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faerievampling · 6 months

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Killing Time

Chapter 8: Draconic Bindings

Word Count: 5k

Total word count: 38k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Spawn Tav

Warning: 18+. Please be mindful for this one and read tags: Dubious consent. Non-Consent (Not between Astarion and Tav). SA. Blood. Graphic Violence. Size difference. PiV. Mind control. Obsessive and Possessive behavior.

Link to Ao3

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7.

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M.List

All living beings have an intrinsic desire to survive, and this was nonetheless true for the undead, such as yourself. You haven’t a clue what’s happened, only that something with a wet nose and a beating heart is close to you.

You managed to open your eyes despite the heavy haze you had existed in for…well, you couldn’t be sure, but you were absolutely starving, and that alone told you it had been at least a day. You feel drained, heavy, fatigued in a way you hadn’t known since your creation: a feeling you imagined you would only recognize if you could only remember what it felt like to be alive.

The first thing you see is a pink nose, rather dull green eyes (you’re sure this is due to your injury rather than the animal’s beauty) and silky white fur, long and fluffy. A pang of sadness fills your heart and your head, but your survival instincts are much stronger, and you move to reach for the cat – if you can grab it, eat it, that would give you enough energy to move more, and possibly heal faster.

Rolling onto your side, you swing your arm towards the cat: but you’re too slow, and the movement causes a burning sensation to spread throughout your arm. The cat darts away. ‘Pitiful,’ you think before your arm goes slack in front of you: your hands are bare, you realize, and all but a simple silver band remains on your wrist. Looking at your other hand, your heart drops at its bareness: your wedding rings are gone, only an identical band on your wrist remains.

You look down to find your charmed anklet had been replaced, burning even when you wiggled your toes. You close your eyes, burying your face into a strange smelling pillow as you weep.

“Only obedient women get fed. You must learn.” A voice comes from behind you’re on your side, having curled into a fetal position in hopes that would help with the pain. You feel something heavy, cool and smooth, dancing across your body. You’re naked, you realize, and what’s grazing you is a large claw, it’s hand scaled red, talons long and black. His hand is huge, covering nearly half your torso.

You can’t really move, especially with him pinning you down, so you merely hiss at him; the man chuckles. His voice is deep, gravelly, fitting for a lord of his size and race.

“You have been like this for days. Thrashing about. Being a bad pet. Attacking anyone who comes near, even a cat. Fighting my fangs and cock away when I take you. Refusing to take my blood.” His face was pressed against yours now, his arms wrapped around you as he drew you in. His thin, reptilian tongue was cold and wet on your cheek, lapping at your tears. Your body burned from the movement, but the man seemed entirely unaffected: you take note that the outside of the silver could be touched without pain; only the inside had been conveniently left untreated.

You knew the Lord Geldon Moth had you, you needn’t be a scholar to figure that one out.

His tongue retreats, and you brace yourself for his devilish voice. “You know, I am a very big fan of yours, Tav Ancunín.” Moth brings his arms underneath you, bringing you into his lap, holding you like a babe. You close your eyes, willing yourself away. He just smelled wrong. “The True Hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

”You are smaller than I imagined,” His voice was low, and you felt the flicker of his long tongue on your breast, teasing your nipple. Settling you on his lap, you can’t help but focus on that distant heartbeat, the one still thumping about somewhere in the room. You’re so hungry, and the pain is really getting to you. You open your eyes involuntarily, using all your might to try to squirm from this lord’s grasp.

Moth grabs your chin, thrusting your head to him. For the first time, you make eye contact with him, studying the image of his face with such ferocity that you knew you’d never forget it: he was handsome, that much was true. He was angled in the right places, his red scales glittering in the candlelight. His iris was red, as all vampires and many Dragonborn have; but the space around his eyes was black, reminding you of the empty void inside of you.

His pale, long digits slip the large diamond ring onto your finger. It paired beautifully with the wedding band and the two other gem-embedded rings, all of which had been among the wedding gifts Astarion got you. You look up at him, meeting his gaze –

“Do not fight. You are far too weak. Obey and I will relieve you of your pain, my dove,” The two of you held eye contact until you ceased your thrashing. You were too exhausted, hungry…mostly hungry. You try to avoid the thoughts of your husband’s face flashing in your mind.

Moth’s hand moved from your jaw down to your breasts, his large hand swallowing them as he touched you: it was somewhere between a caress and a grope, a strange movement for a man so large.

“All you must do is bite me. I know how hungry you are, little one,” Moth cooed, his words making you feel dirty. “You will not heal correctly if you continue to refuse to feed, because the silver will remain until you do.”

You have a distinct feeling that you shouldn’t bite him. He smelled wrong, the blood in his veins dead, incomparable to that of your living darling. You were also quite unsure what would happen if you did: you had squared yourself with the fact that Astarion was gone, but you didn’t know what it meant. Was he still your Master? If he wasn’t, then what kind of vampire did that make you? If you bite Lord Moth, a vampire that should be equal or lesser to you, would you be enthralled by him?

Two thousand years and you never quite understood your condition. It simply hadn’t mattered to you before. But now, these thoughts frantically swim about your mind, interrupted and nearly discarded by your hunger pains.

But…you hiss at him, turning your head away, refusing the man with all the defiance you could muster.

Moth scowls at you before slinging you over his shoulder, teleporting the two of you to somewhere dark, wet, and deep in the earth. Despite your dampened senses, you immediately sense the life around you, hearing their heartbeats, their little chatters and the scattering of nails on stone.

Moth slings you down, your skull violently bouncing on the floor at his discard. Your ears ring as blood slowly drips down your forehead, filling your vision with red. Moth bends over to quickly grab a squirming vermin by the tail, dangling it over you.

“If you refuse to obey, Tav, and be mine, then you shall rule the cellars as the Rat-Catcher Queen. A title befitting for one so distinguished as yourself. Think of it as an ode to your old Master.” With that, Moth disappears, and you are alone.

ratcatcherturnedlord.ratcatcherturnedlord.ratcatcherrurnedlord. The words feel like a brand inside your skull, burning and tearing and eating at your mind. You lap up your own blood from your body after all life in the cellar had been extinguished.

You come back to yourself after a while. Your night vision is impeccable, and you can easily find your way around: you can even see your pained reflection in the pools of blood on the floor, your pride preventing you from consuming the spilled crimson. The rat blood had been sufficient enough to clear your mind, but it couldn’t fix your heart – you curl up, putting your head between your knees as you wrap your arms around yourself, wishing for the warm embrace of your husband.

Your husband. Your Master. You loved Astarion with your entire being, and you had since your creation: Astarion held your heart carefully in his palm, and he had ever since he made you his. You felt safe here, comfortable, your affection being met nearly at every point. Astarion generally knew how to keep you happy.

You have to get back to him: you’re a married woman, a day-walking vampire, a fighter, a Sarth, a friend, a leader – you wouldn't let yourself become a slave to one such as Moth. But you knew fighting him would prove fruitless in your condition: your head injury had yet to heal, the silver proving far more detrimental to you than your hunger.

“You’re just going to have to forgive me, Astarion. Because I won’t break my promise to you. I will come back to you. But I will have to break rules to get there.” Your message merely bounces around your vast mind.

You have to get these fucking bands off of you. Silver is out of season, anyway.

****

You don’t know how long you’re in the cellar, your best guess being a few days before Moth comes to fetch you.

“I’ll do it,” Is all you say upon his return. Flashing a shark-like grin at you, Moth gently picks you up, carrying you back to the comforts of the boudoir. You can’t deny the soft sheets and plush mattress that was being provided to you, but there was something about the Moth estate (the little of it you had seen, being a single bedroom and the cellar) that felt unclean. There was a constant stench of blood and death, one you and Astarion worked very hard to absolve in your own home.

The room was kept very dark, often only lit by a few candles: the blood-red drapes were enchanted to prevent any light coming in the room, and the door to the balcony was entirely foreign to you, large and black and menacing. Moth’s tastes were gaudy and ill-fitting. But this had meant that you wouldn’t be seeing the daylight until you were saved, which was starting to feel like a more distant prospect with each growing hour.

No. You wouldn’t allow yourself such negative thoughts.

The Dragonborn bathes you, an action that reminds you far too much of Astarion, and you flinch away at Moth’s every touch. He isn’t gentle, seemingly unsure of how to handle you.

You tentatively look over to him, avoiding eye contact. “I can do this myself…” Your voice nearly wavers. Nearly.

“I want to bathe you. But you slip through my fingers.” His hand, wet and soapy, moved between your legs, between your folds. You gasp, closing your eyes as you feel your core heat up. “So soft. Like velvet.”

You have to steel yourself as your fangs slip beneath cool, scaled skin, tasting the thick, metallic crimson of another undead on your tongue. There were so many things wrong with this: biting another vampire wasn’t particularly appetizing to you, them being dead and all, and you weren’t accustomed to actually biting your prey. And, of course, you weren't sure what would happen after this – only that this felt like the only option.

Once he’s satisfied with your meal, he grabs the back of your hair, breaking you from your sanguine embrace, bringing you into a powerful kiss before removing the bands on both your wrists. It was a spell, one spoken in Draconic, which made the silver disappear into thin air. The skin beneath was burned and torn, and Moth had servants wash and bandage you with care before bringing in a trembling elven male. The bands on your ankles still remained, but you already felt substantially better.

“I discovered many things about you, Tav. Your preferences, your eating habits,” His large hand grabs you by the back of your neck, bringing you to face the man.

“I want you to bite him and drain him until only a sliver of life remains,” Moth drawls on, the bass in his voice making your ears prickle.

“Why? Astarion, why is he doing this? Why aren’t you here? Why haven’t you fucking saved me yet?” You can hear the blood pumping through the veins of the man. His smell – his type, his blood, well, you just need it.

Moth orders you to drink, and you do so, draining the elf of all life, leaving his limp body at your feet without any care for its regard. This was the easy part – you are a predator, and living beings are prey. It was only instinctual for you to enjoy this.

“Is it not lovely, drinking straight from your meal? A delight your old Master deprived you of, little vampire,” Moth mocks as he lays you on your back, his eyes never leaving you as he removes his clothing, exposing his exquisite form, making you swallow. “Your old Master was no good for you. Not good enough for the Hero.”

Moth’s shoulders are wide, his chest and abdomen strong, and the rest of his body was to match. His cock was long, thick, far bigger than any lover you’ve known before; it was fully hard, the color a lighter red than the rest of his body, veiny and intimidating, the tip of it already leaking pre-cum. His eyes were cold, and they bore into you so sharply it made you tremble.

His head moves between your thighs; his tongue is practiced, and you squirm at his touch. You continue to look at him when you take his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance, but your mind is elsewhere.

“You are eager,” Moth whispers. “Does the blood of men excite you?”

You strangely find yourself thinking about the last time you had held a masquerade: it had been to promote conservation in Toril, and for that reason, the masks were animal inspired. Astarion had chosen a mask that resembled something of a sleek peacock, even though you hadn’t thought that ever possible, but he pulled it off. You had chosen something more simple: a black wolf (you insisted on it being black, because you had a gorgeous dress to pair it with).

“…a living legend. A wonder of the world. All mine.” The man says, and you realize he must be doing his best to make you orgasm, because the build-up in your lower belly was becoming unbearable. You whimper, causing Moth to chuckle before you release around him, your juices flowing down his shaft.

“It drives me mad to think of all the parts of you I have yet to explore.” To think he would ever have true access to you, to your depths, your mind – you decided you would rather die, and Astarion would just have to come find your soul himself.

“I will make it so you have nowhere else to go, but my arms. You will not belong anywhere but by my side,” He spoke into your ear. You knew where you belonged, and it wasn’t in the arms of a Dragonborn. “I will be your reason to live. And I will make it so that you will never want to live without me. So that it will bring you agony to be without me.”

Don’t think. Don’t feel.

“You know, you clench around me everytime I thrust deeply into you, woman.”

****

You awake from a light slumber with a start as your mind rumbles with energy. A thread, one so singular, connecting you to a man. Immediately, you sense everything you need to know about this new addition: he is a half-elf, only thirty years old, and incredibly scared. His mind is yours, you know, and so is his body – he is awaiting your command, begging you to save him. You can almost feel the sensation of the dirt under his nails as he crawls his way to the surface.

‘Why the hells had he risen so early?’ You think to yourself before you’re interrupted by a sharp pain in your chest. You imagine silver curls covered in dirt, the only part of his body clean being the lines on his face from his trail of tears. You shake the image away.

“Come.” You will your spawn to you, to test the connection in your brain: it was far different than what you and Astarion had, but it was enough to give you hope. And when he meets the sun, and he begins to slowly burn, his senses overwhelm him. He panics, becoming incapacitated in some way, but he’s too frightened to communicate anything with you except: HELP.

You dart out of bed, overcome with a sense of worry for your spawn. You wanted to save him – you had to try. He was yours, and if he could help you, then you were going to use him. But something stops you before you can try: a cold hand on your wrist, pulling you back into bed, back into his large, frigid arms. The fledgling screams for a long time. You listen until it fades to nothing.

The body of your spawn was still on fire, blazing right outside your window, as Moth finally began to stir. You could sense the heat and smell the burning flesh. You were surprised at how long it took for a fresh body to be reduced to ash. You felt a strange sadness at the loss of your spawn, but you knew something that you hadn’t been sure of before: you certainly could create offspring, and the only thing in your way was a little bit of freedom.

Moth opens the balcony door, the key (presumably) being his command. He takes your hand, bringing you outside for the first time since you arrived. The two of you stare at the ash in the courtyard. It was clear Moth had simply dumped your vampire into a shallow grave, clearly an experiment to test the blessings Astarion had bestowed on you.

“He survived far longer than most spawn would,” Moth grumbles.

“He screamed for hours,” Your voice came out hollow; it hardly even sounded like you. Moth leads you back into the boudoir, locking the doors behind him.

“You could have compelled him to stop.” Moth’s face is still as stone. You missed Astarion’s lively reactions, the way he would express himself, the way he would talk with his hands…

You felt Moth’s tongue in your mouth before you could prepare yourself, his teeth hitting your own, fangs cutting into your lip. You opened your mouth further, inviting him in, causing him to moan into your mouth. The Dragonborn liked it when you kissed him back; he liked it even more when your nails dug into his chest as you rode him, drawing blood from his muscular form. He picks you up, lifting you by the thighs as he drills into you before placing you on your knees.

Afterwards, Moth held you in his arms.“Now, tell me about Baldur's Gate. What was the ancient city like? I never did get to visit before it was reduced to rubble.”

You pause, your mind flitting back to the burning spawn, thinking about how horrific it felt to be afraid of something so vital to life as the sun. “I hardly remember.”

“Humor me, woman.” His claws trailed along your arm, making you shiver. You fight the urge to run.

You try to think back, but all you see is Astarion’s pretty face. You feel you’ve willingly disrespected your marriage at every turn, and this starts to well up inside you, starting at your belly, rising to your chest and throat. Everything feels tight, and you feel disgusted in your own body.

“Tav,” His hand reaches the base of your throat, his fingertips slightly squeezing into you, the tip of his nails breaking skin. “You are expected to conversate after I have conquered your body. You will obey.”

You feel his cold tongue on the shell of your ear. You mindfully flush your system of that dread and disgust, because now wasn’t the time to think about that. It would be easy to humor him, if you can get yourself together. You take only a few moments to dial yourself back. “Baldur’s Gate was lively. There were once many people who lived there. I remember…large mechanical beings. Created by children, oddly enough.”

“You speak of Lord Enver Gortash’s Steel Watch. Built not by children, but by a race of small people, a kind that has not been seen in Toril for centuries.”

You didn’t know what the hell he was on about and you didn’t care. “Mm,” you hum in reply as you fall back to that numb state that was far more comfortable than any other.

Moth raises an eyebrow at you. “Your own history does not amuse you, my concubine?”

“I suppose not.”

“I likely have the biggest collection of the history of Baldur’s Gate, specifically on the occurrence of the Netherbrain.”

“A maid once told me I had the largest shoe collection in Toril.” Even Moth’s stone face couldn't conceal his distaste for your retort.

“You are immature. Uncultured,” Bringing your nipple between his forefinger and thumb, he squeezes you, causing you to yelp. “Poorly trained. Unsurprising of Cazador’s brood. But I expected more from a hero.”

You brush his hand off, but he only clutches you further, the meat of your bottom stinging from claws pressed to flesh. You push him away again, sitting up in the bed.

“I’m not the person I once was. It was so long ago I don’t remember the details. When I read the history, or hear a song, or a poem about my own legendary actions, I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t. Only my –“ Your voice chokes at the thought, tears pricking your eyes as your mask slips again.

“Continue your words.”

“Only my husband remembers such things.” When the words come out, you know you’ve angered him, and he means to grab you, but you move out of his grasp just as he swings his arm at you. His middle finger, the tip a black pointed claw, catches your cheekbone, drawing across your nose to the other side of your face, creating a thin, red line that fills your vision. You yell, attempting to turn into a bat but only managing to flutter away before returning to your body, harshly dropping to the floor as your hands fly to your face.

You hold back further cries, refusing to make a sound as Moth comes at you again, picking you up by your neck before throwing you back on the bed. He was already between your legs, having grabbed both your wrists with his hand. You were entirely restrained, bleeding, afraid, and you already feared the scar from the incident in the cellar – was this Lord truly so keen on damaging his property?

“You have no husband. You are mine. You shall refer to Astarion Ancunín as your old Master, or I will punish you further.”

“Yes,” Your voice is merely a whisper. It was good enough for Moth, who rubs your slit with the pads of his fingers, which he comments is quite generous of him, before entering you again.

****

You spent your days alone, desperately trying to sleep. But with the Dragonborn next to you, it was impossible. During the nights, Moth would take you at various times, whenever his need arose. You were far stronger now that you hadn’t so much silver and you were fed, but you weren’t nearly in any shape to take him on directly. You had to be smart: at this point, you were biding your time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

“You know, I can smell the daylight on your skin. You are warmer to the touch than my other pets,” Moth brought his nose behind your ear, breathing in at the spot behind your earlobe at the base of your skull: you shiver, trying your best not to think about the way your body was reacting.

Now that you were back of sound mind, you knew you had been with Moth for nearly a month, maybe two. The wounds on your body began to heal, earning you a legion of new scars.

“You have been so good to me. So good for me,” Moth says to you as you smooth the dress on your form: he had granted you an allowance of clothing for your presentation to the other concubines. This had been the first time getting a good look at yourself since your capture, and the sight of your newly scarred body made you burst into tears.

The scar that cut across your cheekbones and nose was thin, luckily, but the scar tissue thicker on the bridge of your nose. The skin was shiny, sensitive to the touch, but it was none so bad as the one on your forehead, which required stitches. You couldn’t bear to look too long at the ones on your breasts or your thighs. You could only imagine how ugly Astarion would find you, once you finally got out of here…what if he didn’t want you anymore? Looking at yourself, you couldn’t blame him if he didn’t. You hardly looked like yourself.

You bring your hands to your face, crying in your palms to shield yourself away from this reality. Moth watches you for a beat, his face entirely emotionless, before bringing you into his arms. He takes your wrists with one hand, retching them away from your face as his other hand grabs your jaw, squeezing so hard you think your bones will crack. His cold tongue slithers on your cheeks, his breath smelling

of death, the trail of his saliva cooling on your flesh.

“Being marked by me, my greatest lover, only makes you far more beautiful. Had I known you when I was alive, I would have chosen you to hold and birth my seed,” He grumbles before bringing you into a deep, tongue entangling kiss. Giving in, the lord wipes your tears away as he licks the pad of your lips.

‘What an odd thing for a vampire to say,’ You think before bracing yourself. Meeting the other concubines was a very good sign, a semblance that more freedom was coming your way.

Just hold on.

****

Astarion had to stop this, this utter abuse of his own body: several times a day, he would steal away from wherever he was to lose himself in a memory of his wife while he fists his cock, rubbing himself until he feels any sort of bliss, losing himself to you.

The longer you are gone, the more this continues. Astarion can’t even conceive of doing anything different: he didn’t want anyone to touch his body except for you. But you weren’t here, and the delicate skin of his cock felt nearly raw, but he healed so quickly it didn’t matter. He hardly rested anymore, his schedule being so wild that he often found himself up all day and all night.

Lae’zel saw Astarion losing it. Despite her frustrations and her anger with him, she tried to comfort her old friend, but he couldn’t take it; rather, he was inconsolable.

“I can’t stop imagining what she’s doing, Lae’zel. Sometimes I think I feel her, her pain, her…pleasure,” The word came out of Astarion’s mouth like a curse, vile and rude. “I don’t even know if I’m imagining it or not.”

“I have no doubts she’s making her way back to you. I don’t think she would so easily forget about you for a stranger who kidnapped her.”

Astarion feels his barriers coming down, and it pisses him off. He felt weak, the very walls he had built up for so long with the outside world, everyone except you, were beginning to falter. That old guilt – that one he felt from the very beginning, about all the seduction, the sacrifice, you, everything wrong he had ever done to his one beloved…

“It makes me want to...die.” Astarion almost meant this. But he would find a way to bring you back to him before that ever happened – Lae’zel knew this too, thinking Astarion dramatic.

“Astarion,” Lae’zel says, tentatively reaching out to touch the shoulder of the man you loved so much. He didn’t move away, and Lae’zel made no further motions: she knew this was as close as she would ever get (as she would ever want to get, because to be honest, Astarion had given her the creeps ever since he had performed the Black Mass) to the Ascendant.

“I haven’t always been a good husband. I’ve taken from her, time and time again, to feed my own desires.”

Lae’zel didn’t really need Astarion to tell her this. She figured this would be the case, long ago. But he’s already said too much, his aura changing entirely in just a split second. Lae’zel takes her hand off of Astarion’s shoulder, taking several steps back. “I need to be alone,” He mutters, and Lae’zel doesn’t hesitate in leaving Astarion’s office.

In the span of a few weeks, Astarion had grown his spawn army to nearly fifty. His three remaining spawn bring him a victim each night if they can, and Astarion simply bites them after putting them under a sleep spell. Then, the spawn bury the victim. The next evening, they rise as a vampire, and would be immediately compelled to do the bidding of their new Master.

****

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7.

M.List

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#ascended astarion #ascended!astarion #soft ascended astarion #ascended astarion x you #ascended!astarion x tav #ascended!astarion x reader #ascended astarion x tav #spawn tav #vampire tav #ascended astarion x female reader #Killing Time

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chiwhorei · 4 years

Text

vanilla

pairing: k. sugawara x fem!reader x t. kageyama

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 1.5k

warnings: oral, a little degradation, hair pulling, dom!suga, threesome

a/n: hey! i’m here with some more very late content because i have never been able to follow a schedule successfully in my life. kinktober was set out to be a challenge for me to stretch my writing and practice on characters i haven’t yet explored, but it started becoming hard to even think about my own writing. anyway, i’m exhausted and didn’t add the taglist because i really need to go to bed.

hymn: doves in the wind (ft. kendrick lamar) by sza

kinktober 2020 - threesome (m/f/m)

Sugawara Koushi loves to find joy in the simple things. A crisp autumn morning, and the smell of freshly washed bed sheets. He appreciates the first scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, and the sound of your yoga mat rolled out onto the hardwood floor in the morning with the sweet, domestic promise of another day together.

Your boyfriend always ensures he keeps a spritely, positive attitude no matter his surroundings, even with one hand wrapped into your hair and tugging down. Your eyes meet his above you, Suga’s blown wide in a certain sadistic gleam.

“Well, my dear Tobio-chan,” Suga shifts to his junior, the tall brunette sweating bullets next to him, “is she all you’ve ever dreamed of?”

Your knees protest at the hardwood below you but you remain still, waiting for the next instruction from Koushi as he pets at your hair with care. The pair stand at the foot of yours and Suga’s bed, looking down at your form. The pretty blue dress Koushi picked out for you is bunched up dangerously high on your thighs. Your eyes are glossy, pupils blown wide and reading anticipatory desire for what your boyfriend has planned.

Nervous isn’t nearly a strong enough word to use right now. Kageyama finds a certain buzzing joy from nerves before a big game, synapsis soaked in eagerness when he throws up his first serve. Kageyama isn’t nervous, he’s been dipped in terror and rolled in a thick layer of lust like he’s never felt before.

He has no idea how the night's events led him to the apartment of his old volleyball club teammate and manager. There were whispers shared between you and Suga, purposefully just out of earshot so that Kageyama could only hear every few words or an occasional sentence.

“I think it’s an offer he couldn’t refuse. He’s been pining for you since his first year of High School.” Kageyama’s ears burn red hot with the knowledge you are talking about him. Your giggle bounces past his ears like a siren, looking at your boyfriend with less shock than would be assumed given the context.

“I don’t know Kou, if you think he can handle it..”

“Did you hear what she said, Tobio?” Sugawara’s voice brings him back to his current predicament, looking down to see your face positioned right in front of his hard, clothed cock. You wear a beautiful smile, one Kageyama has kept filed in the recesses of his mind for the last 6 years, never fully able to let the image of you fall away. “It was just a stupid crush.” He would say to himself like a penance, while stroking his cock to the memory of you bending over to pick up a stray volleyball or helping him wrap up a busted finger. The way you lightly kissed his bandage for “luck” miraculously always made him need to get patched up more often.

“I want to see your pretty cock, Tobio-kun.” The tone of your voice makes his knees weak, sin seeping off of the last syllable, He’s pictured you in this position a million times before, but actually seeing your lips lightly ghosting over his zipper is not something he thought would actually happen to him in this lifetime. Your hot breath fans over his crotch, shiny lip gloss threatening to stain his dress slacks.

His mind is working faster than his hands, causing an impatient groan from Sugawara. Your boyfriend places a slender hand on the taller man’s shoulder, urging him into action. Kageyama unbuttons his pants with shaky hands, pulling out his length and he can almost feel your bottom lip touch him. Your mouth turns up at the corners again at the sight. You were right, his cock is long and pleasantly thick with a throbbing pink tip.

“So pretty.”

