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nomazee · 1 month

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“This is unnecessary.”

At Blade’s snide comment, you pull sharply at the strands of his hair in your hands. He grunts in displeasure before obediently quieting down, only a little scared of you scalping him if he annoys you any further.

Perched behind him on the couch while he sits on the floor, your hands find themselves coming through his hair (long, smooth, untangled despite the fact that you’ve never seen him take a brush to it). Your efforts to part his hair with just your fingers are fruitless. His hair is thick on the top, so much so that you’re surprised his neck doesn’t constantly ache with the weight of it. Your hands pause, resting on the top of his head while you try and figure out how you’ll style it.

“Be nice,” you warn, two hands on the sides of his head tilting it from side to side, treating him as a foam mannequin on which you can project your very thorough cosmetology skills. “Your fate is quite literally in my hands. I could knock you out and shave you bald very easily.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says earnestly, and you can’t help the way your lips twinge into a smile. “This is clearly a hassle. My hair looks fine the way it is.”

“It does,” you admit, “but wouldn’t it be nice to try something new? And at no cost to you, aside from mild scalp pain. I’m good at hair. I did Kafka’s that one time.” You fail to mention that it was only one time for good reason. Kafka said that you handle hair the same way a lobster would handle a violin—that is, with clumsy hands and a clear lack of refinement. She had to hide every pair of scissors from you in fear that you'd give Silver Wolf microbangs.

As if on cue, your fingers get caught in an unexpected snag in Blade’s hair, and you pull and tug and yank as if expecting it to untangle on its own. Blade hisses and reaches a hand back to smack you on the wrist, turning around to glare at you.

“Watch it,” he orders, gentle but firm. There’s not enough heat in his words to scare you, and his eyes are a particularly beautiful shade of copper in the dim, flickering light of this dingy lounge room. Whatever you say, beautiful, you think to yourself hysterically.

After a few half-willed apologies from you and some nudges of encouragement, Blade finally relaxes enough to turn back around and tilt his head back in your lap, letting your fingers play with his hair nonsensically. A braid, you decide, would look quite nice on him. One long one down the back. If you had ribbon, you’d use some to tie his hair, but all you have is one of Kafka’s tragically thin hair ties.

“It’s a nice color,” you comment absentmindedly, pretending that you can’t see the way Blade’s eyes have shut in contentment at your gentle prodding. “It changes in the light a little bit. It looks very blue now, but I’ve always thought it was black.” You section his hair off into three pieces, loosely laying one over the other over and over again. The aged gold ornament still hangs securely in his hair, and you don’t do anything to move it. It suits him.

“It’s natural, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he tells you, the slightest twinge of a joke in his voice. It plays at your smile and at your heart, too.

“You say that now, but you’ll be scrambling to come up with a lie when I find box dye in your bag.”

He only hums in response, reluctantly enjoying the feeling of your hands on him—they’re gentle, and you can imagine he’s not quite used to this. It’s an addictive feeling, to have him at your mercy, even with just your hands in his hair. There’s trust, unspoken, lingering warmly in the air and settling like condensation on your skin. You could very easily do a number of things that would hurt Blade—kill him, almost. You’ve only ever thought of it a few times, and those were all a very long time ago.

You don’t think of it that often anymore. All you’re paying attention to is Blade and the splitting ends of his hair and how nice he’d look with a red ribbon tied in.

“We should go shopping,” you tell him, voice close to a whisper now. You’ve secured the end of his braid already, and your handiwork is admirable. The strands are neatly crossed over each other, uniform in size with each other as they taper down into the end. “Some clips for you would be nice.” Absentmindedly, you comb through the layers of hair near his face, digging your fingers gently into the sides of his face and scratching at his scalp.

“And where exactly would we go shopping? We’re not exactly upstanding members of society in some people’s eyes.”

“Then I’ll make clips for you,” you say, a naive kind of dedication in your tone. “I used to work with metal, a little bit. I could make jewelry. Ornaments for your hair. I’ll put a ribbon in next time.”

“What makes you think there’ll be a next time?” Blade asks doubtfully, in steep contrast with the way he lets your hands roam along his scalp, and the way his head leans back into you as if he’s comfortable.

“You’re a loyal customer,” you quip, “you’d never let somebody else do your hair when you have me as a dedicated stylist.”

“I’m your only customer.”

“I know,” and in a moment of weakness—because at the end of the day that’s what you are, weak, malleable and moveable when you’re with Blade like this—you lean down just a little bit, pressing a stupid clumsy kiss on the crown of his head. Your fingers trail down to trace the bumps of the braid, the divots and grooves in it, made by your hands, and yours alone. “That just means I can put all my effort towards you alone.”

“You shouldn’t.” And he means it when he says that, and it hurts you, puts a sickly pang in your chest that you want to reach for and tear out before it grows into something worse.

“But I will,” you tell him. Blade is stubborn, but not stubborn enough to keep it up. Not now, not here, not when the overhead lights are flickering and making his hair look just a little bluer, illuminating the warmer ends of his hair, glinting off the metal ornament still clipped into it. He rests between your hands, still sitting on the cold floor, pretending that he isn’t falling asleep with you like the fool he secretly is.

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin

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parkitaco · 1 year

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back on my bullshit 42 for byler ask game 🙏

"You look like a total mess."

Mike rolls his eyes, shrugging his coat off and stomping the snow off of his boots as he closes the door behind him. "Thanks," he says sarcastically as he hangs his coat on the rack by the door and kicks his shoes off haphazardly. "Love you too."

Will grins at him from his seat on the couch, where he's sprawled out with his sketchbook. “How’s the weather?” he asks idly, as Mike shakes snowflakes out of his unruly mane of hair and flops onto the couch beside him.

“Shitty,” Mike responds, scowling as he tries to shove his damp hair away from his face, only to have it immediately fall back into his eyes. “It’s, like, sleeting sideways, and it’s fucking freezing and- okay, that’s it, I’m cutting my hair,” he huffs, as a wet strand finds its way into his mouth.

Will laughs, setting his sketchbook aside and reaching out to brush some of the hair away from Mike’s face. He’s no more successful in this endeavor than Mike was, but his fingers are warm when they brush against Mike’s reddened cheeks, so Mike can’t really find it in himself to complain. “I like your hair,” Will says affectionately, tugging on one strand. “If you don’t want it in your face you could just tie it up.”

Mike makes a face. “That doesn’t work either. I always miss a chunk and then it’s still in my face and looks stupid.”

“You could never look stupid,” Will retorts, and then pauses, smirking. “Well, actually you probably could, but I’d like you anyway.”

“You just said I was a mess,” Mike points out, but he’s smiling, and Will rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“A hot mess,” Will corrects, leaning forward to press a kiss to Mike’s cheek, and Mike flushes pink. Will grins, proud of himself, and trails another kiss to his jaw. "C'mere," he says, as though Mike is not already halfway in his lap.

Mike gives him a look, and Will huffs out a fake-irritated breath, clambering up onto the back of the sofa and perching above him, hands winding themselves in Mike's hair.

"What are you doing?" Mike laughs, tilting his head back to peer up at Will, who's winding his hair around his fingers, sectioning off chunks.

"M' braiding it," he says, brow furrowed in concentration. "So it's not in your face."

Mike frowns up at him. "I didn't know you knew how to braid," he says, as Will's fingers brush against his scalp.

Will purses his lips. "El went through a whole thing where she wanted her hair braided all the time, but she can't do her own hair to save her life and my mom is even worse, so me and Max did it for her."

Mike blinks. "Where was I when all this happened?"

Will shrugs. "I don't know. You don't always notice things like that unless they're right in your face. Tilt your head down, I can't see what I'm doing."

Mike does as he's told, brow furrowing as he gazes out at the living room. Will's fingers dig through his hair, not hard enough to hurt but enough to send a shiver down his spine, and he relaxes into the touch a little, enjoying the way Will's nimble fingers feel against his scalp. "I notice things," he says petulantly, as Will sinches a section of hair down and Mike's head tilts back a little of its own accord.

"Like what?" Will asks absently, sounding more curious than anything else, like he genuinely takes Mike's word for it.

"I don't know," Mike says, biting his lip and leaning against Will's knee. His legs rest on either side of Mike, knees at shoulder height, caging him in. "I noticed that you were wearing a new sweater the other day, remember?"

"That's just because you wanted to steal it," Will replies, a smile in his voice, and Mike tilts his face back up just long enough to stick his tongue out at him.

"Incorrect," he says, as Will gently shoves his head back into an upright position. "I noticed because I hadn't stolen it before. I would never steal something new."

"Why, because you want to give me the illusion of having my own belongings?"

Mike frowns. "What? No. If it's new it doesn't feel like you, and that's the only reason I borrow stuff in the first place."

Will's hands still in his hair, and his face appears above Mike's, tilted at a bit of an odd angle as he peers down at him. "Oh. That's actually- that's sweet, Mike."

"Yeah, well," Mike mumbles, vaguely embarrassed, as Will goes back to braiding. "I notice other stuff, too."

"Pray tell," Will replies, and he's amused now, Mike can tell, as he pokes a playful finger into Mike's neck.

Mike huffs, batting his finger away. "I notice- you," he says, cheeks heating up a little, "I notice when you're upset or annoyed or whatever even if you don't say anything, and I notice when you get a haircut or wear something different or whatever, and I notice whatever songs you've been playing on repeat and all your funny little microexpressions when you're listening to something, it's like I can read every thought as it crosses your mind because it's written all over your face, and- I notice the way you interact with people, the different ways you act around your family versus our friends versus- well, me, but obviously I notice that- and, I don't know. You're very- captivating, you know that? Even when you're just existing as you are."

There's a silence, as Mike chews his lip and stares at the wall, a bit lost in his thoughts, and Will finishes tying off whatever braid thing he was doing.

Then: "Mike, look at me."

Mike tilts his head back as far as it will go, smiling a little hesitantly up at Will, who's regarding him with an odd, intense sort of look. "You- I didn't know any of that," Will says softly, hands sliding from his hair to cup the sides of Mike's face, keeping him in place. "You really- care that much? About me?"

Mike smiles at this, laughing a little and reaching up with one hand to tap Will's nose with a fingertip. "Of course I do, dummy," he teases, as a delicate blush colors Will's cheeks, "You're my boyfriend. I love you."

Will's blush deepens, and he leans over carefully, still gripping Mike's face, and presses an upside-down kiss to Mike's lips. It's soft and sweet, a gentle press of lips and a swipe of his tongue against Mike's lower lip, and Mike's nose bumps Will's chin as he pulls back, pressing another kiss to Mike's forehead.

"I love you too," he murmurs. "Idiot."

They linger there for a beat, smiling at each other, before Will seems to shake himself out of whatever reverie he'd been in and claps a hand to Mike's shoulder. "Come on, let's go see how you look," he says, clambering off the couch and tugging Mike with him, and Mike can't help but wrap himself around Will, a little, as Will drags him in the direction of the bathroom.

"Mike," Will laughs as Mike winds his arms over his shoulders, hugging him from behind and pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of Will's face.

"Will," Mike murmurs, lips still brushing Will's cheek, and Will doesn't protest any further as they stumble into the bathroom, Mike all wound around him and kissing his face over and over.

Then he glances up and catches sight of his own reflection and does a double take. "Holy shit," he breathes, grip on Will slackening as Will smiles at their reflections, winding his arms up to grip Mike's. "I look- nice, or something."

"Or something," Will teases, as Mike examines his profile in the mirror. He looks older, somehow, the angles of his face revealed, and for once there's no hair escaping into his face. Will's braided both sides back, like a crown or something, and tied it off into a bun at the back, and Mike looks- "Pretty," Will says, approving, fingers trailing back and forth over Mike's forearm where it's draped over his chest. "You look- beautiful."

Mike presses closer to him, tilting his head to rest on top of Will's and regarding both of their reflections in the mirror. They look like a real couple, he thinks, which- well, they are a couple, so it makes sense, but there's something about seeing them reflected like this, wrapped up in each other and smiling, that makes something warm and golden settle in Mike's chest.

"Really beautiful," Will reiterates softly.

Next to Will, Mike feels beautiful, too.

#42 - braiding the other’s hair #this is probably a bit ooc but alas i simply do not care #byler ficlet #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things

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nirikeehan · 1 year

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Heeeeeeey! Happy Friday! How about a prompt? For Blackwall/Thalia, Longing or Tangled from the 14 Days of DA Lovers list. Hope the muse talks to you on this one!

Happy Friday, Ocean! I def looked at this one and thought, "Why not both?"

For @dadrunkwriting and @14daysdalovers

WC: 983

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Thalia had thought she would simply take a stroll outside of the Hinterlands camp in which they’d settled for the evening. She hadn’t counted on the foliage being so thick she would have to beat it back with both hands. As she fought her way through, a spindly branch snagged her hair where she had braided it back from her temple. Every time she attempted to free herself, her scalp seized with pain. Exasperation turned to fear in the deepening dusk.

“Help!” She sounded pitiful and embarrassed; she was both.

“My lady?”

Relief flooded her. “Warden Blackwall.” She had not strayed so far from camp that her companions could not hear.

A lumbering silhouette crashed through the underbrush. “Are you hurt?” His voice, low and velvety despite its gruffness, made her pulse quicken.

“No, no. It’s silly, really. It’s— my hair.”

A large man formed out of the shadows. Thalia shot him a grateful grin. “I don’t know know how it happened, but it’s just really stuck.” She pointed to her head.

“Hold still.” Blackwall rose to his full height, resting one hand on her shoulder. “Let me see.”

Thalia’s heart beat faster. She stood eye level with his shoulder; his sleeve had been stitched in place with an inexpert hand. Blackwall possessed the look of a man who had been on the road for many moons. This made sense, though she wondered if the Grey Wardens hurt for coin so badly that they couldn’t afford their recruiter a new doublet.

She swallowed, the sound of his measured breath filling her ears. “Is it terrible?”

“Not so much. Though it’ll be tricky to get you out, unless someone’s brought a pair of scissors.”

“I couldn’t,” Thalia cried, horrified. “Highborn girls aren’t supposed to cut their hair. Not in Ostwick, anyway. I know we’re not in Ostwick anymore, but I—”

“It’s all right, my lady.” Blackwall’s hand moved to her chin, steadying her. “I rather like your hair the way it is, anyway.”

A thrill shot down her spine. Thalia stared up at him, shocked by the familiarity of his gesture. His face betrayed nothing, though he dropped his hand and slid behind her. “I think I can get it out on my own.”

“Good. That’s good.” Thalia felt the quake in her voice, but hoped he couldn’t hear it.

“I’ll need to remove my gloves to work properly. Is that all right?”

Now he asks for permission to touch me? Thalia swallowed. Maybe he realized his mistake after all. Not that she minded.

She felt his breath stirring the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck. She suppressed a shiver. “Of course.” Thalia tried to make her voice sound older, more authoritative. Like a woman used to the attention of a man. She squared her shoulders.

She listened to the rustle of fabric, and then his fingers were in her hair. Thalia inhaled sharply. The warmth of his fingers bled into her scalp, and his light touch sent tingles through her skull.

“If I’m hurting you, just say so.”

“Okay.” She hated her own voice, soft and meek, like a child.

How would he ever think of her as an equal, if she continued to get into trivial scrapes like this one? Even her protest about her hair — how frivolous could she be? She imagined Blackwall among his fellow Wardens, in the company of fierce warrior women who weren’t vain about the length of their hair. She chewed her lip, wondering what Blackwall’s life had been like before meeting her.

His fingers threaded the strands of her hair, picking at a tangle she could feel at the top of her head. She felt no pain, just tension as he worked. He smelled of the smoke from tonight’s cookfire, a musky undertone she couldn’t place. Was that just what men smelled like? She’d never really been close enough to one to tell.

“How’s it going?” she asked nervously.

Blackwall grunted. “Not as well as I’d hoped. Don’t move.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and moved in front of her. “I might have to do something drastic.”

“O-oh?”

“Do you trust me?” His eyes met hers. Under his thick brows, they bore into hers. They reminded her of the sea by the Ostwick Circle Tower when it threatened to storm: a deep, impenetrable grey.

Thalia stared up at him, swallowing hard. “Of course, Warden Blackwall.”

He leaned over her, holding her back steady with one hand. With the other, he seized the branch above her head and twisted violently. With a sickening crack, the branch snapped in twain. Thalia was able to stand upright, mobility returned. “That was— incredible.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” It took another minute for him to untangle her from the now disembodied branch, but at last, she was free. Blackwall tossed the branch to the ground. It surprised her how sizable it was — one she might have dared to put her weight on, if she’d been climbing the tree.

“Your strength is commendable, ser.” Thalia ducked her head, blushing.

Blackwall shrugged. “Everyone’s good at something, I expect.”

She pressed her fingers into her hair, feeling the braid that had been entrapped pulled loose and unsightly. She had an urge to let her hair down and redo each plait — but that would be scandalous to do in front of a man like the warden. She pulled the braid loose and tucked it behind her ear.

Blackwall watched with intense interest. Thalia swallowed, all too aware they were alone together in the darkening wilderness. “I would be grateful if you escorted me back to camp now.”

“As you wish, my lady.” He gave her a curt bow. She liked that about him; he always remembered his courtesies to a noblewoman. “This way.”

She followed him back to camp. She suspected she would follow him almost anywhere, given the chance.

#14DALovers #blackwall x trevelyan #longing #tangled #blackwall #thalia trevelyan #dragon age drunk writing circle #fics

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exalted-dawn-drabbles · 1 year

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The Grace of Growing Old

Dragon Age OC Fluff Fic, Rated T (for slightly suggestive themes), 1.2K Words

Clumsy fingers tangled in clumsier braids. The steady-soft breath of a child sleeping in a bed of meadow grass. The warm glint of golden eyes, somehow untarnished by the passage of time. Still full of love, even after all these years.

The young man of his past, with blood-sullied hands and lyrium screaming in his veins, never could have imagined such a life. How lucky he was, then, to be given the grace of growing old.

[Read full drabble under the cut]

Clumsy fingers tangled in his hair, tugging this way and that without care or consideration. It was hardly the worst torture he’s weathered, all things considered, but he still had to stop himself from wincing in pain as another clump of his hair was roughly pulled into plait.

“Alma, da’len, have care-” Talenna’s voice, warm as the late summer sun against their backs, filled his ear; heavy with affection and unshed laughter. “I think you’re hurting your father.” Kinder hands, slender and careful and years more familiar, replaced that of his daughter’s– righting the braid in his hair so that it no longer pulled uncomfortably against the scalp.

Alma whined petulantly, the pitch of her tone sharp in its dissent. Small feet kicked weakly against his back– no doubt the remnant collateral of a more physical objection he could not see. “Noooo!!!! I’m not!!! I was making Papa’s hair prettier!”

As if to prove a point, Calder could feel the stem of another flower shoved haphazardly into one of the braids crowning his head. He stifled a chuckle, the goofy tilt of smile hidden by his downturned face.

“Aye, but Papa won’t have any hair left to make pretty if you aren’t gentle with it, ma’iovru,” she chided, with more honey than venom, and added another blossom in just beside Alma’s. “And even if he doesn’t mind going bald, I am still quite fond of his hair.”

“Hey! Out of anyone here, I’m pretty sure that I’m the most attached to my hair. Literally,” he snorted, his silence broken by laughter. Calder turned slightly to catch the attention of his wife and daughter, his eyes bright with a mischief that betrayed his years. His voice dropped into a low whisper, the kind reserved for secrets, and he ducked closer to Alma. “...Though, if you’re worried, Pumpkin, you actually have no reason to be. Don’t tell anyone, but I have it on good authority that my grandfather on my father’s side was actually part bear, and so all of his descendants are now cursed to be hairy for the rest of our days.”

Alma’s eyes and mouth went wide with horror. “WAIT!” she barked, scrambling out of Talenna’s lap to grasp desperately at his shirt. “Even me and Oru?!”

“I’m afraid so,” he continued, shrugging off her concern with a smug smile that barely concealed his amusement. “Why else do you think your mother calls you her ‘little bear cubs’?”

Alma, rife with shock and betrayal, turned back to look at Talenna, seeking confirmation. “Mamae???”

It was the broken squeak in his daughter's voice that did him in.

Unable to hold it in any longer, Calder doubled over in great, chest-heavy laughter– the kind that shook one’s shoulders and made their gut hurt. The chime of Talenna’s amusement, though muffled behind the cover of her hand, soon joined his own, until both of them could do little more than gasp helplessly for air as their daughter looked helplessly between them.

Oru, the other cub in question, slept peacefully not but a few feet away, but Calder didn’t doubt that the moment her brother awoke, Alma would be running to him with this new revelation.

“Peace, da’len. It would seem your father is also part jackal, if he is this prone to lies.” Talenna’s voice— beautiful, still, even after his millionth time hearing it— was breathy and half-bodied from mirth, lacking any of the scathing edge that she had so proudly honed throughout the years. Rather, if he listened close enough, he was sure he could pick out the shape of her smile, the creases of her laugh lines, in the lilt of her words.

He would happily suffer a lifetime of softened, love-worn jabs if it meant he could continue to listen to her like this.

