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copiousloverofcopia · 2 years

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Hey there! ❤️‍🔥

My commission for the wonderful @a-tired-sparrow done!!

This is their AFAB Original Character Deacon Via and Papa Emeritus IV! Thank you for commissioning me!!!

Love confessions and hot steamy sex abound....

As always open for Asks/requests. Please see my carrd in the pin post for commission info!!!

A Whisper of a Thrill

Also available here on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below the cut

It was a typical morning in the Abbey. The hum of activity buzzed low and gentle in the halls, as siblings began to make their way to and from their destinations. Their familiar paths traveled along once more in their daily routines. The world was moving in circadian rhythm—natural but mundane.

The sentiment of nothing special carried over into the Deacon's office. Whisper jumped up on the window sill. Claws sinking in well worn cracks of the wood, as he made a spot for himself. The cat stretched out and yawned, curling up in the light from the stained glass. His tail tucked under chin and completely content to warm himself in the rays from the sun.

This was his favorite spot to snooze. He could stay close to Deacon Via as they worked through the day. Whisper would listen to their voice, like a lullaby, as he slumbered. Via sat quietly at their desk, running their fingers over the polished wood surface and shifting around the pile of papers back in order. Whisper must have jumped up here with all this mess, they thought, tapping the papers down and back into some semblance of order. Via waited, anxiously, for the inevitable first call that would set the tone for the day.

The Abbey was never short on issues and problems to be solved. While the stress was ever pressing, Via was always willing to step up and help. If you needed something done, they would make it happen. Via had earned everyone's respect, having spent years in service to the Ministry. They were dependable and caring, their caretaking nature always at the forefront—sometimes even to their own detriment.

If the office walls could talk, they'd speak of the countless hours and days the Deacon spent wrangling siblings and ghouls alike. Ensuring everyone was happy in the workplace was no easy task, but in between hearing complaints about Nihil and Dew's behavior, a staple of their normal day, and managing everything else they somehow made it work. Via sat, their patience beginning to wear thin, as they tapped their fingers along the desk. Seconds turning to minutes, they adjusted themselves in their crimson brocade vest and brushed a lock of their dark brunette hair from their face. Waiting and waiting for that very first call, which insisted in drawing out it's arrival, as if just to torture them.

Sure enough, movements after Via had just leaned back in their leather chair–a note of relaxation only attempted to be reached, the phone rang. Via let out a sigh, "here goes nothing Whisp." They said, their gloved hand reaching out to take hold of the black phone before them. The ringing was vibrating the handle in their hands as they lifted it to their ear. "Hello this is the Human, Ghoul, and other anomalies resources department. You've reached the Deacon how can I help you?"

"Vi—Deacon…um…hello it's Papa…" Copia muttered on the other end of the line, a smile spread wide across Via's face. Hearing his voice was something that made Via's heart soar. They had met, once upon a time, two closet dwellers hiding from the outside world. The pair growing closer in between stacks of post-its and copy paper.

The moment felt lived a lifetime ago, when Via was still a sibling and Copia, an awkward Cardinal. A moment that made Via feel truly seen, all their flaws and talents, their strengths and weaknesses—their whole soul bared freely for the first time. How Via longed for that feeling again, but the time came too soon when the Cardinal left. The two having reunited only when Via transferred to take over their new position at the Abbey, awe struck when seeing Copia—now Papa waiting for them.

"Oh Papa, of course what can I do you for? I mean…do for you?" Via laughed, nervously awaiting his response.

"I was wondering if you had anything on your schedule for this afternoon. I have some important matters to speak to you about and well I–I would prefer to have all the time we need to discuss it." Copia asked. The Deacon scrambled around on the desk, in and out of drawers—searching for their planner. Finally when Via found it, it was on the ground beneath the desk with another littering of papers. Via picked it up, shooting an irritated glance over to Whisper. Via quickly flipped through the pages to today's date—completely clear.

"It seems I have all the time we might need Papa. I am open today." They responded. The other end of the line got quiet, when suddenly Copia cleared his throat.

"Well wonderful. Then I shall stop over…um.. say about 2 if that works for you." He suggested. Via could already feel their heart pounding away inside.

"Yes Papa, that will be just fine." Via said, hearing Copia hum his approval just before the crisp click of the call being disconnected. Via sunk back into the chair, their heart beating so fast they thought they'd pass out. Ever since that first moment in the supply closet, Via had developed feelings for Copia. While Copia had been a close companion and wonderful friend, they were never sure if he shared their feelings.

The uncertainty was growing an ache inside them that Via had trouble concealing on more than one occasion. Part of why they'd dived so head first into their role as Deacon was to help distract them from the burning desire to be with Copia—the sweet awkward Cardinal turned Papa. Via damned themselves for having not acted before. Everything would have been so much easier then, but now they both had roles to fill and expectations to meet.

"First call today is done and well…I think it's gonna be a good one." Via told Whisper, the cat smacking his lips, deep in dreamland.

Copia paced across the ornate Transylvania rug that filled the center of his office. His black and gold vestments, a bit moist with his own sweat. He tapped his gloves fingers together, walking back and forth—wondering if he'd be able to stop himself before wearing a hole beneath him. He aimlessly went to the book shelf pulling off his journal, while little Rigatoni cleaned his whiskers just above him in his cage.

"Oh Satanas…give me strength. I know what I want, I just need to go for it. Isn't that right, topolino?" Copia asked, Rigatoni scrubbing away at his little face. "Who am I kidding? You never give me advice, where is Formaggio? At least he listens." Copia chuckled to himself. He'd had his heart set on Via for a long time. Their sweet voice, music to Copia's ears and their generous nature made his heart swell. No, it wasn't long after their first meeting he knew—he was in love.

When Copia returned without Via to the Abbey and ascended into the miter, he felt the empty spot inside him calling out to be filled. After Via was transferred, all the new Papa could think about was how much he wanted them. To hold, to kiss, to love, to…

He needed Via and with each passing day, the need only grew stronger. Seeing them in the halls, their smile when helping the siblings, the way they lit up when he'd spot them at Mass—it had become too much to contain. Copia woke up that morning determined he'd be damned to Heaven if he allowed it to go unspoken any longer. Promising himself, that even if Via did not return his affections, at least his heart would be free from the torment.

Today was the day, the thrill and excitement mixed with anxiety and apprehension coursed steadily through his veins. Copia watched the Monstrance clock ticking, waiting for the agreed upon time to come to pass. He took several deep breaths, the incense burning on his desk filling his senses. He worked up his nerve to do what he'd been waiting for, for so long. The chime sounded off, the clock striking 2 and Copia could feel the shakiness of his constitution beginning to show.

"This is it, let's do this." Copia affirmed to himself as he removed Rigatoni from his cage. The rat making a home upon Copia's shoulder as Copia made his way to the Deacon's office.

Via sat back in their chair attempting to remain calm, all the while yearning. Praying for more than an average afternoon meeting. As the time came and went, Via convinced themself that Copia wouldn't come. That he'd been caught up in other more important affairs.

Moments later, the sounds of footfalls in the hallway echoed into the Deacon's office. Instantly their heart was set aflame. A knocking at the door sent Via straight up out of their seat and toward the large oak door of the office. Via was pleased when their eyes met with Copia's as the door opened up to the hall. "Papa, thank you for coming." Via said, side stepping to allow him inside. Copia smiled and walked in, but did not sit as Via would have expected.

Rigatoni ran down Copia's arm and along the floor, scurrying himself over to where Whisper was sleeping. Both Copia and Via, finding the two of them disgustingly adorable as they snuggled up together like littermates. The air of the room shifted, something quietly lingering there as Copia and Via refocused back onto themselves. The awkward silence ended when Copia cleared his throat.

"Passerotto, it is so good to see you. " Copia began, his words filling Via with such joy. It had been a while now since he had called them little sparrow—the instant the words left his lips, Via's blood was set on fire.

"Papa, why don't you sit down?" Via suggested, smiling away. Copia smirked back, his mind distracted with just how handsome Via looked before him. His eyes tracing up from their leather pants to the tailored red vest that concealed the swell of their breasts. Copia stared conspicuously at the way the grucifix earring dangle against the delicate skin of Via's neck.

The Papa's gaze resting finally on Via's lips. The small scar, like a beacon calling for them to be kissed. He knew it was now or never. Via had walked back behind the desk, waiting for Copia to settle in the chair across from them, but the Papa remained standing—his staring undeniable. "Papa?" Via said, calling back Copia's attention and wondering just what thoughts he had seemed to become lost in.

"Via, I…I—I don't think I can pretend any longer." He began, his eyes focused now on the floor. Copia's confidence, not where he wanted it to be. Via shook their head in disbelief, their brow furrowed–unsure if they'd heard him right.

"I'm sorry Pap—" Via began, their words halted as Copia started coming towards them. Via took in a breath as Copia held out to his hand to caress Via's soft cheek. They could feel the trembling of Copia's embrace. The evidence of his nerves, hinted through his otherwise confident demeanor. Via's own body, now beginning to respond. Adrenaline, rushing through them—a heat settling in their core.

"Caro…" he began, his thumb rubbing gently across Via's cheek as the rest of their body ached for his touch. The feeling was so surreal, had they not been certain they were awake, they would have thought it was all a dream.

"What—what is it Co—Papa?" Via began, feeling the heat moving between their legs, shifting a bit where they stood without a conscious thought. Copia noticed, his eyes now on Via's body as he took in a deep breath. Copia rounded the desk, closing the space between him and Via, as they backed up against it. His nostrils flared and his gaze turned hungry, saying everything without saying a word.

"I really tried, you know? I tried to exorcise it from myself. Be rid of these urges, praying to Satanas that—that I could control them. For so long now caro…so long I can't even re—remember when it began. It is too much to endure." Copia stumbled over his confession, his body now so close to Via's. Via swallowed back hard. Their breathing hastened, as the increased rising and falling of their chest became evident, though they tried to appear neutral.

"Papa what are y–" Via asked, Copia bringing a finger to their lips. The feel of his fingertip was soft and dangerous. A promise of more made with his touch.

"I have allowed the whispers from my heart to become loud—loud chanting inside me. There is no denying it any longer, Via. I—I must have you. Please tell me…tell me you feel the same as I do?" Copia begged, his mismatched eyes pleading for reassurance.

"Oh Papa—I do." Via said, their face flushed over in a brilliant shade of pink. Surprised that they would so willingly confess their true feelings for him. The heat between their legs swirling–fluid seeping from their arousal.

"Sí. I knew you felt it too…we are kindred spirits you and I." Copia began, bringing his face along Via. Breathing in their scent as he spoke again, "Oh how I have imagined our bodies pressed together. Let me take care of you, caro. I've wanted this for so long." Copia purred, his lips now grazing the shell of Via's ear.

"Papa." Via moaned, already beginning to come undone. Copia began kissing along the side of their neck. His lips, tingling along their skin as he went.

"No caro, Copia please." He insisted as pulled back, staring deeply into Via's misty eyes. Licking his lips as he traced the line of buttons on Via's vest with his hand.

"C-Copia." Via hummed. The Papa wasted no time, lifting Via up onto their desk, papers cascading to the floor like the confetti of rituals. Via let out a yelp as they settled on the desk, surprised by Copia's aggressive approach. He pulled his gloves off with his teeth. Via feeling themselves pulling inside with anticipation. Copia's mouth on Via's, before they knew it. The sinful amount of pleasure Via felt, lost in their first kiss was indescribable.

"I need to feel you, feel you on my hand." Copia insisted, his bare hand sliding down past Via's waistband and under their panties. Via's head fell back as Copia reached their dripping wet folds. He began to slide his fingers through them, painfully slow at first and then gaining some more momentum before sinking them deep inside Via's cunt.

"Oh fuck!" Via cried out as Copia's fingers pressed tight against the upper walls inside them, pumping in and out. They felt themselves grip tightly to the edge of the desk, their hips raising up to meet with the motion of Copia's hand.

"Pants, ta–please take them off." Copia all but commanded, his hardening cock now very evident within the leg of his pants. Via did as they were told Copia's hand, never leaving from inside them. His fingers slid deliciously out and up to the bud of Via's clit.

"Copia, that feels so good, I'm—I think I'm gonna cum." Via cried out as Copia continued the gentle swirling of his fingers across their clit.

"Cum for me passerotto. Show me how much you want me inside you." He moaned, feeling Via's body quivering inside. Via came hard and fast, a feeling that sent pure ecstasy throughout their body. Copia slipped his hands through their folds once more, bringing them to his mouth and licking Via's satisfaction from each of them. Wasting not a drop before he was fighting to remove himself from his clothes.

His black peasant shirt tossed to the floor along with his pants leaving him bare before them. Via's mouth watered at the sight of Copia's naked form. He stroked himself, his cock already dripping with anticipation. Via undid their vest and removed their remaining vestments—matching Copia's exposure.

Both sets of eyes feasting on eachother, pleased with everything they saw. Via jumped off the desk, dropping to their knees before Copia. Via now face to face with his leaking cock.

"Oh caro y-you don't have t–" Copia began, Via slipping him inside their mouth before he could finish the words.

"Oh but I want to " they said, pulling away for only a moment before sliding him back through the tight ring of their lips. Copia's mouth fell open as Via took his entire length into their mouth. Via swallowed them, deep, licking as they went. The head of Copia's cock rubbing against the back of their throat. Via's tongue ring, pressing and gliding across the sensitive spots along the shaft as they sucked.

Copia ran his fingers through Via's hair. His eyes were shut tight as he tried so hard not to cum. Via felt themselves dripping down along their thighs. They needed Copia—and now.

"Papa, please I need you inside me." Via whimpered, their pussy pulsing with the thoughts of Copia filling them up.

"You want me to fuck you passerotto, cum inside you—make you mine?" Copia growled as Via continued to stroke his cock in their hand. Via looked up at Copia, their eyes pleading with him. "Hands on the desk caro, I want to show you how much I love you." He ordered.

I…I love you, he said I love you, Via thought to themselves as they stood to face him, both panting and craving more. "Love?" Via asked, praying they hadn't misheard.

"Sí Via, I have loved you for so long." Copia confessed, pulling them close to him, their naked bodies pressed tightly together.

"I love you Cope." Via said, tears streaming down their cheeks as Copia took Via's mouth into his, their tongues dancing with one another. Copia pulled back, the couples breathing labored. Copia brought his head down, pulling Via's nipple into his mouth and gently sucked. Via continued to stroke his cock between them. Copia pulled back, he was too close, Via's nipple falling from between his lips. His eyes now burning—it was time.

"Now be a good little sparrow and put your hands on the desk." Copia growled. Via blushed once more. Their sweaty palms laid out flat on the surface as they bent forward, Copia lining up his cock with their entrance.

"Ah!" Via cried out as Copia ran his cock quickly through their wet folds and then plunged deep inside them. His hips thrusting in a decadent rhythm as Via rutted their cunt hard back against him, wanting all the friction felt between them.

"Mmm…Via you feel so good inside." Copia hummed as he pounded hard inside of them. The sounds of his hips meeting with the swell of Via's ass–obscene and powerful. Whisper covering Rigatoni's eyes as they continued their ministrations.

"My love. Please…please cum inside me. I wanna cum for you!" Via cried out as their insides throbbed and squeezed, seizing down all around Copia's cock.

"Oh Satanas! Via I'm cumming!" Copia whined, Via's cunt milking his cock for every last drop of his seed. Copia fell forward, spent and content against the warmth of Via's back. We waited a moment before pulling out, both of them, whimpering from sensitivity as he came out.

Copia pulled Via around to face him. Via's face wet from tears, tears of pure joy and pleasure. Copia brushed the dampened hair from Via's face and kissed their lips. The warmth from his kiss reaffirming their love and bond—now forever revealed to the universe

Via sighed, pure happiness and a sense of relief pouring over them. Never had they imagined–a dream, so sweet and magical as this would come true. "We shall never again deny this to ourselves passerotto. We are now one. We belong to each other, always. I love you." Copia said, pulling Via close to him. His embrace, warm and comforting.

"Never Cope. I love you too." Via replied, smiling so hard it hurt their cheeks. They were happier than they'd ever felt in her whole life. Via began to chuckle, Copia's arms wrapped tightly around them.

"What is so funny?" He asked, nervously laughing along with them.

"I was just thinking…my theory is right. That first call really does set the tone for the whole day."

Notes:

Passerotto-little sparrow

#thank you for the commission #copia x oc via #papa emeritus iv #copia #afab character #afab #ghost #ren writes #ghost smut #ghost smut writer #ghost fan fics #ghost fanfic writer #ao3 smut writer #ao3 smut #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #papa iv

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hardygalwrites · 2 years

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delicate

This utterly gorgeous art piece was commissioned from @cerumoce - I cannot understate just how much I adore this art, the artist did such an outstanding job depicting Gossamer’s absolute state (physically and emotionally) by the end of this writing piece \(@O@ )/

A session or two after my DnD character’s entire adoptive family was slaughtered, I realised that I was not sure if Gossamer would want to continue on with the rest of the party in his current mental state. I brought this up to my DM, and while we originally tried scheduling a quick solo session to see whether or not Gossamer would stick around, neither of us ended up having the time for it.

So my DM instead gave me absolute power to do basically whatever I wanted by allowing me to write a short story focusing on what Gossamer would be doing in the night between the last and upcoming session at the time. I still can’t believe my DM gave me that power, but you can believe I used it to put my son through (more) hell while also giving him some modicum of hope.

Anyway, this is that story. Enjoy :3

WARNING: lots of depressive thoughts, spurts of overwhelming grief, getting stabbed and mugged, the writer never using the POV character’s name until the end for artistic reasons

—

He woke up gasping, eyes wide, throat tight, heart pounding, mind reeling. Afterimages of slashing claws, cramped wooden walls, and smoldering bodies overlaid a void of dark fog. Echoes of terrified screams, hopeless whimpers, and roaring fire underscored bone-rattling promises of coming tyranny. Until, with every frantic breath, with every conscious clenching of his hands, it all faded away. There was only a wooden ceiling of an inn to be seen. There was only the muted night ambience of a big city to be heard.

So… He really was in the peripheral of some ancient void god…

He sighed and sat upright, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. He briefly wondered why he was still wearing his boots, but a pounding in his head quickly pulled his attention away from that question and reminded him that he had downed two pints earlier. One of the others must have carried him to bed after he blacked out.

Such a realisation would have usually left him embarrassed, or at least appreciative. As it was, he found he did not have it in him to care.

He stood up, groaning slightly as the consequences of attempting to suffocate his grief with alcohol once again made themselves known, and looked around the room. His bag had been dumped at the foot of the bed, along with his other weapons.

“Oh, gods–! What the hell have Mom and Dad been adding to this thing?”

“Your bag wasn’t at all heavy to me!”

“That’s great, Ourobor, good for you.”

His throat felt tight again. He turned away, clenching fingers gripping at his bandanna. In three swift boot strides, he approached the window and threw it open. The cool of the late night air greeted him alongside the singing of late night drunks echoing from down the torch lit street. It was only the street that greeted him, from two storeys down below.

“Hey, Mom! Mom, look!”

“Gods’ sakes, child, you aren’t a sparrow. Get down from there before you hurt yourself again.”

His fingers tightened around the windowsill, and he jumped.

The drunken singing gave way to drunken exclamations of surprise as he landed nimbly onto the street below, tucking, rolling, and popping back upright.

“Ey…! Where the hell’d you come from…?”

“Cor, I think I may’ve actually drunk too much t’night…! We got bloody people rainin’ from the sky!”

“Oi, lad, care to join us for a drink?”

He walked away without even sparing the group of tavern crawlers a glance. The drunken calls and exclamations quickly gave way back to drunken singing, and the drunken singing soon faded away into the night as he wandered off through the streets of Himrah.

While there was a lot less activity than there had been in the earlier hours of the night, it seemed that the capital city was still far from asleep, even at this time. Whispered exchanges took place in the shadows. The occasional drunk or group of drunks stumbled out from the occasional still lit tavern. Scattered patrols of night watchmen made their rounds through the sleepy streets, intermittently calling out someone hidden in the shadows, or someone making their inebriated way back home.

He could feel himself disappearing into the muted monotony, becoming a part of the whispers and stumbles and patrols. Down open streets, through closed off alleyways, he drifted aimlessly, one foot trudging after the other. His boots scarcely made a sound.

If he disappeared entirely, would anyone bother to look for him…?

“Oh my gods, Rovu…! Don’t just wander off like that!”

“I was just in the library.”

“Well tell me instead of just leaving next time! Gods… You scared me. I don’t even wanna think about what Mom and Dad’d do if I lost you.”

He grit his teeth. Nails bit through the wraps and into his palms as he clenched his hands at his sides. The urge to needlessly punch the alley wall was almost as strong as the urge to just collapse in the back alley muck.

“Wanna say that again, grandma?”

The sneering voice caught his ears, pulling him up from the eroding caverns of his mind. Whoever that voice belonged to, they did not sound especially well intentioned.

“Ahh, you talk some real tough shit for a geriatric piece of trash.”

He quickened his pace. He made not a single sound as he navigated the alleyways, relying only on the source of the voice to guide him through the twists and turns. A few paces, one right turn, and a left turn later, he heard the voice a third time, coming loud and clear from around the next corner.

“You know, I was thinking about ignoring your smelly little ass, but now I think I’ve changed my mind.”

He peeked around the corner and saw a group of two. The taller of the two didn’t appear to be a local - a half-elf, dressed in full travel gear. The ring of very familiar tools hanging from the half-elf’s belt told him that he probably wasn’t just any regular traveler either. The shorter of the two was sitting against the alley wall - an old and frail looking halfling, dressed in a slightly too large hooded cloak.

The former stood over the latter, looking none too friendly. The half-elf had a rather prickly vibe to him, like a predator waiting for any excuse to lash out. And lash out he did, grabbing the hooded halfling by the front of the cloak and yanking him up off the ground with one hand.

“So whaddaya say?” The half-elf drew a shortsword. “I wanna see some compensation, grandma.”

Oh, shit.

He stepped out from behind the corner, which caught the attention of absolutely no one, until he called out, “Woah, what did I just walk in on…?!”

A pair of sharp eyes locked onto him. The half-elf was taller than him, he suddenly realised. Not especially unusual considering the race, but immediately disconcerting nonetheless, considering the circumstances.

“This is none of your concern,” the half-elf drawled. “Turn around and walk away.”

He grimaced. “You’re holding a sword to someone’s throat, it looks pretty concerning to me.”

“It’s gonna get a lot more concerning if you don’t mind your own damned business.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on–”

“Then we shouldn’t have a problem.”

“But I’m sure if we just talk this out like civilised adults–”

“I said,” the half-elf snapped, “it’s none of your business. Walk. Away.”

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

“Ooh, scary,” he scoffed. “Nothing says ‘legitimate threat’ like mugging an old lady. Definitely not pathetic at all.”

The half-elf dropped the halfling. It was all he could do not to gulp as the half-elf turned and began to step towards him, shortsword spinning casually in hand.

“Wanna say that again, pretty boy?”

He began to step back. “I just said you definitely weren’t pathetic. Pretty neutral statement. If you ask me.”

“Oh, you’re funny.”

Steel flashed. He only barely managed to dodge the half-elf’s sword swing. He ducked to the side, drawing one of his daggers, just in time to block and parry the next swing, only for the sword to sweep back around and knock his legs out from under him. Before he could even catch his breath, the half-elf was on top of him, boot pinning down his dagger arm, knee digging into his chest, sword pressed up against his throat.

“Gods,” the half-elf jeered. “Now that was pathetic.”

The sword left his throat and stabbed into his shoulder.

“...innocent blood…”

His screams were muffled by a hand over his mouth. The half-elf leaned in, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his face.

“Word of advice,” the half-elf intoned. “Don’t go talking shit you can’t back up.”

The words were barely audible over the pounding in his ears and his own frantic breaths. He tried to push the half-elf off of him with his free arm, but every movement sent renewed jolts of agony through his shoulder. He might as well have been a kitten pawing at a tiger for all the effect his efforts had.

“I’ll make you regret ever sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. But first…”

The half-elf began to search his belt pouch, leaving the sword gored into his shoulder. An increasingly familiar feeling of apathy began to creep its way back into his body. His struggles slowed and his gaze began to lose focus.

Until the half-elf turned his head and grabbed onto two of the rings hanging from his left ear.

“I think I’ll take these as well.”

The half-elf ripped the two rings out from his cartilage.

He couldn’t tell if he was screaming again, but that was irrelevant. The pain in his shoulder was practically a pinprick as he reached for the opposite sheath with his free hand, whipped out his second dagger, and slashed at the half-elf’s face.

“Gah–! You little shit!”

He wrenched his other arm out from under the half-elf’s boot and stabbed his first dagger into the half-elf’s thigh. As the half-elf fell back, spitting and cursing, he pulled the sword out from his shoulder and hurled it aside. He was already on his feet before the half-elf suddenly threw a knife at him. He dodged it, and the half-elf darted for the discarded sword, snatching it up and standing to point it in his direction.

They both stared at each other, panting, glaring, weapons bared. Blood seeped from a gash cut diagonally across the half-elf’s face, forcing one of the eyes shut. He could feel his own blood running down the side of his neck, dripping from his throbbing ear.

“Screw what I said before,” the half-elf hissed. “I’m gonna make you regret the day you were born.”

He darted forward, steel and eyes flashing. “Get in line.”

Metal clashed against metal, metal swiped at air, metal slashed across flesh. Cuts and injuries added onto cuts and injuries. His shoulder stung with every dagger swing, yet for every time the half-elf took advantage of his weak arm, he took advantage of the half-elf’s weak leg twofold. His speed and maneuverability remained unmatched.

Until finally, the half-elf collapsed to one knee, clutching at one of the numerous wounds. When the half-elf looked up, he had a dagger leveled at the half-elf’s throat.

“These are easier to lift than the sword.”

“That’s good. We’ll train with these then. But remember, boy, this training, these weapons, they must be utilised with the utmost responsibility. Do you understand?”

“Mm-hm. I understand, Dad.”

The leather grip of the daggers creaked under his tightening grasp.

“Satisfied?” he snarled, voice cracking behind clenched teeth. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You better kill me now, pretty boy,” the half-elf growled, glaring through one open eye. “‘Cause if you don’t–”

“What? What are you gonna do? Torture me? Beat up some more old ladies? Steal more scraps from people who have nothing left to steal?! You can do all the depraved shit you want, it won’t make you any less pathetic–”

The half-elf lashed out wildly with the shortsword. Despite the frenzied nature of the attack, he only barely managed to dodge it, stumbling back with a startled gasp. By the time he recovered, the half-elf was gone, bolting away around the alley corner with surprising speed.

He stood there for a moment, heart pounding, nerves frayed. After a moment, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He slowly reached for the torn edges of his left ear.

“Oooh, pretty!”

“They’re not supposed to look pretty, they’re supposed to look badass. Ow! Rumi!”

“Ha ha! Not very badass when you get hurt by a little pull on the ear.”

His knees buckled beneath him. His daggers clattered onto the cobblestones. Some twisted amalgam of a sob and a scream clawed at his throat. His fingernails dug into the flesh around his ear, his other hand tore at his bandanna, and he felt like he was being swallowed by the unfairness of it all.

“Dammit…” he rasped, pressing his forehead against the cobblestones as he fought back tears. “Dammit…!”

As seemed to be the subtitle for his entire life as of late, his efforts amounted to nothing.

“All right, that’s enough o’ that, lad.”

Something smacked against his head, snapping his attention upwards. A familiar old halfling woman stood over his curled form, frowning down at him.

“There are times ‘n places for cryin’,” the halfling said, “and the back alleys o’ Himrah definitely ain’t one o’ them.”

He sat back upright, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Sorry, sorry, I just… Um, are you all right?”

The halfling narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m wonderin’ if I should be askin’ you the same thing, lad. Got eyes like a prisoner out o’ the void, you do.”

“What could have possibly happened for him to end up like that? I mean, his eyes, Daryus–”

“I know, Kalla… I saw it too. No child should have eyes like those.”

“What should we do?”

He laughed, a short, high-pitched, hysterical sound. “Gods… It’s been a long, long time since I heard someone talk about my eyes like that. It looks that bad, huh…?”

“Always does,” the halfling said with a shrug. “I’ve seen many with eyes like yours over the past century and a half, some even younger than you. Sad, sad creatures indeed.”

He opted not to respond to that, instead picking his daggers up off the ground and slipping them back into their sheaths.

“Are you all right, though?” he asked. “I saw that guy trying to mug you, and, y’know…”

The halfling waved her hand airily. “I dealt far more damage to his ego than he did to my person. And you saved me from bein’ forced to give up my favourite pipe, so overall, I came out o’ this ordeal quite unscathed.”

Reaching into her oversized cloak, the halfling pulled out a pipe and small pouch, before doddering over and sitting down beside him.

“So, you’re an adventurer,” the halfling stated, opening the pouch and revealing a wad of smoking tobacco.

“What makes you say that?”

“You make foolish enough decisions to qualify as one. You won’t hear me complainin’, though.”

As she spoke, the halfling finished tamping tobacco into her pipe and lit it with a match that appeared to be struck alight within the same motion she whipped it out from her cloak. Once the tobacco was smoldering, the halfling took a short puff and breathed out a contented, smoky sigh.

He turned his gaze down towards the cobblestones. “I don’t know… Maybe at one point, but… I don’t know if I want to keep going.”

“Hmph. Has the life of an adventurer taken its toll on you already, lad?”

“Something like that. A lot’s happened lately. Like… a lot. A real lot. Just… a lot…”

He ran a hand over one of his tattoos.

“You got scales!”

“Ha ha! Yeah, kinda. What d’you think of them, Umbra? Ah, careful, they kinda hurt right now.”

“Now you match me and Papa!”

His eyes began to sting again. He curled in on himself. But as it was…

“It’s like I can’t bring myself to care anymore,” he muttered.

“Bah,” the halfling scoffed. “For someone who doesn’t care anymore, you sure did throw yourself into someone else’s business with no hesitation.”

“Well, I– I mean– You were in trouble, right? And I couldn’t just do nothing…!”

The halfling raised her pipe to him. “As I said, you won’t hear me complainin’.”

Silence settled over them like a down blanket, leaving only the muted night ambience of the city to fill in the hush. The pleasant smell of pipe smoke wafted through the cool night air, the smoke itself wisping and curling into abstract shapes. He watched it with an unfocused gaze.

“I know I would have wanted help,” he murmured. “If someone were mugging me, I mean.”

“Ah.” The halfling nodded. “Truly a foolish one, then. This world is far too selfish to sustain that kind o’ thinkin’, lad.”

“…If that were true… I don’t think I’d be here.”

“Well, my pipe thanks whoever it was who cultivated your foolishness.”

“It’s all right. We’re here to help you, boy.”

“…”

“No one is going to hurt you, little one. I promise.”

He lay back on the cobblestones. His injuries stung and throbbed in protest at his movement. The buildings towering on either side of him obscured much of the night sky above.

He let out a long, shaky sigh. “I feel… very tired…”

“You’re far too young to be feelin’ like that.”

“Sorry...”

“It’s not a sin, lad. Just a pity.”

The muted night ambiance returned to fill the stillness. Time passed. The pipe smoke continued to wisp and curl through the air, dissipating into the sky above. Even through the buildings, the moon and stars still managed to peek their way into the little alleyway.

Gossamer let out another sigh and sat back upright. He grimaced as his injuries once again made their displeasure known, but quickly shook it off.

“Well,” he said, slowly clambering to his feet, “there are times and places for me to rest, but right here isn’t one of them.”

The halfling looked up at Gossamer, still puffing at the end of her pipe, still exhaling smoke with every other breath. Though her face was largely obscured by her hood and the pipe smoke, Gossamer thought he saw her flash a sad smile.

“‘n I pray you find that time ‘n place, lad.”

Gossamer nodded. “You have a good night, ma’am.”

“I will certainly endeavour to.”