“Go on, doll, show Tobio what your dirty little mouth can do.” Suga’s hand is pulling the back of your hair again, meeting your awaiting mouth to Kageyama’s weeping head. Your tongue shoots out to swirl around his tip, the hot muscle stealing a low grunt from the stoic pro athlete. Deciding that Kageyama has dealt with enough teasing, you take him into your mouth with care, placing your hands on his thighs to keep balance. A resounding fuck echoes off of the apartment walls when your nose brushes his pelvis. You’re gagging around his impressive length, the ache in your throat is dizzying with your boyfriend keeping you pressed to the hilt.

“What an obedient girl you are, y/n. You’ve always been such a people pleaser.” Sugawara muses at you, his praise making your throat relax to accommodate the obstruction. As you begin to bob your head, Kageyama’s hands shoot behind him for purchase on the bed frame. His teeth are grinding down painfully as you work his cock. Your moans reverberate around him, his head wants to fall back but Kageyama wills himself to keep his eyes on you, lest he misses a second of his most debauched fantasies coming to life.

“Her mouth is down right sinful,” Sugawara pulls you off of Kageyama’s dick with a salacious, wet pop, “but her tight little cunt is even better.” The sentence is suspended in the air momentarily before hitting the brunette like a truck. You’re lifted to your feet by Suga’s hand still wrapped in your hair, you scramble to steady yourself with weak hands fisting the front of your boyfriend's shirt. He holds you for a moment, pulling you into a messy kiss that has you melting into his embrace. Koushi holds a cloying charm with each peck to your pre-stained lips, but quickly spins you around to shove you towards Kageyama again. He grabs your elbows to keep you upright, peering down at your dazed expression with curiosity.

You lurch forward, pulling Kageyama down to meet your lips for the first time by his dark brown locks. His mouth is frozen for a moment before opening up to your welcoming tongue. He could get lost in your peach flavored kiss, hands finding your hips and gripping tightly. Suga’s laugh throws him out of the intoxicating reverie as the older man pulls you to press against his chest. Deft fingers pull down the zipper of your tight dress before brushing off the thin straps to expose your bare breasts and lace panties.

Suga traces his thin fingers across the curve of your tits, down your hips to find a home hooked in the last semblance of modesty you have left. The silver-haired man puts his chin on your shoulder and smiles brightly.

“You’ve always been sweet on my y/n, Tobio-chan. You used to follow her around like a lost little puppy, it was so cute.” Suga pushes his hand down the front of your panites, shoving two fingers into your dripping pussy without warning, your head rolls back into the juncture of his neck as he begins to stretch you out. “Sometimes, I have her put on that cute uniform skirt and walk around with my cum leaking out of her tight little cunny.” The sound of your perversely sweet lover talking about you like you aren’t there ignites a new wave of desire in your abdomen. He continues pumping his digits into you harshly, eliciting a depraved squelching from your pussy.

“She’s drooling all over my fingers Tobio, I bet you want to feel how she’s clenching, don’t you?” Suga’s sadistic side is not something surprising to you, but shocks Kageyama to the core, barely able to nod dumbly in response. Sugawara tsks him, clicking his tongue with gleaming humor. “I want to hear you say it. Tell me how you want my sweet girlfriend bouncing on your cock.”

Kageyama’s words catch in his throat, but tumble out as your whimpering intensifies. “Please, I- let me fuck your girlfriend, Suga.” His plea is timid and almost robotic, but pleases Suga enough for him to rip the soaking underwear down your shaky legs. You’re now completely naked in front of both mostly clothed men. Your boyfriend has always enjoyed a nuanced power imbalance.

Kageyama sits down on the edge of your bed, stroking his cock slowly as you’re dragged towards him. You shuffle onto his lap with little grace, grabbing at Kageyama’s strong bicep so that you don’t tip over. He feels your hot cunt inches away from where he’s always wanted you. The culmination of years of helpless pining for the one thing he could never get is dissolving around him. Suga wraps his hand around your neck from behind, craning it up so that you meet his eyes. “You’re my good girl, right?” You nod furiously, desperate to gain permission to lower yourself onto the thick cock in front of you. Your eyes glaze over in lust as Suga’s thumb rubs your cheek.

“Put on a good show for me, doll.” You hear your sweet, unassuming boyfriend’s voice like dripping syrup. Koushi always finds pleasure in the most interesting places, one of them being the shared look of bliss as your velvety pussy hugs tightly onto his former underclassman.

No one would guess, but Sugawara Koushi is anything but vanilla.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#haikyuu x reader #kageyama x reader #sugawara x reader #haikyuu smut #kageyama tobio #kageyama smut #sugawara kōshi #sugawara smut #saint dymphna’s kinktober

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my-unmanageable-mischief · 4 years

Text

Arranged Marriage Part 3

Part 3 of my Arranged Marraige story, (Part 1, Part 2)

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Your wedding announcement had gone about as well as could be expected. You and Draco stood with both sets of your parents as Lucius addressed the room, informing everyone of your union. You stood with your hand in Draco’s, who held onto it tightly, both for you and himself. The crowd clapped for you, and you curtsied as Draco bowed. For the next hour or so you stood together, hand and hand, as person after person came up to congratulate you on the engagement. The night, thankfully, eventually came to an end as people began to leave by apparition and floo. You and your parents were some of the last to go, and you were thankful it was finally time; you were exhausted.

“Have a wonderful rest of your break Draco,” You mother said politely, smiling stiffly.

“Thank you ma’am,” He released your hand and you felt empty without it there, so you allowed your arms to wrap themselves around you. “I will see you soon, Y/N.” You nodded your head and offered him a tentative smile.

“See you soon,” And with that, your father took your arm with an iron grip and you were gone, standing in your parlor.

“Go to bed.”

“Yes father,” You nodded, practically running up the two flights of steps to your room. You cried yourself to sleep that night, weeping for the girl you used to be. But Draco’s words still rung clearly in your head. ‘They will hunt you down and they will kill you,’ and you knew he was right. Now, all you could do was hope and pray he was true to his word- that he would protect you. You don’t know when you finally fell asleep, but when you did you dreamt wonderful dreams of Paris in the summer and silver eyes.

“You will be good.” Your father demanded and you nodded your head as you stared at your shoes on the platform 9 2/3.

“Yes sir,”

“You will stick closely to Draco. You will do as he says. You aren’t to disobey him, do you understand me?”

“Yes sir,” He grabbed your chin roughly and forced you to look at him.

“Look at me when I speak.” He ordered and you fought to keep the disgust from your features. “He is to be your husband. A wonderful thing for a girl like you,” You sneered and you held in your wince. “You are not to disappoint your mother and I by ruining this opportunity.”

“Yes, father.” He gave you a curt nod and released you before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving you all alone surrounded by parents who were kissing and hugging their children goodbye. You stood another moment before turning and walking in the opposite direction, towards the train. You boarded, finding an empty compartment to hide away in, taking out a book that you knew you wouldn’t read. A few moments later the door to the compartment opened and someone stepped inside.

“I’ve been looking for you,” You looked up surprised.

“Draco,”

“Hello Y/N.” He gave you a mild smile, sitting across from you. You merely stared at him, and he raised a hand to his face, “Have I got something?” You chuckled, shutting your book and setting it aside.

“No, no. Nothing.” You assured and he let his hand fall into his lap. You lapsed into silence for a moment before you added, “You don’t have to sit with me, if you don’t want to, I’m sure you’d have more fun with your mates.”

“They’re hardly mates, really.” He admitted, “Just people I spend my free time with.”

“That’s a mate, Draco.” He tilted his head, smirking.

“They’re not pleasant company.” You smirked back.

“Don’t I know it.” You both chuckled at that, but then his face sombered.

“I wanted to sit with you.” You felt your cheeks flush slightly and you played with a lock of your hair, turning to rest your back against the window, putting your feet up on the seat.

“I’m no fun either, I assure you.”

“Maybe not, but at least you’re pleasant to look at.” He teased and you blushed deeper.

“Is that all I’m good for?” You asked, and he shook his head immediately.

“Surely not, Y/N,”

“I was teasing, but if you’re offering compliments I’m all ears.”

“I wouldn’t want your head to get too big now, we won’t be able to get you off the train.”

“That would be a sin, I’d be cursed to ride the rails for the rest of my life.” He chuckled again and you smiled, watching him. He looked younger when he laughed. Handsomer.

“Truly a sin,” He agreed. “What were you reading?” He asked, and you attempted to shield the book from him.

“Nothing interesting, really.” He reached over and snagged the book from your hands.

“Wuthering Heights?”

“It’s a muggle book,” You admitted slowly, gauging his reaction. He made a face and tossed the book back down onto the bench you were sitting on.

“Why would you want to read a muggle book?” He asked, curiously. You shrugged, grabbing the book and shoving it into your bag.

“It’s good, it’s well written, muggle isn’t a synonym for bad.”

“It isn’t?” He smirked and you frowned at him.

“No, Draco, it isn’t.” He merely shrugged, leaning back into his seat, spreading his legs out across the compartment.

“Whatever you say, dear.” You spent the rest of the train ride mostly in silence, Draco staring out of the window at the passing countryside, and you alternating between daydreaming and watching him. You were nearly there when Draco spoke your name, causing you to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I have to warn you,” He stated, and you frowned. “I’ll be.. Terribly busy this year.” He stated, and you nodded, “I won’t be able to spend much time with you I’m afraid.” Again you nodded.

“That’s alright.”

“What I’m doing it’s for you. For us. Our future. I’m making sure everything will be okay.” His words were vague, and you wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but you didn’t think he’d tell you even if you asked; so you didn’t.

“I understand, Draco.”

“Good. Thank you,”

“Of course.” The train came to a stop, and he stood first, offering you his hand. You took it, smiling softly. You expected him to let go of your hand as soon as you hit the corridor, but he didn’t, and you didn’t mind it. He kept your hand in his until you reached Hogwarts, until you hit the great hall before finally releasing.

“I will see you soon,” He assured.

“We have potions together,” You reminded him and he nodded, smiling.

“We can sit together, if you’d like.”

“As long as you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

“Then I’d like that.” Draco nodded his head again, but he did not smile.

“Good. Then I will speak to you then.” With that he turned and made his way to the Slytherin table as you went to Ravenclaw, sitting with a few of your dorm mates.

“Why were you holding hands with Draco Malfoy?” One of the girls asked, glaring and you felt yourself flush.

“We’re engaged.” You answered simply.

“Excuse me?” One of the girls asked, laughing incredulously.

“Our parents.. Arranged our marriage. So we’re engaged.” They all shared a look you weren't a part of before going back to eating. You ate in silence mostly, none of them speaking a word to you, and you not trying to strike up a conversion with them either, lost in your own thoughts. When breakfast came the next morning they didn’t sit with you, and just like that- you were all on your own.

Classes were difficult, the workload was almost unbearable, even for you. You spent most of your time in class, studying, or thinking about how you should be studying. You saw Draco in potions where you now sat together, and Charms, where he’d taken to sitting beside you as well. It was a welcomed dose of human interaction since none of your dormmates were speaking to you anymore, not that you were ever terribly close to any of them anyway. But it still stung.

“Are you alright?” He asked you one class as you worked on your potion, stirring it clockwise twice then counterclockwise once, and you looked over surprised.

“Fine, just thinking.” You answered.

“I don’t mean right now.” He nudged you, taking the spoon to give you a break. “I mean in general. You seem sad lately.” You considered the question and shrugged.

“I’m alright. Tired mostly. Restless.”

“Why restless?” He asked, eyes on the brew between you.

“Just bored. All I do is study and go to class.”

“Don’t you hang out with your mates?”

“I don’t...” You trailed off, and he glanced up at you, “I don’t really have any. Not right now.” He frowned.

“Not right now?”

“Well, apparently being engaged to a Slyherin doesn’t really make me friend material anymore.” You answered softly, and his frown deepened.

“They stopped being friends with you because of me?” You shrugged.

“I suppose. But that just means they were never really friends to begin with.”

“I’m sorry.” He continued to frown at you, only looking away when your potion bubbled sinisterly, he went back to stirring.

“Don’t be, I’m alright.”

“Everyone needs friends.”

“I have you, don’t I?” He smiled slightly and shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t spend time with you. I’m kinda a rotten fiance aren’t I?”

“Oh just the worst.” You teased, “In your defense, you don’t have much practice.” He chuckled slightly, and you watched him carefully.

“I will attempt to be better. Perhaps we can study together sometime.” He offered up and you nodded your head, taking the spoon back again.

“Alright, sounds good to me.”

Every Thursday night you met Draco in the library to study. He was brilliant at potions, much better than you, and he was helping you pull Os on almost every assignment with ease, rather than the hours of work it would have taken you to do it on your own. You would study for a bit, get your assignment done, and then you would simply talk to each other in hushed voices, tucked away at a table in the back, as far from everyone else as possible.

You told Draco about your book you were reading, and he had the decency to pretend to be interested, only teasing you sometimes about loving muggle books.

“Read them now while you can, my father would die before he let you bring one into the house.” He said one Thursday evening and you frowned.

“I’ll be living with you and your parents?” You asked, and he leaned back in his chair, tilting it onto two legs.

“I assumed.”

“We won’t, I don’t know, move out?” He shrugged.

“I guess eventually.” The idea of living in the large Malfoy manor with just Draco and his parents scared you, and he coull tell you were scared from one look on your face. He was eerily good at reading your moods, either that, or you were very bad at hiding them.

“Eventually?” You prodded and he sat forward again, his chair legs thudding as they hit the floor.

“After we graduate, I’m sure.”

“Where will we live?”

“I don’t know, Y/N.” He admitted, running a hand through his platinum locks. “I really don’t. I wish I could give you something more, but no one has told me anything.”

“How can they simply not tell us?” You asked, leaning your elbows on the table, placing your face in your hands, “It’s our lives afterall, don’t we get a say.” He laughed bitterly.

“No.” He was right. It wasn’t that simple, no matter how much you wished it was. You felt his hand on yours and you looked at him with a sad smile. “I’m sorry,” He murmured and you shrugged.

“It isn’t your fault.” He knew it wasn’t, but that didn’t stop the guilt from laying heavily on his chest. He squeezed your hand tightly, hesitating a moment before leaning over to kiss your cheek. When he pulled back his pale skin was slightly tinted and you laughed.

“What was that for?”

“I don’t know, you looked like you needed it.”

“Thank you Draco.” You gripped tightly to his hand, “For everything.”

You were sitting in your common room reading in one of the big chairs in the corner when your dormmates past, whispering to themselves. They stopped beside you and you looked up at them, placing a finger on the line you were on.

“Yes?”

“How’s your fiance,” One asked, placing emphasis on the last word, you frowned deeply.

“Fine, why?”

“I heard he and Harry Potter got into a row, he’s in the hospital wing.” She said smugly. You were standing in an instant.

“What?”

“Mmhm.”

“That’s- you rotten bitch, that’s not how you tell someone that!” You cried out, shoving past them as they all giggled. You had half a mind to turn around and deck one of them, but your feet carried you away, practically running to the door. Once in the dark corridor you broke into afull run in the direction of the hospital wing, not bothering to try and sneak, even if it was after hours. You burst into the room, looking around wildly at the empty beds, you were about to go to the first closed curtain you saw, to rip it open. One of them had to be hiding Draco.

“Ms. Y/L/N!” Madam Pomfrey called out, “What do you think you are doing!” Your hand was on the curtain of the bed closest to you and you stopped, eyes wild with worry.

“Where is Draco!?” You asked, if the duel was serious enough to warrant him being in the hospital wing, you needed to see him. Now.

“It’s past curfew, Ms. Y/L/N.” You didn’t have time for this.

“I am to be his wife, you are to tell me where he is!”

“Y/N!” A weak voice, that didn’t sound like your soon to be husband’s called and you rushed towards the bed, past Pomfrey, who allowed you to go. You got to the bed the voice came from and took a deep breath before pulling back the curtain. What you saw horrified you, there were only a few moments in your life you remember fear cutting you so deeply as it did now.

“Draco,” You breathed, taking a step forward before stopping, like even being near him might harm him, “What? What happened?”

“Potter used a dark, powerful curse on him, but he will be alright darling, he needs to heal.” She tried to put a hand on your shoulder, to lead you away but you jerked from her grip.

“No,” You whispered, not caring about consequences right now, “He needs me.” You looked at Draco, and he looked... so unlike himself, laying there in that bed. He was even paler then usual, and frail. Like if you blew too hard he’d crumble. His eyes were red and slightly swollen, but he was smirking. And that’s how you knew he’d be okay.

“Alright,” Pomfrey eventually conceded. “If you’re caught, I had no knowledge of you being here, you snuck in.”

“Yes ma’am..” You nodded your head, not looking away from Draco. She walked away from you both, pulling the curtain back as she did, yet you still didn’t move. Draco lifted a hand from the bed and beckoned you towards him, and you went, taking his hand when you reached him. “What happened?” You went to sit in the chair beside the bed but Draco pulled you closer, trying to make you sit on the side of his bed, but you were afraid, “Draco-”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” He promised, “I’m not in pain, Pomfrey has me on something good,” He assured and you winced slightly. That meant he had been in great pain. But you allowed him to guide you down so you were sitting beside him on the small hospital bed. “Merlin, Y/N. I thought you were going to rip Pomfrey's head off.” He tried to joke, but you didn’t really feel in a laughing mood.

“Draco what happened?” You repeated your question, gripping his hand in both of yours, he squeezed back weakly.

“We got into it, he was spying on me, I hexed him, he came back with... I don’t know what it was, something I never saw before. Sliced me open like a Christmas ham,” He chuckled and you frowned deeply at him.

“It’s not funny, you could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” He assured, “And I’m sure perfect little Potter is getting his, so I’m more than fine.” You wanted to cry just looking at him, but you managed to blink the tears away. “Are you crying?”

“No,” You sniffled lamely and Draco chuckled, pulling you closer by your hand. You allowed him to lead you into a lying position, so you were beside him in the bed, your head on his shoulder.

“I’m alright,” He promised, “They said I’ll be good as new in a few days,” You laid your head on his shoulder, his hand still entwined with yours.

“Don’t scare me like that again?”

“Why not? I liked seeing you all fired up, ready to kill to see me,” You smirked, turning your head to kiss a jumper covered shoulder.

“I’m sure you did,” You murmured and he chuckled, turning his head to kiss your forehead. You looked up at him, your eyes locking. Draco brought his free hand up to your face, rubbing his thumb over your cheek gently before cupping your cheek. He wanted to kiss you, more than anything. He’d wanted to kiss you for weeks now, he had never moved so slow with a girl in his life but he found himself wanting to respect you and your space and your wants. But Merlin, he wanted you to want this. His eyes dropped down to your lips briefly before he looked back into your eyes, and you smirked slightly.

“Gonna kiss me, Draco, or are you gonna stare at me all night.” He chuckled, smirking back.

“I think I shall alternate between the two, actually.” And with that you were both leaning in, lips meeting gently in the middle. His kiss was much more tender than you ever expected it to be, frankly you were surprised he was capable of even being this tender. He pulled back and looked at you for another long moment, his thumb continuing to stroke your cheek before he kissed your forehead again, guiding your head to his shoulder. “Staying the night, I hope?”

“Oh, you’re not getting rid of me that easily, love.” You assured, and Draco felt something in his chest tug at your words in a way he had never felt before. You were the closest he got to joy, he supposed it made sense you would be the closest he felt to love too. Draco closed his eyes, allowing his exhaustion to overtake him, so long as you were there beside him. You waited for the man to fall asleep, for his breath to even out before you looked at him again. He was so young, so peaceful when he was sleeping. You found yourself wishing he could look like that when he was awake. The closest he ever got were in the few rare moments you spent alone, and you couldn’t help but smiling at that. You made him happy. He made you happy. Maybe this would work.

#Harry Potter #draco Malfoy #draco Malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader

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jimlingss · 4 years

Note

O SHOOT REQUESTS !!! ill take my chances and ask for a zombie apocalypse or pirate au ft. hoseok 👀 i couldnt choose between the two aus and im hoseok biased but i can honestly see any member so do as who u see fit. i will not let my pairing/au choice limit the authors talent 😤 and i dont doubt anything from you will satisfy. and pshhh,, where are my manners. please and thank u! love u 💛

↳ Crocodile Tears

1.8k || 98% Fluff, 2% Angst || Jung Hoseok || Pirate!AU

“Look what I nabbed, Cap’n.”

Gunner Taehyung’s grinning with all teeth, a golden chain wrapped around his fingers that’s so shiny it’s blinding with the sunlight. Hoseok’s intrigued and flips the locket in his hand. It’s heavy with a wild rose engraved on the front and once he pops it open, there’s a faded painted portrait of a young woman inside.

“It’s a booty, eh? Caught if off milady right over ‘ere.”

Hoseok hums and narrows his eyes on the wrench tied in rope sitting amongst the captives. Your face is dirtied, hair drawn in a bun at your crown but with many strands fallen around your face. Your gown rat’s coloured, dull gray. You are entirely unremarkable. Like any other peasant.

But it’s not often captives have something of value on them.

“Bring her to my cabin.”

“Aye, aye.”

The ship sets sail again. Taehyung keeps the captives quiet with the threat of throwing them overboard while the cabin boy Jungkook swabs the poop deck. Helmsman Seokjin mans the helm with navigator Namjoon by his side. The ship’s heading to dock at Port Galigeo to get a pretty penny for all the loot and treasures they’ve gotten after four months’ voyage.

Once steep waters are reached and everything’s been taken care of, Hoseok resumes to his cabin. There, he finds you, sitting in the corner on the floorboards with tears in your eyes. You gasp as he enters and shuts the door.

“Please! Spare me!” you beg sorrowfully. “Let me go!”

“Why should I?” Hoseok tosses his hat onto his table and his coat to his rickety chair. You look so frightful, even when he’s still in his drawers and shirt, held together by the red sash.

He fiddles with the many golden rings across his fingers, a habit since he began his adventures, and he comes over to you. Hoseok’s boots are heavy against the floorboards, and he crouches down to meet your trembling eyes.

“I-I am just a peasant,” you sob. “I have nothing to give to you! My father is merely a farmer.”

“Oh? Then what be this here?” Hoseok dangles the priceless locket in front of you as the corner of his lip curls. It catches the light from the tiny window of the cabin and the gold gleams against your eyes, practically sparkling like a jewel.

Your eyes flicker from it to him, hiccuping and frame quivering like a damn leaf. “It’s my grandmother’s. She left it for me before she passed.”

Hoseok hums a low note. “An’ if this be your grandmother’s, how she pay for such a treasure? Unless she been a thief.”

Your downcast head shakes. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

He pops the locket open before taking a good look at it. “This here be a portrait of you, isn’t it? You look different. Lavish. Like a noble’s daughter.”

“T-That isn’t me.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know.”

There’s something rather pretty in the way tears drip down your cheeks, so soft and gentle like jewels of their own right. But Hoseok has seen many women, children and men cry. It’s nothing astonishing.

Hoseok smirks, a rush of air leaving his nose. “I’ve been cap’n of this ship for nearly a decade, dearest. I’ve held treasures you could only dream of, been in battles that nearly lost my leg, sailed ‘cross the seven seas with me mates. I know when a wrench lies.”

His eyes are narrowed in on yours. And Hoseok comes closer, hand lifting to grab a hold of your chin. But before he can, before he can blink or breathe — suddenly, you brandish a piece of glass against his exposed neck.

The ropes around you clatter to the ground. Hoseok feels the sharp edge of the glass digging into his skin, a moment away from nicking him and drawing blood. But more notably, your eyes are aflame. Your expression is dark and you’re scowling at him.

Gone is the fragile little girl weeping for mercy.

“Don’t come closer,” you warn in a low voice without a single tremble.

He leans back, but his gaze stays on yours. “You reckon you could kill me?”

“I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Hoseok’s mouth curls, grin stretching into his cheek. His interest is piqued. He knew there was more to you beneath the surface, and he’s happy you haven’t disappointed.

His hand latches onto your wrist to force your hand away. It's a battle of strength. One that he ultimately wins as the piece of glass goes clattering on the ground out of your reach. He sees it’s part of a broken bottle. But Hoseok’s much too put off guard and when your leg kicks out at him, he’s smacked square in the chin.

He grips it as he lands on his ass, sharply exhaling. But then he bursts into chuckles.

“You got some mean spirit in you, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately for you, Hoseok has far too much experience in combat and capture. Even if you try to kick, strike and even bite him, it’s not too difficult to get you tied into ropes again. Except this time, he makes sure to use his special knots and get you so wound up, no sharp edge could free you.

“Let me go, bastard!”

“Settle down. You’re only gettin’ yourself riled.” Hoseok crouches in front of you again and comes to wipe away the stray tear on your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You angrily scowl at him, chest rising and falling. Crying won’t get you far now, not when he knows they’re just crocodile tears. “Don’t get yourself worried about someone hurtin’ you. Everyone on this ship swears by our code, me included.”

You scoff. “As if I’d trust a pirate.”

Hoseok smirks. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done so already. It isn’t pleasin’ for me to force a girl like yourself either. Not when I have plenty o’ gold to play with a wrench at the dock. Now I suggest you behave or my Quartermaster’ll throw you overboard.”

“Then do it!” you shout at him with your entire body, only to flop over to the floorboards.

He grips the knob of the door and looks over his shoulder. “No. You’re too much of a treasure, sweetheart.”

The sun is falling over the horizon when Namjoon approaches. “Everything go well with the girl?”

Hoseok hums and turns with a glint in his eye. “Tell all hands to keep her separate.”

Port Galigeo is reached within two days time. The waters are calm without storms and the stars are clear at night. The sailing is smooth and so the docks are reached faster than ever before.

The men aboard are eager to sell the loot, to spend a few days ashore, spend nights at the brothel and replenish the rum. As follows, their steps are quick and they move the crates of jewels and tools to the harbour. Seokjin also takes care of the captives, leading them in a straight line off the gangplank to be sold.

“Cap’n! What ‘bout the beauty ‘ere.” Taehyung points to you.

Hoseok meets your eyes and you’re seething, glaring back at him. The corner of his mouth curls in amusement.

“Leave her. Tell the lad to watch over her till we return.” He points to Jungkook and Taehyung nods with an ‘aye, aye’.

Most of his crewmen take care of business, getting as much gold for the loot as possible. But Hoseok fiddles with your pendant in hand and heads to a jeweler. Said jeweler is an old man who quivers upon seeing him, Namjoon and Seokjin in his shop. He hides behind his table and cries, “Please! Spare me! Take what you must!”

