noticed someone staring at your figure for a little bit too long to be deemed appropriate, he hissed a scoff of distaste. at around the third or fourth person, you were already forced to deal with his short temper.

“what the hell are you gawking at? mind your damn business.”

but sure. apparently you’re not his favourite.

he can scoff and complain all he wants, but that won’t stop him even now from lazily snaking his hand around to his favourite baby girl’s waist. to him, this seems like the most normal thing.

“how else is she going to stand upright? she’s all stick and bones, the wind will knock her right over.”

okay, benimaru. you keep telling yourself that. even when his fingers feel an itch every time they’re not touching a part of your skin. he tends to get a whole lot more mouthy and irritable every time you’re not around, too.

hell, even his own townsfolk pick up on the fact that he’s out and about more. rounds that he always left to the lesser important underlings became more commonplace, especially with you by his side.

but the things that go on behind closed doors?

his peppermint red eyes that haunt your mind, infiltrating your very thoughts. you could be minding your business, going on about your day until you get an abrupt flicker of his mundane tic-tac-toe gaze staring up at you from in between your thighs.

you could be taking care of hinata and hikage, entertaining their antics when you feel the weight of benimaru’s stare burn holes into your uniform.

you could be doing your daily sparring with the captain. in the zone, breath held and blood stream steady until you remember the feel of his hot tongue trailing along the side of your neck. for someone who seems to be stuck in a perpetual state of sadness, you always catch the arrogant smirk that pulls at his lips.

“thinking of something?” he’ll cock his eyebrows, using the distraction to take a jab to your gut.

you groan, stirring around in your bed. you hate him, hate that stupid half lidded gaze of his. you hate how soft his wavy jet black locks are. the way the strands tug and bend whenever you try to yank his face away from your cunt. you run your fingers through your hair in a valiant yet futile attempt to free your thoughts from your captain. it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon, and you haven’t done anything but reminisce about your lover for the past hour and a half.

a meek and uneven sigh hisses from your lips. your eyes screw open and you flinch at the hard sunlight that pours in from the window. as you use the inner portion of your elbow to shield your gaze, you catch glimpse of a very familiar figure in the doorway.

“captain shinmon?” you inquire, propping yourself up onto your elbows. he closes the door behind him. you’re certain that you looked like a loyal dog sat panting and wagging its tail upon discovering the return of their owner.

“excited to see me?” he remarks in a flat tone, opening the grocery bag he’s carrying before setting a few things down onto your nightstand. it’s mostly medicine, though he snags a few of your favourite snacks and drinks. there’s also one of those fascinating green tea bottles that you buy at the vending machines, except they’re served piping hot.

“how’re you feeling?”

“i told you i was going to get sick if we had the water that cold.” you huff, averting your gaze in a fit.

“not my problem you can’t take a little temperature difference”

“a little? that shit was freezing! how the hell can you take water that cold?”

“how can you not?”

you chuckle a little, shifting to stare up at the ceiling.

“don’t you have paperwork to do?”

“you know i don’t do paperwork. sure as hell not gonna start doing it now.” benimaru huffs, kicking his boots off by the door. you can hear his clothes rustling and your head snaps to face him. he shoots you a glare, as though to scold you. it’s dripping on his face. ‘really? you’re so eager.’

“move up.” he cocks his head to the side, motioning for you to move over. you shift up, room spinning a little too much for your tastes. the mattress dips with his weight and his right arm (our left) reflexively hangs in the air for you to dip your head into the crook of where his shoulder and collarbone meet. he discards his navy kimono, the article of clothing hangs on one of the hooks at the back of your door. it’s probably not much comfort for him to be relaxing in a bed with half of his uniform still on.

you squish your face against his hard chest, head rising and falling in time with his breathing. the said arm relaxes and his hand rests against your shoulder. subsequently, you realise this is the first time you’ve seen him fully without his kimono on. at the very least, he’d still have the other sleeve on.

benimaru notices your blatant staring at his other arm. he can’t comprehend why you’d gawk at it now, since he’s used it plenty of times to choke you.

he hums a small ‘hm’ in question, asking you what you’re so fascinated about. you can feel his voice thrum and rock against his chest, it sends small shivers licking your body that he doesn’t miss.

“you look so funny without your kimono on. why don’t you wear it like this more often?” you drag your nails softly against his biceps. there’s a small groan that hisses from him. as you await his response, you outline a large vein that runs from his upper arm and trails down all the way to his wrist.

“i get cold easily.”

“then why did you take a shower with me?”

“are you hearing yourself?”

surely a little bit of his body temperature was enough to sacrifice. even if it meant he was sneezing a little bit and shivering afterwards.

“seriously? you can take a tranquiliser but you can’t stand a little cold?”

“you’ll make a shitty wife if you can’t even keep me warm.”

“beni!” you hiss at benimaru in appaul, craning your face up to guffaw at him. the manners on him sometimes are despicable.

you pout, shifting your upper weight to flick benimaru in between his eyebrows. he screws his face in mutiny, lips curled into a scowl.

you and him both know that if it were anyone else flicking him like that, they’d be sent crashing through six different blocks of houses down the street.

“oi.” he warns you, tutting.

“konro come by and work some voodoo magic bullshit on you? ‘cause you’re testing your luck by pissing me off. you’re such a menace when you’re sick, it’s unbelievable.”

you hum in awe, inching your face closer towards his. there’s a wave of mockery that paints your face green and you can only laugh at the unrest that swirls in benimaru’s eyes.

he won’t have his pet talking down to him like that. no, no. that just won’t do.

“oh? really? you want me to do it again?” you flash him a cocky smirk, digits curled into a flicking position. you rest the bridge of your middle finger against benimaru’s forehead, slicking some of his charcoal stained locks out the way.

his left hand flies to catch your hand in an instant. with just two of his fingers, he can wrap himself around your wrist. his touch is assertive, firm. he can drag you the fuck away from him as he pleases, but there’s no real malice or force behind him just yet.

“yeah? try me.” he barks, peering down at you through his lashes.

you just might.

#?? i hope he sounds okay?#his dialogue was extremely finicky to me #i’ve heard lots of people complain that their or someone elses beni sounded ooc so ihope thats not the case here #benimaru shinmon #benimaru x you #benimaru x y/n #benimaru x reader #fire force x y/n #fire force x reader #fire force x you #fire force #fire force imagines #fire force self insert #fire force smut #fire force hcs #fire force headcanons

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theladyismyshepard · 3 years

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I love your characterizations of the daughters and all of your imagines they are fantastic! i was wondering would it be okay to request an imagine where the reader says to the daughters like during an argument or something,“you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid!” and they all react to her in different ways? plz take ur time with the imagines and don’t feel pressured/rushed as ik writing should be something that is fun and not feel like a chore, thank you for all the content you have written so far :)

@frustratinglyinquisitive also maybe this could double as your #28 prompt? 🥺👉👈

Why Does Everyone Wanna Kiss Me So Bad?

The sunset was shining bright enough to sting and obscure eyesight, but that didn’t stop you from staring up into the pink and orange hues. Every time you blinked, the phantom flash of the sun still danced along your eyelids, leaving a glare across your vision. You weren’t even bothered by it, not when this numbness had clung itself to you, leaving you idle and just there. You flexed your fingers, and it rattled the chains locked around your wrists, bringing you back to where you were.

The boxed confinement you were trapped in felt more of a cage rather than the carriage bumping along the rocky trail that led you to your new prison — yes, Castle Dimitrescu sounded to be just another form of punishment, though you were uncertain as to why you were to be moved from Heisenberg’s watch to Lady Dimitrescu’s estate. You could hardly call it a step up from the twisted games he forced you to play within his factory.

You were sure you were on borrowed time and it was nearly time to collect, and you were certain that time had come when the four Lords surrounded you with Mother Miranda playing the head of the beast, leaving you cowering on the floor. The familiar iron hammer and the stench of billowing cigar smoke was on your right.

Standing next to him was quite possibly one of the ugliest... things you’d ever seen. A cloak hid a majority of his body, but you had the suspicion that the misshaped person next to Heisenberg wasn’t entirely human... you got that vibe from everyone in the room. Especially the weird doll that couldn’t seem to reign in its excitement as it bounced in the veiled woman’s lap seated next to Mother Miranda.

There was nothing human about the golden eyes that peered into yours from under the brim of a wide hat. They seemed calculating, curious, if not a tad bit confused as they surveyed your weak form. You looked away, unable to handle the weight of the woman’s gaze, and that was how you caught Mother Miranda’s bright eyes cutting into you from behind her bird-like mask.

“Oh, how I have been waiting to meet you, little one.” her voice demanded respect, but all you could do was gawk. “You are a stubborn thing, I’ve heard.”

Her gaze slowly crept over to Heisenberg as she said it, and you couldn’t help but feel a tremor of fright at his angered snarl, his arms crossed petulantly. It was true, you had endured many weeks at the hands of the leather-clad man, and while he did his worst, you refused to succumb to his torture, though for how much longer, you couldn’t say.

“I cannot fathom what keeps you here, but there is nothing special about the common human.” said Mother Miranda, and the mounting irritation was crystal clear. “You might have one looking like a dog chasing its own tail, but let us see how you fare in Castle Dimitrescu.”

You could immediately tell who dwelled there with the way the woman wearing white was smiling like the cat who ate the canary. She was completely predatory and was feeding off of Heisenberg’s disgrace and fury, and between the two, you weren’t sure who the best option was, not when her eyes turned to you and she looked like she knew exactly what she wanted to do with you.

“Do not worry, Mother Miranda,” the woman promised, already moving to stand, and the way she towered over you had your neck craned straight upward. “It’s been some time since my daughters had a plaything.”

That comment alone had the other occupants of the room guffawing and whistling. Everyone seemed to thoroughly enjoy the prospect of her daughters getting their hands on you, even Heisenberg had his eyebrows arched in surprise. Who the hell are these girls? Mother Miranda seemed to know and that was all that mattered.

“You are about to see what real monsters are.”

And that was how you found yourself roughly chained up inside the carriage that guided you to Castle Dimitrescu. You weren’t entirely sure why it was such a slap in the face to Heisenberg, but he seemed rather indignant as he loaded you up, spitting insults through the whole process.

You couldn’t say for sure how long you had been traveling, but it was enough to have all of your joints achey and your ass numb by the time it was all said and done. Hell, it was long enough to feel the temperature drop as you trekked back around the mountains that stood between the factory and the castle. Though that wasn’t to say that you were in any big rush to get there. In fact, your heart dropped when the carriage came to an abrupt halt.

Panic gripped at your heart, and it felt as though fingers squeezed tightly around it. It left you motionless where you sat, wide eyes glued to the door that you were shoved in through. You could hear Heisenberg muttering and rustling as he approached, but aside from that, you couldn’t hear the distinct clanking of his iron hammer. He had such little faith in your survival skills that he didn’t even bother with arming himself to release you. Not that he needed to... You’ve seen what he can become, and you’ve seen what he houses in his factory. He’d kill you dead in a few seconds flat if you tried anything.

But at this point, what did you have to lose? Mother Miranda made it very clear that you were to be eliminated at the hands of these daughters, so did it really matter if you died at the doorstep or in the dungeon? You might have accepted death, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t put up a last fight out of pure stubbornness. So that was how you had every intention of kicking forcefully at the door once it began creeping open to have him stumble back, possibly cracking him straight in the nose in the process, but that didn’t go as planned right off the bat.

Not when the door was nearly ripped right off the hinges in the haste to open, leaving you jarred, mouth hanging. The sunlight was now faded and replaced by the beams of the moon, but it was a bright night, leaving you capable of seeing that this was definitely not Heisenberg. And neither was she... or her. Uh oh.

“Mother! She’s here!” squealed the redheaded girl closest to you, clapping happily.

“Thank you for the gift, Mother,” said the brunette, her smirk not reaching her dead eyes.

“We will not disappoint you.” promised the blonde, her eyes observing your every move like a hawk.

“Have fun, daughters, but do remember that this one comes special from Mother Miranda, so do not forget to thank her.” their mother instructed, as if you weren’t there.

“Thank you, Mother Miranda,” all three said in unison before three different pairs of hands grabbed whichever part of you that they could.

Heisenberg clicked his tongue from where he leaned against the side of the carriage. He had an arm crossed while the other brought a cigar nestled between two fingers to his lips. You couldn’t read his eyes from behind his circular sunglasses, but you could read the entertainment in his toothy smile before he took a drag. When he blew it out into your direction, his satisfied grin spread again.

“Now, you have fun now, too, ya hear?” He mocked, chuckling as he turned on his heel, mounted the carriage, and prompted the horses to carry him off into the night.

“We’re gonna have lots of fun.” giggled the redhead, her smile the widest of the daughters as she tugged at your arm, dragging you along the pathway towards the castle.

“Not if I get to her first,” the brunette chimed in, her own grip on your other wrist tightening and pulling, almost like she was trying you get you away from the other.

“Who said either of you get the first turn?” the blonde interrupted, frown etched into her face as she tangled her fingers into the collar of your shirt.

“Enough,” drawled Lady Dimitrescu, voice barely more than a bored mumble, but it still had the daughters zipping their lips. “Bela, you are the oldest, and less likely to break her before your other sisters get a turn, so you may have the first turn.”

The blonde grinned brightly while the other two scowled but saying nothing in front of their mother. Your eyes couldn’t decide where to stay as you glanced between all four women as they finally led you through the entrance of the castle. You noticed that the temperature didn’t really increase from taking shelter, the walls giving off their own chill to substitute for the lack of outside wind.

You didn’t even have time to marvel at the interior before Bela was tugging at you with renewed eagerness. You caught the slight growl from the brunette’s direction, but one glare from the Lady and it ceased. What the hell was really going on here? You never had time to process anything before sister after sister said something that left you reeling.

“Aww, her heart’s racing!” announced the redhead, her eyes wide and unblinking as they stared at your chest. “Please let me-”

“Daniela, no,” snapped Lady Dimitrescu sternly, her frown lines on display. “You will be last, and that’s that.”

Daniela’s face twitched in her attempt to bite her tongue to prevent her argument from bursting forth. It didn’t stop her from turning and giving the brunette a glare however. You gasped when her body dissolved into a swarm of bugs before your very eyes. They dispersed and flew this way and that, and you honestly don’t know why it still shocked you when the brunette followed the same exit style. A nose pressed against the side of your neck and you jolted so hard that you nearly broke free of the hand that was now caressing your shoulder.

“Such a jittery, little thing,” whispered Bela so quietly that her following inhale was louder. “Though I hardly smell the sweet scent of terror... Is this one broken, mother?”

You couldn’t help it, you had to chuckle at the complete honesty in Bela’s question. Your lack of fright baffled this girl almost as much as she baffled you altogether, and suddenly you were staring each other down. Her eyes were narrowed suspiciously as she cut her gaze up and down your body. Even Lady Dimitrescu arched a finely sculpted brow at you, seeming more interested now than she did among the other Lords.

“Mother Miranda assures there is nothing special about this one.” said Lady Dimitrescu.

“Why do you not fear me?” demanded Bela, almost sounding offended, her grip on your shoulder tightening. “Your heart is pounding but you aren’t oozing that smell that I like!”

“It’s kinda hard to fear death when you don’t even care about living anymore.” You deadpanned without much feeling, your eyes finding the ground more interesting. “Heisenberg rid me of everything that made me who I used to be.”

“And just who were you before my dear uncle dug his claws into you?” pressed Bela, and you refrained yourself from showing any outward reaction to their connection. You swallowed as you looked her dead in the eye now.

“Someone who would have the common sense to know just how dangerous you are.” You answered, and her brow furrowed.

“Who are you now?” She questioned quietly, her eyes softening a bit under the chandelier light. All you could do was shrug, you had no concrete answer for her, yet you knew you had to supply something.

“Someone who thinks that being abducted by three beautiful women isn’t exactly the worst case scenario,” you chuckled mirthlessly, the bitter smile on your face cutting into your cheeks almost painfully.

Bela stared at you almost dumbfounded before she had to look at her mother, almost as if to double check that she indeed heard correctly before she burst into a fit of giggles. Lady Dimitrescu didn’t even meet her eye, she was too busy staring into your soul. Only when your eyes fell to your feet did you hear her heels clicking away up the winding staircase.

“Remember what she’s here for, dear,” she drawled, never turning back, and leaving you alone with Bela.

“If you’re gonna kill me, just get it over with.” You spat, attempting to sound brave rather than defeated.

Bela’s smile was almost animalistic with the way blood smeared across her lips and stained her teeth, and you couldn’t help but to feel like the prey when she took slow, deliberate steps around you.

“Oh, no, where is the fun in that?” Bela countered, reaching out to graze over whatever part she could touch as she continued to stalk around you in circles, taking you all in. “You are my pet now.”

“I thought I was a plaything.” You couldn’t help but throw back into her face, and you were surprised when Bela merely cocked her head instead of getting angered by your outburst.

“Mother Miranda might not find anything special about you, but call me fascinated.” said Bela, stopping in front of you, her fingertips caressing your throat. “You belong to me now.”

“Us,” corrected a sudden voice behind you, and the haze that was settling over you in Bela’s presence was lifted when you jerked forward.

You tried to whirl around on your heel out of reflex to back away, but Bela’s fingers dipped from your throat to grip at the collar of your shirt to keep you still and facing her. You flinched away from the sudden hand that tangled in the bottom of your hair, pulling your head back until it was resting against a shoulder. Brown hair cascaded down into your eyes.

“Mother Miranda gave her to all of us.” corrected the brunette, the edge in her voice making it like steel.

“Cassandra’s right,” sang Daniela in a sing song voice, and it had a shiver running down your spine, which prompted a round of wild giggling. “Did you like that, pet?”

“If we’re being technical,” Bela piped up with an eye roll, trying to pull you closer and failing when both Daniela and Cassandra tightened their own grips on you. “Mother Miranda gave her to us to tear apart, so she wasn’t meant for anyone.”

“Buuuuuuut?” You interrupted, hoping to add a touch of humor to your case.

Daniela giggled and Bela shook her head in mild amusement, but you found that Cassandra was the more difficult one to crack. She didn’t offer a single facial expression as her eyes surveyed every inch of your body, and you couldn’t tell if she was appreciating the view or if she was sizing up which part of you she wanted to rip off and take for herself.

These three women spoke so callously and so nonchalant right in front of you. These three women were what Mother Miranda referred to as “monsters” compared to the actual beasts you had seen lurking within Heisenberg’s factory. These three women were spattered in blood that you somehow knew wasn’t theirs, and they wouldn’t stop touching you. Hm.

“Aren’t you funny,” Cassandra said nearly monotonous, but her smirk was on full display, and you cursed the light, fluttering feel of your chest.

“I try,” you whispered, afraid that speaking any louder would be taken as a threat to these crazed women, but you did look her in the eye to gauge her reaction.

“Can we keep this one, Bela, please?” whined Daniela, pouting at the blonde.

“I don’t think mother would allow it though.” Bela worried, finally releasing her hold on your shirt, and that had Cassandra and Daniela pulling you closer (and almost apart).

“She is ours to do as we please, we’d kill her if she tried anything.” snapped Cassandra, looking like the whole situation was stupid to her.

“Obviously she will not try to escape!” insisted Daniela, nodding her head furiously towards who you were guessing was the older sister, before turning to you. “Right?”

Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela were all looking at you expectantly, and you couldn’t help but feel warm under the spotlight. You could practically see the thoughts flicking through Bela’s calculating eyes. Cassandra was cool and reserved as her eyes gave nothing away, but her wicked smirk showed she wanted something from you, whatever that might be. Daniela’s eyes were intense as they bored into you, and her smile was almost unhinged, and honestly who were you to break it?

“I could never say no to three pretty girls.” You flirted, wagging your eyebrow to each sister, and the response was immediate.

Bela’s mouth parted in a silent gasp before she latched onto the front of your shirt again and started giggling. Cassandra looked entirely predatory now as her eyes flashed and her smirk showed all of her teeth, her own chuckles slipping out. Daniela, who was curled around your arm the whole time, had stars in her eyes at your answer and she smiled widely, throwing her own cackling into the mix, and suddenly it was a symphony.

“I want her first,” pleaded Daniela, eyes never leaving you.

“Mother said it’s my turn with the pet!” said Bela, tugging at you again.

“Why should we get her after she’s been used?” Cassandra argued, her arm now wrapped around you from behind.

“I won’t break her!” snapped Bela, her pulling useless when it was a deadlock between three pairs of hands.

“I don’t care!” cried Daniela, one arm curled around yours and her other hand reaching up to grab your opposite shoulder, locking you in. “I want her!”

You swallowed past your suddenly dry throat. The three sisters were not only talking about a possibility of keeping you around, but it sounded as though they were fighting over you. Your cheeks were aflame as you averted your eyes.

“Look who’s bashful all of a sudden,” jested Cassandra, both her hands falling to your hips. “Where’s all that talk now?”

“I can smell you blushing.” Daniela interjected, sniffing aloud and moaning. “You smell so good... we need to make you blush often.”

“Are we sure we can hide this from mother?” Bela asked one last time, almost like she was seeking permission from her younger sisters now. Daniela and Cassandra shrugged.

“We’ll just have to find out, now won’t we?” You pressed, looking to solidify your place among them... you’d take the position of “pet” over the one of “food” any day.

“Brave little thing,” Cassandra cooed, her fingers rubbing circles on your hips. “I need you with me.”

“Dammit I said it’s my turn!” snarled Bela, finally poking and prying at her sisters fingers locked around you.

“Just because you’re the oldest-!”

“You’re damn right I’m the oldest, and I-”

“You look so stupid,” spat Cassandra petulantly, having enough with going nowhere in the argument, and you could see that this was about to get old quick if you didn’t ease some of the tension.

“You all wanna kiss me so bad it makes you all look stupid.” You sucked your teeth between your lips when it grew deadly silent.

Bela had a crease between her brow as she stared at you in shock, uncertain if she heard you right. Cassandra was a blank slate as she absorbed you taking her insult and turning it back around on her as well. Daniela was wide eyed as she gaped at you for a full five seconds before she snorted and her megawatt smile lit up her entire face.

“I won’t let them get rid of you.” Daniela promised, and you couldn’t recall the last time that she blinked.

“Okay, okay,” sighed Bela, glaring at her sister. “We’re all going to keep her.”

“I hope I don’t break you.” chuckled Cassandra, and coupled with her breath so close to your ear, it had warmth flaring in the pit of your stomach.

“Don’t get bashful on me, now,” you smirked back, relishing in the giggles that surrounded you.

“Come along, plaything,” quipped Bela, winking at you as she dragged you along, the sisters following along with her this time. “We’ve got to show you your new home.”

Wild giggling echoed throughout the castle, and it was becoming your new favorite tune.

#bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu’s daughters x reader #alcina dimitrescu

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umiarumi · 3 years

Text

fucking three houses | lorenz hellman gloucester

the whole reason i wrote this collection was because of an inside joke. "wouldnt slut shaming lorenz be funny?"

The resounding tune of the clock striking noon echoed around the monastery, prompting you to perk up from your studies. Usually, you studied in solitude. As outgoing as your allies made you, you always held onto that ease and pleasure being alone supplied you. With how lust-induced your recent activities had been, a little peace and quiet would do you some well-deserved good.

You shut the book regarding tactics your professor had recommended you. The soft shuffles of former students leaving the library and hushed chatter reverberated around the room and halls. Of course, you were at war but there's always time to get better at what you do. You chuckled at the thought of some grizzled lady wielding a sword studying. Well, that is you after all!

Sliding the book back in its respective shelf, you hummed as you remembered Tomas. From what you gathered, the Tomas that the faculty knew was replaced. Unfortunate, but unsurprising knowing the enemies working behind the scenes.

You shifted your thoughts to your upcoming mission. Some scouting mission from the empire detected commotion in Garreg Mach. You huffed at the thought. Of course, you'd expect Edelgard to retaliate but damn, that was quick.

You shook your head, well, it was tea time! Noon meant the yard would be filled with people gossiping and sipping alike, the hobby so ingrained in them that they retained it through the war.

You walked past Seteth, nodding to him. He nodded back, cracking a soft smile. You'd rarely see that emotion! You giddily laughed as he turned the corner, pleased to see he was loosening up.

Walking down the stairs, you passed a rushing Lysithea who didn't even recognise you. You grinned, shaking your head. Always in a rush, that girl! Or, well, woman. She'd like that better.

Sauntering, you caught a glimpse of a certain purple and ginger-headed duo bickering. "Lee! Lorenz! Whatever is wrong, my dear friends?" You cheered, slinging your arms around the two. Leonie raised a brow at you, grinning, seemingly relieved at your arrival. Lorenz, on the other hand, froze up. "Although you may have connections to House Riegan, (Y/N)..." He grumbled, sighing.