—

a/n: gossamer would then wander around the city trying to find his way back to the inn and end up falling asleep in the alley behind the inn as soon as he found it

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navybrat817 · 3 years

Note

Soldat spotting his prey. 😏

Oh, our beautiful Soldat.😭 Headcanon below the cut. Unplanned part to the Soldat and Sparrow Universe. Takes place between Winter and Fire and Soldat and Sparrow. I’m just glad I finally had the time to write something this week!!!

War and Peace

Pairing: Winter Soldier x Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: Over 800 Warnings: Explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, violence, feels, Captain America AU

Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications.

Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Do not repost repost to any third party site. 18+ please. Minors DNI. Please comment or reblog if you desire!

You were always in the back of his mind. It confused him. It wasn't part of his… programming.

But… He had nothing and no one else. And he meant what he said… your fire was meant to burn for him.

It was your first mission together. While he was power and force, you were agility and defense. His path was destruction and war and you did your best to soothe with peace.

But peace had no place in Hydra.

He lifted his head to watch you. All you had to do was complete the mission: Eliminate the target.

It was a test to see if you would follow orders.

For a moment, you faltered. You didn't want your hands to bring death to the undeserving. A target was a target though. You didn't get to choose.

The moment the target took aim at him, all hesitation was gone.

The man's death was quick. That was the only mercy you spared.

You didn't say anything on the way back to the base, pointedly avoiding the Soldat's gaze. It bothered him. He wanted you to look at him.

"Good work," was all you were told once you returned.

You went to your room the moment the report was finished.

He followed, agitated that you were avoiding him. You were the only one who didn't treat him like a machine or an animal. Why were you acting like this?

"Sparrow," he said in a low voice, shutting your door before the guard could argue.

Your back was to him, but he saw the tremble in your shoulders.

"...What if he was innocent?" you asked. "We were innocent."

He slowly approached, even though you didn't turn around. His hands slipped around your waist, pulling you back against him.

"You hesitated. You can't do that again," he warned you, avoiding your words. He would never be innocent again. But… he still had you.

"I know," you whispered. "We can't be free if I make mistakes. I just… still feel death on my hands."

He closed his eyes, seeing flashes of people he eliminated over the years.

"But I wasn't going to let him hurt you."

He turned you in his arms, unable to take it any longer. He had to see your gaze on him. Maybe it was love in your eyes.

"Fire often brings death, Sparrow. But it also brings warmth and light."

Your eyes were soft before you kissed him. It was just as he said… warm and light. It quickly gave way to hunger.

You were against the wall before he could stop himself, his tongue exploring the wet heat of your inviting mouth.

You made a noise against his lips as he tore through your clothes. He had to be inside you, if only to make you forget about the mission. For a short time, he could take that away. He'd make your fire burn again.

He didn't tease or prep you as he took his cock out. He knew you were ready for him. His Sparrow always was.

He took possession of your mouth again as he lifted you, giving you a moment to grip his shoulders before he thrust deep.

Your cry was lost against his tongue, swallowing the embers from your flames. He wanted you to burn him from the inside out as he drove into your tight wetness.

"Mine, Sparrow," his words were spoken against your lips as he let you breathe, your cunt gripping his cock eagerly at his possessive tone.

"Yours, Soldat," you whined, practically clawing at his shoulders.

He dragged his cock in and out of you, wanting to hit the deepest parts of you. The ones no one else got to have, but him.

"You may not be able to fly, Sparrow," he grunted, feeling you get closer to your release by how hard you clenched around him. "But you don't have to. I'll catch you."

He swore in Russian as you let out a broken moan, driving hard into you as you fell apart. The quivering grip around his cock always brought his own pleasure forward like a maelstrom.

He felt a lingering kiss on one of his scars as he burst, groaning as he flooded you. You tightened around him again, as if your first orgasm never ended.

He stayed upright as he caught his breath, letting you sag in his hold as he pulled you against his chest. He would never let you fall.

"Will you still burn for me?"

"Always."

He wouldn't let you sleep tonight. He would keep you full of his cock, filling you until you begged him to stop. Until they dragged him away from you.

Tonight, you'd give him peace.

Because he didn't see the doctor on the other side of the door.

"He may not let you get close to her," the guard warned.

"I know. It's too soon," the doctor answered.

But one day. You would carry the Soldat's child. Hydra would make sure of it.

*****

More Soldat and Sparrow.

#navybrat answers #navybrat writes #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x you #bucky barnes x you #soldat x sparrow #soldat and sparrow #winter soldier x sparrow reader #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier headcanon #sebastian stan x reader

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lord-explosion-baku · 3 years

Text

Sparrow

Prince!Satoru Gojo x assassin!reader

Warnings: violence, swearing, suggestive themes, dubious themes, blood

A/N: request numero dos is done! It’s kinda silly, but I think it’s pretty fun! I think it can be read as pretty lighthearted, even if it gets a little violent! it’s a little different that what was originally requested! I had the elements for a sword fight set up, but it wasn’t working out the way I wanted it to, so I took a slightly different route! theres still fighting though! I hope you like it!

It’s been a long journey to get where you are now, silently scaling the castle towers towards the prince’s bed chambers. An extra long journey, considering how many royal guards have been posted on top of kingdom rooftops. Like a shadow in the night, using nothing but the black elements to mask your presence, you’ve managed to slip by them, as well as the gatehouse soldiers, undetected, leaving only four men incapacitated, and not a vestige of your presence. All this sneaking around has been a trying job thus far, but it’s almost over now. You’re about to finish what you came to do.

Light as a feather, quiet as a dormouse, you swing your body up and over the limestone-clad palace window. The room is adorned with priceless artwork watched over by gilded ceiling paintings. Framing the biggest bed you’ve ever seen is a corona with royal blue drapery that hangs down to each corner. In the center of the bed lies the sleeping and wonderfully unaware prince.

His body is lopsided, and only partially covered by silk sheets. One of his feet hangs off the bed. Tousled white hair sticks out in every direction while still managing to frame his admittedly attractive face. Long white eyelashes. Peaceful and full lips. He’s young, you think, although you’ve been aware. But seeing him in the flesh solidifies the thought: you are about to be the end of his short life.

However, this mission comes with little remorse. There have been rumors that the Royal Gojo Family has been dabbling in alchemy for over a century now. To you, there is nothing more disgusting than the use of the unnatural sciences. It’s ungodly. And even then, this kill shouldn’t matter much since you can call it what it is: a job. This is what you do. Do as your master commands, kill without question, leave no trace, get paid, repeat. It helps that there have been rumors specifically centered around your charge; rumors that Prince Satoru is a complete and utter womanizer.

Well, not for long.

The bed doesn’t shake the least bit as you climb on top of him. The prince sleeps soundlessly and doesn’t stir when you situate your thighs over his firm hips. Normally, you’d simply slit your target’s throat, quick and easy, but since there are those rumors about the use of alchemy, you need to work a little differently tonight. To kill an alchemist user, one will have to pierce them directly in the heart with a silver blade. You don’t particularly believe that the prince is a user; his focus has primarily been on balls and parties and other social events, but you’d rather be safe than sorry. So, your primed weapon of choice, a silverlined dagger, slides up your sleeve and into the palm of your hand. You grasp its hilt, then line it parallel to his heart, pull up, and plunge it in.

Rather, you would be plunging it in, if it hadn’t been for the swift-acting hand wrapped tightly around your wrist.

“Drop it.” The low, sleep-crackled utterance sends shivers up your spine. Acting fast, you use your free hand to push on the hilt, your strength against his, but it doesn’t budge a centimeter, and instead, both of your wrists are captured by the prince. His grip tightens, squeezing you so harshly that you feel the tips of your fingers tingle, but you don’t relinquish your weapon.

Vibrant blue eyes blink up at you, narrowing into a scowl. You try pushing harder, ignoring the fact that his eyes seem to glow in the darkness, ignoring the fact that they are the prettiest eyes that have ever gazed at you, ignoring the fact that those pretty eyes are now trailing down your body. Your skin burns at the attention. You can’t let yourself believe that he’s checking you out in a life or death situation, but then you figure it’s in your head when he says, “if you wish to keep your wrists intact, you will drop. Your. Dagger.”

Surrendering is not an option. It’s either kill or be killed, because even when you choose to not kill, your termination will be absolute. You will be tried by the king with his son at his right side, then you will be hanged for your crimes. So with shaking hands, you attempt to exert more pressure, trying to keep your breath steady to not raise a commotion.

Surprisingly, the prince chuckles. “Has a little sparrow flown through my window to try to kill me?”

In one fell swoop, Satoru manages to flip you onto your back, his hands bringing your wrists down on the side of the bed, forcing you to drop the dagger to the floor. He eyes you speculatively for a moment, then his mouth turns up into a half-grin.

“A woman, no less.” He muses incredulously. Then his eyes dart back down your body, and by the way his grin widens, you’re sure he actually is checking you out. “Are you supposed to be some kind of peace offering?”

What an odd man. Although you've just made an attempt on his life, he’s smiling down at you like you’re some kind of acquaintance—no, friend.

“I mean…sending a beautiful woman to my bedchambers says a lot, wouldn’t you agree?” Prince Satoru asks after taking in your dumbfounded expression. “Not much for words?” He asks. “That’s okay, little sparrow. We don’t need to talk.”

You gasp when he begins to lean down, eyes trained on your lips. Without a second’s hesitation, your feet meet his bare chest, and with all of your might, you kick off, throwing him back a couple meters. You flip back onto the floor and attack him with throwing knives while you search for your dagger. If he is in fact an alchemist, your other weapons won’t do much damage, but could slow him down if you could manage to hit him.

“You’re strong,” Satoru gleefully appraises, dodging another one of your throwing knives, and catching the other. He throws it back at you, but you manage to duck behind the corona curtain at just the right time. “And fast.”

The dagger is under the bed. You grab it, gulp some air, then use the curtain as a distraction before charging at the prince, using the same swiping technique your master has taught you. Your blade cuts through the air with one swipe, and another. You’re barely missing him, and it’s frustrating because that goofy grin stays plastered to his dumb, pretty face!

In a moment’s notice, he grabs your outstretched arm, pushing down on a pressure point that has your limb lock up. “But you’re messy and unrefined,” he says as a hand slides up your arm. Now behind you, he places his free hand on your waist, moving you into a stance similar to what your master has shown you. “Don’t you fret, little sparrow. It’s nothing a little polishing won’t fix.”

His breath is hot and fanning your ear. Your stomach knots when he squeezes your waist, and to your utter horror, his lips graze down to your neck, tongue sliding over your skin. “Mmm…sweet.”

“What! Are you—?!” Bouncing away from him, you cover your slick neck with one hand while the other continues to point the dagger outwards. What’s even worse is that he doesn’t look the least bit jaded!

He laughs. “Even your voice is cute!” In the dim light of the room, you can see pink beginning to bloom across his cheeks. “Won’t you speak more? Say my name, pretty please.”

“Prick,” you hiss, once again charging forward.

“Do you kiss your master with that mouth?” Satoru begins using his arms to block and redirect your attacks, until he’s twirling you around as if you’re dancing and not trying to kill him! You fume, hating the fact that the prince knows you have a master to begin with. “I should hope not. The only person I’d have you kiss is me!”

He dips you down low, your dagger somehow tucked between the junction of your arm, and very smoothly places his lips against yours. You’ve been kissed before, but never in such a way that made you feel like floating. Like gravity ceased to exist. Like you were falling into a black hole that you didn’t want to claw out of. Prince Satoru Gojo’s kiss is different. It’s light and it’s heavy. It’s heaven and it’s earth. It’s a blessing and a curse.

He hums into you, making the knot in your belly tighten. For a moment, you don’t struggle. Instead, your lips part, and you allow the prince to cup your face to pull you in deeper, tasting you, relishing you. You wind your fingers through the soft strands of his starry hair, and lose yourself in the moment. When he breaks the kiss, pulling away with an expression you can only call beguiled, his thumb moves along the bottom of your lip. Your mind is the fog that clouds the streets at night. It doesn’t mean anything to you when you kiss the tip of his thumb, but when that grin you hate so much comes back, your body erupts in blusterous rage.

Realizing what you just allowed to happen, you snap at his hand. He pulls it away just in time for you to reach for your weapon and slice it across his chest. You push him back, only allowing yourself a second to collect yourself before aiming the dagger at his heart. He catches your wrist before it makes contact.

“So passionate,” he says with a smile, but through gritted teeth. “I must admit, this has been the most fun I’ve had in my bedchambers in a very long time. You might even be spoiling all the fun that the future entails as well. And I don’t even know your name yet. How sad.”

Satoru throws you against the wall, pinning your dagger-wielding arm against one of his extravagant paintings. He nods towards your weapon. “Throw that away.”

“You scared, alchemist?” You bite back.

“I’m only afraid you might hurt yourself, little sparrow. Sharp objects are dangerous, you know. Wouldn't want to clip your wings.” He winks. “And you should be referring to me as your royal highness. I am a prince, afterall.”

“With the dark craft that you and the royal family use, you’re no higher than me.”

Satoru chuckles. “Won’t you please tell me your name? Or at least join me in bed before you insist that I need to be killed.”

“This is not on my insistence.” It’s a slip, but it’s a big one. You’d cover your mouth if your hands were free.

“So, who sent you?” The prince prompts. “It can’t be a scorned lover. Hmmm. The Fushiguro clan? Pshh. No. They’d do it in person.” He flashes his teeth, omniscience glowing in his beautiful blue eyes. “Master Suguru Getou?”

You suck in a breath and he reads it all too well.

“I already know,” he purrs, lips brushing against yours. “Your fighting style is very similar to his. I’m just surprised he sent somebody with so little experience. It certainly proves how much of a coward he is.”

Your blood boils. How dare he insult your master to your face! Satoru Gojo, the sleazy prince and a lowly alchemist. He is scum compared to Master Getou.

You ram your head into the prince’s. Pain shoots down your spine, but you ignore it and thrust your dagger forward. Satoru grabs your arm and pushes it down, and soon, you scream after hearing a tearing sound, and feel a very sharp stinging at your side. Sticky warm fluid seep through your fingers at your side. It’s not a deep cut, but it’s just enough to make you bleed.

“Oh no,” Prince Satoru says in earnest. “Oh, this was my mistake. Dear sparrow, that was a reflex of mine. I didn’t mean to—“

There’s a knock on the prince’s chamber doors, followed by someone’s low voice asking, “your highness, are you well? I heard screaming.”

Shit. This is it. You’re dead. Sure, the prince wants to play with you, but anyone else will have your head in a heartbeat if they see what you’re doing. You should say your prayers now and kiss the world goodbye. You’re sending a silent apology to Master Getou when Satoru lifts you up and carries you to his bed.

“Sir Nanami?” The prince calls while he throws the sheets over both you and him. He climbs on top, pressing his chest into yours. The side that’s injured seers with pain, so you let out a little whimper the moment you hear footsteps enter the room.

“Don’t tell me you have a woman in here,” the man groans. “You know the king has forbidden any partner of yours from walking through these palace doors until further notice.”

“She flew in through my window, actually,” Satoru slyly admits. “But she’s no ordinary woman. She’s very special to me.”

Both you and the knight scoff at the same time, though you hope he doesn’t hear you. If he can believe this charade, perhaps you can get on with your night. And once you kill the prince, there will be a knight who will think that his murder is nothing but a lover’s quarrel gone wrong.

“I see.”

You’re staring at Satoru’s chest, and you realize that his wound from earlier is nearly healed. If you had any doubts about the Gojo family using alchemy, they’re out the window now. You run a fine finger across the red line that contrasts against his ivory chest, feeling the smooth bump where you’d cut him. Will it scar? you think. Disappear completely?

The prince squirms and grabs your hand. “That tickles!” He exclaims, bringing your hand up to his mouth to pepper kisses all over it. Even though the attention burns the back of your neck, you let him, since it’ll only convince the knight that the two of you are in fact being intimate.

Finally, Satoru says, “did you need something, Sir Nanami, or are you ready to confess your voyeuristic sins?”

Sir Nanami sighs, but you hear him back up a few paces. “Then, nobody’s hurt, your highness?”

“No,” Satoru says dubiously, “however, if you could fetch the healing medicines, that would be appreciated. She’s a little feisty!”

You slap his chest and he yips playfully back at you. It would be good fun if the two of you weren’t enemies.

Once the knight leaves, you’re quick to slink out of the bed, albeit wobbly. Dots of blood line his sheets, the sight making you feel a bit dizzy, but it doesn’t stop you from picking up your weapon.

“You don’t tire, do you?” Satoru asks impishly. “As admirable as that is, I simply cannot allow you to try to kill me anymore! You’ll get more hurt!”

“You’re nothing but a dirty alchemist.” You weakly thrust the dagger forward, nearing the window.

“Well, and a dashing prince, but that’s besides the point.” Satoru steps forward and you step back, your legs hitting the window’s wall. “Your master is no better.”

You bare your teeth at him. “Don’t you dare say a word to me about my master!”

“Please, little sparrow, you’re injured. Step away from the window and let’s bandage you up.” He reaches a hand out, and you swipe through the air, splicing his palm. More blood falls to the floor. Unafflicted, Satoru says, “you can’t hurt me.”

“Then let me leave, so that when I return, I can hurt you!”

There’s a purse on his lips. A pensive pause. Then the prince raises both of his hands, one of which is already healed, in defeat.

“There’s a medicine man who lives south-east from the gatehouse,” he says. “His name is Kiyotaka Ijichi. He’ll be asleep by now, but he’s a bit of a pushover and a sucker for a lady in distress. If you wail a bit outside his house, he’ll come out to offer you aid.”

“I don’t need anybody’s help,” you spit as you begin climbing out the window. You half-expect him to push you then. It’s a wonderful opportunity, one that you would seize if you were in his position. But the prince just watches you begin your descent.

“Do try to not bleed on any of the garden flowers,” he calls.

You wordlessly growl back at him.

“Oh, and little sparrow! Should you return here tomorrow evening, or perhaps the next night, or even a week or a month from now, shall I prepare red or white wine for you?” Prince Satoru offers you a charming smile. “And would you like there to be a violinist present? Anything to set the mood?”

Once you’re on your feet, you glare up at the beaming prince. He’s far too confident, but you make a mental promise to ruin that confidence someday, somehow. You don’t answer him, like you’re sure he doesn’t expect, but you allow him to watch you disappear into the black from whence you came.

#jjk requests #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk imagine #jjk reader insert

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beskarberry · 3 years

Text

Star-crossed

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 11

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

"His heartbeat picked up to a wicked cantor, echoing in his helmet like a storm of leathery wings. Whispering demons crawled up his brainstem and dragged beloved memories down from his skull and into the light of judgement. Memories of you."

<-Previous Next->

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 9.k oh no

Content warnings: Major angst, nightmares, premonitions, auditory hallucinations, unsavory parental figures, paranoia, domestic disputes, child endangerment, violence. No smut in this one, the only thing getting fucked in this chapter are our feelings.

A/N: This one hurt to write, there were definitely some tears shed while putting this together this so fair warning do not expect this one to end well. :(

High above the metal decking of the engine room, you were elbow deep in an exhaust port, clearing away the slag to replace one of the durasteel plates that had started to warp from the excess heat. You were singing, as you always did when you worked; a vulgar, brassy shanty that was almost louder than the reciprocating scraper in your hands. You spat and wiped a wayward chunk of grease from your mouth, the taste of it oily and burnt. No matter how many times you’d been taught the lesson of ‘keep your mouth closed’ you couldn’t help it. Whenever you worked, you sang.

Raucous as a mudhorn in heat and louder than a full grown krayt, your songs were a favorite of your unit, and the chief of engineering would often come stand a while and listen; though the moment he was caught eavesdropping he would scold you for not working harder. Tough love is what he called it. He was yelling at you now from far below at the base of the hyperdrive engine, and you pushed your goggles up your grime-smeared face to see him.

Bilgerat! Get’cher ass down ‘ere, posthaste!

Yessir!

Now you were standing in front of the chief, though there was another man standing there too. Tall, thin and pale with eyes like a dead fish and a tight, steelset jaw. You didn’t recognize him, but he looked important, his lapel shining with the badge of a high-ranking officer.

You there, girl, sing.

Sir?

Don’t argue with me, child, I heard you from three decks over. Sing.

Being watched made you nervous, but you did as you were ordered. You sang something, maybe everything, either way the stranger watched you, no, judged you, his eyes never leaving your face. The dead-eyed man furrowed his brow and stroked his chin thoughtfully, but you had already stopped watching him, caught in your song, powerless against the siren song that was your own voice.

It always felt so good to let loose, your voice could set your soul free, and yet it also felt like it was pulling something in. Something greater than yourself, flowing through you, connecting you to every living thing that ever was or ever will be. Your boots were firmly stuck aboard the starship called the Wyvern’s Tongue, but your songs carried your heart to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, to worlds beyond your durasteel home.

The humming is what woke Din up, though he hadn’t slept much through the night anyway, too suspicious of the artifact he had found aboard his ship. Fully armored, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall of the borrowed quarters he had stood guard over his tiny clan, dozing in and out of restless sleep.

He lifted his helmeted head to zero in on the noise you were making. It was one he was familiar with, you often hummed in your sleep, it was something he loved about you. The warm, wavering sound coming from the floor where you had made a nest of quilts for yourself was comforting, but tonight something about it seemed off.

He watched you sleep, noticing the way that your fingers twitched and your legs kicked behind you slightly. It wasn’t like you to be so energetic, so distressed. Clutched to your chest the foundling purred softly, but you didn’t seem to hear him. Your hums turned to whimpers, making the Mandalorian’s blood run cold.

She’s having a nightmare.

She’s perfect. I’ll take her.

But sir, she’s m’best bilgie. How’ll I-

Is that insubordination I hear, Chief Wellers?

N-no Cap’n Forescythe. She’s all yours.

Good. Come along, little sparrow, your talents are being wasted here.

You remember being so scared, looking to your chief for reassurance, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Though you’d lived aboard the Wyvern’s Tongue since she had left Corellia’s port you’d never actually met the captain. The starcruiser was well over a thousand meters long and home to hundreds of crewmates, putting bilgerats far below the captain’s sphere of influence. What did he want from you?

Each step you took in your dream you got taller, your strides lengthening as you grew from a gangly teenager to a young woman. You were at the bridge now, being sat in a stiff but comfortable chair. You were taught to relay orders, delegate operations, interpret incoming transmissions and their origins. It was a station high above your birthright, but you were never one to turn down a challenge, and you bullied your way to excellence; much to your captain’s pride.

Captain Forescythe was usually described as a cold, unforgiving man, but he treated you remarkably well for a boat-brat dug up from the scuppers, much to the disdain of his fellow officers. He told you that you were a natural talent, gifted by the Maker with a voice so strong, so beautiful, almost like he revered you for it. Much like the ship's namesake, the Wyvern’s captain lorded over you like treasure, jealousy guarding you like a priceless jewel.

The captain’s precious little pet.

Sing, my little Sparrow.

Unable to spectate any longer, Din crawled over to you, brushing an armored hand over your sweat-streaked face. “Mesh’la? Are you alright? Wake up cyare, you’re having a nightmare.”

Wake up.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Once where a beautiful, peaceful world had once been there was now only dust. The Death Star your ship was escorting had succeeded in her mission, and you had been graciously allowed to watch as the mechanical moon obliterated a billion lives as one would exterminate a nest of roaches. Around you your crew cheered, hooray for the Empire! Death to the Resistance! But you couldn’t hear them.

You heard screaming.

Clawing at your ears and squeezing your eyes closed did nothing to make it stop. As if millions of voices were funneling directly into your skull.

You ran. Ran through the labyrinthian hallways, ran as fast as you could to your quarters. Even your blankets would not protect you, the wailing only growing louder.

Murderers! Monsters! You killed us! Why? Why why why!

You ran from your tiny room, backpack slung over your shoulder, filled with what few things you owned. Ran all the way to the hangar. You’d worked on interceptors a thousand times before when your hands were still small, when you could weasel your way into the narrowest of spaces and prove yourself worthy of not getting jettisoned. Knife in hand you unlocked the security protocols easier than picking your teeth, and the hangar fell away beneath you.

Turning back one last time to glance at the artificial home you had known for so long you saw a figure standing there. Was it the captain? Had he come to stop you? Stop his precious Sparrow from flying away?

No. They were blue, flickering in and out of corporeality. Their face took up your entire mindscape now, their features ever changing, like you were looking at more than one face at a time. The eldritch being’s eyes bored through yours, shifting rapidly from those of a man to those of a child to those of an elder, a hundred lives all demanding to be seen at once. Their mouth did not move when it spoke.

“i̴͊̎t̴'s̸̉͋ ̵͋c̸͑ȏ̸̕m̸͐͛i̸̽͘n̷̾͂ǵ̵”

You sucked air like your lungs had never known oxygen, nearly launching the foundling into orbit as you bolted upright. Beskar burdened arms coiled around you the next second, and you stung your knuckles on his armor trying to fight him off in your panic.

“Ger’off’a me! It wasn’t my fault! I’m sorry! Please!”

“Cyare! Stop! You’re having a nightmare, it’s ok I’ve got you!” Battleborne muscles held you tight against a cold plate of steel while you thrashed until you were coherent. Husband. You let your body relax against your oathsworn and wept, deep, heaving sobs that tore your throat apart and crackled your ribs. Soft shushing noises came through Din’s modulator next to your ear, but the cold metal of his armor brought you little comfort.

“I-I’m s-s-sor-ry.” You stuttered into the fabric of his cowl, the roughhewn cloth soaked with tears. Strong fingers carded through your dampish hair, still not dried all the way from your shower only a few hours ago. Din pressed his palm against the back of your head, burying you in the crook of his shoulder where he could protect you from whatever had scared you. The yellowed tips of his gloves bumped against your unburdened ear cuffs with each pass of his hand, but the leather scraping the metal couldn’t drown out the whispers that still oozed from your thoughts.

Why why why why why why...

“It’s alright, cyar’ika, I’m here. Grogu’s here.” Without tearing your eyes away from the safe haven of his cloak you groped blindly for the baby, finding the disheveled youngling and pulling him in tight. “Can you tell me what happened?” Din asked, his modulated voice soft with worry. You shook your head against your partner. “Alright, that’s ok.”

-ỉ̶t'̸͑̋́̂s̸ ̵̝͕̏̀͠͝c̷̬͙̃̽͌̑̊o̷̅͑̓̈́m̴̧͓͈̭̃͂́̽͌͑ǐ̶̓̕n̷̓̋̚g̵͕͙͎͊̀͊̽!̶̑̀-

You gasped and pulled away from your husband’s comfort, eyes wider than moons, pupils shrunken to pinpoints. Gloved hands found your face, cupping your cheeks and trying to get you to look into his hidden honeywells that were searching your eyes. Unblinking, you looked right through him.

“Can you hear that?” You whispered, your voice far, far away.

“Hear what?”

-I̴̭̊̚͘͘T̷́̽̕S̴̔̅̈́ ̸̋C̸̀͋Ỏ̸̉̄͝M̸̐͂I̶N̷̽͗̈̌G̵͓̎̈̊̀͛͘͠!̶!̷̤̏-

“That!” you shrieked, making both your boys jump. You clawed at your ears, though you knew that wouldn’t help, the voices were coming from inside. “I-I have.. I have to go! I have to go now!” You tried to spring up off the floor, but your arm was caught in the iron grip you knew and trusted, keeping you at your knees. “I have to warn Alewyn!”

“Cyar’ika what are you talking about? Warn her about what?”

The phantom voice wailed again, and you doubled over from the force of it, sending a fresh wave of tears down your face. Din was getting scared now, his eyes wide with worry behind the visor, his throat bobbing around dry swallows. You’d never woken up like this before, so distraught and inconsolable, and it was making him feel helpless. He couldn’t put binders on your emotions, grapple with your fears, slay your inner demons.

“Let go!” You roared and flew from his grasp, tripping over your faceplate and the pile of quilts as you blasted out the door, sprinting down the Sunskate’s curving corridors towards the bridge with your foundling stuffed under your arm. Haunting voices chased you through the halls, making you deaf to the armored thunder that was following dutifully behind.

You charged through the bulkhead to the bridge, nearly busting the durasteel door off its hinges when you flew through it, skittering to a halt in front of the viewport. With wild eyes you searched the void, ignoring the concerned questions that were being asked of you. Where is it where is it where is it?! From corner to corner you scanned, locking your red-rimmed eyes on every flicker, every spark.

Nothing.

Nothing for miles.

Slowly you became aware of those around you, the soft leather gloves of your mate pulling on your face and the warm but worried voice of the Sunskate’s captain.

“Cyare?”

“Tra’laar?”

“Patu?”

Your legs gave out under you and you let yourself be caught in the steelbound arms of your husband, the two of you sinking to the floor with the foundling still locked to your chest. Terror replaced itself with scalding embarrassment, making you bury your unblinking eyes in the foundling’s forgiving tummy. Your eyelids wouldn’t close no matter how hard you willed them to, because they knew that somewhere, out there,

Was a dragon.

“What’s wrong with her? Did you do something to upset her?!” Alewyn hissed, becoming defensive of her ill-begotten rescue.

“No! She had a nightmare, I think. Cyar’ika whatever it is, it’s not real. There’s nothing out there, come back to me, please.” Mando’s loving pleas and careful touches went unrecognized, no matter how diligent they were.

What finally drew you back to reality was the gentle pat pat pat of fat baby paws on your face. You turned your wilted gaze to the foundling, the embarrassment of being seen so vulnerable only growing stronger and more painful. “I-I’m s-sorry, Goober, you s-sh-sh-shouldn’t have to see me like-”

Pap.

Baby beans smacked you softly on your forehead and closed his eyes, making you furrow your brow. “What are you- oh.” Your eyes slid closed, and a warm peacefulness breezed through you, exorcising the whispering voices between your ears. You took a deep, somewhat stuttered breath and let go, feeling whatever weird baby magic the foundling possessed flow through you. The night terror faded to the back of your mind, dissipating like mist until it evaporated entirely from your thoughts.

“Thank you…” You whispered, nuzzling the baby’s chubby belly. Heart rate steady and breath even, you leaned back against the man who was still holding you up. Din rested the edge of his helmet on the top of your head and hummed, a low, brassy tone, sounding relieved. Where his hands were wrapped around your sides you felt the slow roll of his palms, warm and protective. “I’m sorry, Mando, Alewyn, I don’t know what came over me...”

“S’all right, missy, t’ain’t the first time I’ve seen someone go wailin’ through the halls. We all have our burdens to bear.” Alewyn combed a dainty hand through your hair, brushing it out of your face. “Good thing them boys’ve gotcha though.” She glanced between the visor of the Mandalorian that was coiled so defensively around you and the little green baby you held so dearly. “I can tell they love ya.”

You nodded sheepishly and let Din help you to your feet, his hands never leaving you lest you waver. Angrily you wiped at the corners of your eyes, trying to cover your shame as the three of you walked back to your room. When the bedroom door closed behind you, you went straight for the porthole window, cautiously searching the stars again.

“What are you looking for?” Din asked hesitantly, “What… what were you dreaming about?”

“Um. I had a dream we were… under attack.” You lied, your eyes still locked to the void. If you could help it, the secrets of your past would someday die with you, though by the sounds of the whispers you had heard not even death could keep its mouth closed.

“Must have been one hell of a nightmare, I’ve never seen you like this. Is there anything I can do for you?” Din the ever-thoughtful asked, draping a quilt over your shoulders. The fabric was still warm from where you had been sleeping on it, the weight of it reassuring on your back. You shook your head. He glanced at the back of one vambrace, “We’re still another hour from the station, why don’t we get our things packed and back on the Crest? Would that be ok?”

It was better than going back to sleep, you didn’t trust your own thoughts not to terrorize you again, and you nodded enthusiastically. Din didn’t allow you to lift a finger while he zoomed around the little room, collecting your armor and laundry and then you, scooping you and the foundling up in his arms.

“Put me down, tinman, I’m not helpless!” you chided with a weak little laugh.

“There’s my girl. Nope, I’m carrying you. Deal with it.”

