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ficsnroses · 4 years

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—𝑨𝒏 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝑬𝒙𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆. 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓—

summary : you sell your virginity to John Wick.

warnings : smut, consensual sex. oral sex. x f! reader. 5.5k.

notes : hope ya like it! I’m hoping to actually maybe make a part two. I think it would be nice to explore how this turns out for them. please leave feedback! I’m a little nervous about this one, feedback would be so so appreciated. enjoy! xx

John Wick is a man of focus; little diversions that fray from his work were often absent of his mind. It’s been years since his semblance of hope, the light at the end of the tunnel had gave out on him, and he’d been dragged back into the world of gruesome sin for good.

Bound, serving under the table. A life liberate of vice was something John had stopped dreaming of long ago.

Work had been all that engrossed John, absorbed each inch of energy his battered bones could muster up for far too long. To be working, meant to be seldom alone. Being alone, translated to being unaccompanied, with himself. Listening to the weary, dark loomed thoughts that crawled in the crevices of his mind.

A crisp pour of amber bourbon sloshes into the clear crystal glass; a lone cube of sparkler ice accompanies the liquor John would soon shoot. Something that burns, something that might ease the part of him that thinks, ponders, wonders if this was alright.

Is what he’s doing, really, alright?

He stands, leaning on the high raised counter of the bar equipped in his hotel room. The crème walls of the Continental held many secrets, secured home to the worst of folk he’d had the ill-fate of dwelling among.

The men in here were awful. Cold, indifferent, chilled blood coursing wicked veins; John knew well of the evil that rummages within the corridors of this so called, safe haven.

Anyone else would destroy her.

Could ruin her.

John wouldn’t do that. Something separates John from the bulk of the crowds, something that differs him from the norm. John would on no occasion hurt an innocent being. John wouldn’t rip her to shreds. John would treat her as human; something people often forgot that John too, is.

Temporary relief, relaxation, substance; he’d vexed them all. Often, after a job well complete, he’d find himself in dire need of long repose; a minute to rest his somnolent composure. A moment to recharge, before he’d be forced to do it all over. Human contact, connection, was something he’d scarcely recalled.

A Bourbon would often have to do, the familiar scald down the cascade of his throat the only comfort he’d been accustomed to as of late. Yet recent, he’d been craving more. He’d been yearning for something more; something physical to satiate relief.

A heavy inhale floods his lungs, a lone hand held to his drink as his other toys with the collar of his brittle white dress shirt. Her eyes stayed on him, drinking in each of his features, desperate to understand how he’d be. John Wick is a man of few words, a stoic nature barely illuminating enough light to read.

He turns, the crystal glass set down on the hotel room table as he turns to her, on his bed, her legs crossed closed, silent. Like a lover, the silk of her short black dress seduces each curve of her devourable body, thin straps kissed to her satin shoulders, her silken skin gleaming under the hotel room lights. His voice is deep, ravishingly rich, throaty with gruff as it protrudes her ears. “You’ve never done this before?” He confirms, walking closer to her delicate frame, watching her equally unreadable expression.

When he’d first laid eyes on her, he’d found himself unable to look away. Captivatingly beautiful, enough to make any man week in his knees. John wasn’t one to fantasize, to want a woman, let alone offer a second look.

Yet seeing her, he’d downed in the enchant of her beautiful features; and the best part of all,

She was selling. She’d been looking to give herself to the highest bidder.

John Wick had found himself at the right place, at the right time. An impulsive buy, one might say. But he couldn’t leave her. Not only did his body yearn for someone, something to channel his deep need into, he also knew. She was far too precious, pure; whatever circumstances had brought her to do such a thing, he wouldn’t ask.

He’d buy her. And he’d use her service.

He needed it. Sex hungry, his body longs for someone real to take care of him.

Her eyes are soft, lips stained a rosy shade of mauve as she makes direct eye contact. Blushy cheeks, soft, shining hair flutters gentle in free air as she shakes her head ‘no’.

She’d never been with anyone before. She was pure. Untouched.

With a down of the final few drops of drink in his glass, John’s shirt unbuttons, peeled off his torso in a swift motion, revealing beautifully toned, bulked muscles; rosy skin, a broad back, tattooed with bold ink on display. John must have been 20 years her senior, yet his shape proved peak. Firm biceps, defined torso, beautifully groomed, lengthy chocolate locks only adding to his splendour.

She’d expected to be bought by some middle aged, unattractive man looking to be with anyone other than his wife. John was far from that. She didn’t know if he’d seen seeing anyone else, if he was married, taken.

Not that it was any of her business.

She watches his hands move to fondle a heavy worn belt, working the buckle as it comes off his dark slacks.

“Is there anything you don’t want me to do.”

John’s rich voice surges through her ears, his question falling his thin taut lips as more of a statement, an establishment of boundaries.

She didn’t think she’d get that choice. She’d expected to be used however her buyer pleased.

With a gentle clear of throat, she nods her head no, gazing out the window of the high story hotel suite. Busy New York city life buzzes below, the nightlife pulsing through the city heart. Endless opportunity. Endless chance.

John’s belt thuds to the marble floor with a heavy clink, his body inching closer, hand dangerously close to her feeble frame as he asks, the question sending shivers down her spine. “Can I undress you?”

The question came with surprise. Part of her thanked the universe for delivering her to John, of all men. He’d been hard to read, reserved, but he hadn’t done what she’d prepared herself for immense. Although she knew, her body was merely a vessel for him to use, to get what he wanted, he hadn’t treated her as such. Hadn’t treated her as she’d gave up her right to respect when she’d bartered her purity.

When Y/N nodded, John moves in closer, placing his dense frame beside hers as he begins, unravelling her as if a present. Yearning, wondering of what held underneath the rippling drapes of the sleek fabric, his eyes gloss over her skin, thick fingers removing the straps of her dress, before reaching behind her to unzip the seams of her wear. Diminishing to her mid, her modesty falls perfectly plump on her chest, embellished in expensive lace. The swell of her chest leaves him feel the weight in his pants to harden, the sight of her cleavage, pursing together with hardened nipples. Unclasping the dainty hooks that shield her breasts from his prying gaze, John allows the thin textile to fall off, exposing her beautiful femininity; her breathtaking curves, soft, supple skin tender to the touch. His hands can’t seem to resist, callous palms moving in to roam the exquisiteness, thumbs swirling her tender nipples as he sighs, drinking her in.

“Stand up.” John’s voice demands, his own form staying placed at the foot of the bed as he instructs. Doing as told, she feels his warm hands tug at the seams of her dress, allowing the fabric to pool at her feet, leaving behind nothing but her lacy underwear covering what no one had indulged in before. Paired with pencil black heels, John takes a moment to devour the look of her stood in front of him; bare, voluptuous, almost entirely nude, causing a tent to rise in his pants. Without time to waste, his fingers intrude the skimpy cloth, gentle peeling her panties down, revealing all of her, solely, exclusively for his taking.

Had this not been an exchange where John owned her, he might have just fell prisoner to her mercy. Y/N was a beauty he’d never seen, mirroring a sex siren in her own right. The dips and curves of her frame mesmerise him, a gulp swallowed down his tight throat, a hefty palm unknowingly moving to palm his swollen cock through the fabric of his slacks. She bites her lip, vulnerable, never have being shown to anyone this way before.

John was the first to see her in all her glory, she finds herself moving shy hands to cover her form, nervous to the way he scans each inch of her body, as if memorizing it, keeping the sight locked away, stored within his gaze forever. “Gorgeous…” John’s voice whispers a gruff, two of his sturdy fingers moving to slick through her folds, palming her pussy as shivers tingle down her spine. She’d been trying her best to stay calm, to allow John to do as he pleased.

Right now, in this moment, her body rightfully belonged to him. He was permitted to do whatever he sought.

“I want you on your knees.” John explains firmly, connecting his bold gaze to hers and she nods, falling in front of his form sat on the silky sheets. Without a moment to waste, his hands trail down his zipper, throwing the expensively stitched slacks off his thighs to the floor, left in nothing but a pair of thin boxers. In a swift moment, his stocky fingers dip into the opening, allowing a hardened shaft to fall out in his grip, full, bursting balls to accompany.

She’d seen a man’s cock before; but John, John’s member was a sight to be seen. She swallows, intrigued by the grandeur, the rosy tip swollen, the thick veins that run up his length, a slight curve to its form. He offers himself a few measly tugs, dark eyes connecting to hers once again. “Do you want a safe word?”

A safe word. Perhaps if a word; a small, paltry word could save her from nonetheless being in this situation, she would have used it.

“No.” Her voice falls quiet, eyes diverted to the crème marble below. “If its too much, I’ll tell.” In the dim light of the room, a channel glow casts to her exposed skin; velvet and soft, making the plump of her mauve stained lips rouse John’s needy cock in desperate anticipation.

Without hesitation, John’s lust falls deeper, his throat tight, breath heavy.

Being with a woman, was something John felt had last happened centuries ago. Seeing her, stripped, uncovered, on her knees, keenly awaiting to be wrapped around his length; a fire burns in his belly. A hunger that rumbles across the surface, desperately ready to chase sweet, sweet relief, from her.

“Here,” John encourages, taking hold of his base with a loose grip. With his spare palm, his fingers thread into the locks of her hair, gently pulling her mouth closer. Slowly, firmly, his palm glides over the bottom of his shaft, beads of glossy pre cum quivering out the pink tip as he speaks. “Put those pretty lips on me.” Obliging, she nods, positioned between John’s thighs, nervous to the core.

She’d seen videos, heard people talk. But she’d never taken a man into her mouth before.

John would be the first, to feel her in every sinning way he pleased.

“Fuck,” John sighs through gritted teeth, feeling the warm haven of her lips circle around the thickness of his tip. Tightening on her tresses, his hand falls from his base, cupping hers in a gentle hold, before guiding it to replace his own. “Use your hands on what you can’t fit.” He instructs, walnut eyes darker, yet held with a certain sympathy.

A tenderness; mortality. “Move, baby.” John manages, eyes fluttering shut as his senses indulge, the feel of her tongue gently, kindly swirling his shaft take over. Gradually, his hand, laced within the locks of her hair guides her further down the bulk of his cock, forcing her to take a little more with each eager bob.

“Hallow your cheeks, darling.” John watches her intent, in awe with the way she learns so quick. “Eyes on me,” Practically sputtering into a pool of bliss, John’s deep baritoned words sear through her veins.

“Tighter.

Deeper.”

Drawn into his, her eyes pierce into his own earthy orbs, unknown to the throb of arousal growing in her core; John bought her for the evening. Was it sick of her to be…fascinated by him?

His room is simple. A suit jacket rests to the arm chair on the right, a barely touched bar of liquor to accompany. Little of him can be told from the depths of this room, perhaps he wasn’t here too often.

The folk of the Continental were scarce when not at work, leaving little trace of who they really were behind. She’d heard whispers of a man they called John Wick, she hadn’t been entirely unfamiliar to the dread he’d upheld within the sanctioned walls. Wick was a name that held fear to the tips of even the worst of sinner’s tongues; yet she finds herself far from. She wasn’t fearful of John Wick. She wasn’t scared of what he’d do.

As John urges her further, a choked gap emits her throat, eyes filling with a char of hot tears with his cock still shoved inside her mouth. Collecting herself, she keeps him inside, albeit, allowing some of him to fall out. “You’re alright.” John soothes, wiping escaped tears with his callous thumb. “You’re doing well.” With a nod, her movements commence, eager to find her pace again, free hands massaging his thick balls and veiny shaft that couldn’t accommodate in her mouth.

The sound of hallow gags and a mouth full of cock echo the room, throaty slickness and gasp for breath, John harshly praising her with a guide of pace. “Perfect. Fucking perfect.” A firm hand follows suit to her bare breast, palming, kneading the fleshy skin as her mouth words wonders on his sensitive skin. Without much notice, John’s eager hips buck impatiently into her mouth, so nonchalantly, a test of waters if you may.

If he had it his way, he would fuck her tiny mouth senselessly right then and there. Have her throat bruising, aching for days in his aftermath.

But John Wick isn’t a monster. John isn’t selfish.

Each time she comes down, slowly, cautiously, his swollen tip hits the back of her throat, threatening to venture further with each throb John’s bulge radiates inside. With his hips thrusting into her mouth lightly, John’s jaw tightens, goosebumps peppering his ink adorned skin. With his pace fastening, his primal desires barely cease; barely offer mercy when he pulls her head closer, wrapping his palms firmly to her head as he moves her head on his cock hastier, stiff, needier, causing srteams of sweltering tears to flow her soft cheeks as she tries her best to hold in her gags. Dangerously close to release, her head yankers back in John’s grip; strings of saliva webbing off her lips, connected to his tender shaft, allowing the bulk of his member to fall out, still erect to an intimidatingly large size.

He could have done with just her sinfully tight mouth; yet he wouldn’t. Tonight, he’d cum inside her. Tonight, he’d have something other than the lonesome grip of his sloppy hand for company; to extinguish that rummaging burn.

With a rise off the bed, John offers her a larger hand, eyes interlocked as she accepts, rising off the ground. His gravelly voice is low, Y/N’s unchecked tears and swollen lips leaving her a beautiful mess as John’s inquisitive gaze washes over her. What comes next, causes her breath to hitch; her insides searing, arousal growing wetter by the second.

With his rock hard cock digging into the skin of her stomach, she finds her self locked lips with John, who’s taken her in a sweet kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. The kiss personifies appetite, thirst, all things John craved in the moment. With his hand taking hers, deliberate movements guide her to the tall side of the bed, silky sheets and cotton pillows awaiting her arrival. His skin smells of cologne, something expensive, something sauvage. The taste of his heavy liquored tongue meddles with hers before letting go, lustful eyes encouraging her to lay down in the ripple of sheets. With his cock firm in his hand, he continues to offer himself a couple of strokes, a spare hand intruding into the hard oak nightstand to the side.

“Are you taking anything?” His voice flows through the room, heavy, shallow, adding clarification when her brows furrow. “For protection.”

Fiddling with her growing nervous fingers, she tenses, suddenly urged with the realization of what would come next. This was happening.

This was

really

happening.

John was going to fuck her. John, soon, would take that piece of her. This beautiful stranger, mysterious, yet intriguing, would make a part of her belong to him

forever.

“No sir.” She answers, eyes downcast, unsure of where to look as he preps himself. Fishing out a condom from the side drawer, the silver lining falls discarded somewhere on the marble floor along with the shambles of their clothes, mindlessly placed. “Lay down.” John tells, dimming the lights further, the curtains closed shut as night falls over the shadowy New York city horizon. She does as told, awaiting his body to accompany.

Her eyes find his back once again, watching delicate, cryptic ink that coats his broad skin in curiosity. A seemingly cross centers in the middle, an arrangement of words unknown to her cognizance bedecked along. As he finds himself crawling a top her sprawled figure, his hands guide her legs open further, hand palming her mound as she bites her lip. Slow, steady, he guides in the stock of two fingers, sensually slow, preparing her pretty cunt for his taking.

Coated with her silky arousal, his fingers gleam, a creamy mixture of her gloss glazed over his hand. Punctuated by her tender, soft, barely audible whimpers, a light chuckle emits John’s throat. “You don’t have to stay quiet.” He clears, fingers pumping slightly faster now, expertly judging her expressions. “Ever done this before?”

Y/N was a virgin; but no saint by any means. She’d touched herself before, even brought herself to orgasm on occasion. With a shy nod, she answers, punctuated by her own barely held together, soft moans to the feel of John’s much thicker fingers pulsing in and out of her. With the pad of his thumb, he works her clit, his hand arranging a beautiful symphony begging to fall off her lips.

The feel of John’s touch was nothing like her own, paired with the weight of his body on hers. As if habitually, her back arches, her toes curl, a whimper secreted when he draws his fingers out. With his heavy cock in hand, John lines himself up with her entrance, wanting nothing more than to be buried inside; to feel what she had to offer. With his enlarged tip rubbing over her clit, his voice registers barely in her ears, lost in the feel of him on her.

“Tell me to stop.” His gravelly voice reminds, assertion heavy on his tongue.

John was proving awfully hard to read. She appreciates the respect; the boundaries he was willing to set for her. She’d sworn, she could see a light of humility in him, contrasted, laced with dark need. If he wanted, she knew he could ruin her.

Without much warning, she feels his tip impend into her walls, sinking slow, stretched by his weight, her eyes widening noticeably when John’s girth pushes into her, cock widening her immensely.

She knew John’s member would be far larger than the feel of anything she’d felt before; yet perhaps she’d underestimated just how much larger it would feel. Plunging in further, a tight moan escapes John’s lips, drowning in further, slower, steadier, until he’s reached her end. Hissing at her tightness, he feels her clench around him, a breathy gasp of her own fleeing, nails sinking into the sheets in a fitted clasp.

Had the circumstances been different, he’d have asked her to hold onto him instead; maybe even let her burry her face in his neck as he works her body whole.

But that wasn’t what this was. This was merely an exchange. An agreement for him to get exactly what he needed;

mind blowing sex.

All John needed right now, was a rough, and good fuck to hold him over.

He stays still for a moment, feeling her cunt pulse around him, and her eyes shut tight, breathing measured as she relishes in the feel of him full, nestled inside her wet haven, before placing both sturdy hands on her hips in a strong hold. Rapt with desire, John’s primal instincts kick in, the feel of her welcoming pussy so perfectly mould to his cock; he’d sworn or a moment that she was perfectly, exclusively crafted just for him to fuck. With his hips picking up pace, John sucks in a sharp breath, a groan of pleasure to the way her heavenly walls tighten around him, tight, blissfully gratifying.

She can’t help but gasp, searing tears returning once again to the ungodly stretch. John burns inside, allowing her minimal time to adjust. His hips buck into hers, gradually picking up pace as he thrust deeper, harder, conjuring up an almost selfish pace.

She’d never felt anything like this before. The pain, the pleasure. The sinful pleasure of him practically splitting her inch by inch. His cock glides in and out her constricted entrance, and she practically whimpers; unsure of whether the moans signified pain, or immense pleasure.

It hurt, but in the best ways possible. His aggressive roll of hips only quickens, faster and faster until Y/N’s moans caged no more. Her lips longed to moan his name, scarcely able to keep her eyes open to see the way he pants above her figure.

With her breasts bouncing vigorously to his pace, John’s want only cultivates further. Watching his cock glide in and out of her sends him in a frenzy, the way she violently jerks with each movement, the sound of his balls smacking against her sweltering core give life to a filthy symphony of her stifled yelps and moans, blended religiously with his growls and throaty gruffs.

His eyes roll shut and he bites his lip, the sounds of her wetness bobbing him fill the room to his violent labour of hips, each time he sinks in and out. His cock glistens with her honeyed dew, her hand reverting over her mouth to confine a loud moan threatening to surface. Whimpering, she bites her arm in complete ecstasy, the feel of John throbbing, completely filling her whole becoming much.

John had been practically pounding her, minutes in. The feeling of having someone to spend the night with, left him far more aroused than he’d initially planned. Her legs tremble, gazing down to observe the way his load exits her cunt fully before slamming back in repeatedly, over, and over, and over, erratic imperative. With every nerve in her body threatening to snap, she relishes a moment to feel John inside.

John’s thickness is something she doesn’t think she’ll be able to forget. Each nerve, each throbbing vein, that curve of his shaft she witnessed earlier; his thrusts become urgent, cock twitching within, grinding vigorously to her g spot as his breathe lays hot, close to her skin. Ridged and rough, his fingers threaten to leave purple bruises peppering into her hips, his hold of her body immensely stiff, as if fearful of her disappearing. The bed below creeks, headboard assaulting the walls with profound hits to his demanding haste; she’s already sore from his massive size, and he hasn’t even finished yet.

“Fuck...you feel,” John’s deep voice, sultry and stiff surges her ears, rich as butter. “You feel fucking amazing, tighten up for me, darling.” He instructs, wanting to feel her milk his cock. She follows as told, squeezing her walls around him, squirming, wailing underneath his form. He pushes as much of himself in as possible and she screams, feeling a cocktail of their fusing released drip down her thighs. John looks delectable this way; beads of exertion peppered to his forehead, muscled skin sticking to hers, the smell of sex prominent around them as he continues pumping her relentlessly, senselessly. To a particularly rough thrust, her toes curl, arms coming around his shoulders to hold on dearly, tightly as he continues his rummage into her body. She holds tight, fingernails digging into his skin as grunts and ear-splitting moans intrude the atmosphere.

John is fucking her so well, so intense, that tears fall still, the raunchy sounds of skin slapping skin, enticing whispers of praise off his lips for her body only pushing her further. John feels his release close, lost in the tender haven she’d given him to spoil in, and he shudders; shivering, buried deep, deep inside her, the sounds of her wetness slicking his member echoing the walls. Within a few particularly lewd, unaltered thrusts, she screams his name, gasping, holding onto his biceps lifelessly as he quickens his pace, his own release not far behind.

He slams, harder, and harder, channeling an animalistic pace to her core, a rhythm of lust drunk pleasure imploring each inch of his body as he still deep, deep inside her pussy, spurting thick streams of sticky, glossing white cum into the dainty condom he’d worn. He stills for a moment, neither of them speaking; heaving sighs and rapid breaths as they come down from their highs, her limbs still securely wrapped around his frame. A joint euphoria; a paradise they’d created together. A creamy mixture of their releases drips to the satin sheets below, although John ceases to care.

Right now, in this moment, he finds himself truly, wholly

relieved.

He’d gone so long, so distant without sex. Without human touch, connection. With his cock still sheathed inside her warm harbour, he sighs, relishing even in the feel of her holding him.

And a moment passes, then another; and another. With his weight rested on shaky palms to the bed sheets on either side of her, John sighs, panting, watching the way she swallows a lump in her throat; beads of vapour dotted to her glistening skin.

Gorgeous, he thinks.

She’s got those pretty eyes, satin skin. She felt surreal. He’d seen the stars buried inside her.

Slow and steady, John moves, allowing his flaccid member to slip out her warm hold. The sun has fully set, and the moonlight barely filters in through the slits of opaque curtains. With a towel retrieved, one he’d set aside prior to their session beside the bedframe, he finds place back, next to her worn out frame.

John had fucked her so good, so hard, she’d worn her legs may just give out in any attempt of rising on her feet. Relishing, sunken into the mattress as she watches him move calm, collected, the feel of John cleaning what he’s left behind off her womanhood causes the softest of blush to intrude, peppering her skin. With the condom discard, John’s hoarse voice rasps, breaking the still of long endured silence. “You’re alright?” He probes, watching the way she sits up on the bed, the threads of the duvet he’d spent countless nights burrowed in alone fixed in her grip, pulling it over her bare breasts, covering herself from his chocolate gaze.

She’s shyer now than before, after sex bliss stippled over her skin, her pussy sore from the action. The emptiness John had left ached. She’d be reminded of the mysterious man with painted skin for days;

prompted by what story his back really told.

What intrigued her so much, about the man who’d taken her in the filthiest of ways.

“Did I hurt you?” He inquires, and she’d sworn the way he looks at her…the way his eyes glaze over her features, as if watching so intently her every move, a symphony flows inside her, coursing that acquainted boil in her stomach. Nodding her head, no, she watches him pull on a pair of long forgotten boxers, opting himself a seat to the edge of the bed as she stays put. Despite having just had had sex with him, she finds herself nervous to be exposed to his eyes again; a dire side effect of the toll his handsomeness had truly taken on her.

She finds herself, tense. Intimidated by his grandeur.

A story writes itself, a tale that brews in the depth of their minds. Racing a mile a minute, he’d known. And perhaps she had too; that the sex had been far too good.

Dangerously good.

The words brew on the tip of his tongue, yet he finds himself cautious of their release. Would he be awful for thinking these thoughts? Was he soiling her, tainting her for his selfish needs, thinking of the dirtiest fate he could try her; propose to her before she’d be gone.

A fuck this good doesn’t come easy, and John wasn’t looking for romance. Love was something he’d forgotten a long time ago, wasn’t sure he’d been worthy of such a thing.

;yet he’d found her. Someone who could take care of his physical needs; someone he could use for that intimacy he too, direly needed. Had lacked for years, finally tasting it, within her.

The way she felt was something John would find himself struggling to forget. The warm, wet, deliciously slick feel of her welcoming cunt; John hadn’t had someone as good as her. She’d ruined it for him. Nothing had compared. No one had taken care of his cock the way she’d done in a meagre 30 minutes.

He’d request. He’d propose. He’d bargain her an even exchange.

With a gruff crisp in his throat, his guttural voice catches her by surprise. Under the duvet, her naked skin flushes to a warm, temperate ease. Fulfilled, relaxed, riding high on sex satisfied clouds, tingles still felt within each snapping nerve of her skin. His tone is calm, collected; upheld with dominance.

She delighted in his dominance. “I want to offer you.” He begins, a hand placed on his bare thigh. “A contract. For your services.”

Services. Bold of him to assume, this was something she’d planned on doing for more men. “An offer…?” Her tongue seeps, the words a quiet, barrel mumble to his proposition. In the barely lit room, her inquisitive eyes glow; a familiar glow to the way they’d shone, glossy. When his cock had been rammed deep down her tight throat.

“A contract.” He repeats, professionally. “I want you. Again.” His tone finds a quiver building within her core, her thighs longing to be wrapped around his waist, the way they dripped control, power. “I’ll pay you, generously.” He nods, eyebrows raised, a gaze to her smaller body buried in his sheets. “But when I need you, you come. No questions, no excuses.” He adds, studying her form, the way her brows furrow, lost in the aftermath of his words.

“You’ll be mine to use. For the duration of the contract.”

His. She could be

his.

Racing a mile, a minute, her thoughts haze, the rush of adrenaline, the weight of his proposition thick in a fog on her brain. Her senses tense, her thoughts freeze. The sight of him catches her lost.

His. To belong to the man, with the muscled back and bold tinted ink. The man who’d fucked her pornographically. Her cluster of deliberations interrupts with his thick voice, velvety, rich. “I’ll let you sit on it.” He offers, standing, the crisp white dress shirt he’d peeled off his frame earlier back in his sturdy grip as he drapes it on. “I need to take care of some business with the manager. I’ll be back within the hour.” Buttoning the top, coffee hued locks curtain his face, his perfectly groomed beard in perfect contrast with the lighter fabric; the bulge of his toned arms protruding at the textile. “And when I’m back,

I’ll be expecting another round.

Have yourself ready, please.”

And with those piercing words, he dresses himself, leaving her bare, exposed, in his bed.

A promise to come back for more left behind.

A demand, for more when he’d be back.

John wasn’t looking for love. John made it clear. This was physical. Something to quench his every longing need.

The ring of the door shut, the buzzing New York traffic below. She sits, decision tense on her mind.

John Wick, was her first.

And he, wanted her to be his last.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

part 2

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#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick imagine #john wick x you

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jayeray-hq · 3 years

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Bass Down Low

Hey everyone! Welcome to my part of the new NSFW Anilysium Server Collab! The theme for it this time is "Band/Tattoo/Badass"! Please check out some of the other amazing writers and artists in the collab by following the link!

If you like my writing for Terushima, check out my other stories in his character masterlist!

Tattooed Bass Guitar Player Terushima x Sassy Confident fem!reader

Tiny tiny bit of angst, but mostly fluff and smut

Warnings: NSFW 18+ minors dni! Grinding, dry humping, making out, slight exhibitionism, switch Terushima, switch reader, male nipple piercings, cock piercing, blowjobs, cunnilingus, overstimulation, vaginal sex, biting, scratching/pain kink

13K+ words

You could feel the bass as it thrummed through the air, making your whole body feel like it was vibrating. The energy was absolutely electric as you soaked in the music and the wild energy of the crowd as it pulsed and moved around you. Bodies were packed in fairly close and you could feel sweat dripping down your back, sticking to your neck and dewing at your temples.

Glancing over you saw your friend sandwiched between two good looking people clearly having the time of her life, lips locked with the person in front of her as they all ground together. You huffed in amusement, glad the two of you had already agreed you’d need to find your way home separately, otherwise you had the feeling you might’ve accidentally been left behind, that or you’d be the awkward third party to whatever was going on there.

Still despite how difficult leaving was going to be, and the sticky feeling of your clothes on your sweaty skin you didn’t regret coming for a minute. You’d been looking forward to coming to this music festival for ages and now that you were finally here you couldn’t get enough. Some of your favorite bands had played, and there were going to be even more in the coming days, you couldn’t wait.

You let yourself move with the music, swirling and rocking your hips, hands in the air as a bubble of laughter burst from your lips. You felt almost drunk on euphoria despite not touching a single drop of alcohol. You’d decided early on not to drink anything but water because you didn’t want to miss or forget a single moment of the experience.

A warm hand settled on your waist, pulling you out of your rhythm and you glanced back, to see someone standing behind you. It was full dark out, the only lights the ones coming from the stage, and a few overhead. However, despite the darkness you could make out an angular jaw, dark eyes and the golden color of his hair, along with the black ink creeping out of the neckline of his tank and up his throat, and spiraling down his shoulders and arms.

Just the sight of all that pretty ink was enough to make you feel incredibly attracted to the stranger, but the fact that he hadn’t come right up and started grinding on you without so much as a by-your-leave was definitely a bonus in your book, a courtesy you fully intended to reward as you rocked your ass back into the cradle of his hips, grinding yourself into him.

“I’ll take that to mean I can dance with you, sexy?” he half-asked, half-shouted in order to be heard over the music.

You didn’t bother to respond verbally, not wanting to shout to be heard, instead flashing him a smile, and grabbing hold of his other hand setting it easily on the curve of your waist. You noted with fascination and a pulse of liquid heat that he was wearing several rings on his fingers and had tattoos on his hands as well.

He was a surprisingly good dancer, his body moving fluidly with yours, hands resting solidly on your hips, just enough to flow without taking control of your movements. They never strayed from your hips either, remaining firmly in place as the two of you moved. You lifted your hands into the air and leaned back against his chest, finding a solid wall of lean muscle as you hooked one of your arms around his neck and curling your fingers through the surprisingly silky strands at the back of his head.

Your entire body felt hot, and when you turned to look at him, the intense look in his dark eyes sent a pulse of desire through you. You weren’t sure if it was the music, the adrenaline, or the heat of his hands on your hips, but you surged forward to press your mouth to his.

He met you eagerly, his mouth hot against yours, as you continued to grind back into him automatically. The hands on your hips pulled you closer removing any distance between the two of you, so that your ass was pressed right up against the cradle of his hips, and you could feel his solid length, hard against your rear.

You moaned into his mouth, incredibly turned on, as he took over the rhythm of your grinding, taking advantage of your open mouth to tease his tongue against your upper lip. You immediately jerked back in surprise, pulling yourself out of his grip so you could turn around.

It was hard to tell, but you thought your dance partner looked startled by your sudden departure, his hands raised as if to show he meant you no harm. You weren’t at all worried about that though, thoroughly distracted by what you’d thought you felt, You surged forward, guided by the press of the crowd and looped your arms around his neck.

Closer now you could see his eyebrows arched in surprise, a glint of wariness in his eyes that disappeared as your hand caressed his jaw, thumb gently pressing on his lower lip in question. He immediately flashed you a cocky smirk, and opened for you, sticking out his tongue and revealing the metal you’d felt against your lip.

“That’s so hot,” you told him, your lips pressed close to his ear so he could hear you.

“I know,” he shouted back with a smirk, before surging forward to reclaim your lips again.

You met him eagerly, immediately opening your mouth, eager to see what he could do with the enticing piece of jewelry through his tongue. He didn’t disappoint, tongue twining and rubbing against yours, the slick sensation of metal strange but not at all unpleasant as he teased it expertly over your tongue.

You hummed in delight as you twined your arms around his neck, fingers running through his hair as you pressed yourself tightly up against him, not even bothering with the music anymore, thoroughly distracted by the taste and feel of him against you.

His hands dipped lower, sliding into the back pockets of your jeans and when you didn’t protest he began to knead your ass, using his grip to hold you tight to his hips and press himself against your belly. You leaned against him, bracing more of your weight so you could lift one of your legs and wrap it around his hips, earning a groan of pleasure that you felt more than heard, the sound rumbling through his chest.

Your hands dipped lower, feeling the strong muscle of his back, and letting your head tip to the side, as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin as his lips found the column of your throat. Breathy sighs and gasps left your lips as you ground your hips against him, seeking friction for your aching cunt. You could feel how wet you were, and were suddenly grateful you’d worn shorts rather than a skirt otherwise you would’ve been dripping down your thighs.

You whined as he found the perfect spot on your neck, hands digging into his back as he nipped and sucked at it, teasing it with the smooth metal of his piercing as his hands guided your hips in just the right way to stimulate your clit, the seam of your shorts pressing into you deliciously with every movement of his hips.

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and you were absolutely sure you could come just like this. Unfortunately right as you were about to reach your peak the roar of the crowd took an upswing, and you realized the band that had been playing was finished. You grimaced at having to stop, but figured you owed the band its due recognition. They’d been very good, and so you applauded and cheered along with the rest of the crowd.

The announcer told you there would be a quick fifteen-minute break before the next set, and you turned toward your dance partner, an offer to leave together and finish what you’d started on the tip of your tongue only to find the most horrified look on his face. Your heart dropped, wondering if you’d somehow done something wrong as his face swiveled between you and the stage.

You’d been about to back away, thinking you might as well use the crowd to escape the awkward situation you were in, when he surged forward to grip your hand.

“Come with me?” he half-asked, half-demanded, a determined light in his eyes that made you a bit nervous.

“Come with you where?” you asked, suddenly wary despite the fact that you’d been about to offer the same thing just seconds ago.

“I don’t really have time to explain,” he told you sheepishly, “But I swear you’re safe with me. Just trust me for a bit and I’ll show you exactly what this baby can do.”

He waggled his tongue at you for emphasis, brandishing his piercing, and you couldn’t help the snort of amusement that left you. You searched his face for a few seconds, but in the end decided, despite his slightly rougher appearance that there was an earnestness in his gaze that you felt could be trusted.

“All right,” you agreed, “But if you try anything funny I’ll kick your ass.”

“That’s hot,” he told you, a little wide-eyed and clearly lustful, not the reaction you were expecting, “I knew you were something special little miss sexy. Don’t worry, the only thing you might have to be afraid of is how any other man will measure up after you’ve had me.”

You huffed a laugh at that, amused despite yourself, and a little turned on by his confidence, as you agreed, “Well then, how could I say no to an offer like that? Lead the way then mister hot shot.

