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yelena-bellova · 3 years

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Safe Haven: tftaws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter Eleven (final chapter)

chapter ten - Chapter Eleven: Safe Haven

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n and Bucky enjoy their time off in Brooklyn and make decisions about their future.

Warnings: FLUFF, very little angst for once, talk of torture, reference to suicide, open ended plot twist that I'm not sorry for...all the fluff, seriously...

Word Count: 7.3k

A/N: Here we are...part of the journey is the end, and we've arrived. Even though there's another a/n at the bottom (with an important announcement so don't tap out too soon) I want to iterate just how thankful I am for the response I got on this series. I had the most amazing time writing it and loved getting to meet and connect with so many of you through it. ENJOY!!

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It had taken all the strength Bucky had in his soul to knock three times on Yori’s door. He didn’t know what reserve he had had to tap into to actually make his long-hidden confession but once the words had fallen from his lips, he felt both freed and all the more burdened. Watching his friend’s eyes become overtaken by heartbreak, the desperate, confused utterance of ‘why…?’ By the end, Yori wouldn’t even look at Bucky. Bucky didn’t blame him, he was surprised that the man wasn’t yelling him out of his apartment. Instead, he calmly told Bucky to leave, surely holding back the majority of his emotions until he was by himself. The door shut on their friendship and Bucky was by himself on the other side of the door once again, drawing the shaky breath he’d held while he was inside Yori’s place. Out of every person he’d gone to see, every heart he’d had to crush, this one had hurt the most. In the dauntingly long hallway, his eyes sought out the gift the universe had given him, so undeservingly.

His guiding light.

Bathed in the blue light that flooded through the dirty windows of the aged building, Y/n stared down at her feet as she paced. For as open as they’d become with one another, Bucky found himself unable to ask her to accompany him to his last opportunity to make amends. The two of them had become so skilled at reading each other that with one look in his saddened eyes, Y/n had squeezed her phone into the pocket of her jeans and stood by the door waiting for him to ready himself. Bucky was starting to make peace with his past, but he still didn’t know what he had done in his wretched life to have such an angel in his life.

“Hey,” she greeted soothingly, turning to face Bucky as he approached her, “How’d it go?” Bucky wasn’t ready to speak yet, he wasn’t even sure how he could describe what had just transpired. He simply sighed and allowed Y/n to wrap him in her arms in the embrace that was quickly becoming his favorite place to be.

——

As I woke with a groan, stretching my arms over my head, I was immediately aware that one side of the bed was cold. I blindly reached a hand over and felt around for Bucky’s missing body, sitting up when my search was unsuccessful. I blearily scanned the bedroom, our suits laying in a pile that had been kicked to the corner of the desolately furnished room. The few articles of clothing I had gone to the nearest department store and purchased for my impromptu stay in New York still lay folded on top of Bucky’s dresser. It didn’t dawn on me until that moment that I was beginning to spread across Bucky’s apartment without even trying.

It had been four days since the Flag Smasher’s final stand and while the world may have been spinning, mine had never been more steady. Bucky and I hadn’t left his apartment for more than running necessary errands. Other than that we’d spent the time enjoying our slice of domestic heaven learning about one another. I had discovered that Bucky was a good cook but only when it came to breakfast food. He had found out that I needed to sleep with the windows opened slightly for background noise. I had learned that his Spotify consisted strictly of music from the ’40’s and nothing else, contrary to what he’d told Sam about diving into Marvin Gaye’s discography. He’d learned that I got cold easily which led to both me stealing his hoodies and being on the receiving end of many bear hugs. We could tell what the other would do in combat or how they’d handle a concerning matter, but it was finding out the little things about James Buchanan Barnes that made me fall a little bit harder for him with each revelation.

The unlocking and opening of the door followed by quiet footsteps alerted me to his presence. I heard a few muffled noises before the floorboards outside the bedroom creaked, the door opening directly after. Bucky was careful and nearly silent as he came into the room until he saw that my eyes were open. We shared a lazy smile as he approached the bed.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked.

I shook my head in reply, he came to kneel at my side of the bed and pulled the hand he’d hidden behind his back out revealing a bouquet of daisies. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any cuter,” I chuckled, reaching out to grab the bouquet, “I don’t think anyone’s ever bought me flowers.”

“That’s a crime,” Bucky said as he stood up, shedding his leather jacket as he walked around the bed, “In my time, you always brought a girl flowers on the first date. It was just what you did.”

“I guess we can consider my little extended stay a first date,” I dipped my nose down to smell the flowers, “Although I’m pretty sure in your time you wouldn’t allow a girl into your bed so soon.” Bucky snickered to himself, “A gentleman would never let a lady sleep on the floor. And selfishly,” he tugged his second layer, a grey long sleeved shirt off over his head, and looked down on me lovingly, “I sleep better with you here.”

It was true. He’d told me how he’d only used the bed once since he’d moved in, having slept on the floor instead. I was familiar with the phenomenon, Sam had gone through the same thing when he’d returned from the service. I’d told him that if he had a nightmare and needed to move out to his living room, I’d join him with no hesitations. Shockingly, it hadn’t happened yet and we’d slept in a peaceful tangle of limbs each night that I’d been with him.

Kicking off his boots, he slipped under the duvet and sat up against the headboard, looking over at me and patting his jean clad thigh. I set the flowers down and crawled over to him, sinking down onto his lap and sliding my hands around his neck.

“I like this,” he complimented me with a smirk, tugging at the material of his henley that I was wearing, “Looks better on you than it ever would on me.” “Clearly you’ve never seen you,” I scoffed, I’d also learned that the man had no idea just how attractive he was, “What were you off doing?” “Grocery store,” Bucky answered, gesturing to the sidelined bouquet, “Florist. Dr. Raynor’s office…” “Oh, I didn’t know you had a session this morning.”

Bucky took a deep breath, his hands firmly secured around my waist and his thumbs rubbing at my hips. “I didn’t,” he answered, “I, uh, I crossed off all the names in my book. Thought I’d drop by and let her know.” I gave a breathy laugh, “All of them?” He nodded, “All of them.” Surprised and proud, I placed my hands on his cheeks and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “I never doubted you for a second” I said softly, our lips almost touching, “I’m proud of you.”

Bucky gave a small smile, not yet ready to take as much pride as I could in his recovery. I could tell that he was lighter, while his personality was silent and stoic there wasn’t as much sadness lurking beneath it. To those who knew him, the difference in his behavior was visible. The days that I’d been in New York were the happiest I’d seen Bucky since I’d known him.

“So…” I sighed, my hands sliding down to his shoulders, “No more therapy sessions, no more battles to be fought…What do we do now?”

The dreaded question that we’d been avoiding since we’d isolated ourselves from the outside world. There was no doubt as to whether or not I wanted to make it work between Bucky and I, but we hadn’t even discussed what “it” was. What should have unfolded over the course of a couple months had happened as a crash course over two weeks. I didn’t regret it, I just needed to know where Bucky’s head was at regarding our future. “Look,” Bucky averted his gaze downwards, “I’m not…I haven’t done this in a long time and I can’t promise that I’m gonna be good at it. I can’t even promise that I’ll know what I’m doing some of the time. But,” he shyly raised his eyes to meet mine, “I want this. I want you.”

His earnestness was so genuine, I thought my heart might burst from the emotion in his ocean blue eyes. “Bucky, I don’t want perfect,” I said, “And I’m pretty sure that a 106 year old with a robotic arm and a girl who can fly using blue energy from inside her wouldn’t even know what to do with perfect,” I earned a single laugh out of him, “Whatever we have right now, that’s what I want. I want to fight with you by my side and make a difference in the world, then I want to come home with you and teach you to cook something other than pancakes.”

He furrowed his brow, “What do you got against my pancakes?”

“My point is,” I giggled, my hands drifting back up to each side of his neck, “I want you exactly as you are. I haven’t done this in a long time either, I thought that after my dad died I was too broken to ever let myself be happy like this and you know that I’m coming in with more baggage than before. You’re not the only one who doesn’t know what they’re doing. But there’s nobody else I’d rather figure this out with than you.”

The long stare he gave me was reminiscent of the first moment we’d been alone together, standing before the 200 foot drop in Munich. It was the first moment I’d appreciated his beauty, maybe it was the first seed planted in what was now a full-blown relationship in the making. This time, instead of sassing me with those hardened, slightly amused eyes, he surged forward and kissed me, cradling the back of my head in his Vibranium palm. I returned the kiss with just as much fervor, gripping the tight blue t-shirt tightly in my fists. Unlike the kisses we’d shared at 1AM in the kitchen of my house, this one carried a different weight. It was a promise of a future. Movie nights introducing Bucky to the classics that he’d missed. Lazy mornings in bed turned passionate as our bodies surrendered to one another. Protecting each other on whatever battlefields we’d inevitably end up on. Frustrating fights over something we’d inevitably admit was stupid to argue over. Whispering soothing affirmations to help Bucky come down from a violent nightmare. I could taste it all, the good and the bad, in that one kiss and I wanted every bit of it.

“Two weeks…” I said after we’d parted, shaking my head in amazement and laughing, “That’s all it took.” “Crazier things have happened,” Bucky reassured me with a smile, running his hands up and down my back, “My folks always said they knew in a week and they were together for almost forty years.” I bushed my lips against his softly, basking in the euphoria of knowing that the two of us belonged wholly to one another. To think that I’d been willing to throw all of it away mere days ago, I was ready to deprive myself and Bucky of the love we’d craved all our lives. I thanked God that my resolve to stay away had weakened long enough to let Bucky in because now, wrapped in his strong arms with his lips begging for a deeper kiss, I knew that I had something truly spectacular in my hands.

“Well, since this is official,” Bucky said, a little breathless, “There’s something you should have.” He took his hands off of my body and reached behind his neck, pulling off one of his dog tags. Understanding what he was doing and the significance of it, I moved my head to allow him to place the necklace over it, the cold metal of the ball chain settling against my neck. The tag fell between my breasts, I picked it up and read Bucky’s name, his service number, the name of his sister, their address and his birth place. He’d given me, a part of his future, a piece of his history.

“Bucky…” I whispered, not trusting my voice enough to come out steady.

“A lot of soldiers gave one of them to their girls before they shipped out,” he recalled, watching me examine the piece of metal, “At least I know if I ever do ship out anywhere, you’ll be with me.” I bit my lip and smiled, looking up at him with misty eyes. When the first tear fell down my cheek, Bucky was quick to wipe it away and did so with a smile of his own. After all the pain we’d both suffered through in life, we were finally allowed tenderness. Our hearts were scarred, our bodies worn, but no amount of trauma could lay a hand on the way we felt about one another. There’d be many more fights, some with forces bigger than the ones we’d spent the last two weeks taking a stand against. But at the end of the day, I had Bucky, my safe haven to come back to.

“It’s getting late,” I observed after a few minutes of sweet silence, the morning hours were slipping away from us, “Are you hungry? I can make us something.” “Yeah, but,” Bucky’s hands found my arms and he rubbed his palms against them, “Let’s stay here just a little while longer…”

A grin spread across my face, one that I was finding only Bucky could bring out in me. “Okay,” I replied, settling my face in the crook of his neck and resting against his chest, the only place I wanted to be.

——

A FEW DAYS LATER

“You ready, Barnes?” “I’m ready.” “This is the most dangerous mission we’re ever going to face.” “I wouldn��t have come if I couldn’t handle it.” “Then why are you sweating?” “I’m not…sweating.” “Well, at least I know you’ll never lie to me. You suck at it,” I smirked just before smoothing out the shoulders of his jacket, “Follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

Bucky blew out a breath, his cheeks loosing their puff as he exhaled, “Here goes nothing…” I gave three sharp knocks on the door before entering, seeing the familiar face waiting in a chair by the window. “Hey, Mama…” My mother smiled deeply at the sight of her daughter, alive before her. “Baby,” she whispered as she slowly rose to embrace me, “Oh, you’re here.” “I’m here,” I smiled, trying to fight the tears threatening to fill my eyes. My mother had been my first call after the battle in New York, realizing that my face was flashing across every news channel in the country alongside Sam and Bucky. This was the first time I’d seen her since before I’d left Louisiana with Sam.

“And you brought someone?” she asked over my shoulder, pulling away to wipe her cheeks.

“I did,” I turned around and looped my arm through Bucky’s, who was looking vaguely nauseous, “Mom, this is James.”

Bucky stuck out his gloved hand towards my mother, “It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Y/l/n.”

“Wonderful to meet you too, James,” she responded, shaking his hand and looking over to me, “I’ve been waiting a long time for Y/n to bring somebody home.” I forced a chuckle, “Thanks, Mom…” “Well, I’m honored that I’m the one she chose,” Bucky beamed, his bright eyes seeking mine out.

“Well, sit down,” my mom gestured to the two free chairs in the room, “I want to hear all about how you two met.”

Bucky and I exchanged a nervous look as we pulled up our seats to join her by the window. How were you supposed to explain that you’d fallen for a 106 year old who just happened to have once been the world’s deadliest assassin? “Um…James is one of Sam’s friends from the military. He came with us to Munich and things just sort of,” I slipped my hand into one of Bucky’s that sat in his lap, “Happened from there.” “We didn’t like each other much at first, but,” Bucky chimed in, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand, “She definitely snuck up on me.”

“Oh my,” she looked at me amusedly, “How’s Sam taking this? Has he threatened you yet, Bucky?” “Yeah, I, uh, got a text from him the other day, and it read something like ‘I’ve got access to government weapons, don’t make me use them.’”

I covered my mouth and snorted as my mother got a good laugh herself, “You didn’t tell me that.” Bucky shook his head, a small smile on his lips, Sam and him had been getting along swimmingly since his last visit to Louisiana. But no friendship could eclipse Sam’s overprotective nature when it came to his family, it was only a matter of time until Bucky was on the receiving end of its ugly side.

“Truth is,” Bucky turned his gaze to my mother while keeping a soft grip on my hand, I could feel his nerves radiating through his touch, “I’m crazy about your daughter, ma’am, I think she’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

Mom sighed, an ear-to-ear grin painted across her face. It was the same one I’d seen when my sister had first brought her now husband home to meet us. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear that, James,” she replied, “I’m looking forward to getting to know you more.” “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” I questioned, “It’s been so long since the whole family was together.” “I wish, but I’m a little too tired to make the trip there,” Mom answered, settling into her seat a little more, “You don’t need an old lady there slowing you down.” “That’s ridiculous,” I gently pushed back, “But since Sam and I are back home for a while, we’ll make sure to bring everybody up one of the weekends.” “I’d like that,” she smiled. A phone buzzing interrupted the conversation, Bucky let go of my hand to reach into his jacket pocket. “It’s Sam, probably wants an ETA,” he announced, rising from his seat and looking between both me and my mother, “Sorry.”

Both of us shooed him out of the room to take the call, turning back to one another once he was gone with shining smiles. “Honey…” “I know…” I tried to hold back a giddy laugh threatening to erupt.

“He seems wonderful…” I shook my head, semi in disbelief that things had turned out the way they had. “You don’t even know the half of it, he’s just…I’m crazy about him.” “That much is obvious,” Mom gestured to my face, “You haven’t stopped smiling since you walked through that door. I’ve never seen you this happy. Just one thing…” I furrowed my brows as her smile turned to a knowing smirk, “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t know who he is?” I sighed, leaning forward in my seat and propping my elbows on my knees. “We weren't trying to hide it, he just doesn’t like to advertise it. Once people know, they usually can’t look past what he was. But, Mom, we’ve been glued at the hip for the last two weeks and I can promise you, what you’re seeing is what you’re getting. I wouldn’t be with him if I thought there was any chance he could hurt me. He saved my life and so many others last week...” “Sweetie, you don’t have to try and sell me on him,” Mom said soothingly, reaching out to touch my knee, “I trust your judgement and I also know what happened to him, it was tragic. The fact that he has a second chance at his life makes me happy, especially since it’s with you. Watching the two of you, how at ease he is with you…And those eyes,” she stopped to chuckle, “The way he looks at you is something special, it’s something magical. The two of you fit.”