Tempered by his own affections, Calder settled and leaned back on his hands, his head tilted into the late afternoon sun, unconcerned, as if his honor hadn’t just been called into question. “If you don’t believe me, you’re free to give it a good tug and see for yourself.”

On cue, a sharp pain, deliberate, bit at the back of his head as it was yanked even further backwards, his gaze pulled away from the clouds until blue sky was replaced with molten gold. Talenna looked down at him through a half lidded stare, her lips curved gracefully into a knowing smirk, eyebrows cocked in challenge. Instantly he was thrown years back, to a tavern hidden behind towering stone walls. A bar crowded with, then, unfamiliar faces– hers among them, staring up at him with the very same expression. So much time had passed, and still this part of her hadn’t changed. His ever-mischievous Wolf Queen.

“You say that as if I haven’t seen for myself enough already,” she murmured, not without insinuation. “But still, you shouldn’t encourage her. It’s my turn next, and unlike you, some of us aren’t part bear.”

“Ahhhh… That so? Well then, we’ll have to make sure we’re extra careful, won’t we?” He hummed back, his hand reaching up to thread between the silk-soft strands of her hair and drew her face closer to catch her lips with his. He only had moments to sink into the kiss, to relish in the taste of her– just as spiced and sweet as the first, before they were forced apart again by an ear-splitting shriek.

“EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!! PAPA AND MAMAE ARE BEING GROSS!”

Alma quickly scrambled out from between them, nearly tripping herself in her haste as she flew on hands and knees into the surrounding bed of meadow grass. With a start, Oru’s head flung up from where it had been planted firmly face-first into the ground– weeds and dirt stuck to his cheeks as he looked owlishly at his screeching sister.

And just like that their peace was shattered.

He shot a helpless look over his shoulder at Tal– her eyes touched with the edge of weary understanding– and craned to steal one last kiss from her. She smiled into it, her hands ghosting along his jaw briefly before she released him with a sigh. “...So who’s going to go get them?”

“The second one was your idea first,” he answered. “And my joints are bad.”

“Better not start asking me for a third, then,” she snorted, her voice low and coy. But still, she stood. They both knew their kids needed to be collected before one or both of them decided to go barreling off into the nearby woods. And Oru always listened to Tal more than him anyway.

“I’ll get them next time,” he promised in earnest.

“Aye, you will.” And with a roll of her eyes– crinkled at the corners– and an amused huff, she was off. Calder watched her go for a moment, fondness swelling in his chest as he watched the three pieces of his heart from across the field. Some days, it was still hard to believe, but he was long past his days of doubt, wondering if he deserved this. Them. By some miracle, he had managed to build this life for himself in spite of his ruinous hands– the best he could do now was treasure it.

He sucked in a deep breath and stretched out flat in the meadow grass, the blades catching in his clumsily-braided hair. Feathered clouds drifted slowly overhead, carried by the wind and the chime of laughter– the hawk-cry shrieks of his children and the lower, more melodious tones of his wife. To him, there was no better sound.

He truly was a lucky, lucky man.

#dragon age fanfic #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age oc #talenna ethera #calder eikmann

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whumpzone · 3 years

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Tomas and Rowe - Part 16

in which everyone has a bad time. except kasia. he's having fun

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lavmars @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly @itaina-anta @whump-it @haro-whumps @simplygrimly @alex-ember @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @mnmlover2002 @jordanstrophe @princessofonward @xmonster-under-the-bed @as-a-matter-of-whump @5boys1house @crystalrainwing @starnight-whump @chifechi @unicornscotty @penny-for-your-whump @getyourwhumphere @likeit-or-whumpit @jasm0307 @lightdrinker @hurting-fictional-people @captainseconds @glamrockgregory @justbreakonme @downrivergirl914 @cdragontogacotar @whumps-up @vaguelyhumanvoid @kim-poce @kween-pinescales

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, force feeding, stress positions, references to mouth whump and burns

Rowe took to repeating the affirmations every day, whispering them past the newly empty gaps in his gums. When he did them, he could forget for a little while that he was going to die in his cell. At least he could die as something. He wouldn’t let Kasia turn him into an empty husk.

I have worth.

I don’t deserve pain.

I’m a person.

He was careful, of course, to lock them away when Kasia visited. He tried not to associate them with pain; he said them every day when he woke up, not when he was freshly hurting. He didn’t want to ever, ever, say them in front of Kasia.

He knew if he did it would just get him another beating, but they were his. They were precious. They were a relic of Master that Kasia couldn’t corrupt.

He just had to keep his stupid mouth shut when it mattered.

For the first time since his arrival here, Rowe spent a whole day alone. The hours ticked by as he started to see shapes in the floor, and wondered if Kasia would ever return. Was this it? Had he got bored already? Would Rowe be left to die and rot after less than a week, his capture so recent he could still feel Master’s hands in his?

In reality it only meant that when Kasia did come back the next day, Rowe despised himself for the brief flash of relief. The man he was at the mercy of had returned to torture him another day.

Kasia had brought more chains, and restraints, always in his duffle bag, and Rowe had quickly learnt to shrink away at the mere sight of it. Rowe stayed curled up on the floor as he entered, eyeing him like a kicked dog.

“Did you miss me, pup?”

“Please,” he replied hoarsely. “Please give me f-food. Please.”

Rowe would never have dared beg with his first Master. But he had always known that he would be fed, eventually, once he had learnt his lesson. And of course, he’d never needed to beg Master Tomas. But here, there weren’t any rules. Nothing was guaranteed. So fuck it, he might as well try to prolong his life.

“Today’s your lucky day. I actually brought something. You’ll have to earn it, though. No getting on my fucking nerves, yeah?”

You’re the one who chooses to come here, Rowe thought despairingly.

“Okay, okay, just please-“

“Didn’t you just hear me?” Kasia kicked him in the stomach and Rowe moaned. He nodded, wincing as the burns on his neck pressed together.

“Arms up, come on.”

. . .

Tomas had made it from the shower to the downstairs sofa, and he was content with that. Not proud, no, proud would imply he was happy with himself in some way, but at least he wasn’t completely catatonic today. Luca had texted saying to answer the door if it rang, and a part of Tomas still wanted to impress him, despite it all. So he had showered and brushed the last of the blood from his hair. God, how many days had it been?

A small movement on the floor caught his eye. A spider, out of reach, too far to feasibly get him. He felt acutely aware of his own apathy then, as instead of shrieking or running away, he just stared.

The chance of the spider hurting him was practically zero. And yet he was still afraid. Afraid of it crawling over his skin, afraid that it might come near him in the night when he was asleep and vulnerable, and although he knew deep down that it wouldn’t, there was always the possibility of it deciding to run up his leg at any given moment. Even being near it made him afraid.

He thought of Rowe. He felt like he understood something. He sighed.

Luca arrived not half an hour later, banging on the door and shouting for Tomas as if nothing was wrong.

“Hey! It’s me- don’t leave me outside on this cold night. I’m only an orphan boy.”

Tomas pulled the door open. He couldn’t smile, but seeing Luca felt like the weight in his stomach was lifted slightly.

“It’s not cold. And you’re not an orphan.”

“I am happy to see you, though,” Luca said calmly. He was holding a basket, its contents hidden under a teatowel. “I brought you a pull-yourself-together hamper. Some ready meals, dry shampoo, fruit, and stuff. And the teatowel. ‘Cause why not.”

Already Tomas could feel Luca’s warmth seeping into him. He put a hand over his mouth and nodded. “Than- thanks, thank you, you know you don’t owe me anything-“

“I know, handsome lad. But the thought of Rowe being kidnapped is- god, it’s awful. Don’t worry, I’m here of my own free will. Sometimes you just need someone else in the house.”

Tomas let him inside, feeling guilty about the mess, then feeling guilty because he was the one who allowed it to accumulate.

“Let’s open a window,” Luca suggested, and Tomas sloped over. “Want me to get that spider?”

He shook his head, trying uselessly to hide his face. “It’s fine, it’s fine, you can let it stay, I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m-“

His own voice cracking cut him off but he pressed on.

“I’m fine, I really am.”

“You’re not. It’s okay.”

“Just- how- how the fuck did I let this happen. How did I not, I mean, I trusted him this whole- whole time and now it’s all gone wrong and-“

He sat heavily on the floor, leaning his face into the side of the sofa, not blinking, not seeing. He breathed out and time seemed to slow.

Luca’s hand rested on his shoulder, a gentle pressure to his fingers.

“What’s done is done. You can’t help Rowe by falling apart, and you definitely can’t help yourself like that either. It’s, ah, it’s hard. It’s really hard. But you can collapse and cry and disintegrate when Rowe is back, I promise. Do you know where Kasia lives?”

Tomas nodded. “I haven’t even thought about that. I can’t believe myself.”

“Hey, no falling apart okay?” Luca’s tone was firm, and it made Tomas pull his head up, to look at him. His hair, braided in two chunky plaits, hung asymmetrically, one past his collarbone and one down his back. His eyeliner was winged like the letter V, drawn out in a point that came sharply back over his eyelid. Pretty. “That’s good to know, though. You could catch him on his way in or out, try to strike up a deal, I don’t know. I’ve not exactly had any experience with kidnappings either.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking stupid isn’t it. This whole situation is stupid. Fuck.”

Luca just looked at him, a sad smile ghosting over his face.

“I just can’t stop thinking about all the things that might be happening,” Tomas confessed. “He’s unhinged, he really is. He’s sick. And he’s got Rowe and the police don’t care, no one cares.”

“I care. You care.”

Tomas didn’t reply and the words hung over them. Two people caring wasn’t much. But, he supposed, it was better than nothing.

. . .

Rowe’s arms would dislocate, they would they absolutely would, Kasia was setting him up to dislocate both his god damn shoulders or arms or whatever. Rowe could hardly tell where the pain was located, it felt like it was everywhere, burning through his like a fire burns a taut string.

The food- dog food, but still edible, still something- sat before him, emptied on the floor, and from where Rowe knelt he should’ve been able to lean and eat easily. But Kasia had his arms bound and tied to the bars of the cage door, pulling them back and turning any movement into agony. Not only was he bent out of shape, but the burns along his shoulders were irritated awfully. He was sure his skin would burst open any second.

It had been twenty minutes at most, and already he was exhausted. Sweat rolled down him, dripping off his nose. He could hardly breathe.

Kasia’s heavy boot pressed down on the crown of his head, and his moan quickly became a scream of pain.

“No, no please!”

“I thought you were hungry. I’m helping.”

The pressure doubled, forcing Rowe’s face closer to the dog food, until he was close enough to open his mouth and take a bite. Disgust flooded him, and it only increased when he chewed. He swallowed past the collar, his throat pressing uncomfortably against it, and oh god, it felt so good, it was food in his belly, he was thankful for it despite everything. Kasia seemed satisfied and released his boot, sending Rowe’s head springing back to relieve the pressure on his shoulders. The skin near his burns had ripped and were bleeding, but nothing was dislocated.

“You’re definitely still hungry. How about another bite?”

Before Rowe could speak, Kasia had grabbed a fistful of hair, shoving him down, the sudden pull on his arms a thousand times worse than before, worse than anything, the pain was clouding his mind and he couldn’t think of anything but the barest, most built-in responses.

He screamed.

Spit flew from his mouth. Kasia kept pressing, his fingers curling tighter together, and the burning on Rowe’s scalp joined the rest of his body. His fingers were surely purple with how hard Kasia had tied them. Rowe had lost all feeling beyond his wrists.

“Please!”

Kasia ignored him.

“Please, st-stop, please M-M-Master Tomas help me-“

“He’s not fucking coming you stupid dog,” Kasia growled and pulled Rowe’s face all the way down, cracking his chin against the concrete, a deep shooting pain through his face and remaining teeth. He moaned. More skin tore along his shoulders. “No one’s coming to save you.”

A kick sent him lurching to the side, twisting his body until he was sprawled with his back to the floor, staring up at his bound hands, which were a mixture of blue and purple and were not moving at all.

He turned his head to see Kasia grabbing a fistful of the dog food from the floor and stepping over him.

“Mouth open.” Rowe complied and Kasia smiled mockingly. “Good boy.”

The dog food was shoved in, packing against the walls of his mouth, Kasia’s fingers prodding his gums, and it took everything not to vomit. His stomach heaved but nothing came. All he could do was be a good boy, and eat.

“Tomas isn’t your Master. He’s not coming.”

Present tense, thought Rowe as his eyes watered from the taste. He’s not dead.

. . .

Tomas couldn’t stop his legs from shaking as he stood on Kasia’s street, his hands tucked under his armpits for warmth. Yeah, the shaking was definitely just from the cold. Sure.

By the time Kasia appeared, it was night. He stalked down the street, stumbling slightly, and Tomas realised he was drunk. If he hadn’t had a reason to be there, he would have walked away right now, and fast.

When Kasia got close enough, Tomas stepped out of the shadows, forcing Kasia to stop and fix him with a glare.

“Give him back.”

“Or what?” he asked flatly, as if this meeting was no surprise. “Hah, you look like shit Tomas.”

“Give him fucking back, what do you want for him, money? You’re torturing a human being you sick fuck.”

“I’m having some fun with a Pet,” Kasia smiled. “And if you start whining like this I will just kill him.”

Tomas stiffened. “You wouldn’t.”

“You so sure about that?”

“Let him go.”

“No,” Kasia pushed him once and Tomas stumbled back, hitting a wall. He blinked and Kasia’s face was pressed up in front of his. He stank of booze and cigarettes. “Fuck off or I’ll kill him. I’ll hurt him worse to make up for this, too.”

“No, fuck no just leave him fucking alone-“

Kasia swung once, but mercifully something made him miss. Carelessness, the alcohol, perhaps just the assumption that Tomas was too pathetic to move out of the way. His fist cracked against the wall and as he shouted in pain Tomas considered kicking him between the legs, spitting on him, whatever. But Rowe’s life was at stake so, like the coward he was, he ran into the night, Kasia shouting taunts behind him.

Luca looked up when he pushed through the door, panting. He’d run the entire way. Luca stayed silent; the look on Tomas’s face was telling enough.

“I’m a fucking failure,” he whispered, and started to cry.

#whump #pet whump #whump fic #dehumanisation #tomas and rowe #mine #enjoy!#i hope this is a satisfying chapter #will tungle tag people in this? who knows

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lilyofthesword-writes · 3 years

Text

Rain

Request by: @creeping156tin

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Word Count: 1,422

Warnings/Disclaimers: Starts off sounding a bit angsty but turns fluffy about midway through.

A/N: First request! Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Whoever glorified adventuring was not being one hundred percent accurate. It had its moments - a cool breeze under the warm sun, the moonlight cascading through a canopy of tree leaves, a quick skirmish to spice things up... But others are rarely mentioned. It was one of those instances you found yourself in right now. As much as you enjoyed your newfound companionship in the Fellowship, the brooding thunderstorm overhead was enough to squelch the mood for anyone.

Aragorn, like the rain, refused to let up, wanting to cover as much ground as possible during the day. They had yet to reach the Path of Caradhras to cross over the Misty Mountains. The sooner you all could reach Mordor to destroy the Ring, the better. That was about the only thing keeping the misery of tangled hair and soaked, mucky shoes at bay.

You barely took notice of the shift in light indicating the setting sun, the dark clouds shielding out most of the light to begin with. Far at the head of the group, Legolas jogged up to Aragorn and halted him with a hand on his shoulder. They spoke low, almost frantically, as they waited for the rest of the Fellowship to catch up. Furrowing your brows, you picked up your pace to keep up. Were they arguing? Legolas glanced behind them, worry lines etched on his forehead upon catching your confused gaze.

Shaking his head with a huff, Aragorn spoke up for everyone to hear him, “There is a cave up ahead. We shall rest there for the night.”

The sigh of relief was unanimous with the Hobbits being the most vocal about it. Well, it was mostly Merry and Pippin.

“It’s about time!” Merry started.

“My feet are so muddy, it makes me wish hobbits wore shoes,” Pippin complained, kicking his feet as he walked in an effort to remove the excess muck.

You swiped at some of the hair the rain plastered to your forehead with a laugh. “And to think I was just wishing I did not need shoes. These are absolutely drenched!” You teased.

Despite the torrential downpour, the cave was nice and dry. Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas went off to search for wood while the rest of you prepared for camp. After helping set up the three’s bedrolls for them, you snuck off to a hidden alcove at the back of the cave to quickly change into dry clothes.

There wasn’t much luck finding dry wood for the fire, but Gandalf made up for that with the help of his staff. Sam started cooking over the fire while everyone else huddled close to it for warmth, clothing strewn about nearby in hopes they would be dry by morning.

Dinner would still be a ways off, so you took the time you had to fix your hair to some extent. Undoing the braids, you carefully combed your fingers through the strands to rid them of the knots and tangles caused by the wretched rain. A small hiss of pain made its way to your ears, Legolas as its origin. Seems he had the same idea as you though he certainly had more difficulty with it.

Even elves could not fully combat the natural elements. His nearly white golden locks, normally plaited and draping past his shoulders without a thread out of place, were tangled and beginning to frizz, though not nearly as terrible as yours. His nose adorably scrunched upwards with every snag he ran into. Of course you wanted to help the elf who you had been fancying since you met him in Rivendell. You plucked yourself up from your spot and quietly sat next to the elf prince.

“You sound like you are having trouble. Would you like help?” you said trying to keep your voice light.

Legolas stilled a moment before huffing and running through another set of tangles. “I am, yes. I would much appreciate your assistance,” he relented, his voice barely above a whisper, cheeks dusted pink.

You nodded with a reassuring smile as you moved to kneel behind him to be at the right height. Gently pulling his hair behind his shoulders, you started working through the ends. As you made your way higher in his blonde locks, you couldn’t help but notice how soft it was despite the recent harsh rain and general outdoor exposure. The closer you were to the roots, the silkier the threads became.

“Is this alright?” You wanted to be sure you were not hurting him.

All you received was a nod. Legolas had peacefully closed his eyes and was leaning into your touch.

You were rather surprised at how much you enjoyed combing someone else’s hair, even going so far as to tenderly run your nails across his scalp as you untangled the remainder of his tresses, eliciting a quiet yet content sigh from him. If only you could keep doing this. Pulling back, you sat on your heels in contemplation.

A small part of you realized this was the closest you had ever been to the elf. You usually kept quiet and towards the rear of the troupe, preferring to watch from afar, content with the friendship you currently held.

“Would you like me to braid it for you like you had before?” You tried to hide the hopeful tinge seeping out of your voice.

“Please.” He looked over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth tugged slightly upwards.

You carded your finger through one section of hair and picked up a small part to begin the first braid. Taking your time, you delicately weaved the strands together with the utmost care to replicate the style he had before the storm. To your disappointment, it did not take long to complete no matter how slowly you moved.

Before you could pull away to say you were finished, Legolas swiveled around to take your hand in his. The elf’s sky blue eyes held a candied innocence as he brushed his lips against your knuckles. “Thank you,” he spoke his words just as softly.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks. You had surely not expected that much of a response. “You-you’re welcome. I’m happy to help.”

Across the other side of the fire, Merry and Pippin could be heard as snickered whispers. They kept looking up at the two of you with mirthful eyes as they nudged Frodo for his attention. He merely smiled and shook his head. Boromir was pointedly looking away like he was on watch. Gandalf was definitely smiling as he smoked his pipe, and Aragorn hid his tiny smirk behind a fake grimace while sharpening his blade. Sam was the only one who was genuinely immersed in his own deed of cooking a stew large enough to feed everyone. To be honest, you had been so focused on Legolas, you forgot about the others.

Legolas mutely cleared his throat, his ears now tinged red as he made the same observations. “Mele-Mellon nin,” he corrected himself before continuing shyly, “Would you like for me to help with your hair?”

This was happening. This was actually happening. You swallowed to keep your pounding heart from leaping out of your throat. “Y-yes, please. That would be nice.”

You shuffled forward closer to the fire as he situated himself behind you, settling on his knees with you in between. He started just as you had, starting with the ends and slowly gliding up to your roots. His fingers tenderly massaged your scalp before taking up some of your locks to plait. You now understood his bliss from earlier as it flowed through your relaxing muscles. This needed to happen more often, not just on an adventure.

Legolas finished interlacing your hair in a flash, his fingers much more adept to the craft despite elven tresses being much easier to work with. Swinging around, he replanted himself next to you.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it,” you smiled softly at him.

His lips mirrored yours. “It was a pleasure.” He placed a hand over yours and sucked in a breath. “Mellon nin, you are freezing!”

He squeezed your digits before letting go to wrap an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. You were a little confused by his sudden actions. You didn’t feel that cold, but he was definitely warmer by comparison, so who were you to complain. Resting your head on his shoulder, you felt more at peace than you ever had. Maybe the storm wasn’t so bad after all.