He flashed you a delighted grin that was more boyish and charming than you’d expected as he moved to do as he was told, keeping a strong grip on your hand as he expertly weaved his way through the crowd. You got a little worried when he started to lead you out and around, worried about the slowly thinning herd of people, which would mean a lack of witnesses if something went wrong.

However, he didn’t lead you out and away, instead pulling you towards a security guard who was chatting with a worried looking man with neat dark hair and glasses, whose eyes were darting around, clearly searching for something or someone.

His worried look faded away into relieved exasperation as he spotted the two of you, his eyes skimming over you briefly before turning all his attention to the man dragging you along by the hand, “Terushima! How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t just go wandering off right before the set starts!”

“Relax Anabara,” your guide, whose name was apparently Terushima, told the older man, far too casually for someone who was being lectured, “I got back in time didn’t I?”

“Barely,” Anabara hissed back, “you’re cutting it awfully close. Why do you need to go wandering off anyway?”

“Wanted to get a look at the stage and get a feel for the crowd,” he admitted with a shrug and a grin, “Energy’s way hot tonight, and I managed to run into someone interesting too.”

That immediately redirected both of their attention to you. You were still clutching Terushima’s hand, but were starting to feel like you shouldn’t be, as you finally put two and two together, your hold on him loosening slightly in response as you turned to him and blurted, “You’re in a band?!”

“You’re looking at Johzenji’s best bass player, and main song writer,” he told you smugly, a pleased smirk on his face.

You tried to find words, but couldn’t, utterly flabbergasted. You’d heard of Johzenji, an up and coming band who had a wild energetic sound, and you’d listened to and liked some of their music in preparation for the festival, but you hadn’t actually looked up the band members themselves.

“The rest of the band is waiting,” Anabara told him, clear impatience in his voice as he gestured for the blond to follow, “The rest are all warming up, you need to be out there too.”

“Yeah, yeah keep your hair on,” Terushima told him with a smirk before turning to you, “Come on, I’ll get you all settled backstage, it’ll be the best seat in the house I promise.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” you told him, grip loosening on his hand in preparation to let go, acutely aware of the disapproving gaze of Anabara, who you assumed was a manager of some sort, boring into the side of your head.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer,” you told him hurriedly, as the smirk slipped off his face leaving something disbelieving and a little hurt in its place, one that tugged your heartstrings, which was surprising considering you’d only known him for an hour or two at most, “But you need to get going. Good luck with the set I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

“W-wait!” he managed to catch your hand before you’d completely tugged free, his eyes, which in the light you could now see were a pretty cinnamon brown color, were pleading as he asked, “Please come back with me? I know I sprang this on you out of the blue, but I really felt a connection with you. After the set, we’ll clear things up, so just come watch me okay?”

The more rational part of you wanted to scoff. He was really laying it on thick, cheesy line after cheesy line. You’d found each other in a crowd, danced and made out for a bit, that was all. So maybe you’d felt a little something too, it was the reason you’d let him lead you away from the crowd, but that was just the music, the energy of the crowd right?

Your eyes flitted to where Anabara was standing, but Terushima apparently caught your intention and shifted his hand to block your view, the tattooed appendage coming up to push a strand of hair behind your ear, this thumb caressing your jaw, eyes boring into yours as he asked, “Please?”

Against your better judgement you found yourself nodding, almost hypnotized by the incredibly attractive man, whose every touch seemed to send tingles of electricity through your veins. The smile he offered you was another of those delighted boyish grins and you found yourself tugged along behind him again. To your surprise Anabara didn’t bother to protest, simply shaking his head, sighing and following along behind the two of you.

It was incredibly busy backstage as everyone hustled around in a kind of coordinated chaos as one band left the stage and Johzenji got ready to enter. True to his word Terushima found you a spot that would give you a good view of most of the stage, pressed a water bottle into your hands and a quick surprisingly sweet kiss to your lips before bounding off, though not before assuring you, wide smug grin back on his face, that you were in for the ride of your life.

You watched as he bounded over to people who had to be his bandmates, idly sipping at your water, and taking everything in. One of the guys immediately captured Terushima in a headlock, playfully wrestling around for a bit, the group tussling together, before a sharp word from a pretty girl holding a clipboard sent them all scurrying off to warm-up.

For someone so seemingly lighthearted, Terushima was surprisingly serious as he started to warm up, picking up his black bass guitar, the yellow and white tribal pattern on the body a clear imitation of the ink that bloomed over his fingers. His face was extremely concentrated as talented fingers plucked at the strings, dancing over the instrument with ease and familiarity. It was incredibly attractive, and you couldn’t help pressing your water to your neck, hoping it would help cool you down a bit and stop you from salivating.

You were slowly but surely acclimatizing to the fact that he was in a band, your shock wearing off and leaving the burning attraction you’d felt from the very first moment he’d put his hands on you in the crowd bubbling to the surface again.

“Impressive, isn’t he?” the words jolted you out of your enraptured staring at his fingers, and made you realize the pretty girl from before had come to stand next to you. She was still holding her clipboard, and her eyes weren’t on you, but on the band flitting between members, clearly checking in on them.

“I mean yes?” you said hesitantly, unsure why she’d decided to speak to you, and a little uncomfortable with the look on her face, which was set in a frown.

“So where’d he pick you up?” she asked sharply, clear disapproval in her eyes as she turned toward you, “The parking lot? Hanging around the trailers? Get caught sneaking back stage? Let me tell you something groupie, you’re not going to get anything else from Terushima or from Johzenji, so enjoy the show or whatever, but make sure you get lost after.”

“What?” you asked, baffled, but unwilling to allow yourself to be cowed in the face of her tirade as you snapped back, “As a matter of fact I was out in the audience minding my own business. I didn’t even know who Johzenji was before I got tickets to this music festival! I didn’t know who Terushima was until Anabara said something, he was the one who came up to dance with me not the other way around, so I suggest you back up with your assumptions.”

The girl looked surprised, brown eyes wide in her pretty face as you huffed out an annoyed sigh, your displeasure overtaking your more base urges once again as you questioned whether you should be there. A quick glance at Terushima showed he was still entirely focused on his warm-up, he didn’t look like he’d notice anything let alone you.

You didn’t belong here, and both Anabara and whoever this girl was had made it pretty clear you weren’t welcome either. It didn’t help that her words implied that Terushima brought girls back pretty often, so much for ‘feeling a connection’ it really had been the line it sounded like. You couldn’t help the slight bitterness of your thoughts as you wondered how many women he’d used it on before and feeling a bit stupid for falling for it.

If it looked like a duck, walked like a duck, and quacked like a duck, odds were it was a duck. Terushima looked like a stereotypical bad boy with an overinflated ego, swaggered like one, and even laid down stupid, misleading lines like one. While you’d technically only hoped to get a good lay out of this and nothing more, you did have standards.

That in mind you decided, no matter how good the music was or how exciting it had initially been to be back stage, it wasn’t worth it. Spinning on your heel you began to walk away, fully intent on writing it off as a bad night, and feeling more than a little bitter about how running into Terushima had decidedly ruined your night and your enjoyment of the festival.

“Where are you going?” the question was voiced by a familiar male voice, Anabara had apparently come up beside you some time while you were lost in your own head, making quiet plans to never support Johzenji ever again, “Surely Terushima told you not to wander around back here?”

“I’m leaving,” you informed him flatly, utterly fed up, “I wasn’t entirely comfortable coming back here in the first place, and now I’m even more uncomfortable, so if you could point me to the exit I’d appreciate it. Hell, you can even have security escort me to make sure I don’t do anything weird since you’re all apparently so paranoid about it, but I would very much like to never see you or anyone else involved with Johzenji ever again please and thank you.”

Anabara’s eyebrows, which had been settled in a disapproving frown, immediately flew upwards in shock, seemingly rendered speechless, though you weren’t sure if that was for your words or the rude tone you’d used. A part of you felt bad for it, but you were at the end of your rope, one make-out session and the promise of a night of good sex wasn’t worth all this drama no matter how talented he was with his tongue or the backstage pass he’d gotten you.

“You can’t leave,” the girl blurted out, hurriedly maneuvering in front of you and holding her arms out to seemingly block your path, “You have no idea what that will do to Terushima if he looks over and you’re not here! It’ll throw his entire performance off!”

“Weren’t you the one who just called me a groupie and implied I was some kind of whore he picked up in the parking lot?” you asked sarcastically, “Forgive me if I don’t give a shit.”

“Really Hana?” Anabara asked heaving a pained sigh at the girl, whose name was apparently Hana, “I understand not approving of Terushima’s habits, but this was neither the time nor the place, and she shouldn’t have been the one you brought it up to. It’s not her fault.”

You relaxed a bit at that, surprised but pleased, some of your anger seeping away. A lot of times women got blamed for men’s promiscuous behavior, when the man was the one to blame. You were glad to see it wasn’t actually like that here.

“You’re right,” Hana agreed, with a pained grimace before turning to you, “I apologize, I was rude. The last few women Terushima brought back either stole things, or decided to act crazy and possessive both with Terushima and with other band members. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“It’s alright,” you assured her, even as your opinion of Terushima plummeted even further. If he had that kind of history no wonder she’d been so upset and on guard when she saw you. You would’ve been angry too if you had to deal with that, your anger with her leeching away, “Sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”

“You have no idea,” she told you fervently, heaving a sigh before pleading, “Please, will you stay? It really will throw Terushima off if you’re not here, and while he might deserve that, the some of the other band members don’t, and the audience certainly doesn’t.”

You grimaced, a little unsure. While you didn’t feel nearly as angry or bitter as before you also still had standards. If you stayed it would imply you wanted to have sex with him, which at this point was pretty much off the table.

“If it helps, Terushima may be a player with terrible taste in women, but he won’t pressure you if you say no after,” Hana assured you, apparently reading your mind.

Thinking about it, and the respectful way he’d danced with you, and kissed you always courteous you found you agreed with what she said, and before you knew it found yourself agreeing to stay, much to Hana and Anabara’s visible relief.

Hana quickly guided you back to your spot, and much friendlier now, began to explain some of the things that were going on as the band got set up. She also named the members for you as she realized you’d told the truth and didn’t actually know who any of them were. You found yourself liking the kind, if stern girl a lot, and the way she was clearly a huge fan, both of the band and the music they made, had you hyped up right along with her, ready to see what they could do.

The energy between her and the crowd which were starting to slowly become more and more hyped up as it became clear the band was going to start, was absolutely electric, and you could feel yourself getting hyped up again.

Terushima, who’d seemed to be in his own little world the moment he’d picked up his instrument, finally glanced up as the lead singer, who you suspected was Hana’s boyfriend from the way she’d gushed about him earlier, tapped him on the shoulder clearly asking if he was ready.

Even from the distance you were at you could see the cockiness in Terushima’s smirk as someone plugged him into the amplifier. His fingers immediately moved over the strings, playing a dizzying array of notes and cords in quick succession, the sound loud enough to feel in your bones earning an immediate roar of approval from the audience, which somehow sounded even louder from the stage than it had been when you were standing with them.

Terushima gave the audience a tongue lolling grin flashing his piercing to them, his eyes cutting over to where you were standing with Hana. You raised an eyebrow at him finding yourself drawn in, in spite of yourself giving him a challenging smirk of your own and a ‘bring it on’ gesture clearly inviting him to give you this so called ‘ride of your life’ that he’d promised your before. He looked shocked for a second before a wide grin crossed his face, clearly accepting your challenge.

You watched a little enthralled, the way good music always made you feel as they started to play their set, your hips beginning to rock automatically to the sound of the bass. Up close you could see why Johzenji was shooting to the top, it was clear they were all talented and passionate about their music throwing themselves into it with everything they had.

However, despite wanting to look at the others your eyes seemed almost magnetized to Terushima, drawn back to him each and every time no matter what. It was clear he was having the time of his life, jumping all around the stage, flashing that pierced tongue, his dexterous fingers working over the strings of his instrument in a way that was utterly enthralling as a part of you wondered if his skill with his fingers might translate over to something a little more carnal.

It didn’t help that he kept glancing over at you, his gaze clearly a challenge daring you to try to look away from him. There was something hot and heavy in his eyes, something that told you the answer to your question was yes, and that he couldn’t wait to show you.

You could feel yourself getting almost unbearably hot in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the lights bleeding off the stage, or the summer night air, your body seemingly pulsing in time to the music and the notes of his bass guitar. The air practically electric, your skin hypersensitive as if you could feel the waves of sound on your skin.

You hadn’t realized their set was long enough that they were doing a fifteen minute intermission of sorts where band members would chat one by one with the audience, talking about their music and answering a few fan questions they’d gotten on their Tweeter account.

Thus you were entirely unprepared when Terushima set down his instrument and came bounding off stage. You barely had time to blink before he was on you, strong hands finding your hips, slipping into the back pockets of your jean shorts to grope your ass as he pulled you close.

His lips were on yours before you’d really had time to process, and you found yourself returning his kiss enthusiastically, unable to resist his magnetism and the electric feeling of his hands on you and his lips on yours. One of your hands tangled with his hair and you tugged it, not caring a bit about the sweat slicked strands, well aware you were equally sweaty, too enraptured by the heat between the two of you to care about a little sweat.

It was only when a loud cough broke through your lustful haze that you remembered that you weren’t supposed to be kissing Terushima at all. You quickly pulled away, kicking yourself, both for your loss of composure and for making a scene in front of all his bandmates outside the lead singer, who was the only one on stage at the moment, and Hana who was watching the two of you with raised eyebrows.

“So you’re the girl huh?” one of his bandmates asked, eying you with interest.

“Yes, she’s female,” Hana cut in, to your relief, “And you can gawk later, you have less than ten minutes to get yourselves refreshed so you can take over and Okudake can have his well-deserved break too.”

Terushima groaned, and while Hana’s stern look sent the others scrambling to obey, he was clearly more resistant as he refused to let go, clinging on to you in a way that almost would’ve been cute if you hadn’t cottoned on to what a womanizer he was.

“Well?” Hana demanded, hands on hips, “You heard me Terushima, get a move on.”

“Go on,” you urged, moving to extract yourself from his hold.

“No way!” he protested, turning betrayed eyes on you, his grip firming for just a minute before reluctantly starting to loosen, “You haven’t even told me how amazing I am yet.”

“I guess you’re not bad,” you told him with a casual shrug, unable to resist teasing even as the more rational part of you was screaming about how this was a terrible idea, and that you had no plans of having any sort of relationship with him sexual or not, so shouldn’t be flirting with him.

“Not bad?” He squawked, clearly outraged, “I’ll show you not bad little miss sexy, I told you I’m gonna rock your entire world.”

“You’re not going to be rocking anything if you collapse from dehydration hot stuff,” you informed him dryly, shoving at his chest until he let go, though he was clearly pouting about it, “Go. Water, snacks, refresh, move it.”

“You’re as cruel as Hana,” Terushima told you, sulkily, before plastering on another cocky smirk as he acquiesced, “But fine, I’ll do what you say, so long as you promise not to take your eyes off me for the second half of the set.”

“Sure, sure,” you agreed with a casual eye roll, unable to keep amusement from bleeding into your voice as you ushered him away. He went, though not without one last toe curling kiss and a quick grope of your ass.

“You’re really good with him,” Hana’s speculative voice distracted you from watching Terushima walk away, and you felt heat in your cheeks as you realized she’d caught you gawking at him.

“I uh….” You floundered, trying to find the words to defend yourself, especially when you’d been so adamant before about not having sex with Terushima.

“It’s okay you know,” she assured you, a strange look on her face that you couldn’t quite decipher, “You wouldn’t be the first to get swept up in his charisma, and no one could blame you for having a casual fling. I certainly can’t judge given my own relationship.”

She had a point. It was your body after all and one night couldn’t hurt, especially with the chemistry between the two of you, still you did have some concerns.

“He’s clean if you were wondering,” Hana informed you casually, apparently fully able to read your mind despite only knowing you for an hour or two at most, “Terushima’s always been a player, but he’s also always been meticulous about his health, and the reputation of the band. He may act like an irresponsible idiot when it comes to women, but the band means a lot to him.”

“He does seem really passionate about it,” you acknowledged, refusing to think about the heat in your cheeks or the way your eyes kept coming back to Terushima as he hurriedly gulped down his drink and horsed around a bit with the drummer before charging back out on stage to interact with the audience.

“The band means everything to all of them,” Hana told you, with a fond smile for Okudake who only paused for a moment to kiss her cheek before heading for refreshments, confirming your suspicions about their relationship, “It’s their dream.”

“I can see that,” you mused thoughtfully, watching as Terushima practically bounced around the stage like a child on a sugar high, hyping up the audience like none other.

“I think maybe I might’ve given you the wrong impression earlier,” she admitted, the words making you pull your attention away from Terushima and focus solely on her, “Terushima isn’t actually a bad guy, he’s just terrible when it comes to women he likes. Despite how he looks he can be an absolute sweetheart.”

“You know you’re going to confuse me with all this changing around you keep doing,” you teased lightly, “Before I thought you would rather I burn at the stake rather than have sex with Terushima and now it almost sounds like you’re encouraging me to go for it.”

“I didn’t know you earlier,” Hana dismissed, a flush in her cheeks, clearly a bit uncomfortable with your observation even as she tacked on, more to herself than to you, “And I’ve never seen him interact like that with a woman before.”

You didn’t get the chance to question her about it, or really process what she’d said as the band took that minute to start the music back up, and the audience gave a lively roar. Terushima gave you an almost too conspicuous wink and a cocky smirk before turning back to what he did best, tattooed fingers flying over the strings again.

Once more you got caught up in the beat, the rhythm of his bass as it hummed through your body, and the heated looks he threw your way whenever he got a spare second, clearly checking to make sure he had all of your attention. You lost yourself in it, you were here to enjoy the music, and like hell were you going to let anything, even your preoccupation with the sexy bass player, get in the way of that.

It seemed like the whole thing ended far too soon, as the last chords faded into the night, the roar of the crowd as the band gave their goodbyes almost deafening in conjunction with the fireworks going off overhead. The minute the lights were down, the band members quickly passed off their instruments as staff, including Hana, swarmed the stage, ready to begin tear down for the evening.

Johzenji had been the last band scheduled for the night, which meant everyone would be going home. The buzzing of your phone reminded you of your friend and a quick glance confirmed your earlier suspicions, that she was going home with one or both of her earlier dance partners. You sent a quick text back urging her to be safe, and hesitated for a long moment before finally telling her that you had your own hook-up for the night.

She congratulated you, and you grinned, amused and fond, sliding your phone back into your pocket and just in time as Terushima’s hands snagged you around the waist, pulling you close again. There was a delighted smile on his face, open and boyish that told you how incredibly pleased he was with himself and his performance, and looking at it you knew in that moment you’d lost the internal debate. No way were you going to be able to walk away, not when he was looking at you like that.

You could vaguely hear his bandmates wolf whistling at the two of you as you pulled him down to kiss, tangling your fingers in his sweaty hair, but ignored them entirely, too intent on the humming electricity between the two of you and his hot wet mouth, the feel of his piercing a sensation you were coming to adore as you flicked it with your tongue.

His hands were all over you, roaming your back and occasionally dipping lower to knead your ass, his firm chest pressed tightly against your own. You could feel his hard length, fully aroused and clearly more than ready for you, pressed firmly into you, the idea of it making your body clench with need, wetness soaking your panties.

“Oy, get a room,” Hana’s voice cut in, clear exasperation in every word, catching your attention as the two of you parted for breath, “No one wants to see that!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Terushima told her casually, rolling his eyes a bit, though you shot her a sheepish look, earning an amused one in return, before being thoroughly distracted again by the sexy blond bass player as he released you just enough so that he could snag your hand, and you found yourself tugged along behind him for the second time that night as he told you, “Come on little miss sexy, let’s see if I can’t give you that ride I promised you.”

“Lead on then hot shot,” you told him with a laugh, only pausing to shoot a quick wave at Hana, who just shook her head in clear exasperation, though you thought there was something of a smile on her lips too.

This time you weren’t nearly so worried about following him, and weren’t too concerned when he led you back and away to a parking lot that was full of trailers with few if any people. Even without knowing him for too long you could tell which was his at a glance, considering the outside was covered in stylized graffiti that read Johzenji surrounded by tribal work.

It didn’t take him long to fumble the door open and lead you inside, and you were relieved to find that the interior was apparently nice enough for air conditioning. It wasn’t much, a queen sized bed, bathroom, and a couch with recording equipment and various instruments scattered everywhere, but it was better than you’d been expecting. Honestly you thought he might’ve shared space with the other members of his band, and were pleased to find it wasn’t true, mostly because you’d hate the idea of kicking someone out just so you could get laid.

You didn’t get much more time to think about it as you were immediately distracted by Terushima, who’d attached his mouth to your neck the second the door had been closed and locked behind the two of you, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive column of your throat. You let out a low moan as he nipped at your collarbone, fingers twisted in the fabric of his black tank, digging into the strong muscle of his back and shoulders.

A gasping moan escaped your lips as he sucked at your collarbone, his hot mouth like a brand against your skin in the almost too cool trailer. You slid your hands down his back, eager to get your hands on his skin, and to see more of the ink that adorned his body, slipping your hands under his tank and tugging upwards.

Terushima seemed to get the hint, giving you a smug look as he pulled away just enough for you to tug the damp fabric up and over his head. His torso was nicely toned, lean but firm with muscle, and adorned in black ink that crept downwards from his neck, covering his upper chest and shoulders, though you noted his abs were bare.

Your fingers automatically moved to touch, tracing the lines down from his neck, and over his shoulders, utterly fascinated. It was beautiful work, a mix of tribal and Japanese style work. He shivered slightly, though whether that was from your touch or from the cool air on his warm skin you couldn’t tell.

You probably could’ve spent hours exploring his tattoos, and would’ve except you got distracted by the glint of metal. Bright silver barbells glinted in each of his dusky colored nipples, catching all your attention, and sending a jolt of heat through you as you wondered if he had anything else pierced.

“Like what you see?” Terushima asked, his voice full of smug superiority as he brushed a teasing hand down his chest, a cocky smirk on his face.

A part of you really wanted to wipe that look off his face, and you thought you might know just how to do it. You hooked your fingers through the belt loops of Terushima’s jeans and tugged him forward by them, earning a delighted chuckle from the man before you reclaimed his mouth.

Your hands immediately went to his abdomen, gently scraping your nails over the ridges of his abs and earning a full body shudder from the man, who’d buried one of his talented hands in your hair, the other caressing your side.

The feel of muscle under your fingers as you skimmed your palms up his chest, letting his pebbled nipples catch on the webbing between your fingers, teasing the nubs gently between your fingers earning a low needy moan from Terushima, his hips thrusting into yours, reminding you how utterly hard he was and sending a burst of heat through you.

You pulled your lips away from his, earning a discontent whine from the man until he felt your lips on his throat. He tilted his head with a low groan, allowing you full access without protest, as you traced your lips over his tattoos. His skin tasted like salt from the sweat, but it wasn’t unpleasant, as he smelled clean beneath it, something warm and masculine that made your passage clench with want, and need.

Your hands roamed down his sides, and over his back, unable to keep yourself from touching him as you sucked and nipped at the junction of his neck, adoring the quiet moans and breathy gasps from his lips. His hand in your hair was gentle, not guiding or pushing simply allowing you to do as you pleased with him even as his fingers gently tugged, his grip occasionally tightening in a way you found extremely arousing whenever you nipped at him or found a particularly sensitive spot. You continued your exploration downward tracing a path down to his collarbone then lower across his pectorals and finally to your goal.

“Aw fuck,” Terushima whined as you pulled his pebbled nipple into your mouth sucking at the sensitive nub, swirling your tongue around it and playing with the metal piercing as your other hand found his other nipple, fingers toying with the matching barbell, unable to keep your hands away from it.

“Hng! You like those little miss sexy?” he teased, though he was breathless enough that it barely constituted teasing, “I knew you couldn’t keep your hands off me, should’ve known from the way you acted when you got my tongue piercing, but if you like that wait until you see my…”

He cut himself off with a whine as you teased him with your teeth, gently scraping them over the sensitive nub and tugging at it carefully as your other hand gently flicked and tugged at his piercing. You were a bit curious about what he’d been about to say, though you had a sneaking suspicion you’d find out when you got him completely naked.

Curious, you decided to stop playing with his piercings for now and began to kiss your way down his chest, bracing your hands on his sides so you could slowly lower yourself, tracing your thumbs over the sharp v of his hipbones as you traced his treasure trail to where his pants were sitting low on his hips.

You carefully scraped your teeth over the taught skin, kissing and suckling hard, well aware you were going to leave marks and not caring in the slightest that unlike the ones you’d undoubtedly left on his neck and chest, these were going to be much more visible due to his lack of tattoos there.

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ sexy,” Terushima praised with a shudder as he stared down at you, pupils blown wide and lust written all over his face, a loud groan leaving his lips as you cupped his erection through his pants, teasingly stroking it through the material as you looked up at him, unable to help the smirk curling your lips at the sight of him, his lips puffy and swollen from kisses, hair damp and sticking to his forehead and beautiful inked skin glistening with perspiration.

Looking at him, you could see how he coaxed so many women into his bed, between his looks and his musical ability it was no wonder he was so cocky. Still despite how many people he’d been with before he was with you at the moment and you were going to make the most of it.

Your fingers deftly undid the button and zipper of his pants and you turned to look up at Terushima amused and a little shocked as you asked, “You go commando on stage?”

“What can I say,” he told you with a proud smirk, “I’m a rebel.”

You huffed out an amused laugh and ran a teasing finger up his shaft, gently stroking the underside his twitching cock which had left precum smeared inside his pants and his lower abdomen. Just as you’d suspected there were piercings here as well, a Jacob’s ladder of three separate barbells, right under the head.

The sight left your mouth watering, and you licked your lips, fully intent on blowing his mind, and playing with those lovely piercings, but when you went to lean forward you were stopped by the grip he still had on your hair.

“Something the matter?” you asked, genuinely concerned as your hands stroked at his strongly muscled thighs, the gesture meant to be soothing as you peered up at him and asked, “Do you not want me to suck your cock hot shot?”

“There is nothing more that I want right now than to have that sexy mouth of yours all over me,” he told you, the low rasp of his voice and his lust darkened gaze utterly convincing, “But I said I was going to give you the ride of your life little miss sexy and I intend to follow through on it.”

“Oh?” you asked teasingly, thumbs tracing over the sensitive place where his thighs met his hips, “You think you can?”

“You have no idea what you’re in for,” he told you with a cocky smirk, one that fell away into a full body shudder as you leaned forward, grasping his leaking cock at the base and running your tongue teasingly along the underside.

“I think you’re the one who doesn’t know what they’re in for,” you told him, with a smirk of your own as you stroked your hand upward and used your thumb to tease the sensitive place where the barbells passed through the skin right under the head earning a low moan.

“Maybe not,” he admitted, as he recovered, a grin on his face that was boyish and reckless, “But I won’t know until I try.”

Amused and intrigued you let him go and allowed him to pull you to your feet and reclaim your mouth with his, reminding you just how skilled he was with his tongue as he kicked off his pants, shoes and socks and began to talk you slowly backwards towards the bed. He proved to be either extremely coordinated or practiced or both as he managed to coax you out of almost all of your clothes except your soaked panties by the time the back of your knees hit the bed.

You let yourself fall backwards, plopping on to the surprisingly comfortable mattress, and smiling into Terushima’s kiss unable to pull yourself away, thoroughly distracted by his talented mouth and the warm hands that were skimming up and down your sides, thumbs occasionally teasingly skimming the undersides of your breasts.

You held him to you, his face cradled in your hands as he crouched over you, one knee braced on the bed, and the other still planted on the floor as his hands dipped lower, finding the waistband of your panties, and teasing his fingers along the edge.

“What are you waiting for,” you teased between kisses, “A written invitation?”

“Only your permission little miss sexy,” he teased right back with a smug grin, hooking his fingers through the elastic and giving a gentle tug.

Something about his tattooed fingers in contrast with the pretty lace panties you’d decided to wear was extremely hot and sent a surge of lust through you, as you lifted your hips and watched as he peeled the sodden lace away from your soaked core.

As they fell away his hands came back up to your thighs, and you couldn’t look away from the contrast of his darkly inked hands, adorned with several silver rings glinting against your smooth thighs.

You didn’t protest as he gently pushed them open, revealing how utterly soaked you were, instead leaning back on your elbows and spreading them further to give him a better view.

“Fuck,” he hissed eyes riveted on your most intimate parts as if he was unable to look away, his pierced tongue darting out to wet his lips, and his eyes dark with desire, “You’re so fucking sexy.”

“You’re not so bad yourself hot shot,” you countered even as his words and the hungry look on his face sent a surge of heat through you.

“I’m gonna eat you out so good you’re going to be screaming my name,” he promised, his thumbs caressing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he started to drop to his knees.

“Ah-ah,” you scolded, pulling yourself away, scooting backwards on the bed and away from him.

“You don’t want it?” he asked, looking a cross between shocked and a toddler who’d been denied his favorite treat.

“The only way you get your face between these thighs is if I get that lovely pierced cock in my mouth,” you informed him challengingly, holding out your hand to him in a clear gesture to come join you on the bed.

His face immediately lit up, a wicked grin on his face as he agreed, “Sounds like a fair deal to me sexy lady.”

It took him less than a second to join you on the bed, and he agreeably laid back for you, hands folded behind his head, body on clear display without an inch of shame, the smirk on his face telling you he was well aware how hot he looked spread out like that, all pale skin, dark ink, and silver piercings, he practically oozed bad boy sex appeal.

“Got your seat all ready for you,” he goaded, tapping his lips and wiggling that pierced tongue at you enticingly.

You laughed in helpless amusement, earning a tongue lolling grin in turn from the sexy bass player, who was clearly unbothered and supremely confident in a way you couldn’t help but find incredibly attractive.

He coaxed you up , letting you straddle his face, his head propped up on the pillows to make things easier, his face pressed into your thigh, nipping and suckling at the sensitive skin as you got yourself settled and being thoroughly distracting, though not for long as you wrapped a hand around the base of his weeping cock, the head drooling precum.

He let out a muffled groan as you slowly began to stroke him, licking your hand to help ease your passage as you stroked him, soothing your thumb over the place where the barbells passed through his skin with ever stroke and teasing your fingers along the head, massaging the weeping slit teasingly with your index finger.

Terushima didn’t let you completely take control though, and the first swipe of his tongue made you jolt in surprise, the feel of that little piercing completely foreign as the smooth ball dragged across your sodden folds. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before, and you had the strangest feeling he might actually fulfill his promise of giving you the ride of a lifetime, as he dove in eagerly.

He lapped and sucked at the lips of your cunt, the slurping noises he was making utterly obscene as he held your hips firmly in place, keeping you still as he ate you out with enthusiasm and a skill you had to admit he was right to be proud of. Every stroke of his tongue lit your nerves on fire as he teased it around your clit, lightly flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves and varying up his strokes and the pressure with every swipe, enough to make your thighs tremble and to make you grateful you weren’t attempting to stand or you were sure your knees would’ve given out.

You weren’t about to let him take over entirely though, instead lowering your mouth to his cock and beginning to tease the weeping slit with your tongue as you continued to stroke him, flicking each of the barbell heads in turn and sucking at the sensitive ridge around the head.

The low moan he let out as you popped the head into your mouth and began to suck sent immediate vibrations to your drenched pussy, making you moan in turn, the feeling of it indescribable as he lapped at your folds sucking at the sensitive lips and thrusting his tongue into your weeping hole.

The feel of his piercings grazing against the roof of your mouth was a new one, but not unpleasant as you took as much of him into your mouth as you could, stroking what you couldn’t reach with one hand the other tracing light teasing circles with your thumb on his inner thigh.

Skilled fingers parted your lower lips as his tongue teased your clit, slipping one finger then two into your hole, making your walls flutter and clench around the intrusion. You moaned as he proved to be just as skilled with his fingers as you’d wondered earlier when you saw him playing his instrument, playing you just as skillfully with the perfect pressure, and movement to hit just right as he crooked his fingers into the soft tissue at the front of your passage that instantly had you seeing stars your whole body convulsing in his hold.

You completely lost track of what you were meant to be doing as you keened, his fingers refusing to let up as he continued to tease them in and out of your rippling passage, his tongue equally relentless. You weren’t sure if you were squirming to move towards him or further away as he carefully eased you back from your orgasm, though not letting you go completely, keeping you right on the edge of pleasure, your body hot and aching in his hold.

Once you managed to come back to your senses you could practically feel the smugness radiating off him as he continued to tease, startlingly considerate of your oversensitive clit, just enough stimulation to keep you worked up without being to painful.

You weren’t about to let him be too smug, instead turning back to what you were doing before, working him over, allowing your saliva to drool down over his cock to make the passage of your hand easier as you stroked him at the base.

Your other hand left his thigh and instead went to his balls, cupping and weighing the sensitive sack in your hand, gently massaging it earning an almost pained groan from Terushima, whose thighs you could see were clenched tightly, his muscles rippling under your torso as his body tightened in pleasure, his balls drawing upward in your hand letting you know how close he was getting.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, sexy I…!” he tried to interject, clearly attempting to warn you, surprisingly courteous as ever. He didn’t get a chance to finish though as you released his balls and slipped your hand lower, teasing your fingers lightly over his perineum as you sucked hard at his sensitive head, your thumb pressed firmly to his piercings in a move that made him keen with pleasure, his body practically arching off the bed as he came in your mouth.

You quickly swallowed every bit you could as you milked his cock rubbing and massaging at the glans as he continued to come, until you felt the last tiny spurt against your tongue, and the keening sounds he was making reduced to trembling whimpers.

You released him and wriggled away from his weakened grip so you could look at him, swiping some of the cum that had leaked from the corners of your mouth away with your thumb, and earning a low moan from Terushima, who watched with heavy lidded eyes as you licked it off.

“Fuck, you’re really asking for it little miss sexy,” he told you, his voice pitched low as he sat up, wiping his own glistening cheeks and chin, which were covered with your release on the back of his arm.

“Asking for what hot stuff?” you teased with a pleased smirk, one that was wiped off your face as he coiled and sprung, gently knocking into you so you pitched backwards on to the bed, his hands pinning your wrists on either side of your head as he peered down at you, his eyes burning with desire.

“Asking for me to make you scream my name,” he assured you with a smirk, “To fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow.”

“You think you can Terushima?” you goaded, completely unphased at being pinned beneath him.

“Yuuji,” he informed you seriously nuzzling his face into your neck in a gesture that was surprisingly affectionate, though the wicked grin you could feel against your skin most certainly wasn’t as he clarified, “Call me Yuuji, little miss sexy, it’s only right for you to scream my first name.”