"Oh chill, Lorenz!" You guffawed, shaking your head. He'd become considerably more agreeable, but God, he'll hold onto that 'treating commoners with his version of respect' ideal forever.

Leonie nodded with you. "Yeah, buddy." She pointedly looked at Lorenz, crossing her arms. "Well, apparently (Y/N), Lorenz thinks that he can't take me to tea because I'm 'unpleasant'". Hands now on her hips, she turned back to you.

You smirked. "Lovers quarrel?" You asked, shifting your weight.

"NO, DUMBASS!" "Absolutely not!"

You cackled at the yells, waving your hands in front of your face dismissively. They really did act like it!

"My bad, my bad... now, Leonie is a great dining partner! But... I doubt tea is even your thing." You offered, mockingly putting on a wise tone. She slowly nodded, realising you're right.

"Yeah! A good meal is better than tea. Thanks for seeing my point, (Y/N)." She slapped your back before, turning away. "I'll spend this time on training, can never get enough!" She waved goodbye to the two of you, although you supposed it was more to you.

Lorenz sighed, brushing his, admittedly less foul, hair out of his face. "I fail to see why you defend her." He muttered, looking to you. You raised a brow, tilting your head for that added 'what do you mean?' effect.

"Simply put, she wouldn't make a fair tea partner. She accused me of the reason being that she was a commoner, but it truly was not! I explained to her, but she seemed to have not appreciated my honesty, either." He pondered, lips pursing.

"Well, Lorenz! I think you need a lesson in manners." You bluntly asserted, placing your hands on your sides.

"Why I never-"

"Not that you don't have wonderful manners! However, your honesty can be jarring... you come off rude, man." You explained, patting his shoulder.

"So I am to lie?"

"Gah! No! Look, how about we discuss it over tea?" You suggested, exasperated. As intelligent as the dude is, his social cues with... commoners and the rest of us normal people are is abysmal!

He nodded. "A splendid notion! Shall we take this to my dorm? I feel as though the tea court will be filled by now. I also have some delectable flavours and tea sets!" He smiled, leading you away.

