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cursestothemoon · 3 years

Note

🗼 with Fred and George. That’s it. That’s the blurb.

Hello lovely could I request a weasley twins x reader poly relationship if you’re comfortable with it.

I combined these two requests :)

Two to Tame the Brat

F.W. X FEM!READER X G.W.

POLYAMOROUS RELATIONSHIP

NO INCEST

17+ IF YOU ARE TAGGED AND DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT PLEASE LET ME KNOW

Warnings: NSFW, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, dom!George, dom!Fred, sub!reader, spanking, brat taming kinda, biting, slapping, degradation and praise, UNEDITED (i need to stick to my brand ya know✋🏻)

You felt your cheeks grow red at the intense stares of the two boys before you. Of all the things that could’ve happened in your seventh year at Hogwarts, standing naked in front of your two boyfriends while they discussed how to properly tame the brat out of you was not one of them. You had started off dating Fred, a couple months after your one year anniversary he had come to you with the idea of bringing in someone else to the relationship, George. The transition from just Fred to both Fred and George was smooth, until the latter found out about just how much Fred let you get away with.

“Are we gonna do anything or not?” You whined.

Usually Fred would give in if you whined enough, he had little patience and a lot of horniness so you got away with being a brat often- he’d always give in to you eventually.

A harsh smack landed on your cheek making you gasp.

“You speak when you’re spoken to.”

George was a different story...

After seeing how much of a brat you were with Fred, he knew a taming was necessary. George wasn’t one to take your games, and he had convinced Fred that you needed to have some rules set and punishments received. To your annoyance, Fred was completely on board with the idea and he insisted George show him how to be tougher on you.

You glared at George, but you couldn’t deny the way his stern dominance had your cunt aching.

Fred smirked from his seat on the edge of his four poster bed. Both of them were still clothed- George insisted you shed your clothes first- but you were itching to get them undressed.

George turned to his brother, “Now you can’t just let her get away with that behavior. Kitten needs learn what her mouth is good for.”

The twins seemed to be able to communicate without the use of words, this scenario was no different. Fred’s smirk grew as he looked over you with lustful eyes.

“Over here, love, and on your knees.”

You thought of disobeying him for a moment and George seemed to read your mind, “I believe Freddie told you to do something...”

“M’going.”

George gave your ass a quick smack as you made your way over to Fred, getting on your knees once you reached him. You looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him unbuckle his belt and take off his pants.

“You little brat, what are we supposed to do everything for you?” George scolded, coming up behind you and pulling your head back with a firm grip on your hair.

George continued his teasing as you felt Fred part to run a few fingers up and down the lines of your strained throat, “Open your mouth for Freddie.”

You did as you were told, eager to feel the weight of Fred’s thick cock on your tongue. Instead, you felt the firm grip of Fred’s hand on your jaw pulling you forward so he could spit into your open mouth.

Desperate for any part of either of them, you were happy to slow his spit- the taste entirely unique to Fred made you sigh in content.

“Get on with it, kitten.” George said, hand moving to pet the top of your head lovingly.

You worked fast to unbuckle Fred’s belt and unzip his trousers, pulling out his semi hard cock you could feel your mouth watering at the sight. Without pause, you took his tip into your mouth, sucking harshly as you tongue swirled around him to the best of your ability. Your hand wrapped around his shaft, slowly moving along its length making him let out a shaky breath before tipping his head back.

Fred put a hand on the back of your head, gently pushing you further down his prick. Your eyes watered as you felt him poking at the back of your throat, focusing on breathing through your nose, you adjusted before starting to bob your head with hollowed cheeks. Fred’s hand on the back of your head sped up your pace making you gag around him.

The sound of George’s belt hitting the floor made your thighs clench, you hoped to relieve some of the pressure building up in your core.

“Do that again and you’ll get punished.” George warned, his footsteps getting closer and closer.

Suddenly, Fred pulled you off of himself and stood up, his cock now painfully hard and leaking precum as he started undressing himself. You were pulled to your feet by George who started placing kissing along your collarbone and shoulder.

“See, wasn’t so hard to be a good girl.”

You nodded, “Wanna be your good girl.”

George chuckled, running his thumb across your bottom lip before trailing it down to your chin, “On the bed.”

Doing as you were told, you got on the bed with your knees apart and ready for whatever George wanted to do. He walked over to your pussy on full display and pushed you further up on the bed to make room for himself in between your legs.

“Good girls get rewards.” George smirked up at you from in between your legs before he dipped his head down and started to lick broad stripes up from your entrance to your clit- agonizingly slow.

He lifted his head briefly to speak, “You cum when you are allowed.”

At that, he dove back into your aching cunt with no respite. He was vigorously lapping at your cunt and giving a few harsh sucks at your clit sporadically, making you cry out each time.

Fred situated himself next to you with his mouth attached to your tit, biting and sucking on your pert nipples adding more pleasure coursing through your body.

“Such a good girl, f’me.” Fred muttered, kissing any skin he could reach.

Your eyes rolled back and fluttered closed at the mix of sensations. Needing to ground yourself and give yourself something to do, you reached for Fred’s cock and started pumping his shaft. Fred let out a growl like sound at the feeling of your hand on his sensitive dick before attaching his lips back to your pebbled nipple.

In all honesty, as Fred harshly tugged your nipple between his teeth and George’s tongue circled around your clit while two of his fingers pumped in and out of you with languid thrusts you were close to orgasm and George’s rule of cumming only when allowed seemed to slip your mind.

George was quick to pull away from you as you came, an open palm smack coming down onto your swollen clit making you let out a choked sob as your orgasm was ruined just as it hit you.

Fred gave your breast a rough bite, leaving a mark on the sensitive skin before pulling away.

“Tried to do something nice for our kitten, and she couldn’t fucking listen.” George sneered.

“On your fucking hands and knees, slag just wants be used, just wants to be punished.” Fred joined his brother, both of their harsh words making your cunt ache with need as you got into the position Fred wanted.

George gave a sarcastic laugh, “Slag’s practically dripping, look at the Freddie. She needs her punishments, loves ‘em.”

“Good,” Fred grunted as he seated himself by your raised ass, hand gently running across the round globes. “Because she’s about to get spankings for making me look like a liar, I said you were a good girl and you made me out to be a bloody liar.”

A loud smack sounded in the room, your body jolting forward with the sheer force of Fred’s first spank. George moved to lay in front of you, legs spread and elbows holding himself up as you took his cock into your mouth. With each spank you took George’s prick further into your mouth, loud gags sounding from your throat.

After about fifteen lashes you felt Fred stand up from the mattress, hand running across the red skin before he trailed his fingers over to your sopping cunt. He ran his fingers up your slit, collecting your juices and using the slick from your pussy to lubricate his cock.

Fred gave himself a couple of tugs before lining himself up at your entrance, pushing his tip in slowly before thrusting into your aching pussy roughly. The hard thrusts made you moan around George, sending vibrations up his shaft and making him groan.

You could feel your orgasm begging to be allowed to wash over you, and you knew better than to make your past mistake again. Deep throating George’s cock and swallowing around him had his warm load coating the back of your throat and your tongue. Swallowing his cum and sucking him off through his orgasm, you waited until he pulled you off of his prick to start begging.

“Wanna cum, plea-please, wanna cum.” You cried, forehead falling onto George’s balmy thigh.

The boys spoke at the same time, “Cum.”

Your walls clenched around Fred’s cock as you came, pulling his release from him. He continued with slow, deep, thrusts to ride out both of your highs for as long as possible.

Eventually, Fred pulled out of your cunt making your collapse onto George who was more than happy to pull you into his chest and place a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. Fred went to retrieve a warm wash cloth to clean you up, he came back and carefully wiped up the mess around your thighs and center. After getting cleaned up, George shuffled around to get you tucked into Fred’s bed before getting comfortable himself. Fred joined you two in the bed, sandwiching you in between him and his brother.

The room was silent until you heard a loud smack then a fake gag.

“I was holding your hand this entire time?”

“I thought that was Y/n!”

“Maybe if you quit hogging our girlfriend...”

“Don’t make me kick you out of my bed.”

tags:

@siriusement

@amourtentiaa

@vsawyer1989

@lifeofkaze

@theorangedrummer

@erinblack003

@famdomhideout

@an2402lths

@escapingrealitybyreading

@readyg0erge

@maybesandohnos

@therealhouseelvesofhogwarts

@georgeweasleysbabe

#Fred Weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #fred weasly x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #weasley twins smut

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moon-lixie · 3 years

Text

word count: 2.242k

song: Too Fast - Sonder

cw: Explicit sexual content, dom Chan, edging, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, protected sex, and creampie. There's also a bit of angst in there.

Useless, numb, and mediocre. You were now the things that you had feared the most, nothing but a piling clump of failures. It was hopeless to try to convince you otherwise, because that's all that you saw reflected in the mirror.

You felt nothing but sheer hatred towards the product of a lifetime. You had lived so long and yet this was the best you could do, perform poorly at everything that you meant to be good at.

You hated pitying yourself and being pitied but it almost looked like that was the only thing that you wished for now. Hands giving up even on begging for the slightest crumb of attention.

But you still tried, because if you were to beg then he would surely comply. His will would melt under your pathetic pleads, restrain dissipating into thin air, reluctancy being washed away by the thought of helping someone else.

He was the purest man alive, only when it came to his intentions. Always willing to try and fix the broken and stay by the side of pitiful souls.

But he was completely foolish sometimes, because some people had no repair and he never understood that.

"Are you sure?" He was reluctant but he would never explicitly say so out loud, that could possibly hurt you and he would never risk making you feel bad.

You nodded slightly annoyed that he kept asking over and over again if you were sure of this. His question was valid, you were intoxicated on failure and despair, so perhaps it wasn't the best option to take impulsive decisions. But you were laying already on his bed so you had no desire to back away now.

A soft sigh managed to reach your ears as a mere miracle, that's how meek it had been while coming out of his mouth. Following the puff that meant to release tension, he smiled at you. It was the sweetest smile you had seen in your whole life, it most surely belonged to an angel.

His hands wavered just like the wind; that's what you liked the most about him, he had the nerve of being shy after all. But then his hesitation would evaporate a second later, like the fake confidence that you allowed yourself to have often.

First he just caressed the side of your torso, slowly and taunting, knowing fully well that he drove you to the edge with the slightest graze of the tip of his fingers.

Lips were fast to follow his eager hands, crashing against yours hungrily. Whatever doubts he had a couple of minutes ago were now long gone. It was obvious on the way he moved his lips hastily against yours.

This is what you needed, so much attention that you couldn't even think about anything else.

He nibbled on your lower lip, softly at first but it became harsher as seconds passed by. A hiss escaped your lips when he bit down especially hard, he chuckled lightly at such a sound making its way up your throat before allowing his tongue to glide over your lower lip to soothe the stinging sensation.

With him you didn't have to feel so scared, he would take care of you no matter what. So you finally tangled your fingers on his soft locks, because he made you feel like it was okay to melt into his touch. If you did then he would still stay by your side and that was enough for now.

Despite having made several breaks in the connection of your mouths, to try and get some air, he still didn't leave the softness of your lips. The only difference was that now he eagerly let his tongue explore inside the cavern of your mouth.

Veiny hands pressed down on your torso as if it was possible to sink the mattress more under your weights. Then his fingers finally grabbed your waist firmly to stop you from moving, but it's not like you were planning to do such a thing.

You like the pressure of his grip, it reminds you that you're in fact there, alive and breathing the same air as him. You like even more the way in which he finds the way to rest his knee against the mattress in the small gap that your slightly parted legs allow him to.

When his mouth finally leaves yours for good you whimper shamelessly, wishing for him to be well aware of the displeasure his actions provoked in you. He chuckled once again, amused by how needy you could become. "Don't worry, baby. We're obviously not finished yet."

Cushions of flesh made their way along your jaw and the skin of your neck with kisses that feel so present yet quick and faint. Your hands fall limp on both of your sides as you try to relish in his warmth. He was your last anchor to life and right now the only one that you needed.

"You're boring me." You had the nerve to say when your agitated breath completely said otherwise. He knew better than to take your words literally so he slipped both of his hands under your shirt and explored the texture of your familiar skin eagerly.

He made you sit on the bed before tugging at the hem of your shirt. You complied and raised your arms so that he could get rid of the thin layer of fabric that hid you from his sight.

He unclasped your bra before tossing it aside and pushing you back towards the mattress. His mouth soon rested atop of your breast, sucking and biting hard enough for you to squirm under his touch but gentle enough not to hurt you.

After a couple of seconds he looked up at your closed eyes and smugly smiled. "I guess I'm not boring you anymore. Or are you still not entertained enough?"

"More." You lightly whispered under your breath. Immediately he dived back in to resume his previous activities while caressing your torso with his hands.

The pads of his fingers were soft and warm, just like the chocolate tone of his eyes. But his intentions were as burning as fire itself.

You would rarely allow him to help you, always closing yourself to the possibility of voicing your worries out loud. And that pained him; it completely broke him to watch you struggle on your own while he sat by your side. The only moment in which you were fully vulnerable were moments like these, in which you were literally bare under his eyes. So he always made the most of them, always gave his complete self into pleasing you.

Every time that he had the chance to have you this close he would claim you as his. Leaving purple and red proofs that he had been there, close to your heart even if just for a second.

He bit down harshly on your collarbone causing your nails to dig on his pristine white back. It hurt but it was better than feeling nothing at all, better than being on an amazingly boring loop of absolutely nothing.

His back hurt too, but he loved the kind of pain that edged him more into pleasure. The pain that you brought him was always the best he had ever experienced.

His teeth sunk into your skin various times more before he felt satisfied with his piece of art. He moved away from you to catch his breath and admire the purple and red combination of his neediness on your skin. It was perfect, just like you were in his eyes, but he knew that convincing you of that was perhaps impossible. That still didn't persuade him from trying to make you believe it.

"You're perfect." His thumb caressed your cheek with the same amount of affection that his eyes held while looking at you. And it felt too burdening, because you could never deserve him and all the love he had to offer.

"Ruin me, please." Ruin me until I have no tears left to cry, until my worries dissolve in between your thrusts, until I forget all of my problems. That's what you really meant to say, but luckily for you, the three words you mustered to pronounce were enough for him to understand exactly what you wished for.

"Your wish is my command, princess." It had been enough playing around already, his fingers finally found themselves at the height of your waistband. The button of your jeans presented no resistance against his complying fingers and soon you were completely raw in front of him.

Black fabric abandoned his torso before he lowered himself on the bed. His face ended up facing your inner thigh, the perfect excuse to kiss away at the skin of that area.

His lips were swollen and warm like flames, causing his kisses to be the responsible for the soft tremble of your knees.

With a swift movement he made room for him to lower himself onto your heat. It took a single puff of air for you to relax fully against the fluffiness of his bed.

You spared one last glance at him before closing your eyes and what you saw was a satisfied smile on his lips. It was nothing like the heartwarming smile that he had given you before, this one made you shudder in anticipation.

One kiss at the sensitive bud of nerves and you were sighing in satisfaction. That’s all he needed to continue joyfully sucking at the sensitive bud and slipping one digit at your drenched core.

He fingered you at a steady pace before he retreated his face away from your core. He slipped another digit and his fingers kept going steadily while his lips found its way to rest against your cheek.

You were biting down on your lip to stop yourself from making any noises. He started kissing your cheek adorably, making an obvious contrast between his lips and the sinful thrusting of his fingers.

“Please, make a sound for me.” The words floated on the room in between soft and tender kisses. And instead of complying to his plea you bit down on your lip with more force. “Please princess, do it for me.”

It seemed like he wasn’t the only one whose will dissolved in between pleads because you were soon reaching your high loudly, and his chest filled with pride at your sinful moans.

Eyes closed and head resting comfortably against his pillow, you attempted to catch your breath. Meanwhile he unbuckled his pants and discarded his undergarments; you knew too well that you were barely getting started. With him it always proved to be all or nothing, he wouldn’t stop until he was sure he had fully ruined you.

He tapped twice against your waist with his index finger and you quickly moved to rest against your knees and hands. You knew him, exactly what he liked and what he would never be willing to try just like he was well aware of how to make you scream. It was laughable to a certain degree; he knew of your deepest and most obscure desires and yet you wouldn’t allow him to take a glimpse inside your head, too afraid that he would end up seeing you in the same way you did.

Kisses were littered on your back as he opened a silver package and slipped a condom over his length before slowly pushing himself inside you. Once you had adjusted to his size he started pushing himself in and out at a pace that you could only call pleasing. Soon picking up his pace and not allowing your still sensitive core much room to last for long; you felt your high approaching and you whimpered loudly at the feeling of a knot tightening on your lower abdomen.

The loud and high pitched sound that slipped from your lips were the sign he needed to stop his hips abruptly and deprive you from the blissful feeling that was going to wash over you in a matter of seconds.

Before you had the time to comply he started moving again, slowly, one thrust at a time. Breathy moans were stolen from your mouth by the angle of his movements that allowed him to hit the perfect spot that made stars litter beautifully behind your lids.

He kept the slow pace for a while before moving rapidly without a warning; whimpers got stuck in your throat. Once again he suddenly stopped but this time you weren’t having it anymore. You tried to move to face him as you complained but his hands firmly held you in place.

“Don’t be so impatient.” He said almost mockingly before thrusting inside of you with force, just once. “If you wait then I’ll give you what you want.”

He was surely enjoying himself and you couldn’t deny feeling exactly the same. It would be futile and useless to deny the fact that just a simple glimpse at his torso could suffice to turn you on; when he touched you, you managed to make your way up to the clouds.

When he got impatient of waiting and teasing, he started thrusting in and out of you, going back to the perfect and somewhat relaxed pace from the start. The speed of his movements increased little by little, the knot in your lower abdomen making its presence noticeable more and more as he kept going.