“Give me all you’ve got then hot stuff,” you challenged, earning a delighted smirk from the man, who pulled back to give you another searing kiss, clearly uncaring about the taste of himself in your mouth or sharing your own release with you.

Given how often he seemingly brought women home you weren’t at all surprised that he had a huge stash of condoms in the drawer of the nightstand of the bed, in all different textures and some in different flavors that made you highly amused. Though you didn’t stay that way for long as he expertly slid the condom on and approached, gently tugging you toward him and pulling one of your legs over his shoulder as he teased the head of his cock over your dripping entrance.

The feel of him as he entered you had your head lolling backwards, the angle he’d chosen ensuring he went deep, the feel of his piercings, that you could feel even through the condom, unlike anything you’d ever experienced before.

“Like that?” he teased as he seated himself deep inside you, his voice breathless but still teasing as he demanded, “Like the feel of my cock inside you sexy? You’re so fucking tight I can feel you squeezing me.”

“Fuck me, hot shot,” you ordered clenching around him deliberately, impatient after all his teasing, wanting to feel him move inside you, to know how his piercings would feel as they rubbed against your inner walls, as he fucked you.

“You asked for it,” he warned you, as he gave a sharp thrust of his hips, pulling a moan from your lips.

He didn’t bother to let you adjust more than that, drilling into you, setting a hard, fast past that left you gasping for breath, his cock stretching you deliciously, every movement rubbing his piercings along your insides. His tattooed fingers dug into your thigh as he held your leg over his shoulder.

“Feel so good, squeezing around me like that, you’re so fucking tight around my cock and so wet for me,” he praised, panting for breath as his dark gaze practically drilled into you, as he ground his hips into you, letting you feel every inch of him.

You hummed in agreement, your other leg wrapping around his hips, pulling him in close as your hips moved in time with his as you panted, your hands twisted in the comforter beside your head, unable to tear your eyes away from him, the ripple of muscle underneath his inked tattoos and the drops of sweat as they dripped down his neck and chest were utterly mesmerizing.

“Fuck me,” you gasped, “Fuck me!”

He paused in his movements slowly grinding himself into you making an inadvertent whine slip from your lips as he scolded, “I told you to call me Yuuji, let me hear you say my name.”

You might’ve chosen to deny him, but he’d dipped his other hand down, skilled fingers gently teasing your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you that had your walls fluttering around the hard cock buried to the hilt inside you. Pride warred with pleasure as your pussy ached, desperately wanting him to move again, to give you more of the heady friction and the feel of him moving deep inside you.

“Yuuji,” you relented your voice husky with desire and want, though you weren’t about to give in entirely, instead stretching your hand out for him and ordering, “Come here, Yuuji, kiss me.”

He immediately relented, leaning forward, taking your leg with him, your thigh pressed to your chest, his hips beginning to drive into you again so deep it took your breath away as he braced an elbow beside your head, the other cupping your face and holding you still so he could press his mouth to yours.

You moaned into his mouth wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you clung to him, savoring the feel of his hot skin beneath your hands as your fingers dug into the muscle of his back.

“Ah fuck,” Terushima hissed as he pulled away from your mouth, arching into your hands, his hips jolting hard as you dug your nails into his back. You would’ve felt sorry about it, but the look in his eyes told you clearly that he’d enjoyed the little bit of pain, his hips stuttering as you carefully raked them downwards.

“Do you like that Yuuji?” you purred into his ear, nipping at his jaw.

“Not as much as you like this,” he countered, utterly breathless as he thrust into you hard, the feel of it making you mewl in pleasure, “Like it rough, don’t you little miss sexy?”

“Just as much as you,” you managed to retort, utterly breathless, earning a huffed laugh from him, as he leaned forward to catch your lips in another sloppy kiss.

The lewd sound of your hips as they met, breathless moans and quiet swearing filled the air between you as Terushima worked his hips deep into you, his free hand slipping between the two of you to tease your clit again, as you yanked on his hair, unafraid now to be a little more rough with him the way he was with you, his teeth sinking into your neck in retaliation, earning a yelping moan from you.

“Yuuji, Yuuji,” you gasped, feeling yourself pushed towards your peak, the coil in your belly pulling tight as you dug your fingers into his shoulders, clinging to him for all you were worth.

“Fuck yes,” he panted, his voice a low rasp, clear strain in every word eyes locked on yours, “Give it to me sexy, let me see you come on my cock.”

You did as he asked your walls clamping down hard on him, a gasping cry pulled from your lips as he buried his face in your neck, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he chased his own end, clearly right on the edge himself. He gave a shuddering, moaning gasp into your ear as he came, his cock throbbing inside you and prolonging your own release.

For several long moments the two of you lay locked together, your hands absently stroking his hair as he rested nearly the entirety of his weight on you, the two of you desperately attempting to catch your breath.

Eventually he pressed a thankful kiss to your cheek, a surprisingly affectionate gesture before rolling off, quickly disposing of the condom in the small trash can by the bed, one no doubt specifically for that purpose.

You were a little surprised when right after taking care of it he immediately rolled back over to you, slinging a hot arm around your waist and pulling you close. You’d had one night stands who liked to cuddle a bit in the afterglow, and were feeling pretty good yourself, so you didn’t mind a bit, letting him pull you close and stroke his hand up and down your back.

Neither of you said anything, simply basking in comfortable silence and each other’s presence. However, after a few moments you noted his breath had evened out and his hand had stilled. Carefully propping yourself up on your elbow you noted with some amusement that he’d passed out.

It was understandable, frankly after how high energy the concert had been it was a little shocking that he’d had enough energy afterwards for this. A part of you wondered what he’d be like when he had a bit more energy to devote to things, after all this had been one of if not the best one night stand you’d ever had and definitely in your top ten for sex. However, you quickly shook that thought away.

You spent several moments trying to decide if you wanted to let your own eyes shut and doze off for a while, but in the end decided to carefully extract yourself from his grip, figuring it was less awkward to sneak off now than to potentially be kicked out by Terushima, or worse Hana or Anabara in the morning.

It took a second to find your clothes, and in the end you didn’t bother with your panties, instead dropping the garment into the same trash he’d used to dispose of the condom, before slipping on the rest of your clothes. A quick glance around proved you hadn’t forgotten anything and you took one last glance at Terushima, who was sleeping peacefully on the bed.

You felt strangely bittersweet about leaving him, as you’d actually liked him, far more than you’d expected. Still, you weren’t stupid, and with everything you’d heard and seen from him you knew you were just one girl in a never ending parade of girls who’d grace his bed. Quietly you slipped out of the trailer, letting the door close softly behind you so you wouldn’t wake him.

It had gotten cooler since you’d been outside last, a nice breeze springing up that raised goosebumps on your exposed skin. It felt nice, and with the moon full and bright overhead you weren’t worried about losing your way as you quietly made your way back towards the concert venue, knowing you’d be able to find your car fairly easily from there.

“Where are you headed off to?” a quiet voice asked, the suddenness of it nearly making you jump out of your skin.

You whirled around, heart racing in your chest, only to find the leader of Terushima’s band Okudake holding his hands up in clear surrender, an apologetic look on his face. You let out a relieved breath clutching a hand over your still racing heart, glad to see it was someone you knew, if only vaguely.

“Sorry about that,” he told you sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s alright,” you assured him, “I just didn’t expect to see anyone out here.”

“Me neither,” he admitted with a wry chuckle, “But where are you off to? It isn’t safe for a young lady to be out by herself this late.”

“I’m uh, heading back to my car,” you confessed sheepishly, wondering if he knew he sounded like your parent.

“Terushima should’ve at least walked you,” he told you with a disapproving frown, “he’s usually more courteous than this.”

“It’s alright,” you hurriedly assured him, feeling more than a bit awkward as you admitted, “He’s asleep.”

“Ah,” he told you, the single word letting you know that he knew exactly what you were doing, sneaking off without confrontation, though he didn’t comment, instead offering, “Then at least let me walk you? I’ll feel better knowing you aren’t alone.”

“Ah sure,” you agreed, a little baffled but touched by his kindness.

“So what did you think of the show?” he asked casually as the two of you made your way toward the stage.

“It was amazing,” you assured him with a grin, utterly sincere, “the energy was off the charts and the songs were all incredible.”

“You didn’t think there were too many songs about love and heartbreak?” he asked, watching you from the corner of his eye. He clearly read the startled expression on you face because he quickly explained, “We’ve been told we have too many songs about it considering the genre of our group is more rock and our image is harder.”

“I don’t think so,” you assured him, you hadn’t really noticed before but now that he said it you did remember a lot of songs about heartbreak, “I think heartbreak is a pretty universal feeling, so there’s nothing wrong with having lots of songs about it. It’s not something that should be limited to things like genre.”

“I agree,” he told you with a firm nod, “Though I think it would be nice to sing about happiness in love once in a while.”

“So why don’t you?” you asked curious, wondering if this was another issue with love and happiness being the opposite of the more hardcore image they presented.

“Terushima is our main song writer,” he explained, surprising you quite a bit, “And he refuses to write from anything but his own experiences.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he hastily assured you, “We’re grateful to have him. Before Terushima we were a little Podunk band that was going absolutely nowhere. He’s a big reason why Johzenji is getting so popular, even if he does have his difficult moments at heart he’s a good guy that has done a lot for us.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked slowly, feeling a little bit like you were being led into a trap and wondering if you were about to be attacked the way Hana had snapped at you earlier.

“Because Hana told me what happened earlier and I think she might’ve given you the wrong impression,” he explained sheepishly, “Don’t get me wrong, I love her, and she’s an amazing woman but she and Terushima have never quite seen eye to eye.”

“What do you mean?” you questioned utterly baffled about where he was trying to take this.

“I mean from the outside looking in I bet it does look like Terushima’s a player, the last kind of guy you’d ever want to have any sort of relationship with, the kind who only wants women around for a night,” he told you, heaving a sigh and staring up at the night sky, “But it isn’t true at all.”

“Terushima just falls in love far too easily,” he continued, clearly seeing the skeptical expression on your face, “He feels connections with people, latches on, and doesn’t want to let go. Other than the women who’ve snuck out, not a single woman has ever left his bed without his phone number even the ones who really shouldn’t have gotten it.”

“So what he’s a closet romantic?” you asked unable to help the slight sarcasm in your tone, biting back against the pointed comment about you sneaking out without letting Terushima know.

“Something like that,” Okudake agreed, completely unbothered by the bite in your voice, “But more importantly I wanted you to know he likes you, genuinely.”

“If he’s such a romantic, then why doesn’t he have a partner already?” you pointed out, your head unwilling to believe him, even as your heart desperately wanted to.

“Mostly because he has abysmal taste in women,” Okudake informed you bluntly.

“Thanks,” you drawled, sarcastically.

“No,” he hastily assured you, clearly a little flustered, “Normally Terushima only chooses women who want to use him for something or another, either because of his fame or his looks. Hana was rude to you earlier, but she did have good reason to be suspicious of any woman Terushima brought backstage as they’ve been pretty trashy pretty much every single time.”

“But Hana likes you this time,” he charged on, clearly determined to get it all out, “And she’s always had good taste. I think the two of you could be good together if you wanted to give it a shot, and it would be nice to have Terushima write something that isn’t about heartbreak for once.”

“So what you want me to put a leash on your bass player?” you asked skeptically.

“No, I’m telling you he likes you, not just as a one night stand, but as a potential partner, so you know the option is there,” he explained patiently, “And because I think you like him too.”

His words stopped you in your tracks, and you wanted to snap at him, demand to know how he could just assume that as he couldn’t have seen you with Terushima for more than five minutes max. However you also knew he was right, you did like Terushima, a lot, you’d felt a connection to him too, and you really hadn’t wanted to leave. You’d just assumed he’d kick you out if you didn’t.

Now though his bandmate was saying something entirely different, insisting that Terushima was looking for more than a one night stand. The question was, did you believe him and if you did was it worth trying.

You stared at the sky hoping it could give you some kind of answer as Okudake watched and waited patiently. Thinking about it, all you could see was his face, the flash of cocky smirk, the sweet boyish grin, and the intensity in his eyes when he looked at you. He was flirty and confident and surprisingly respectful and sweet and your sexual compatibility was off the charts.

The more you thought about it the more you realized you were more than a bit infatuated with him. The only question now was what you were going to do about it. The thought of walking away now made your heart ache, and you’d never been a coward, so you heaved a breath, turned to Okudake and asked, “Can you take me back to Terushima’s trailer?”

The lead singer smiled kindly at you, and thankfully didn’t comment, simply turned around and led the way, wishing you a quiet but genuine good luck, and inviting you to have breakfast with the band in the morning.

Slipping into the trailer, you’d half planned to simply slip back into bed with Terushima, who you fully expected to find conked out on the bed. Instead you found him sat at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, fingers buried in his blond hair, defeat and despondency in every line of his body. A part of you had kind of doubted what Okudake had said before, but looking at him now you thought maybe he’d been telling the truth after all.

The sound of the door as it clicked closed behind you made Terushima’s head jolt up, an utterly miserable expression on his face until his eyes focused on you, misery quickly replaced with befuddled awe, like he couldn’t quite believe you were standing in front of him.

“Hey, hot shot,” you greeted softly, unsure what to say, but needing to break the silence.

“Hey,” he returned, attempting to give you a cocky smirk, though the expression fell flat, “You forget something?”

“Can I come in?” you asked, gently, relieved when he gestured for you to help yourself.

You quickly slid your sandals off and made your way to the bed, not bothering to sit on it, but instead sinking to your knees in front of him, earning a surprised look. You reached for his hands and he gave them easily, twining his fingers through yours.

“So a little birdie told me I might’ve made some assumptions about you that I shouldn’t have,” you admitted, peering into his face.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, watching you carefully, “What kind of assumptions?”

“Like maybe you weren’t just looking to hook-up with a stranger for a one night stand tonight,” you confessed, feeling a bit anxious but doing your best to hide it, “Like maybe you weren’t trying to use ridiculous lines one me and maybe you really did feel a connection.”

“Is that why you ditched me before I could even ask for your number?” he asked with a huff of that was probably supposed to be a laugh but sounded surprisingly painful, “Because you thought I was looking for another notch in my belt?”

“Yeah,” you admitted guiltily, heart squeezing in your chest.

“It’s my fault,” he confessed tiredly, “I should know better by now than to jump right into bed with the people who catch my attention, but I thought if I could show you how good we could be, then you might want to stick around. Stupid huh?”

“I could’ve talked to you too,” you consoled then gently teased, “The sex was pretty good though.”

“What are you saying, it was fucking mind-blowing,” he smirked, regaining some of his cocky demeanor.

“Eh, I’ve had better,” you told him, earning a surprisingly cute pout from the bass player.

“Then I guess you’ll have to stick around for a while, so I can show you what I can really do,” he proposed casually, though you could see the tentative hope in his eyes.

“I guess I’d better,” you agreed with a grin, “Though on one condition.”

“Name it,” he agreed eagerly.

“I want a proper date,” you told him, “And your phone number.”

“That’s two conditions little miss sexy,” he teased, his eyes alight with desire and a surprising amount of affection, “But I suppose I can agree if you call me by my name again and agree to be my girlfriend.”

“It’s a deal Yuuji,” you agreed, leaning up to press an affectionate kiss to his lips, one he accepted eagerly, you pulled away before the two of you could get carried away grinning at him like an idiot, well aware that he really should be asleep.

It took a bit, but the two of you managed to get settled into bed together again after you re-shed your clothes, cuddled up close, with Terushima laying half on top of you claiming it was so you couldn’t run off on him again. You’d huffed, but allowed it, enjoying the proximity and his warmth.

He was quick to doze off again, face pressed into your neck, and you found yourself drifting too, contemplating just how lucky you were to have found him, and looking forward to what the future might bring.

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#terushima yuuji x you #terushima yuuji x reader #terushima yuuji #yuuji terushima #terushima x you #terushima x reader #terushima smut #terushima fluff #terushima yuuji fluff #terushima yuuji smut #alternate universe #band au #JayeRayWrites #JayRaySpice

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burninglilys · 3 years

Text

You are driven by your desires — the shaman had gravely told Phupha, as he held onto his palm tightly — you are confident but may become unempathetic on a gloomy day.

"You see this line?" the shaman had asked, shaking his head, pointing at a line on the center of his palm. "You see how straight it is? There are no rigid categories of right and wrong. Be sure to look at the grey areas in life, my boy. Not everything is black and white for you."

Nam had scoffed a little too loudly then, muttering something like see, I told you!

The shaman had touched the area where his thumb had ended, pressed down and said — you have no emotional connection to romance. Not yet anyway — in a blatant dismissal.

Phupha's eyes had found Torfun's eyes, then, who in turn had only smiled in return, her eyes dancing with something akin to amusement.

"You're just going to have to be careful," the shaman had said.

"Careful about what?"

The shaman had looked unimpressed, had pressed his lips in a thin line, and muttered quite seriously, "Someone is going to enter your life in bouts of hurricane. Nothing is going to be the same for you — you will thank them for that. You will love them for that. You will love them for showing you how to live. You will love them for everything that they are."

Phupha had been amused by this. "I will?"

"They will come and you will want them gone. They will stay and you will love them all the same. They will leave and you will find your heart leaving with them."

Phupha's amusement had died down then. He had never been the one for idle fantasies construed around words that were elicited by a mere touch of someone's palm on his. But this had seemed different.

"It will?" Phupha had asked in a moment of weakness.

"When you fall in love," he'd continued, oblivious to the turmoil in Phupha's heart, "you're going to fall deeper than what you imagine now. Do not allow yourself to be fearful of how ardently you'll want to be loved back. Do not hide from them. Your relationships have a potential to be restless, you see?" The shaman had tapped the starting of his heart line, underneath his middle finger. "Your relationship will last for a long time, though," he'd said, tracing his finger over his heart line.

"What then?" Phupha had asked, as though his future really did hold for him someone he is willing to give his heart for.

The shaman had looked disappointed then, had trailed a finger on his heart line pressed where it trailed off.

"It will depend on them," the shaman had said. "If you love them, you will want what is best for them. They will get to decide if they want to stay or leave. Not you — never you."

Phupha had nodded, entranced by the sincerity of the shaman's words, as though he could really be so consumed by love for someone, as though he could truly have that — have someone to return to, have someone to call his home.

All idle fantasies, Phupha told himself. Just because his palm showed the shaman things does not mean that they were true. There was no point in believing in those senseless dreams based on hopeless wishes he'd still had before. There was no point in hoping for someone who would love him just the same.

Then, he met Tian.

There was no point in hoping for love until a year later when his life revealed a cob-webbed space behind the camouflaged curtains that he'd thought of as previously non-existent — a space that Tian seemed to fit into, effortlessly, a space that had been Tian's ever since he lay his eyes on him.

Tian carried with him the winds of change, his presence cognate with all forces of nature, and Phupha felt his heart crawl out of his chest and sit atop of Tian, until all of him became consumed with Tian. Tian. Tian. Tian.

His heart screamed Tian's name when Phupha lay beside him, their little fingers touching. His heart screamed Tian's name when Phupha realised that all songs will, in fact, remind him of Tian. His heart screamed Tian's name every time Tian so much as looked, smiled in his direction. His heart whispered Tian's name — as continuous as the beat of a drum — when he found out. His heart thrummed Tian's name as he lay on the cold ground, blood oozing out of his shoulder.

Right now, when the room — their room, Phupha will maintain, even though Tian's leaving, even though he's staying here after Phupha had been cruel to him only to indulge Phupha — was enveloped by the hush of darkness, the distance between them an arm's length apart, Phupha is reminded of the words by the shaman, yet again. They will get to decide if they want to stay or leave. Not you — never you.

"Do you want to stay or leave?"

Phupha hears Tian's shuddering intake of breath, then the rustle of his clothes as he shifts to dangle his hand off of the bed. "Isn't it a little too late to ask that, chief? After you've asked me to leave only if I return the feelings you have for me?"

Phupha shifts closer to where Tian's hand is; he wants to twine their fingers together, wants to plant a kiss on the back of his palm all the way to his shoulder. He wants, wants, wants, to make Tian feel, even for a moment, just how consumed he feels.

Instead, he looks at the Tian — not that he can see any discernible features, barely a silhouette — and asks. "Would you want to stay here if it weren't for me?"

Tian is quiet, then.

"You must know," Phupha says, "all I want for you is to discover the life you want to live. For your sake. Not for mine, not for Torfun. Would you stay here if it weren't for me?"

"You must know," Tian counters. "I would follow you to the end of the world."

Phupha catches hold of Tian's hand then, weaving their fingers together. "What do you want for yourself, Tian?"

Tian's answer is brutal, honest. "You."

Phupha tries not to let his anxieties creep up on him, then — what if he were to not return home one day, would Tian have ruined his stable life in the city for nothing? — but this isn't about him. It's about Tian and what he wants.

"What life do you want to live then, Tian? Here, at the village, regardless of my presence, at the city or someplace entirely new?"

Tian is silent for a moment, then his answer — open, honest. "I don't know."

"It's okay," Phupha assures, shifting so he is almost at the edge of his mattress. "You don't have to know, now. You have time to figure out what you want. The village won't go anywhere. It will always be here for you."

"Will you?"

"Will I?"

"Will you go anywhere? Will you be here, then?"

In a bout of courage, Phupha presses a kiss on the tips of his fingers, hoping it conveys, I will be waiting for you till you figure out everything you need to. Even if it takes forever. Even if you decide that a life at the village is not what you want. Even if you decide that you could never come here, even to visit.

Tian sifts his palm so that his fingers are now splayed across Phupha's cheek, tracing shapes. Phupha plants a kiss to the centre of his palm, then at his heart line, all the while hoping that it translates to, do you know why the hornbill waits for its mate in the same place? Because it believes its mate is just lost, that it will come home when it finds its way back. I love you, Tian, do you know? I will be waiting like a hornbill waiting for its mate, even if you decide to never come back.

The repetitive shapes that Tian traces on his cheek don't cease to continue and Phupha finds his eyes grow heavy. His last thought before falling asleep is — I love you, Tian. Did you know? I love you. I would count a thousand stars and wish for only your happiness and safety. I love you.

("If you love them, you will want what is best for them. They will get to decide if they want to stay or leave. Not you — never you," the shaman had said.

"What if they leave?" Phupha had asked — he hadn't known where the questions were coming from; he barely believed in fortune foretellings. But there was something about the certainty in which the shaman carried himself, something that made Phupha was to unravel everything there was to know. What if they leave and I am the one waiting for them the way my mother waited for my father? What if they leave and I am left behind, only their memories keeping me alive?

The shaman had only looked pitifully in his direction, tapping the back of his palm to move to another one of his lines.)

The day is frigid and soaked in misery, when Tian leaves. Phupha can only look at the car in the distance, carrying his heart and soul, leaving him behind.

(The shaman, after reading everyone's palms, had found Phupha again. He had made Phupha splay his palm out, and had said, in a tone of gentle assurance, "They will find their way back home. One way or another.")

The day is warm, the sunlight golden and honey-hued the day Tian finds his way back home. Phupha can only hold Tian in his arms, then — can only shout I love you from the summit in his heart, can only whisper, "Welcome home," in his ears for it to also mean I love you.

"I am glad to find my way back home," Tian replies, and Phupha hears I love you too, interlaced with every word.

Phupha will say it out loud later, when they've both finished eating together — the first meal that they've shared in over three months. He will say it because stifling those words is no longer a possibility, he has been bursting at the seams. He will say it because even if it were, he will want Tian to know the enormity of his feelings. He will say it, and Tian will lean forward to capture their hands together. Tian will say, I love you too. I love you, so much.

For now, they entwine their fingers and make their way to the village that welcomes them as its own.

#an obligatory 'atots is ending tomorrow so i had to write them something fic'#a tale of thousand stars #1000 stars #phutian #phupha x tian #yes lets for a second imagine that phupha actaully asks tian what he wants #may — you ask — isnt it a good idea to sleep if you're tired and can barely articukate your thoughts?#no — i answer — i must write this fic #brought to you by a very basic minimal knowledge of palmistry #im just a lil obsessed with the shaman from that epsiode #atots #atots fic #may.writes

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clevercxs · 3 years

Text

Believer - Sigefrid Thurgilson [Ch 4]

[MASTERLIST]

Pairing: Sigefrid Thurgilson x female oc

Warning: nsfw ;)

Word Count: 8.8k

_______________________________________________

Midday rode in on its valorous steed, ridding Beamfleot of the prior night’s grim misfortunes and the fading afterglow of suffrage.

The sun’s rays, in their curious nature, seemed to peek through the fort’s highest window in an attempt to wake the Saxon princess, who snored away in a blissful, much needed slumber.

Unbeknownst to the sleeping beauty upstairs, tensions had risen amongst the Danes still hungover from the last night’s revelations, who were greeted with a rude awakening upon finding an empty cage in the centre of the hall. Their coveted princess had been intentionally freed and was virtually nowhere to be seen; she was not there, on display, for them to childishly taunt and harass.

Beneath messied curls of raven locks that had fallen over her pale face during the night, the princess’s eyes fluttered open, ever so slowly, and began to take in her new and unfamiliar surroundings. With a wide, breathy yawn that seemed to tug at the corners of her chapped lips, Blædswith carefully propped herself up on two feeble elbows that wobbled beneath her weight. Upon doing so she could feel the entirety of her shoulder ache, and broken ribs shift like creaky floorboards giving way.

Peering down, Blædswith was taken aback to see herself fully clothed in a woolen, sleeved nightgown that seemed to reach just above her ankles.

Her memory was a clouded haze, seeing as she couldn’t remember how she ended up where she had awoken; somewhere strange yet all familiar.

The room was dark and unnerving, though oddly enough felt cozy and inviting to the woman it confined. The walls were of beautifully aged stones, each one telling a story of famous Lords and Ladies past; of victorious songs chanted and arduous battles won. To the left of the king sized bed where she found herself, loomed a stone fireplace stretching towards a high ceiling of beams, encompassing a small kindling fire just large enough to warm the room without roasting the Saxon alive.

She could hear embers and small logs crackling, bringing a subtle grin to her lips out of its comforting familiarity. Plush fur rugs lined the wooden floor, forming a convenient trail towards the bedroom door carved in unfamiliar runes and other intriguing symbols.

Overwhelmed by the sudden change of scenery, Blædswith found herself curling into a ball beneath layers of thick fur pelts that had been draped over her sleeping form. Clutching a hand-sewn pillow tightly to her chest, she rolled over to dodge the blinding rays of light illuminating the cavernous room. Glancing up from where she lay still, she noticed the beautifully carved designs in the bed’s wooden frame, and the wrought iron candelabra hanging overhead by a single chain.

It was rather strange to finally be alone, where no prying eyes could violate her every move. For a brief moment, she almost allowed herself a feeling of freedom and joy, only to realize that the room had become her new cage. The only window was barred by thick wooden posts while the door, undoubtedly, was locked and heavily guarded on the outside.

Sigefrid wasn’t a complete fool to leave his most prized possession unattended and unprotected. Surely, he had learned his lesson, therefore no man was to be entrusted with her safety other than himself, the remaining few he trusted, or perhaps his merciful brother, Erik, whom the princess had already grown fond of.

Anxious, she began running her fingers through the pelt’s thickness, painstakingly trying to recall what happened last night…

While Sigefrid’s hand guided the princess away from the shore by the small of her back, she couldn’t help but stare at the carnage left behind in his wake. It looked as if his traitorous men had been slain by an entire army; dozens of arrows pierced their armored chest plates and their throats had been slashed by, undoubtedly, the blade upon Sigefrid's hand out of pure fury and rage. The limp body of the slave girl whom Blædswith befriended was carried off into the night, and to be forgotten, as if she had never been there.

As Sigefrid and Blædswith trudged uphill towards the fortress, she could feel him pulling her away from where a defeated Hæsten knelt in the dirt - mangled and disfigured beyond recognition. It seemed as if Sigefrid tried to avert the princess’s gaze from such a horrific and gruesome sight - one he was responsible for.

Blædswith could feel her frightened heart pounding within her chest like a battle drum, somehow in perfect unison with her heavy footfalls.

Though in brief passing, Blædswith witnessed for the first time the extent of Sigefrid’s vengeful brutality - or rather, the aftermath. It was as if Hæsten’s face had been trampled, repeatedly, by the metal-clad hooves of Sigefrid’s black steed. Hæsten’s dark, bloodshot eyes were swollen almost completely shut. His beard, once a curly nest of honey blonde, had been stained a crimson red from thick, oozing streams trailing from his broken nose. Beneath the skin of his swollen cheeks were distinct purple bruises outlining four knuckle prints. Surely, they were left over from Sigefrid ruthlessly pummeling the side of his face, where each blow became more excruciating than the last. Hæsten’s ankles and wrists were bound in coils of coarse rope not unlike a slave fresh off the merchant's ship after a long, godless voyage.

Blædswith peered down at Sigefrid’s hand that had slithered around her lower back, now resting upon her waist just below her tender ribs. To her dismay, his knuckles were split wide open and stained with another man’s blood. As their pace quickened the further they got from the shore, Blædswith couldn’t help but fear for what she had gotten herself into after seeing what Sigefrid was fully capable of.

Initially, she found herself drawn to the danger and mystery behind Sigefrid’s piercing eyes; seduced by his undeniable courage, god-like strength, and power over those inferior to him, the Lord of Chaos. But after that night, who was to say that he wouldn’t treat her this cruelly if she were to cross him? The fearsome Dane whose armor she clung to for dear life was a damning beast of a man capable of unimaginable acts… that much was clear.

There remained a glimmer of hope within the princess that she would be the exception; the one thing he could never allow himself to do any harm to. She believed him capable of being good, towards her, and hoped it would remain true of him in the end - when it really mattered. Blædswith marveled at the thought of being with a man such as Sigefrid, intimidating and ambitious, yet capable of being gentle towards his one beloved - her.

With the mead hall approaching in the near distance, Blædswith suddenly felt lightheaded, disoriented with fatigue and fear-fuelled adrenaline. The last thing she recalled hearing was the sound of Sigefrid’s voice calling out her name as her knees buckled beneath her and the night faded to pitch blackness with the collapse of her body...

Startled out of her thoughts by an indecipherable uproar of men arguing somewhere in the near distance, Blædswith found herself sitting upright once more, defensively on high alert, after hearing wooden tables and broken chairs being upturned and thrown rather aggressively across the mead hall, below.

What is going on? Is Beamfleot under attack?

With a stiff groan, she climbed out of bed and shuffled towards the bedroom door, pressing an ear against the carved wood. The princess audibly gasped when she identified Sigefrid’s voice amongst all others, bursting at the seams and fuming like a maddened, rabid dog off its leash.

“Dear God.” Blædswith gulped as Sigefrid’s tone seemed to grow louder by the minute while Erik struggled to calm him down. It sounded as if a hundred Danes were shouting in a jumbled unison, leaving Blædswith only able to comprehend mere bits and pieces of what was said.

In a panic, the princess frantically searched through every table and desk drawer, tearing the room apart in search for any weapons or weapon-like objects to defend herself with in case Sigefrid were to come for her next. This time, it appeared, Erik hadn’t left anything behind for her. Distracted by the commotion downstairs, Blædswith did not hear the light feet approaching her room, and hadn’t the slightest clue that someone was headed her way until the bedroom door quickly unlocked and swung open. Out from behind the door entered a quaint slave girl trembling in her work shoes, balancing a tray of food in one hand with an assortment of combs and brushes shoved down in her pockets.

“L-Lady.” She greeted timidly, “I-I am sorry to disturb you. Lord Sigefrid sent me-” The young girl nudged the door closed with the pad of her foot, cautiously walking through the room to place the food down on the nearest bedside table.

Startled, Blædswith practically jumped out of her nightgown at the sudden intrusion, withholding crude language after she realized how nervous the poor girl already was - out of fear. Her complexion was as pale as a ghost as a result of what was occurring downstairs, and likely whatever Sigefrid had threatened her with.

“What is Sigefrid doing? Downstairs?” Blædswith questioned, crossing her arms over her chest and taking a seat at the foot end of the bed. “Of course, I... have my suspicions.” Her words faded into silence after noticing a rather sharp steak knife conveniently placed beside her meal.

“L-Lord Sigefrid is…” The slave gulped dryly and began fidgeting with the bristles of a large brush in her pocket, “he is asserting himself, a-after what happened last night. To you. He is upset… he feels he can no longer trust anyone, n-nor protect you.”

Blædswith exhaled sharply, cocking her head to the side ever so slightly. Worried by Sigefrid’s sense of doubt, she questioned, “But he trusts you, does he not? After all, you are here. If you intended to kill me you might actually have a chance.” She motioned down to her shoulder before stiffly rotating it in circular motion.

“H-he does, yes, lady.” She nodded solemnly. “I have no intention to harm you. I have been nothing but loyal to Lord Sigefrid-”

Blædswith, immediately, picked up the steak knife from the tray, reached across her bed, and tucked it beneath her pillow. “I need you to be loyal - to me. You will not tell Sigefrid, nor Erik, that I have a knife. Hæsten still wishes me dead, and this is the only way of protecting myself. Do you understand?” Blædswith leaned in, closing the distance between their faces, thus causing the young slave girl to tremble in fear. She then added, darkly, “If you tell anyone, I shall kill you with it.”

Frantically nodding, on the brink of tears, the slave whimpered,

“Y-yes, lady. I-I understand.”

After Blædswith had been well fed and groomed, the young girl was dismissed so the princess could be left alone to her growing sense of paranoia. Before the slave could reach the door, apprehensive to step foot outside, Blædswith couldn’t help but feel guilty for the way she treated her. “Girl.” She began, causing the young slave to stop dead in her tracks, gratefully. “What is your name?”

Slowly turning to face the princess, she replied shamefully, “I-I have no name, lady.”

Blædswith slowly rose from the bed, strolling towards the beautiful, brunette haired girl cowering before her. “I shall call you Moira. How does that sound?” Blædswith reached forward, tucking hair behind the young girl's ear as she once had, to the first slave she’d met. “It is a beautiful name, for a beautiful girl. Do you not agree?”

Moira nodded humbly, caught off guard by the princess’s sudden interest in her. “I-I agree, yes. Thank you.” Moira then proceeded towards the door, sheepishly asking, “What shall I call you, lady?”

“Blædswith. You may consider me a friend... if you do as told.” The Saxon grinned, now propping herself up on pillows and carefully pulling the fur pelt over her chest. “I can offer you far more than the Thurgilson brothers for your loyalty.”