You yelped, catching up to him. What was the deal with guys walking briskly away from you?

~~~~

"Please, take a seat." He offered, pulling out a chair for you. You mumbled thanks, sitting down.

Crossing your legs, you hummed. Was this a curse? Was this going to end up in you fucking the most pretentious man? Well, the omniscient presence watching your every move knows the answers.

As he poured the tea into your embellished cup, you admired the colour. "How pretty! And the teacup compliments it!" You whispered in awe, looking back up to Lorenz. He smiled sweetly at you, almost in the way one would at a kitten or puppy.

"I'm glad you have a knack for spotting artistic factors in the simplest things." He said, sitting down opposite you.

"However, on our way here, I thought about something."

You gulped. How was your impending lecturing being turned on you?!

"Y-yes?" You stuttered, bringing the teacup to your mouth, sipping nervously on the steaming liquid.

He eyed you, before humming.

"I doubt you're the most qualified person to teach me about manners." He said, gauging your reaction. You halted sipping on your tea.

Collecting yourself, you placed your teacup back down. "Oh? Why would that be?" You questioned, fiddling with the tablecloth.

"Well, you seem to have time engaging in certain... promiscuous activities, that isn't exactly too innocent or polite." He murmured, sipping on his tea.

Your eyes bulged, hands antsy as they moved to your face to hide your shock.

"For someone so carefree to participate in such... activities in public, you sure do seem to hold a facade of modesty." He replied, watching you sternly.

"Yeah, imagine how it feels having someone know of this!" You gritted your teeth, clenching your arms.

He raised a brow, smiling crookedly. "Certainly you wouldn't mind. Considering you would do so on holy grounds. You and Claude seemed to have not cared. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole monastery heard you."

You gasped, moving to get out of your chair. You didn't need a lecture from Lorenz.

He stood up with you, challenging your gaze.

"When I told Leonie she wasn't well-kempt enough... I suppose you aren't any better." He smirked, watching you bite your lip anxiously.

"Damnit, what do you want!? Don't tell anyone, I'll do anything!" You pleaded, taking a step forward. Lorenz grinned at this, raising a brow. He walked around the table, coming to face you directly. You looked down, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Since you're so eager to offer. Perhaps I could partake in those services Claude recommended to you?" He whispered, hand coming to tilt your chin upwards. Your face erupted in a dark heat, your heart thumping.

Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz.

You collected yourself, giving him a sly grin as your hands found themselves around his neck. "Well, if you're interested in a free trial..." You hinted, swaying your hips.

Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz.

He gulped, smiling crookedly. "You strike a hard bargain, my fair lady. I suppose I'd have to indulge." He murmured, grabbing underneath your knee and pulling your leg up to his waist.

Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz.

"Then, please, take whatever you'd like."

Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck-

Your lips were captured by his own, as you soon felt your weight shift as your body was lifted from the ground. You wrapped your legs around him fully as you were set down on his plush bed

The kiss heated up passionately, feeling Lorenz palm you through your normal uniform. Being a Sunday, no war business was discussed and no armour was worn. He cupped your breasts.

"You're hardly pleasant, ever so brash and callous. But not to fear, I'll mould you into a fair woman. However, I'd say I prefer your unabashed promiscuousness." He hissed, stripping you of your uniform. Soon, your bra and underwear followed.

He shed his own casual uniform, for once in his life, not caring. That was proved as much as he dropped his uniform onto the mahogany floors.

You were pushed down onto the bed as you felt Lorenz slide on top of you, his already hard dick grinding against your slick cunt. You sighed, capturing his lips in a kiss once more.

His hands moved to your breasts, removing his mouth from your own only to kiss up the skin. Poking, squeezing, kissing, licking. He left no stone unturned, or in this case, no skin untouched. His apparent fixation on your breasts soon shifted to your darkened face. He simpered at his work.

"You will be good practice for the future. I suppose a whore such as yourself wouldn't oppose being treated with such behaviour." He proposed, his hands stroking up and down your sides.

"I... I'm not a whore!" You defended weakly. Yet any argument was soon washed away as he began to rub his dick up and down against your vagina.

"Oh? Ah, I see. So making love... no, I should say, carelessly fucking your former classmates one after another was just a hallucination?" He asked, the tip of his dick sliding into your walls for a split second before retreating.

"N-no, that's not what I meant!" You cried out, frustrated at the lack of stimulation.

"Ah, straight to denial, I see! You have skipped explaining and gone straight to denying your needy, sluttish behaviour." He groaned as he felt you pull him closer.

You cried out in frustration before looking away.

" F-fine! You're right that I'm a whore! I'm a whore who loves her classmate's dicks! Now please fuck me!" You moaned, exasperated.

"That's wonderful to hear."

And no sooner than he spoke did he thrust his dick right into your pussy, a silent moan escaping your open lips. He leant over you, feeling your tits press against him. Your legs rose and wrapped around his pistoning hips.

You struggled to get a full breath at the pace he was thrusting at, it sent your head spinning. You couldn't think, you could only feel as you were fucked silly by the one guy you could never like.

Yet, that distaste furthered your arousal.

"You are far from suitable for me. You.." He heaved as you clenched around him. "Naughty. You're brash, loud, unladylike... but you make a wonderful cocksleeve." He groaned into your ear, letting out soft moans.

You felt the coil in your stomach tighten at his words.

"Then... you're just like me! Sinking down... to my level just for some pussy?" You teased, slurring.

He smirked annoyedly. "Tch, I wouldn't say that in your position." He grunted out, holding you tighter as he pistoned harder.

"O-oh! I... you!" You moaned, speech cutting off as you couldn't talk. It was so fast, so hard, so good!

The two of you continued to moan and grunt, accompanied only by the sound of skin slapping. The erotic groans of the man you held such distaste for was sending you over the edge. You hated it so much that you loved it.

To the means of an end, you felt the coil snap as he groaned once more in your ear, the spasming of your walls soon causing him to cum. You felt your ravaged pussy shudder as ropes of hot cum seared your insides. As he slid out, it trailed out.

Lorenz looked down on you, smiling coyly at the sight. "Speechless and fucked silly, that's a perfect look for you."

#fanfic #fire emblem x reader smut #fire emblem x reader #fe3h x reader #fe3h #fire emblem smut #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #fe3h smut #fe3h fanfic #fanfic smut #smut #fanfiction #lorenz #lorenz gloucester #lorenz hellman gloucester #lorenz x reader #lorenz x reader smut

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celedyn · 2 years

Text

May DWC Day 1 - Chastity/Lust

“Isn’t that your grandfather?”

Eona turned, following her gaze back to the cart. Yoren was still in the driver’s seat, which was unsurprising as he was quite pinned in place by the elf’s legs slung across his lap. Celedyn was dressed in the traditional garb of Brewfest, so traditional in fact that the lederhosen he barely fit himself into had been originally sized for a dwarf rather than an elf. He always claimed it was more authentic. Already the elf was painting the old dwarf’s temple with a flurry of lipsticked kisses. “Ach, great granda’ actually, and Celedyn wi’ him.”

“What, you know him?”

“Yeah, he’s always like this wi’ old Yoren.”

Maywynnn’s nose wrinkled as she watched the pair “I don’t know how you’re so casual about it. It’s disgustin’ seeing some grave robber come to throw himself all over your kin.”

“Hah!” Her laugh barked sharply out into the cold air. “More of a cradle robber, now! He’s older’n my great granda’, though he’d pinch you to hear y’ say it.”

She visibly recoiled at the thought as her eyes returned to the pair; the elderly man just seeming to bask in the attention, one hand drifting around the waist of the cheerfully jabbering man who was somehow his senior; the age of elves as indecipherable as a handful of sand. “And planning to outlive him too, from the looks of it. Don’t you worry he’s trying to undermine your inheritance?”

“Inheritance? Hmh! I think great granda’ might outlast me at this point. Old Yoren’s survived his wife and all his children…. Hell, a few grandchildren, even.” She hummed with amusement “But nah, they’re not anythin’ like that. Most anythin’ great granda’s ever dug up of value was donated to the League, I’m pretty sure the elf has more to his name’n he does.”

“Ugh. I still don’t know why you’d allow it. It’s…It’s disrespectful to the memory of your great grandma.”

Eona couldn’t hold back a guffaw at that, patting her friend on the shoulder to try and encourage her away from the pair and back to the festivities. “It’s not hardly any kind of disrespect; those two were gettin’ along like fleas on a fur coat before he ever met great grandma Ruby - Titans guard her soul.”

“Ech! Do you have to put it like that?” Maywynn couldn’t resist shooting a look back to the pair. Celedyn was reading from a journal stamped with the Explorer’s League seal as Yoren’s hand slipped down from his waist to goose his ass. The elf gasped, feigning over dramatic shock, and then leaned in conspiratorially, murmuring something that made the elderly man’s eyes positively twinkle.

“Oh, I hear it said they were absolutely insufferable back when Yoren was young enough to do anythin’ about it. Now they just stroll around Brewfest and write dirty letters. He’s got a whole case of them and my da’s warned the lot of us that when old Yoren passes, whomever gets there first is under strict orders to boot the whole thing straight into the Great Forge.”

Mayeynn snorted, looping her arm through her friend’s, allowing the crowd to swallow up the sight of the snuggling pair as they moved deeper into it. “I’ll happily help you do it.”

@daily-writing-challenge

#MayDWC2022 #Yoren

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war--lords · 4 years

Text

NSFW, Female!Reader

The whole ballroom shines golden, more so when you take into account the partygoers inhabiting it as if they are collectively in defiance of the rainclouds starting to form in the cobalt night. Le Comte, the only reason you are attending this ball commemorating some Duke’s something, is once again being swarmed by many charmed men and women of the high elite, and you’ve taken this opportunity to make a beeline for the food.

An hors d'oeuvre rests delicately between your fingertips as you watch the scene from afar:

Your benefactor, and most recently lover, surrounded by some of Paris’s most important people, men and women alike, some of which you recognize from previous parties. He is the picture of patience, replying with only the amount of words necessary to be polite and sociable at the same time. Having lived a long life as a vampire, he surely has the art of small talk mastered, but it is chiefly his poise and graciousness that attracts these people to him—this much you understand, for you are no different than them.

A lady, young and enchanting, extends a gloved arm to him and he gently kisses the back of her hand. It is a common gesture of the time, but you notice the look in her eyes as she looks down at him.

You know what lies in that gaze. Want.

That same not-so-well-concealed desire lingers even when she stares at him as he stands up straight again, as her plush carmine-dyed lips curl into a pleased, meaningful smile. As Comte speaks, she slowly hooks her arm with his, fingers drawing slow, sensual circles through the fabric of his waistcoat as if coaxing him to please, tell me more. She watches his lips form words.

And when he turns to look at her, he smiles. A pleased, meaningful smile.

You start to feel sick in your throat, chest, and stomach. The first you think to do is look away and take deep breaths, as much as your corset permits. Clearly, your emotions have taken too much control, but it’s too late because you feel jealousy sinking its ugly roots at the bottom of your gut. They were just being friendly, you’re sure. After all, etiquette is of utmost importance in the 19th century.

In your head, another voice replies to you—one that sounds like your own. She is being awfully friendly. The look in her eyes and the curl of her lips enter your mind’s eye again, and you cannot deny the purpose that lies behind them. Beautiful and treacherous she, waiting patiently to lure the Comte with her siren song. That sounds like a lovely story, she would probably say. Please don’t stop there.

God, you sigh, feeling as though you are split into two. You find that you are hating everything, and it has been less than ten minutes since the two of you entered the ball. It is undoubtedly going to be a long night.

A long night, you find yourself imagining the woman whispering that into your lover’s ear as she drapes herself atop him, and you grit your teeth. He has lived a long immortal life, much of which you don’t know about. Surely there were many more before you—women, men, all of them pretty and prim and lusting for him all the same? They must have held whatever place you hold in his life, too.

You try to shake the thought away. Have you become that overly-possessive, jealous person? You shake your head to yourself. That would be horrendous, and you would hate yourself for it.

He probably didn’t even notice that you’ve slipped away.

You swallow the doubt down with a flute of champagne, courtesy of a waiter passing by, and you find yourself glancing at the scene again.

The circle of people has significantly reduced in size. They’re laughing together.

At the exact moment you decide to pray to the higher powers to give you the boundless strength you need to get through the ball, a man approaches you, effectively covering the sight of your lover across the room. You recognize the friendly smile he beams at you—he is no stranger, but a son in a family of knightly nobility you have made acquaintance with from the many encounters at various events around the city. He has one flute of champagne in each hand.

“I was going to offer you a drink, Mademoiselle, but I see you’ve gotten a head start.”

You offer him a curtsy and a smile before downing whatever measly amount you have left within your glass, placing it onto a waiter’s empty tray, and taking his in your hand.

“Sir, I can handle one more.”

He guffaws, more than amused, and the two of you fall into a perfectly natural conversation about how life has been—the perfect distraction for your current situation.

You miss a pair of watchful golden eyes from across the room.

He steals glances at you while doing his best to maintain a sociable countenance with boiling blood, still surrounded by three-four people.

It is testing, even for him, because you seem to be engaging in animated conversation with the heir of the house of Monfort, and he said something to make you laugh. Not the polite laugh you reserve for small talk, but a genuine laugh, one that sends you flashing a grin wide enough you have to cover your mouth with a hand.

The grip on his glass of champagne is dangerously strong, and the Mademoiselle that is persistently latched to his arm has undoubtedly interpreted the flex of his arm as a result of his forbearing towards her unsubtle physical approach rather than his ever-rising temper aimed at the Monfort heir. You mentioned that the two of you have been talking more regularly at parties lately, largely because you judge that he has no romantic intentions towards you, but Comte knows better.

The noble of Paris are always planning. He might not want to romance you, but Lord on high knows there is a great chance he wants to bed you. Engage you as a companion. Comte closes his eyes, willing negative visualization away from his mind, but to no avail, for he has already pictured you in the man’s arms, blushing at the suggestions he whispers in your ear...

A gargle of laughs snaps him out of his thoughts. He wishes he could close the distance between the two of you, kindly tell the Monfort heir to look for another woman to ‘make conversation with’, and whisk you back to the mansion for a proper lesson to remind you who you belong to.

Comte quickly realizes that he hasn’t completely outgrown his rashness from his younger days. Taking another sip of champagne, he tastes nothing but the sour of it and decides to wait.

“Is something the matter, cherie?” he asks as soon as the carriage door closes. “You look like something has been bothering you throughout the ball.”

You swallow, quietly cursing his unbelievable insight—or your very easy-to-read countenance—or both. You realize that this is not something you can skirt around, especially with the amount of time you’re taking to come up with an answer, and the coaxing look Comte is giving you clearly means you cannot back away from this. You take a deep breath.

“Please don’t be upset with me,” you finally say, looking down at both your feet pointing at each other like it is the most interesting thing in the world.

If only you have the courage to look at his face instead, you will find that the placid, peaceful mask he wears at the ball is slowly crumbling.

“I, well, I’m not sure how to say this,” you begin, “but there was a woman you were talking to. Earlier at the ball. The one with the maroon dress...?”

Realizing where the conversation is going, Le Comte’s gaze darkens, uninhibited feelings beginning to bubble from the pit of his stomach. “Mademoiselle de la Roche. Continue.”

You are still not looking at him, opting to observe the moving scenery of the city outskirts from the carriage window instead. Even so, you feel the intensity emanating from the person sitting across you. Something about the night sky and the quiet of the outskirts helps you come forth with honesty.

“Well, I thought she was awfully close, and got a little jealous. Not a little,” you quickly correct yourself, smiling sheepishly, “you obviously noticed. I was jealous. I’m sorry, it was childish. I trust you.”

And that is when you meet his eyes, seeing the gold of his iris melted into caramel by his dilated pupils, the way his lips are slightly parted as he looks at you. Your breath hitches in your throat.

The coach lurches forward, and at the same moment, Le Comte uses the momentum to pull you towards him until you are sitting on his lap, chest to chest. You gasp at the sudden sensation of him pressed so tightly against you, and from above the hammering of your rabbit heartbeat, you hear the coachman from the front.

“Terribly sorry, sir! Other carriages are heading into the city, so there’s a bit of a jam here.”

“That’s quite alright,” you hear your lover reply before he quickly draws the curtains. And to you, he whispers. “Keep your voice low.”

You sigh, because the next thing you know he is kissing your mouth with a different kind of fervor, and his hand snakes up to cup your breast from over your dress. Your hands quickly find their way to his shoulder and into his hair as your body responds to the pleasure—sudden, but not entirely unwelcome. He groans into the kiss, muffling the sound, but from the way his teeth bite your lips and his fingers work the ties of your corset, he is growing impatient.

“You are cruel,” he whispers, moving down to your jaw and neck, “Did you not feel Monsieur Monfort’s gaze on your body? This body,” he says, accentuating his words with tugging the front of your corset, allowing your bare breasts to spill out for his eyes to see. His fingers tease you, pressing and circling your nipple, and you bite your lip so as to not make a sound, too stunned to do more than encourage him by stroking his shoulders.

“You’re so oblivious,” he continues while he litters your neck with deep kisses. “Man wants, my sweet, especially one that already has everything, like him.”

“He’s just a friend,” you gasp as he bites the top of your breast, lapping at the skin seconds after as if offering consolation.

“And Mademoiselle de la Rouche is nothing but another social climber.”

“Ngh!”

He finally slips a hard peak into his warm mouth, tongue flicking and toying with it while his hand on its twin mirrors his movements. You melt, all the tension and anger you’ve kept in your blood throughout the ball fading, replaced by an escalating desire. Warmth pools between your spread legs situated on his lap—Comte feels it, and his hand move further south.

“Don’t—”

He stops, unlatching your nipple from his lips to look up at you. The sight knocks the breath out of him.

You’re almost properly topless, save for the remains of the dress hanging helplessly around your frame, your face red and wanton, with parted lips and hooded eyes looking down at him, your naked chest heaving with each hasty intake of air—the very picture of desire.

“Don’t mention another woman’s name while you’re fucking me.”

Whatever remains of his calm is quickly discarded out the metaphorical window as he kisses you again, this time more desperate than the first, like he can’t get enough of your taste. You moan when you part, and he quickly covers your lips again to muffle the sound, hands on your breast and between your thighs. When met with a hot wetness seeping through your underwear, he smiles into the kiss.

“Then it’s only fair for me to erase all of the traces Monfort has left on you, yes?” He leans down again to pleasure your breast, while his finger insistently presses your clit. You throw your head back, a hand against your mouth and the other in his hair, quietly begging him for more. He laps and sucks and nips in a way that is best described as a man starved. His hand slips under your dress, stroking your thigh and playing with the garter, teasing, making you anticipate. The other is still on your clit, relishing the wetness that you’re coated in. His breath is hot on your chest, and even with your eyes closed, you know he’s looking at your face. He always does.

“That man’s eyes were all over you, cherie, did you even notice?” He asks, panting, admiring the work he’s done on your now flushed breast. Moving to the other, he begins again, this time with his fingers pushing your panties aside and sinking into your heat. You let out a ragged breath against your knuckles, willing your voice to never escape your lips, else the coachman finds out. Comte lets out a sigh amidst his ministrations, enjoying the softness of your flesh against his mouth.

“I’m sure he’s fantasized about this,” he says, and the quality of his voice makes it sound like he’s in a daydream, “about taking you home and having his way with you.” You whine at the sensation of a third finger being added into the foray, and the little control you have over your body and mind is now close to snapping.

“I’m a man who has everything, too,” he sighs your name and you resort to gripping the lapels of his coat as the pressure on the bundle of sensitive nerve grows, “and I want more of you, cherie. Come.”

And you do, breaking down silently into a mess from his fingers alone, inside a carriage taking you home. Your lips form mainly his name and other nonsense like oh god and yes while your body quivers at the impact of your orgasm. He watches with glazed eyes, drinking in the scenery that is making his mouth water, his appetite far from whetted. Comte strokes your cheek, waiting for you to come down from your high, observing your breath slowing down.

The first thing you do when you open your eyes is to search for the buckle of his belt. You work on undoing it with urgency, your eyes glinting still with a desire that reflects his, and when he sees you licking your lips and kneeling at the sight of his erect member, he nearly loses his mind.

“Sweetheart—”

“I want it,” you cut him off before he stops you, gently pumping him with your hand. “I want to give you pleasure too, you know,” is the last thing you say before taking the tip of him in your mouth. Le Comte’s hands fly to your hair, uncaring of the mess his fingers make by combing through them, and his head is thrown back, eyes locked on the scene unfolding before him. Every time with you reduces him into a helpless, desperate, hungry man that only wants one thing.

Your lips are slick with his precum, and when you look up at him and chuckle, your breath on him racks shivers up his spine. He watches as he sinks into you again, in and out, your hands caressing where you don’t reach with your mouth. He can’t take his eyes off of you, and with the knot in his stomach ever-tensing, he quietly calls your name like a mantra.

“Stop,” he finally says, feeling too close to release, and you immediately do as you’re told, looking up at him with concern. He resists the urge to groan at the absence of pleasure, but he manages to whisper to you.

“I want to come inside you.”

“Comte—” you sigh as he coaxes you off your knees and on his lap again, this time with the hardness of him pressed against your very core. Before long you’re panting, because he’s brought your hand up in his, kissing your gloved fingers as his other hand slips your panties to the side, allowing him to enter slowly. Your lips fall open at the sensation, and he hurriedly kisses you, unable to quiet his voice at the feel of you around him.

“Ma cherie,” he breathes, “as much as you’re mine, I’m yours.”

He begins thrusting and you gasp, because the carriage is suddenly moving again, at first slowly, but then gradually becoming faster. With each bump of the wheels against cobblestone, it rocks, pushing him deeper into you, and you no longer have the control to govern over the sounds coming out of your mouth.

“Ah, ah, ah—”

Comte presses a kiss on your throat before sinking his fangs, a catalyst to the most pleasure the two of you have ever felt in a lifetime. He relishes the taste of you, and the impossibly wet tightness encapsulating him like a velvet glove. You whisper his name, slave to the sensation coursing through your veins, body growing mad with wanting more. He pulses inside you, and knowing that he’s close, presses a finger against your clit and pulls you into a kiss.

Your hands on his chest stay still as you come undone a second time, the first of the night for him, the moans you both spill barely quieted by the kiss. You’re left weak and satisfied, but only until you see the look on his face when you open your eyes. Comte presses his lips against yours one last time as the carriage slows down into a stop. He hooks his arm under your knees, ready to carry you upstairs despite your unkempt state. You let out a small laugh in defeat, hiding your bare chest by pressing yourself as close to him as possible.

Right before the coachman opens the door, he leans down to whisper to you, a scandalous smirk on his lips.

“We’re not done yet.”

#Female reader #le comte #ikemen vampire #comte x reader #reader insert #ikevamp #scenario #imagine #imagines #tw:jealousy #smut #ikevamp smut

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Three ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 3857

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Thanks for your response to the previous chapters! I hope you all are doing well <3

In the morning, it’s Orophin who wakes me. I accept his offer of breakfast readily, even if it’s more of the same bread and now-soggy fruit. Rumil offers me a knowing smile, promising more interesting food once we sit at Elrond’s table, and I hold on to that hope. After a hasty breakfast, I work on finishing mending the two tunics. I’m nearly done when I feel a presence behind me and turn my head.

Haldir stands, tall and intimidating as ever, peering over my shoulder.

I purse my lips, trying to hold in a laugh. His behavior is so much stranger than that of the others. “Yes?”

He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing my work, then nods once. “That will do. Thank you for your work.” He raises his voice so all can hear. “We leave in ten minutes.” He holds out a hand, and I place the shirts there, still trying to get over hearing the words ‘thank you’ from him. I honestly didn’t think he was the type.

The more you know, I guess.

Like the others, I hurry to pack my things. Because, over the limited time I’ve spent with this group, I quickly came to realize that when Haldir says ten minutes, he actually means ten minutes, and only ten minutes. I stifle a laugh. Mara would never—

A gasp tears through my throat, and I drop my bag.

Sharp tings ring through the air — the sound of metals scraping against each other. Absently, I recognize it as the sound of swords being drawn from their scabbards.

Haldir appears at my side, gripping my elbow and drawing me nearer to him. “What is it?” His voice is low, urgent, and, though he speaks to me, his eyes never pause their scan of our surroundings.

Belatedly, I realize my error. Of course they would think I saw something of concern. But the memory is taking form now, my head begins to pound and ache with the effort, and I have to work to assemble a sentence. I don’t want to lose focus, to lose the memories. “No, it’s—” I try to explain, try to communicate that we’re not in any danger—that I know of. “I only…” I bring a hand to my temple and take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “It’s not an attack, sorry for scaring you guys. It’s just, well, I’m remembering something.”

Baranor jogs over to me, sheathing his sword. Haldir is much slower to relax, and releases my arm in favor of walking the perimeter of our camp.

“Tell us about it,” Baranor encourages. “It might help you recall more.”

“It’s nothing helpful or important,” I preface apologetically, but he only waves it off.

“Any memory is a sign of recovery. Now, go on!”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes, trying to remember as much as possible. The initial ache in my head is fading, though it sharpens when I try to concentrate too hard on any one detail. “I was thinking of how I better hurry up and get my supplies together because Haldir is the type of person—well, you guys would say ellon, I guess—who means what he says, so I sure as hell better be ready in ten minutes. Then, out of nowhere, I remembered a friend from home—Mara. She’s…” the memory warps and dips out of sight, but I chase after it, feeling my pulse race. I want to remember. I want to know more. The memory comes back to me and I am rewarded for my efforts with more details about my friend. “She’s taller than me but shorter than you, has a pixie cut, and always wears these ridiculous blue sneakers, no matter the occasion.” I feel a pang of fondness for this important person I’ve only just remembered. Is this what missing someone is like? “But I think she came to mind because she’s always late, to the point where, if I hosted a party or something, I would have to tell her it started earlier than it did in the hope that she would show up on time. Oh, it would make—” And the progress stops. I strain my mind, trying to force it to go deeper, to learn more, to try harder, but nothing happens. All I receive in return is a splitting headache, one that makes me grimace against the pain. I can’t remember anything else about Mara, or place her in any other memories, or find the person she always angered with her tardiness.

Feeling a little defeated, I shrug.

Baranor gives me an encouraging smile, shaking his head. “You are doing well. I think, with adequate rest and time for your head to heal, and perhaps some intervention of Elrond’s, you will have your memory restored. Do not lose hope.”

I accept his reassurance, as well as his leg-up for the horse, and spend the remainder of the morning wracking my brain, searching for more memories of a friend I didn’t know I had.

{***}

By midday, the sun is bearing down on us hotter than it has before. I shed my cloak, using my newly acquired riding proficiency to keep my balance while tucking the fabric into my bag. I glance at my companions, each of whom wears a metal chest plate, a bow and quiver on his back, and various swords and knives on his belt. It makes me feel overheated just looking at them. “How are you all not miserable in that armor? I’m burning up and I’m just in a tunic and leggings!”

“Ah, dear Cosima, you are mistaken.” Rumil pulls up next to me and Baranor, shaking his head in mock sadness. “You see, we are miserable. We are absolutely baking with all the added weight we carry.”

From his spot ahead of us, Orophin snorts, a noise I’m not sure I’ve ever heard from him. “This is nothing, little brother. You weren’t part of the guard when Haldir made us run for miles during the hottest part of the day in the hottest part of the summer in full battle armor and weaponry for seven days in a row.”

“Ah, yes.” Haldir chimes in, and I can hear the hint of a smile in his voice. It softens it slightly, makes him sound less harsh. “I remember that drill. Perhaps I should bring it back. It seems the newer members of the guard aren’t as well-adjusted as those who went through such special training.”

Rumil visibly pales. “Haldir you wouldn’t.”

“Oh I most certainly would,” he shoots back, his signature haughty tone coming forth once again. But he turns his head over his shoulder, giving his youngest brother a teasing look.

I laugh, caught off guard by Haldir’s playfulness and Rumil’s woeful expression. Haldir returns facing forward and rolls his shoulder back, seeming perfectly pleased with the knowledge that he can still torment his little brother. I twist to stick my tongue out at Rumil, who responds with a glare.

“I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, Cosima.” I snap my head back in Haldir’s direction. Surely he’s not… “If you decide to return to Lothlórien with us, I am having you fitted with armor for the return journey.” He turns over his shoulder once more, fixing me with a single raised eyebrow. “And it will be well into summer by then.”

He turns away, apparently not phased by the quiet chuckles of Orophin and Baranor, nor the gleeful guffaws of Rumil.

“Rude,” I mutter under my breath, but this only makes them all laugh harder.

The sparse cloud cover shifts and the rays of the sun concentrate on the top of my head. Its warmth knots and multiples in the tangles of my hair, and I want nothing more than to have some relief from the awful heat. I grimace, wishing I had something to use to put my hair up. I steal jealous looks at my companions who call themselves elves. Their hair is just as long as mine and it doesn’t seem to bother them one bit. While mine collects frizz like it’s gold, their hair remains perfectly straight and smooth, falling over their shoulders almost languidly. My inspection of their hair reveals something I hadn’t taken much notice of before — the subtle yet intricate braids each of them wears. And though there is hair wrapped around the end of each braid, obscuring what I hope is there, something has to be holding the braids in place—right? Otherwise, they would fall and sit straight like the hair is made to.

It’s worth the ask.

I raise my voice a bit, calling out to the whole group. “Long shot, but does anyone have a hair tie? Preferably big enough for me to get around all of my hair?”

Orophin and Baranor shake their heads. Rumil makes a show of checking his wrists and the pouch attached to his belt, but comes back with only a look of apology.

Shoot.

Though he never falters in keeping his horse at a quick pace, I notice Haldir twist slightly, rummaging through one of his bags. Quick as a flash, he tosses something behind him which Rumil catches easily, though I myself can barely follow the object’s movements. Rumil grins, presenting me with a tan, thin circle of leather. He demonstrates spreading his fingers and the leather stretches.

I take the hair tie, smiling broadly. Perfect. “Thanks, Haldir!” He says nothing, only nods in acknowledgment. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. He’s back to business, then.

Rumil brings his horse closer to the one Baranor and I ride, and I notice even Orophin shooting me interested looks. I raise an eyebrow self-consciously. “What?”

Rumil scrutinizes the hair tie, then the waves that fall down my back. “What are you going to do with a tie that large?”

I squint, partially at the shift in the sun’s angle, and partially in confusion at Rumil’s question. “I’m…going to put it up in a bun?” The looks they give me have me questioning my choice. Is that wrong, somehow?