#legolas x reader #legolas x you #legolas #legolas imagine #lord of the rings #lotr #lotr imagine #lord of the rings imagine #request #fellowship #fellowship of the ring #Aragorn #Gandalf #Boromir #Frodo #samwise gamgee #frodo baggins #merry #pippin

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imomomi · 4 years

Photo

Word Count: 4,007

Warnings: Spoilers for the Nationals Arc

April 2012

It was Osamu who convinced her to become their manager. A whole year of begging and bringing her food, had softened her and now Y/N found herself sheepishly leaving her classroom with Osamu and Atsumu gripping each shoulder. Afraid that she would run away, they’d come to escort her to Gym B where the rest of the volleyball team was waiting in anticipation of their new manager. Personally, she wanted to beat the twins over the head with her bag, but every time she’d fought with them Aran somehow found out and would yell at them for hours.

“You know if you two were nicer, maybe there’d be more girls interested in doing this,” muttered Y/N. The urge to dig her feet into the ground and refuse to move grew stronger the closer they got. Atsumu and Osamu shared a grin over her shoulders.

Atsumu ducked and grabbed her knees while Osamu wrapped an arm around her torso holding her up. Y/N shrieked and kicked at the laughing blonde. Her bag slipped from her shoulder, only to be caught by Osamu who nearly dropped her while catching it. A bright burst of anger filled her beat only by the sudden urge to laugh as they hurried past their perplexed schoolmates.

“I’m wearing a skirt, you idiot. Let go,” she shouted, pulling the hem down as far as it would go. Atsumu swung her legs wildly, laughing again as she screamed.

“Nah-uh, Y/N-chan, you’ll run away,” grinned Atsumu widely.

“I’ll kill you both.”

“Big words for someone at our mercy,” said Osamu, jerking his arms to the side.

“What are you two doing,” Aran asked in horror as they arrived. Y/N hung limply between the two brothers only to be dropped as the twins straightened up. Groaning, she rolled over, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks.

“L/N, you alright?”

“Just kill me now,” said Y/N burying her face into her hands. The team shared matching grins, but dropped them as a boy with silver hair, the ends dipped in black, quietly asked them to move.

“You two shouldn’t rough-house with a girl like that,” said the boy. He walked forward, kneeling down before her and offered her a handkerchief. Y/N took it gingerly, wondering what she was supposed to do it with. Her clothes were covered in dirt and her face was probably smeared with it as well. Atsumu glanced down, meeting her eye. His shoulders shook dangerously even as he met Aran’s gaze again.

“I’m Kita Shinsuke. I apologize on the twin’s behalf.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get them back,” promised Y/N. Her eyes glittered with a hint of danger.

“Seeking revenge will only cause you pain,” Kita scolded, “Accept their apology and let them learn from it.”

Osamu twitched, hand flying to his mouth to choke back his laugh as Y/N’s eyes widened. Why was she getting scolded when the twins were the ones who had been misbehaving?

“You alright?” Aran asked, hands pressed tightly on her shoulders as he looked over her for any injuries. “Thought I told you to stop messing around with the twins.”

“They kidnapped me, Ojiro-senpai.”

“Don’t pulled the senpai card. It doesn’t work on me,” said Aran, but his lips twitched into a reluctant smile despite his words. He offered her hand which she eagerly took.

“This is L/N Y/N,” Aran said. “Somehow Dumb and Dumber convinced her to be our manager, so try not to act like you usually do.”

“She’ll eat you for breakfast if you do. Like Kaonashi,” said Atsumu. Y/N rolled her eyes, pulling her skirt straight and attempting to fix her wrinkled blouse. Aran’s fingers brushed the top of her head, smoothing down locks of hair that had escaped her braid.

“Don’t listen to them. They barely managed to learn how read, let alone play volleyball,” she said. Aran laughed behind her, the sound low and rumbling like the purr of a cat. It warmed her to her bones and a hint of a flush entered her cheeks, reminding her once more why she had been avoiding being manager in the first place.

June 21, 2012: 15:21

Kibasen was the stupidest thing they could get caught playing. Y/N knew she shouldn’t have listened when they first suggested it, but somehow, she ended up sitting on top of Suna’s shoulders while Osamu sat on top of Atsumu’s. The twins were still fighting over the fact that Osamu was on top, while Y/N attempted to tie the bandana around her head as tightly as possibly.

“Don’t let me fall,” said Y/N to Suna. He tilted his head back slightly and sighed loudly.

“Whatever,” he said.

“Oi, Y/N prepare to lose.”

“I thought horses couldn’t talk,” she said. Osamu howled in laughter, nearly toppling over had Atsumu not been holding him so tightly.

Osamu came in hard, pulling and tugging at her hair to get the bandana off. He barely filched as her fingers dug into his forearms and attempted to shake him off. They’re wobbling all over the place, spurred on by the cheers of the first and second years.

“Come on, give up,” whined Osamu.

“Ugh, my scalp is literally gonna fall off, you bastard. Stop it,” she shouted back.

Her finger got right under the bandana, ready to pull it off, when the gym door flew open. The look of complete bewilderment on Aran’s face was almost worth the scolding they would get from Kita.

“Do I need to get a babysitter for all of you?” Aran asked. She laughed, clutching Suna’s hair for dear life when he jerked forward in an attempt to throw her off.

“If I say it’s not what it looks like, would you believe me?” she asked. Aran shook his head and sighed in the same breath. She clambered off Suna, ducking beneath Kita’s cold stare.

“Why do I always find you in some sort of trouble?” Aran muttered. He helped her down, shooing Suna in Kita’s direction. Y/N smiled up at him, hoping he wouldn’t notice how sweaty she was.

“I’m trying to make your life interesting, senpai.”

“Try a little less,” he said. The warm grin he gave her sent a jolt right through her spine, “And stop calling me senpai. It’s creepy coming from you.”

“Yes, Aran-san,” she said. He groaned, dropping his head into the palm of his hands for a moment. She took slight pleasure in his annoyance, wondering how far she could push his buttons. Watching Aran yell at the twins was an experience in its own, but he was unknowingly funny when he was trying to prove his point. Once, she had claimed that the US hadn’t landed on the moon, just to watch him try and disprove her every argument.

“Oi, do you have to be so….”

“So what? Cute? Pretty? Adorable? Sma-“

“Annoying.”

“Ouch, that almost hurt.”

“I doubt it.

“Well, all that exercise made me hungry. Buy me food.”

“Don’t you have parents? Ask them.”

“Be a good senpai, Aran.”

“No. Go away.”

“Aran, I want food…. noodles and goyza. Or rice? BBQ? Chicken? I can’t choose,” she muttered under her breath.

“Just ten minutes of peace, that’s all I want.”

June 21, 2012 18: 55

“Ohhhh,” said Osamu. He leaned in close enough that she could smell a hint of mint on his breath and flicked her on the forehead. “Someone has a crush.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, grabbing his sleeve as she looked around. Osamu laughed, throwing an arm over her shoulder. She wished suddenly that she could be like him or Atsumu. The twins never worried about right or wrong. They were creatures of pure passion, throwing themselves forward without a care of the consequences. But, Y/N was too proud to declare that she was envious of their attitudes. Her caution was often mocked, but it had helped her more times than not.

“Just tell him,” Osamu shrugged. She closed her eyes, pressing away the storm of thoughts raging in her mind.

She nursed the small flame of affection. Aran didn’t need to know. No one did. She pulled away from Osamu. A frown entering his brow, as if he were annoyed or confused at her lack of an answer. He let her drift off further ahead, hands twisting and untwisting before her. They were still young, years down the line they might resent each other for whatever relationship they had. She didn’t want that.

A tense silence settled in her body, the sort of silence that comes before a clap of thunder. If the choice lay between having Aran and losing him, she’d always—without a doubt in her mind—pick having him in her life. Aran and her might never be more than friends and she was okay with that. Besides, she’d never loved anyone in her life and doubted that she loved Aran. She was simply drawn to the brightness that surrounded him like a moth pressing closer to a lone lantern.

She paused, waiting for Osamu to catch up.

“What?” he asked.

“What do you mean what?”

“You look crazy. It’s making me nervous.”

“Shut up,” she muttered. They were approaching the end of the block and the familiar scent of food rose in the air, chicken, and the slight char of BBQ from the restaurants lined up and down the street. She and Osamu exchanged matching grins. Her parents would yell at her later for wasting money on food when they had some at home, but her and Osamu were too far gone to care about such things.

August 26, 2012

Summer vacation with the team meant taking a bonding trip out to Tokimeki. It also meant snapping at the various gawking idiots who muttered under their breath about foreigners. Snapping did nothing stop the stares coming from people who were used to seeing their own face reflected in everyone around them.

If they felt or saw her annoyance growing, no one said anything about it, sharing the same tenseness that she did. Only Kita had a sense of calm about him as they switched trains. Y/N moved closer to Aran shoving herself between the twins. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before he reached over and took her bag from her, tossing it at one of the twins.

“What did you pack? That was heavy,” he asked with a frown. Y/N looked up glad to have a distraction. It was odd seeing everyone not in uniforms. The Pokémon t-shirt he wore was slightly faded from constant wear. She wondered if it was his favorite or if someone had gifted it to him and he’d taken to wearing it often.

“Clothes, snacks, and my manga collection.”

“I’m stealing some of that.”

“I don’t think my shirts will fit you, Aran.”

“You’re the worse person I’ve ever met in my life.”

“Wow, save that passion for the be-“Aran put his hand over her mouth, muffling the rest of her words as a small child gazed at them with curiosity. He laughed awkwardly as Kita turned towards them with a raised brow. Her tongue darted out from behind her lips and licked the palm of his hand. Aran didn’t even flinch and gave her a warning glance.

“Promise not to say anything inappropriate.”

She nodded and the moment he let go uttered the word bedroom as loudly as she could.

August 29, 2012

The beach was as horrible as she imagined. Suna refused to give up any space beneath the umbrella, stating that if he got a sunburn he couldn’t play. She was stuck sweating beneath the hot sun, wondering if the water was as cold as everyone said it was.

“I miss spring,” she muttered, pulling her hair up. The back of her neck was slick with sweat and she felt her annoyance with the world grow with every passing second.

“Let’s go get ice-cream,” Aran suggested. He threw her a look of pity, holding his hand out for her. Y/N took it eagerly, ignoring the snickers coming off the twins.

“It’s not that hot,” Aran said with a laugh.

“I know that, but something about the heat just shortens my temper,” answered Y/N. Aran shook his head and laughed.

“Really? You with a short temper?” he asked. She winced, thinking of all those times she’d been caught by him fighting with the twins.

“It’s not that short,” she muttered, instantly glaring at the sand that wavered from the heat.

“At least I have backup for the twins now. I swear I saw Kita’s eye twitch last week,” he said with a laugh.

They walked along the shore in comfortable silence, Aran’s height shielding her slightly from the sun. The cool summer breeze and icy water are enough to calm her down slightly. Her nerves came racing back, twisting dangerously in her gut. Even as they reached the ice-cream stand—how did Aran know her favorite—Y/N’s words repeatedly failed her. Part of her was afraid to break the peaceful quiet they had settled in. She liked that they didn’t need words between them. But another part ached to say something, anything to get rid of the constant anxiety that cropped up when she was alone with him. Did he know she had a crush on him? Sometimes she thought he did, and the fear of rejection circled through her like vultures over a carcass.

“You know,” Aran said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, “When we first met, I honestly thought you were insane.”

“What?”

“You were just so loud; it was a bit scary.”

“I’m loud because people are dumb. Especially adults.”

“I know, but you looked crazy as a kid, screaming like a maniac at everyone…but, I’m glad you never grew out of it.”

“I had a giant crush on you,” she admitted. Aran choked on his ice-cream, coughing roughly as her faced her head on. His eyebrows rose high as he searched for a response but failed to find one.

“It was during that training camp. I came to show Atsumu how cool the bandage looked on my arm and he kept making fun of me for falling in the first place and then you told him to stop because he’d hit the net face first. That was the highlight of my year,” said Y/N.

“Wh..what? Why? For how long?”

“Should I tell you?” she teased and stopped walking, “I was probably insane back then.”

“Yes! You can’t just tell someone something like that and not explain. It’s human decency,” said Aran, waving his ice-cream about. She watched as it fell from the cone towards the ground with a splat. Her laugh, high pitched and louder than most, sounded in the air. Aran sighed, grumbling about how he needed a new team and should have stayed home. Y/N felt lighter then she had in a while.

October 19, 2012

With a flick of his wrist, he tapped the ball over the net between the blockers that had lined up in front of Aran and Suna. With a smirk, Atsumu landed back on his feet, winking at a fuming Uchida. If he hissed anymore, Atsumu would mistake her for a snake.

“You didn’t think I’d let you scare me, did you, Uchida-chan?” he mocked. Aran clapped him on the back. One more and the match would be over.

“You’re such a bastard,” Uchida muttered across the net. Aran smiled, a cutting grin that lacked any of his usual calm. Aran wanted to retort that being bastards was what made them win games but felt that it was a bit cruel for a team about to lose their chance to go to Nationals.

“Keep that to yourself,” Aran said, pulling a fuming Atsumu away from the net. “Don’t bother with them. Just win.”

“Hey, I’m not dumb. I know that.”

“Just serve and watch out for my head,” said Aran. He glanced to the side once where Y/N was pacing as she watched the game. He was surprised to find that she was dealing with the stress well. During their very first match, she had promptly vomited all over Kita on the bus ride over to the gym. If anyone doubted Kita’s status as a saint, it was reaffirmed as he calmly cleaned up the mess and pulled out medicine that he bought in anticipation of someone puking.

She sent him a thumbs up once she noticed his gaze. Her smile came out more like a grimace and the green tint to her face worried him slightly. He wondered how it was possible for someone to be so confident everywhere else and turn into a nervous wreck at the thought of losing a game.

At the sound of the whistle, Atsumu tossed the ball in the air. Silence followed his steps. The lack of spin made it easy to hit and as he landed back, he watched as the ball swerved in the air, towards the back line. Sato got a hand on it, but the ball veered left towards the crowd. There was a scramble, Uchida and Midori jumping over one another to try and reach it. The ball hit the ground with a resounding thud, echoed by the loud trill of horns as Inarizaki’s band started back up.

“YES!” Akagi shouted, turning around and jumping on top of him. Atsumu caught him, only to stumble as Osamu and Ginjima latched onto him.

They were going to Nationals. His last one. Something hot and heavy burned its way through his body. They would win, Aran thought. He didn’t care how. He didn’t who they went against. Inarizaki would emerge as the champions. Like the throbbing beat of a drum, it echoed through their minds as they turned to each other. One by one, little by little, they would topple the other teams.

December 24, 2012

Aran wasn’t sure how he’d gotten dragged out of the house on Christmas Eve, but Y/N has somehow ushered him into his jacket and tossed a greeting to his mother in the same breath before he’d gotten kidnapped. Snow fell in small light flurries around them. The smell of chestnuts and roasted yams filled the air. He tried not to think about all the couples around them, celebrating the holiday together. His Christmas’s at home might be more American thanks to his mother, but he’d grown up here where Christmas Eve was Valentine’s day 2.0.

Y/N didn’t seem to notice or care. She rarely did, even if it sometimes embarrassed him how oblivious she was to the fact that people thought they were a couple when they hung out. He’d tried to get her out of his mind, but it seemed impossible when she was there all the time.

“Look the Christmas Tree,” she said, racing forward to look at the extravagant light display in the middle of the square. He bit back a smile at the accent marring the word Christmas. Growing up in a half-American, half-Japanese household had given him an advantage over his class when it came to English. He was always quick to point it out when his teammates or Y/N attempted to show off their skills in the language.

“Slow down,” he called out. She looked back, realizing that he hadn’t followed her and waited patiently.

“You’re the athlete, move it.”

“The tree isn’t going anywhere. It’s nice out, let’s just enjoy it.”

“Ahh, but then we will be late for dinner.”

“Dinner? Y/N, what the hell? Why didn’t you tell me before we left?”

“I was afraid you would say no,” she said, softly. She gazed away from him, leaving him surprised by the low slope of her shoulders and the slight flush on her face. He sighed, tugging her hand out of her pocket and laced their fingers together. Her hand was smaller and smoother than his, but the feeling of her warm palm against his felt right. He swallowed hard and looked away from her bright eyes.

He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t ever tell her no, but the words were stuck in his throat. He settled for holding onto her hand for as long as she’d let him. Eventually, the weight of her hand in his fades away and hours later, when they’ve walked in circles, snacking on food from each of the market stalls, carrying small gifts between them, does he realize that they’d never even made it to the restaurant.

January 6th, 2012

“You’re crying,” Kita said. He was gazing at her as if he’d never really seen her before. Y/N shook it off, wiping her tears off with the back of her palm. She felt like a fool, crying like a child over the loss of a game. For Atsumu and Osamu there was always next year, but for the third years, this had been their last chance. Seeing how hard they fought, to the very end of the match, left a dull ache in her heart. It wasn’t fair, she thought. To have gone so far at Inter-High and be out in their first match at Nationals. In that moment, she hated their stupid logo. Why shouldn’t they have memories? Kita and the rest wouldn’t disappear after this year, they deserved to be remembered.

“Sorry,” she muttered. Kita reached into his jacket pocket and silently handed her a handkerchief. She had the unexplainable urge to hug him.

“There isn’t any reason to apologize, L/N-san. I understand how you are feeling. If I could ask for more time together as a team, I would,” he smiled, softly. Y/N’s breath stuttered, stunned because she doubted, she'd ever seen him smile, “But we played a good match, don’t you think so?”

“The best,” she swore.

“Then save your tears for something more important. We have no regrets, so you shouldn’t be upset.” Kita stared at her for a moment longer, before nodding his head towards Aran. “You should tell him, L/N-chan. I think right now, he would be happy to hear it.”

It’s the push that Y/N needed. A bought of bravery or stupidity or both fill her. Y/N had hidden behind her own fears for so long, she had begun to think it was normal. But she’d never been the type to hold back.

“Ojiro Aran,” Y/N said, forcefully. Aran looked away from Suna, grimacing as he caught sight of her swollen eyes.

“Hey, they’ll win next time,” he said. Y/N shook her head, scoffing at his foolishness in the moment.

“I like you. I’ve like you ever since we first met and it’s okay if you don’t like me. I just wanted you to know and well, I’m sorry that you lost, but you’ll be a good playe-“

She was cut off by his hand on her mouth.

“I’m supposed to say it frist,” he said. He pulled his hand away only to cup her cheek gently. She leaned into the touch, afraid that if she moved, it would all turn into a dream. He moved closer, closing the gap between them. She kissed his jaw, dragging her lips to meet his. His lips, hot and sweet, taste of the honeyed lemons he had earlier. Aran swelled beneath her touch, like the first bloom of spring. He pulled her flush against him, the movement full of longing. She could smell nothing but him, the sharp sent of fire, the warmth of the earth.

Y/N does not know how long they are there. She drank him in, each sweetened breath, each movement of his lips. She thought, that this is the closest to happy she has been.

The moment was broken by Atsumu whistling sharply as he clapped the two of them on the back. Aran immediately pulled away, retorting sharply that he shouldn’t make a scene after he’d lost the game.

Y/N sighed, resigning herself to her fate. Despite all her complaints, she wouldn’t trade this team for the world. A glance at Kita told her that he wouldn’t either.

General Taglist: @haikyuuopalite @raenebalgaire

#aran ojiro #Haikyuu x reader #aran x reader #ojiro x reader #haikyuu #ojiro aran x reader #ojiro aran scenarios #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu oneshot

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xxlauraxsophiexx · 3 years

Text

Daryl x reader: Haircut

Here is a Daryl Dixon x reader one shot. No smut, except a short make out session.

I’m sorry for my bad English, it’s not my native language.

Sadly I don’t own The Walking Dead or the characters.

The wind was cold and made goosebumps run down your (y/n) arms. Dusk had already fallen. Exhausted from the long day, you could feel yourself lacking a little more strength with each step you took. The leaves rustled and the trees swayed back and forth in the wind.

"How much longer?" you complained.

Daryl sighed and replied annoyed, "About 20 more minutes, girl. If you'd hurry up a bit, we'll get to Alexandria before nightfall too!"

Rolling your eyes, you walked behind your friend. You didn't bother to be quiet. The leaves rustled and branches broke as soon as you stepped on them.

"I'm hurrying, but I really can't go on. My legs hurt, I'm sweaty, my hair is covered in dirt, I'm hungry and..."

Daryl's hand shot up. A sign to be quiet. As quietly as you could, you crept over to the tree behind which Daryl was spooked.

"What's going on?" you whispered.

Daryl glanced over his shoulder and pulled you in front of his chest, still hiding behind the large tree. Gently, he placed a hand on your head and gently stroked his fingers through your hair, which reached above your hips. You loved it when he did that and he also liked your incredibly long hair, which lay perfectly around your curves. He turned his head to the left and in your field of vision were about twenty biters stumbling through the undergrowth.

You were exhausted and you knew Daryl had little energy left too. It had been a long and eventful day that you would certainly not soon forget. Annoyed, you let out a heavy breath.

"Let's wait a minute and then quickly go past them."

You nodded silently and looked at the dead but still moving figures.

After about 5 minutes, most of the strange figures had passed. Cautiously, Daryl and you stepped out from behind the tree. Daryl with his crossbow in his hand and you with a knife.