Moira’s eyes seemed to sparkle with a sense of hope. “I-I shall see you again soon, Blædswith, when I return to tidy Sigefrid’s chambers.” With a courteous bow, she slipped out of the room and back into the realm of chaos instilled by Sigefrid Thurgilson, leaving Blædswith’s head suddenly spinning.

It all made sense, now, why she had slept in a room so breathtaking; so fitting for a princess, even.

Lady Blædswith of Wessex had spent the night in Sigefrid Thurgilson’s private chambers,

and she doubted it would be the last time.

____________________ ➴ ____________________

With the descendence of evening fall came a sense of tranquility over the land. In recent hours past, the clan’s discord had simmered down as the Danes dispersed, returning Beamfleot to its once habitual state of being.

Blædswith, after restlessly tossing and turning, found herself buried beneath a mountain of fur pelts and pillows as if she were a child hiding from her parents. The princess stirred uneasily, wondering what would happen to her come dusk. She wondered why Sigefrid had not visited her, though it was likely for the best if he was still tense from earlier. However short-tempered Sigefrid was, Blædswith believed his company was better than none. A sense of loneliness and abandonment had overcome her vulnerable mind after spending an entire day imprisoned by herself.

When Blædswith finally began to drift off to sleep, she could hear the bedroom door knob fumbling as someone struggled to unlock it from the outside. With a loud creak, an unwelcome figure crept into the room and locked the door behind them.

Blædswith could feel her dry throat clench, and stomach coil into a tight, fearful knot. She listened as their footsteps drew near to the bed. Not a word was spoken in greeting, as if they intended to surprise the bed’s sleeping inhabitant. Ever so slowly, Blædswith’s fingers inched beneath her pillow and towards her knife. Her trembling body was otherwise still; frozen, even, as a paralyzing fear surged through her veins like a potent venom.

She could hear a pair of shoes being unlaced, and sloppily tossed against the nearest wall with seemingly little care of waking her. Something heavy yet soft fell to the floor, such as a fur pelt, before they began high-stepping out of something.

Somebody was taking their clothes off.

Tightly gripping onto the handle of her knife, Blædswith threw back her blankets and sprung to her knees, holding her knife outwards towards the foot end of the bed where her intruder stood completely naked from head to toe.

Having expected it to be Hæsten, or perhaps even Sigefrid, the frightened princess was flabbergasted and utterly appalled to see a bare-chested woman standing before her whose surprised look mirrored her own.

The two, in unison, gasped like fish out of water.

“Gahhh! What are you doing?!” Blædswith shrieked, turning away from the woman who showed no sense of urgency to cover herself. “W-who are you?!”

“I am Sigefrid’s mistress.” The dark haired woman sneered rather sharply, as if insulted that Blædswith hadn’t heard of her.

“Bloody Hell.” Blædswith groaned, chest rising and falling quickly with each rapid breath she drew, “Well, I am not Sigefrid! Y-you may…” She nodded with utmost caution, seeing as the woman was easily twice her size. “...you may put your clothes on and leave. Now.”

“Oh?” The large woman chuckled lowly with the shake of her head. “You do not get to bark orders. You are that damned Saxon princess Sigefrid won’t shut up about.” She quirked an eyebrow down at the princess as her lips formed a devilish grin. “But... he will have nothing to talk about if you are gone.”

“Gone?” Blædswith croaked. “I-I do not wish to leave-”

“You will leave, here, when I send you to meet your false God.” The woman snarled, suddenly lunging at Blædswith like a wild cat springing towards its prey, pinning her elbows to the bed causing the knife, her main source of defense, to fall to the floor.

“Shit!” Blædswith gasped, as she began awkwardly wriggling beneath the maddened woman, trying her best to divert her gaze from the Dane’s exposed breasts. Blædswith began kneeing her repeatedly in the gut, crying out in pain while doing so as pain scorched through her own torso. “Get off of me!” Blædswith whimpered, able to free an arm from the Dane’s clammy grasp to strike a fist at the side of her face.

The bear-like woman seemed virtually unphased.

“I do not want to kill you!” Blædswith leaned forward, head butting the brawny Dane though seeming to do more damage to herself than her attacker. Blædswith attempted to intertwine their legs together, only to have her shins kicked at until bruises began to form.

“Is that all you have got, princess? You could not kill me if you tried.” Sigefrid’s mistress chuckled menacingly, suddenly taking a firm hold of Blædswith’s throat with both hands in an attempt to choke and suffocate her. With the larger woman’s full body weight atop of her small frame, Blædswith was physically unable to push her off, nor pry her claws from her throat.

“I thought you wanted to be a Dane?” The mistress goaded, watching the color drain from the princess’s cheeks as she writhed and gasped for air. Scorching tears burning trails down her cheeks as she choked on her own sobs. “You are a sorry excuse for a Saxon. For a Christian.” She then dug her fingertips into Blædswith’s freshly cauterized shoulder, causing the princess to whimper and cry out like a dog that had been run over by a cart.

With a low growl, Blædswith managed,

“I am not a Christian.”

With her remaining strength, Blædswith wrapped an arm and leg over the nude woman’s back and jerked them both off the bed and onto the floor, causing the Dane to momentarily let go of her throat. Diving away from the bed, gasping, the princess began painfully crawling on her elbows and knees towards the knife, shouting and kicking out behind her like a wild horse after feeling a calloused hand grasp to either of her ankles.

With a loud cry, and all that she had left within her, Blædswith took hold of the knife once more after continuously crawling forward and being dragged back. Just as the Dane lowered herself towards the princess, hoping to pin her again, Blædswith flipped onto her back and slashed the throat of her assailant with a loud grunt, causing the woman to clutch her gaping wound with both hands as thick streams of red seeped between her fingers. Sigefrid’s mistress fell onto her side, gurgling profusely, as she began to accept her fate dealt by the hand of a Saxon princess.

Blædswith, now hovering above the dying woman, took it upon herself to jab the knife beneath her ribs, driving it up towards the Dane’s gaping throat as if she were skinning a deer, or even performing a reverse blood eagle.

“We could have lived together... peacefully.” Blædswith grunted, forcing the knife deeper into the woman’s core. “You did this, not me! I never would have wished you any harm!” The princess began twisting the knife as the Dane let out a final gasp. “You killed yourself. Tell that to your gods.”

The light in the Dane’s eyes began to fade, though she quietly managed through airy pants, “I… knew I was… done for when... he… he called out your name…” Her head rolled lazily around her shoulders, allowing her to look the princess in the eyes and whisper, “Blædswith.”

The Dane fell limp as a dark pool of blood engulfed her massive form. It looked as if she had been mangled and sacrificed to the Pagan gods above. Blædswith opened the mistresses’ large hand, and placed the handle of the knife within her palm before closing her fingers into a tight fist. With a sigh, she whispered, “Valhalla calls you. I will not deny you your gods… even if you did try to kill me. Perhaps, in another life, we shall meet again.”

Crawling away from the fresh corpse, Blædswith found herself crumpled and hunched over against the other side of the bed facing the door. She looked down at her sticky, bloodied hands resting palm up on her lap as a rogue tear caressed the side of her cheek. Her nightgown had been stained with hand prints and smears of red, and the skin of her neck felt raw to the touch as if she had been gripped by the devil himself.

Sobbing, she feared she would never truly be safe, and never be accepted by the Danes no matter what she does. She worried she would always be a target - always the enemy - even if she has denounced her Christian God. Until she has regained her strength, she will never be able to fully defend herself in Sigefrid’s recurring absence. Angrily, she questioned whether or not he had intentionally, repeatedly, neglected her.

Was Sigefrid testing her? Proving that what he said about her was true?

Not a single guard rushed to her aid. Not even Sigefrid, nor Erik. Blædswith understood they were busy, therefore could not be her caretakers. Most of the Danes she knew weren’t nurturing by nature… however, she had expected the Thurgilson brothers to better protect such a valuable asset - especially if Sigefrid expected her to stay.

There was something different in the air; something off. There wasn’t a single doubt in Blædswith’s mind that Hæsten was behind the attack. It was likely he dismissed Sigefrid’s guards as he did by the lake, and encouraged Sigefrid’s woman to visit his chambers knowing full well the princess would be there, instead.

Was Hæsten planning, in secret, to overthrow his lords? Or was he simply trying to get revenge on the Saxon princess anyway that he could? Perhaps his plan was to kill two birds with one stone… and that Sigefrid’s hostile mistress was just the first of many to come...

____________________ ➴ ____________________

Shadows filled Sigefrid’s chambers as twilight descended upon the fort. It felt as though the gods above had readied themselves for a blissful night’s slumber after a long day of watching over Midgard and its Danes.

On the hard wooden floor she remained, even all these hours later. Her hands were stiff with dried blood; her mind, body, and soul numb to the feeling as she stared off into the distance through heavy lids, anticipating someone unpleasant to burst through the door at any moment. She feared she wouldn’t have the strength to resist their advances in her current state of lethargy.

Every so often she swore to have seen Moira, or perhaps the spirit of, the first slave girl she met, lying atop the bed with her fragile hands folded over her chest. Guilt feasted on her insides like hungry Danes supping at the Great Hall. When Moira was no longer there, behind Blædswith’s head, she would see the face of Sigefrid’s mistress. Her ghost seemed to lurk in the shadows of the room’s darkest corners, haunting Blædswith even in death.

Blædswith ran the backs of her shaky hands over her drowsy eyes. In the end, her own mind; her own guilt and grievances had truly gotten the best of her.

A gentle knock on the door, followed by the friendly voice of Moira II, seemed to be enough to lift the princess’s spirits as she entered the room with a fresh outfit draped over her forearm. Upon noticing the princess bloodied and on the floor, Moira gasped and immediately dropped the clothes before running to her aid. Once knelt before the Saxon, she began looking her over to see if she had been mortally wounded.

“Blædswith!? Are you alright?” She panicked, placing a small, child-like hand to the princess’s cheek. Moira sighed in relief, feeling a heavy weight lifted off her shoulders as Blædswith nodded ever so feebly. “W-what happened? Who did this to you?”

Raising a shaky arm out to her side like an injured raven preparing for flight, Blædswith pointed a single finger towards the other side of the bed.

She didn’t utter a single word, for she couldn’t find the right thing to say.

On her hands and knees like a hound, the slave crawled around the foot end of the bed, now following a smeared trail of blood until she found the body of Sigefrid’s old woman - one she knew far too well.

“Christ almighty.” She shrieked and motioned her hand in the shape of a cross over her chest. That caught Blædswith by surprise - how anyone, let alone a slave - could possibly preserve their faith in God whilst living in Daneland.

“Sigefrid’s mistress intended to… seduce him. She found me instead.” Blædswith croaked dryly with a faint grin, now pressing a hand to her ribs. “She tried to kill me.”

“There were no guards outside your door, Blædswith.” Moira cried, hurrying back to the princess’s side with a look of worry and concern engraved on her face. “Sigefrid ordered them to stay, I-I heard him. I fear they... took orders from someone else-”

Blædswith nodded her head and interjected, “Hæsten is behind this, he must be. He will not stop until I am dead, and rotting at the bottom of the sea. There are many who follow him… I fear he is planning a coup against the brothers, but they are blind to it...” The princess huffed and firmly pursed her dried lips together. “The men Sigefrid trusts are disloyal. I have seen it many times in my short while. I must help him see what he can’t. For if I do not… we may all be killed.”

Moira rose to her feet and approached the pile of clothing on the floor, scooped it all up in her arms and displayed the garments on the bed as nicely as she could. “Perhaps you can tell Sigefrid tonight. Well, after I-I get you cleaned up. Y-you look as if you slaughtered a pig.” She grinned and kindly helped Blædswith to her feet.

“What do you mean, tonight? W-what is tonight?” Startled and confused, Blædswith’s thick brows furrowed together, though she found herself staring in awe at the beautiful Danish garb laid before her.

What is all this for?

“Sigefrid has requested your presence, tonight, for dinner in the mead hall.” With a quick nod, Moira escorted Blædswith to the nearest armchair where she was to wait patiently for her return with a rag and bucket of water - not unlike she had done the night prior, where she waded in the frigid lake water.

“Then I must go.” Blædswith inhaled sharply, glancing towards the door as if expecting another intrusion. “This may be my last chance to warn him before it is too late.”

Before leaving, Moira retrieved a small, sharpened axe from beneath her shawl that she had looted from one of the brothers.

“Sigefrid could kill you for this.” Blædswith warned though graciously took the axe from the noble slave girl.

Moira, within feet of the door, nodded solemnly over her shoulder with a kind smile and soothed, “I know.”

____________________ ➴ ____________________

“I do not wish to be humiliated tonight.” Blædswith pouted, running her hands down the front of the apron dress Sigefrid chose for her to wear. She muttered beneath her breath, “I have been tormented enough.”

As a base layer, Blædswith wore a white, long sleeved smock that brushed against her ankles. On top was a shorter, red apron fastened by a string of beads across her chest strewn between a large, silver brooch on either strap - both beautifully engraved in Danish runes. Her feet had slipped into a pair of lace up shoes made of soft, pliable leather. Blædswith’s elongated fingers and narrow wrists were embellished in the finest silver jewelry in the land.

Atop of the princess’s head were three intricate braids running from her hairline to the back of her skull where they were joined by a thin band of leather. While her loose hair cascaded down her shoulders, on either side of her neck hung a single braid that lay against her free flowing locks.

“The brothers will protect you. Y-you have little to worry about.” Moira soothed, approaching the princess from behind to drape a small, light-brown pelt over her shoulders. “You look beautiful.” Moira complimented in awe as she pulled the length of Blædswith’s dark mane out from beneath the fur.

Stepping in front of the princess in place of a mirror, Moira clasped her hands together against her chest and studied Blædswith from head to toe to ensure she looked as Sigefrid wanted. “You look every bit a Dane, and a-a lovely one at that.” Moira began fiddling with the fur pelt draped over Blædswith’s shoulders, adjusting the brooches upon her chest, and flattening out any creases in her skirt.

Astounded, Moira chirped, “T-the gods truly favor Lord Sigefrid.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well…” Moira grinned from ear to ear, cocking her head to the side, “Why else would they have brought him you?” With that, the unlikely pair interlocked arms and headed towards the door, only for Blædswith to halt in her tracks.

“What about her?” Blædswith motioned towards the Danish woman she had slain. “We can not just leave her.” She began to panic as the potential consequences for her actions flooded through her mind. Moira quickly shook her head and guided Blædswith to face her, rather than the lifeless body of her assailant.

“I will take care of Yrsa.” Moira spat the woman’s name bitterly with a hateful snarl. “I never liked her. S-she will be cut up, and served to Sigefrid’s hound for dinner. You have my word.” Moira placed a firm hand to Blædswith’s shoulder as the two exchanged comforting glances.

“You are mad.” The princess teased with a quiet chuckle. “Thank you.” She couldn’t help but crack a smile as she noted, “He likes his meat well done, by the way.”

Stepping out into the noisy hallway, arm in arm, they strolled towards the staircase. Blædswith could hear the merry laughter, chanting, and singing of jovial Danes downing horns of ale by the minute. To her discomfort she felt their arms suddenly unravel, realizing just how tightly she had been holding on to her escort. “You are not coming with me?” Blædswith frowned. “Why?”

Moira shook her head, and took a courteous step back towards Sigefrid’s chambers. “Y-you must do this alone. I will dispose of Yrsa’s body.”

“I can not-”

“Do you have the axe?” Moira pressed firmly.

Blædswith nodded in defeat, patting the right pocket of her apron. “I do.”

“Then go.” Moira hummed with a shooing motion. “Sigefrid Thurgilson awaits you.”

Like a moth drawn to candle light Blædswith’s feet carried her to the top of the stairs where she found herself clutching tightly to the support rail, looking down at the night’s festivities that beckoned her.

Her beating heart drowned out the sounds of Danes laughing and chatting amongst themselves. Those up and about, dancing around like children of the night seemed to move in slow motion. Everyone around her had come to a halt, paralyzed in time as the world simply stopped.

All because she saw him - though he had already been looking up at her.

Once engrossed in hearty laughter and storytelling by a large bonfire, Sigefrid’s attention suddenly fell elsewhere, towards the divine woman overlooking the mead hall in all her glory. It took him a moment to realize who had captivated his being; the entirety of his lonesome heart with her ethereal beauty. To no surprise, it was none other than his beloved princess, Blædswith.

Sigefrid’s slowly lowered a cup of ale from his parting lips. His eyes, crinkling in the corners, dazzled with such fondness and desire for the woman he admired so dearly. His bearded lips curled into a wide, toothy smile as he tossed the cup aside and excitedly jumped to his feet. His hand quickly readjusted his armored chest plate prior to greeting the lady of the hour, the eldest daughter of King Alfred.

As she descended down the stairs, fingertips running along the railing, she bashfully looked away from Sigefrid who was smiling like a fool upon her arrival. Blædswith could feel a warm heat beneath her cheeks as virtually everyone in the hall stopped what they were doing to stare in awe. There were mixed feelings - some were relieved to see the princess healthy and alive, while others regretted not killing her, or worse, when they had the chance.

“Lady Blædswith.” Sigefrid greeted ever so charmingly and strolled closer. “What a lovely surprise.” Upon doing so, he noticed the redness of her neck and frowned, exhaling sharply through his teeth at the mere thought of someone laying a hand on what was rightfully his. His brows suddenly furrowed as he took hold of her forearm and pulled her closer. “Who did this?” Sigefrid snarled as those spectating returned to their prior festivities. Frantically scanning her face for answers, he grew impatient when Blædswith remained silent.

Troubled, Sigefrid rattled her arm and sternly repeated, “Who?”

With the shake of her head, the princess caressed the side of his face and closed the gap between their bodies. “Now is not the time.” She glanced over each shoulder. “Rest assured, they are no longer a threat.” Pushing off of her toes, she rested a hand against his chest and pressed a gentle, comforting kiss to his lips.

Sigefrid did not fathom how ravenous he had been until he tasted, once more, the sweetest gift from the gods. Pulling her lower body against his, Sigefrid hungrily devoured her lips, fighting the urge to abandon the grand feast he had planned so he could ravish her within the privacy of his chambers. His calloused hand rested at the base of her skull, sending chills down her body as he intertwined strands of her hair between his fingers. Blædswith pulled him impossibly closer by his armor and deepend the kiss, taking his bottom lip between her teeth as a low growl rumbled in his chest.

Sigefrid chuckled to himself with a wide, boyish smirk, as Blædswith began placing a trail of kisses down the length of his neck, stopping just above his collarbone. A stifled moan escaped through his lips after realizing he’d been holding his breath. His eyes fluttered shut, and his tongue dragged over his lips to savor the taste of hers, all while marveling at his wildest fantasies coming true.

“I missed you.” Blædswith cooed in his ear before pressing her greedy lips onto his once more, no longer resisting the urges within that she had fought long and hard to suppress. When they parted for air, they found themselves gently nudging one another with their noses - smiling like dumb, lovestruck teenagers.

“Oh,” He chuckled amusingly, “how I have missed you.” He could feel his lower half stiffen uncomfortably in her presence as his heart beat inhumanly fast against his armor. Biting the tip of his tongue with an irresistibly flirty smile, he motioned for Blædswith to walk alongside him towards a long, wooden table seated with Danes challenging each other to eating contests and arm wrestling matches. “Come.” He reached back, taking her hand in his. “I need to wash away the taste of betrayal.” As Blædswith followed closely behind, cheeks flushed and core left aching after the heated moment they had just shared. She felt as if she were floating on cloud-nine, bit buzzed from the feeling of euphoria he instilled within her.

However, that feeling quickly faded as she cowered away from the looks of hatred and pure disgust she received. Blædswith could hear whispers of her name throughout the hall from those wondering what Sigefrid’s intentions were with the king’s daughter.

“Why is she not in her cage?”

“What in Odin’s name is Lord Sigefrid doing with our princess?”

As they neared the table Blædswith searched for an empty seat, preferably one close to the dark haired Thurgilson brother. Apprehensive, the princess distanced herself whilst Sigefrid continued ahead of her. Noticing her absence by his side, he turned on his heels and frowned. “Is something wrong?”

The princess shrugged sheepishly. “I-I do not see a place for me to sit.”

“You will sit… with me.” Sigefrid squeezed her hand reassuringly and led her to the short end of the table where two carved, wooden thrones awaited them. Erik, she noticed, was comfortably seated in a third throne at the other end of the table.

“I hope... it is to your liking.”

“I-I do not know what to say.” Blædswith smiled as he helped her to her seat before making himself comfortable in his rightful place beside her. Before he could notice, she plucked the axe from her pocket and dropped it behind the throne.

She felt safe enough in Sigefrid’s presence, that surely, it would not be of use to her.

The Danish lord couldn’t help but stare, seeing how tall and powerful she sat where his brother had. Once broken and defeated, she held her head high and overlooked those who despise, yet envy her all the same. With a freshly brewed horn of ale now in hand, Sigefrid’s eyes fell to her exposed chest concealing her lonely heart that yearned for him; for their souls to collide as their warm breaths intertwine beneath Odin’s watchful eye.

Peering across the table, Blædswith fortuitously caught Erik’s attention. The two exchanged gentle smiles as Erik nodded, assuring her that she was safe, and in good hands with his brother. She mouthed a quiet “thank you”, not only for allowing her to sit upon his throne, but for every kind gesture he’s done since they met.

“Two days ago…” Blædswith spoke down at herself, “it was as if I were a caged animal. Scared… afraid. Now I feel like a queen.” The corners of her lips squirmed as she fought to conceal an overwhelming feeling of joy, and finally, of freedom. “Why?” She looked up at Sigefrid with glossy eyes, and a faint half-smile. “We used to hate each other. W-what are we doing?”

Sigefrid leaned towards her, resting an elbow upon the armrest of his throne. He exhaled sharply, “While I have not been kind to you, Lady… I never hated you.” He spoke grimly, lowering his serious gaze that seemed to sparkle beneath the overhead candelabra. “I have learned from my mistakes; my failures as Lord of Beamfleot… and as a man.” Sigefrid reached forward and poured her a cup of ale, offering it to the princess in which she graciously took and drank from.

Clearing his throat, he leaned in even closer. “I will make things… better… between us. I presume my chambers were to your liking, were they not?”

“Your chambers were lovely… though a bit lonely.” Blædswith grinned faintly, feeling herself give in to the burning subject on her mind. “Sigefrid… I would not advise you to sleep there furthermore.” The Saxon whispered discreetly in between sips of ale. “It is not safe.”

“What do you mean?” Sigefrid suddenly shot upright, throwing a half empty horn of ale over his shoulder, nearly hitting a slave girl passing by with a tray of food.

With a heavy sigh, Blædswith chugged the rest of her cup and tossed it aside, too. Carefully choosing her words, she mumbled nonchalantly, “Your mistress did not take too kindly to another woman in her bed.” She could feel the skin on the back of her neck burning as if inches away from a blacksmith’s forge. “She entered your chambers, and upon recognizing me, she... tried to kill me.” Blædswith gently rubbed her throat, grimly recalling when she had been strangled.

“And… what did you do?” Sigefrid, practically perched on the armrest like a bird, held onto her every word as if it were to be her last. A mixed array of emotions overcame him, from nauseating worry and dread to fear of the worst. His mind couldn’t fathom how his mistress slipped past his guards, so he felt embarrassed and burdened with guilt that Blædswith found out about Yrsa that way, or at all. While he knew his mistress to be short tempered as he is, he never would have imagined her to attack King Alfred’s daughter out of pure jealousy.

“I slit her throat and gutted her like a deer.” Blædswith deadpanned before an unfamiliar slave girl offered her a second cup of ale, in which she quickly drank from and muttered a quiet “Sköl” as she turned to face the hall.

“Sköl.”

“I am sorry about Yrsa. I tried to reason with her. She would not listen.”

“She was a mad woman.” Sigefrid shook his head shamefully and downed more of his ale. “There were times... I feared this would happen. Not to you, but… to someone.” After a big gulp of ale, he wiped his beard with the back of his arm and shamefully sunk back into his throne, closing his eyes and cursing himself to the gods for neglecting their gift to him.

“Your guards were dismissed from their duties. When your slave came to get me, they had been long gone.” Blædswith stirred uneasily, distracting herself by glancing around the hall. “That is how Yrsa got in.”

“Those men will be dealt with. I can assure you that.” Sigefrid growled darkly through gritted teeth, his knuckles turning white from gripping tightly onto his horn of ale. “They will be slaughtered, like that whore of a woman, Yrsa.”

“You speak of your mistress as if you do not care. Surely you must?”

“Yrsa... was a good hump. She passed the time. Unlike her, it is not your ass I want. It is yourself.” Sigefrid turned towards the Saxon, sitting as his equal, beside him. “If you will have me.”

Blædswith gasped quietly beneath her breath. “If I didn't know better, I would have thought you wanted me to stay.” Teasingly, she quirked an eyebrow as if she couldn’t tell how he felt by the way he held her close - when they exchanged such a moment of tenderness; of love, even.

“Well, do you?” The Dane teased, excitedly toying with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Do I what?” Blædswith hummed with a faux, innocent pout.

“Know better?”

Blædswith smiled down at her folded hands resting upon her lap, closing her eyes as a bright smile overcame her lips. “Even despite those who wish me dead or to be sold back to Wessex?” Blædswith then peeled the fur pelt from her shoulders, pooling it behind her.

“Even so.” Sigefrid nodded with a wink. His lips slowly parted in awe as he watched Blædswith rise from her throne, now standing before his knees. She began bunching the skirt of her dress at her hips, stepping over his large boots to place herself deep within his lap; his hands immediately shot to her lower waist, pressing her hips firmly against the front of his bulging pants with a breathy groan.

Numerous Danes whistled and hollered at Blædswith’s sudden gesture.

“I am giving up everything for you. My family, my kingdom. My crown.” Blædswith pinned his wrists to the throne’s armrests, causing Sigefrid to throw his head back against his seat. She could see him gulp drly; the muscular veins of his neck protruding as he fought every primal urge within him to tear her dress to shreds. “I have conditions.”

“Name them.” Sigefrid groaned as Blædswith began to slowly grind her hips against the mighty Thor’s hammer beneath her. She could feel the muscles of his arms flinching beneath her grasp, knowing full well he was stronger than her and could pry her hands off at any moment. His chest rose and fell beneath his armor as he shifted frustratedly in his throne.

“I want to be your equal.” She purred in his ear. “I will not be treated like a common whore, or slave. You will not have any mistresses, for I will kill them all. I am all you need.” Blædswith whispered dangerously close to his lips as her knees tightened around his hips. “I am your gift from the gods…”

Sigefrid nodded, panting, “I agree to your terms,” before learning forward for a kiss, only to be stopped by Blædswith leaning back, and ceasing all movement of her body.

“Oh, I am not finished.” She taunted rather seductively, maintaining a few inches between their faces. “I no longer wish to be called lady or princess. I am Blædswith.” She paused, biting her bottom lip to suppress an unexpected whimper after feeling him move against her. “I want to learn your ways; t-to train and fight alongside you, as a shieldmaiden. That has always been a dream of mine. I-I am a Dane at heart.”

“That is… quite the ask.” Sigefrid groaned beneath the warmth of her shifting weight. “It would be an honor to fight; to drink, and lie, beside you. I have wanted this - you - ever since we met.” Sigefrid, no longer able to resist her, freed his arms from her grasp with a loud grunt. She could feel his hand wandering down her lower back, undoing the tie of her apron. “I need you to be mine. No other man can have you.”

“Then take me,” Blædswith pleaded, her tender lips mere inches from his. She cupped the sides of his prickly face with her soft hands and whimpered softly, “Take me as yours.” With a quick, affirming nod, Sigefrid crashed his lips onto hers, tangling his hand in her youthful, free flowing locks. Tilting her head to the side, he began sucking and nipping at the skin of her neck, leaving a warm trail of bruises down to her collarbone to establish his claim over her. Pushing the sleeve of her apron dress down, he sloppily kissed around her cauterized shoulder, wanting her to realize that it wasn’t appalling enough to drive him away. He wanted her to feel beautiful; wanted and desired despite her wound.

Blædswith took his hand in hers, placing atop her breast for him to knead through her dress. If it weren’t for the room full of Danes surrounding them, perhaps her dress would have been discarded ages ago. “You are not,” she gasped quietly in his ear, “disgusted by my shoulder?”

Flicking a thumb over her swollen lip, he growled, “No.” Sigefrid’s eyes were dark; completely dilated as if he were a predator consuming its prey. He looked up at her as if she were his entire world, his beginning and his end.

How strange, he thought, that in so little time Blædswith, a Saxon princess, could mean so much to him… and she may and never know it. “You could never disgust me.” Sigefrid slid his hand around her arse, giving it a firm squeeze as he made his way to her undergarments, pulling and tugging on the fabric until it tore at the seams.

He could feel the warmth radiating from between her legs as his fingers neared, only for Blædswith to shake her head and whimper, “No, we can’t.”

“You do not want to?” A confused Sigefrid panted quietly, almost offended that she had denied him entrance to her most sacred body. “I do not understand-”

“Of course I want to.” She smiled with an airy chuckle. “When I give myself to you,” she gently caressed the side of his face as his arms rested around her waist, “I want it to only be us, and the gods, in the room. I do not wish to be in pain, either.” She motioned down to her ribs, which had ached the entire time. “Besides, if we start now, I-I won’t be able to stop in time for the main feast.” She teased lightly, causing Sigefrid’s chest to rumble with laughter.

“I am not hungry.” Sigefrid chuckled with a sly grin, flicking his tongue over his lips.

“Of course not.” Pressing her forehead against his, she couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. “Well, I am starving. After tonight I am not going anywhere. I promise.” Blædswith soothed, tracing her fingers down the length of his arm, until she reached his hand. Taking it in her own, she raised his knuckles to her lips and gently kissed each one. “I have denounced the Christian God. My engagement is invalid…” Blædswith courteously pushed herself off of him, adjusting her straps of her apron and pulling down her skirt to avoid flashing the entire hall. “I am a free woman.”

“Not anymore.” Sigefrid smirked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Before Blædswith could ask what trouble he was up to, Sigefrid blew through a large horn, immediately gaining the hall’s attention. Blædswith was left standing upon wobbly legs, flustered and breathless. Her entire body was flushed pink, nearly matching the color of her apron. Even a half-conscious drunk could look at her tangled hair and know what she and Lord Sigefrid had been up to - there was no keeping it a secret.

The entire mead hall fell silent, except for a quiet hum of music in the near distance.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Sigefrid began, “I have something to say, to each of you.” A low murmur rose out of suspicion. “You will now be disappointed to know, that Lady Blædswith of Wessex, here, is now mine.” He couldn’t help himself but to chuckle haughtily. “No man is to touch her. Not with his hands, and not with his tiny cock… unless he wishes to lose it.” As he raised his hand-blade to the crowd, he couldn’t help but smile down at the beautiful woman whose warm hand rested upon his chest - a feeling he would truly never grow tired of.

From across the hall, the sight of his brother gazing down upon the woman he admired warmed Erik’s heart, seeing as Sigefrid’s gentler side rarely saw the light of day.

“What about our wealth? Our promised glory?” An older, toothless Dane called out, followed by an uproar of support from those standing around him.

“Blædswith is a great warrior, whom I have grown fond of.” Sigefrid argued with a scowl, glaring down at his followers. “She is far more valuable, than any silver.”

Blædswith let go of Sigefrid’s armor, and stepped forward to address the room. “I hope it brings you peace, knowing that I am no longer a Christian. I am not your enemy, but King Alfred’s. It would bring me no greater joy than to raid Wessex and pillage my father’s wealth. If you will accept me, as a Dane, I shall reward you greatly.” Blædswith could feel Sigefrid’s chest press against her back as he protectively stood by her side.

After a few moments of silence, cheering and applause rang throughout the entire hall. Upon Sigefrid’s request, a slave girl brought them each a third cup of ale, in which Blædswith raised into the air and shouted, “Sköl!”

Immediately following, Sigefrid, Erik, and those in support sang in unison, “Sköl!” and the night’s festivities continued on. Once finished with their ale, the unlikely Saxon-Dane duo found themselves laughing, singing, and dancing to the upbeat rhythm that was sure to play into the early hours of the morning. Sigefrid found himself upon his throne once more, arms wrapped around Blædswith’s waist who sat across his lap. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, playfully nipping and planting kissed along the marks he’d already left. The two swayed back and forth to the music, engrossing themselves in the stories being told at the table before them.

“Sigefrid?” The beautiful woman sitting upon his thighs whispered, running her fingertips over the length of his beard. Sigefrid hummed in response, brushing fallen strands of hair from her ethereal complexion. “I have… something else to ask you...” Interrupting her train of thought, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of strikingly familiar face slithering through the clusters of Danes until they reached the table where Lord Sigefrid and his new woman sat enthralled with one another.

“Why is he here?” She groaned against Sigefrid’s neck, only for the eldest lord of Beamfleot to shake his head with a sigh in defeat.

With a large cup of ale in hand, a disfigured Hæsten took one last gulp and let the cup fall from his fingertips, now rolling under the table. Before Blædswith, or even Sigefrid could properly react, he looked between them and slurred, “Sigefrid. Blædswith? What did I miss?”

_______________________________________________

A/N: Well Hæsten, it’s safe to say you missed a lot - lol. Sorry for the long wait for this chapter, but I hope it was worth it!

I’m contemplating whether or not to add real smut to the story... 👀

🏷 Tags: (hope I didn’t miss anyone!)

@inforapound @cheapcakeripper @wildwren @metall-and-dust @eclipsedbymyheart @henrycavill19 @aesirharvorsson @finantheagile @onesaltyhunter @wessexcrown @destinysall @lauwrite1225 @lumxnously @chlomidgard @dagonet-ironside @marv-llous @littlebirdgot @curlyrat @beesbrains @godricsvalley @alina-exe @lazypeachsoul

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micheldechevin · 3 years

Text

Red carnations

Its me, ya boi....back at it again with....a Vyn fic. I've gotten severe Tears of Themis brain rot. Well anyway. Feel free to kudos on Ao3 if you like! Link to the fic on ao3 Pairing: MC x Vyn Richter Series: Tears of Themis Rating: T Word Count: 1800

Sitting in his study, Vyn felt strangely lonely. It wasn’t like him to miss anyone, but it had been more than two weeks since he last spoke to Rosa due to another large case that needed all hands on deck at the Themis office. Even so, he couldn’t help but almost ache from her absent; whenever she crossed his mind, his chest would tighten. He was far past accepting that these were new feelings in his life and it wasn’t the mysticism of ‘Love at first sight’. Still, the ache that accompanied these feelings was something he was struggling to get used to. So unique and admirably was she, that he struggled to stand in her blinding light some days, and yet much light a moth to the flame he would do so anyway. A few scorch marks on his heart was nothing compared to the valued time he had with Rosa.