Baranor tilts his head towards me as much as he can. “A bun?”

“Yeah, I—wait.” I pause, recalling that they only way they’ve worn their hair so far is down with the small braids added in. “Do you guys leave your hair down all the time?”

“For the most part.” Rumil shrugs. “Sometimes during battle or heavy training we will tie it all back in one or a few braids, but elves traditionally let their hair grow long and leave it down.”

“Interesting,” I murmur, taking the time to really look at each of their heads. Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin’s braids have similarities, but are in no way identical, and Baranor’s are completely different. I begin to catch on. “So, do the braids mean something, then?”

“Exactly,” Rumil nods, a twinkle in his eye. “It’s up to the elf to decide what to put in their hair, but most at least indicate where they hail from and from which family. Most warriors will denote who they are with braids—healers and scholars, too. If you are courting, that’s a specific braid as well, to show other elves that you are off-limits unless the courtship is broken.”

I smile, seeing their hair in a whole new light. “I never knew they meant something. The braids are beautiful.”

Rumil tosses his hair in my direction, letting me see the interlocking twists and tucks of a complicated ladder braid. “Mine the most, right?”

I roll my eyes, shooting my cheeky companion a grin. “If you say so.”

But all this talk of hair is reminding me just how hot my own is making me, and I am endlessly grateful for the means to put it up. I grip the horse tighter with my legs, preparing to release my arms from Baranor’s stabilizing middle. “Don’t let me fall,” I whisper, nerves gathering in my stomach as I chance a look at the ground passing under the horse’s thundering hooves.

“Of course,” he nods, and I swear the horse rides smoother.

Tentatively, I unwrap my arms from the thing that steadies me, putting more hope into my legs to keep me on the horse. I take a few deep breaths, straightening my back and keeping myself as still as possible while continuing to rock with the horse. Once I feel solid, I reach my hands up, gathering my hair. I don’t remember the last time I did this, but the muscle memory is there. I pull my hair into a high ponytail, beginning to twist the long strands around each other.

The horse jolts and I suck in a breath, feeling my body jerk to the right. Rumil shoots out an arm, steading me quickly. I give him a look of relieved thanks and continue, twisting my hair with one hand and wrapping the tie with the other. From the corner of my eye, I notice Orophin slow his horse a little, falling back to ride closer to us. He alternates between watching our surroundings and shooting curious glances at my hair. With a final twist, the bun is secured, and I take a moment to pull at the top and the sides so it’s not too tight.

Smiling broadly, I drop my arms, wrapping them around Baranor once again. “Ha! I did it!”

“Great job,” Rumil grins, voice thick with sarcasm. “Soon you will be able to shoot a bow while riding at a full gallop.”

Orophin snorts at his brother’s joke, speeding up once again to return to his place near Haldir.

“Oh, be quiet,” I snark, just happy to have a little relief from the heat.

A low bird call sounds from somewhere around us, and I tilt my head upwards, looking for the source. I’ve never heard a twitter like that before. “What kind—”

“Shh,” Rumil hisses, all traces of humor gone. I turn to him in confusion, then notice the way each of them sits straighter, more tense, a hand on the weapon nearest to him. I shrink against Baranor, heart beginning to race.

Something’s wrong.

I guess I wouldn’t know for sure, but I have the sneaking suspicion that I’ve never been in a fight. And, while I have no reason to doubt these men that I’ve somehow come to trust in such a short time, how can I really know if they are as great warriors as they say? For all I know, their perception of themselves could be horribly skewed, and we’re about to be attacked and overpowered.

I feel my hands shaking.

Baranor inclines his head in my direction, catching my attention. “It’s alright. It is just one man, as far as we can tell, but Haldir will want to ascertain that we are not walking into a trap. Stay silent and do not draw attention to yourself. We are going to approach him.”

As if on some unspoken order, Haldir and Orophin draw their swords. Rumil takes the bow from his back and smoothly nocks an arrow. I try to exhale quietly, fear making my breath catch in my throat. I tighten my grip around Baranor and press my forehead against the cool metal of his chest plate. Part of me feels incredibly wimpy hiding behind him, but the part of me in charge of survival instincts says I should be doing more…like, running in the opposite direction, perhaps.

Our horses slow and I try calm my racing heart.

We come to a stop.

“Identify yourself.” Haldir’s voice is always strong, always full of authority, but this is like I’ve never heard it before. It rings with both confidence and the sharp edge of a threat. If this was my first encounter with him, I would be shaking in my boots.

Silence.

I can practically feel the tension in the air.

The stress of not knowing what’s going on, not knowing what I’m facing, adds to my fear. I exhale, gathering my courage. I’m gonna have to look. Leaving myself no time to change my mind, I stretch my head to the side, peeking around Baranor’s shoulder.

And the memories come rushing back.

“Alex,” I breathe, my body feeling hot and cold all at once.

His head snaps from Haldir’s to mine, and the color drains from his face. “Cosima!”

I swing my leg over the horse’s back and jump to the ground. I’ve never gotten off the horse without help, and the force with which I hit the earth sends shocks of pain up my body. I ignore it, pushing myself to meet Alex as he runs towards me. We collide, gripping each other in a tight hug.

“What,” I gasp, pressing my face into the crook of his neck. I burst into tears. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here, what about you?” He pulls back slightly, gripping my arms and looking me over. “Why are you crying, what’s wrong? Have they hurt you?” He sends an accusatory glare at the men behind me.

I follow his gaze, noticing for the first time that Orophin has dismounted and stands near my shoulder, glowering at Alex.

I hurry to set the record straight. “No. No, they’ve been nothing but kind and helpful.” I sniffle, running a sleeve over my cheek. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

He smiles, placing a hand on my neck and pulling me back into a hug. “It’s okay. It’s just the stress.” At his words and the comforting motion of his hand running up and down my back, my tears begin to subside.

I hear the soft sound of boots connecting with dirt and turn just in time to see Haldir striding up to us, falling in line next to Orophin. Like his brother, he sets Alex with a hard, untrusting gaze. “You are traveling alone?”

Alex’s jaw tightens. “You kidnapped my friend?”

I twist out of Alex’s hold, turning so I can keep both him and my companions in view.

Haldir’s expression doesn’t change, he only raises his chin in defiance of Alex’s accusation. “We are elves, guardians of the great realm of Lothlórien, traveling upon invitation to Imladris. We found Cosima alone, like you, and offered her our aid. If, perhaps, you become more cooperative, we would be prepared to extend the same offer to you.”

Alex leans forward and Haldir raises an eyebrow, as if daring him to make a move. Orophin’s weight shifts to his back foot. I angle myself to face Alex, gripping his elbows. “It’s okay, honestly. If it weren’t for them I’d be dead by now. They can help you, too. Just answer their questions.”

Alex continues to glare, but I can see the resolve leave him. He looked peaked, and weak, and dark shadows sit under his hazel eyes. How long has he been here? Would I look like this, if the others hadn’t found me?

“Yes,” he acquiesces. “I’m traveling alone. I woke up on the riverbank three days ago and have been wandering around looking for civilization since. I don’t remember anything before that other than my name—Alexander. Now I remember Cosima too, and my nickname, I guess.”

Baranor slides off his horse, joining us with the bag I recognize as the one keeping his healing supplies. Haldir holds up a hand, stopping Baranor’s approach.

“Two humans that know each other wake up on the bank of the same river on the same day with no memory. One was strange enough, but two?” He looks between me and Alex, eyebrow raised. “Perhaps Elrond can offer insight.”

“Elrond,” Alex questions, his voice guarded once again.

I explain before Haldir and his attitude can. “He’s a friend of theirs in a city across the mountains. That’s where they’re traveling, so it’s where we’re going, too.”

Alex sets me with a look that quite obviously questions my sanity. “You agreed to follow them to another town through the mountains?”

I recoil at his tone, as well as the attack on my common sense. “Yes, I did. Because they’re nice and my only other option was waiting along the riverbank hoping another equally helpful party came along. Because if you haven’t noticed, Alex, there aren’t any cities here. It’s not like I can just walk up to someone’s house and call for help.”

He sighs, running a hand through his unkempt sandy hair. “But you could have waited. I was walking in that direction, I would have found you eventually.”

I throw my hands in the air, actually annoyed now. “There’s no way either of us could have known the other was here! I woke up the same as you did—with nothing. No context, no memories, no supplies. In light of that, I don’t think we’re in the position to be picky when help comes our way. We have to adapt, Alex, and quickly. It won’t end well for us if we don’t.”

His lip curls at my words. I try to soften my tone, knowing we are heading for an argument and that isn’t helpful to anyone right now. “You’re tired. You’ve been wandering for three days, I’m guessing without enough food or rest. Let us help you.”

Alex looks between me and the men behind me. With a start, I realize that I’ve just encountered a long-lost friend, someone quite important to me based on the onslaught of memories, and, to him, it must seem that I’m abandoning him in favor of taking the side of these newcomers. Guilt weighs uncomfortably in my stomach.

“Okay,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I’ll go along with this—for now.”

Haldir nods, already walking towards his horse. “We ride until nightfall, then we will stop for food and rest. Be prepared to ride hard. We must make up for the time we lost with all this bickering.” Aside from the usual command in his tone, there’s a note of annoyance. He is so impatient.

I give Alex one last hug, feeling bad for my treatment of him. He’s my only link to my home, the only person here I can really, truly trust. I shouldn’t be at odds with him. “We’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.” He doesn’t respond, only follows me to the horses.

Baranor bends to give me a leg up, but a voice halts us both. “Cosima, you ride with Rumil now. Baranor—keep Alexander on the back of your horse.”

Why? I glance at Haldir in confusion. He eyes me steadily, shaking his head once. I sigh, deciding to go along with it. I give Baranor a small wave of goodbye and join Rumil.

“On to bigger and better things, then?” He winks, kneeling and locking his fingers together.

“Oh, shut up,” I roll my eyes, chuckling as I step into his hands and swing my leg over the horse. He settles in front of me and takes the reins, and, before I know it, this company of five has become a company of six.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make me oh so happy! Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged, try subscribing to the story on Ao3! That will update you automatically when I post there.

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miraculous786 · 4 years

Text

The Protector’s Aftermath

Masterlist

"Hello, Ladybloggers! It's Alya here, back with my livestream up and running again!" the reporter greeted, before scoffing, "I had to cut my other one off at the insistence of that Fox hero wannabe."

From off to the side, someone politely requested, "Miss? Is it okay if you speak a little quiet-"

"He's such a brat - he doesn't deserve a miraculous," she carried on, as if not hearing the paramedic. "I mean, what about Rena Rouge? Shouldn't she be here to help instead of him?"

She adjusted the glasses resting on her nose, then began to talk again. Her tone was much more excited as she enthused, "Anyway, I'm here with a big scoop!"

Alya pressed a button on the phone to reverse the camera. She pointed it to the girl in front of her.

"I'm here with the amazing Lila Rossi, who not only designed Jagged Stone's new album, but is his honorary niece! Crazy, right?"

The only response was Lila whimpering louder, whilst her sclera were a bright white and her agony was easily visible.

"Miss Cesaire, is now an appropriate time to be recording? It is quite easy to see that your friend is in serious pain."

She turned to the stern voice. It had come from another paredemic. "That's why I'm recording! The whole reason that she's in pain is because of Marinette getting that Protector guy akumatized in the first place. It's obvious that she's working for Hawk Moth."

There were a few guffaws from off to the side, followed by several glares piercing the Italian nearby. However, said Italian was too busy clutching her head to notice.

In a wobbly tone, she pled, "Stop, Hawk Moth, please...I'll do better next time if you just make it stop..."

"Would there be any way to stop the pain, Miss Cesaire?"

"Well, yeah," Alya replied noncommittally. "The akuma said something about admitting to what she's done to Marinette and Felix, but there's nothing for her to say! She's always been so nice to them yet they still bully her."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" the teen snapped. "Why wouldn't I be?"

All of a sudden, a scream tore through Lila's throat. It seemed to echo all around, making everybody in the vicinity wince and cover their ears - trying to block out the shrill shriek.

There were tears in her eyes, as the brunette choked, "Fine! I'll say it...I'll say it!"

"Lila, what-"

"I've made the lives of those two miserable!" she yelled, head up as if talking to the Protector atop the Eiffel Tower. "I spread rumours about them to make their parents think of them as disgraces! As mistakes! And kick them out!"

Alya reared back, as the grip on her phone grew slack.

"I threatened that Mari-Brat in the bathroom to take all of her friends away, and said that she did that to me! I told the class that she bullied me and tried to hit me!"

Some concerned citizens poked their heads into the place that she was in. Their eyebrows rose in curiosity as they listened.

"I got akumatized into Volpina again just so I could hold her hostage - I got that stupid reporter girl to turn into Lady Wi-Fi to help me!"

The female dropped her phone, leaving it to crack by its screen on the ground. The livestream didn't cut off.

Lila heaved a breath, her chest rising and falling at a fast pace. There was a faint burn in her throat, along with a familiar torture beginning to take over her head again.

"Arrgghh, fine!" she growled, before shouting out, "I faked a leg injury to get her in trouble! I planted some cheap necklace and test answers on her to frame her for cheating! I'm the whole reason that Mari-Brat was expelled!"

The white covering her eyes finally disappeared, leaving dilated green orbs to scan about. She exhaled heavily over and over.

That was when a rush of air invaded all present. Colonies of magical ladybugs swarmed in, circling around Lila until her sweat and tears dissipated into thin air.

By that time, Alya had already picked up her phone from the floor. It was pointed straight at the person in front.

"Have anything to say for the camera, Lie-la?"

~*~*~

"...Angel, are you okay?"

"I think we broke her."

"Don't be ridiculous, Adrien. She's merely shocked by the news."

"No sh- crap, I mean. That Lila girl is horrible, what the heck? I'd be a bit dazed too if someone that bad was finally locked up for good."

"Oh no, not again!" a blob of red exclaimed, zipping over to Marinette. It ignored the fact that Nightwing screamed and hid behind Red Hood. "I think a few hugs will help her get out of it."

"Of course they would, Sugarcube. It's not like that works for you as well."

"Plagg!"

Damian and Felix shared a nod, before proceeding to lean into the girl. One wrapped their arms around her waist, and the other, around her shoulders. Together, they provided a cocoon of comfort.

Eventually, she managed to break out of her stupor, to be met with the sight of her two friends embracing her from both sides. She blushed bright and buried her head into the shoulder of Damian, who simply chuckled alongside Felix. Both of their lips twitched upwards.

"Ohoho...I see what's going on here. They're in a relationship, aren't they?"

"No, actually," Adrien responded, watching them have their impromptu cuddle session. "They're all as oblivious as goldfish when it comes to love."

"Aaaannd that's what happens when an emotionally constipated man has adopted you. Well, in Demon Spawn's case, 'given birth to you'."

"Jaybird!"

"What?"

"You mean like my father?"

The two brothers turned to Adrien, making him elaborate, "He never shows emotion and only sees me in person like once a month."

There was a moment of silence.

"...Jesus kid, no. I meant in the way that he just doesn't understand feelings of love since a bunch of girls have toyed with his feelings before. What kind of father do you have?"

"Gabriel Agreste," the model deadpanned.

Dick let out a gasp. "Isn't that the guy who neglects his own son and puts him on such restrictive diets that they're on the border of abuse and- ohmygosh you're his son, you poor thing."

Nightwing enveloped him in a hug, causing him to tense up. However, he soon trailed off into a loud purr, that made everyone in the room face him.

"Holy sh- crap. Selina's gonna love you."

~*~*~

We’re nearing the end! :D

Feel free to give feedback!

@thestressmademedoit @moonystars14 @northernbluetongue @luciferge @ranger-gothamite @toodaloo-kangaroo @freshbark @drama-queen-supreme @gwennex @captainmac6 @virgil-is-a-cutie @aurordraws @maribat-is-lifeblood @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @hauntedwintersweets @emo-elaine13 @bleeding-heart-romantic @write-for-your-life2 @palvine-of-the-alvins @schrodingers25 @mariae2900 @vivilakitty @thyladyanput @2sunchild2 @kittyanonymity @bee-wrecker @soupfilledboots @queenmj10 @i-will-be-your-ace @darkthunder1589

#dc x mlb #mlb x dc #ml x dc #maribat #felinette #damifelinette #fox!felix #damikuma #daminette #maridami #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #ml salt #Lila exposed #lila salt #alya salt

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phykios · 3 years

Text

i meant to have this up on friday but i didn’t bc i’m lame anyway, this is dedicated to my dearest dearest peyton 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙 one year ago last friday i had the distinct pleasure of sliding into her dms on discord, several fics and 72 separate aus later, here we are. so, for our friendiversary, have a sexy origin story for percabeth 😁

Say So, for @darkmagyk [read on ao3] rated E for sexual content (spicy!!! pls be advised!!!) cw: recreational drug use, experimental bondage, and an accidental hit during intercourse

“I don’t think it’s working,” Annabeth says.

“Just give it a minute.” Sofia sounds gone already, hazy and dreamy.

She gives it a minute.

“Am I supposed to feel something?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I’m not.”

“You gotta be patient,” says Jordan. Throaty and full, her already deep voice is even deeper, almost vibrating in the air.

Annabeth blinks. “Maybe they gave you actual grass. Or maybe I’m too much of a square for it to affect me.” Sofia snorts. “I’m serious. You know at my summer camp they started giving me counselor responsibilities when I was twelve? Percy always said I wouldn’t know what fun was if it hit me in the face. And it’s not like he was wrong, like I spent most of my childhood reading ancient Greek or learning how to use a knife but there were some pretty ridiculous extenuating circumstances and I really wanted this older boy at camp to like me, and why am I talking so fast?”

Masako giggles. “You’re stoned.”

“I am?”

“Stoned,” she confirms.

“High,” says Sofia.

“Intoxicated!” sings Jordan.

“Oh, wow.” She can feel every blade of grass beneath her, tickling along her bare legs, the wind caressing her face, the sounds of Berkeley--frat boys playing Ultimate, rush-hour traffic, a thousand different conversations about nothing and everything--muffled behind a glass wall. “I’m high.”

Sofia laughs. “How does it feel?”

“It feels…” She licks her lips. They taste like avocado fries and sunshine. “It feels like…” Slow. The turn of the earth so soft and gentle, like the tides in the lake when Percy is in a good mood. Like the liminal space between sleepfulness and wakefulness, when you’ve taken a nap and can’t remember what year it is. Like wading through a magical time spell, but warm. “You know what I mean?”

“Annabeth,” says Masako. “You didn’t say anything.”

“What?” She raises her head, looking over at her friend. Her eyes are closed, her hands running along the grass of the quad. “I didn’t?”

“Nothing.”

Annabeth lets her head fall back, thumping the earth. “Oh, theoi, I’m high.”

Overcome, Jordan starts laughing, curling onto her side. The rest aren’t far behind.

Soon they’re not laughing at her anymore, they’re just laughing to laugh. Laughter is fun, she realizes, her breath and blood whooshing through her body, every muscle and bone in her body united in one single pursuit of joy. Her eyes are squeezed shut, cheeks aching from the force of her smile, her body curled in on itself, wracked with euphoria.

Sofia giggles so hard she snorts, setting them all off again.

Wading through an onslaught of laughter, high and squeaky, Annabeth gasps out, “Why am I laughing so much?”

“Because you’re high, girl!” Jordan crows. She has turned herself over on her front, her face pressed against the grass. “Have you really never gotten high before?”

“Don’t tease her,” says Sofia, awkwardly patting Annabeth’s knee. “You know she hasn’t done anything.”

She has done stuff, she almost says--before she shuts her mouth with an audible clack.

“Not even at your camp?” Jordan asks, befuddled. Befuddled is a funny word. “No one ever snuck in some alcohol or whatever?”

Thoughts running at a snail’s pace, she has to seriously rack her brain to think if one of the Hermes’ kids ever brought in any illicit substances. Soda, minor monsters, the most powerful weapon ever created--but not any alcohol or marijuana. She thinks. “Our camp director was really strict about alcohol.”

“Lame,” says Masako.

“I mean, he was in recovery,” says Annabeth, her go-to story about Mr. D, just in case anyone ever asks. “It was a whole thing. He couldn’t have it, so we couldn’t have it.”

“Not lame,” she amends.

“Okay, I think,” she says, a memory appearing out of the fog, after Gaea, after all that nonsense, “I think my co-counselor Katie made some joints out of bay leaves once.”

The younger kids had gone to bed, sent off with a healthy dose of Clovis’ dream magic to ward away any nightmares, but the older campers had stayed up, huddled around the central brazier into the wee hours of the morning. Still so exhausted she could barely see straight, falling asleep on top of Percy, he had hauled her away to bed, but not before he had declined something for the both of them, something small and white and made to be smoked.

“You can get high off of bay leaves?” Sofia asks.

Annabeth nods. “That’s how the… the fucking…” the word was on the tip of her tongue. The thing that Rachel did. But long ago. Oracle! “The Oracle, she got high, in ancient Greece. With bay leaves. She’d smoke them and receive prophecy.”

Jordan lifts her head. “Cool. You got ancient Greek high.”

Annabeth nearly says something about Olympus, or maybe Blackjack, an amazing joke about being high and Greek just on the tip of her tongue, but she has just enough self control not to. “No, I was tired. Percy and I went to bed.”

“Laaaaaaaaame,” says Masako.

It’s just good-natured ribbing. And they’re all high as kites. But Annabeth still frowns. “I’m not lame.”

“You’re amazing, don’t get me wrong,” Masako says, “but you are so lame. You’ve never gotten high before, you’re probably going to marry your first boyfriend… you are so vanilla.”

“And we love that about you!” Sofia jumps in.

Annabeth can’t feel bad right now, but she can feel a little lost. “But I love Percy,” she says. “Why wouldn’t I marry him?”

Percy is perfect. He’s handsome and kind and powerful and funny and brave and handsome. He’s more than anyone could hope for. And he loves her.

“You’re really going to marry him?” Jordan asks. “Like, for real?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, but he says he can’t propose before he finds the perfect ring. He promised he wouldn’t make me wait too long. I don’t want to have Chase on my diploma.”

“Oh my god,” Masako giggles, “you’re even more vanilla than I thought.”

“The dick can’t be that good,” Jordan muses, examining a particularly long blade of grass.

It is, but they don’t need to know that.

Sofia snorts. “It is?”

Oh, fuck. Annabeth giggles. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“Tell us!” Masako sits bolt upright, eyes wide. “Tell us everything!”

She slams her hands over her face. “Noooo,” she laughs, curling in on herself further. “I can’t.”

All at once, they scream, like the three Erinyes swooping down onto an unsuspecting prey. Or the Cabin Ten campers when someone gets too close with any stray ketchup.

“Spill!” they shriek. “Spill!”

No one has ever demanded to know the details of her sex life before. Even at camp, she and Percy are given a wide berth. Something about walking through Tartartus with your partner apparently takes your sex life from giggle-worthy to kind of intimidating. That’s the biggest difference between her demigod friends and her mortal friends, Annabeth is finding. Other than that, they’re pretty much exactly the same. “What do you want to know?” she asks, naively.

The floodgates open.

“When did you guys first do it?”

“Where?”

“How was it?”

“What does he like?”

“His abs though--”

“Is he good at head?”

“Favorite position!”

“His dick is big, I just know it--”

Over and over, overlapping, a whirlwind of questions, she can’t process them nearly as fast as they are coming--all she can do is laugh, breathless and airy, until they all dissolve into giggles once again.

She’s getting a little tired of this constant laughing.

Even that thought makes her start all over again.

“Okay,” she gasps, “okay, I can’t--I can’t answer all of those.”

Jordan waves her arms. “Me first! First time!”

Annabeth shrugs. “Um, it was… the weekend of Thanksgiving, a few months after we started dating. His parents were at a mixer for their writing group, and I was staying with them during my school break.” What else is she supposed to say? That they’d been talking about it for weeks? That Annabeth had been so excited she’d forgotten to even ask him about condoms? That Percy had been so concerned with making sure he got her off and didn’t hurt her that he’d spent almost an hour fingering her?

They squeal in unison. “His parents’ house!” Sofia gasps, hands on her face. “So scandalous! How was it?”

Annabeth blushes. “Amazing.”

And it had been, as amazing as a first time can be. Any person could only ever dream of having a partner as attentive and respectful as Percy for their first time.

“If he’s the only one you’ve ever had, how do you know it was that good?” Jordan asks. “I thought my first boyfriend was good, too, right up until I started dating Julie.”

“I think three consecutive orgasms counts as being good,” Annabeth drawls.

Once again, the screaming.

“Three?” shrieks Masako.

“Three.”

“Your first time?!”

“He was really really really concerned I wouldn’t get off!”

Sofia collapses on top of her, hands scrabbling for her shoulders, and always, always giggling. “You marry that boy--you marry him right now!”

“I’m trying!”

“And it’s still good?” Masako’s eyes are as wide as saucers.

Normally, she might be a little reluctant to share--even with Piper. The eighth of this edible, though, is certainly helping grease the wheels of conversation. “It’s always good.”

Jordan groans, throwing a handful of grass in her face. “Bullshit.”

“Always?”

She frowns, really thinking about it, trying to remember a time it was bad. It’s surprisingly really hard. “Sometimes we don’t have time for three orgasms.”

“How often do you fake it?”

“What do you mean?” Annabeth asks Masako.

“You know… fake it.”

“Why would I fake it? If I fake it, he won’t know I haven’t come yet.” She laughs, more than a giggle but less than a guffaw. It’s so silly. Whoever thought of faking an orgasm? “How would I even do that?”

“You’ve never faked it?” Sofia is incredulous, her jaw hanging open.

Annabeth sits up, flailing a little, reaching forward to touch her toes. Just because. “Of course not. Do people actually do that?”

“Sure,” says Masako. “Sometimes.”

“Why?”

“I hate you,” Jordan moans, “I hate you so much, you and your stupid sex god boyfriend who makes love to you every night like you’re in some trashy period drama with the…” Her hands come up, weakly making a wavy shape in the air. “The things. You know.”

Masako tilts her head. “Hoop skirts?”

Sofia pitches forward, hands coming flat on the grass. “Okay, Annabeth. Prove to us you’re not vanilla. Craziest place you’ve ever done it.”

All three girls lean in, now, expectant, hungry.

Annabeth frowns.

Where was the craziest place they had done it?

They’d done it a lot in the last few years. His apartment in the city, Cabin Three, her boarding school room…

Oh. Right.

She flushes.

They lean in even closer.

Well, she can’t tell them about the time they had sex in the temple of Neptune in New Rome, but she can tell them about--“One time, at camp,” she mumbles, playing with a shoelace, “we… Percy is in charge of the boathouse, because--because he’s so good at sailing, you know? So, one day, we both passed our chores off to a couple other counselors, then he took out one of the canoes, rowed us out into the middle of the lake, and…” She glances up, bashful.

Cue the screaming.

Annabeth covers her face with her arms, falling back down onto the quad.

“At your summer camp!” Masako cries, gleeful.

“My word!” Playfully kicking her ankle, Jordan pretends to fan herself, like Hazel still does sometimes when she’s startled by something really risque. “Imagine if the children had seen you!”

The children hadn’t seen them, but the naiads definitely had--and had tried to capsize them for their trouble. She hadn’t been able to do any lake-related activities for a week without getting soaked by a stray wave which, coincidentally, managed to avoid hitting everyone else.

“What else?” Sofia asks, practically vibrating. “Craziest kink!”

“Um…” She frowns, screwing up her face so she thinks extra hard. Have they… done anything kinky? They have sex a lot, yeah, and not always in their bedrooms, but other than that… “I… don’t… know…”

Sex with Percy is always amazing--that’s not a lie. But, maybe it’s gotten a little… same-y.

“Well, well, well.” Sofia slow-claps it out, her rings clinking together. “I think she’s ready for the big leagues, don’t you, girls?”

Through her fingers, Annabeth glances at her. “What do you mean?”

“Bondage.”

“Bondage?” She blinks. “Like, tying each other up?”

Annabeth doesn’t think she’s ever been tied up before. Well, except for the time she wanted to hear the Sirens, but Percy had left her with her knife, so that didn’t really count.

“Last time I met up with Skylar, we went back to his, and he has this old-timey bed frame, with the slats, right? So I took the belt from my dress, and--”

“Okay, okay,” Annabeth cuts in, covering her face again. “I get the point.”

Maybe her friends have a point. Maybe she is a little vanilla.

Sofia pats her knee. “Next time you guys have sex--”

“So, in like, three hours,” Jordan snorts.

“--take a scarf or a tie or whatever and tie his hands to the headboard. Trust me, he will flip. Out.”

Annabeth nods, taking mental notes. “Hands to the headboard. Got it.” She’s not sure if he even has any ties, but she’s resourceful. She can cobble something together. “And… then what?”

Sofia shrugs. “Kiss him. Do a striptease. Leave him there. I dunno. Whatever you want.”

Masako scrambles to her feet, windmilling to keep her balance. “The Bon Me truck just pulled up,�� she gasps, “and I am starving.”

And thus, that particular conversation is over, thanks to the munchies.

***

Truth be told, she kind of forgets it pretty much entirely. Most of that day is gone, the finer details swallowed up in a haze of heat waves and peanut sauce.

That is, until New Rome’s annual pre-Saturnalia mixer: dress code, lighter side of formal. Whatever that means.

“Hey, babe?” Percy pokes his head in the bathroom, button-down half undone. “I need your eye for a second.”

She grunts around the bobby pin held between her teeth, sliding another one through some hitherto-unknown dimension to hold a curl in place.

“What do you think, this tie with this jacket?” He holds the two of them together, the black and white Greek key pattern contrasting nicely against the navy blue fabric. “Or will that cause an incident?”

“Probably an incident,” she says, slowly, slipping the bobby pin from her mouth. Then, a thought poking at the back of her skull. “How long have you had that?”

He glances at it. “The tie? Paul gave it to me for graduation.”

“That was nice of him.”

“I’m pretty sure he got it from the Met gift shop, but yeah.” All smiles, he slides the jacket on, tie crumpled in his balled fist. “You’re right, no tie.”

She grunts, noncommittal, gaze sliding away as she tries to remember… something.

“You good?”

“...Yeah,” she says, eventually. “Just spaced out for a second.”

“Alright. You about ready to go?”

She glances at her hair in the mirror, the makeup on the counter. “Give me twenty.”

“Sure thing.” Then he goes out, a few moments of silence passing before she hears the sink turn on as he takes care of the dishes.

How in Hades did she end up with the perfect man? Truly.

Percy continues to exude perfection at the party, despite the fact that he is clearly less than comfortable, not that she can blame him. Some of the older citizens of New Rome are a little less reserved with their opinions of the Greeks, Percy’s hand clenching around his glass of sparkling grape juice every time someone badmouths camp, their home, but they both relax as soon as they finish making the rounds of NRU’s board of trustees and other college officials, peeling away to find Frank and Reyna and the rest of their friends.

Still, Annabeth can’t quite focus.

“Hey.” Percy leans in, his hand against the small of her back, murmuring into her ear. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” Gods, his hand is so big and warm. All that time in the gym is paying off, too, the weedy, skinny teenager she fell in love with blossoming into a young man, broad shoulders and firm chest like a Phidian sculpture.

“You’re just kind of quiet tonight. Did you sleep okay?”

She blinks at him, thoughts coming back into focus. “Uh--yeah, I’m good. Just--”

“Spaced out for a second?” Making a face, he grins back at her, unrepentant. “You wanna ditch the party?”

“Do you?”

He looks around, eyeing Hylla Ramirez-Arellano as she loudly boasts about being Jeff Bezos’ findom. “A little.”

Well, Annabeth is happy to be his excuse.

Citing a (completely fake) headache, they make their graceful exit, walking back to their apartment in the cool California night, hand in hand, Percy carrying her heels as she walks barefoot down the sidewalks.

It’s a quiet night. Percy squeezes her hand every few steps, and she squeezes back, lifting her face to the clear night sky, thoughts she can’t catch slipping through the cracks like wisps of clouds across the moon. But that’s okay. She’s pretty sure they’re good thoughts.

“You sure you’re alright?” Percy asks as they get home, closing the door behind them. “You've been kind of out of it all night.”

Kissing him on the cheek, she shrugs out of her nice coat, slipping it up on their makeshift coat rack, fashioned from a piece of driftwood that had nearly conked Percy on the head the first time they ever went down to the beach. “I’m fine, Percy, promise. Just kind of a bleh day, you know? Nothing a few cuddles and a movie won’t fix.”

At that, he beams, dropping Annabeth’s shoes on the floor. “I’ll get the popcorn!”

"Let me shower first," Annabeth says. Hopefully a shower will clear her head a little.