Hoseok sighs. He doesn’t know why everyone thinks so badly of him. Maybe because he’s a pirate and he and his crew have pillaged countless. That’s fair, he supposes.

“Stop yer quivering,” Seokjin spews out, leaning against his table. “We need you to look at somethin’. Hurry before I steal your silver!”

Hoseok lifts your golden locket, letting it dangle from his hand.

The old man eventually slinks out when he realizes they won’t do anything, and he takes out his magnifying glass. He motions for him to bring it forward and Hoseok does. The old man hums, studying the locket before flipping it over in his hand. His thumb brushes against the wild rose engraving.

“Where did you get this from?” he asks.

“Don’t matter,” Namjoon says curtly.

Hoseok studies the man’s face and leans closer. “What is it?”

“It is a very valuable locket. I happen to recognize this symbol as well. It is the emblem of the Crochetta Kingdom.” He pops the locket open to the portrait of the young woman and looks up at Hoseok, clearing his throat. “I believe this locket belongs to the youngest princess of that kingdom. The runaway.”

Hoseok’s brow cocks.

The three of them leave in a hurry.

Seokjin’s eyes are glazed as his mouth starts to spew how Lady Luck is truly on their side, how they’ll be able to get their hands on a high ransom or sell you for countless riches. Namjoon is perplexed at how a princess like you managed to get here when Crochetta was countries away.

But Hoseok remains quiet. He doesn’t plan to trade you. He doesn’t ask questions.

He is entirely and wholly intrigued. Like never before.

“Blimey, the ship!” There’s a shout at the docks and Hoseok is torn from his thoughts. Taehyung has his hands in the air, cursing aloud. And Hoseok’s eyes trail from him to his ship that’s off the dock and disappearing over the horizon. “It’s sailing away!”

Seokjin is aghast. “How?!”

“Who’s still on?!” Hoseok shouts, looking around the dock to all his shocked men and their mouths drawn open big enough to catch flies.

“That girl,” Namjoon says, looking at the captain.

Hoseok tied you tightly, he made sure of it. Unless you freed yourself again. But it’s not possible that you lifted the anchor.

No. You must’ve cut the rope.

“Where’s Jungkook?”

At the same time, there’s a high-pitched shriek in the distance. All of the men are held to their spots on the docks as they watch a tiny figure in the horizon get pushed off the ship’s deck and then plopped into the waters.

There’s a loud splash.

You stole the ship.

Hoseok is quiet when his men turn to him. They don’t dare utter a single word, far too afraid their captain is boiling with anger. But what frightens them far more is when Hoseok suddenly bursts out into chortling laughter.

He laughs and grins as he watches his ship sail into the distance.

You were truly a treasure hard to find. He knew it when he saw you.

And now, he’ll just have to catch you again.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fluff #hoseok reader insert #hoseok scenario #bts reader insert #bts drabble #bangtans-peaceful-piegon #Jimlings #let's goooo Hoseok as a hot sexy pirateee!!!

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sailtoafarawayland · 3 years

Text

Together (Entwined Series)

Summary: Emma bit her lip, almost regretting the fleeting thought that had caused the words to fall from her lips, the need that was clawing its way up from her chest and pressing against the back of her throat like something that refused to be kept secret. Tears burned behind her eyes and she blinked them away, overwhelmed by the suddenness of what she was feeling – was it even a normal thing to want, to ask for?

Series Information: A series of connected one-shots following the polyamorous relationship of Emma, Killian, and Hook. Each piece can be read standalone and is non-linear, but together will reveal some backstory and how these three came to be. Tags/warnings that are specific to each piece will be posted at their heading, but it is safe to assume all of them will contain some version of M/F/M and M/M (unless otherwise noted in the tags). If this is not your thing, carry on. If you would like to be removed from my tag list, please let me know. Keep in mind, I maintain one list for all of my work.

Rated: Explicit

Relationships/Alternate Tags: M/F/M, M/M, Emma/Killian/Hook, Double Penetration - Double Vaginal, Anal Play, Canon Divergent

Many thanks to @hollyethecurious for the lovely cover art!

AO3 - FF

Together

“It's bad form to make a man wait,” Hook groaned, barely restraining himself from bucking his hips forward, Killian's warm breath ghosting over his sensitive flesh that waited just out of reach. Emma's fingers trailed through his hair and down his back as she circled him, her naughty whisper in his ear reminding him to be patient, that they had the entire night to play.

She kissed him teasingly, a mere brush of her lips against his own before pulling back, her hips swaying as she smiled mischievously and turned to join Killian on the floor, slipping behind him. Her breasts melded against his back and the slick dampness that already coated her soft curls was pressed against his skin. She laid hungry kisses into his neck, desire and need swirling inside of her as she reached around him to grasp and stoke the hardness that was thick and weeping between his thighs as he knelt, her eyes locked on Hook's cock where it bobbed in front of her, waiting to be serviced.

Killian moaned at the heat and weight of her hand as it massaged him, his hips thrusting forward into her grip, the movement drawing a groan from Hook as his cock brushed against Killian's stubble.

“Not yet,” Emma admonished, whispering into Killian's ear, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she watched him lick his lips, eager to open his mouth and find what he knew was waiting for him – even if the black scarf tied neatly around his eyes kept him from enjoying the view. “I think after this morning, you boys deserve a little payback...”

Her hand tightened around Killian's cock as she dragged it slowly up and down, reveling in the way his skin slipped over the thick head and drew a shudder from his body, need rippling along his taut muscles.

“I want to watch you on your knees,” Emma murmured, her tongue tracing the flushed shell of his ear, “waiting for that cock and knowing you won't get more than a taste, not until I'm ready – but trust me, babe, it's so hard and ready for you...”

Hook's groan of desperation blended seamlessly with Killian's. Unhindered by any blindfolds, he could see the sinful picture that was his two lovers knelt at his feet, Emma's lithe fingers wrapped around Killian and slowly dragging him toward a release she wouldn't give him.

“And as for you,” Emma drawled, her eyes locking with Hook as she dragged a finger through the precum leaking from Killian's cock and brought it up to his waiting mouth, “I want you to know how hot and wet and needy his mouth is for you, how amazing it feels to have him...” Emma gasped as Killian's lips latched onto her finger and drew it in deep, his tongue swirling and cleaning all traces of his own essence from her “...wrapped around me like this...”

Hook's throat bobbed as he swallowed heavily, Emma popping her finger from his twin's mouth with a wicked smirk. His cock was straining and already near to bursting with need, the darkened tip of it wet with his own arousal and hovering only inches away from where he wanted so desperately to bury it, but their Swan was in far from a giving mood after they spent the early hours of the morning teasing her awake – bringing her to the edge over and over before finally letting her fall, and he knew this was her own form of revenge – their joint pleasure so close, and yet unattainable until she'd given permission.

The air between them was heavy with their breathing, her own included, and as Emma rose and circled her two pirates, she was seized with how beautiful they looked like this, Killian's powerful thighs bent as he knelt willingly, his hand and wrist waiting obediently against them despite how desperate he was for release, and standing above him, Hook – slightly older, but no less startlingly handsome, his own dark locks streaked with silver, his face just beginning to bear the traces of age, fine lines that branched from his eyes and furrowed his brow, his stubble hiding the beginning of more silver that he bemoaned each day when he looked in the mirror. His chest was as lean and well-muscled as Killian's, bearing scars that mirrored his twin, and yet others that were a departure from the path they'd once journeyed together.

Her indulgent perusal of her two lovers had pulled her somewhat from her brazen mood, and she swallowed down the heavy, melancholic relief that rose in her throat when it washed over her once again that they'd been able to save him before he'd become the man she met in the Wish Realm, a man who had lived his life alone and broken, unloved and with the hope stripped from his very bones.

Tears rose behind her eyelids and she stepped forward, brushing her fingertips across the rough canvas of Hook's cheek and turning his face toward her, her lips melding needfully against him, the fire in her belly flaring and burning away any lingering sadness as her hands roamed his skin, his body twisting to face her as a growl of longing rumbled in his chest. His hardness was pressed thick and heavy against her stomach, his fingers combing through her hair, Killian's panted breaths rising as he listened to their kiss turn sloppy, soft moans interrupting the glide of their lips.

Suddenly Emma didn't want to play anymore, to taunt them until they begged for release as she had that morning. She wanted both of her lovers as close as possible, no slip of air between them as they moved in that perfect rhythm that came from sharing true love.

“Killian,” she begged, her hand reaching for him, finding his disheveled mop of hair as he leaned into her palm, “please...I need you both...I need you...”

She'd barely gotten the words out before he was on his feet and tearing the scarf from his eyes, understanding flickering across his features as he took in her desperation and the deep sadness that sometimes loomed behind her emerald green gaze – then he was entwined with them once more, his chest pressing against her back as his strong arms encircled her, caressing the flat of her belly as his teeth grazed her neck.

Time seemed to slow as Hook tilted into her, their lips and tongues sweeping across one another as he threaded his fingers thought her hair, carefully draping her long curls over the shoulder Killian wasn't currently lavishing with attention. Her hands traveled as far as she could reach, nails scratching a trail through his chest hair and fingers kneading the muscles of his arms. Killian rutted against her back, his shaft just as hard and needy as his twin's, the two of them perfect and exactly what she craved.

Pressed between the heat of their bodies, she'd never felt more complete, more loved. Killian's palm, rough and calloused, trailed down her thigh, his fingers clutching her flesh and urging her to lift herself, to wrap her leg around Hook. He lifted her as easily as if she weighed nothing, coaxing her long legs to her to circle his hips as Killian did the same from behind, his wrist and fingers drawing along her backside.

Emma's head rolled back as Hook trailed his lips along the sweep of her neck, her pulse fluttering beneath the soft wetness of his tongue and the scratch of his stubble.

“I love you both,” Emma whispered, anticipation rippling beneath her skin like electricity. “I love you both so much.”

“Aye, lass,” Killian murmured from behind her, his chest firm and hard against her back as he held her close, breathing in the scent of them together as he nosed her neck, nibbling along her ear, “and we love you – you've both our hearts, always.”

Hook leaned over Emma's shoulder, closing the gap between himself and Killian. Their lips met over her sweat dappled skin, the soft groans swallowed between them making her core throb with the need to feel them moving inside of her together, filling her so completely in that way only they could do.

“Bed...” she moaned, wriggling in Hook's arms, her slippery folds rubbing deliciously against where his cock was trapped. “Bed, now...”

“Aye,” Killian hissed, nipping Hook's lip before pulling back, his blue eyes nearly eclipsed with black, his lips swollen and pink. “Let's give the little minx what she's craving.”

The bed sheets were cool and sensuous against their skin as Hook slid them together onto it. Emma perched over his body as he stretched out beneath her, rocking wantonly and sliding herself along his velvety shaft, small whimpers of need rolling from her mouth in time with her hips. The mattress dipped and Emma felt the comforting weight of Killian behind her once more, his hand and wrist slipping beneath bottom and lifting, calloused fingers wrapping around Hook's cock and carefully guiding it into her drenched sex, her upper body trembling and toes curling as she sunk onto his thick length.

Pushing down, she let more of Hook's girth slide into her, her walls tight and needy, grasping and pulling him deeper as she stretched around him.

“That's it, love...” Killian groaned, his fingers brushing against her opening as he trailed them lower, finding Hook's balls hot and heavy between his thighs, gripping them and rolling them in his palm. “Gods, I'll never tire of watching you make love to us...”

Laying beneath her, Hook watched with rapt attention, his tongue wetting his lips as he took in the beauty that was Emma arching above him, her nipples rosy and pebbled against the perfect, pale swell of her breasts, her arms stretched behind her as she clutched at Killian, his twin's lips and tongue teasing her ear, his wrist encircling her stomach as she rode him. She was a vision, his Emma, a golden goddess who'd risked everything for him, they both had. He pushed away the fleeting guilt that rose in his chest – Killian had made it, she'd made it, and they were all here, together. He grasped her thighs, rolling his hips gently beneath her and savoring the view of her folds parting around him, his cock painted with her arousal.

“You're so wet, darling,” he moaned, watching his shaft disappear into her once more. “It's heaven inside of you...”

Emma whimpered at his words, the sound rising into something wild as Killian's hand slipped between them once more, his fingers dragging her wetness back to her ass and circling her tight entrance, teasing the puckered muscle until she groaned and relaxed, the tip of his finger slipped in with practiced ease and was followed quickly by the rest of its length.

“And so tight, my naughty lass,” he purred, a second finger joining the first and slowly stretching her open, her movements on Hook slowing to a gentle rock of her hips as she adjusted to the sensation of Killian making her ready for him. Hook kept thrusting slowly up into her, his face flushed and contorted with pleasure as he drank in the look of ecstasy on Emma's face.

“Oh god, Killian,” she gasped, her lips trembling as his fingers turned within her. “I need you...”

“I know, love,” he soothed, gently probing deeper as she relaxed further into him, urging her ass back against his hand, his fingers scissoring inside of her and pressing against the thin wall separating him from where Hook was buried deep inside her tight sheath, “and I'll take care of you...”

“But I want...” Her words drifted into nothingness as a change in angle had the head of Hook's cock rolling across that place inside of her that made sparks fly beneath her skin, “oh god, oh god, oh please, I want...”

“Tell us what you want, darling,” Hook pleaded, slowing his strokes as he waited for her eyes to open and find him once more. “Tell us, Emma...”

“Anything your heart desires, love,” Killian murmured into her skin, his fingers slipping from within her to grasp her hip as he waited, feeling the uncertainty that had tightened her muscles and stolen the fluid bliss from her body.

Emma bit her lip, almost regretting the fleeting thought that had caused the words to fall from her lips, the need that was clawing its way up from her chest and pressing against the back of her throat like something that refused to be kept secret. Tears burned behind her eyes and she blinked them away, overwhelmed by the suddenness of what she was feeling – was it even a normal thing to want, to ask for?

“Emma,” Hook pleaded, sitting up and framing her face with his hand and stump, his fingers brushing aside tendrils of her hair. “There isn't a thing in this world you can't ask for, not from us – we love you, we love each other.”

Emma let the fear fly from her on a trembling breath, nearly laughing at herself for doubting even for an instant that this was something she could share with her true loves.

“You're right, I just...we've never...”

“Whatever it is, it certainly wouldn't be our first time trying something new, love,” Killian pointed out with a cheeky smirk, “and where would we be today if we hadn't?”

Still not brave enough to look either of them in the eye, but feeling more secure in voicing the new desire twisting within her, Emma let her hand drift lower, her fingers gently circling where she was still joined with Hook.

“I want to have you both here.”

There was a moment where the only sound between them was the subdued rhythm of their breathing. Emma's gaze still lingered on the soft rise and fall of Hook's chest, her other hand knotted with uncertainty and tucked around her waist as she waited to hear what they would say – was it too much?

“Ah,” Killian murmured, his gaze locking with his twin's over her shoulder – and if his fingers weren't still clutching at her hip, Emma would have guessed them to be scratching behind his ear. “We don't want to hurt you, love...”

“I would tell you if it was too much,” Emma promised, relief and love welling inside of her as she felt Killian's soft lips against her cheek, her body finally relaxing into Hook's as he pulled her back to his chest, her cheek tucked against his heart while he stroked his fingers through her hair.

“Aye, love,” Killian nodded, offering a reassuring smile to Hook before he eased himself off the bed and headed into their bathroom.

Emma listened to the water run for a moment as Hook dragged his nails along her scalp, and then Killian was back, his firm thighs pressing against her as he leaned over her and placed kisses along her spine, his tongue reigniting the fire in her belly as Hook pulled her mouth back to his, claiming her.

A shiver followed the wet trail Killian's mouth had left along her back when she felt the tips of his fingers, cool and damp against her heated flesh, Hook jerking beneath her as he dragged them along his cock and circled where the two of them were joined, their flesh slick and clinging together as he slowly worked a finger around the edge of Hook's length, stretching her walls gently.

“Bloody hell,” Hook growled into her mouth, her lips lifting into a smile as his cock throbbed deliciously within her, responding to the firm pressure of Killian's fingers as he worked his way inside of her, stroking the both of them in a way that was entirely new and intimate.

“Is that too much, love?” Killian murmured against her, slipping a second finger to join the first and angling his hand so they opened her a bit more, his fingertips moving pleasurably against her walls.

“No, god, no,” Emma sighed, the feel of his fingers inside of her with Hook making her hungry for more. “It feels so good, does it feel good?” she whispered, her words muffled against Hook's jaw as she tucked her head into his neck, canting her hips and sliding her knees forward, his cock slipping from her a small amount as Killian's fingers slid further in, a slight burn telling her he'd added a third.

“Aye, darling, it feels...it's so much, feeling you both like this,” Hook groaned, rocking beneath her slightly and feeling his hardened length slide back in easily, the arousal dripping from her more than enough to ease his passage even with Killian's fingers buried inside of her. He thrust twice, feeling Killian's fingers spin against him, their calloused ridges stroking his shaft and making his balls tighten.

“You're so bloody tight, love,” Killian moaned behind her, his own cock desperate to feel the heat that was so tightly wrapped around his digits as he stroked his lovers so intimately, “so wet at the thought of having us both...”

“Yes...want you both, together...nothing else between us...”

Behind her Killian's breath was coming in rough pants against the swell of her ass as he leaned into her, his fingers moving in and out with increasing speed, the steady fullness of Hook's cock and the rolling stimulation his hand was providing pulling more wetness from her body as she shuddered around them both. That deep desire to feel them inside of her together, to feel them come undone with nothing separating them, was twisting and surging through her body as if it were a living thing. She hissed at the sensation of Killian's stubble scratching across her skin, his tongue darting from between his lips to lick a hot path down the cleft of her ass and across her tight opening before arriving to where she was a sopping mess, his fingers pulling free of her with a suddenness that made both she and Hook moan.

His tongue lapped at where they were joined, hot and bathed in her essence, and she rolled her head against Hook's chest as he thrust himself deeply into her, feeling the slide of her walls and Killian's lips as he mouthed along his length before tearing himself away with a growl of impatience.

Emma's gaze settled on Killian, eyes heavy with lust as he took his fingers coated with her clinging arousal and wrapped them around his glorious length, precum beading and leaking from the head as he thrust gently through his fist. Her mouth ran dry and she wriggled her bottom, begging without words for what she knew he was about to give her. A breathy gasp fell from her lips as she felt the tip of his cock press against the place where she was already full, her wetness dripping down Hook's shaft and making them both slick and ready for their lover to join them.

“I'm so desperate to be inside of you, love, but I don't...I don't want to hurt you,” he whispered, thrusting his hips just enough that she could feel his swollen head pressing into her entrance, the pressure forcing Hook's cock more firmly against the other side of her, her clit throbbing mercilessly at the press of him so near to her bundle of nerves.

“You won't,” Emma moaned, lost in the thrill of what they were promising her, the tip of his cock throbbing just inside of her folds as Hook's shaft swelled deep within, his wrist rising to lift her chin and bring her mouth back to his own.

“Tell us if it's too much,” he breathed against her lips, the blue of his eyes a slim ring as he held steady while Killian pushed slowly into her, her body stretching around him as she whimpered at the tight burn of him slipping further in.

A waterfall of moans fell from all three of them as Killian's hard length slid against Hook's as he sought his place within her, the first few inches of him finally encased in her heat and pressed tightly against the firm underside of his twin's cock – his upper body fell heavily against Emma's back as he trembled, fighting the urge to push further, desperately afraid of hurting her as she writhed between them, keening pleas torn from her that begged for more.

Emma reveled in the heat pressed against her from either side, burning her from within, her breasts flush against Hook's chest as they kissed each other lazily, trading heavy breaths as each small movement sent flares of pleasure through them both. Killian's stubble razed her upper back as he rolled his cheek, mouthing her skin and carefully flexing his hips, his cock throbbing mercilessly as it stretched her walls even more, sliding another inch into her sopping heat.

“Emma,” Killian groaned, his arms trembling beside them as he bore his weight over them both. “You're so...so bloody tight like this, love, I can't...”

His voice was wrecked, his breath a shudder against her skin as he held himself back, unable to push any more of his length into her, but unwilling to relinquish the tight grasp of her walls that he'd already claimed.

“Allow me,” Hook murmured, his hand and stump pressing more firmly against her body as he ducked his hips, his cock slipping from her heat just enough that its head rubbed against Killian's, curses of pleasure echoing from them both as they met within her.

“Oh my god...don't stop,” she begged, barely recognizing her own voice.

A quiver raced along her spine as they started moving inside of her together, wild satisfaction burning through her like a wildfire as she felt Killian shift on top of her, sliding himself forward as Hook pulled out, the sinful sounds of her wetness coating them both lost in the harmony of their moans as they found a natural rhythm, Hook thrusting deeply within her as Killian pulled nearly free, the thick muscles of their cocks stroking one another as they claimed her entirely, imprinting themselves on her. Killian plunged back into her heat as Hook retreated, the pleasant burn that accompanied their movements fading into a latent heat that only stoked the neediness within her.

“More...need more,” she gasped, nearly biting her tongue as their speed increased with their confidence, her body receiving no break as they hammered her walls one after the other, desperate groans of pleasure muted against her body as they took her, her walls stretching to accommodate them both as they slipped past each other.

Killian released his tortured hold on the sheets and found Hook's arm, his fingers curling possessively around the firm bulge of his muscle as he slowly gave Emma what she needed – more – her body too slick and open to protest as he slid deeper within her, pressing wickedly along the length of Hook's cock as he held steady within her. Hook's head rolled back into the mattress as he let out a drawn out groan at the sensation, his fingers digging into Emma's skin.

“Emma,” Killian whispered, pulling her from the haze of wordless pleasure she was caught in. “Too much, love?”

“Fuck...no,” she hissed, wriggling between them and trying to work them both deeper – it hurt, the stretch of them both fully inside of her a confusing mix of pleasure and pain, but the image of what they must look like joined together in this way was playing behind her eyelids, raw desire and feral need muting the harsh edges of the discomfort.

“You, Jones?” Killian groaned, feeling his twin's cock bob inside of Emma and against his own as he shifted, their bodies slick with sweat.

“Bloody hell, Killian,” he responded, a broken tremor in his voice as his hardness throbbed once more, the feeling of them pushed so tightly together inside of their love nearly making him come undone, “just take it slow, mate.”

“Aye,” Killian rasped, and he slowly pulled back, setting a sedate rhythm that had the swollen head of his cock stroking Hook inside of her before pressing deliciously against her most sensitive area.

Hook stayed still within her, allowing his twin to control their pleasure, his breath coming in panted gasps as Emma dragged her fingers up his chest, snaking two of them between his parted lips. He latched on, swirling his tongue around the fullness she gave him, knowing how turned on it made her to see either of them with their mouths full – whether it was of her or themselves. He could feel his own climax nearing, the tightness throbbing and pulsing with a need to break free, Killian's thick member stroking along the ridge of his own shaft before withdrawing and sliding deep once again.

Between them, Emma's pleasure rolled from her tongue on desperate cries and whimpers, her body nearly slack as Killian fucked himself into her over and over, his own peak nearing as Emma's arousal ran down his shaft and slicked his balls where they slapped against their union, his body taught with the need to spend himself surrounded by the two people he loved.

It had never failed to make her dripping wet, watching her two pirates take their pleasure together, their cocks heavy and thick in their hands as they slid them along one another, toned bodies entwined as they stroked themselves to completion, their release coating them both and dripping along their fingers – and knowing that right now she was the heat pressing and holding them together, that it was all of them in this moment – it tore at that last shred of control she'd been clinging to.

“Almost there...” she choked out, barely able to form the words, coherent thought leaving her at the sound of Hook whispering encouragement against her skin and Killian groaning his approval, hissing how sinfully tight she already was and how he couldn't wait to feel her come undone around them both. “I'm there, oh god, oh my god, fuck...”

The coil of pleasure inside of her snapped, rippling through her body almost painfully as she finally came, her neck arching and a cry of elation pouring from her mouth as her core clenched around them, Killian's thrusts slowing as her walls throbbed erratically, squeezing them within her. Hook bucked beneath her as his cock swelled, his balls drawing up and tightening as he erupted into her, Killian groaning brokenly on top of them as he followed, his nails digging into Hook's arm as they both pumped her full of their seed, the heat and rush of their essences bathing her walls only drawing out their joint pleasure, cocks throbbing as their come leaked around their shafts and dripping from her pink folds.

The world around them was reduced to nothing more than the way their hearts raced together, their breath mingling and fingers drawing sighs from one another as they surrendered to that blissful fog, reality slowly slipping back to them as their heated bodies cooled.

“Emma, love,” Hook murmured, coming back to them first, reaching with his stump to nudge the swathe of blonde curls from her face. “Are you with us, darling?”

Emma groaned something noncommittal and buried her face stubbornly back into Hook's chest, eliciting a chuckle from above her as Killian carefully extricated his softening cock from inside of her, Hook slipping free only a moment later. She sighed, both upset at the loss and relieved, the soreness she couldn't feel during the exhilarating high of their lovemaking already beginning to set in, but the sensation of both of their releases running out of her was enough to make her purr in contentment, her teeth catching her lip as she lost herself for just a few moments more – reveling in how amazing it had felt to have them both coming inside of her at once, her own orgasm drawn out by the way their cocks had swollen and pumped her full of their seed.

Killian had rolled his his weight from on top of her, dropping tiredly to the bed within the bend of Hook's arm, his twin's fingers drawing lazy circles through the dark hairs covering his chest as they both stared at the canopy above them, still trying to bring their breathing back to a normal pace. Emma felt sleep tugging insistently at her body and she rolled to Hook's other side, nestling herself around his arm and pulling his stump into her embrace as she tucked herself against him.

“We should get you into the bath, darling – you'll be sore,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her disheveled crown of hair even as she tightened her grip stubbornly around him, her own lips marking his scarred skin with their soft caress.

“Later...” she sighed, unwilling to return to the world when her body was still thrumming from how deeply she loved them both.

“Aye,” Killian echoed, stretching his limbs that were burning from exhaustion, his chest still glistening with sweat and his body covered in a mix of the three of them, Hook just as deliciously filthy. “I'm inclined to side with our Swan on this one, mate.”