Eventually I would tell her the whole story of how Bucky and I came to be, but it was better saved for another day. If she only knew how challenging it had been to get to something so simple and how Bucky and I valued each other all the more for it. “He fought for me, Mama,” I said with tears brimming, letting out a laugh, “Literally and metaphorically. And I just couldn’t let him go, he’s everything I’ve wanted but what I thought I could never have.” Mom placed a hand on my cheek, “You deserve him, my love. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve happiness.” And for the first time, I believed her. I believed that through my suffering, I had played a small part in helping Bucky through his. We deserved something more than what had happened to us and we had found it in one another.

“Your father would be proud of you,” Mom said, her face flashing with a different emotion than joy for a brief second. “I’m not sure about that…” I mumbled, dodging her eyes in favor of staring down at my hands, a different reaction than I’d ever had when talking about my father.

“Sweetie,” she coaxed me, tapping at my hands until I looked back up at her, “Do you…do you know something?” My heartbeat started to quicken as I struggled to contain the information I was withholding from my mother. It was taking everything I had not to tell her that her husband had been a part of one of the cruelest organizations the world had ever seen. The pain must have reflected in my expression. “Yeah,” she whispered, biting her lip and closing her eyes, “You know…” “Mom?”

She sighed, sitting back in her chair and supporting her head in her hand. “I didn’t know anything about that part of your father’s life when I married him, he didn’t like to talk about his time in the ‘service’ and I never pushed it…It wasn’t until the night that he died, before he left the house, that he sat me down and confessed it all.” “He…” I moved to the edge of my seat, “He told you?” “Mmhmm,” she nodded, a distant look in her eyes like she was transported back in time to that very moment, “I didn’t know how to process any of it, how could I? This man who I’d shared my life with and he’d made his living off of inflicting pain on innocent people. Hours later, he was gone and any chance to delve deeper into it was gone too. It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with everything, but I made it. You’re free to draw your own conclusions, Y/n, I’m not telling you how to feel. All I’ll say is this,” Mom drew a breath before continuing, “Your father’s guilt over what he did, to Bucky specifically, overwhelmed him. He told me how HYDRA manipulated him, a young and ambitious man, into coming to work for them, lying and telling him they were creating a better world with their work. He thought he was fighting for what was right…I’m not making excuses for him, believe me, I’m simply telling you what he told me. Do you remember when he’d wake up from a nightmare?” I nodded grimly, the shrieks of my father’s always strained vocal cords still haunted me decades later. “Do you remember what he used to cry when he woke up?” Mom asked.

I silently shook my head in reply, when I’d be awoken by my fathers blood curdling screams as a child, I’d always bury my head under my pillow in an effort to block it out, shedding tears at knowing I couldn’t help him. “Soldat…”

My head perked up, the word was familiar to me after hearing Zemo call Bucky the same thing when we were undercover in Madripoor. “Of course by the time that your James was free, your father had been dead for over a decade but,” Mom paused, looking out the window as memories hit her, “Your father’s guilt over what he did ate away at him every day. As far as you went, he told me that the reason he wanted to keep your powers hidden was because he was afraid HYDRA would come for you. It’s the reason I moved us to Delacroix after he died, I didn’t want to take the chance of somebody finding you. Dad didn’t want them to make you a weapon the same way they made one of James. But honey,” she took my hand, “He believed you could do great things, truly. One of the last things he said to me was that our family was the one good thing he’d done in life.”

Everything that I’d thought and everything I’d never thought had been revealed to me. My father’s crimes could never be erased, but some part of me felt satisfied knowing that he knew what he did was wrong. He’d been haunted day and night by Bucky, the man who I was completely head over heels for. In some way, it felt poetic that Bucky and I had ended up together. I couldn’t magically heal his trauma, but for every bit of torture my dad and countless others inflicted upon him, I was now there to shower him in the love and safety he deserved.

“Have you…forgiven him for what he did?” I hesitantly asked.

“You know, after all these years, I’m still not sure what forgiveness looks like in a situation like this,” she admitted with a small shrug, “We weren’t affected, yet his past put us in danger, especially you. And now, seeing the man that he was paid to hurt and how much joy he brings you, it’s bringing up a lot of emotions I thought I’d buried. I know he regretted what he’d done with his whole being and I believe that, but I still question why he didn’t leave sooner. I wish I could give you a better answer but-“ “Mama,” I squeezed her hand and pushed back my tears to help her, “I’ve had this information for a week and I’m still spinning, I can’t imagine what it’s like to sit on it silently for this long. I was hellbent on keeping this from you but I’m actually relieved that I don’t have to hide it…” I took a trembling breath, “Dad did a lot of things wrong in his life, but I have a chance to do a lot of good. I’ve talked to Sam and I’m going to keep working with him, I’m done living with my hands tucked under my legs. I want to make the difference in the world that Dad thought he was making.” “I think you’re off to a pretty good start,” my mother replied, “I was terrified watching you fly around New York, but I’d also never been prouder of you.” A knock on the door followed by Bucky sticking his head through it broke us from the topic. “Am I interrupting?” he asked, his eyes widened slightly as he worried. “Not at all,” my mom said cheerily as she slowly rose from her seat, “I don’t want to keep you two any longer when you’ve got somewhere to be.”

I tightly embraced her and placed a kiss on her cheek, “Love you,” I whispered.

“Love you too, sweetheart,” she replied, gesturing afterwards to Bucky who made his way over to her and allowed himself to be hugged by her, “Take care of my girl, James.” “I will,” Bucky promised, pulling back to give a nod full of conviction.

Once the two of us had shut my mom’s door and were back out in the hallway of the nursing home, Bucky noticed the slight puffiness of my eyes. “Happy tears or sad tears?” he asked as we walked down the hall.

“‘I don’t know’ tears,” I replied with a small smile, weaving my fingers between his gloved metal ones. “But well done, Sergeant. I’d consider that a successful mission,” I finished, receiving the laugh I loved so much and a kiss to the side of my head. I pressed my lips to the place on his shoulder where I knew underneath his layers Vibranium met his skin, one of his favorite places to be kissed. My phone went off then, alerting me to a text, I pulled it out of the pocket. “Bucky…” I muttered, stopping in the middle of the hall. “What is it?” he asked as he stepped back to join me, I held my phone out for both of us to read the ominous words displayed.

The world’s seen what you can do, come to Madripoor when you decide to use those hands for something worthwhile.

- The Power Broker

“How did they get my number?” I asked in surprise, letting Bucky take my phone to examine it closer as if he could find something I couldn’t. “I don’t know,” he answered, handing the device back to me, “But we’re changing it immediately, you need to show this to Sam soon as we get to the house.” “They’re not actually threatening me, seems more like a job offer than anything else that’s only going to be declined. Plus, they’re all the way in Madripoor,” I stuck the phone back in my pocket, “I’m not going to let this ruin our day.” Bucky frowned down at me as I took his arm once again, “You’re a little too relaxed about this.” “I’m a mutant who can make things move with her mind with Captain America for a brother and a Super Soldier for a boyfriend, I’d love to see the Power Broker try to mess with that.”

——

The dock was exactly how I loved to see it, packed and filled with joy.

Sam and Sarah had invited the whole town to the celebratory cookout, people of all ages flooding our corner of the bayou as Bucky and I pulled up. Sam had loaned us his truck for the duration of our stay and I was having the time of my life showing Bucky around Louisiana and there was nothing more Louisiana than a cookout with the entire community.

Bucky parked near the end of the dock and hopped out, carrying the ice cream cake that we’d picked up on our way. He crossed around the front of the truck to open the door for me, taking one of my hands and helping me hop out of the passenger side. After a dozen more reassurances during the drive that the text I’d received wasn’t worth freaking out about, he’d begun to relax. For once, he wasn’t trying to hide his emotions. I could see it plain as day on his face, he was genuinely excited to be back in Delacroix and even more excited when the familiar sounds of AJ and Cass hit our ears.

“Oh! There he is!” Bucky greeted as the boys ran up to us and began throwing fake punches at my boyfriend who willingly played along, dramatically dodging their imaginary hits. He raised up the hand that held the cake over Cass’ head and yelled to which I quickly threw an energy shield underneath his arm to protect the overly expensive dessert.

“Aunt Y/n! Can you make us fly?” AJ came up to my side and begged.

Cass backed his brother up, “Yeah, can we? Please?” “No,” I replied, retaking Bucky’s hand and letting him lead us through the crowd, “But you can follow us with your two perfectly functional legs.” My nephews both groaned and laughed as they fell in step behind Bucky and I. “Where is everybody?” he asked as he set the cake down on one of the picnic tables set out and removed his sunglasses.

“Uncle Sam’s taking pictures with people, Mom’s cooking and Aunt Mel’s at one of the tables,” Cass answered, his face lighting up as he got a good luck at the dessert.

“After dinner,” I said, quickly having switched back into aunt mode, “Now lead the way.”

I extended my hand toward the boys and raised them up a few inches above the ground, receiving laughter and praises in return as I moved them ahead of us and through the crowd. Along the way people kept patting me on the back or sneaking in quick hugs, they shook Bucky’s hand and thanked us both for what we’d done in New York. The only thing that confused me was how people weren’t calling me by name. By the time we made it to Sarah, I had questions.

“There they are, America’s Power Couple,” she announced, coming out from behind the booth where she’d been chopping to hug us both. I pulled back to lower the boys back to the ground, “Do you know why people I’ve known almost all my life are suddenly calling me ‘Sapphire?’”

“Did you not check the internet at all when you were in Brooklyn?” she raised an eyebrow before pulling out her phone from her back pocket and pulling up Instagram, “Ever since the night of the fight, people have been referring to you as Sapphire. People are posting pictures of you, trying to get interviews with you, kids are even dressing up like you!” “Oh my gosh,” I mumbled as I scrolled through the hashtag containing the name, seeing all the proof of Sarah’s words before my eyes. Dozens and dozens of various types of photos displayed my signature shade of blue, “Bucky, look!” He took the phone out of my hand, a smile spreading across his face soon after. “That’s my girl,” he said proudly, handing the phone back to Sarah.

“You wanted the superhero life, you got it,” my sister laughed before returning to what she was doing, “Sam’s doing pictures and there’s already been people asking if you were gonna be here so I imagine they’re gonna want some with you.”

Bucky grabbed my hand and led me around to where a line had formed, spotting Sam as the destination. As soon as he caught a glimpse of us, he held up a finger to the crowd and broke away from them. The three of us exchanged hugs, me internally laughing to myself at the fact that two weeks after saying they never wanted to see one another again, they were now brothers in arms. Sam took my hand and tugged me towards where everyone was gathered, “Lotta people have been waiting for you, Sapphire,” he smirked.

As the day went on, the three of us did meet and greets with nearly everybody. At one point I found Bucky casually talking to Sarah with AJ, Cass and other neighborhood kids hanging off his vibranium arm. People had gathered around me as well asking to levitate them, something that provided entertainment for everyone. We ate, we laughed, at one point I caught Sam and Bucky watching the sun set over the Louisiana waters. I couldn’t resist the temptation to sneak in between the two and was received with an arm around each of my sides. We’d fought a shared battle along with our own separate three and now that they’d all been put to rest, we could take a minute to enjoy the freedom we’d worked so hard for. The future was unknown, but I knew that if we’d made it through the mess of a week we’d had together, there wasn’t a whole lot that we couldn’t make it through.

——

When the sky darkened, the dock lights went on and the party kept going. Someone had brought out a Bluetooth speaker and there was now a section of the dock that acted as a makeshift dance floor. I was seated at a table with Melanie watching the show, baby Alexandria fast asleep in her arms. “So…Bucky,” my sister said teasingly teased.

I let out a loud sigh, “Bucky.” “He’s perfect for you,” she smiled, “I’m glad you brought him home.” “Me too,” I scanned the dock until I spotted my boyfriend, engrossed in a conversation with Sam, “He fits right into the family.” “I’ll say, the kids love him. Max and Sophia have been following him around all day, I’ve never been able to get the baby to sleep as fast as when he held her…” I chuckled, “Yeah, just when I thought he couldn’t get any more attractive, you stuck a baby in his arms.” Mel snickered at my reaction, “Yeah, pretty sure every woman on the dock snapped a picture of that.” The two of us burst into laughter before hushing ourselves as to not wake the sleeping infant. “Hey, Sapphire,” she nudged my shin with her foot, “I’m proud of you.” “Well, that’s a far cry from how you felt last week,” I commented, remembering the fear in my sister’s voice from our phone calls in Riga.

“I’m always going to worry about you, but once I actually saw you do your thing,” she breathed, “I was just in awe of how you would risk your life to save all those people. It would be a waste to not put your gift to good use.” I leaned my head against hers and brushed a finger over Alexandria’s thinly haired head, appreciating the sweetness of the moment. Once a slow song came on the speakers, I watched as Bucky stepped away from Sam and made his way over to our table. “Can I steal your sister away for a dance?” he asked Mel. “Steal? You can keep her,” I shot my sister a faux smile while she watched on with a grin as I took Bucky’s outstretched hand and let him lead me away. “Gonna show me some more Madripoor moves?” I jested as we walked across the dock. “That was not dancing, although I did enjoy it,” Bucky replied, giving me a wink that could have melted me into a puddle, “I’ll show you what real dancing is.” I recognized the song as a version of ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ and realized Bucky waited until now to show off any moves in his arsenal because it was probably the first song he recognized on the playlist. He encircled my waist with his flesh arm and took my hand in his Vibranium one, pulling me so close that there wasn’t any space left between us. He began to sway us slowly to the beat of the song. I rested my cheek against his, breathing in the scent of him mixed with the bayou evening air. As far as I was concerned, dancing in the arms of the man I was somehow lucky enough to call my own in the place I loved most in the world was the perfect end to a perfect day.

“Alright, I give…” I relented softly, close enough to his ear that I barley had to speak louder than a whisper for him to hear me, “Your version of dancing is better.” He gave a gentle laugh, the sweetest sound, and rubbed at my waist, “It’s more about the partner than it is the actual dance, think I’ve got the best one.”

“You certainly know how to make a girl blush, Sergeant Barnes,” I replied just before he spun me out of his arms and back into his body, “When’s your flight back to Brooklyn?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow, “Already tired of me?”

“Never,” I shook my head with a genuine smile, “Just trying to soak in all the time I can with you before you go back.” “About that…” he trailed off, turning his gaze to the various other couples dancing around us, “I was thinking of maybe extending my stay. I mean the scenery’s nice, good food,” he looked back to me, “Decent people.” The grin that I was fighting was starting to make itself very apparent, “What are you saying?” “Well,” Bucky shrugged and looked away again, “I mean, I’d need to find a place, hopefully nothing too expensive or else I’d have to find a roommate and even then, it’d be hard to find someone I like enough to live with…”

“Bucky…” I’d ceased our movements to show just how serious I was, searching his face to try and tell if he was joking or not. “What do you say, doll? You think you can put up with me a little while longer?” he asked with a smirk. I exhaled happily and pulled him down to my lips, kissing him with all the excitement that filled my veins at the prospect of him staying. When we finally pulled away, I cradled his cheek in my hand. “I will put up with you for as long as you want,” I beamed, pecking his lips once more. “I’m glad,” Bucky kissed my temple, “It was either telling you this or the other thing…” “What’s the other thing?” I asked, thinning my eyes at him in expectancy of another surprise.