It doesn't.

Changing into her pajamas, she ruffles her curls with her microfiber towel, frowning as she comes out of the bathroom. Percy's good habits are rubbing off on her; she's left a lot of crap lying around that needs picking up. Collecting stray bobby pins from the vanity, a curling iron from the top of the dresser, and an alternate dress option from where she had left it on the bed, she putters about the room, tidying as she goes, when she stops. Percy's tie lays crumbled at the head of the bed where he had tossed it earlier.

She picks it up, running it between her fingers. It's not exactly silk, but it's still a decently strong weave, machine-made for mass production, inoffensively soft. Annabeth wraps it around her finger, pulling tight, and a flash of heat rushes through her, like a wave off the lava climbing wall.

“So there’s this guy on Youtube who makes popcorn with Lao Gan Ma spicy chili crisp, and it sounded absolutely amazing,” says Percy, walking into their room, popcorn bowl in hand. Annabeth whips around, the tie crumpled in her fist. “I tried to keep the spice level down, but let me know if it’s too much and I can make another one.”

Annabeth blinks, momentarily uncomprehending. “Uh--sure! Sounds good.”

“Did you pick a movie while you were in the shower?”

“Um…” Was she supposed to? “Your choice.”

“The Sopranos okay?” he asks, climbing onto their bed, twisting around to grab his laptop from the side table. His shirt rides up a little, a sliver of waist and hip peeking out at her.

“Sure.” She likes The Sopranos. It’s a little soapy, but usually she has no problem following along.

Keyword being usually.

She’s tucked herself into Percy’s side the way she usually does, her head against his, his arm around her shoulders, his thumb ghost along the bare skin of her bicep. He smells really good today, sea salt and cinnamon and chili oil, a testament to his busy day in the kitchen. He’s so warm, always, six feet of dense, packed muscle practically radiating heat. Annabeth could fall asleep right there. She often does.

Shifting for the sixth time in what must be five minutes, she snuggles into his chest, curling and uncurling her toes. There’s no denying it--she can feel herself getting hotter, a flame in her center, soft and pulsing, reaching every part of her.

How she wishes she could blame it on The Sopranos.

Annabeth presses her nose into his neck, breathing him in, laying a kiss under his ear. Then another on his jaw. And another at the corner of his lips. And one on his mouth, tilting him towards her for better access. He goes, easily, without resistance.

At some point, the popcorn bowl is moved.

Then, Percy shuts his laptop closed during Livia’s wake.

“Hey,” Annabeth murmurs into his mouth, draped over him like some kind of blanket. “I wanna try something.”

He hums, kissing her again. “Okay?”

She reaches behind him, beneath the pillow. She’s not sure why she had stashed it there, rather than hanging it back up in the closet, but she pulls out the tie, holding Percy’s gaze without breaking. “I thought,” she breathes, pressing her chest against him, incentivizing, “you know... if you want to."

His eyes darken, even as his face tries to give nothing away. "You wanna tie me up?"

Lip between her teeth, she nods.

Slowly, controlled, he blows his breath out, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. "You sure?" he asks, desire rumbling in his chest.

She frowns. "Yeah." Does he not want to?

"Okay," he says, twisting a curl around his finger. "Just want to make sure we’re on the same page here.”

Or maybe worse, does he think she can’t? “Okay.”

Straightening up, she straddles him. He lifts his arms obediently, never breaking eye contact, bracing them against their headboard. It’s not really conducive for this sort of thing, but she threads the tie through the wooden slats easily enough, tying his wrists together, leaning in closer than she needs to so that her chest pushes up against his face.

There. All tied up and ready to go.

She leans back on her knees, taking in the whole pretty picture.

Rhythmically, subconsciously, Percy tests the strength of the bonds, flexing the muscles in his arms. His mouth hangs open, his hips shifting beneath her as he tries to get comfortable, cock hard through his sweatpants.

Annabeth scrambles off him, and he tries to follow, chest jerking as the tie holds him back. He grunts, surprised, shoulders straining, before he falls back, defeated, huffing angrily, a low growl which connects to the pit of her stomach. “Nice try, Percy,” she smirks, sauntering around to the foot of the bed, keenly aware of his gaze as it tracks her, hands on her hips. “It’s my show tonight.”

“Your show, huh?” He settles back against the headboard, wine-dark gaze boring into her. “By all means, then. Give me a show.”

She glares, grinding her teeth. Doesn’t he know she’s calling the shots right now?

Well, fine. If he wants a show, he’ll get a show.

Annabeth is… not a particularly graceful person normally, but on the battlefield, she knows she shines. Give her a knife and an enemy, and she can put the greatest dancers to shame. Well, in this case, Percy is the enemy, and… her clothes… are the knife. Or something like that. It makes more sense in her head.

Slowly, she grasps the hem of her sleep shirt, peeling it up over her chest, the fabric blocking her vision for a brief moment as she slips it over her head. When Percy comes back into view, his eyes have darkened just that much more, almost straining with the effort not to stare at her chest, even as it’s presented for his explicit viewing pleasure.

Annabeth does not have much in the way of breasts--never has. It doesn’t seem to bother him, which is nice. Besides, Percy is more of a leg man, as he has expressed several times. So, legs next.

Her sleep shorts aren’t very sexy, old, threadbare things which had once been yoga pants. When she started gaining a little more weight, and the pants could no longer reach her ankles, she had cut them in a fit of impulsivity, stretching the fabric and sewing herself a new hem, giving her skin more room to breathe. And giving Percy more space to slip his fingers up, the horny bastard.

She turns around, lamenting the loss, as she so wanted to see his face as she bends over, sticking out her ass, slowly slipping the waistband down. From behind, she hears a faint pickup in breathing.

Over her ass, down her thighs and her knees. She thinks she hears a groan, muffled behind a bitten lip. She lifts up one foot, then the other, leaving the shorts in a puddle by her feet. Clad only in her panties now--black, lacy, but not due to any pre-planning on her part, unless you count the laundry just about overflowing in the closet hamper--she straightens back up, her hands going to her hair, running her fingers through it in some kind of approximation of sexy.

She turns around, and is greeted with his look of naked longing, his throat working as he swallows, full lower lip firmly in his teeth. His fists are clenched, the muscles of his forearms big and bulging, his heels pushing into the mattress.

She takes a step forward, her fingers teasing the edge of her panties. She won’t take them off, not yet, just torment him a little, lifting the fabric and letting it slap back down to her skin, then she’ll climb back on top of him, hump him through his sweatpants until he’s begging--

Annabeth catches her foot on the fabric puddle. Tripping, she throws out her hands, aiming to catch herself on the decorative chest they keep at the foot of their bed, her weak ankle buckling as it tries to keep her steady--then she jams her toe into the metal strut. Hard.

“Mother fucker!”

She goes down.

“Annabeth!”

Through the white hot haze of pain, she can barely see, but she can certainly feel it as a pair of strong arms picks her up from the floor, laying her on the bed, a big hand taking her weaker foot, fingers delicately prodding the offending toe, skimming over the sensitive skin. “Percy?” she moans, seeing stars. “What--”

“Nothing feels sprained,” he murmurs, kissing her ankle. “Looks like you just slammed it. Let me get some ice.” And he leaves her for a moment.

Wasn’t he tied up a minute ago?

The bed dips beside her as Percy takes her foot again, carefully laying one of their smaller ice packs across the throbbing flesh. Her vision clears, blink by blink, and as his concerned but fond face slowly comes into focus, she also spies something trailing from his wrist--a strip of black and white fabric.

His tie. Snapped in half. Still attached to him. “Did you…?” she trails off.

He flicks his eyes down to his wrist, and flushes, lightly. “Oh. I, uh, guess I did. I didn’t even notice.”

Annabeth’s body grows hot in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with shame.

“Anyway,” he coughs, dry and useless. “Um, maybe we should call it a night?”

Hiding her face in her arms, she nods.

***

They try again the next week.

While dictating her notes via speech-to-text, Annabeth had spent the last couple of days occupied with making her own rope, stronger and softer than the ones she had seen in her Incognito Mode searches while doing her business in the bathroom. BDSM rope is surprisingly really expensive, especially the less abrasive stuff, but more than that, she feels kind of… well, it’s weird, the idea of spending money on bondage shit when they’d only tried it once, and not very successfully at that. Like, how about they make sure they actually like it first, says the little Percy in her head who occasionally keeps her from making too many impulse purchases, and then they can upgrade their gear?

Also, she’s confident her stuff is on par with the really expensive gear anyway. Plus, it’s blue!

And when she dangles it in front of his face, straddling him once again as she slides her wet pussy over his briefs, practically soaking them, he lifts his arms again, a quiet acquiescence, even as his jaw clenches in the barest hint of displeasure.

Every day Percy does something new to make her fall in love with him. That he trusts her so much to let her tie him up, immobilize him, take away his control like this, even though he’s so clearly hesitant about the whole thing, that’s just today’s thing. She kisses him, soft and sweet, over and over, and he responds in kind, straining his neck to meet her. “You good?” she asks, a whisper into the space between them, and he nods. “It’s not too tight?”

“It’s fine.” She feels more than sees as he flexes his arms again, testing the strength of her rope.

“Good.” She kisses his nose. No way he’ll be able to break these.

The second time is already going better than the first. Having divested herself of her clothes beforehand, there’s no danger of her tripping and injuring herself as she lines herself up and sinks down on him, shuddering at the angle as she slides him inside of her. She just sits there for a moment, rocking back and forth on his lap, enjoying the way he fills her nooks and crannies, brushing up against the sensitive skin, closing her eyes against the sensation as she lifts herself up, sliding back down, up and down and up and down and up and down.

“Fuck, Annabeth,” he moans. “Oh, fuck.”

It’s good. As always. It’s so good.

But… something is missing.

She squeezes around him, and he hisses, bucking beneath her.

Why isn’t he touching her?

He groans, frustrated, his head making a muffled thump as it drops on the pillow.

Oh. Right.

Usually right about now he’ll go for her tits, his big hands covering them completely, deft fingers pinching and twisting her nipples in the most perfect way, so she decides to show him what he’s missing, bringing her own hands up to her chest, rolling her thumbs over her nipples, smiling as he practically growls. Unfortunately for her, for whatever sick reason, she’s not nearly as good at this as he is, her touches not really doing enough for her. And after a few minutes or so, Percy takes notice.

“Oh gods, Annabeth,” he pants, pulling his legs up behind her, the force almost tilting her forward, and she throws out her hands to catch herself, his abs tensing beneath her as she lands on them, her chest right up against his face. Quick as anything, he lifts his head up, mouth headed for her left nipple before she manages to pull herself back.

She narrows her eyes, falling back on his lap even more heavily, pushing a grunt out of him. “Nice try.”

He only grins back, shark-like, eyes dancing. “Had to give it a shot.”

Of course he did. Percy treats rules like [clever metaphor], easily broken and discarded. And now Annabeth has to punish him.

Shit.

What are you supposed to do for punishment again?

Her mind draws a blank.

Percy stares up at her, waiting, brow raised in challenge.

To stall for time, she squeezes around him.

She’d watched a handful of pornos for research, and in a lot of them, the dominant would strike their partner. Percy’s tough, a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and he likes his rough-housing with Clarisse and Frank and the war kids, so he’d probably like that, too, right? If someone did that to her, Annabeth would probably like it.

So she raises her hand, and she brings it down on his soft, untensed, unprepared tummy. Hard.

He jumps so high that he actually manages to buck her off. “OW!”

“Percy!” she cries, scrambling back over to him. “Oh my gods, I’m so sorry!”

“The hell was that for!” he gasps, curling in on himself as best he can with his arms still tied above his head.

“Sorry, sorry,” she gentles, almost frantic, hands hovering over his body. His belly is rapidly turning pink, the outline of her hand stark on his skin, practically radiating heat. “I just--I mean I thought--fuck, I am so sorry!”

He groans in response, eyes squeezed shut.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck--”Let--let me get you some ice, or--” she stammers, sliding off the bed.

“Can you at least untie me first?” Percy wheezes.

“Oh my gods, yeah, hold on.” Despite her shaking fingers, the knot comes undone easily, practically falling apart, and Percy curls himself into a ball, forehead touching his knees.

Returning with an ice pack wrapped in a dish towel, she kisses his shoulder in apology, slipping it between the taut, tight bends of his body.

He is in real, actual pain. Fuck. “I am so, so sorry,” she says again, her voice wobbling.

Squinting up at her, he tries for a reassuring smile, but falls far, far short, a pained grimace painted across his face. “It’s okay,” he rasps.

It’s really not, but saying that isn’t going to be so helpful right now.

Instead, she lies down next to him, resting her hand on his arm, gently stroking back and forth in hopes that it might distract him a little. She knows that whenever her ankle or her shoulder act up, all she wants is Percy’s hands on her, repetitive and soothing. Hopefully she can give back a little of the comfort that he gives her.

After a while, he starts to uncurl. “Goddamn,” he moans, still clutching the ice pack to his stomach. “Remind me never to badmouth the Yankees again.”

She forces out a chuckle for his sake, ducking her head against his. “How is it? One to ten.”

Hissing, he straightens out a little more. “Probably a four,” he says, “but a really spicy four.”

“Percy, I am so--”

“It’s okay.” He knocks his head against her chin. “Maybe just warn me next time?”

“Yeah,” she says, uneasy. Next time is not looking so likely. “Here.”

Slowly, she helps him into a sitting position, applying extra pressure on his stomach, her hand on top of his. They breathe together, letting the sting fade away until Percy drops his head on hers.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“How--” she snorts, a little wet. “I’m fine, Percy.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry about hitting you,” she says. She can’t help but look down at his stomach, pinkness peeking above the ice pack, at his dick, well and truly flaccid. “That was… not my best idea.”

“Can I ask you something?” Tearing her gaze away, she turns back to Percy. “Why are you pushing for this so hard?”

She blinks, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“Just, you’ve never really expressed an interest in kinky stuff before.” He takes her hand, cold from the ice pack, rubbing his thumb against hers, sweet and intimate.

“Yeah, well,” she cuddles into Percy a little harder, curving her body around his shoulder. “Some of the girls at Berklee were teasing me about being a little vanilla.” None of it was mean-spirited or anything, but it had stayed with her for a while after it had resurfaced that night. Annabeth Chase, despite having run away from home at the age of seven, was a square, a teetotaler, unadventurous, the kind of woman who spent her Friday nights playing board games with a woman who typified 1930s values. Annabeth Chase, after her short, entirely too eventful life, was going to settle down, and marry the first boy she ever kissed.

It had struck a nerve.

“Being vanilla isn’t a bad thing,” he says, something like concern lacing his voice. “But, are you… not satisfied? With the physical stuff?” The unspoken ‘with me’ hangs between them, and Annabeth pulls back, looking him in the eye.

“Percy.”

“Mm?”

Reaching up, she kisses him. “Of course not. I could never not be satisfied.”

Something in him eases, almost imperceptible if she didn’t know him as well as she does. “So…”

Shrugging, she lays her head back down on his shoulder. “I dunno. It’s just--like, I’m pretty sure you’re going to be the only person I ever sleep with--”

“Pretty sure?”

She nudges him with her foot, and he laughs, hissing a little as it jostles his stomach. “You know what I mean. I just don’t want to miss out on anything, is all.”

“Like what?”

“Like--” she gestures to the rope, lying forgotten, tangled up in the sheets. “Stuff like that. Kinky stuff.”

“Okay,” he says, slowly. At least he doesn’t think she’s crazy. That’s always nice. “I guess I’m just wondering if you’re actually into bondage and stuff or if we’re just… you know, trying it out.”

Draping a leg over him, knees pressed together, she shrugs. “It sounded pretty fun,” she mumbles into his arm. “You know. Tying you up.”

She feels him swallow, jaw working as he chooses his next words carefully. “Tying me up,” he asks, “or tying you up?”

That… gives her pause.

“Maybe…” He turns his face towards her, nose in her hair. “We could swap?”

She frowns. “Swap?”

“If you want, I mean,” he says, quickly. “If you’re not--I would never make you do something you didn’t want to, obviously, but, I mean… if you wanted to try?”

Annabeth, for lack of anything to say, rubs her toes against his calf, comforting and grounding.

Does she want to be tied up?

Her first instinct is to refuse, obviously. She’s a warrior. Immobilization is death. And what if a monster attacks? She has to be ready for anything. That was the promise of Athena’s progeny, that they were eternally poised and ready to respond to any problem or threat.

And yet…

The summer she turned thirteen, she had decided that she was strong enough to hear the siren’s song in the sea of monsters. At her request, Percy had tied her to the mast so she wouldn’t be able to jump in and swim to her death. He had forgotten to take her knife, and when she had, inevitably, fallen prey to their song and cannonballed right into danger, he had jumped in after her, holding her back until she had been able to pull herself out of the magic spell.

It had been humiliating, and humbling. She hadn’t even begun to realize that she liked Percy as more than a friend at that point. But, years later, the clearest memory she has of that day is not how her pride had reared its ugly head, but instead just how safe she had felt in Percy’s arms, at the bottom of the ocean.

Here, in New Rome, in their apartment, with Percy… Well, what’s the worst that could happen? “Sure,” she says, perhaps a little more confident than she actually feels.

“Sure?”

“Sure. Why not?” Looking up at him, she searches his gaze for any hesitation or fear, and finds none, and that, more than anything else, settles her. “I’m game.”

He looks for the same in her, and he seems to like what he finds, because he cracks a grin, laying a soft kiss on her lips.

Gingerly, still mindful of his stomach, he reaches over to grab the discarded rope. Taking her hands in his free one, he loops it around her wrists, tucking the ends into itself, tight but not constricting. Comfortable.

Her breath catches in her throat.

“You good?”

Nodding, she flexes her wrists outward, just to feel the tension--and she sighs, a breathy moan slipping out of her without her permission.

They freeze.

Annabeth slams her eyes shut, praying he didn’t hear her.

“...Okay then,” says Percy.

Gods, his shit-eating grin is practically audible. “Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” He leans in, kissing her ear. “Did you just try to tell me what to do?”

She shivers beneath his warm breath. “I…” She is suddenly full of apologies and excuses bubbling up out of nowhere.

Percy hums. “You what?” Slowly, agonizingly, he slides his hand down the length of her body, ending on her tight, just above her knee. He squeezes, featherlight, and she shivers.

“Um,” she says, watching his hand creep higher, his fingers dipping between her legs. “I…”

Then he stops. He stops, that big hand still wedged halfway to her vagina.

“Are--” she stutters, almost yelping as he kisses the sensitive spot beneath her jaw, teeth scraping over the skin. “Are you going to finish?”

“Dunno. Was thinking about it. But maybe I won’t. Maybe,” he chuckles, directly into her ear, his nose pressing against her cheek. His other arm comes around, slipping beneath her bicep, fingers finding her nipple like it’s a damn beacon, and he pinches it, smiling into her skin as she jumps, grunts, and flushes. She wants to touch him so badly, but the angle of her arms is so weird and she’s kind of on top of him, and she can’t reach his cock or his hair or--“Maybe I’ll just get you worked up, and then I’ll go to sleep.”

What--but--he can’t--“I--you--”

“Say you’re sorry,” he teases, pressing his cheek to her head, “and maybe I’ll reconsider.”

Sorry for what?! She almost snaps. Percy’s hand between her legs plays just at the edge of her sensitive spots, teasing with soft touches, driving her crazy. “I’m--I’m sorry, Percy,” she pants, squirming. Maybe if she shimmies down, his hand will move up--

But he won’t be moved. “Sorry for what?”

“For--” he digs a nail into her thigh, a sharp, sweet bite of sensation, like a campfire ember accidentally landing on your skin, bright and pulsing. Fuck, what is she apologizing for? “For hurting you earlier.”

Shaking his head, he chuckles again, moving his hand further away. No! “Close,” he mumbles, “but no cigar--”

Oh! “For telling you what to do!” she blurts. “I’m sorry for telling you what to do!”

He bites her earlobe. His fingers slide up to her pussy, stroking her labia as they open up to him. “There we go.”

And as he jerks her off, bringing her to the finish with the kind of efficiency and skill that only comes after ten thousand hours, he kisses her, wet and hot, mouth insistent, taking her lip between his teeth, and he mumbles: “Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

She breaks, crying into his mouth.

After a while, he slides his fingers out, giving her one final pass on her clit, and she shudders, whining. “Sorry,” he mumbles, warm. “You good?”

Her tongue heavy in her mouth, all she can do is nod, panting.

But when he slides his other arm out, making to untie her--”Don’t,” she mumbles, pulling back.

He starts. “Don’t?”

“Don’t.” Turning into him, she snuggles against him as deeply as she could, her bound hands only making it a little bit awkward, though they do come to rest on his stomach, about the perfect distance for her to reach down and take care of him. “Your turn?”

But he just shakes his head, slinging a leg over hers. “Still a little sore,” he admits, not quite meeting her gaze.

She drops her head onto his chest, relishing in the warm, steady heartbeat beneath her ear. “Sorry.”

“You can make it up to me later,” he says, taking her hands in his, thumb tracing along the edge of the rope. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

#my fic #percabeth #pjo fic #darkmagyk #PLS HEED THE RATING OK

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that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick · 3 years

Text

Rating: G

Word Count: 1.6k

Fake dating, love at first sight, and all that. The basic fluff palate.

A/N: I had no idea what the lyrics to "Hello Stranger" by Stray Kids were until after I wrote the fic, but the title and vibe made me daydream this whole idea up in the car. You're welcome. (Totally would recommend the official MV too, it just doesn't have English subs)

Another day, another heckling. And this time it had to be on a public subway, apparently.

"All I'm saying is, if you're so rich, why do you have to conveniently forget your credit card every single time we all go out for lunch?" Edward narrowed his eyes at Ling.

"Why bring it when I don't expect to be going out to eat?" Ling said airily. "And you're always so generous when it happens unexpectedly."

Edward grunted. "That's an absolute load of bull and you know it. You can't say that you 'just forgot' to bring money because you 'didn't expect it' when I text the group chat 'Who wants to go out for lunch tomorrow?' and you say 'Ooh! Ooh! Me!'" he squealed in a poor imitation of his friend.

"Your girlfriend would love you for it, you know—paying for dates," Ling continued, ignoring Ed's accusations. He gasped. "Oh, that's right! You don't have a girlfriend! Perhaps if you weren't so quarrelsome, you could manage to win the heart of a lady."

"Who are you calling so puny that he's gonna die alone and have weeds all over his grave that no one will bother to pull?" Ed screeched.

Russell finally spoke up from his seat at the end of the row. "Ed, he didn't say anything about your height. He may be a cheapskate, but he didn't make a dig at your height. For once."

"Yeah, that's right! No fair changing the subject, Ling. This discussion was about how you're a little rich boy who always makes his friends pay for his own food," Ed huffed.

"Why quibble over such a minor expense? How expensive could a burger be? Twenty dollars?" The other two boys gaped at Ling, but he only kept going. "Besides, I'm far more interested in the current topic. Edward, you know I care for you deeply—"

"Fat chance."

"—but with your disposition, I doubt you could get a girlfriend if you tried!"

"Now, you wait just a second! You don't know squat about my love life! In fact, I could—"

Out of nowhere, a blonde girl knelt on the seat next to Ed's and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

"Hello, stranger." She winked. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming this way today? I know you're shy about our relationship, but you could have just told them, you know. You don't have to give into their teasing just for me, Eddie-boo."

All three boys gawked at her—Russell and Ling because of the fact that Ed actually had a girlfriend and Ed because of the fact that he didn't. Except now he had to pretend that this strange, hot blonde girl was his girlfriend.

So he choked. Then he recovered just enough to say, "Babe, no. I was just about to tell them. These pea-brains," he glared at them, "barely let me get a word in edgewise. Please believe me, babe."

"Of course I believe you, pretty boy." Her gaze made all coherent thoughts fly from his head. "But even if they are pea-brains, I should probably introduce myself." She tapped his nose. The buzzing feeling lingered long after the tip of her finger left it. "I'm Winry." She beamed at the other two boys. Ed's stomach twisted. He wasn't jealous, was he? He probably just ate something bad at lunch. Maybe Ling slipped something in his burger…

Ling grinned wickedly. "Lovely to meet you, Winry. How did you two meet? It must have been quite a job getting this one to agree to go out with you, what with his charming personality and all."

"Hm, how did we meet, babe? It all happened very gradually—knowing each other's faces, then knowing each other's names, then small talk here and there. Then before you know it, we were having deeper conversations as close friends, and then suddenly, we were dating! He's a real softie once you get him to open up," she said, ruffling his bangs.

"Winry!" He cleared his throat. "Babe, you don't have to tell them everything."

"Oh, man!" Russell guffawed, wiping away a tear. "This girl must have you whipped, Ed."

"Something like that," Ed muttered.

Suddenly, the train lurched and threw Winry forward, her arm around Ed's shoulders directing her course straight for his lap. They stared at each other in panic for a few moments. Then Winry laughed nervously. "Looks like I fell for you, huh, babe?"

Edward slapped his forehead. "Really? Fell for me? That's so terrible, I might break up with you just for that."

"Nah, you like me too much," Winry said, planting a kiss on his forehead.

Edward's face turned a violent shade of red. Pretty girl. Flirting. At him. Dream. It was a dream. Dreams don't have lips with that much detail. Can't look at friends. They'll laugh. Different topic. Periodic table. Periodic tables are simple. Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium…

"Like I said," Russell smirked. "Whipped."

The subway car lurched again as the intercom announced their arrival at the stop, and Ed's arms flew to keep Winry from being thrown again. Just as quickly as he had held her close, he loosened his grip. For a moment, her eyes widened and a faint blush rose on her cheeks. She shifted on his lap.

"This is my stop. Nice meeting you guys!" Winry leaned in to whisper into Ed's ear. "I probably caused you more trouble than I solved. I'm so sorry." She offered him a half smile and slid off his lap.

His legs somehow felt bare without her weight, his arms cold without her warmth. How could he just let her walk away? But how could he just stalk a stranger? Fortunately, all intelligent thought had left him long ago.

"See you guys later! Better priorities have come up than messing around with you losers!"

Edward heard silence, then laughter behind him, but he kept his eyes forward as he followed Winry out into the station. Crap, what had he gotten himself into? He was such an idiot. His idiot mouth and his idiot legs had been faster than his idiot brain and he was about to be in big, big trouble with this really beautiful, really nice stranger. The doors closed behind them.

"Look, I'm really, really sorry. I don't know what got into me. I don't know why I went along with it. I don't just do this sort of thing, it just happened. If there's—" Winry cut Ed off.

"You went along with it because I started it. What were you supposed to do? If anything, it's my fault for putting you in an awkward position. It was gutsy and presumptuous and I should have just let your conversation happen. I don't exactly go around pretending to be random people's girlfriends either. Some weird gut reaction in me just...did it. I...I don't even know what to say for myself. I made you lie to your friends and now you're going to have to tell them that and...I'm. I'm so sorry." She raked her hand into her ponytail and avoided his gaze.

"Can we consider ourselves forgiven, then?"

She met his eyes with a slight laugh. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Good, so...um…are you actually single?" He sighed and mumbled, "man, I don't normally do this," and continued, "Because I'd love to take you out for real if you are." His pulse thundered through every blood vessel in his body while she opened and closed her mouth and blushed. It would be cute if his entire being wasn't vibrating waiting for her response.

"Y–yeah," she breathed.

"Gah," Ed rubbed the back of his neck. "Of course you're not single, why would you be? I mean, look at you—"

"No! No. I'm. I'm not single. I mean! I'm not in a—I don't have a boyfriend."

"Oh."

"I'd...I'd love to go out with you, Edward."

"Wow," he finally managed.

"What?" Winry smiled at him in confusion.

"I really scored big today and I don't even know how." He grinned crookedly. "Was something about my complete lack of competent speech attractive or something? Nobody just agrees to going on a date with a complete stranger. Your name is actually Winry, right?"

She laughed. "Yes, my name is actually Winry. I didn't really have a lot of time to come up with a fake name or anything. As for going out with a complete stranger… I don't know. I just know I can trust you. I figure, why not go for it? And, um. I wasn't entirely joking when I called you 'pretty boy.'" She bit her lip and smiled at her shoes.

Ed's mind blanked for what seemed the billionth time that day. "You're the—you're the pretty one!" he squawked.

"Well, then...if I'm the pretty one, can I be the one to ask you for your number?"

"What?" He wasn't sure whether he'd been shaken out of his mental fog or pushed further into it. "I mean, yes! Um, here it is." He fumbled with his phone and showed her his contact information.

"Thanks." She smiled with all the light the universe could give her. "I'll...see you soon then?"

"Are you busy right now?" Ed blurted out. "Or is taking you out to dinner too soon?"

"Oh! No, not at all. I'm kind of craving Chinese takeout, actually, if that's okay."

"Yeah. Yeah, it's totally okay. Just. One thing." Winry raised her eyebrows in accession. "Never call me 'Eddie-boo' again."

#I'm planning a follow up fic if/when I get the kick to write it~#fma #fma fanfic #fma fic #my fic #my writing #edwin #fma modern au

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themuseic · 3 years

Text

Only Fools (Chapter 8)

(Art Credit: @clumsycopy)

Fic Summary: Sent to Boone County, West Virginia on an assignment, you find yourself engulfed your work. How could you possibly find time for anything else? Even if “anything else” includes the tall, kind, and handsome bartender from down the road?

Word Count: 2.8k

Read Chapter 7 here.

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: Fluff, obscene amounts of fluff. Alcohol mention, but no explicit consumption.

Author’s Note: Okay, I really do think I’m back now. If that isn’t the case, apologies in advance. If it is the case, hi! I’m excited to catch up on things! Also, this chapter has references to a song that was also used by @aloneandsleepless in her one-shot Elvis. If you haven’t read that yet, PLEASE do. It’s so beautifully written and well worth the read. As always, thank you for reading, love you all.

It had been the talk of the town all week. All month really.

You knew that towns had traditions, and you had just brushed it off as such. But when you brought up the winter festival to Clyde, the sheer excitement on his face let you know that the celebration at the diner was far from just an ordinary Saturday night on the town. It was the spirit of the holidays in Boone County, the hotly anticipated to-do. “People come from all over,” Clyde explained in between mouthfuls of burnt bacon, from where he sat across from you at the trailer table. “Even come down from Charlotte, if you can believe that.”

You whistled. “Sounds like quite the party. And it’s this week?”

“Yup, on Friday,” Clyde nodded. “I’m gonna be closing the bar that night to go. I don’t think I’d get too many customers that night anyway.” He shuffled his feet along the linoleum floor. “Actually darlin’, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” Suddenly, Clyde clammed up, almost afraid to get his next words out.

“Yes, Clyde? You know you can ask me anything.” His hesitation almost made you nervous. Though he tended to be a quieter soul, rarely did words fail him when the two of you were alone. He exhaled and steeled himself for his query. “Well, I was wonderin’ if you’d like to be my date.” You stopped. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that blanketed the trailer. Realization of what he had asked hit you all at once, and you broke into hearty guffaws. A smile so big it nearly hurt you plastered itself across your face. At that reaction, Clyde visibly relaxed, a smile dancing at the corners of his lips.

“Clyde, we have quite literally been sleeping together for two months now.” He blushed a deep red and his lower lip pushed forward into the smallest pout. “Well, I didn’t want to assume, and I know we’re sleeping together but…” You shushed him by placing your finger onto the center of his plump lips. “Clyde, I think it’s cute. Of course I’ll be your date.” You closed the distance between you, flung your arms around his neck, and pulled him into a soft kiss. Clyde smiled against you and returned the kiss with vigor, his lips parting slightly as he pushed his face into yours. He pulled back with a smack, and his forehead came to rest on your own. A swift smack landed on your ass and you yelped. “C’mon darlin’, let’s get this cleaned up so we can go get that trail cam footage,” Clyde muttered as he squeezed you softly.