You sighed in a heavy, mocking tone, covering your face with your mask like a shy child while he proudly tromped back to the hangar to where your immobile home lay. Once you were all lifted up the half-hanging ramp you dropped graclessly onto a crate with a huff. You were beat, but it felt nice to be back in your ship, the familiarity adding to whatever calming effect the foundling had used. The little green terror was drowsy in your arms, spent from using his wild baby powers to vanquish your demons. You kissed his wrinkly little head and swaddled him in the quilt Din had accidentally stolen for you.

Tinman was digging through the larder, looking for something for breakfast and found a pack of biscuits to give you. Though the suspicious item he still carried in his pocket had kept him sleepless, the need to care for his loved ones overrode every other instinct, making him forget it for the time being. You weren’t hungry, if anything you were nauseous from your night terror, but Din was insistent; and you nibbled on a bright blue macaroon, splitting bites with the sleepy baby.

Eventually a soft beeping chimed from the Mandalorian’s vambrace, stationfall in fifteen minutes. Outside the ship you heard a holler, and you strode to the ramp to find Alewyn and Lilah, ready to bid thee farewell.

”Alright, so!” Alewyn exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Here’s the dealy-o. The Sunskate can’t actually… dock with the station. M’good ole dad’s still got hunters on the loose, never know when they’ll turn up, eh?” She laughed. “Your ship’s gonna have’ta dock on’er own, but Lilah’s patchwork should hold ya together long ‘nough for the service droids’ta pick ya up.”

You ignored the loud, audible groan from behind you. “I think we can manage that.” You started to hop down off the ramp, but the spry Togruta was already climbing up into the Crest, barreling you over. Alewyn the Affectionate squeezed your ribs so hard you felt the air leave your lungs, making you grunt ugly. One of her nimble hands disappeared from you into her many secret pockets, then snuck into one of yours, leaving a sizable weight of credits behind. “Wynnie!” you hissed against her montral, “Not again!”

“S’least I can do, since we nearly ripped that old bucket’a shit in half and you spared another spacer from the slab.” She held you out at arms length, bobbling her montrals at you with an arrogant grin. “Take care’a yerself, missy. And you too, Mando! Be good to this woman’n’er son or so help me!” The princess raised a fist at him that turned into an outstretched hand. He shook it hesitantly, but the lavender lady reeled him in, and you giggled at his hover-hands while she squeezed the life out of him.

Lilah helped her wife down from the ramp, and the two of them waved before hefting the ramp closed, sealing you inside with your crew. You dashed up the ladder to the cockpit, looking for a horn to honk but there wasn’t one, giving you another item to add to your mental grocery list. Din followed you up with Grogu in tow, taking his seat in the captain’s chair.

The Sunskate’s hangar jaws slid open slowly, pulling a blue force field over the stretch of stars. Far ahead you could just barely make out the shiny little dot where the station was, glittering just a little brighter than the stars themselves. With the cockpit door tightly sealed, Din carefully started up the old gunship, and on instinct you covered Grogu’s ears to protect him from the inevitable backfire.

The Razor Crest sputtered to life and slowly floated out of the hangar door, relying more on inertia than propulsion to get her towards the station. Out the window you saw the enormous rayship that had carried you here bank away from you, the starlight glittering briefly on her copper-colored belly before her propulsion engines flared back to life, and soon enough she was nothing more than a comet streaking through the void.

Din fussed with the radio transponder, opening up a hailing frequency that would alert the attention of the station droids, and it wasn’t long before a large transport unit was making its way to you. The automatic taxi magnetized itself to the roof of the Crest, easing the strain off of your damaged engines.

A robotic voice beeped through the comms: “THANK YOU FOR CHOS-ING EL-GON AU-TO-MA-TED SER-VI-CES. SMILE-Y FACE. CO-MEN-CING TRANS-PORT TO HAN-GAR SEV-EN-TEEN FOR EV-AL-U-A-TION AND RE-PAIR. HAVE A NICE DAY. SMILE-Y FACE”

Din groaned, his fists creaking on the steering wheel. “Why’s it gotta be droids…”

You shrugged in your chair. “Elgon’s old as dirt, prob’ly older than the Crest. I’d be surprised if there wasn’t anything on it that wasn’t animatronic.”

“Great.”

Ahead of you, the station dominated your viewport, humming with a myriad of activity. A neutral starport, Elgon boasted service to any and all as long as they had coin in their pockets, regardless of their commendations or crimes. You’d been to the old outpost many a time, both on your own and while you still wore a uniform, and excitedly you remembered a particular sweets shop that used to operate in the center.

Your service droid was nearly at the station now, approaching a large closed hangar with the number seventeen painted on it in orange Basic. You playfully kicked at the side of the pilots’ seat where Din’s butt was unguarded by the arm rests. “You excited to get fixed up, bucket boy?”

He nodded, he was ready to get back on the trail towards the last bounty. The thought of hunting again reminded him of the Imp device in his pocket that still mystified him, reigniting buried suspicions. I should ask her about it, maybe she knows what it is. He hadn’t wanted to disturb you while you were showering, or when you were getting ready to sleep, so being the polite riddur he decided he would bring it up with you in the morning.

Din reached into his pocket, closing his fingers around the mechanical spider, ready to pull it into the light when the hangar doors opened.

Revealing a blizzard of white duraplast.

“Oh fuck.” Your collective hearts went through the decking at the sight before you. There, swarming the station proper were dozens of Imperial stormtroopers, their eggheads covering the hangar like dirty snow. “Get down!” you hissed at Din who was already two steps ahead of you, sliding out of the pilots seat and under the dashboard. You tore the faceplate off of your crown and stuffed it into his hands along with Grogu and caged your two boys in with your knees, determined to keep anything mando-factured out of sight.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Din spat, slamming his fist on the floor. “This station is supposed to be neutral territory! We need to turn around, we can not stay here!”

Under you the Crest swayed gently in the droid’s grasp before being lowered onto a maintenance skiff, the hoversled bouncing slightly from the weight of your ship. Desperately you threw levers and pushed switches, trying to get the Crest to restart, but her engines were long gone, the turbines spinning almost mockingly slow. You weren’t going anywhere.

The comms light lit up on the dashboard with a soft chime, and on reflex you went to answer it when Din grabbed your leg. “Don’t even think about it.”

You made ‘what-choice-do-we-have’ hands at him, “Dude we are fucked unless I answer them, I-I speak their language, I can get us through.”

“Yeah? So do I.” He hissed from the floor, smacking the side of his thigh where his firearm hung.

“-Ksst!- hush! I’m handling this.” You straightened your shoulders and set your jaw straight before flipping on the receiver.

The holoprojector lit up in front of you with a tiny stormtrooper. “Identify yourself.”

“TK number SPW dash seven-zero-four-two, engaged in dogfight planetside and in need of repairs.”

“Why isn’t your ship running a beacon, soldier?”

“It's pre-empire surplus, it doesn’t have one.”

“What are you doing flying around in such a relic?” The stationmaster said with a bite of suspicion.

“...Budget cuts.”

They chuckled. ”No kidding. Alright then, what’s your designation?”

Shit, uh... “Prisoner transport unit.”

“Roger. Stand-by for transportation to engineering bay and prepare for inspection.”

The trooper winked out of existence, and you started to sigh with relief when the hand on your boot yanked you down to the ground.

“Prisoner transport unit?!” He rasped once you were at visor level with him on the floor. “Could you have come up with something else?!”

Unwillingly, your lips curled back and bared your teeth at his hateful tone. “There’s a shitload of guns and a goddamn carbonite freezer down in the hold, we’re not exactly delivering cookies. We need to get you two hidden before we get to the mechanics, come on!”

Din watched you drop through the ladder hatch with his heart in his throat, the fluttering organ violently trying to break out of his ribs. The Maker must think this is hilarious. After everything I’ve done to keep this kid away from the Imps we’re just going to go knocking on their fucking door. Everything was stacked against him. He was tired from lack of sleep, he was scared for the safety of his clan, and to top it all off he was becoming more distrustful of the microchip by the second; the mounting tension he emanated filling the cockpit like carbonite fog.

Maybe it’s a tracking device?

That… might make sense. Elgon station was out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, why else would a shitload of Imps be here if not to capture him and his crew? To take his son? Through the night he had grown suspicious of the item he had found, and a nagging thought had seeded itself in his frontal lobe, one that he refused to give audience.

What if it came from her?

No, that’s stupid. That’s your riddur, she’s obviously not an Imp. He reasoned, slowly soldier-crawling his way to the hatch with his son and your armor in tow. It must have been in the coral already, or come from one of the pirates, maybe they planted it here. But if that’s the case then we’ve been handed right over into a trap. He lept down the ladder with Grogu squashed under his arm, watching you fly around the cabin looking for an acceptable hiding spot for your foundling and a full grown Mandalorian.

Time started to move in slow motion as it usually did for him when he was sizing up quarry. What did her puck say, before I decided not to turn her in? He ran through his mental rolodex, digging for your file. Ex hunter. Guild dissenter. Bribed out of high-profile bounty. Now that he had met the high-profiler for himself he really couldn’t blame you, though it was suspicious that you had returned from the bridge one bounty short after speaking with Alewyn in private.

Alewyn. Princess-turned-pirate, a renegade royal that had made a name for herself literally ripping ships down from the sky. Hunter ships in particular. Awful convenient for her to be right in our line of travel to a station full of Imps out in the middle of fuckall nowhere. He froze, his visor locked to your frantic form. As if…

As if she was waiting for us.

The corners of his lips bared his teeth to no-one behind his visor as the distrust he had sown in his own heart dug its claws in deep. This has been a trap from the beginning! She’s been playing the long con since Tatooine. In his other hand he held your betrothal gift, the beskar faceplate that he had presented to you when you swore your vows. It reflected his own visor back to him, the hazy lighting of the cabin shimmering on the mudhorn embossed on the brow. No… that’s not it… that’s not true, she loves you…

Right…?

Or… so she says. His heartbeat picked up to a wicked cantor, echoing in his helmet like a storm of leathery wings. Whispering demons crawled up his brainstem and dragged beloved memories down from his skull and into the light of judgement. Memories of you.

He’d caught you so easily on that dirtball of a planet, too easily for a hunter of your stature. You’d practically tossed yourself into the arms of a complete stranger, assumed the role of the child’s caregiver without question. Agreed to marry him after barely a month.

Grogu made a sniffling noise under Din’s arm, gaining both of his buir’s attentions. His nebulous eyes were beginning to moisten, threatening to spill over with tears at any moment. Instantly you ran to your baby’s defense. “Hey buddy boy, what’s wrong?” You carefully took the baby from Din, hugging him to your chest and making the tiniest sob bubble out of his nose. “No no no it’s ok, please don’t cry sweetheart!”

“He’s scared.” Din growled in a manner not at all comforting. You glared at the indomitable mountain of metal, offended that he would use such a tone in front of his own son. “He knows when there’s a threat nearby.” Under you the Crest wobbled slightly, signaling the start of her trek to the engineering bay. Tick tock.

“Fuck! Can you get in a storage crate?” you asked frantically, bouncing Grogu on your hip to get him to quiet down. The baby could sense the mounting anxiety radiating off of his buir, and was getting himself spun up into a fresh panic. His cries devolved into sobs, making the hull echo with despair. “Shh.. it’s ok! Baby boy please, we can’t do this right now!”

“Too obvious.”

“Ok, the sleeping cubby? The lockers? C’mon Mando work with me!”

“They’ll tear this ship apart the second it hits the bay. There’s no hiding. That’s it, we’re done for.” Din tossed up his hands and made some kind of noise in the back of his throat, some kind of strained laugh, the husk of it making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You knew that sound, it was the sound of acceptance, of defeat.

Like fuck you were giving up. You made to retaliate when something past his shoulder caught your eyes. Expecting you to fight with him he stopped his pacing and glared at you, then followed your eyes to the carbonite freezer. He whipped back around, gawking at you like you’d grown a second head. “Oh fuck no.”

“We are out of options!” you nearly screamed, “I can’t just cuff you, there’s no guarantee that they won't take you and Beans hostage, freezing you would be safer. I-it would only be for an hour or two, tops, just to pass inspection! That thing can unfreeze, right?”

“That is not the point!” Din bellowed, “You are suggesting not only to freeze me but to freeze him as well?” Din jabbed a finger at the baby, a rush of emotions threatening to boil his bucket right off his head. He widened his shoulders, broadening himself so large that he seemed to encompass the entire ship, glossy black eye turning dark and hateful on you. He couldn’t keep his suspicions to himself any longer. “You… has this been your plan all along?”

You balked, “Plan? Plan for what? The hell are you-”

He threw your beskar on the floor and grabbed your shoulders, pinning you against the wall opposite the freezer and making Grogu scream out in terror. Mando’s visor took up your entire field of view, reflecting with your own wild eyes. “Your plan to capture us!” He barked, the malice overflowing like an erupting volcano. “You told that Imp that this was a prisoner transport unit. We don’t have any prisoners on this ship unless you’ve had them since the beginning.”

“Are you out of your fucking bucket?!” You spat back at him, “You think I want to put you in carbonite?! Put my son in carbonite?! There’s nowhere else on this ship to hide you!”

“How convenient.” The joints in your shoulders popped from the force he was applying to them, his weight nearly fusing you with the wall.

“You’re hurting me!” Over you the lights began to flicker, though neither of you saw it with your eyes locked on each other; yours filled with pain and anger, his visor pinning you down as if you were quarry.

At the sound of your pain the tension on your shoulder bones eased slightly, but not enough to let you free of the wall. Scalding shame burnt its way across his face, bitter and stinging. He was hurting you, the one thing he swore never to do to you again, the very first oath he had promised.

You chewed the side of your cheek, trying to steady your words. “Din. I love you. I love Grogu! I lied to that Imp to protect you. I don’t want those rotten eggs to have you, how could you even think that of me?”

She lies. One thing that Din knew about you was that you were unquestionably good at was putting on a ruse, able to sweet-talk quarry or lure droids to their deaths. But the way you took to the comms was different, how you were able to use the Imps own terminology against them, even how you spoke to the pirates before you were ‘rescued’ was delivered with flawless diction. It was too perfect, too natural...

As if that was your real voice.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” He growled, digging armored claws into the flesh of your shoulders, making you suck air through your teeth. Defensively you coiled your arms around Grogu, burying his wrinkly little head against your chest where he would be safe from the man you thought you trusted. Fire cascaded out from under Din's helmet, trying to burn you at the stake. “You told me once that I don’t know you.” His helmet tilted like a serpent poising to strike, words dripping with venom. “But I should have known an Imp when I saw one.”

“I am not an Imp!! That’s not who I am any MORE!” Bulbs exploded around you at your words, glass and sparks raining down from above. The strength of your thundering roar broke the delicate machinery in Din’s helmet, causing his audio intake to screech with feedback. Immediately his hands left your shoulders and went to his ears, trying to protect himself from the horrible noise.

The let-up was all the invitation you needed, and you dropped yourself low; catapulting into Din’s chest plate like a linebacker and knocking him into the freezer. You kicked your faceplate between his boots, thrust Grogu into his arms and punched the activator on the wall, tears flowing hotly down your face. As the fog billowed outward Mando wrapped himself around the foundling, as though his impenetrable armor could protect the child from the nightmare of being frozen alive.

Horrified, you watched as the two creatures you loved most were consumed by the mist, leaving a dark block in its wake that bore their likeness. The metal was already ice cold to the touch when you ran your hand over the glaring curve of your husband's visor, and down to the terrified, tear-streaked face of your baby.

Choked sobs tore at the back of your throat, trying to drown you with guilt. I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry my loves, I… I did what I had to do. You weren’t given time to process your grief, nearly jumping out of your skin when plasticast fists rapped on the access door with authoritarian vigor. Composing yourself to the best of your abilities, you stuck your finger down the barrel of your blaster, scraping off the dark residue and smearing it under your eyes to hide your welted cheeks.

Glass crunched under your boots as you made your way through the dismembered cabin to the wall panel, punching the buttons with shaky hands. The ramp chuggered and stopped halfway down, but it was down far enough for you to make visor contact with the platoon of troopers who were demanding your attention. Their armor was clean, freshly moulded and recently polished. These weren’t just the Empire’s soggy leftovers, these were new recruits.

Disgracefully hopping down from the ramp among a scurry of pit droids you puffed up your chest and squared your shoulders as you had seen your partner do whenever he was intimidating quarry. You crossed your arms behind your back in parade rest, watching as a painted trooper strode up to you, his rifle pointed at the floor near your feet.

“Stand aside, we have orders to search this ship.”

“Whose orders?”

“Elgon Station is under the Imperial jurisdiction of Admiral Forescythe, no ships in or out without search.”

You felt all the blood in your body evaporate at the name. Forescythe. Shit balls of hell, that fucking bastard is still alive?!

“Is that really necessary?”

The rifle in his hand rose just slightly. “You got something to hide?”

“No, sir.” you said sweetly, hoping politeness would buy you brownie points.

“Stand aside then.” The trooper barked, gesturing to your ship with the barrel of his rifle. You jumped when the heavy access ramp hit the ground, turning to glare daggers at the droid that had unfastened the damaged hydraulics. The stormtrooper marched past you up the ramp, inspecting the interior of the cabin as he went. As predicted, he nudged the lids of the supply crates open, pointing his gun at any would-be threats. Another pair of eggheads followed inside, rudely stomping through the Crest’s belly like they owned the place.

The painted trooper made loud, gross sniffing noises. “Smells like carbonite in here, your freezer might be leaking, better get that checked out…” He trailed off when he clocked the machine and its contents, taking big strides towards it. “Lookit that, Is that an actual mando? I didn’t even think they were real, I’ve only ever heard stories.” He gestured to you with his gun, “How’d you do it?”

“Do what?” You asked coldly.

“How’d you catch him? And his... weird dog?” The trooper tapped harshly on the solidified metal that covered your foundling's eyeball, making your blood pyroclast through your veins, but you remained composed.

“I’m more dangerous than I look.” You seethed, digging your nails into the skin of your arms behind your back. And you’re about to find out just how fucking dangerous if you don’t back off!

One of the unpainted soldiers piped up. “Do you think this is the one they’ve been looking for? The one the Admiral was talking about?”

“Could be, I’ll radio the Wyvern when it makes stationfall, should be dropping out of hyperspace in a few hours.” Cotton seemed to grow in your mouth at his words, making it impossible to swallow. No, it can't be.

-ī̶̱̩͋t's̴̈̅ ̵̛̂̈̋͋̏͘͝c̷ŏ̷̐̓͑ṁ̸͌̋̾̕in̵̨͎̩̠̼͂͜g̷͑̔.-

Shut up. The commander jabbed his rifle at you. “I heard someone say that mandos never take their helmets off, we should unfreeze it and see what it looks like.”

“No.” You barked, making the soldiers flinch. Haha. “He’s very dangerous, even under the effects of hibernation sickness he can still be quite lethal.”

“There’s three of us and only one of it.” A rifle was pointed your way, “Thaw it out.”

Like hell. “Alright, then I won’t have to be the one to explain to the Admiral why a Mandalorian is loose in the station, or dead. I’ve heard he’s a reasonable man.”

The three troopers looked at each other with questioning glances, suddenly unsure. That seemed enough to deter them, and you waited while the troopers barked orders at the repair droids, ordering them to get your ship fixed up. A battalion of robots swarmed the Razor Crest inside and out, almost making you thankful Mando wasn’t there to blast them full of holes. The greasy robots would make quick work of the damage, and hopefully have you out of the station before the Wyvern arrived.

The Wyvern. You wanted to curl in a ball and die. Of all the bullshit the galaxy had to offer it had decided that you deserved a double helping of unwanted nostalgia. Not only was the Wyvern’s Tongue still operational she would be bringing with her good old Admiral Forscythe, though last time you saw him he was just a captain.

Your captain.

And he was on his way.

To this station.

To your ship.

To you.

Oh fuck.

Immediately you turned to your partner for reassurance, only to meet his frozen stare. You wanted to release him, let him carry you safely away from this place, but you weren’t out of the woods yet; so you were both going to have to wait. You’d never been frozen, thank the Maker, but you’d heard stories. How being frozen is like being trapped alive, trying to breathe but not being able to move your lungs. Still being conscious but feeling your blood stop in your veins. A living death.

A waking nightmare.

Repair droids swarmed your ship’s interior like a hive of bees, but they were making quick work of the damage and would hopefully be gone soon. Shaky legs carried you back over to the carbonite freezer, and you leaned heavily on the block of frozen metal, stretching your arms around it in an attempted hug. I wish you were here, my love, but it will be over soon.

You pressed a kiss to both of your boy’s faces and slumped to the floor, leaning on the bandoliered boots behind you. Between the wide open ramp and the droids working on the stardrive you were too exposed to unfreeze your family, and the thought of having to wait even a minute longer made the edges of your eyes threaten to spill anew.

Stars above you wanted this to be over. The back of your throat tasted like bile, and the plasma residue smeared under your eyes was starting to burn. You needed to get away, to blast off into space with your boys and put your draconian past behind you before the literal beast reared her ugly head.

But… now he knows. You groaned into your knees, digging claws into your own hair. He knows! You fucking asshat now he knows! Your greatest, vilest secret had been spilled, and you were going to have to find a way to live with the consequences. He... he’ll understand. Bilgerats are practically foundlings, I just need to explain myself better. Yeah! That’s it! I didn’t have the chance to explain myself. He’ll forgive me… right?

Time seemed to crawl, languid and slow, forcing you to wallow in your own guilt. You cautiously eyed the platoons of troopers that would often march past, trying to glare daggers through their shiny white buckets, but they paid you no mind. The hours ticked by, making you more and more anxious by the second. You had no way of knowing how soon the Wyvern would arrive, could be hours, could be minutes. Could be seconds.

-į̶̱̩̄͋ͅt'̶̡̳̰̝̇s̴̈̅ ̵̧̛̺̂̈̋͋̏͘͝c̷̄͋͛̚oṁ̸͌̋̾́̈́̕͝i̸̇̏-

I’m aware! You snapped at your thoughts, pissed that they were still present long after Grogu had purged them from your mind. I must be going crazy, it’s the guilt. It has to be the guilt. You rubbed at your temples, trying to dispel the mounting tension in your skull. When you opened your eyes a sweeper droid was clearing away the glass shards from the floor, and you cocked your brows at it as it went by. When did the lights burn out?

Eventually the interior repairs were completed to the fullest, and the moment the ramp hydraulics were functional again you slammed the door shut and booked it back to the freezer controls.You turned a pair of knobs on the side of the carbonite block and took a step back. The metal that covered your beloved crewmates turned red, then bright gold, sloughing off in luminous waves.

You jumped to catch Din and the foundling before they hit the ground, his strength lost from the effects of hibernation sickness, nearly causing him to melt onto the floor along with the aurelius sludge pooling at your feet. In your ear you heard both of your boys taking desperate, broken breaths; and you rubbed at Din’s dorsal plate, encouraging him to fill his lungs.

As a unit you sank down to the floor where the child practically rolled into your lap. His enormous eyes were squinty and blinking, making you think that he may be temporarily blinded. “Hey booger, it’s ok, can you hear me?” Grogu made a sad little noise, but that meant he could at least still hear. “There ya go, that’s it, nice’n slow. Y’ok?” The child looked up at you with a twisted expression, then immediately yarked bright blue all over your shirt. “You know what, I deserved that, thanks.”

Din’s modulated cough grated in your ear. “How… long?”

“Couple hours, but the repairs are finished, we can get the fuck outta here now. Are you alright? You gonna barf?” He started to shake his head no, but the shaking might have been his downfall because you felt him start to heave. “Not in the bucket not in the bucket! Come on, up! Heeere we go…” You gently set Grogu down on the floor and bullied yourself up under Din’s arm, dragging him as fast as you could to the fresher. You barely got the beskar out of the way in time for your partner to empty his stomach. “That’s it, let it all out, I gotcha.”

Din hung on to the sides of the fresher like his life depended on it, shaking violently with every hurl, and there wasn’t much else you could do but hold on. He released one armored claw from the side of the fresher to reach back and find you, but when you tried to hold his hand to comfort him he pulled his fingers from your grasp. Again you tried, but this time he didn’t just let go, he pushed you away, and you heard him mumble something into the fresher bowl.

“-..a...tor-”

“What’d you say?”

“Traitor!!!” Din spat, curling back around at you with viciously bared teeth, eyes wild and bloodshot. You backpedaled away from the fuming warrior that was half crawling half leaping towards you, making weak throws that were slowly gaining in strength. “You fucking traitor! I should have known! I should have known from the very fucking start!” You’d never seen him angry without the helmet, and it terrified you. He terrified you.

You put up your hands defensively, backing away from him. “Please! Let me explain! It wasn’t-”

“I don’t listen to Imps!” He swung at you and missed, but his agility was quickly returning. You wouldn’t be so lucky the second time.

“Damn it Din, fucking listen-” Ignoring you, he groped for the gun on his belt, and you were barely able to grab your armor in time from the freezer to block his reckless shots. You crouched over Grogu, using your body and the face plate as a shield against the assaulting Mandalorian. “Din! Stop! Please! You’re going to hurt our son!”

“Our?!” He hissed, snarling around the word. “That is MY son! Get away from him!” Din grabbed the beskar mask and tried to pull it from you, yanking you up from the floor. “MY son does not belong to you, this does not belong to you! Who do you think you are?!”

“Who am I?! I’m your wife!”

He stopped trying to wrestle the lovingly-chosen armor away from you, meeting your eyes with his own darkened gaze. His earthly irises flickered fast between both of your own pupils, searching your face for something, some kind of reminder. A reminder that he loves you. The muscles on the side of his jaw clenched and rippled, chewing on the words he was looking for.

When he spoke his voice was hoarse, but certain, as if there would never be a greater truth than the one he breathed into being.

“No, you’re not.”

The coldness in his tone stabbed icicles in your veins and froze your mouth closed, rendering you speechless. His hateful gaze looked down to the mask still in your hands, twisting into a pained expression. “Did… did this mean anything to you?”

“Din… please…” you begged, you voice barely above a whisper, “It means everything to me, you mean everything to me!” Behind you Grogu was already starting to cry again, making the situation even worse. “I love you! I did what I did to protect you, to protect Grogu! I didn’t want those Imp bastards to take you. Can’t you see that?”

The Mandalorian laughed, miasmatic and sickly, infected with distrust. “Isn’t that just like an Imp, lying right up til the very end.” He let go of the beskar as if it was unclean, then turned swiftly around on his heel, striding to the fresher to grab his helmet from where it had been discarded on the floor. He picked it up and looked into it’s visor, almost like he was debating whether or not he could put it back on. It sank over his head with a hiss of it’s latches, amplifying his dominating presence tenfold.

You pressed on, balling your fists in determination. “It shouldn’t matter who I used to be, just who I am now. I don’t know anything about your past, all I know is who you are now, I know that you are my… ner rid-oor…”

He was on you in a flash. “Don’t make me cut out your lying tongue as well, Mando’a is sacred, I should have never taught it to you.” In one swift motion he grabbed the offensive beskar from your useless fingers and threw it somewhere behind him, the iron clanging ugly against the durasteel decking. He dug behind his chestplate and found the lucky talismans you had given him as a sign of your affection, a sign that he now decided should have been a big red flag, shoving them into your empty hands.

“You have dishonored me.”

The Mandalorian bent to pick the crying youngling up off the floor, carrying him over to the bed you had all shared. He didn’t turn around to face you when he spoke again. “Get out.”

His frigid words had you frozen in place, frozen in time. He’s leaving you. Your mind was racing, your heart flooding with sadness and grief. Words abandoned you, giving you only a whisper of your silver tongue.

“Din.. I-I didn’t have a choi-”

“GET OUT!!!” He ripped your backpack off the wall and flung it at you, making you reel from the impact. The ramp opened behind you, and you were suddenly being shoved out the door, rolling backwards out of the Crest. You scrambled to your feet, clutching the krayt teeth so hard that the edges cut your palms while you banged on the rising wall of steel.

From behind the closing door you heard a sound, faint but desperate, nearly inaudible over your own pounding heartbeat. It sounded distinctly like a baby’s cry.

“Bubu!”

-SLAM!-

The access ramp sealed shut, and a shiny silver dome appeared in the rounded transparisteel viewport where Mando was taking his seat at the controls. Imps began swarming you while the old gunship’s engines flared to life, burning like a newly risen phoenix. Poorly-aimed blaster fire ricocheted off the ship’s hull while her landing gear tucked itself up, and soon the home you had grown to know and love was blasting towards the hangar exit without you.

The Razor Crest slid through the magcon field, the backs of her engines turning bright blue as her stardrive kicked into gear, rocketing her into warp speed just as an enormous star cruiser dropped out of hyperspace, dwarfing the station with her size. As prideful and arrogant as the Empire she sailed for, she took up the starfield with the domineering presence of a ship that had once served as the Death Star’s loyal guard dog.

It could be no other than the Wyvern’s Tongue.

-ȉ̴͗t̴'̴s̶̛̓͝͠ he̷̍̂r̶̔ë̷́.-

If you had a single coherent thought left to your name you would have made a series of snide remarks to the completely useless voice that whispered in your ears. You would have fought back against the stormtroopers that were roughly grabbing you and forcing you down under the barrels of their guns. You would have ran through the station and commandeered one of the other ships that had come in for repairs and blasted off to somewhere, anywhere else.

If you weren’t so grief-stricken, so heart-broken, so lost, you would have hurled literal dragonfire at the man who was approaching you now.

The troop commander spoke first. “Sir, this one allowed the mando to esca-”

“Get her up. Now.” You were hauled back up to your feet, but your eyes stayed on the forcefield that was draped over the stars, just waiting for the Razor to come back around.

To come back for you.

Your view became blocked by a tall, thin man in an Imperial uniform, his lapel shining with an even bigger emblem of authority than the last time you had seen it. His soulless eyes bored right into yours, and you knew instantly by the look on his face that he hadn’t forgotten his favorite communications officer. “Sparrow? Is that you?”

The long abandoned nickname stung like needles in your ears, reeling you violently into the present. The admiral cupped your chin and brought your eyes up, forcing you to see him and stop pretending that he wasn’t real; that he was an apparition brought to life by your wailing night terrors. “It is. My little Sparrow has flown back to me.”

The stormtrooper braved an interruption, “Sir, the mando-”

Admiral Forescythe silenced him with a wave of his hand, “No matter, the universe has brought me something even better than whatever Moff Gideon had been after.” The glare on the Admirals face turned to a sickly smile “Pray tell, little bird, won’t you sing me a song? I’ve so missed your lovely voice.”

You shook your head from his hand and pointed to the electromagnetic cuffs that still hung from the backs of your ears, the last remainder of the beloved faceplate you had been gifted. “Hull breach, tone deaf.” was all the excuse you could muster. A stiff leather glove rose up to brush over the Mandalorian steel, and you fought every animalistic urge to go batshit ballistic, rip the admiral limb from limb.

“What a pity, but at least you can still speak.” He was standing too close now, and the disgust you felt for the man who practically raised you made your flesh boil under his gaze. His gloved hand slid down from your ear and grabbed at the bottom of your jaw, forcing your head to tilt while he inspected the bitemarks Din had put on your neck when he still loved you. “At least you haven’t been lonely, good thing I had you chipped when I did. Shame on you for letting someone defile you in such a manner, were you still on my ship I would have had them jettisoned.”

The Admiral raked his eyes over your disheveled form, from your marked flesh to your blackened eyes and your blue-stained shirt, his face twisting in disgust. “Whatever life you have been living clearly doesn’t suit you, it’s high time you cease this reckless behavior and come back to where you belong.” He bent down and picked your backpack up off the floor where it had fallen, slinging one ratty strap over his neatly-pressed shoulder; then extended a hand to you. “Are you ready to come home now, my little Sparrow?”

You blinked a few times at the question, your heart becoming as cold as stone. Home? The Wyvern was not your home anymore, and the admiral was not your family. But the home you knew, the family you loved was now lightyears away, far far away from where you were now; and they weren’t coming back.

Din wasn’t coming back.

That left only one place left for you to go.

Back... home.