“Besides,” Emma muttered, stifling a yawn against Hook's skin and stretching a hand across his chest to find Killian, “if we sleep now and worry about laundry tomorrow, maybe I'll be feeling up to testing out how sturdy that new washer is...”

“Our insatiable minx,” Hook laughed, but he could feel the both of them relaxing into him, and when sleep pulled heavily at his eyes as well, he was content to let it take him – the feel of Emma's soft breaths against his scarred wrist and Killian's fingers entwining with his own following him into that peaceful darkness of slumber and carrying him back into the light of another day.

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo

#Captain Swan #CS fic #cs fanfic #emma and hook #sailtoafarawayland #entwined #wish hook #m/f/m #m/m

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veiledfox · 3 years

Text

A Yokai Slaying Demons

Blood and Gore warning, the later will be marked with ----- before and after.

One of Kyuushi’s earlier times passing through the Tori Gate at the center of the lake behind the Kitsune Shrine landed her within a dark, dense forest. Immediately smelling blood, and hearing the clanging of what sounded like some sort of rock against metal. Within the darkness, given her improved sight at low light, she could see tracks. Both human, and inhuman, the later looking like massive humanoid feet, however.

Hiding her ears and tails away, she kept low to the ground and followed the tracks, using the sounds and the iron scent to guide her any time she lost sight of them. Eventually coming to find a very tiny clearing, where she could see a blur of movement from what looked to be a Human lunging at a massive Oni. One of dark, sickly green skin, bleeding some odd black blood. The Human himself looking just as badly damaged, one arm limp at their side, half their face coated with crimson, both legs marked with cuts and shirt torn open with his stomach tinted black.

-----

This man, despite how close to death she could tell he was, kept putting his all into his actions. Swinging a bright silver Katana with a roar of force to slice across the Oni’s chest. The Yokai stumbling back from the wound, giving the Human ground to lunge at them again, though this time leaping higher and setting themselves spinning rapidly. Angling their blade to slice into the Oni’s throat, as if attempting to decapitate them.

Though his blade would come too short with the Oni’s efforts to back out of range, using the moment the Human had to land again to rear back a closed fist. The muscles throughout their arm bulging as they let their fist fly forward, impacting with the Man’s chest directly, and even where Kyuushi was, almost entirely across the opening from them, she could hear the crack of the Human’s ribs breaking.

-----

Her eyes, in the heat of the moment, could hardly keep up with the Human’s form as they were sent flying back, partially towards where she was, but well enough past her that they would miss hitting anywhere near her. Though she could see them hit a tree a short distance from her, being sent spiraling into another, making the trunk bend and crack on impact with a crater in it’s side.

With the distance, she could just barely hear the Man gasping for breath, wheezing in pain, and she could see blood drooling out the corners of his mouth. The sight was horrid, and she couldn’t tell what she was to think of this whole situation. This being one of her earlier trips, Kyuushi didn’t have very much experience in fights, and had only just started to experience the horrors of Orth’s Abyss.

She wouldn’t be allowed too much time to think, however, hearing the Oni’s footsteps briefly approach within the clearing. Quickly taking to hiding behind the tree she was at, and holding in her breath to keep from making any noise, waiting and listening for anything from them. Only for, a moment later, the footsteps to begin once more, but this time in the opposite direction of her. Hearing the monstrous Yokai groaning as he stomps away.

Quickly Kyuushi takes the opportunity to get up from where she was hiding. Looking to the clearing just in time to see the back of the Oni becoming shrouded in darkness surrounded by the trees on the opposite end of the clearing. It was now that she would hear what sounded like the Human trying to call out to her, a raspy, weak beginnings of “Hey”. To which she turns, and makes her way to the dying man, kneeling before him with furrowed brows taking to her face.

Kyuushi wanted to help him, to make sure he lived somehow, but the way everything sounded, how he looked, even the way he smelled... it was like he was already dead. Just an after thought of who he once was, clinging onto a corpse. It was horrid to be sitting before him, watching his life fade from his eyes, but he seemed to be trying to say something. With his lungs likely filling with blood, and his throat too, however... she couldn’t understand.

All that the Kitsune would get would be the eventual shift of the arm still holding onto his Katana, as if making to hand his blade to her, and a faint word of “Hashira”. Reaching to take the blade, she would question if he was meaning he wanted her to take the blade to whatever or wherever this “Hashira” was, and he weakly managed the most subtle nod he could before his body went limp, kept up only by the tree he was embedded within the side of.

Carefully setting the sword nearby, she would begin to work on carefully removing the Man’s body from the tree. Laying him nearby, to have her hands free so she could shapeshift and begin to dig at the ground by the cracked tree. Opening a grave for the Man, so she could gently shift him inside and burry him to rest as peacefully as he could until she could manage to get his blade to this “Hashira”.

Kyuushi would travel the forest, using her senses to ensure she was going away from the Oni who’s blood still tainted the air with it’s foul scent, in hopes of exiting the forest and finding some form of civilization. She would, instead, find herself coming face to face with another Human, a Woman with a blade drawn, similar to the one she was handed, but instead of a bright silver, it was green in coloration.

Seeing her holding the blade, the Woman would come to a stop, seemingly having been chasing something initially. Though, her weapon would droop in her grip as she stared at the blade she held. Kyuushi could see the beginnings of what looked to be tears forming in the Woman’s eyes too, and quickly things fit into place.

Gently she would make her way closer, holding the blade with it’s end pointed to the ground, asking the Woman if she knew the man the Katana belonged to. According to her answer, she did indeed know the Man, and hearing Kyuushi apologize and inform her of his death was what sent the first tear rolling down her cheek. Soon followed by countless more.

Telling the Woman of what she saw, the Man’s final wish that she could understand, and of the burial she gave him, the Woman simply asked to be shown his grave. It took nearly an hour, but Kyuushi would guide her back toward the clearing, to the tree just before it, broken, looking as if it could topple, and the freshly moved earth by it’s base where she had buried the Man.

Stepping back to give the Woman room, she watched her collapse to her knees and begin to openly weep over the grave. Standing idle to the side for the time the Stranger needed before her emotions began to calm what little they could. Waiting silently further as she watches her stand, sheathe her own blade, and try to collect herself. Taking deep, long breaths, almost like she was attempting to meditate, before finally being able to turn and face Kyuushi again.

She seemed to be about to thank Kyuushi for burying the Man, who from some mumbling she had done during her weeping, seemed to have been a significant other for quite some time. Yet something stopped her, and it took a few seconds before the Kitsune caught on and followed their eyes to the blade she was holding as she lifts it to hold across both hands.

The once bright silver blade had changed color, now an odd bluish tinted grey. It was in this moment of looking over the blade that she would actually pay attention to it’s grip and handguard too, seeing a deep blue wrapping around the handle, and the guard designed to mimic the appearance of a star of sorts. Geometric shapes overlapping to create an eight-pointed star, with the blade through it’s center. The handguard’s coloration a bright silver to match that which the blade had been earlier.

Approaching Kyuushi, the Woman would set a hand over the side of the blade, stroking it gently as if in awe. When asked what happened, she explains that the blade is one of a special make using an ore with unknown properties. The blade fashioned from this ore will change colors once it’s owner takes hold of it, to match something she only referred to as a “Breathing Style” at the time. That the Man, who’s name had been Haru, had owned that blade for well over two years, and never had it change color, even though his skill matched that of so many other “Demon Slayers” around his age.

Her guess that she could give Kyuushi was that, despite being with it’s owner, the Blade felt that Haru wasn’t dedicated to any one Breathing Style enough, apparently having been trying to learn lower level techniques from every Style that he could, to wield all of them to at least an average level. Allow himself the adaptability of being able to shift from a more power focused style like Flame, to a more speed based one like Thunder. Something he had managed to an impressive degree, and utilized wonderfully in his fights.

Though the Woman would add that she had never heard of a “Nichirin Blade”, she called the sword, refusing to take a color, much less taking one when held by someone else than the Slayer it was forged for. She could understand why he wanted the Katana returned to the Hashira in the first place, but now with this development, it would be of even greater importance to have the blade taken back to them. In the same instance, however, it seemed the blade chose a new owner to wield it, in the form of Kyuushi.

After mentioning she’d likely be sticking with her for a while, the Woman would finally introduce herself as Sara, a practitioner of the Wind Style Breathing, and Demon Slayer. A little bittersweetly telling Kyuushi to follow, and guiding her out of the forest the way she had some initially. Calling to a raven once out of the dense trees, she would tell it to fly to the Hashira, tell them of Haru’s death, the Oni who killed him, and the developments with his Nichirin Blade.

The Raven cawing before it flies off, she turns her attention to Kyuushi, beginning conversation with her while they begin their travel to reach this Hashira. Exchanging more simple information, some small talk about the kind of person Haru had been, but eventually leading to Kyuushi’s curiosity of the realm. The Kitsune throwing question after question about everything that was going on to Sara.

She would learn during their travel that this Japan was under constant threat of Demons. Beings who wished nothing more than to control and consume all Humans. That, since centuries prior, there had been a group built up to counter the Demons, simply called the Demon Slayer Corps. These Demon Slayers having been the protectors of humanity ever since, and still continuing to do so even today. Within the Demon Slayers being the leading core, the Hashira, who answer to the Head of the Corps only, but handle most of the Corps actions themselves.

Sara would go on to explain how each member of the Hashira fits under a different Breathing Style, and they have pupils under them who follow in their footsteps within the same Breathing Styles. Mentioning Styles of Sun, Moon, Fire, Water, Thunder, Stone, Wind, Mist, Serpent, Insect, Flower, and Love. Though that she had also heard of a Beast Breathing Style, but that there’s only one use of it at the time.

Following up this information with a reminder that, like she said earlier, Nichirin Blades take the color corresponding with the owner’s Breathing Style, but continuing to say she’d never seen this odd blue shade that Haru’s Blade took within Kyuushi’s grasp. That if it had been a more distinct blue, it would be Water Style Breathing that Kyuushi would synergize with if she were to start training to be a Demon Slayer to make use of Haru’s blade. This color was much too pale, however, so it didn’t fit.

They would discover it’s meaning upon meeting the Hashira, however, which would only take a few days travel to get back to them. It looked like Kyuushi was going to be spending a few days within this alternate version of Japan, though she didn’t mind one bit if she was to be honest. Her fascination with new experiences and with learning about the realms she traveled to being enough drive to stay with Sara, learn what she could from her, and begin training to try and discover her Breathing Style

Kyuushi would quickly begin to find herself capable of the early stages of a technique Sara called “Total Concentration Breathing”, a method of intaking air to fill one’s body with as much as possible, allowing them to surpass their normal physical limitations. Something that, if used by high ranking Demon Slayers, could be maintained constantly throughout daily life, and make a Human able to overpower many Demons, possibly even match those of the “Twelve Kizuki”, supposedly the Demon’s equivalent of the Hashira.

Though throughout her training, Kyuushi wouldn’t begin to show signs of any Breathing Styles which Sara knew of. Instead beginning to find herself able to do various things that were wholy unexpected by either of them. Unique things like being able to sense movement of even the smallest insects within a mass radius through the disturbances they create within the air just from moving around. Being able to wield the Nichirin Blade in a reverse grip with as much strength as if she was holding it forward with both hands on it’s handle, and being able to efficiently wield it with her Tanto from her Father.

Unknown to both of them until Kyuushi’s first fight with a lower level Demon, however, would be the fact that her Tanto seemed to have similar properties to a Nichirin Blade. Being able to hinder a Demon’s regeneration, and if used to decapitate a Demon, it could kill them entirely. Making both Women wonder what the Tanto was made of, though unable to know with it’s age and it’s original crafter being long dead, as far as Kyuushi knew.

Soon after would be when they finally meet with the Hashira, presenting the blade in it’s new coloration and being told that it seemed to have chosen Kyuushi as it’s new owner. That Kyuushi wasn’t aligned with any of the standard Breathing Styles, but one of the only other practitioners of a Style which was so unique that it could vary widely from person to person, while keeping some traits across every member of it. The only known other practitioner being a young man named Inosuke.

Beast Style.

After another night together, under the Hashira’s roof no less, Sara would be sent on a mission, while Kyuushi would be instructed to continue her training. The two setting off from the Hashira’s location together, but parting after an hour or so of travel. Finally leaving Kyuushi alone, with Haru’s sword now settled in a brand new sheathe of a deep red coloration to match her hair and contrast with the blue of the grip’s wrapping. Able to return home, with her Nichirin Blade in tow, to take everything in, process it all, and record it in a journal.

All before taking some time to properly rest, reflect, and think of her plans for the future when returning to the Realm of the Hashira in the future.

Able to apply her breathing techniques beyond the realm, not to enhance her physical capabilities, sadly to her, but to help calm herself, and focus back to the present. Total Concentration Breathing now acting as a form of meditative breathing, able to relax her body, ease her stress, and calm her stiff muscles.

In visits to the Realm of the Hashira since, Kyuushi has managed to slay two more lower Demons. She has also survived an encounter alongside two other Slayers against one of the lower ranking Kizuki, .due to Hashira intervention

#The Kitsune {Kyuushi}#A Yokai Slaying Demons #Truths Among Myths {Headcanons}#Veiled Legends {Story}#Realm Specific Aspects

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dcvotion · 3 years

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❀ || Here’s your warning now !! If you don’t know what Fatal Frame is, it’s a survival horror game in which you photograph ghosts who have suffered in many awful ways. If death, horror, and all of those things aren’t your thing, don’t read! Some things mentioned in the drabble below are dismemberment, eye horror, body horror, stalking, and sickness, so please read at your own risk (even if I didn’t write anything too vicious or heavily described).

This is all from @codebestowed and mine’s Fatal Frame AU ♡ Read Sora’s side of things here !!

If there was one thing Riku would never get used to, it was the sheer amount of pure, unfiltered energy that made up malicious ghosts, the reminder coming to him in the form of slender fingers wrapping themselves viciously around his bicep with a force that made him feel as though his arm had been touched by live wire. Elongated, scarlet nails that were quite obviously not painted on, curled around soft flesh and muscle, a shrill voice reverberating around the room in a near deafening rising cacophony the more venom she spat.

‘Don’t look at me! Don’t look at me !! How dare you judge me!’

He should have sensed the Mistress’s presence long before she manifested, her aura near suffocating with malice. There was little time to feel foolish over his mistake, not when the camera obscura trembled so insistently at his side as the spirit confined within grew equally as angered as she. Sora’s form was at his side in an instant, the phantom’s arm shooting out quicker than Riku could properly unravel the camera’s aperture as his friend moved in to defend him. Arm still seized in under the Mistress’s firm grip, the camera’s strap trapped beneath crimson claw, Riku struggled to lend aid in the form of being the camera’s user, but the angle was all wrong.

Suddenly, the photojournalist was thrown effortlessly across the room, Sora’s concerned voice breaking through the piercing, angered screams of the Mistress.

The burning against his side tore a hiss from the silveret’s lips, elbow gracelessly colliding with the floor in an effort to break his fall, only for the rest of his form to come tumbling after. It was in abject horror that Riku watched as the camera obscura slipped from his hold, old and rotting tatami flooring providing little as a means of stability and grip as it skated across the surface.

Down the gaping hole that had been worn into the floor, exposed beams and foundation support being the only safety between them and the drop from their place in the manor atop the cliff. The camera’s neck strap, now torn and damaged, was caught precariously on a protruding beam.

‘Riku ?’

It was as if Sora’s whisper toppled over the first domino that strung together the next chain reaction, the brunet’s ghostly form suddenly flickering by the room’s entrance only to be jostled across the room with a pained cry, forced to remain within the camera’s permitted range.

One which was currently threatening to slip off the beam and down into the village’s ground level below.

‘You think I’m hideous!’ Continued the Mistress’s wails, razor nails clawing down marred and misshapen features. ‘You think me a monster!’ She pressed on with the accusations, and it took all of Riku’s focus and sheer will to balance equal amounts of attention onto her and the wide-eyed stare of Sora below. ‘I’ll show you... !!’ The last bit of her statement was growled in a low, venomous whisper, as if without warning, her voice had gone hoarse from mistreatment.

Eerily calm, slender form draped in the finest of silks, she moved forward in her advance, spurring Riku on to make his decision.

“Sora!” He twisted around, shuffling towards the edge of the hole in the ground and reaching forth to grab hold of the camera’s strap. With every shift, every inch taken into the dangerous gaping maw and onto the rotting beams, the wood began to groan and splinter beneath his weight.

No... no, he had to...! He had to save Sora! He couldn’t do this alone, not without him! They made a promise to see things through to the end together !!

Another groan, but his chosen perch remained unbroken, and actively did the photojournalist ignore the Mistress’s twisted laughter as she did nothing but whisper sweetly of all the mutilation he would suffer at her hand that he, too, would be made ugly and malformed, just as the tainted water did to her. It mattered not the promises she made, they were built on sinking ground at best, Riku’s own driving him forth to reach Sora, who’s own hand reached for his.

How strange it was to see: Fear, panic, hope, and longing, all reflected back at him through a dead person’s eyes; How alive Sora appeared to be, as lifeless dark carmines seemed to swim with life within their unblinking gaze.

Fingertips nearly grazed before the camera’s strap snapped and sent the camera obscura plunging into the quiet village below.

Riku didn’t know who screamed, himself, Sora, or the Mistress approaching from above.

Perhaps it was all three.

“SORA !!” Panic, palatable and colder than any winter, it settled into his being as though it stemmed from his very soul, vision blurring in a mixture of anxiety and building tears. Something inside of him broke, hands unable to stop in their tremor, a feeling that only transferred straight through into his shoulders. His entire body was trembling, breath coming in short, quick pants hyperventilating as he watched the camera, and Sora’s comforting presence, vanish over the cliffside.

I... I have to go get him... I have to-- ‘I’LL MAKE RIBBONS OUT OF YOU!’

Bloodied fingers reached for silver tresses, jostling Riku out of his daze. Heart hammering firmly within his chest, he clamored across the beam in an effort to crawl beneath the house’s foundation, a cramped space which provided just enough room to shuffle his body through with panicked motions. The Mistress remained wailing from her spot above, an endless stream of curses and terrible promises, vividly describing the desecration of Riku’s living body in awful glee.

‘String you up! Such a pretty pretty ribbon you’ll be~’ Dirt clumped against his chest, burrowing under his nails and slipping into his shoes as he breathed heavily in his escape. ‘Will you make me beautiful again? Your skin will make a fine gown!’ His lungs felt on fire, but he knew the labored breath wasn’t due to him being out of shape. Vision blurring once more, he felt the beginnings of another internal threat waiting to throw his senses into overdrive.

A panic attack. He hadn’t had one of those since he was a kid in the homes, openly weeping to the matrons of awful twisted apparitions and a sky that wouldn’t stop raining red.

‘I’ll cut you to pieces! You don’t deserve to look beautiful! I do! I do! I ’

Silence, deafening and sharper than any knife, causing Riku to pause in his escape. It was only then that he noticed the newly acquired lightning scar to mar the skin against his arm, right where the Mistress had held him in her vise grip, but he didn’t linger on the matter too long.

Why is it so damn quiet...?

A shuddered breath, the exhale he let out being cut short each and every time he tried. He should be glad there was no more screaming, but dead silence never meant well when it came to this cursed village. If Riku had learned anything during his time here, it was that silence meant you crossed into another’s domain, the boundary belonging to each ghost varying. The Mistress was bound to her manor, tall and proud beams displaying every luxurious expense with nothing spare. Was beneath such a grandiose display not a part of that domain?

No, of course not, his mind supplied, allowing himself to calm the slightest in knowing he was safe. She thinks herself too high and mighty to even think of lowering herself this far into the dirt, in living or in death.

Eyes slipped shut, yearning for the safety of the blindfold Sora had found for and gifted him.

More than that, he wanted nothing more than to get Sora back, safe and sound, where he knew they could both watch each other’s backs and keep one another safe.

Lashes fluttered open in a moment’s determination. ‘She put me down here... she is cruel...’ Only for a pale face to greet him in twisted, mangled agony, the spirit’s limbs obviously broken in such a way that came from careless shoving and forcing into a space that was not meant to be filled. She reminded Riku of a spider, elbows and knees bent upwards as joints were pressed firmly into the beams above his head, her neck craned and dangling with the gentlest of sways.

‘The Mistress... even when beautiful... was always an ugly monster...’

And then she had vanished, fading into nothingness as her words provided another blanket of silence. His heart drummed within his chest relentlessly, mercilessly beating against his ribs with such force, Riku swore he could feel the dirt beneath him shift as if being subjected to an earthquake. No matter how many spirits he encountered, each and every one was frightening in their own right, be it by how large of a threat they were, or how terrible a fate they had suffered.

There would be many more ghosts to stand in his way on his journey to find Sora, and even as Riku pulled himself through the crawlspace, and finally, out to freedom, it was difficult to think he could make it through unscathed and without being afraid.

‘Don’t be afraid’, he recalled Sora telling him, fingers gingerly digging out the semi-transparent cloth from his pocket, ‘This will keep you safe.’

He stood there for a moment, body aching with more than just a few bruises and burns, but with a fear and primal need to ensure his ghostly companion was safe to ensure that his friend was safe. Cameras were fragile things, especially one of the obscura’s particular make. It could have been damaged from the fall, even if the camera hadn’t been folded out when it had fallen. Riku only hoped the sturdy casing kept it protected during the tumble.

With shaking hands, cloth met his eyes and shrouded his vision in a layer of darkness, embroidery of cherry blossoms and branches stitched into the fabric in just as black a thread as the rest. It was a subtle design, despite its intricacy, but the fabric or design itself wasn’t what made it so special.

Eyes were the windows to the soul, so the saying went. It was easier to go unnoticed by the phantoms when your eyes were kept hidden, but most of all, it made it easier to remain hidden from

No... no, he couldn’t think of that nightmare of a spirit, a cold chill being sent tumbling down his spine. Riku felt safe underneath the guise of the cloth, and that’s what had mattered.

Sora had told him he was safe wearing it, after all, and he trusted the camera’s spirit with all he had.

“S-sora... please be safe...” He murmured quietly, brows drawn together in a moment’s concern before he drew in a deep breath and took the first step forward.

The pathway from the manor down back into the village was lined with unlit stone lanterns and Japanese maples, bright and fiery leaves rustling gently in the light breeze. It was harder to see with the blindfold over his eyes, despite how translucent the fabric was, not with how the moon overhead grew shrouded behind passing clouds. Riku found comfort in the constant chirping of crickets amidst the otherwise silent night, their music drowning out each and every shaken breath he took as boots took care with each step down the sloping pathway. It was cold, but Riku couldn’t determine whether that was due to the actual temperature of the night, or because of the lingering spirits to inhabit the village.

A sob, one that had the silveret holding his breath and freeze in his descent, going so far as to lifting his hands to his mouth in an effort to keep his breathing to a minimal. Its source came from the mockery of a torii gate just at the end of the pathway, the shape mimicking the sacred gate commonly found on sacred grounds or before shinto shrines. The Mistress was so full of herself in life, it seemed, that she had the thing built to signify the entrance to her manor. A sacrilege among the village, no doubt, if the wrinkle in Sora’s nose told Riku anything the first time they had crossed the grounds.

Sora...

If he wanted to find Sora, he needed to brave the village on his own. With every cautious step taken forward, Riku saw more and more of the phantom stationed behind the gate, a young man knelt in prayer who paid the only living soul there no mind.

‘Heavens help us,’ he mourned unmoving, ‘the sickness is spreading...’

And then he was gone, just as the last spirit had done, vanishing from sight and leaving Riku alone in the dark once again.

I can do this... Sora, I’ll be right there. Just please... please be okay..!

Humble homes stretched out before him, old and forgotten banners and signs swinging lightly in the breeze, the ocassional rusty creak weaving itself upon the wind’s breath. The young photojournalist pressed onward, feeling eyes on him from all angles. On instinct, Riku’s hand flew to his side, wanting nothing more than to feel the reassuring presence and warmth of the camera at his side.

But hand met nothing but his jeans, the space empty where his comfort once was. His opposite hand flew to his chest, fingers curling around a strap that no longer pressed against there, and instead, found himself clutching at the fabric of his shirt instead.

Riku couldn’t lie.

He was terrified, a fear fueled by his own regard for his safety, and the fear that something terrible had happened to Sora and it had been his own, careless fault.

There was screaming suddenly in the distance, loud and piercing, sending Riku near stumbling down stone steps. Heart lodged within his throat, sea green eyes widening behind the veil, he listened intently for the source, hearing the gentle rustling from a house nearby and the falling of something ceramic in another. The spirits were sensing him, smelling his fear and seeking him out to their locale, enticing that sense of curiosity and concern that any living person would pursue in order to ensure the inhabitant from within was okay.

Riku wouldn’t be lured by their tricks, picking up the pace as his heart hammered within his chest, every beat sending spots into his vision. He had his goal, his mind set and determined to find Sora. There would be nothing that could get in the way of his goal, not even

‘I found you...’ That familiar voice hit him like a wave, crashing over him with a force that drew a startled, strangled sound from his lips. Riku hated how his senses seemed to shut down at the sound, hands clamped over his mouth once again as he felt the beginnings of panic settle over him all over. ‘You have my eyes... Give me back my eyes...!’

He saw the Eyeless Akinari’s fingers curl from around the corner of an alley, long digits digging into the wood as though using it for support, before the rest of his form came rounding about. Nose pointed high in the air, he sniffed and smelled for the living, breathing presence to walk among the dead, neck craning a moment before he directly faced Riku’s form.

Thoroughly caught, it spurred the silveret on, feet digging into the ground below as he broke into a sprint. Long limbs reached for him, the air charged with static from the energies Eyeless Akinari radiated, so much so, Riku felt the hairs on his arms stand on end as he twisted away from the ghost’s reach.

‘Don’t be greedy! Share your eyes with me!’

“Get ” His voice cut out, a particularly harsh beat of his heart shaking his very being as he scrambled for balance and bolted down the village steps, hands shooting out to push himself off buildings as he practically ricocheted back and forth clumsily with each dodge. “ your own!”

Riku climbed over stone fencing, leaping over modest gardens that had long lost their fruit and flora, before vaulting over into the roads behind. All the while, Eyeless Akinari followed like a bloodhound chasing its target without mercy, begging and pleading that Riku comply with his requests (demands). Breath heavy on his lips, he descended further and further into the village, ignoring mournful cries and wailing pleas, even when hands sought a banister for stability, ghostly counterparts rising to grasp at them in an effort to further seek his aid.