Bucky drew a breath, taking a few seconds to steady himself for whatever he was planning to say. “Well, I was going to tell you that I love you but,” he clicked his teeth, “Now that I think about it, it’s probably better saved for another time,” The earth ceased to move and spin at a dizzying pace all at once, his blue eyes never more truthful than they were in that moment. “I think you’re right,” I said over the lump in my throat, holding back the tears that had come all to quickly, “Best to save that for another day, wouldn’t want to make a hasty declaration or anything...” “That’s what I was thinking,” Bucky replied plainly, continuing our charade. I gave him a watery smile, bringing one of my hands up to run through the hairs at the base of his neck. “I love you too,” I whispered.

Both of Bucky’s arms wrapped around my waist, clutching me as tight as he could without actually injuring me as our lips met. I encircled his neck and relaxed into him completely, feeing aglow with the love that I could finally admit to feeling. Both of us smiled into the kiss, feeding off of the mutual joy of what was unfolding before us. Was it crazy to commit in the ways I was committing to a man I’d known for only two weeks? To some, yes. But ‘some’ hadn’t formed the bond that Bucky and I had over the short span of time it had taken for me to fall in love with him. We had seen the best and the worst of each other, rising and falling with one another’s waves and learning what made the other tick. I wanted every part of him, the good, the bad, the traumatic and the pure. The quick decisions that would raise eyebrows made sense to us, and that was more than enough reason for me to see each one through.

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” Bucky said softly after we’d parted, pulling back to admire me. “Thanks for not letting me give you up,” I returned, staring up into the eyes that had first captured me. The eyes that I’d get to stare into each and every day.

Since the night we’d connected on the jet ride to Berlin, there was some way Bucky had made me feel that I couldn’t put a name to. Something I couldn’t understand at the time but I was fully aware of now. Bucky felt like home. And with our bright future ahead of us, wrapped in his arms dancing underneath the Louisiana stars, I’d never felt more at home.

----

A/N: I'm not crying, you're crying. GUYS. IT'S OVER. WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH MY TIME NOW? I want to thank every single person who liked, commented, reblogged, sent messages and asks and supported this silly little fic I thought up one day after watching TFATWS. As someone who is super insecure about their writing, seeing it well received was a boost to my confidence to keep running with this. I've loved getting to write this and give it to you all and can't wait to write more for you. I'm adding my new taglist link for anyone who would like to be added, it's separated by the characters I write for and you can choose which ones you'd like to follow. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU A MILLION TIMES AGAIN. I LOVE YOU ALL 3000!!

Safe Haven taglist: @tanyaherondale @wanniiieeee @asoftie4bucky @edencherries @i-reblog-fics-i-like @ttalisa @gcfty @withyoutilltheendofthismess @rinaispunk @weirdowithnobeardo @felicityofbakerstreet @godlyhufflepuff @eternalharry @voguesir @mizz-kraziii @okayline @smellmymisunderstoodfluff @wanderin-stories @nicklet94 @intricate-melody @aesthethickks @stumbleonmywords @simplybarnes @21bruhs @lostinwonderland314 @superbookishhufflepuff @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @zozebo @fandomxreaders @kittengirl998 @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @i-know-i-can @x-judyjude-x @thebi-valkyrieofvalhalla @buckverse @living-that-best-life @haphazardhufflepuff @citlalireedus @lindseyrae20 @missstef23 @qhbr2013 @sebby-stann @bluemoon-icecream @iixbella @lets-love-little-me @abitofeverythinggg @itsnottilly @sltwins @mads-weasley @hart-failure @natdrunk @nctma15 @obsessedwithjustaboutanything @patdsinner33 @rosebucketbarnes @tylard-blog1

#bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #sam wilson x platonic!reader #sam wilson x reader #marvel imagine

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vulturhythm · 4 years

Text

the wolf den

this is literally so fucking horny i’m so sorry guys but hey jaskier/all witchers is sexy as fuck am i right @dinahdarling

- - - - -

jaskier is no stranger to combat... mostly in the sense that he has watched geralt fight countless beasts and fend off nearly as many angry bar brawlers or highwaymen. yes, it’s true that he was trained in sword-fighting when he bore the name of julian, but, well, that was years ago now, and surely he can’t be expected to remember all of those moves?

well, in geralt’s mind, he can, evidently.

when the witcher invited him to make the trek back to kaer morhen over the winter, jaskier hadn’t expected for said trek to be full of many, many self-defense lessons. not that he’s complaining - admittedly, there have been many times when it would have been nice to know some proper techniques when fending off angry lords, and, well... it is rather exhilarating, fighting geralt and letting him win.

letting.

obviously.

when they had arrived at the keep, nearly a full month ago, jaskier had thought geralt was merely teasing when he suggested eskel and lambert assist him in training the bard.

he guesses he should have known better.

- - -

jaskier has spent the last two hours of his life being beaten in combat in every feasible fucking way, and, quite honestly, he is tired of it.

he is tired of always being just a hair too slow for eskel as the scarred witcher lunges for him, knocking his dagger from his hand with a well-placed bow to the wrist.

he is tired of always being just too slow for lambert as the prickly bastard knocks him to the ground and pins him there, hands wrestled behind his back and wrists squeezed until his dagger falls.

“you’ve got to make use of your own skill,” geralt has said quite nearly a thousand times now, “you know you’re more agile than them,” and the them in question always snort and laugh at jaskier’s indignation.

it’s a game to them, nothing more.

they break for a few minutes at geralt’s insistence, and although jaskier insists he’s fine, really, he’s grateful for the respite.

he’s dripping in sweat, for one thing, but more than that, he is sore, and not in the good way.

it’s as he sinks straight to the floor, panting for air and wiping sweat from his brow, that he realizes lambert is watching him.

that in and of itself is nothing unusual, certainly, as the witcher has been observing his fights with eskel throughout the afternoon, but now... there’s something different in his eyes, something that takes jaskier too long to recognize simply due to how out of place it is here, now.

when realization finally strikes, he pauses, just as lambert cuts his eyes away and goes to trade his swords for a dagger much like jaskier’s own.

it’s lust.

not full-blown, not yet, but lust nonetheless, the kind born of prolonged exposure to something you can’t help but find appealing. he doubts lambert will act on it, particularly with geralt sitting on a stone bench nearby, watching them all like a hawk, but... there it is.

jaskier glances to his lover then, not at all surprised to find that geralt is watching lambert, golden eyes hard and wary. right, of course - geralt can probably smell it hanging off lambert’s skin. clearing his throat, jaskier waits until geralt’s gaze returns to him; the witcher cocks an expectant brow, and jaskier offers the slightest shake of his head.

don’t worry about it. he won’t do anything.

before he can gauge geralt’s reaction - a tired stare - eskel is rounding to stand in front of him again, bending low to catch his eye. “ready for another round?” he asks, grin sharp.

jaskier groans, but lets eskel pull him upright.

- - -

he has only just begun to fall into a rhythm of parrying eskel’s attacks and ducking and weaving to avoid the rest, and has only just begun to feel perhaps a little bit smug about it all, when, without warning, eskel spins away, and lambert’s dagger is at his throat.

jaskier stills immediately, holding his own blade where it’s plain to see. the youngest witcher has an arm braced around his upper chest, the edge of the dagger set to his skin. he breathes in once, then stops, eyes on eskel as the other witcher gives his sword a lazy twirl.

“never get complacent,” eskel is saying, the same sharp grin on his face once more. “you may think you’re fighting one-on-one, but you’d be surprised how often other people or monsters come out of the woodwork to get in on the fun.”

“lovely,” jaskier says, and his voice is a little strained, largely due to how out of breath he is, now that he’s allowing himself to acknowledge it. more than that, though, he’s gone tense, hyperaware of lambert pressed up flush against his back, of the way lambert has him drawn in close. “great, no... no complacency, got it, can we, ah - can we move on?”

against his ear, lambert snorts. the puff of air sends a tremor down his spine, and he breathes in sharp, feels lambert’s grip change. the witcher turns the flat of the dagger to press against his throat, and jaskier resists the very demeaning urge to whine, tipping his head back to avoid the pressure and finding all he’s done is lay back on lambert’s shoulder. “what do you think, eskel?”

eskel is watching them close, arms folded, sword once again sheathed. there’s a glint in his eye, one that makes jaskier tremble. “again,” he decides, and nods to geralt, off behind jaskier. “lambert, your go.”

lambert lets go of him with enough abruptness that jaskier stumbles on his feet.

fuck.

- - -

eskel fights with speed, twisting and slashing in a flurry of motion designed to catch his opponent off-guard - the type of movement jaskier is already beginning to favor.

lambert, however... lambert fights with strength. he makes up for his slight decrease in agility with powerful, debilitating blows that hurt like hell whenever they land - always the flat of the blade, always angled so it can’t truly harm, but goddamn, does it hurt.

jaskier thinks he’s catching on, though - thinks he’s learned that it’s best to fight brute force with nimble movements, thinks he’s figured out that copying eskel’s style is the best counter to lambert’s... and then, as he spins low beneath a sweeping blow, a blade slams into his lower back, and he falls forward, having the sense to drop his dagger before it spears his palm on impact.

there’s a heavy weight on his back within seconds, firm hands wrenching his own behind his back, one keeping them pinned while the other presses his head to the stone - not hard, not really, but firm. jaskier breathes in, recognizes geralt’s musk, goes still.

“yield,” his lover purrs, amusement plain in his tone. geralt shifts above him, and movement draws jaskier’s eyes upward. lambert is striding closer, only his boots visible. the second set of footsteps must be eskel, he realizes, approaching just out of sight.

jaskier says nothing. he closes his eyes, tries to calm his racing heart and heaving lungs... his aching groin, too, the thrill of being fought, bested, caught and pinned rushing south. knowing lambert wants him, imagining eskel does, too... having geralt above him, their hips almost aligned...

“jaskier,” geralt is saying, squeezing his wrists to draw him back to the present. he sucks in a breath, squirms beneath him, and, for a moment, geralt falters, but then his grip goes firm once more. “yield.”

“no,” he breathes then, and he can feel, just as much as hear, the moment geralt scents the air.

his witcher goes tense above him. “jaskier - “ he begins, voice rough and raw with disbelief and something more.

“no,” jaskier repeats, and this time, the way he draws away is entirely deliberate, straining for freedom in a way that has geralt’s thigh rubbing right up against his own. geralt’s grip tightens. “come on... come on, please, i want - “

“we’ll leave,” eskel says, sounding strained. there’s another edge to his voice, something that mirrors the tension in geralt’s own, and it makes jaskier tremble, fists clenching. “i didn’t think this would... happen, geralt - “

geralt cuts him off, his hand clenching tight in jaskier’s hair - no doubt to keep him still, but it serves only to make him whine. “neither did i.”

as his eyes fall shut, jaskier sees lambert shifting his weight, hears him clear his throat. “should we go?”

“no,” jaskier gasps then, and, fuck, he knows he sounds easy, he knows he sounds like a whore, but it’s difficult to care when he’s this high on adrenaline, this desperate for geralt’s cock, this eager for the other two to - fuck, to do what? to watch?

it’s as this thought crosses his mind that another spike of lust rushes through him, and, fuck, that’s it - he wants them to watch.

he fumbles out as much to geralt, tripping over his words, begging, “c - come on, geralt, let them - let them stay, please...”

“jaskier,” his witcher is saying, trying for firm and landing somewhere closer to disbelieving, but he’s not saying no, “we can’t do this out here, we - we shouldn’t - “

but jaskier cuts him off with a whine, rolling his hips into nothing, and, fuck, he’s already hard, already eager and ready and willing, and he knows he must smell like a fucking whore, so damn needy, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when geralt’s grip on his hands and head sends sparks of desire through his blood every time it tightens, not when he can hear eskel’s breath coming shorter, not when he can hear lambert shifting his weight in place.

geralt is quiet, his fingers flexing where they hold jaskier down, but do little to keep him still. he’s quiet, and jaskier takes that as maybe, not no, and jaskier arches and twists and moans, shifting in place as best he can manage to let his legs splay, open for geralt now. “please,” he repeats again, and then, “i s - saw them looking, they want me, geralt, you know they do, c’mon...”

his witcher curses; above him, eskel is already scrambling to explain, saying, “we wouldn’t ever do anything, you know that, it’s just - he’s so - “

“i know,” geralt grouses, and eskel knows when to shut up. “i know.” another beat of silence, another rough inhale, and then, at last, geralt readjusts his grip, holds jaskier more firmly by the hands so he can let go of his head. jaskier sucks in a nervous breath, holds it, releases it all at once when geralt gets to work on pulling his pants down past the swell of his ass. “watch if you want,” he mutters, “but don’t touch.”

“thank you,” jaskier is gasping, opening his eyes to crane and watch as the other two draw back a step; lambert is the first to settle, sinking slowly to the floor a few feet away, eyes on where geralt’s fumbling with jaskier’s underclothes. as eskel hesitantly kneels, their eyes meet; the witcher goes red, and jaskier purrs out another weak moan of thanks before he drops his head, brow to the floor, lips already parted as he heaves for air.

geralt is usually a kind lover, even his roughest nights full of murmured praise and reassurance; jaskier knows better than to think he’ll get anything of the sort now, not when he got here by pushing every button available, not when he got turned on by the most innocent fucking thing. all things considered, jaskier isn’t surprised in the slightest by the force with which geralt presses two fingers into him, dry and without warning. he knows geralt wouldn’t dare try it if they hadn’t had a bit of fun the night before, and even still, the pain has him gasping, arching away.

geralt holds him firm, leaning down to growl at his ear, “you’re sorely mistaken if you think this to be for anybody’s benefit but your own.”

“you say that,” jaskier breathes, laughter in his tone as he does his best to rock back onto the fingers buried inside him, “and yet you’re just as hard as me, geralt, you truly think i can’t feel it?” for the fact is that he can; geralt’s cock is a hard, hot line within the confines of his pants, pressed against the back of jaskier’s thigh where geralt has shifted to straddle it, keeping him pinned. “y - you can’t lie, a - ah...”

geralt’s fingers are twisting within him, crooking upward to rub cruelly over the bundle of nerves inside his heat as the witcher adds a third; white-hot pleasure flares up his spine, and jaskier bucks into the feeling, moaning aloud. he meets eskel’s gaze when he lets his head drop once more, turned sideways now so he can watch them watching him. the scarred witcher is frozen in place, but as jaskier holds his gaze, he moves at last, one hand pressing its way between his closed thighs. jaskier shudders at the implications, closing his eyes.

“i’ll fuck you once,” geralt is muttering, as if that’s meant to be a threat or deterrent, “and then that’s it. i’ll take you to bed, treat you properly there... let them have their show for now, but tonight, you’ll pay for this little stunt in full...”

jaskier gives a weak and ragged laugh, one that devolves into a moan when geralt spreads his fingers wide, twists them, pulls them away. “i expect to,” is all he manages to say, halfway distracted by the sound of geralt tugging his own pants out of the way, before he’s choking off into a little cry, fists clenching tight at his back as he feels the head of geralt’s cock press to his hole. fuck, it’ll hurt, he knows it will - geralt’s big enough that he’s hard to take even with proper prep - but he’ll be damned if he lets that stop him.