~~~

The town was blanketed in a plush layer of crisp white snow. It lay in piles on rooftops and cars, on street corners and it lined the pathways that people swathed in layers of coats and scarves meandered down. It was everything you expected from a small town holiday, but it was far from gauche. It was crystal clear why the Logan family was so eager to attend.

With little care to watch the ground you walked on, you misstepped and yelped as your foot hit a patch of ice that threatened to slide your legs apart into a swift split. “Woah there!” Clyde jumped, hooking his arm under your armpit to keep you upright. You laughed at yourself as you held onto his thick arm to catch your footing. “Can’t seem to keep myself standing huh?” you joked, peering up at him. He chuckled, with an almost imperceptible eye roll. “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble one day from not watchin’ your surroundings, darlin’,” he tsk’ed, prompting you to stick your tongue out at him. Clyde shook his head with a small smile, and helped you right yourself.

You stepped forward without letting go of his arm, and he squeezed your elbow into the crook of his arm to acknowledge your clutch on him. You could feel your face warm and you dropped your gaze to smile at the ground.

~~~

The diner was warm and packed full of people. Clyde shielded you from the patrons as you pushed your way to the counter, eager to nab a winter drink to warm your insides. Once situated at the bar, he called out your order to a worker that seemed overjoyed to see Clyde. You laughed. “You know just about everyone in this town, huh Clyde?” He shrugged, passing you a steaming mug. “Comes with havin’ one of the only bars in the area,” he winked, and raised your mug to his lips.

Clyde stood behind you at the bar while you sipped your drink, acting as a human wall to halt people from trampling your feet, with his hand resting on your waist. He pointed out all the people that he knew and provided a small anecdote for each one, almost as if he was providing his own personal, albeit abbreviated, history of Boone County. You could listen to him talk forever, his honeyed words soothing to your ears over the cacophony of the diner.

“Hey gal!” you heard a voice call from across the diner, breaking you from your unwavering gaze at Clyde. You turned to see Mellie bounding towards you, Jimmy, Sylvia, and Joe close behind her. Jimmy was carrying a young blonde girl on his shoulder, and you assumed it was Clyde’s niece. Cynthia? Samantha?

“Hey lil’ Sadie!” Clyde called from over your shoulder. Sadie! That was it, you chided yourself mentally. Mellie rushed up to you and flung her arms around your neck and pulled you into a crushing hug. “Hey Mel,” you and Clyde responded in unison, your voice airy as Mellie squeezed your breath from your chest. With your head tucked onto her shoulder as you returned her embrace, you looked back to acknowledge the rest with a smile and their respective name. “And you must be Miss Sadie, huh?” you inquired as you pulled away from Mellie and turned to the young girl, who looked remarkably like her father, with her nose and ears tipped red with the cold.

“Yes ma’am!” she crowed, her hands dug into Jimmy’s short hairs. You noticed her hands clench on his hair and she dipped her head to glance at him for just a moment, a devious smile across her face. “And are you Uncle Clyde’s girlfriend?” Clyde choked behind you, and you glanced behind yourself to look up at him. He was pale white and glaring straight at Jimmy, who was desperately trying to insist he had nothing to do with his daughter’s question, however unconvincing his protests were.

You didn’t blame him. Two months of living together, and you and Clyde had yet to define your relationship. You didn’t really mind it. You knew that putting it off would dull the sting of your eventual departure. But how could you even begin to explain that to a child? Oh no, not his girlfriend, just the girl he sleeps with, the girl he takes out, the girl he fucks. The girl who can’t commit. That wouldn’t do. So instead, you motioned for Sadie to jump off of her father’s shoulders, bent down to her height, took her hands in your own, and said, “Well yes, I am Clyde’s girlfriend.”

The stifled gasps of Mellie and Sylvia were almost silent to your ears as you glanced back at Clyde. He was still white as a sheet, but his eyes flicked from Jimmy’s to yours, and the hint of a smile began to break through his blank expression. You straightened to your full height and turned to face him, chewing your cheek. “That is, if that’s what you want,” you whispered, searching his face for a hint of how he might feel.

Clyde’s next words were more a soft breath than a whisper. “Yes darlin’. I’d like that very much.” You beamed, and he slunk his arm around your waist, pulling you flush to his body and into a kiss so deep your heart just about stopped in your chest.

You melted into his touch and sighed, your hands threading through his thick hair. His family, his friends, and the strangers that surrounded you melted from your consciousness, and not even the hoots and hollers of Clyde’s family drowned out the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your chest. It was perfect.

A small clearing of a throat reminded you that you were, in fact, in public, and you hastily broke from Clyde, opting to rest the side of your face on his chest instead. Jimmy shook his head, chuckling at the scene before him. “Congrats you two lovebirds, glad y’all finally decided to make this thing official,” he whistled, lifting Sadie up in one swift motion to set her perched back upon his shoulder. Mellie reached out to squeeze your arm tenderly. You laughed. “Took us long enough, I guess.” Clyde hummed and squeezed you tight, his cheek resting on your head.

“Welp,” Jimmy continued. “I promised Sadie here we’d go on the Ferris Wheel so we could see the stars. Y’all care to join us?” Clyde peered down his angular nose to look at you cross-eyed and raised his eyebrows. “What’dya say?” You grinned. “We’d love to.”

~~~

It was a joy to run around the festival with the Logan clan. Acting as your personal tour guide, Sadie babbled to you about her favorite things at the fair. She grabbed your hand to pull your attention to whatever she deemed worthy of pointing out. Sadie bragged how she was the reigning champ of the ring toss, and how she wasn’t tall enough to go on the Scrambler yet, but the moment she could she was going to ride it the whole festival, which was easy to believe given her tenacity and spunk. Mellie passed you a never-ending stream of warm winter drinks - ”Spiked if you’d like,” she’d wink - and Jimmy, Sylvia, and Joe were cracking jokes nonstop. But what really made the night perfect was Clyde.

Your sweet Clyde. He held your hand in his mitt of a hand, squeezing it randomly, pulling you in for kisses both short and sweet, and long and deep. You were sure you would get dirty looks from the festival attendants after you nearly devoured each other on the Ferris Wheel, but you really couldn’t care less. Clyde teased you and you teased him back, keeping up a line of banter that was so easy. At one point in the night, the two of you found yourselves separated from the rest of the Logan clan, cozied up by yourselves in a booth. You both warmed your hands with a cup of hot chocolate cradled in your grasp.

“You having’ fun?” Clyde murmured into your ear, his arm slung around your shoulder. You nodded into him and tucked yourself up into the nook of his shoulder. Clyde’s arm outstretched to grasp his mug and lifted it to his lips to take a huge swig. You palmed the warm beverage in your hand, feeling the warmth radiate through your body from where you held it, and where Clyde was pressed to your side.

You gazed up at Clyde, your hands and heart warmed and full. Clyde smiled at you, his eyes falling softly to trace the features of your face. For how often he pouted, you had yet to see one flit across his face all night. Something flashed in his eyes, and before you knew it, Clyde’s finger was dipped into the mound of whipped cream atop his beverage and he snapped it up to your face to dollop it right on the end of your nose. “Hey!” you exclaimed, pushing away from his chest just a hair as a laugh bubbled up your throat. “You’re a menace,” you laughed, as you made no move to wipe the cream from your nose.

Clyde snickered and you swatted at his arm, pulling a yelp that feigned offense from him. “What’s that for now? You look cute as hell with a lil’ nose decoration,” he shrugged as he squeezed your shoulder and jabbed your side with the metal tines of his prosthetic. You smiled at each other, your eyes hazy with bliss. Suddenly, his profile was illuminated and you could see a bright flash out of the corner of your eye. With squinted eyes, you turned to the source.

A beaming Sadie, clutching a disposable camera in her small hands, sat across from the two of you in the booth. It seemed that not even the squeak of the vinyl as she had climbed into the booth was enough to pull your attention from the trance you were drifting through, and you both jumped at her arrival.

“Scared the living daylight out of me,” Clyde sighed, his hand coming up to clutch at his heart with drama.

“Sorry Uncle Clyde, but I couldn’t help it,” she whined, “You two looked so cute and cozy!” You scrunched your nose up and wiggled the tip. “How can I be cozy with this cream stuck on me?” Clyde laughed a low chuckle from deep in his chest that made him rumble against you. He leaned in and bumped his nose with yours. When he pulled away, a dot of whipped cream was left at the very end of his nose. He grinned.

“Oh my gosh. This is such a good shot!” Sadie squealed. “Get close! Let me take another photo!”

Clyde’s arm tightened around you and pulled you closer into his side. You were mid laugh when the second burst of light broke across your vision and the click of a camera made it feel as though time had halted.

You knew that your time in Boone County was temporary. But you knew you would live with that memory forever.

~~~

The lightest flecks of white tumbled through the air, catching on the light of the street lamps and stringed bulbs that were hung throughout the parking lot that acted as the festival's main drag. Most of the attendees had begun their individual treks home or had moved into the warm haven of the diner. Large fishbowl windows gave you view into the crowded establishment through clear, unfogged stretches of glass. The cheers and merry yells of toasts and memories being made rang out over the empty courtyard, ringing free until they were absorbed by the snow.

Instead of being pressed up against the townsfolk or against the windows as your feet stumbled across the toes of others, you and Clyde were leaned against a tree across the courtyard of the festival. You gazed skyward, watching the small flakes of snow swirl through the sky. Music lilted through the air and fell lightly on your ears. A familiar chord rang through the air and grabbed your attention. You felt a nudge on your side. You looked up to meet Clyde’s crinkled eyes as he gazed down at you. “Want to dance darlin’?” he murmured as he trailed his fingers up and down your arm.

“Yes please Clyde.” He beamed back at you and took your hand in his as he pushed his back off of the tree. Snow crunched underfoot as you wandered to the dance floor. It was a small area of interlocked wooden panels, slightly obscured by a thin sheet of snow. Clyde offered his hand up to you in a grandiose gesture. A small laugh bubbled up in your chest as you slipped your hand into his, and he pulled you tight to his chest and began to sway.

Clyde’s voice rumbled against your face where it was pressed against his chest as he asked, “So whatcha think, sweetheart? Think Boone County can throw a good lil’ winter party?”

You nodded immediately. “Absolutely. This is so beautiful Clyde,” you sighed with content. A voice crooned over the speakers and the lyrics rang out over the courtyard.

“Wise men say…”

“You look so perfect, you know that?” Clyde crooned, raising his hand to brush the side of your face with the tips of his fingers.

“... only fools rush in…”

“So do you, Clyde.”

“But I can’t help…”

It was warm in his arms. Secure. You felt as if you were in another plane of existence. Tucked in his arms, you were hidden from the world. Safe.

“Falling in love with you.”

Clyde spun sharply with you in his arms, swiftly grabbing your attention. He looked down his long lashes at you, gazing deeply into your eyes with his intense amber gaze. “Sweetheart, I…” he cleared his throat, and lifted his hand to palm the side of your face again. He ran his thumb over your cheekbone. “I just want… You don’t have to say it back. But… I want to tell you…” he sucked in a sharp breath.

“I love you.”

Your breath halted in your chest. Your stomach swooped. No one had made such an admission to you in… well, you weren’t sure just how long. Before you had a chance to admit that you were speechless, Clyde pulled you into a mind bending kiss. You melted into him. It wouldn’t matter what you said. You were his and he was yours. The snow fell silently around you, and the two of you swayed together quietly.

~~~

Have a winter drink! Thank you to my Irish friends (love y'all!) for direction on the recipe <3 my favorite suggestion was "Coffee+Whisky, add in other shite as it pleases ya". ~~~ My lil’ take on an Irish Coffee:

As much hot coffee as you'd like. As much whisky as you'd like. Brown Sugar to taste. Fresh whipped cream to top off. (HIGHLY recommend whipping your cream. My favorite way to do it is 1 c. heavy whipping cream, 1 c. sugar, and a splash of vanilla extract, whipped to peaks. Don't overmix though, don't make sweet butter!)