You walked up to an undead and framed your knife in its skull. After he fell to the ground, you ran to the next one and rammed a knife into his skull as well. Just as you were about to run further, you were pulled back by your long hair, which hurt a little. As far as you could see over your shoulder, you saw a bony hand of an undead raking your hair. You stumbled forward and fell to the forest floor, the undead half on your back. It tried to bite into your throat. Lying on your stomach with the undead knotted in your hair, it was hard to keep the creature away from you, but you tried as best you could.

"Head down."

As your friend said, so did you. A few seconds later you felt the figure slump on top of you and finally cold, cees blood dripping onto your shoulders.

Quickly, two more arrows shot through the air. They bounded into the monsters forehead and they fell limply to the ground.

Daryl came running over to you and carefully tried to pry the undead's hand out of your long hair, which was becoming more and more saturated with the bloody substance.

Finally, he lifted the dead man off you and helped you up.

"You okay, sunshine?"

You just nodded briefly and buried your face in his strong chest. Carefully he began to run his hands through your bloody hair and rested his head on yours.

"As much as I love your long hair, I'm afraid you should cut some off".

You loved your long hair and knew he was right somewhere, but still you weren't ready to cut your hair off.

"No!"

"Not even 10 centimetres?"

You sighed. Ten centimetres wasn't very much on you. Your hair would still be exceptionally long. It would end just above your hip bone, which was actually still acceptable.

"All right," you groan out, annoyed.

"Come on, girl. Let's go back."

The warm water felt good on your skin. The blood and dirt coloured the water for a while, but eventually it cleared up. The door opened and Daryl came into the bathroom.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," you murmured as you enjoyed the pleasant feeling of the water splashing down.

The shower door opened and Daryl came in. Despite all the dirt, you wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head against his chest with your eyes closed. Gently, he laid your hair over your right shoulder and began to paint small circles on your lower back. His skin was rough, but you loved the feeling of his movements through your body. Daryl's lips settled on your hairline, making you grumble slightly against his chest. You were sure there was a smile on his face now.

He took a hand from your back and lifted your chin with one finger, making you look into his eyes. A strange feeling, but one you loved, ran through your body. Your lips parted and already his were resting on yours. A soft moan escaped you as he bit your lower lip to gain entry. You gladly granted it and already there was a fight for dominance in your mouth. After winning, he began to run his lips down your neck and under your ear. He spread hasty kisses and sucked in some places that he knew would make you weak. Another moan escaped you and you let your hands wander into his hair, where they tangled.

After a while you both pulled back and you rested your head against his chest again from fatigue. You felt his chest vibrate, so you slapped him lightly on his muscular arms. While you rested against Daryl, he began to wash his hair and body. It wasn't too easy, but he still managed it well. Sighing, he began to wash and rinse your hair as well.

"Come on sunshine, let's get you to bed".

The water stopped raining on the two of you and you felt a towel being placed around your body. Gently your skin was dried and finally you were lifted up by one hand under your knees and one at your back and carried to the bed you shared. Carefully you were laid on the soft mattress and your naked body was covered by a blanket. Half asleep, you noticed Daryl leave again, which is why you started mewling around, "Daryl!"

"I'll be right there y/n."

Sighing, you buried your face in the pillow and waited for Daryl to come back. The light went out and you felt the blanket lift up next to you. Immediately you snuggled up against Daryl's naked torso.

"Have another drink before you sleep."

Annoyed, you groaned and sat up. Gratefully, you accepted Daryl's glass of water and took a few sips. Finally, you gave him back the glass with the cool liquid and snuggled close to his warm body again. He gently stroked your scalp and pulled you close to him with his other arm around your waist.

The last thing you felt was a soft kiss on your hairline and an 'I love you'.

"Come on, let's cut your hair."

You rolled your eyes in annoyance....

"I saw that"

"I saw that," you mimicked him.

In a moment you were lifted up and sat in front of a mirror in the bedroom. Daryl placed a towel around your petite body and took out a pair of scissors.

"Wait. Wait. Wait. Have you done this before?"

Daryl just laughed, "Trust me."

Sceptically you looked at him, "Not too trusting."

Shaking his head he began to comb your hair and part it neatly.

"I'm really not going to cut much off," he tried to reassure you.

"I would hope so if I were you, otherwise I know who won't be having any fun in this room for the next month!"

Rolling his eyes, Daryl began to cut off ten inches of your hair. Taking his time to get the best possible result. After a short while, he finished and took the towel away. Already you were standing and tousling through your hair. It stopped just above your waist and not ten centimetres further as usual.

"At least this way I don't have to worry about you so much anymore. How many times have you gotten your hair tangled in a tree, please? And the chance of you being grabbed by the hair by a biter is also a little less."

"True enough Dixon. I should probably do a braid before we leave the state, though."

"Well, go ahead and make one right now. Rick has asked for our help. We have to leave in an hour," Daryl reported.

"What?" you complained, "I thought we had the day off."

"Stop complaining girl, just get ready. This is going to be a short trip too."

"How many times have I heard that..." you stated rolling your eyes.

"Y/N?!"

You let out an annoyed yell and angrily threw the hairbrush across the bedroom. Daryl came running through the door and looked around the room in confusion. You had already started trying to braid half your hair close to your head and further down. After starting, you gave out annoyed again, because you just couldn't get it to look remotely nice.

Daryl stood behind the chair you were sitting on and began to comb your hair with the hairbrush he had just picked up again.

"What the hell are you doing, Dixon?"

"I'm braiding your hair because you obviously can't do it, sunshine," he instructed you. As he began to braid.

"As if you could do it any better," you said, annoyed and meek.

"Oh sunshine, if you only knew. Before all this I had to learn to braid my little cousin's hair. My dad and his brother were often away for weeks at a time, so Merle and I had to look after the little one. Merle was never the best with little kids, so that was left on me..."

You knew how hard it was for him to talk about anything before the apocalypse. When he finished a page, you turned and took his hand in yours. You kissed his cheek gently and whispered, "I love you".

"I know, I love you too".

It was quiet for a moment you leaned against him.

"Happy with the results?"

You pulled back and started at your reflection.

"Honestly how is it that you're so good at this?"

Daryl just laughed softly in response and started braiding the other half of your hair.

"I already know who's always going to do my hair now," you said confidently.

"Do I look like your personal hairdresser, girl?"

"Yep."

"Dream on, girl".

#daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd #fluff #reader #the walking dead imagines

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 4 years

Text

Golden Prince Naga Boyfriend (Shesmetet) 2

1 [NSFW] - 3 - 4 - 5 (FINALE)

Divine Worship Part 2

“The prince’s betrothed is said to be coming today, from the Garnet Court,” Kira told you in the early hours, her voice chipper for the dawn still rising, “Princess Iseka is said to have the title of Rising Sun, like her mother.”

“I heard she liked to bathe in her handmaiden’s blood, to keep her skin youthful; a sorceress if you ask me.” Thaile: younger than you and waifish in size added behind you, brushing your hair with little consideration to get the tangles out.

“You be careful with that tongue of yours, the Emperor could have it.” Kira hissed, a warning for the younger as she quietened for a moment. “I’m just saying.”

“The Prince won’t like to hear you speak so lowly of his wife-to-be, nor will they allow us to whisper secrets and gossip of her when she arrives at court for the fortnight. Once their vows are said, there will be no hiding from her.” Kira sighed, continuing to bead the headdress for the crown princess; glowing like gilded armour.

If only they knew what the Prince had said to me. A small smile appeared on your face: reminiscing over the Jade Prince’s words. His heat cycle had lasted for the week since you had been bedded to him; surprising to you that he had kept you coming to his chambers in the evenings to help him be rid of it.

You didn’t know how well you would be able to hide it from Princess Amvalma, for your nightly disappearances weren’t asked of or questioned when you had prepared her for sleep.

You weren’t even sure if her brother had been the one to brag to her about being able to bring you to his bed, but you were certain it would’ve taken long before the news would arrive for her to hear. She’s smart, her other handmaidens and ladies-in-waiting aren’t, the news will come swiftly with the wind.

Kira had been asking day in and out about what you got up to with Prince Shesmetet, and although it left you red in the face in sparing the details, she was still fascinated to hear it from you.

‘He seems smitten,’ She smiled to you, a frown forming at her next words, ‘but how long will it go on for?’

Not for so long, but you had been told not to feel disheartened by his lack of visits from you, promising you that final night that he would see you once more. ‘Little one,’ Shesmetet had you curled into his chest, tenderly stroking at the side of your face as your eyes grew tired for slumber, ‘rest assured, I have enjoyed your time too much to see you away so soon.’

But had he been lying? The Jade Court's living family line and its descendants were known for being sly around other nobles - to prosper and be the most known and richest to all the other empires - but he had been so kind to you, enamoured of you that it hurt to not spend evenings with him; held in his arms so lovingly.

It didn’t take long for his passion and physical affections for you to fester and make you feel so very fond of him.

“When will they marry?” You had asked the two, ignoring their talk.

“Before the season of the harvest, his Grace has proclaimed this before Prince Shesmetet’s anniversary of his two-hundred-and-eightieth year,” Kira said.

There was no denying there was a prang in your chest for the information you heard, and although you were simply one of Princess Amvalma’s favoured handmaidens, you yearned for a life where you could simply be more than that; especially in the eyes of the Jade Prince.

The Jade and glittering court had been packed to the brim with staff, lords and ladies alike, both human and Nagas, watching in wonder as they stared to the mighty Emperor, Eirgotzo on his gilded throne of heavy gold, the old emperor was the same colouring as his children, with streaks of grey in his hair for his much longer life; his eyes gold speckled with green, fitting for his title.

His two children stood on the side of him on the steps, dressed in their colours of gold and blacks: you had helped Princess Amvalma dress in an elegant jade with slits on each side of her long onyx tail, the beaded headdress atop her smooth long black hair like millions of glistening teardrops, her mouth always in a relaxed position to laugh.

Her brother was whom you had your eyes on for this time, for he was wearing a rapier attached to his hip for his grandeur, dressed in the familiar shades of gold and blacks with a shimmering sash wrapped around his waist and broad collar in the colours of topaz and gold, his arms crossed over his chest. Compared to in size of his sister, he was taller in height, by only a fraction.

The Rising Sun was as beautiful as she had been described: her tail colour of a flickering flame, her skin was a faded copper, similar to the fiery locks she had braided back behind her ears, and when she moved, you noted the jingles of small gold bells braided through; jingling gleefully.

It didn’t take long for it to annoy you.

The Princess Iseka had reached the steps below the throne, her shimmering bronzed eyes fluttering with the sharp smile she had on her lips, her attention falling to the Jade Prince. “Your Grace, it is an honour to be in your court, I have heard many stories since I was young of how fantastic your empire was.”

“The Rising Sun has a fitting title,” Emperor Eirgotzo replied down to her, smiling but not through his eyes, “We welcome you to the Jade Court.” He gestured to his children to his right.

“My heir and beautiful daughter, the future Jade Empress, Star of the Sea, Princess Amvalma, and my son, The Young Flame and your husband-to-be, Prince Shesmetet.”

“Your Grace, Your Grace,” She sang when she looked especially towards Shesmetet, “I am honoured to finally meet you and to be your wife.”

Reminded of his customs and manners in front of the entirety of court, Shesmetet slithered down to stand just on the step above Iseka, and dutifully taking her clawed hand into his own, kissing at her knuckles. “The pleasure is mine, Princess.”

Your temper would’ve boiled over there and then at the sight, but you had to remember that for foremost, she was to be his wife, and therefore, you would have to still respect her no matter what. As long as I remain the Star of the Sea’s handmaiden, I only abide by the court of the Jade Empire.

From the tops of the stairs, Shesmetet seemed to almost be scouting for someone amongst the large crowds, and almost out of sense, he had found you; scattered you didn’t think you would be found from the millions of faces.

Your heart nearly sprang out of your chest when you swore he had winked at you; before returning to his place beside his sister as if nothing had happened, his father continued on with addressing his court.

The Star of the Sea had asked her ladies-in-waiting and yourself to draw her a bath that evening, using the scents that had been given to her as a gift from her future sister-in-law’s family. The scents of jasmine and lemon, drops of petals scattered on the surface of the water; a hint of sweetness that was needed for such a long day.

“Dear, stay with me, you can brush out my hair.” Amvalma had addressed to you with a warm smile, dipping her nude body into the heated water as she relaxed. Her bath and most of the baths were deep enough for all nagas to properly bathe in, the bath at least bigger than the ones you had been situated in that same evening you were to be in Shesmetet’s bed.

“At once, your Grace.” You bowed, gathering the items you needed as the Jade Princess dismissed her ladies, leaving you two alone in her bathhouse, situating yourself behind her as you took the hairbrush to detangle out her long locks.

You were more mindful of how you brushed out her hair compared to Thaile, who if given the job would’ve given the Princess a bald spot. Your gentle hands separated each section, starting from the ends and working upwards.

Amvalma hummed to herself, closing her eyes as you worked behind her, gently massaging her scalp the higher you worked.

“What did you think of the Princess Iseka, your Grace?” You found your voice, knowing full-well that you were allowed to speak in front of the Princess no matter the question. You bite your lip, deciding how to question the Prince’s betrothed. “Her title is matching of her looks.”

“The Rising Sun, a fitting title for her late mother,” Hummed Amvalma, “but you would have to be blind to look at Iseka.”

You accidentally snorted, almost choking on your own saliva, urging the Princess to look back on you, her face warm with a large grin, knowing all too well that you were thinking the same. “Really? You don’t think she is becoming?”

Amvalma chortled through her flat nose, swatting the air as she cleaned herself nonchalantly. “My brother’s betrothed looks more like a black sun in a cold winter than one that is Rising,” she was sniggering to herself, “and she bores me exceedingly.”

You had to control your laughter, making sure her ladies didn’t hear your responses to use against you, so you had to resort to chuckling quietly. “Alas, my old father thinks that she is a good match for him, but I think he could do better in his arrangements. Thousands of others would agree to themselves to have Shesmetet’s hand.”

“The ones he has bedded?” You asked.

“Precisely,” Amvalma began, her words made the hairs on your arms raise, “My brother has been with everyone who has caught his eye, but no-one who he has been arranged into marrying.” She shook her head at the thought, ink-black hair shaking around her, her locks beautiful. “It shall be a disaster.”

You remembered your fears for if she knew of what had happened between the two of you, now if she were to catch on that you had slept with Shesmetet, it too, would be a disaster.

“Has anyone caught the Prince’s eye so far?” You lamented, trying to suppress your sadness, not wanting her to know. “Perhaps,” Amvalma hummed in thought, “but he is rather secretive about it all as if he is trying to hide something not just from father, but from me.”

There it was: the pondering, the queries and theories, but you knew you wouldn’t come of this alive. Amvalma turned herself around to face you properly now, her golden eyes glinting in the candlelight of the room.

“You know, you can tell me anything, I have no judgement nor shall you fear me, dear.” She reassured you, the smile dropping slightly on her face. “But, is there anything you wish to tell me?”

“Your Grace-- I-” You blubbered, finally feeling the idea that this would all go horribly wrong. The Jade Princess placed a warm tender hand on your arm, squeezing it carefully. “You can tell me anything.”

You could’ve jumped out the open balcony right there and then, fearing for everything, running out and fleeing before, starting a new life outside of the palace. You knew it was best, to tell the truth, it was better than for if it were to come out badly.

You took a deep exhale out from your nose, setting the hairbrush down. “Your Grace, the Prince-”

“Your Magnificence! Imported wine, a gift from The Rising Sun!” the figures emerged, the one who had come in first oblivious to the quietness of the bathhouse, the other ladies of Princess Amvalma coming in like an awaiting crowd.

Amvalma smiled respectfully, turning from you to look at the ladies waiting with a golden chalice with similar snake hilts curved around it. She settled their chatter as she thanked them, taking a glass as she was poured some.

She turned back to you, watching your sunken face as you finally had her eyes off of her for a moment, savouring in not having to spit out what had been chewing at your insides for ages. “Dear, are you unwell? Your face is pale.”

Your eyes flickered back up to meet golden ones, your eyes darting apprehensively, trying to form a smile back onto your features. “At the moment, yes, Your Grace, may I be pardoned?” You lied, taking the oils and scents as you were dismissed, wishing the Princess a good night, as you raced back to your own chambers, making sure to avoid anyone or anything.

“His Grace, the Jade Prince is celebrating during the midday sun in celebration of the arrival of his wife-to-be. I heard the Rising Sun shall be wearing their engagement ring.” Thaile grinned from ear to ear, helping you sort through arranging the fruit; peeling mangoes and oranges into a large bowl for the guests to share amongst one another.

“His Grace, the Emperor is pleased with the arrangement, wishing his daughter-in-law a prosperous marriage.”

You couldn’t help the smile that graced your face, reminiscing over Amvalma’s words, ‘It shall be a disaster’. You could only hope that this was true, that Shesmetet’s infidelity continued.

“Princess Amvalma gave Iseka her blessings, kissing both her cheeks, I saw it, I was there. It was beautiful.” The young girl swooned with naivety. If you knew one thing, lying was the best way to improve your situation, building you up on the scale; another chess piece that could win.

“If the harvest this year flourishes, it shall mean a bountiful marriage.” You stated, simply slicing the apple slices and throwing away the cores, “It has so far been dry.”

“You cannot say that! By the moon goddess, the harvest shall thrive, just you wait!” Thaile protested against your words, pouting her bottom lip as she sighed to her work so far. “We shall be needing another bowl from the kitchen, can you bring another?”

“Sure.” Just to get away from you, of course. You stood, putting your knife down and took away the heavy bowl full of fruit that could be sent to those who were placing food on the tables for the guests, leaving you to wander from the small courtyard back into the empty court, sticking to the walls and columns, hiding in the shadows as you walked up the stairs on the closed-off balcony.

You could hear voices as you grew close, hushed voices, one more frustrated than the other. You came just close enough to hear a female voice hiss in wrath through the vacant hall.

“How dare you.” She hissed so low, you had thought they had been behind you. You stopped still in your tracks, pausing to listen in closely. “You may be offended, but you know she is important to me.” Another voice was followed, male and a velvety timbre, more smooth and calm in their tone as they spoke back.

“She is my handmaiden - a girl who came to me when she was ten!” She retorted back, her voice rising and never falling from her anger. “You never think, do you? I would be more than surprised if you had any sense in that thick head of yours, I think you share it with your cock.”

“You think this is some game?” She seethed, “You could’ve gotten her pregnant. What then? You would want your wife to be happy about you having a bastard with a lowborn? The bitch of a wife could have her killed.”

“Let you believe and think over these predictions, sister, you’re just like father, thinking over things that have rare chances of happening.”

Sister? Your eyes widened in realisation: it was Shesmetet, and so he was speaking with Amvalma. Oh, Gods, they could’ve been talking about someone you knew, or even-

“Do not bring her into this! She doesn’t deserve the heartache, the humiliation or even something much worse if Iseka finds out.” Amvalma warned.

“I don’t care about my betrothed, her duty is for marriage, and there is nothing I find from the situation or her joyful.” Shesmetet heeded, “I do not care anymore, nor should I have the one I love taken from me for some other.”

You neared to the gap between the columns, trying your best to keep quiet and be unseen. “What are you trying to say, you blind fool? You love her?” The Star of The Sea had squinted her golden eyes towards her brother.

“I’ve had enough time to spend with her through my evenings to know that she is unlike any other human I’ve met before, and I have chosen what I must do, regardless of what the consequences. I’m going to tell father, I’m calling off my marriage to Iseka personally.”

The bowl in your grip felt heavy like iron, your grip loses the grip of the bowl and soon you were squeezing your eyes shut at the loud clatter that crashed and echoed all along the walls of the golden hall, the two siblings head darting to the commotion, finding you there among the columns, a timid look in your eyes.

“Forgive me, I-I.” You flustered, trying to gather the broken pieces, failing at doing so, and hoping that if you were quick enough you could flee and get out before they could catch up to you. Your body moved to race down the stairs, but Shesmetet was there to move to the bottom of them to approach you, murmuring your name ever so softly along his lips.

“You realise father will have your head?” Amvalma remained in her spot, watching the scene unfold. The Jade Prince came to hold out his large hand, and gingerly you took it, meeting his strong arms as he embraced you, capturing your lips to his in a passionate kiss.

“I don’t care, I only care for one person, one who made me change my mind on humans because there is one good one in the world.” Shesmetet smiled, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Father will denounce you of your titles.” Scoffed Amvalma, crossing her arms, “You need to think this through.”

“I denounce them all then,” Shesmetet declared, to you in fact, still he stared down at you like a cheerful boy who was given the best gift in the entire world. “I would rather live in the ends of the earth with this one than to live as a chest pawn.”

“Think this through,” You brought his attention back him, stroking up his smooth bare arm, “you will be letting go of everything you have and own.”

“I know, but as long as I get to spend a lifetime with you,” he grinned, kissing your forehead with ease due to his height, “that is all that will matter.”