“are you sure he can - “ comes a voice, no, lambert’s voice, just to the side. jaskier trembles when he hears the blatant desire in the witcher’s tone, forces his eyes back open to glance over. a little whine escapes him when he sees that lambert is already fisting his cock, slow and nearly lazy, pants undone enough to take it out; his mouth fucking waters at the sight of precum beading at the head.

geralt’s answering laugh is nearly a snarl as he rocks his hips forward; jaskier moans aloud, eyes on lambert’s cock as geralt’s own sinks deep into his aching, empty heat. “he’s begged for it dry before,” he rasps, and jaskier can’t tell if he’s irritated or aroused, decides it’s both, decides he really doesn’t fucking care when he hears eskel’s voice break on a little gasp, a softer groan. “begged for it over and over...”

another sound from eskel drags jaskier’s blurry gaze back to him; the witcher is palming himself through his trousers, thighs still pressed tight, lips parted for breath. jaskier gives a high and reedy whine, squirms beneath geralt’s weight as his witcher draws back out, only to thrust in deep, setting a pace that’s just as cruel and brutal as it is slow. “most people can’t just take us like that,” eskel is murmuring, sounding so damn disbelieving that jaskier can’t help but be proud. “gods, geralt, how fucking often have you done this?”

geralt spits out a laugh, his hand coming back to tangle in jaskier’s hair; the bard moans out as his head is pulled up and back, as geralt thrusts in deep enough that he swears he can feel his cock in his fucking throat. “he’d take me every night if i’d let him,” geralt replies, and he still sounds agitated, still sounds like he’d rather not be doing this, but there’s something else in his voice, something almost like possessiveness, almost like pride. “he’d beg for me to fuck him senseless, wake up and do it all again...”

“look at him,” lambert breathes; with his head pulled back, jaskier struggles to cut his eyes to the side, his mouth hanging open as he gasps for air. lambert’s cock is big, not quite as thick or long as geralt’s, but big enough that he can’t help but whine at the thought of swallowing it down, of letting the witcher fuck his throat while geralt takes him from behind. “where’d you find yourself such a pretty little whore...?”

those words have jaskier shaking, an answering moan falling from parted lips as geralt thrusts in deep. his cock is aching, trapped between his squirming hips and the floor; the only friction he’s allowed is from the movement of geralt’s hips, fucking him into the cold stone hard enough that he’s seeing stars. “he found me,” geralt is correcting, though jaskier barely hears, “would have let me fuck him that first day, if i’d offered.”

jaskier gives a keening little noise in response, whimpers aloud when he glances back to eskel and sees that the scarred witcher has let his legs fall, has taken to stroking his cock through his half-open trousers as he watches geralt fuck jaskier into the stone. “bet his mouth is like heaven,” eskel is murmuring; he seems not to even remember that jaskier has eyes, his own fixated on jaskier’s open lips and eager tongue. at the thought, jaskier jerks and whines, strains against geralt’s grip on his hair, opens his mouth wider as if to beg for splashes of cum that will never arrive. “gods, geralt, let me - come on - “

“no,” geralt snarls, and it’s so forceful, so territorial that jaskier can’t help but moan, arching back into the next thrust because he knows he’s being mounted by a beast. “i said don’t touch.”

off to the side, lambert is panting now, working his cock faster to match the pace geralt has set. when geralt lets go of jaskier’s hair, lets him slump back to the ground and gasp into the stone, jaskier looks over again, holds the witcher’s gaze - watches with hooded eyes and parted lips as lambert’s fingers tease over the head once more. precum strings between his cock and fingertips when he sets back to work, and jaskier’s mouth is fucking watering at the sight, at the thought of swallowing him down...

he’s so lost in his fantasies that he doesn’t realize geralt’s adjusting him until, suddenly, he’s kneeling, ass up high, head to the floor, straining arms still pinned at his back. positioned like this, geralt can mount him properly, can pull out almost entirely and thrust back in with enough force to have jaskier sobbing his name. it hurts, it fucking burns, he should have never begged for this, and yet - and yet -

geralt is fisting his cock with his free hand now, giving him a tight sleeve to fuck into, and as he ruts mindlessly into the circle of his hand, he notices geralt’s skin is going slick. he’s that fucking wet, he realizes, cock weeping enough precum to lube his witcher’s hand. jaskier chokes out a cry as the head of geralt’s cock drives into his prostate, merciless strokes making him shake beneath the pressure. he can do little more than squirm and writhe, than fuck back onto his wolf’s cock and forward into his fist, than ride the high, and, fuck, already he’s close, and -

“let me clean him when you’re done,” lambert is saying, “come on, look at him, he’s so wet, let me - “

geralt simply snarls, and jaskier arches into him with a keening moan when his witcher leans down, sharp teeth sinking into the curve of his throat, just above his collar. he feels his wolf rock in deep, feels his cock jerk as he spills inside him - sobs for the feeling of geralt’s seed. he hears eskel break next, hears it in the way the witcher tries to stifle a groan, smells it in the air as he spills into his own hand.

geralt is spent, and jaskier is not - jaskier is not, and as he cranes his head to the side, he holds lambert’s gaze, whines for the way lambert’s jacking off to mirror geralt now, for the way geralt’s fingers twist and tug, the way lambert’s do the same. he breaks mere seconds later, thrusting into the tightness of geralt’s fist and moaning aloud as his orgasm finally crests. his eyes drop shut, every sense overwhelmed, but he doesn’t miss the way lambert spills simultaneously, coming into his fist as jaskier does the same.

only when jaskier begins to tremble and whine does geralt let him go, and even then, there’s cum-wet fingers pressing to his lips seconds later. eyes shut and world all hazy, jaskier merely groans, licking his spend off of geralt’s hand in a slow and lazy fashion. “good,” geralt murmurs at last, and jaskier winces when his wolf pulls out. he lays still there, hands at his back and ass in the air, only relaxing to the side with geralt’s guidance. there’s hands smoothing over his flanks and thighs, parting his legs so two fingers can push the leaking cum back inside his hole, but he lacks the strength to react.

“leave now,” comes geralt’s voice, seconds or minutes or hours later; jaskier doesn’t know. he’s aware of little more than the pleasant warmth of cum inside him, of geralt’s fingers still smoothing over his hole to keep it all in. as eskel and lambert stand, as their footsteps slowly retreat, jaskier lets himself sink, purrs out a breathy moan in response to the fingers that press inside him once more.

he knows he won’t rest.

he knows he doesn’t deserve to.

#jaskier/all witchers #jaskier x all witchers #geraskier #gerlion #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #jaskier x eskel #jaskier x lambert #my fics

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danipixel · 4 years

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Drowning While Burning

Let’s just say, this came to me in a dream. My gain, is also your gain.

Warning: Explicit. This is utter filth and I am not sorry. Not one bit.

Maul x Reader

tags: @maulieber, @zabrak-show, @botherbother-blog, @mother-0f-monsters, @lestrange2703, @alicedoestheinternet

Drowning While Burning

The Mandalorian sun had already begun to set beyond the walls of Sundari's biodome as you finished your duties for the day. Your position as Maul's business liaison for the Shadow Collective meant you spent most of your day arguing with the Pykes, Black Sun, and the Hutts on his behalf. Liaison wasn't your only position, however. At some point in your stay at the palace your relationship had grown beyond professional into something much more precious. As his confidante and lover, you shared his substantial living quarters. Your path through the palace finally brought you to the door of your shared room while you dreamed about a luxurious shower and falling asleep in his arms. That is, if he hadn't planned on working into the early hours of the morning again.

You push open the door to the room and to your complete surprise, Maul is sitting on the bed instead of his desk. Just waiting. Waiting and staring as you entered. "Is everything alright, love?" you say as you shut the door behind you. Maul quickly leaves his position on the bed and closes the distance between you. His hands immediately find their way around your waist to pull you in close. "I have been thinking of you for hours, my star." You bury your face in his chest and lose yourself in his warmth. His body is always warmer than your own, a side effect of his twin hearts. Just one aspect of him out of many that you adore.

He quite literally pulls you out of your reverie when his hand grabs your hair at the base of your skull and gently pulls until you're looking up at him. You smile at him, "What exactly have you been thinking about?" As if the way lust has seeped into every part of him wasn't obvious enough. His answer is to claim your mouth in a kiss that could turn a star into a supernova. It lights a fire in your body so strong it threatens to consume you both. Dear gods, you love to burn with him. The intensity makes you let out a small involuntary moan and he takes the opening to slide his tongue against yours. Somehow he always tastes like the most delicious spice and sweetness when you kiss him. Another part of him you adore.

His hands start pulling open your wrapped shirt before he breaks the kiss to trail small bites and kisses along your collarbone. "I need to have all of you tonight." His voice slightly muffled against your skin. "To touch." He finishes pulling your shirt off so his hands can run over the newly exposed skin. It makes you shiver in excitement. You can't help but take your nails down his chest in response. "To claim." He digs his fingers into your hips as he bites down near the juncture of your neck and shoulder. "To taste." He soothes the reddening bite mark with his tongue before running it up your neck. "I want to drown in you." Maul growls into your ear. His words punctuated by his teeth and lips working their way down your neck. Those words send a shiver down your spine and a rush of intense desire straight between your legs.

Your mind completely loses all higher function as you push him towards the bed and begin tearing his tunic from his belt before throwing it across the room. The two of you can find it tomorrow. He laughs at your newfound eagerness until you leave your own mark on the dark skin of his neck. That pulls a soft wanton groan from him. Your hands run across his strong tattooed chest and leave small scratches wherever they go. You begin to follow your fingers with your lips, tracing the black patterns across his red flesh. When your teeth find one of his nipples and gently nip at it, he lets out an animalistic growl before picking you up and practically tossing you on the bed.

His mouth is back on yours in an instant, tongue demanding entry that you gladly give to him. His hands roam over every part of you, desperate for contact. Where his hands can't be, he touches you with the Force. You're sure that somehow he now has a dozen hands touching you everywhere. Being loved by Maul is intense and all-encompassing.

His lips leave yours to start on a path down the rest of your body. You let out a small whine the moment he stops kissing you. You need his lips on you again. Anywhere on you. It doesn't matter where. His hands trail down your sides to finally pull off your boots and tear your pants from your legs. He takes a moment to admire you in just your soaked panties before he rips them apart and throws the tattered fabric somewhere else. You distantly hear yourself say, "I liked that pair." Maul leaves sucks a fresh bruise above your hip "I'll get you ten more."

You hear the sound of more fabric hitting the ground and realize he must have removed his own belt and pants before crawling up your body. Before you get the chance to see all of him, he lowers his mouth to your chest to run his tongue around one of your achingly pointed nipples. At the same time his hand finds its way between your legs and into your slick folds, his fingers slowly circling your clit. Any thoughts you were about to have rapidly leave your mind with the soft moan you release and dissipate into the air. One of your hands grabs a fistful of the dark silken sheets below you while the other rests at the back of his neck. You'd guide him to where you want him but he already knows. He's taking as much time with you as he pleases. He bites down gently on the nipple now in his mouth before flattening his tongue to soothe the light pain he causes you. You gasp before you let out unintelligible praises into the air.

His fingers play against your clit as if it's their only reason for existing. Fuck, you're sure that right now being touched by him is your only reason to exist. Maul drags his tongue at a painfully slow pace across your chest where your other breast waits for him, but not before he leaves a perfectly positioned mark directly in the center of your chest. You snake your fingers around the horns at the back of his head and scratch at the base of them, earning yourself a low growl from the back of his throat. He's not the only one that can make the other dumb with pleasure.

He repays your touch by sinking one finger, then another deep into you. They curl wickedly against you as he slowly pumps them into you. How does just a finger feel so good? You can hear how wet you are from the sounds of his fingers inside you and it just makes you rush to orgasm all that much faster. Maul smiles against your chest. "So wet already. Whatever shall I do with you?" You could practically cum just from the way his voice sounds right now. Low and full of desire as his words vibrate through your entire body. "Just..ah..just what you s..said. Touch. Claim. Oh fuck. Taste."

The sound that tears out of his throat as he pulls his fingers from you is absolutely feral. A whimper falls from your lips at the loss of his touch. You were so close. Stopping now is beyond cruel. Before you can beg, no demand, that he continue, his arms wrap around you and flip the two of you over so you wind up straddled across his abdomen. This could work too.

You run one hand slowly over every one of his perfectly defined muscles across his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen. The red and black flesh lightly twitches and jumps under your fingertips. Your other hand reaches beyond you to run over the cool metal of his pelvis before finding the soft synthetic skin of his now very erect cock. Taking him in hand, you lightly run your fingers up and down the length of him, mimicking his earlier teasing. Soft gasps fall from his mouth with every lazy pattern you draw on his cock. When you lightly squeeze him he takes a tight hold of your thighs and digs his fingers into your skin. "Not yet, my star. I haven't had my fill of you yet."

Your mind is swimming at his words. What does that mean? He hasn't had his fill? Then the firm grip on your thighs begins to pull you up and forward. Oh. Oh. Now you get it, and you're positively dying for it. You follow his hands up, up past his chest, over his shoulders and to his handsome face. "I said," he leaves matching bites on each of your inner thighs before nipping his way higher to where you crave, no, absolutely need him. "I want to drown in you." His tongue runs feather light up your soaked lips before plunging in between. His impossibly warm tongue flattens and runs over your clit before slowly circling around. Maul takes one last look up at you and you can just barely see the wicked smile on his lips before his eyes shut and he dives into you fully.

You hear yourself call out his name as his tongue and lips do things you didn't know were possible. He doesn't simply lick into your cunt or suck on your clit. No, what Maul does is completely devour you like a man starved. It's as if he'd been granted his final meal in this life and he chose to consume you. He savors every taste you give him. Fuck. You'll give him as much as he wants.

You nearly fall over from the sheer pleasure his tongue starts to pull from you. One of your hands is gripping the headboard so tightly, you fear the wood and metal may shatter if your own fingers don't first. The other holds onto his horns for dear life. Your fingers scraping along his scalp, pulling small grunts and groans from him beneath you. His hands move from holding your thighs to taking hold of your ass as he leaves small scratches with his fingers. Maul pulls you down slightly further as his tongue pushes inside of you, determined to taste and consume every part of you.

When he brings his mouth back up to your clit and ever so softly nips at the sensitive flesh, you swear you feel his fingers slide into you. But how? His hands are both on your...oh maker. He begins pulling a copy of his fingers from the Force to push into you and curls them inside you. Right in the absolute perfect spot to make you momentarily lose the ability to see straight. You may just die, right here, on Maul's lips.

You can't help how you start grinding into his face, chasing the orgasm he so cruelly denied you earlier. Heat begins to push and pull tightly in your belly as you feel your whole body begin to tense. "Maul I'm...oh maker how are you…" He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard while he slides the facsimile of his fingers into that perfect spot inside you and your body shatters. Every sense you have falls through reality before slamming back into your body. Somewhere you hear yourself cry out a sound as close to his name as your voice can create at the moment. Whatever the definition of the word bliss happens to be, you're certain you found a better one on Maul's tongue.

You finally come back to yourself as he presses soft kisses to the inside of your thighs and helps guide you off of his face and onto your back. His swollen lips still shine with your release when his tongue slides from his mouth to lick them clean. That tongue. It's a gift from an angel used to commit the most beautiful of sins. His eyes still burn with lust and adoration before he kisses you softly, slipping his tongue into your mouth to let you taste yourself on him. Maul trails his lips tenderly down your neck, chest, and stomach before following the same path back up the other side. The light touches of his lips help you come down slowly from the high of orgasm. You wrap your shaky arms around his shoulders to pull him back to you. What starts as a slow tender kiss quickly gains momentum. Maul grazes your lower lip with his teeth before he pulls back to press his lips to your jaw. He runs his fingers gently from your neck and down across your body again before stopping just above your cunt.

Oh wait, there's more. There's always more. He must have felt your thoughts because you feel a small laugh against your neck. "Did you think I was done with you?" One of his knees moves to push your legs further apart for him to take his rightful place between them.

With him in his current position you can finally take a look at all of him. From the way his tattoos accentuate every dip and ridge of muscle down to where organic meets synthetic and lower still. The first time he'd let you see all of him, he assumed that you would be repulsed by his mechanical half. That didn't matter to you. It was as much a part of Maul as his horns, his eyes, or his hands. Regardless of what's natural or artificial, he works magic with every bit of it.