Once he reached a pace that caused the mattress to rock along with your bodies, you knew you were done for. It wasn’t long before another wave of overwhelming pleasure washed over you, but this one made your legs and arms tremble as the pleasures came back every time you tried to close your eyes.

His thrusting became sloppier when you tightened around him and his pleasure was let loose not long after you had finished.

As you laid in bed trying to come back to your senses a couple of tears started rolling down your temples. After a couple of seconds it wasn’t a couple of droplets but a whole storm of emotions that didn’t allow you to live in peace.

You hadn’t forgotten your problems but at least you could finally cry with freedom. You could finally feel everything escape your eyes and tears while he held you close.

A soft kiss on top of your head and arms securely holding you close to a warmth you were too familiar with. That’s how you ended up.

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tanadrin · 4 years

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Honest question: how do you expect anyone to build a life that will be just fine irrespective of politics?Everything in my life which I’ve used to try and deal with shit has been destroyed by this pandemic, and the country is about to reelect the demagogue whose policy has been making that worse. This isn’t catastrophizing - the situation is a catastrophe. Is the solution just “move to a different country lol?” Because I imagine you know that’s actually rather hard.

if you’re American, and by “reelect the demagogue whose policy has been making that worse” you mean Trump

(if you’re not, and are referring to some other demagogue-led country, ignore this bit)

then I have to point out that 538 is giving Trump about a 12% chance right now, and he’s behind in both national and swing-state polls, and while 12% is not nothing, it is also only a 12% chance. multiply all pessimism contingent on a Trump victory by 12%, and all potential optimism contingent on a Biden victory by 88%. Remember that even a 2016-sized polling error does not give Trump a greater than 50% probability of winning; a Trump victory would require a Dewey-beats-Truman sized polling error, and while that’s happened before (when Truman beat Dewey, natch), it’s happened once before in the era of modern Presidential election polling. The odds right now of Democrats winning the Presidency, holding the House, and having a slim majority in the Senate are at about 70% (again, per recent 538 reporting), so catastrophism about the outcome of the American election is... well, catastrophism! Because the situation the US is facing is not actually catastrophe.

I know dirtbag left doomerism is popular on Twitter these days, but it’s, pardon my uncharitability, fucking stupid and just as divorced from reality as Fox News-poisoned right-wing conspiracism. On balance the likely outcome of this election is Democratic control of the legislative and executive branches, and--though this would be contingent on a strong Dem majority in the Senate, and popular appetite for it--there’s a nonzero chance of Dems packing SCOTUS and having control of all three branches of government. Small chance, to be sure, but far, far larger than it’s ever been in my lifetime.

(and if you think ACB being confirmed means a 99% chance that SCOTUS will steal the election... that is also stupid. the supreme court is only relevant in a handful of very specific circumstances where the election is nearly a tie, and those are not very likely circumstances! it would be very bad if we got Bush v Gore 2.0, yes; and being concerned about SCOTUS picks to avoid that kind of thing is reasonable; but letting fear of that scenario dominate your predictions for how the election will turn out would be extremely fucking stupid. I would put more money on the Dems packing the court in 2021 than I would on the court deciding the 2020 election. Not a lot, you understand; but I’d much sooner bet 50 euro on the former than the latter.)

(again, if you’re not American, ignore all the above; but AFAIK other likely demagogue led-countries you might be from, like Brazil, Poland, Hungary, Russia, the Philippines, and the UK, do not have upcoming elections.)

You build a life with meaning outside of politics the same way you build a life with meaning in general. Dan Savage (yeah yeah I know) talks about this w/r/t people who are lonely and have no short-term, or even long-term, prospects of a romantic relationship. You read, you have hobbies, you make friends, you refuse to let bitterness and rage consume you--and in this day and age, you get off social media, if that’s where your bitterness and rage is coming from--and you develop yourself as a well-rounded person so that if you do stumble into a scenario where a romantic relationship seems possible, you are an interesting and fun person to be in a relationship with, because you have a full and complete life outside that relationship.

So too with any other sphere of life. If thoughts of politics and anger against politicians is consuming your life, fucking stop consuming news about politics. It’s not doing you any good. By all means, vote in elections, even volunteer for political organizations, but also read, cultivate hobbies, make friends, get out of the house, get in shape, learn to bake--find out who you are in all areas of life besides the one making you miserable, in short. Yeah, coronavirus makes all this harder. It doesn’t make any of it impossible. I know it’s driving us all a little crazy--me included, and I’m a married Extremely Online homebody--but it won’t last forever. And you get to choose what to do with yourself in the meantime. You get to choose how consumed with resentment and frustration at the world you’re gonna be. You get to choose every day whether you’re going to let the fear that nothing is possible for you govern your behavior, or whether you’re going to try to accomplish something (however difficult, however small) despite the circumstances around you.

If you write 300 words a day--a short newspaper column--then in six or seven months you’ll have a novel. If you do 20 minutes of exercise a day, in six months you could be in the best shape of your life. If you spend an hour a day playing with Python, in six months you could be a fairly competent programmer. And so on and so forth. Mutatis mutandis, as far as the things you’re actually interested in, but the underlying point holds: just because the world feels like it’s going to hell in a handbasket doesn’t mean you can’t build up your life in other areas. The ‘rona doesn’t stop you from having an online or socially-distanced book club, or from hanging out with friends outdoors, or from getting drunk on raid night with your WoW guild (A++ can recommend, btw).

And if you really can’t, if the anxiety or the anger or the worry or the sheer overwhelming weight of it all means you can’t even manage modest effort in the things you care about, you should assign a much greater likelihood to the possibility that your brain is broken, that your thoughts are lying to you (they do that sometimes!) and that your life might be greatly improved by some combination of anti-anxiety medication/antidepressants and talk therapy. Because God is dead, depressive realism is horseshit, and we have to make our own meaning in the world; and the human brain is, in fact, usually very good at that when it’s firing on all cylinders.

#Anonymous

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years

Text

Grudge; aka a young Jedi tries to drop a bridge on Vader’s head, and it goes about as well you’d expect (for the people out there who want to see Vader being the insanely powerful murder machine he is)

“This oughta buy me some time,” the young Jedi muttered to himself in relief, while he watched the reinforced foundations of the giant suspension bridge stretching across the gouge of which he found himself at the bottom begin to give way.

He strained every muscle in his body, sweat pouring in thick globs down his forehead as the sandstone structure rumbled and whined in protest, cracks appearing in intricate patterns as they traveled and expanded rapidly along the eroded sides. The suspension cables stabilizing the viewpoints that had been carved into the natural overhang of the rock at either side of the bridge’s anchor points had already snapped under pressure. Picking up tremendous speed, the man-made platforms came hurtling down both sides of the canyon - and with them gushed an abundance of loose boulders, rocks, pebbles and sand knocked free by the sheer power of impact. A cloud of golden brown dust rushed past the young Jedi, who fought to keep his eyes open and ignore the grains blurring his vision with tears and mud.

A tiny but sharp rock struck the side of the Jedi’s cheek hard enough to draw blood, and he winced, faltering momentarily but quick to regain his bearings. His gaze remained fixed upon the top of the bridge, and the supporting pillars shouldering its ornate design against the bedrock lining the sides of this artificial crevice mined in the sandstone. Once, this canyon had functioned as a floodgate system, the only reminders of its glorious past now being the saltwater dam waiting several miles downhill. That, and the dry, dusty and cracked salt lake desert resting beneath the young man’s feet. This had been yet another attempt by the Empire to exploit and deploit a new, untouched system for its natural resources. The flood delta upstream was all but dried out, its ancient trackways drained, abandoned and littered with wildlife carcasses. Yet another ecosystem destroyed by Imperial greed.

But Jedi Knight Jarl Oda hadn’t come to Jansenn to become an environmental activist, although he had been tempted to at the very least severely cripple the Imperial machinery ruling the system more than once. No, Oda had come to seek refuge. Like any other survivor of the temple massacre - if there were any left, and he’d like to prefer he was not alone when compared to the alternative - he had seen the message recorded by master Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’d narrowly escaped unseen, lingering clone troopers discussing their plan to execute all Jedi on sight aloud. Following a direct order, gunning down their own generals. Their own friends.

It was shocking, but Oda had never taken to blindly trusting the clones - master Krell had seen to that. In his formative years, and during the war, that had been considered a fatal flaw by the council. He had often butted heads with fellow Jedi Knights like Aayla Secura or Anakin Skywalker over his unwillingness to rely upon his troops. Now, he was beginning to think himself lucky for his suspicions. His master may have been punished, unjustly Oda would like to believe, for refusing to humanize expendable soldiers. He had survived only because of that inherent doubt in their reliability.

Finally, as Oda twisted both palms upwards; he took a wide stance for maximal leverage, closed both fists, and tugged. Hard. With unwavering determination and with everything he had in him, narrowed eyes still focused on the looming, black clad figure atop the bridge. The ominous shadow of a man didn’t move, even as the structure beneath his feet came undone in slow motion. He didn't seem particularly concerned by imminent death, not even when the final fortification shattered and the bridge came crashing down.

Oda was prepared for the shockwave when tonnes upon tonnes of solid rock collided with the manufactured flood bed; salt crystals propelled like projectiles in every direction. What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was just how powerful the impact would be. The Jedi had no time to steady or brace himself as the first shockwave set him off balance, and the second sent him flying. The cloud of debri whirled past him in a flurry, dragging his helpless body with it and Oda instinctively covered his face with both arms for protection.

The sound came a millisecond later. Earsplitting. A deafening explosive crack, like the roar of a thunderstorm and the detonation of a thousand bombs combined. The Jedi covered his ears with a whimper when pain pierced his ear drums. An ominous, distinct pop followed closely by a shrill, high pitched ringing settled in his temples and muted any further noises like a swab of cotton. Panting, the young man found himself feeling quite a bit less confident even as he groggily managed to get up on his knees. The dust cloud kicked up by the bridge’s collapse disoriented him, both sight and sound reduced by the blast. His body ached, and his arms trembled from the sheer extersion of bringing down such a large structure. Oda had never attempted a similar feat before, and had never even imagined he might need to.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, Oda at least figured he had time to recover. No one could have survived a two hundred foot drop into a durasteel reinforced salt lake canyon, with a fifty foot overpass crashing down on top of them. Not even this menace, whoever he was.

He had hunted Oda through the vacant landscape of Jansenn for 48 hours without yielding. The hunt had begun as a creeping suspicion, as a foreboding sensation of being watched. The Jedi had no clue who his assailant was, but rumours spoke of Imperial Force wielders trained specifically to trap and dispose of any remaining Jedi stragglers. Oda had made several good friends in the underbelly of the Galaxy these past couple of years since the fall of the Republic. Perhaps he had become careless, or perhaps the vigor with which the Empire pursued Jedi had grown exponentially. Either way, Oda had a target on his back and a price on his head that not even his friends could erase. It had been a matter of time, but he hadn’t expected these assassins to be so relentless in their pursuit.

Coughing, Oda spit up a garbled mix of salt crystals, saliva and blood. His head was spinning, and he staggered backwards when he stubbornly got up on his feet. The moment felt like it had lasted an eternity but it couldn’t have been more than half a minute. Even in his disoriented state, the Jedi noticed that the topmost sheen of debris was already fading, carried away by the dry acrid winds overhead. But that wasn’t what bothered Oda and drew his attention. As he wiped his nose, attempting to stall the gush of blood trickling from the left nostril, the colour was left drained from the man’s bruised face.

The entire midsection of the expansive, collapsed walkway appeared to be hovering. Oda blinked rapidly, not believing his eyes and with a growing dread setting in, he tried to write it off as a hallucination caused by sudden head trauma. As if whatever external force that was manipulating the levitating wreckage had read his mind; the thick fog of obliterated gravel, sand and salt perforating the air seemed to settle in an instant. There was nothing natural about the way in which every single airborne particle of dust laid down as neatly as if someone had smoothed it out with their hands. In an instant the air was crisp and clear. The sun’s blinding light spilled into the canyon, reflected by billions of salt lake crystals. With one, single synchronized swipe, a serene peace settled as the rubble littering the bottom of the complex was brushed aside to create a perfect pathway. Oda didn’t want to look, but he already knew the culprit behind the inexplicable bending of physics.

Where only a collapsed bridge should have been resting, crushing its passenger under its weight - stood the man Oda had hoped to destroy. One of his large hands was aimed in Oda’s direction, palm open facing him. The other was raised to about eye level in a tightly clamped fist. There was a slight tremble to that one balled hand, but in its Force grip, the man had successfully both blocked and abruptly stopped the remains of the falling bridge mid air before they could even touch the bottom of the canyon. Around his imposing figure laid the shattered marble pillars, the stone railings that had lined the walkway in pieces. Suspension cables hung from the carved sandstone that had supported the viewing platforms. In the midst of the chaos, the majority of the demolished structure remained suspended just a few feet above the mysterious man’s domed black helmet.

Oda could only stare, mouth wide open in horror. His feet seemed nailed to the ground. His eardrums still burnt, but the ringing had begun to subside and the uncanny, eerie silence of the scene was tense and overbearing, suffocating. Shifting slightly, the large, imposing figure of a man on a mission that stood before the young Jedi began to approach. His strides were slow and meticulous, but he didn’t falter. Oda’s gaze remained transfixed by the large chunk of stone still floating freely; its vast shadow blocking out the sunlight.

“Did you believe dropping a bridge on me would be a sufficient way of stalling my advances? I am afraid I must disappoint you. Now, shall we see how you enjoy a similar treatment?” the man rumbled, his voice sharp and its bark was a sinister warning.

Oda instantly realized what it meant, and he did his best to flee on wobbly, unsteady legs as the strange assassin crouched. The man brought his arm back to take perfect aim and in one flawless heave - he hurled the remains of the bridge at the boy full force. The distance was enough to allow Oda to dodge the majority of the formation heading for him, even as it broke apart along the way - but it was not enough to completely escape the explosion that sent shattered rock and gravel raining down on him when its proponent collided with the lake bed. Tumbling, the enormous limestones that had decorated the walkway seemed to chase the Jedi with unfathomable speed for something so substantial.

Oda glanced back, confident he was in the clear when he noted that he was gaining. He thought he might get away despite the burning in his lungs and the taste of iron and copper welling up in his throat - the salt he had inhaled scraping his airways from the inside. He even dared to smile - only to stumble on an unexpected depletion in the ground ahead. With a yelp, the Jedi lost his footing and tumbled forwards onto his palms and knees. Unable to break his fall, he rolled around; the sharp salt tearing holes in his clothes, digging deep into his flesh. A sickening pop and a snap was followed by a wet crack, and Oda came to a sudden stop.

Pain shot up the young man’s spine as he was unceremoniously pinned in place. Adrenaline pumping, Oda twisted halfway around and through the agony he soon realized that his right leg was locked in a vice between reinforced canyon floor and a chunk of the bridge’s support pillars.

The Jedi gulped down the urge to throw up, blood gushing from the multiple spots on his body the salt lake’s unforgiving bed had ripped up and rubbed raw. Nausea struck full on, as he attempted to push the remnants of what was once a craving appropriating the planet’s local population’s cultural, decorative art off of his mangled limb. To no avail, Oda’s hands shook and refused to stay still, blood painting the palms a deep crimson. He was trapped, backed into a corner, tears welling up in his eyes as the monster responsible for his suffering appeared over the crest of this brand new ridge of fallen rock he had created.

The man was impossibly tall, broad shouldered and carried himself with a dark pride. All black, his cape billowed behind him like a pair of giant wings as he crossed the distance between them with one leap. The grace behind it was jarring when linked to the man who had performed the feat. The man appeared to be regarding his handiwork, and there were no signs of strain or struggle within him. It appeared as if the immense power that fuelled the impressive Force wielding he had just performed didn’t so much as phase him.

“Let - let me go… I don’t h-have anything! I’ll disappear, just p-please,” Oda heard himself brokenly sniveling in between sobs and sniffles - put face to face with his own mortality, he found himself pathetic.

“You are as cowardly as every other Jedi. Tell me, how does it feel to look death in the eye?”

There was no malice or direct spite in the man’s deep voice, his wheezing respirator serving as an unwelcome third part invited to witness this mocking display. It triggered some kind of memory, but Oda couldn’t say what it was. Instead, the Jedi focused on the monster’s stoic face plate and how it seemed to emulate something akin to disgust, or distaste despite its perpetual aloofness.

Oda realized he was being treated if he wasn’t human, as if he was just a pest or a vermin this sinister man was looking to exterminate before continuing going about his day. The Jedi could picture this menace of a man going home as soon as he’d been dealt with, and never again think of him. Never again deliberate on his fate, never regret his death. Tears poured down the young man’s bruised, cut up cheeks, and he shook his head vehemently.

“Please, I - I’ll do anything…” he begged in vain, voice cracking mid sentence.

“You have nothing to offer me. I have no use for you, and even if I did, you would be the last person I would consider worthy of making an exception for.”

The man’s montone, almost bothered delivery changed with an uncanny ease. Suddenly, there was a tangible sense of contempt seeping through his mechanical, synthesized vocals.

“I… do I know you? I don’t understand.”

Oda had never sensed such unhinged, unadulterated hatred spilling from another human being. It was enough to taint the monster’s entire Force signature; infecting it like a virus, and the Jedi realized he had never in his life come across someone so deeply connected to the Dark Side. Still, as the tidal wires of agonizing pain continued to send his nervous system into shock and meltdown - the anguish only serving to heighten his awareness of this man’s loathing - the young man found himself perplexed through his terror. Something told him this was a personal vendetta.

A Sith Lord, master Krell had said once. When you meet one, you’ll know. That’s what this nameless, faceless menace was. A Sith Lord.

“No. You do not know me, and you never will. But I know you.”