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phantompearlsalt · 3 years

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Sour Cherry, Chapter 11

Aaaaand we’re back at it again folks with top!Kuvira ft. some fun ~bedroom accessories~ and other naughty acts 🤭 So of course, this is a very NSFW / Explicit chapter (a lovely combination of smut and fluff)! I’m glad I was able to post it before the week officially ended for me, as I will be going back to work tomorrow and that will affect my writing schedule. So be on the lookout for a post I’ll make later tonight with some updates! As always, feel free to check out the chapter on AO3 <3 Thank you for the continued love and support — y’all are the best!

Republic City is coated in a fresh layer of evening mist. With your arm looped around Kuvira’s, you gleefully watch as the shop lights reflect off the pools of rain and cast a magical glow across the roaming paths of concrete and stone.

Though it has stopped raining since you finished dinner, you feel the occasional drop land on your cheek or nose and every so often Kuvira will flick them away with her thumb. She smiles in a way that’s almost not a smile at all but to you it’s the most radiant expression in the entire city. The air is crisp, making your hands shiver, but it’s easily overlooked when a simple glance from Kuvira rouses a delightful warmth that starts in your toes and rises to your cheeks.

Today Kuvira insisted on giving you the best possible day she could in celebration of six months together. Between the lovely laziness of a morning spent in bed, an afternoon reading with pauses for naps, and a fantastic dinner at Republic City’s most popular spot for southern Earth Kingdom cuisine, you couldn’t conceive of a more perfect itinerary.

As you walk back to your apartment, you can’t stifle the intermittent giggles that bubble out of your mouth. Each time Kuvira will glimpse in your direction and pull you tighter against her body, eventually lifting her arm so it wraps around your shoulders instead. You lean your head against her and breath in her fresh, earthy scent. The pedestrians that come your way become nothing more than ephemeral flashes of movement because all you see and feel are Kuvira’s fond expression and her fingers folded over your shoulder.

When you finally make it to the door, Kuvira graciously opens it for you as you slip your shoes off. After securing each of the locks, she stands behind you so she can slide your coat down your arms and hang it on the rack. Before you can take another step, she brings her mouth to the back of your neck and presses a tender kiss at the tip of your spine.

The sensation of her lips made cool by the wintry air outside is a startling contrast against your skin and you twitch before melting into her touch. “Why don’t I make us some tea and you get ready for bed?” she murmurs. You turn around to cradle her face in your hands, pushing away some stray hands of hair that hang over her eyes, and bring your face close so you can press your lips together.

“Sounds perfect,” you reply, kissing her briefly and relishing the residual flavor of puff pastry that glazes her mouth. She struggles to pull away from you completely, wrapping her arms around your waist to draw out the kiss for a few extra moments, before reluctantly breaking it and making her way to the kitchen.

You step into your slippers and pad over to your room, stretching your arms high above your head and sighing when your joints pop in response. Down the hall, you can hear the clutter of a pot hitting a stovetop and mugs clinking together as Kuvira sets about brewing your drinks.

By the time you are cloaked in your evening robe, tucked beneath Kuvira’s favorite olive comforter, she walks in and carefully places the mug between your palms. You notice she changed in the bathroom, now donning a loose black shirt with matching pants. An inviting aroma of ginseng wafts from the steaming cup and you are quick to take a tentative sip. “You would’ve made a great tea shop owner,” you tease over the rim. Kuvira shoots you an unimpressed glance before sliding into the bed beside you, pressing her toes against your shins.

“I don’t have that natural predisposition for customer service,” she sniffs. “Six months later and you still don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

Rolling your eyes, you place your mug on your bedside stand so you can turn around and bring your face close to Kuvira’s. “And you still can’t warm up to my dazzling sense of humor,” you huff. Her mouth cracks into a doting half-smile. “I wouldn’t say that,” she insists. “You have your moments. Maybe you just need to brush up on your comedic skills.”

You gasp theatrically and bring your hand to your forehead, falling backwards in a flourish. “My heart! I ought to punish you for such a flagrant stab to my ego,” you bemoan teasingly. Kuvira's arm lurches forward until it wraps over your waist and she’s pulling you against her side.

“That sounds awfully severe for something so inoffensive, don’t you think?” she hums, angling her face down so she can caress her mouth along your jaw. You sigh and twist a hand into her hair, undoing the already loose braid that hangs against her shoulder. “Maybe I can let it slide just this once,” you respond. You flick the metal clip to the ground where it lands with a gentle clang. Kuvira responds with a promising drag of her mouth up to your earlobe where she nips at it, making you jump against her body.

“Now what shall I do to express my gratitude for such benevolence?” she murmurs into your ear. You hum thoughtfully, rubbing your fingers against her scalp until her eyelids start to grow heavy, before responding, “I might have a few ideas…”

Not willing to tease anymore than you can stand, you bring your hand to her chin, pulling her forward until your lips meet in a fierce and intoxicating kiss. Without any conscious motive, your mind has stored away each infinitesimal detail of Kuvira’s mouth. Even with your eyes closed, before your lips even touch, when her kiss is a shadow hovering in the air where your breaths mingle, you know the artful swell of her plump lower lip that fits perfectly between your teeth. You know its delicate flavor as your tongue roams over the skin and the way it feels when you dare to bite.

Kuvira wiggles against you, her body arching ever so slightly, as you explore her mouth and hook a leg over her hip until you can feel the growing heat between her legs. She leverages the movement to slide her hand beneath the loose fabric of your robe until she cups your ass, squeezing hard enough for her blunt nails to dig into the muscle and make you gasp in pained pleasure.

She’s the one to disrupt the kiss and you look at her with a grimace. “I’m sure you have plenty of ideas,” she purrs, shifting her hand until it brushes between your thighs, sweeping her finger over the skin until it is coated and sticky. “But I’ve got a few of my own.”

Before you can respond, she removes herself from your body and leans back on her legs. You let your back sink into the mound of pillows, briefly wondering about your tea, as Kuvira’s eyes study your body with ravenous concentration. She moves forward an inch so she’s positioned just below you and she carefully spreads your legs apart with her hands. Her fingers linger over your thighs, barely covered by your robe, which she eyes with scarcely concealed impatience. She looks up at you and asks, “Can I take this off?”

“Yes,” you sigh, jutting your arm out so you can wrap your hand over Kuvira’s and bring it to the loose knot that holds everything together. She does not display an inkling of hesitancy as she tugs on the silk band and yanks it free. Her hand releases the fabric quickly so she can part the robe open, exposing your naked body that lies beneath it.

Her eyes continue to skate over you cravingly before she speaks. “Someone had some expectations tonight,” she chuckles. You lift your body up, tearing the robe out from under you and tossing it to the floor, and grab Kuvira by her shirt collar. “I don’t think I was the only one,” you whisper. “Come on then — you too.” You emphasize the statement by tugging on her shirt once more, floating your fingers down until you reach the hem. “Is this okay?” you ask.

“Of course,” she responds breathily, cocking her chin as indication for you to continue. Despite the plainness of her nightwear, you have always fancied the enticing contrast of dark cloth against her skin. It seems to accentuate her already striking features. Nevertheless you grip the shirt firmly and slide it upwards, revealing each glorious inch of Kuvira’s body. Your hands skim over her sides, feeling the occasional twitch of sinewy muscle beneath her feverish skin.

Kuvira is quick to remove the rest of her clothes thereafter, tossing her trousers and panties to the ground where they join the mounting heap of clothes. When she reclines back down, every point of contact where Kuvira’s naked skin touches yours grows ablaze with lust. The deliciously supple flesh of her breasts push against your chest, her hair cascading downwards and tickling your forehead and cheeks, her naked legs caged around yours. You position your hands along her waist, admiring that subtle dip where her upper body fades into her hips.

She brings her mouth to the base of your neck, pressing a single kiss before moving towards your ear. She breathes heavily and the resultant heat makes your body clench with anticipation and you tug her head closer. She pinches your earlobe again with her teeth and starts carrying the sensation down the rest of your throat. She pauses, laving her tongue over the side before carefully biting hard enough to produce an agitated gasp from your lips.

Your sounds appear to embolden her further and she starts to draw your skin between the sharp edges of her teeth. Your hands thrust up into her hair, pulling at the strands just hard enough for it to hurt exactly the way she likes it. As she worries the flesh in her mouth, you are certain you will have a vivid mark painted on your skin by dawn.

The thought doesn’t put you off and you know exactly why. The pain itself is certainly a gratifying payoff but there is something exhilarating about that erotic claim Kuvira likes to brandish to the world, that shows them who gets to see you in this most vulnerable and voluptuous state. Even after she’s fucked you into what feels like another plane of existence, you know she likes to flaunt the marks of her desire to the world. She would never ask you to (of course) but you make it a point to wear clothes that display each stain and scratch she’s imprinted onto your skin.

Kuvira removes her mouth with a wet popping sound, dragging her tongue along the tender patch. Her left hand moves to your chest where she gingerly takes your nipple in between her fingers, rolling it with just enough pressure to make you keen in pleasure. With this hand now preoccupied with other matters, she uses the right to steady herself as she continues her downward journey.

She peppers the skin all along your neck and collarbones with fevered kisses and the sporadic touch of her tongue over the hypersensitive skin. When she finally reaches your chest, she removes her fingers in lieu of closing her mouth over your nipple instead. She carefully grazes her teeth over the hardened bump and bites down, waiting for a reaction. You exhale sharply and lift your legs until they’re wrapped around her back, digging your heels into the muscles flexing around her spine.

She spends her precious time on this part of your body, affording painstaking attention to every sound and movement you create to ensure she continues drawing them out. You manage to poke through the libidinous fog encasing your mind, looking down and making eye contact with her. Her gaze is bold and tenacious, in characteristic Kuvira fashion. She cocks an eyebrow as if to provoke you but you don't have the temper to fight back tonight.

So instead, you use your grip in her hair to apply downward pressure and hope she’ll take the hint. Her expression smooths over and she moves away from your chest, pressing one final kiss to your sternum before licking a long, wet line towards your hips.

At this point, your legs are stretched wantonly across the bed and Kuvira’s hands now hold your hips in place. She lifts one of those exquisitely sculpted hands, extending a finger to draw swirling patterns over your pelvis which she then follows with her tongue. She stops at the juncture between your hip and your thigh, brushing her nose along the line of muscle and whispering something against it that makes your skin flare up in goosebumps.

Your entire body is frenzied with want and it’s especially present in the insufferable quivering of your legs. Kuvira notices this and tucks her hands under your knees, lifting them up until they rest over her shoulders and her face is positioned neatly between your thighs. “Maybe that’ll help,” she croons, turning her face to the right so she can kiss the bare skin.

Your head falls deeper into the cushions, unable to carry the weight of your back any longer when Kuvira’s face looks like that and she’s clearly intent on pushing your self-control to its breaking point.

She turns her face away from your leg and looks to your soaking folds of flesh. “Tell me...what do you want?” she breaths. Your eyes clench shut and you grip the bedsheets with desperate force. “I-I want you to touch me,” you gasp out.

Kuvira purses her lips and tightens her arms around your legs. “I’m sorry, I think you’ll need to be more specific,” she responds. “Do you want me to touch you right here?” A flick of her tongue against your hip bone. “Or perhaps right here?” A gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “Maybe you were referring to this?” A suggestive brush of her lips right above the swollen bud that displays the scale of your lust.

You inhale sharply and attempt to push up but Kuvira’s hands rigidly hold you in place. “Tell me: where do you want me to touch you?” she murmurs. “Right there,” you say shakingly. You are unable to elaborate further, partially because your mind seems outright incapable of coherent thought but you are suddenly overcome by an uncharacteristic wave of bashfulness.

“Mmm, I see,” Kuvira whispers. “Do you want me to touch you right here?” The question ends with her finger brushing over your vulva, where she coats her finger in the stream of come that has started spreading against your leg. When you nod, she pauses and you muster up every remaining ounce of control you have to hold back your shout of desperation. “You don’t want me to just touch here though. Oh no, you want me to fuck you with my fingers don’t you?”

“You sure talk a lot of shit without backing it up,” you hiss. To this, Kuvira grins and says, “Don’t underestimate me,” before she finally starts sinking a finger deep inside.

You feel every single knuckle and joint as it drives into your body. As always, Kuvira starts off deliberately slow to ensure you grow accustomed to the feeling. The moment you begin twisting on the bed and snapping your hips against her touch, she adds one more finger, and another, before pumping them in and out with a steady but relentless speed.

Your bedroom is soon filled with a cacophony of salacious outbursts: a series of groans and choked gasps, the occasional wet sound of Kuvira’s mouth on your cunt when it joins her fingers, and finally Kuvira’s moan when you press up against her face.

Eventually she pulls her fingers out, a strand of come hanging in the air between her hand and your body. She looks directly into your eyes as she brings it to her mouth and licks the remnants away, coiling her tongue around the digits. “I told you I had other plans,” she says huskily, pushing herself towards your face so she can briefly touch your mouths together. “Give me a sec.”

You can’t help but feel hopelessly awkward lying on the bed like this, totally naked and gasping for air while Kuvira leans over to her bedside stand. She spends a few seconds shuffling through her belongings before she apparently finds what she’s looking for.

When she faces you again, your eyes land on a splendidly familiar sight. Your thoughts immediately begin conjuring obscene images of what Kuvira has planned for you until they are interrupted by her voice. “Is it okay to use this?” she asks. You nod eagerly and the “yes” is uttered without a second thought.

She then flicks open the small pink bottle, pouring a sizable clump of the thick liquid into her palm. She rolls the fluid against her fingers before coating it along the toy, warming it with her hand, and bringing it close to your body.

“You tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop,” she reminds you. You cup her face in your palm, offering her a loving grin, before urging her to go on. She uses one arm to hold herself up above you while the other starts pushing it inside your body. The tip starts pressing in and you close your eyes as you refamiliarize yourself with the sensation. Kuvira’s touch warmed it up enough that it does not catch you off guard per se but it still takes a few moments to grow accustomed to it. You nod when you’re ready for more and Kuvira pushes it in deeper, causing your breath to snag in your throat.

By the time most of it is inside, she starts pumping it back and forth in an excruciatingly slow manner. You know it will be worth it once she starts fucking you with it herself but in the moment it only seems to tease you further. Very little time passes until you start huffing loudly and pushing against the toy, at which point Kuvira easily detects your impatience and drags it back out.

“Get on your knees,” she demands. Though your limbs seem unable to move in any way whatsoever, you summon what little strength you have left to follow through immediately, pushing your hands against the pillows and lifting your ass towards Kuvira. There’s a brief moment of pause where you hear the soft sounds of buckles clicking into place before her hands gently hook onto your hips.

“I’m going to go slow, alright? Let me know if you need me to stop,” she says softly. You nod and impatiently push back which naturally makes her chuckle.

Just as she did moments ago, Kuvira presses forward tentatively. Her hands are a grounding force in the midst of your hazy arousal and you focus on them as the toy slowly slips back into your body. There’s little resistance this time — your body recognizes the sensation immediately and invites it in, pulling the ribbed object deeper and deeper.

Kuvira pauses when it’s almost completely inside, waiting to see how you might react. “Oh just fuck me already, would you?” you sigh, not bothering to suppress the tremor in your voice. It’s all the encouragement she needs to start plunging into your body with long and heavy strokes. When Kuvira starts hitting that small bundle of nerves that further rouses your lust, your jaw slackens and heady moans accompany each thrust of Kuvira’s hips against your ass. Within moments, Kuvira joins with a similar pattern of unsteady breathing and soft groans that mix with your own.

Every stimuli in and around can only be described as sublime: the unrelenting strokes that push in and out of your body, the grip of Kuvira’s hands wrapped tightly around your hips, the growing pool of moisture that cascades down your thighs and quite possibly ruining the bedsheets rubbing against your knees.

“Harder,” you gasp and Kuvira doesn’t hesitate. She maintains her pace but pauses when she’s fully inside, grinding forward until the tip pokes at that spot again and nearly has you collapsing onto the pillows. When your arms start shaking, Kuvira mutters, “I got you.”

She starts pulling on your hips in a back-and-forth motion, fucking you on the dildo herself. Your cheek finally drops onto the bed and your entire body shifts as Kuvira roughly starts pounding into you. You smirk at the crude sound of your ass slapping against her body, rarely able to discern the difference between pain and pleasure because the latter has overpowered everything else. The feeling intensifies when Kuvira’s hand lands sharply against your backside mid-thrust. The sudden gesture makes you gasp, followed by a pleasured moan that has her smacking you yet again.

You can already see the smug look on Kuvira’s face two days from now when you’re limping around the apartment.

As Kuvira fucks you ruthlessly, you feel yourself starting to reach that precipice that will throw you over the edge. Your thighs shake even harder, your toes start to curl, and your breathing loses any semblance of a pattern whatsoever.

But just as you near that threshold, Kuvira stops yet again and starts to pull out. Your hands scramble helplessly on the bed and you’re about to whine in protest when Kuvira starts placing the harness atop your clothes on the floor. She leans down so she can bring her mouth to your spine, sprinkling kisses along each ridge and cupping your ass where she then drags her tongue along one cheek.

“You’re not getting off like that tonight,” she murmurs, maneuvering until she’s on her back beside you and pulling you on top of her. “Sit up,” she commands and you shakily lean back on your legs until you're sitting just above her pubic bone. Though you aren’t quite sure what she’s leading up to, you find yourself mesmerized by her disheveled appearance.

There has always been something particularly satisfying about seeing this raunchier side of Kuvira. Everyone she meets knows her to be nothing but smooth, clean lines, pristine clothes, and a closed-off personality. But you? You get to see her at her most defiled: eyes glazed over with longing, her soft brown nipples hardened, lips reddened with heated kisses and scraping teeth, her hair tangled into knots and falling over her face.

She lifts her hands from her sides so they can grab your hips again, pulling you upwards until you have no choice but to lift your body up and rest on your knees. “Kuvira? I…” You start when she cuts you off.

“I’m gonna fuck you with my mouth,” she purrs, shifting downwards until her face is right below your cunt. You look down at her incredulously, nearly huffing out laughter but you’re so overwhelmed with shock nothing comes out. “Is that okay?” she asks.

She looks up at you with a sickeningly playful expression, waiting for you to nod before taking that final dive that connects her mouth to your clit. You moan heavily and instantly grab the headboard in front of you, afraid your control might give out and you’ll topple over her.

Kuvira, on the other hand, seems completely unconcerned by the prospect and merely wraps her arms around your thighs to press you tighter against her mouth. Her tongue, which has so scrupulously memorized every movement that drives you closer to the point of orgasm, moves across the wet folds of your flesh with unequaled dexterity. She starts in circular motions, slowly moving upwards until she reaches your clit where she adds the perfect amount of pressure that nearly has you climaxing right then and there.

When you start thrusting forward and downward, she simply changes her approach and synchronizes her movements with yours. Her tongue slides up and down, occasionally dipping inside past your vulva where the toy had previously been, fucking you with her mouth instead.

She must sense the tension in your legs from holding yourself up since she pulls away in panting breaths. “Don’t hold back,” she reassures you. “You can’t break me.”

It’s all you need to finally release yourself to the overwhelming passion consuming every rational thought you have. You harden your grip on the headboard and start riding your mounting orgasm on Kuvira’s face, sighing when her hands start clawing into your ass.

She moans against the pressure and the vibrations quake through your muscles, spurring you move faster until you’re all but writhing over her mouth. Her tongue never wavers and it’s precisely that masterful consistency that has you tipping over the edge. It starts in your toes — a prickling sensation that starts spreading across every other limb. A searing heat radiates from your core into your chest, filling you with a feeling that very nearly stops your breath altogether.

Oftentimes, your orgasm catches you off guard, hitting you like the unexpected shock of a torrential downpour. But this time, it’s a sensuous culmination of stimuli building up over many minutes. When you finally reach your climax, it washes over you in heavy waves until you reach a pinnacle that is pure and absolute euphoria.

You cry out in bliss, riding it out against Kuvira’s mouth until you eventually feel yourself coming back into your mind and body and Kuvira’s tongue has stopped moving. She’s opted to brush her mouth along your inner thigh, dropping a kiss onto every piece of skin she can reach. You carefully raise yourself up from your sitting position and collapse beside her, watching Kuvira’s expression gleam with silent enjoyment as you catch your breath.

When you’re finally able to speak again, you ask her, “Are you alright?” She chuckles briefly and brings her fingers to your face, lovingly stroking them across your cheekbone. “I’m fine. I think you should be asking yourself that,” she says, bringing your bodies flush against each other. You fling a leg over hers and burrow your face into her chest, feeling her pounding heartbeat as you rest your cheek against the silky flesh of her breast.

“Aside from having to walk with a limp for about a week, I’d say I’m holding up okay,” you laugh. You can already feel the pleasurable ache in your lower back but the thought of this twinge following you in the days to come is thrilling to say the least.

“I’ll get us some towels. Do you need anything else?” she asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You hum contentedly and wrap your arms tight across her back. “Just don’t take too long,” you mumble into her neck. She kisses you once more before untangling herself from your body and strolling over to the bathroom.