The slide of his cock against the inside of your thighs snaps you back to the present. Deliciously ridged as a zabrak's should be and covered in soft synthetic skin to give him just as much pleasure as he gives you. And warm, as nature would have intended. You silently thank whoever put this previously shattered man back together so completely. Almost as if of their own accord, you lift your hips as he slowly slides into you. You keen at the feeling of being filled by him while you hear a soft Paecian curse devolve into a growl deep in his throat. Your legs come up and wrap around his waist to hold him where he belongs.

Maul brings his hands back up to reach behind you to grab a fistful of hair and pulls your lips to his as he grinds himself fully into you. Pressed tightly together like this, you swear he reaches something inside you that makes you see the stars beyond the roof above you. Then he starts a powerful, rapid pace and those stars explode into dust. The last remnants of your mind leave you as pure instinct takes over. You lift your pelvis up to meet each of his thrusts. Every collision of your hips sending sparks flying up your spine and back down again, lighting every nerve on fire as they go. You're just barely surviving the flames before Maul lifts one of your ankles over her arm and picks up his pace to something more feral. Those flaming nerves, now build into a wildfire. His lips and teeth following the line of your collarbone leave a blazing trail of small bruises that you are guaranteed to be wearing for a week. He's panting into your neck now, "You look so-" a growl catches in his throat before he can finish. "so perfect when I claim you. Wearing my marks so well." Before he finishes that thought his hand moves down to circle your clit while his increasingly powerful thrusts continue to drive you into oblivion.

Oh fuck, if moments before was a wildfire, every single nerve in your body is now an inferno. You feel hotter than you should be able to even survive and all your muscles below your waist starts to tighten as your orgasm flies at you. Your last moment of coherence before the inferno swallows you, you lift yourself up and bite down on the muscle of Maul's neck. Hard. You claim him as he'd just done to you.

He wanted to drown in you, but you, you're burning from him. Everything goes white and your cries are muffled into his neck. Your cunt spasms and contracts around his cock pulling him into madness with you. He starts to slam into you in earnest while he chases you over the edge. You hear a broken moan pull out of him before he spills into you, growling your name and half uttered praises with each stuttering thrust of his hips.

Reality finally seeps back into your mind. You still feel unbelievably warm but completely and utterly spent. Maul half collapsed on top of you after his own release. That explains the warmth. He'd also managed to slip himself out of you and now your combined fluids slowly make their way out of you. The sheets are definitely ruined.

The two of you lie there for a few minutes just remembering how to breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale...exhale? Why is this so hard to remember? Your heart slowly stops pounding in your ears and you can feel one of his slow to a less frantic pace where his chest is pressed into your shoulder. You start planting soft kisses along the side of his face until he comes up to return your affection. His kisses are soft and loving now. He presses them across your shoulder and up the side of your neck before catching your lips with his. Everything slows down again as you lose yourselves in each other. Eventually you need to pull away and breathe again. Inhale, exhale.

You manage to find your voice floating somewhere in the air, "I could get used to ending the day like this." Maul laughs again before pushing himself up with a groan you can't help but feel pride at hearing. "I think I can arrange that." One of his hands runs over the dark marks he'd left on you and a proud smile paints his face. You grin as you lean up to plant a soft kiss on the growing bruise you'd left on him. He finally falls back over next to you and pulls you into his chest. You'd normally protest and try to clean yourself up but honestly, you can't move much of anything right now. He places a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll deal with it tomorrow. Sleep now." He pulls the blankets to his hand with the Force and wraps it around the two of you before tangling your legs together. The cool metal feels amazing on your overheated skin. "I'm not that tired." You try to stifle a yawn, "Alright, maybe I am." He's right. Staying right here sounds like a perfect idea.

#darth maul #maul #maul x reader #darth maul x reader #thirst #absolute thirst #star wars thirst

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misc-headcanons · 3 years

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12 Days of XXX-mas Collab Day 4: Popsicle (Hawks/F!Reader)

❄ Link to the Collab Masterpost (warning: dark content in some/most of these fics!)

❄ Word Count: 1947

❄ Contains: Smut, deepthroating

When Hawks entered the apartment he shared with ____, he expected to see her watching videos on her phone while splayed out on the couch. As it turns out, he was somewhat right; she was on the couch, sitting in a kneeling position and concentrating intently. A popsicle was in her mouth, and there were a few scattered wrappers and sugar-stained wooden sticks in one of her hands as she tried to focus on the subject at hand--or rather, in-mouth.

Hawks raised an eyebrow and smirked, about to ask what she was doing. When he saw her slowly bobbing her head back and forth, trying her best to take as much of the popsicle in her mouth as possible without gagging, he simply blinked in surprise. Now he really wanted to know what the hell she had been doing while he was gone.

He watched her silently for a few seconds, waiting to see if she'd noticed that she was no longer alone or if she was too lost in thought to hear him open the door. A small trickle of bright-colored juice melted off at her lips and trickled down her chin, and she took this as a cue to move the popsicle even deeper down her throat. Hawks's eyes widened as she managed to swallow the entire thing, with the colored end of it barely peeking out from between her lips. He'd gotten blowjobs from ____ before, and while he always enjoyed himself (as evidenced by her very sore scalp and more than one noise complaint from her neighbors afterwards), she'd never been able to take his entire length like that. Granted, he was a bit more of a mouthful than your average popsicle, but...still, he'd never felt what it was like to fully sheathe himself inside of her throat like that.

____, still oblivious to Hawks's presence, slowly pulled the popsicle out of her mouth and licked the juice that had fallen down her chin before smiling proudly and taking a triumphant chomp out of what was left of her now mostly-melted snack. "Okay," she exhaled, licking her lips and setting the popsicle stick next to the others on the nearby coffee table. "Now I just have to wait for Keigo to get home and I can show off my new skills, hehe."

Hawks crossed his arms and grinned. Were all these popsicles just for her to practice deepthroating on? "New skill, eh?"

____ automatically jumped in her seat, falling back against the couch when she turned to see Hawks by the front door. "Holy-shit-what-the--Oh!" She felt her face heat up and she gave her boyfriend a sheepish grin, embarrassed that she'd been caught. "Jeez, you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days, Kei."

Kei shrugged. "I know CPR, so it's no biggie," he replied playfully, walking to kiss her cheek and plop onto the couch next to her. "But you already know how good I am at mouth-to-mouth, right babe?"

____ rolled her eyes and lightly smacked his shoulder, and when Hawks put an arm around her before pulling her in to nuzzle her neck, she giggled. "Awww, someone's extra affectionate today," she teased. He ran his hands up and down her sides while she leaned further against him. "Something get you 'riled up' at work?"

"Not at work," Hawks replied with a smile against her skin as he squeezed one of her breasts and heard her moan softly. "I'm just eager to see what new skill ya wanted to show off for me."

____ smiled and turned around to face him, crawling up to settle in his lap while she played with his soft blond hair and subtly grind against him. "Welllll," she drawled, "I've never really trained my gag reflex before, but I've always wanted to try deepthroating. So I figured I could learn how by trying out popsicles! That way even if I have trouble at first, the ice would make me more numb and still make it easier." She proudly put her hands on her hips. "Am I a genius or what?"

Hawks snorted at just how triumphant she looked and nodded, running his hands over her thighs and squeezing the curve of her ass as he rocked slightly against her. "Damn right you are," he replied playfully. "You're like the Sun Tzu of sucking cock."

____ laughed and bent down to give him one more heated kiss before shimmying off of his lap to kneel in front of him, unzipping his pants. "Let's see how much you'll be joking around once I put my skills to the test," she said smugly, her voice lower and more husky as she licked her lips eagerly. "I bet I can make you cum so hard, your wings'll start shaking from how good I feel around your cock."

Hawks bit his lip, relishing in her dirty talk while she pulled his pants and boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang out once it was freed, and the sight of its head glistening with a bit of precum made ____'s mouth water. She smiled mischievously at him, gently grasping his shaft with one hand and lapping at the head with the tip of her tongue. Hawks groaned softly and ran his hands through her hair; he loved it whenever she teased him like this, giving his cock plenty of attention and praise while intentionally drawing it all out. Sometimes it felt more like torture than simple teasing with how much she kissed and gently caressed his length with her tongue, waiting until the last possible moment to give him some reprieve and finally take his entire length into her mouth.

____'s mouth was still cold from the popsicles, and as she enveloped more and more of Hawks's dick she saw him shiver from the temperature difference. Wanting to warm him up a bit, she built up a bit of saliva on her tongue and hollowed out her cheeks as she swallowed up more and more of his length; the slow fade from a slight chill around her lips to a pleasurable wet warmth made Hawks moan again, and his grip on her hair tightened a bit.

Her light sighs and whimpers sent soft vibrations through his entire cock, and he moved in his seat on the couch to get a better grip on the back of her head with both hands. "You--ah, fuck--ready to take all of me, baby?" He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and gently rubbed her cheek as she looked up at him eagerly. She let out a muffled "uh-huh" that sent another shiver up Hawks's spine; she was so cute when she was like this, submissive and oh-so eager to please him with that pretty mouth .

He held the back of her head and immediately shoved his cock further and further into her mouth, burying himself all the way inside of her with one swift stroke of his hips. She let out a sharp inhale through her nose as she felt the tip graze the back of her throat, and when she tried to swallow as best as she could, the two of them groaned in unison.

Her tight, wet walls squeezed and contracted around his cock like a vice, and the moment he felt her try to swallow he lost his sense of control completely. He moved her head back and forth as he thrust into her mouth over and over, sighing with pleasure every time the tip of his cock hit that velvety sweet spot in the back of her throat. Her moans were barely able to come out of her mouth as he shoved her further and further against him until her nose was buried against the scruff of blond hair around his navel. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, not from pain or fear, but a simple instinctive response from her body at this sudden unfamiliar intrusion; even with some training and ice to numb her throat, her gag reflex was still unused to receiving this kind of attention.

Hawks didn't slow down his pace, but he did quickly move his hands to grab hers and place them against his hips. He positioned her head again, and a thin sheen of sweat was starting to form on his forehead and his reddened cheeks. "T-tap me twice if it's too much," he stammered, bucking his hips as he felt the aching feeling of pleasure and pressure growing closer and closer to its peak. "God, you're so good at taking my cock…Using that slutty little mouth to make me feel so fucking good…"

His balls smacked against ____'s chin over and over as he went faster, and his wings started to flutter a bit behind him as his voice became more and more strained. He felt her fingernails dig into the curve of his ass, but even as she struggled to breathe through her nose and fight back the welled-up tears in her eyes, she stubbornly refused to tap out. He looked down at her with half-lidded eyes and tapped the back of her head with his thumb to get her attention. When she looked up at him with those shining, adoring eyes, the corners of his lips turned up into a satisfied smile as he let out a small birdlike coo from the back of his throat. "You--f-fuck, you're tight...Heh, you like being told how good you are at taking my dick? You want me to cum all the way down your throat, baby?"

____ did her best to try and nod, squeezing his ass once again. He knew just how much she loved being praised during sex, and seeing her try to tell him "yes" as best as she could with his cock ravaging her mouth pushed him over the edge. His wings unfurled and stretched out behind him, stiffening as he came and sheathed himself inside of her as far as possible with a sharp cry. The shallow air from her nose fanned against his public hair, and a thin milky-white stream of semen and saliva trickled from her lips and down one of his balls. ____ felt his thick cum slide down her throat, completely eliminating any trace of the cold from earlier as she was enveloped by a feeling of warmth.

When the ringing in his ears died down, along with the throbbing sensation of his cock inside of her, he sank back against the couch and let his arms fall limply to his sides. His wings slowly relaxed and folded back, and he stared up at the ceiling with a content, lazy smile on his face as he panted. The sound of ____ as she swallowed the last vestiges of his cum and taking gulps of air now that she was able to breathe freely again pulled him back to reality, and he did his best to lean over and help her up onto the couch again. She immediately curled up against him, still breathing heavily as she rested her head in the crook of his neck and placed one of her palms on his chest. The two of them lay there for a minute or so, silently enjoying the hazy comfort that came after a fun-yet-intense bout of sex.

____ was the first to speak up, tilting her head to look up at him. "So…" She smirked and playfully traced shapes into his skin with her fingers. "Should we add popsicles to the grocery list from now on?"

Hawks let out a breathy chuckle and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer against him before kissing her temple. "Definitely."

#bnha #bnha scenario #hawks #takami keigo #ns.fw #female s/o #mine

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lit-in-thy-heart · 3 years

Note

I'm so excited you've jouned in!!! 💕

You owe Merwaine some happiness after your VERY angsty episode analyses so I would love those two and Sleepy hug please!! 😍

@little-ligi i hope this makes up for the angst!!! thank you for sending a prompt and have merlin and gwaine falling asleep together when with the knights and arthur on a trip thing (unspecified) between s4 and s5 💕

once again, under the cut because this is the longest one yet...

Rearranging his cloak so it provided greater coverage from the brisk wind, Gwaine glanced over at the group who were gradually drifting off amongst the fallen foliage. Despite the undiluted thoughts that inevitably streamed through his head when on watch, Gwaine relished the uninterrupted opportunity to softly observe Merlin without having the eyes of the other knights on him. If he had an apple for every time one of them – usually Percival or Arthur, despite Elyan’s quiet requests for them to shut up – had called him out for supposedly undressing Merlin with his eyes, he would certainly have a bushel of them by now. Granted, Gwaine sometimes did have the habit of mentally undressing Merlin with his eyes when he looked at him, but more often than not the knight was simply gazing in wonder at how such a beautiful being had chosen to devote his life to Gwaine of all people.

Merlin had been out of his sight for the past couple of hours, having accompanied Elyan to retrieve firewood, but Gwaine knew that they were both exchanging new spells that they’d learnt over the past few weeks. Elyan had told Gwaine about his magic before Gwaine had even had his suspicions about Merlin confirmed. Or, rather, Gwaine had stumbled in on Elyan, when the call of nature had echoed in his head on the night they had first met, and had witnessed him throwing all five of Gwaine’s knives without touching a single one. Gwaine had been more bothered by the fact that he hadn’t even noticed that his knives were missing than by the fact that Elyan was a sorcerer. And then, several weeks later, after Merlin had confessed to Gwaine on the night they had found themselves in bed together after an evening in the tavern, Gwaine had told both Elyan and Merlin to meet him in the Darkling Woods, greeted them with the statement that they both had magic, and had left them to it. Although he forced his unwavering support onto Merlin at every given opportunity, Gwaine knew the value of having someone close who knew precisely the struggles being faced, and he was grateful that Merlin had that in Elyan, and vice versa.

With a smile, Gwaine’s gaze slid over to Merlin, cocooned in a blanket and laughing at some remark that Elyan had sleepily murmured, and he settled himself against a tree trunk, moving his eyes back to the space in front of him as he withdrew his sword and positioned it across torso, the point of the blade hovering dangerously close to his neck. It was probably best that he was keeping watch alone, so he wouldn’t get distracted by talking to someone – but it also meant that there was nobody to check him when his attention slid, as it always did, to Merlin. He squinted up at the sky, seeking out the moon. At least he wasn’t expected to keep watch all night. Not that there was much need. Perhaps it was somewhat of an invincibility complex but, ever since donning the cloak bearing Camelot’s emblem, Gwaine had felt untouchable. Almost. The cloak hadn’t made Lancelot untouchable. Setting his jaw, Gwaine took a deep breath and focused on the lazy wave of the leaves opposite, on the stars splattered across the deep canvas of the sky like a bloodstain, on the soft melody of the wind.

‘Come on, now, Gwaine, you know full well how hot you look when you hold a sword like that.’