They were disembodied arms, but the voice to echo in sharp gasps in his ears was particularly feminine.

‘Help me! Please, help me! It hurts! It hurts!’ “I-I’m sorry, I can’t !”

‘Give me back my eyes! You stole them! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!’

Riku tore his hand from the partial apparition, continuing on his race to find his friend. If he could somehow lose the Eyeless Akinari

The cherry blossoms... Eyes widened at the sight of them, that particular part of the village having been long abandoned over the fear of the tainted waters. The ghosts avoided the pastel trees out of fear for their afterlives, for reasons Riku couldn’t entirely understand, not just yet. Sora had spoken very briefly over the matter, but the point remained the same: Cherry blossom trees meant safety.

Sparing no time, Riku bolted for the trees, narrowly missing another swipe from the Eyeless Akinari. The spirit let out an angered scream, making Riku’s blood run cold as the sound startled him and sent him sprawling onto the ground.

Lungs cried for him to stop, to rest and catch his breath, but Riku forced himself upright anyhow, hands reaching forward to clutch at the ground and pull him forward if he had to. The ghost was just above him, but fingers met soft fallen petals with that single reach. Fists clenched, the silveret twisted on the ground and threw a handful of petals at Eyeless Akinari in a last minute’s effort to fight back.

The scream was deafening, but Riku registered the pained sound not to be his own terror fueled, determined one.

Eyes that he hadn’t realized he squeezed shut slowly fluttered open behind the blindfold, catching sight of Eyeless Akinari’s flailing form behind embroidered fabric.

Riku took the moment to scramble back onto his feet, sprinting down the path despite the newly acquired ache he felt in his knee. The road through the cherry blossoms would only slow the phantom down, and surely, Riku would encounter the awful spirit someplace deeper into the village, near the mill the silveret knew resided just below the manor, and where likely, Sora resided in wait.

His chest burned, lungs on fire, but Riku refused to give pause.

Not until he found Sora and knew he was safe.

#VERSE ✬ FATAL FRAME AU #//Do I have enough warnings??? gjhskda who knows but wowie-- I wrote this a while ago c': again... THE BRAIN ROT IS REAL GDHJSK #I love this AU to bits ugh!! Super self-indulgent drabble~ I love the boys//#eye horror tw;#body horror tw;#stalking tw;#blood mention tw;#horror tw;#death mention tw;#ghosts tw;#✮ || ᵀʰᵉ ʳᵒᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵃʷⁿ (QUEUE)

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slash-em-up · 4 years

Text

A Quiet Evening In: The Collector x Chromeskull

This is all smut. Rough, rowdy, bloody smut. One person in particular is to blame for this. You know who you are...

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Asa could not have been unconscious for more than a few minutes; but that was apparently all the time Jesse needed to do his work.

The smaller man groaned as his obsidian eyes fluttered dazedly open, swallowing painfully around the bruise on his neck. A huff of breath met his bare skin as his companion observed his confusion.

Asa jerked forward, intent on returning the crushing choke-hold he’d been held in several minutes prior, only to find his arms and legs immobilized by thin lines of chord. He snarled as he struggled, unwilling to admit defeat this quickly in the game - but Jesse was having none of it.

A palm swung out quickly and caught the side of Asa’s face in a blow that would have brought a lesser man to his knees - thankfully, Asa was already sitting, splayed out on the mattress, completely exposed, and didn’t have far to fall.

His teeth snapped at the retreating hand, and Jesse broke away from sucking a deep bruise into his collar bone to reach for the phone he kept placed on his side of the bed.

‘Ah-ah old man, you’re mine tonight. I won fair and square.’

The electronic voice echoed through the cavernous room, and the bound man heaved again, attempting to buck his partner from his seat between his spread legs; but only succeeded in pressing his cock against the muscular thigh planted casually between his own.

The bastard had gotten re-dressed while he’d been… indisposed, and the expensive black fabric caressed his length in a maddening sensation.

Jesse rose just enough to smirk at Asa, the thrill of getting the better of the other man obviously doing wonders for his ego - and his arousal, if the bulge beneath his leather belt was anything to go by. The thigh was back in an instant, rubbing against his naked dick in a way that was clearly deliberate as Jesse pressed against Asa’s shoulders just enough to allow the taller man to bend him and access his chest once more.

His head dipped and Asa pursed his lips hard to keep from crying out as Jesse’s teeth sunk into the meat of his pectoral; roughly sucking but never coming quite close enough to the spot he knew would drive the bound-man mad.

It was only by Asa’s nearly super-human self-control that he was able to keep his hips from humping desperately into Jesse’s grinding thigh as the tall man switched sides, viciously attacking his sensitive nipple with teeth and lips.

His teeth bared and an involuntary keening growl left him as Jesse made his way slowly down his abdomen. Tracing each scar and mark with a playful tongue - nipping anywhere that made Asa flinch; but not truly biting until he was face-to-face with Asa’s now fully-aroused cock.

Abruptly, Jesse sat up - snapping his fingers as if he’d just remembered something important - leaving Asa to heave and writhe against his ropes in an effort to escape before the man returned.

Jesse nearly skipped back to the bed, holding aloft a silver ring.

It took Asa a moment to recognize the toy for what it was; but when he did his struggles increased ten-fold.

“Fuck you, fuck - you’re not putting that on me - fuck!”

Sadly; Jesse was a master at his work, and the ropes held - allowing the taller man to use his considerable strength to press Asa down before he slipped the chrome cock-ring over his dripping arousal.

He could only growl incoherently as Jesse lay in-between his spread and bound legs - looking for all the world like the cat that caught the canary - before beginning to mouth mercilessly at the sensitive skin along the crease of Asa’s thigh.

The first sharp bite wasn’t unexpected; but it did make him jolt. The second was even closer to his red, weeping cock, and if Asa was a lesser man he’d have been begging by now.

One of Jesse’s hands rose to play with his nipples as his mouth continued to suckle and tease Asa’s thighs.

The other slid like a serpent into the space he’d created between the bed and Asa’s body to fondle the other man’s weighty balls.

Asa did buck at this - though whether this was to knock the hand away or present the man with more skin to mark was unknown even to him.

His head tossed back and forth as Jesse switched to his other thigh, giving it the same treatment before his hand moved from his swollen sac to wet two long fingers briefly in his mouth.

“… The fuck… are you…?”

But Asa’s question was answered before it was even asked as Jesse pulled the broad man down by his hips, gripping his skin and keeping his legs spread as his fingers circled Asa’s thick cock, his balls, then down to his hole - pressing inside without pause.

Groaning at the stretch, Asa jerked his legs attempting to trap Jesse between them; but the slack on the ropes holding him spread were still too tight - all he accomplished was giving Jesse a good laugh as he began to thrust his hand roughly into the quivering hole of his partner.

Every breath exited Asa’s heaving chest in a breathy snarl as Jesse located and began to pound against his prostate, while his clever fingers wrapped teasingly around Asa’s cock and slid up and down in time with his thrusts.

The entrapped man collapsed back on the bed as Jesse’s hands abruptly left his body, only to reach and quickly undo the ropes holding his legs to the bed.

Asa sprang.

But Jesse was too quick, and ready for his attack.

A hard fist met his face like a sledge-hammer, and though he writhed and fought he still ended up tossed roughly to the floor on his knees - arms tightly bound behind him.

The blood dripped from his nose down into his mouth - giving him a feral look as he snarled and tried to whirl on Jesse; but once more the tall man had him beat.

His bruised neck was gripped tightly from behind, leaving him bent on his knees, forehead touching the cool granite floor of Jesse’s bedroom.

A flurry of colorful exclamations ran through the scientist’s head as a hand came down on the meat of his ass.

He was getting fucking spanked!

His head tossed back and forth against the floor as the painful blows rained down.

Jesse had always appreciated his ass… and he better enjoy this, because once Asa was out he was going to flay him alive.

Once the strikes ceased Asa could barely move - only peripherally taking in the sound of a zipper being undone, before Jesse’s hands were on him once more - this time taking large handfuls of his hips - pulling him up until his heated skin was met by Jesse’s own hard cock.

Asa could have cried at the sensations assaulting his body - the bruises, the bites, the blood, the god damn cock-ring - and if Jesse didn’t fuck him right now he might actually explode.

“Get inside of me Cromeans…” he snarled lowly into the silent room.

Jesse obliged.

The pair had a running bet that Jesse could always get Asa to scream for him when they fucked and he was feeling very, very close to winning that wager as his long cock sunk into the stretched hole before him.

Asa’s mouth dropped open with a loud “Ungh!” as Jesse hilted and began a punishing pace.

It was times like these that he bemoaned his lack of voice the most, because the litany of filthy praise that ran like a soundtrack in his mind every time he was able to get Asa under him would have been enough to make a piggy squirm. And he longed to see the blush he was sure would rise on the other man’s face. Still shy and unwilling to be complimented, even after all they’d done together.

This thought more than anything caused Jesse to throw his full weight into his motions, gripping the thick handfuls of skin and muscle that made up Asa’s hips like a life-line as he aimed for his prostate.

He could tell he hit it dead-on when Asa tried to bury his face in his own shoulder - muffling the rasping cry that left his bruised throat.

Each cry was hard-won and thoroughly enjoyed.

What little he could see of the man’s face was a mess of blood and sweat. His beautiful onyx eyes glazed in pleasure; but occasionally sharpening just enough in anger for Jesse to know that the cock-ring was holding Asa back from that final edge and he knew it.

He’d enjoy making the stubborn man beg for release.

Speaking of which…

Jesse pulled himself away from Asa’s body - taking a moment to appreciate how his hole fluttered in emptiness, small trickles of him pre-cum gliding down the bruised skin as Asa’s hip chased his own - before walking to face his partner.

Asa’s hair was thick and soft under his palm as he grasped it, forcing the other up from his sprawl.

There’s that look - the cold -ire promise that the second the tables turn and Jesse’s the one in Asa’s place… Jesse better cancel his plans for the day after.

But for the moment all Jesse can do is grin down at the bloody, bruised face of his lover.

He taps Asa’s lips.

They remain stubbornly shut.

Asa glares up at him defiantly.

Jesse sneers down before grabbing his face in a crushing grip.

Open or I break your jaw.

There’s a 50/50 chance he might have to anyway.

Asa contemplates for a moment before casually opening his mouth - long tongue lolling out like it’d been his idea all along, and would Jesse just get on with it?

The glint in his obsidian eyes betrays his pleasure as Jesse works himself to orgasm, spilling his cum across Asa’s face.

No sooner had Jesse stopped the final movements of his hands when his pleasure-filled fog is broken by the sound of ropes snapping.

Asa is on him like a tiger before he’s even fully aware of it - shredding Jesse’s clothes and yanking his slacks down his long legs.

A bright tinkling sound signals the removal of the cock-ring as Asa tosses it across the room; and Jesse can’t help but smirk as he’s man-handled back to the bed.

Fair’s fair, after all, and Jesse’s never been one to deny his partner a chance at pay-back.

As he feels a pair of handcuffs snap roughly around his wrists Jesse knows he’s in for a long night.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

#jesse cromeans x asa emory #the collector x chromeskull #jesse cromeans #chromeskull #asa emory #the collector slasher #the collector 2009 #the collection 2012 #laid to rest #chromeskull: laid to rest 2 #jessica writes #Horror Movies #slasher fiction

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thejamesoldier · 4 years

Text

Every Tomorrow

AO3 Link

a/n: Did I write this fic bc I slammed face first back into the inuyasha fandom after the premiere of yashahime? Absolutely. Did I write this fic so I could get those g o o d domestic inukag feels? Absolutely. Did I write this fic as a way to come to terms with the fact that one of my first crushes as a kid happened to be an animated dog man? Absolutely. Enjoy yall xxx

(this goregous gif isn’t mine!)

rating: explicit

pairing: inuyasha x kagome

tags: protective inuyasha, jealous inuyasha, emotionally constipated inuyasha, honestly whats new, youkai mates, soulmates, youkai culture, mate bonds, mate rituals, touch-starved inuyasha, shippo is kagome’s son dont talk to me, mirsan as parents, sesshoumaru is still kinda a prick but we like him now, angst and smut and fluff, domestic bliss, srsly this shit is so soft i should be arrested, non-canon compliant with yashahime, shit ton of inukag being cute tbh

summary: 'Kagome smiles through tears of insurmountable joy as a shadow passes over her. She tilts her head back and finds a familiar silhouette bending over the ledge of the well. The figure is still for a moment, as if frozen in utter disbelief, before a clawed hand reaches down to her and with a shuttering exhale, Kagome takes it. Inuyasha hauls her up into the light and suddenly, he's in front of her -- he's real. His silver hair, his ears, his red haori, those eyes of molten gold that stare up at her with nothing less than his very soul bared for her to see. Kagome observes such belonging in him, such love, and it completes her.'

my excuse to write some indulgent domestic inukag and explore their happy ending

Chapter 1 - mizpah

The day is grey.

Clouds rumble low and thick over the skyline, swallowing the tops of buildings in the distance and casting deep shadows across the shrine grounds. Kagome is supposed to go out today, a few friends asked her to grab lunch at some new bistro that's opened up near campus. She'd been contemplating how to work the impending downpour into an excuse to stay home, never really having the energy for much these days. Parsing out when to expend the limited energy she did have had become a constant chore since being cut off from --

A familiar pain twangs through her chest, the ache almost welcome. It's all she has left of him.

Maybe it's the rain, maybe its the gloom of the day pulling out the worst of her longing, but regardless she finds herself pushing silently out of her room, walking downstairs, slipping outside, and standing before the closed doors of the Bone Eater's well. Drawn back once again to what was stolen from her. Kagome had promised herself she'd stop doing this, stop torturing herself -- stop giving in to the inexplicable sorrow of living a life without him. But just like the other times, the temptation to let the true weight of her loss pour into the gaping hole in her soul and fill her to the brim, make her so heavy with it that she's brought to her knees, is a poison she's unable to resist. She does this more regularly than she knows is healthy, but its the only way Kagome feels whole anymore. If she's not drowning in loss then she's empty, and Kagome isn't sure which is worse. Without a word she shoulders the doors open and descends the rotting stairs.

The familiar musty smell of earth and something not quite alive but not quite dead hits her. Kagome's eyes water at the memories the scent yields. Before she can stop herself her fingers come up to caress the splintering lip of the ancient well. It feels...empty, same as it always does when she comes in here. The sensation is akin to a sense of hollowness, that the shaft of negative space that runs down the well's center is truly all that's left of the magic that used to come alive for her. A silent sob wrenches down her throat, rendering her vulnerable to the torrent of emotion that swells in her. She let's each gasping breath tear her open, tear out all that's left of her. A sick relief floods her as the sorrow emerges fully and, as always, she crumbles to her knees under the burden of it.

Inuyasha...

Just saying his name, even in the privacy of her own mind, tares something vital out of Kagome's core. She hopes he knows, hopes that despite it all he knows that she is still his in every way a person could be. Disassembled and broken as she is, Kagome offers her anguish to the well praying that if it wouldn't return her to him, then it could at least take her devotion instead.

Carry it to him, remind him he's loved...

For a moment she considers descending the well and curling up at the bottom of it, willing her feelings to reach him, but the thought of her mother finding her like that again...she couldn't bare it. Her mom had been so heartbroken, so overwhelmed with worry when she found Kagome lying at the bottom of the well, cheek pressed to the dirt and eyes seeping tears that wouldn't stop. She wouldn't do that to her again. With that thought Kagome tries to rally herself, to yank her heart away from the addicting agony of missing him and prepares to push her mind into the nothingness she utilizes to numb the pain. She had allowed herself this much and it had to be enough for now, anymore and she'd send herself into a deeply harmful depressive state.

Kagome closes her eyes and uses the well to help heave herself to stand, movements slow and body sore, feeling like her limbs are made of lead. Before she turns to leave, Kagome grips the well as fiercely as she can with both hands. A feeling of intensity overtakes her in that moment and she's unable to think of anything but:

Inuyasha, Kagome declares to the emptiness of the well, I want to see you.

What happens next astounds her. Fate smiles in glee as -- finally -- the threads of time align and pull taught. A gentle breeze smelling of sunshine and wildflowers drifts up to Kagome, it's warm fingers brushing tenderly through the hair that hangs in her face. Kagome's eyes open with an audible gasp. Her heart blossoms because there, lying at the bottom of the well, is a cerulean sky -- a few wispy clouds floating lazily by. The sound of birds singing echoes up to her and suddenly, the Bone Eater's well bursts to life. Kagome is embraced by the energy of the well like an old friend as it resurrects in silent sparkling splendor around her. It soaks into her skin, her soul, filling her with hope instead of sorrow. It's pure life, and it beckons to her with such surety that it breaks Kagome's heart.

"Kagome?"

Her mother's voice forces a sharp exhale out of Kagome, she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. Kagome can't look away from the impossible sky below her though, she's frozen in shock and wrestles with the possibility that this isn't a dream. She's had so many that happened just like this. Kagome...Kagome doesn't dare to hope...

"What's wrong?" Mrs. Higurashi asks as she makes her way down the stairs and comes to a stop behind Kagome, concern strangling the usual softness of her tone into an unsure waver.

"Mom," Is all Kagome is capable of saying, and it comes out in a hoarse terrified whisper.

Kagome hears her mother give a small gasp of disbelief, before Mrs. Higurashi steps up close beside her daughter and peers down the well too.

"The sky," Kagome hushes, still unable to fully accept what's happening but slowly becoming afraid that this will all be ripped from her. Again.

A gentle hand wraps around her shoulders and pulls Kagome back from the ledge. Kagome lets her mother do this, lets herself lean into her mother's warmth in the face of all this crushing possibility.

"Mom I," Are the shaky words Kagome tries to preface her departure with, not sure what to even say -- lost in how she's meant to articulate the avalanche of emotion she's feeling. Because even if this is a dream she can't bare to wait any longer, she needs to know if...if maybe the well heard her and is by some miracle answering her prayers.

Mrs. Higurashi turns Kagome around to face her, hands soft as they frame her daughter's shoulders.

"Kagome," Her mother says her name and it holds all the world in it, Kagome looks up and is immediately swept away by the love in her mom's eyes. Mrs. Higurashi smiles at her then -- kind eyes closing on tears that are beginning to fall, and Kagome nearly collapses, "I understand."

With a sob Kagome embraces her mother for the last time.

"Tell Sota and Grandpa that I love them," Kagome murmurs in a rush.

Her mother only squeezes her tighter and nods. They shake in each other's arms for another breath before both pulling away.

"I am so proud of you Kagome," Mrs. Higurashi says, voice trembling with emotion but warm, always so warm.

"I love you Mama," Kagome responds as tears begin to swell in her eyes.

"Give this to him for me," Her mother requests as she takes Kagome's face in her hands, and leans in close to press a searing kiss to her forehead.

"Oh Mama," Kagome weeps as her mother's love wraps around her heart and fills her with a kind of joy she hasn't felt in years.

Mrs. Higurashi leans back a little and uses her thumbs to wipe the wetness off of Kagome's cheeks.

"Tell him that I love him, that I've always seen him as a son, and that I am proud to have him be apart of our family."

Kagome deteriorates into a watery mess as the sentiments her mother just shared wash over her. Wordlessly, Mrs. Higurashi helps her daughter climb up onto the lip of the well before they simply stare for a moment, taking each other in one more time. Then her mother bestows her one last parting gift.

"Live Kagome," Her mom hushes, fierce happiness triumphant in her voice, as she releases her daughter's hands and watches as she turns to leap down the well, body disappearing from sight moments later.

Goodbye Mama, Kagome calls back as she sinks into time.

Kagome relishes the sensations traveling through the well give her -- a fierce nostalgia gripping her chest at the bursts of cobalt light, the galactic vastness watching her fall past, the light at the bottom of the well welcoming her home...

When she lands on solid ground a part of her fears so intensely that she's still in her time, that she refuses to open her eyes. What if she were to look up and see her mother staring down at her? Kagome hesitates for a moment, eyes closed, standing so still, terrified that this isn't real, and then something throbs in her chest --

She feels him, feels his youki hurtling towards her and suddenly, Kagome is no longer afraid.

Inuyasha!

Kagome opens her eyes and squints at the sky above her, the breeze she felt earlier encouraging her towards her future. She makes it about three fourths of the way up the well when she hears him. The pounding of his feet against the earth as he races closer, his aura a brilliant thriving thing that feels like the sun against her skin. Kagome smiles through tears of insurmountable joy as a shadow passes over her. She tilts her head back and finds a familiar silhouette bending over the ledge of the well. The figure is still for a moment, as if frozen in utter disbelief, before a clawed hand reaches down to her and with a shuttering exhale, Kagome takes it. Inuyasha hauls her up into the light and suddenly, he's in front of her -- he's real. His silver hair, his ears, his red haori, those eyes of molten gold that stare up at her with nothing less than his very soul bared for her to see. Kagome observes such belonging in him, such love, and it completes her.

"Inuyasha," She says his name, says it just for him, and he inhales, "I'm so sorry, were you waiting here for me?"

Inuyasha's expression shifts and Kagome gasps softly at the chaos he's trying to contain, but then he says her name. Says it just for her.

"Kagome."

A wet laugh escapes her lips at the sound of his voice, at how she used to long to hear him say her name, just like that.

"Inuyasha," Kagome murmurs again just because she can as her fingers play with the ends of his forelocks, eyes jumping all over his face trying to take in every part of him at once.

Unable to help herself, Kagome wraps both arms around his neck, relishing in the feel of his hair threading through her fingers, and presses her lips to his with a sigh. Inuyasha remains still for a moment, like his brain is one beat behind, before he clutches her to him so hard her lungs squeeze in her chest. Kagome doesn't care, in fact she doesn't feel like they're close enough. She wants to crawl her way into him and stay there forever, never to be separated again. The kiss feels like coming home, and it makes the part of her that sat empty for the past three years steadily fill. Inuyasha's lips are slightly chapped, she notes, and he kisses her like she's the only kind of devastation he'd willingly submit to. Impossibly, her love for him deepens further. Kagome pulls back with a gasp, trying to catch her breath as Inuyasha carefully sets her down on the ground, their lips brushing while the two of them tremble in the wake of such sweeping passion.

"Kagome," Inuyasha whispers her name again, like its the only word he knows, and dives back down to reclaim her lips.

She lets a soft noise shake loose from her chest when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his claws snagging on the material of her cardigan as he holds her close. Kagome feels a fang nip at her lower lip and, smiling into the kiss, she happily opens up for him. When their tongues meet, Inuyasha's hands raise to cup both sides of her jaw, mindful of his claws near such delicate skin. With something between a groan and a growl, he breaks their kiss to turn her head to the side, smoothing one reverent hand down the exposed length of her neck. Her heart beat picks up when in one long inhale, Inuyasha traces his nose in a steady line from her collarbone up to the patch of skin just below her ear. He makes a tender noise then, nearly a whine, and without preamble presses his face firmly into the arch of her neck, taking deep unhurried breaths through his nose. Kagome leaves one hand wrapped around the bulk of his shoulders, but brings the other one up to hold the back of his head in place against her. One of his ears flicks against her cheek and in a moment of raw delight, a giggle bubbles up from her throat as does a fresh wave of tears. Inuyasha flattens the offending ear against his skull but Kagome remains undeterred and drops a sweet kiss on to the delicate appendage, the soft fur tickling her lips a little. She holds him even closer as he melts against her at the intimate display of affection.

Oh kami she'd missed him so much.

"Kagome!"

It takes a second for the two of them to come back down to earth, but the call of Shippo's voice encourages Kagome to turn towards the sound of approaching footsteps. Inuyasha makes a firm noise against the skin of her neck -- a warning, like he wasn't ready to let her go yet. He tenses when she ignores him and stiffens even further as Shippo continues to barrel closer. In the span of a heartbeat Inuyasha has Kagome behind him and lets a true growl rip from his throat. Kagome startles against his back, realizing belatedly that he'd just threatened Shippo.

"Inuyasha?" Kagome's words come out sounding like an odd mix of admonishment and worry.

Shippo looks genuinely shocked at being challenged with such a territorial threat display, having slid to an abrupt halt at Inuyasha's feet. Inuyasha comes back to himself after a few beats, brain catching up with his instincts, and his aggression falters.

"Slowly," Inuyasha grinds out as he steps to the side to allow Kagome to come forward, working furiously to relax his muscles.

Respecting Inuyasha's warning, Shippo moves very carefully towards Kagome, though he only manages to take two steps before Kagome is crashing to her knees and hauling him into her arms.

"Shippo!" She cries and Shippo immediately starts bawling.

The young kitsune grabs tuffs of her hair in his tiny fists and smashes his face into her neck, repeating her name over and over again unable to help himself. Inuyasha stiffens again at this, but grits his teeth against the instinct to tear the runt clean out of Kagome's arms. She wouldn't like that, and honestly neither would Inuyasha, he knows how much Kagome means to Shippo.

What's wrong with me?

"You, you made it back!" Sango bursts as her and Miroku catch up and come to a stop a few feet in front of them, kids in tow.

"It's been much too long Kagome!" Miroku calls in absolute astonishment.

"Miroku, Sango!" Kagome all but weeps as she rises from the ground, Shippo still held tight in her arms, and rushes to embrace them.

Inuyasha feels that angry tug in his gut again at the idea of so many scents polluting Kagome's skin so soon after getting her back, but the larger part of him can only smile as he watches his woman hug Sango then Miroku -- mindful of the kids in their arms and murmuring little 'hello's to them as well. He can smell the depth of their rapture as they all rejoice Kagome's return. It puts Inuyasha's heart into a state of profound contentment, and he realizes then that he's never felt this way before. Who knew anticipation could be a good feeling? Because damn was he ready to experience every single tomorrow with Kagome by his side.

The rest of the afternoon is spent celebrating. Kagome reunites with Kaede, the elder priestess nearly speechless with elation at seeing Kagome push aside the noren of her hut. To Kagome's surprise Rin is also there, the young girl delighted by Kagome's return as well, and hadn't hesitated to gush about how lonely Inuyasha was without her. Inuyasha had only shrugged at this, not denying it but still sent a betrayed glare Rin's way as color rose high on his cheeks. Kagome is welcomed back by the people of the village too, townsfolk she'd gotten to know during her time collecting jewel shards being especially pleased to see her, though they knew not where she'd gone. Kagome and Inuyasha stuck to each other like glue through it all, unwilling to part for even a moment. No one blamed them.