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physicalturian · 3 years

Text

[G] Gentle summer - Rengoku Kyojuro x GN!Reader - Part 6

[Contains spoilers from the movie, and the manga] [No pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone +18]

Words : 11 444

Archive of our own

Warnings : Mention of death / Mention of people getting killed GRAPHIC / Gore / Trauma / Fighting / Wounds / Blood / Lust

--- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 -

The abruptness of the interruption on that night did not give me time to think, to ponder, nor to reflect on anything. With my crow in tow, I ran to the entrance of the village and grabbed the traveling necessities that were waiting for me with my sword. I took a few minutes to get changed in a proper slayer attire before letting myself be guided by Maro. It was an affectionate name I had given to the black bird that was now helping me find my way to where I was awaited.

Upon passing the final selection for the slayer training, they had provided each of the finalists with a bird. Most of them were crows; that was the only species I had met until crossing paths with the young Zenitsu who had been granted a sparrow. And like a sparrow, I was running at a fast pace to reach my mission point in time. Maro kept repeating the village name, it was the furthest I had ever been dispatched but considering that most of the Pillars were at the mansion, I was sent where none were. And, while I was sent alone and it felt odd to not be accompanied by another slayer, something else was on my mind on my way to the village where recruits were stuck.

I did not know how long it took me to reach the village, for I was lost in thoughts of what was happening somewhere else.

Earlier tonight, when our crows announced each of our missions, I had felt my heart sink. Not only because I was separated from the one person I wanted nothing more but to embrace and keep close, but also because the hidden swordsmith village was under attack. If they had been found out, it meant the Butterfly Mansion could be at risk, it could be next. While I knew my orders, I kept feeling a pull, a need to go back and follow Rengoku to help the swordsmiths. Then, I could hear words echoing in my mind, “As long as we put our duty first,” was the only condition that had befallen upon us if the Fire Pillar and I wanted to be together.

I tried arguing with myself, while still making my way to the recruits, that it was not for Kyojuro that I wanted to go there. It was to help, to not feel useless while running through fields to find the shortest paths to reach the recruits’ village. Slowly, my inner turmoil was won over by my logic; the Pillars were assembled where the attack had occurred, I knew it. It was the obvious strategy they would have gone with, and there was no way they would lose. Yes, they will win, they are strong, I tried to convince myself. An image of Rengoku’s smile flashed in my head, my throat tightened in sorrow and worry started plaguing my mind. Perhaps I should go back to help, I thought. Foolish questions, that did not help said worry, started flooding my mind; were his wounds healed properly? Will he arrive in time? Is the attack a bait to get him there and to have Akaza finish what he started?

While those thoughts plagued my mind, I did not stop moving. Shortcuts were taken to get there faster, the urge to turn around and go back was very present at each turn that I took. But perhaps it was more the urge to join him in that battle and make sure he would come out of it unscathed.

But I never did.

I ran the entire night, only stopping to catch my breath and to make sure no one was following me. It took a toll on my body, my feet were killing me, so were my lungs and my throat, but having been trained by Gyomei gave me the endurance some lacked. The festival had long since been forgotten and as the sun started rising, I could catch a glimpse on the horizon of the familiar architecture of a village. Approaching it, a small sign where the words “Nakusaki Village” were written, greeted me. Relief flooded my body as I slowed down my pace and gripped the handle of my sword tight, calming my breath.

When I entered the village, it was deserted, not as welcoming as the well-carved wooden sign at the entrance. At least, that is what I thought at first. While I walked carefully along the paths, I could see people peeking from behind closed shutters, the faint draft of whispers echoing. I could not understand what was being said, but fear had made its way to all the inhabitants of this place, which only made them more appealing to the demon that had nested itself somewhere around.

Since the sun was rising, if the demon was still alive it had to be hiding somewhere dark. Upon thinking that exact thought, I noticed railway wagons that led to a mine. It did not take much brain to know this was the perfect hiding place for those cursed beings. Without needing much courage, I stepped forth and entered the dark place, hyper aware of my surroundings all while calming my breathing. I was welcomed by screams of terror and horrid sounds of something being ripped apart. Letting my mind wander to scenarios of what could be happening, was not smart, I had to stay focused, and that is what I did. My light, almost inaudible steps contrasted with the deafening screams that resonated against the small walls of the mine.

It took me some time to find the right path to reach what I could only describe as a lair from how wretched it smelled and how cozy it seemed for the demon. Right in front of me was hovering over the horrified look of one of the youngest recruits, a humanoid-shaped demon. It possessed a huge tail with a sharp teeth-filled mouth at the end. A water-like pattern was adorning the length of it until it met the base of its lower back. From there, it looked like the skin was breaking. It looked like cracks painted all over its hide skin. Could it be that it is dying already? It is not a lower-moon six, nor is it a high-moon either. It is weak…

When its clawed hand reached out for the head of the recruit, I sped towards it and cut its hand before grabbing the man and pulling him out of the demon’s reach. Morishita Daisuke was the distraught slayer’s name. He was only a few years younger than I was, but the difference in experience between the both of us was a lot larger than the years separating us. “Either be a bait and bring him out, or get out-“ with a shaky voice and while stammering, he shook his head. “I can’t, there are others scattered in the mine, we need to find them!”

Nodding in reply, I avoided hits from the demon in front of me and gritted through my teeth, “Very well, let’s take him down first. Then we will find them-“ My speech was cut short when the demon sped behind Daisuke and grabbed him by the hair, making the man yelp in pain. “It’s not very nice to make plans without me- a bit cocky to even think you can defeat me,” He leaned in, his tongue out in a disgusting fashion as the recruit tried to pry its hand away from his hair. Slowly, the demon lifted him off the ground and dove to bite his neck. I reacted fast and flashed forward, cutting the hand holding Daisuke up, making him drop the slayer without having much say in it. It grew back.

A thud echoed when the young recruit’s knees hit the ground, he rushed to the walls of the mine to get out of my way, a hand covering his neck and his mouth. “You are pestering me, it is good, it makes the weakling more fearful. That will give him more flavor!” It exclaimed happily, clapping its huge hands together as its eyes wandered all over Daisuke’s body before suddenly looking at me. It was inhumane, the way it turned its head at almost 180°, but I was in no way fearful. “Perhaps I should make you struggle in front of him, you are his elder, are you not? I can see the way your eyes-“ It snapped its claws in front of me, I did not blink. Nor did I flinch. I do not think it saw the way I clenched my hand around the handle of my sword, but I did, ready to attack.

It approached me suddenly, yet in a manner that showed it had perfect control over its body. There were no useless motions, only calculated ones. Its face was now right in front of mine, “You are not afraid- it wouldn’t be fun to eat you right now…” The veins on its head were prominent, and blood was falling from the side of its monstrous mouth. The demon’s tone fell, “I will play with you a bit more, make you scream, make you cry for help, make you talk. You are not very talkative-“ “It is quite hard to have a conversation when one is keen on doing all the talking, would you not say, demon?”

It sucked its teeth, its tongue drawing over each of them as a threatening smile made its way on its face. “Let’s be polite, we are the same, are we not? Just a different diet. I am Masahiro, pleased to meet you-“ It laughed loudly after saying so, not believing a word it had sputtered. A hand on its stomach, another on its head, it leaned back laughing, “It was a good one- oh it was good, as if I wanted to know any of you. You do not ask your steak what its name is-“ “You are right, that would lead to empathy. This is where we differ. Emotions. Living beings feel them, a large range too. Not just… insatiable hunger,”

Its eyes widened for a second, before smirking. I did not let it speak, I had encountered enough demons to know what was going on, “Because the hunger you feel, is insatiable. It will only grow and grow and grow- until only one thing can stop it. But you will never get it, you are too weak for him,” I changed the grip on my sword, watching the demon falter for a second. All it did in response was laugh once again before reaching for Daisuke, but the slayer fought back and cut its arm off before running far from the creature, it caught Masahiro off guard. “I have met demons like you. Desperate to prove themselves to Muzan… To obtain more of his blood,” I trailed off, feeling the anger seeping from the demon standing in front of me.

It suddenly moved to crawl on the walls before standing on the ceiling where beams were keeping everything stable. One wrong move, one hit too strong and it could all come tumbling down. “Such a talkative steak, I guess I’ll eat you unseasoned-“ With a firm tone, I continued, “They either crumble in tears, begging to die, unable to take more of his blood or-“ The demon jumped from the ceiling and towards me, mouth wide open, his expression turned enraged and desperate at the same time. That demon was weak; if my words were so quick to irate it, it was not meant to be in the ranks of Muzan, far from it.

As it jumped, I bent my knees for more stability and slashed its head with ease. It did not scream, but I knew it was still alive for a few minutes, so I continued, “Or they act desperately, getting in over their head and making the silliest mistakes from letting their emotions take over,” I stated, wiping my sword on its inanimate body as Daisuke skewered the demon’s head on his sword, “You were turned recently; if not, you would have known demons are indeed still very humane. At least parts of them… The emotions are there, your main traits as human are stronger when turned. And I was able to bait you because you were weak, desperate for praise, desperate to belong,” I gestured for Daisuke to follow me. We made our way outside, the demon’s head still on the recruit’s sword while I dragged its body.

Tears started rolling down the demon’s disintegrating face. Its expression was grimaced as it uttered, “I failed them, please find my siblings- she took them, the fox-mask demon in… the mine, please,” Its mouth was no more, and soon enough, the rest of its head followed as it disappeared into dust. The sun had done its job and until it was time for the moon to take its spot in the sky, we had to prepare for more demons to come out of the mine later.

Before doing anything too draining, I took care of Daisuke’s wound, making sure he would not bleed out. The wound was not deep which made the treatment easier. I then knocked on the villagers’ doors to tell them they could come out for a few hours until sunset. It took some convincing, but with the right arguments they listened to me. I was provided paper, ink and a pen upon my request and quickly drafted the beginning of a report before folding it and putting it in my bag. After that, I was on the move with Daisuke as we ventured inside the mine to find the right path for the fox-masked demon.

All the paths we took led to nothing. Some led to cul-de-sacs, others to the open air. We had to come and go out of the mine to get some fresh air and eat, all the while drawing a map of all our twists and turns. I was no mapmaker, but Daisuke was worse. I had assigned him on lamp duty, he also had the responsibility of paying a lot more attention to the smell, in case gas leaked.

Around 4PM, we came out of the mine for good to have dinner with the villagers. They were kind and welcoming, guiding us back inside and thanking us for our work. Little did we know a routine would settle from all of this.

We had planned on waiting outside of the mine for the demon to come out; both Daisuke and I were taking turns keeping an eye out in case it showed its face. It never did that night. It left us confused as the sun slowly rose, the villagers fast asleep while we stood at the entrance with a frown. “Do you think it left?” He asked, but it was more to find logic out of this confusing behavior than to hope. “Daisuke, make yourself comfortable, we have a playful demon on our hands. We will keep looking for the other members, and hope for the best,” I stated as I guided him back inside, scoffing mentally at my mention of hope.

Now safe thanks to the sunshine, we prepared ourselves to go back to the mine on the second day, ready to look for the missing recruits. Before leaving, I took some time for myself to update my report before pulling out a new piece of paper and starting,

July 3rd

Dear Kyojuro,

I have come to the realization that this mission might last longer than initially expected, I cannot express how painful it feels to not be by your side the demon I am facing is tricky, but I will defeat it and bring back our recruits alive and well.

My heart feels heavy after parting from you at the fireworks viewing, I must admit I crave for your touch I enjoyed myself greatly and hope to see you soon. I miss your warmth at nightDaisuke has nightmares and is loud at night, but I am helping him the best I can… It helps him when I sing and it reminds me of you.

I do recall you had been summoned upon the attack on the blacksmith village on the night of our departure, no one could have predicted this happening.

Many scenarios plague my mind, worrisome ones. You are strong, and so are the other Pillars, yet it would relieve me greatly to hear from you, to hear that you are doing well…

Tell me you won,

Thinking of you, always,

Songbird…

Folding both the papers, I wrote Master Ubuyashiki’s name on the report, and Rengoku’s, on the personal letter addressed to him.

The days that followed were the same, none were fruitful in finding the fox-masked demon nor the recruits. The village welcomed us even if I could sense that everyone was tense, vigilant, afraid. Those latter feelings only made the situation worse, knowing the appeal it had for demons to see fearful preys. Daisuke showed great optimism and bravery, he reassured the villagers to the best of his abilities and made them laugh at dinner to lighten the mood. As bad as it was to think as such, I knew Rengoku would have done a great job at giving those people hope. At reassuring them… at reassuring me.

My hopes in finding the recruits alive were slim, but seeing Daisuke’s hope, or perhaps despair, pushed me to keep looking. While his actions and words displayed confidence, he could not hide the way his eyes flickered at every sound or the way they would fill with pure fear when we would come across another dead-end. Perhaps the demon has taken a liking to them, perhaps they are not dead… yes, perhaps.

July 8th

Dear Kyojuro,

I have not heard from you since I have written my first letter, I hope you are well. You must have heard of my daily reports at the estate, nothing was going as planned, until today!

We have found two recruits. It is an odd situation for it seems they were released purposedly… I must investigate deeper into the matter, but it matters not to you, I am ranting.

I find myself sleeping poorly without your presence. It sounds foolish, but I really miss you Tonight I will be sleeping with the two recruits alongside Daisuke, it is going to be an eventful night. I will not hold their hands while they sleep, but I will keep an eye on them. I wish I was holding your hand.

Have you ever thought of retiring? Without many people to talk to, my thoughts often drift to the end of this war… I can imagine myself at peace, with you by my side, maybe a dog as our loyal companion? I have never asked you which you preferred, dogs or cats? I long to talk with you again, for more time with you…

I long to hear your voice too, your laughter I miss the most…

Write to me, I am a wreck riddled with worry I can’t sleep at night, I fear I will receive a letter stating you passed I am bad at writing, I realize not all thoughts that cross my mind must be written, but I do miss you greatly.

I must say, I always believed I had a gift for writing but when it comes to you, all I want to write is that I yearn for your touch, that you are my one that you are wonderful, and oh so handsome…

Please, write to me my love

Thinking of you, always

Songbird

Days passed in a flash. With more people to cover the ground, one would think it would have been easier to find the remaining slayers, but all we found was the remains of one. There was nothing we could do upon stumbling over the maimed body on the floor but drag it out of the cave and bury it the best we could with the help of the villagers. We made sure to put a stone on the ground where the body was buried, to later move it for a proper burial on the grounds of the estate where Master Ubuyashiki could pray.

I did not get wind of any activity from the estate during those fast-passing days, no letter, no coded message, no crow sent my way, nothing. My hope faltered, the scenario in which the man I loved did not survive was now the one I thought was the most probable. I hated it. My guts were churning, and I could feel my determination waver too. Because of that, I made sure to force myself not to think about anything but the demon in the village.

On the morning of the twelfth, my heart jumped in my chest as my gaze settled on the incoming crow in the sky. It was not Master Ubuyashiki’s, this one seemed more familiar somehow. I watched it fly around a moment before it took notice of me and dove to set itself on my forearm. Taking the paper attached to its feet, I gave it a treat before slithering back inside and waving it off before hurrying to open the paper. My hands were gripping the letter tight as I read,

12th July

My dearest, we won,

I must apologize profoundly for not writing to you earlier, we have been assigned the training of the recruits. It does take quite the toll on the body to take care of the young minds! They are so lively and determined, all a great addition to the corps.

I read your letters over and over, trying to find the words Your letters made me the happiest man on earth, I am deeply grateful for your kind words and share your sentiments. Oh, to be the young Daisuke and to be sung to sleep by your gentle voice… It has been so long since I have heard you sing, and since I have held you close to me, I want you.

Eternity by your side sounds delectable I am sure we could settle somewhere quiet once this is over. Shall we start thinking of a name for our future life companion? It is an activity better kept for when you are by my side again, I cannot wait for your return, to take a good look at your beauty and relish in it, to have you flustered against me upon feeling my touch come home to me soon!

Tell me my darling, would you prefer to live in the lively city or the countryside? I’d like to think that sunsets are best enjoyed in the countryside, it would give me more opportunities to drown in your caresses without the gaze of people the quiet will find us better there too.

Patiently waiting for you return,

Thinking of you, always,

K. Rengoku

I had not realized I had been crying until the paper had been tainted a few tones darker by my tears. Hurriedly, I wiped them with a laugh of relief. Leaning on the wall, with only my shoulder resting against it, I took some more time to read everything all over, trying to decipher what had been scribbled out. Moving towards the window, I brought the paper higher under the light to maybe see through the ink and felt my cheeks warm up at the words I could read. It did not take long for my brain to think,what if he had done the same? What if he could see under what I scribbled out?

Just like Kyojuro, I had not been as meticulous as I could have been in writing my feelings. With the number of thoughts that had been crossing my mind, it had taken me a few tries to write the proper words, those that were not too much but still portrayed how I felt for the swordsman. My main struggle in writing down what I felt, was keeping to myself the word ‘love’. I suppose if he did not mention anything, it means he did not manage to read under the ink, maybe he did not even try, I thought.

To tell him that I loved him and wanted to spend the rest of my life by his side would have come across too strong. I also surprised myself when the thought of sitting on my very own veranda on a winter night with a warm drink in hand felt the most attractive with him by my side.

The final product of our effort seemed clean enough for an exchange between friends, lovers, but never would it be accepted as a report. As I read his words again, the smile on my face never left. I started daydreaming for a few seconds before being snatched out of said daydream by the recruits telling me it was time to continue the search party.

Their spirit was not deterred in the slightest, even after days without finding anyone or any clue. Today and the following one, however, had turned into something closer to a chase. A game of a sort, trying to find where the sound was coming from.

When we stepped inside the familiar dark grotto, the voice of something tenebrous resonated. It did not seem to come from one specific spot which made it harder to pinpoint. Because of that, it took us around an hour to finally find where the sound was coming from. There in front of me was another young recruit, Hana I believe was her name. She seemed frightened but not starved, which was odd considering the length of time she had stayed inside the mine. In the darkness, right behind her, something moved and dug underground before disappearing.

When it was gone, I rushed to her side and helped her stand, dusting off the dirt from her form and whistling for everyone to come out, signaling I had found something.

This was on the day of the 14th of July. That sight, of a demon helping one of our recruits out, was what bewildered me the most and made me reconsider my next steps. That demon did not have the fox mask, which means it was not the one we were looking for. Perhaps one of its lackeys had taken pity on the members of the corps? I wrote down my thoughts in my report, not missing a detail before finishing it and deciding to send a letter back to Rengoku.

14th July

Dear Kyojuro,

I have never been more relieved to see your crow than I was a few nights ago when it delivered your letter. I was finally able to sleep Knowing that you are alive and well made most of my worries disappear. I cannot help but still think of your safety while away, for now knowing you are alive will suffice.

Reading your enthusiasm to be sung to sleep brought a smile to my face, I promise I will sing to you once more when we see each other again. How are you sleeping? How is your wound? I must say, I miss waking up to your beautiful golden gaze and the warmth it brings to be the object of your attention… Of your desire Sometimes I dream of losing myself in those fiery eyes as I lean in to kiss you

The countryside seems like the best choice. The fresh air will be more than welcome after long nights spent together… great for our battle-tired bodies. I am sure we will need an enormous garden, or a vast field nearby, for our future companion.

On a bolder note… I do miss the way your hair feels against my cheeks when you lean in for a kiss… And to have your hands on my body in mine at night, to feel your body against mine as you hold me close, is what I crave. Wilder, more wishful, more sinful thoughts crossed my mind, but I would feel inappropriate sharing them at the moment…

Do not overexert yourself. If I find out you overdid it, I will come in running and put you to rest myself!

Thinking of you, always

Your songbird

As I folded the letter properly, I already started regretting the latter words I had written. Had I been too bold? But then again, from the scribbled-out words, he felt the same and it made me smile knowing so. Stepping towards my bag, I dove my hand in to find some twine to tie the letter but was met with a piece of paper.

Pulling it out, I was struck with remembrance of the fireworks night; it was the paper the artist had given me. From the rush I was in that night, I had forgotten to take a look at it. Curious, I unfolded the parchment and felt my heart soar at the sight. She had drawn us getting prepared, me in front of him taming his hair as he gazed at me with a loving look, at least that is how I saw it. His hands were resting on my hips and mine were in his hair, both of us smiling stupidly.

While I felt pure happiness seeing that picture, it was also accompanied by nostalgia and longing. To return by his side and have him close to me, I needed to find that demon and take it down. It fueled a certain determination in my being, but the confusion the demon’s behavior brought did not leave.

A meeting with the recruits had been organized to talk about what we would do next.

That day, while still being vigilant outside the mine, we did not go back inside. If our theory was right, the demon was keeping them alive. The reason for it was unknown, but Hana told us she was certain other recruits were talking inside the mine, she could hear the echo of their voice from where she was kept. From that, we planned our next move.

The following days, it was in the early morning that Kyojuro’s bird flew in with a reply. I was surprised by the rapid reply, yet was filled with immense joy upon reading it while having breakfast.

16thJuly

My heart,

I hope the weather is fine and you are well. For my part, I could use a warm bath, with you, from how tiring it is to train so intensely daily. The training is going smoothly. However, I must have been too hard on the trainees seeing some have broken in tears. Or perhaps it was the pressure from having, a few hours prior, been training with Sanemi? I wonder…

I will hold you to your promise of singing to me upon your return! The excitement is already present. Your gentle face, next to mine, wordlessly calling for my hand to caress it… Do not be fooled, I will cave in and do as it calls.

Your boldness surprised me in the most agreeable way… It would be a lie to say I did not feel the same. You are the first thought in my cloudy mind when I wake up, my heart and body long for you and your touch. I dream of your return safe and sound. I ache to trace my fingers on your disrobed back while you shiver, expectant and as beautiful as the first time I laid my eyes on you.

I wish I could see you at this very moment. Flustered, gaze askance, making sure no one is seeing what you are seeing… I like knowing you think of me almost as much as I do.

Would you care for a date in those fields we would own? I would gladly take you there every day, every morning if you so desire! We would lay a blanket on the ground and enjoy one another, in silence if that is your wish. I cannot promise I will stay silent, however.

Our companion would be running around, hunting, something we would have long since retired from. Oh, the dreams I have for you and me! I must share them with you at once, but the distance separating us prevents me from doing so… Come back, I miss you.

Perhaps I will exert myself if it’ll make you rush by my side… I am being playful! I do miss you dearly and hope you are well, not hurt and doing good.

When do you think you will come home?

Longing for you, always,

K. Rengoku.

He was absolutely right. I needed to fan my face upon reading his words, clearing my throat to try to compose myself. If I read it all again, I knew I would start chuckling like a fool at how enticing it all was. I was aware of his charms when I was with him, his subtle touches and his discrete smiles. Or even those mischievous glances here and there when there were other people around. But without those, he could only rely on his words, and he was awfully good with them. Even without body language, the man had me warm all over.

I stashed the letter away safely. There was no time right now to write him back, but I was planning on doing so soon.

The finding of the picture from the festival brought me a great deal of comfort. Every day I would look at it and be reminded of what was waiting for me ‘home’. But every day I would look at it, I would also be reminded of those light-hearted promises we were making of a nearby future, one after defeating Muzan. I was starting to find comfort in it, and it scared me.

With a sigh, I got ready for another day in the mines.

On the eighteenth, we encountered another demon in the mine. Daisuke was with the two recruits we had found at the beginning of the mission while I was paired with Hana. We got caught by surprise when, without any warning, without any sound, we got pushed forward. Both stumbling down and falling to our knees, we scurried to our feet and were now back-to-back, swords drawn out.

She worriedly asked me what we should do, her voice unwavering but draped in anguish. “It saw us without the light, which means we are at a disadvantage. We are going to need to use other senses than sight-“ I winced when I felt stinging pain from the middle of my back to the side of my hip. I couldn’t see much but knew the demon must have clawed me when pushing us. Dawdling on it would do no good, I had to stay focused on what I could do. “You must have trained with the Stone Pillar, correct?” She nodded, making a small sound of agreement. “Close your eyes, take a deep breath and focus on sensing its presence more than on seeing it. Feel it, sense it, hear it,” I paused, huffing a laugh, “Smell it if you will, young Tanjiro does so,” I said softly.

It made her laugh which was reassuring. If she found the strength to laugh at this, it meant she was not as stressed as I thought her to be. Or that it was a nervous laugh.

A deadly silence slowly set in. The only sound that echoed from time to time was the metallic one of our hands moving our swords in the hope of slashing the beast that was lurking in the shadow. A few attempts failed to succeed, making us think even more about our next move. I did not know what it looked like, only that it relied on darkness to have the upper hand. Was the demon perhaps bad at close-hand combat? Or feared the light? Those were my only theories.

“If I had known darkness was you slayers’ weakness, you would have been taken out a lot sooner,” The voice travelled from each of our sides, making it weirder when we could hear it on two opposite ends of the cave. “Well, well, well, look who it is! I recognize your smell,” Its voice dropped, then I heard Hana yelp before she exclaimed, “I got it! I’m holding it by the throat- I think?” she said unsure. It has approached her, remembering what her fear smelled like.

At that very moment, I felt something next to me and reached out for it with my hand, gripping it tight. It was harder than human skin, but still malleable. “I hope we are holding the same thing, because I am also touching something and-“ I started, a sardonic laugh interrupted me, it came from above. Then joined in other laughter, more constricted ones. This time it was coming from the things we were gripping tight. “Boo!” Another voice boomed next to me, I let go of the thing I was holding and gripped my sword tighter, brandishing it and taking a deep breath, “So, you are not alone,” I stated.

“You can put two and two together! Unexpected from the fools who cannot for the life of them defend themselves in complete darkness,” It scoffed condescendingly. Matching its attitude, I kept my back against Hana’s and changed the position of my sword, “Tell me, how did you come up with that conclusion?” I asked, my tone calculated. Being at a disadvantage for now put me in a dreadful situation, but while the demon thought we were useless in the dark, we knew what to do. I nudged Hana with my elbow for her to pay attention, “Our senses are trained, we hear better,” Listen “You keep talking, yapping,” I’ll keep talking, “Giving us more time to come up with a plan,” I came up with a plan. Laughing loudly, I moved brusquely, the sound of the lantern on the ground gone unnoticed from my forced laugh.

“Pay close attention,” I really hoped she was paying attention and getting what I was hinting at, “It is obvious you find comfort in utter darkness, which points out the obvious weakness, not only of the sun, but also of… fire,” At my word, Hana smashed the lantern on the ground, splattering the oil and setting it ablaze with the remaining weak flame.

The room lit up and we could see the demon’s face, or faces, finally. Surprise adorned our features when we were met with familiar faces. Three of them, sticking out of the wall, the ground and the ceiling. Those faces, from missing recruits, were attached to long necks that disappeared in the stone, but all led to what looked like a beating heart on the upper corner of the cave.

Noticing we had seen its heart, the demon attacked in a wild manner, reaching for us. Hana reacted first by using her Mountain breathing and slicing its heads fast. I had now approached the living, beating organ. Fire was making the room hotter by the second, I was sweating and had started breathing more raggedly. “Its heads grew back!” She exclaimed.

Not losing time, I slashed the organ, earning a pained scream from the demon. It started insulting us over and over, while I called for Hana in a distraught fashion. She rushed to my side, her face dirtied from the mines and the soot from the fire.

“Three of them, they were in its stomach? We need to get them out of here quickly-“ “I can carry two of them! You are wounded, so I’ll carry two out,” Hana hurriedly said as we pulled them out of the stomach-like pouch. They were slimy and smelled atrociously, but there was no time to be squeamish at such a drastic time. I then helped set the passed-out people on her back and made sure she was steady before carrying the last one on my back. “Let’s hurry, we should have someone rush down here to take out the fire,”

With that, we made our way out but not before slashing the demon one last time to make sure it was dead. We even dragged what we could see of the body, in the fire, to quicken the process.

Each step I took made my back hurt, I could feel the blood dripping to my side and my head getting dizzy, but I held on until we reached the outside of the mine. Both Hana and I fell to our knees upon feeling the fresh air; we carefully laid the recruits on the ground. The villagers did not think twice before running towards us, helping us get everyone inside. It was still day, which was reassuring. Hana still sent her crow inside the mine to call back the other slayers.

We ended today’s search on a high note. Three more recruits had been found; two had woken up, one did not make it.

I was lucky to have made it out conscious with the blood loss I had endured. The village’s doctor treated my wound with care, it’s only when he was done that I let myself relax and fell asleep. Two other recruits were sleeping in the same room I was sleeping in, I would only realize that when I’d wake up a few days later.

Haruka, one of the latest recruits we had found, was sitting by my side, writing his report. “Help me up,” I voiced, perhaps too sternly from how panicked his expression turned. Nodding, he scurried and put his own pillow behind my back. “I will call the doctor!” He exclaimed. I grabbed his arm with force before he could rush off, “Can I use your stationary? I would like to write my report,” and to write to my lover, but that was left unsaid.

He seemed confused but nodded, moving it my way. “I will tell old man Fumihiro to come-“ Chuckling, I cut him off, “SirFumihiro, he is your elder, is he not?”

The younger recruit’s face flushed red, “He said we could call him that, I am sorry,” He apologized so formally, I did not have the energy to tell him he could be more familiar. Instead, I dismissed him and started writing.

19thJuly

Kyojuro, my sun

I hope this letter finds you well. I truly feel your need for a bath right now, I could use one myself. Piping hot water would be submerging our enlaced bodies, your welcoming arms around my form… More sinful thoughts could be written, but I do not share your lack of fear of being inappropriate…

Far from me the idea of worrying you, thus I will first tell you I am well. We have found three more recruits, but the details do not matter… I was wounded, it will definitely leave a scar, but scars have some charm, do they not? Please tell me you like them

We were in the mines with Hana when we got caught off guard, the demon had the upper hand for a moment and managed to leave a gash scratch on my back. I am perfectly fine now, but I do not wish for you to fret. After all, I must take example of your formidable form and push through it, would you not agree?

Your letter left me a flustered mess; I will confess. If you must know, you are also my first thought in the morning… I could almost feel your fingers on my skin as I read your words.

I can imagine training left you a sweaty mess, I wish I was by your side to wash that untamable mane of yours. Is it sensitive? Would you like it if I pulled your hair? I hope you comb your hair! It would be a shame to have to shave it all off. I am joking, of course.

To help me fall asleep, I imagine us somewhere where the sun is high, and shade would be provided by an old willow tree. You would look the most beautiful with the moving shadows of leaves on your pretty face. How soothing the thought is, simply upon writing it… Do you think a painter would follow us on our adventures? To keep great memories from the places we would go to. Or should we train our painting skills a bit more?

A thought to ponder…

A date in a field with you by my side would be more than what I could hope for. I can already imagine dandelions adorning your hair from simply laying in the grass like the mad man that you are. It would be my greatest joy to take my time and remove them one by one. I would even go as far as call it an opportunity! For what you may ask, ah well… To run my fingers through your hair…

Maybe to let them trail to your neck, your shoulders… Helping your sleeves off your shoulders and pressing the faintest kiss on them. I will let your imagination do the rest, but I would suggest you wear a kimono on that date. For the heat would be unbearable, at best and excruciating if you put some thoughts into it.

This letter is getting longer than I expected. The things you do to my poor mind, it is filled with only thoughts of you and your gentle voice. One could lose themselves in those thoughts.

I cannot wait to return to you, to talk about the dreams you have for us.

If everything goes well, I will leave the village in two more weeks, at best.

Two more weeks until I see that familiar, kind, warm face of yours.

Yearning for you, always

Songbird.

As I sealed the letter, a weight settled in my stomach. Rengoku was not the type of man to leave someone simply for having a scar, I knew that. But I couldn’t stop thinking of how he mentioned trailing his finger over my back, and now that it had been wounded, he might not find it as appealing.

My hand trailed to the bandage around my form, slowly sliding to the highest point where it began before reaching the lowest one, on my hip. “It shows I have a tale to tell, and that I survived,” I said out loud, trying to convince myself. I was correct, but insecurities did not always make sense. You could not reason with them. So, instead of thinking more about it, I covered myself and wrote my report.