The Sith Lord drew closer, with a superhuman speed to his calculated, menacing approach. Oda tried to rear back, but with his leg crushed, he could do nothing but whine as agony washed over him and kept him incapacitated. The Sith seized the young man’s temporary weakness as an opportunity, placing one large, heavy booted sole over the Jedi’s heaving ribcage. As the assassin applied pressure little by little, Oda gasped - finding himself nearly unable to draw breath and the panic that had been threatening to overtake his senses broke through.

“I don’t - no - I---” he tried to reason and plead, but his executioner-to-be would have none of it.

“Master Yoda would not have taught you this, but I happen to believe in an eye for an eye. And while it would be decent of me to play fair, I have good reason not to. You owe me an arm, but I believe I will take… your life.”

Oda’s eyes widened as he stared right into crimson red lenses of the face plate covering the Sith Lord’s face. It all came rushing back to him. The lectures in the temple halls, the relentless bullying he had spearheaded. He’d just been a kid himself, he hadn’t enjoyed the new kid’s natural talent with the Force. He hadn’t enjoyed the attention the kid had received, he had been driven by a childish jealousy. He had thought the boy had gotten over it, as they grew up.

Yes, Oda might have accidentally broken the kid’s arm in a wrestling match. Yes, he might not have meant it when he’d said sorry and apologized at the time. Yes, they had gone on missions together when they had both been knighted. Yes, they had shared some sort of friendly connection on Ilum. Still, the kid had always been prone to holding grudges til the end.

Heart dropping into the pit of his belly, the Jedi instantly realized the identity of this Sith Lord. He didn’t doubt he would have died even without the personal connection, and it all made sense. Of course it was that kid who had turned on the Jedi council and their teachings. Of course it was that kid who had slaughtered the younglings in cold blood, who had brought about the Empire’s rise to power. Of course it was that kid, whomst master Kenobi would never sell out by name. That kid, who was excused and forgiven again and again.

Of course it was Anakin Skywalker.

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satendou · 3 years

Text

⟼ shirabu kenjirou & tendou satori

⍣ the proposal: poly edition | next: matsukawa & iwaizumi | 1/?

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: shirabu/reader/tendou

⇢ au: aged up!au

⇢ summary: it isn’t exactly how he pictured it, but it’ll do

⇥ masterlist

⇢ warnings: insecurities, stress, soft shirabu: no i do not take criticism that he’s “too” soft

⇢ word count: 1730

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ a/n: i love the idea of these two together. tendou would make shirabu stop overworking himself through sheer force of will and pestering him into compliance.

Shirabu was exhausted. He was beyond exhausted and knew he should be sleeping for an early morning lecture and yet…

Another burst of laughter from the living room reached his ears only to be quickly stifled and overtaken by Tendou’s giggly muttering, causing him to frown as he laid in bed.

When was the last time he had been able to spend any proper time with the two of you? You and Tendou were always together, getting up in the mornings and drinking coffee before heading to work while Shirabu slept until the last possible minute before his classes. Then you got home at right around the same time, cooking dinner together while Shirabu was either in another lecture, studying in the library, or working on practicals, a project, a paper-- it was always something. Even on the off chance he did get home at a decent time, he almost always fell asleep immediately after eating dinner, no matter how hard he tried to stay up for even a little while.

Jealousy flared in his gut, twisting his heart as he played through a scenario where a rift grew between the three of you, the two of you starting to exclude him from dates, planning things without him and whispering behind his back about how he was never around so what was the point?

The point was that he would never have made it this far without the two of you. Through all his bad attitudes, snippy comments, and the fights they caused, you had stayed. His sleepless nights would have been pointless if you and Tendou hadn’t been there with a cup of coffee, a kiss, and soft words of encouragement. When he was so burnt out he was tearing at his hair, the words from his textbooks floating before his eyes without being absorbed, the two of you had been there to gather him up in your arms, pulling his fingers from his hair and reminding him that he needed to take care of himself.

Even tonight, when he had finally come in after a twelve hour day with a waspish attitude, you had barely flinched before giving him a small smile while Tendou slung an arm around him, playfully scolding him. You had made him sit down and eat, talking quietly and asking him how his day was before he stumbled down the hall to the bedroom-- only to still lay awake 30 minutes later, too wrapped up in his thoughts to sleep.

Huffing, he scrubbed his hands over his face before kicking the blankets off.

The living room went silent as soon as he walked in, the two of you staring at him warily from the couch, and he knew exactly why. Guilt flushed through him, turning his face red as he scurried over to the couch and curled up beside you, throwing his arm across your waist and burying his face in your neck.

“‘Jirou, what’s wrong?” you asked quietly, half-turning to run your fingers through his hair. “You should be asleep.”

Shirabu could feel your lips pressing against his heated forehead where you had pushed his hair back, burrowing further into your familiar warmth as a wave of exhaustion swept through him at last. Letting out a breath of air he didn’t even know he was holding, he sunk into you, pushing you back into Tendou’s chest.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he muttered, reaching further past you to seek out Tendou’s hand. Cold fingers linked with his, lifting it up until chapped lips touched his skin. “And...I missed you. I haven’t had time to spend with you and I just--”

Warm air puffed against his hand, the lips moving against them as Tendou said, “We’ve missed you too, even if you’ve been more grumpy than not lately.”

Shirabu mumbled under his breath, too quiet for you to hear, before speaking up. “I know. I’m just tired, I don’t mean to be.”

“We know,” you said, turning to give Tendou a frown, which he returned with a playful grin. “You’re doing your best, ‘Jirou. We couldn’t ask for more.”

Not when he was already stretched so thin by classes and sleep. Even with that, he never made you feel like you were a burden, and his clumsy attempts at showing you how much you meant to him were endearing.

Like now, even when he should be asleep, he was suffering trying to make you happy. He always had been better at showing than saying how he felt.

“You need to go to sleep, baby,” you said, carding your fingers through his hair. A half-hearted attempt to guide his head down to your lap was met with resistance as he pulled away from you. You were surprised to see a fierce scowl on his face, something like determination swimming in his eyes.

“I don’t want to sleep,” he insisted, though he swayed where he sat on the couch. His eyes felt heavy and there was a faint throbbing at the base of his skull, both of which he stubbornly refused to acknowledge. “I want--”

He wanted to stay up, he wanted to be able to spend more time with you, he wanted to wake up every day to your lips on his and a whispered declaration of love, he wanted to come home to the smell of Tendou having burnt dinner and your laughter filling his home while you tried to fix it, he wanted--

“Marry me.”

The words tumbled out faster than his sleep addled brain could process. He blinked rapidly, wondering why he had just said that when he didn’t even have rings and this was probably the least romantic proposal in the history of proposals.

You and Tendou had frozen beside him, both staring with wide eyes, probably wondering if you had heard him correctly. It remained silent besides the TV playing in the background as the three of you sat in a stalemate, no one sure what to say. Shirabu was sure Tendou had some joke pinging around in his head, yet even he stayed mute, waiting.

At long last, you lifted your hand and pointed at him, asking weakly, “Wha-- Are you serious?”

That seemed to wake Shirabu up, his cheeks flushing yet again as he looked to the side. “Well, it wasn’t exactly how I wanted to ask but I-- Yeah, I am. Both of you. I know we can’t actually get married but we could still have a ceremony. I don’t want you two to think I’m not serious about this, about you, or-- or us.”

This was a lot harder than Shirabu expected, given he’d had no plan to begin with. Yet when he really thought about it, it wasn’t much of a surprise, given what he’d been thinking earlier when he was laying in bed. There had never been anyone there for him like the two of you, unconditionally supportive or able to “deal” with him, as so many people had put it. He was often the butt of jokes about “needing” two partners to deal with his attitude, and he didn’t have many friends to begin with, so when not just one but both of you turned out to want him, he hadn’t known how to handle it.

Yet so many years down the road, you never asked him for more than he could give but gave everything you had, standing by him through his worst so you could celebrate with him at his best.

“I-- I love you both, even-- even if I don’t always know how to show it,” he muttered, fidgeting with his fingers and the hem of his shorts in turn. He was sure he was going to combust from embarrassment and clammed up, staring at his lap as he realized you had yet to answer him. He didn’t even know what your reactions were because he had refused to look at you up until now.

Tendou burst out laughing after a few moments of silence, only to cut off with a pained grunt a moment later. “You didn’t have to hit me that hard--”

“Would you shut up for once--”

“That hurt--”

Your whispered argument was cut off as Shirabu shifted to face the TV, resting his chin in his hand while he stared blankly at the moving pictures. “You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to. Or you can just tell me no, I’ll understand.”

“No!”

Your voice mixed with Tendou’s, panic evident before you both whispered a simultaneous curse.

“I mean, no that’s not it,” you tried again, scooting closer so you were nestled against Shirabu’s side. “Are you sure you aren’t just tired? You aren’t gonna wake up tomorrow and regret this, are you?”

“Don’t ask him that, then he will regret it,” Tendou whined, slumping forward against you. He was so tall that he could rest his chin on Shirabu’s head even though he was on your other side, lanky arms enveloping both of you.

But Shirabu shook his head, crooked bangs flying off his forehead with the force. “The only thing I regret is not doing it properly, but I mean it-- I want to, if you do.”

There was another beat of silence, during which he felt his pulse thrum in his ears before he felt you whisper against his cheek.

“Yes.”

Taking your cue, Tendou chuckled quietly. “How could I say no to such a romantic gesture?”

“Satori, you jerk, answer him properly,” you whispered again, lips curling up against Shirabu’s skin.

His fingers curled into his palms, biting into his skin to prove he wasn’t dreaming as Tendou laughed again and said, “Yes, alright? Yes.”

Before Shirabu could react, he found himself smothered beneath you and Tendou, the breath knocked from his lungs by your combined weight. You were squirming between him and Tendou, laughing against his chest and yelling at Tendou to get off, but he refused.

“Nope,” he said simply, and Shirabu could hear his smile from where his face was hidden in his neck.

At last your face peeked out from beneath Tendou’s arm, sharing an exasperated look with Shirabu, but he found he didn’t mind so much.

His racing heart and thoughts had finally settled, and he thought maybe he could go to sleep at last as the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

⇥ masterlist

⍣ the proposal: poly edition | next: matsukawa & iwaizumi

#shirabu x reader #tendou x reader #shirabu kenjirou x reader #kenjirou shirabu x reader #tendou satori x reader #satori tendou x reader #shirabu x reader x tendou #haikyuu x reader #.proposal series

147 notes · View notes

oldguardhc · 3 years

Text

Old Guard hc #135

Warnings: Temporary Major Character Death, Alcoholism, Depression

AN: @sunshineandchemistry wanted hurt inspired by Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then) by The Decemberists.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

They have a plan.

They’re supposed to stop healing together. They’re supposed to retire from the action and live out the rest of their days in Malta. They’re supposed to have decades to prepare for the inevitable day. They’re supposed to go together.

Not-not like this.

Joe stares down at his own body. A puddle of blood has formed around it, bright red and barely deep enough to splash if someone were to step in it. His light blue shirt, now a deep maroon, is sticking to his chest and his fingers itch to pull the fabric away before it can dry. His eyes, open and glazed, he wanted to see the stars before this death, pierce through him in a way his reflection never has.

This feels like a joke.

He’s bled ten times more than this and was back in the fight a minute later. When his leg got blown off, he was walking not an hour later. So why the hell is the hole in his chest, barely an inch wide and four inches deep, not closing? This is nothing but a scratch in the long list of injuries his body has sustained.

When he first woke up, he had laughed. He just got killed by a purse-snatcher. A purse-snatcher. They weren’t even smart enough to burglar a house; how the guy got the jump on him was a goddamn mystery, not to mention insulting and mortifying. Booker was never going to let him live this down.

It was only after he sat up and patted his chest, still chuckling to himself at the sheer absurdity of the situation, that he realized something was wrong. That he was wrong.

His hands, normally a warm brown, like wheat just before the summer harvest, were gray and pale, every inch of life snuffed out of them. Joe had stared at them, flipping them over and over, flexing and shaking his fingers to stimulate fresh blood flow, but no matter how much he moved them, how many times he blinked, they remained the same. Cool brown and utterly wrong.

That wasn’t even the worst part.

No, the worst part, the worst fucking part, was when he stood up, ready to shake off this awful day in the comfort of Nicky’s arms, dinner be damned, they’ll just eat another sandwich, and his body remained on the floor, still and bleeding and-and separate.

He freaked out.

He immediately laid back in his body, lining his arms and legs with the body on the floor first, before sitting up. When that didn’t work, he tried picking his body up to drag back home, only his hands had passed through his own arms and chest, like he was nothing more than a cheap light show.

It was then that it sunk in, with his hands buried in his sternum and his own lifeless eyes staring back at him.

He was dead.

He was dead and he wasn’t coming back.

—

Nicky hasn’t eaten in days, not since he shared the small sandwich with Joe.

“Just a snack!” Joe pleaded, batting his eyelashes with a wide grin. He looked ridiculous, like one of those Bratz dolls that once lined every shelf in the toy section at the supermarket. Nicky was more annoyed than charmed as Joe continued to beg; he was blocking the TV and his voice was getting progressively pitchier the longer Nicky continued to ignore him in favor of watching National Treasure.

Nicky gave in, of course he gave in, if only to get Joe to shut up now that he was reaching dog whistle levels. He went to the kitchen, Joe right on his heels and made the fastest sandwich in history, a ham and cheese sandwich on one slice of bread. After folding it in half, he stuffed as much of the sandwich into his mouth and handed over the rest to Joe. It wasn’t much, barely bigger than the bite-sized sandwiches that are usually out on the buffet tables, but it was better than nothing. He almost choked when he saw the wounded expression on his husband’s face. Joe took the half-sandwich with a pout and spent the next fifteen minutes nibbling on it, savoring each bite like it was the best thing he’s ever eaten. It was cute and charming and Nicky kissed him when he finished, swatting his ass as they broke apart because dinner wasn’t going to get itself.

He should have made a regular sandwich.

He should have just cooked with what they had in the pantry.

He should have gone with Joe.

His stomach twists and Nicky cries.

—

Nicky’s not living. He eats, he sleeps and sometimes he even goes out for a walk, but he’s not living, he’s functioning and that’s enough for Andy and Booker.

They don’t talk much to him; then again, no one talks much these days. It became glaringly obvious early on who initiated the conversations, who had the loudest voice, who kept the discussion flowing from one point to the next.

He doesn’t blame them; they were engulfed in their own grief too, both fresh and scarred.

They’ve become the liquor store’s best customers; between the three of them, they easily put away six bottles of hard liquor every night. It’s the only time they’re together, late at night into the early morning, drinking with a desperate fervency to get lost in their own memories of better times.

“The widow club,” Booker joked one night, mouth curled into a snarl.

“I never wanted to be part of this fucking club,” Nicky spat, taking an aggressive sip from his bottle. It was whiskey that night; it tasted like shit, it always tasted like shit, and Nicky didn’t care. It made him warm and muddled his thoughts and while he was drunk, he could forget, could ignore how empty everything was.

There was a moment of silence and then Andy laughed, sharp and vicious as she raised her bottle to clink with his, “Cheers to fucking that!”

During the day, Nicky sleeps. A lot.

Nicky sleeps, because if he sleeps, he can dream. In his dreams, Joe is still with him, leading him through the world with both hands and promising to never leave his side. In his dreams, Joe is bright and warm, kissing him like he never left, loving him like they had all the time in the world. In his dreams, he can savor the weight of Joe’s loving gaze, anchoring him in this sea of madness.

Most days, he wakes up around three in the afternoon. He stares at the ceiling until his stomach grumbles, and only when the pain becomes unbearable does he get up to get something to eat.

Sometimes, the stupid wind chimes will wake him up before three and those days are always the worst. Joe had loved those wind chimes; he would run his fingers through them every morning just to hear them sing, laughing as the house filled with its tinkling sound.

Nicky hates those fucking wind chimes.

He hates how every time he hears them, he thinks that it’s Joe, gently pushing one tube into another, creating a new song only for their ears. He hates how he turns his head with a sleepy smile towards the chimes, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue, only to be splashed with the bitter reality that he’s alone, has been alone for awhile now.

Nicky hates those wind chimes and he wishes he could melt it down into something useful, something quiet, but it was Joe’s and Nicky can’t. He can’t destroy something that Joe loved so dearly.

But God does Nicky loathe them. They weren’t even under a vent and they still made noise.

Other times, the birds will wake him up. They never had this many birds before Joe, but after, Nicky sometimes wakes up to five birds on his windowsill, chirping and chirping and chirping. They’re loud and they arch up into nothing and Nicky hates them almost as much as the wind chimes because Joe would have loved them. Joe would’ve sat in front of the windowsill for hours, sketching and observing the birds, swallows, or were they sparrows, tossing them little seeds to keep them there longer. Hell, Joe would have set up a bird feeder to accommodate their many visitors. To Nicky, those birds are just another reminder that Joe’s gone and he wishes that they would just leave this house of grief alone.

So Nicky sleeps and he drinks, because if he does, he doesn’t have to live in a world that’s constantly screaming Joe’s name.

He’s not living.

It’s not really functioning either.

—

It works.

Joe gasps back to life and he’s in the quiet comfort of Nicky’s arms, just like he wanted that stupid day and everyday since. The weight of his arms, solid and warm across Joe’s chest, it’s enough to make him burst into tears.

“I missed you,” Nicky sobs, pulling him into a tight hug and Joe can’t wrap his arms around Nicky fast enough. He clings to his husband, taking in the twin scents of Irish Spring and cheap cologne, a combination he never thought he would miss; it smells like home.

“I was always there,” Joe whispers, “The birds, the chimes, the damn towel on the floor. I never left.” I never left you.

They’re both shaking apart in each other’s arms, but for the first time in months, it’s ok. It’s ok.

Nicky laughs, it’s choked and brittle, but it’s the first time he’s laughed since that day, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world to Joe’s ears right now. “I hated all those things.”