Combine the coffee, whisky, and sugar. Stir, and top with whipped cream. A dash of cinnamon over top never hurt anyone either!

~~~

Taglist: @mind-p0llution @thedivinemissm @clydesducktape @finn-ray-nal-beads @ladygrey03 @desiraypark @1800-fight-me @aloneandsleepless @hopeamarsu (Comment or message me to be added or removed!)

#only fools #clyde logan x you #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x femme reader #my writing

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derireo · 4 years

Text

no such thing as honor ↦ tasuku (izumi-centric)

tasuku insults one of izumi’s favourite playwrights and gets his ass handed to him like he deserves.

warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, fighting

「 read here on ao3 」「 1.5k words 」

Sakyo had come home to a bundle of the kids standing at the balcony, screaming and whooping at something that was happening in the courtyard while a few of the adults watched.

They were loud; no doubt disturbing the other houses in their vicinity while Itaru, Azuma, Omi, and Tsumugi watched on with amusement.

"Shut the hell up! What are you all doing here so late at night?!" Sakyo had griped, grabbing Banri and Taichi by the back of their shirts to catch everyone's attention.

All of the adults ignored his stare once he turned his head without waiting for any of the teens to answer, his eyes burning with a wrath that no person wants to deal with.

Itaru and Tsumugi kept sipping at their beers while Omi only returned his glare with a smile. Azuma chuckled behind his cup of sake, and pointed in the direction of the courtyard where two people were standing.

"Tasuku got our little Izumi all riled up," the silver haired man said adoringly, "and she demanded they settle things with a fight."

He took a calm sip from his cup while his smiling eyes awaited for Sakyo's reaction, and the blond did not disappoint.

"Takato! Tachibana!" He shouted from the railing, completely throwing away his worries about their neighbours. Tasuku dwarfed Izumi; what was that girl thinking, trying to solve a dispute with physical force?

Izumi's head snapped up to where Sakyo stood at the balcony, her eyes filled with pure hatred and a tinge of sadness. Her face was flushed, a tell-tale sign that she was drunk as well as unable to make right decisions.

"Tasuku said the script to my favourite play was trash, Sakyo-kun!" She cried pitifully, her hand shooting out to grab the culprit by the neck of his shirt to make him face everyone on the balcony.

"Make him apologise!" Izumi demanded, shaking a glaring Tasuku who also seemed to be quite inebriated.

The scene playing in front of Sakyo was so ridiculous that he barely had enough time to react to the informal honorific Izumi had used, and he pinched the bridge of his nose at the absurdity of it all.

"Why should I when that playwright has never produced anything good in his life?" Tasuku snapped back, appalled at the idea of apologising when all he said was the truth. The truth!

Tsumugi sunk into his chair with a disappointed sigh. Tasuku and Izumi were around the same age, so they had no qualms removing any honorifics, but they seemed way too comfortable to be shouting at each other like this.

Itaru was busy tapping at his phone while his empty beer can hung from his lips, and Omi along with Azuma were only watching with those smiles of theirs; already deeming the situation non-salvageable.

"Both of you.." Sakyo groaned. He really didn't want to cause more of a ruckus than they already have.

He turned around to face the kids who were still standing there and began to push them towards the entrance. "All of you. Get back inside—"

"Holy shit!" Banri shouted, running past Sakyo's arms to run back to the railing with Taichi in tow.

"Izumi-san!" Muku shouted in terror, pupils dilating in terror as Juza tried to shield the poor boy from whatever was happening.

Even the adults had jumped out of their seats, Omi already rushing out of the balcony to head downstairs while Azuma followed with large, but slow strides. Itaru let out a guffaw while Tsumugi called out for Izumi in shock.

Everyone calling out Izumi's name had Sakyo spinning around to see what had happened to her, and he was just about ready to curse Tasuku out until he saw the scene in the courtyard: Takato groaning in pain on the grass while Izumi held her foot against his throat, one of her hands pulling his arm straight up in the air; a threat to apply pressure on his throat if he retaliated.

"Is Tasuku-san okay?!" Taichi gasped as he peered over the railing with Banri who was laughing at the whole scene, Izumi breaking down into tears once she saw Omi and Azuma showing up in the courtyard. The young woman ran towards the silver-haired man with a sob and ran into his open arms, pointing down at Tasuku as if she were a child telling on another.

"He hurt my feelings, Azu-san.." She wept, tears falling from her eyes like streams as the other adult brushed his fingers through her hair to keep the girl calm.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's okay." He cooed, chuckling as he watched Omi help the Winter Troupe member up. "But that wasn't very nice of you to do to poor ol' Tasuku."

Tasuku's face was still contorted with pain. Sakyo didn't get to see it, but everyone saw the man try to remove himself from Izumi's grip, only for the girl to counter him and throw his large frame over her shoulder by having an even firmer grip on his collar, her free hand curled around his wrist.

"Shit.." Tasuku tittered, the corners of his mouth lifting into an annoyed grin. Omi patted his back while not at all trying to hide the look of mirth in his eyes, and the acting junkie sighed. "That definitely sobered me up."

"So Izumi knows self-defense," Omi finally laughs, brushing off the grass that stuck on the actor. "good to know for next time, right, Takato?" he teased much to the dismay of the dark teal haired man.

Izumi looked up at Azuma with teary eyes causing the man to sigh in resignation as he used his thumbs to brush away her tears.

"Both of you need to apologise." Sakyo's voice boomed from where everyone else was standing at the balcony, the hype of seeing Izumi throw a six foot man over her shoulder finally dying down.

A huff from Tasuku, a sniffle from Izumi.

Both Azuma and Omi pushed the two forward so that they'd be standing toe-to-toe. Izumi had stopped crying at this point, but her face was still tinged a shade of pink, making Tasuku feel uncomfortable.

In order to patch things up, Tasuku offered himself up to Izumi like Azuma had done earlier. He didn't expect such a forceful hug from Izumi though, and he sputtered in surprise when she dove into his chest with a whimper; still very much drunk off her sixth can of beer.

"I'm sorry, Tachan." She burst into tears once again, her voice beginning to wilt as she called Tasuku by his nickname.

Everyone giggled, and seeing how the pair was calming down, Sakyo had convinced the youngsters to move their asses back inside.

"Huh. She's kind of cute like that." Itaru mumbled through his next can of beer, Tsumugi doing his best to rub away the frown on his forehead.

"..I'm sorry too." Tasuku grumbled unhappily, but held Izumi tight against his chest to calm her down. He was embarrassed at the fact that it was so easy for her to pin him to the ground, but was thoroughly impressed as well.

"Next time though," Tasuku leaned down to press his lips to her ear, voice eerie and scarily ominous, "you're dead."

"Hey." Omi chided, obviously hearing what Tasuku said. The taller man didn't have a chance to scold Tasuku any further though as he was kicked down to the ground once more, with Izumi sitting on his stomach while relentlessly slapping his chest

"You're only getting prince roles for the next few plays!" She shouted angrily, kicking her feet like a child as Omi struggled to pull her away from Tasuku.

"Absolutely not! That's not fair!" The man roared back, seething as Izumi tried to pounce again (she was caught by Omi).

"You lost your acting rights, Takato!" She growled.

"FUCK Y—"

Izumi and Tasuku were found kneeling in the lounge the next day, foreheads firmly pressed to the back of their hands at the feet of a pissed off Sakyo.

"You got the neighbours to call the cops on us for a domestic dispute." The yakuza hissed venomously.

All the kids who saw or heard the scene last night were biting at their nails in the dining room, terrified to see both Izumi and Tasuku humble and silent in front of their father figure.

"I don't care if you two wreak havoc, but it better not affect the company." He murmured, arms crossed over his chest with authority. Izumi and Tasuku's apologies were gentle, finished off with a 'sir', before they picked themselves up from the floor, continuing to kneel until Sakyo left the room.

Everyone in the kitchen sighed in relief thinking that everything was resolved, only to hear a startled scream from Izumi.

"Takato!" She groaned as she was pinned to the floor in the same way she had done to Tasuku last night. "Get o-off of me!" She squealed with a breathless laugh part growl, writhing underneath his wandering fingers as they tickled her sides and neck.

"You better give my rights back." He grinned devilishly, causing Izumi to shout in protest.

..And at this point, all the kids decided to leave those two on their own.

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ricksbowen · 4 years

Text

one more time | pt. 4

IN WHICH: a nighttime visit turns into a whole other session.

INSPIRATION: she — harry styles, the less i know the better — tame impala

WARNING: this series will have smut in it and is pretty sexual all around ( read with caution ). there are implications of sex right off the bat, and everyone is 18+ and in their senior year. there’s also family problems mentioned.

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6

The sound of his doorbell going off terrified Ricky in more ways than he wanted to admit.

He had spent five minutes getting ready to answer the door. The metal bat in his hand and the comical hockey helmet he put on were only precautions; who would ring at 12:16 AM? It only had to be a serial killer, and Ricky Bowen wasn’t going to be one of the stupid teens in every horror movie ever.

He was smart. He’d beat them up.

“Okay, Ricky. Just open the door.” Ricky jumped on the balls of his feet, his eyes trailing up to the peephole on his door. He nodded to himself, turning his head to crack it as he continued to hype himself up. “Peephole. Right— peepholes are great,” Ricky muttered, peering through the small hole.

You were standing outside. The rain that was pouring outside didn’t seem to phase you as you stared at the red rain boots you wore.

Ricky’s shoulders slumped ( he totally wasn’t excited for a serial killer to be at his door ) at the sight of you, relief coursing through his veins as he opened the door. Leaning cooly against his doorframe, Ricky managed a smirk past the hockey helmet over his head. “You look glum.”

“And you look stupid— who did you think was at the door?” You retorted, an eyebrow raising in question.

“Freddie Krueger. Jason Voorhees,” Ricky counted the names on his fingers, and even your sadness couldn’t stop the smile that crept on your face. “Hannibal Lector, the live-action Cat in the Hat—“

“You were scared of that movie?” you asked, cocking a brow in amusement. “I should’ve known you were a pussy,” you remarked, laughing softly at the ‘hey!’ he let out. You ducked under his arm, entering his house and shaking the rain from your hair like a wet dog.

“Umbrellas are a great invention.”

“Shut up, Bowen.” You shrugged off your coat, hanging it up alongside the other coats. You knew he was looking at you; rarely did you ever come to his house without a warning. “Stop staring.”

“I’m not,” Ricky retorted, averting his eyes to anything that wasn’t you. He pulled the hockey helmet off his face, shaking the mess of hair he had on his head. He watched you from his peripheral vision, your actions less lively than usual as you made your way to his kitchen. “I’m guessing you didn’t sneak out just for the hell of it.”

“Usually I do,” you answered, eyes darting up and down his pantry for anything edible. You knew you left some chips from the last time you were here. “My parents were arguing again. They were too loud, so,” you reached up for the familiar bag of chips. “I came here.” You didn’t want to get into the details of your parents’ problems. Ricky already knew most of them, from the growing rumors of an affair to your mom’s want to leave both you and your dad. “The only time they can get along is when they’re yelling at me,” you added quietly, almost inaudible.

“Stay as long as you want,” Ricky hummed, coming up behind you and reaching for a box of cereal. You always ranted to him because you knew he understood what you were going through. After everything that happened between his parents in his junior year, how could he not? “I can put on a movie or something.”

“Horror?”

“Sure. We can pick it apart like we always do,” Ricky said with a crooked grin, one that made you smile back. “We are still allowed to do stuff like that, right?”

“Like what?” you asked, making your way to his couch and flopping down on it.

“Normal friend stuff. I mean, we’ve had sex,” Ricky paused, staring up at his ceiling in thought. “Multiple times, In a lot of places,” he turned to the couch where you sat, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“Your point?”

“Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“It hasn’t been weird,” you stated, sending him a puzzled look. “Has it been weird for you?”

“No!”

“Then what’s makin’ you change your mind?” you pressed further, the overwhelming feeling of curiosity making you ask him.

Ricky let out a sigh, clicking on a random movie. It seemed cliche enough; teenagers lost in the woods. Normally, the most cliche ones were the funniest ones to pick apart. He threw the remote back onto the living room table. “This girl asked me on a date today.”

Your eyebrows raised, surprised at the lack of emotion you had as you nodded. “Who? What’d you say?” you asked with a beaming smile, shaking him gently and making him let out another loud sigh. He picked a random horror movie, not bothering to look at the summary as he put it on.

“Just this girl I got paired up with for science. I went out with her today.”

“And? You can’t just leave it at that!” you pressed on, leaning into him with a cocked brow. Why didn’t he tell you? Usually you’d help him out with everything when it came to date, from what he was supposed to wear to where he was going to take her.

“She sucked; she kept on judging every little thing I did. All the jokes I made?” Ricky sucked in a breath, feigning disappointment. “She took them too seriously. When I said that I’d kill for a burrito, I actually don’t mean it,” he said, trying to keep a straight face as he felt you hit him as you laughed.

“Holy shit, she thought you were gonna kill someone?” you forced out behind bundles of laughter, throwing your head back as more guffaws left your chest. “I’m sorry, it’s just—“ you cut yourself off, a string of uncontrollable giggles following and making him bite back a grin.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, giggles,” Ricky said, words dripping with sarcasm as he looked at you from his peripheral vision. “I hope a jumpscare bites you in the ass,” he muttered.

“Aw, Ricky,” you sing-songed, nudging him playfully with a shit eating grin. “I’m sorry,” you said, your smile anything but sorry. Ricky still refused to look at you, faking the silent treatment and making you sigh. Ricky pulled his eyes away from the movie, setting them onto you and raising a brow.

“Are you really?”

“No, not much,” you grinned, and Ricky chuckled as he shook his head. He felt you move closer to him, putting your head on his shoulder like you always did when you both had movie nights. It was nothing but platonic.

The movie was watched in silence, the beginning dragging on for longer than you liked before the first teen separated from the group.

“She’s so gonna die,” you muttered, head still on Ricky’s shoulder. You felt him nod, eyes focused on the screen, and the music from the T.V picked up. The tension grew along with the devilish idea in your head. Ricky was staring at the screen with wide eyes, goosebumps rising on his skin, and the girl opened the door—

You let out a yelp. Ricky screamed bloody murder.

Ricky’s chest heaved, hand on his chest as he stared at you with frightened eyes. You were laughing, practically falling off the couch in laughter. Ricky swore he saw tears in your eyes.

“Y/N, stop,” Ricky whined, his high-pitched voice only making you laugh harder and clutch your stomach.

“I forgot how easy you were to scare!” you giggled, trying to calm yourself by breathing deeply.

“Please don’t do it again,” Ricky muttered, face burning with embarrassment.

“Or what?” you challenged, the smile on your face contrasting your glum expression moments before. It felt nice to smile, to laugh without having to worry about people yelling at you to stop. Usually, that was how things worked at your house.

Ricky moved closer to you, your smile faltering just a bit at the slightly determined look in his eyes. You knew the game he was playing.

“What’re you gonna do about it, Bowen?” you joked, knowing fully well what you were doing with him. You saw the way he clenched his jaw, and how the movie suddenly sank into the background as his attention was focused on you.

Ricky leaned forward just as you did, your lips pressing against each other. Your hands go to the sides of his head, pulling him down over you as your back hit the couch. Ricky hovered over you, deepening the kiss and making you let out a small moan in response.

He detached his lips from yours before reattaching them to your neck, making you tilt your head back to give him more space. You felt Ricky’s lips go down, his lips sucking a mark right above where your sweatshirt started to cover your skin. You felt him bite down, making you gasp, and you could practically hear him smirk smugly at the reaction.

Ricky’s hands tugged your sweatshirt up in a silent plea for it to come off, shivers running up and down his body when he felt your hands trail underneath his shirt. Wordlessly, you sat up and tugged it over your head, throwing it somewhere in the living room. You lifted your hips, pulling your pants off and revealing the black panties you wore.

Ricky swore he forgot how to breathe.

In turn, you tugged his shirt off, tossing it behind him. You pulled his joggers down, letting out a laugh when his lanky legs got stuck in them. Ricky sent you a sheepish grin, pulling them down his legs as quickly as he could. That too was thrown behind him, and you pushed him back, making his back hit the couch.

You straddled him, listening to the groan he let out when he felt you grind onto him. Ricky was looking up at you through his eyelashes, his mouth slightly agape as he breathed heavily. It was sinful how innocent he looked under you, gazing at you as if you were a goddess on earth.

To him, you were. To him, you had to be the most beautiful person, inside and out.

You looked down at him, leaning down to his neck and attaching your lips to his skin. Ricky let out a whine when he felt you suck in a mark right under his hear, the sound influencing you in more ways than one.

“Protection?” Ricky breathed, eyes shutting tight when he felt you grind down against him again. You were teasing him, the equally teasing smile on your mouth making him melt into a puddle.

“I’m on the pill,” you mumbled, pulling away from his neck and hovering over his dace. Your eyes were hungry and dominating, sending a sense of thrill down Ricky’s spine as he looked back at you with a lustful haze. It was obvious that he was enjoying it, being under you and having you tower over him.

Your hands went up to his neck, fingers wrapping around it as you grinded down onto him. He let out a moan, hips bucking up subconsciously at your movements. Your hand pressed against his throat only spurred him on more.

You pushed your panties aside.

—

The sunlight hit you in the face, making you rub the sleep away from your eyes.

You and Ricky had made it up to his room after having a few rounds on his couch. The stamina you both had was unbelievable, even for Ricky ( who you knew secretly loved working out ).

You opened your eyes, succumbing to the bright light shining through. The cotton white sheets that covered your naked frame brought you warmth, and you gently stretched. Only when you moved did you notice the arms that were wrapped around you, pulling you close to him.

Ricky never did that. He knew that you didn’t like having arms wrapped around you after sex.

You pulled his arms off of you, heart beating rapidly in your chest as you moved to the other edge of the bed. It brought back too many painful memories of him. Ones you never wanted to remember.

“Luka!” you squealed, head thrown back in laughter when you felt the arms that were once sleepily wrapped around you poke you in the stomach. You turned to him, face-to-face with your boyfriend.

“Aw, I never knew you were ticklish, babe,” Luka said, the crooked smile on his face making you roll your eyes. The sunlight that shone through his windows hit him perfectly, showing you the freckles that littered his skin. Your finger reached up, gently touching each of the little kisses of sun that were on his face. You moved your finger between them, connecting them like dots.

“What’re you doing?” Luka asked softly, cerulean blues observing your face.

“Counting your freckles,” you replied, making a smile appear on his face as he pulled you close to him. You turned around, making yourself the little spoon as he held you closer to him.

You moved your legs to the side of his bed, letting them hang off the edge. You let out a shaky exhale, the feeling of Ricky’s hands on your waist burned into your skin. You reached for his drawer, opening it and grabbing a random shirt. You pulled it over your head, standing up and stretching the tension away.

You hated how even the little things reminded you of him.

“Y/N? Are you leaving?” You heard Ricky’s groggy voice ask, his head peeking out from his blankets. His curls were like a bird’s nest, messed up from your hands sifting and roughly tugging on his hair last night.

“No— I can’t do that to you, you know that,” your words were soft, almost pointed towards yourself as you climbed back into bed. You pulled the blankets over you, making sure you kept a distance away from him.

“You okay?” Ricky asked, voice gentle and inviting as he gazed at you. He wasn’t blind to the sudden space between you both, his choice of wrapping his arms around you not even a memory in his mind. You knew he didn’t mean it, that he had always liked holding onto others, but the feeling always left you pained.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, your eyes meeting beautiful hazel ones as he looked at you.

Ricky observed you, taking in the little details. The messiness of your hair. The small amount of mascara that was smudged under your eye. The blooming hickeys he left on your neck that led to unholy placed under his own shirt. The way your eyes drooped because it was too early for you, and how your hair was a mess of tangles thanks to his hands running through them the night before.

Something changed when he looked at you. Ricky’s mouth fell agape at that moment, and something clicked.

He didn’t know what his epiphany was, but he didn’t want to find out.

—

TAGS: @tomshufflepuff, @myrandom-fandomlife, @softpeteparker, @sarcarstic-space-weirdo, @particularcth, @lifes-a-party-youre-a-boy, @paniniirae, @supersouthy, @jointherebellion215, @gabyer0309, @hannarudick, @broken-from-fandoms, @complete-trash-101, @ssprayberrythings, @raven-waheda, @timelordtardis, @chubby-cheek-calum, @nicole-lynne, @loserr-likeme, @whoseblogsthis, @stxfxniexreads, @cherrydolan, @allaroundaddict, @of-outerspace, @blueevelvt, @kitykatnumber, @rocketdolans, @givemebooksorgivemedeath, @80sthottie

#ricky bowen imagine #ricky bowen headcannons #ricky bowen angst #ricky bowen smut #ricky bowen hcs #ricky bowen #ricky bowen x reader #ricky bowen imagines #joshua bassett #joshua bassett angst #joshua bassett hcs #joshua bassett imagines #joshua bassett x reader #joshua bassett imagine #high school musical: the musical: the series #hsmtmts

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shadowjack12345 · 3 years

Text

The Path

"Aaagh! Dammit!"

Asami cursed as the chair hit the uneven ground, the remains of a ruined building, beneath her. The parachute had slowed her descent but the landing had still rattled her teeth. She clawed at the harness around her, holding her in her seat, but it wouldn't give. She felt her eyes sting and she bared her teeth as she yanked and snarled at it.

Her father was dead.

She grunted wordlessly, forcing the thought away and fought even harder. She stopped and forced herself to slow down. She knew how to release the harness, and trying to rip it off with brute strength wasn't the way, at least for her. She suspected Korra coud probably do it that way. With that thought, she looked up and imagined she saw a flash of blue, accompanied by several other dark shapes, disappear into the hole she and her father had...

Her father was dead.

Her hands fell limply into her lap and she stared blankly ahead. Her vision blurred as hot tears started to fill her eyes, and her chest ached as her breath came quick and heavy. She wondered if she would scream, but Kuvira's colossus ripped its own arm off and hurled it straight over Asami, landing some blocks away with a deafening crash. The adrenaline surged through her and she managed to get her hands to work again - she was still in the middle of a battlefield, stuck in this damn seat. She found the release and the straps fell slack. She pushed them from her shoulders and started picking her way through the rubble to the street. Before she even made it that far, the colossus drew her attention again as it started to make some worrying noises. She watched it carefully for a long moment, then gasped as its midsection exploded and the whole thing fell to earth in pieces. Her mouth leaped into her throat and her legs shook as she started to make her way to the wreckage.

It seemed to take an age, and by the time she had found her way to a clear road, the way ahead was consumed by an expanding burst of spirit energy. She darted into a nearby stairway and covered her ears as it roared past, yelling uselessly at the cacophony. Quickly, more quickly than seemed possible, the maelstrom ended, and Asami cautiously opened her eyes and turned back to the street. When she stepped out, she was immediately drawn to the green and yellow spiralling light that seemed to be flowing up into the sky. Surely everyone else would be heading that way as well.

The sight of the phenomenon would have been spectacular if she hadn't been beside herself with worry. She had bumped into Tenzin, and they had found Mako and Bolin. They said Korra had chased Kuvira into the Spirit vines, and that was now a crater, the epicentre of the explosion. Tenzin had called it a spirit portal and Asami reminded herself to be amazed later, when they had found Korra. Mako and Bolin checked the remaining wreckage with no luck, and everyone started calling Korra's name, not knowing what else to do. Asami just stood, looking around at the vines but not seeing. She couldn't do this. She couldn't lose her father and then Korra all at once. She couldn't let Korra go without-

"The spirits have returned," Tenzin said, hopefully. Asami turned to face him and then followed his gaze to the portal. Just as Korra stepped through.

"And so has Korra!" Asami cried, barely even realising Kuvira was with her. The adrenaline spiked again when the Earth Empire troops showed up, but Kuvira quickly and conclusively surrendered. And that was that. They had won. Su and Lin took Kuvira away and, on shaking legs, Asami reached out to Korra. Her hand landed on her shoulder and she smiled, and Korra smiled back. She was really okay. Bolin cheered and turned it into a huge group hug that nearly collapsed under everyone's weight. Asami took a deep breath, her hand still on Korra's shoulder, and let herself relax a little - the battle was over. The airbenders and White Lotus guards started to show up to take care of the Earth Empire prisoners, and one of them took Mako away to have his arm looked at, and Bolin followed. Tenzin was giving his airbenders instructions as they came and went, and Korra was with him. Wait... she was looking right at her.

"Asami, are you alright?" she asked. Asami tried to say she was fine, but blackness crept in at the edges of her vision and the ground was rushing up towards her. "Asami!"

Meeting Korra had drastically altered the path of Asami's life. In a relatively short time she had gone from being an inventor and minor celebrity to a vigilante patrolling the streets looking to fight the Equalists, but only after Korra had exposed her father as one of them. She was arrested, then broken out, then she fought and defeated her father in a mecha-tank. And Mako left her for Korra. Maybe she should have been mad, but Korra had been genuinely sad to show Hiroshi's true colours. And Mako had made his choice, Korra hadn't made it for him. She remembered at the end of it all, waiting as Master Katara unsuccessfully tried to restore Korra's bending, not knowing what to do next, only for Korra to come back and demonstrate that she'd restored it herself, or Aang had at any rate. She remembered the awe she felt when Korra's eyes shone with white light and she returned Lin's bending as well.

Their next adventure was just as exhausting, her company on the edge of ruin, the dark spirits, Varrick, Mako breaking up with Korra, then breaking up with Asami, then breaking up with Korra again! Their attack on Tarrlok's forces was the worst kind of long shot, and even at the time she couldn't quite believe she had flown a plane with Mako and Bolin strapped to the wings to attack the ground. They had lost that gamble, or would have but for Bumi, and Korra had trusted Asami with her father, who she had taken for healing. It had been wrenching to leave the others to fight, but she knew Korra could spare them even less. And so she had sat and waited with Katara, Jinora and Korra's family while the world turned dark around them. It didn't last too long, but it felt like an age as they just waited. When Jinora blinked and woke up, calm and peaceful, she had told them something, just a few words, that once again shifted Asami's world around her.

"Korra saved the world."

They had stayed in the South Pole a while longer while Korra and her people chose a new path for the Southern Water Tribe, and Asami offered what help she could, though her resources were a fraction of what they had been, thanks to Varrick. She managed to get a first-hand account of Korra's battle from Bolin, rolling her eyes when he described Korra becoming a giant spirit, just as big as Aang's statue back home. She looked to Mako and waited for him to chide Bolin for exaggerating... but he didn't. He only nodded along and shook his head at key moments, clearly just as astonished as his brother. Asami still struggled with their account - it was too much, even for the Avatar. Right? Only when she returned home to Republic City did the reality hit her. Bolin's wish of someone capturing the fight on film hadn't come true, but there were plenty of photographs. There she was, clear as day on every front page, and as tall as a skyscraper.

Asami had cried that night. The sheer immensity of what Korra was, what she could do, was too much to bear. It made her feel insignificant and small, yet she also felt powerful, elevated by her association. Korra was astonishing, and Asami would make sure she knew it. She had found her the next day, back at Air Temple Island. Korra was staring out to sea, and saw as Asami docked her small boat.

"Hey, Asami!" she called, waving. Asami smiled back and made her way to join her.

"Korra. How are you?" she asked. Korra was smiling, but there was a shadow behind it.

"I'm not sure. A lot has happened. Is it weird to mourn now for someone who died the literal moment I was born? It sounds weird, even by my standards," she said. Asami smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry, Korra. I wish I could empathise with that," she said. "But I can empathise with breaking up with Mako, at least." For a heartbeat, she though the joke was a huge mistake, badly timed and badly judged. Then Korra laughed, a loud guffaw that had her clutching her stomach.

"You... you are bad, Miss Sato," Korra laughed. Her laughter stopped abruptly when Asami threw her arms around her and pulled her into a fierce hug.

"Thank you," Asami said tightly. "Thank you for saving us." Korra blushed and fidgeted.

"It's okay. That's what Avatars do after-"

"I don't care," Asami interrupted, pulling back to hold Korra at arms length, her hands gripping Korra's shoulders. "You saved us. You saved me, you saved Tenzin, you saved Pema and the kids, you saved your parents, you saved Bolin and Mako, you saved Naga and Pabu. You saved the whole world, Korra, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who's grateful, but I wanted to be sure at least one person told you. So here I am." Asami had said alot more than she had planned to, and Korra stared back wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Then she ducked her head and smiled shyly, very atypical for the Avatar, and looked back up at Asami.

"Thanks. Thank you," she said, before drawing Asami in for another embrace. "I'm really glad you hit Mako with your bike." Asami laughed this time.

"I'm glad I met you too."

After that, their friendship only grew stronger. Asami found herself attending most of Korra's public appearances, even if only to soothe her in the face of public disapproval, and only once did she feel she had to stop Korra from airbending Raiko into a tree. Korra took to starting her days in the city at Asami's front door, the pair of them sitting for breakfast before they each went about their business. Asami took to following Korra home in the evenings to share a meal with her and the Air Nomads, who were always glad to have her. Tenzin still remembered Asami's part in his rescue from the Equalists and so treated her with warm respect, and Pema followed suit. Jinora was politely curious while Ikki was... impolitely curious. Meelo was Meelo.

Then came the airbenders. Somehow, Korra's actions had birthed a whole new generation of airbenders, and she resolved to find them and help them. The first person she turned to for help was Asami, hoping to loan an airship. Asami gave them the ship, crewed it out of her own pocket and piloted it herself. That got her one of those hugs where her feet left the ground - she liked those ones. Team Avatar was back together and, slight awkwardness with Mako aside, it was a lot of fun, a grand adventure. Asami was delighted to find out that, as well as being good friends, she and Korra made a good team, whether fighting bandits or the Earth Queen's soldiers or escaping a giant desert creature. It was odd, looking back later on such happy memories, as they led to such an unhappy conclusion.

The Red Lotus. A secret society devoted to killing Korra. Who she was made no difference to them, only that she was the Avatar. Anything they learned about her was only used to manipulate and destroy her, nothing more. On some level, Asami understood it wasn't personal, if that even mattered, but she didn't care. She very quickly learned to hate them, and the moment when Korra said she would give herself up to them only made her hate them more. They expected treachery and even planned for it, but it hadn't been enough. Korra had been taken, poisoned and beaten within an inch of her life before they were able to reach her. The look on Korra's face when she reached up to her father, eyes shining white, just before the poison almost claimed her, would feature in Asami's darkest dreams for some time. She stood there, unable to move, unable to breathe, and watched Korra die.

It was cruel, she would think later, that that was the moment she became certain of what Korra meant to her. Friends, yes. Best friends, even. But there was more. There was so much more. And Korra would die before she could say any of it.

Until Jinora shouted something at Su Yin and then, Korra moved and coughed and spluttered and lived! She was alive! Asami almost fainted on the spot, but she breathed, she moved, and she smiled when Korra reached up to her father and spoke.

Korra's condition was... bad. Asami moved back to Air Temple Island to help care for her, even made sure she had the best wheelchair possible. Korra let Asami see her, really see her, at her lowest. Only her parents were allowed to remain as close, and Asami struggled not to make any assumptions, to let her imagination go wild - it was an inappropriate time to dump her feelings on Korra and inappropriate to speculate on Korra's feelings. She needed help and Asami would provide it, willingly and happily. Even so, their time together became more intimate by necessity, as Korra needed help bathing, dressing even eating at first, and Asami felt herself falling harder.

When Korra left, Asami was torn. Korra said she'd only be gone a few weeks, and Asami had offered more than once to join her, but Korra had politely declined, citing concerns for her company and other things that Asami would gladly burn to the ground to have Korra healthy again. Still, she respected Korra's choice, partly to try and hide the strength of her affection, and partly because Korra might have been right. A break away from the city, back in her childhood home, might do her good. And Asami was of Republic City, a constant reminder. So she let her go. And while she learned to live with it, she would question her decision for three years.