The last time they were together they had gone to the local gardens to see the freshly Bloomed Carnations before going to dinner at a spot Rosa was sure he would love. He barely remembered the food, but the Blooms were so vivid in his mind because he couldn’t help but remember how wonderful they matched her. How it seemed like every flower in the garden only accented her beauty. Vyn remembered that he also bought her a bouquet of the Red Carnations because he knew it would be the last time they would see each other for at least a week and he thought they would remind her of him.

That raised a question he had tormented himself with again. Did she think of him often? By now Vyn was willing to wager that she did think of him, but to what end? For how long? How often? He wanted to know every part of her thoughts and feelings, every inch of her heart and while it was so easy to read what she felt on her face, he wanted to know specifics to hear her voice say it. She knew in so many words the contents of his heart; something he spilled in front of Wayne, but he wasn’t so sure she trusted him to be so open nor believed it was real even when he had explained it to her. He craved her trust.

With a sigh, Vyn shook such thoughts from his head, returning his attention to the patient file before him, much like her, he also needed to do more work. An excellent distraction from the aching absence of his ‘special one.’

----

It was after several hours of focus when Vyn’s phone rang, pulling him out of his current task to see the name pop up on the screen; much to his joy it read ‘Rosa’. Again his chest squeeze as he answered her call. “Rosa? Hello.” His tone was even and pleasant, though it was probably hard to miss the undertone of relieved.

“Dr. Richter! Hello! I haven’t talked to you in a while, but we just finished! We won the trail!” Vyn was taking in the excitement in her voice, the corners of his lips curving up into a smile. Though he had so desperately missed her, she was happy and that was almost worth it to him; he couldn’t help but wish that he was the cause of the happiness. “Can we meet up?” He heard the pause in her voice before continuing. “I mean, if you’re not busy. Sorry I should have asked that first.” The smile was quickly replaced with a slight frown. She never needed to ask—rarely was he too busy for her, for anyone else? He was too busy but never for Rosa.

“I am not busy.” He pushed the file off to the side with his freshly written notes. “I would like to see you again, perhaps, since it is dinner time I could come over and we could get take out from some place that you like?” Vyn would have offered to take her out somewhere, but he wanted to monopolize her from the rest of the world for a moment. Everyone else got to see her, now it was his turn. “I have a gift for you.”

“Huh? A gift?” He could hear the surprise, which was another success to him. He enjoyed pulling all different emotions from her. “You didn’t have to do that! Just hanging out is nice!” Her voice sounded far away for a moment, quickly he realized it meant she was switching ears.

“I did not have too, that is correct. I wanted to.” Vyn stood from his desk, stretching his back. “If you are home, I can come over now so we can decide what we would like to eat.” Pleased, when there was a hum of agreement on the other end of the line. “Then I will be there as soon as I can be. See you, Rosa.” Hanging up the phone, he gathered the gift he had made for Rosa before heading out.

---

It was sometimes later when Vyn knocked on Rosa’s door, which she opened immediately with a smile so bright it lit up his world. “Dr. Richter, you made it.” Stepping back, she let him into the room. Quickly, he took off his shoes and turned towards her wondering if she thought he might not come. Of course he would, he always would.

“I did, indeed.” He smiled at her—hoping that she felt the warmth he constantly felt with her. After a moment of just admiring her, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small hair clip that looked hand made. It had a red carnation on it, much like the ones in the garden they had visited although a little more crude. Still, her eyes lit up as she looked at it despite her earlier protests that he didn’t need to do that.

“It’s beautiful, Dr. Richter! Now I have two hair clips from you that I can wear.” Once again, success—she was happy, and it was all because of him.

“Here, let me put it into your hair.” Vyn stepped closer to Rosa, gently, tenderly, lovingly running his fingers through the strands for as long as he could get away with before pinning the clip in place. His hand slid down to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her cheek bone. This was a little more daring before; he hadn’t shied away from touch—but never so intimate and….electric. But it was as soft as he had found himself imagining a time or two. He could tell she didn’t know what to do as her cheeks turned progressively darker, he breath almost stopping completely. Perhaps he had pushed too far this time. With a small chuckle, he dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “Yes, well—What would you like to order to eat?”

That seemed to jolt her back into a working brain, thought I was obvious she was a little shy and nervous now. “Right, sorry. I..Uhm, maybe from that family restaurant?” Rosa was avoiding eye contact, but she didn’t seem mad so that was enough for Vyn. “The one we, ah…” She was digging through her pockets, presumably for her phone. “The one we went too before.” The one where we had been mistaken for a couple. He remembered clearly, there was a level of Euphoria that came with that whole situation, even if he had be...anxious? Though anxious might not have been the right word.

---

“I think that would be good.” He leaned in, the glow from the evening sun reflecting in his golden eyes, radiating a kindness and affection Rosa couldn’t recall seeing before. Never had she realized that as cold as those eyes could get, they could get so equally warm. Her heart was faltering from nerves. Usually, Rosa felt calm in Dr. Richter’s presence, but when he got so close like this—though this was closer than he had ever been, she felt both like she was floating on air, and sinking into the ground. He made her feel things she simply wasn’t used to. It was….difficult, and she wasn’t entirely sure what any of it meant, but Artem’s warning to keep it business was always in the back of her mind—even if it were far too late for any of that.

“Right, I will call. I think they do delivery, if not walking would be nice.” Yes, fresh air would be good right now. “Actually, why don’t we just walk over and order there and bring it back?” Her phone was up in her hand, almost as if it was shielding her from his intense and potentially unearned affection. She still hadn’t pulled part what all of that with Wayne meant. “It’s a really nice evening and I have been locked in the office for a while.” Hopefully, he would bite.

“That can be done, but are you sure you want to walk? I’m worried you might be tired from over working.” Really, he just wanted to stay here, the two of them but he was willing to relent if he must, and it seemed he must when she nodded and put her phone back in her pocket. It was a shame, but he wouldn’t ruin her fun for his own selfishness.

“Yes, I think it would be nice to take a walk with you.” Rosa had already gone to slide her shoes on and grab a light coat that wouldn’t overly heat her but would be nice in the evening breeze. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to go on a walk with you for a while so it’s perfect; one stone and all of that.” She laughed, finally relaxing again.

Vyn smiled at her with admiration, the smile on her face was worth pushing his own desires deeper down and it’s not like they were going to be away from her home all night, just for a little bit and then he could have her all to himself again. Sliding on his own shoes, he followed her outside and waited for her to lock the door behind them. Satisfied that it was locked, Rosa turned to Dr. Richter with a nod before turning to walk in the direction of the Restaurant. Vyn walked next to her, letting the silence of the calm evening settle over them—pondering over what had made him so bold earlier; not that there was any regrets at all. Perhaps he was simply bursting at the emotional seams. No matter, he was here with her now, and nothing could stop the joy creeping through is heart. Like the vines from misplaced Ivy, she was growing into the cracks in his foundation, and he found it harder and harder to mind.

#tears of themis fic #tears of themis #vyn x mc #vyn richter #my wrting

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lillupon · 3 years

Note

I have social anxiety, so I usually refrain from reaching out, but I love all your fics so much and AEV is my current obsession. I don't like reading WIP fics because I am an impatient person, but here we are. Anyway, chapter 8 *chef's kiss*! Imagining Mingyu's POV of the whole classroom interaction (sexy times) keeps me up at night. He must be so scared Mr. Jeon won't go through with it and when it does happen, I love that he keeps laughing like he just can't believe it. Thank you for this fic!

Hi Anon! I'm glad you reached out. Thanks for joining me here (つ≧▽≦)つ I love imagining AEV from Mingyu's POV--chapter 8 especially! He was truly in heaven that night.

At the beginning of the chapter, during winter vacation, we see Wonwoo putting his utmost effort into tamping down his thoughts about Mingyu. Mingyu, however, has no such qualms. After he gives Mr. Jeon his gift, that boy is floating for the next two weeks straight. The astonishment on Mr. Jeon's face when he flipped open the giftbox lid? The way Mr. Jeon's entire body went soft with emotion? The smile curving his lips when he looked up at Mingyu and said, "I love it."

It made Mingyu feel like he was the only alpha in the world.

It gets Mingyu grinning every time he imagines it. And he imagines it a lot. He wishes Mr. Jeon weren't on blockers, so that he could smell the shy and pleased scent of him. At some point, Chaeyoung asks, "What's wrong with your face?" She squints at him. A slow realisation dawns on her face. "Oh. You have a new omega, don't you?"

It's the first time in Mingyu's life that he wants winter break to be over quickly. That first day back, Mingyu feels like a puppy who had been separated from its owner for fourteen days too many. He missed Mr. Jeon so much. When Mr. Jeon asks him why he's glad to be back, he almost bursts out with, "I wanted to see you."

Fast-forwarding now to that fateful Friday night:

Mingyu loves spending time with Mr. Jeon after school, just the two of them. Rationally, he knows nothing will happen between them, but he finds it thrilling all the same because the possibility is there.

Then again, he never thought Mr. Jeon would go into heat in front of him, so maybe he is a little hopeful...

Mingyu gets bolder when they're alone. The way Mr. Jeon gets flustered--stammering and blushing to the tips of his ears--when Mingyu flirts with him is so cute. He kind of wants to say 'fuck it' to the homework and spend the next two hours flirting with Mr. Jeon and seeing how red he can get. He doesn't even really have homework. He's caught up in all his classes; he just wants an excuse to be around Mr. Jeon.

Mingyu bites back a coo when Mr. Jeon stares down at a stack of quizzes with a certain determination. Mr. Jeon has put a hand on his forehead, as though shielding his face from Mingyu.

A handful of minutes later, Mr. Jeon peeks up at him, equal parts shy and apprehensive. Their eyes meet. A smile curves Mingyu's lips, growing into a grin when Mr. Jeon drops his gaze and a bloom of colour spreads across his cheeks. The alpha inside Mingyu goes wild. He needs to be close.

Mingyu stands and makes his way over to Mr. Jeon's desk with a textbook in hand and a math question on his mind. It doesn't escape his notice, the way Mr. Jeon tugs at his collar, trying to get some air to his heated skin.

That moment when Mingyu realises that Mr. Jeon is going into heat in front him?

Mingyu doesn't believe it at first. He thinks he's just smelling what he wants to smell. Mr. Jeon went into heat last month. It's too soon for another one.

But then Mr. Jeon's tempting and honey-sweet scent grows stronger and more seductive. Mingyu's body reacts to it immediately, flushing hot with arousal.

No way.

The first time Mr. Jeon went into heat in front of him could be attributed to bad luck.

A second time? And following in close succession to that first time?

He doesn't want to assume. But maybe, just maybe... He triggered Mr. Jeon's heats.

Which means, perhaps, that Mr. Jeon is attracted to him, too.

No fucking way.

Mr. Jeon sways, subconsciously drawn forward by his own heat and Mingyu's arousal, and then he yanks himself back. Tripping over his feet; over the chair--sending it rolling into the wall behind. Mingyu doesn't think: he just reacts, lunging forward to catch Mr. Jeon by the elbow. He twists to take the brunt of the fall.

They land in a heap on the floor, limbs entangled. Mingyu's head throbs where he hit his head against the linoleum. Black spots dance across his vision. He groans. "Fuck, that hurt. Are you okay Mr. Jeon?" It's instinct, to check on the omega he likes, before he catalogues his own pain.

That's when he realises that Mr. Jeon is lying stiff atop him, face smashed into Mingyu's neck. They are pressed together from chest to knees in a searing hot line. Their groins are rubbing against each other.

Mingyu smells it before he feels it: Mr. Jeon's growing arousal. Mr. Jeon's erection prods against him.

It gets Mingyu so hard, so fast.

Wonwoo's fingers twitch against his shirt.

"Mr. Jeon?" Mingyu breathes out, shakily. His heart pounds wildly against his ribs.

Mr. Jeon lets out the most piteous whimper Mingyu has ever heard. And then a bit of slick leaks out of his hole. Mingyu catches a whiff of it in the air and it sets his mouth watering.

Mingyu lost the chance to comfort Mr. Jeon when he entered heat back in December, but he sure as hell isn't going to let the opportunity slip by a second time.

He tightens his hold around Mr. Jeon's waist. Tentatively, he places both hands on Mr. Jeon's back. Waits a split-second so that he doesn't startle Mr. Jeon away. He has to act slowly and carefully; Mr. Jeon could bolt at any second.

"It's okay. It's okay..." Mingyu says quietly, pitching his voice low to soothe. I'm going to take care of you. He smooths his hands down Mr. Jeon's back, travelling lower and lower until his hands are gliding over Mr. Jeon's asscheeks. His thumbs skim over the middle seam of Mr. Jeon's trousers, following the crevice of his ass.

Mr. Jeon moans, hot and damp against Mingyu's skin. He spurts slick, just from having Mingyu's hands on him. Mingyu can feel Mr. Jeon's trousers getting wetter and wetter as he kneads his asscheeks. Sweet omega is preparing himself to take an alpha's cock. Mingyu can't resist rubbing the pad of his middle finger over Mr. Jeon's hole, pushing down as far as the fabric will allow him. He can feel it clenching and pulsing under his touch.

"Fuck, Mr. Jeon..." He muffles a groan into Mr. Jeon's hair.

When Mr. Jeon starts rocking his hips Mingyu's brain whites out. His teacher is grinding on him, taking his pleasure and making sweet little noises. It's surreal.

Their erections rub against each other, sending a jolt of pleasure through Mingyu's loins. The motion is hesitant at first. Mingyu holds Wonwoo by the ass and guides the movement, turning the stuttering rhythm into something forceful and desperate that has both of them groaning.

Mingyu digs his fingers into the crevice of Mr. Jeon's ass, forefinger finding his rosebud entrance. He thinks about sliding his hand beneath Mr. Jeon's belt and trousers. He wants to feel, skin-against-skin, how sloppy and heated Mr. Jeon's hole must be, if the amount of slick he is producing is anything to judge by. Just imagining dipping his finger inside to feel the hot and wet clutch of Mr. Jeon's inner walls has him groaning.

Mr. Jeon's cries grow higher in pitch. Mingyu didn't know he was capable of making noises like that, so used to the low and smooth tenor of his voice when he's lecturing in front of the classroom.

"Mingyu," Mr. Jeon chokes out. "Oh, god, I need, I need--" He cuts himself off abruptly.

Mingyu's voice is strained when he says, "What is it, Mr. Jeon? Tell me what you need."

Mr. Jeon shakes his head, his hair tickling Mingyu's chin. The grip he has on Mingyu's shirt tightens. Mingyu can detect the edge of frustration against his pleasure.

"It's okay, Mr. Jeon, you can tell me," Mingyu says.

“I-I can’t," Mr. Jeon strains out. Wetness smears against Mingyu's skin.

Tears?

Mingyu croons. He wants to know what it is that Mr. Jeon wants so much that he's crying with it. What could it be, that Mr. Jeon feels the need to hold back when they've already barreled headfirst beyond all semblance of decorum?

Mingyu suspects he might know. He gives Mr. Jeon a tiny nudge. His voice goes rough and low, drawn from a place deep within his chest; it vibrates with an alpha's command: "Tell me."

Mr. Jeon blurts out, “Fuck me, oh god, please, Mingyu. I need it. I need it—just the tip. Oh, just the tip. Please, please, please—”

Mingyu damn near comes in his pants. His hips jerk and he groans. “Oh, fuck, Mr. Jeon. You’re so fucking hot. Yeah, yeah. I’ll give it to you.”

He can't believe Mr. Jeon is begging for his cock. He's determined to fuck Mr. Jeon so good that he keeps coming back for more and more.

The entire scene feels like a dream, something straight out of his wildest fantasies. No--even his wildest fantasies could not compete with the sight of Mr. Jeon presenting for him: thighs quivering, his needy pink hole desperately clenching down on nothing, his pretty cock dangling heavy between his legs and drooling a clear line of precome onto the ground...

#asks #aev bonus

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chrysalispen · 3 years

Text

pursuit/predation (zenoswol)

This was a lot of fun LMAO I hope you all enjoy reading as much as i did writing it! Commission for @noxi-lumi featuring their WoL, Raziela Undeni <3

NSFW under cut. CW for mildly violent imagery (it is Zenos, after all).

======

Two and a half fulms below the angled opening of his makeshift bolthole, Zenos yae Galvus peered up at the sky with a borrowed face to watch the storm that had raged for two days. The levin-aspected aether in the northern hinterlands of Gyr Abania often lent itself to violent thunderstorms, with static bursts that rendered the escarpment too hazardous to cross. There were waypoints in the mountains to seek shelter from the weather but he had eschewed them, thinking that the fewer encounters to detain (and bore) him, the better.

He had ever chafed at forced inactivity, but all in all, Zenos reasoned, this was but a temporary setback. Man was a beast bred for hunting, a pursuit predator, and he was nothing if not the pinnacle of that ideal. He would do as his ancient ancestors had done: bide his time and await his next opportunity. Once the storm had spent itself, he could go.

He whistled the opening bars of a parade ground march under his breath - a low and toneless sound like loch winds moaning around the corners of sandstone - and let his eyes fall shut.

Seconds and minutes passed as an age. Bereft of aught else to entertain him, his thoughts turned to his memories of the Eorzeans’ champion: that wild creature of sword and spell. Eikon-slayer. Saviour of the savages, so-called. Epithets overheard from idle barracks' chatter, although Zenos set little stock in the distinction between his own kind and the rest of the world as others did. Garleans bled the same, quailed in fear the same, and died screaming the same as any savage, and she had long since proven her mettle to his satisfaction. She strode the world as he did, towering above her fellows, a beast without peer.

He still recalled with crystal clarity the day they had met. Then he had barely paid mind to her paltry attempts to halt his advance; countless enemies had attacked him out of fear or desperation to stave off the inevitable, after all. Even so, he had seen neither of those things in their hero's magenta eyes. A grim sort of determination, to be sure; the steely resolve he would expect of one well-versed in the path he walked himself- but no fear.

There had been another emotion which he still couldn’t quite define, the faintest flicker of something. Curiosity, mayhap. His own exultation in the heat of the fight, mirrored in her mien. A reflection of himself, some alternate path he had never chanced to walk.

Whatever it was he had seen that day, it had moved him to spare her life.

And how right he had been to do it. She was worth a score of tribunes on her own-- fivescore, if the truth be told. Had she agreed to his proposal, or had he kept his word rather than indulge his lust for violence in that precise moment…

How very different things might have been.

Well, perhaps, he amended. They each had their parts to play. But upon the stage of his imaginings, anything was possible. There he could entertain to his heart’s content his fantasies of his friend returned to him, stronger still for her own tribulations.

He meant to duel her again and had no doubt she would oblige him. The prospect of it did not deter him; no, he yearned for the excitement of it. The surge of heat through the veins with each perfectly executed step, air burning the throat and whistling in the lungs, the ever-present specter of death looming over one’s shoulder-- what was violence, in truth, but a dance? Were not those dances with the most precarious, most intricate of steps best enjoyed with a partner of comparable skill?

In the end that was what he had seen in her: a worthy partner, at long last. Whether to stand at his side or to test her blade against his, he would accept both, but to fight his most precious friend once more, to recapture that kindled flame-- that would be a fine thing.

Oh yes, that would be quite fine indeed.

Remembered delight shuddered its way across the surface of his skin, a delicious and almost delicate frisson that bored its way down his spine to curl and tighten in the pit of his belly. Zenos was no stranger to lust; since his majority plenty of his lessers had used their bodies to curry his favor for some petty reason or other, with naught in their hearts save ambition and fear. Carnal knowledge was both prosaic and vulgar, rutting the sole province of mindless beasts, and it had not taken him long to decide that such matters held little of interest or value to him.

But this sweet and languorous warmth, like honey in a well-steeped tea-- he realized that he did not mind it so very much. It reminded him of the menagerie, and his last sight of her before he had opened his own throat and bled out into the flowers. Joy, pure and transcendent.

Yes, he decided; this pleased him.

With a soft grunt Zenos shifted his hips. The motion left him keenly aware of the physical evidence of his arousal against the mild rise below his navel, where it strained against twin cages of cloth and leather for freedom. That spreading ache was not a sensation entirely alien to him, but it did strike him strange how very aware it made him of this borrowed body on such a base level. Heat and hyperawareness punctured the fine invisible layers of his detachment with the pinpoint precision of a sewing needle through linen.

His eyes fell shut once more in a series of slow and lazy blinks: a contented feline drowsing atop a fresh kill.

He settled one hand over the seam of his breeches where the fabric was pulling taut and palmed himself, running his fingers lazily along the firm ridge his cock had formed beneath the thick weave. If he paid heed only to those slow and teasing strokes, he could convince himself that it was her, touching him so intimately---her hand dragging those sharp and immaculate nails he had glimpsed up and down his length. Scratching their points with calculated ease along the underside of his shaft, applying just enough pressure through the fabric to leave tiny trails of fire in their wake.

A soft groan rumbled deep in his chest, and Zenos tilted his chin back so as to rest his head against the rock, thighs spreading to accommodate his girth. What would she do, he mused, should she chance to see him caught in the web of his own desire? Driven to distraction by the mere thought of her, the very picture of the animal in full rut which he had so scorned?

The irony of it would amuse her, he had no doubt about that. Perhaps she might grin at the spectacle.

Perhaps she would even laugh. He presumed to imagine it, a sight and sound he had yet to experience. A wicked, throaty peal of mirth. The toss of short sable locks, the tilt and swivel of long tufted ears, the stretch of her long and graceful neck as she tossed her chin. Grinned at him, feral and dark, that smile he so loved to see before her inevitable riposte.

Savagery to rival his own, swathed in leather and crimson.

So thinking, Zenos’ fingers drifted upward of their own accord, straying from the insistent need betwixt his opened thighs to work at the waistband of his breeches instead.

Lashes fluttered like a courtesan’s fan at the edges of angular cheekbones, suffused with color and dewy with a light band of sweat despite the chill within his shelter. In his mind’s eye, she straddled him as her clever fingers worked the buttons and laces that bound him fast, impatient to pluck her prize from its confines. He fancied he could feel the contained heat of her core against his leg even through the barrier of her smalls, burning as though the sun itself had branded him.

When he raised himself to pull the offending fabric to his knees, it was she who closed her hand about his cock, grasping him just a touch too snugly. Her thumb stroked tiny circles over the foreskin as the shaft lunged eagerly within the cage of her palm; he could almost hear a hum of low-pitched approval. Each stroke she made eased the smooth, hot skin to retract and expose his crown: deeply flushed, its tip already glistening with precum. Zenos sighed, his borrowed body rocking upward to thrust into her hand, seeking friction to accompany that narrow squeeze. Anything would do, really. Except he needed--

Shallow breaths rasped unsteadily in the close space as he slicked his palm with his own saliva, grimaced, then took himself in hand once more.

Wet heat and resistance alone nearly undid him. His startled inhalation made a sharp and rasping echo that he barely heard, lost as he was in his fantasy. She had shed her duelist’s garb, laid herself bare to embrace him with long and powerful thighs, like velvet-wrapped steel. He shuddered at the effort it took to control himself, to let gravity carry her down to sheathe him in her depths, to let her move atop him to counter his thrusts with her own: a beautiful beast with lips for kissing and teeth for tearing. She laid both to work upon his throat and his shoulders with each upward snap of his hips-- drank deep of him, and he of her, until his stomach ached from ribcage to groin with unrelieved tension.

Violence in its own sense, he thought. A dance most intimate, and as real and as pure as the day they had parted.

“Yes, my beast,” he hissed aloud. The sibilant sound of his pleasure rose and reverberated around him, a chorus of empty whispers. “Just so.” His free hand fisted in a handful of loose gravel and his mouth fell slack and the spare limbs and lean angles of this unfamiliar vessel, all wrong, not his, arched like a bowstring. His heels dug into unyielding rock rather than bedsheets for purchase. Her fingers entwined with his, sharp nails grazing his knuckles, tiny cuts to blend with the myriad small scars left by

(hunting. a pale silver-white web of scar tissue in the center of his left palm - his true vessel's left palm - where his fourteen-year-old self pierced it with a crystal. a parting gift to the first man he ever killed. its tendrils radiate outward between each of his fingers like the cracks made in a pane of shattered glass)

arrows and fletching. She was close; he fancied he could hear the labored rattle of her breathing with each small moan she made. Bracing her weight against his torso and balancing upon his thighs to bounce, sounds only he could hear tumbling from imaginary lips parted and glistening, her cunt flexing about him like a silken vise as she approached the edge of release and swept him along like an incoming tide--

--and the pressure in his groin dropped, at last, and when he spilled, his seed splashing over his frantically moving fist and locked fingers and onto the muscled slope of his exposed belly, it was her name which fell from his lips, not hero or beast but Raziela, Raziela.

Long moments passed before he opened his eyes, chest heaving and fingers numb and loosely wrapped about his spent cock, still pulsing beneath his touch. The syllables of her name seemed to echo in his ears, a mantra to recite to himself until he had locked it into his memory to recall at a whim.

He waited in patient silence, willing his pulse to slow and his lungs to expand in an unhurried rise and fall. There was a low rumble from the opening of his shelter and after long moments, a flicker of lightning. The storm was passing and with it the levinstrikes. He would be able to move soon.

With movements as slow and languid as a sleepwalker’s, Zenos reached for the belt he had removed upon entering the cave and dug through its pockets until he found something that would serve as a washcloth. His gaze, as he wiped himself down and rearranged drab layers of linen and oilcloth into some semblance of order, was very far away, fixed upon the thinning clouds and the wheel of stars beyond. The moon hung low in the sky, bloated and orange.

I wonder where you are, my friend, he thought. If you have given thought to our meeting at all.

“Raziela,” he whispered once more, as if testing the sensation of her name on his tongue. In the darkness of the cavern, his eyes glittered like a hungry cat’s.

It was only a matter of time before they were reunited; he would make certain of it. Once he had regained his true form, they would have their dance. A grand reunion upon a great stage, two stars to burn bright, and oh, there would be such a burning. To capture this bliss and relive it with her-- he would give anything in his power, and the very star itself would tremble at their union.

When he emerged from the cavern at last to clear skies and a still night, the moon hid its face behind a passing cloudbank like prey that had caught his scent. And within the bounds of his stolen vessel, Zenos yae Galvus smiled to see it.

#zenos yae galvus #zenos/wol #spicy character studies

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nozomijoestar · 3 years

Text

Cannot get this out my head so just remember what I said about these two becoming more like each other and turn that into an entire piece, if you think abt it they're the same character interpreted two ways as is (tws for one sentence of body horror)

The philosophy of the Trikaya came to mind so I tried to embody it in sections and at times blurring together; my paragraph length is deliberately formatted to show the differences in character, have fun trying to decipher what the paragraph lengths mean for each character mindset

I couldn't decide 100% on what Susumu Hirasawa song fits them best so for now (lyric index) I'm considering Moonlight/Shadow of the Moon, The Master's Mountain, A Strange Night of Omnificence, and Venus

Individually Reina's Hirasawa character song is Day Scanner, Kumiko's is Snow Blind

For non Hirasawa music there’s You by Kazami off the Samurai Champloo ost / Eternal by SCANDAL (lyrics)

Also Yūko is listening to Tupac's Life Goes On & Me Against The World

There was something different. Not a bad thing surely, but different all the same. Was it Kumiko standing straighter than usual? No perhaps it was the way her jaw set while weighing decisions. Maybe it had to do with ease of her touch, or the resolve that could flash like lightening through slow motion at random in her gaze.

Whatever it was and why didn’t change its singularity against all else. It was a difference. The concept sent a chill rippling through her; she imagined a figure being peeled back then rearranged before being resewn. A terrible nausea took her then and her playing faltered. Her fingers may as well have become lead on the trumpet valves. She stopped and lowered her trumpet ever so carefully. Change. Would Kumiko one day forget her sound?

Why had Reina stared at her like that after practice? Was there something in her teeth today? No she couldn't be silly. Reina would never see through her over anything trivial. If you asked Kumiko, that intensity easily took its place as the scariest feeling anyone worth more than five minutes of effort had shown her. But she wasn't saying Reina, or anybody, came off as some pet project! It was just...she couldn't give everybody equal time. There were only so many pieces of herself to split for everyone. There were only so many Kumikos before she burst at the seams. At least, these days there were. She preferred that; she knew what the alternative made her.

If you asked her to rank them though, Reina had a slice so huge it was unfair. Kumiko was sure she knew it too. So why had her eyes grasped her heart? She felt a repeat of the feeling now as it struck her even in memory. She was naked before that stare- like her whole being had unfurled the moment Reina's presence approached. Like she saw herself outside her own body. Like Kumiko could die fulfilled.

Her fingers slid over the cool brass of her euphonium. The way the sensation prickled her skin made the air sharper, let it flow through her touching everything before she exhaled. It didn't come frantic but steady and coaxed.

She brought the mouthpiece to her lips and played. Her eyes closed amid the cicada calls in this familiar nook under the shadow of Kitauji's building. Her feet planted easy on this ground that'd received her sweat and blood without complaint season after season. She played.

She played a note for everything, for every breath gave rise to a memory. High notes lifted joyful moments like bubbles meeting the sky. Low notes spiraled their way up beside them in hesitation, but rising nevertheless. Soon the divide blurred and she no longer knew where the two separated.

Together they soared from her; the music a tapestry woven in on itself over and over. The feeing was older than her, older than anyone she knew living. Notes wandered, whole passages surged endless. The piece that wasn't a piece vibrated her blood. The sound rattled her bones. She played.

Her fingers burned exhaustion asking so much of the euphonium. She didn't dare stop. A little more and it'd take a true shape and-

From everywhere a calm that stood side by side with anticipation washed over her. There came the sound of footsteps. Reina turned the corner eyes widened by a hair and lips barely open. Her cheeks had gone flush coloring her like a human sized red crayon. Seeing her in shock drove Kumiko's mind frantic and buzzing until all she blurted out after scooting backward was-

"Do you have a fever?"

"........I could ask you the same thing. Here."

The water was cold and the bottle sweating condensation. Drinking it melted her adrenaline into lava. Her body aches as if scrubbed raw beneath the heat under her skin. The world spun just for an instant before Reina pressed a second water bottle against her neck.

Kumiko yelped, jumping out her chair and scrambling to keep her euphonium from crashing to the floor. Her shoe trips but in an instant Reina is behind her holding her upright. Water from the bottle Kumiko clutched splashed across their skirts and sleeves. When she registered the cold dripping down her knees the picture of what she'd done snapped into place. Before she could control it her voice stuttered out.

"T-T-thanks. Sorry for the mess."

"It's fine. Come and sit."

She let herself be guided by Reina's hand. When they sat side by side the world became right again. Kumiko still gasped and wheezed as she let Reina's fingers tidy her hair. Over time the motions had graduated from bumbling to meticulous; she couldn't clearly remember a time Reina hadn't been doing this anymore.

"What were you playing? I've never heard it."

The tone to her words made Kumiko's stomach sink a little. It wavered between curiosity and scolding; yet at the same time found itself half smothered by her quiet voice. Had she been at it that long? Her body certainly said more than either could.

"Nothing. Was just free-styling and stuff...practice."

"Practice doesn't almost give you heat stroke."

"Maybe not for you, but if I'm special too now then I have to catch up. If I don't there's no point."

Reina's laugh burst from her clear and free. Kumiko's eyes widened. She knew exactly what was coming. The way Reina's black hair draped down her shoulders, the way this angle teased at her nape, the crinkle of her eyes and wiggling eyebrows as her head was thrown back; everything was Reina, and it emptied her mind. She remained staring with her mouth slack like an idiot when she heard it. Now Reina's voice became love.

"You're awful." 'Don't you know we're already alike?'

Reina had finally deciphered Kumiko's new attitude three days ago. Perhaps. Almost. Maybe. Her hunch was solid. Now she needed proof. She wanted proof so bad her blood boiled. Voices leaked through the band room doors. Picking out Kumiko's laugh was child's play. It had a warm quality she couldn't describe even as it calmed her heart.

She entered and wrestled the surge of emotions she couldn't pick apart coursing through her. Her expression remained flat. Calm. Centered. Reina Kousaka did not roar at the world before an audience.

For whatever reason Kumiko had yet to notice her in their crowd of bandmates. She slowed her steps, kneeled near a wall pretending to search her bag. Kumiko sat with Midori and Hazuki today. Their conversation filled her ears, stoked her irrational fear. That fear which hung over her heavier than a headman's axe. That fear who's tendrils constricted her heart at its leisure.

'You wouldn't abandon me without a word would you?'

Childish, Reina Kousaka!

"That part is so tough. My mom's been putting dinner aside when I come home late."

"You always practice real hard Hazuki. It'll be worth it. That's what Nationals are all about! Don't you think so Kumiko?"

"Lately it sounds like my breath control's gotten stronger. When I play the sound is talking...or something like that. I wanna give it all I've got. So I'm glad we're going for it."

"Who're you now? Reina?"

They giggled even as they complimented her after. It didn't matter, her mind raced. What emotions had coursed now rose to a flood. She felt her heartbeat through her tongue. Pride? Kumiko felt...pride in playing...because of her? At the very least with her as a reason?

"Kousaka what're you doing?"

Yūko loomed over her causing Reina to smack into her pink headphone wire when she turned. She flinched and rubbed her nose. She looked up at her; her mind blanked.

"Checking my things."

"You must have a museum in there to be checking your bag for three minutes straight. You look super weird, what's going on?"

No quips or barbs loaded in response; nor could anything dampen the joy already swirling in her head. Besides, any qualms with Yūko were long outgrown. Why dwell on what was settled? Her body still tingled. Kumiko was proud because of her.

Yūko kept staring in anticipation as the song blaring through her headphones faded into another. Reina noticed that little twist of the mouth she did whenever she got impatient. Reina's lips moved to answer her but Yūko cut her off.

"Fine. You don't have to tell me. It better not divide the band though."

"...It's between me and Kumiko. No one else."

"Oh. In that case uh...if you want to talk to someone..."

Watching Yūko look away and scratch her chin awkwardly made her swallow a laugh. Instead she smiled and nodded. Maybe she should blame her mood but a calmness settled her back into reason. Like a bridge connecting, a hand outstretched, she grasped Yūko's kindness. It was good to be alone, not lonely.

"I will. Thanks."