At one point Kagome started to panic because she had to pee of all things, and the thought of loosing sight of her hanyou if only for a minute terrified her. The fear that this was a dream kept gnawing at her, and the possibility that this could all be taken away at any moment made Kagome feel physically ill. She'd held it in as long as she could before walking nearly knock-kneed to relieve herself. It turned out Kagome needn't have worried at all because without a word Inuyasha had followed her, giving her true privacy for only as long as it took to empty her bladder before he was within her sights again. Kagome had blushed furiously when it occurred to her that him being so close while she used the bathroom probably meant that he could...smell it. When she tried to shoo him away he only stared at her, firmly shaking his head no once, and waited. After Kagome had finished she'd made her way back over to Inuyasha, feeling incredibly sheepish about the whole situation. The moment she was close enough though he'd pulled her into a desperate hug and whispered,

"Please bare with me Kagome, I-I can't..." He'd trailed off but Kagome was already hugging him back, refusing to let go. She understood.

They shared a grand feast with Sango and Miroku that evening, Kagome using the time to properly acquaint herself with their children. Shippo sat in her lap for most of the meal, and its as she stared at her friends -- her family, that Kagome realized that she'd been given something truly precious and everything in her vowed to never let it go. This was more than she could have ever hoped for, and the fear that this was temporary strangled her multiple times throughout the reunion. But Inuyasha was always right there beside her, and having him close ended up being the only way to ease the worst of her anxiety. After everyone finished their food and caught up on each other's lives as much as they could in one sitting (the serious questions being left for tomorrow), the pair said their goodbyes for the night. Shippo had fought to retire with Inuyasha and Kagome, but was stilled by Miroku's hand on his small shoulder. Kagome embraced Shippo before delivering a soft peck to his cheek, letting him nuzzle back for a beat or two more before promising to come back first thing in the morning.

Now Kagome and her hanyou are getting settled in a hut the villagers had built for Inuyasha that's set on the outskirts of the village. It's quite obvious to Kagome from the state of the place that Inuyasha hardly uses it, though she knows how lonely he gets by himself and she figures he probably spends most of his time with Sango and Miroku who live more centrally to the village. Inuyasha's hut is mounted at the peak of a sloping hill, the tallest in the surrounding area besides the shrine itself. At first she wondered if the villagers meant to ostracize Inuyasha by putting his hut so far from everyone else's, but as they reach the hill's zenith, she realizes it isn't a sign of disrespect but quite the opposite. The vista from his home has views of the entire village and even overlooks a decent portion of the forest. On the opposite side of the hut, miles of stunning countryside sprawls under the hazy light of the setting sun all the way to the horizon. Inuyasha would be able to spot danger days before it arrived, or gain minutes to whole hours of advantage if the threat was a youkai. The villagers aren't keeping him at a distance, they're treating him like their Lord, giving him the highest ground, the most control over the land -- trusting that he will use it to protect them. It makes Kagome's heart clench with raging pride.

"It's beautiful," Kagome finds herself murmuring as they stand side by side overlooking the village together, the wind shifting their hair about their shoulders.

"Yeah," Inuyasha says, sounding distracted.

His tone makes Kagome shift her gaze over to him but she finds that he's already staring at her. Before he would have turned away with a blush and started spouting some blistering nonsense in order to cover up the fact that he'd been caught, but now he lets himself look. It makes something in Kagome's lower stomach go tight. They take each other in for what feels like a bracketed infinity, the moment sacred somehow, and neither of them are willing to break it. Inuyasha takes a step closer and reaches his clawed hands down to gently collect her smaller ones. He brings her hands up to his chest, cradling them there, not once looking away from Kagome's eyes.

"I promise I'll protect you with my life." Inuyasha declares, his voice low and quiet and meant only for her.

Kagome takes an uneven inhale and her heart skips a beat as she realizes he's repeating the same vow he gave to her in her room the night her family was away at the hot springs all those years ago. It hits her then how utterly hers Inuyasha is, how devoted to her he was in the past and how he has remained that way since. It's his way of telling her nothing has changed. Inuyasha watches this epiphany play out on Kagome's face and his expression softens around the steadiness of his gaze.

"I will allow nothing to take you from me again, and I will never leave your side."

Shuddering in the wake of his oath, Kagome shuffles closer to him and finally says what she's always regretted never telling him directly.

"I love you Inuyasha," She watches as his pupils drag wide at her confession, "You will always have me, and I will happily spend the rest of my life with you to prove that."

Inuyasha slowly lowers his head until their foreheads touch through the hair of their bangs, his eyes closing as he takes a deep breath in through his nose. Kagome feels a wave of peace come over her then that she finds she's quite content to drown in. She stays like that with him for another moment before pulling away just enough to catch his eye.

"My mother," Kagome hushes and Inuyasha instantly stills, "She asked me to give this to you."

Exactly as her mom did, Kagome extracts her hands from Inuyasha's and reaches for his face, fingers tender as they slide against the warm skin of his jaw. Panic flits across Inuyasha's features then, startled at being handled like he was something precious, and realizing he's horrifically unprepared for whatever is about to come next. Kagome's smile is nothing but fond as she tilts his head down enough so that she's able to lean in and deliver her mother's kiss to his forehead. Inuyasha's hands come up to wrap around her forearms, not to move her away but, Kagome suspects, just to have something to hold on to. His ears flatten under the gravity of the gesture. Kagome closes her eyes and remains there for another beat, before pulling away and lifting his face back up only to touch the tip of her nose to his.

"She also wanted me to tell you that she loves you," She murmurs.

Inuyasha releases a wet sounding exhale and attempts to move away -- overwhelmed by the rawness of all of this, but Kagome holds his face firm and presses on, wanting desperately for him to hear the rest because he deserves to know.

"She said she has always seen you as a son, and is proud to consider you family."

"Kagome," Inuyasha begs, his voice a wobbling mess as he nuzzles closer in defeat, unable to stand the depth of Mrs. Higurashi's gift to him.

After a long moment of them just breathing, he shifts his head and quietly slots their lips together. He releases his grip on her forearms so he can snake his arms around her middle, hands wrapping as far across her back as possible, before pulling her flush against him. Inuyasha keeps the kiss chaste -- utterly humbled. Kagome can only imagine what this must mean to him, and she hazards her mother must have known too.

They stay joined under the warm evening sky as the stars begin to shine through dusk's heavy golden canopy. The sun finally sinks all the way under the horizon, having delayed itself in order to cast as much light as possible onto the pair standing atop the hill -- presenting fate's masterful work to the heavens. A sudden gust of wind picks up around them, and it causes the two to sway a little. Hands clutching tight, lips molding softly, and hair floating around their heads as if submerged in deep water, they know nothing in that moment except each other.

Somewhere far beyond this world, a priestess -- no, an ordinary woman, looks down on Inuyasha and Kagome and smiles.

Kagome arranges the light summer quilt Sango lent her over the futon set in the back corner of Inuyasha's hut. She would have to do something (many somethings) in order to make this place livable. A shy glee erupts in her chest at the thought of decorating it, organizing a home for both her and Inuyasha to live in felt surreal to consider even in her own head. She used to daydream about this kind of thing, the fact that she finally gets to fulfill her fantasy -- that it's her life now, takes her breath away.

"Inuyasha?" She calls once she's finished fussing with the quilt, folding one corner down, ready to get into bed.

The hut is dark, the night outside is still, and the fireplace remains unlit so they don't overheat. Kagome tries to swallow the fear cloying up her throat. Ever since she spent a small eternity trapped in endless darkness with the Jewel of Four Souls, she finds she can no longer stand to be alone in the dark. Back in her time, it had to be either her mom, Sota, or Buyo sleeping beside her each night or she wouldn't be able to get any rest at best, and at worst she would descend into an anxiety attack. It wasn't until her grandfather had suggested installing a night light that she was finally able to brave the long nights alone, though she still prefers to have a warm body to cuddle. It was in moments like those that she'd longed for Shippo the most. Once she'd been able to sleep on her own she had the nightmares to contend with, and those always left her feeling as close to true panic as she'd felt when facing Naraku. There are no night lights in the Feudal Era, but Kagome figures she'll be okay as long as she has Inuyasha with her.

"Inuyasha?" Kagome says again, this time unable to keep the quiver of fear out of her voice.

In an instant she feels a rush of air hit her as he drops to a crouch beside her, like he'd bolted to her from across the room.

"Kagome? What's wrong?"

She melts into him and he accepts her weight against his chest easily, strong arms shifting forward to box her in.

"Where were you?" Kagome hopes she doesn't sound as small as she feels.

Inuyasha stills against her for a beat before wrapping his arms around her completely, securing her in his embrace. Kagome accepts this improvement with a grateful sigh.

"Just checking the window." He pauses, then very carefully, asks, "Is...are you alright?"

He sounds worried, crap.

Kagome feels a stab of guilt for freaking him out.

"I'm fine," Kagome assures quickly, "Just, um, I-I'm ready for bed."

Cringing internally, Kagome wonders if that was convincing enough. With that sharp nose of his, she hopes he doesn't pick up on her lingering (but quickly diminishing) fear. How on earth could she convince him to sleep on the futon with her? Surely he won't object? Not after everything that happened between them today?

"Okay, well, I'll uh see you in the morning then," Inuyasha stutters as he begins to untangle himself from her and pull away --

Kagome's panic skyrockets, and before she can say or do anything, Inuyasha must smell the spike in her fear because he immediately winds himself back around her body.

"Woah hey," He hushes, becoming even more alarmed as Kagome all but crawls into his lap.

"I-I can't be alone, at night," Kagome struggles to explain as she takes shelter in his renewed embrace, "The darkness it --,"

She cuts herself off when she feels Inuyasha pillow his cheek against the soft hair at the top of her head.

"I'll hold you till you fall asleep then," He promises in a soft voice, as soft as she's ever heard him speak.

She can feel his words vibrate through his chest, and it calms her nerves some. Kagome wants to argue, wants to push for more -- sleep beside me, hold me all night -- but she doesn't. He doesn't seem to want that, even after promising her he'd never leave her side. Kagome's anxiety gets the better of her and it seals her lips shut. She settles in the circle of his arms and is resolved to be satisfied with this, at least for now, knowing she's much too shaken to negotiate with him tonight. Kagome knows without a shadow of a doubt that she'll wake up the moment he sets her down on the futon, but she doesn't tell him that. Hopefully she can fake being asleep well enough to fool his hanyou senses, and hopefully the knowledge that he's nearby will be enough to stop her from having a full blown episode. If she can hang on till the early hours of the morning, maybe the fragile rays of first light will be enough to cling to. Kagome can admit to herself that she won't be able to maintain this routine for long, but she hopes it lasts until she's plucked up the courage to ask Inuyasha, point blank and without room for misinterpretation, to share her bed.

Inuyasha knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, no way would he risk making Kagome vulnerable to any kind of attack so soon after getting her back. His instincts wouldn't have allowed for any other course of action, and on this front Inuyasha is in rare agreement with his youkai half. But he doesn't expect Kagome to share the same determination. He'd panicked earlier when he smelled how fast and how sharply her fear had spiked. Inuyasha vowed to himself at that moment to never allow her to feel that way in his presence again, not if he could help it. She had held on to him so fiercely, and still is even after hours of being in the safety of his arms. Its like she's afraid he'll leave again. This knowledge makes something in his chest shatter and his gut ache. Unable to stop himself, he rubs his cheek where it rests against the top of her head and takes a deep inhale, letting her scent soothe him. Each time he hears her heartbeat slow and she starts to drift off, he waits a few minutes before trying to lay her down on the futon. Without fail though she's yanked back from sleep every time, as if his touch is vital in order for her to rest. A part of him relishes in this level of dependency on him, his youkai half preening at the fact that his mate --

Inuyasha grunts and stands, unwilling to entertain any thoughts about that, and makes his way swiftly out of the hut and into the mild night. He's careful not to jostle Kagome in his arms too much as he lowers into a measured crouch, and launches himself into the air towards the roof. Landing effortlessly on the balls of his feet, Inuyasha pauses as Kagome sighs in her sleep and twists her fists tighter into the material of his han-juban. Inuyasha blushes to himself thinking about how he had all but tripped out of the hut earlier when Kagome started changing out of her day clothes and into a yukata Sango had lent her in front of him.

With a firm shake of his head he banishes that particular train of thought from his mind, and lowers himself down to sit on the angled roof. After a minute of cautious shifting, he gives up and lies flat on his back, arranging Kagome's sleep-pliant body so she's tucked snuggly between his arm and his side. He tells himself this is different than sleeping on the futon with her, that this isn't breaking any 'rules of propriety' Kagome used to always yell at him about.

Screw it, he thinks, if I get sat for this in the morning it will have been worth it.

Inuyasha tries not to think about how much he sounded like Miroku just now, and grumbles under his breath about stupid delinquent monks and confusing female sensibilities.

The stars are a dizzying pattern above him, the moon is a sliver in the sky, and Kagome is curled safely into his side with her cheek squished against his chest while one of her leanly muscled arms has thrown itself securely across his waist -- Inuyasha couldn't feel more at peace if he tried. Everything is as it should be. He hasn't felt rightness like this since...well, since Kagome left three years ago. A cool evening breeze floats over them then, shooing away the insistent press of the summer heat, and kisses their temples before moving on. Inuyasha lazily picks apart the different scents the wind carried -- sap from the trees in the forest, ash from the chimneys in the village, wet earth from the banks of the nearby river...he lets it all wash over him, one sensation at a time. He remembers Kagome caught him doing this once years ago, and when she'd asked him about it he'd told her it was kind of like how humans count sheep when trying to fall asleep. A self-soothing exercise is what she concluded it was similar too. Inuyasha didn't elaborate that the habit was an old one he'd developed during his childhood. Back when he was too weak to fight any of the youkai that hunted him, he'd find somewhere to hide and rock himself in time with his breaths, carefully combing through the scents in the air until he was sure the threat had passed. There had been a brief pause before Kagome asked what he could smell, no judgment or disgust, just innocent curiosity and a hint of fascination simmering in the umber of her eyes. No one had ever asked him about his sense of smell like that before. Inuyasha's heart had clenched in his chest, and it does so now as the memory unfolds before him only this time without the promise of pain. Reliving cherished moments of his time with Kagome used to only bring him anguish, but now...

Inuyasha turns his face into Kagome's hairline that's level with his nose, flares his nostrils, and proceeds to take a sleepy inhale. Her scent shoots straight up into his head and a sensation that feels bizarrely like dizziness makes his skull feel light, and his mind feel like its floating. Inuyasha attempts to turn away once the moment passes, but his body refuses to comply. Instead, before he really knows what he's doing, Inuyasha finds himself nosing down her forehead, over the bridge of her nose, past her slightly parted lips, and under her jaw. Kagome mutters something unintelligible in her sleep in response to all of his tender nudging (Inuyasha resolutely ignores the way it makes all of his insides go soft), but ultimately allows her chin to be directed up, exposing her neck to him. Something in Inuyasha flares hot at the action, and he's instantly compelled to guide his nose into the notch of skin between her neck and her jaw. This is what he'd been searching for.

Safe, something inhuman in his head rumbles, only here is safe.

Inuyasha couldn't agree more, Kagome had always been ineffable to him. He had known Kagome by her scent before he'd known her by her features, it's what first caught his attention when Kikyo's spell keeping him pinned to Goshinboku started to falter. Inuyasha hadn't realized it then, but he'd belonged to Kagome the moment she'd told him her name. Inuyasha smiles like a complete love-struck idiot as he remembers the way she had puffed out her chest and demanded that he say her name right.

Ka - Go - Me!

He allows himself to continue grinning like a fool against the skin of her neck because no one's around to mock him for it, and because it feels good to be happy. He's happy --

"Inuyasha..." Kagome suddenly hums, his name on her lips the sweetest thing he'll ever hear.

Inuyasha pulls his face back just far enough to take in her expression, and something glorious surges in him when he finds that she's smiling in her sleep.

Phew that was hella soft lol, lemme know what you thought down in the comments below if you'd like! I embellished certain moments a little bit to make them more dramatic bc i couldn't help myself, i hope you didn't mind! Tbh it felt so good to write inukag, like im not gonna lie, I grew up watching the show and it feels a little like coming home to get into these characters' heads. Ok I'm gonna go continue my re-watch of the show now xxx

Masterlist

#Every Tomorrow #thejamesoldier #my writing #inuyasha x kagome #inukag #inukag fanfic #inukag fic #inukag fluff #inukag smut #inuyasha #kagome #kagome higurashi #domestic bliss #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic

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more-miserables · 4 years

Text

Here We Go: Yates and Ginger on the Run

Hi this is actually @cubeswhump editing on April’s blog. That’s why there’s a title, and why it’s so bad.

So this is a collab with moi, Cube. We’ve had this planned since even before April’s first whump fic.

Warning for abuse, death, institutionalized slavery, vomiting, trauma response.

The life of a runaway was far from glamorous. Ginger remembered daydreaming while he scrubbed endless floors and windows, picturing himself living with Yates in a calm, peaceful woodland, cradled every night by the soft ferns and leaf litter.

The city wasn’t calm or safe. Ginger didn’t stop running for a long time, hauling Yates along, until they were both gasping and red in the face. They dipped into a dark alleyway and Ginger ripped off his collar right away, grinning. It felt liberating. He tossed it away gleefully.

“Get rid of yours too,” he told Yates.

Yates didn’t react. His eyes were blank, though a steady stream of tears were pouring down his flushed cheeks. Ginger went to remove Yates’s collar himself, sighing. Yates didn’t fight him off, but he whimpered.

“Look, you can keep it if you really want to. You just can’t wear it, or it’ll be obvious we’re runaways.” He balled up the collar and stuffed it into Yates’s pocket.

They camped out in the alley that night, curled together under a nest of old newspapers - and that’s where they stayed for the next few days. Yates stayed in his weird catatonic funk, so it was Ginger who had to find them food and clothes and some sort of housing. It was harder than he’d thought. He knew so little about the outside world now. He learned to hang around market stalls, snatching at their displays and then running off with whatever loot he’d managed to grab.

He couldn’t properly treat his burned palm now. He couldn’t even wash it properly. It soon grew more painful than ever, weeping through the grubby bandages. Then Ginger woke with a fever, and he couldn’t drag himself up to go find food. Yates snapped out of himself enough to cradle Ginger’s burning head in his lap, stroking his hair.

Ginger peered up at Yates’s pale, grubby face through the fever haze. How would Yates manage if he died now? Maybe Stanley really was dead. Maybe they’d lock Yates up. He didn’t know if pets who committed crimes were refurbished or incarcerated. He pictured Yates stuck in prison all alone, crying for him. He couldn’t die. He could fight off anything. He had to.

The first time Ginger heard it, he was emerging from a dream where he was being chased by something bulky, heavy. Clomp, clomp. It continued when he woke up but softer. They huddled together frightfully, but the sound became smaller and smaller.

When it came again the next night, Ginger dared to look, and blanched when the figure looked back. It was gone the next night, but the night after that the clomps paused much too close to their hideout. And then they resumed, coming right toward them.

“What is that?” Ginger gasped.

“Maybe it’s the police,” Yates said shakily. “Because I’m a murderer.” He gave a little sob.

“You’re not. Stanley just fell,” Ginger declared.

“Shh!”

The footsteps stopped right in front of them, and a bright light shone in their faces. When Ginger dared give his fiercest glare through his fever-flushed face and squinting, he met big, blue eyes and shimmering glitter.

"Aha! Thought so," said this odd girl, long, black hair nearly touching their faces as she bent right over them.

“Go away! I… I’ve got a weapon,” Ginger lied as savagely as possible.

“Do you?” Yates gasped. “Where’d you get that?”

Ginger sighed heavily.

The snort was too loud for the girl. She set her phone down on the dirty ground, its flashlight shining toward the sky, and sat right in the alleyway with them in her clean jeans.

"Hiya there, Tweedledee and Dum." Her accent was on the brink of familiarity but impossible to place, and nothing like those of Stanley or Ivy or anyone at the facility. "Don't make those faces. We're comrades."

“Those aren’t our names. You must be mistaking us for someone else,” Ginger said.

Her face changed to something between a laugh and a grimace. "Righto. Mister and Mister fifty-sixty-ten?"

“That’s… not quite our number,” Yates whispered.

“Shh!” Ginger hissed. “Don’t tell her.”

She paused, tilting her head, then rolled back the sleeve of her big coat.

"See this?" she asked, tapping on one of the big, green serpentine creature wrapping all around her forearm. The sparkly nail touched upon a segment covering her inner wrist. Ginger rubbed his eyes, trying to see clearly. His vision had been wobbly for a while now. She pointed the flashlight at it.

He frowned. “There’s nothing there..?”

"'Xactly. Numbers aren't forever, love," she said, the bright light dancing around as she pulled her sleeve back down over the tattoo.

“You mean you were one of us?” Yates asked.

"Bingo," she said, pointing at him. "C'mon, up up. You can get warmed up at my place while I make a few calls, yeah?"

She paused, head tilting to one side. She added, "You're probably not too keen on trusting a stranger, one of your own or not, but Little Red here ain't lookin' so hot, and I don't think you've many options."

“He isn’t,” Yates said desperately. “I can’t get his temperature to go down. Can you really help us?”

"Yep, sure. You able to walk, Little Red?" She stood up, shining her phone at him. The light also illuminated the height of the platforms of her weather-inappropriate shoes, and it was clear what the clomping was.

“I dunno. Haven’t tried in a couple of days.” Ginger shakily got to his knees, and Yates helped him up the rest of the way.

"You got it?" she asked.

“I think so.” He paused. “Why’d you wear shoes like that? They look uncomfortable.” Neither Yates nor Ginger had shoes at all, their bare feet cut and filthy.

"Uniform, of sorts. I don't feel like carrying an extra pair of shoes to put on when I'm done with work."

“What job makes you wear shoes like that?”

"Tell ya later," she said, unzipping her jacket and tossing it to them. Despite the chill, she seemed fine in the tank top underneath. "Anyway, I'm Jamie. You guys got any name preferences for yourself?"

Yates opened his mouth, but Ginger shook his head quickly. Maybe Stanley’s “accident” had been on the news. They didn’t want to be tied to his surname. “Not anymore,” Ginger said.

She seemed more cautious when they entered a neighborhood, looking at the windows of all the houses. It was nothing like Stanley's neighborhood, junker cars in tiny driveways and people shouting with open doors.

"Well, that's something to think about. You've got plenty of time though."

“We shouldn’t be out in the open,” Ginger hissed. He was still trying to look threatening, though that was difficult to pull off when he was leaning heavily on Yates just to stay standing.

"No duh, but we don't have much of a choice," she muttered, pulling out a smartphone and typing away on it. "My house isn't far from here."

“Who are you texting? You’re not turning us in, are you? Is this a trick?”

"Can you read? Genuine question, I know lots of us can't. I'll show you the conversation, I'm just telling my mate we're havin' company."

“I… a little bit. He can’t.” He pointed at Yates. “I’m not good at… being us.”

She held the phone out to Ginger, showing a text conversation with someone called Vivi:

Get bread read a green bubble, and then, And strawberries.

The following white bubble said: I'm already on our street. Needy cunt.

There was another white bubble with a later timestamp, seemingly unrelated to the previous exchange: Bringing some blokes over.

Green: Wtf - followed by a crying face emoji.

White: Chill, they're cool.

“What’s this word?” Ginger asked, pointing to the Wtf message. “There’s no vowels. Why doesn’t it have vowels?”

"Acronym or anagram or something. Each letter stands for a different word, in this case it means 'what the fuck'."

“Oh. She doesn’t seem too pleased that we’re coming.”

"She's shy, not angry. She'll just hide in her room," Jamie said, pocketing her phone. And she walked down an empty driveway, not allowing them much time to process this response.

“This is your house?” Ginger asked. He sounded relieved but breathless, his face waxy pale and sweaty.

"Yep. Mi caso- casa, su casa," she said, trying the doorknob before patting her pockets for the key. She swung it open and kicked off her shoes very loudly, both thumping against a stained wall. She was about the same height as Yates now, possibly smaller if she washed out her hairspray.

"Hey Vivs!" she yelled to no one in sight. Ginger winced at the noise, closing his eyes against the bright light. Everything hurt.

"You guys wanna shower?" she asked, and gestured toward the bathroom. "You should prob'ly get cleaned up and then we'll see what we can do about that fever. We prob'ly have some pyjamas that won't fit too terribly."

“I wanna sleep,” Ginger muttered. It was getting harder for Yates to keep him upright.

"Uh, sure." She gestured for him to follow as she walked into the tiny living room. The furniture was surprisingly nice, and the TV looked gigantic against the wall.

"So, do we know what's causin' the fever and general… drowsiness? I haven't heard you coughing or sniffing." Her voice never seemed to lose volume, just as loud as she disappeared through a doorway.

“I think he has an infection,” Yates said. “He’s got a terrible burn and we couldn’t get it properly treated.”

She appeared again with two glasses of water, setting both on the silver coffee table that was squished in between the sofa and the stand the TV sat on. "Can I take a look?"

“No,” Ginger muttered, looking uncomfortable. “It’s gross.”

"Don't you want me to put somethin' on it until we can have it properly looked at?"

“Well… The bandages could use a change.”

She paused. "Would you be more comfortable if I gave your buddy the supplies so he can do it?"

“Yes,” Ginger said quickly. “I need him to do it.”

She disappeared in a different direction this time. Cabinets opened and closed with thumps.

"Viv, what shit do I use for an infected burn? Hey, where are bandages?"

Footsteps, this small girl impossibly loud in her bare feet. "What do I use for an infected burn and where do I find it?"

The response, if there was one, was inaudible but after some more thumping, Jamie emerged with a tube of antiseptic and bandages. "One sec, I'll get you soap and water. Oh, a towel too. Vivien says to wash first and pat it dry, then…"

She went on as she disappeared into the kitchen. Yates tried to follow her and Ginger stumbled, not expecting the movement. They ended up in a heap on the carpet.