Soon after, the doctor entered my room and changed my bandages.

The moment I started arguing I could go back to the search party, I felt like Kyojuro when I told him to stay in bed. It made me chuckle for a moment, that is until the doctor threatened to tie me to the bed if I did not cooperate.

“Very well, can I least get dressed? To prepare the proper funeral for…” the dead one, the one that did not make it, the one I failed.

“A team of yours came here yesterday to bring the two bodies back to-“ He paused, not knowing where they were to be brought to. “Back where they’re supposed to be buried, I suppose…” He trailed off. From the look in his eyes, I could almost feel the sadness coming from him. A kind and empathic man stood in front of me, one that wondered what he did wrong for such a tragedy to befall his village.

Reaching for his hand, I shook it gently, “They knew it could happen, as awful as it sounds… Their family will be announced their passing soon, there is nothing you could have done or can do, now,” I had not realized how much seeing those two recruits die meant to me. I had not realized I felt responsible for them. We had been searching, day after day, drowning ourselves in work so much that I never had time to ponder more.

The stupidest “ifs” started crossing my mind, hypothetical things that could have changed the course of their life. What if we had kept searching during the night? What if I had turned to the left instead of the right at that time? What if I did not spend time writing silly letters, and instead focused more?

It was a spiraling abyss that would lead to nothing good, so I shook my head and focused on the old man in front of me. “Let us do what we do best, we will defeat the demon that nested inside the mines, you can trust us,” I nodded reassuringly before being hugged tightly and suddenly, by Fumihiro.

“You are so kind, all of you- so brave, you have been through so much. Is there anything we can do to repay you?” He asked as he pulled back from me, tears threatening to fall down. Please don’t cry, I do not know what to do if you start crying, I thought as I patted his shoulder. “You are doing more than we could ask for, taking care of our wounds, giving us shelter and feeding us,” I said with a smile, “All you have to do, is let us do what we do best, take down demons,” He nodded enthusiastically before standing up and telling me he would have someone bring me food.

I did not stay in bed long. The following day, I was back in the mines. It was against Fumihiro’s orders, but I could not stay still, and my wounds had healed up greatly.

We had found huge clues that could lead to the ‘mastermind’ as Daisuke would call it, on the 22nd of July. There were huge prints on the ground, they did not match any animals we could think of, so we made sure to leave our own markers around the area to not lose it in case the demon came back on its footsteps. That day we spent the entire night thinking of a plan to follow. I say the entire night, for we all fell asleep talking about it. I did not even have time to read the letter I had received from Rengoku.

That same night, while half of us were asleep, Jin, Uchiyama and Takeshi came in running. Those were the names of some of the recruits we had rescued.

In a panicked state, they started explaining that the demon had come out and was ransacking the village. We all stood up, sword in hand and ready to fight. Some were slower in getting ready, so I left the room without them and ran to the demon with the three recruits that had come in running.

“It is huge! There is a smaller one with it, but we can’t find it- what should we do?”

The obvious thing was, “Evacuate the houses, I will distract it. The others will join me soon enough, go,” I waved them off, they nodded and ran to the villagers’ houses, not taking time to knock on the doors. They barged in.

A thunder-like voice echoed high from the ground, “Look who it is, aren’t you the one who killed my dearest, oh so soft lackeys?” The pitch of the voice was higher than those I had encountered, “It was a stupid move of you demon, to kidnap slayers,” I stated, looking at the long-haired demon that stood on one of the rooftops of the house. Its feet dug inside the tiles, shattering them on the spot.

“Demon this, demon that, let’s be civilized, shall we? I am Suzumi Shiori, and you are?” The woman that stood in front of me, suddenly jumped off the roof and was now standing only steps away from me. She was taller than the demons I had encountered so far in the mine, she also differed from them by wearing a mask while the other did not. The fox mask the demon had mentioned. “I am about to take you down,” I breathed as I acted upon my words. Going to slash her neck, the woman-like demon stopped it without much struggle.

“Have they not taught you manners at your little-“ She gestured my way with disdain, “Hunter group? Or something along those lines...” Shrugging, she gripped my blade tighter, I could feel it straining under the strong grip. Taking a deep breath, I used my technique to cut her fingers off and step away from her. “Manners have no place when fighting barbaric beings like you,” I spat, holding back from wincing as I felt my wound sting. From the corner of my eyes, I could see the recruits had started gathering at different places around the village. It was furtive, a smart move to attack the demon by surprise.

Still looking at her ominous figure, I sternly called, “Hana, Jin, Aoyama, go back to the mines, find the four remaining slayers that disappeared,” They nodded and started running to the entrance, the demon named Shiori grunted and made her way to them but Daisuke barred her way and slashed at her stomach, only leaving a scratch. Yet, it was enough to make her step back as she lifted her mask to let it rest on the side of her head. “The rest, with me. We will take her down before any more damage can be done,”

I could hear Aoyama yelp behind me before being ushered back to the dark grotto with the two others.

The fight was a four versus one. All we needed to know was her ability and weakness, after that, it would be easy to defeat her.

“This is entertaining! I can see the cogs running inside those little brains of yours, so I’ll tell you my little secret,” She said in an overly jolly manner. Confidence was dripping off her demeanor, she did not seem an ounce worried for her life. “The easiest way to get your prey is to separate it from the group,” A devilish smile made its way on her lips as she sat down, legs crossed. She then raised her arms and the ground started moving with her, walls building around us, rising from the ground.

Before panicking, I had to assert I had some sort of control on the situation. “Don’t let your guard down, find each other,” As I prepared myself to slash the maze’s walls to not play her games, I heard Uchiyama’s voice echo along Daisuke’s, both saying the same information in different manners, “The walls are rock hard!” and “We cannot slash through the walls,” It ticked me off, I changed the hold on my sword and glanced at the sky to see what time it was, how long we had left.

A proud and sarcastic laugh echoed, the condescending tone never leaving her voice, “Come on! You better start now, or I will go back before sunset,” She cooed, “I am not moving, can you reach me?” It was a rhetorical question that did not have the need for us to pay attention. We hurried and started walking around the maze to reach her, her laugh reaching my ears once again, “You cannot think that is a serious strategy, try harder or you will not reach me in time,” Clapping her hands enthusiastically, she started cheering us on.

I could hear Takeshi and Daisuke getting annoyed, I did not know where they were, but they were complaining out loud. That did bring a smile to my face, even in the midst of all this mess. As time went on, I felt like I was running around in circles, and it was driving me mad. Step after step, my hand still on one wall to try to keep track of what I was doing, in vain.

“Captain!” I heard Daisuke call for me, he hardly called me by that title, but I said his name back and said I could hear him without mentioning anything. “The wall can’t be cut, but maybe we can cut the ground!” I snorted. It was a creative proposition, but we were no gravediggers, although he could try. Thinking outside the box was welcomed, no matter how foolish. Before I could tell him, the woman-like demon took the opportunity and spoke up, “How foolish can you be? Have you not connected the dots yet? Do I have to do all the work for you?”

What does she mean by that? I wondered. She had moved the ground, which meant it was part of her. She could not just move dirt like that, clearly she was not that powerful. And if she was the ground… What am I missing? I thought as I glanced at the sky once again to see how much time we had left. We could not find her in the mine, she kidnapped our recruits, kept them alive for some reason, that being the most confusing part. Why couldn’t we find her in the mine, but the others we could? She can move the ground- she is the ground; she is the mine?

I sent my slayers in the mine. They weren’t kept, they were being digested somehow.

I swore under my breath, “So that is your power,” I started in false confidence, pulling out my sword once again and taking a deep breath. “It is fine by me, my recruits will find your roots somehow-“ “They are probably dead by now, have you not noticed?” She asked, “The mines are closed, there is no escape and oh, will they feel good! For some reason, a lot of them have escaped, but that will go on no longer! I have had enough,” She exclaimed, slamming her hands on the ground, spikes coming out of the walls.

I managed to dodge them, but I could hear Takeshi’s grunts. “Takeshi, don’t move! We will come and get you,” I called out. He tried to reassure me, saying he was fine, but I could hear it in his voice that he was not in great shape. “You have one more lackey, do you not?” I asked the demon. Her face contorted in confusion, “Have you considered it was the one that helped my recruits escape?” She was caught off guard, shaking her head, “There is no one else, you have killed both of my dearest, oh-so-kind, so weak, so useless, subordinates,” Her expression was now hurt, faux hurt, but hurt, nonetheless.

Both of us were lost, if it was not her, what was it? As I pondered that thought, something grabbed my foot. I was surprised and looked down silently, sword at the ready. There stood the little demon I had seen earlier in my mission, the one that had brought Hana out. It brought its hand to its mouth and made a digging motion. Before I could comprehend, I found myself submerged by dirt and rocks. The demon dragged me through the ground before peeking its head out and gesturing for me to come out without a sound.

So, it was the one responsible for their survival? Had she not noticed its existence? I knew it was a demon, but it did not kill. I did not know what its endgame was, but I looked at it a moment before mouthing ‘thank you’. It almost looked flustered before disappearing underground. “Have you lost yourself once again? I am sure mice would be smarter than you slayers. A pity. Smarter people are so much tastier, but I guess there is not changing your little brain this late in the meal, now is there?” I could hear her from up close.

The little demon had brought me close enough that I could take her down. I heard Uchiyama reply to her, determined, “I’ll let you know I’m smarter than Takeshi! Just because you think we can’t find the end of that stupid maze of yours, does not make us stupid!” He said with his voice bursting with assurance. I did not know what he was doing, but it felt like he was getting her attention. It was the perfect moment to strike.

Taking a deep breath, I thought of the best course of attack and used my 5th breathing style. The demon named Shiori turned in pure shock, her face lighting up with fear. Before she could react, I struck her neck hard. It was resistant at first, but I could feel my blade dig in the hide-like skin. I heard her breathe, baffled and stunned, “How?”

I smiled, “There was a mole, it seems,” I did feel proud of that joke, but the demon did not get it. “I don’t get it- I-“ Her walls started falling off, disappearing. And as they did, I looked at the mine, which was fading away too, disintegrating. I heard Daisuke join Takeshi’s side, helping him up and taking a look at his wound, good. In the thrill of having taken her down, I had forgotten she had risen herself on a wall of her own making, that same wall that was falling apart.

Both of us fell to the ground, her head in my hand and her body under mine, making my fall less painful. Waiting patiently for her to disappear, I looked around and saw the little demon that had helped me, it popped out of the ground with people behind it, my people. Turning the woman-like demon’s head, I showed her, “There, that’s the reason you’re defeated. How does it feel? The weakest are still pretty useful when you do not pay attention, wouldn’t you agree?” I asked, too cocky. I do not know why I was feeling so elated. Was it because I could finally return home? Or because she had killed two of my recruits, and had finally paid the price?

“I thought I had killed you!! Traitor!” She barked, her face adorning hideous traits. The small demon looked at her without any expression, it stared a moment before scurrying off, back underground. “That rat, that idiot, I knew I should have made sure it was-“ Her words were cut off, her face slowly turning into dust.

We waited a few more minutes for the sun to rise. A new day was ahead of us, and we had a lot to do. For now, we would go back inside and rest, for nothing could be done in the state we were in.

That night, we fell asleep peacefully. Hana insisted on keeping an eye out just in case, while we slept.

The next morning, we started working on fixing the village. The death of the fox-masked demon had left holes in the mines, odd ones that led to unknown places. Some roofs were damaged, walls too. Our large number made the reparations take a lot less time than they would have.

The four recruits we had found the previous night were sleeping peacefully, watched over by Fumihiro.

Days and days of hard work busied us. It was not until the 27th July that I found time to read Rengoku’s letter and reply to it.

22nd July

My love, my dear,

My heart jumped in my chest at the mention of you getting hurt. There is no point in feeling bad upon not being there to stop it, but I cannot help it… If I had been there you would not have been in pain. You told me you were doing fine, and I believe you. Scars are battle medals, it means you have fought and lived to tell your story. The scars that adorn your body are like the stars that adorn the night sky, beautiful and mesmerizing.

If you would allow it, I would like to show you how much I still adore you and your body, even if scarred… Upon your return, I will worship you, with the utmost respect, unless you wish for else.

To hire a painter to follow us on our journey is a great idea! But they would have to look away when I will not be able to hold back from kissing you all over. I will not let you go one minute once we retire. Just like ivy on a tree.

Dandelions can tangle my hair, I would not care for I would need not to make a wish. Having you by my side is my only desire. And there is nothing I could ask for more than to have your hands on my body at all times. Hair, shoulders, hands… Everywhere is welcome for your touch, my body is screaming for your touch.

For someone with a strong desire to be appropriate, your promiscuous words left me wanting more. I will hold you onto that promise… And to answer your question, although it was scribbled over, the answer is yes. Do what you will with that piece of information, my love.

The trainees are working hard, so hard I almost struggle to keep up with them. If you were there, I am sure we could manage them with more ease, your presence would give me the energy I lack to match their attitude. Everyone is working very hard. It is hard work to keep them all determined, but you must know I am a determined man. I will have them keep hope and be ready by the time of the battle.

Two weeks away from holding you close, I cannot wait for your return,

I will finally rest easy once I have you by my side,

Lovingly,

K. Rengoku

I missed him dearly, and as I read his letters, all of them, I pondered how long I could hold myself from telling him I loved him. Having him wish for a peaceful life together at the end of all this left me wanting that too. I feared matching his hopefulness, I feared wanting a future. Not because it was one with me, but because if in that future he was not with me, I do not think I could live without him.

27thJuly

My love,

We have found the remaining recruits; it is a relief to announce we will be departing shortly to return home.

I must apologize for the late reply from your previous letter. After defeating the demon behind all of this, we had to take care of the damage it had done. I am grateful to have been accompanied by everyone as we repaired everything, it made the process a lot faster.

The proper words have a hard time coming to me. Your words still echo in my mind, I cannot express how much they meant to me. If it is of any usefulness, know that I feel the same about you. No matter the state this war leaves you in, I will love you just the same. It sounds awful said as such, but it is true. As optimistic as we can be, we cannot know for sure if we will make it.

I will not let you worship my body until I have done the same to yours. Words cannot portray the depth of my craving for your touch, for your presence. The comfort of your being is what I long for, but to hear you say my name barely above a whisper is what I yearn for. Oh, to be back on that veranda where we can enjoy our breakfast together… I miss you.

As for the piece of information… I will use it as I worship you, my only God.

That piece of information you share will be more than useful in time…

I will help you with the recruits, for we might need to train ten more as I bring them back from the Nakusaki village. More fun is bound to follow, would you not think?

I will be writing you a letter on the day of my departure,

Thinking of you, Missing you every moment,

Songbird

As promised, a few days later, before receiving any letter from Rengoku, I was packing everything. It was hard to coordinate everyone, but we managed. The villagers thanked us, asking us if we needed anything more before we left. They offered us some of their most valuable belongings, but we would not take it. There was no need, was what we told them.

Before leaving, I had sent a last letter.

30thJuly

My dear Kyojuro,

I am returning to the mansion.

We will be departing the village today, after one last meal with the villagers. We might take more time to return than it took me to arrive, some of us are in pretty bad shape.

We will probably arrive on the 1st of August,

I cannot stand still at the thought of seeing you again,

Impatiently yours,

Your songbird

[Part 7]

#demon slayer #rengoku x reader #gentle summer #physicalturian #ao3 #writing #ao3 writer #physicalturian ao3 #writer #demon slayer rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kimetsu no yaiba #kny rengoku #kny rengoku kyojuro #kimetsu no yaiba rengoku #demon slayer x reader #fanfiction

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tallstars-rewrite · 3 years

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Chapter 20

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As Reena said, the visitors kept to themselves for several days after Hen passed away. Heatherstar sent someone to inform them they would be allowed to stay visiting their territory for at least the rest of greenleaf if they wanted more time to say goodbye to their companion. She seemed genuinely remorseful that WindClan had not been able to help, but Bess and her company were grateful as ever that WindClan had offered at all. Well, almost all of them. Tallpaw hadn’t seen any sign of Sparrow at all since he’d ran from the camp that day, and neither had anyone else in the clan as far as he knew. He couldn’t place why, but it made him uneasy how effortlessly the little loner crept around undetected. Reena claimed Sparrow was still with them, that he’d never leave for good, but even she wasn’t seeing him very often. It clearly worried her, but there was nothing to do but give him more time.

The amount of energy Tallpaw had to spend on pitying the cold loner was limited anyway. He, unsurprisingly, still hadn’t had a single conversation with his father. When Heatherstar heard about the accident that had happened in the tunnels, Sandstone’s project was put on indefinite hold. Tallpaw had been very careful not to be in camp during that time, but based on what he overheard from Woollycloud, his father had not taken it well at all. Now he was honestly terrified to risk even being in Sandstone’s line of sight without an escape route, so it was safer to continue being out of camp as much as possible, and hiding behind other cats when he had to be. Tallpaw was completely exhausted from all the extra patrols and hunting missions he kept insisting to Dawnstripe he definitely had the energy for, but in the end, it was worth it. Besides, now that it was clear he was no natural tunneler, there was more time to double down on moor runner training, to make it up to Dawnstripe. Tallpaw had to at least not let some cat down.

Late newleaf storms had returned hard, cloaking the moor in a gloomy shade. It was difficult to tell how low the sun was from behind the thick cloud cover. Tallpaw trailed along on his second patrol that day, almost grateful for the rainy chill to keep him awake while the sunset patrol was scouting from the north to the eastern border. It wasn’t ideal in the wet weather, but Tallpaw preferred water in the grass infinitely more to the thought of water leaking into tunnel walls around him, so he was among the few younger cats who didn’t complain about damp patrols.

Shrewpaw, Hareflight, Brackenwing, and Fallowspring traveled with them. Even through the slight haze of exhaustion that always weighed on him in some way or another, Tallpaw could feel that he had gotten stronger in the moons since he started training. He and Shrewpaw walked a bit ahead of the others, keeping an eye out for a chance to catch something. Stuck only training with each other, their teamwork hunting had vastly improved since their first attempt. Shrewpaw silently signaled to him the location of a rabbit a short distance off from the patrol. Wordlessly, they fanned out from one another as the rest of their patrol paused to watch. They had the luck of being down wind on their side. Tallpaw crept as close as he dared before he shot out of the grass. The rabbit wheeled around and took off, Tallpaws claws only managing to graze it. But he had expected as much. Keeping close behind it, he drove it to where he knew Shrewpaw was waiting, and in a brown blur of fur, Shrewpaw rammed into it from the side. The animal was almost the same size as the apprentices, and it put up a fight. Tallpaw gripped it by its shoulders and yanked its head up, allowing Shrewpaw to jump on top of it and sink his teeth into the side of its neck. The rabbit eventually stopped kicking, Shrewpaw yowled triumphantly while he heard their patrol call out their praise at the fairly clean catch.

Tallpaw rolled the rabbit off of him “You’re welcome by the way, for letting you show off with the final kill. Aren’t you glad Fallowspring joined the patrol?”

Shrewpaw flattened his ears “Like I need your help to show off.”

As they dragged the rabbit back to the patrol together, Dawnstripe called, “we may need to have some of you branch off early to take that back. Unless you want to try dragging it the long way home.”

“It's not too long a run straight to camp from here, so I’ll come back when we’re finished.” Tallpaw said.

“I almost thought that rabbit was going to pummel you,” Fallowspring laughed. “It’s as big as Shrewpaw is.”

“Good thing my claws are better,” Shrewpaw boasted, licking rabbit blood from his muzzle.

The roll in the rain laden grass had soaked them both. Tallpaw sneezed disdainfully as Shrewpaw shook water droplets into his nose. “Maybe Briarpaw had the right idea after all, not having to go on patrols like us. He’d be even heavier than you in this weather.” Tallpaw said.

Shrewpaw sniffed. “Sure, but I still think going out more often would be better for his head. Did you see him this morning? He got all worked up about some prey blood on the ground, or something like that. Apparently he’s ‘really sure this time’ that something bad will happen, he’s been on about it for days.” Shrewpaw lowered his voice. “He keeps saying I can’t tell the old badger-face about all of his worrying. Like he thinks if Hawkheart sees him getting too worked up, he’ll make him quit training .”

Tallpaw frowned. “Well...did Briarpaw consider that Hen passing away might have been the ‘bad thing’? A cat did die, that’s pretty bad.”

“Try telling him that.”

They’d fallen a bit behind the rest of the patrol, and Brackenwing turned her head to them. “Don’t think I can’t hear you two gossiping back there.”

“Sorry,” Tallpaw ducked his head, “We’re just worried about him.” Or I am at least. Shrewpaw seemed more exasperated by his brother than anything.

“I know it’s hard to understand what he’s doing, but he’ll be fine. When Briarpaw has his heart set on something, he sees it through. I’m sure Hawkheart will help him sort through this. Maybe you could bring him your rabbit to cheer him up when we get back. It was an incredible catch! I’m so proud of you,” Brackenwing looked warmly to her son, and then added to Tallpaw, “both of you. Your mother will be thrilled to see what a great hunter you are shaping up to be.”

Tallpaw wordlessly nodded and thanked her. Brackenwing spoke of his mother more than his mother spoke to him. At this point, he just let it go as if it was normal how little he saw her. Patrolling felt good to get his restless energy out, but sure enough there crept that familiar heaviness into his chest when he thought of Palebird. After all, part of why he wanted his father to understand him so desperately was because he didn’t want to lose him like he had her. So much for that. Though he’d sometimes catch Palebird staring at him from afar, he knew if she wanted him to approach first, she was going to be disappointed. Brackenwing had even tried to convince Palebird to join them on their patrol today, where she could have seen his progress for herself, but her “illness” that he knew little about had spiked up again, and she hadn’t left her den. Brackenwing seemed like she was trying not to draw attention to their distance, but she must have noticed the wistfulness in his response.

She quietly licked his ear and murmured, “she really is proud of you. Your mother is going through a difficult time right now, but she loves you. I’m sure she’ll be able to join us on patrols again soon.”

Some part Tallpaw wanted to ask if she knew why his mother was so distant, but he was never sure if Brackenwing was being honest with him. If his mother was disappointed in him, he’d never hear it from Brackenwing. She only offered him praise and tried to smooth things over best she could. Sometimes Tallpaw wished he really had been Brackenwing’s kit as well. It was so easy between her and her kits, even when Briarpaw had chosen an unexpected path. But it would do him no good to dwell on that, and wishing his own kin away only increased the guilt weighing down his paws.

The patrol had very nearly made the complete round. As they approached the north-eastern border that ran against the treeline before the Thunderpath, he pricked his ears and stared a bit nervously off into the trees as the patrol marked the border.

“Things have been quiet on ShadowClan’s side for a while,” Dawnstripe said warily.

“Do you think Heatherstar was right to call their bluff?” Tallpaw asked.

“One can never be too sure.” Hareflight warned. “Keep a careful eye out, we’re still under orders to make sure this border is marked especially well.”

Tallpaw and Shrewpaw wandered a bit further ahead. Shrewpaw was casting glares into the dark pines on the border.

“I swear I can smell something,” he muttered. “If ShadowClan shows their muzzles anywhere near here again, I'll tear them off their ugly faces.”

Tallpaw opened his jaws to scent the air. A particularly foul smelling monster had rumbled by not long ago, and it clouded many of the other scents around him. It was hard to tell if the ShadowClan he tasted was from their side of the border or over it. He got so caught up narrowing his eyes at every shape that moved in the trees, he didn’t realize the patrol had gotten ahead of him. As he turned to catch up, a very loud, and very deliberate, crack made him jump and wheel back around.

“Shrewpaw--” he hissed, looking around desperately for the other apprentice. Something moved in the undergrowth up ahead. Another crack. Tallpaw hurried forward and heard Shrewpaw’s snarl before he saw the dark cat sitting above him in a thin branch, glowering down at them with a malicious sneer.

“Whoops,” the tom said, and Tallpaw recognized the smug bratty face of Darkpaw, crooked tail flicking barley within reach. “Looks like I've been spotted.”

Shrewpaw gave a low growl, loud enough to catch the rest of the patrol's attention. Fallowspring was there in an instant, bursting through the undergrowth to stand between them

“What do you think you’re doing up there, you little rat?” she demanded.

“Just an undersized apprentice isn’t much of an invasion.” Dawnstripe snorted.

“I’ll drag him down!” Shrewpaw swiped viciously at the ShadowClan tom's tail.

Darkpaw blinked at the patrol surrounding him with wide orange eyes. “Oh no,” he whimpered, “you’re not going to hurt me are you? What would I do then?”

He was clearly mocking them. Did he think they wouldn’t attack him just because he was an apprentice? He was certainly old enough to know better. Dawnstripe and Hareflight looked at each other, clearly annoyed, but not worried.

Tallpaw saw Dawnstripe nod to him. “Why don’t you get rid of this runaway pest so we can continue,”

He stiffened as he realized she was giving him permission for a fair fight. Tallpaw stared up at the ShadowClan apprentice. If Darkpaw was going to behave like that, then he could certainly stand to get some sense knocked into him. Even so, Tallpaw had never really attacked a cat before. In his heartbeat of hesitation, Shrewpaw shoved ahead of him and made a mad leap for the branch with outstretched claws.

Darkpaw barely dodged and jumped down into the bushes below with a laugh. “You should really pay more attention to your surroundings!”

Tallpaw wasn’t quite sure what happened after that. A chorus of furious screeches came from somewhere behind him, something slammed into him, knocking him into the brush, his head smacked hard against the hard earth and his ears started ringing.

“Ambush!” he heard someone cry. The forest was alive with screeches. Tallpaw had no idea where Darkpaw had gone. He heard Shrewpaw snarl and swipe, and suddenly the furious apprentice was shoving a disoriented Tallpaw to his feet.

“Get up and fight!” Shrewpaw yowled as he plunged forward into the fray. There was a whole group of ShadowClan warriors wrestling with their patrol. Had they been hiding there the whole time? Tallpaw’s shock was replaced quickly with anger and a spike of adrenaline. There was no more time for wondering what to do, and he didn’t have time to be afraid as he launched himself at the first body stinking of ShadowClan that he saw. He wrapped his paws around thin spiky gray fur and sank his teeth into the shoulder of a tom much larger than himself. With flexibility he wouldn’t have thought possible, the gray tom turned his neck and bit the top of Tallpaw’s scruff, yanking him forward. Tallpaw opened his mouth to yowl in surprise as he was thrown onto the ground.

“Stupid fight to pick,” A harsh raspy voice snarled into his face. He saw long glinting teeth and sharp icey eyes. Tallpaw vaguely recalled the appearance of ShadowClan's deputy himself, Stonetooth. He rolled out of the way as fast as he could as Stonetooth’s viciously sharp teeth snapped loudly an inch from his ears. A single hard swipe from the deputy knocked Tallpaw off balance, but before claws reached his pelt, Brackenwing slammed into Stonetooth and grappled him around the neck as she bit at his head. Tallpaw has never seen the molly fight, and she was terrifyingly strong and larger than her opponent, but Stonetooth was agile, easily twisting his way out of her grip. Tallpaw began to swipe at the enemy warrior’s back as a distraction while Brackenwing slashed at his face, but he was knocked to the ground again before he could aim it. Whoever threw Tallpaw down was gone quickly as Shrewpaw snapped at the retreating dark-furred figure before turning back to help his mother tackle Stonetooth.

“Stay together!” came Hareflight’s yowl. Tallpaw scrambled for the scraps of battle training he could remembert, and held his ground beside Shrewpaw.

But then from the shadows of scraggly undergrowth, he heard someone hiss, “what’s wrong little apprentice? You’re not good at fighting on your own, are you?”

Ashpaw, Tallpaw scarcely recognized the young ShadowClan cat that had tried to pick a fight with them at the gathering. She waited in the bushes just out of reach. Why was she just sitting there watching? Tallpaw swiped at her once and tried to turn again to keep pace with Shrewpaw lashing out at Stonetooth’s flanks. He heard Dawnstripe’s pained yowl somewhere.

“Too much of a coward to chase me off, then? guessed as much.” Ashpaw jeered.

It was stupid of him to try and take on an older apprentice alone, but the word coward echoed in his ears, sending a bristling bolt of fury through him.

“Shut up!” Tallpaw snarled and wheeled around on her. Shrewpaw was lost somewhere behind him. He pounced at the voice, but she’d ducked away. “Who do you think you're calling a coward when you won’t even fight!?” he screeched. Where had she gone?

“You're making this too easy." The taunting growl came from his left, and before he knew what happened, he was on the ground again, Darkpaw snapping at his neck. Both ShadowClan apprentices were on top of him now and Tallpaw couldn’t flip himself back over. He was alone, teeth sunk hard into his ear and he yowled in pain as panic started to take over. Would they really kill him? It was against the code, but Darkpaw didn’t look like he cared. Tallpaw thrashed and swiped uselessly, all proper training forgotten as he flailed. Suddenly some of the weight was lifted off of him and he heard Ashpaw yowl in surprise as Shrewpaw grappled her to the ground. Darkpaw, less confident without his bigger friend, was distracted enough for Tallpaw to kick him hard in the face, just barely missing his eyes. Blood pooling from his nose, the ShadowClan cat turned and leaped back into the bushes with Ashpaw in tow. Shrewpaw skidded to a stop, panting hard, looking ragged.

“Thank--” Tallpaw began, but Shrewpaw just growled at him.

“You made me leave my mother to come save you because you ran off on your own! Stay together, you idiot!”

Tallpaw tried his best to follow as they struggled towards the rest of their cornered patrol. We should retreat! This is hopeless! he thought desperately, but he had no idea where to retreat to. There seemed to be cats surrounding them on every side. He saw a bloodied Brackenwing take Stonetooth over a muddy slope, out of sight amidst the chaos. Shrewpaw leaped after them, but there were more ShadowClan warriors in his way now, and they wouldn’t let him through. The patrol was now completely split up, and severely outnumbered. He tried to help Shrewpaw shove through a much bigger warrior so he could get to Brackenwing, when suddenly, Stonetooth’s voice rang out a call for retreat. All at once ShadowClan pushed away from their opponents and slipped back into the shadows, streaming through the narrow Thunderpath tunnel. Tallpaw stared after them, bloody and bewildered. Stonetooth turned back to give them one last icy glare with bared and bloodied teeth.

“We warned you once, and we won’t do it again. You will back off this border, or next time face more of our claws.”

With that he was gone, and the woods were quiet once more.

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#cw blood #cw violence #*canon typical violence #FRU20 #chapter 20 #~fight scenes my be-hated~

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ahsbitch · 4 years

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A Walk In The Woods

Word Count: 5762

Summary: You find a wild Michael Langdon in the woods, and after deciding that he definitely needs some help, you invite him back home with you.

Warnings: Smut, 69ing, so obviously oral happens, Male and Female Receiving, A Bit Of Praise Kink, unprotected sex, Vaginal Intercourse, Sad Boi Michael, some cockwarming at the end (obviously I’m v into cockwarming, don’t @ me) Shitty Writing, lots of cursing, that’s all I can think of

A/N: I’m sure this is awful but idk I put effort into it so I’m posting it. Also I should totally wait to post til tomorrow bc it’s like midnight but?? I really wanted to post it today so I’m just going for it. Hope y’all enjoy, comments are Always appreciated, much love! ♥️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking barefoot in the woods was probably your most ridiculous hobby, but it was probably your favorite as well.

There was always something to discover in the woods.

You tried to take a forest walk at least once a week, on Sundays. You would be gone for hours, wandering, feeling the ups and downs of the universe all around you.

There was always something to discover in the woods, and it was always something different.

Often you would stop in sunny patches and meditated. Sometimes you could feel the musings of something greater than you, running through you.

Occasionally, you would find a wounded animal, typically just small things like squirrels or sparrows, although sometimes bigger creatures, a deer, an owl, a fox, things along those lines. You felt a responsibility to them, to help them, to clean them up and help them heal and get them better enough to go off on their journeys in life.

On this particular walk, you found a type of wounded animal you’d never dealt with before.

Michael Langdon.

You found him wandering the woods, bleary eyed, coated in scratches and sunburns.