Nights on Mount Daikichi were more natural for them than breathing. Cloaked in the silver and blue of moonlight they glowed at first glance. Countless lights below lit the city like a map of stars. Like gazing up at the sky on Tanabata to find Orihime and Hikoboshi. The cicadas buzzing filled in their silence that wasn't silence. They held their breath even as they breathed.

"When you think about improving, what does that really mean?"

Reina inched her pinky atop Kumiko's. Kumiko did the same. Her head went back as she watched the sky.

"Hmmm...probably a road. There's a place far away just enough for me to see. I don't know everything it has; I know because of that, chasing it makes me better. I used to think it had to stay straight once I started. Kinda stupid, 'cuz I take turns on it all the time. You?"

Reina paused a moment, face contemplative.

"There are stars. Most despite sitting in the sky are far from the moon. Most burn out. Some fall. Fewer get their chance beside the moon. Their light shines the longest. Their light inspires people."

"Pft hehe, there you go saying stuff like a book character again. That's just like you. Is there any room for the band up there?"

"...Maybe..."

"Is there any room for me?"

Without warning Reina leaned closer; her expression went stern. Her voice faltered though it tried being firm. It was the softest tone Kumiko had heard in her life.

"Don't ask stupid questions."

"Ok. I won't."

Their foreheads touched and the cool breeze turned warm on their skin.

"What do you think of the others then...past and present?"

Kumiko shut her eyes. Aoi. Haruka. Kaori. Natsuki. Shūichi. Nozomi. Mizore. Midori. Hazuki. Yūko...Asuka.

The faces of all who's paths intersected and footsteps left prints as guides, tethers connecting her to the universe, appeared in her mind. Each had drawn on a blank sheet of her soul. They were nowhere near her yet she felt them echo. They were her as she was them.

"Unrivaled under Heaven."

"Now who's talking like a novel character?"

"Cut it out." Kumiko replied through a chuckle.

Their eyes met. Reina smirked but only for a pause. She inched forward, asking a question. Kumiko shut her eyes again.

The kiss was unlike anything before and possibly after. An explosion of sensations though they didn't move a muscle. There was no time to remember it yet each second couldn't be forgotten. Feelings of melting, soaring, absolving, each melded and surpassed bliss. The result transcended any name they could give it. A release.

They pulled away. Both panted for air then examined each other as if for the first time. They no longer looked; they saw. They no longer knew, they understood.

Many questions were on the verge of pouring; instead Kumiko cupped Reina's cheeks and smiled. Her thumbs brushed off the forming tears. She didn't say a word when Reina fell into her arms. She simply rested a hand on her head and held her trembling body.

The moon's brightness peaked. If you asked her, it'd moved a little closer.

#my writing #hibike! euphonium #kumirei

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fourmarkdove · 4 years

Text

Cider.

Prompt: How about an angsty Henry x reader: she is told during a nightmare/dream that she has only one day left to live - and that she must not reveal anything to her loved ones! Waking up in Henrys arms and realize how lucky she was... Even if it couldnt last forever... @scorpionchild81

Title: Cider.

Words: 3k

Summary: Hurt/Comfort. Angst. Fluff. You hear in a dream you have only one day left to live.

Paring: Henry x reader

Warnings/Triggers: Anxiety, nightmares, panic attacks, dissociative disorder, death/dying. DD/lg if you squint and stand on one foot. (I think that’s everything?)

A/N: Pretty close to the prompt. Comments welcome. Thanks for reading!

Henry inhaled deeply, expanding his lungs audibly as he sat up in the bed you shared. He stroked a soothing hand over the curve of your hip while squinting in the dark, searching for the sound that woke him.

Clutching onto your pillow, you buried your face and mewled into it. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched you lying on your side, tense from the battle behind your closed eyes. His brows knitted with concern. It’d been so long since the nightmares claimed you, he thought for the last few weeks that maybe they’d gone altogether. He was clearly mistaken.

Dropping onto his forearm beside you, he carded his fingers through your hair and called to you gently. His first instinct was to burst through those fiery doors to hell and drag you back to this side of consciousness and safety, but it never worked that way. He had to tread gently, let you return to him on your own time. And it was incredibly painful to watch and wait for.

“Darling?” he beckoned, scratching the stubble on his chin over your shoulder like a puppy. “I’m here.”

Your lips parted and nails clawed into the pillow so sharply that the fabric finally ripped along the seam and soft white feathers fluffed out. A frown set his features hard. Cuddling his much larger frame to you, his thick arms encompassed you completely and thighs drew up close behind yours. He pressed his lips just behind your ear and let his warm breath fan over your skin.

“I’ll wait right here with you, Nugget.” As he began to gently rock your body, your grip on the pillow relaxed and he cooed into your ear about what a good girl you were.

Keeping his arms flexed tightly around your body, he hummed a soft tune, remembering how you always fell asleep in his arms in the hammock out back. He’d put a foot down to keep the two of you swaying, and he’d settle you on his chest, right under his chin, so you’d feel it when it’d rumble in his chest. Eventually you’d succumb to his comforting, and he’d feel your body melt into his long frame. He’d scratch the back of your arms, rub circles over your back, even hold your ass with a squeeze that’d make you sigh. You called it the ‘anxious hammock‘; his woman could call it anything she wanted so long as she felt protected and loved in it.

You’d been extra anxious lately with the news and social distancing and people in your social circle getting sick. And with him leaving your self imposed quarantine to focus on training going back to the Witcher set soon, it really ramped up your anxiety.

It expressed itself little by little, starting with hugs around his neck as he was about to leave for the gym, but then when he would straighten up, you’d still be clinging on, dangling off of your feet. He’d chuckle and kiss all over your face, leaving you smiling. But other times, he’d find you hugging your knees, tears rolling down your cheeks until the shower ran cold and turned your lips almost blue.

Other nights, he fully knew what your migraines looked like, so when you’d pretend to have one just so you could avoid dinner, he worried. He still finished dinner, cleaned up a bit, walked Kal and came to bed early with that lavender lotion you liked smeared into his palms. You and he spent a lot of time in that bed together, or the hammock, or the shower, just touching and being together.

When things felt so uncertain and all of the words and tears were wrung out, you’d take turns massaging oil or lotion into each other. He always needed his kitten’s touch kneading against his sore muscles. And you needed his strength to pull you from the anxious knots you tied yourself into.

It really should have come as no surprise that the nightmares returned. The problem was that he wanted to do more - to solve an unsolvable problem - and that frustrated him to no end. He applied himself and conquered so many other areas of his life but in this part, the most important part, he had to be patient.

Sliding his arm under your head like a pillow, he gently tilted your hips back into him to locate the blanket you tucked between your legs. He knew this was more of a marathon than a sprint, so he settled in with a clenched jaw and tried to exhale slowly and sleep.

The black void is a gasping, vacuous, gaping maw threatening to consume first your sanity and then eternity. You can feel the voice rattling through your rib cage, long before the words make conscious sense.

“One day,” the voice calls from nowhere and everywhere. “One day left and then no more.”

Your entire body shudders free of its own volition and you’re aware of the crisp, scratchy bedsheets under your body. Antiseptic. Something metallic on your tongue. Dripping, beeping, wooshing. Buzzing purple fluorescent lights above. Your eyes roll open, vaguely aware of a nurse checking bags, pushing buttons, lifting your blankets. No privacy, no options, no voice.

Why am I here in this hospital? Why am I alone? ‘One more day’ and then - no more?

Panic sets in. You want to scream but the words won’t come out. There’s so much you wanted to do with your life. So many places you were going to see. You wanted to start a family with Hen... wait. Where is Henry? Does he know where you are? What if he doesn’t and you never get to say goodbye?

The thought of tears spilling over those bright blue eyes of his, knowing you’d never be able to hold him again, kiss him again made everything in your being ache. You are desperate to cry out but nothing. It’s as if you’re dead already.

Almost as soon as his long lashes closed over his stormy blue eyes, like falling down into your own body, every muscle jerked and you gasped back into consciousness.

Scrambling to sit up, you drew your legs in to get your feet under you. You tore away the covers and your hoarse voice ripped through your parched vocal cords: “Hhhhhhennnnryyyy!”

“I’m here, Nugget,” he offered, his broad shoulders ghosting behind you.

Despite its size, his hand curving around your ribs was incredibly gentle. You shuddered at his touch; horror darkened your pupils and bottom lip quivered like a harp string vibrating to the point of breaking. Your nails clawed desperately into the sweatpants covering his thigh. Lips parted, but no words formed just yet; your eyes closed tightly and fingers touched your lips ruefully.

“Just a dream, sweet,” he comforted in a strong baritone, wrapping his whole hand around your small fingers. “You’re alright. See? Your Henry Bear is right here. Let me hold you, darling?”

Nodding emphatically, you dug your toes into the sheets and launched your whole body at him, not thinking for one moment about how pathetic your whimpers and trembling arms clinging around his neck might have seemed.

His brows lifted in the center and he continued to follow your gaze right up until you buried your face in his neck. The corner of his lips ticked upwards only briefly, before he nuzzled his face into your hair.

It was stored in his muscle memory by now just where to grasp under your bare thighs, so you could bend your knees and spread over his hips so he could ease you down into a more comfortable position in his lap. There was no awkwardness negotiating who needed to move which limb where because you’d been doing this for years.

Only recently there was less blushing over soaked panties or groans caused by awkward erections; just within the last six months you found yourselves single simultaneously and decided to give it a try.

Your breath was hot and stilted between sobs into his shoulder; his stubble along his jawline was scratchy against your forehead and temple but you didn’t mind. You just needed the closeness. Lifting your hair up into a ponytail, he pursed his lips, and blew cool air across your sweaty neck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he questioned, rubbing slow circles with spread fingertips over your back. Your body tensed at his words but began to relax again when you wound your fingers dipped into his chocolate curls.

“I… don’t want to die,” you could barely whisper over his broad shoulder. “I don’t want YOU to die.”

“Oh Nugget,” he sighed, kissing the nape of your neck. “You dreamed I died?”

“No,” you hiccuped, pulling away and tapping the K on his soft gray shirt, attempting to distract yourself while you explained. “I was. And I wasn’t - wasn’t going to see you and - My heart, Hen. It - it feels broken.”

Cupping your face in both hands, he lifted your gaze and kissed your wet cheeks. “Look at us right now…”

Sniffling, you tucked your hands in between his biceps and forearms. “I know. I - It just felt so real. It feels so real. I’m not sure this feels real. It’s too nice to be real. You are too nice. I don’t know how to be sure...”

Deep worry lines etched over his forehead. Pressing his lips together in a flat line, his nostrils flared and he crossed his arms over his chest, peeling off his shirt.

The bear of a man breathed deep and slow, opening his hands to you. He gave you a wide berth; there would be no forcing - ever. His was a silent invitation to this familiar tango you’d only ever done with him.

Your gaze darted from his large palms resting against your thighs to his patient blue eyes watching you carefully.

“It’s alright, darling,” he encouraged, the softest of smiles lifting the apples of his cheeks. He wiggled his long fingers and you held your breath, sliding your hands into his. You felt the rough spots and calluses from the weights, the weaponry, the rope work, the horses. He worked so hard and should be sleeping right now instead of dealing with whatever mess you brought to him.

His soft kiss pressed to your forehead drew you from your thoughts. “Keep going,” he whispered against your hairline and you narrowed your eyes, focusing on his hands again.

They were warm and so strong holding you and - oh - his middle and index fingers. The amazing things they did together. You forced yourself to stop thinking of it but your two fingers stroking inside his two fingers, and the furious blush across your cheeks, made him chuckle.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned broadly. Despite your blush, you continued to dance your fingertips inside his forearms, feeling the veins and sinewy muscle, the thick curve of his biceps and and shoulders. With a soft sigh, you lifted your head, kissed his clavicle and nuzzled into the light smattering of his scratchy chest hair. It was your favorite place to cuddle into.

His particular masculine scent filled your senses and soothed every frayed, exposed nerve in your body; his musk reminded you of spices like cinnamon and nutmeg, orange and cranberry being mixed into hot apple cider on a crisp fall day.

You continued to lazily trace lines along his ribs and down his back, but he knew by your sigh that you’d come home. Tenderly sweeping your hair over your shoulder, he slowly and deliberately slid one arm high across your shoulders and the other low around the small of your back.

“I’m sorry, my love,” you murmured, your voice returning to its usual sweet timbre. It signaled you were returning from the frenzied dissociative state kicked off by that horrifically anxious nightmare. It meant he could speak to you differently, touch you differently.

“You don’t need to be, sweetheart,” he countered, kissing your forehead.

Sweeping your fingers along the stubble of his jawline, you cooed whisper softly and tentatively brushed your lips to his. Securing you to himself, he touched noses and parted lips, deepening the first kiss. Your fingers pushed into the back of his hair and tugged just gently enough to make you both smile.

With a deep, rumbling purr, he grabbed your hips and rolled you easily under him. He caressed two knuckles over your temple and teased your lips apart with his; he chuckled when you chased after his mouth for another.

But you pressed the heels of your palms against his chest and immediately he planked his body, lifting all of his considerable weight off of your much smaller frame.

Shutting his eyes tight, he huffed an exasperated breath and clenched his jaw. He should have known better. It was much too soon to touch you like this.

He intended to roll off and give you all of the comforting and cuddles you needed - until you wiggled a little under him. You shifted just a bit on the bed, reaching down and dragging your t-shirt up your bare stomach. His head was dropped just enough so his dark curls caressed your chest when you lifted your shirt off over your head and sighed softly under him.

You couldn’t help but giggle just a little at the arched brow and wide eyes he gave you when his gaze dragged up your nearly naked body to your face again.

“Ahem.” He cleared his throat. “Ah, all better?”

“Yes, my love. Thank you.” Your answer was purely peaches and innocence during the act of wrapping your arms behind his neck drawing him down to you; only this time, he kept some of his weight lifted onto his forearms tucked under your shoulders.

“I thought I was crushing you.” He had a hint of playful warning in his tone.

“Oh. No, you know I love it even if you were,” you cooed, bending your knees and drawing your soft thighs up his ribs. “Isn’t it Oxytocin from the skin to skin contact?”

He smirked and grunted, catching one of your feet working on dragging the sweatpants down his hip. “I take it you’re feeling better.”

The corner or your lips twitched and your chest felt heavy all over again. You hated to admit it but the specter always lingered. “At the moment.”

“I know darling. We do these things one day at a time though, don’t we? Sometimes, by the minute?” He glanced up while you rolled the curls of his hair over your fingers. Collecting your wrist, he drew it to his mouth and kissed your hand.

Swallowing hard, you blinked but a tear escaped and rolled down your temple.

“Hey, shhh, Nugget.”

You sniffled and looked up into those beautiful, truly concerned, blue eyes of his. “You’re so much better than I deserve, Henry.”

He sighed and his shattered heart tore away from your gaze. Rocking his hips further down between your legs, he wrapped both arms under the small of your back and rested his head on your chest.

It was the first he’d ever put himself in that position unless... he was there to give your breasts some attention? Your nipples hardened at the thought of his hot mouth sucking. He must have seen, or felt your nipple pebbling so near to his lips, because he fisted the edge of the bed sheet and covered your exposed skin.

Uncertain what to do exactly, you laid quietly and listened to his deep breaths and slow heartbeat for a long time. It wasn’t until you heard his breathing pause and stutter that your stomach dropped. “Henry? What’s wrong?”

“I just don’t know what else to do. What other way can I say it so you’ll understand?” His stormy eyes were dark and cheeks flushing pink when he put his chin on your sternum and glanced up at you. “I’m a patient man but you sure are putting me through my paces, sweetheart.”

Panic started to tighten your chest. Hearing your heartbeat and breathing quicken, he pressed his palm over it and spread his thumb away from his fingers to kiss your skin hidden under it.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. This isn’t what I wanted.”

“What did you want?” You asked bracing yourself with a fistful of sheets in each hand, practically panting the words.

Bearing his teeth, he sat up and stroked your cheek with his calloused thumb. “I want you to not be afraid anymore. I want to take away all of that worry in that beautiful mind of yours.”

As he swept the pads of his fingers over your forehead and down your nose, you gave them a kiss when they passed over your lips.

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, swallowing hard so his Adam’s apple bounced. Your brows lifted, confused, but before you could ask, he dropped onto his side and pulled you to him, sheets and all. Legs and arms tangled together, you touched foreheads and shared the same warm breath fanning over each other’s skin.

“Hen?”

“Mhmm.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Nugget.”

“Hen?”

“Hmm.”

“I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. Even if it was only a minute. And in the middle of nowhere. I’d want that last minute with you. That’s home… with you. If that’s okay with you, I mean.”

You thought for a moment that the wide eyed expression he gave you was surprise, until a smile lifted his features so brightly, his canines appeared. His mouth pressed to yours, gently at first, but taking a breath, he tipped your head and closed his lips over your top one, causing you to whimper and give him your bottom lip next. As your kisses became more hungry by the second, your attention was drawn from his tongue flexing into your mouth to his hands at your back.

They were fumbling with something, although you couldn’t tell quite what. Reaching behind you curiously, he grasped your hand and pressed his thumb inside your palm. Instinctively, you closed your fingers around it as he returned your hand to your chest.

He flicked his tongue over his bottom lip and grinned. “Until I can get you a real diamond,” he panted breathlessly, lips reddened and slightly swollen.

Peering down inside your closed hand, you recognized the gold flash immediately. “Henry, darling, you can’t give me your signet ring!”

He scoffed, arching an eyebrow and collected your left hand, “’Course I can.”

Putting your entire ring finger in his mouth, he pulled off the artificial pearl you wore with his teeth and slid his ring on instead, making you giggle and wiggle your fingers.

“It’s a bit large,” you confessed, attempting to keep your fingers pressed tightly together. Turning your hand over, he let it drop into his palm and slid it onto your thumb instead.

“It’s only temporary,” he reminded you, lying back on the pillows and opening his arms so you could put your head on his chest. He let out a long, gruff sigh feeling your body settle down tucked in against him. Closing your eyes, you already felt your body starting to get heavy.

“You know,” he continued, gently raking his spread fingers through your hair, “I wanted to kiss you the first night we met.”

“That birthday party?” you cooed, nuzzling along his jawline. “That was almost ten years ago, Hen. I wonder where we’d be if you would have.”

“I imagine the exact same place. Only there’d be a couple more pairs of little feet running up and down the hall. What do you think, darling?”

You’d have absolutely agreed, and probably squealed at the thought, but you were already fast asleep by the time he finished his sentence. And it was the best sleep you’d had in months.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x you #henry cavill comfort #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill imagine #fourmarkdovewrites

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octopodeez · 4 years

Text

Wasted Time (Elijah Mikaelson x Reader)

Based on this request: Can I request a Elijah X reader where the reader is good friends with Elijah and Klaus teases her to be in Love with him, and she acts like Elijah knows and might forces him to play along, turning out they both have feelings for each other but didn't admit it? Klaus playing match maker

Your coven warned you to stay away from New Orleans, but you felt you had a pilgrimage to make. The entire city was known to be bursting at the seams with magic, and you’d dreamt of going since the moment you cast your first spell. You longed to tap into that energy. Maybe even pick the brains of some of the local witches to see what they could teach you.

You also admittedly had a curiosity about the very thing you were warned about: the war. Word spread fast about the city’s chaos once the original family made their return. Vampires and werewolves and witches were battling in the shadows, right under the noses of every tourist and townie. It was fascinating, and you figured a little quiet observation wouldn’t hurt anyone. Your naivety was laughable.

Not 24 hours into your trip did you end up becoming a pawn passed back and forth between the witches and the vampires. A wildcard for every side to use—new blood in the game. It ended with your coven alienating you. They wanted no part in any of it, especially when the original family was involved, and to offer you safe harbor was to bring the bloodshed to them. The witches of New Orleans gave you a similar answer when you desperately sought refuge with them, though, theirs ended with plans to execute you.

And then there was Elijah. Elijah who found you labeled as a traitor, about to be sacrificed. Elijah who rescued you and gave you his word that he’d keep you safe.

The living situation wasn’t ideal, and you lost the ability to move freely about the city, but over time, you came to like it. Winning over his siblings wasn’t easy, especially Klaus, but after Elijah reminded him that he was the one to drag you into this, he softened slightly.

You did your best to earn your keep, though Elijah insisted you didn’t have to. You’d happily cast spells upon request, but mostly you found yourself cooking and cleaning. It irritated Rebekah to no end when she came around.

My brothers are over 1,000 years old, if they haven’t learned to pick up after themselves by now then they deserve to live in filth, she chided the first time you met. If you must do something, make it to be that you keep to yourself. The less involved with our family you are, the better. Trust me on that.

You nodded along for her benefit, and even took her advice for a bit while she was there. But the second she left again, you were back to making cookies and disposing of bodies.

Occasionally things would quiet down. Someone would propose a flimsy peace treaty, or a faction would be forced to withdraw as they licked their wounds. It was those times that Klaus was at his most dangerous. Without the distractions of war, he had time to turn his attentions to other things…namely your friendship with Elijah.

At first, he was relatively quiet about it. He’d shoot smug, knowing glances and take the occasional vague jab in one of your directions. But as time went on and his boredom grew, he became far more vocal about what he’d suspected since day one: you and Elijah were in love.

He was half right. You had it bad for his elder brother, and everyone knew, save for Elijah himself. Or rather—he did know and simply chose not to acknowledge it. The latter was more likely. Few were more perceptive than Elijah, and there was absolutely no way he didn’t catch you staring at him as he read or lighting up whenever he walked within six feet of you. You’d come to terms with it quickly, and decided it was probably for the better he didn’t say anything. He’d quickly become your closest friend, and you’d rather have that than nothing at all.

Klaus decided otherwise.

“Your affections for my brother are exhausting, you know,” he said one day. He was leaning against your doorframe with his arms loosely crossed, watching you change your bedsheets.

You sighed and fiddled with a pillowcase. Ignoring him had never made him go away in the past, but you could sure as hell still try.

He remained persistent. “It’s no secret you fancy our dearest Elijah, and your longing stares after him are losing their humor.”

“So you’ve caught me looking at your brother a few times. What’s the big deal?” You snapped.

Klaus clicked his tongue after finally getting the reaction he wanted out of you.

“It seems I’ve struck a nerve, little witch.”

“No, I’m just tired of having this same conversation. I don’t know what you’re hoping to get out of it. Or are you just jealous?” There was venom in your voice and Klaus looked more delighted by the second.

“You’re not my type, love, but thank you for keeping me in your thoughts,” he replied. His sarcasm made your blood boil. “A quick word of advice—my brother seldom opens his heart to others. If you do choose to grow a spine and act upon your feelings…just know I’ll gladly reach down your throat and rip it right back out, should you ever hurt him.”

***

Klaus’s words stuck with you. They kept you up that night and well into the morning as they played in your mind over and over again. My brother seldom opens his heart to others. My brother seldom opens his heart to others. My brother seldom opens his heart to others. You knew better than to read into it. Hearts could open for friends just as much as for lovers…but could they really?

“You look conflicted.”

Elijah appeared in the kitchen with impeccable timing, as usual. You had just shoved a large spoonful of cereal in your mouth, and now your cheeks were swollen with Cheerios. A dribble of milk dripped down your chin and you nearly choked as you scrambled to wipe it away. He smiled and waited patiently for you to recover.

“What?” You finally managed. It was the first time you spoke since rolling out of bed and the sound was less than pleasant.

“You look conflicted,” he repeated, and then added “did you not sleep well?”

“Oh, no, I slept fine. Or, I guess I had a little trouble falling asleep…woke up a few times, too. But other than that, fine,” you stammered. Each word was clumsier than the next.

“Mm. Perhaps you should take it easy today. Maybe draw yourself a bath later on. You’re welcome to use the tub in my room. I expect it’s a bit nicer than yours.”

You nearly choked again. In all your fantasies and daydreams, you’d somehow never pictured him in the bath until now. Your mind’s eye was practically whirring with excitement as you envisioned him relaxed. Head leaned back. Eyes shut. Breathing deeply as one arm hung lazily over the porcelain’s edge. The other had its fingers wrapped delicately around the stem of a wine glass, filled with an unmistakable shade of deep red liquid. An empty blood bag lay crumpled and discarded on the floor. Nothing sexual. Nothing romantic. Just the wonderful idea of Elijah experiencing a rare moment of bliss.

He must have heard your heart skip a few beats. The clearing of his throat snapped you back to reality.

“Sorry! Maybe I’ll take you up on, uh, that. I’m not really feeling myself today.”

“You don’t say. What happened?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t sleep well.”

Elijah stayed quiet for a beat. He looked at you expectantly. Waiting for you to confirm what he already knew: you were full of shit. You pretended not to notice. You’d sit at this table, stubbornly eating the same bowl of Cheerios for an eternity before you willingly gave up the fact that he was the reason for yet another sleepless night.

“I noticed Niklaus coming from the direction of your room last night…so allow me to ask you again. What happened?” His voice was firm and his eyes were narrowed. Had you not known better, you would have almost thought he was jealous.

“Nothing! Klaus was just being Klaus, I don’t know! He stopped by, bugged me while I was trying to clean my room, then left. No conspiracies. No secret love affairs. Nothing new to report.” You chomped down on another spoonful of cereal. Everything came out harsher than you meant it to, but you had no intentions of apologizing.

“Is that so? Because if I recall the conversation I had with my brother last night as he left your room, the placement of your spine was threatened on my behalf…I suppose the question I should be asking isn’t what happened, but for how long?”

You spent so much time daydreaming about Elijah over the short course of your friendship. You pictured a life together. Maybe even an eternity, if he offered to grant it. You imagined what it would be like to feel him drink from you. The way he’d rest his hand on your waist as you drifted to sleep in a shared bed. The taste of his lips between sips of champagne on some far-off beach.

There was a part of you that felt terribly foolish. If something were to happen, it would have happened. He would have acted upon the tension he damn well knew was there. Your relationship was platonic because that was all he wanted it to be. But then there was another part of you. The same part of you that brought you down to New Orleans to begin with. That voice in the depths of your brain that kept whispering Klaus’s words: My brother seldom opens his heart to others.

“A while,” you finally confessed. It felt anticlimactic. Of the thousands of heartfelt speeches you’d planned over the months knowing him, all you could muster was two miserable words.

“I see. And you said nothing.”

“Right.”

Unable to look at him, you grabbed your empty bowl and moved towards the sink, but only made it halfway before he was in front of you, blocking your path.

The way he studied you made you feel small and exposed, a feeling you’d experienced many times in your life, but never to this degree. His body was close to yours. You could feel his breath lightly on your skin. It rippled over every nook and cranny of your being, making your hairs stand on end. If you wanted to, you could reach out and kiss him—and you did want to, badly--but you remined frozen in time, waiting for him to speak.

He never said a word.

His hand found its way to you neck, and he tangled his fingers in your hair as he kissed you. It was tender, but had an underlying fire to it that made your knees buckle. You wrapped your arms around him for support. To draw him in closer, closer, closer, closer, until you had to come up for air. He allowed you to take a breath, just enough to keep your heart pounding, before kissing you again, somehow with even more fervor than before.

When it was finally done, Elijah smiled and held you against his chest. He kissed the top of your head. The side of your neck. The shell of your ear.

There was so much wasted time to make up for.

I’m not super crazy with how this one turned out, but matchmaker Klaus was a ton of fun to write! If you like what you see, check out my AO3 and master list :)

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson imagine #the originals #daniel gillies #elijah imagine #klaus mikaelson #reader insert #tvd #the vampire diaries

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fatefulfaerie · 4 years

Text

Memory

Link couldn’t see any of the castle from where he sat, his feet dangling over the ledge of the large rock and his hands planted behind him in his comfortable lounge. From Tarrey Town, the Akkala Citadel Ruins and descending sharp peaks and valleys of Death Mountain’s lower sections covered up the castle in its entirety.

In places such as this, it was easy for Link to forget his responsibility, at least for the moment. But for the blue Sheikah tower rising above the citadel and Vah Rudania’s red stream of light aimed at an angle towards a castle he couldn’t see, it was places like this that surely allowed the people of Hyrule to forget about what Daruk called “that swirling swine”.

There was a peace and a resounding apathy they had that he simply couldn’t submit to. After all, a hundred years was a long time. People had survived the Calamity, had given life to children and grandchildren in a world Link saw as ruined. This was their normal, as thus Hyrule was, for the most part, complacent.

But he couldn’t be.

As relaxing as the sunset was upon Akkala, he couldn’t rest within it. Call it his inner courage, that pushed him into battle with a confidence unbefitting of an amnesia-ridden warrior. Call it his sense of justice, that looked at Hyrule and its state of ruin and felt pulled to correct it by some instinct he couldn’t explain. Call it something else entirely, something that burned and ached within him whenever he heard her voice or saw her face.

Link was restless in a world that rested upon chaos, and there were so many reasons to explain why.

“I was wondering where you wandered off to.”

Link looked behind him, his eyes following Hudson as he sat next to him. It wasn’t long after Hudson settled that Link’s gaze went back to the sunset.

“I wanted to thank you,” Hudson started. “For everything you did to bring this town together, for even introducing me to my wife because of that. Really, I can’t thank you enough. You really are amazing.”

Link shook his head as he looked out at the distance.

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” Hudson said with a slight chuckle. “But I do know that it’s hard to find someone in Hyrule who will drop everything for someone else. It’s an admirable trait, and so is your humility.”

Link took a pause. He was in this conversation now, whether he wanted to be or not. And he could tell from his tone of voice that Hudson wanted from him what Link knew he could do the least.

Explain himself. And make conversation.

“I think I just…” He tried before exhaling a breath. “...needed some busy work...I’m nervous about something.”

Hudson nodded.

“That was me this morning,” he said. “Before the nuptials I was so nervous. I needed to make sure every little thing was perfect, prepare myself in every possible way, for every possible circumstance, almost training myself to be ready.”

“Seems kind of obsessive,” Link said, knowing he was projecting, knowing that for the past three months he had gone to every shrine, explored every corner of Hyrule, fought any malicious monster that would put up a fight. He was fueled by the pure fear of failing Hyrule again, failing her again.

“How did you get out of it?” Link asked.

“Trusted myself,” he said. “That I was ready, that in a way, I’ve always been ready, that when it comes down to it, there’s only so much I can do.”

Link nodded in understanding. It was time. It felt like time. In fact, it had felt that way for a while now. Link had felt the desire to right the wrongs of his failure ever since he first paraglided onto the soil of Hyrule.

And yet the more he ventured through it, the more he learned of his weaknesses, the more he learned of the champions’ death, the destruction of the Hyrule he was supposed to save, his fall at Blatchery Plains, the more he doubted he was worthy of the Princess’ confidence. He could smell the way his blood ached in his nose, he could feel the Princess’ hands as she clutched onto him, the tug on his heart as he inwardly insisted upon staying alive for her, his neck pulling the weight of his head to ensure that if he were to see one last thing before he died, it would be her.

That was his failure, dying at Hyrule’s greatest hour of need, but his recompense for that was surviving, given the opportunity to become stronger by perhaps the goddesses themselves, the opportunity to save her. And thus, his determination to not fail her again consumed him with a near obsession of self-improvement.

“What about you, huh?” Hudson asked, completely interrupting Link’s train of thought. “Got someone special?”

“No...no…” Link said with a bashful chuckle and a bowed head, as if averting his glance from the sunset.

“Oh come on,” Hudson insisted, not believing Link in the slightest. “Strapping young lad like you, there’s got to be someone.”

Green eyes shone in his mind like emeralds in the moonlight, but even brighter was the smile he liked to imagine her wearing, that made his heart burst at the seams. He thought of her blonde hair billowing in the wind as the breeze shifted upon him, rocking his own strands of light brown hair.

“Maybe once, but…” Link said. “We’re kind of...separated.”

“Bad break up?” Hudson asked.

“Something like that,” Link said, trying not to laugh at the fact that he was fairly certain they were never ‘together’ in the first place. They never got the chance. The term ‘separated’ was a bit more literal.

“Do you still love her?” Hudson asked.

Link looked up, looking in the direction of the castle, his blue eyes extending beyond this conversation.

“Yes,” Link said with a piercing vulnerability and a breathlessness, as if it was the first time he said it out loud.

“Then that’s all that matters,” Hudson said. “Go to her and show her your love. I’m sure she’ll take you back in a heartbeat.”

That wasn’t the problem. Well, it was a problem, whether her love for him lasted a hundred years or not, and after that, all that foreign relationship stuff, but that was something to suss out much, much later. The problem now was his readiness to save her and not fail.

“Y-yeah totally,” Link said in reply before out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hudson standing up.

“I’ll leave you to your pondering,” he said. “I bet Rhondson is looking for me anyway. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Yeah,” Link said, turning his head to force a small smile.

“And be sure to invite us to the wedding,” Hudson said as he walked off. Link didn’t have the energy to correct him, to chase after him and insist upon the ridiculousness of that concept. Technically, they were still only seventeen and Hudson didn’t know he was talking about a princess, or that Link was nervous about something much more perilous.

Link shook his head as his gaze returned to look at the sunset, imagining the castle bathed in that same light behind the citadel.

“Trusting myself,” Link whispered.

He purposefully fell to his back with an exasperated sigh. His fingers interlocked and his hands resting on his forehead.

Could he really do this? Was he really ready to face Calamity Ganon? All this extra time, was he ready earlier? Stressing too much over being perfect? He just needed to win once, to defeat Calamity Ganon once. Maybe it wasn’t about feeling ready, one moment he didn’t know he was waiting for where everything clicks into place. Maybe it was just about getting up the courage to try.

He closed his eyes slowly with his next inhale, searching for the motivation and finding it quickly.

You’re going to be just fine.

Her voice was soft, like an angel as his mind replayed the memory. With what seemed a great effort his glance shifted to her. His head rested on her shoulder and he could feel the love in his heart as he looked at her, but he also felt himself fading.

What he saw of her was always an image that faded, lasting mere seconds. If he had the choice, he could look upon her for thousands of seconds and it still wouldn’t be enough time. He tried to stay here, in this moment, holding on to it for dear life, coaxing himself to focus on her and by sheer willpower ignore his fatal injuries. A breath escaped him quickly after.

Darkness.

Open your eyes.

Link did just that, to an Akkalan sunset, clouds reaching and spreading, like smears of white upon an orange canvas.

He felt his breathing, the one reanimated by the Shrine of Resurrection all those months ago, the way it coupled with the wind and the wild.

To anyone else in Hyrule, this moment would be peaceful and serene, perfect. But when it came down to it, at the end of the day, after all the rigorous training and perfectionism, the worries, the overzealous anxiety about failing at his role…

No matter what he feared, he knew one thing for certain.