As she walks back, you don’t think you’ll ever tire of this sight. Kuvira is absolutely resplendent in every form but she will always leave you speechless when she appears before you like this: her black hair hanging heavy and tousled over her shoulders and across her back, her green eyes glimmering with excitement yet hooded over with exhaustion, the curves and bends of her breasts, her waist, her hips. You marvel at the lovely expanse of tanned skin stretched over gracefully chiseled muscle.

She is a total vision.

Kuvira, being the thoughtful lover she is, wipes you down first before using the second towel to clean herself up. She does so delicately, keeping her movements tender and prudent so as not to overstimulate your already sensitive nerves.

Once she has folded and tossed the towels into your hamper, she flicks off the lights and curls herself around your body so her face is a mere finger’s width away from yours. “How was today?” she asks earnestly. You smile and rub the tip of your nose against hers. “It was absolutely perfect,” you respond.

“Dinner was okay?” she insists. You grin and cup her face in your hands. “I loved it. There wasn’t a single thing out of place. The best part though? Seeing you for a whole day and knowing I have you for the rest of my life.”

For a moment you swear you see the sparkle of galaxies swirling within those emerald irises.

#sour cherry #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira legend of korra #avatar lok #x reader #reader insert #smut #shameless smut #canon divergent au #it's been a cooooool minute since I've written outright smut like this so uh be nice pls 😭

124 notes · View notes

skyriderwednesday · 3 years

Text

Hair

There's always an unmanageable phase to growing out your hair, and Havelock has hit it. Fortunately, Sybil is very keen to offer her services.

(The fabled 'Sybil brushes Havelock's hair fic', G rated but a teensy bit spicy for a moment or two, background VetSybVimes, 1835 words)

Also on AO3

Havelock's hair was... becoming a problem. It wasn't unruly as such, and the weather this year was not yet humid enough to affect it - his hair was used to humidity. No, the main issues he was facing could all be attributed to length. His hair had been longer. It had been far longer -- but he had been fourteen when his hair had reached his waist and he had not had the concerns of leading an entire city. Presently, it was just reaching the bottom of his shoulder-blades. He could hardly tie it tight enough, it would come loose after a handful of hours when it never had before. It would fall in his eyes, tangle with his glasses, tangle with itself... Put simply, more needed doing to it. He could not any longer simply comb out the most obvious tangles and tie it flat away, his hair had volume and (metaphorically) a life of its own. He could not remember how he had managed it as a teen. He might have braided it. Sybil had said last night that she liked it long, that it suited him, and given he deeply disliked having it cut... "If you were the one to have to deal with it my dear, you may not be as fond of it," he had replied. That had been in error. Sybil always liked a challenge. She also had always greatly enjoyed his hair.

"Hello darling," she said warmly as she swept into the room. Havelock looked up wearily from his desk. "Good morning Sybil," he said, pushing loose hair out of his face. Sybil advanced across the office, conventions of politics and rules of tyranny meaning nothing against the tide of determination she exerted. Havelock let it overtake him, not having slept well enough to summon an effectual barricade of stubbornness. Sybil represented the theoretical unstoppable force by default, and presently he felt like a perfectly moveable object. "I see I've arrived in good time..." she said, reaching immediately for his hair. He lamely leaned away from her, knowing full well there was no point to doing so. "It would appear so." Havelock pulled a face as Sybil kissed his temple. "Oh, you are miserable dear," she said, touching his hair again. I wonder why that could be? He did not say out loud. Silently he moved his inkwell to where it was not liable to be knocked over. "Darling," Sybil said firmly. He had long noted that Sybil appeared to be able to read his mind at times. He turned his eyes heavily towards her. "Yes?" "I can come back if I've interrupted you," she said calmly. "No," he shook his head, and loose hair tickled his nose. "We had best have it sorted." "Right," she patted his shoulder, causing him to fail in an endeavour not to sneeze. Rather loudly. "Bless you, dear." "...thank you," he said, blinking. Sybil moved back a little, studying him. "Darling, you look as if your brain just fell out of your ears." "It feels that way," he replied, still a little dazed. "Well, stuff it back in and we'll get to your hair. I'm sure you haven't got all day." Havelock made a mildly disgusted noise. Sybil laughed. "Come on, dear." She walked around the front of the desk towards the fireplace. Havelock stayed where he was and shut his eyes. He wasn't having the best of mornings. He hadn't slept well, his back hurt, his leg was stiff… he had gotten nowhere with the backlog of yesterday, and now Sybil had decided they were going to do his hair. There was a noise. He looked over. She was moving the coffee table. "Sybil…" "I'll put it back when we're finished dear," she said, dusting off her hands – though if there had been any dust on the coffee table, he would have had to have a stern word with the servants. He watched her sit on one of the sofas with her legs out in front of her and open her handbag. She started to take things out of it. Multiple combs, a hairbrush, hair ties, pins… To think he ordinarily managed with a single comb, a piece of ribbon, and his fingers. "Darling," Sybil said warningly.

Havelock tried not to sigh as he got to his feet and laboured across the room. Sybil took his arm gently and guided him to sit against her legs. He put his head back into her lap and folded his hands onto his lower chest. She gathered his hair out from under him and smiled fondly. "Now this is an angle I haven't seen you from in a long time," she said. "You haven't needed to," he replied softly. "It used to be every week when I was home," she mused, picking at the ribbon that had been vaguely holding back his hair. "Glasses, dear." He took them off and relaxed into the process. That's right… Sybil had managed his hair when it had reached his waist. She must have tried to teach him, but he had a strong sense that he had usually been half asleep the moment she picked up the hairbrush. He tuned back in to her muttering to herself. "Gods, Havelock, what kind of pig's ear–-" Sybil made a triumphant noise as she managed to untie the ribbon with the aid of a sturdy pin. "I apologise for that," he said. "No worries dear," Sybil dropped the twisted ribbon onto his hands. Flattening it was now his project for the next ten minutes. "No, I haven't needed to," she said, resuming the previous train of thought as she weighed a wide comb versus the hairbrush. "You would have thought that someone would have taught you to properly care for your hair at some point, but…" "It's not a skill they teach to boys," he said, echoing a similar conversation that had been held between them long ago. "No," Sybil said, choosing the comb and beginning to detangle from the ends up towards his roots. "They should though," he replied, holding the ribbon close to his eyes as he worked to smooth it. "Exactly," Sybil said. "And then you went away for so long and when you came back you had cut it. I half-thought I'd never forgive you for that." "I couldn't manage it," he said, tilting his head back, "and the image was important." "Oh the image," Havelock could hear her rolling her eyes. "Everything was about the image. Is that why you stopped seeing me?" He sat up and turned around to her, the ribbon forgotten about. "Of course not. Our paths had diverged, and there was so much mess to clean up, and–-" Sybil's fingers brushed around his jaw and under his chin, gently closing his mouth. "Hush, darling, I didn't mean it." She turned him round and lay him back against her knees. She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. "I understand. At the time, I was alone in a big house and angry, and I thought I hated you… but I'm glad to have you again now." He sighed deeply. "I am too…" "I love you darling," Sybil said, "I've always loved you. Now, I think I should finish your hair before one of us starts crying." "'One of us'?" he said. "Come now, we both know it would be me." Sybil snorted, "Havelock!" "I can cry if I want to," he said mock sulkily, "it's my office." "Well don't start now, I need that ribbon straightened out." He retrieved it from the carpet, "Yes ma'am." "Don't start that either." He smiled at her innocently. "I don't know what you mean." "Behave," she said, gently hitting him with the brush, "or I might pull your hair." She meant it. Yes ma'am, he resisted saying aloud for a second time. The first stroke of the brush tugged his hair anyway. He glanced back at her. "Sorry, dear."

He melted into the sensation of subsequent strokes, silently revelling in the odd scrape of the bristles against his scalp. The task of smoothing the ribbon continued autonomously, and his breathing deepened in content. Then the brushing stopped. Sybil's fingers entered his hair. He hummed in query. She shushed him. Then she began to massage his scalp, down into his neck, relieving tension he hadn't known his muscles had been holding. He moaned in quiet bliss. Sybil hummed. Her warmth increased as she leant over and pressed her lips to the top of his head. "Don't you think we should do this more often?" she whispered. Havelock had to remember how to speak. "Yes…" he breathed, "I do." "Good," Sybil kissed his head again, "though not in your office." She withdrew, leaving him with a pang of loss. She was right. As uncomplicated as their arrangement felt from the inside, it could result in unfathomable complications if walked in upon. After all, onlookers would see the leader of the city and a married woman. There would be scandal, words such as 'taking advantage' would be used…

"Have you finished with that ribbon, dear?" she asked. Havelock looked down at it in his hands. He had forgotten he was holding it. "Ah… it appears to have become crumpled again." Sybil looked down over him. "Well, it's better than it was," she said, faintly amused. "I won't need it for a few more minutes anyway." He nodded, and Sybil brushed out the tangles her fingers had caused. She sectioned his hair, gently straightening his head before beginning to braid it intricately from his crown to the top of his neck. It was tight, sturdy, but not uncomfortable. He felt pins and ties weaved into it. It was a style that locked his hair in place, and would keep it there until she could do it again or until he decided to take it down. Most likely the former. "Ribbon please, dear," Sybil said and he dutifully passed it up to her to tie the last loose portions of his hair at the base of his neck.

She sat back to admire her handiwork, "Beautiful, darling, even if I am saying so myself." He hummed warmly. "Thank you so very much." "You're always welcome," Sybil said and kissed the top of his head a last time. "Now..." she looked at him analytically, "we do now have to get you up from down there." "Ah," he said. "I had… neglected to think of that." "So had I… It makes it harder that you're sitting on my feet." He half shook his head and enjoyed that his hair wouldn't make him sneeze this time. "It would be harder if I were between them." "Could you turn around?" "That would involve crawling and may appear compromising." Sybil hummed in deep thought. "I should have allowed you to do this last night," he said. She shook her head, "Sam would have laughed at us for twenty minutes before helping." "Yes, he would..." "...under your arms?" Sybil suggested.

#discworld #discworld fic #havelock vetinari #sybil ramkin #there's a reason they're HER boys you know #this is my only attempt at cross-posting and my hopes are LOW lmao

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remmushound · 3 years

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Curse of the Clans part 36! @brightlotusmoon @selfindulgenz @scentedcandlecryptid

Content warning!! Physical attack, restraint, cursing

SMACK!

April woke up to a solid, heavy thud. It took her a moment to recognize her own room; it was her first night staying in her house for almost three weeks. Every time her parents would go away on their business, the house would be too quiet for her to want to stay in it very long. But now the lair was just as quiet, and with her brothers gone, she didn't want to spend much time there either. It just made her sad. Her conflict with Splinter and Cassandra served to make things worse.

SMACK!

That sound came again, and this time her head snapped immediately to the window. Another impact, and another. A steady, drumming sound. April slid out of bed and into her slippers, slowly approaching the window and pulling back the darkened blinds. Surely the brothers couldn’t be back so soon?

April gave a shout and fell away as another projectile was launched at the window and smacked against it. Was that a rock? Quickly, she scrambled back over to the window and peered outside. Then she opened the window, just barely ducking her head in time to dodge another rock. She slowly peeked back over the windowsill and threw her arms open.

“What the hell Casey?!”

“Sorry!” Cassandra called back from the streets, “You opened the window!”

“No shit, Jones!” April snarled back, and then fell to a weak laugh. “What are you doing throwing rocks at my house at…” She checked the time, “Two in the morning?”

“Come down!” Sunita called up; she was in her human form, which hadn’t changed at all in the years April knew her. Skin a shade darker than April’s own, and hair of ink pulled tight again her scalp in braids.

“Not tonight, yall.” April leaned on her window sill and gave a tired smile.

“What?” Cassandra scoffed in an exaggerated fashion, “Why not?!”

“I have a headache.” Was April’s excuse; she didn't have one, but she certainly didn't feel good. She just couldn’t exactly pin point what part of her body it was that ached.

“I have ibuprofen!” Cassandra held up her purse.

“Good night, girls.” April closed the window.

***

“Well, that stinks.” Sunita put a hand on her hip as she turned to face the shorter Cassandra. “Should we knock again?”

Cassandra considered. She gave a smile that was undetectable due to her mask and cracked her fingers and neck. “I have a better idea~”

***

April was more than happy to enjoy the warm, weighted embrace of her comforter, hugging her childhood teddy bear to beckon sleep to return to her faster. With her injuries, this was shaping up to be the most boring summer of her life! But to be fair, the promise of a simple, normal summer of relaxation definitely appealed to her, no matter how far out of her reach she knew it was. A girl could always dream, right?

April’s body shuttered. It told her to open her eyes, and when she did it was like her worst nightmares came true, though for only a moment before her mind caught up with the fear in her heart and recognized the silhouettes standing over her like villains in the night.

“Casey? Sunita? What are you—?”

Cassandra grabbed April around her waist and hoisted the teen over her shoulder.

“Casey! Put me down!” April growled and kicked her legs, but Cassandra only laughed.

“Sunita— help me! Get her legs!” Cassandra howled, and Sunita hurried to restrain April’s legs while Cassandra supported her front, both of them holding April between them like a hammock. “You’re coming to girls night April!”

They started to carry April toward the open window. April’s initially startled screams slowly turned to laughter. She still struggled, but her actions were more playful than anything. They stopped at the window, though Cassandra had already climbed out of it.

“She ain’t got no shoes, get her shoes!” Cassandra laughed.

Sunita’s arm turned from human back to its slime form and extended out to grab April’s shoes and a pair of socks. Cassandra forced April’s feet still so Sunita could put her shoes on, and then they continued out the window and into the fire escape.

“Guys— I need a mask!” April laughed.

“Got one!” Cassandra reached into her purse and pulled out a blue mask, fixing it over April’s mouth and nose while still carrying her with one arm. Down the fire escape they went, and only when their feet had touched the ground did they put April down.

“Are you proud of yourselves?” April huffed, putting her hand on her hip.

“Very.” Cassandra smirked.

“You could at least have let me get dressed!” April laughed, “I can’t go out for girls night in my PJs!”

“Why not?” Sunita asked innocently.

“Cause It's not proper for a social setting!” April scoffed.

Sunita was quiet for a time before whispering, “Humans are so weird…”

“Oh yeah. Forgot you’re a slime dude.” Cassandra turned to face April, “You’ll be fine! It’s not like we’re going drinking! You’re not old enough; believe me, I’ve checked.”

“Then what are we doing?” April asked, genuine curiosity seeping into her voice.

***

The trio got close enough to see the mutant hippo known as Hypno Ron wandering the shadows of the streets; he didn't seem to have a care in the world as to being spotted. After all, he could always just Mesmer any human to forget! April wasn’t so keen on how reckless the mutant was being, but Cassandra locked on to the hippo almost immediately from the rooftops.

“Oh! Oh! I got this one!” Cassandra cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, it was in a heavy accent; her best attempt at mocking the way Hypno spoke. “Oh oh, deary me! I simply have to find a tiny suit for my tiny worm friend for our anniversary! How am I ever going to find one in time to enjoy tiny tea cakes and orange peels with the lovely Warren Stone?”

“Orange peels?” April scrunched up her nose.

“What? Worms taste with their body.” Cassandra shrugged.

“Oh! There’s one!” Sunita spotted the next mutant, Repo Mantis, buzzing around. She dropped her voice low and raspy. “Rrrrr. I just know there’s a birthday cake to repo ‘round here somewhere. That three-year old’s hiding well, but I’ll sniff em out with my sniffer.” Sunita made exaggerated sniffle motions that made April and Cassandra almost fall over laughing.

“This one’s mine!” April claimed a few buildings down when they spotted the mutant prairie dog wandering an alleyway, her nose twitching in the search for decent morsels. April didn't know her name, so she had to improvise, clearing her throat. “Can I dig here? Noooo this isn’t a good place for digging? Here? Maaaaybe not? Here? No. Man, none of these places are good for digging!”

Sunita and Cassandra were covering their mouths trying to keep their laughter to a minimum. The prairie dog seemed to hear them anyway, looking up from her curious search to twitch her ears in search of the noises.

The girls all ducked down low to hide from her sight, all covering their mouths and their snickers until the suspicions had died down. Then, at Cassandra’s command, all three of them peeked back over the edge and down at the mutant as she continued her work.

“Ohhhh the voices are back!” April carried on, this time in a lower whisper, “Hm? However will I pass the time? I know!” she cleared her throat and started to sing in her mock accent. “Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene! I’m begging of you please don’t take my man! Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Joleeeene! I’m singing this song just because I caaaaan!”

The prairie dog looked up again. “Did someone call me?”

That made the trio of girls fall apart laughing until their sides hurt and they felt like they might be sick if they laughed any harder. Through the next hour, they found more and more people to mock from afar, both mutants and humans, but after the hour had passed, April was starting to feel completely exhausted. The constant running and laughing made the soreness of her side ache even worse, and now her head really was hurting, and her stomach too.

“Sorry gals.” She told the two of her friends when she felt her body couldn’t hold out any longer. “Really gotta turn in for the night.”

“What?” Cassandra groaned, and Sunita seemed disappointed, “Come on! We still got two hours before the sun comes up!

“And I really should be spending it sleeping.” April sighed, “But I had a really good time! I’ll see you in the morning, girls?”

“Do you want us to walk you home?” Sunita asked softly.

“No, no, don’t trouble yourselves!” April waved her hand, “I know you two are having fun, and I can handle myself.”

“Are you sure?” Cassandra asked, “It’s no trouble…”

“It’s fine! I grew up with the turtles, I can handle myself!”

“If you say so…”

“I’ll be fine. Really.” April tried to reassure.

“At least take my knife.” Cassandra said, giving the long blade over to April, “I feel bad for abducting you without your bat.”

“You don’t have to do that.” April said.

“I want to!” Cassandra beamed. “Besides, I’ll just come back and get it in the morning! No big whoop.”

“Well then… thank you.” April turned the knife over in her hands a few times. “I promise I’ll give it back.”

April found where she was by checking the nearest street signs. She wasn’t more than a few blocks from home. The streets would be far easier to traverse than the buildings; as much as she had trained with the brothers, she never did quite get the hang of building jumping. That’s why Donatello had his special seat in his armor just for her! Thinking of Donatello, April felt a sudden sadness wash over her. She missed his sarcastic voice, his dramatic flare, his simple presence!

When she was out of view of Cassandra and Sunita, the first thing April did was let herself finally release the bile that had been churning her stomach for the past ten minutes, and she felt a lot better when the vomit was outside instead of in. Then she started to cry immediately after, but she didn't know why. She missed Donatello, sure, but enough to cry? And though her head hurt it wasn’t the agonizing, ripping headaches that usually plagued her, so it wasn’t the pain. Maybe it was just a bit of everything mixed into one, and that was why she felt so… not good. She wanted to feel better, and maybe crying could help that! It wasn’t like she could stop now. Once the tears started to fall, they just got heavier.

The tears fell hard as April entered a shortcut alley. Then she stopped when she saw a man at the other end; a man that looked to be just minding his own business, leaned up against a wall drinking from something within a paper bag. She already had a hunch of what it could be, and she certainly didn't want to cross his path. Not when there was a longer, but safer, path she could take instead. Gripping the knife in her pocket, April started to back away; it was preferable to turning her back on the man. At least, that’s what she thought before she collided with a bigger, heavier weight.

April tried to turn around. Powerful arms wrapped around her, one around her chest holding her in a grip so tight she thought her ribs might break, and another holding a cloth to her mouth. She held her breath for as long as she could, kicking out and trying repeatedly to strike the mans legs and groin, but all she met was muscle and what must have been an athletic cup protecting him. Figures! Just her luck!

When April could hold her breath no longer, she squeezed her eyes shut as the acrid fumes overwhelmed her, followed quickly by darkness.

#girls night out

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rotzaprachim · 4 years

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Not to be sappy but I'd love an Andy/Quynh first kiss, if and when you have the time.

This was a GREAT prompt and I hope you enjoy <3

touch the threshold, it is ancient

teen, 1.8 k, ao3 here

How long did you walk together before you walked together someone will ask, and she doesn’t have the answer. Long. Too long, maybe, but by the time she and Quỳnh find each other, they have a good idea of the kind of thing they’re in for, battles survived, even more, hunger and thirst and storm survived, skin that scars and wrinkles no further, hair that goes no more grey over the years. Family five and six and seven and then uncountable generations to their graves. They understand, maybe, how time will move honey-slow through their lives as it crashes down around the rest of the world as a wave from the sea slams the shoreline, leaving whitewater in its wake.

And maybe this is why, why it it takes so long for them to come to that calm morning in the town by the so, so many- not years, for them really, so much as cycles of the land, death and life and death that feels close enough to hold together in the palm of a hand, the sturdy rhythmic pattern of the gods beating out a dancing rhythm against the earth. Winter-summer-winter-spring. Fall in winter, rise in spring, and every time you turn your head, another generation has gone to the back to the earth or the ash or a sky above, the baby who took her mother in the birthing now an honored grandmother with many flocks and fruit trees and grandchildren at her feet. It does not take much to untie yourself from the earth and feel like you and this woman in front of you are the only people alive, walking blood-bound and human through the world of ghosts. So many have now worshipped them as gods, given them the finest lodging in their temples and brought them the finest woven linen fabrics and cowrie-shell necklaces, pounded gold anklets and jugs of honeyed wine, looked in their eyes for the salvation of rain and a good growing season, and so many others have bound then to the burning pyre when they could not bring the end to the hunger. They are always having to walk on. Quỳnh does not think they are gods. Anath does not know if gods know they are gods.