“Are you alright, sir?” You moved slowly closer to him, not worried for yourself but afraid to startle him.

The man was beautiful, you could tell he was beneath the dirt that covered him.

You had startled him, it seemed, as he looked up at you with wild, piercing eyes, raising a hand and sending you flying back against a tree, pinning you there by the throat.

Well, fuck.

Your hands clawed at your neck in spite of yourself, trying to pull at something that wasn’t there. You wouldn’t have tried at all, if you were capable of rational thought, would have let it happen as you had great faith that the mystery man was going to let you go, but of course when one loses the ability to breathe, one’s body tends to panic in spite of what the mind may wish for.

After a few seconds, you dropped to the ground, gasping for air.

Breathe in...Breathe out...Breathe in...Breathe out...Breath in..

“I’m sorry,” You stood up, keeping your gaze on the ground but taking a step towards him.

Although you still didn’t look him in the face, you could tell just from his voice that the man was confused, wandering closer to you, “Why are you sorry?”

Shrugging, you lifted your head from the ground, although you still kept it below eye level, “I frightened you. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“I,” He frowned, and you focused your eyes on his mouth, “I attacked you.”

“Because I frightened you. I was trying not to, but I did, and I’m very sorry for it.”

“Is that why you won’t look me in the eye?” He sounded curious, and his mouth curved into a funny little smile, “Because you’re sorry?”

“Because direct eye contact can be intimidating,” You explained, “I don’t want to upset you again.”

Biting his lower lip, the man extended his hand, “It’s okay. I’m... my name is Michael. I’m sorry for...what I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You took his hand, feeling a zip of electricity shoot through you, and finally looked into his eyes, “It’s okay. I’ve been hurt worse. Wasn’t a big deal. I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Michael.”

Brows scrunched together over his crystalline blue eyes, Michael cleared his throat, “It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N. I’m sorry for bothering you, I- I should let you go.”

You weren’t quite sure whether he meant that literally or figuratively, as he was still clutching at your hand like a lifeline.

“Hang on,” Drawing him closer, you reached a careful hand up to his face, hesitating at the way he flinched, then stilled, his eyes flickering to the side anxiously, but allowing you to cup his cheek and examine him, “How long have you been out here?”

Michael looked unsure of himself, leaning into your hand ever so slightly and seemingly not even conscious of it, “A few days, I think. I was doing a, well, I was doing something, but it didn’t work, and then I tried to make my way back to the city, but I kinda got lost.”

“You must be starving,” You pulled away from him, straightening up, “I can take you back to the city, and you can come to my place for a little bit.”

You were already walking, and after a moment you heard Michael hurry to follow you, “What do you mean?”

“You said you were lost. I don’t think you just mean physically. Besides, you must be hungry, and no offense, but you’re kind of a mess right now,” You glanced back at him, giving a small smile when you saw his shocked expression, “You need help. I’m happy to give it.”

“Why?” Michael moved to your side, walking in step with you, “Why would you help me? What if I’m a murderer?”

“Even if you are, I don’t think you’ll murder me. If you do, I’d ask that you do it quickly, that’s just a little personal preference of mine, although of course if you’re some truly evil serial killer then I doubt you’d care much about my preferences,” Shrugging, you grasped his hand in yours and pulled him behind you, feeling another volt of electricity crackle through your veins as you led him back to the city.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have a nice place,” Michael told you hesitantly as you made your way up the front steps of your apartment building.

You almost laughed at that, but when you glanced back at him he looked so genuine in the compliment that you paused, pulling him inside, “You... you know this whole place isn’t mine, right? It’s an apartment building. My place is pretty not nice, actually. I mean, I like it, but it’s small and not very fancy, y’know?”

“Oh,” He looked a little embarrassed, and you could tell that he had thought the whole building belonged to you. He looked like someone who was used to money and big houses, or at least he looked like he would look like that if he didn’t currently look like he’d been attacked by some sort of weather monster and was now on the verge of passing out.

“Sit,” You said simply, gesturing to the couch, and you hurried to get a glass of water, handing it to him, “Drink.”

Bustling your way back to the kitchen, you looked back to see him staring at the cup, and you repeated, “Michael. Drink the water. Come on,” You turned to the plants on your windowsill, grabbing your kitchen shears, “Do you mind?”

“Do I mind drinking water?” Michael asked, confusion evident.

“Not you,” You turned to him with a smile, nodding, “You don’t have a choice there. Drink the water. I was talking to Tennyson.”

“Who’s Tennyson?”

He had finished the cup of water, and you took it and refilled it before gesturing to the aloe vera plant that you had just trimmed a stalk off of, returning the cup to him, “The plant. The full name is Aloe, Lord Tennyson.”

“You name your plants?” Clearing his throat, Michael took a sip of the new cup of water, “You... talk to your plants?”

Shrugging, you split the long leaf in half, scooping some of the gel inside onto your fingers, “Yes, and yes. Now this may hurt a bit, just a warning.”

You pressed against his forehead as gently as you could, where a large pinkish red sunburn rested, and Michael let out a hiss and suddenly you were flying across the room, hitting the wall. He didn’t hold you in place or choke you this time, at least, and in a moment he had leapt from the couch and hurried over to you, “I’m so sorry. It hurt and I wasn’t expecting it, I-”

“It’s okay,” You let Michael pull you to your feet, holding onto his hand ever more tightly as you looked at his ashen face and downtrodden expression, “I should’ve given you better warning. Listen, I’ll doctor you up later. Let’s get you in a bath, first, okay? You can bathe and I’ll make some food and then, after, we can take care of your sunburns and scrapes.”

“I keep hurting you,” Michael pulled his hand away, looking at it as though your touch had burned him, “And you keep being nice to me.”

“If you were doing it on purpose, I’d be less nice. But you’re not, I can tell. Now, follow,” You led the way to your small bathroom, starting to fill the tub with water.

Michael sat on the edge of the tub, watching you adjust the temperature and light the candles that lay at the corners and pour in some bubble bath. He stared as you moved, humming to yourself, and when you stood and started to step away, “I have some old clothes that I think will fit you. They’re not particularly fancy, like what you’re wearing now, but they’re clean. I’ll drop them off once I get some dinner started, okay?”

Nodding, Michael began to undo the buttons of his shirt, and you hurried out of the room.

He was still lost, even though he wasn’t in the woods anymore. And you were determined to help him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Michael called, cracking the bathroom door open, “I’m dressed and everything.”

“Great! Hop up on the counter for me, okay? Just hang tight,” You grabbed the bowl of aloe gel that you had scraped from the plant and a box of band aids and hurried back to the bathroom.

He was perched next to your sink, and you tapped at his knees. Michael frowned but opened his legs so you could stand in between them, “Why am I on your counter, exactly?”

“Because it’s time for me to play doctor. I’m going to touch your face, okay?” You cupped his cheek in your hand and tugged him down, beginning to dab gel onto his sunburns and clean the long scratches that streaked across his features, “Are you comfortable? Do the sweatpants fit okay and everything?”

“They’re fine,” Michael mumbled, flinching when you pressed a band aid to one of the deeper cuts on his forehead, his hand curling into a fist. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting his other hand rest gently on your shoulder, “I appreciate you letting me borrow them. And letting me use your bathtub, and well, and everything else.”

You nodded, taking in a deep breath and finally moving your attention to notice that he was staring at you, smiling at him, “You used my shampoo.”

“Oh, yeah,” He turned pink, “Yeah, is that okay? It smelled like strawberries and it was right there so I just...”

“Of course! Not a problem at all. You smell nice,” You were looking straight at him now, and he continued to stare, and just when you’d tilted your head to the side, trying to discern what exactly Michael was thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours.

The hand that had rested on your shoulder came up to stroke your face, and then as quickly as it had started, it was done, and he had pulled away from you, turning his head sheepishly to the side.

Clearing your throat nervously, you stepped back, “Do you like tomato soup?”

“Yes,” Michael hopped off the counter, following you to the kitchen, although he stayed about four steps behind you.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, looking at each other over bowls of soup and large dinner rolls.

Your lips still buzzed from the memory of him against you, but you tried to ignore that. Michael scarfed food down for a while, and you simply kept refilling his bowl until he finally started to slow down, and then you asked carefully, “So, Michael. What’s gotten you lost like this. Tell me where you came from. Tell me about your parents.”

“There isn’t much to tell about them,” Michael turned red, and he steadfastly refused to make eye contact with you, “My father abandoned me, and my mother tried to kill me. There’s only one person who’s ever really cared, who hasn’t abandoned me, and she’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” You said earnestly, letting your hand reach out just far enough to brush against his, “Humanity is unkind, often especially so to those who need kindness the most.”

Michael had a curious way of frowning, his confusion always quite evident. His eyes would widen and his brows would move, displaying everything he was feeling. It was cute, honestly.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” He said finally bluntly, having been staring at you in silence, “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re just...I mean... I was gonna try to just not mention it, but you’re so nice and I feel bad.”

“You should’ve asked first,” Drawing your hand away, you tried to make eye contact with him, but now he was avoiding your gaze, “For a lot of reasons. But I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not? I know I should’ve asked, I’m just... I’m not used to having to ask for things. I know that’s not a good excuse, but I don’t really know what to say. I’m just sorry,” Michael was frowning even deeper than before.

Shrugging, you reached back across the table, this time allowing your fingers to stroke along his jaw, “The fact that you’re sorry is enough. Just... don’t go around kissing strangers with no warning, okay?”

“Okay,” He smiled, leaning into your hand, a strange rumbling noise emanating from deep in his chest, almost like a purr.

Suddenly, you felt a bolt of desire shoot through you, seemingly out of nowhere, and you shifted a little in your seat, “Are you done eating?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thank you for the food. I can find somewhere to go, I’m sure,” Pulling away from you, Michael started to stand, and you rushed to stand too.

“What do you mean? Why would you go anywhere?” You grabbed his arm, trying to hold him in place even as he brushed you away.

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

A burden?

“If you were going to be a burden, I wouldn’t have brought you here at all. Spend the night,” Squeezing at his wrist gently, you moved to stand in front of him.

Michael looked utterly taken aback by this, “Really? Are you sure?”

You tugged him along behind you, to your bedroom, bringing him to sit on your bed and collapsing down next to him.

“I’m sure,” Turning towards him, you tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear and leaned forward, looking deeply into his eyes, “You’re the opposite of a burden, and I can prove it.”

Michael’s breathing hitched, and he moved closer to you, closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath, “I really wanna kiss you again.”

“You can,” You said simply, wanting to kiss him very badly, but having decided that he needed to be the one to initiate it.

“But you said-”

“I said you should ask first,” You placed a hand on his cheek, feeling something crackling in the air, his skin soft against your own.

“Y/N,” Michael leaned into you, and another rumble rolled from his chest, “May I please kiss you?”

“You can do a lot more than that. I want to show you that you’re not a burden. You deserve to feel good,” And then his mouth was on yours, and something deeper than electricity was running through you.

He kissed you like a teenager, not pulling you closer to him but pushing his upper body forward, and you let out a giggle in spite of yourself.

Pulling back suddenly, Michael frowned, running a hand through his hair, “Sorry. Did I... did I do something wrong?”

“No, don’t be sorry!” You rolled your shoulders back, wishing that you two were still touching, a wave of regret hitting you when you saw the wounded look in his eyes, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, Michael, I just... I feel a lot of things right now, y’know? But they’re all good things! I’m just, well, shit, I’m rambling. I’m going to stop talking now and, uh, and take off my shirt. Take your shirt off? Please?”

Michael’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak but closed it immediately when he saw you slip off your shirt, fumbling with the fabric of his own, letting out a shout as it got stuck over his head.

“Fuck!” The fabric had bunched around his face, his voice slightly muffled, “Dammit, fucking, Y/N, help me!”

Choking back a laugh, you climbed into his lap and assisted him in wrestling off the shirt, letting another giggle slip out at his look of relief once it was free, which instantly transformed into one of shock as he looked at you, and you could feel yourself starting to blush in spite of your best attempts not to, “Okay, you good?”

He let out a slow breath, eyes trained on securely on your breasts, covered in a lacy white bra, “I’m much more than good. I’m fantastic. Can I... I mean... can I kiss you again? Can I maybe touch you?”

“I want you to feel good, Michael. Yes,” You gave him a quick kiss on the tip of the nose, smiling at the way he scrunched it up in response.

Then Michael was kissing you again, and fuck it felt good, his skin ever so slightly prickling against you, and then he raised a tentative hand to your chest, swiping across your left nipple briefly.

You let out a moan that you hadn’t expected, and he froze for a moment, beginning to slowly swirl his thumb around the covered bud. Suddenly his lips were gone from yours and wrapped around your right nipple, flicking his tongue against it experimentally, and he pulled back with a grin as you let out another breathy moan.

You sounded like a fucking porn star, what the fuck?

“Wow, you’re sensitive,” Michael teased, bringing his other hand up to replace his mouth, “Can I take your bra off?”

“I’ll get it. And I’m not this sensitive, not normally,” You panted, grinding down against him without thinking about it, reaching behind your back to unclasp, and letting out a high pitched whine when his hands were finally on your bare skin, “I mean, not like this. This is... this is you, I think.”

You could already feel him hard underneath you, but at your words his erection became even more prominent, pressed firmly against your inner thigh.

The rumbling noise came from deep in Michael’s chest once again, and you decided that it was in fact a purr, or something damn close to one. He was beaming now, and there was something almost childlike about him when he looked so joyful, and there was an obvious note of pride in his voice, “Really? Me? Do you think I could make you cum doing this?”

He pinched lightly and you gasped, head rolling back, “Probably, but not right now, okay? I wanna-fuck-I wanna-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, couldn’t think of what was supposed to come next, and carefully you gripped Michael’s wrists, pulling his hands away from you and sliding off of his lap.

With a pout, Michael watched you move between his legs, an eyebrow raised, “Was it really that intense?”

“It was,” You glanced up at him from where you now lay, pressing a soft kiss to his cock through his sweatpants, your mind still strangely fogged, “It was... weird. Good weird, but weird. Are you secretly magical or something?”

He barked a short laugh just a little too quickly for it to sound natural, but you figured that was maybe because you were mouthing along the outline of his dick, his hips bucking up every so slightly, and he was perhaps a bit too distracted to act like your terrible joke was funny.

Just as you were sliding the sweatpants down his hips, Michael threaded his hands in your hair, tugging gently so that you’d look up at him, a blissful smile on his face as he watched you, “You’re so pretty, do you know that? You’re beautiful.”

His dick had sprung out of his pants then, bouncing up to his stomach, and you weren’t able to respond at first because fucking hell, it was the most perfect dick you’d ever seen. Thick, veiny, a nice shade of pink although the tip had turned an angry red, and fuck it was big, probably too big, but you weren’t planning to complain about that. Finally, you snapped yourself out of your daze, looking back up at him with a laugh, “You’re just saying that because I’m about to suck your cock.”

“No!” Michael looked shocked by the very thought, his hips bucking again, ever so slightly, at the feeling of your breath on his skin, “No, I’m serious. You’re so gorgeous, I-fuck-” You licked a line up the length of his cock, and he grabbed desperately at your shoulders, making you pause, “Dammit, I really want you to sit on my face.”

Your thighs clenched, and you looked up at him, shaking your head to clear your thoughts, “I, I mean, no. I told you, I want to make you feel good. Not-”

“But it will!” Michael tugged at you, bringing you up until he could press a fervent kiss to your lips, “I want to. So bad. Please, Y/N, please do it. Please let me. Please.”

Fucking hell, was he trying to kill you?

“But I... I wanted you to feel good. Don’t you want me to...” You trailed off, trying to think as Michael kissed your neck.

“I do, believe, me, I really do, but I also want this.”

“I’ve never done that before,” You admitted, feeling your face get hot with embarrassment, “Honestly, I’m afraid I’d end up accidentally smothering whoever I was with.”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Michael assured, kicking his sweatpants the rest of the way off, and you find yourself peeling your own leggings off even though you still weren’t sure of what you were doing, and he hooked his fingers into your panties, a smirk on his face, “And even if it did, I can guarantee you that there would be no better way to die.”

“Okay,” You let out a deep breath, letting out a contented hiss as he brushed his long fingers over your clit, “But I still want to give you a blowjob, okay?”

“You can. Just face that way,” Michael grinned, ripping your panties off with one sharp tug.

You were about to scold him, but then his fingers were pressing into your folds, and you gave a quiet gasp, “Michael, fuck.”

He laid down, hands tapping away at his stomach as he waited for you. Hesitantly, you crawled up the bed, turning so that you could look down the length of his body, and knelt over his face.

You bent down, lifting his cock up and running your fingers along the underside of it, kissing the tip, and you felt him let out a shaky breath beneath you.

“Fucking hell, you taste amazing,” Michael whispered, wrapping his hands around your thighs and pulling you down against him completely.

He made the purring noise once more, sucking fervently at your clit, and you let out a shriek at the feeling of it rumbling through you. Pulling your legs even further apart, he buried his tongue into your folds, and finally, you opened your mouth as wide as you could and sunk down over his cock until his tip brushed the back of your throat.

When he moved back to your clit, giving it careful kitten licks, you buried your finger nails into his thighs. At this, he groaned, thrusting up into your mouth, and you gagged.

This was... what? The third time today he’d accidentally choked you? You hadn’t been angry during any of the other times, but this was the time that probably bothered you the least.

“Sorry, babe, I’m sorry,” He rasped, and although you could hardly hear him, between the feeling of his words vibrating against you and the intense presence of Michael Langdon that filled the air around you, you knew exactly what he was saying.

Babe.

It was such a gentle word from him, the way it rolled off his tongue so naturally making butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

Well, that, and the fact that the feeling of Michael against you was extraordinary, and you were feeling the tight, delightful bubble that signaled your impending orgasm beginning to form.

You sucked harder.

It took only a few minutes of this, of you licking and sucking, running your teeth over the pulsing vein that streaked along the side, before you felt him flex his thigh muscles beneath your hands, his salty cum splashing into your mouth.

It was sweet alongside the salty, a strange mixture of the two, not unlike a chocolate covered pretzel, and you swallowed every drop you could before licking frantically along to make sure you didn’t miss anything.

“Fuck,” He growled, something authoritative, almost dangerous, flooding through the air.

Michael lifted you off of him as though you weighed nothing more than a ragdoll and tossed you down onto the mattress on your back, his lips suctioning around your clit once again, two fingers buried deep inside of you.

You held onto his shoulders as his fingers scissored inside you, squeezing your legs tight around his head unintentionally. You felt him chuckle into your folds at that, and he removed his fingers from you momentarily to pull your legs over his shoulders.

“Michael!” You mewled, your hips straining to jolt upward, and then he was moving faster, faster, adding a third finger that brushed a spot deeper inside you than anything else had ever reached. Your entire body clenched, and then suddenly you felt the waves of your climax wash over you.

When your head was fully back, Michael had straightened up, examining his fingers, which were coated in your juices.

“Fucking hell, Michael, I didn’t need to finish just then. You could’ve waited until you were fucking me for real,” You sat up on your forearms, laughing as you looked down at him.

“Sorry,” Frowning, Michael pulled away, “Was that too much?”

Why was he so goddamn sweet?

Moving to your knees, you pulled his face up to yours and kissed him, the taste of yourself that lingered on his tongue mixing with the salty remains of Michael on your own tongue, and you let out a low groan, pulling back to give him a smile, “No. It was wonderful.”

“Okay. Can we... I mean,” He turned red, looking away from you, “Would you possibly consider riding me? Or do you want to stop now?”

You rolled to the side, gesturing for Michael to move up the bed, and after a moment he did, sitting up against the headboard. Climbing into his lap in one swift movement, you let out a quiet moan at the feeling of him against your folds, his tip pressed against your interest. He swiped his hand between the two of you, gathering the fluids that had spilled from you and rubbing it onto his cock, lubing himself up with the remnants of your last orgasm.

“Do you mind going slow?” You asked meekly, burying your face against his chest as you rocked against him, “I’m sorry, just, you’re really big.”

“Of course,” He cooed, running his hands through your hair, and finally you began sliding down the length of his cock. Burying your teeth into his neck, you tried to concentrate on how good this would feel once you got used to the stretch, the burn, and he whispered in your ear, “You’re doing so good. You-shit-you take my cock wonderfully, do you know that? It’s okay, I know it hurts, but you’re doing great.”

When you had reached the end, and you were filled to the hilt, you gave a careful roll of your hips, testing the waters. You were feeling better now, running your tongue over the spot on his neck you had bitten, before beginning to suck another hickey into his soft skin. At this, Michael bucked into you, his cock hitting all the way up against your cervix, and you let out a shriek.

You almost laughed at yourself. You had thought his fingers were impressive, but they were nothing compared to the sheer, masterful feeling of Michael inside you, his hands splayed against the small of your back, holding you in place as you leaned into him, taking one of your nipples into his mouth once again.

“You feel so good, Michael,” You cried out, and Michael made that damn rumbling noise again, “Fuck, do you know that you purr? I love it.”

Although he continued to hold you, he seemed to be trying to hold back from fucking you too harshly, instead occasionally letting himself thrust into you, his eyes rolling back in his head at the way you moaned each time. He paused, looking up at you with a frown, “I don’t purr.”

You giggled, although it quickly turned into a whimper as he began sucking hickeys into your breasts, and you squeezed his shoulders tightly to concentrate, “You do. You make lots of pretty noises. It makes sense, too. You’ve got such a pretty mouth, such a pretty face, such a pretty cock. You’re so pretty, it’s infected everything you do. And-fucking hell, that feels good-you move so well. Fill me up so well.”

Michel lolled his head back against the headboard, the purring noise coming out again as you began to grind down harder. You kissed him quickly, watching as his eyes opened suddenly, drinking you in.

“You’re perfect, Y/N, do you know that? You bounce so well on my cock, and your tits are so fucking perfect,” He paused, clearing his throat, “Was that the right thing to say? I don’t want to be disrespectful. I respect you, too, and all that. You’re just, fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last.”

“It’s okay,” You reassured him, looking at his face to see that it was glistening, and it took you a moment to realize that there were tears running down his face. Kissing each one away, licking up the salty trail they had left, you resolved not to mention it or ask why, exactly, he was crying, “I’m not gonna last much longer either. I want you to cum for me, okay? Please, Michael.”

“Should I... should I pull out?” He panted, helping you roll your hips.

“You don’t have to,” Gasping, desperately, you buried your nails into his shoulders, trying to contain the climax that was beginning to boil through you, “Just, fuck, please finish soon, Michael. I’m going to-”

Nodding, Michael’s thrusting increased. Although he was still cautious, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, you could tell that he was close to his end, as well.

And he was, and he did, his cum flooding you once more just as you felt yourself boil over, heading hanging back. You couldn’t keep it up anymore, couldn’t concentrate on controlling your body and finishing, and you felt your breath catch in your throat, stars dancing through the air just in front of you.

Michael held your hips tightly as you came down from your high, and then you had buried your face against his chest once more, arms wrapped around his neck.

Christ, that took a lot out of you.

You leaned back to see that his eyes had drifted shut, and you leaned forward to press soft kisses against the lids.

When Michael blinked them back open, his mouth had curved into a sleepy smile, another purr rumbling up from his throat, “That was... wonderful.”

“I agree,” You smiled too, tilting your head to the side as he peppered gentle kisses along your throat, “Now, you’re tired. Do you want me to leave, so that you can get some sleep?”

Michael tensed, clutching at your hips desperately, “Please don’t leave. I mean, I do want to sleep. But please, stay.”

“Okay,” Mumbling softly, you leaned closer to his ear, “And by the way, I know a place you might wanna check out tomorrow.”

Looking curious at this, Michael brought his nose to your jaw, brushing along it softly, “Where?”

“Church of Satan. It’s a few blocks away.”

“What?” This snapped him to attention, and he stared at you as though you’d grown a second head, “You’re... are you a Satanist?”

“No. Not a fan of organized religions. I believe in nature, and kindness. In caring for the ones around you who need it. But,” You folded his ear forward, kissing the three small scars behind it as delicately as you could, “I think that it would be beneficial for you to go.”

“How did you know?” He shifted back so that he could sit more upright against the headboard, and you felt your sore walls pulse around his cock, still buried deep inside you, as you moved.

You shrugged, “Lucky guess. Now, that’s all. No more talk. You need some sleep.”

Michael looked like he was about to argue with you, but then you pressed your head into his chest once more, and he rested his chin contentedly on top of your shoulder.

You were almost asleep when he finally spoke up, hands rubbing gently along your spine, his voice hoarse, “Y/N? I just... I wanted to say thank you. I don’t normally say that, but you’re, well, I haven’t been treated with this much kindness, this much care, in a long time. Don’t say anything, I don’t want you to say anything, I just needed to tell you. Thank you.”

And within moments his breathing had shifted, and he snored quietly, softly, and the snores sounded an awful lot like purrs, and the two of you were as close to each other as was physically possible, his dick softened inside you and his arms wrapped around you, and then you were asleep too, the two of you floating to a dream land that you couldn’t quite name.

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nightwishesworld · 3 years

Text

True Colors Snippet

So I wasn’t going to do this since the fic won’t be ready until next week at the earliest, but I’m super excited about this and want to give you guys a little sneak peek. It is a Mother Miranda x fem oc (aka Izabela)

If you guys want I can link her character bio so you can see what she’s all about? Let me know

Warning: Lots of angst! Gagging and suggests blood and violence if you look close enough but I won’t make you read the details here.

*******************************************************************************************

“Don’t you dare talk about my children like that,” Izabela barked. “Each and every one of them is a treasure, of course, how would you know that? I’m the one that raised them! I’m the one that took care of them every single day and made sure they were loved! All you’ve ever done is reject them all their lives.”

“Because they are not children! They are experiments who have long since lost their purpose in our lives.”

“Yours perhaps, but never mine. I will always need my children.”

“Which is why I still keep them around.”

Izabela stopped. The way Miranda said that so calmly made her uncomfortable. How cold has this woman become? She shook her head, letting her rage consume her again. “Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor, Miranda. Whether you like it or not they are a part of our family.”

“Was there ever a family to begin with?”

She was gawking at this point. Miranda seeming completely unfazed by her own statement only fueled her rage. “You and I certainly were! Though I’m not surprised you don’t remember. It has been centuries since you’ve looked at me without needing me to run your stupid errands for you or do your dirty work. Gods, I can’t even remember when you last told me you love me.”

Miranda said nothing. She could see tears start to form in her Sparrow’s eyes. It pains Miranda to know she’s the reason they’re there, and she hates it. Her feelings for the younger woman should not be affecting her like this anymore, not after everything they’ve put each other through. But she can’t help it, even after choosing those failures over her, she still loves Izabela.

“You’re a mother. Your children are supposed to tell you how much they love you. Or do they not tell you anymore?” Miranda tsked. “It’s about time you noticed.”

“Of course they tell me. They love me more than they’ll ever love you!”

Miranda gave her a smug grin. “Then why is it my attention they crave and not yours? If they truly love you the way you say they do then shouldn’t you be enough?”

Izabela didn’t give her the satisfaction of responding. Truthfully she didn’t know if she could find the words to even say anything. Not being enough to satisfy her kids’ needs has always been one of her greatest fears and it gnawed at the back of her head every day. And Miranda knew it.

“Do you really think, after everything you’ve put them through, they could still love you?”

Shut up shut up shut up!

“They look to me now because they see now what a burden you are to be around. Dead weight on their shoulders.”

Izabela slammed her fist against the wall. “Liar!”

Anyone other than Miranda wouldn’t have been able to see the heartbreak in Izabela’s eyes. She puts on a brave face, but they have known each other far too long for something as simple as masking her emotions to work. Miranda knew damn well her words were sticking, she could see it plain as day in Izabela’s glassy eyes.

“They see you for what you truly are, a used up old breeder with no reason to be here; a pawn. A single chess piece in my game to bring Eva home. You are nothing to them.”

Just watching the woman walk away so arrogantly made Izabela’s blood boil. Then she did something she’s never done before.

“A selfish bitch like you doesn’t deserve to be a mother!”

Izabela regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. Her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach when she saw the seething rage on Miranda’s face as she turned around. She strode back to Izabela, reaching out for her with her metallic bird-like talons and wrapped them around her neck.

The sharp tips of her talons pierced Izabela’s skin, drawing blood to drip down her neck like beads of sweat. She grabbed Miranda’s hands and tried desperately to pull them off of her, but it only made her grip tighten more.

“It seems you’ve gotten bold in your years of solitude and have forgotten your place.”

“My place?” Izabela gasped. “We are equals. We run this show together, remember? You’d still be in your cave turning people into lycans if it weren’t for me.”

“You have long since outlived your usefulness. You’re worthless to me now.” The words spilled from Miranda’s lips before she could censor herself. But it was too late to turn back now. Even if she just made the only woman she’s ever loved cry her eyes out.

“I thought you loved me,” Izabela cried.

“I do, Sparrow.” Is what Miranda wanted to say. But instead she swallowed her tongue and grimaced.

Miranda’s silence was enough of an answer. Izabela’s eternal heart stopped beating. After nearly a millennium of pain and denial it finally shattered; turned to dust inside the void of her chest. She is completely numb now. No amount of pain or happiness could sew her heartstrings back together again.

When Miranda said “A punishment is in order,” Izabela didn’t bat an eye.

She let Miranda drag her by her hair down to the lower chambers of The Stronghold. Their lycans and lackeys looked at them curiously, but Izabela could hardly bring herself to care. She knew she deserved what’s to come. Miranda has a reputation to hold up after all, can’t have followers see her not punish someone who speaks against her.

Izabela must have disassociated during their walk because the next thing she knows she’s being pushed to the ground in the middle of one of the ceremonial rooms. It used to be a torture chamber before she and Miranda moved in and spruced the place up. They left most of the shackles hanging from the walls and a few spiked chairs to keep the malevolent atmosphere, but the room is largely unused nowadays.

She heard Miranda walk back to the other side of the room and told Izabela not to move. All Izabela could do was stare down at the ground. The rustling sounds of metal captured her attention, but only for a moment, not enough to make her move though. Miranda knelt in front of her and took a hold of her wrists. Cold iron shackles clamped around her wrists and Miranda attached the other end of the small chain to a half circle hook in the stone floor. Her clothing from the waist up is cut off so there is no buffer between her and Miranda. Pointed metal claws tipped her chin up just enough so the two were looking at one another and forced Izabela’s mouth open.

“You deserve this, my Sparrow.”

Miranda carefully removes her stole from her shoulders and wraps it in a tight ball around her fingers until it’s small enough to fit in Izabela’s mouth. The ends of the stole are left hanging so Miranda takes them and ties them in a tight knot behind Izabela’s head, properly gagging her. She ran a hand up and down Izabela’s smooth back a few times and felt goosebumps cover her creamy skin.

#mother miranda #original character #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #alternate universe

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parvumchao · 2 months

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@dxsole [X]

It's an honest mistake. He'd only known her as Sparrow the Stripper; of course Doyle would think she was still doing that. It's fine he thinks that, but she's quick to correct him.

"I'm, uh, bartending and waitressing for a guy who used to come to the club. He was always like a big brother kind of guy. In a weird way." Sparrow knows that must sound odd, that one of her regulars became like family, but ah well.

"Oh, well, that's good. Glad to hear." She reaches for a glass to help, nodding and smiling, wanting to be encouraging. "Yeah, I think that's just all bosses. Probably comes in the manual. Mine? He gets pretty grumpy, even though I know he likes me."

Sparrow places the glass down and glances over, head tilted. "You should drop by sometime. I feel like you and Murph would get along."

#dxsole #( dxsole: doyle )#( claw my way out through these walls. / sparrow. )#( verse. / the traffic wrote the words. )

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suoyou · 3 years

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[wip] 一日三秋; one day, three autumns

1633 words, rated t.

a complete chapter 2 in an incomplete series of oneshots titled 一日三秋; one day, three autumns, in which wwx is the autumn king and lwj is the winter prince.

ch 1.

they say that missing someone is the most powerful force of pain a person will know. a pain that can wilt the heart. a pain to carry. a pain that can turn one day into three autumns.