Perhaps Gwaine, who had not noticed Merlin – Merlin, of all people – approach, had not been the best choice for watch. He looked up with the smile that always graced his lips whenever the warlock was near, eyes dropping with Merlin’s body as he settled himself next to him. ‘I am by no means opposed to making out right here, right now.’

To satiate his desire, Merlin scattered a trail of kisses along his hairline. ‘I don’t think the others would appreciate it.’

‘Mm, you’re probably right there,’ Gwaine murmured, his fingers tracing Merlin’s face. ‘And you should sleep.’

‘I’m okay.’

Gwaine’s hands found the shadowed purple beneath Merlin’s eyes and he fixed him with a look. ‘I know that you haven’t slept properly for the past two weeks. I can see it written all over your face.’

Scowling, Merlin pushed his hand away. ‘Well that’s rude.’

‘But not a lie.’

Expression softening, Merlin wrapped the blanket tighter around his body.‘That’s because you’ve been on night patrol for the past two weeks and haven’t slept next to me.’

‘I don’t enjoy it.’

‘No, but at least you get to talk to Elyan. I’m left alone with the ceiling and my thoughts, and you know how much I hate that.’ Realising how he sounded, Merlin leaned closer into Gwaine. ‘I’m not trying to guilt-trip you. I know full well there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Just as Merlin knew that, Gwaine knew full well that he shouldn’t do what his arm had already started to do but, noticing Merlin’s poorly-concealed shivers, he set down his sword and drew Merlin in so the warlock was resting his head in Gwaine’s chest. Then, kissing the top of his head, Gwaine pushed him away as swiftly as he’d pulled him in. ‘Go to bed, love. If you fall asleep here then your neck will not be thanking you in the morning.’

Looking up, Merlin held his gaze for several moments. With a sigh, he lifted his head and kissed Gwaine on the mouth before reluctantly standing and stumbling back to the makeshift camp. Gwaine watched as he settled himself at a slight distance from the other knights and Arthur, his back turned. The flickering embers cast subtle shadows across Merlin’s back and Gwaine’s gaze remained turned towards him for several moments more before he forced his eyes to travel away from the warlock’s form. Gwaine didn’t need to see it to know how it moulded to his palms when they were alone.

When around other people, Merlin always seemed to skirt around Gwaine, always leaving at least several inches between their bodies, as if afraid of causing Gwaine to shatter as a mirage if he made even the slightest contact with his skin. Gwaine had started wearing gloves more frequently in the hopes that Merlin would be more liberal in brushing against him then, but it had all been to no avail. Then Gwaine had continued to wear gloves anyway, just so that his bare hands wouldn’t have the nerves numbed by grazing surfaces before they reached out for Merlin’s skin. The result was a warm tingle that, to some, would be more of a scald, but Gwaine savoured every moment that his skin was set alight by Merlin. Having a particular skill with fire spells also helped him not feel the agony of burning so much, too.

When they were alone, though, Merlin was the one to remove Gwaine’s gloves and, every time his fingers skimmed the bones in Gwaine’s hand, the knight had to focus so as not to release skittering flames in Merlin’s direction. There seemed to be a ritual with Merlin when they were alone. The warlock would gently draw the gloves from Gwaine’s skin, toss them to one side, and then dedicate a substantial amount of time to tracing the marks on the knight’s hands, no matter how many times his fingers had already followed the cellular paths that day.

First, he always looked for new scalds or burns, disregarding Gwaine’s protests that they didn’t hurt in the same way that their ancestors had when he had first started learning magic, skimming his fingers over the marks as if the touch formed a mental note to treat them at a later date. After assessing the damage, Merlin’s lips always trailed behind his touch, silently reassuring each of Gwaine’s imperfections that they were so wonderfully loved and successfully sending shivers up Gwaine’s spine. Though those shivers always were abruptly severed when Merlin’s touch made its way to the thick scar just below the fold of skin between his right thumb and forefinger. Merlin had never once pushed him for more information about his childhood amongst bandits, but there was always a part of Gwaine that worried Merlin would one day get sick of the sight of the small branded letter, not quite concealed by the path the knife had taken so long ago, and would abandon him to the abyss he had been lost in before meeting the warlock.

But that hadn’t happened yet.

After studying Gwaine’s hands, Merlin then moved to stripping him of his knighthood and it was a death that Gwaine would gladly watch again and again if it was at Merlin’s hands. The chainmail was cast aside, the cloak thrown over a chair, and the sword noisily skimmed the floor until Gwaine was stood in only a shirt and his trousers, equal to Merlin. The only armour Gwaine had ever wanted covering him, since that day at the tavern, was Merlin’s hands. Arthur hadn’t really given him an opportunity to turn down the knighthood and, even if he had, there was always the possibility – in Gwaine’s mind, at least – that Arthur would have been offended enough to maintain his banishment, and then Gwaine never would have seen Merlin again. Being a knight did have its advantages, though: Gwaine never went hungry, nor did he have to sleep with one eye open, and he had been getting into fewer and fewer brawls over the years. Though that last one was perceived as more of an advantage in Leon’s eyes, who had always been the one to drag him out of any frays and then let him cool off in the cells on the odd occasion. Even when that had happened, though, Merlin had always slipped in and spent the night with Gwaine, heating his body up to unnatural temperatures to keep Gwaine warm. The first few times that had happened, Gwaine had been terrified that Merlin would spontaneously combust, but Merlin had frequently assured him that such a trick was not possible.

So they would stand there, facing one another in silence, Gwaine’s materialistic armour strewn across the room, and then Gwaine would take Merlin gently in his hands, tracing segments of the form he knew so well, and then their souls would fuse together with their lips.

When the stars had shifted substantially, Gwaine hauled himself from his position and shook out his legs in the vain attempt to rid himself of the cramp in his limbs, slowly advancing towards Leon’s form. He gently prodded him awake, instinctively lunging backwards as the reflexive swipe came from the blankets, and held out his arms to receive said blankets when a thickened voice quietly called out his name.

Turning around, Gwaine could just make out Merlin’s hands stretching out in a half-hearted wave in the heavy darkness and, telling Leon to forget about the blankets, picked his way through the sleeping knights, guided by the dropping syllables of his name. By the time he reached Merlin, the warlock’s hands had fallen to the ground and, smiling fondly, Gwaine hastily stripped down to his gambeson and slid into the nest Merlin had made.

There were significantly more blankets than Merlin should have had – not that Gwaine was complaining – and Merlin drowsily pushed several layers towards him, turning around to face Gwaine. His eyes flickered in the darkness as his hand fell against Gwaine’s chest and, from the point where Merlin touched him, the knight could feel a comforting heat pushing into him like a blade. Gwaine realised he probably should have tied back his hair so Merlin didn’t accidentally try to eat it in his sleep, but he was too comfortable to do that. With a smile, Gwaine encircled the warlock with his arms and rested his mouth against Merlin’s forehead as his eyes closed.

‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you, too,’ Merlin murmured.

Gwaine frowned, one eye cracking open. ‘You were asleep. You couldn’t have missed me.’

There was a pause. ‘You know I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I couldn’t sleep properly without you next to me, right?’

‘I did not.’ Gwaine waited until he felt five of Merlin’s exhalations drape themselves around his throat before speaking again. ‘Whatever did you do before I came into your life?’

‘Had a decent night’s sleep, because I wasn’t aware of your existence and consequently didn’t have to constantly worry about preserving it.’ Merlin shifted against him, hands crawling under Gwaine’s shirt and settling themselves on his stomach. ‘It’s so strange to think that we didn’t even know that the other existed. That we had no idea that one day we would be right here, in this moment.’

Merlin, when tired, always became philosophical. And usually when Gwaine was tired he couldn’t make head or tail of what his significant other was saying, but perhaps the cool night air had cleared his head more than ale usually did. ‘I think I prefer it that way,’ Gwaine murmured. ‘If we’d known that the other was out there, then I think we would have spent all our lives searching. We would have pinned our entire existence on the other person and that’s...That just doesn’t feel right. Not that I’m saying I don’t love you.’

‘No, no, I know...I know what you mean,’ yawned Merlin, pushing his head into Gwaine’s chest.

Tightening his arms around Merlin, Gwaine listened to the rhythm of the warlock’s breathing pattern, trying to match his own to it, and gently kissed the top of his head. There was a slight mumble, and something that might have resembled an ‘I love you’ and Gwaine murmured it back, just in case. It had been too long since the two of them had drifted off together, wrapped in one another’s beings, and Gwaine would forever bind himself to the soft form that was quite literally touching his heart.

#so compared to moee recent ones this does seem quite fluffy...#thanks again for the prompt!!!#tbh i'm surprised the knights didn't huddle together for warmth when sleeping more often #it can get fucking cold #merlin #gwaine #merwaine #hug prompts #lit writes #bbc merlin #*more

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chaseatinydream · 3 years

Text

dazed || c.s (atz)

➵ PAIRING: reader x choi san (ateez)

➵ WORD COUNT: 2680

➵ GENRE: suggestive

➵ SYNOPSIS: he’s beautiful, whether he knows it or not, and you’re determined to prove to him that he is

>>>

It’s way past midnight when San reaches your home.

The night is cold and the wind nips at the exposed fingers peeking out of his jacket sleeves as he fumbles for the keys outside your door. It’s almost completely doused in silence, in the distance he can still hear the odd car driving down the street, but your house is mostly removed from the bustle of the main roads that never sleep. He manages to slide the keys from his wallet and reaches over to push it into the lock, but it's at that moment that he pauses curiously to look down.

There’s light shining underneath the door.

Confused, he pulls the sleeve of his padded jacket back to glance at the watch sitting on his wrist. 2:38AM. He’d already told you that he’d be back rather late due to his schedules, so why were you still awake? Had you fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home yet again? His heart both pinches in worry and blooms with the warmth of summer, even through the cold autumn air.

With a little more haste than he has previously, San pushes the key into the lock, feels the teeth click, and turns it, the door swings open and he slides off his shoes in the hallway. From the faint glow coming from the living room and the sound of people chattering over the speakers, you must have fallen asleep watching the television. Shutting the door, he pads down the hallway, feet bare against the floorboards, and pokes his head into the living room to see what you’re up to.

To his surprise, you’re not asleep, instead, you’re sitting on the couch with an unreadable expression on your face, arms folded across your chest as meaningless scenes play out across the screen of the television. The soft hues of reds and greens curve and flicker across your cheeks; you're beautiful, and you're home. With a soft, fond smile, he steps into the living room, calling out your name. "You're still awake, sweetheart?"

"San." Your voice is short, curt and for a second he finds himself confused, you sound upset with him, but for what reason? Then you tilt your head towards the couch and he sees something lying there. Taking another step closer, the object comes into focus and he realises what it is, a cherry red flush warming his cheeks.

It's the magazine containing his photoshoot with Dazed Korea, an outfit of washed out retro style jeans paired with the point piece of his shoot, a Dior lace top that had left just enough bare to seduce and whet the visual appetites of readers, while leaving the rest to the imagination, teasing them mercilessly with exposed skin in all the right places. He'd enjoyed that shoot immensely, the exhilarating rush of knowing the effect he'd have the readers making his blood run hot throughout the entire time the photographer had been clicking away. At the end, when the photographer had complimented him for his professionalism and smoldering gaze, he'd felt like he'd accomplished something great, even though he had a little low self esteem.

He hadn't known that the magazine print would be released today, the photographer wanting to keep it a pleasant surprise for him, but it seems that you have gotten your hands on a copy before him.

"Ahh, that." San says shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd felt so confident doing that shoot, like Icarus tasting the fire of the sun, but in front of you, he simply gives a sheepish grin, nervous and anticipating your reaction to it. "Did you like it? I know I don’t look very good, but-"

“Did I like it?” You repeat after him, voice dangerously soft and his heartbeat spikes as you rise from the couch, taking one step closer to him. “Oh, I did, and I liked it very, very much. Too much, in fact.” Your hands reach up to rest teasingly soft on his shoulders, the gentle pressure of them seemingly burning through the thick layers of his outerwear down to his skin. He swallows, forces himself to remain on his feet even though all he wants to do is to let his knees buckle under his weight. “But you see... when I realised so many other people got to see my handsome boyfriend dressed like that, all over those magazine covers,” your fingers curl under his jaw and his throat constricts, a fluttering breath trapped in the back of his mouth, “I can’t help feel... possessive.”

“You’re jealous?” He manages to fumble out, even as your hands slide down the collar of his thick jacket to grasp the edges of the fabric. San immediately regrets the words that have just left his mouth, because the second they do, there’s a dark gleam in your eye, mysterious, sultry, and oh so wicked. Then your lips curve into beguiling smile that leaves his tongue bone dry, “Of course I am.”

Your fingers begin to ease the heavy fabric of his padded jacket off his shoulders and his heart hammers in his chest, he can hear it pounding it in his ears, is sure that you can as well. “You know I love it when you’re confident enough to do things like this,” you whisper, dark eyes catching his, magnetic, pulling him in. “But there are times when I also want you all,” you take the zipper of his jacket between your fingers, “to,” his heart skips a beat, “myself.”

The jacket slides from his bare arms to land at his feet with a soundless thump, or perhaps he simply can’t hear it over the blood roaring in his ears.

“You have me.” San breathes, even before he realises what he’s saying, like he believes it with all his heart, like it’s the truth. “You have nothing to be jealous about.” Your hands sit at his hipbones, soft, teasing, barely there, and he licks lips that suddenly seem too dry before continuing. “All of me, you have it, it belongs to you.”

“Is that so?” You sound thoughtful, thumb dragging over the sharp crease of his hips through the thin fabric of his tank top and he makes a bitten off sound, eyes squeezing shut involuntarily at the feeling.

When he opens his eyes again, you’re looking him with unreadable eyes, they’ve always been bewitching, and he’s never been able to resist their sirens’ call to his soul. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth, and the raw hunger in your gaze almost scares him, but if it’s you, he wants it all.

“Well then,” your voice is barely above a breath, “would you model for me? For my eyes only?”

Funny you should ask, as if he would be able to deny you anything when you talk like that, when you look at him with those eyes. San manages a nod, opting not to speak because he’s not quite sure he can form coherent words at the moment, and instead asks a single question. “Here?”

“Here.” You nod, the action slow and deliberate, reaching over to the couch to pick up a second object he hadn’t quite noticed earlier, it’s a small camera he had bought for you on your second anniversary together. “Lie down for me?”

And he does, moving under the intensity of your gaze, sleek like a cat as he sinks to the floor, letting his back come into contact with the floor, it feels like ice against the burning heat of his skin. He looks up at you, did he do alright? And you smile, beautiful and deadly, before you’re stepping forward to kneel over him, and his heart leaps into his mouth, every nerve end tingling with electricity.

What-

Before his mind can get anywhere, you lean down and kiss him. The barest flutter of lips on lips, fragile as the moment you live in, and you take it slow, moving your mouth as if you have all the time in the world and he sighs into you. He feels you smile against his mouth and his head spins, but in your arms he feels warm, safe. Then you pull your lips from his and he blinks up at you with wide, confused eyes, “I thought you wanted me to-”

But then you’re kissing him again, deeper this time, still slow and lazy as if savoring a glass of vintage wine. He lets out a little whimper and you swallow it with your mouth, one hand tracing lazily over his ribs and he makes a soft noise. His hands raise instinctively to rest on your back, to search for something to ground him, but you push them back to the floor above his head with a sound of disapproval, “Ah, ah, ah, you’re supposed to be modelling for me, aren’t you? How am I supposed to take any good photographs of you if you move, San?”

This is cruel, San thinks, chest heaving as his hands fist over nothing, his mind is tethered to nothing and lost to the waves of pleasure that run through his body. This is downright cruel.