“I know,” Joe confesses, pulling back just enough to look at Nicky. He wipes away the snot and tears with the back of his hand. Nicky stares at him through red-rimmed eyes, a new kind of desperation shining in them that Joe knows are reflecting from his own. “But it got you out of bed, out of the house, and so I never stopped.”

They have a plan.

They’re going to stop healing together. They’re going to retire from the action and they’re going to live the rest of their days in Malta.

They’re not straying away from it this time.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #kaysanova #hc

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timelordthirteen · 3 years

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Desperate Souls 6/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit

Summary: A broke and heartbroken Belle French comes to an agreement with Mr. Gold to do a little modeling, just for him, in exchange for the money she desperately needs, but it isn’t long before they both realize they’ve made a deal they didn’t understand. Based on this prompt.

Chapter Summary: Another evening, another dinner, but this time Belle surprises Gold and herself.

Notes: IT HAS BEEN 84 YEARS. I am so sorry. Basically March and April were catastrophes, mostly of a work variety. A lot of things happened, I got super burned out, and I thought a lot about quitting my job. BUT... things are looking up significantly, and the muse is back. This is what Belle is wearing. ;)

[AO3]

Thursday evening, Belle arrived at ten minutes to six.

Gold seemed surprised when he opened the door, and she wondered if the events of the previous day, including their little tiff in his shop, had made him think she wasn’t coming for dinner. He was wearing a deep purple shirt, striped with a darker shade, and a plain tie in yet another purple tone. The look was topped off with a set of gold sleeve garters just above his elbows.

He’d held the door, taken her coat with little more than the usual Miss French, and guided her into the dining room, where he presented her with a plate of lamb chops and sizzled garlic, dressed with a mint and rosemary, chimichurri style sauce. To the side was a mix of roasted carrots and parsnips, sliced and blistered under the broiler, and tossed in the drippings from the lamb. It smelled amazing, and though she had initially thought the mint sauce would be too bold and overpowering, it melded perfectly with the earthy flavor of the lamb and vegetables. It was as if Gold was overtly trying to impress her with his prowess in the kitchen.

“Do you - like lamb?”

Belle looked up from her plate and blinked at him. “Um, yeah, yeah it’s good. The sauce especially.”

He nodded and stabbed his fork into the center of a carrot. “Good.”

She picked up her wine and took a long swallow as he focused back on his food. Perhaps she had made a mistake in coming over early and assuming that what had happened yesterday wasn’t going to affect anything. The silence lingered, broken awkwardly by the occasional scrape of silverware, and despite the food being delicious, she had barely eaten anything. Her stomach felt even more hollow than the first time she’d come over, and all she wanted was for the whole thing to be over so she could go home and ruminate on the mess her father was in.

She hadn’t quite sorted out what the hell to do about that situation, and though she didn’t know for sure where the money had gone, she worried that Moe had slipped back into the old, bad habits he had developed in the years after her mother died. They had been part of the reason for their move from California all the way to Maine. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t be pulled into that again, that she wouldn’t let his vices upend her life.

The abrupt sound of a fork clattering against a plate shook her from her rumination. She looked up to find Gold staring across the table at her, his silverware resting against the china, and his hands folded and held up in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply.

Belle’s head tilted slightly, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t let you know about the - situation - with your father.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I put the blame on you instead of where it should be, which is squarely on my father. The terms of his loan are between you and him, and probably confidential anyway.”

Gold lowered his hands and shifted in his seat. “Yes, but I still could have said something, perhaps hinted, or suggested that you speak to him about the loan for the flowers. Instead -”

It was her turn to sigh. “No, it’s fine, really I -” He held up a hand, and she stopped, her fingers twisting her napkin against her thigh.

“Let me finish,” he said softly. “My business with Moe, and my arrangement with you, are completely separate things as far as I’m concerned. One does not have any bearing on the other. I understand that isn’t the case for you, and that your father’s financial situation has possibly made yours worse.”

“Yeah...” She looked away, turning her gaze towards the living room doorway which had a view through to the front window. The porch lights illuminated the light snow that had started falling shortly after she arrived.

“As for your father not being truthful with you...” He trailed off and exhaled heavily.

She let out a humorless, scoffing laugh and glanced at Gold’s face before turning her gaze to her barely eaten meal. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last, sadly.”

He gave her a look that was as much a smile as it was a grimace. “It’s deplorable, and I’m sorry for that as well.”

Belle shook her head again. “It’s not your fault, but thank you. I should probably apologize as well.”

“What for?” He frowned and reached for his wine glass.

“For marching into your shop and yelling at you.”

He waved a hand and gave her a half smile before he sipped at his drink. “Consider it forgotten.”

She relaxed at his words, and the awkward tension that had been present since he had first opened the door faded as they went back to their meal and companionable small talk. She hadn’t expected him to apologize. He was known to do so rarely even when there might be blame to lay at his door, but in this case there was none at all, and yet he had seemed compelled to clear the air. To her surprise, he appeared genuinely contrite, and his concern for her situation with her father felt quite sincere.

Gold frowned over his glass as he watched Belle make a little grouping of carrots at one side of her plate. He was glad that they had resolved things between them, but not knowing what Moe French was doing with the money he’d borrowed was concerning. He presumed Belle still didn’t know either, or if she did that it was bad enough she would never say so. At this point, Gold would consider it a miracle if Moe managed to pay him back by the deadline he’d set. Given her current financial situation, helping to pay her father’s debt as well would only make things worse for the both of them.

He was mulling over how to handle that particular situation, when he noticed Belle was watching him. “Finished?”

She smiled and glanced down at her empty plate. “Yes, and it was amazing and delicious, as usual.”

He chuckled, secretly pleased by not only her praise, but also by her choice of words. As usual. There was something shared and familiar in that which he liked far more than he should.

Abruptly, Gold pushed back from the table, and Belle watched as he stood and began to clear the dishes. When he reached across for hers as well, she tried to catch his gaze, but he seemed to be focused on his task.

She stood as well, and eased her way towards the doorway to the living room, intending to take the long way around to the foyer and the small half bath where embarrassment inevitably awaited her. “I’ll um, just go and - and change.”

At that he paused, plates stacked, silverware crossed over the top. His shoulders moved slightly as he let out a breath, and then gave her a brief nod. It was the first time she’d actually said it out loud. Before it had always been the unspoken next step; he cleaned up from dinner, and she went to put on something scandalous. It was the thing they both knew was coming, yet seemed content to leave in a state of plausible deniability.

The closed door of the powder room loomed, and the flutters in her stomach increased with every step, until she almost stumbled through it. A faint gasp slipped out when she flipped the lights on and saw what Gold had left out for her to wear. She pushed the door closed with her weight as she leaned back against it, her eyes trailing over the sheer lace.

This piece happened to be one of her favorites; a lacy, flirty babydoll nightie in a deep purple with a matching panty. Belle took a breath and licked her lips, steeling her nerves as she shrugged off her cardigan and unbuttoned her blouse. A few minutes later, she was tugging the flimsiest pair of purple underwear up her legs, adjusting the thin elastic over her hips before regarding herself in the mirror.

The front of the garment was low, covering the majority of her breasts with a soft lace pattern, but leaving ample cleavage exposed all the way down to the ribbon where the seams met. There was no underwire, but the elastic that went around her chest combined with the cut of the fabric had a slight lifting effect, which in another circumstance might have pleased her, but in this felt like she was offering herself for something. The fabric was even more see-through now that she had it on, and she was thankful that the lighting in the study was soft and dark.

The lower half of the nightie overlapped in the front, and fell in soft pleats above a wide strip of lace near the bottom. The overall effect made it slightly less sheer, but still transparent enough to reveal where the panties did and didn’t cover her. She turned around and looked over her shoulder to see that the hem ended just passed her backside, and swallowed hard.

Facing the mirror again, she braced on the wall and wiggled her feet back into her strappy black heels. She had decided when she was changing clothes after work that she was tired of walking around in bare feet in Gold’s house, and black heels went with nearly everything.

As she was about to exit the powder room, a thought occurred to her. It seemed almost certain now that Gold was working his way towards more and more revealing items, pushing her limits one week at a time. Perhaps she could push back.

Belle smiled to herself as her eyes perused the floor to ceiling bookshelves. Towards the top she could see wide, hefty tomes that reminded her of the encyclopedias she’d grown up with in school, before the days of Wikipedia and Google. Down at a more reachable level, there was a row of well worn volumes, and she touched the spines as her gaze took them in. He had several limited and first editions the likes of which she’d only had access to because she’d worked in libraries, yet here they were one shelf above more contemporary titles. He seemed to have everything from murder mysteries to classic poetry, and her smile grew as her fingers brushed over every published Bronte sister.

Shifting to her right, she came to stand next to the case with the kintsugi tea set, and a strange, warm feeling washed over her as she gave it a fond glance. Above the case however, was something quite unexpected. She’d initially thought it was an art piece, but now that she was truly looking and taking it in, it appeared to be a page from a manuscript in a gothic style lettering. Her eyes scanned the words, going wide as she realized what she was looking at. The title, the bold capital letter surrounded by scripted decoration, the odd, 17th century English spellings...

“I was wondering how long it would take you to notice it.”

Gold’s voice startled her, and she gaped at him for a long moment before her eyes drifted back to the framed page. “Is that from -?”

“From a 1611 King James version of the Bible?” he finished for her, sauntering into the room with a bemused smirk.

Belle blinked. “Yes?”

He flashed his teeth and came to stand beside her, his cane planted in front of him and his hands folded calmly over the handle. “Yes.”

His voice was soft and almost reverent as he looked up, and she gave him a brief glance before skimming the words on the page, her mind automatically adjusting to the strange letters as she read.

“The Apocrypha?” she asked.

Gold smiled crookedly. “Yes, again. I’m surprised you recognized it, considering it’s not the the title page.”

She shrugged, and looked at him, her lips curving. “I have an affinity for the texts that were removed from the Bible. And other religious books too. I always wanted to know what the powers that be didn’t want people to know.”

Her gaze moved back to the page, while his stayed fixed on her, watching the quirk of her lips as she read the words again.

“You were the kid that read all the banned books, weren’t you,” he said, finally.

Belle bit her lip and grinned at him. “I considered it a matter of pride to read all of them as soon as I learned there was such a thing. It’s why I became a librarian. I wanted to make sure that people could always find them if they wanted to.” She looked up, nodded her head towards the Bible page. “There’s always a reason a book ends up on that list, something that makes the man say you shouldn’t read it, and most of the time it’s precisely the reason you should.”

After a pause, she met his eyes and shrugged. “You disagree?”

He shook his head slowly, somehow managing a reply through the dazed fog in his head. “No, no. Quite the opposite.”

He had meant to tease her, and to distract himself from looking too long at what she was wearing, but her response was so earnest, and so well matched to his own thoughts on the matter, that he could do nothing except hold her in even more esteem than he already did. It was another sign that his plan was failing miserably, and yet he refused to be the one to end their deal. He was certain that there would come a point where her sensibilities would get the better of her, pushing her to refuse the silent request hanging in the powder room, and that, combined with whatever disaster was brewing with her father, would be the end of it. He need only be patient.

She looked away and shifted from one foot to the other, temporarily relieving the pressure on her toes. Her shoes were starting to pinch, but the strange, post-dinner conversations she kept having with Gold gave an air of comfortable intimacy to the moment that she didn’t want to dispel. He seemed as surprised by her answers as she was by all the books and objects he’d collected. The pawn shop had always been an eclectic mix of things, which she’d attributed to the nature of the business, but she now suspected it was entirely due to the eclectic inclinations of its owner. Inclinations which only made her want to know more about each one of his possessions, and Gold too, if she was honest.

Abruptly, Belle turned, blowing out a quiet breath as she crossed to the bar next to the fireplace. Behind her, she heard the thump of Gold’s cane, and looked back at him with as much of a smile as she could manage through her nerves.

“Why don’t you sit down,” she said, “and I’ll get your drink.”

Gold blinked at her, his head tilting slightly, before he nodded, and by the time she was done filling the glass with scotch, he was seated in his usual place. She took her time replacing the bottle on the shelf, and then pivoted slowly on her heel, smirking inwardly as she walked towards him.

He was noticeably off kilter, if his wide eyes and white knuckle grip on the arm of the chair was anything to go by, and she decided at the last second to push the envelope. She came close to the right arm of the chair, a hair’s breadth from his hand, and leaned forward ever so slightly to set the glass down on the side table. It was an unnecessary motion that served only to give him a full look at her breasts, but the way his lips parted, and the faint intake of air, sent a tingle down her spine. She returned to her usual spot by the end of the ottoman, and turned around all the way, once, before facing him again and letting him look.

Gold had no idea what was happening. His head felt almost dizzy, and he was vaguely aware that he’d lost control of the evening. She had been so close only a moment ago, her bare thigh a whisper from his fingers, her chest filling his vision for too brief a time. The glow of the fire had illuminated her as she turned and moved to stand by the ottoman, her silhouette leaving nothing to the imagination through the sheer fabric.

She stood still as he openly looked her up and down, and then, without a word or gesture from him, she turned slowly for a second time. He could feel his body react as the hem danced against her backside, and he reached for the glass of scotch, taking a quick sip to calm himself.

Belle found herself oddly amused as she watched Gold take a second gulp of his drink. She’d wrested back a little bit of control, and it had clearly surprised him even more than she’d intended. After a few seconds, he sent the glass aside, and she felt the weight of his gaze settle on her once more. It wasn't lecherous or discomfiting, as she thought it might feel were it anyone else. Instead it made her feel - warm.

“Thank you, Miss French.”

She gave him a small smile, and left to change, but something was different, she was different. She had put Mr. Gold on his back foot, something which few, if any, in Storybrooke could claim. The bathroom door closed, and she kicked off her heels, giving her feet some much needed relief on her way to leaning over the sink. She let out a slow breath and looked up, meeting her own gaze in the mirror and shaking her head.

The way he had looked at her, both when she was going on about banned books, and when she was modeling for him, gave her an unexpected rush. It was - intoxicating - and she was surprised to discover that she liked it. There was something powerful about what she’d done, owning the moment, and leaving no room for the usual embarrassment or awkwardness. A smile crept over her face as she remembered leaning towards him and the sensation that had come over her.

She shivered and rubbed her arms as she straightened, then set about changing back into her clothes. The babydoll was left on the same hanger on which she’d found it, panties included, which felt just a little bit dirty and wrong. Before she stepped back into the hallway, she looked back at it, wondering if she should take it with her or not. So far she’d chosen to leave each item behind, not wanting to take home something that had made her feel so uncomfortable to wear. She didn’t dwell on what he might do with them afterwards, but this piece, and this night were so different that she was almost sad to be leaving it.

Gold was waiting for her by the front door, holding a plastic container. She frowned and then realized it was leftovers from dinner.

“You didn’t need to,” she said, but he only shrugged in response as he handed it over.

The prospect of a second helping of a delicious meal made her smile, but it faded quickly when the yellow envelope came into view. He held that out for her as well, a simple, nondescript thing, but bulging a bit to one side where the money was tucked. It had dulled her good mood with the reminder of what their deal was all about. Still, she managed to thank him, awkwardly, and he bid her good night.

He waited by the door until she was out of sight, swallowed up by the late winter shadows, and then made his way to the powder room. Sighing, he reached for the hanger, and the lingerie that she had once again discarded. It wasn’t part of the deal in any way, but his assumption that she would want the items back, was obviously wrong. She probably saw them as even more tainted than when the fiancé she'd bought them for left her flat broke.

Upstairs, Gold made his way down the long hall to his bedroom, feeling the telltale ache in his bad leg from too many hours on his feet. Moving around the kitchen to make a rather complex dinner had been the last thing he’d needed to do after standing most of the day at the shop, rearranging a couple of the display cases, but it was worth it. Belle had enjoyed the meal, and they had cleared the air between them, at least somewhat.

He stepped into the walk-in closet, passing the neat row of suit jackets and trousers, and the angled shelves of polished dress shoes, to a short hanging area at the back wall. The hook of the hanger made a light clank as it went over the bar, and he sighed. The purple nightie swayed for a few seconds before the fabric stilled, hanging next to the two other items abandoned by Miss French.

Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the black chemise from her first visit, drawing the silk between his fingertips. Swallowing hard, his hand brushed the softness of the pink nightie, up and down with the back of his hand from hem to the edge of the lacy cups and back again. There was another pause before he slipped his hand under the sheer purple fabric from this evening, seeing for himself how transparent it truly was, and recalling once more the shape of her in the firelight. It was still slightly warm, and he sucked in a breath, catching a hint of her lingering scent.

His eyes closed as he inhaled again, and though there was no need for a cold shower tonight, he had begun to consider the fact that he may have made a deal he didn’t understand.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #lemon fic #(eventually)#my rumbelle fic #fic #desperate souls

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savagesbonergarage · 4 years

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Heat | Part II

Savage Opress x Reader

Part I

(a/n: This takes place immediately after part 1, so enjoy! Sorry for the delay, hopefully it was worth it because uh...this be some filthy trash garbage my dudes. I have my url for a reason and now ya’ll get to find out why.)

(warnings: FILTH! ABSOLUTE TRASH GARBAGE! NOT FOR YOU NON-ADULTS! cock worshipping, grinding, oral (giving and receiving), cum eating, thigh riding, some blood, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, Savage is a gentleman and he gets to feel good, love that for him, Maul is totally aware of everything that is going on but you can ignore that if you want, lol.)

The scent of arousal hung hot in the evening air, permiating the space with burning desire. Your teasing had been relentless, giving him the show of a lifetime from across the room as you pleasured and tasted yourself in front of him, encouraging him to yearn for your mouth on every sweet inch of his throbbing cock that could hardly be contained by his fitted shorts, and yet Savage barely stirred from his position on the ground. He had voiced his desire for you, clearly so enthralled by your actions that despite the potential dangers from his rut, he was willing to hold back as much as he could if only to get a taste of you.