In the middle of Lan Wangji’s left thigh is a scar, round and hollow in the center, like a coin. It had been a burn once, angry blisters deadening into a purple keloid into, now, a little white moon on his skin.

Of the five floors of the castle, Lan Wangji is only allowed in three. Evidently, little does it matter that he is the only other heir to the Winter Throne should his brother ever be incapable of holding it; he’s often pictured how woefully unprepared he would be should the Kingdom of Summer ever revolt again, or, as the Defectress Luo Qingyang had promised, if the Autumn King showed up seeking revenge.

For what, Lan Wangji doesn’t know.

“You don’t need to know,” has always been his uncle’s reply.

“You won’t need to know if I have any say in it,” is what his brother says, kind, still double-edged.

“You should know,” said the Defectress Luo Qingyang, over her teacup, and jade has never looked so threatening, “that your kingdom is still carrying out the crimes of war right under your nose, and if your family does not wake up, the Autumn Kingdom will leave the decade-long peace treaty in the dust the same way you have.” She said it all like she was simply commenting on the races. The Jin Imperial Family was winning.

“How do you know? What kind of war crimes?” asked Lan Wangji. He’d spoken too brusquely, but Luo Qingyang hadn’t been fazed. All around them, the Dragon Boat Festival surged on, air humid and painted green-red-blue, an overfull tea kettle of a day. “Why is it your concern?”

“That you think it shouldn’t be my concern is the same line of thinking that got your Kingdom into this mess,” she said, and her words have been ringing in Lan Wangji’s ears ever since, an unwelcome jabber of sparrow song and raven squawks that won’t leave him hours later. The telltale signs of spring. She holds her position well.

“What kind of war crimes?” he repeated.

She’d taken her time sipping the rest of her tea before placing her empty cup on the table to be taken away. “Do you recall, when the Wen Imperial Family went rogue and the Snowfire Wars tore the lands apart,” she said, “there was a division of mages known as the Core Reapers?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t really believe, do you, that they simply vanished after those wars?”

Lan Wangji had stared at her.

The Core Reapers had vanished after the Snowfire Wars. They’d ridden through the war-torn battlegrounds after blood had been spilled like red ghosts, gathering the dying bodies of civilians and mages alike to, as Lan Wangji had heard, harvest their cores. Word was that the Wen Imperial Family was creating elixirs, weapons, medicines out of them. Hearsay had it that they were creating monsters.

He stares at his scar now, where his jade pendant had burned him through three layers of clothing thirteen years ago, and had never lit up again. In the dusk of the evening, it’s almost invisible, as if it had never existed—vanished, like the Reapers, after the war.

Lan Wangji stands up and shrugs his outer robe back on. Unthinkingly, he opens the drawer where he keeps that pendant, like it’ll have answers for him. It doesn’t. Jade does not dull with age, but in the red velvet of the drawer it could be leached bone. A small one—a skull bone.

Lying beside it is its bonded match. Once they had been identical, though Lan Wangji’s pendant was wrapped in blue ribbon. The other is broken on one side and missing a segment, red knotting and tassels unraveled, the jade circle incomplete like a horseshoe. When the Snowfire Wars raged around him, Lan Wangji wore his half of the pair with more attention and care than when he carried his sword.

“Wangye,” his attendant inclines her head when he opens his pavilion doors.

“I have some personal work to attend to. Can you see to it that, if any of my family seeks me, to let them know I will greet them accordingly when I return?”

“Yes, Wangye.”

So he goes.

Three of the Kingdom’s floors are aboveground. Two are below. He’s been to three in the middle—never the topmost, never the bottomost, and he’s not sure what he’s looking for. He has to look, to be sure, or else it will be another evening of Luo Qingyang’s voice in his head, jerking him awake long before dawn.

Strange dreams have been plaguing him since the Dragon Boat festival, the sorts of dreams that someone would tell themselves didn’t mean anything. The night of the festival Lan Wangji had gone to bed and found himself in a place where the sun never set, simply bobbing up and down in the sky, turning from green to gold and back again as the days and nights passed. Then, the next night, the scar on his thigh had opened up and begun bleeding afresh, and no matter what magic he used, it would not stop. The more magic he used, the more blood poured down his leg.

Last night, he dreamed of Wei Ying. Not in the way he’d been in life, so bright that Lan Wangji couldn’t bear to look at him sometimes.

The Kingdom of Winter had been blanketed in snow for their cycle, and Lan Wangji was in the woods outside the royal walls alone. A dark sweep of Core Reapers had passed by. Their hoods had been drawn over their heads. It looked as if the entire forest was bleeding.

One of them in the center of their tight pool of red had paused and turned their heads, and under the scarlet, mink-lined hood had been Wei Ying’s face.

Lan Wangji shakes himself as he greets the guards that stand outside the gates into the Kingdom’s undergrounds. A question floats through their expressions but they open the gates for him without question, bowing again as he passes.

He picks his way through the first underground level without wasting his time. Here they keep their forbidden texts, their spoils of war, here they hold sensitive political meetings. A damp, sweet smell of soil clutches fat little hands at his robes, happy for visitors, and he raises his hand to upright some of the overgrown vines and planters that line the walls. His hand glows a dim blue, and the drooping foliage picks its flower heads up again. Blooms are coming.

Even if he’s never made the descent into the lowest floor of the Kingdom, Lan Wangji knows there are two ways to get there—the prisoners’ entrance in the Pavilion of Discord, and the one he faces now. The jailers’ entrance, through the Hall of Justice.

He doesn’t feel particularly just, facing the round door that he knows will take him down the staircase into the Kingdom’s dungeons.

Blue fires light his way.

In times of peace, there aren’t many prisoners to speak of. The few that the Kingdom of Winter persecutes are petty thieves, suspected spies, and the occasional revolutionist, all of which are bent into fearful submission before they ever even make it to the dungeons. Lan Wangji knows it. He’s seen it.

And he’s right, almost, for at least part of the dungeon. It’s bright and clean, with mainly empty cells, but the blue fires end abruptly in the middle of the long walkway between the rows. There are scuffles, noises of things living, hushed in the gloom. He pauses and strains his eyes. Then he lifts his hand, summoning some of the fires in the torches to his palm to light his way.

He doesn’t know what he expects to see. Prisoners, perhaps, curled up like hungry mice.

The icy sheen of his fire falls over the bodies in the cells, and Lan Wangji frowns before he steps back, breath stuttering in his chest.

They are prisoners. It’s the most human thing left about them. Some of them have lost all their hair, ragged clumps gathering in rolls thick as dead cats beside them. Others have clawed their own backs bloody, as if they’d been trying to dig their own spines out of their bodies, and still others were covered in a thick, tarry ooze, as if blood and lymph had leaked out of them and gained its own sentience. One of them lay in silence with a stained white strip of cloth over his eyes, a line at his neck like his head had been stitched back on.

Lan Wangji’s stomach writhes, hot and sick, in his belly.

The end of the walkway widens into a larger chamber where no one is kept, but as he passes his fire over the space he can make out the outlines of odd contraptions—long rods with fluted holes, boards with three holes in them—one larger, two smaller, for a neck and hands. A splintered wooden gurney like a rotting log. Old blades sprout off of it like oyster mushrooms. They blink sleepily back at him, eyes in the night. A bizarre device like a chair, outfitted with two horns on both sides. Anyone sitting in it would have their head position between the mouths of both.

He frowns. A long skein of red fabric has been tossed carelessly over the back of the chair, wrinkles rounded and warm. A cloak. Someone’s just taken it off.

“Wangji,” a voice comes from behind him, “what are you doing down here?”

#fic wip #wx #incomplete

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j-wont-stop · 3 years

Text

Mary Mary (Chapter One)

Title - Mary Mary (Chapter One)

Word Count - 1696

Fandom - The Umbrella Academy

Pairing - Five Hargreeves x OC

Summary - October 1st, 1989. Forty-Three infants were born to women with no previous signs of pregnancy. It was also the day of four-year-old Mariana Polakoff’s death. The world carried on, her mother being the only one left to grieve. But on one miraculous day, the little girl was spotted. But she was not how the world remembered her.

Warning(s) - None

Inspiration - I Just Died In Your Arms (Hidden Citizens)

A/N - This is set after season two, but instead of the Sparrow Academy appearing, everything is back to normal. Five is also physically 22 for reasons later on in the story.

22 April 2011

"I could keep you safe. They're all afraid of me."

"How is that when they can't see you?" There was a deep hum. No matter how many years he had been teaching her, her accent still remained thick as can be.

"Let's just say I'll be living vicariously." Lilac eyes shown through the darkness, filled with mischief. "Come, my dear," Knuckles brushed along her jaw. "The world isn't waiting any longer." Before she could question it his eyes faded. There was a growing pressure that surrounded her, suffocating her. An odd smell tickled her nose along with what had covered her. It was grainy, yet soft. It reminded her of something she couldn't quite remember.

The same clawed hand reached through to snatch the collar of her dress and she gasped when she was viciously pulled up. A bright light made her squint as she felt herself collapse on all fours, the pressure quickly relieving itself. A chill ran down her spine and she sat herself to wrap her arms around her thin frame.

"Mary?" A familiar voice beckoned ever so softly. She blinked a few times before fully opening her eyes that widened further. The first thing that she saw was the hoofed man towering over her, a curious look in his eyes. He gave a warming chuckle. "Confused as ever, I see." He bent down and pulled her to her feet, hands almost completely covering her upper arms. He brushed out the black fabric of her dress as she continued to look around in bewilderment. "It's a wonder how they didn't stain." He mumbled as he looked over her white cuffs and collar.

"Where am I?" The man paused and smiled to himself, then he slowly met her gaze.

"Do you not remember, my dear?" She shook her head. "This was your home. This was where you lived before I found you." He motioned to the scenery around them with his arms. Mary looked around her. The sounds of engines buzzing, birds chirping and phones ringing filled her ears. Numerous colors lined the busy streets with cars and people. She pulled her attention away from it all to where she had come from, but all she was met with was grass and a gravestone.

Mariana Polakoff

15 December 1985 - 1 October 1989

"How did I-?"

"You had a severe health condition and went into cardiac arrest." He cut her off, but she could tell there was more to it that he wasn't telling her. "Come, dear," He laid a hand on her back to guide her. "Let's find somewhere to settle down." The closer he led her to the sidewalk the more nervous she grew, unsure about the entirely new environment. Her heartbeat grew faster and he sensed it. "You have nothing to fear, sweet thing. All you have to do is follow me." She looked up at him and his eyes gently squinted, a sign that he was smiling at her. She leaned into his side as his arm rested around her shoulders. Those who passed her gave her an odd look, very few held sympathy and even fewer a smile.

"Why do they look at me like that?"

"They're just jealous, my dear." His thumb rubbed circles into the bone of her shoulder.

"Jealous how?"

"Jealous of your beauty."

"My beauty-?" She looked at herself using a window they passed and her eyes widened. She stalled her movements, or attempted to before her guardian forced her to keep walking. She stumbled a little at his light push, still fixed on what she saw. "Dascal?" Questioned Mary as they turned into an apartment complex. It was a bit run down, the paper starting to peel from the walls and stairs a bit worn. Dust filled their noses and Mary sneezed into her elbow making the man next to her chuckle. They were about to turn another corner when Dascal yanked her back. The girl threw him a pointed glare and almost pecked at him when she noticed the frightened brunette in front of her. She was practically her own height, if not slightly taller. Her face held a sense of innocence and it seemed to be refreshing to the girl.

"Mariana?" Dascal snapped her out of her head and she swallowed.

"Prostyte." The girl quickly apologized and continued on with her journey. The brown haired woman just watched her in confusion and slight fear until they disappeared through a door a little ways down.

"It's not much, but it will do for now." Dascal commented as the girl wandered to the bathroom off to the right. The man sighed and followed after her, hooves lightly clicking against the wooden floor. He ducked under the doorway and stood behind Mary who stared at herself in the mirror, eyes wide and lips ajar.

She was taller than she had remembered. Her frame now held a delicate form rather than the one she had as a four-year-old that was akin to a pencil. Her skin was smooth and almost white as snow, peppered with moles here and there.

Her nimble fingers reached up towards her hair, combing through it with ease at its softness. Egg white strands fell through, a deep contrast to the black roots. Her eyes were a ghostly blue rather than the stark icicles she held before, their liveliness lost along with who she used to be.

There was one thing that stayed the same, however. The one thing that brought a melancholic smile to her lips. Her fingers moved to brush over her nose. The small bird beak a resemblance of the same one her mother held.

Her mother.

Her eyes grew to saucers and she was about to whip around, but the hands on her waist held her in place.

"Mama?" She whispered to herself, eyes glistening from their new coat of water.

"I'm afraid that must be a conversation for another time." In her dazed and worrisome state he led her back out to the dull living room, the same size as the even more dull kitchen. There was no dining area due to how small the apartment was and an almost closet-sized bedroom was nestled in next to the bathroom. She knew she would touch up on some things later on, picturing what she wanted it to look like in her head. All of the paintings and nicknacks she wanted to put on display for no one to see.

Mary slowly walked behind the couch, her fingertips barely grazing the top of it as she came to its front and sat down. With her legs crossed and arms spread across the fabric she breathed in the scent of the worn out room. She felt a hand comb through her hair, claws gracing her scalp so gently that she closed her eyes at the pleasure. A sigh of satisfaction left her lips as her head tilted back and Dascal chuckled. Then his movements stilled. Mary's lips moved to speak, but she was cut off by the sounds of knuckles tapping the door. She raised a single brow at him and stood up fixing the skirt of her dress. "So soon?"

Dascal and Mary exchanged a look of confusion, though the former's stare held a certain hostility. He stayed where he was and carefully eyed her movements, the way her hand curved around the door knob. It twisted in a way that was suspenseful and her nerves became stronger, without a clue of who or what was behind the door. She pulled it back just enough to peek her head through.

"Hello?" A strained feminine voice cut through. Dascal gradually made his way over to the two of them, hovering over Mary. His presence, yet invading her space, was always a comfort for her. It felt like she was home. His scent was unique. She relished the moments she was able to breathe it in. Another reason she didn't mind his closeness.

"Yes?" Her voice was even, stoic. Void of emotion as she looked the stranger in the eyes. Her confidence unnerved them.

"Who is it?" Dascal quietly asked. Mary opened the door further to reveal the same brunette they had run into. He hummed, then stiffened when Mary flinched. The woman held out a ten dollar bill. Her posture was awkward and ansty, but at the same time she was as still as a statue.

"I'm not going to hurt you, if that's what you're thinking." The stranger softly spoke. It wasn't hostile or judgemental. It sounded rather fascinated.

"I've heard those words before." Mary's face remained unmoving. The woman sighed, her arm starting to wear out.

"Look, I found this after you almost ran into me and I just wanted to give it back to you. I think you dropped it." Mary's mouth moved to deny the claim, but Dascal cut her off.

"How kind." She turned to look up at him, seeing that same mischievous glint in his eyes. "Take it. She's waiting." She turned back to the brunette who seemed confused and slowly took the ten dollars from her. She watched as the woman quickly snatched her hand away with large eyes, but as soon as it happened it was gone. Before she left she spoke once more.

"I live in 205 if you need anything." Dascal softly closed the door and looked down at the pale girl who just stared at the money in her hands.

"Dinner?"

#five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x oc #five hargreeves fanfiction #five hargreeves #Aidan gallagher x oc #Aidan gallagher x reader #Aidan gallagher fanfiction #aidan gallagher #tua #tua fanfiction #tua x reader #tua x oc

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lvllns · 3 years

Text

honey on my fingers

the wayhaven chronicles. mason x sparrow kingston (nb detective). ~1.8k+ words. mature for implied sex. a whole lot of praise and body worship here y’all. deep relationship mason, so soft content incoming.

read on ao3 instead.

Mason moans.

Deep, rough, from the center of his chest. It pours out of him like wine. Spilling across his chest to drip onto the sheets below. His fingers curl. Wind and card through Sparrow’s hair and they pull away to press a kiss to the inside of his thigh.

“Mêl ar fy mysedd,” they mumble against his skin.

He blinks. Tries to sort the words and gets as far as Welsh before he gives up. Everything is fire bright at the moment. Red and orange licking at the edges of his vision. His hand falls to cup their cheek and they lean into the touch with a soft hum.

“What’s that mean?” His voice is rougher than he expected.

He clears his throat.

Sparrow drops another kiss to his body, on his hip this time, before they prop their chin on his stomach. “Honey on my fingers.” They turn to nip at his wrist. “Welsh version of music to my ears.”

Heat races down his spine and Mason shivers. It’s foolish of him to hope Sparrow doesn’t notice the way his body reacts to their voice. Their touch. He can’t think of one thing over the years that they haven’t noticed. Ava calls them eagle-eyed, quick to spot the tiniest of things, and Mason enjoys the way they’re able to pick out a speck of blood or a slight shift in the paint on a wall. It’s all very impressive until that attention is focused squarely on him.

Then he feels rather like every single inch of him is on display.

Not just his skin, but the secrets he’s buried into the cracks between his ribs. Thoughts he placed carefully among the bones of his wrists. Things he expected to keep to himself until he could sort out whatever was rattling around his head, and then they’d fuck off.

Jokes on him, because once it was all laid out before him and the lights turned the fuck on, it was all he could do to not hand everything over to Sparrow immediately.

They’re still looking at him, one side of their mouth pulled up in a close-lipped smile. Their thumb is drawing sweeping circles over the skin of his thigh. He is so utterly distracted by them. By the way they sound when they’re excited, words rushing from their mouth a mile a minute. By the way they smell, soft hints of vanilla and well-worn leather. By the way their heart sounds, steady beats that lull him to sleep more easily than he ever thought possible. Noises and scents that steady him, and it’s still so strange to find comfort in sensations that usually overwhelm.

“Still with me?” Their breath is warm as it washes over his bare stomach.

He rubs a hand over his face and nods. “Yeah.” Mason curls a hand around the back of their neck and pulls gently. Guides them up his body until they’re laying on top of him, noses bumping.

Sparrow kisses him. Slow and sweet, the vague memory of the taste of sugar lingering on his lips when they pull away to kiss his cheek. “Cuore mio,” they murmur against his temple. “My heart.”

Their touch drifts over his side as they kiss his throat. They’re so gentle with him. Like even after all this time he’s going to splinter in their hands. He wants to tell them it’s different now. He’s stronger. More in tune with his emotions now that he knows what to look for. It’s a moot point though, with them draping him in affection like a warm blanket.

A thumbnail pokes against his bicep and he blinks.

“I do love your arms,” they speak into his jaw. “Strong enough to protect, gentle enough to soothe.”

A little piece of...something, wiggles loose around his heart. “Songbird—”

They quiet him with another kiss. Deeper this time. A searching kiss that has him groaning. Clutching at their waist and holding them tight.

“Are you okay with this?”

“With what? You talking nonsense about how pretty I am?”

They click their tongue. “Nonsense, please.” A tap to his nose. He scoffs. “I only speak the truth. You know I can’t lie to save my life.” Fingers lace with his. “Seriously, is this fine?”

Mason swallows and nods, not trusting himself to speak. Instead, he gently tucks a lock of hair behind their ear.

Their mouth moves back to his jaw. Slips down his neck to settle at the base. “Luce dei miei occhi.” Sparrow props themself up on an elbow and grins. His head is spinning. “Light of my eyes.” They sit up. Straddle his waist and splay their hands across his chest. “Do you know how difficult it is to pay attention when you walk around without a shirt on?”

A soft laugh escapes him, jostling Sparrow a little. He catches their hip and holds them steady. “I might have an idea, given how often I find you staring at me.”

They roll their eyes, a fond smile on their face. “Fair.” Their fingers tap across his collarbones. Dance down to his sternum. He realizes, quite suddenly, that they’re tracing his freckles again. “It’s your freckles.” Their head cocks to the side. “Don’t get me wrong, the muscles are nice.” They emphasize the words with a gentle squeeze of his pecs. Mason snorts. “But...I always want so badly to touch your freckles.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he says. He finds their shoulder. Runs the pads of his fingers over the scattered bursts of pigment that dust their skin.

Sparrow hums. “Your nose too.” Delicately, they run their touch from between his eyebrows to the tip of his nose. “It’s handsome. Suits you.” They cup his face. Smooth their thumb over his jaw. “Jawline sharp enough to cut marble.”

Mason catches the moment their eyes go bright. Delighted with whatever has occurred to them. Their hands find the side of his face, and they squish his cheeks together until his mouth is pursed.

He rolls his eyes as his head falls back, slipping from their grasp, a groan escaping him even as a grin splits his face.

They’re giggling where they sit, perched on his waist. Sparrow leans down to touch their foreheads together. “Can’t imagine why you’ve put up with me all these years.”

Mason trails a finger up and down their spine as he says, “There’s no putting up with anything.”

The admission is quiet. A secret spoken between them, poorly kept as it is. He just can’t let that go. Can’t stand to think that they believe he’s putting up with them. And for what? Sex?

No. No, he’s spent too long embracing what he feels to even consider letting their statement go unchallenged.

For their part, they blush. Red sweeping across their cheeks to their ears. Dripping down their neck to coat their chest. Paint on a canvas. Smears of color spreading out like a wildfire.

“I know,” they whisper, and those two words chase the tension from his body.

Sometimes he worries that he doesn’t do enough. Tell them enough. He’s still stumbling around this like a newborn fawn trying to cross a frozen lake. But the way they light up when he holds them or brings them a book he swiped from Nat’s library...he thinks he’s doing okay. It is nice, however, to have it confirmed.

They slither down his body, peppering kisses over his stomach as they go. Teeth scrape over his hip bones, the bite of them soothed quickly by their tongue. Sparrow curls their fingers around his thighs and exhales. Slow and even. It burns the inside of his leg and the muscles twitch. He had forgotten what they were doing before Sparrow decided this was more important, but his body reacts to them as it always does.

Immediately.

Honestly.

“You have ridiculously nice legs.” Their touch falls to his knee before moving to settle up by his hip. They quirk a brow as their fingers curl, the tips resting on the top of his ass. “I really don’t think I need to tell you what I think about your butt.”

“Need to, no. Still think you should.” He smiles, wide enough to flash his fangs.

“It’s a good butt, sunshine. Seen it plenty, mostly upside down while you’re carrying me around.” Sparrow moves to kneel between his spread legs, their hair hanging loose around their shoulders. “You’ve carried me out of some scary situations.” Their brows furrow. A little knot forms between them and he reaches up to smooth it away. Gently, he sweeps some of their hair back out of their face. “I’m terribly fond of you.”

His heart thumps painfully in his chest. Knocking against his ribs and begging to be let free. If he could give it to them, he would. On a silver fucking platter.

There are lips against the center of his chest, breaking him from his thoughts. Sparrow kisses him, the barest brush of their mouth. “Philtatos,” they whisper against his skin, “most beloved.”

Some kind of broken sound claws its way out of his throat. Mason flips them over. Hovers above them for a moment before he presses them into the bed, and slots his mouth over theirs. They’re smiling, he can feel it, but it’s a distant realization.

He feels like he’s drowning.

No, floating. He’s light, too light for the heaviness of water.

It’s a whole lot of pretty words spoken in a pretty accent by a pretty person but he knows, he knows Sparrow better than he knows himself sometimes.

They’re honest to a fault.

Especially with him.

Mason kisses them until they push on his shoulder. Breaking away to gasp for air as he moves to lick at their throat. He doesn’t know what to do with the love surrounding his heart so he gives it to them the way he knows best. By touching. He maps their body with his hands. Colors every inch of them gold in the low light of their bedroom. So long he’s seen his hands as weapons, useful things to break anyone who threatens him or those who have his loyalty. But when Sparrow is underneath him, body lifting off the bed to fit into the curve of his palms, he finds himself thinking that maybe there’s some good beneath the long dried blood on his skin.

It feels as though an age has passed when he eventually falls onto his back with a soft thump, skin slick with sweat. His eyes are shut, and he takes deep breaths through his nose. Sparrow’s heart starts to settle, to come down from the high of a moment ago, and their lithe fingers find his. Tangling together. Vines on a wall. They squeeze his hand.

They roll onto their side, wiggling close enough for their knees to push against his thighs. Light kisses pepper over his ribs until they exhale and press their nose into his side.

“Rwy'n dy garu di,” Sparrow mumbles. “I love you.”

He buries his face in their hair, eyes shut tight, and wraps his arm around their shoulders to hold them close.

“I love you too.”

#the wayhaven chronicles #agent m #txt #writing tag #long post #c: sparrow kingston #mason x sparrow #that post clocked me in the jaw bc sparrow is welsh!!#and now here we are!!!#i'm only like....half-fluent in welsh and less so in italian so please excuse any wonky translations #and in order sparrow speaks: welsh. italian. italian. greek. welsh.

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j-hawthorn · 3 years

Text

Hollow Halls Of The Rabbit-Hearted King

(Read on AO3 Here! )

Rating: M

Synopsis: Trapped in an ever shifting, ancient castle, a traveler meets a strange, foreboding creature. They must work together to survive, and in turn begin to unravel the mysteries of the maze-like ruin. Friendship, and more, will grow in this strange, magical place, yet forces unseen conspire to keep them trapped.

---

Castle Eoghan stood in a deep, forgotten valley, as if carved from the hills. The stone walls burrowed into the dirt; roots overhung collapsed hallways. What once had been a great castle, was now a derelict shell, covered in moss and shadows. A river curved around three of its sides, the forest growing up and through the rubble on the fourth. Trees and stone blending into one site of ruin.

Autumn winds sent leaves flying down large stone steps. Vines cut through the cracks between ancient bricks, their stems born low with the husks of dead spring berries. A broken archway opened onto the courtyard, and a traveler stepped in. Feet aching, the man had lost track of how long he'd been walking.

His boots crunched over gravel, cloak catching on thorns. Hands out for balance, he carefully picked his way through. Rubbing his thumb along his curled fingers, the traveler checked over his shoulder. The sun had sat low in the sky for hours now. Mud coated the hem of his cloak. Water had seeped in through his worn old boots, soaking his socks. No birds flew overhead, and no bugs buzzed or clicked from the undergrowth, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He winced every time a step echoed, or a branch snapped. Keeping his hood down, he made it through another archway and into the depths of Eoghan.

Light filtered through gaps in the ceiling, but the hallway was intact. He could taste mould in the air, the world hollow and damp. Goosebumps rose on his skin. The traveler leaned against a tall, thick tree root, letting his hood fall down. Bright, white blonde hair near shone in the dim light, his curls twisting by his ears. From a satchel that hung by his hip, the man pulled out a book. Embossed across the leather cover were the initials: A. Z. Fell.

The man ran his fingers over the letters. A. Z. Fell.

That was his name.

He was sure of it.

Hunger pulled at his gut. He made a small sound, hand flat over his stomach. Slipping the book back into his bag, Fell went in search of shelter.

The further in he walked, the easier it became. Roots and rubble made way for smooth stone and pillars. The ceiling no longer groaned under the weight of dirt and ancient trees. The air shifted from damp and foul, to warm and -

Sweet.

He licked his lips. A. Z. Fell could taste something on the breeze. He tried to keep to the shadows, to follow the scent yet against all expectations the further into the ruin he travelled, the brighter it got.

Birds chirped. Running water bubbled. Fell found himself standing on a grassy verge. Flowers of every colour swayed in the light breeze. A few butterflies swooped by, their wings an intoxicating flash of colour and life. A. Z. Fell took it all in with wide, pale eyes. Then he saw it. A tree, not too far from him, lush and green and from the branches hung fruit. Pears! He liked pears!

Still keeping close to the stone walls, Fell edged closer to the tree. The grass reached his knees. He tried to avoid the flowers. Things so light and pretty were too lovely to be disturbed. He’d never seen anything like this garden. So much life filled the space. He could barely see the far walls, thickets of woods and vines so unlike the dark, twisting forest he’d escaped. If he hadn’t been standing within it, Fell would never have thought that such a place could be housed behind such failing, ancient walls.

Rising on his toes, Fell reached up and plucked a large pear off a low branch -

‘Oi! The bloody hell you think you doing?’

Fell spun, foot catching on a root. He landed in the grass. Pain bloomed from his ankle. Pushing himself up on his hands he turned, curls falling across his eyes.

The creature was tall, thin limbed with dazzling red hair that fell in waves over their bare shoulders. Large black wings grew from their back, curving protectively around them. But what struck Fell most was their eyes. Large, wide and distinctly golden, with thin black slits for pupils.

Fell tried to scramble to his feet, yelping as he put weight on his sprained ankle. The creature took a step forward, a hand outstretched. Long, black claws tipped elegant fingers.

‘I’m s-sorry!’ Fell backed away, clutching the pear. ‘I didn’t know this place belonged to someone-’

‘It doesn’t,’ The creature hissed, hand falling to their side. They eyed the pear in his hands, lip curling ‘Why do you keep stealing my fruit?’

Fell shook his head, ‘I didn’t! I just...I got hungry.’ He watched their clawed hands, fear making his heart patter and breathing tight. He limped backwards, pressing up against the stone wall. The creature watched him, head cocked to one side. He hadn’t noticed before, but their feathers were all standing on end, like a startled sparrow. Instincts told him to run. Those long claws and golden eyes were not something a peaceful creature would have.

He turned, saw the opening in the wall, and ran. Pain seared through his lower leg, his ankle screaming. The creature shouted something, but Fell didn’t stop. He scrambled up the grass verge. He heard the sound of wings beating, a shadow following him. He dove into the cold stone depths of the hallways.

A. Z. Fell didn’t stop until all light and the scent of fresh water faded. The damp surrounded him once more. He found an alcove, swinging himself in with a grip on a pillar. Pressing his back against the stone he fought to catch his breath. Sinking to the floor, Fell sucked in a sharp breath. Tears welled as he stretched his leg out, the pain unbearable. His foot knocked against something and the air filled with a nasty smell. Carefully, Fell shifted forward, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. There, in a dark next to his foot was a small collection fruit in various stages of rot. The most recent seemed to be an apple, the sides browned and concave. Fell looked at the pear in his hand and gasped. The thing had rotted, wet sludge leaked over his fingers. He tossed it to the pile, shaking the disgusting ooze from his hand. His stomach ached. Hunger pulling at his empty gut. Bile rose in his throat.

Cold seeped into him. Between the mould and freezing air, the pull of hunger in his empty gut, and the searing pain from his sprained ankle, A. Z. Fell had never felt so low. Wretched, he sobbed. He wrapped himself in his cloak, peeking around the corner of his hiding spot. He could just see the distant hint of the light from the garden. Fear shot through him.

If he wanted to eat, he would have to go back.

#my writing #this is gonna be a odd one #but oh well #good omens #good omens fanfic #crowleyxaziraphale #crowley/aziraphale #AU fanfiction #good omens au #they/them pronouns for Crowley #nonbinary crowley

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barnesandco · 4 years

Text

White Feathers and Melting Wax

Bucky’s trigger words are redefined with Sam’s help.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2020. Word count: 7029. Square filled: “Mutual Pining”

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Violence, mentions of blood, questionable food preferences (blame Hasan Minhaj), slight language, nightmares, slow burn, fluff that will make your teeth ache, cliche ending.

A/N: This one is dedicated to @searchingforbucky because I saw her post something about how much she loves SamBucky, which gave me an idea for my SSB, and one thing led to another, so long story short, this story is for you, Meg. Thank you for providing an invaluable and unimaginably difficult service to our fanfic community - you’re a real gem.

It’s Armageddon. Hell on Earth, as if its crust has been made to split open, and all that fury and heat and horror, alongside creatures that nobody could conjure in their worst nightmares, is pouring out. Taking revenging for millenium upon millenium of imprisonment, it is biting and scratching and clawing its way through the best of humanity, bringing out the worst of humanity – the murder, the anger, the rage – in the process. Wakandan skies, once bluer than the surface of Lake Tiorati on a July day, are raining ash and smolder.