He wanted to see her, know her, feel her, love her as more than just a memory.

He wanted her beside him.

#botw #zelink #link #zelda #hyrule #breath of the wild #tloz #the legend of zelda #tarrey town

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webslinger-holland · 4 years

Text

The Royal Family | Chapter Four

Summary: When two royal family’s decide to conjoin their countries, they arrange a marriage between their eldest children. Once the two royals meet, it takes a lot of convincing before they are ready to begin their reign together...

Warning: sexual tension, flirting, lots of kissing

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Type: The Royal Family Series

MASTERLIST

The spring day opens with the same gentle pace as the new blooms. The winter time had passed in its somber majesty. It had only brought skies of richly marbled greys and trees so elegant in their bare beauty. Those cold days for calmness and reflection are waning now. And a new spring energy will rise.

The blossom arrives like cake frosting on the trees in delicious creams and pinks. The petals burst out from lower down the branches, leaving the tips still in tight bud. The evergreens and spruces scented the air with their new growth. The trees had almost looked like dancing ladies. They wore dresses of different shades of green dresses which were more fabulous than any designer could craft. They would move in perfect harmony with each other, choreographed by the gentle breeze.

The eastern palace had been frantically scurrying around the place to clean up the last minute touches. The servants had been working all day to prepare for the garden party that would take place in the late afternoon. The gardeners had to make sure that the royal garden looked its absolute best for that special day.

The gardener (who was a little old man) had spent the whole last week working diligently on the gardens himself. He liked to shape the trees to his liking with his clippers. He groomed the bunches of flowers with his bare hand, occasionally sending some to the palace for the princess. He was also able to clean the fountain from the last winter. Now the garden would be the prime and perfect centerpiece for the garden party.

The grand tent had been set up to linger underneath some trees. The footmen had been ordered to carry the various tables and chairs out to the tent for set up. The maids would organize the tables and chairs to their liking. They placed the white lace tablecloths on top of the small white circular tables.

The ladies that worked in the kitchens were carrying out the fine china dishes. They were also starting to bring out the food that they would serve at the garden party. The little fluffy sandwiches would be served on the silver platters for it would be the main course. There were breads and biscuits that were practically tumbling over the sides of the wicker baskets on the wood table. There were small bowls of various fruits on the side, drizzled with a teaspoon of sugar. And there was one particular thing that would be a grand surprise.

A few small kettles of water were placed on the table to make warm tea. The little teabags were neatly ordered in little rows, showcasing the number of different flavors. And a little bowl of sugar was placed beside the warm kettles for a little added sweetening.

There were beautiful crystal glass pitches filled to the brim with pink lemonade. The ice buckets would come out later, so that the lemonade could be served with ice cubes for the guests. There were also a few bottles of champagne for the gentleman that didn’t really care for lemonade. There were pitchers of nice cold milk that would be served to the children. There were beads of water running down the sides of the glasses due to the cold liquid within the pitcher.

The princess of the east would be hosting her first garden party. She had spent the last couple weeks sending out invitations, choosing the foods that would be served, and organizing the decorations to her liking. She was beyond overwhelmed when the day had actually arrived.

She was telling the servants to do this and that. She had changed her mind in regards to the champagne. She found herself rearranging the setting on the guest list for the millionth time. She also made a grand request the day prior. She wanted there to be chocolate at the garden party (which was hard to come by).

The good news concerning the young couple’s courtship had rapidly spread throughout the entire kingdom. The servants whispered amongst themselves. Many of them were placing bets on the date that the royal couple would be engaged and married. The entire royal family was beyond thrilled with the news, expressing their sincere congratulations to the young couple. This garden party would be to celebrate their newfound courtship.

The three princes had found themselves walking amongst the preparation of the party in the front yard. The three of them did not pay any mind to the servants scurrying around them, frantically trying to make the last minute adjustments. They would settle their gazes on the young princess who was growing more stressed with each passing moment.

"Tell me, dear brother," Harry said with an evident smirk plastered on his face. He turned his head to look at his older brother standing beside him, tilting his head to gesture towards the princess in the short distance. "Have you kissed her yet?" Harry wondered.

"That is none of your business," Thomas said. He had been quick to avert his gaze, choosing to pretend to be focused on something else instead of having to listen to his brother’s taunting voice. Though he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, he couldn't suppress the smile from growing on his lips. This would give away any secrecy in the matter.

"Oh...so you have kissed her,” Harry concluded. He could see the evident blush on his brother’s cheeks. He would only raise his eyebrows in amusement, chuckling to himself at the notion. "My brother has had his first kiss,” Harry exclaimed a little too loud for his brother’s liking.

In the background, the prince’s personal assistant was making sure to linger behind them. He had turned his head to search some of his surroundings, watching the servants scurry around with keen eyes. His baby blue eyes would settle on this young servant carrying a bundle of neatly folded lace tablecloths. He could have sworn he had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.

In that give moment, the princess was fussing over this beautiful bouquet of flowers in the center of the table. She had taken one single step backwards to admire her work. She almost wondered if she had picked the right china dishes or if she should send for the other one. She just couldn’t think straight.

“You look stressed,” Thomas called. He had taken a few steps forward in his place, leaving his two brothers and personal assistant behind. He had grown to know her well over the past few months, especially during their courtship.

“I am stressed,” Y/N confessed. She had turned her head to look over the small stretch of her shoulder, staring at the three princes in her presence. She took hold of one of the white lace tablecloths from Elsie. She spread the tablecloth onto the next table. “There is still so much to do,” Y/N sighed.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Thomas suggested. He strode towards her, stopping to stand right in front of her. He could tell that she was about to make some protest, but then she began to process his words. He spoke again. “It might take your mind off things,” Thomas hinted.

The princess of the east had glanced at some of her surroundings in fear that some of the servants might catch onto the conversation between them. She was able to come up with a hundred excuses, but he simply refused to accept them. He had started to lead her away from the commotion with a hand on the small of her back. She was very reluctant to leave the front yard for a while.

The two royals were walking down the long gravel pathway of the newly opened gardens of the palace. He had caught her mumbling to herself under her breath as if she were making mental notes in her head. He had to tell her to not worry about anything. He said that he knew something that would take her mind off things.

With great precaution, the prince had brought the princess to a small stone gazebo hidden beneath the trees. He turned his head to look over the small stretch of his shoulder, checking to make sure nobody was nearby. He grasped onto the her, leading her towards the well-known hideout. He placed his hand on the small of her back, politely pushing her forward first.

The princess grabbed a handful of her skirt with both hands, lifting her skirt up so she could climb the steps. She did not hesitate to walk towards the stone wall of the gazebo. She found herself spinning around on the heels of her feet to face him, pressing her backside against the stone wall.

The prince had been following behind her. He turned his head to search some of his surroundings one last time. He quickly joined her in the privacy of the stone gazebo. He walked right up to her, so that he could press his body against her's. The coast was clear. They were alone now.

In an instant, their lips crashed together in synchronized harmony. He had carried his hand to rest below her ear, cupping her cheek with his large hand. His thumb was caressing her cheek in the most soothing manner. His other hand rested on her hip, holding her closer in his embrace. She ran her fingers over his forearms. She pulled him closer until there was no space left between them.

Their hearts were beating rapidly against their chests, threatening to break through the thin barrier. They could practically feel the blood and adrenaline pumping and coursing through their veins. They felt a rush of euphoric bliss envelop their beings, making their hearts sing with pure joy. Their hearts could barely contain the million different emotions surged through their bodies; desire, hunger love, lust.

The prince's mouth was warm; the caress of his lips gentle yet firm. He found himself tilting his head to the side to deepen their connection. He pressed his pink tongue against the seam of her little lips, begging for entrance. His tongue delved into her mouth, exploring every single aspect without any hesitation. He moaned at her sweet taste.

The princess's lips were so soft and smooth. Her lips were moving against the prince's lips as if they were two perfectly fitted puzzle pieces. She stifled a surprised gasp as his soft lips captured hers again, causing her body to flush with heat. She could feel the heat traveling through her veins, warming her heart.

The young woman was currently trapped between the stone wall and the strong prince. Though she didn't seem to mind. Her fingers were digging into the sleeve of the prince's coat, pulling him even closer to her. She refused to let him go. The obscene noises of one's saliva exchanging was streaming throughout the stone gazebo, bouncing off the hard walls. Their lips molded against each other’s perfectly. The kiss was so passionate.

In the end, the two human beings would need oxygen to survive. They had quite reluctantly pulled away from each other. They leaned forward to rest their heads together. They panted heavily to regain their breath. They stared into each other’s eyes, feeling at a loss for words.

"Thomas," the princess gasped. She breathed steadily to herself. She was lost in his gaze. “We must get married soon. I cannot bear to go another day without being able to express my love for you to the entire world. I need you," the princess begged him.

"I agree," he said. He was smiling softly down at her. He nudged the tip of his nose against her’s. "But...I need to finish sorting out a few things first. I need to finalize my inheritance, prepare for my coronation, and begin to start learning how to rule a kingdom."

There was a brief moment of silence between the two of them. She had found herself glancing between his eyes and lips, contemplating whether or not she should just kiss him right there and then. She opened her mouth to speak from her heart.

"I wish...I were an ordinary woman,” the princess of the east confessed. She lifted her hand to weave her fingers through his long locks of hair. She hummed softly to herself. “That way, we wouldn’t have to worry about hosting garden parties or sorting out inheritances. It would just be you and me...forever and always,” the princess of the east concluded.

“But you we not an ordinary woman," the prince shook his head at her. He had been so gentle to tuck a single strand of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. He could feel her leaning her head into his embrace, holding onto his hand. "You are a princess,” the prince whispered to her.

With some hesitation, he had taken her into his arms once again. His soft brown eyes were shimmering with the strong sense of hunger and desire. It would take all of his strength to be gentle with her. He let his lips touch her’s so lightly that he could hardly feel it. He pulled away in an instant.

For a brief moment, the two royals just stood there staring at each other. Unable to resist any longer, he had stooped his head down to her height. Their mouths pressed together in a long passionate kiss. They had grown closer together until there was no visible gap between them. It was the kiss of a man who had waited years for the moment, and feared that it would never come again

His warm lips brushed against hers in the most delicate and delicious manner. He was forced to swallow the groan of pleasure that slipped past her sweet lips. She pressed her hand against his sculpted chest, memorizing the feeling of his firm hard muscle underneath her hand. She could feel his heart beating within his chest. She smiled against his lips.

When the time came, the guests had begun to arrive for the garden party. The lords and ladies were wearing some of the finest silks for the joyous occasion. The princess of the east was currently standing at the front of the tent, greeting the guests with a bright smile on her face. Her dear prince was standing right beside her.

The dukes and duchesses would bow or curtsey to the royals. They had also gone to great lengths to offer their congratulations to the young couple on their new courtship. They were so proud of the royal family at this moment.

The young children were running amongst the crowds of adult in the tent. The sound of children’s laughter could be heard throughout the courtyard. They were playing with each other. They must have been on a sugar high from all the sweets and treats.

The earls and dukes were currently playing a game of croquet in the front yard. They would use the long wooden mallets to strike the colorful balls into the metal hoops stuck in the ground. There was a servant on the sidelines who was keeping track of the score.

The marchionesses and baronesses would be found chatting amongst themselves about the latest topics and trends. The ladies could be easily found hiding underneath the tent in the cool shade. They just loved to indulge in the foods and drinks that were being served at the garden party. They were also very keen to point out how the prince was fretting and fawning over the princess.

At one point, Prince Thomas had draped a white lace shawl over Princess Y/N’s shoulders to provide some warmth and comfort. She had turned her head to look over the small stretch of her shoulder, sending him the kindest smile. She could feel his strong hands resting on the tops of her shoulders, which only brought her even more comfort.

During one of the conversations, Thomas had wanted to dismiss himself for a brief moment. He tilted his head to the side so that he could press one small kiss to her cheek. She had just barely leaned into him. She had already begun to miss his touch once he had left her side. She wanted him back right away.

The young prince had told the servants to prepare a small picnic underneath one of the shady trees. They would lay out this nice cream colored blanket on the soft blades of grass. The servants would also bring some refreshments for the royals.

Within a few short moments, Prince Thomas would return to his princess’s side. He had actually dragged her away from this boring conversation with an older duchess. He was quick to dismiss themselves from the duchess’s presence.

He had guided her towards the small scenery hidden underneath the shady trees in the short distance. He held out his hand to show her the display with a proud smile on his face. She did not hesitate to smile back at him. She picked up the skirt of her dress, stepping onto the soft blanket. She lowered herself into a proper sitting position for a princess with her legs bent to the sides. She noticed that he had joined her side on the blanket.

Slowly, Prince Thomas had poured two glasses of champagne for themselves. He had handed her the glass of bubbly golden champagne, holding his own in the other hand. He proposed a small toast to the success of her first garden party, which would only result in a small giggle from her. He clicked his champagne glass against hers in a gentle notion. He took one long sip of the gold liquid.

During this time, the princess of the east had found herself observing the garden party from a distance. She could see the two young princes talking amongst the ladies. She also saw her father speaking with the prime minister. She almost couldn’t believe that she was able to put this whole thing together. It was just perfect.

Beside her, the prince of the north was laying on his right side. He had propped himself up with his forearm. He was currently watching the game of croquet in the distance. He had a handful of green grapes in his hand, popping them into his mouth on occasion.

Slowly, the princess had turned her head to look down at the prince sitting beside her. She could see that his body was facing her, but his line of focus was directed to the game. She lay her hand to rest on top of his own.

Without hesitation, Thomas had turned his head to direct his attention back towards her. He was so taken back by her beauty. He was awestruck by the way her long locks of hair tumbled over her shoulders and the way her creamy skin was glowing in the afternoon sunlight. He was looking directly at her with such love and adoration in his eyes.

She had worn a soft cream dress for the garden party. She had these pretty little gloves with lace around her wrists. She was holding her white lace parasol in her hands, which had provided her some shade. She very easily could be mistaken for an angel from the heavens.

“What are you staring at?” she wondered. She was looking down at him with a slight tilt of the head. Her soft and kind eyes were sparking with curiosity. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You,” he confessed. He had been pulled away from his thoughts about her. He was quick to reach over to grab the white china bowl of small chocolate (dipped) strawberries. “Here. Try this,” he said.

The young prince pinched one of the small strawberries between his fingers, carrying it towards her light pink lips. She did not hesitate to wrap her lips around the strawberry, digging her teeth into the sweet and juicy fruit. She closed her eyes in pleasure, moaning at the wild taste in her mouth.

Very gently, Thomas pulled the green stem of the strawberry away from her mouth. He could clear see a small smudge of chocolate lingering at the corner of her lips. She had grabbed one of the cloth napkins to clean the chocolate. She lifted the napkin towards her mouth, but she was quickly stopped in her tracks.

In that moment, he had taken hold of her wrist to halt her movements. He pulled her hand away from her face, keeping a steady hand on her. He forced himself into a sitting position on the picnic blanket. He slowly leaned forward until he was only centimeters away from her face. He pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth in a simple kiss.

His tongue had slipped out of his mouth to collect the smudge of chocolate, drawing it back into his mouth. He turned his head to kiss her properly on the lips. He did not hesitate to swallow her moans of absolute pleasure. His insistent mouth had begun to part her trembling lips, sending wild tremors throughout her nerves. He would never forget the taste of her lips in that exact moment. She tasted like chocolate.

TAGLIST:

@averyfosterthoughts @drishtisikarwar @littlekidsteve @casualprincess77 @halparkebitch @xoxohollands @parkeret @namoreno

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland royalty #tom holland royalty au #tom holland!prince #tom holland!king #tom holland!royal #tom's princess #tom holland oneshot #tom holland imagine #tom holland series

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

Text

Just A Little Longer || Solo

CONTENT: Domestic abuse, Physical abuse, Head injury, Head trauma

Bex thumbed through the files quickly. The front door hadn’t been hard to unlock, but the security camera on the building would have most certainly caught her entering, which meant if she didn’t find anything here, that was it. This was her last ditch effort. She’d gone through her father’s entire study, looking for shit on what power they might have, what secret they were hiding. But they were lawyers, and they were thorough and they knew how to hide information they never wanted found. She’d scanned almost the entire house with the adder stone Morgan had let her borrow and nothing. There was nothing at the house, except old journals and records that could only give more questions than answers.

Her body sagged with an exhaustion that had clung to her, bones and all, since she’d exploded, for lack of a better world. The day was a blur for her. A presentation, the clicking of keys. Hushed voices as she looked out into the sea of faces, an electric buzzing. And then pain. Bone-shattering, teeth clenching, blood-curdling pain. And then the nothingness again.

The nothingness had stayed with her all the way here. Frantic hands dug through the drawers in her mother’s office. Her father’s had yielded nothing, again. So it had to be in here. They were lawyers, they kept records. They were lawyers. The had to have records.

Her eyes flicked to the doorway. She only had a little bit of time left, before her mother would be heading home. She needed to be home before her. This was it, this was her last ditch effort. If this didn’t work out-- well, she didn’t want to think about that. Involving the others was the next step, involving Nell. But Nell had so much going on and Bex had been so bad to her lately, she couldn’t do that for her.

But she could do this. And she’d told Mina she’d be careful.

Bex slammed another drawer shut. Nothing. Frustrated, she kicked out at it, feeling her foot connect with metal and instantly regretting it as the file cabinet rattled out of place. “Fuck!” she hissed. “Fuck, fuck,” falling to the floor, clutching her foot. Trying to suppress her groans of pain as she wriggled her shoe off, tossing it aside and-- noticing a strange crack in the wall behind the cabinet. It wasn’t in line with any of the other seams in the wall. Her heart pumped faster as she used her weight to shove the cabinet aside, fingers prying at the panel that was now present. It came loose easily and behind it, a safe. A tiny safe, with an electronic lock. Six numbers. Bex knew them without even having to guess. She knew them because they were the most important numbers in her mother’s life. 072121. She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or creeped out, that her 21st birthday was the code to this lock. It popped open and inside was simply...a folder. Just one folder. And two small coins.

The papers inside the folder were written in a strange language. The paper was old and aged, browning at the edges. The side of it was torn, as if it’d been ripped from a book or a journal. On the bottom, two signatures in rotted, brown ink. No...not ink. Bex’s fingers traced over the names. Odell Ochsenstein, Rupert Ochstenstein. And an empty line, just below them. Already dated. All ready for her signature. Bex turned the paper over and looked at what was underneath. Her parents’ birth certificates, and-- hers.

It said things she hated, things she didn’t want to think about. Her birth name, her parent’s listed below it. Rupert, Odell. Why did it look so strangely out of place? And why this one? Her parents had gotten her a new one, legally, from the state, that declared she was officially transitioned. Why would they need the original? It wasn’t legal anymore.

She didn’t have much time to contemplate over it, though, as she heard the front door rattling. It clicked open-- she’d forgotten to relock it. Scrambling, Bex shoved the folder into her coat and closed the safe, putting the panel back. She could move the cabinet back, though. Not without making too much noise. Footsteps came closer, down the front office, towards the back. Towards Bex.

Bex was bad at hiding. She crawled under the desk, stifling the small whimper of pain that tried to sneak out. Curled her legs up to her chest and waited. They were high-heeled clicks, stumbling and uneven. Her mother. Odell came into the backroom and didn’t notice the sideways cabinet in her drunken state. She collapsed into the chair and Bex flinched under the desk. She was close, so close. Too close.

And then she saw it. The shoe. It was sitting in just in front of the cabinet. But she couldn’t reach it, she couldn’t just--

Odell slammed something down on the desk. Bex flinched back. If she saw the shoe it was all over. The chair turned the opposite direction, and that was her chance. Bex’s hand reached out slowly, all she had to do was grab the shoe. Her hand trembled with its exhaustion, muscles straining. She was close, almost there--

Odell’s hand snagged Bex’s wrist. Bex froze and looked up, gaze slow, small. Terrified. Her mother’s eyes were sharp and she squeezed harder. Bex whimpered.

“I-I-I can explain,” she started out, as Odell looked down at her, gaze empty. “I was just-- I was l-looking for some files to w-work on while I was home s-sick.”

Her mother scooted back and yanked and Bex felt her arm tugging in its socket. She cried out, falling to the floor. Before she had a chance to gather herself, her mother was yanking her up. “You insolent child,” she growled, shoving Bex against the desk, grip tight on her wrist. “You disobeyed me again. I told you to stay. Put.” Bex wasn’t sure what happened next, or why, really. All she knew was that suddenly she was upside down on the desk, and the folder she’d grabbed fell out of her jacket. Papers splayed across the floor. Bex hit the ground on the other side of the desk, shoulder crunching against the ground, and wheezed in pain.

The folder, the folder, she needed to get the folder. Her hands scrambled for it, when a heeled foot came down on one. She screamed, it was the same hand Frank had crushed. The heel dug in and blood pooled. “I warned you,” Odell hissed quietly, leaning down close to Bex. “I warned you not to go digging into things.”

But Bex couldn’t just give up, she couldn’t. Mina was still waiting for her. And Morgan, and Nell. The folder was so close. She couldn’t just give up now. “I’m done,” she said, looking up at her mother, “I’m done being your tool.” She let out a pulse of magic-- it was weak and painful as it tore energy from her already tired muscles-- and knocked her mother back, watching her fall into some of the cabinets behind her. Bex grabbed the folder, blood smearing on the outside, and shoved the papers back inside. She struggled to sit up, to stand, legs like stiff icicles, refusing to bend without breaking. But she did, and she ran. She had to get the folder somewhere safe.

She burst out onto the street and spun around. Somewhere safe. Somewhere her mother wouldn’t look. Just long enough to get away and come back.

There. The dumpster. Bex ran into the alley and tossed the folder in, turned to leave and--

Felt her head slam against the side of it, thick and metal and heavy. It echoed. Her ears rang, louder and louder until sound was nothing but muffled grunts. She tried to move, dazed, the world spinning, like all those times she’d downed full bottles of vodka. She barely had time to blink and look up at her mother when her head was smashed against the dumpster again. And again, and again.

Eventually, she fell. Slumped on the ground. The uncontrollable anger in her mother’s eyes seared through the haze in Bex’s head. “I should’ve killed you the second I knew you were tainted,” Odell said, as she lifted Bex by her shirt, nails tearing fabric. “You were always so disappointing.” She dropped her and Bex fell to the ground in a slump.

A foot connected with her ribs. Again, again, again. Her stomach, her chest. It echoed in the empty alley and when it finally stopped, Bex stayed still. Maybe if she didn’t move, she’d be spared more pain.

Odell looked down on her, stumbling back and forth in her drunken haze, unaware, partially, of what she’d just done. “Stupid, fucking...just a little longer,” she muttered, slurred words, “just a little longer, then we can get rid of you. Get a new one. A better one.” She nodded to herself and started to walk off. “Just a little longer.”

But she was right. If Bex could just hold on, it would all be okay.

Just a little longer.

#solo #wickedswriting #just a little longer #head trauma tw #domestic abuse tw #odell

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pathofcomets · 3 years

Text

soldier, keep on marching on (5)

fandom: mass effect andromeda (AO3)

pairing: jaal/ryder

summary: Sara Ryder will replay that moment before she died for the first time many times afterwards.

playlist: spotify

Did I ever tell you I hate this?” Sara says, staring out into the dark vastness of the universe. The ship comes alive underneath her feet, the hum so familiar and calming already that she sighs, downing the rest of her coffee.

“Might have mentioned it once or twice,” Kallo mumbles, as he shoots the coordinates to Suvi.

“You know how…” Suvi hums, trying to come up with a proper word.

“Stupid?” Sara provides, helpfully.

“Sure, stupid,” Suvi agrees, and Kallo chuckles. “It is to be the Pathfinder in a new galaxy who is uncomfortable with… space?”

“It’s the silence that creeps me out,” she supplies. “Ships and planets have some life to them, whereas space is just… that. Dead space.”

“I could play some salarian tunes,” Kallo provides.

“Oh, god,” Suvi laughs. “Do not let him, Pathfinder. We’ll get there faster, but the rest of the crew will be fast asleep.”

Sara smiles at their familiar banter, and takes Suvi’s cup with her for a refill. In the kitchen, Liam is munching from a sandwich, rambling a story to an obviously disinterested Drack. They both greet her, one with an enthusiastic wave, the other with a grunt – and she starts washing her own mug. It’s the old NASA symbol, but instead it has NERD written on it, a present from Scott when she got her first job.

Since she was about to uncover relics, he joked that she should get a relic of humanity too. She carried it with her all the way to another side of the universe, because she wanted to… she doesn’t even know why, exactly. Maybe never forget where they started: both her personal story, and their adventure in space as a species. She has adored living in the Citadel, all those aliens mingling in together every single day, and she is relieved to find the same kind of feeling growing on the Tempest as well. She knows Scott would fit right in, can almost see the friendship and banter that could so easily grow between her crew and her brother. As it is, Sara is stiff in her interactions, sticking to herself more than not, fumbling to find a space where she belongs even as the entire ship is hers.

She waves them goodbye, and rejoins her pilots on the bridge, placing Suvi’s now refilled mug close to her. She has known people who felt antsy to always have someone around, but Kallo and Suvi seem always glad to have the company, and they never bring up any of her more annoying habits. She taps incessantly with her pen against her datapad when she writes reports. She bites her nails when she reads emails and has to plan missions. She hums while waiting for the opening of a door. Her body just showcases the restlessness that she feels deep in her bones, the mind that she cannot force to stop worrying.

And how can she find peace when the entire universe is just barely contained chaos, waiting to burst at every wrong gesture? When she is the one supposed to maintain the precocious balance keeping things in check? She shivers, and Suvi raises an eyebrow in her direction.

“Ryder,” Kello says, and there’s a panicked edge to his voice that makes her immediately get to the front of the ship.

“I don’t like it when you say my name like this.”

“Yeah, well, we are on a collision course with an unknown object.”

“Fuck. SAM, are you on this?”

She grips the metal bar tightly between her fingers. The ship trembles, the emptiness of the universe searching to rip it apart at the seams, the course of their ship seemingly unstoppable.

“Collision is imminent,” comes SAM’s calm voice, and Sara’s head goes dizzy with the new information.

“All stop. Now!” she fumbles, and the Tempest dies on its tracks, brusquely.

They’re jostled in place, her fingers going white with the force it takes to keep herself upright, but the ship is now at least not in immediate imminent peril. For a few seconds, the silence stretches – the kind that Sara Ryder hates, because it’s all empty, it’s all just anxious waiting. She can feel her pulse quickening, as her brain catches up with what she is seeing, and her skin prickles in panic.

“Kett ships, a dozen – no, more!” Suvi supplies, her voice trembling just the slightest.

“They have us pinned against the Scourge.”

Sara bites her lips, trying to think – feeling only anger at the situation, helplessness to find themselves in such a dire position already. How funny, having to choose if they want to die at the hand of their galactic enemy, or ripped to pieces by the first problem they encountered in Andromeda. Their coms buzz to life, and it takes a few moments for the image to clarify, for the voice to come clearly over their speakers. The ugly face of a kett fills up the entire screen, and if Sara was just a slightly more impulsive person, she would have just shot parts of her ship to make it stop.

“Where is the one that activated the Remnant?”

She stumbles back a few steps, just as the rest of her crew join her on the bridge. Drack’s palm is huge against her lower back, but it stops her in her tracks, makes her lift her head to stare the alien in the face. Even when he is after her, even when it is all her fault they are haunted like dogs through fucking space –

“You’re the one in my way. Who the hell are you?” she manages to get out through her teeth, and inside her brain only, SAM sighs. Not the smartest of her decisions or words, to be sure.

The silence stretches again, only the hum of kett ships surrounding them, no answer. Then their navigation bridge goes red, and Suvi pointlessly pushes against the buttons of her board.

“They’ve locked navigation.”

And they are being steered towards their ship. Sara grinds her teeth together, trying to think.

“Just tell me what you want,” she pleads, getting closer to the screen. Since they’ve scanned their ship, there’s no point in hiding, hoping to delay the inevitable when her DNA is going to give her away as the one successfully connected to the AI who can revive Remnant technology.

Ryder has no idea what all of this means, but she knows one thing is certain: they need to get the fuck out of kett’s weapons’ reach, and they need to do it now. Privately, SAM asks her to gain a few more seconds, so he can regain autonomy of the ship. She looks at Kallo, an understanding passing without any words, for him to be prepared, and the words that go out of her mouth – she’s not sure she is registering them. She’s sure she’s somehow egging the kett leader on, but she cares about nothing else but SAM’s voice, when he finally gives them an escape route.

“Do it!” she shouts, and Kallo immediately revs up the engines.

The Scourge is unlike the space that Sara is familiar with. It buzzes with its force, the electric light vibrant and bright through the darkness, the Tempest always just a small distance away from inevitable impact. But SAM’s course seems to be correct, even though it’s tight, barely there.

“Yes!” Kallo thrills, when the Scourge is left behind them.

Liam pats his back, a large smile pulling at his lips, and Vetra sighs. Sara has never been so grateful for the smooth silence and darkness of the universe until this moment. She rubs a hand against her temples, already wanting another cup of coffee. Their relief is little lived, because Gil’s voice booms over the coms, and an emergency landing is imminent.

However, Sara didn’t expect their running to end them at the vault they were looking for in the first place, but even worse, the vault to be on a new planet, one which is already inhabited.

Cora throws a glance at her, as the language over the coms blends into nonsense. Unrecognized language means only unrecognized alien race. The same words keep being repeated, and Sara tries, putting on the Pathfinder voice, to relay that they are not here as a threat. Empty words that she herself wouldn’t have believed, if she had someone showing up at her doorsteps, half on fire, after being chased through the worst part of the galaxy by enemy fleets. She closes her eyes, her heart beating hard and loud inside her own head, waiting for a response.

“They’re forcing us to land,” Kallo says, voice strained.

“Then we land.”

“You can’t be serious!” Liam says, when Sara throws her pistol at Drack, and smooths a palm over her uniform.

“I’m the Pathfinder – first contact is on me.”

Vetra nods her assess, though she can feel the tension in her team. There’s always a chance of a repeat of last time happening, in which case, the entire Initiative is fucked; no chance to survive fighting two enemies at the same time. Liam insists for him to go with her for only half a second, before Sara’s frown makes him shut his mouth. Heck, it was her decision to have them crash uninvited here, and she hopes that she still has some negotiations skills in her to at least get her team out of here. She knows her importance for the Nexus – worst case scenario, she can attempt to negotiate her title for the safety of her ship.

“If this goes badly – even if it’s hilarious – please destroy the vids.”

Peebee snorts, but the glance she throws Sara is entirely pitiful. Maybe she won’t have any… physical support, but she has SAM inside her head. It’ll have to be enough to prove that she is who she says she is, and it has to be enough of a bargaining chip once she starts talking. She has no real wish to die – not before she can deliver a promised land to her brother, fulfil the dreams of her dad, but this time around, the choice is barely hers.

She steps out of her ship carefully, hands up in the air, each movement slow and calculated. She wishes this was different, not at least a dozens of weapons pointed at her. She has to repeat in her mind, over and over again, not to make a scene, not to get carried away, even if all she wants is to stare at this planet: which is alive and thriving in a way that her eyes haven’t seen in over six hundred years. More unknown words are passed around, and she wills herself to remain assured, her back straight, even as they scan her.

Then, from behind the armed fighters, a new figure emerges.

“I’m Paaran Shie, governor of Aya. We are the angara.”

She nods her head, the slightest of tilts, introducing herself in much the same terms. Their journey through the dark space seemed to have reached even this planet that she didn’t even know existed, and she’s humbled by the tone this alien’s voice takes when talking about it: softer, understanding. She tries not to feel some hope blooming in her chest. Then one of the angara breaks the delicate line that the governor has kept, approaching her in several large steps. She cannot even cower back, the end of a gun grounded in her spine, so she gulps and looks up at this man already towering over her, glaring daggers. She can barely reach his chest, height-wise, and at this proximity, there’s no way she can cause trouble and survive it, even as the guy seems to provoke it out of her.

“Aya is hidden, protected. What do you want?”

She gulps, her tongue escaping her mouth to wet her lips. His eyes follow the movement, but she knows not to take it as anything but angry curiosity. She apologizes, invoking the danger they’ve been in, the state of her ship. She has already made a most terrible first impression, and this angara seems set on not wanting to change it. For long ten seconds, she can only hear the sound of nature all around them, as Jaal – if she remembered the name correctly from Paaran Shie’s words – stares at her, mapping out her face to figure out where the lie ends and where the truth begins. She does her best not to break eye contact, and when he is satisfied, he turns around on his feet.

The governor is to take her through the city. She is to still be alone, her crew on the Tempest. Fair enough. They make their way slowly; she walks several steps behind the governor, still followed by the same amount of armed men, on all of her sides. She can stray in nothing but sight, and she stares, her breath hitched in her throat, at the plants thriving on this planet. She hasn’t seen living flora in Andromeda yet, except in the precariously sustained gardens on the Nexus, and Cora’s room – though those are artificial habitats, and not the real deal. Insects and birds thrill all around them, and she couldn’t school her features even if she tried, that’s how overwhelmed she is to see a living world. She tries not to take to heart the gossip, the panicked hitches in these angaras’ words, their venom when pronouncing her own race. But the stares – the stares are terrible and heavy, and there’s no way to avoid the feel of their gazes all along her body.

“Why do I need to see this Evfra?”

“He’s the leader of the Resistance. They fight the kett – and protect us.”

Ah. Dual ruling then: political and military. It makes entire sense, if they have been at war with the kett.

‘None of the local flora register in my data files. We’ve encountered an undiscovered ecosystem’, SAM tells her privately, and she blinks, the sound of a waterfall so foreign that it takes her a moment to place it; she falters in her stroll, and the harsh push at her elbow startles her again.

She wants to ask them some more, about how they are even doing it – keeping this planet alive, pure scientific curiosity, but she has enough military training instilled in her to know when she is in deep shit, not to make it any worse. She is already pushing it, with that one question, so she puts her questions aside, and takes one step after another, determined to see this – whatever this is – through.

“What happens if Evfra doesn’t like me?” she asks, as they seem to be approaching their destination.

“Oh, he won’t. But you need to earn his trust.”

Same as with everyone else, she wants to tell, but she stops herself in time. “He’s responsible for everyone else’s safety. I know what that’s like, at least.”

“You’re a leader.”

She coughs, a dry sound, meant to cover the disbelieving chuckle that would have been probably a bit too rude.

“Trying to be.”