She moved back to the city, and threw herself into her work. People still grumbled about the spirit vines, and so Asami decided to do something about it. If the vines couldn't be moved, the city would need to change around them. She worked furiously for two weeks on her designs, even hoping to have a meeting with Raiko to get things moving so she had some good news for Korra when she came back. But she didn't come back.

Tenzin told her when she visited the temple to hear any news, that Korra's recovery would take longer than they'd hoped, possibly much longer, and Katara was taking personal charge of her treatment. That was good, Asami supposed, but her heart ached all the same.

"Can we... Could I..." she started. Tenzin gave her a sad look and laid his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Asami, but you can't visit yet. I'm told she is reading any letters we send, though, so keep that up if you can," he said, kindly. Asami nodded and pursed her lips, her eyes squeezed shut.

"I miss her, Tenzin," she croaked. He smiled.

"As do I," he said. He watched her struggle for a few more seconds then spoke again: "Why don't you stay here for now?" he asked. Asami blinked up at him.

"I could... no. No, you should keep your rooms for your air nation, who knows how many more you might need," she said. Tenzin stood directly in front of Asami and now held both her shoulders.

"Asami," he said, slowly, a fond look in his eyes. "You helped us find and transport the air benders. You helped them escape the Earth Queen. You fought to rescue them from the Red Lotus, including my children. You may not be an air bender, but you are part of the air nation, if you want to be. And you are welcome here at any time, on as permanent or temporary a basis as you please." That did it. Asami's tears fell and she lurched into Tenzin's arms. She looked down when she felt Jinora, Ikki and Meelo wrapping themselves around her as she had seen them do to their father. She was still heartbroken, but no longer felt alone.

Two years later, she would still often spend the night on the island, dividing her time between there and her apartment in the city. She sat at the small desk in her room, an empty teacup next to her as she tapped her pen on the still mostly blank paper. So far, her letter was exactly two words: Dear Korra. She sighed and sat back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. She had dutifully written, as she had been asked, for two years but having received no reply, she was starting to wonder if it was worth it. Tenzin told her that she was reading them but were they just trying to make her feel better? She didn't know what to do.

"A sign would be nice about now," she muttered.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

"Asami?"

"Uh.. come in Tenzin," she said. His timing was unsettling. He stepped in and she smirked at him. "When I asked for a sign, I didn't think to get one, and definitely didn't think it'd be you," she chuckled. He stopped dead, his brow knitting.

"Excuse me?" he asked. Asami shook her head.

"Nothing," she said, tossing her pen onto the desk. Tenzin saw the bare beginning of a letter.

"Not sure what to write?" he asked.

"Not sure if to write at all. I can't help but wonder if there's any point any more," she admitted. Understanding dawned across Tenzin's face.

"Ah. Hence your 'sign'. I see," he said. "Well, I may not be the sign you were waiting for... but perhaps this is." Asami looked up as he produced an envelope. She took it carefully and saw a post mark from the Southern Water Tribe. Her eyes widened and she looked up at Tenzin, then back down at the envelope a few times before trembling fingers started to pick it open. Just as she went to take out the folded letter within, she gave Tenzin an uncertain glance. He smiled again and bowed before leaving, closing the door behind him. Asami took a calming breath and began to read. It wasn't a happy letter, and she knew of Korra's progress already thanks to Tenzin, but it was a letter. Korra had finally sent a letter and had chosen to send it to her. She read it a half dozen times, wiping at her eyes the entire time, and then she finally picked up her pen again.

It had taken several drafts before Asami was satisfied with her reply. Frankly, the others made it a little too obvious that Asami's feelings had moved beyond just friendship (in fact she'd spelled it out in very specific terms in her first attempt). She kept writing, and a year after that, she was delighted when Korra was due to return, then crushed when she didn't appear. And when she did finally come back, the old feelings, never far away anyway, rushed right back. After their initial, slightly bumpy reunion, Asami found herself following the Avatar again, and extremely happy to be doing so.

On several occasions, she found herself wondering about confessing: sharing tea on Air Temple Island, sitting alone with Korra in the restaurant waiting for Mako and Wu, the actual literal moment she was finally able to hold Korra again in the lobby... heck, even after they'd jumped off a train after rescuing Wu, she'd wondered how Mako would take it if she asked Korra out during their group hug! It would have been a happy time if not for the ever-present and growing threat from Kuvira. And if not for her father.

She was cautiously happy when Lin had brought him to help with the hummingbird suits, emphasis on cautious. It quickly melted away, though, and they fell back into an old and familiar routine of bouncing around ideas and building them as they spoke. And, it turned out, despite everything that had happened between them, he knew her best after all.

"You should say something," he said, quietly, as they cut and soldered and welded at breakneck speed. She glanced at him.

"Say something?" she asked.

"To Korra," he answered without stopping. Asami's heart skipped a beat and her breath held itself against her will.

"About what?" she asked with unconvincing nonchalance.

"Asami, she's about to lead a team of benders against that platinum terror to buy us time, and then we're going to fly these out there to fight it. If something happens..." he said, not needing to explain further. Asami wanted to tell him he was wrong, but they had learned this lesson before. Zaheer had taught them. She stopped her work and faced her father.

"Dad..."

"Go! I'm done here," he said, indicating his work. "I can finish up for you." Asami smiled, turned, and ran. Korra was directing the airbenders as they went to drop Mako, Lin and Bolin in position, she was about to fly after them, glider staff in hand.

"Korra!" Asami called, and suddenly realised she had no idea what else to say. Korra turned to her, concerned.

"Asami? Is something wrong? The hummingbirds-"

"They're fine, we're just finishing up. It's just..." she said. Why was this so hard?

"It's just what, Asami?" Korra asked, looking over her shoulder to the same exit everyone else had just used. "There isn't much time, can we-"

"You have to come back. You have to survive this. I learned what life is like without you in it and I can't bear it. I don't want that. I want you in my life, Korra," Asami said, stepping forward and taking Korra's hand in both of hers. Korra stared, wide-eyed, but the crash of destruction drew her attention. She looked back again, then to Asami.

"I'll come back to you, Asami. Trust me," she said. Asami nodded.

"I trust you," she answered. Korra grinned that lopsided grin.

"That goes for you too, by the way. I need you to survive too, okay?"

"I will," Asami replied, firmly. She would. Korra grabbed her staff again and leapt into the sky. Asami sprinted back to the workshop. She would fight and survive. For Korra.

Asami's eyes opened to the night sky moving above here. She slowly sat up, or tried to anyway, when Korra appeared and gently held her still.

"Hey," she whispered. Asami smiled back, tightly. For a blessed moment, she had forgotten, but it didn't last. Her father had died to save her. Tenzin's face appeared as well.

"Asami, you're awake! Thank goodness," he said, sighing with relief. With Korra's help this time, though she didn't feel it necessary, Asami sat up. She saw they were on Oogi's back, and she thought she saw Jinora at the reins.

"I healed you as well as I could, but I didn't find many injuries. We'll have Kya check you over when she can," Korra said.

"I need to find my father," Asami said, her voice rough. Korra and Tenzin's eyes met.

"Asami," Tenzin started, gently. "Your father didn't-"

"I know!," Asami snapped. "I need to find him, I can't just leave him there."

"We won't. Once we're sure you're okay, we can-"

"No! I won't let someone else, some stranger find him like that. I need to. I need..." Asami said, starting strong but getting shakier as she spoke. Korra's hand took hers and Asami looked up at her, miserable.

"Asami. You trust me, right?" she asked. Asami's lips pursed and her eyes filled with tears and, not trusting her voice, she simply nodded. "I'll bring him to you." With that, Korra leapt from Oogi's back and vanished. The next several minutes were a blur to Asami, but she realised they had landed and she was being helped to the ground. Tenzin took her to a seat that faced the city and sat with her, while Jinora took Oogi and left again. Nothing was said. Tenzin only sat with her. Asami broke the silce first.

"I just... it isn't fair. I just got him back. We were... and now he's gone," she whimpered. Tenzin nodded, but he didn't look away from the city.

"You're right. It isn't fair," he said. Asami blinked up at him - she had been expecting him to remind of her father's noble sacrifice to make his death seem somehow less awful. "When Avatar Aang... when my father died, I felt similarly. Feel angry, Asami. Feel sad about how unfair it all is. He faced his death bravely, but don't let anyone tell you it makes it easier." Asami nodded and silence returned, more comfortable this time.

She wasn't sure exactly sure how long they'd been sitting there when there were shouts from across the water. A point of light appeared in the dark city and moved to the water. A great wave surged up beneath the light and bore it toward them. Tenzin stood and watched as it grew closer, then when it reached the island, a water spout lifted it up. Close up, it was easy to identify: Korra, her eyes blazing. She gently alighted on the ground nearby, eddying winds slowing and controlling her descent. Behind her floated an odd grey box, metal and patchy. Once her feet were on solid ground, her eyes returned to normal, and she gently lowered the metal box beside her. It was flat, only six inches high, but long, about four feet. Asami stood, and Korra, a little paler than usual, looked at her sorrowfully.

"This is... I found him," she said. Asami could see now that the metal patches of the box were parts of the hummingbird that Korra had bent into an impromptu coffin. It was so small, and Asami realised that with the manner of his death, not to mention all of the explosions afterward, this tiny box contained all that was left of her father. It must have been a grim task, and Asami sat back down heavily as her knees weakened. She stared at the box, hardly even blinking. Tenzin wordlessly checked on Korra, all too aware of the difficult task she had taken on, and she nodded back. She was shaken, but alright. He moved back to Asami.

"He can stay here with you if you want, Asami, or I can move him into the temple for now. You can stay here or follow him as you like," he said. Asami took a deep, shaky breath.

"Thank you, Tenzin. The temple would be best for now, I think," she said. Tenzin quickly summoned a pair of white lotus guards and had them carry the small coffin into the temple proper. Asami looked away as they picked it up.

"Hey," Korra said, softly, and Asami was startled to see she had sat next to her without being noticed, trying to give her a smile.

"Hey," Asami replied back, but was unable to answer the smile with one of her own. Korra's mouth worked silently as she struggled for something to say, but eventually gave up and settled for taking hold of Asami's hand and squeezing it. Asami squeezed back and tried to look back at the water, but Korra's gaze held hers. The tears came again, and Korra wrapped herself around Asami as she cried herself to a fitful sleep.

She awoke to see the ceiling of her room on the island. She couldn't quite remember how she had gotten here but didn't much care. There was a hollow ache in her chest and though she didn't sob as she had last night, tears sprang easily. She sat up quickly when she heard a sound between a growl and a whimper. On her bedroom floor lay Naga, who stared at her, and sleeping with her back against Naga was Korra, mouth hanging open. Naga stood heedlessly and Asami winced when Korra's head bonked on the wooden floor, though her loud complaints showed she was largely unhurt. Naga walked to Asami's bedside, sniffed around her face and then promptly lowered the weight of her head into Asami's lap. Asami started to idly pet the animal as Korra slowly stood and stretched out the kinks. Despite everything, Asami found herself staring.

"She knows you're sad," Korra said, turning and indicating. Asami blinked and wiped at the few telltale tears.

"You stayed all night?" Asami asked. Korra shrugged halfheartedly.

"When it came down to it, I couldn't leave you," she admitted. Asami managed a shy smile and ducked her head, returning her attention to Naga. "Did you hear about Varrick and Zhu Li?" Korra asked.

"No. Are they alright?" Asami asked. Korra rolled her eyes.

"They're fantastic. They're getting married and he will not be quiet about it," Korra grumbled.

"To each other?" Asami asked and Korra actually laughed.

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, Zhu Li's happy about it as well," she said.

"Wow," Asami said. "I don't know whether to offer congratulations or condolences." Korra laughed again, kneeling down next to Naga and scratching her shoulder. Asami sighed deeply. "I need to go out there, don't I? I can't hide in here." she said, wearily.

"That's up to you. The world will still be there tomorrow," Korra said.

"Somehow, I think the world would come looking for me if I tried," Asami said, smiling again. It was always easier to smile when Korra was there.

"They'd have to get through me," Korra said, standing and puffing her chest. Asami shook her head and gently pushed Naga's head from her lap, starting to rise from her bed.

"You're sweet," she said, oblivious to Korra's blush. "But I need to go. I need to make arrangements..." the dull ache flared into a sharp pain and threated to spill from her mouth and eyes, but she took a few calming breaths and it dulled again. "...for my father."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Korra asked.

"Korra," Asami replied. "There must be so many people that need you right now. I shouldn't-"

"Asami. I think you might be one of those people," Korra said with certainty. Asami's eyes stung again. She thought for a moment about the task ahead of her and shivered.

"Maybe. I don't need the Avatar, but maybe I need Korra after all," she said. Korra nodded and smiled.

"Then you have me."

The task itself turned out to be fairly simple. Hiroshi had left instructions when he thought he might not recover his relationship with Asami, and there was a spot already waiting next to his wife, so all she really needed to do was sign a few documents and decide whether to hold a funeral. It was also the most difficult thing Asami had done, signing her name under her father's death. As with so many other things, Korra's presence made it easier. Or did she make Asami stronger? Maybe both. Asami elected to return to Air Temple Island for now: her apartment was currently inaccessible and she couldn't face the mansion. Korra greeted her every morning and spent as much time as she could with her.

Asami chose to have a small, private funeral when her father was buried. In fact she was the only mourner. She didn't want anyone there who would only pretend to have forgiven him, either for her sake or for some political stunt. However, even though Korra's duties as Avatar had started to reclaim her time, she arrived, dressed in sombre black and dark blue, and stood by her. They didn't speak, not even when Asami gestured that Korra should join her in her car as she drove aimlessly around the city, heading back to the ferry as darkness fell. Only when Asami stood outside her bedroom door did she turn and yank Korra into a hug so tight it almost hurt.

"Thank you," she said, tightly.

"I thought you might need me," Korra whispered. Asami almost laughed.

"You were right. How lucky I am to get such special attention from the Avatar," she said. Korra pulled back a little to look Asami in the eye, deadly serious.

"Not the Avatar. Korra," she insisted. For once, Asami flushed under Korra's gaze, looking away and fidgeting as she released the embrace.

"Well..." she cleared her throat. "Goodnight, Korra." Korra smiled widely.

"Night, Asami." She kept smiling even as the door closed.

The following days were hard. The ache was becoming familiar now, but the grief easily rushed forward when something she saw or heard reminded or of her father. Her time with Korra eased her pain a little, but she was more surprised at how much other people were eager to help. Ikki excelled at distracting Asami, her questions rapid-fire and unpredictable. Meelo demonstrated an unexpected artistic talent, and Asami found herself trying her hand, usually so used to rigid diagrams and schematics. Jinora guided her in meditation, helping her sort through her conflicting emotions for her father. They rallied around her as they would a member of their family, and she was grateful beyond words. She stood gazing out to sea with Korra one day, making small talk.

"I think I've forgiven my father," Asami said suddenly. They had been talking about pro bending, and the change in conversation caught Korra unawares.

"Oh. Okay. Great! That's great, right?" Korra said. Asami smiled.

"It is. He was trying to make amends, even before, and I think he proved he was sincere," she said. Korra winced.

"Sorry," she said, slowly. Asami blinked at her. Ah. Korra had expressed suspicion when she first returned.

"It's okay, Korra, I didn't mean it like that. I was suspicious too, at first. I'd actually forgotten," she said. "I shouldn't have bitten your head off like that, I was just... it was a sensitive subject." Korra waved her hand.

"Pff. Water under the bridge. Still, I thought it was a pretty memorable day," Korra laughed.

"No argument here. But some parts were more important than others," Asami said. Korra nodded.

"Right, the Wu thing. I guess that did override everything else," she said. Asami didn't reply straight away. 'Say something' her father had told her. Say. Something.

"No," she said. "Not Wu." Korra looked confused. Asami took Korra's hand in both of hers. "You came back. You came back to me." Korra's face flushed bright red, and she let Asami keep ahold of her hand.

"Yeah," she breathed.

"I hear Varrick is holding his wedding here on the island," Asami said. Korra frowned.

"Huh?"

"Jinora told me. I think I might like to go after all. It'll be good to be part of something positive," Asami said. "I'd need some company, though."

"Uhhhh, sure?" Korra said, uncertainly. Asami took a quick breath and soldiered forward.

"Then you'll be my date?" she asked. Korra stared back, slack-jawed.

"Like... as friends?" she asked in a small voice. Asami's heart clenched.

"No." There was a beat, a long moment when Asami was convinced she'd made a huge mistake. Then Korra's mouth stretched into a wide, relieved smile.

"Oh. Oh yes. That sounds amazing," she said. Asami's smile grew to match Korra's

"It does?" she asked. Korra laughed and laid her free hand atop Asami's.

"It really does," she sighed. They both stood giggling at each other for several long moments.

"KORRA!"

Korra jumped and spun around, releasing Asami's hands, much to her dismay. Ikki waved at her from the temple door.

"What, Ikki?" she asked, testily. Ikki shrugged.

"Dad says he needs you for something. He mentioned Raiko," she called. Korra groaned.

"Fine. See you later?" she said to Asami. Asami grinned and flipped her hair.

"See you later," she said. Korra whined and started walking back to the temple, but Asami chuckled when she looked back at Asami over her shoulder, nearly tripping as she kept walking. Yet that didn't stop her from looking back once, twice, three times more. Asami waved each time. When Korra disappeared from view, Asami turned back to the sea.

"I'm in love with a dork," she muttered to herself. The path of her life had been unpredictable, and there had been pain. But it led her here, to Korra, and she found herself looking forward again, wondering where her path would lead next, more certain than ever that she would walk it with Korra.

END

I watched it again.

Hey, me finally finishing this lines up with Korrasami day. Neat.

#korrasami #shadowjack12345 #legend of korra #korra #asami sato

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

I signed up for this

TITLE: I signed up for this.

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her.

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: Decided to challenge myself to a speed run. Wrote this in under an hour. So, be weary of any issues with continuity. I hope you enjoy it, anyway!

Based on an Imagine by @imagine-loki.

Loki let out a weary sigh as he fell backwards onto the creaky, uncomfortable single bed. His feet peeked more than a few inches off the bottom, though his head was nearly flush to the headboard. In another life, he would have grumbled about the furnishings not being lush enough, the bed not cradling him in near weightlessness. Right now, he was just happy it was supporting his weight after that hasty repair last week.

It was no matter; he slept in a ball anyway. If he slept.

“I actually might tonight,” he muttered to himself.

The more he rested, the more he became aware of the ache in his fingers and the sting of his raw knuckles. Though years ago those injuries might have befallen him from battle, or a spar, today his pains came from scrubbing a floor clean on his hands and knees. Loki was no longer that god burdened with glorious purpose. He was just another mortal with a couple of thousand years head-start on life. After Odin’s swift (but not entirely merciful) judgement following the disaster in New York, he had been stripped of nearly every morsel of magic in his veins and hand-delivered to Neighborhood Pals, an organization designed to do tasks for those in need.

Carl had been his first assignee, helping him around the rec room of the community center. The man, bent in his old age had not been much of a fuss. In fact, Loki found that he liked talking to old codger, as irritatingly perceptive as he was.

Which was why when he went to drop off some groceries after not seeing him in the community center for a few days, and seen the lived-in grime of the floors, rotten food in the pantry and soiled linens stacked high, Loki had nearly snapped. He demanded to know why his family was not taking care of him better. Carl said that his daughter used to take care of him, but trailed off before he had relayed a full explanation. It had not taken Loki more a minute to piece it together. His daughter was dead and it was his fault. And so, he took his frustration and rage on every square inch of the property until it gleamed.

The trilling mobile in his pocket made Loki groaned. Fishing through the pocket of his trousers, he pulled the damn thing out and answered without glancing at the ID. Only one person ever called him.

“Yes?”

“Hello to you, too, Sourpuss.”

Loki groaned once more. Having Stark as liaison between Odin and the tasks he was assigned was hell. He supposed it was even more irritating because Stark had not even had the decency to be short with him this entire time and that annoyed Loki to no end. It was hard to find hatred when you were given nothing to work with. Loki sighed, sitting up and running his free hand over his shortened locks–a parting gift from some Asgardian guards that Frigga had to fix, later. The little tuft of hair at the top was reminiscent of when he was much younger.

“I was just going to inform you that Carl left a really nice review on your work today. What did you do, take him to see the hot babes?”

“Got him drunk and high. I’m surprised he didn’t die of an overdose,” he replied after a long while. Tony guffawed down the line. Loki nowadays was all bark and no bite, he would say.

“Well, I have your schedule for tomorrow. I’m going to send you an address and you will be there at 9 am, sharp.”

“And after?”

“Nope, she’s your whole day. Name’s Charlie and she is blind, so be extra careful with sudden movements.” Loki hummed his assent and hung up. Sometime later, sleep overtook him.

…

It was 8:59a when he rapped on the door. “Neighborhood pal.” He felt ridiculous every time he announced his presence that way, but it was required of him, per Tony’s rules. A lot of the time people were convalescent, and couldn’t physically get the doors themselves They needed a warning before Loki simply let himself inside.

Just beyond the door, there was movement and quiet muttering. Loki waited with bated breath for the sounds to come nearer, and instead was rewarded by a large crash and a muffled goddammit. Loki tried the doorknob to find it unlocked, and he pushed the door in, immediately gasping.

On the floor, surrounded by glass was a woman, on her knees. She was wearing mismatching purple jeans with an orange top that seemed to be inside out. Her feet were bare and it looked like she attempted a plait on her long brown hair and grew frustrated, halfway through. Next to her was an overturned coffee table from where the glass had come from and she tried to find purchase for her hands on the floor to leverage herself up and succeeding only in getting shards stuck in her palms.

“Stop!” Loki’s voice barely traveled over the sound of her gasping sobs. “Stop, I’ll help you up.” He stepped over some larger pieces of what he thought was a vase and put his hand on her shoulder, where she immediately flinched away.

“Get off me!”

Loki fought the urge to step backwards. He wanted to leave, somehow convince himself that it was in everyone’s best interest… but there was glass all around and she looked small and helpless.

“Sorry. Sorry. Should’ve warned you. I’m going to pull you up. Do not plant your feet.” Loki wrapped an arm around her torso and plucked her straight off the ground. His strength came in handy sometimes, and with a few short steps, he had deposited her on a soft grey sofa. “Don’t touch your face. You have glass in your hands. Let me clean this up and I’ll pull it out in a moment.”

He noticed she was struggling to stop her empty gaze on where she thought he might be. They were a beautiful shade of hazel, he also noted, that wouldn’t see another single sunset because of him. Tears ran tracks down her tanned skin, though she had stopped sobbing. Now, she only looked irritated? Disgusted? Angry?

“Do all monsters have such soft voices?”

Loki’s breath hitched. Definitely angry. And so skilled at finding the wound and prodding. “I’ll be back to pull the glass, Charlie.”

Wordlessly, he retreated. After a little digging, he found a broom and swept up the broken glass, righted the coffee table and tidied up the area, every so often glancing over his shoulder to look at Charlie. She seemed uncertain about moving from the spot he dropped her in, fearing another accident if she ventured further. She did, however, fiddle with her hands, grasping bits of crystal and pulling them from her skin.

“I found the Aiding kit,” he announced quietly, coming to kneel before her. “You shouldn’t pick at your hands. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Charlie scoffed. “What? Will I put my eye out? Will I be reduced to a whimpering child who can’t remember where her coffee table is anymore? Will I be forced to live off of Tony Stark’s charity because I can’t work anymore? Stop me when you hear the right reason, by the way.”

He stuttered dumbly before he found his words. “I-I am sorry.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m magically cured!” She gestured her surroundings. “All I needed was the most insincere apology on Earth from the vilest creature to have ever roamed it. Now I’m all good!”

The words and her tone stung, he had to admit. Most people avoided talking to Loki about the attack–it seemed to be human nature to avoid the pain of conflict. One or two people were angry and gave Loki an earful before he was allowed to do his work, but Charlie had been the first to actually hurt him. He was a monster. This wasn’t enough. He didn’t know how to fix it.

Loki thanked his lucky stars for one small miracle: her lack of vision meant she couldn’t see the tears that beaded onto his eyelashes. He cleared his throat, reaching for her hands. To her credit, she didn’t even flinch and he turned them palm-side up on her lap to pull jagged pieces of transparent glass out of the shallow scratches with a pair of tweezers. Her eyes had finally (though possibly not on purpose) fallen onto him and her blank gaze stayed unerringly glued to his form as if she were cataloguing him. He felt strangely pinned down by her stare.

After wiping down her palms with an antiseptic wipe, he allowed Charlie pull her hands away from his grip. The barest corner of her mouth curled in a half-snarl, clearly annoyed about having had to rely on her own personal demon for help.

“I apologize for the rough introduction–”

“Rough introduction was when you soared over the city in a battle cruiser with the hopes to enslave us. I don’t think a smile and good customer service would do much to change that, Loki.” Loki opened his mouth to interject a defense, but was cut off before any words formed. “I had a life and a job and a boyfriend. I could fucking see! You are only here because Stark insisted I do this, but how you can think that doing a few chores will ever amount to the damage you did is beyond me! Save your goddamn apologies. I don’t want them.”

The muscles on the back on his thighs were screaming from being kept in that squatting position for so long. Loki, however, found he could not move; scared stiff, as it were. The only thing he could do was stare helplessly into the wide-eyed anger before him, taking care not to distract himself on the freckles over her nose, and blink away the fresh wave of tears brewing at the corners of his eyes. Loki sniffed and her brow furrowed into a deep frown.

“Are you crying?” Charlie’s tone was halfway between irritation and disbelief.

“No, of course not.”

Her fingers jabbed him indelicately on his cheekbone. A little more traveling and they were skimming his closed eyes. He sighed as she drew them away, dampened in tears. “Oh, it has feelings.”

“Yes, it has been a surprise to everyone, including myself,” he riposted somewhat sarcastically, shoving the gnawing guilt to the back of his mind. Charlie chuckled under her breath despite herself. “Let me help you.” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. Order the monster around.“ She seemed hesitant at his turn of phrase, though it had been her who had used the name, in the first place. "Have you eaten yet? How about we start there?”

Without waiting for an answer, he stood and made for the kitchen. It was organized, though showed signs of misuse, as well as a small scorch mark on one of the counters. Apparently Charlie had tried to cook before giving up on the endeavor all together. Loki put some coffee on, and bread in the toaster, before fetching butter and jam from the refrigerator. He made a face at the contents–he would need to clean it out and buy new groceries before the day was out; something she could quickly consume.

Charlie shuffling off the couch pulled his attention. He watched as she stumbled around the coffee table again. That would need a new place to live. She seemed unsure of her steps, but was doing well to keeping to the clear space of the living room and kitchen. A growl sprang forth from her lips as she pawed the air, likely looking for the kitchen island just ahead.

“Three steps forward, two steps left,” Loki supplied, not wanting to interfere. If she was going to live on her own, she was going to have to learn the lay of the land. “Mind your feet, there’ll be a barstool right when you reach the countertop.”

“This is exhausting.”

“I think we just need to clear out some of the hurdles. You’ve got lovely knickknacks, but you need open space where you’re not afraid to run into anything.” He buttered the perfectly toasted bread and smeared a thin layer of raspberry jam atop. He lay the slices on a plate and slid it in front of Charlie while he poured coffee. “Arms’ reach. How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” she replied, distractedly. Charlie placed her hands on the counter and slid them gently over the surface until they bumped against the plate. When she held the toast and took a bite, she made a sound like she was starving. It took the noise for Loki to see the slightly sunken quality of her face.

“Charlie, when’s the last time you ate?”

She slowed down her chewing, jaw tensing at the question. “I’m doing fine on my own.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.” There was no response from across the counter, and so Loki dug his hand into his trouser pocket to find his mobile. The other end of the line picked up immediately. “Stark, I need a favor.” He covered the mouthpiece on his phone and leaned forward. “I’ll be right back. Mind the coffee, it is still very hot.”

…

“Charlotte Camden, what the ever-living fuck!?” Tony had just burst in through the front door of Charlie’s apartment. Loki had just finished putting away a boatload of glass and porcelain decorations into a box in Charlie’s closet. He had pushed furniture to the sides and organized her closet by colors, to avoid being mismatched.

Charlie, who had been sitting on the floor “supervising”, turned towards Loki with eerie precision and glared. “You snitched on me?”

“This isn’t about Reindeer Games, Charlie. Have you or have you not refused the last three food deliveries sent to you?”

“Tony–”

“Have you or have you not? It’s a yes or no question.”

Her fists opened and closed with restraint. It was clear she wanted the option to storm out, but lacked the ability. “I didn’t want to do this stupid program in the first place!”

Tony scoffed. “Great! So what was the plan? Starve to death? Get hit by a car trying to get to the corner bodega?”

“Yes!” Tony instinctively stepped backwards at the roar. “I don’t want to live like this, Stark. How would having him here be of any help?”

Loki felt his skin crawl as Tony turned his attentive eyes towards him. His own jade orbs were fixated on a spot on the hardwood that was slightly discolored compared to the rest. The same thoughts echoed in his head. He was a monster. This wasn’t enough. He didn’t know how to fix it.

“Tony, he’s a monster." He was a monster. "This will never be enough." This wasn’t enough. "There’s no way to fix this." He didn’t know how to fix it.

"Come on, Charlie. He’s trying his best here,” Tony whispered, taking a knee in front of her. “He’s been working really hard to try to make up for what he’s done.” Charlie rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout. “Let me call Ben. Maybe he can reason with you.”

“Ben left, Tony.” There was something broken about the way she said those three words.

“What do you mean? When?”

“Three weeks ago. It’s OK. He left a note. Because I can read that, right?” Her head turned towards Loki’s general vicinity. “It’s on my bedside table, if you’re curious.”

Slipping quietly backward, he went into Charlie’s bedroom. On the bedside table a piece of paper looked as if it had been folded and unfolded several dozen times. It was crinkled and smudged, as if constantly stroked. His fingers snatched it off the table and he brought it up to his eyes.

Charlie,

I don’t know how you do this. I don’t know how, after everything that’s happened, you can even think of taking his side. Loki is a monster and he doesn’t deserve a single iota of kindness or consideration you’ve shown him. You should have demanded his death, not his rehabilitation. He’s ruined yours and countless others’ lives and you just walk around with your “we don’t know the whole story”.

Well, I know my story. And I love you, but this life wasn’t what I signed up for. We had plans and they’ve all gone up in smoke. I can’t do this anymore.

Goodbye.

Ben

Rage roiled in the pit of his stomach, equal measures for this Ben person as it was for himself. He had well and truly fucked this woman’s life. And she had defended him. And it cost her everything.

Loki caught his breath, though he hadn’t noticed when he started panting. Forcing himself back into the living room, he watched Stark glance up in his direction before scowling. The man had patted Charlie on the shoulder and got to his feet, intent on meeting Loki in the middle. Instead, Loki shoved the note into Stark’s chest and continued over to where Charlie sat.

Sensing his presence, she raised her face to him, eyes struggling for a place to focus upon. His hands rested on her shoulders and she tensed, fists clenching. When he pulled her into his chest, her hands occupied themselves with beating at his chest, his stomach, his arms–anywhere she could reach. He remained still, teeth clenched against the pain. He welcomed the sting and the bruises that would inevitably follow. Anything if it took away her pain.

“Keep going. I know you have more in you,” he whispered. Charlie hesitated, tears starting to leak out of the corner of her clenched eyes before punching him again. “Go on. I signed up for this.” A breathless sob jarred her chest and echoed into his own. Her arms, tired and aching, twined around his middle and squeezed for all she was worth. “I promise you, I signed up for this.”

#Loki #Angst #Imagine #Submitted one shot #submission #Fanfictrashdump #i signed up for this

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