Sam’s arm is bleeding. A particularly agile alien caught the bared portion of his bicep – stupid, stupid, uniform design – and blood drips as he tries to increase his altitude, and find a better angle. Steve notices him from over the shoulder of his own opponent – of course he does, Steve never misses anything – and frowns in a moment of concern that the enemy recuperates in, because Sam is now a more visible target, but he is also good at math. The risk-benefit calculations are telling him that it’s worth it, and the glint of gun-metal fingers he sees in the distance, the owner of which is struggling to cope with half a dozen demons, confirms that.

Barnes is doing the best he can, teeth bared as he attempts to fend them off with a very impressive, but near-empty machine gun and a dagger that’s doing more harm than good. Moments away from defeat, and from an unholy death. His hair is nothing but a second skin sticking to his face and scalp with sweat and monster slobber. Should’ve tied it back, Rapunzel, Sam has time to think before landing in the thick of it. Growls and roars and snarls mix as he manages to join backs with Barnes, both at each other’s six, until nobody can tell which battle cries are animal and which are human. He must be longing for a fight like the one at Leipzig now.

Within minutes, the horde has thinned, but not ended, seemingly infinite in magnitude and strength, and they’re still fighting. The pain from his arm has dulled to an aching throb, lulled into faint numbness by the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and has joined the other innumerable wounds that litter his body. He can hear Barnes’ gun behind him, like bass-boosted fireworks. It’s a square dance – an intuitive one rather than practiced, because he knows his partner as well as he knows what else the cosmos might hold for them - his back against Barnes’ as they parry and spar with each of their individual opponents. A twist and a turn, a lucky, peripheral glimpse at someone trying to blindside the other resulting in as short a tight-lipped nod as they can afford to convey their gratitude.

Sam’s stomach is sinking, he wants to throw up in the face of the evil creature he’s fighting; the scent of ozone an impending warning. They seem to have understood that the winged man and his metal-armed companion are a threat, and a ring of them has coordinated to close in around them. Sam finds a gap in which to press the for emergencies only button on his control panel at the same time as Barnes’ unleashes a series of small grenades in his arm.

The wings leave Sam’s back and turn to lethal blades, spinning like a deadly boomerang around them, and his ears ring when the grenades detonate. In the eye of the storm, Sam and Barnes are safe, but shooting adrenaline-deaf and fear-blind, the battle overcoming their every sense and soul. When the smoke clears, there is a moment of quiet amidst the terror, where sparrow brown meets ice blue, framed by blood spatter, and they quirk the sort of intrinsic, basic, smile at each other that can only emerge from overcoming something inexplicably tremendous as one unit. But then the moment ends.

Barnes shouts – an unintelligible sound of shock - and the sky cracks like an egg.

---

Bucky wakes up in an open field, the sky the color of egg yolks, golden, glistening, nourishing. For a moment, he thinks he’s still in Wakanda, the threat miraculously eliminated, but then he gathers enough strength to sit up and note the absence of obsidian skyscrapers in the distance. He can’t evaluate any other landmarks before his eyes lower to the ground he’s lying on and realize that he’s not alone. Scores of bodies litter the grass; his stomach flips and writhes, and he turns onto his hands and knees and heaves up the contents of today’s – is it still today? – breakfast. Closes his eyes to shut in the water that elicits. When he opens his eyes, the vomit is gone.

Moreover, his hands are clean. Not a trace of blood, dirt, and death on the metal or the accents that run across it like tributaries of a golden river, nor on the white skin of his human limbs. In fact, it looks like it’s been scrubbed pink, his epithelium infused with roses. There is no risk of tears now, the surprise so visceral he knows not how to treat it. It doesn’t lessen when something stirs, in the corner of his eye, and he stills the scream in his larynx just long enough to recognize the shape of Sam Wilson, his dark-brown skin shimmering topaz in the sunlight they seem to be laying in. A sigh of relief – intuitive, subconscious - loosens Bucky’s shoulders. He’s not as alone as he might have thought. Sam is confused, too, and he stands up quickly, reaching for a gun that isn’t there.

Bucky waits, knowing better than to scare him as he reorients himself, and watches as Sam grapples with the black trousers and shirt he finds himself wearing instead of the weapons he’s seeking. Others move, and Bucky – not knowing where this cold peace that fills his lungs is coming from – finds it prudent to speak up now.

“Wilson,” is still all he can say, but it’s enough. That one word, two syllables, six letters – sufficient to erase the taste of rusted blood from his mouth. Sam turns to him as others call for their loved ones, the amber gold of his irises meeting his icy ones. Bucky doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know how he got here, he’s so tired dammit, but if this man – this man who has defied law and land for the people he trusts and the values he holds, this man who he knows nothing about besides the fact that he has a moral compass like the North Star – if this man has his six, they can fight their way out. Sam’s eyes and Bucky’s brain tell him that this isn’t heaven or hell or purgatory. They’ve both seen too many prison walls to not recognize more, be they grey concrete, the insides of their own skulls, or a vaulted arch of sunshine above their heads.

---

Clouds have built and gone grey-black, iron heavy, and are preparing to mourn the loss of a good man, but not a single tear escapes Sam’s eyes the day they bury Steve. Old, feeble, fulfilled Steve, that is, who passed on to wherever noble souls go. Bucky couldn’t make himself give the eulogy, so it was, like the mantle of Captain America, passed on to Sam. Sam, who has spent every other day of the past year on the porch of his house with Steve’s wisdom and wit, and knew him better than Bucky who forced himself to make a trip every week.

Bucky, who now stands in front of his tombstone, head bowed and brow furrowed, couldn’t make himself reconcile this Steve with the one he knew. Sam doesn’t fault him that, would never give himself any right to. They’ve all seen some shit, but he can’t bring himself to even touch the tip of the iceberg that weighs on his companion’s shoulders. He’s tied his hair back into a bun at the nape of his neck, chestnut waves tamed to an orderly presentation. Domestic, even. Sam looks behind him and through the graveyard gate at the sound of a car door shutting, as Sharon gets behind the wheel and smiles at him, her own tears long gone, before making her departure.

Intentions to give Bucky his silent farewell are also interrupted by that background sound, and he turns to look at Sam, whose heart leaps to his throat at the sight of him. He’s been seeing him all day, but the veil of public appearance has fallen, and Bucky – Sam reprimands himself for the morbid comparison – now looks like as much of a skeleton above the ground as those under it. He’s pale, eyes not hollow but sad. His hands clench and unclench, reflexively, protectively, drawing Sam’s gaze. Those knuckles must be sore with how tightly the ghost-white skin over them is stretched. Sam’s own hands are in his pockets, and he looks back at Bucky with the warmth of seventeen bonfires.

A desperate attempt, futile in result and heavy in empathy, to ease some of the hurt, the hurricane that Sam is certain is throwing Bucky’s insides around like a rag doll. Bucky’s recovering, he’s better now, he’s working to be alright, and it’s working, but climbing the glaciers of his trauma is a Herculean task. Which, now that Sam thinks about it, can only be accomplished one step at a time, like any other. Ice melts a drop at a time.

“Hey, man, how are you feeling?” He says, approaching him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. To anyone else, the question might seem insensitive – his best friend, or this new version of him – has just been buried, of course he’s not feeling good, but their language is like that. Straightforward. Blunt and no-nonsense, but layered with understanding that has come to be through shared experiences and an emotional connection that speaks more between them than any words they exchange. Bucky turns back towards the tombstone, and Sam, too, looks at the epithet of Steven Grant Rogers, beloved husband, father, and friend. Human, not superhuman, in the end, the way they all want to be. They way they long to be acknowledged as.

“I’ll be alright, Sam. Just a little confused,” he answers eventually, after a long-suffering sigh. Sam is relieved, because the hope in Bucky’s voice is the best he could want to hear. And the fact that even now, when articulating what he feels must be the hardest thing in the world, he still manages to, as honestly as he can. Honesty is the beacon Sam’s heart searches for, and he’s found it here. It’s incomplete sometimes, and offered in brief words because Bucky isn’t always fond of sharing, but it’s always the truth.

“Me, too. Me. Too.” Sam nods in agreement, thinking of the muddle of thoughts and prayers and desires in his mind, as the first drop of rain falls from a steely sky, washing away old wounds, cleansing their skins for new ones.

---

The mass of blue-black ink that is the night sky is the first witness when Bucky starts writhing under his sheets.

He’s stuck in the cold. Not the glass walls of the cryochamber he knows so intimately, no, he’s buried in snow up to his neck. The unending scene of the icy mountainside stretches out before him, like a postcard from a nightmare, and he can’t move. Tries to wiggle his toes, and the snow bites and nips at his feet. Hands are frozen to his sides, and the panic starts to claw at his chest. Icicles seem to have wedged their way between his ribs, and pain sears through his abdomen.

He screams. An echo. He screams louder, hot tears turning to ice halfway down his cheeks. He screa-

Eyes the color of the first hour of daybreak appear inches from his sweat-stained and misery-sodden face, and he sits up, almost hitting Sam’s head with his own. His breathing is broken, every inhale cuts at the inside of his lungs, and every exhale tears at his trachea. Sam, trying to fix that, takes Bucky’s clammy hand in his calloused, safe one, places it over his chest.

“Breathe with me, c’mon,” he urges in a midnight rasp, exaggerates his breaths, and Bucky follows the movements he is making. Follows the way Sam’s bare chest, dusted silver by moonlight, rises to accommodate the air he takes in. Follows Sam’s eyes, the silent plea they convey to do as he does, holding that breath. Follows the release, pretends that he can hear the breath traverse his trachea, and exit his lips as his mouth parts to release it. Bucky’s calmer now, eyes fixated on how Sam’s tongue peeks out to lick his lips, the lush pillows of light brown now shining wet. It’s only when they start moving that Bucky’s gaze returns to Sam’s eyes, and his words reach his ears.

“You haven’t had one that bad in ages.” It’s a fact. A statement, an accurate observation, but because few serious words ever go wasted between them, it is also an open assertion. An invitation for Bucky to say more, with the option to nod and agree left on the table.

“Yeah, it was. I’ll be alright, though, Sammy. Thanks,” he responds, and Sam nods warily. Sits back on his haunches, knees digging into the mattress.

“Good. Do you, uh…” He scratches the back of his head. “Do you want me to stay?” He asks, and Bucky is suddenly, keenly aware of how close they are. He swings his legs over the edge and stands on shaky knees, hiding the blush that originated from fear and adrenaline and has been maintained by something he can’t name or explain. A nervous laugh as he makes his way to his dresser and pulls out a fresh pair of sweats.

“No, no, I’m going running. There’s no way I’ll fall asleep right now, and it’s almost dawn anyway.” Bucky waits in front of his bathroom door. Hears Sam get up and make for the door.

“Alright, Bucky. I’d go with you-“

“You pulled that muscle yesterday, yeah. It’s okay, don’t worry about me,” Bucky says, and when the door shuts behind Sam, rushes to the bathroom to wash off the watercolor that interaction painted across his cheeks. Gripping the granite vanity with both hands, he watches it drip off, eyes radiating a bewildering plethora of emotions. Hears the nightingale depart from his bedroom windowsill, and fly off into the night.

---

It’s a beautiful morning, punctuated by the dot of the golden, glowing Sun in the distance, but Sam doesn’t have it in him to appreciate the first sunshine after a spell of rain. Sam is disgusted. Horrified, mortified, petrified by this new development. He didn’t think the former Winter Soldier could get any scarier when he wanted to be, but he has grossly underestimated the cruel ways of his best friend. Anyone without a direct line of sight into the cereal bowl in front of Bucky would not know what he’s so upset about. But Sam, standing at the stove on the kitchen island across from Bucky, watches in horror as the latter lifts a spoonful of dry-as-the-Sahara-desert Froot Loops to his mouth, chews, and then takes a sip from a glass of milk.

To say that Sam regrets introducing Bucky to sweet breakfast cereals in an effort to sate his incurable sweet tooth is a severe understatement. When Bucky had disapprovingly forced down soggy, sweet Froot Loops the morning before, and grumbled about the disgusting experience for the rest of the day, Sam did not think that this would be the solution. He thought he’d be forced to finish off the rest of the box, and dreaded the toothache that would follow.

“I’m eating it like this, or not at all.” Bucky finally addresses the outrage written all over Sam.

“I think I prefer not at all,” he says gravely, his tone out of sync with the cheery scent of sunny-side-up eggs that his words waft across to reach Bucky.

“Too late, I love these,” Bucky says through another mouthful of dry cereal. He’s intentionally pushing as many buttons as he can at one time, a master at multitasking his way to maximum irritation. Sam shudders. Puts his eggs on a plate and goes to sit down next to Bucky at the island, one stool between them. Saturday mornings after a good night and a better workout are a good look on Bucky, as much as he hates to admit it.

Aureate beams of bubbling sunlight illuminate his side profile, his cheekbones glowing rose-gold and light dispersing through a bead of water that slides down his temple. All of a sudden, Sam isn’t hungry anymore. The last bite of his first egg feels like clay in his mouth, and he empties his glass of water in one go. Bucky looks up from his almost-empty bowl – thank God it’s almost over - and looks at Sam with concern. It takes all of Sam’s power, and then some, to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s teeth biting into his pink lower lip, and up to his blue eyes.

“You okay, man?” He asks, and Sam nods.

“It’s nothing, just got lost in thought,” he answers, and he’s being truthful. Doesn’t know what came over him, just that the slow surveillance of Bucky’s features led him down a different path than it usually does. They’ve always watched each other cautiously, know each other’s movements with the kind of precision that makes you wonder if the haven’t known each other for centuries rather than years, a couple of which were spent in animosity. Bucky’s eyes flit between his again, and they find nothing to prod at further, so he returns to his cereal.

Sam hurries to finish his breakfast and clean up after himself, before heading back to his room with a half-coherent excuse and a heat in his cheeks too hot to be caused by morning sunshine. Thanks God for melanin and for intimate knowledge of the super-soldier hearing range on his way down to the garage.

The rumble of the car’s engine is a relief, and the first breath he takes off the premises of the compound even more so. A little guilt nibbles at him, but it would’ve eaten him alive if he didn’t know that Bucky intended to work on the plans for the library today, and so he keeps driving.

Sam isn’t stupid. That furnace warmth, the magnetic way Bucky’s being drew his gaze, it’s unmistakable. In his sound head and solid heart, he knows what it is. And that’s why his heart is beating so fast, why it won’t take a goddamn break around those blue eyes and sunny smile. Sam is too self aware to be too stupid, too blind to his feelings. He’s just nervous. A cup of coffee from his favorite place downtown won’t do much to settle, but it will give him room. And he needs room.

Because Sam has never done this before. Never acted on feelings for someone who he can’t afford to lose. Maybe, the risk-benefit balance is not tipping in his favor. However, he can’t say for sure, if he knows what result is in his favor anymore. Is the torment of this schoolboy crush worth not risking his friendship?

Sam exhales through his teeth, and looks out the window. Decides to go flying when he gets back in order to clear his head. Maybe that canopy made from blue satin holds the answers.

---

Birds are chirping on the balcony railing, their silky brown bodies picturesquely contrasting against the cottony blue sky behind them. Pretty enough to frame, and Bucky commits another scene to memory that he might want to paint some day. Closes his belt buckle and then picks up the brush but does a double take at the reflection that looks back at him from the dressing table mirror.

He looks healthier than he has in years, but that’s not what’s remarkable. No, it’s the length of his hair. The brown waves reach his collarbones, and he runs his hand through it with a huff, putting down the brush and leaving his room. Sam’s in the living room, and he can hear Earth, Wind, and Fire playing from down the hall. He enters the room to see Sam lounging on the sofa with a laptop in his hand.

“Hey, Sammy, you busy?” He asks, walking up to him. Sam looks up, turns the music down.

“No. Why, what’s up?” He says, placing the laptop down next to him, and Bucky sees that he was online shopping for clothes.

“I need you to cut my hair,” he tells him, sitting down on the sofa. Sam blinks. Once, twice, thrice. His face splits in a toothy grin of agreement, and it disarms Bucky so much that he forgets completely to be angry at the smug look on his face.

“Not that I wouldn’t love to ruin your hair, Rapunzel, but are you sure you don’t wanna go to a barber?”

“Yes. You do it.” Bucky nods assuredly, willfully ignoring the nickname, relieved to be rid of it soon, too, but hoping that Sam will know, unspoken, what he is trying to say. He’s gotten better around people, around strangers, but he doesn’t trust them. Not with sharp objects, and especially not with handling sharp objects in such proximity to him. And there’s a part of him, perhaps the old romantic, the one who is just a little on the sentimental side, that prefers for such a change – small though it may seem, it speaks magnitudes to someone who craves stability now – to be made by the person he is closest to. So Bucky is grateful, when that person, Sam, agrees, with a nod back.

Fifteen minutes sees them in Bucky’s bathroom, him sitting on a stool in front of the vanity, a towel over his shoulders, and Sam behind him with scissors. He lifts the spray bottle from the counter with his free hand and spritzes Bucky’s hair. It’s cold, refreshing, and gentle stray drops land on his face. Bucky’s hands are clenching around his knees, red fingerprints growing darker on the skin just below where his shorts end. It took him two summers to feel comfortable enough to wear those. Sam has a matching pair.

He raises the scissors to the side of Bucky’s head, just by his right ear, opens them, and then pauses. Moves to the back instead, raises the scissors, stops again. A heavy sigh ruffles Bucky’s hair, and he looks at Sam’s reflection. He looks back.

“I don’t know where to start, man. I have no clue what to do with this,” Sam says, exasperated already, gesturing towards Bucky’s head with one hand and almost running the other over his own head before remembering the scissors he still holds in it. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but throws him a look up and over his shoulder that seems to say You think I do?

Shaking his head, Sam starts again. Bucky closes his eyes, his body hairs standing on edge as the scissors start clipping. A coarse, large, warm hand rests on the back of his neck to steady his head, the point of contact burning.

“I think it’s short enough to use the machine,” he whispers, as if conveying a holy secret. He turns on the clippers and soon, the buzzing sound fills the room. Bucky doesn’t reopen his eyes, lets Sam trim the edges short on the sides and back, and keep it a little longer on the top, as per their pre-determined plan of action.

He starts running his fingers across Bucky’s scalp as he’s finishing up and making the final touches, and every nerve ending of his lights up. When Sam announces that he’s done, and Bucky’s lungs collapse and then swell like balloons at the sight of his new appearance, and his eyes meet Sam’s, the world stops.

They’re inches apart, once again. Eye to eye, nose to nose. Heart to beating, fluttering heart. Thank you’s are glued to his tongue and his tongue is paralyzed in his mouth, his mouth dry and wanting. He counts nine heartbeats, and begins to lean in on the tenth, but the eleventh brings the obnoxiously loud sound of his phone ringing from the bedroom, and the bubble bursts.

Bucky answers Peter’s call with less concern than he usually does, the affection and mentorship for the teenager overshadowed by the almost-moment. The one that makes him want to scream into the New York skyline.

---

Flaming red hair reaches as far as Sam’s eyes are concerned, accentuated by the backdrop of the setting sun, an unusual hour for sparring, but a crucial one today. Nat is visiting from the European headquarters in Budapest, where she is SHIELD’s head of the region. It’s a calmer job, safer than Avengers duty, but she works herself to the bone and lets out her frustration in the gun range or the sparring mat, with the latter making for better quality time with her teammate today. Not that Sam’s much for competition right now, and she doesn’t mince moves or waste time. He puts up as much of a fight as he can, but she has him on the ground in fifteen minutes. A new record.

She helps him up and he passes her her water bottle in return as the sit on the mat. Her outstretched legs prod at his knees.

“You were off your game, Wilson,” she says, as if he doesn’t already know. As if he doesn’t know he was too busy counting days since Bucky’s haircut to counter her moves. It’s been twelve, and every hour exponentially increases the tangible awkwardness between them.

“Distracted.” Sam shrugs truthfully. Nat’s laugh isn’t cruel or taunting, but teasing and friendly, a lightweight windchime.

“Yeah, I can tell. Want to tell me why?” She asks, with another sip from her bottle.

“Like you don’t already know,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes. Tilting her head, she looks at him like a curious robin. Like she’s trying to pluck out the secrets like wildflowers in his head.

“I just know it has something to do with Barnes. You can hardly look at each other.” She says, giving him her hand to take off the boxing tape, and he picks at the edge it’s bound at. Tries to ignore the piercing stare she’s focusing on his head.

Once the tape is off, he tries to drink from his bottle again. His throat is parched, and he doesn’t think it has much to do with the exercise any longer. Natasha’s stare turns to a glare, but eventually, she seems to relent, trying at another joke.

“What, did you kiss him?” She murmurs, reaching for her bottle. Sam sputters, water going in his windpipe, and Nat’s eyes widen as she watches him cough and cough and cough. “Are you serious? Oh my God, Sam, did you really?”

“No, no, no, shit, no. That’s crazy, Nat,” he says, standing and starting to powerwalk to the showers but Nat follows quickly, light on her feet and heavy with her questions.

“Then what was that for?” Nat asks, pointing towards the mat where he just had that undue coughing fit. Shit. Keep digging your own grave, Wilson, keep digging.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s fine,” he says, and she quirks an eyebrow. Crosses her arms. He’s known Nat for too long and too well to not be entirely aware that talking to her is for his best. And Sam is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid. He follows her back to the mat like a lost puppy, and consoles himself with the fact that he’s reduced a master assassin to near-gossip.

“Well?”

So he tells her. Sam picks at the mat with bitten fingernails as he relays the tale of the five years of pragmatic planning and professionalism under imprisonment in the Soul Stone, during which they talked little but shop and pretended not to see the fear in each other.

Sam avoids Nat’s emerald gaze while he tells her about the first year as Captain America, with the weight of the mantle so heavy that Bucky became the crutch he leaned on, a super-soldier it took everything to put back into the world.

Sam closes his eyes when he recalls Steve’s funeral, and the instant he decided that Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a miracle, he was one of the most beautiful people Sam had ever met.

Sam watches the punching bags sway while talking about the warmth that spreads like bushfire whenever Bucky is near, but also about how he is at his coolest and calmest next to him, because he gets him.

Sam sees the sky transition from peach to indigo telling Nat about the moment in the bathroom, where that emotional connection almost manifested itself physically, and how those feelings that he thought were benign became dangerous, boiling under the surface, and how he doesn’t know whether to bury them, or set them free.

---

Icarus. The legend of Icarus and his melting wings, his broken body drowning is the first thing to enter Bucky's mind as the quinjet lands on the helicarrier and Sam is wheeled out on a stretcher and rushed to Dr. Cho's cradle. A trail of blood follows, dripping slowly despite the medics' attentions, and that's what seals Bucky's trance. He doesn't have answers for Hill or Fury - it's a morbid game of Hansel and Gretel, right up to the entrance of the medical wing.

The sterile whites and greys, alongside the vague hum or nurses barring his entry into the trauma bay and Fury's raging demands for answers are secondary sensations. Lost behind the veil. He has to watch through the glass as Sam is put in the cradle, but there’s so much blood. The Director and Assistant Director talk calmly now, suggesting that Bucky get his own wounds checked, but he is blind to their concerns, so they give him the space they see he needs.

It takes an hour to heal Sam. A torturous, unending hour, that has Bucky pacing across the floor, smearing blood and mud across pristine tiles, his mind humming so loud he can’t hear himself think. When it’s over, he has just enough presence to follow Sam’s unconscious body as it’s wheeled to a recovery room, where he sits at his bedside.

However, he doesn’t stay seated for long. Can’t look at his friend’s wounded form, helpless and undoubtedly in screaming pain, although he may not feel it. His body does, and he will feel it when he’s awake. Bucky stands and moves to look out the window. Absently, he scrapes at the clots of blood drying under his nails and in between the panels of his other arm. Part of him recalls the term dissociation, used by his SHIELD appointed psychiatrist, and the consequent recovery techniques. An alert corner of his subconscious is grateful that these episodes aren't as frequent any more. Or as debilitating, most of the time. Just… distracting, with the fog that pierces his ears and diffuses inside his skull until he's numb. Weightless. Recovery techniques. Right. Touch, taste, smell, sound, sight. Glass and metal, blood and sand, jet fuel, whirring engines; open, open, sky.

Bucky likes the sky. Likes to watch clouds form, transform into something new, drift onwards to a better place. A better view than he must present. The infinite stretch of blue. Sometimes, he paints his own clouds on the sky in his mind's eye, but right now that canvas is dripping red - fists clench tight above his thighs - dripping red, white, and blue, Sam is dripping red, white, and blue, and he's falling, Icarus to the ocean.

Falling, falling, falling.

Oh.

Bucky jerks upright. Shakes his head, wipes a blood stained strand of hair back. Forces air into his lungs - it's thinner up here, colder, too, so he has to focus, feel the bite, good - and then: clarity.

He remembers where he is, the smoothness of tiles under his feet, the sweat sodden uniform sticking to his skin, the physicalities of his position return, as does the feel of his beating heart. But there's something new in the way it hammers against his ribs. Something gentler, that prompts a flutter of intrigue, until he realizes what it is, until he can name the newborn emotion screaming to be heard inside his heart.

Hot forehead against cold glass. Hot tears on hotter cheeks. Bucky lets them fall as he tries to face the sky again.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he tells the clouds. Not because he doesn’t want to be in love, or because he is love with a man instead of a woman, or because said man is Sam Wilson, but because it’s just so inconvenient. Because there is no happiness to be found in lives like these, and because it is an impossibility that a man with a heart as pristine a golden could want one with bruises and stains that stretch across every inch of skin. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

And he swears he can hear his Ma answer from the sky: Why of course, you didn’t, my baby boy. No one ever does. Doesn’t mean it isn’t right, or meant to be so. The universe has a way with these things. Knows how to put people together, just like a starling knows to hide her nest from crows. It’s nature, James.

Nobody’s called him James since Winnifred Barnes. Nobody ever will. But “Bucky” doesn’t sound so bad coming from Sam’s voice. Returning to his bedside and slumping into the chair, Bucky hopes he’ll only live long enough to tell him so.

Bucky, post-war, post-Winter Soldier, doesn’t know all that much about fate or the universe, nor does he know a thing about love, but he knows homecoming. And Sam, his eyelashes delicate against skin like gold poured over tourmaline, is home.

All resistance leaves Bucky with a muted sigh. It’s like he can feel the adrenaline, the fight-or-flight, both physical and emotional, evaporate when he takes in the expression of calm that has washed over Sam’s features. He takes half a dozen deep, deep breaths. Allows the oxygen to cleanse him from the inside out, and now, he has enough presence of mind to feel the exhaustion entering his bones. Aside from the scrape on his cheek, none of the blood on his being is his own. He should clean up, he knows that, but he thinks he’ll throw up if he tries to stand up again, so he breathes instead. Breathes in the fact that Sam is alive like he needs that statement to live. So that he doesn’t forget it, and wake up screaming - wouldn’t be the first time - he imprints it into his memory.

Only then do his shoulders stop guarding his neck, relaxing and hitting the back of the chair he’s sat on. The air conditioner whirrs on, and Sam’s breaths are puffs of cotton in the air, that if Bucky focuses enough on, he can envision as clouds. Clouds that turn to sheep, sheep that he counts, and it doesn’t take many of them before he is fast asleep.

---

The day Happy and May get married, Sam almost asks Bucky for a dance, under a starlit sky that twinkles like fairy lights. The months since his injury have been better than those before, contrasting a new smile, and a lighter face, against the tangible sense of will-we-won’t-we. They’re still tense, still have moments where they can’t read each other, still almost talk about it, but their companionship has returned.

This is obvious in the grin Bucky throws him with a roll of his eyes over Nat’s shoulder, as Sam twirls May around like he’s trying to make her nauseous. The poor bride tolerates his hijinks for all of one song before politely excusing herself, as does Nat, pretending that Bucky hasn’t gotten better at dancing again after practicing for months on end. She throws Sam a wink as she leaves the dance floor, and Sam swallows before turning tail and going to get a drink, leaving Bucky to find another dance partner. He quells a bubble of his own nausea as a wonderful girl – Annie something, from May’s work – tries to ask for a dance. To his surprise, Bucky refuses, and then Sam feels guilty for the cheer that goes up in him.

It’s short-lasting, overwhelmed once again by the anxiety that comes with interacting with Bucky. Sometimes, he thinks he sees roses bloom under Bucky’s footstep, the scent of him so alluring. At others, like now, the weight of his gaze is so heavy, he thinks he should drown under it if he doesn’t release the secret in his chest. If he doesn’t tell Bucky that he remembers waking up in that hellicarrier holding an asleep Bucky’s hand, with an asleep Bucky’s lips pressed to the back of his own. And that he liked it.

“It’s a nice party,” he says, tipping back the champagne flute in his hand. He can’t get drunk, and it takes large sips for him to even feel the spark in his throat, the movement exposing a stretch of slender, soft skin. It’s a matter of milliseconds, barely one breath, but Sam’s mouth is dry, useless but for a nod of agreement with a survey of the hall. Nat is wiggling her eyebrows at him from across the dance floor, and Bucky has to repeat his name twice to regain his attention, something that he immediately loses to the color of Bucky’s eyes upon turning towards him. He breaks eye contact and looks away again with another nod.

“Yeah, yeah, it was a great day. I’m really happy for those two,” Sam says honestly, gesturing towards the bride and groom, who are chatting away with Pepper.

“So you’re happy for Happy?” Bucky murmurs and Sam snorts, downing his glass, and shaking his head.

“Ha ha ha, what are you, twelve?”

“You may have to check my birth certificate to find out,” he deadpans, and Sam pinches the bridge of his nose as Bucky cackles. He glares at him, but soon, the corner of Bucky’s eyes crinkling while the sound of his laughter echoes comes into alarming focus against May and Happy swaying in the background, and Sam doesn’t need to wonder what it’s like to feel so much joy and such magnanimous love from someone that you decide to bind yourself to them forever. In fact, Sam decided a long time ago that Bucky was the one person he couldn’t live without any longer. The only difference now is that the emotions that went into that definition have changed. The twinkling sky winks down at him, as if to reaffirm that that realization is correct, and to tell him that he’s on the right path.

---

The city of New York stretches out through the window before them, buildings piercing the dusk that is settling above, and Bucky and Sam sit against the freshly dried paint in the living room of Bucky’s childhood home. It has taken four years after the Blip, four years of newfound stability, of recovery and building up and breaking down and defining his life for his own, to come back to what his life used to be. He thought it only fitting that the man who played the most invaluable part in helping him to his feet be with him at the most magnificent landmark of his progress, of his new life.

The building had, wondrously, been the same one, in that it hadn’t been demolished and rebuilt, only thoroughly renovated. Bucky had bought it several months ago, and Sam had instantly been enraptured by the idea of rebuilding this apartment. Only the furniture remains now, the empty rooms freshly painted and smelling of paint and paper, sawdust and sandalwood and sweat. Bucky looks over at Sam as he closes his eyes, and watches the sunset light his skin like honey on dark silk. Glimmering, glowing.

It hits him like a freight car. The notion that even though his life has been longer than most, it is too short to abandon what you love. Bucky is scared. He’s been scared his whole life. He was scared to go to war that first time, he was scared for his life when he was captured, he was scared for Steve when he went after Hydra, he was scared when he became Hydra, he was scared. And angry. And he doesn’t want to be any longer, even if the alternative is regret and shame. Those would still be new emotions.

That’s what has him turning to Sam, the rustle of his jeans alerting him so he opens his eyes. A question swimming in their content depths. Bucky answers it.

“I love you, Sam,” he says, heart in his throat. Sam gulps, like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to, that there are words lodged in his throat that he longs to set free, and Bucky tells him he knows what they are already. Doesn’t need the words spoken, now or ever, when they’re so visible in how Sam can do nothing but lift his hands and cups his face in them. The I love you, too, is folded like a hidden love note between their lips, passed to Bucky when they meet, and Sam moves his mouth like flower petals over glass. Bucky kisses back. He kisses back harder, tilts his head so they’re like puzzle pieces, his heartbeat taking flight. When they stop, the sky is as pink as roses, the gold accent wall behind them is smoldering, glowering with light. Their foreheads rest against each other’s, Bucky’s hand rests over Sam’s to hold him there, and they fit together like the stars fit in the sky.

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