Paaran Shie opens the large doors of a building – and Sara Ryder finds herself alone in a city that no outsider but her has seen so far, at the heart of their military organization. She recognizes Jaal from before, and she tries to calm down by telling herself that if they wanted her death, she would have been dead already. She can work with that.

“Our experience with the kett makes us naturally distrustful to all aliens,” he says, once she is close enough that they can have a normal conversation, rather than her snooping on him.

He obviously has some standing in the Resistance, the recruits looking up to him like he is the reason why the sun is shining in the sky. She tries to look at him in a way that they would, and his lines get sharper, the image clears: and he is a strong fighter, a more excellent assassin. She doesn’t want to allow herself to forget it.

“We’ve had our own run-ins with the kett,” she says, and the word is a small filler, compared to the shiver that runs across her back, remembering the situation that they were in not even two hours ago.

“Then you really do understand.”

What she learns of the angaran and kett relation troubles her all the more, every new piece of information falling to create a puzzle of mass suffering. She can almost map it out on Jaal and Evfra’s scars, how hard they fight to defy potential death with everything they can. She may not be a soldier – not in the way that these men are, but she has enough scars of her own, and she knows what it means to wear them proudly, with belief that they show stories of survival.

She pleads her cause; she tries to explain to the best of her abilities. But her hope is crushed, when the vault on Aya is revealed to be closed. Out of all the people, however, she didn’t expect Jaal to be the one siding with her. But it’s clear that Evfra moulds after this alien’s words, and suddenly, she has an opening, a chance – together with this person.

“I’m Jaal Ama Darav. I’ll be your envoy through angaran space.”

She sighs, unable to look away once she had her gaze locked with his.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

“I don’t. But I can always kill you in your sleep.”

She shivers, already working at retracing her steps through the Aya capital.

“Good to know.”

#mass effect andromeda #me: andromeda #jaal ama darav #sara ryder #angara #me andromeda #aya #first contact #jaal x ryder #female ryder #ryder/jaal #jaal/ryder #soldier keep on marching on #writing

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deltas-writing-corner · 3 years

Text

Warmth: Prologue (2/3)

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Disclaimers: Besides the prologues, I will be posting the first 1000 or so words of every new/next chapter. There will be a link to my AO3 at the end of the post, where the full chapters are at!

Warnings: mentions of blood

Masterlist: (coming soon)

"Here, let me help with-"

"It's alright!" Fuku shouts as she lifted several rolls of fabric with ease.

To say Fuku was doing a little better is an understatement. She was fantastically better. When Yuki and you came into work the morning after her accident, she didn't greet you both in her usual polite and quiet manner. Fuku had loudly welcomed you both in as if the shop were suddenly a bustling restaurant.

You were mending a ripped seam in the back room when Yuki suddenly enters and whispers, "Please tell me I haven't gone crazy, or is Fuku much more lively than yesterday?"

You resist the urge to smile. She got her spunk back indeed.

"I quite like this sudden shift in her character," you say.

"I do too, really! I haven't seen her like this since I was a kid. But the sudden switch from sweet to sassy is…" her mind trails off with uncertainty. She looks over her shoulder to make sure you two were alone still. "Do you think her accident yesterday had anything to do with her personality change?"

"They say your life flashes before your eyes in an instant when you come close to death. Maybe she decided to drop the quiet act and be true to herself."

"Yeah, that's it isn't it?" Yuki asks more to herself than to you. "But should she really be carrying all those fabric rolls? Those things are heavier than they look."

"Perhaps her back is doing better?"

"In a day?!"

She was getting more confused, more frustrated as she tried to wrap her head around everything. You put your needle and thread down and turn towards her. "Do you remember what I said yesterday?" you ask. Her tense shoulders relax a bit and she nods. "Then trust me on this. She's going to be fine. Would I ever lie to you if I didn't think she would?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know why, but you saying she's going to be okay somehow reassures me that it will be."

You give her a pat on the head, but she pulls you into a tight hug. You would hug her back if she wasn't squeezing your arms against your body. It was strange. Her hugging you like this almost makes you feel as if you two had truly become…

You don't finish that statement, for fear that your rival would hear it and use it against you. You nearly forgot that you could never truly make friends, not when you're still in the midst of a never-ending battle with a damn snake that targets the people around you. One of these days, you're going to get rid of it for good by any means necessary. Even if that means you would have to die with it, so be it. Anything to make sure it doesn't come out victorious.

You won't take away the people I love again.

_______________________________________________________________

The last time you took a vacation was...never. You've never been on vacation. Your 50-year lone journey could technically count, considering you don't work and essentially goof around most of those years. It wasn't to relax from the stresses of work though. It was merely to pass the time before you could integrate back into society without causing a fuss. It would also help you forget about the people you had gotten to know.

You look over to your co-worker and boss. "Can't I just relax at home? Do I really need to go all the way out to…"

"Kyoto," Yuki finishes your thought.

"Right. Do I really need to go out to Kyoto to relax?"

Fuku shakes her head in disbelief. "Honestly, all you ever do is work! You'll go stir crazy if you don't switch up your surroundings every now and then."

"Besides," Yuki chimes in. "If anyone deserves a vacation, it's you. I don't think you understand how much you work. It's admirable, but also very concerning."

Seeing their worried expression, you feel a bit bashful. They were only looking out for you, thinking you to be tied down to the same limitations they have. You badly want to just bite the bullet and tell them the true nature of who you are. Surely they would understand, right? They would accept you for who you truly are, right? The coiling of the snake around your arm keeps your confession at bay.

Apparently, a vacation for you meant a vacation for it as well. Tormenting you must be such a demanding job after all.

You made sure to sharpen your axe real well the other night.

The chugging of the train grew louder and louder. You and a few other people, mostly fellow travelers from outside your town, walk up to the yellow line on the ground and stand to wait. The train begins to slow down into a complete stop. Once halted, a hiss of steam is let out and the doors creak open.

You turn to give your farewells to your friends and surprisingly find yourself in the middle of a group hug. You give Fuku and Yuki their own pat on the back and they squeeze you a bit harder.

"Have fun! Don't forget to call me and take a bunch of pictures!" Yuki demands.

"And bring a man home," Fuku adds.

You laugh at her comment. She really was a feisty one.

Adjusting the bag hanging from your shoulder, you step onto the train cart and take a seat. After a few minutes, the doors close and you begin to depart from the station. As you look back out the window behind you, you see Fuku and Yuki still standing there, waving you off even as you gradually disappear over the horizon. You swear, they both looked ready to burst into tears.

A tightness against your arm grabs your attention. After wriggling about from under your sleeve, the snake finally pokes its head out and turns its head towards you.

"So," you whisper, as to not attract any attention from your fellow passengers. "It took you awhile to come back. Did I cut you up that badly?"

It hisses at you for mocking it. Uncaring of it feelings, you uncoil it from your arm and drop it in the seat next to you. Should any of the passengers have watched you, they would see you moving nothing. You were actually grateful they couldn't see it. If they did, they would all certainly panic. You did not want to be known as the traveler who carries a deadly snake with them.

You cross one leg over the other and sink in your seat. "Y'know, I should give you a name. It's starting to become annoying just referring to you as 'the snake'."

It seemed surprised that you were speaking to it on neutral terms. Usually, your interactions were hostile and more or less ended with you chopping it into fine bits. It slithers back onto you, this time coiling around your neck. You nearly flinch at the familiar sensation you felt as it tightened its grip to gain stability.

I felt this in my first memory. Go figure.

You pull out your phone and quickly search up an image of a color wheel. You take care to lift the screen up to the snake's eye level while not appearing odd from any lingering gazes. You tell it to tap on a color, and from the one it selects, you would refer to it as that henceforth. It was unimpressed by your naming process but you tell it that it was either this or you give it the most insulting name you can think of.

It looks at the screen for a minute. It then presses the tip of its mouth against the glass and selects the color black.

"How original," you sarcastically say. It responds by tightening around your neck. "Alright. I'll call you Kuro from now on. It'll make cutting you up all the more personal."

Your one-sided chat ends with Kuro, who turns his head away and settles around your neck. You pull up your phone's built-in navigation app and look at the expected arrival time, 3 hours. You lean forward and prop both elbows on your knees. For the next few hours, you just sat there and waited, not bothering to look out the window and marvel in the passing scenery. Your focus was entirely on Kuro, making sure that he wouldn't try to sneak off of you and attack any of the other passengers. He usually only goes for people you had grown attached to or spend most of your time with, but you weren't going to take any chances.

You give yourself a bit of comfort by sticking your hand in your duffel bag and squeezing the familiar handle of your axe.

________________________________________________________________

The city still amazes you. It was hard to believe that in just a couple hundred years, humanity would evolve so rapidly. As amazing as the advancement of humanity was, the air quality has gone to complete shit. Along with sleeping and eating, you didn't need to breathe either. You're thankful you didn't have to subject yourself to the polluted air and spare yourself from burning your lungs. Kuro seems to hate the air as well, as he makes a sort of gagging noise once you step out of the station.

Finally, we agree on something

You robotically push past the crowds, flag down a taxi, and check into your hotel room. You send a quick text to Yuki to let her know you arrived safely and thank her again for booking the room for you. Once you set your belongings down and relax against the plush bed, you get a text back.

'What r u going to do?'

That's right. This was supposed to be a vacation. You were supposed to be going out and doing literally anything other than work.

What the hell are you even supposed to do?

You text back, 'idk.'

'Seriously??? There's a ton of stuff you could do in Kyoto!'

'Like what?'

'I heard shrines are lovely this time of the year'

________________________________________________________________

The fact that you, a god, are visiting a shrine to be very, very hilarious. Kuro hates it apparently, which made it even funnier.

"Aww, don't be like that," you jokingly cooed at him.

You used the ladle from the shrine pavilion to scoop up the so-called purified water and bring it close to him. He hisses so violently that the shrine maiden that acted as a guide for you and your fellow visitors flinched and looks around to find the source of her scare. Deciding to spare him any more stress and reason to go on a frenzy, you put the ladle back in the basin and catch up to the departing group.

The tour was simple, a mere walk around the temple and it's public areas while the guide explained the history behind each building, important figures, and various rituals the worshipers practice. It wasn't the most exciting way to spend your first day on vacation, but you found still found it interesting and very educational.

Near the end of the tour, the guide leads you all up to a statue of a woman. Her skin is as white as milk, half of her black hair twisted up in a bun while the rest flowed down her back. It was a hairstyle your mother would style on you and even taught you how to do it yourself. Her kimono was a faded gold color from years of natural degradation. The pattern on her stone clothing reminded you of flames.

Your tour guide stops and turns back towards you all. "This here is a statue of the sun goddess, Amaterasu. She is a central deity within the Shinto religion. The Japanese nobility claim their divine right to rule by claiming to be her descendants."

Your tour guide went on about the shrine's methods of worship for Amaterasu, but you completely drowned out her words. You found yourself completely enamored by the statue.

Something about it was...

Hearing that name was…

Your body was...

"Miss?" One of the tour-goers waves her hands in front of your vision in an attempt to gain your attention. "Is everything alright?"

As you slowly regain your focus, you notice a wetness on your face. You had shed a tear. You quickly wiped it away and gave the concerned woman a reassuring smile. "Allergies."

She seemed relieved and without a second thought reached into her bag to pull out a bottle. She pops off the cap, shakes out two antihistamine pills and hands them to you. You take them and hide them under your tongue before taking a gulp of water from your plastic bottle. You thank her, waiting for her to walk off with the group before spitting them out.

Kuro gives a condescending flick of his tongue against the cheek your tear descended on. You slap his head away and growl, "Not a word."

You take a moment to gather yourself before heading back with the group. Before you turn the corner and lose sight of the statue, you spare it one last glance. When you looked at it again, you were certain what you were feeling wasn't just a fluke.

You felt warm.

________________________________________________________________

The tour ended not long after you all saw the statue of the sun goddess. You didn't leave until night, when the Shrine closed to the public. You spent the entire day just staring at the statue, basking in the familiar warmth that filled within your body.

"I know you don't care, but that wasn't some coincidence," you say to Kuro. "That warm feeling. It's similar, no, the exact same warmth I summon when I heal people!"

You yank him off your neck and plop him on the nearest surface, a stone tablet of sorts with writing carved into it. It was monument for some historical figure, but you didn't care about it. He looks at you as if he was actually considering your words for once. At this point, you could care less about this ingrained rivalry between you two. If there was anyone else in the world that could ever relate to you, it would be him.

"Who the hell am I? What the hell are we? Who the hell made us so hellbent on screwing each other over? Actually, let me rephrase. Why are we so hellbent on screwing each other over?"

You kept rattling on question after question. Contemplating the meaning of your existence to a snake that no one but yourself could see. In your confused frenzy, you fail to notice the grey clouds engulfing the sky. The loud roar of lightning and sudden rainfall put a halt to your pacing.

So much for clear skies.

The sound of footsteps approaching your figure brought your attention back down to earth. "Are you alright ma'am? Do you have an umbrella?" a man in a lab coat and glasses looks at you with a blank stare, but his voice indicates that he was worried for you.

You shake your head. "I didn't think it would rain today."

The man opens his mouth to say something when suddenly, your eardrums are assaulted by another clap of lightning. This time, it struck the space right next to the both of you. You frantically search your surroundings to locate exactly where it struck. The monument that your rival was on had been completely shattered into pieces.

Shit, I put Kuro on that!

The bespectacled man kneels down towards you and offers you his hand. You didn't realize that you had fallen over until you finally registered the stinging on each of your knees. You reach out towards his offered hand. Before you could place your hand in his own, darkness suddenly enveloped your vision followed by a wave of dizziness. You instinctively shut your eyes and nurse your head in your hands.

The wet and cold air of the rainstorm was suddenly replaced with a suffocating heat. You manage to open your eyes and find yourself in a completely new setting. You were on the balcony of a building, currently blanketed in flames and billowing smoke. You accidentally inhaled due to your shock and began to cough as your lungs fill with black air.

Your fit alerts a figure in the room of your presence. Seeing you, a defenseless woman all so suddenly, they found themselves frozen in shock. Your vision began to slowly clear up enough for you to notice the familiar sheen of metal. Whoever it was that you were looking at had a sword in hand, tip aimed to the floor where a man lied unconscious at his feet.

Instinctively, you reached into your handbag and grabbed your axe. You put all the force you could muster into your grip and threw it at the man with the sword. He gave out a cry of pain, indicating that you had landed a hit on him. He suddenly backs away from the body and you think you hear him mutter some sort of apology before running out the room. With the threat now gone, you make your way towards the man on the floor. He was still unconscious, so you took a firm hold of his shoulders and began to shake him awake. He wakes up with a sputter before taking notice of you.

"Who are you?" his booming voice asks

"No time for introductions! The building is burning and we need to leave! Now!"

You didn't give him a chance to get in another word. Grabbing his forearm and hoisting him on his feet, you pulled him out of the fiery room. You make sure to grab your axe, wedged deep into the wood of the door frame, on your way out.

Miraculously, you manage to find a way out the building. As soon as you're lungs fill with fresh air, you double over into another coughing fit. As you try to calm your breaths, you turn back to building. It was a temple, but not like the one you visited earlier in the day. This one seemed more rustic. It was hard to fully picture what it might have looked like due to it being quite on fire still.

If you hadn't escaped in time, the man you dragged along with you would have perished. If not by the stab of the sword looming over him, then by the flames. Speaking of him, he looks out towards the burning temple with you. Instead of worry or panic, he seemed to be rather annoyed.

"Someone tried to do away with me as I slept? Audacious, but foolish. Killing my guards and managing to get so close to me is another matter."

Who cares if you were asleep or not?! You almost died!

He then turns towards you, taking notice of your grip still on his arm. "You there," he addresses you. "Let go of me."

You let go of his arm and he rubs it as if your grip was uncomfortable. He took in the person standing before him, his apparent savior.

"You may be mere entertainment the monks brought in, but you saved my life nonetheless. You have my thanks."

Did he just insinuate that you were a prostitute?

"I must have missed all the monks among the fire. I don't have a clue how I ended up in there," you tell him.

It's now that you begin to take in your surroundings. You were no longer within the city, not a single skyscraper obscuring the night sky in sight. The air, despite standing next to a burning building, wasn't as disgusting to breathe in. The man you rescued had striking features. His hair black and eyes a carnelian hue. He wore armor sporting colors of black, white, and red. You remember seeing such attire way back when your parents were alive. He was some sort of soldier.

"What are you staring at? Surely you know who I am?" He asks. You shake your head, being at a total loss for words. This genuinely confuses him. "You saved me not knowing who I am? Not expecting reward or favor?" He gives a deep chuckle that echoes throughout the night. "So be it, I shall tell you my name. I am the man who will rule all under the sun-"

Your silence is broken by your faint laugh. Was this man seriously going to monologue and create some sort of suspenseful build-up over his own name? After he just escaped the clutches of death?

He lifts an eyebrow. "Have I said something amusing?"

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggles and shake your head once more. Surely, he must have thought you rude.

Instead, he lets out another round of laughter, this time louder. "You're a curious one. No one has acted so impudently to me before." He takes a step closer to you and you take half a step back. "You intrigue me, which is almost as worthy of praise for saving my life. I am the Lord of Azuchi Castle and Daimyo of Owari, Nobunaga Oda."

Your head involuntarily tilts to the side. You look up at him and say, "...Who?"

His brows furrow. Now he was getting frustrated. "Do you truly not know who I am?"

You fiddle with your thumbs. "Noooooo?"

"You are indeed a strange one. But I have given you my name. Now, give me yours."

You hesitated, but decided it was safe to give him your name.

"I see. A good name befitting my savior"

Was that a compliment? Hang on, where the hell are you?!

You shake your head as if to clear your mind of its confused state. "Now that we got the introductions out the way. Tell me, where are we?"

"We are at Honno-ji. The building before you is-"

"A temple. I can see that. What year is it?"

He seems taken back by your question and of the fact that you interrupted him. "It is 1582. Why?"

Ah, 1582………WHAT?!

Before you could understandably freak out, the galloping of hooves grabs both your attention. The man at the front of the small group heading in your direction shouts, "Lord Nobunaga, you're safe!"

Once he reaches a safe distance, he hurriedly dismounts and approaches you both on foot. The others that rode alongside him turn their attention towards the building and begin shouting out orders to put out the flames.

"Mitsunari," Nobunaga turns to him. "Why have you come? Where is Hideyoshi?"

"Lord Hideyoshi sent me ahead. He should arrive here shortly," Mitsunari explains. He then takes in the sight of the smoldering temple and frowns. "It would seem the information we received about your assassination attempt was correct."

You feel another coughing fit coming and try to muffle it. It is then that Mitsunari takes notice of you.

"Oh, who might you be?"

Nobunaga calls out to you. He gives a nod to Mitsunari as an indication that you were no threat and then commanded, "Present yourself to my subordinate."

"I'm- Ow!"

Something pierces your ankle and you nearly fall over yet again. Mitsunari pulls you towards him and swiftly draws his sword out. As your eyes search the ground for what could have bitten you, you notice the familiar black scales of your rival hidden between the blades grass.

"Kuro! You bastard, I thought the lightning fried you to a crisp!"

As much as you hate to admit, you were glad to see the serpent is alive and well. However, as Mitsunari took notice of the snake, he pulled you further in until you were between him and Nobunaga.

"A snake?! Please stand back!"

He firmly planted his right foot on the ground and raised his sword. You immediately went on the defense and shoved him into the Nobunaga's chest. They were dumbfounded as they saw you place yourself protectively in front of the snake as if they were the threat, not it.

"Stop! He's with me!"

"My lady, the snake could potentially be venomous. Please walk carefully towards me,' Mitsunari beckons you to him.

Oh, he's much more than venomous… hold on.

You look down towards Kuro, then to Mitsunari, then to Kuro and back to the grey-haired man again. "You...You can see him?"

"Of course I can! Now please, get back!"

You glare down at him. "You bastard! You can make people see you at will can't you?!"

Unsurprisingly, he plays dumb and slithers back on you. Like before, he situates himself around your neck before turning his gaze towards the two armor-clad men. He sends an almost condescending gaze at the grown men panicking before him, a tiny viper.

"Ok, before you panic let me explain. This is Kuro. Say hi." You roll your eyes as he hisses at them. What else did you expect? "Lovely. He's my…we've known each other for a long time."

"You say that as if the snake were a person." Nobunaga notices.

Man don't even get me started!

"He's more aware than most, but he isn't harmful. So long as you don't annoy him he won't try to lunge at you." You shift your weight to the foot he had bitten, reminding you of the fact that he sunk his fangs into you just moments ago. "Except me. He'll only bite me."

"He's not venomous, is he?" Mitsunari asks.

"He has venom," you stupidly say, but quickly backtrack on your statement. "But he never shoots it in me, I swear! like I said, you just have to be cautious around him and not give him a reason to bite you."

"A woman with a venomous snake as her companion. There is no end to your amusement, is there?" Nobunaga speaks up, impressed, and not at all ashamed of feeling so, "Mitsunari, this is my savior. Remember her well."

"I thank you for rescuing our Lord," the man, clad in purple armor and a singular beauty mark under his right eye, bows deeply towards you. "My name is Mitsunari Ishida. I serve Nobunaga's right-hand man."

You wave your hands frantically to stop him. "Ah, no need to be so formal! Despite the circumstances, It's nice to meet you as well."

you properly introduce yourself to Mitsunari, who instantly perks up at your more welcoming demeanor. "Is your foot alright? That bite must have hurt. Though now that I've gotten a better look at you, you don't appear to be a nun. Are you perhaps from abroad?"

You look down towards yourself and realized you were wearing nothing but a t-shirt, capris, and some old worn out sneakers. You must look like a clown to them. Also, what were you even supposed to say in this sort of situation? Hey, I'm from 500 years in the future. Did I forget to mention I'm actually a 300 year old deity? Life sure is crazy!

Not knowing what is safe and not safe to say, you remained quiet. Mitsunari takes notice of your hesitation and looks back at Nobunaga for some guidance. The man, now over your rude behavior, steps past his subordinate and towers over you.

"Were you not taught to speak when spoken to? You may have saved my life, but there is only so much disobedience I will tolerate. Tell us where you hail from, and quickly."

You and Kuro glance at each other. Like most of your standoffs, there seems to be a mutual understanding between you two without the need for words. Remain silent. Do not tell them of your origin or of the nature of your being. Even if he decides you aren't trustworthy and strikes you down where you stand, you will survive the blow.

You kept your mouth shut. He seems more disappointed than angry towards your answer and turns towards Mitsunari. "Restrain her. She is now officially a suspect in the assassination plot on my life"

"My Lord. She's clearly disoriented from the chaos-"

"Restrain her," he ordered with finality.

Mitsunari, hesitant but not one to disobey orders, grabs a length of rope from his horse's saddle and walks back towards you. "Please give me your hands,' he politely demands of you. You do as you're told.

"It's alright," you whisper to him. "If it makes you feel better, my reason for being silent is just for my safety. I mean you all no harm. You have my word."

"I…" he appears caught between his orders and trusting in you. "I will trust you. No person with ill intent would risk their life to save Lord Nobunaga."

You thank him by giving his hand a comforting squeeze. He makes sure to tie your hands in a manner that would make escaping impossible, but not tight enough to hurt your wrists. You're escorted away from the temple, to a camp not too far away. You're led to a nearby bonfire and told to sit and not make any sudden moves. Mitsunari steps away from you and is replaced by two of the soldiers he brought with him.

"Hey," you try to whisper as quietly as you can to Kuro, "I have a suggestion. Care to hear it?"

He slithers around your neck until he's facing you head-on. It seems he's willing to listen. "Let's call a truce," you simply state. "The only conditions are that we look out and help one another until we find a way back to our time. After we return, we can go back to despising each other for the next hundreds of years."

Were you seriously offering an alliance with your sworn enemy? Yes, yes you were. As much as you both detest the idea of having to tolerate each other, the current situation made it clear that the only way you two are going to manage to get home is to put your heads together. Maybe even get along for a change?

Ugh, the thought of befriending this slithering asshole is deplorable.

"If you agree to those terms, bite my neck."

He doesn't hesitate to sink his fangs into your throat. You're sure he's wanted to bite you until your body was littered in duo puncture marks. The guards are alarmed at your cry of pain and go to kneel beside you to see what was wrong. They both took notice of the black snake around your neck and bleeding wounds. They look at each other and then nod. "Don't move ma'am. We'll take care of the snake-"

"He's a pet! No need to draw your sword," you immediately explain to them. "Could I maybe get a rag to press against my wound?"

The guard on your right seems hesitant, but his fellow soldier nods in assurance. He leaves in search of a rag, while the guard on your left seems to get closer to you. He's probably keeping a closer eye on you until his partner returns.

Two new people enter the camp. One is clad in blue and white armor, hair a pure white color. The other in green armor with red accents, hair a natural brown. You try your hardest to listen to their conversation. So far, both new figures seem to be concerned for the well being of Nobunaga. They question him on how he managed to escape unscathed and soon the attention is turned towards you.

"This is my savior. Due to her lack of answering my inquiries about her person, I've placed her under custody until we return to Azuchi."

"That one, sitting by the fire?" the white-haired one gestured towards you. You gave him a wave with your tied hands. "What a slender thing, but appearances aren't everything. Shall I pry answers from her mouth?"

The threat of torture puts you both on edge. You more than Kuro as you would be the one subjected to it.

Nobunaga seems to notice your fear and revels in it. "Once we return home, if she refuses to explain herself again, I will leave her in your hands. For now, we prepare for our departure."

The white-haired one nods in understanding before sending a spine chilling grin towards you.

Note to self, watch out for that one.

The brown-haired one comes towards you. While he isn't as scary as the other one, his height makes up for it. He's nearly twice your height and taller than anyone in the camp. He glares down at you and says, "Whoever you are, if you have any plans to harm Lord Nobunaga, I will make you regret ever having such thoughts."

Threat after threat after threat. You were getting pretty fed up with it. You were about to give the man a piece of your mind when suddenly, Kuro lunges at him. His fangs were bared and spurted liquid out of his mouth. That wasn't a warning bite. It was an honest attempt to bite and kill.

"Kuro!" You scold him. "That's not going to help the situation!"

"A snake?! Why haven't you noticed and gotten rid of it?!" The green armored one questions your guards.

They stutter over themselves before you finally speak up in place of them. "He's my pet."

"Pet or not. Allowing such a dangerous animal around Lord Nobunaga is a risk I won't take."

He reaches down to his waist to unsheathe his sword. In your panic, you shot up on your feet and you kick him right in the diaphragm. His arms wrap around his stomach and he nearly falls to his knees over from the blow.

"The next person that points a sword at us, I'm going to hold you down myself and let him pump you full of venom!" you scream. Gods, were you so on edge that you were now threatening people?

Your suddenly thrown face first down onto the ground and pinned from behind. You turn your head to see who it was that had restrained you. It was the white-haired one. The empty barrel pointed at you keeps you still.

I smell gunpowder. That's a rifle no doubt. Father used to have one in the house in case wolves came by at night.

"Those things have a tendency to accidentally go off," you tell him.

He smiles down at you. "Indeed. You'll forgive me if it does, yes?"

Second note, I hate this guy.

Angered by his cockiness, you try to wiggle out of his hold, but it utterly fails. In fact, you actually help him get a better grip on you and make it harder for you to escape. Great job, you dumbass.

"What shall we do with the snake, my lord?" The one pinning you down asks Nobunaga.

He stood over your defenseless self and stared at you with indifference. "It is clearly a hazard, but it has yet to leave it's master side and only struck when it perceived her to be under an immediate threat. Leave it, but keep your distance."

"My Lord, that is too much of a risk. Removing the threat now would be the better option," the brown-haired one protested. Slightly bent over in pain from your hit.

"I hate to say it, but I agree with Hideyoshi," the white haired one says. "Even a moment of vulnerability on our part will result in her releasing it on us."

The one you hit is Hideyoshi. Noted.

Nobunaga smirks at him. "If you're so concerned, Mitsuhide, then I suggest you put your sharpshooter skills to good use and keep an eye on the damn thing. Now, if you're both done bickering, let us head out."

Mitsuhide didn't seem to like his new orders but answers with a practiced "yes sir", before helping you up to your feet. Without any more to say, you're escorted to an large crowd of horses and lifted onto a saddle. Mitsunari is your apparent rider and you quietly thank the heavens for your one saving grace.

"Sorry," you whisper, "I sort of made things worse for myself."

You feel him tense, immediately feeling bad for making him worry even more.

"Once we return to Azuchi, you'll be in a secure place and can speak your truth without fear of lingering ears," he tells you. The horse beneath you suddenly kinks into a speedy gallop and you hold onto him for dear life.

You travel for a few minutes before the steeds around you slow down into a complete stop. A man with an eye patch and blue and gold armor appears with another unit of soldiers. Perhaps he was back up? He sure is late though.

"Lord Nobunaga. I see you're unscathed," he says, a more casual hint in his voice.

"Physically, yes. But my pride has taken quite the hit. We're returning to Azuchi. Have your men follow."

"Damn, I guess I was too late to see some action," he answers disappointedly. He turns back towards his reinforcements and shouts, "You heard the man! It's back home for us!"

His soldiers all let out groans of equal disappointment. He laughs at their expense before maneuvering his horse to join with the rest of the retreat. It's when he and his men fully merge that he takes notice of you and your bound hands. "Who's the lass?" He shouts over to Hideyoshi.

"They're under suspicion for the assassination attempt tonight. She has a snake around her neck and it will strike if you get near."

"A woman with a snake, huh? I like you already. The name's Date Masamune. I hope we can get to know each other well."

First I get called a prostitute, then this asshole flirts with me while I'm tied up! So much for a relaxing vacation!

________________________________________________________________

Kennyo watches the retreat of the Oda alliance with rage. His chance to exact revenge was in the palm of his hand but had been slapped away in a mere instance. The rustling of bushes gains his attention and he turns to see Ranmaru knelt before him, sweaty and disheveled. He's now porting a gash across his normally pristine face. "Are you alright? We need to tend to that wound to prevent it from becoming infected. It'll likely scar."

Ranmaru is on the verge of tears. "Master Kennyo, I failed you. All our efforts to eliminate the head of the Oda have gone to waste because of-"

The monk shushes him. "You've done well, Ranmaru. You've demonstrated how well the devil king trusts you. That alone is enough to be the cause of their undoing."

Ranmaru flinches at the mention of the word "trust." Kennyo turns back to look at the retreating forces once more. He turned back just in time to see that the they had a prisoner in their midst. He becomes even more enraged once he realizes that it was a woman.

"They would go so far as to blame a woman for the fire and hold her captive. The Oda couldn't stoop any lower than they have now."

Kennyo begins to walk away into the darkness of the forest. He gestures for the boy to follow, and he does so without hesitation.

________________________________________________________________

Another set of eyes watch the retreat of the Oda alliance from the sidelines.

"How disappointing. Though perhaps this is a blessing in disguise," Kenshin, initially unhappy seeing Nobunaga escape unharmed, immediately perks up at his own thoughts. "I still have an opportunity to drag the devil king out to battle and strike him down myself."

Shingen shakes his head in disbelief. Although he was frustrated as the rest, seeing the Oda pull out victorious and without a single loss, hearing Kenshin retain his bloodlust was reassuring. "He truly earned the title of devil king. Only a demon could have such twisted luck on his side."

"Lord Shingen," Yukimura suddenly notices an unfamiliar figure among the retreating forces, "look at who is riding with Mitsunari Ishida."

Shingen searches out for the familiar tuff of grey hair. He was in a bad mood, but now he's pissed. That was a woman, bound by the wrist the same way a criminal would be. "Unforgivable," is all the Tiger of Kai could growl out.

"Yes," Yoshimoto nods in agreement with his cousin, "Such a small thing. She must be scared to death."

Kenshin doesn't make any comment at the revelation, but he notices the panic that overtakes Sasuke's face upon hearing that a woman had been taken prisoner.

"I've grown bored. Let us return to Echigo and reconvene another day."

Kenshin doesn't wait for an answer. He turns away and the rest of his allies follow without a word. "Sasuke," Kenshin calls out to his ninja who had yet to move from his spot, "Do not keep me waiting."

He snaps out of this train of thought before following along. "Yes, my Lord."

________________________________________________________________

You had remained quiet the entire trip. A few people called your name, but you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even acknowledge whoever was speaking to you. You failed to realize that night had turned into morning. Your surroundings had changed from foliage into a massive fortress-like castle.

Kuro paid attention to your surroundings in your stead. Anyone that had gotten even a little close was hissed at and had transparent venom spat at them. Even Mitsunari, your one and only ally as of now, was not spared of the serpents radar.

You finally speak your first words after hours of silence. "If you keep threatening every man that so much as looks in my direction, I might start to believe you actually liked me all this time."

You're once again bitten, this time on the back of your hand. Blood quickly pools in the twin punctures before rolling down and staining your skin.

Mitsuhide had witnessed the snake sink its fangs into you. "Oh my, such a temperamental pet. Are you sure you have it under control?"

You roll your eyes. "Of course I do. Hey, Kuro," you look down to him. "If things turn ugly, pump me full of whatever you got left."

The snake nods, pleased at the privilege you've given it. Mitsuhide narrows his eyes at you, concerned over your order. You make sure to pat Kuro's scaly head while maintaining eye contact with him.

The entourage heads towards the stable. Stable hands awaited their return and began to board and tend to each steed. Mitsunari eventually dismounts and offers his hand for you to take. You gratefully accept his gesture and he helps steady you on the ground.

"How are your hands? If they feel sore I'll redo my bindings," he offers.

You shake your head. "I'm alright. What's going to happen to me now?"

"Lord Nobunaga requested an immediate council upon his return. It will likely be about the events that took place at Honno-ji and will take some time to inform and gather everyone needed. Until then, you...you will be…"

You didn't rush him. He was clearly having a hard time trying to muster up the courage to tell you what will happen to you until the meeting. You already have an idea what it would entail.

"You will be held in a prison cell until your fate is determined."

There it is.

"Will Kuro be allowed to stay with me?"

He nods. "Hideyoshi requested that the snake remain on your person at all times and visible. I hope his request isn't too unreasonable."

"If it puts the people here at ease then I can live with it. I'd feel safe having him close by anyways, so I'm quite thankful he didn't call in some expert snake hunter or something."

Mitsunari smiles at your words. "Even when the odds are against you, you find the positive within. You are truly admirable, my lady."

You return the smile. "Thank you, but I'm sure I told you before not to be so formal!"

"Very well. I agree with the condition that you address me with familiarity too. Is that alright?"

You nod and, for a brief moment, you forget that you were technically still a prisoner.

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