"No, I'll get a bowl! Wait!" She reached toward them as if to just yank up two grown men, but she stopped herself. She straightened out and offered a hand instead.

Yates went to take it, but then Ginger bent over and puked on the carpet. Yates’s face crumpled and he quickly positioned himself in front of Ginger, hunching over him protectively. “I’m sorry! It’s not his fault. He’s been vomiting for the past few days.”

"Uh, yeah, that happens." She was suddenly a bit quieter, smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Yeah, I'm gonna… can I help you get him on the sofa?"

“Please. I can’t… I don’t think he can stand anymore.” Yates was near tears. “He’s been like this for a while and I hate that I can’t do anything. He tries to push himself for me but then this happens.”

The corner of her lip twitched. "I get that."

She knelt down and gripped Ginger under his arms, dragging him up. Her brows knitted together, teeth grit, but she managed to frog march him to the sofa and forced him into a sitting position. Yates sat beside him and held his shoulders when he started slumping forwards. Ginger was barely conscious now, his eyes glazed and half-closed.

The hours were a blur, soap and antiseptic and coaxing painkillers and water down Ginger's throat while he was still pliable. Jamie was all over the place but the faceless Vivien never made an appearance. By the time they’d finished, Ginger was asleep - or unconscious.

And then Yates was stirring, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. When did he fall asleep, and how long? It was almost pitch black save for a light from the hall.

After a quick check that Ginger was still breathing, he heard it: mumbled voices from down that hall. He carefully moved off the sofa, silent in his bare feet, and crept towards the noise and the light. He peered through the crack in the door.

"Just- okay," Jamie said, trying to control her volume as it started to rise. "If you're goin' to be fookin' useless, just give me David's number."

"What's she saying?" This voice was unfamiliar, and effortlessly quieter than Jamie's. "Jamie, what's she saying?"

"She thinks a phone call will put her safehouse in danger. She's worked with countless o' us and she's too chickenshit to take on a pair that's got in a bitta trouble. What? Murderer? Marianne, that's blimey unfair to call him that! Just give us David's number!"

Yates started shaking at the word. Murderer murderer murderer. Was Stanley dead then? Did people know about it already? He hadn’t really meant to push Stanley - or he hadn’t planned it, at least. When Stanley had been ranting and raving about how he was going to split him and Ginger up, something in Yates just snapped. Stanley was hovering right there, tantalisingly close to the perilous staircase. He pushed without thinking. But he’d still pushed. He was a murderer.

"Jamie, they'll hear you! You're so loud!"

"Mar, just… Vivi, can you go check on them?"

"No fear!"

Yates was trying to stay quiet, but murderer was still spinning in his head. A little whimper slipped out before he could stop it.

There was a beat of silence that seemed to last for hours.

"Hold on, gimme a sec. And you better not fookin' hang up."

The door opened slowly. A girl with a puff of frizzy brown hair and gigantic eyes stared from the bed, but she faded to the background. The girl standing before him was almost unrecognizable with her black hair lying limply and makeup washed off; no contouring giving the impression of high cheekbones, eyebrows and eyelashes almost nonexistent at a glance for they were so pale. But the voice was unmistakably Jamie.

"Hey, so you heard that. That's fair, it is your business, but… this prob'ly wasn't the best way to start the discussion."

“You promised you wouldn’t turn us in,” Yates gasped. He felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out, and he gasped frantically. “You said you were on our side! But now they’ll come for us and split us up.”

"No one's turnin' anyone in. Come sit down, you look ready to faint."

“I h-heard you say it. You called me murderer,” Yates whispered.

"No, I was sayin' that you're not, I know the kinda circumstances…"

“We’ve got nowhere to go,” Yates said, starting to sob frantically. “I don’t know what to do!”

"Listen, listen. There's people who help us when we escape. There are places for us to stay. And I'm tryin' to get you to one of these safehouses so you'll be safe."

“You promise?” Yates wept. “You won’t split us up either?”

"No way. Vivien and I met in a safehouse, didn't we?" Jamie asked, and the frizzy-haired girl gave a jerky nod. "They're fine, way better than what we left. No owners, none o' that shit."

“Will they help Ginger’s hand?” He gasped. “Oh, I said his name!”

"Ginger?" She raised her invisible eyebrows, snorting humorlessly. "I was interchangeably Blondie and Bimbo. Yeah, they'll help him. They'll have all the right medications."

“I don’t think he likes his name much. He says we can choose our own now,” Yates said. “But I don’t think that’s allowed.”

"Come in, sit," she said, practically forcing him to sit on the bed, as Vivien retreated from the room. "Who says it's not allowed?"

“Everyone…” he mumbled. “Everyone in training and Stanley and Ivy.” Yates wasn’t too good at this lying low business.

"So? You're not pets anymore. I named me Jamie."

“Why Jamie?”

"Dunno. Felt right. Not too girly, not too boy-ee, short and simple, straight to the point."

“Did your owners name you first?”

"One, not owners. Slave drivers. Two, kind of, as I said earlier. Not a proper name, just…" She pulled a face, and put on a deeper, plummy voice. "''Come here, Blondie!' 'Don't drop that, Bimbo!'"

“Stanley called me by his surname. He could be so kind to me,” Yates mumbled, fingering the collar still in his pocket.

The phone on the bed vibrated. Jamie picked it up and looked at it as she talked. "Tell me, Curls. Should a human have possession of another human?"

“I…” He winced as his head throbbed and he reverted back to the phrases drilled into him in training. “That’s none of my concern. I just have to work diligently and follow orders.”

"Why? Why do you have to do that and not, say, Stanley? Think about it, I got this schmuck's number."

“Schmuck?” He didn’t recognise that word. Was it bad?

"I don't know the origins but yeah, it's derogatory. I like to think of it as a mix o' shit and fuck but there's an m, so I dunno."

“You have his number?” Yates started shaking again, biting his lip. What did she mean? He’d had a number before, him and Ginger. Was this David one of them too?

"Yeah? His mobile? He's this big money agent of sorts, he's not so bad actually but ya know, rich people."

“Sorry, yes, of course. It just… started to feel real,” Yates mumbled dazedly. “And you’re sure he’s good? He won’t turn us in?”

"Nah, he has a huge network for pet lib. Uh, pet liberation. He helps us get free. He doesn't run a safehouse, he's too much in the public eye so he'd get caught, but he, like, funds a bunch and I think his son runs one. If I ring him he'll know where to place you."

“Can’t we just stay here with you?” Jamie was the first person to treat them kindly since… well, as long as Yates could remember.

"You can come and visit, I'd love that. We're mates now, right? But you guys need medical care, therapy, shit you won't get here. Plus I work nights six days a week and Vivien, much as I love her, won't be a great hostess to you two."

“But we can visit? Definitely?”

"Yeah, and if David tells me where you are I'll visit too."

Yates smiled; it was very weak, but it was his first real smile in days.

It was almost peaceful - almost - with the orange-pink light of the rising sun filling the room, a steaming cup of watery hot chocolate in his hands, a cartoon playing on the TV, him and Ginger getting a good night of sleep for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. The anxiety was still there as Jamie murmured to an unseen stranger on the phone, occasionally peeking out of the kitchen to check on him, and the uncertainty surrounding Ginger's fever and bandaged hand.

Jamie came out at last, the rectangular outline of her phone in her baggy pyjama pants. She grinned and gave him a thumbs up, perching on the arm of the couch.

“Is it all fixed?” he whispered, hardly daring to hope.

"Yep. Says he'll be sendin' someone promptly, his words. Hopefully you get someone fun, my Marianne was such a fussy grandma."

“I don’t think Ginger would like fussy people.”

"Let's cross our fingers, bud." She crossed her fingers for him to see. "But you won't be placed with anyone bad, I promise."

“Okay…” Yates still didn’t look too sure. He stuck close to Jamie, following her around like a puppy. He jumped violently when there was a soft knock on the door sometime later.

Jamie glanced toward the door, and over at Yates.

"Think that's your ride."

#whump #bbu #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #male whumpee #female caretaker #no whumper #multiple whumpees #burns #tw abuse #abuse tw #injury #emeto tw #tw emeto

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alolanrain · 4 years

Text

Nessa doesn’t believe it. She looks at Raihan with a raised eyebrow as Sonia continues to try and drag detail after detail out of him. “You’re so not in a relationship.”

“I am too!?” Raihan scrunched his face up at her. Eyeing the water gym leader like she’s gone particularly crazy. “Just because I don’t want to say anything more then ‘I’m taken’ doesn’t mean I’m not in a relationship.”

“Still.” She scoffed. Turning her nose up and away from the much taller man.

“Nessa!” Sonia admonished.

They didn’t say anything more after Sonia conceded the floor back to Raihan who was talking about how cool Sinnoh was during his dragon tamer camp he got to go to.

Nessa still held onto her doubts but refused to speak any more on the topic of Raihans so called significant other.

———

It’s two years later when she spots a simple ring on Raihans finger, an engagement ring to be precise. They were at Melody’s place for a group dinner, Leon couldn’t make it like usual but that didn’t mean they couldn’t.

Raihan was talking in his comical way with his hands again. The piece of jewelry glittered in the sunlight that his hand swiped through when made a swooping motion, to represent a bird Pokémon to Gordie, before Melody immediately grabbed his hands and brought it up back into the light to examine it.

“Your married!?” Gordie was the first one to speak. Jaw slack as he spotted the ring for the first time.

“Engaged.” Raihan corrected. A syrupy sweet smile graced his lips as his bright blue eyes softened when Melody let out of his hand. Raihans other hand came up and his fingers twisted the ring about.

“I’m so happy for you!” Melody sang. Slinging an arm around Raihans shoulders and bringing the much large young adult into a tight side hug.

“Thanks Miss Melody.” Raihan grumbled.

“Oh who’s the lucky girl?” Piers snipped from the couch he was laying on. Currently having one of Melody’s younger kids on his stomach while the other happily plays with his hair.

“Who’s the lucky Ratatta in your hair?” Raihan snipped back jokingly. The two stuck their tongues out at each other but Piers didn’t question Raihan any further.

Nessa opted not to say anything. Biting her bottom lip between her teeth as she watched Milo get excited along with Bea and Opal about wedding plans and what’s Raihans theme for the wedding.

apparently it was gonna be themed after the sun and night. Very poetic and had all the girls there swooning slightly and Raihan actually having a more visible blush on his face.

She still couldn’t find it in herself to believe Raihan. For so long he’s been trailing after Leon, their residential sunshine boy, and it seems so weird that Raihan would just drop him all of a sudden. Even after working so hard to get Leon to notice him romantically for years.

Nessa will ask Sonia later. Raihan trust’s her more then anyone else in the league with this kind of gushy stuff. she’s bound to know more then anyone else. they are childhood friends after all with Rose being Raihan’s dad and Professor Magnolia being her Grandma.

———

“Wait you have no clue!?” Nessa nearly screamed in shock and a bit of anger, “but you’re Raihan’s childhood best friend.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn't know.” Sonia pointed out. stabbing into her piece of cake and eyeing her Grandma who was looking at some books on the other side of the lab and household. “Even though I kinda should? If that makes sense.”

Nessa rolled a hand at her friend to continue as she sipped at her tea. eyes never leaving Sonia’s depressed face.

“It’s obvious that Raihan wants to talk about... whoever he’s engaged to, but he always stops at the last second and looks around like someone might be recording him. even when we’re alone at his house or mine! this engagement is like this big dirty secret that nobody can know about and it’s killing me Nes! it’s killing me!” Sonia whined. slumping onto the table as Nessa moved her tea away, this was normal for the red head girl to act like this, draping herself over any object or living thing when she’s having a ‘crisis’.

“Have you asked him about it?” Nessa prodded, “like call him out over him being secretive?”

“I have!” Sonia shot up, hands almost slamming onto the table but stopping just above it, eye’s going back to her unassuming Grandma, “he called me a ‘bad friend’ for trying to pry into his deep personal life but I have the right as a best friend to know who he’s going to get married to.”

Nessa didn’t say anything to that. perusing her lips and staring down to her half filed cup of tea.

“Do you think he might be scared of something happening?” Sonia pipped up after a few minutes of both of them brain storming just what would make Raihan keep such a big secret under wraps for so long.

“No clue.” Nessa muttered.

———

Nessa’s the third one to notice the change of rings on Raihan’s hand. instead of a simple plain silver the ring was now a thick dark oak band mixed with some kind of dark blue jewel and gold. Elegant and stylish.

she walked in on Raihan having a stare down with Rose, not even bothering to waver his gaze over to Oleana. Leon was sunk down in his seat as he watched Rose and Raihan glare and spit quite vile words at each other.

when Rose finally looked away from his son’s face and over to Nessa who stood behind Raihan in the doorway, it was like everything nasty and mean dissipated off his face. She never really liked the man for some unknown reason, now she understood why her gut always clenched when he was near.

“Good morning, miss Nessa!” Rose cooed and it took all of Nessa’s model strength in not puking on the spot. “Sorry you had to me son and I have an... argument.”

“I’m not divorcing them.” Raihan suddenly spat. eyes narrowed to slits as he damn near hissed at Rose when the chairman tried round the side of the conference table.

“Now son,” Rose tried to reprehend Raihan.

“I’ve never been your son!” Raihan shouted back. shoulder raised defensively. uncaring as Nessa and Leon shrunk from just how loud his voice echoed in the room. “Let me remind you, since your old man brain must be fucking melting in your thick ass skull, that you called Leon,” the Champion yipped a little when Raihan flung a hand out at him and slid even more into his seat, looking like a Yamper who was to fat and got stuck in one of those doggy Pokemon tunnels, “your son you never knew you had and always wanted on live television in front of me! Your actual fucking son! what do you have to say to that!?”

“Not now Raihan!” Rose hissed, looking for once like a Deerling caught in headlights as he spotted Melody and Gordie who now stood besides Nessa behind Raihan, “we’ll speak more in my office.”

“‘well speak more in my office.’,” Raihan mocked in a high pitch voice that was supposed to be Rose’s, “about what? you wanting me to divorce my Husband for a fucking arranged marriage you just now sprung onto me!? After you ignored me for most of my life after my mom died.” He snarled.

“Riahan!” Rose yelled, “now is not the time or place to discuss this!”

“It never is with you!” Raihan screamed back, slamming his hands onto the table,”there never a good time and every time there is you ignore my texts and calls. you used my wedding invitation as a coaster for your glass of fucking water! you mocked anyone who I brought home and now you’re interested in my love life!? get bent and I hope Eturnatus kills you before you can enact Darkest Day!”

“How do you know about that!?” Oleana finally spoke up. shooting up from her seat with a wild panic look.

“Eturnatus was my moms research after all,” Raihan sneered down at the blond woman, “her paperwork says it all, along with the diary you,” he pointed to Rose, “wrote in talking about your plan and how Mom responded that it was unethical and absolutely horrid to do to any kind of Pokemon, alien or not.”

Rose’s face looks absolutely disgusted in rage. “Give me that book boy!” he threatened.

“I burned it!” Raihan’s eyes now shone gleefully at Rose’s horror, “along with every other piece of paper with the world Eturnatus written on it and with that fact now out in the air. I quite.”

with that Raihan stormed past the three gym leaders behind him and and almost knocked into Bede and Allister. his loud footsteps echoing down the hall before Melony swirled back around and glared at rose with fire in her eyes.

“Spill. Everything. Now.” Melony snarled.

Nessa’s head was spinning as she slumped into a nearby chair as Melony started to tear into Rose while all the other Gym leaders arrived. she only moved and got up when Piers nudged her and nodded to Bea and Allister who were looking afraid and skittish with all the yelling from the adults. outside was more quite then inside that meting room and Nessa forced herself to go treat the two kids to a milkshake and some lunch.

———

the First time Nessa saw Raihans husband was after Eturnatus broke free from it’s supposed egg shell. Ash was his name and he was gorgeous, standing by Raihan’s side. tall and strong as he glared down at Rose and Oleana as they were escorted away.

Leon was being checked over by Champion Lance and Professor Magnolia. he leaned more into the older Champions side and weep in happy tears after the police drove those wretched people away.

she was by Sonia’s side, who was checking up on the kid gym leaders, byt she couldn’t help but keep glancing at Ash and Raihan. Watching them converse and move together like their one.

they look down right deadly together, was the only thought on Nessa’s mind before she shoved Ash and Raihan out of her mind complete and turned back to Sonia and the kids.

#wolfy writes #ash ketchum #gym leader raihan #fangshipping #gym leader melony #gym leader gordie #gym leader piers #gym leader allister #gym leader bea #gym leader nessa #professor magnolia #professor sonia #rose #oleana #champion leon #champion lance #idk why i wrote this #i was feeling things

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dahliawolfe · 4 years

Text

Bound

True Blood fanfic. Will follow the books more closely than the show, but it has its own time line and will definitely not be completely cannon

The red and blue lights of the passing cruiser make my breath catch in my throat. Fuck. If I get pulled over, I’m fucked. And there’s nothing that anyone, even Eric Northman, can do to get my unfucked. Cuz the contents of my trunk are pretty damning. It’s all because of him. Eric Northman. He’s the reason I’m driving around with a body in the trunk of my new car. But, let’s start at the beginning.

…

“My. My. My. What do we have here?” I drawl, slapping on a wolfish grin as I enter Merlotte’s. I haven’t been home in nearly 5 years, but I know immediately that she’ll recognize my voice. And just as expected, that blonde head pops up over the booth. She beams at me before tackling me in a hug.

“Thais Adrieux, as I live and breathe!” Sookie Stackhouse exclaims, pulling away to have a good look at me. At 5 years my senior, Sookie has always been like a big sister to me. She helped me growing up; mostly teaching me how to train my…abilities. Much like Ms. Stackhouse, I too, am a telepath. However, my powers are different from Sookie’s in that I can get into the minds of all creatures, including vampires. And I can speak to them or put thoughts in their head. Not that I do! That would be wrong, but I can, if, and when I choose.

“Hey, Sook. How ya been?” The smile on my face is genuine, for the first time in a long time. It’s been a long, hard couple of months, and I’m glad to be home.

“How have I been?! How have YOU been, Miss World Traveller?”

“I….I’ve…I’m….I’m happy to be home. Any chance I could crash with you for a bit?”

“Absolutely!” she gushes, but I can see the worry in her eyes.

“Great. Any chance Sam could give me a job again?”

“I’m sure he could be persuaded,” comes a voice behind me, and I turn to see the owner himself; Sam Merlotte.

“Sam!” I greet, hugging him tightly.

“Hi, Sugar. We’ve missed you around here. Think you can start tomorrow?”

“Hell, Sam, I can start tonight if you want.”

…

The summers in Bon Temps are always nearly unbearably hot. But we’re at the end of the season now, and the wind whistling through the weeping willows and pines is cool, and it promises the end of the heat wave will be coming soon.

I sit on Sookie’s front porch, waiting on her to come home. It’s late. Nearly eleven. I’ve just been admiring the stars and smoking the occasional cigarette here and there. I don’t smoke often, but I always keep a pack on me for when the itch gets too bad. The soft pack of Camels are resting on my knee when Sookie finally gets home. I can tell she’s bone tired. But it’s Friday night, so I knew she would be. Fridays at Merlotte’s are always busy. I doubt that’s changed in the years I’ve been gone.

Even through her fatigue, Sookie offers me a warm smile. “Just don’t smoke those things in my house,” she teases. I laugh, standing and tucking them into my back pocket.

“Scout’s honor, Sook.”

…

Sookie and I are at the kitchen table scarfing down the pizza I ordered when a voice comes booming through the house.

“Sookeh!” it booms. And my brain immediately fires the word “vampire” to the forefront of my mind.

“Shit,” Sookie hisses, catching me off guard. Sookie never curses.

I quickly stand, marching to the front of the house. Whoever had upset my Sookie was going to pay.

“Thai, wait!” Sookie yelps, quickly catching up to me.

When I reach the front room, a tall, pale man, with old fashioned hair is standing there looking concerned.

“Who the fuck are you?” I demand.

“I’m Bill Compton, a friend of Sookie’s. And you are?” By this point, Sookie has joined us too, and she quickly jumps in.

“Bill, this is Thais, my oldest friend.”

“How do you do, Miss Thais?” Bill greets. I cock a brow at him. His genteel manner is pissing me off for whatever reason.

“I’m fine. Sook, you ok with this guy?”

“I’ll be fine, Thai,” she assures with a smile. I nod and step out onto the porch.

I can’t believe that Sookie would invite a vampire into her house. Is she crazy? I fish another cigarette out of my pocket and plop down onto the rocking chair. I’m tapping my foot to the song stuck in my head when a sleek, silver sportscar pulls into the driveway and a tall, blonde man unfolds himself from inside. He walks with confidence, and he gives off an air of absolute authority. He makes his way to the porch, where he pauses, looking a me. When our eyes connect, my heart studders and a bolt of electricity shoots through my body, leaving me breathless.

“Faen,” he hisses. I have no idea what it means, but I don’t think it’s good. He then storms inside, without ever actually speaking to me.

I’m too stunned to stand, but the sound of raised voices coming from the house is enough to bring me shakily to my feet. I make my way inside, and see Sookie standing between the two men.

“Sook?” I greet in question. I’m not A1 at the minute but I’m always up for a fight.

“Thai, go wait upstairs,” she demands.

“What?”

“Now!” she implores. Suddenly, the blonde vampire grabs my elbow, making my whole body tingle.

“She is not going anywhere,” he threatens.

“What the fuck is going on?” I demand breathlessly.

“Eric, let her go. Thai, please, go upstairs,” Sookie is very, very, very angry. And that sets me on edge. I forcibly yank my elbow from the blonde vampire’s grip and fold my arms over my chest.

“Somebody needs to give me some fucking answers. Now.”

“You are my limt kompis,” Eric says, as if I’m supposed to know what that means.

“Fuck is that?!” He rolls his ice blue eyes.

“My bonded mate. You were made for me.”

…

“Therefore, you will be coming with me. Pack your things. I will wait,” he informs, taking a leisurely seat in Sookie’s armchair.

“No, she will not,” Sookie barks, before I can open my mouth.

“She will be taken care of. Given only the best. Rest assured, Sookie.”

“Ex-fucking-cuse me, but don’t I get a say here?!” I yell, throwing my hands wildly in the air.

“Of course not. You belong to me,” Eric picks at his nails as he speaks off-handedly, as if it was a done deal.

I snort. “The hell I am. Come back when you can show me some respect, Blood Sucker,” with that, I make my way to the stairs. I have had quite enough shit for one night, thank you. I’m suddenly thrown over a shoulder. I yelp and flail. Who the fuck does he think he is?! “Put me down, Asshole!” He roughly smacks my ass, never once breaking his hold on me.

“Language,” he says, making his way to the door.

“Bill! Do something!” Sookie screeches. Bill steps forward.

“Now, Eric, surely something can be worked out…”

“Are you getting between my mate and I, William?” Eric asks icily, briefly pausing in the doorway.

“No. But the girl is clearly frightened. Look, the sun will be up soon, and you won’t even see her until tomorrow night. Give her one last night with Sookie. Let Sookie prepare her for you; tell her all she needs to know, and get her ready to be a good mate to you,” Bill reasons. The peripherals of my mind can feel Eric. And he’s debating with himself.

“Very well,” he finally decides, setting me on my feet and gently pushing the hair from my face and behind my ear. “I will return tomorrow night at night fall. Be waiting.” He then places a small, cold kiss in the center of my forehead and makes his way out of the house.

I pace the living room. What the hell have I gotten myself into? I just wanted to come home. Sookie sits silently on the couch. I plop down beside her and run my hands roughly through my hair.

“Sook, how did you even get mixed up with vampires?”

She sighs. “Bill is my neighbor, actually. We met while Gran was still alive. We dated for a bit.”

“Fucks sake, Sookie,” I sigh.

“Don’t be one of those people,” she chides.

“I’m not. I’ve met plenty of decent vamps. But these two don’t strike me as decent.”

“They’re not all bad.”

“That remains to be seen.”

…

As it turns out, a new sheriff was coming to town to meet with Eric, and apparently, there was bad blood between them, hence the reason for the abrupt meeting of the two vampires at Sookie’s house the night before.

And speaking of vampire sheriffs, there are less than 8 hours until sunset, and “my” sheriff will be here to get me. And honestly, I could run. But I don’t have anywhere to go. And Eric strikes me as the kind of guy who would find me, at whatever costs. And I don’t have time for that, if I’m being honest.

Sam has me working the lunch rush, and I’m up to my eyeballs in orders.

“Alright, Lafayette, I need a cheeseburger. Extra cheese. Extra onions. Extra mushrooms. Extra bacon. And a side of onion rings,” I dictate as I reach the window.

Lafayette rolls his eyes. “More like extra heart attack, Girl,” he sasses. I bark a laugh and pick up the loaded omelet sitting on the sill and place it carefully in the crook of my arm as I grab the 10 ounce Porterhouse for table 8. I drop the plates and am making my way to grab a pitcher of sweet tea when Sam calls me.

“Thai, can I see you in my office for a minute?” he asks, strained smile on his face.

“Sure, Sam,” I reply, seeing Arlene staring me down as I make my way down the back hallway to Sam’s office.

He gestures to the worn leather chair across from his desk, and I sit down for the first time in nearly 5 hours. Sam perches on the edge of his desk and looks at me. “Sookie told me what’s going on,” he begins. “And I have some friends who can help you get away.”

I sigh. “Sam, as thoughtful as that is, we both know he’d find me. And I don’t want nobody getting hurt because of me.”

“I can protect you,” he vows. I stand and wrap him in a hug.

“I’ll be ok, Sam. I promise.”

“You’ll come to me if you need me?”

“Of course.”

…

I walk into Sookie’s house just before sunset and fall down into her couch, sliding my white chucks off of my feet. I can hear Sookie in the kitchen, on the phone with someone, but I don’t bother getting back up. Instead, I grab a throw pillow and flop back, dozing almost immediately.

“Eric, just let her sleep. She’s been working for 10 hours,” I hear Sookie’s voice as I wake up.

“I won’t wake her. Are her things packed?”

“Eric, you should let her decide. How is she ever supposed to trust you if you force this on her?” I feign sleep, intent on hearing his answer.

“It will come with time. She belongs with me. As I said, she will want for nothing.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Eric. I know you have money. Hell, we all do. But she needs more than that. She needs someone who will care for her.”