Everything he felt was reflected in his glowing golden eyes; his rage at himself, his carnal lust, his admiration for you, his love, his desperation to keep every primal urge within him suppressed to ensure your safety, and the fear that he wasn't disciplined enough to guarantee it. He was a beast after all, a manufactured monster bred to be nothing but brutal and unforgiving in the way he handled creatures of flesh. Only around you did he loathe this cruel reality forced upon him. The strength he was given seemed less like a gift from the witches of his home and more like the crutch it was proving to truly be, a preventative measure to keep him from loving another person. At any given moment he killed without a thought, mindlessly exterminating his foes at every turn in his quest to aid himself and his brother to fortune and power, and now he was here; unexpectedly in love with someone he never thought he could have these feelings for.

You knew his struggle and you admired him for how much his concern influenced his actions, however it was painful for you to witness him like this. He tried to conceal it, but you could sense the immense effort it took to keep him from ravaging you the way his burning blood pleaded him to. His resistance was more than enough to prove to you that Savage Opress was the man you desired more than anyone and anything. To go against his very nature in order to protect you was admirable, so very admirable and appreciated, but you believed that he had been through enough strain in his unfair and calloused life. You wanted to see him let go, to release all his inhibitions and allow himself the pleasure he more than deserved, even if you were to be hurt in the process. Hell, you would gladly die for him if it meant he would attain some semblance of genuine happiness.

He only had some idea of what you had planned for him, and he would soon discover that your inexperience wouldn't reflect in your performance. The pads of your bare feet sounded with little smacks against the solid floor as you stepped closer and closer towards him with an almost feline-like swagger, the mere yearning that radiated from your gleaming form on its own nearly being enough to send him over the edge. Any other man would be begging and pleading with all the desperation in the galaxy by now, but the zabrak was determined. Every ounce of his faith belonged to you and you alone.

Your hands met his broad, burning chest the moment your knees hit the ground before him. His breath hitched as your fingertips trailed across his collarbones and around the back of his neck, lightly stroking the base of the horn that protruded from the apex of his skull. The sensation must have surprised him, as his eyes fluttered back briefly before his staggard breaths resumed and his golden irises met yours. There was no need for words anymore. The moonlight bathed your sillouettes as you pulled yourself forward and captured his plump bottom lip between yours, relishing in its softness. Your hands were compelled to return to the warmth of his chest to feel the rapid beating of his two hearts in tandem with your own as the kiss deepened, releasing sighs and moans from the both of you between passionate smacks.

He palmed the meat of your ass and the back of your thighs in his large hands and kneaded in between delightful spanks that had you yelping into his mouth, the sharpness of his claws grazing the plush skin there just before the point of puncturing, then he proceeded to lift you onto his lap with seemingly no effort as he pulled your hips tightly against his pelvis. A loud mewl escaped your throat, activated by the sudden sensation of his hard, impressive length pressing your most sensitive spot through your lace panties. The thin fabric of both of your underclothes were the only barrier preventing his cock from prodding at your entrance, and Maker, the enticement was simply divine. The kisses became hungrier and hungrier as instinct beckoned you to rock your hips, resulting in an indescribable bliss from sliding back and forth against him with the little tugs from the tight lace rubbing directly on your clit threatening to make you come undone if you didn’t pace yourself. This action combined with the stimulation you gave yourself before was becoming dangerously evident, as each movement left a stamp of warm wetness until the outline of Savage’s dick was completely soaked in your arousal.

You felt his cock twitch beneath you, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to have it buried inside to the hilt while he groaned and crushed his lips against your throat, biting just hard enough to leave tender marks across your skin. He was being as careful as he could, even in this moment. This man, oh, this man. He deserved the entire galaxy and more. Nothing was going to hold you back from giving him the most blissful sensation he had ever experienced, not now, not ever. You lifted your hips and reached your hand underneath the wet fabric to grip the width of his cock, which elicited a growl from deep within his chest that was unlike anything you had ever heard. He leaned back, propping himself onto his elbows as he removed his hands from you and clenched his fists. His eyes darted about rapidly before settling on your hand, the beast within becoming more difficult for him to contain. He moaned your name between bated breaths.

“Yes?” You purred softly, wrapping your hand almost completely around the base of his girth. You could barely touch the tip of your thumbnail to the tip of your longest digit. Oh my stars.

He writhed, your simplest touch shooting sparks of pleasure through him. He became more and more unhinged with every move you made, shouting curses when you reached lower to gently cup his massive balls. You massaged them with care, in awe by their sheer weight, unable to comprehend how he lived every moment of his life hauling such a sensitive package around. He pounded the sides of his fists into the ground, leaving significant condensed cracks in the stone. Your heart skipped, knowing that this teasing was likely becoming more like torture for him the longer he had to bear it. It was high time you got to business.

You hooked your fingers beneath the waistband of his shorts and pulled, slowly revealing more and more of his remarkable shaft until more effort was needed to tug the obnoxious article of clothing over the ridge of the head, the mere force of the action sending it springing with enough velocity that if you had been eye-level with it, it would have socked you in the face. Not that you would have minded, no, not one bit. Your eyes were comically wide, your gaze remaining unmoved even as you backed away and lowered yourself between his legs to marvel at the sight. Savage’s cock was nothing short of incredible, easily the length of your forearm and dripping with precum. Intimidating as it was, you were still determined. You carefully gripped the base of it again, feeling your face flush in anticipation for what was to come. Your soft lips met the tip and kissed away the dot of wetness there, beckoning a resounding moan from the zabrak that surely echoed throughout the entire palace.

Your name escaped his lips again, followed by another string of desperate curses. Music, such blissful music to your ears, and so encouraging. A dislocated jaw and stretched esophagus was going to be more than worth it. You looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and smiled.

“Mmm, you’re so good to me, Savage...” You moaned as you planted kisses all the way down to the base and back up again, eliciting more enticing sounds from him. “Let me do something good for you.”

He didn’t have much time to respond as you quickly wrapped your mouth around the head of his dick, careful to keep your teeth from grazing him. You flicked and swirled your tongue around it, savoring the delectible salty taste as the noise that erupted from him was likely to have been captured by the ears of every hearing organism in all of Sundari. You opened your jaw wider and wider with every bob of your head until there was no possible way of fitting more of him inside without bursting your pharynx. Ignoring the tears as they came, you maintained your rhythm until you salivated enough that it dripped all down his balls and thighs, using the lubrication to pump the base with both hands as you continued sucking him off.

His breathing was ravenous and he gasped for air as though he were drowning in waves of pleasure, unable to form any semblance of coherent speech that wasn’t a filthy expletive or a long, dragged out whine. His hand moved to the base of your skull and become entangled in your tousled hair as you worked, although he didn’t pull you in further. He never felt the need to. You quickened the pace, and in hardly any time at all he was tightening his grip on your neck before he stilled and held you in place as your mouth was filled with hot cum; so much of it that you couldn’t breathe and needed to retract your head with a pop as he continued to release ropes of it all over your face. You shut your eye just in time.

Savage, meanwhile, was in complete and utter ecstasy. The literal and figurative load he was burdened with was finally relieved for the moment and he allowed himself to relax entirely, but not for long. His undivided attention belonged to you, your ragged breathing in tandem once again.

“Are you alright?” He implored with genuine concern.

“Yeah,” you smiled as your cheeks flushed with embarassment, “Don’t look at me, I’m a mess.”

He gazed at you with a fondness stronger than ever before, marvelling at your delicate form in the shadow of the moonlight.

“A beautiful mess.”

Before you could retort, he stood up in all his glorious nakedness and carried you bridal-style to the bed, gently laying you down.

“I’ll get you cleaned up.”

He left briefly for the refresher and returned with some damp rags, then carefully wiped your face. The smell of his cum was so unique and potent, you were sure that a rag wasn’t enough to eliminate it completely, not that you minded. You could have sworn that your skin was softer in the spots where it had been as well.

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly, suddenly more meek now that the deed was done. Your heart was still racing and your face was still hot, which didn’t go unnoticed by the handsome zabrak that positioned himself over you as he started nibbling and planting kisses behind your ear while he whispered.

“How many times have you imagined doing that? Because that was...”

You moaned in delight, the sensation of his hot breath on your neck more tantalizing than you anticipated.

“More than I can count.”

He sighed into your ear, sending a chill of anticipation down your spine as he worked his hands under the straps of your bra, tugging away.

“I see. We might have that in common...”

The lace was torn from your body as though it was made from nothing at all, leaving your breasts bare to him for the first time. Savage made quick work of palming them in his warm hands, lightly grazing your hardened buds with his thumbs as he stifled your shriek with his lips. Your tongues darted out at the same time as he positioned his knee between your legs, offering his warm thigh for you to grind on to which you hastily obliged. Before long the sheets beneath you were mildly soaked, parts of it cooling down after being exposed to the air and surprising you when you writhed over it. You released a needy, drawn-out moan into Savage’s mouth.

“Oh, my priceless treasure...” he rasped against your skin, moving his lips down to envelop one of your buds, “Let me devour you. I won’t stop until you beg.”

True to his word, he flicked his hand under the sopping garment and ripped it off all in once swift movement, rendering you completely bare to him. A shiver coursed through you as he slid backwards and rested the palms of his hands along your hips, pushing up against the small of your back to coax your thighs apart. You watched as his golden eyes gleamed in the darkness, taking in the sight of his feast with a beastial hunger.

“Savage...”

His hot mouth suffocated the nub just above your entrance as he sucked, flicked, savored and fucked your pulsing pussy with his face. You screamed, clutching the pillow above your head as he hit every nerve and fold with prescision. His tongue danced and darted inside, nearly sending you over the edge right then as you rode his chin, bucking your hips as the sensations grew stronger and stronger. You gripped his horns as your release crept closer and closer, unbothered by the fact that one was starting to draw blood along your thigh. You swore as your orgasm crashed over you like a maelstrom, but Savage didn’t cease his ministrations, causing you to shake from the overstimulation. You came harder and harder until you finally screamed “stop!” at the top of your lungs and he obeyed, moving up beside you to hold you tightly in his arms. You shivered and panted as though you had just been rescued from a frozen lake, though every inch of you was burning.

Savage pulled a blanket over the both of you as you eventually came down from your high and buried your face in his chest. He rubbed your back as you kissed his beautiful tattooed neck and sighed, elated.

“There’s no way what I did to you felt anywhere near as amazing as what you just did to me.”

“I disagree,” he retorted, pressing his erection against your thigh as he chuckled, “There’s your proof.”

You smiled against his skin, also feeling the heat return in the pit of your stomach. Sliding up to face him, you claimed his lips with yours and relished your taste again, the perverted action making you just as warm and wet as before. After pressing against his shoulders to get him to lay completely flat on his back, you continued your passionate kisses while you straddled him. The zabrak started to sit up as you guided his cock to your entrance, however you gently pushed him back down.

“Remember when I said I’m the kind of prey that likes to be devoured?”

He hesitated with his reply, but ultimately submitted to your yearning.

“I know it for myself, now.”

You leaned over to plant a loving kiss against his lips, then raised your hips again. Your breath hitched as you both watched the tip of his cock gradually disappear inside, stretching your walls little by little. Savage helped you ease onto him by placing one hand under your thigh and one on your hip, allowing you to decide the pace with reassurance that he would ensure your comfort if it became too much. You felt him fill you completely as you eventually slid all the way down to the base of his shaft, now entirely sheathed within you.

“Oh, fuck,” he rasped, overcome with the sensation of your tight cunt squeezing his cock into oblivion.

It was unreal. The pain wasn’t terrible, and if anything, you rather liked it. You leaned back a little and supported yourself on both of his thighs as you slowly began riding him, immediately falling in love with the pleasure the ridges of his cock provided. With every stroke another point of ecstacy was discovered, sending ripples of gratification throughout the both of you. The room soon became filled with a symphony of sighs and moans, only increasing in volume and frequency as the pace quickened. Savage was amazed by how well you were taking his cock, however he wasn’t about to leave all the work to you. He carefully sat up and rolled you onto your back, taking control of the thrusts as he did so. Your pussy tightened even more from the sheer indescribable pleasure, involuntarily sending you both closer to release.

“Where-” Savage began, but before he could finish you wrapped your legs even tighter around his torso and cupped his cheek, commanding his attention with your pleading eyes.

“Please.”

Another instance where no further words were needed. His unsure expression was rendered steady by your calming gaze, and he understood. If the family were to grow sooner rather than later, then neither of you would mind. He gripped your hips harder as he quickened the pace more rapidly, and you felt yourself violently come undone at relatively the same moment he did, the added sensation of his cum filling you sending plumes of pleasure that you never thought possible enveloping your entire body. Your walls convulsed, milking his cock for all he was worth as he collapsed on top of you. The only word he could muster was your name, which sounded divine as it breathlessly escaped his lips.

You held him against you for a long while, stroking the spaces between his long horns while he rested.

“Feeling better?”

He glanced up at you with an inquisitive eye and smirked.

“For now.”

You placed a kiss on the top of his head and smiled against his skin.

“My services are available all day every day, so it would be a shame if that wasn’t taken advantage of.”

Savage groaned with delight and rose above you, blocking the cascading moonlight with his shadow.

“You promise?”

You lifted your hand up to his cheek and he held it there, placing a gentle kiss on your palm.

“I promise, if you promise not to hold back this time.”

You winked, and the zabrak purred against your chest.

“Believe me, I won’t.”

***

The stench was rancid, and there was seemingly no escape. The toxic fumes of Lotho Minor would be most welcomed if his only choice of air was between that and the absolute pungent smell of the mindless rutting occuring just a few rooms down from his. Normally, he’d allow his rage to fuel his ambition, to become the source of his drive for power, however...this was different. He sensed everything. There was no blocking it, no ignoring the excruciating way she moaned for him, how she writhed and cringed and unfolded beneath him as he pleasured her, no, it was all-encompassing. Every sigh was a painful reminder of everything he no longer had, what he could no longer provide. It beckoned those forbidden thoughts to emerge from confinement, those thoughts long buried, thoughts of how things might have been different...

Had Kenobi not taken everything from him, might she have chosen him instead? Would he have had the advantage over his brother if he could have promised the same things? Protection, pleasure, a family...

No. No, perhaps not. He wasn’t like his brother, and never was. Savage, too, was brought about by darkness, however he was a being still capable of love.

Maul was not.

This was simply the way of things, and he could not change it. He wouldn’t kill his brother. He wouldn’t even kill the woman he still yearned for.

Perhaps there were some chains that were impossible to break.

#holy shit look guys i did it #star wars #savage opress x reader #savage opress x you #savage opress #savage opress smut #star wars smut #maul #darth maul #star wars x reader #star wars x you #no y/n

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dreamsgalore · 4 years

Text

You’re Home!

Pairing: Female Reader/Guido Mista

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut.

AO3 Link

“Mista!” You yelped as you jumped into the taller man’s arms, your legs settling around his waist as he carried your weight, “I missed you so much, baby!”

It had been a month since you’d last seen your boyfriend. He had told you that he had some important business to take care of regarding Passione and that his trip would only last a week. That week had unfortunately turned into a month without your lover and now that he was finally home, you couldn’t help but be excited. Eagerly, you began to coat Mista’s cheeks with loving kisses, making it harder for him to settle his things as he held your body up against him.

“Did you miss me?” You asked in a teasing tone, your lips ghosting over his own as he stared back at you with an equally excited expression.

“I did! I missed you so much, tesoro mio [sweetheart]!” He kisses your plush lips back and twirls you around with a giggle. As you reached to give him another kiss, you felt something crawling up your shoulder that made you pause. The familiar voices of high pitched squeals and laughter rose directly in your ear and you already knew the source of the mischief.

“Sex Pistols!” You yelped, holding your hand out so they could crawl into your palm.

“Did you miss us too?” Number One chimes, caressing your thumb dotingly as he looks up to you.

You nod, “Of course I did. I missed all of you!” You lean into your hand and press kisses to each of their teardrop-shaped heads much to their delight. If their golden faces could blush, they would be but all they could muster were goofy smiles and smitten sighs. Mista groaned and swatted at them, causing them to disperse hurriedly, “Yeah, yeah, can I have my girlfriend back now?”

You tilt your head to the side and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close, “Are you jealous, Mista?”

“Jealous? Never.” He leans forward and buries his face into your neck, taking in the sweet smell of your perfume. You always smelled of the sweetest vanilla and freshest roses and your scent alone was enough to put Mista at ease, “You don’t know how much I missed you, amore .”

He peppers a line of kisses from your jaw to your jugular, his hands exploring the winding curves of your frame until they reach your hips. A gentle moan escapes from you as he takes his time with his mouth on your skin, sucking indigo bruises into your flesh until he is satisfied. Only then does he pull back to meet your tender gaze, full of unconditional love and desire.

It felt like an eternity since you’d last seen your boyfriend and that turned into nothing but pent-up sexual frustration. All of the lonely nights you spent fantasizing about Mista plunging into you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, and pushing you over the edge kept you up. You wanted him. No, you needed him.

“Mista. Bedroom. Now .” You demanded, hopping upwards so that he’d catch you in his arms once more. Mista wasted no time in leaving the Sex Pistols in the other room and rushing you off to your own. Passing through the door frame, Mista kicked the door behind him so just a crack was left before he tossed you down onto your bed.

Your room was fairly “girly” in a sense and Mista would constantly criticize you for your lack of taste but you felt the atmosphere only intensified the mood. Rows of fairy lights were strewn above your bed and a flowy, white canopy surrounded your queen-sized mattress. The led lights gave the entirety of your room a pink-purple hue and everything seemed almost surreal under the mysterious glow. Mista didn’t say much about your room when he was pounding you into the mattress.