You smile, pleased that he understands, and reward him by dipping down to kiss him once more. This time the kiss is burning, near intoxicated as he gasps and you lick into his mouth, he groans deep in the back of his throat when he feels the slide of your tongue against his. Then you’re pulling away just before he can taste you and he tries to chase your mouth, but you hold him down with the faintest pressure of one hand on his shoulder, fingers tracing unidentifiable shapes and patterns over bare skin where the sleeve of his shirt has slipped down.

The other hand picks up the camera you’d set down earlier and he tries to steady his breathing, knows his cheeks are flushed champagne pink, and you whisper a gentle kiss across the shell of his ear. “Smile for me, pretty boy.”

He barely manages to process what you’ve just said before the hand on his shoulder slides downwards, he blinks and your nails drag over a nipple. A muffled cry leaves his lips and his head falls back, mouth open and gasping for air at the sharp pleasure. His eyes squeeze shut, and he faintly hears the sound of camera shutters going click before he opens them again, small tears pooling in the corners of his eyes as he gazes up at you, dazed.

“See how pretty you look.” You coo, one finger still drawing lazy circles around his nipple and pleasure throbs through his body. You adjust the dials and turn the camera around so that he can see himself, and his throat runs dry, he looks utterly wrecked and debauched at your hands. With a satisfied smile, you set the camera to the side and run your fingers through his hair. “I’m so lucky to have you.” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and ghost your fingers up his bare torso, rucking his shirt up to expose his abdomen to the chilly autumn air. He shivers softly, claws at nothing and you laugh softly at the desperate look on his face.

“So, what was the next picture you took?” You push your mouths together and catch the bottom lip in between your teeth, worrying the tender flesh there. He chokes out a groan, arches into your touch. He can’t think, let alone remember what he’d done on the day, but you seem to know already, pulling away from him once more. “Ahh, right. You raised the hem of your shirt for the world to see.” You recall, brushing a hand lightly across his stomach and immediately you see the muscles there tighten and flex under your touch, and soft gasp falls from his mouth. “Let’s recreate that, shall we?”

How? He wants to ask, but before he can find the words, you slide down his body to sit at his calves, brushing against him right there and he lets out a choked whimper, upper body twisting as he tries to stave off the arousal that consumes his mind completely in its haze, eyes tightly shut in an attempt to drag himself back to some form of sanity.

But that only thrusts him deeper into the sensation of your mouth, soft and hot and wet, trailing across his exposed hipbone. He scrambles upright just in time to see and feel you sink your teeth into the sensitive flesh there, sucking hard and his arms collapse under him. His stomach twists and heat edges down his legs, his toes curl. He feels too much, your mouth works its way along the hem of his jeans and he glances down just in time to see you take the denim between your teeth and drag it down, just enough so that you can press scorching kisses there; the sight alone is nearly enough to snap the coil twisting in his belly. San cries out when you nip and tongue at the marks you’ve left, breath hot and heavy on his skin, and scrabbles uselessly against the smooth floorboards in search for some form of purchase.

“Look pretty for me.” You whisper against his hipbone but he barely hears you over the sounds of his whimpers, it’s too bad you can’t capture the sounds he makes too, you think. Instead, you press down on the button and there’s a click, you turn the camera around so San can see the image of himself, splayed out on the ground, completely vulnerable for you. “What do you think?”

A deep groan leaves his mouth at the sight of himself, the deep purple marks and red blooms scattered across his skin, left there by your mouth. He’s an utter mess, an artwork created by your hands, and you press a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, so innocent in comparison to what you’ve been doing the entire night. “See how pretty you are, San? How beautiful you look? And to think that these photos are for my eyes only...” You sigh, and San lets out a high, bitten off whine as you stroke the inside of his thigh, still looking down at the camera. Then your hand stills and he nearly sobs at the loss of movement, forcing his hips to still before they can chase the firmness of your hand. “Do you think you’re beautiful, San?”

“I-” He hesitates and in that breath, you rake your nails down his pelvis, dangerously close to where he wants you the most but not quite touching him, and he chokes, jaw working soundlessly as he struggles under you, attempting to curl in on himself to offset the overload of sensation. But you don’t let him, pinning his hands above his head, leaning down to brush your lips against his once more. This time, it’s a gentle caress of the mouth, full of affection and San sinks deep into it, you taste the tears at the corners of his eyes and smile down at him.

“Are you beautiful, San?” You whisper softly, your eyes gazing at him so lovingly that he can’t breathe, and he must be, because of the way you look at him, the way you love him. He’s beautiful to you, and that’s enough for him.

“I am!” He gasps through rasping breaths and you smile, satisfied, one hand sliding up his thigh, closer and closer to where he needs you, and he writhes underneath you, a hoarse cry ripping itself from his throat. “I’m beautiful! If I’m beautiful, please, please, please just touch me!” His voice breaks off into a sob and you lift the camera to your eye.

A final click.

“You’re right.” You whisper, looking at the photograph you’ve just taken, setting the camera to the side before taking his face between your hands, eyes impossibly soft. “You really are.”

And then your mouth descends on him, and he knows no more.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez san #san #choi san #w; san #w; oneshot #san fanfiction

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xx-rayne-writes-xx · 3 years

Text

The Particularly Odd Timings of Oridon: The Reason pt. 1

Anthony returned soon after. What exactly did Manaphel have to know about the situation? In all truth, nothing, nothing at all. I could get away with making Anthony swoon for me without her having to know a thing. It was as simple as never confirming it.

Who was I to think that would work for long?

It would all be mere things. Giggly things. Shy things. Things that don't really matter enough to mean anything on a larger scale.

It was almost like that.

Lazy rooftop nights spoke otherwise. I couldn't help it, and neither could he. It would just be the two of us up there. Nobody knew about us. It was one of those nights, just one of those nights. The moon was as bright as the sun. He couldn't sleep because of it, but he couldn't sleep because of other reasons too. It was almost like he knew what was coming.

Of course, I invited him to sit out with me. He smoked a tobacco cigarette outside. The scent of it was too strong to be pleasurable, but he liked it, so I let him. When he offered it to me, I accepted. Anything to make him happy after all, even if it caused me to suffer.

The tobacco didn't help much. I still had that fluttery feeling in my stomach. That damned big ball of emotion. It deserved to be thrown out and forgotten about. I figured there was only one way to do that, and that was to get the truth off my chest.

"Anthony, was it worth Hell?"

He hummed for a moment before responding, "I suppose it is. Why ask now?"

"I think I've figured out that odd feeling. Do you understand?"

He glanced up at the sky as if Heaven was judging him. Maybe Heaven was judging me too. He was human, and I was me. I never understood why he was punished like he was supposed to be pure. The universe lets nobody go without punishment however. Knowing he was heading towards suffering was my punishment. I just wanted to carry the weight of his world on my shoulders.

"I understand," he whispered as he grabbed my hand. Both our eyes seemed to drift down at out intertwining fingers -so wrong, but so right. A little gasp of air escaped my lips as I glanced back up at him. To tell him no then would have been a crime, but I should have. It would have been simple to pull my hand away and stuff it under my jacket. It would have been simple to keep him safe. I could have thrown away all those feelings there.

Saying no in that moment was impossible.

His eyes begged yes. If we were anymore secluded, he probably would have been down on his knees begging for me. Giving it to him would be so simple. Everything about his face was so beautiful in that moment. The glorious moonlight on his flushed skin. The little freckles that danced across the bridge of his nose. The way his doe eyes begged me for more.

I pulled my hand away and laid it on his knee.

"Good. You should go back to bed now. You've had your tobacco fix. Go. Back to bed."

There went that sparkle from his eyes. He jerked back a little and his eyebrows knit together.

"W-what?"

"Go to bed, Anthony. Just go to bed, please."

He pushed himself to his feet, then looked down at me. His lips, sweet rose lips, parted, like he was going to say something. No words were spoke between us. There was nothing left to say right now. Simply, he went back inside, and I stayed with the moon till the sun's next dawn.

The next morning we couldn't look each other in the eye. It was sickening the stay near each other. He had no more radiancy, is cheeks were less pink than usual, and most concerning he was wrapped up in a quilt while moping around. As for me, I spent the day in bed. The pounding in my head was like I was living in somebody's heartbeat -his heartbeat.

There was something I could have done. Anything I could have done but that. Why was I ever so stupid? Human daftness was getting to my head more than the day dreams of Anthony. It felt like God's eyes were down upon me again. Every knot in my stomach clenched tighter. It's impossible to run from the world when all eyes are watching.

Only Anthony mattered to me.

I flung myself out of bed around noon. He was in the common area reading a copy of the Bible.

"Do you think that's going to save you?"

He mumbled, "You're sure not."

"I'm trying to save the both of us. Can't you see that?"

He closed that book. "Maybe I don't want to be saved. Maybe what I wanted was you."

"No. I'm not meant for you."

His lip was pulled between his teeth and curtains closed over glossy eyes. Two little sniffles tickled his nose. The muscles in his forehead were clenching as hard as they could.

"Let it out," I whispered, "I need to hear it."

The stage play began. Tears ran down his cheeks. His bottom lip trembled. He threw the Bible at me, but I didn't flinch. His palms went into fists because of that.

"Who fucking cares about what's meant? There's lots of things that aren't meant! You're not meant to be here, yet you're standing there! I'm not meant to be like this! Yet here I am! I'd be damned like this anyways! I can sit here and pretend all day long! I can lie to myself and act like nothing ever happened! I'm not going to do that though! Do you have any thoughts in that oh so holy brain of yours as to why?"

I nodded my head and sighed, "Tell me though. Go on."

"Because damn it Ollie, damn it, I really love you! I give a fuck about you! I want you!

He let his fists fall loose. His lips went back to trembling.

"I want you," he sniffled, "Just you. I don't want to be holy, I want you. You make me holy."

I turned away from him and glanced into the mirror propped against the wall. "I don't make you holy, and if I do, then you're confused. It feels like all I'm doing is making you hellbent. Don't say you love me, not when you'll hate yourself for it."

There he was behind me, all dew eyed and red-cheeked, like he got slapped across the face. And there was me, with my tired eyes, powdered face, and disappointment. Who was I anymore? The reflection in front of me was something more than human, but less than holy. It was a mask I was hiding behind -everything from the powder, to the body I was kept in, to the heart that kept my secrets.

I put my hand over my chest.

"I think I need to let it out too," I grumbled as I walked to the kitchen. I grabbed a wet cloth and scrubbed the makeup off my face. Then I glanced back at the mirror. There I was again, with my tired eyes, freckles that glowed like stars, darker complexion, and my natural self.

"I'm sick of hiding things," I mumbled as I turned to Anthony. "You know who I am. You know what I am. You know I'm suffering too. Don't you? And don't you know how badly I want to take you in my arms and have you as my own? Do you not think that I would say yes if I could? Anthony, don't you think?"

His eyes were open wide. He was staring right at me, and I could stare right back.

"Don't you know how selfish you are? You want me to be less and less holy by the day. If I go through with this, I'm not going to have a chance of being allowed back in the gates. I don't want to fall, and if not that, I'll walk the world alone. And you'll be stuck in Hell. Think about that."

He folded his hands together as if he was about to speak a prayer. "I have thought about that. Where's your selflessness? Where's the angel whose supposed to sacrifice himself for me? Where's my dear friend who has spent countless hours drawing me to him? I miss him. Don't you miss him too?"

"Anthony, you have no clue what you're talking about."

He stood up and approached me. He stopped when he was about a foot from me. "Maybe we need to do less talking. Much less. You're hiding behind your words. Sometimes you're all talk. I know how you act. That's what I know."

I glanced down to the floor and noticed his palm open. "Anthony, please I can't. Anthony, just listen to me."

"Will you let me suffer now with no content, or suffer later and be at peace with it?"

"Stop."

"What will you do?"

#writeblr #the particularly odd timings of oridon #long post #the gay angel shitsaga #WIP

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soudam-appreciation · 4 years

Text

Study... date?

Gundam sighed, shrugging his overweight backpack over his shoulder. He had not planned for today to become a social one, though he supposed it was not quite unwelcome. The mortal known as Kazuichi, Tamer of Automatons, had requested his presence here, though for precisely what ritual, Gundam did not know.

Kazuichi leaned back in his chair and rested his legs atop of the table as he inhaled the overwhelming (and honestly, kinda gross) scent of old and new books as he waited for Gundam to hurry the fuck up and get to the library, because he really didn’t have all day.

He perked up, though, when he saw a small flash of purple and black move by one of the bookshelves he sat next to. Souda stood, waving his hands frantically in an attempt to catch the goth boy’s attention, not wanting to call out and cause more of a scene than the literal highlighter waving his hands sporadically like he was at a concert.

The neon blur tugged at Gundam’s peripheral, and he crossed his arms before him. Facing the boy, he began a usual greeting. “At last, you have been found. Do you not fear this meeting, Fool?” His voice boomed and echoed through the stacks, inciting an annoyed rustle and collective whisper.

Kazuichi’s eyes went wide as he started rapidly shushing him, because if him basically jumping up and down trying to get Gundam to notice him didn’t draw attention to the two, Gundam basically shouting definitely did. Speaking as softly as he could considering how badly his heart rate spiked, he tried to get him to quiet down.

“D-dude! Shut- shut the- Don’t! Stop fuckin’....fuckin’ screaming like that! Jesus! Shudda’...shut the- shut the fuck up! Shhh!”

Recollection of the location at hand hit Gundam with a hell-strength impact. Clearing his throat, he hurriedly glanced around, mumbling fractured apologies for his forgetfulness. If there was one thing that would make even the Dark Overlord himself bow, it would be intense embarrassment as a direct result of his own foolishness- not that he would even say such a thing. To allow enemies access to his weakness?! Preposterous. He whispered a short apology to Souda as well, for the mortal seemed far more distraught than he.

Souda groaned softly, rubbing his face with his hands for a few moments before bouncing back almost as fast, a lazy grin plastered across his face. That didn’t stop the drop of malice and embarrassment showing through in his cheerful voice as he pushed out a chair next to the one he was leaning on before to invite Gundam to sit with him.

There were a lot of books, papers, pens and one lone computer scattered across the table. Souda easily pushed these aside as he sat down to take a sip of his…something.

Gundam followed suit, dropping his bag on the floor beside him as he took his seat. He was not entirely sure what they were to do on this day, although crawling deep underground was an option he prayed upon. Unzipping his backpack as soundlessly as he could, he retrieved a notepad and slid a simple message to his companion.

What, pray tell, have you summoned me for?

Kazuichi read it over before snatching the notepad from Gundam’s hand, as well as the fancy pen he had (despite there being many writing utensils of his own he could’ve used, he honestly just wanted to be a bit of a dick to his past rival). He scrawled something quickly on it and slid it back nervously, despite there being no teachers nor rules against slipping each other notes.

ok, well, i asked u 2 come here bc i am fucking failing math and biology and there r these 2 tests cming up i need u 2 help me study for. i thought u’d know a lot abt biology and u seem smart ig so-

He ripped another blank note out to write on more.

-so i thought u could help with, math too. hinata won’t help me he’s mad i spilt monster on his laptop still even though that was a whole day ago :(

The writing was barely legible and Kazuichi seemed to shorten words as best as he could, since he also wrote very large on the small sheet of paper. He slid the second note to Tanaka for him to read.

Squinting, Gundam managed to make out Souda’s print. He sighed, briefly wondering how incompetent Souda actually was, and where to even begin studying. Retrieving his pen, albeit a bit forcefully, he turned to a new page and began his transmission.

Where should we begin? Is there a specific field in which you have little expertise?

As Souda read over the note in the pretty cursive handwriting, he let out a small giggle. He couldn’t help it, reading Gundam’s dumbass Overlord-victorian speak was somehow funnier than hearing it out loud. Snatching the pen and paper back, he started writing.

uh um well i never ever got algebra the little letters always confused me and in biology kind of everything. man i’m not good with that kinda shit like u i’ve seen ur grades you don’t know how 2 whisper when ur flaunting them to sonia lol

Gundham’s ears got hot, and he fidgeted with the end of his scarf. Grabbing his pen, he scribbled out, I do no such thing. I simply share because I am asked, that should be a simple concept to grasp. His scrawl was messier, his haste blurring his senses. Deep breaths stilled his hostility, and he turned to a new page.