Anath only knows this: the music of the earth, and the woman in front of her, whose burning-spark soul she carries beneath her skin alongside her own. She knows she feels this woman in her heart, and that no number of her own deaths is too many to see her well and safe, and that when their skin trails against each other in the desert-cool night it is the fire of the world itself. That she is kind and soft of heart and always extends an open hand to the stranger and that she cries after every battle as they do their best to honor and say the burial rights of the dead so that the fallen can walk to the next world, even if it is different from their own, and yet she also knows that this woman is knife edge sharp, prefers to bring a tyrant down with a joke and a lampooning poem shouted from the palace roof than with a sword- though of course, she can very well do that as well. Anath knows that it does not matter if she is a god or not, for all that is divine rests in this woman, and she will stand next to her forever.

And like all amongst gods and men she has her rituals, the ones to honor her ancestors that she has carried with her from her first life and the other smaller daily ones, the neat arrangement of their shoes and clothes next to their bedrolls when they make camp. The precision of how neatly she plaits her hair in the mornings and secures it with twisted copper pins. And then the carelessness with how she undoes it in the night, running her hands through the soft braid-bends and letting it fall luxuriously around her shoulders. They are in a town that is one of the beginnings of cities at the edge of a great sea, a decisive turn in the braid of the great human story they are only beginning to fully see the threads of, becoming human again after a long trek through the desert dealing with roving bandits who tried to take the young men to be soldiers and even more worryingly, shattered the walls of cisterns and burned the fields. Anath stopped praying a generations past being the only one who could remember the names of her gods but she calls out to whatever may exist that she and Quỳnh will not return in years time to bury those claimed from the hunger that always comes knocking after war, even when the blood has been drunk thirstily by the earth.

“Shhhh,” Quỳnh says, running her fingers through her hair. “Your thoughts are extremely loud tonight. I need peace in my sleep.” She undoes a final braid and it unravels, and it strikes Anath how the moon on Quỳnh’s hair reminds her of the moon on the rippling night sea. “And I will kill you if I am disturbed.” “You wouldn’t want to clean the blood from your sheets.”

She shrugs. “Maybe so. I am fond of this shift.”

Anath too is fond of this shift, simple in the extreme and with a sharp cut across Quỳnh’s collarbone, leaving her muscle-strong, sun-goldened arms to the cool night air, but her tongue will not let her say anything, so she only nods. Only watches Quỳnh finishing combing out her hair and then brush in oil to keep it strong and safe from the desert wind, same as she does every night in which they are free to do as they please and have their own home to make. The breeze rustles the tips of her hair as she gets up from the place at the edge of the room she’s crouched upon and climbs the ladder back to the sleeping room beneath, and Anath follows her. Unrolls the sleeping roll, even though it is not quite cold enough for the blankets, not with the heat of Quỳnh beside her, burning like her own sun.

“I have not had peace in my own mind since that night at the cistern,” Quỳnh says suddenly, to the back of Anat’s neck, her breath curling warmly there, and she grabs her hand and wraps it tight around her own and brings it to her lips, lightly presses them to the knuckles. Quỳnh shifts behind her. They do not say anything more.

The morning sun comes too early, as it always does, and Quỳnh is still asleep when Anath wakes, curled like an ally cat. Anath climbs down to the narrow street below, barters for weak beer and rough barley bread and, treasure of treasures, fresh sweet figs, milky sap sticky on their stems. She comes home to Quynh and lays these treasures on the low wooden table and tears the bread apart as Quỳnh finally rouses, stretching luxuriously, still all ally cat even with her messy strands of hair sticking up around her face, crinkled nose forever angry at the basic passage of the sun. For all time. For forever.

“I thought you had abandoned me for the barley malter down the street,” Quỳnh teases, like she always does. “You say he has the sweetest brew.”

“I will not leave you until the end of all things,” Anath says, like she always does, and she has never meant words more.

“We must know peace for a while before we again see war,” Anath says says, and Quỳnh nods, knows that it is true, even though it is always a most difficult decision to make when their bodies bear no scars from the war and the soul is not a visible thing and there are still so many out there suffering. It is Quỳnh who makes her stop, makes them both breathe, take long slow days from their lives to breath and listen to the songs of the marketplace, and if it were herself alone, Anath would never stop. But in the deepest parts of herself she knows she must take care of this one beside her, for all their days.

Anath wipes the few spare crumbs from the table and Quỳnh pulls out her carved-wood comb, her most valuable possession apart from her bow and arrows and knives. She has an eye for these sorts of things, jewellry and cloth, that Anath does not. Quỳnh carefully separates her hair into strands and then plaits them, her movements sharp and precise with the experience of time. Pins her hair with the copper pins. Anath watches her easy grace.

Quỳnh finishes and is about to pack the comb away again when she says, suddenly, “Why do I not braid your hair?” She has not made such an offer before.

Without words Anath sits in front of her, crossing her legs against the floor. Quỳnh’s hands are practiced and do not hurt, but even so, it is hard for Anath to keep her breathing steady, keep her thoughts within her head as she feels the steady pull of her hair back from it’s usual mess into a neat plait working its way down her back. She does not like this business of hair, prone to cracking or tangling or catching fire, would cut all of it off if it would not attract undue notice. The cool pass of air at her scalp and neck once it has been done back is a relief.

“There.” Quỳnh’s hands are at the bottom of the braid, tying it back with a strip of cloth. No extra pins. The calm morning silence. And then suddenly the lightest brush of her lips against the top of Anath’s head, even though she must have to push herself up to be able to do that. Her breath hitches, pauses, and so does Anath’s. Live long enough and know change swells across the land slowly, but this- this is different. A sudden shock, like lightening forking from the heavens to the world of man.

“You take care of me, and I will take care of you. That is the only way we can continue upon the earth.”

Anath reaches out and links her fingers through Quynh’s, turns so that their foreheads are to one another. Places a hand at the back of Quỳnh’s neck, and suddenly the storm that has been massing thunder for one thousand years breaks free and their lips are to each other, both familiar and shockingly, bracingly new. The kiss is chaste and then it is very, very hungry, and it tastes of the malt-bitter of beer and the sweetness of figs.

#andy x quynh #andromache of scythia #quynh #the old guard #the old guard fic #my writings #prompt fills #wlw tag #also did u see what i did with the sappiness? did you?

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unholyplumpprincess · 3 years

Text

Desperate For Your Taste

Anon asked: Imagine vamp bloodhound forcing themselves to only drink from animals or bloodbags because they feel thats more respectful than hunting humans, so during a season of the games their supply runs low and they get to a point of desperation where they beg their reader s/o to let them drink and reader's like "uh yeah ive been offering since day 1" And bloodhound just WORSHIPPING them while drinking and telling them "you taste so good" and then maybe they thank them in a *special* way after?😳

I modified the prompt just a smidgen!!!! Love me some desperate Hound.

Reblogs > Likes. Age in your bio (18+ only) or get blocked!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound/Reader

Warnings: NSFT/R18+, Reader has a vulva but is gender neutral, vampire Bloodhound, drinking of blood, going off an old idea where vampires had venom in their fangs to paralyze their ‘victim’ so wellp, you aren’t BOUND but ya can’t move, Bloodhound’s excessive and polite pet names but ALSO their excessive body mods, so pierced tongue + split tongue mentioned. You’re welcome.

Words: 2.5k

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Truly, you could have laughed when you found out Bloodhound was a vampire.

Memories of headlines reading ‘local legend part bat?’ hitting you when they’d revealed it to you. They knew that you wouldn’t be scared, but for you to giggle at them had been something they hadn’t been expecting. Well, until you burst out giggling with, “So are you really part bat? Do you got wittle pointy ears and wings?” And they’d pushed you playfully, softly and told you that you were ridiculous.

Aliens existed, different alien beasts that you could hunt or talked like any other person- sure, why would vampires not be real? Though it did lead to you asking questions about eating. It definitely explained their like of raw meat and how they’d wait at your door for an invitation- something which you had assumed in the past was simply their polite behavior.

~Rest under the cut~

Eating was easy enough to understand. Bloodhound explains that it varied, like humans, what they wanted one day. They could eat raw meat or very rare cooked meat, they could merely drain the blood from something but that took a lot of effort and different vein points to bite down onto to get a proper fill, and they vaguely hinted that there were other ways than that, but when you asked they didn’t elaborate. Merely brushed it off with a healthy flush to their cheeks and a, “Another time, my love.”

But they did admit they did not ever indulge in humans. Nor would they indulge in animals or beasts they had not killed by their own hand- it seemed improper to them. You asked about blood bags, but they had made a face akin to a child being offered vegetables so you assumed that was off the table. Though when you asked why not simply chomp anyone in the arena, going so far as to suggest that Mirage would probably love a death like that, Bloodhound had softly laughed.

“Feeding from...a person is seen as very intimate. And though Mirage is attractive, I am afraid you are the only one who holds my heart, my love.” They’d said softly to you, holding your hand that day and tracing patterns into your palm. Of course, this had started with you whining that you’d offered for them to chomp you since day one of being in a relationship, going so far as to gesture at your neck only for them to tell you that they were not hungry.

Despite the fact their eyes had lingered on your neck a little too long before they’d politely looked away.

Liar.

Now though, now in the season they’ve been looking a little...unhinged. In the arena they are normally ruthless, but now their ratings are higher than ever due to their need to chase their prey down. Bloodhound’s shots are on point with killer accuracy, to the point sometimes they take the last of their opponent down with their raven hatchet in hand. You start to notice it gets worse when they do not do their signature sign off of their kills, no longer taking the time to do a brief prayer for them, but instead seeming to linger a bit too long on the blood on their hatchet before wiping it off on their thigh.

You watch from the cameras like everyone else. You’re sure no one else would notice- their ratings were getting higher from this anyway. But you know for a fact they’re hungry. Bloodhound must not have had time to scope the island for fresh meat, or time to take a trip to the kitchen to find meat yet cooked and yet frozen. Regardless of the reason, your concern grows.

When this week’s matches come to a pause, you’re not surprised to hear the knock on your door- they normally return to your quarters to spend the weekend anyhow. Though as you answer the door, you’re surprised to see them in their casual clothing.

Their hair is pulled up into a ponytail, red curls sticking up here and there with a braid framing the side of their face and a raven feather braided into it. Their rounded glasses with red lenses hide their eyes, as well as the lower black face mask with white sharp teeth painted on the front hiding their lower face. A black lace bralette, their fur lined cropped leather jacket, and leather pants make your eyes near about wander and linger at the peeking underbust tattoo and thinking about licking the line from their--

“My love,” Bloodhound breathes out, their voice desperate.

“Right! Please, come inside!” You quickly reply, watching as they cross the threshold as if an invisible barrier had come down. They seem...frantic? The door being kicked shut behind them and you hardly have the time to open your mouth before you’re being scooped up from their impossible strength. You let out a laugh hooking your legs around their waist as their hands grab your ass and carry you straight to your bed.

You’re dressed in your lounge clothing. A loose t-shirt and matching lounge pants with some cute cliché green alien design on them. Certainly nothing fancy like their own clothing. But once they lie you down on your bed, they take just a moment longer to kick off their boots before they’re climbing on top of you, fitting between your spread thighs.

You smile up at them, plucking their glasses off their nose to set on the nightstand beside your bed and turn your head back in time to watch them unhook their mask to toss elsewhere in your room. When they lean down, you expect a kiss, but instead they nudge at the crook of your neck with a soft growl.

Immediately you roll your head to the side, allowing their lips to press hungry, open mouthed kisses over your jugular. It’s so sudden that you whine faintly in your throat, hands coming up so one can grab their shoulder and the other resting in the bulk of their ponytail. “H-Hound not that I mind or anything, but are you a--”

“Hungry.” They growl out against you, their split tongue sliding across your neck and making you shudder. “I have not been able to- ah- to have a moment to-” They groan lowly, as if irritated at their inability to speak. You gently shush them, pulling their ponytail lightly and watching them comply obediently to pull back and look at you.

Their good eye’s slit pupil is thinned out dangerously, their full lips parted and double set of sharp canines exposed. Bloodhound’s eyes are half lidded, heavy, as if they can’t get enough of your scent. They looked absolutely desperate, punctuated further by their whimper and their bottom lip wobbling attractively before they manage to choke out. “Please. Please, my sweet one. I shall be gentle, it will not hurt--- have you eaten?” It comes spilling out all at once, their tone desperate before concerned and you choke on a laugh.

“You don’t have to ask, you know, I’ve always been willing. And yes, I have eaten, it had sugar too so I won’t be fainting on you either.” You reply, gently tugging their hair so they’ll be guided back down to your neck. You adjust a little bit to be comfortable on your pillows, letting them shift their own body until they’re no longer on top of you. Bloodhound curled almost into your side, one arm over your chest and their face still buried into the crook of your neck. One of their legs slots against yours, the other tucked a bit over your thigh and hip as if they’re spooning into your side.

You’ve tugged their hair out of its ponytail. Idly massaging their scalp as Bloodhound mouths at your neck. They seem almost nervous, or teasing themself, their breaths coming out like soft, hushed growls instead. You give them a gentle tug to urge them, tensing yourself up when you feel the brush of their fangs.

“Relax.” You hear cooed into your mind, immediately feeling at ease and you suspect it’s some sort of ‘vampire magick’ happening. And then you feel it, the quick stab of their teeth that you’d only ever felt nips and scrapes of. It makes you jump lightly, a sharp gasp leaving your lips, fingers curling into their hair at the same time their arm seems to anchor you into place.

True to their word, it doesn’t hurt, merely just a quick burn before it soothed itself out. At first you expect that this feeding business was easier than you thought, easing your fingers in their hair and returning to massaging their scalp. You can feel the gentle suction on your neck, the vague feeling of their tongues lapping you up and the soft moans of contentment they let out.

And then you feel it. No, not pain, but this sort of...warmth. It blossoms from that area in your neck, curling down your spine until your eyes are fluttering and you feel your breath quickening, your heart rate matching. “H-Hound?” You whimper out, confusion in your tone, and they moan against you in response.

You think you’re figuring out why feeding off another person was ‘intimate’. You feel like you’ve been edged for hours. There’s a wet feeling between your thighs, but you can’t feel yourself able to even move. Even your fingers have stopped in their hair, feeling like your body was made of warm jello. Warm, horny jello.

Bloodhound’s mouth pulls from your neck, licking the wound shut before they’re moving overtop you again. Your hand falls from their hair, falling to the bed limply and you can move it ever so slightly, but it feels like you’re trying to move it through a pool full of pudding. Bloodhound doesn’t look concerned, so you remain calm, looking up at them as they fit back between your legs. You think you like the way their eyes look dangerous, or the fact they have to wipe their mouth off with the back of their hand so their lips aren’t stained red.

“You should be feeling arousal,” They begin, their voice thick and low as they run their fingers over your sides. The very touch makes you whimper, feeling all too hot. “Every touch should feel twice as sensitive.” They continue, dragging their nails back down to grab your t-shirt and pulling it slowly up.

“I can feel you want this, my love, you are always so good for me. But I wish to hear it as well.” Bloodhound murmurs when they’ve pulled your shirt above your chest, tracing their fingers down to between your chest. It feels like they’re tracing both fire and ice across your skin, feeling every little thing like any touch they gave you was pure pleasure-

“Yes. Yes- you're- fuck, Hound, is this some kinky shit all vampires have?” You manage to whine out. It makes them laugh at least, a low chuckle at your humor as they gentle grab your chest, circling your nipples with their thumbs. Your reaction is immediate, a moan sliding past your throat and your head lolling slowly to the side. Even the smallest action has you sobbing out when their nails scrape across your nipples.

“I suppose you may see it as a type of venom,” They explain cooly . They sound less desperate now, their tone still hungry. But their nails brush along your skin downwards to the waistband of your pants, hooking their fingers in and helping you out of them all whilst speaking. “Traditionally it was to ensure prey could not escape and that it would be pleasurable for them instead. Now?”

Bloodhound tugs off your underwear with their last word, sighing as they spread your legs apart and begin to slide between your legs. Your face flushes red when you feel them nuzzle the mound of your sex before inhaling your scent with a low groan. “Now, it is for intimate moments such as this.” Spoken with a breathlessness to their tone.

“W-wait, are you still hungry?” You breathe out, aware of the dull throb in your neck. You’re surprised when they lightly chuckle, their warm breath fanning across your slick cunt and making you shiver.

“My love, I need only to feed on any life force. I have had my appetizer, now I am ready for my meal.” They speak so calmly, yet it sounds like pure filth from their mouth. Their talented, talented, cruel mouth-

Normally you’d fist your hands into their hair and squirm, but you find yourself unable to even do that. Feeling much like a doll as they use one hand to press over your mound, two fingers pulling your labia apart and exposing your clit. Even their very breath over your slick flesh makes you want to cry, feeling your clit jerk before their mouth even touches it in an open mouthed, hungry kiss.

Their split, pierced tongue is always such a blessing. Sliding down through your folds to lick up your slick and coming back up to your clit where their mouth gently seals over it. Suckling lightly and popping off a few times just to make you sob out. They’re always such a messy eater, nosing at your clit, messily licking you up and teasing your clit by sandwiching it between the split of their modded tongue.

Bloodhound moans against you, their free hand pressing at your inner thigh to keep your legs apart and to feel how you twitch despite being unable to move. They moan even louder at your cries of sensitivity, unable to cover your mouth or control your vocal chords with every cry. They eat you like they’re starving, their mouth sealing over you just to lick over you sloppily, narrowing their mouth down soon enough to seal back over your clit and tracing mindless shapes around the length of it.

You cum in about a minute flat. Wracking your entire frame with tremors and your cunt squeezing around nothing. Bloodhound moans against you again, the vibrations making a cracked sob roll from your lips, but they merely pull back for just a moment to kiss at your inner thighs.

“You taste divine, ansi bráð mitt.” They growl out lowly, watching as you roll your head slowly to meet their hungry gaze. When they grin, it looks wolfish, your slick on their lips like a form of gloss. You whine at their hungry look.

“Hound-”

“Shh. You can give me three more, can you not?”

You whimper out, toes already curling when they lower their head back towards your cunt when you nod.

“Good. Now, be good, little one. I have earned this treat.”

You suppose you finally got your answer to what else they could eat.

You think you prefer this method.

#Bloodhound #Bloodhound x reader #apex legends #apex lemons #vampire Bloodhound #nsft #lemon #princess writing

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earthnashes · 4 years

Photo

"A-are you sure you're okay with this? I know my tub's a little cramped for yo-"

Mal chose to turn in that moment to look directly at Kaela and silently raise an arched brow. "A little?" the expression says, and the girl has the good graces to blush at that. "Okay, a lot cramped. But... there must be something else we can do?"

Mal's response is to simply take her top off, thumbing the buttons holding it in place and being careful when sliding it off her wings. "Done it before," she says, her strange voice vibrating in her chest as she stretches her wings to their full span; they cast a wide shadow on the ground behind her, over the spot Kaela stands, and she hears the audible sigh of relief as feathers ripple from shoulder to wingtip before they fold, relaxed.

Kaela hums and glances at the pond Mal's so keen on entering. It's certainly wide and seems clean enough based on its clarity, so clear she can make out the bottom of the deepest part even from where she stands. Overall, perfectly safe, but even still...

"You shouldn't have to bathe in a pond..." Kaela mutters, feeling a strange pang of guilt in her gut at the thought. It isn't her fault the tub is simply too small for someone as towering as Mal; the Spirit could barely sit in it without her legs and arms completely overtaking the edge, and that isn't including the massive wings cramped against the walls. But it was Mal's apartment as much as it was her own now, surely there were ways to accommodate her? There's got to be something else that's better than a random ol pond in the forest, right?

To her chagrin, none of her silent questions are answered with nothing but the click of a belt hitting the ground, and before she knows it water ripples with movement as Mal wanders out to the deepest depression of the pond. She sighs under her breath; they were here now, may as well make the best of it.

Setting the box of wash products on the edge of a rock where Mal can reach them, Kaela strips down to the swimsuit she wore under her clothing and lets herself slide feet-first into the cool water with her own relief. Even in the early morn and the shade of the trees the summer sun felt stifling, and it felt nice to finally get away from it.

Mindful of giving Mal space and some semblance of privacy, she closes her eyes as she sets herself adrift the pond on her back, lazily kicking this way and that. The water splashes quietly with every movement Mal makes, and while they don't speak, the silence is comfortable and relaxed. Kaela she doesn't know how long they stay like this, but it's long enough for her to soak in her surroundings; morning birds chirping merrily as they get ready for their day, the warmth of the sun on her skin filtering through the green leaves of the trees, the soft smell of the soaps Mal uses mixing with the clean summer air. Kaela sighs quietly; she can't quite remember the last time she's felt this relaxed.

"Kaela?"