Grabbing for your velour shorts, Mista eagerly pulls them down your legs, leaving you in a pair of lacy white panties. He then takes a hold of your oversized band shirt that you “borrowed” from him and lifts it over your head only to see that you didn’t even bother to put a bra on under it.

“You’re so gorgeous. Mio piccolo angelo [My little angel] .” He slips a finger downwards and over your clothed pussy, your juices seeping into the fabric as he pressed the pad onto your clit. He was appalled at how wet you had gotten in just a short amount of time. “So fucking wet for me, baby. You’re such a pretty little thing.”

Mista smirks down on you and grabs at his hat, pulling it off his head to reveal the short, dark brown curls underneath. Your heart always skipped a beat when he did that. You thought his hair was beautiful and you weren’t sure why he hid it under his designer cap. The coils of his hair shaped his face nicely and gave him more of a youthful appearance. He was no doubt handsome, with or without his hat.

Scooting to the edge of your bed, your hands trailed up his waist to his crop top sweater, giving it a slight tug in hopes that he’d take the hint. Thankfully he did, lifting the garment over his head until it was off. You took the moment to caress every inch of his tanned skin, your fingers tickling his chest and abdomen as you paid special attention to his swollen muscles. He always found your innocent curiosity to be endearing, especially when you looked up at him with those gem-like eyes of yours.

“Come here.” He murmured, taking a hold of your chin and lifting your head to steal a deep kiss from you. He savored your flavor like it was fine wine, his tongue dipping into your mouth to swirl against your pink muscle in a heated dance. The breathy coos coming from you sent a shiver straight down Mista’s spine and it pooled in his groin, his pants growing uncomfortably tight at your feeble yet sexy noises.

“Guido…” You whimpered, catching your boyfriend’s attention. “I wanna taste you. Please.”

Mista hummed and reached for his belt buckle, quickly undoing it before slipping his zebra-striped pants down his legs along with his underwear. He was already semi-hard from your sounds alone. You peered up at him and moved closer to his body, a small smile forming over your face as you examined him. Mista was slightly above average in terms of size. You often had a hard time blowing him but he was always patient with you.

Parting your lips, you wrapped your mouth around the tip of his length and suckled gently, earning a huff from the man above you. He rested a hand in your head and coiled his fingers into the strands as you fully took him in. Your head slowly bobbed on Mista’s dick, the appendage growing harder with each passing second as you skillfully maneuvered your tongue around his girth. All Mista could manage was a groan, his fingertips soothingly massaging your scalp until you had released him with a ‘pop’.

“Fuck , bambola [doll, babe]. You’re so fucking good.” He mumbled, shoving you back down into the mattress. “I need you right now. I can’t take it anymore.”

Mista kicks off his boots along with the garments bunched at his ankles and grabs you by your leg, tugging you to the very edge of the bed. He yanks your panties off in a single pull and toss them to the side, his focus deadset on your pussy. His rough handling of you always turned you on and Mista knew that. It was never an act. His somewhat violent nature and gangster demeanor seeped into the bedroom at times. He would never hurt you, but god, did you love it when he’d toss you around like a rag doll.

Spreading your thighs, Mista stared down at your sopping pussy and ran the length of his dick against your slit, collecting your juices to lube himself up. You let forth a quiet moan and grabbed at his hips, “Baby, hurry- ” The sheer desperation in your voice left Mista completely enamored by you and he couldn’t wait any longer.

Without wasting much more time, Mista slipped into you and pressed to the hilt, going as deep as you'd allowed him. A gasp forced itself out of you and your body writhed in pleasure as his length stretched you deliciously wide. The Italian above you remained still for just a moment to let you adjust to his size before testing the waters with a thrust inward, a loud, unbridled moan of his name free-flowing from your pretty lips.

Leaning over you so that his chest was connected with your own, Mista set to work on your pussy, his hips taking a life of their own as he stroked your walls feverishly. Your desperate cries only got louder, the need to grasp at his back rising as his pace gradually picked up. He was practically slamming into you now, the sound of clapping skin and dry grunts following as bucked wildly into you.

Gliding a lone hand up your breast, Mista gripped your neck tightly and forced your head to the side so he could whisper directly in your ear. “F-Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking tight for me.” He rasped out, voice dripping in thick lust, “Tell me you love my dick.”

You whimpered, hooking the heels of your feet into Mista’s legs, “I love it, G-Guido.” Your face buries itself into the junction between his neck and shoulder, your brows furrowing together, “ S-Shit- !”

Mista hovered over your ear, his hot breath wafting against the side of your face, “My name sounds so good coming out of your mouth, baby girl. You’re taking me so well. So, so well .” He lifts himself and helps you up as well, turning you over so that you’re on your hands and knees now. Drinking in the sight of your body in this new position, Mista runs his hands from your hips down to your breasts, fondling them earnestly as he took you in this new position.

“Shit. Fuck- ” He bites out, getting close enough so that his nose is pressing up against your cheek, his rhythm faltering slightly as you chimed in, throwing your ass back into his hips, “That’s right, gattina [kitten]. Fuck me .” He emphasizes the last word with a particularly harsh thrust that threw you off balance briefly and forced a yelp from you.

The deadly combination of your high-pitched mewls of ecstasy, the tantalizing sight of you fucking yourself on his dick, and the friction from your ever-tightening walls was proving to be too much. He was inching closer to the edge faster than usual and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he came before you.

Reaching for the nape of your neck with both hands, Mista shoves your face down into the mattress much to your surprise, and proceeds to ram into you at slow yet rough intervals. Your screams wavered as the pressure inside you continued to build until the burning sensation between your thighs became unbearable. “Guido! I’m going to cum! Please!”

His hands squeeze down on your windpipe, not enough to hurt you, but just enough for you to catch a slight buzz from the loss of oxygen, “M-Me too. Fuck- !”

With one last thrust inward, the two of you gave out. A string of animalistic growls leaving him as he crashed into your backside uncontrollably, the rewarding sensation of your walls flexing against him only milking his orgasm. Your weak, wavering cries of satisfaction were sure to be heard by your neighbors but you couldn’t care less. You wanted nothing more than for Mista to fill you to the brink and hold you close to him as if you would float away.

As your orgasms came to halt, Mista released your neck and collapsed over the top of you, the weight of his body sinking yours into the bed. The two of you laid there in silence, breathing heavily as you both reveled in your post-coital afterglow. It had remained like that for a couple of minutes until there was the distinct sound of whispering coming from the door. Mista had already passed out on your back but you had mustered the strength to turn your head and catch a glimpse of the Sex Pistols, hiding behind the cracked door, staring at the two of you in wonder.

“They were so loud. What do you think they were doing?” Number 5 murmured, earning a groan from the others.

“You know what they were doing!” yelled Number 3, shoving Number 5 until he started to cry.

The commotion woke Mista from his short-lived slumber, the annoyance on his face evident as he had to break up another altercation between Number 3 and Number 5 for the umpteenth time. Before he could get out of bed, Mista peered down on your now resting form, taking in your beauty in its most natural state. The way you clung to his forearm made his butterflies rise in his stomach. The sudden urge to ignore his stand and remain with you in bed panged in his chest, but their screams had only gotten louder. Placing a final kiss to your temple, Mista stands from his spot on the bed and rushes over to the door where the talking bullets had begun fighting.

“Number 3! Number 5! Not again, guys…”

#galorewrites #galorelemons #guido mista #guido mista/reader #guido mista x reader #reader/guido mista #reader x guido mista #smut #lemon #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure

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niqhtlord01 · 4 years

Text

Humans are weird: Mech Suits

Prelude: The Hive Wars As is with most first contact situations with a new species on the galactic scale the first interactions with the Hive were of the hostile nature.

They had been slowly expanding across the stars through the use of their continent sized bioships that would set down on new worlds and begin spreading a organic like material across the entire planet that the Hive could mold into whatever they needed. True they could not travel as fast as most jump capable vessels, but their bioships produced a rare organic compound that was ten times more potent than average space fuel which propels them steadily enough.

One such ship landed on a fringe moon belonging to the Sandrul species. The moon’s isolation and holy status within Sandrul society had aided Hive in establishing their foothold as only the Sandrul priests were allowed to travel to the moon. It was several weeks before returning priests discovered this but by then the Hive bioship had terraformed roughly 1/6th of the planets landmass.

The Sandrul were outraged as the moons location formed the tail end of the constellation depicting their god from the Sandrul homeworld further in system. An immediate holy war was declared and Sandrul forces flooded on to the moon to purge the sacrilege.

Most of the Sandrul military leadership believed the Hive to be nothing more than an invasive species of insects with no sense of tactics; but as the war went on it quickly became apparent that there was indeed a mind driving the Hive’s actions.

Several of the leadership class had accompanied the Hive ship and had been studying the Sandrul tactics through the eyes of their warrior classes. Once the examination was complete they began altering their tactics, using the religious zeal of the Sandrul against them and luring them into countless ambushes time and again.

With the war beginning to turn against them and with half the moon now in the Hive hands the Sandrul priests did the unthinkable and called on the galactic community for aid. Several species sent forces, though out of fear of the Hive spreading rather than any bonds of honor or friendship to the Sandrul.

The priests were adamant that no orbital attacks could be carried out on the holy world, much to the anger of the now coalition forces, and instead insisted in a conventional ground war with the growing hordes to drive them back.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Hive Wars: Day 503 “INCOMING!”

Tombo woke to shouts coming from all corners of the base and alarms calling out like the banshees of old.

Springing from his cot he grabbed his armor and weapon and exited his squads barracks block. All around coalition troops were sprinting back and forth like a swarm of ants. He watched them go by for a few moments before he heard the roar of gunfire and reflexively ducked. He looked to his left and saw one of the guard towers had opened up with its rotary cannons at something beyond the wall and was followed suit by troopers lining the wall itself and firing down.

Tombo’s squad came piling out after and nearly ran into his back before he side stepped out of the way. They were looking about dumbfounded as he had but now with the sound of weapons fire intensifying Tombo new what he must do.

“To the battlements!” he cried, raising his lightning staff he pointed to the wall where the other soldiers stood firing, “We must defend this place!”. His squad let out a cheer of holy creeds and followed him as he led the way.

The walls of the compound stood at nearly 12 meters into the air made of thick fabricated stone with a metal staircase built into the inside section. The walls surrounded all three miles of the base and landing pads like a giant circle and had not been attacked since it was established several weeks ago when the coalition forces arrived.

“Get out of the way!”

Tombo turned to see a human vehicle behind his squad with the driver leaning out and blaring their horn. Tombo’s face twisted in anger as he saw the driver. Not for his disrespect towards one of the Sun Flayer’s chosen, but because they were human filth. Allowing such heathens to set foot on this holy place burned Tombo with hatred as much as the deadly insects that had come to take it. Yet the priests had spoken and that they must endure their presence as decreed by the Sun Flayer’s will.

Tombo waved his squad to the side and they allowed the vehicle to speed passed them towards the wall. The back of the vehicle was open and he could see more human soldiers carrying their weapons and performing final checks.

They had just reached the stairway when the main gates crunched inwards with a horrific “THUNK”. Stopping at the stairway Tombo turned around to see that the tower guns had redirected themselves to firing at whatever was in front of the gate while more soldier atop the wall turned their fire.

Another loud impact reverberated Tombo and he felt a coming dread at what was about to happen. Quickly ordering his squad back they took up positions around the gate as more human soldiers arrived to join them. A third deafening impact struck home and the gates slowly cracked apart to reveal a massive eye just on the other side of the gate. Tombo’s squad ha deployed in a half circle around the gate just as the forth impact came and split the gate wide open. One of the gate doors flew backwards and Tombo had dodged within a hairs breath as it flew passed him and took two human soldiers face first.

Whatever had shattered the gate Tombo could not see as he turned his head back and saw a swarm of Hive warrior forms scuttling in through the wide gap, their jaw like pincers opening and closing hungrily as they rushed forward.

The human soldiers opened fire at once without waiting for a command from their commanders while the Sandrul waited for Tombo’s command.

“For the Sun Flayer!” he cried, leveling his lightning staff.

“May he shed the darkness from our life!” came the response as the warriors leveled their staffs as well and fired.

Bolts of pure energy shot out from the tip of each staff into the oncoming swarm. Were the energy struck it turned the flesh to ash in moments before proceeding through to the next victim and so on.

The constant fire from the lightning staffs tore the Hive warriors apart leaving deep gashes in their lines as they pressed onwards and when combined with the human ballistic weapons picking off the ones that got through the breach was safely contained.

Tombo had just begun to think that they would be alright when a mighty roar came from the other side of the wall. The ground began to shake with charging footsteps and the Hive parted like water to allow a massive form come plowing through.

A massive mound of flesh and armored exoskeleton came crashing into the left side of the base of the tower next to the gate. The structure began to wobble unsteadily and soon began toppling over on to the Hive warriors mewing about outside casting a massive dust cloud into the air. For a moment Tombo could feel the calmness of the battlefield as everything went silent before the sound of a thousand rushing feet took him back to the present.

Using the downed tower as a series of stepping stones, the leaping warriors of the Hive were able to scale upwards and on to the top of the wall while those on the ground used the widened breach to break the coalitions formation.

Before Tombo could shout to his squad to fall back the enemy were already lunging from the dust cloud with talons outstretched. Many were cut down where they stood in a heartbeat while others were able to get off one or two lightning staff shots before being taken down. The humans present fared little better as they emptied their weapons entire supply of ammunition in single bursts desperately trying hold back the onrushing tide only for them to jam or run empty in the midst of the storm of teeth and talon.

With the formation broken the Hive were now pushing deep into the base. Tombo now moved backwards while firing over and over again into the rushing mass. Those that were still alive formed around him and together they continued making a covered retreat.

Another deafening roar came and the monstrous creature pressed forward again through the throngs of warriors and came directly at Tombo. His lightning staff bots struck home against the creature but bounced off like pebbles leaving only burn marks. The creatures mouth spread wide open just as it was upon him when a blur of motion struck the beast and sent it sprawling back into the milling warriors splattering several with it’s weight.

Tombo turned to see three large mechanical suits striding passed him. Two carried large rotatory guns while the third carried a massive hammer of some kind. One of the rotary gun suits looked down at Tombo and motioned with their hand towards the innards of the base.

“Fall back to the secondary line, we’ll hold them here.”

Before Tombo could reply the two gun wielding suits opened fired while the third stomped forward.

Standing nearly twice the average humans height, the leading suit hefted it’s war hammer and brought it down hard in a sweeping arc into the rushing Hive warriors. The sheer force of the blow was enough to turn their bodies into stains on the great weapon. Tombo watched as a warrior leapt off rubble of the wall and lunged for the head unit of the hammer suit only to be casually caught with the suits right hand mid air. The warrior flailed about wildly trying to break free of the grip only to spasm as the hand tightened and crushed the warrior.

The two rotary suits had kept back from the melee and had been seeking to corner off the right and left flanks of the breach while the hammer wielding suit held the middle.

Just passed the seething mass of warriors Tombo saw the great monstrosity that had shattered the wall once more rising to its feet as the hammer suit came close. Billowing a mighty roar the form charged heedlessly through it’s own comrades to tackle the foe. The hammer suit brought the hammer upward this time and it struck just underneath the beasts jaw sending it violently backwards. It staggered but rallied quickly and then charged again. The suit had switched to a downwards arc now intent to shatter the creatures skull when at the last moment it halted its charge and the hammer smashed harmlessly into the ground in front of it.

Roaring the creature kicked out and snapped the hammers staff in two and charged again. Tombo thought the suit’s pilot would seek to distance itself while its compatriots gunned it down from a safe distance. Instead the suit spun the shattered staff in it’s hand with the broken end facing outwards and met the charge of the creature head on.

It’s massive jaws spread wide and bit deep into the armored plating of the suit and picked it up into the air like a rag doll. All around it Hive warriors were moving around the confrontation like water keeping the other two suits occupied enough and unable to come to their allies aide.

Tombo rallied what was left of his squad and attempted to fire on the beast but the Hive warriors were too thick around the battle for any of his shots to make it through.

The hammer suit, held deftly in place by the rows of pressurized teeth, grabbed hold of the creatures jaw to steady itself. With a swift motion that surprised Tombo for it’s brutality the suit drove the shatter shaft of the hammer it still held deep into one of the beasts eyes. It let out a roar of pure anger as the suit removed the shaft and drove it in again and again into the beasts eye socket. It flailed around insanely from the pain crushing several dozen of the surrounding Hive warriors as the suit finally drove the shaft deep into the socket and brought it’s clenched mechanical hand down like a hammer and drove the shaft through the creatures inner skull.

It roared again and it’s mouth finally eased enough for the suit to pull itself free just as the beast stumbled back into the breach it had created moments before and die.

The warriors halted their advance for a moment as the suit rose to it’s full height again, the teeth puncture wounds in the suit showing the mechanical innards. The gunners continued mowing down the dumbstruck warriors just as the Hive reorganized itself.

Somewhere far away from the front lines a hive leadership caste saw the suits as a more imminent danger and redirected the swarm to taking them out.

They rushed the now weaponless suit from all sides in their attempt to bring it down. Tombo watched in amazement as the suit, rather than retreat to it’s fellows, stood its ground and once more met the charge.

Raising its arms up it jabbed and punched like a whirlwind all around itself, each blow dealing a death blow. When a warrior dove for its feet it was grabbed by the throat and thrown backwards at full force leaving a bloody gash in the Hive ranks.

During the brief respite the suit bent down to the carcass of the monstrosity and with strained effort broke off one of the mouths protruding pincers. Hefting it like a club the suit pressed forward and swatted aside the rushing warrior forms.

A second warrior dove low under the suits guard mid swing and slashed out at the suits legs cutting several cables. Black fluid gushed out and the suit suddenly came crashing down to one knee. Rather than trying to rise again the suit continued swatting aside those that came too close until finally it’s compatriots stood by its side and laid down additional covering fire into the breach.