“And you do not think I’m capable of doing that?”

“Well, I’m not saying that…” Feeling waves of anger rolling off of Eric, I telepathically reach out to Sookie.

Sook, you’re pissing him off. Maybe you should lay off. I’ll be ok. I’m gonna lay down ground rules. You know I can take care of myself. She immediately responds.

Of course, I know that. I also know how dangerous Eric can be. And I don’t want you hurt.

I won’t let that happen. Even if you can’t trust him, trust me.

I feel her silently give her assent, and she audibly sighs, as I sit up and stretch.

“Hi, Eric,” I greet.

“First of all, we need neutral turf so we can negotiate terms,” I demand as Eric lifts my rucksack from the bottom stair.

“Terms?” he questions.

“Yes, terms. You don’t just expect me to give up everything about myself for you, do you?”

“Of course not,” he replies, but I can see a shadow of dishonesty in his eyes.

“Don’t lie to a telepath,” I say, turning and making my way outside.

“A telepath? You are a telepath?”

“Sookie didn’t mention?”

“I believe I would remember that.”

“Yes, I’m a telepath. I just don’t want it getting around. Problem?” I turn and pin him with a challenging look.

“No.”

“Good.”

I sit a bit uncomfortably in the passenger seat of Eric’s Corvette. He drives like a maniac, and I’m a little terrified.

“Hey, Buddy, do you mind slowing down? I’d rather not die.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” he says simply, easing off of the gas pedal slightly.

We make it to an all-night restaurant and bar called Penelli’s, and Eric whips into a parking spot close to the door. He’s out and to my door almost before I can blink. He opens it, reaching a hand in to help me out. I use it to leverage myself out of the low car and follow him inside.

“Table for 2,” he informs the host.

“Of course, sir. Bar or booth?”

“Booth,” Eric answers at the same time I say,

“Bar.” Eric raises an eyebrow but acquiesces. The host leads us to a tall table next to the bar and hands us two menus.

After I place an order for a rum and coke, and Eric one for True Blood Type A, we put the menus to the side and look at one another.

“You mentioned terms?” he entreats.

“Yes. Look, I still need to be able to be me. I’m still going to go to work. Go see my friends. Dress how I want. Eat what I want. And live my life how I please. Taking you and your concerns into consideration, of course.”

“No work,” he states, swirling the blood in his glass around.

“Yes, work. Work is important to me. Plus, Sam is depending on me.” He nearly snarls at the mention of Sam.

“You will not work for that furry bastard.”

“Excuse me, yes I will. Sam is a good friend, and you won’t speak about him like that.”

He stares into my eyes, apparently hoping to force me to change my mind. Finally, he growls.

“Fine. What else?”

“Well, you’ve heard what I have to say. You can tell me what you expect,” I invite, taking a sip of my drink.

“I expect you to allow me to care for you. This does include me keeping minimal control of where you go. Specifically, if I think it is dangerous. I also expect you to stay in contact when out of my presence. I would like to begin transitioning you to a more nocturnal schedule. And I will expect you to live in my home. I will provide for you. I will buy you anything you desire. But you must remain loyal to me. Do these terms sound reasonable to you?”

“Yes. I think I can adapt to that.” He nods, taking a long swig of his blood.

End pt 1

Ok, guys, I didn’t want to make this multi-part, but there is sooooo much I want to do with this story, so it would have been hella long. I’ll get more up soon!

#trueblood #eric northman #fanfiction #true blood fandom #vampires #witches #telepaths #oh my

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theislehoney · 4 years

Text

radio snow (wwx/lwj, modern au)

[1. purple nights] [2. roots]

In the harsh light of Lan Zhan’s bathroom mirror, Wei Ying looks himself over and thinks, I look like shit. Too much black, makeup worn uneven, and the awful jewels they’d glued beneath his eyes. He admits, he’d liked them when the makeup artist had put them on, liked the glimmer of surreality they gave him and the way they turned the grey of his eyes to silver. He had been sure he looked slightly magical, and the thought of Lan Zhan seeing him was too much to resist, and he’d left.

Now he just looks like he’s melted.

Almost twenty hours later, the little gems are starting to come unstuck and itch. He wants to claw at them, except he thinks he’d probably scratch the skin beneath his eyes and make himself bleed, and what would Lan Zhan say if he came out of the bathroom with blood coming out of his eyes? His concealer has worn in some places and gathered in others, so that his forehead looks pale and cakey, while his nose is slightly red and there is an unpleasant sheen across his cheekbones.

Wei Ying laughs. What a wreck. Halfway through cleaning his face, he grabs a washcloth from beneath the sink and soaks it in warm water. It loosen whatever glue the girl had used on the jewels and they come off one-by-one. He lays them on the side of the sink and washes his face properly, the simple pleasure of clean skin enough for him.

He is beyond tired, in the way that only someone who has been awake for thirty-five hours, three layovers, and the stress of running away from everything you’ve spent the last four years building can understand. He buzzes with exhaustion, feels it like a live thing moving beneath his skin.

But the truth is, Wei Ying has been tired for a very long time, and only now that he’s back beside Lan Zhan does he feel the knot at the base of his spine begin to unwind.

He strips off his clothes and kicks them into the corner of the bathroom, then turns on the water and steps into the shower. Lan Zhan’s soap smell of something woodsy. It settles into Wei Ying and soothes away the aches of the past few days.

By the time he emerges, swaying with the need to lay down, there is a new towel and pair of pajamas folded neatly on top of the toilet. Wei Ying dries off and pulls them on; they are plain cotton, the kind Lan Zhan favors, and underneath the fresh scent of detergent, they smell like him. Wei Ying spends a moment swaying in place before he can gather his thoughts enough to dress and leave the bathroom.

Lan Zhan waits for him in the living room, sitting on the sofa that has been shoved against the wall under the windows, a book balanced on his knee and a cup of tea at his side. He has turned the radio on, low enough that the music is a whisper. The tone of the piece is stranger and wandering, from what Wei Ying can hear. It is midnight music, odd and looping in rhythm, and the shape of it pulls at Wei Ying so that he sways in the doorway, drawn into the room and toward Lan Zhan.

He looks up at Wei Ying and folds the corner of his page, closing the book and setting it aside.

"Ying."

Lan Zhan speaks his name like no one else. It tugs at something deep within Wei Ying, who hardly ever hears his real name any more. It is always Wei Wuxian this, or Yiling Laozu that; to hear Ying, and from those lips, is enough to send him reeling.

He stumbles toward Lan Zhan and onto the sofa. The cushions are soft and worn, and very familiar. He remembers this couch, bought the summer after their grad school days, when Lan Zhan was still searching for a job and Wei Ying was getting everything settled to leave for China.

Looking back on those days, and how hopeful he’d been, he feels like a fool. That, or stupid with pride. He feels like he’d been so young. He hadn’t really known what he was asking for.

The sofa has worn well; the house, less so. Wei Ying rolls over and looks up at the ceiling, cracks running through it in the corners, paint turning off-white and peeling. He doesn’t know why Lan Zhan hasn’t moved out, after all these years. He knows Lan Zhan gets money from his family to help support himself, but he never touches it. Instead he lives off two salaries, and barely, only able to afford rent and groceries for the month by keeping a careful budget. He has never once complained about it, but Wei Ying knows that it must be exhausting. He knows that were Lan Zhan any different, any less strict with himself and his promise, he would not be the man that Wei Ying loves.

Even after all these years.

Wei Ying rolls toward Lan Zhan, who looks down at him in turn. He pulls his legs up onto the cushions and tucks his feet beneath him. He drinks in the sight of Lan Zhan. He wants nothing more than to lay here forever, and never move an inch.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

The slightest furrow appears between Lan Zhan’s brows.

“I wanted to…” —he waves his hand, the word fuck seemingly suddenly too crass for what he and Lan Zhan do— “but I don’t think I can, tonight. I’m really tired, Lan Zhan.”

It feels so much better to be so close to Lan Zhan’s warmth, anyway. It feels safe.

Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s hand. His fingers are warm, and Wei Ying fights a shiver. His fingers move across Wei Ying’s palm. Wei Ying feels a spark of guilt.

Wei Ying tries to conjure some of his cheerfulness. “You know, in the morning we can always—”

“Do not.”

He blinks in surprise, words forgotten so easily. “What?”

“Do not force yourself. You need the rest. We have time.”

“Yeah.” Wei Ying cannot explain the way he suddenly wants to be sick, the way dizziness comes over him. “Lots and lots of time.” He leans back into the sofa cushions so that his sudden weakness isn’t so obvious.

Lan Zhan seems content with the quiet. He runs a finger across Wei Ying’s palm. He strokes the lines there, turns it over and traces the carefully shaped ovals of Wei Ying’s nails. He presses against the bones on the back of his hand and Wei Ying shivers. He stops there, touch warm and soothing.

“Do you ever think about that summer?” Wei Ying asks suddenly.

There can only be one summer; both of them know this. After grad school, when Lan Zhan had moved out of campus housing at last and bought this sofa. He had bought the duplex he still lives in, too, in the very last use of his family’s money that Wei Ying knows of. It was a summer of unbelievable heat, so hot they couldn’t stand to touch each other; and of many long calls to China—Lan Zhan arguing with his uncle over his choice to stay, Wei Ying negotiating with agents to find a way to go back. It was a summer of stasis, both of them caught between one moment and the next, neither able to speak about it. They had spent the summer in silence, mostly, in different corners of the same room, until it had come time to drive Wei Ying to the airport, and Wei Ying had wanted to weep.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan admits.

Wei Ying shifts closer. He cannot live without Lan Zhan’s heat tonight; back then it had seemed like a smothering thing, and he had choked on it. He presses his shoulder into Lan Zhan’s side, digging in until Lan Zhan wraps his arm around him and ships him, so that he is nearly in Lan Zhan’s lap.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says. His fingers move carefully over the seam of Lan Zhan’s pajama pants. His voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

Lan Zhan’s fingers still. “Done what?”

Wei Ying cannot look up. “I wish…” He feels like a child, and he hates it, but at the same time: “I wish we were young again.”

“We are still young.”

His laugh hurts his throat. “Not young like then. Back then, I thought I knew what I wanted. I thought... I don't know what I wanted, you know. I thought that being an idol would be the best thing I could do, to—"

His throat seizes up and he chokes on his regrets. He knows that Lan Zhan understands, even if he can’t force the words out. He knows how it is, to feel the crushing desire to please your family, to do whatever it takes to make them proud of you. Lan Zhan had long since found that he could not stand to live within the strictures of his family. He had cut himself off from them years ago. Wei Ying hadn’t wanted to cut himself off; he had thought that if he could just go back home, if he could go back and show that that he was enough—

“I’m sorry, Zhan.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I shouldn’t have-- This is so stupid, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m so tired and it’s been a long day--”

“Ying.”

He shudders, once and hard, and sags down into Lan Zhan, curling so that he shoulder rests on Lan Zhan’s lap. His thighs are warm and steady. The fabric of his pajamas is old and worn. Wei Ying closes his eyes.

The drive home had turned the world inside out, the lights of town sliding away and vanishing into the darkness of the forest that bent over the road. Lan Zhan drove like a diver in a cave system Wei Ying had never bothered to map. They had slipped through the darkness, Lan Zhan lit only by the red lights of the dashboard and the sweeping headlights of the oncoming cars that passed less and less frequently. Wei Ying had pulled his knees up to his chest, swaying into the movement of the car, the sweet purr of the engine, and let himself dream of nothing until they pulled into the driveway beside Lan Zhan’s duplex and Lan Zhan had leaned over, whispering, Ying, and reeled Wei Ying back up and out of the darkness.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Wei Ying whispers, curled on Lan Zhan’s sofa and dressed in Lan Zhan’s clothes. He wonders where he left all the other pieces of himself, if he can even remember where to start looking. “I can’t be that person—an idol. I was so young, and so stupid. I thought that it would make me happy to be an idol, can you believe it? I thought the fans would be no big deal, that I could control them. I mean, I knew how awful it could get but I thought… I didn't know. I was just... you can’t know until you’ve lived like that. All those fans, watching my every move and constantly judging me, and the shit they said, it felt like they'd eat me alive. I couldn't…."

His breath comes hard and fast. Lan Zhan wraps his arms around him. Wei Ying’s heart feel s as if it will break through his skin.

“I just…” Wei Ying whispers, turning to press his face to Lan Zhan’s leg, “I don’t know what to do. I signed all these contracts, and I think Jiang Cheng is starting to not hate me, even though he totally should, and I think I have to go back. I don’t want to go, but it’s too late for me. I’m too old to do anything else. I’ve just… grown into place. This is my life now. I have to go back, but I don’t want to.”

He feels petulant and terrible, but once the words are out, his mind settles. Yes, he thinks, that’s exactly it.

He will think the words over later, parse all the awful and depressing feelings they contain. But for now, he is content. He had found the right words for something that has been weighing on him for months, if not longer.

Lan Zhan’s hand presses into his shoulder. Wei Ying lets the pressure guide him down. The edges of his thoughts fray, peeling apart like the wings of a moth flown into the flickering flame, and the smoky smell of something woodsy, of Lan Zhan, wraps around him and draws him into a sleep so deep he remembers nothing of his dreams.

—

He wakes once, bleary, early enough that the day has not yet begun. His neck aches and his shoulder burns with pain. Lan Zhan sits in the same position, legs beneath him and book balanced on the sofa’s arm. The light from the windows is peacock-colored, mottled pinks and purple like the most beautiful kind of bruise in the world.

Wei Ying lays there and watches Lan Zhan read, until his eyes cannot stay open any longer, and he drifts back to sleep.

This time he remembers: he dreams of swimming, with strong strokes, through ocean waters as warm and salty as tears, toward a grey and distant horizon.

[song inso: solitary daughter]

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gumnut-logic · 5 years

Text

Johnny Snapshots

@onereyofstarlight Okay, let’s face it, I live in the land of the Virg and John is one of the hardest for me to tackle (the other being Alan who I do a disservice to on a regular basis). So I don’t read much John focussed fic. Not that I don’t love the boi, it’s just...oooh, look a bright shiny Virg! :D

So in order to get Johnny fluff for you, I only really have my pile of Virg-focussed fic to play with, though I can recommend reading stuff from @the-lady-razorsharp and @willow-salix cos they claim Johnny as their boi and write lots of stuff focussed on their space noodle :D

While looking for my previous post in my archives, I came across a snippet of John from one of my fics and got the idea of little Johnny Snapshots. So, here from amongst all my Virg fic, have a little Johnny Nutty-style.

Note: Snapshots from all sorts of fic, looking for fluff, spoilers for everything, several AUs, several ships, pretty much potluck and lots of description of the Johnny :D And while I’ve included links to the fics, the fics themselves are likely Virgil focussed and there may not be much more of John in them than is already here. You’ve probably read some of these before, too.

I hope you enjoy anyway :D

-o-o-o-

A ghost drifted on the breeze.

White as an angel, pale as the moonlight sculpting his form, his next youngest brother rode the air currents above the island.

The only word to describe John was elegant. Airborne porcelain, he circled. Midnight starlight cascaded through Virgil’s mind. Expressions of sorrow draped in calm, warmed by an amber light, the steady core of his star-loving brother.

Virgil watched mesmerised as his turns became tighter and tighter, closer to the ground. A great arch of white feathers and he landed gently, barely disturbing the sand beneath his bare feet.

He was gleaming in the moonlight from toe to hooded gaze. Ever so pale skin, free to be bare to the elements with the absence of the sun, his only clothing was a cut off pair of jeans so faded they were more white than blue.

Only his hair had colour, flame caught in just the right flash of light.

Decision

-o-o-o-

When he woke, the sun was making for the horizon, the whole island cast in gold.

“Hey, Virgil.”

The soft melodious voice of his space borne brother was lacking its usual transmission static and it was a pleasant surprise to roll over and find John sitting on a lounger beside him. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

First question of any brother to any injured brother, of course. “Good, actually.” And he was. Relaxed, pain at a minimum, a gorgeous sunset in preparation, and... “Great to see you down here.” Virgil didn’t admit it often, but he did miss his middle brother. Didn’t really like him so far out of reach. But John loved it, so it was what it was. Didn’t mean Virgil couldn’t be happy to see him when he could. “What brings you to this little planet?”

The sun was sculpting John’s pale features and white shirt in almost molten gold, merging his skin with his copper hair. The odd thought of some kind of Greek god fluttered through the back of Virgil’s mind. He shook himself mentally. What the hell?

V.T. Green

-o-o-o-

John appreciates a fine meal. Of the five brothers, he is the one who will know about the wine. He’ll know which region it came from, what it should be eaten with and which year grew the plant it was made from. This, of course, means he is the most likely culprit to steal Scott’s boutique beers out of the fridge…to the point that one of the first signs of the middle brother being back on Earth is the sudden missing bottles from said refrigerator.

Virgil thinks it is hilarious.

Scott’s worried his brother is a secret alcoholic and keeps monitoring his intake.

Alan keeps messing with Scott’s head by pinching extra bottles to ‘up John’s intake’.

Gordon messes with everyone by refilling the bottles with apple juice.

But yes, John is the one to appreciate a good meal, most likely because he has to eat all that space crap eighty percent of the time.

Food, Tracy style

-o-o-o-

A sigh. “Um....never have I ever...er...been arrested?” Surely, they hadn’t done that?

“Are you kidding me?” Gordon, glugged down some more drink. “That’s an easy one. Paris. The Louvre.”

What?

Scott raised his hand holding his glass. “Gordon.” As if that explained everything. He swallowed heavily.

Alan snorted, rolled and fell face first onto the carpet.

Gordon laughed. “Hey, bro. Time to take another drink. Remember the teddy bear at the fair?”

“Crap.” Alan grabbed his glass and toasted the air. “Gordon.” Apparently, it did explain everything.

“Gordon.” Kayo said it like a zombie and swallowed some more alcohol. Ridley just stared at her, but was distracted as apparently not-so-asleep John attempted to locate his glass by pawing blindly at the carpet with one hand. His mumbled “Gordon.” Was almost muffled as Ridley tried to grab his arm.

“Lawn flamingo.” Virgil attempted to bring the drink to his mouth, but missed and threw it over his shoulder instead. “Oops.”

Em blinked.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m calling this game. Off to bed with the lot of you. I have the strongest feeling that I should have taken Grandma’s advice and gone to bed early myself.”

There were many a muttered groan, mostly of ‘Awww’ and her name, but the brothers mostly stumbled to their feet. Kayo had to drag Virgil off of Em. The man was heavy.

Ridley smiled at her as she manhandled her space noodle off into their rooms. John was muttering something about ‘Gordon’s fault...didn’t want to do that in a book store.’ Penny helped Alan to his rooms, all the time shooting glares at Gordon.

“What?” The aquanaut looked non-plussed. “What did I do?”

“Gordon, go look after your brother.” Scott’s voice was firm. He still hadn’t relaxed.

Em sighed, grabbed his arm and, activating her hoverjets, pulled him up. “C’mon, Commander, time for bed.”

“Em.” And suddenly she was in his arms.

“Flyboy, your blood alcohol content can be detected from space.”

“Space!” John’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“Not today, spaceman, you’d miss TB5 and end up on Mars.” Ridley was obviously being very patient.

“Not Mars. Wrong trejacktory.” A closing door shut off the rest of the mumbled maths that followed.

Never Have I Ever

-o-o-o-

John sighed, walked over to the bed and sat on the edge in echo of something he had done so many times as a boy. He used to come in here and talk Virgil’s ear off about space and stars and his latest science projects. Virgil, in turn, would nod, say the right things at the right time and generally be the good older brother. John suspected that Virgil hadn’t understood half of what he was saying, but the older boy had never said anything. Not that Virgil wasn’t smart, just his interests lay in different areas.

They were both quiet by nature and Virgil’s patience drew John to him. Mostly because he would listen. One of the hardest things about being a far above average student with very specific interests was finding someone to talk to about them. John wasn’t a big talker outside the family, but that was because society in general was lost two words into any sentence he wanted to construct. John had no use for general gossip when he had spent the day discovering a new extra-solar object. Who cared who won the football when Neptune was aligning with Earth in a way that wouldn’t happen for another one hundred and sixty five years?

It was Virgil who stopped and listened as a young John Tracy babbled about his latest discoveries.

He was his big brother.

The House

-o-o-o-

Unfortunately, distracted, he didn’t see brother number three and collided with him, nearly sending both of them to the floor.

“Oh, god, sorry…J-“ His hands met soft silk and he looked up, this time truly focussing on his tall brother.

Oh my god.

He must truly have some kind of sibling radar because there was no way in hell he could have recognised his brother otherwise.

“John?”

“Hey, Virgil.”

And yes, that was a smirk on that face.

He eyed the man from bottom to top. High heeled boots in shiny black leather. Black tights! High cut, buttoned up, deep blue coat sequined in an elaborate filigree with almost ankle length tails. The ends of his sleeves flared out like flowers over leather gloves. And a white silk cravat wrapped his throat with about ten layers of frills.

But all that didn’t live up to the hair. Oh, god, the hair. Gone was the familiar red, replaced with a fountain of silver white, springing in strands from the top of his head like a spray of leafless weeping willow, long enough to reach his chest.

Virgil stared. “Are you wearing makeup?”

The smirk widened and, yes, there was some kind of lip gloss to go with the elaborate eyeshadow arching into his brows.

Blink. “Wh-who are you?”

“Why, my dear child,” and John tapped him on the head with his ornamental riding crop. “I’m the Goblin King.”

Another blink. “Who?” He couldn’t recall ever seeing a goblin who looked quite like that.

And the more familiar John rolled his eyes. “A friend of mine advised me that this would be easier if I made myself completely unrecognisable. She is a fan of old movies, so I picked one.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “She?”

“She.”

“Okay.” He eyed his brother again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A Warm Rain Halloween (wip)

-o-o-o-

It had been three days. His brother was now hooked up to several IVs and other invasive support mechanisms, his unconscious body needing assistance to survive. The usually agile, calm and kind man now lay pale, his hair unkempt and limp, eyes bruised smudges on his lifeless face, hands wrapped in copious bandages.

Virgil reached over and ran his fingers through that blond and red hair, attempting to straighten it out, forcing the flick to behave itself.

“C’mon, John, speak to me.” Virgil’s voice was little above a whisper. “I can’t do this without you.” And the statement was suddenly true. Spoken without thought, Virgil realised that through everything that had happened to him in the last few months, John had been there, even when Virgil was too terrified to see him, John had stood strong while his brother dragged him through the mud. He had done everything in his power, everything, to support Virgil. “God, don’t let a faulty circuit be your epitaph, you are worth so much more than that. So much more.”

He needed his brother’s dry wit. He needed his calm voice. He needed him.

Virgil let his head drop to the bed.

Please.

Father

-o-o-o-

John hated crowds, especially those involving the press. Scott went out of his way to make sure he wasn’t exposed to them, but his brother wasn’t available right now.

Head down, no eye contact. “No comment.”

“No comment.”

They crowded in on him and he grit his teeth.

A sharp crack and a yelp. A squawk and the clattering of plastic on concrete. A scream and a flash of light. John looked up to find holocams falling like rain. One close to him simply stopped and dropped. Another sparked, spun and dove at the nearest reporter. She screamed and ran.

The holocam chased her.

Oh.

The crowd began to disperse in erratic squeals and yelps of fear. John took advantage and dashed through to the doors of the hospital. Behind him, the elevator fired its thrusters, adding to the confusion, and launched towards orbit.

“Eos, you are dangerous.”

“Yes, John, and don’t you forget it.” The amusement in her voice had him smiling.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Dirt

-o-o-o-

The only one standing entirely upright was her middle grandson. He brought up the rear, his tall, lithe form fluid as he walked. As always, his red hair was startling against his golden baldric. His eyes tracked around the room, his expression cool and controlled, but as his grandmother, she could see the tells of worry and exhaustion.

The great silver form of Eos sat on his arm preening her feathers. Every so often, the hawk would pause and survey the room, just like her bearer, her startling red eyes catching everything. Sal would never understand that relationship, but it had saved her family more than once and she was grateful, if still wary.

The Prince Who Would Not be King

-o-o-o-

If the quiet lifestyle is more your thing, you may wish to upgrade to John Tracy. ‘Up’ is the keyword here as he resides twenty-two thousand miles up, in orbit, in fact. Yes, John is the original space Tracy. Fully adapted to the cold and dark beyond our atmosphere, he does indeed adore the quiet life.

However, before we tempt you any further, it should be noted that John is the only Tracy brother who is a parent. A single parent at that. Inadvertent though her existence is, Eos is recognised as John’s daughter and she presents a number of unique challenges, the least of which is what she will do to your bank accounts if you upset her. Yes, if you are looking for bankruptcy, offending Eos is a fantastic way to achieve your goal.

In summary, don’t piss off the kid.

Having said that, should she approve of your existence, Eos is quite capable of enhancing that existence should she so choose. In any case, John’s daughter is a great conversationalist, even if she has locked you in the bathroom.

John himself sports arguably the most stunning eyes of all the five brothers. Alan, please be quite and Scott, sit down.

A unique pair of turquoise irises that contrast exquisitely with his copper hair makes for a stunning date to have on your arm. The only downside is that arm may need to be handcuffed to yours if you intend on going anywhere involving more than six people at a time.

Our space Tracy is not a social being. Despite communication as a profession, John Tracy has been heard to wish to only speak to others from space. This may include you. Please keep your phone charged at all times.

It should also be noted that if your phone battery is dead and John wishes to contact you, he may hack an appliance as mundane as your toaster. Communicating via the temperature controls in the shower has been reported. Virgil was not impressed.

John is one of the taller Tracys. Unlike Scott, however, heels may not be needed as ninety-five percent of the time John is in space, so if you are planning to get to know him, you’re going to be in space too. Just float up to look him in those gorgeous eyes.

A fan of spaceball and Star Trek, John is your traditional loveable geek. Be aware that his neighbour knows this and you may want to lock all the airlocks in case she comes knocking for a cup of sugar.

John is definitely a good investment and comes with a space station to boot. You will be able to spend many hours stargazing both at the universe and those irises.

Plus One Tracy

-o-o-o-

Oh, I do have a couple of John focussed fics. The fluffiest is Bagel.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #john tracy

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