The sound of her name startles her enough to nearly sink underwater and she flails briefly before righting herself. Pushing some of her hair out of her face with an embarrassed sputter, she turns around to look at Mal with a hoarse "‘Ae?"

To her relief, Mal doesn't seem to mind her sudden surprise floundering (or is courteous enough to ignore it) and instead simply looks at her with a weighted gaze. Her fingers are repeatedly trailing over the expanse of her braid, tapping occasionally against the metal clasp that holds the end in place, and Kaela is suddenly struck by how nervous she looks.

For all the expanse that she's known Mal over the last few weeks, she's never seen her look nervous about anything.

She sits up fully, or at least as much as she can while actively keeping afloat, and asks "what's wrong?" The spirit shakes her head in response with a hum, takes a step closer; she's tall enough that she doesn't need to swim. Her fingers trace over her braid one more time before she puts her hand down, allowing it sink into the water as she squares her shoulders.

"Wash my hair?"

Kaela feels her eyelashes flutter in bewilderment, and all she can do is stutter out “ah” before she falls quiet. The last time she offered to wash Mal’s hair, she was met with a guarded stare and hands flying to protectively grasp at the long expanse of dark strands. A resounding no. She never offered again after that, unwilling to make the spirit uncomfortable. But this was… new.

The silence stretching between them this time is more tense than the last, and Kaela takes the time to take in Mal’s stance; standing to the full extent of her height with the water only just reaching her waist, wings raised slightly, shoulders squared yet still just barely trembling. Mal’s eyes are burning with knowledge Kaela doesn’t quite understand, but she gets the impression her request has far more meaning behind it than it does on the surface. A silent question masked beneath another.

It didn’t feel appropriate to answer with words, so Kaela answers by hoisting herself up onto the rock nearby, crossing her legs and putting her hands in her lap before giving a slow, quiet nod.

Mal drawls out a breath through her nose, as if trying to expel the last of her nerves, before she wades over to where the girl sits patiently. She turns around the moment she’s in reach and allows her braid to fall in place against her back, doing nothing more than being as still as a statue. Kaela takes a moment of her own before she reaches for the braid and carefully clicks open the metal clasp, setting it aside before getting to work.

The hair is unlike anything she’s felt before; heavy and coarse, a strange mix of being rough yet smooth enough to easily glide her fingers through as she undoes the braid. Closer to the scalp the hair feels slightly harder, almost like the quills of a strong feather, and Kaela gets the impression not a strand would come loose even with a strong tug. Mal tenses when neat nails scratch lightly over her scalp, but when Kaela combs through the tresses again with her fingers to feel for any tangles, she heaves a deep, rumbling sigh that the girl feels in the base of her own chest.

Kaela sets about washing Mal’s hair with shampoo next, massaging from scalp before combing outward to the ends in a repeated motion before she cups water to wash out the suds. She repeats with conditioner, and it’s only when she begins to carefully run a toothed comb through Mal’s hair that she notices the consistent growling noise the spirit’s making. She slows the motion of the comb as she glances up with her brows furrowed in confusion; this wasn’t hurting her, was it?

“Are you okay?” She asks, and all she gets from Mal is a quiet “hm?” in response. “You’re… I’m not hurting you, am I?”

The spirit shifts a little at her question but otherwise remains where she is, and it takes a moment for Kaela to realize she shook her head no. She blinks as she brings the comb back up to bear, having stopped momentarily.

“Then…?” She combs downward, digging only slightly at the base of Mal’s neck before moving the comb outward again, and she can’t help a startled laughing breath when the same rolling noise erupts from the spirit in a loud, relaxed sigh.

“Ah. Are you purring?”

Mal shakes her head again, but the movement is only followed by another one of those “purrs”, and Kaela doesn’t stop the giggle that escapes her. “Sounds kinda like you are,” she teases lightly, but she drops it when Mal snorts and shrugs, and the two fall quiet again.

For the remainder of their stay at the pond it remains quiet, not a word passed between them, but Kaela could feel the change in the air. This one is far more comfortable, even more so than any of the quiet moments before, and as Mal leads the way back into the forest and toward the path back to town, she sees how different her posture is. Still as tall as ever, but her broad shoulders are sloped, wings lax and her freshly braided hair still falling against her back instead of over her shoulder as it usually is. Not an ounce of underlying wariness she carried since the beginning of the morning, since the first time she met her.

Kaela slows her walk down and stares at her feet for a long moment, gathering up her courage to break the silence. When she does with Mal’s name, and when the spirit stops to turn and look at her, she swallows the nerves that bundles in her throat and asks:

“Can we do this again sometime?”

The silence returns for a few quickening heartbeats as Mal studies her, searching her face like she always does. Before finally, right before she runs out of breath to hold, one of her rare, careful smiles curls onto her lips.

There’s warmth in her voice when she drawls out “yes”.

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CHRIST ALMIGHTY THIS GOT LONG! I didn’t think I’d manage to write upwards to 3 pages of Mal and Kaela hangin’ out at a pond but uh. welp. Here we are. o3o

Based on the anon question I got here asking about how long Mal’s hair was, and that ended with me writing a short story and makin’ some art to answer it. ;w; The story itself is entirely based around the first image while the other two are just showing off Mal’s hair in her braid and out of it. uwu

General context of the story itself is showcasing a moment Mal, albeit nervously, decides to fully trust Kaela. I wanted to show it off in somethin’ that could seem mundane to someone else, but to Mal, who holds great importance on her hair, asking Kaela to wash her hair is essentially her asking “can I trust you? Even when vulnerable?” and the way Kaela responds is essentially her saying “you are safe with me.”

I tried not to outright say that in the story so I hope it comes off that way! ;w;

ANYWAY some additional background stuff too if you’re curious:

Mal’s too big to fit in Kaela’s tiny bathtub and the first few weeks living with her was kinda troublesome when it came to bathing. ESPECIALLY for cleaning her wings. After a few awkward tries with the extendable shower faucet, Mal outright gave up trying to use the tiny little bathtub and just opted to use the springs deep in the woods.

Kaela dislikes the idea of Mal having to use a damn lake in the woods to bathe but until they find out about Spirit Bath Houses, it’s the best they come up with, so she would sometime accompany her. This particular instance is probably the first time Mal asks Kaela to come with her. o3o

Aaaand I think that’s all I have to say for now! If you’re curious about the characters and the world they live in, just visit the Feathers and Flowers tag, of which I’ll link below! In the meantime I hope you enjoy the writing and the artwork, and thank you for taking a looksie! ^.^

#feathers and flowers #concept art #monster girl #my art #my characters #fnf #fnf canon #doodle #ask #answered ask #sketch #kaela #mal #my writing #short story

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folderolsfollies · 3 years

Text

Sangyao Arranged Marriage.... III

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Word Count: 2.7k Rating: T Warnings: None to date (Besides discussion of canon events)

Nie Huaisang idly notes that it had taken three servants blanching and running through the halls of the Jinlintai at the sight of him freely wandering through its gilded passageways before he’s caught. He tears his gaze away from a beautiful and entirely inaccurate mural commemorating Jin victories during the Sunshot campaign. There’s Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun in front of him, pieced out in larger-than-life gold. Jin Guangyao, the hero of the Sunshot campaign, is absent from the scene.

He fully turns when he recognizes a quiet but unmistakable pair of footsteps. Jin Guangyao, alone, moves with a leopard’s prowling grace.

“San-ge, thank god you’re here! I got so lost…” he lies hurriedly before Jin Guangyao can say anything, clasping onto his arm. This close, the warm, spicy smell of cloves curls towards him. “Oh! You smell nice,” he says, entranced into losing his train of thought, and leans forward, to where the scent is deepened by the heat radiating out from Jin Guangyao’s jugular. “Have you remembered my trick with the incense?” he says, remembering frozen nights in Qinghe carefully draping his long sleeves over the incense burners. At the time, Meng Yao had kept his sleeves sensibly bound to the wrist, but Nie Huaisang had noticed the hungry way that he had stilled to watch all these invisible tricks of the gentry from out of the corner of his eyes, even back then. It had been the first time anybody had wanted to imitate Nie Huaisang. It had been the first time Nie Huaisang had felt the urge to impress someone, stirring new and strange within him.

“I will always remember your kindnesses, Nie Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao replies in the present, polite to a fault, and admirably suppressing his clear desire to ask what exactly Nie Huaisang is doing in Koi Tower. His San-ge, always so thoughtful! “The Jinlintai welcomes you.”

Nie Huaisang finally remembers his twice-stated promise, and, releasing his arm, darts backwards from him like a startled fawn.

“Jin-er-gongzi, thank you for the hospitality,” he says formally, and bows as deeply and as properly as any Lan.

Strong hands catch him from beneath the elbows before the arc of his bow is complete, and he’s hauled back into a standing position. They stand there for a long moment, with Jin Guangyao’s hands wrapped tight around his forearms, and Nie Huaisang’s hands gently draped on his arms. For a moment, Jin Guangyao’s face is startled into openness, as he looks at Huaisang with his large deer-soft eyes, and Huaisang looks back at him.

There’s a lock of Nie Huaisang’s hair, braided for the dust of summer travel, curling around Jin Guangyao’s sleeve and tickling his wrist. Jin Guangyao swiftly tucks it behind Nie Huaisang’s ear, his thin, cold thumb briefly brushing over Huaisang’s cheekbone. His fingers flex against Nie Huaisang’s scalp, briefly, before he releases him, and Huaisang beats down the brief impulse to envelop those cold hands in his own warm ones.

“Let’s go to my office,” Jin Guangyao finally says, and smiles, a small, reflexive thing.

The room Jin Guangyao brings them to is bright and well appointed, and utterly impersonal. There are no decorations. It is the office of a bureaucrat. It is the office of someone who can leave it at any time. Nie Huaisang, kneeling across from Jin Guangyao at his plain desk, feels suddenly desolate at the idea of bright Jin Guangyao entombed in this dingy room. Even in Qinghe, stark as it was, Meng Yao’s office had a few scattered effects, even if it was mostly scraps given by Nie Huaisang. Huaisang wants to give him something beautiful, something that would chisel him into the very walls.

He’s been silent too long. “San-ge, if I get you a fan, would you hang it there?” Nie Huaisang says, pointing randomly at an alcove in the corner. He’s sure to make the words sound artless, casual. Nie Huaisang knows enough to spare Jin Guangyao the sensation of pity.

It must work well enough, because Jin Guangyao says indulgently, “Of course, Huaisang.”

“Don’t just agree with me! What if it’s awful?” Nie Huaisang says.

“I doubt you would ever choose anything that was not in exquisite taste,” Jin Guangyao demurs.

For some reason, at that, Nie Huaisang flops on his elbows and sighs heavily. He thinks he sees Jin Guangyao’s lips twitch up briefly from the corner of his eyes, but when he darts a glance up at him his face is smoothed into placidity once more.

A servant comes in, bearing a tray laden with the dainty little walnut cakes Nie Huaisang favors, placing them on the table to Jin Guangyao’s polite murmur of thanks.

When she leaves, Nie Huaisang leans in, hiding them both under his fan. “Ah, San-ge, what was her name?” he asks.

“Tang Zhu,” Jin Guangyao says in response, and doesn’t ask why Nie Huaisang was curious, sparing Nie Huaisang from having to answer that he simply wanted to see how quickly he would answer, plucking facts out of his well-ordered brain. Sometimes Nie Huaisang’s thoughts spin out from him, wild and untethered and frightening; at those times, Jin Guangyao’s straight-pathed mind settles something deep within him.

When Meng Yao had first entered the Unclean Realm, there had been a long stretch of months when Nie Huaisang had been anxious and sulky about this new addition to Qinghe’s roster, the slight figure at his brother’s right side who carried no saber and who had nevertheless earned such a large portion of his brother’s respect. It had lasted until the day Huaisang had trailed him silently through the secret passageways of the realm to see him pinching off crumbs of bread for one of the stray cats that jostled around the gates. He had felt an affection tinged with the bloody edge of loneliness. He’s like me, he had thought. He could be like me.

He had looked at him then. Jin Guangyao, only two years older than Huaisang, had seemed to have a steady presence that burned brightly within him, outshining any golden core. And Nie Huaisang never really stopped looking at him.

He spreads his fan in front of his face. He has a sudden hope that Meng Yao remembers how they’d use his fan as a silent method of communication with each other back in Qinghe, the way a brisk tap meant rescue me, a shift from hand to hand meaning, watch out! Da-ge coming. When he twists his wrist he thinks with each flutter: trust me, trust me, trust me. “Jin-er-gongzi, how are you settling in?”

Jin Guangyao looks trapped between exasperation and banked amusement, and Nie Huaisang feels such a rush of nostalgic affection that it makes his teeth hurt. “It would be best if you do not refer to me as such in Koi Tower,” he says instead of replying, lightly scolding. “Our positions are dissimilar.”

Nie Huaisang tilts his head unhappily, but smiles to cover it. “Then you’ll be my San-ge. What would you like to do while I’m in here distracting you?”

“I’d like to do my work , Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, pointedly, picking up a sheaf of papers on the table.

It gives him pause. In Qinghe, Meng Yao was as familiar to him as the downbeat of his own heart; Jin Guangyao in his Lanling gold has new expressions he doesn’t know how to read. Has he been presuming too much on a friendship grown stale through time? He doesn’t know. He has to know.

“Then forgive me for encroaching on your time, San-ge,” he says, penitently. He may have pulled the words from a drama. “I can see myself out.” He stirs to leave.

“Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, and stops. Hope blooms in Nie Huaisang’s chest like a rose, flowered but barbed. Jin Guangyao’s lies are quick and fluent, easy to surface. Deliberation means he’s close to the truth. His smile is a little sad at the edges. “I can spare some time,” is what he settles on. “What brings you to Lanling?”

“Mostly, just avoiding Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says, shamelessly. He feels giddy, pricked all over with excitement at the familiar cadence of the conversation. “He’s been after me to keep to a training schedule.”

“He only worries for you, you know that,” Jin Guangyao says patiently.

“Ah, I know, I know that,” Nie Huaisang says, “but this is peacetime! Surely the point of the war was to actually enjoy the rewards of peace.”

“Sometimes leadership demands sacrifice, even if it is peacetime, Huaisang,” says Jin Guangyao, offhandedly. Nie Huaisang puts his fan on the table.

Are you happy? He thinks. But then again, when he knew him best, Jin Guangyao was many things, and happy wasn’t necessarily one of them. When he thinks that he feels such a melting tenderness towards his old friend he has to hold his own hands.

“You always work very hard,” Nie Huaisang agrees. “But San-ge, shouldn’t you enjoy some of the rewards of peace too?”

“Nie Huaisang, you are not subtle,” Jin Guangyao chides, but his smile has turned more fond.

Caught out, Nie Huaisang grins back at him. “I’ve badgered Da-ge into finally letting me host a yaji for the next full moon, you should come, if you can make the time.”

“If I can make the time,” Jin Guangyao echoes neutrally.

“San-ge,” Nie Huaisang, pouting, “I’ll even sweeten the pot; should I invite someone for you?” Jin Guangyao will suggest Lan Xichen, who will be a good buffer between Da-ge and San-ge; he waits for confirmation.

Jin Guangyao looks down at his papers. “It would be a good opportunity to strengthen your relationship with some of the tributary sects. Some of the smaller sects produce fine artisans, like Laoling or Dingtao,” he says, neutrally.

Nie Huaisang tosses his hair back in exasperation. Jin Guangyao looks up again, tracing the arc of its movement. “You know that’s not what I meant, San-ge - wait, since when does Laoling produce artisans?” Laoling, a minor city kissing Lanling’s borders, produces golden maize in the summer, sticky purple jujubes in winter; it does not, to Nie Huaisang’s knowledge, produce any scholars of the Great Arts. Jin Guangyao’s smile freezes; Nie Huaisang feels triumphant. “You’ve been holding out on me, San-ge! Who’s in Laoling?”

Jin Guangyao ducks his head, affecting a modesty Nie Huaisang is sure is feigned: “Lord Qin’s eldest daughter. Now that my brother’s engagement is secure, it’s time to start thinking about my own marital duties.”

“You wish to marry... Qin Su?” Nie Huaisang asks, astonished. Qin Su is sweet, Qin Su is pretty, in a delicate fashion, and Qin Su has a winsome manner that would, Nie Huaisang imagines, make a person who cares for such things want to sweep her up in their arms. Nie Huaisang would rather be swept up, but he is not blind to the appeal.

“She is a generous and loving woman, and she would make anyone a fine wife.” says Jin Guangyao, and there is an admonishment cloaked in his even tone. There’s Jin Guangyao’s protective streak again, and it sends warmth into Nie Huaisang’s chest even as it feels odd, to hear it directed on the behalf of someone else.

“No, I know that,” says Nie Huaisang, so blankly that it seems to mollify Jin Guangyao. “But I had thought… Zewu-Jun…” he trails off, suddenly aware that he is shown more of his hand than he had planned, but helpless against the rush of curiosity. Zewu-Jun is the top cultivator of the cultivation world, the pride of Gusu Lan. Nie Huaisang could never possibly strive to his heights - it exhausts him thinking of trying.

That would be the caliber of a suitor that he would find for Jin Guangyao. That was the caliber of a suitor he had thought he had found for Jin Guangyao.

Jin Guangyao’s eyes glint, and for a second Nie Huaisang is pinned under a piercing gaze. Jin Guangyao has not looked at him like that for a long time, and there is a small, hungry part of Nie Huaisang that would take the anger, if it means having the honesty. “You should be careful about what you think, and who you tell your thoughts to,” Jin Guangyao says. There you are, Nie Huaisang thinks.

Nie Huaisang makes his mouth twist. “Ah, I’ve upset you,” he says mournfully, “I only want you to be happy.” Jin Guangyao doesn’t smile, precisely, but his gaze softens slightly.

“I’m sure you do,” he says.

But something within Nie Huaisang thrums like a badly plucked qin. So that’s the type he likes, he thinks, without knowing why. Agitated, he taps blindly at his wrist with his fan. It’s then when he realizes that to many, a betrothal to Jin Guangyao would be seen as an insult. It feels like a betrayal to remember, but a greater betrayal to have forgotten.

(Once, Da-ge and him had overheard a chef say “What a pretty child the young master is, too bad about the mother.” Da-ge had her thrown out the next day.)

“I’ll set aside your usual room, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, in lieu of asking how long Nie Huaisang is planning on staying, which is rather deft of him. Nie Huaisang squirrels the phrasing away for safekeeping and raises his hands placatingly.

“Ah, no need, no need, San-ge, I just stopped by to say hello before proceeding to Lanling! Between the two of us, it’s a little difficult going shopping in Qinghe, everybody knows Da-ge there,” he says, knowing that his face is steadily turning more flushed and batting cool air at his face with his fan.

Jin Guangyao’s face is as smooth and impassive as a creamy block of white jade. “And what would Nie-er-gongzi need in Lanling that you wouldn’t want your brother to know that you’re buying?” He tilts his head, smiling as serenely as ever.

Nie Huaisang squirms and points at him with his fan accusingly. “Ah, you’re teasing me! That’s so unfair, nobody would ever believe me if I tell them that you have a sense of humor.” He wrinkles his nose against the laughter that threatens to bubble out of him. Decorum, Huaisang.

Jin Guangyao raises his eyebrows. The dimples deepen. “And who would you plan on telling?”

Nie Huaisang grins back at him. “You know I can’t tell anyone, you’re the only person I can actually gossip with.”

“I don’t indulge in gossip, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says primly, which is an obvious lie, and has been since the day Nie Huaisang had first met him. “It’s frivolous, and detrimental to the spirit.”

“But San-ge, I’m very frivolous,” Nie Huaisang points out. “Spare a thought for us lost causes.”

“You’re not a lost cause,” Jin Guangyao says, and for a moment he looks almost angry, the raw emotion rippling across his features the way a shark fin breaches water. He calms, and smiles placatingly. “You’ve been raised to this, you and your brother both.”

Jin Guangyao lies. Huaisang knows this. But sometimes, he lies to craft the world into a better shape than it is.

Nie Huaisang smiles at him. “I’ll invite the Qin family at the end of the month; I want to help you.”

He watches Jin Guangyao come to a decision. “You’d be putting me in your debt,” he says, as if doubtful.

Nie Huaisang thrills. “No debts between us, San-ge, we’re brothers!” he says, full of innocence, and watches Jin Guangyao relax in increments - softening his brow, the corners of his eyes, the rigid line of his shoulders entombed in layers and layers of fine silk. That’s never been true, but what would the thoughtless Second Young Master know about obligation? The trick with trapping a wild animal is that you can’t let them know that you see them, or it gives the whole game away.

“I have to go now, there’s only so much time before Da-ge figures out I’m not actually at Lotus Pier,” Nie Huaisang explains, with a trace of regret. He places a hand on Jin Guangyao’s slim wrist as he moves to leave, silk and skin nearly indistinguishable to the touch. “But it was good to see you again, Yao-ge.”

Jin Guangyao blinks slowly down at the hand at his wrist, and then upwards at him. “The pleasure was mine entirely, Huaisang.”

#my fic #sangyao #we're back baby

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