Tombo looked up to see additional suits now clearing the tops of the walls and stalking through the base picking off the isolated pockets of warriors that made it inside before being cutoff. Shortly there after the Hive forces began to cease their attacks and scuttled away out of range of the bases defenses.

Some time had passed when Tombo returned to the breached gate to still see the three suits that had fought alongside him still there. The two rotary gun suits had put down their weapons and were now grappling with the third. One was holding the suit from behind while the other was trying to pry open the front.

As Tombo approached he could hear the chatter of the pilots.

“The fraker did a number on you, that’s for sure.”

“Just open my damn cockpit already! I need help, not narration.”

With a screeching twisting of metal the third suit was finally able to rip open the cockpits hatch and reveal the pilot within.

The suit that had been holding from behind released their grip and came up front. “You alright sarge?” the pilot asked. Tombo saw the human inside stretching their arms and taking deep breaths of air before slowly rising to their feet and exiting the cockpit.

“I need a shower, a drink, and my bed; then I’ll tell you how I’m doing.”

The pilot drew a small knife from their jacket and began walking towards the pile of dead Hive warriors. “But first there’s something I gotta do.” The two suits nodded and together picked up the damage suit to carry it off back to the repair bays.

Tombo watched for a moment as the human pilot clamber up the mound of dead and begin shifting the corpses looking for something. They seemed undisturbed by the icors and smells of the Hive and continued searching for something. With a yell of triumph the human stopped moving bodies and sat down, his knife slowly carving into something.

Tombo was curious now and approached closer to the mound. He covered his nose as he came close and circled from behind to see what the pilot was cutting. To his surprise the human was carving a scale out of the creature that had attacked him earlier.

“Why do you defame the bodies of the dead?” Tombo asked without hesitation. The pilot’s response was simple and he didn’t even bother to look up from his task. “What does it look like? I’m taking a trophy.”

The honesty caught Tombo off guard as he had been expecting some lie or misdirection. “To sell and profit now doubt.” Tombo spoke as he reached under his cloack for his lightning staff. The pilot shook his head. “To remember and honor.”

Tombo stopped. “Why do you honor the dead, even more so when the dead were your enemies?”

“They wounded me.” The pilot began, “they left a scar not just in my body but in my mind that made me question if I was going to live or die. A foe like that is worth remembering, worth learning from.”

Strange as it sounded Tombo could relate to a degree as it was written in the book of the shinning one that even in death there is much to learn.

“During the battle,” Tombo asked as he took his hand back from his lightning staff, “why did you continue to fight the creature even when your weapon shattered? Would it have not been better to retreat?”

The pilot stopped for a moment and chuckled, as if the question amused him. With a final stab he pried the scale off the beast and held it in his hand. He casually stepped back over the dead and came before Tombo still admiring the scale.

“One can never be without a weapon, when they ARE the only weapon they’ll ever need.”

Without saying another word the pilot tilted his head and walked passed the Sandrul, humming a soft melody as he flipped the scale between his fingers over and over.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story #mech suit

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rebellconquerer · 3 years

Note

“Are you drunk?”

For buckysarah 😌

Y'all thought I forgot these, but I haven't! Just working my way through them. This is the *fade to black* version, drop a comment if you think I should finish it

Bucky watches as Sarah drops the keys, giggling a little to herself before she picks them back up and fumbles a bit before getting his front door open. She lets out a small sound of victory as she stumbles through the door, and it is altogether ridiculously adorable.

He chuckles under his breath as he follows her in. She is standing in the open space of the combined kitchen and living area smiling rather dumbly at the key in her hand.

"Are you good? The key made you that happy?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

The silly smile on her face doesn't budge. "Leave me alone. I'm basking. You gave me a key to your home." She says, aiming the stubborn line of her chin at him.

He bites back on his smile, affecting a mock serious face. "I assume now is not the time to tell you that Sam also has a key?" He asks under his breath, dropping his head to look up at her through his lashes.

The move makes her roll her eyes, but that smile is still tugging at her lips. "Shut up. You're awful, you know that?"

He drops the expression, walking over to the stainless steel fridge, opening it and grabbing a bottle of water. He doesn't have much in terms of sustenance in there, still spending most of his time at the Wilson's, but he has some of the basics: a six pack of beer and the bottle of expensive wine Hill had given him when he told her he had moved.

"You want another drink?" He asks.

"God, no." She mutters as he untwists the cap of his water and takes a long drink. He keeps his eyes on her as he does, watching as she hops ungracefully on one foot, trying to slip off the kitten heels she had been wearing and laughing to herself as she does it. He tilts his head.

"Sarah?" His voice comes out low and questioning.

She looks up at him mid motion, long braids hanging over her shoulder, the deep red of her strappy blouse contrasting nicely with the dark of her hair and skin. Too bright eyes blink up at him and a slow, almost predatory smile curves his lips.

"Are you drunk?"

She groans, dropping her shoe and curling her face into her folded hands on top of the kitchen counter.

"God, yes!" She laughs. "Aren't you?"

He smirks into his next drink of water, before grabbing another bottle out of the fridge and sliding it over the counter to her.

"I can't get drunk. You know that." He mutters. Her head pops up, confusion painting her features as she reaches for her water.

"What?!" She questions loudly.

He frowns. "I can't get drunk… the serum? Enhanced metabolism, I burn through it too fast to feel the effects."

She gapes at him. "You've never been drunk?"

"I existed before the serum, so yes. But the last time I got properly wasted was 1943." He replies. Sometimes he forgets that Sarah hasn't been around his whole life. She fits so naturally, so seamlessly, that he tends to assume she knows everything about him. "Did you really not know?"

She is still staring in confusion. "But-but you drink with us."

He can’t help the bemused look that graces his face, he's sure this would make more sense to her if she were not, quite frankly, drunk as a skunk.

"Habit. Still feels natural." He shrugs.

She tilts her head, examining him more closely. "How hard have you tried?"

He chuckles then, taking another sip. "Trust me, Steve and I spent some time trying real hard in Wakanda, all scientific and everything."

Her smile gets devious and he watches her eyes darken as they rove over him slowly, sparking that latent heat that sits just under his skin whenever she's in the room with him.

"What?" He asks, voice coming out huskier than he intends.

She tilts her head, the weight of her gaze like a physical caress on his skin and he feels his heart rate kick up at the promise in her eyes. She nods, gesturing for him to come to her and he feels a wave of pure want uncoil low in his abdomen.

He drains the last of his water bottle before he walks around the island, eyes locked on her. She walks slowly, delicately, towards him, meeting him at the far corner and lays one long fingered hand on the center of his chest, the gentle warmth of her scorching him like a brand.

"Sarah?" His voice is uncertain and already sounds a little breathy.

She pushes at his chest, slowly forcing him a few steps back until his back hits the cool, hard plaster of the wall behind him.

"So, alcohol can't fuck you up..." She whispers, not at all like a question, as she leans back surveying him closely.

He shrugs, feeling his blood start to sing as she twists the hand on his chest into a loose fist leaving her index finger out to press a sharp edged nail just hard enough into his shirt that he can feel the bite in his skin as she trails it down the front of his button up. The pressure, as light as it is, is all encompassing, narrowing his focus to just her.

He licks his lips, mouth gone Sahara dry under the weight of her contemplation. "Not in the least."

She leans into him, smile going dangerously sharp as her eyes flash with mischief. His eyes drop to her mouth, the rich colour on her lips making them almost hypnotic. He's surrounded by the scent of her, the feel of her soft curves pressing into him, and it completely clouds his head. He sways towards her, the attraction magnetic, but she moves back at the last minute, teasing him. A whine escapes the back of his throat but it only makes her look more pleased.

"Come on, James. Stay still for me?" She says into the sensitive skin of his neck, the wet warmth of her breath puffing maddeningly against him.

She very deliberately, and very fucking slowly, pops open the first button on his shirt, then the next and the next, allowing her hand to graze teasingly against his skin.

He tilts his head back against the wall, trying to breathe through the sheer want overtaking him.

He glances down to see her looking down at his body, watching her hand almost curiously as it drops and slowly begins to lower his zipper, the sound loud in the quiet of the room.

"Fuuuck" he groans out, trying to listen, trying to stay still.

She lets out a funny little hiccoughing laugh, resting her forehead against his chest and rubbing affectionately at him.

"It's not fair that I'm drunk and you're not," she laughs, clever hands finally ducking into his pants, coaxing pleasure from him like she was born to do it. She pushes her face into his neck, forcing his head high as she mouths along the exposed line of his neck. When she finally makes it up to his mouth he's already putty in her hands, all his thoughts focussed on being still for her like she asked, and not rutting into her wildly.

She breathes on his lips and he follows the warmth of her mouth, moaning just a little, until she finally kisses him, tongue licking at his lips softly before his control frays and he's thrusting his tongue into her mouth, filthy and wet in the best possible way.

She pulls away, face a little dazed with pleasure before that grin is back on her face, the one that he's sure should be regulated by S.W.O.R.D. because it is most definitely a weapon of mass destruction. "Don't worry," she whispers, fingers doing something absolutely dirty to him that has him gasping into her air, "I only wanna wreck you a little bit."

#sarah x bucky #buckysarah #fleur de louve #barah #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #sarah wilson #bucky barnes #rebellwrites #bucky x sarah #bucky/sarah #drabble #prompts #18+#crossposted to ao3

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andromedarune · 3 years

Text

[Piers/Reader] “Just One Night’s Rest”

DESCRIPTION: Babies really aren't your jam, but if it's so your best friend can get a good night's rest for once, you're willing to make an exception.

RATING: Teen and up (for adult language)

WORD COUNT: ~2,500

A/N: Hey so I have Piers brain rot (surprise, surprise) and wrote this fic when I was really super tired, so it might not be good but WHATEVER I TRIED MY BEST

(Inspired by some fan art of Piers with a Toxel I found on Twitter by Squidbiscuit)

(oh yah also this is a Gender-Neutral reader, so yah, right on)

* * *

It was another nippy evening in the gloomiest town in the entire region. You kept a brisk walk going while you made your way towards the further ends of the city; if you focused hard enough, you could just barely hear the sound of waves lashing out against the cliffs way beyond the tall, run-down buildings of Spikemuth. It’s been years since you’ve traveled down that area, and yet you still remember all the backpaths into the forest that led to the bluff, which had been technically off-limits for decades, now. You’d basically memorized everything about this damn city, which can’t really be too surprising, all things considered. It was home, after all.

But now wasn’t the time for running through the town, seeking thrills and nostalgia. No, you found yourself on this side of town because your best friend decided that he desperately needed your help for - oh, Arceus knows what - at damn near six o’clock at night. It wasn’t the first time he’s called you out here on short notice (and definitely wouldn’t be the last), so you had your own little pity-party before getting out of your comfy bed, putting back on all your winter gear, and trudging out into town.

It isn’t too long of a trip, thankfully; you march up to the tall, banged-up steel gate that leads up to his house, mindlessly tapping in the numerical password you’d memorized years before. It opens easily. You walk through, stuffing your cold hands into your jacket pockets as you make your way up the porch steps and knock on the doorbell.

A moment passes by.

You stand there, shifting your weight from foot to foot, awkwardly trying to move around to create warmth without looking like a total moron. Your eyes glance at the doorbell just a few inches away from the door. Probably still broken, you think to yourself. Fix your fucking shit, Piers.

Just before you think to call him, the door opens. Despite your best attempts, a snicker cuts through your mouth.

Piers really can never be described as someone who looks “put-together,” but seeing him now - serious Zigzagoon eyes, ponytail ridden with worrisome knots, black sweater notably wet in odd places with an even odder substance, the weird red rubber gloves that were duct-taped onto his limbs, expression reaching newfound levels of grumpiness that just screams ‘I have never been more dead inside in my life’ - it’s impossible to not laugh. He just looks down at you as you throw a hand over your mouth; at least he seems a bit relieved that you’re here.

“Sorry, sorry,” you eventually manage to say, “your face there was perfect.”

“Whatever you say…” is his grumbling reply.

The taller man moves aside for you to enter, and you happily do. While the house itself isn’t much to really note (Piers was never one to keep too much stuff, even though he’s lived here for ages, now), you were kind of surprised to see that even with there hardly being anything around to mess up, literally everything looked all sorts of, well, messed up. The couch had that strange gooey stuff along the cushions, singe marks lining the armrests as well; a coffee table had been toppled over, one of the legs entirely missing; a trail of what looks to be blank sheet music papers lined down from the kitchen and disappeared down the hall. You gave Piers a confused glance.

“This, uh… this isn’t a datura party, is it?”

Piers shoots you an overdramatic offended gasp.

“‘Course not! It’s just… well, uh, it’s…”

You open your mouth to say something, only for a distinct whine in the distance to cut you off. Immediately, you’re giving Piers a cold glare; the man laced his hands together, damn near going to a knee as he gave you the biggest set of pleading eyes he possibly could.

“Please, please, please - I really need your help!”

“I don’t do babies, Piers.”

“It’s just a little Toxel - hardly anythin’ like a human baby.”

“Oh, yeah, because a pokemon baby is so much easier to take care of.”

He couldn’t really argue with that. But you could still see the hopefulness in his eyes as he tiptoed closer to you.

“I seriously need your help, though… With the concerts and the gym gettin’ ready to open up for the season, I’m runnin’ all over the place. And Toxel are super finicky - they need constant supervision! It’s bad enough havin’ to watch the little guy when I’m workin’, but I haven’t even had an inch of sleep in weeks. Just one night - that’s all I’m askin’.”

“Why’re you asking me? I’m not the one who raised my baby sibling.”

“Marnie doesn’t have anythin’ on a baby Toxel. Besides, she’s staying the night at a friend’s house, and… well, you’re the only other person I can really trust with somethin’ like this.”

A loud crash in the distance catches your attention. You grimace, but when you return to look at your friend with the full intent of saying ‘Yeah, no,’ he’s got those big baby blue eyes glimmering down at you. Your grimace tightens. You’re stronger than this, don’t let him get to you.

“P-please,” he mutters pitifully, “I’ll… I’ll… I’ll owe you one - no, fifty! I’ll buy all your video games, give you front row seats to shows, buy you more stuffed animals from those overpriced shops you like - just please help me out here.”

Well, when he’s begging like that and making that face, it’s really hard to say no. You glance off to the side, pretending to be oh so inconvenienced by him when really it’s that odd look in his eyes that’s making you a bit weak in the knees.

“Uhg… fine. But just tonight. And it’s not my fault if anything else gets broken - I’m really no good with babies, Piers. You’ll totally owe me for life after this.”

Perhaps driven mad from his sleeplessness, he nods without hesitation. You watch as he frantically rips off the rubber gloves and tosses them over onto the couch, making an attempt to run his fingers through his hair when it immediately snags and pulls a helpless groan of frustration from his throat. You laugh a bit at that, though it’s laced with some pity.

Piers eventually guides you down the hall, pointing to the door just to the right; it’s partially open, the sounds of paper being ripped to shreds and the occasional croak of a baby Toxel all to be heard from its depths. Before you make you way down, he grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look up at him once more.

“I seriously can’t thank you enough. Toxel isn’t anythin’ to be scared of - he’s just a baby, after all. Even bein’ a poison-electric type, he can’t really hurt you too bad.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about...” you mumble out.

Piers chuckles a bit, giving you a gentle pat on the head.

“Don’t sweat it. He’s a toughie. I don’t think you could really hurt him if you tried. All I’m askin’ is that you keep an eye on him for a few hours, make sure he doesn’t eat nothin’ bad or completely destroy my house. But if it gets too much, just wake me up and I’ll take over - no problem, alright?”

You manage a nod. Piers gives you shoulders a little squeeze before turning on his heels.

“Ooookayy…” he suddenly slurs out, stumbling into a wall briefly before reorienting himself. “... ‘m goin’ to bed… see ya at six…”

“Yeah, uh, sure. Night…”

He hums, disappearing down the shadows of the hall with only the soft click of his door closing to be proof that he didn’t vanish into the void. Hesitantly, you glance over at the baby room, where now banging sounds can be heard. You take a deep breath, gathering up all your resolve before heaving a harsh exhale. Alright! I can do this! How bad can this Toxel be, anyway?

*Several God-Forsaken Hours Later…*

“Toxel, please,” you cried out, teetering left and right from a combination of balancing on the wobbly stool and from the sheer nausea you felt after getting hit face-first with a Toxic technique. Your hands were trembling from all the numbness pricking deep into your palms, but nevertheless, you reached hopelessly towards the baby pokemon. Toxel gave you a hearty raspberry, digging deeper into a jar of Arceus know what from atop the fridge. “Please, buddy, let’s go nigh-nigh. Wanna go nigh-nigh?”

Toxel let out a belch, his chubby face covered almost completely in some kind of berry jam. At this point, you could hardly care about how Piers would react. Your main priority for the past several hours had been solely on getting a firm grip on the baby. And, true to the Spikemuth citizen, this little guy was being anything but obedient.

Desperately red eyes spun around the room, hoping for anything to entice Toxel into your hands. Thankfully, you were able to tuck away most everything dangerous that he might have gotten into (though at one point he did get his hands on a spoon he found underneath the couch - it took you nearly an hour to finally get him out from there, especially when he found shocking you with the spoon just so entertaining). You looked across the dining room table, seeking the mess from an earlier meal you’d failed at making, to the countertops that you tried to clean gooey purple poison off of several times through the night, and even to the sink where you’d also tried (and, of course, failed) to give Toxel a bath. Nothing immediately caught your eye until…

Your smile spread maniacally across your face as you honed in on a new target. Passing a sneaky glance to the baby, you reached over into a slightly ajar cabinet and grabbed a juicy-looking oran berry.

“Oh, Toxel~,” you coo affectionately to the pokemon. Initially, he lifts his head with perhaps full intention to blow another disgruntled raspberry in your direction, only for his eyes to widen in recognition of what you held out in your hand. A small, dare you say cute ribbit of curiosity was faintly heard from his throat. Toxel moved away from the berry jar, reaching his grubby little hands out to the berry.

“You gotta come here if you want the berry.”

Toxel immediately complied, crawling towards the end of the fridge with no regard for if he fell. Even with the numbness from his electric secretion in his skin, you manage to snatch up the baby, pulling him close to your chest before he fell out of your grasp. A part of you nearly let out a mad cackle; another part of you considered crying. Thankfully, because you still had some semblance of sanity left in your husk of a body, you simply gave a tired sigh and looked down at the baby. “Okay… Snackies and then it’s off to sleepy time junction…”

You slowly meandered back into the living room, stepping over various chair legs and abandoned drawers on route to the couch. Your body ached more and more the closer you got; you all but collapsed into the cushions, hardly caring about the poisonous slime or gooey whatever that coated the entire piece of furniture. Toxel got cozy on your lap, gnawing at the berry. Seeing him so damn determined to eat the fruit pulled a light-hearted chuckle from your lips. Gently, you took the berry from his fingers, ignoring his growls of disapproval.

“Look, Toxie,” you lowered your voice, letting the nails of your thumbs shakily dig into the thick skin of the fruit, pulling it apart so that the juicy innards were easily accessible. A light, sweet smell wafted immediately into the air. “You gotta take the skin off, first, buddy. Here ya go.”

Toxel gratefully accepted the fruit, wasting no time in digging into the fruity flesh. Aside from his soft croaks of satisfaction, the house had finally seemed to fall silent. Slowly, your eyes began to flutter; your head leaned back. The pleasant environment that had befallen over the abode was far too comfortable to resist just another second more of darkness…

… Piers slowly began to stir, letting out an involuntary groan as he rolled over to his back. His eyes fluttered open, and much to his surprise, the house wasn’t totally in pieces. Or, at least the chaos hadn’t spread into his room, yet. The man let out a soft chuckle at that thought. He’d definitely be hearing about this for a long time from you - but for that warm, cozy restfulness he had at the moment, it was definitely worth it. He just hoped you didn’t completely hate him. After all, he knew how nasty this certain Toxel could be, and he really knew how much you hesitated when it came to young pokemon. But even if he’d basically end up handing over all his credit cards and bank accounts to you, Piers would make sure to let you know how grateful he was just for just this little favor.

He had his own little stretch and eventually pulled himself out of the warmth of his covers. He found himself glancing over at his closet door mirror, adjusting his hair a bit and resetting his slightly twisted up shirt - the poor lad was so tired the night before that he didn’t bother getting undressed like he normally does. Which was probably a good thing - not sure how he would have reacted if you ended up having to chase Toxel into his room and found him damn near skyclad. Before that thought could wander to some dangerous daydream, Piers quickly broke away from his reflection and headed towards the door. Now was probably a good time to rescue you.

To be honest, Piers figured that the house would be in a worse state. But judging by the piles of broken objects shuffled into corners or onto hastily wiped tables, it looks like you even tried to clean up a bit. He didn’t know why he laughed at that fact; probably because it was you. Piers shuffled down the hall, peering around corners with curious eyes that he may see you in some comical situation at the mercy of an infantile pokemon. However, much to his surprise, he could just barely hear the sound of snores coming from the living room.

Piers leaned in, and immediately tensed up at the sight.

You, sprawled out on the couch with one leg dangling to the floor, baby Toxel all curled up nice and cozy on your chest. Both so sweetly sound asleep. Piers nearly passed out from it; even after all these years of knowing you, you had never seemed so… peaceful? Reticent? Maybe…. Even… beautiful? He looked down at the two of you for a few breaths more, memorizing every single aspect of this moment - it’d make for a great song, if he ever got the courage to write it. Eventually, he crept a bit closer, kneeling at your side with a soft exhale. Yeah, you were out like a light, and Toxel seemed no different. So the taller man indulged a bit more in the peacefulness of morning, leaning over the back of the couch with his eyes shut and patiently waiting for you to wake up to him there.

#pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pkmn #swsh #pokemon swsh #piers #gym leader piers #piers/reader #pierxreader #piers x reader #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #reader don't like no babies #but they'll deal with it for piers #piers has a crush #reader's got her own shit to worry about lol #Toxel is A LOT to deal with

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lilfellasblog · 4 years

Text

Truly *Nothing* Is Spookier Than Self-Care

Summary: Janus absolutely despises being accepted by Thomas and the Light Sides. He can’t help but notice how they very much do not put themselves first. He decides to change that.

A/N: If you liked this, please reblog. It is the only way to help this fic reach a wider audience. This story comes from this ask by @foreverfangirlingalways! Thank you so much for the inspiration and the wonderful prompt! I hope I did it justice!

TW: very light angst, like almost no angst. Small amounts of stress and mild flailing to adapt when the plan doesn't go perfectly.

Word count: 2648

AO3 here!

Fic Masterlist here!

Although Janus was grateful to be accepted by his Host, an aspect of such that he absolutely loved was seeing just how dysfunctional the Light Sides were in their self-care. They certainly had a great deal of work to do, but they held themselves to such high standards, they seemed to constantly move around every waking moment. Janus had been attempting to get the Light Sides more focused on taking care of themselves throughout the day, but the key word here is attempting. They’d thank him for his suggestion and promise they’d do it later.

Janus wondered why he was the one stuck with Deceit as a name.

It was now time for more drastic measures that he hoped wouldn’t land him with a giant frog again. He knew he’d have to go one at a time if he wanted any chance of success, so he decided to target each Side according to the level of concern he had for them. Naturally, this meant Roman would be his first vict- *cough* recipient.

He found Roman precisely where he’d expect him: inside his en suite gym, hair damp with perspiration.

“In the gym again? Don’t you have anything else to do with your spare time?” Janus asked innocently.

Roman started and placed the weight he’d been lifting on the ground. “Greetings Janus! And I do, there’s just always room for improvement!”

Hm, direct won’t work with him in this. Interesting. “I was wondering if you might help me with a sewing project, although I see you’re busy.”

Roman grabbed a nearby towel to wipe his face. “I’m never too busy to assist a Side in need! What is it you’d like my assistance on?”

Janus hummed. “I was hoping to experiment with a few costume ideas for Halloween. I think a pirate might be suitable for me.”

Roman grinned, excitement beginning to shine in his eyes. “Indeed! Allow me a few minutes to wash up, I’ll join you!” He waved his hand. “You’ll find two sewing stations in my room!” He pranced off to the bathroom without another word.

“Don’t take too long!” Janus called after him, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait much longer than an hour for the prince to get his appearance in order.

He only had to wait a half hour before Roman joined him in the room, hair still slightly damp. Janus internally cheered when Roman didn’t have his ridiculously complicated prince uniform on, instead wearing a red sweater with pumpkins stitched on.

“Roman, would you mind trying on the clothes once I’ve finished them? We have similar body types, although you’re more muscular, and my current outfit is simply a bear to get on and off.”

Roman blinked in surprise. “I… I suppose I could, are you certain you want me to do that?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, yes.”

After another moment of prolonged shock, Roman pulled himself together and struck a pose, exaggerated grin on his face. “Well far be it from a prince to forsake a Side in their hour of need!”

Janus smiled, relieved. “Wonderful.” He summoned his nearly-completed pirate costume: tight black pants, calf-high boots, and a billowy shirt with a deep V-neck. “I’m just about to finish these, would you mind taking a look at the seams on the outside of the leg and in the armpit of the shirt? I want to make sure I’ve pinned those in a way that won’t pull.”

Roman and Janus discussed the different options they had for stitching, and once they’d decided Janus had Roman put in the stitching for the pants while he finished stitching the shirt. Janus was pleased that Roman had decided to go for a more complex stitch; he knew the Side enjoyed getting absorbed in a task, and that he enjoyed sewing. Sure enough, after an hour, he looked over and saw Roman’s irises sparkling in red and gold, tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth. 4 hours later, and they’d both finished.

Janus stretched, watching Roman bounce slightly in his seat from excitement. “Well Roman, we did good work. Would you try these on?”

Roman hesitated, then forced himself to smile, Janus watching him carefully. “Certainly! Are you sure you don’t want to?”

“I am, I’d hate to keep getting in and out of my outfit, especially if changes need to be made.”

Roman inhaled deeply and took the clothes, holding them carefully. “I shall not dilly-dally then! I shall return soon!”

Janus plastered a wide smile on his face. “Wonderful!”

That was another thing, the sheer amount of smiling the Light Sides did and how he found himself going along with it. It made his face hurt at time from the sheer amount of smiling.

Roman emerged, posture stiff and forced but proud. Janus raised both eyebrows.

“Roman, you look wonderful! Stand in front of the mirror, won’t you?”

The prince shuffled over, eyes darting between himself and the ground.

Janus appraised the Side before him, and was relieved he wouldn’t have to lie about a single thing. “Goodness Roman, you like incredible! The skin-tight pants look wonderful on your legs, and the shirt highlights your figure! I must say, I’m quite jealous. I’ve been also considering going as a bard this year, why don’t you just take this costume? I shows off all of your muscles and your broad shoulders especially!”

Roman looked at him, surprised. “Are you certain? You’ve spent so long on this, I couldn’t possibly-”

“I am, I’ll enjoy knowing you’re enjoying something I made. Come now, Thomas is tired, and it’s best to look in the distance to prevent eye strain. Would you like to watch some Disney movies?”

Roman frowned and looked back towards where his en suite gym was. “I really should be getting back to a workout…”

“Nonsense, you’ve been working out so much, and you’ve been working hard in other areas. You’ll be more productive after some rest.”

Janus let out a breath when Roman shrugged and summoned a large television. He got some beanbags and snacks for them, and Janus watched as Roman slowly relaxed and got engrossed in the movies, eagerly agreeing to watch one after the other. Once dinner rolled around, Janus suggested a famILY movie night, which got Patton on board, which meant everyone would attend. Roman had changed back into his pumpkin sweater, and Janus was the last one awake, pleased to see the other Sides asleep, surrounded by snacks and illuminated by the glow of the television. He sank out to his room, and planned his next intervention.

/////

Janus waited a week so as to not draw any suspicion to himself, and found Patton in the kitchen. He was typing furiously on a tablet, Thomas currently working through whether or not he should use his celebrity status to get ahead in line so he could get back to editing a new video faster so he could get that out to his fans so he could-

He pulled his mind back from Patton’s, reeling slightly.

You need this more than I thought.

Janus backed up a bit, then walked more heavily to announce his presence to Patton. Patton looked up at him happily.

“Heya Janus! What can I do ya for?”

Janus smiled easily, the cheerful Side great at lifting moods. “I see you’re in the middle of something, but once you get a moment, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping me bake something? It’s a skill I’d like to acquire.”

Patton lit up. “Well sure!! Give me just a few minutes and I’ll be right with you!”

Janus set a tea kettle to boil and put a mint tea bag in Patton’s mug and a black tea bag in his own. Just as Patton sighed and set the tablet on the table, the kettle went off and Janus poured the water before Patton could do it. He didn’t miss how Patton rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.

He gently set the mug of tea in front of Patton. Patton lifted and smelled it, closing his eyes.

“Mmmmmm, mint, my favorite!”

“Oh really? Lucky guess, I suppose.”

Patton looked up at him knowingly. “You’re good at guessing,” he teased.

“Thank you for noticing. I’ve noticed that Thomas’ Sides have been quite busy lately. Do you think a chocolate beet cake would go over well?”

“Do I?!” Patton asked, eyes shining and the edges of his irises glowing light blue.

Patton donned plastic gloves and got to work peeling and grating the beets, while Janus combined the wet and dry ingredients in separate bowls. He asked Patton for reassurance on occasion, despite being confident in his abilities. He let Patton take over once it was time to combine everything and put it in the oven.

Patton tapped his finger against his chin. “Hmmmmm… what kind of frosting should we do? I’m thinking either buttercream or ganache, what do you think?”

Janus shrugged. “Why not just store-bought frosting? It seems easier.”

Patton looked at him incredulously. “For a beet cake?! Oh no, we may as well make something while it’s baking!”

Shitshitshitshitshitshit- Janus frantically thought back to the brief research he’d done on cakes.

“How about ganache? I’ve always been intrigued about that.”

“Sure!” Patton chirped. Janus let out a breath as Patton bounded over to the fridge to grab heavy cream. Patton showed Janus how to make ganache, and Janus was surprised and relieved at how simple it was.

As the cake cooked and the ganache cooled, Janus and Patton chatted amicably, Janus asking questions about something Patton would bring up and watching Patton’s eyes become bluer and bluer as he kept talking. The oven pinged, and Janus convinced Patton that a game of cards was in order while they let the cake cool. One game led to five, and by then it was time to gently reheat the ganache and pour it over the cake.

Patton jumped when he realized the time. “Oh gosh!! I’m so sorry, I don’t have dinner planned! I can-”

“Don’t worry about it Patton,” Janus interrupted. “I actually have a recipe I’ve been meaning to try out if you don’t mind relinquishing the kitchen?”

Patton smiled nervously. “Do you want any help?”

I might have to adjust my plan. “No, but I would like some pleasant company. You’re on your feet so much, it’s good to soak them.” He summoned a bucket filled with warm water and a bag of lavender-scented epsom salts. “I won’t be long.”

Patton poured some of the epsom salts into the bucket of water and groaned and whimpered at the relaxing sensation on his feet. Janus turned and allowed himself a small smile, then cooked up some 4-ingredient Italian chicken breasts from a recipe he’d found online, along with some roasted veggies and some pasta aglio e olio on the side. He set the table when Patton had his eyes closed in pleasure, then got everything served and helped Patton massage and dry his feet.

After dinner, in which everyone complimented the cooking, Patton declared he would go to bed a little early tonight, so Janus sent him upstairs with some chamomile tea. He cleaned the kitchen, and felt rather accomplished.

Roman and Patton are taken care of, thank God. He chuckled to himself. Up next, two for the price of one!

/////

Janus stood in front of Logan’s closed door, holding a pencil and large pad of paper, uncharacteristically nervous.

I’ve been able to fool Roman and Patton, but Logan is smart. He may see through this.

He knocked on the door, uncertain of his success.

Logan answered the door, every hair and fiber of clothing in order. “Hello Janus.”

Oh dear Lord in Heaven, this man needs to relax. Janus put on his best smile. “Hello Logan. I’ve become rather fascinated with the constellation Serpens and was wondering if you’d help me chart it and some stars and constellations around it? I’m afraid this is out of my area of expertise and I know this happens to be a field you’re familiar with.”

Logan looked at him skeptically. “You want to chart the stars with me,” he deadpanned. “You have no ulterior motives?”

“None whatsoever,” Janus said.

Logan looked over Janus’ shoulder at the wall, upset.

He knows you lied, salvage this! Janus sighed, pushing it a little. “Truth be told, Logan, I would like to get to know you more, and although I truly am interested in learning more about the constellation of the snake, spending time with you was my ultimate goal.”

Logan looked surprised, a faint blush on his cheekbones. “Oh. I suppose… that would be satisfactory.”

Janus leaned on all of his acting abilities to look relaxed. “Excellent. Would your room suffice?”

“It would.”

Janus laid his pad of paper and pencil on the floor where Logan indicated, and timed his next move while Logan was looking over his books.

“Say, Logan, you and Virgil seem to enjoy each other’s company, shall we ask him to join us?”

Logan stopped flipping through the thick tome currently in his hand long enough to raise his arm in a summon. Virgil rose up and grabbed his head.

“God L, how are you guys not constantly dizzy?” Virgil jumped when he saw Janus. “Oh! Hey, what’s up guys?” Janus made sure to hide his endearment for the anxious Side when he saw Virgil cringe

“Janus would like assistance mapping the constellation Serpens and the surrounding night sky. He suggested you accompany us,” Logan explained without raising his eyes from his book.

Virgil looked between Janus and Logan. “Just like… hang out?”

Janus decided to step in. “Yes. I noticed you seem to enjoy the company of others, but aren’t always interested in participating.”

Virgil offered a soft smile. “Yeah, I guess… that’s chill. Mind if I just listen to music and stuff?”

“Not at all,” Janus and Logan said at the same time.

Virgil snorted, then flopped on the bed, put in an earbud, and started up his phone.

One down, one to go.

Logan sat in front of Janus, irises already dark blue.

Two down, it seems.

Janus listened intently as Logan spoke at length about Serpens, and then about related constellations, and then about related galaxies and stars, with Janus asking questions along the way. They charted out Serpens and filled the large piece of paper with other stars and constellations, and even Virgil would chime in every now and again.

Janus definitely didn’t almost get emotional when he saw how relaxed the two normally-tense Sides were.

When Patton knocked on Logan’s door for dinner, Virgil swore.

“Shit! Did I miss something? Did Thomas need me?! Fuck, I-”

“Relax, Virgil,” Janus soothed. “I kept an eye on things, Thomas is just fine. See for yourself.”

Virgil’s eyes grew distant for several long moments before refocused. He blew out a breath.

“Okay, whew,” he sent a grateful look towards Janus. “Thanks man.”

Janus waved. “Not a problem. Let’s not keep Patton waiting.”

Janus followed the two Sides downstairs, feeling victorious at how relaxed their shoulders were. Virgil was even walking with proper posture!

Dinner was a relaxed affair, the Sides content and laughing easily. Remus was chattering on about one thing one moment and another the next, with Logan offering feedback and Virgil changing the topic for Patton’s sake. Janus ate, not admitting how nice it felt to be included in famILY mealtime. It took him til nearly the end of dinner to realize no one was watching him out of the corner of their eye.

They trust me, he realized.

By the end of the night, he stretched out on his bed, pulling his heated blanket up to his neck.

What a waste of time. Totally not worth it, he thought to himself as he planned his next meeting with Roman.

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