So shall we begin with variables, then? You may need to work exceptionally hard to recall these, as no doubt it will be of importance.

Once again, Kazuichi laughed as he watched Gundam get a little pissed at the Sonia comment. Even when they were slowly getting closer, messing with the guy still yielded hilarious results.

come on man!!!! why r u getting so pissy i’m just teasing u. u know i know that u know we aren’t rivals anymore so calm down!!!!! >:3

anyways uhh ya sure we can start w, variables ig. i don’t remember a lot of this stupid ass math lingo so ur gonna need to remind me some of it.

Variables are those “little letters” you spoke of. If something I mention confuses you, alert me at once.

Gundam chose to ignore all of Souda’s previous statement, focusing instead on the task at hand. There did not seem a logical reason to become so frustrated when Souda spoke of her. So why did it ignite a hellfire in his chest?

He shook off the thought, selecting a standard textbook from his oversized backpack and placing it on the table with a thunk. Opening to a page about Variables, the most annoying of unknowns, he slid the book across for Souda’s viewing ease.

We should begin here, page 28. Do you have a journal for notes?

yeah that’s fine also do u mind me keeping our notes or atleast yours please plz plsssss

Sure enough, the smaller boy was already making a pile of the discarded notes they had forgotten about. Mostly Gundams. It was the only neat thing on the table thus far.

Sighing again, Gundam ceded. He had no use for them, anyway. It caught his attention as slightly strange, but he chose to pay it no mind. Scratching out what information he could on such a small surface, he quickly realized that simply would not work. He slid a mostly-empty notebook from his bag and selected a blank page to share with Souda. It wasn’t as if he really needed the pages in this notebook either, so he added a small note at the top offering the torn-out pages for outside studying.

Souda took the page and studied it, before brightly grinning up at Gundam and quickly nodding. This was fancy shit, definitely not something extremely expensive (he knew Gundam definitely wouldn’t dare share that kind of paper, seeing the small slightly-faded stains of car oil on his hands that he just couldn’t scrub out) but Souda probably wouldn’t be buying these things, especially for every class, without at least a week of ramen dinners to make up for the waste of money working at his Dads mechanic shop.

Souda suddenly realized that ‘fancy shit’ to a slightly broke kid like him was definitely not ‘fancy shit’ to Gundam “I don’t know how to dress casually Ever” Tanaka.

Gundam continued to script line after line, attempting to explain these subjects in terms Souda would understand. The look in Souda’s eyes gnawed at him, such excitement on display over some math notes. He wasn’t certain what rubbed him wrong about it, so he brushed it aside. Reaching the bottom of the page, he printed a small question.

Do you still understand thus far?

Souda finally grabbed one of his own pens that lay discarded on the table instead of stealing Gundams.

yeah i get it u explain it a lot better than the teachers or chiaki despite ur little demon talk r whatever lol. chiaki use to help me like all the time but she kept falling asleep on me we never got anything done

Reading Souda’s message tempted laughter, and Gundam bit his cheek to silence it. Nodding sagely, he scrawled, As likely as you are to bend truths pertaining to women, this account does seem trustworthy. He knew just as well as anyone how exhausted Chiaki constantly seemed.

Tugging the newly completed page from its binds, Gundam offered it to Souda as well.

Souda looked almost offended by the note (he still took it, because of course he did) and hastily scribbled another and shoved it in Gundams chest with a grin.

WOW DICK i’m not gonna go after every girl that falls asleep on me!!! sonia hasn’t fallen asleep on me yet and you know!!!!! >:((((((

Gundam stiffened, bandaged hand safely out of sight under the table. If it had been visible, Souda would have a clear view of numb fingers folding against his palm before stretching into claws, over and over. Another deep breath was necessitated by his pounding heart, and he stilled his mind. There was no reason for this feeling. What possible purpose could this rush of adrenaline serve? Certainly nothing pertaining to math. He cleared his throat again, which ended up sounding a bit more like a growl, and took up his pen.

You say “yet”, as if there is even the slightest chance of such an occurrence in the future. This, I do know. A smug smirk crossed his face, daring to settle on his lips.

Souda pouted as he read the note, a somehow adorable sight as he quickly snagged Gundams pen again (once again ignoring his own) and scrawled something on a new note and shoved it back to him.

nuh-uh! u don’t know shit. unless u can see the future!!! tell me tell me tell me. maybe ur freaky demon shit is real after all ANYWAYS do i end up w miss sonia plz please tell me??!?? :3

Gundam tasted blood as he bit his lip hard. Why was Souda so insistent on her? No, he knew why. She was aesthetically pleasing to someone like him. This was not new information, but it still irked Gundam like hell. He pursed his lips. The last thing he was going to do was tell Souda his pathetic simpering dreams would come true in the end. Or perhaps, the last thing he wanted would be to admit to Souda that he cannot truly see the future? Grumbling, he snatched his pen back and tapped it against his knuckles. Neither option was preferred, though one was a clear admission of weakness…

He settled on a third choice. Of course not. I know precisely who you shall fall for in the end, although I cannot tell you. That is the Law of Causality.

actually it’s the law of cASSuaslity because ur an asshole who the fuck cares why can’t u just tell me!!! if i don’t get with miss sonia or whatever u say i don’t even know if i completely believe ur bonkers shit why can’t u just tell me their name or anything i just!!! want a hint. please

Kazuichi’s handwriting grew sloppier as he grew more desperate. Why the fuck was Gundam hiding it? It’s not like he’s gonna get suspended for some random ‘law’ or whatever he probably made up. He didn’t even know what the word Causality meant but it sounded exactly like a freaky word Gundam would say.

All I may tell you is that… Gundam paused, wiggling his pen between thumb and forefinger to come up with an excuse. …you have likely already made their acquaintance. All trace of smugness had dropped from his features, now replaced with stale indifference. He locked his worry deep in his chest, buried it. The last thing he needed was Souda to call him out on such a ridiculously big lie.

Souda didn’t know why, but he grinned at that. He grinned at a lot of dumb shit, and Gundam telling him some vague dumbass answer like that was apparently dumb enough to get on his list of Dumb Shit That Made Him Grin. He flicked Gundams note into his ever growing pile and chugged the rest of his drink, his eyes blown wide with the sudden rush of, apparently, sugar. He tapped the textbook again, trying to remind them both to stay on task. His hands were starting to shake too much from the sugar high to make writing any good.

Gundam nodded. They needed to focus on the task at hand.. Which was math. Boring math. Another sigh settled in his chest, and he thought fleetingly on how he would much rather talk about silly magic business. Shaking dramatically dual-toned hair from his eyes, he set to scribbling some more numbers. Stupid, boring numbers.

Kazuichi watched with interest as Gundam quickly drew out complex strings of numbers and occasional letters. However, his mind quickly drifted as well as his eyes. Higher and higher until he was watching Gundam’s facial expressions shift as he tried to help Souda. How he bit his lip as he hesitated before continuing to keep writing, how his eyes narrowed, Souda half-mindedly thought of how pretty Tanaka’s eyes were, he could get lost in them if he really wanted to, and he did. So he simply tuned out the sound of pen against pencil, rustling of paper and the occasional whisper between others in the library and just stared into his eyes.

Sliding another page across the table, Gundam glanced up at Souda’s face, before they quickly flicked away. On the quickly growing list of things he did Not Want to happen today, was for Souda to catch him staring. Or- he paused. To catch… Souda staring? He didn’t want to look again, even if he was right, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as if he could feel Souda’s gaze. Ears growing red, he scripted a small note back, faltering slightly as nerves made his fingers stiff.

Do you still understand well enough?

Kazuichi’s gaze didn’t move until he finally noticed Gundam actually wrote words down. He did a double take back at his face before he picked up his pen, his cheeks heating up. Shit, did Gundam catch him looking? His hands trembled slightly from the sugar and caffeine as he scribbled on the paper.

yeah i understand completely ur a good teacher i already said that didn’t i sorry

He slid the note over, now doing his best to keep his eyes on the table and not on Gundam.

Do not fret, I am pleased you understand.

Clearing his throat as quietly as he could, he returned to numbers. Gundam really tried to focus, he did. But he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering… Muscle memory served him well, and he continued to write, but his mind’s eye strayed from questioning Souda’s gaze, to wondering why keeping their notes tidy was so important, to the way Souda tapped his fingers on the desk ever so slightly, the sugar and caffeine running rampant through his veins. It soon became impossible to focus, and he started mixing up numbers and crossing them out. He shook his head, hard, mumbling apologies for scrambling up his figures.

Kazuichi easily picked up Gundams distraction and yanked an empty note from him to write on.

do u wanna stop for today

He slid it over, giving Gundam a small smile as he did. He wasn’t unfamiliar with his brain getting jumbled and melting into mush and before he knew it, the day was over and he hadn’t got shit done. So he didn’t mind giving up for today, starting again tomorrow or next week. He just liked being with Gundam, kinda. As weird as that was.

Gundam nodded.

My sincerest apologies, I seem to have lost my senses…

What the hell had gotten into him? This was highly unusual for him. Gundam mumbled another quiet sorry, sliding the incomplete and jumbled page across to Kazuichi just in case he needed it anyway.

Souda tidied everything up on the desk, sliding his books, computer and the notes into his black backpack. As he stood, he bounced on his heels, the caffeine suddenly taking full effect as he finally got out of the chair and could move around to his heart's desire. He slid his backpack over one of his shoulders and didn’t hesitate to start playing with one of the enamel pins of a vocaloid character that hung from the zipper, needing something to occupy his hands with.

Gundam stood as well, fumbling as he slipped the last notebook into his bag. Offering a hand, he gestured towards the door. He whispered, “Shall we meet again tomorrow, then? I swear I shall do better at my job.”

Kazuichi laughed softly at that, nodding. His hands fiddled with his jumpsuit pockets as he made his way over to Tanaka, a small bounce in his step. He would definitely blame that and what he did next on the overload of caffeine in his system the next day. He put his hands on Gundams shoulders, slightly dragging him down as he stood on his tippy-toes, kissing him sweetly on the lips before he was already skipping towards the door, waving him bye as he exited, most likely to his dorm on campus.

Blood froze in his veins. Gundam’s heart pounded, throbbing in his ears. His face was beyond red, and his stiffened fingers twitched in surprise. Mouth opening and closing like a fish, he could not even will his feet to carry him after the boy. What… What just… happened? His mind felt as slow and sluggish as if it was buffering through a torrented movie file.

Finally gathering enough control of his own limbs, he pulled himself through the door. He wanted desperately to give chase, to pull Souda into his arms and kiss him back, but he knew there was no possible way he would keep his courage. So he settled, simply deciding upon returning to his own abode. He would have to speak to Souda at their meeting tomorrow. Just thinking about it gave him… butterflies? Oh dear, what an unpleasant sensation.

. . .

Thank you @kazudam for writing with me! This was so much fun, and something I’ve always wanted to do :’)

#gundham tanaka #kazuichi souda #kazuichi x gundham #gundham x kazuichi #soudam #daily soudam #kazudam as souda #intentional-moss as gundham #mod 🌱

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rhaenyratargeryn · 3 years

Text

EXIT WOUNDS (CYBERPUNK 2077) Ch. 2

Pairing: Takemura Goro x (female) V Rating: Mature Summary: When his plans for revenge fail, V and Takemura are left right where they once started. A dying thief and a disgraced soldier, with as much in common as they lack and an improbable bond that holds them to one another. Notes: Post-Canon, Nomad ending. Spoilers for post-game! Read on AO3 Read Ch. 1

The first awareness was that of light. Warm and bright behind his lids. The second awareness was ache. Persistent, painful and sharpened to a razor’s edge at every small movement.

Takemura begrudgingly accepted consciousness, finding the will somewhere inside him to open his eyes and look towards where the offending ray of sunshine was being allowed in.

The tent flap was being held open, just a sliver, and a pair of soft brown eyes, large and doe like in the middle of a tan-skinned face stared at him with interest. She had full round cheeks, youthfulness in every aspect of her cherub like features. The child froze as their eyes met, but slowly she smiled, a dimple in each corner of her mouth.

It was the height of spring, when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom and their petals scattered over the still pond in the gardens of the estate. Small pink ships, sailing endlessly on the vast sea.

Takemura was twenty-nine, three years dedicated already as an elite Arasaka soldier and known for his discipline, his dutifulness and his loyalty. When he did not pace the nearby halls, or stand at attention near Saburo-sama’s side, he was allowed to sit kneeled on a small mat on the wooden floor. His hand would remain on one hip, poised over his katana and another over his gun, his eyes sharp and his cyberware readings keenly attuned to every person who may move within the family halls.

It should have been a point of great shame for him then, that the tiny stumble of socked feet did not catch his attention until he found before him a small girl, her cherub cheeks puffed with a smile. She held up a drawing, or rather, scribbles upon paper in varying shades of black and red and tanned peach, all forming together to make a familiar silhouette.

“Taka-san, I drew you!”

In his duty, Takemeru was not to engage with others. He was meant to be as the room, as furniture or a tool left out. A knife on a table. What he was not meant to do, was speak to Saburo-sama’s three year old daughter. She was Saburo-sama’s joy, his greatest treasure, a child he doted on and who went everywhere at her father’s side.

Takemura looked to him now, for guidance, he told himself, but the look he gave Saburo-sama was more aligned with pleading.

“My daughter has presented you with a gift, Takameru. Be polite.” his master said without another glance, turning his attention back to his tablet.

Hanako waited patiently, expectantly. Takemeru found it difficult to even bring the words forth, his tongue sluggish and thick from so long hardly speaking much at all.

“Thank you, Hanako-sama. It is… lovely.”

She beamed, her smile drawing wider until a tiny dimple dotted high on her cheek. With insistence, she held it out for him and with equal amounts of hesitation, Takemeru took his hand from his blade and slipped the paper from her hands.

A voice called out a name, the sound hazy and muted on Takemeru’s ears. The girl turned, answering the call without looking back, leaving only the sway of dropped tent flap to ever prove she was there at all.

Takemeru let his eyes drift back closed, trying to recall the lines, the colors of the drawing. He had kept it, folded and safe beneath his armored vest for several days… but where did it go? What had he done with it after? It had been eighteen years since the blossoms and yet the few months he had spent alone, masterless and exiled, felt so much longer.

The tent opened again and Takemura groaned when the light flashed into his pupils.

“Morning.” a voice spoke, the man who had sewn up his shoulder and his side coming to sit near the cot Takemura was still shackled too. The man, too his wisdom, kept a good distance between them still.

“Is the pain bad? We scrounged up some MaxDoc to help take the edge off if you’re needin’ some.”

Takemura did not reply.

“Also need to change your IV. Sometimes the old ways are the best ways when it comes to saline and good ole H2O…. unless you’re feeling up to drinking some water?”

Water. The very word drew Takemura’s attention to how dry his throat was, how paperlike his tongue felt against the roof of his mouth. Water. His body pleaded to his mind. Water.

Takemura nodded, short and curt.

“Great. Hold on— “

Takemura watched the man as he moved around the tent, doing a good job still of keeping out of arm's reach. As his eyes traced his movements, he noted a change to the room.

There was a second cot set up at his other side.

In the second cot, was V.

Takemura felt a snarl build up near his teeth, a look of disgust and outrage ready to mar his features… until his eyes caught up with his emotions.

V looked terrible. Worse than terrible. Her skin had an unhealthy pallor to it, greyish and clammy. Her breaths were short and slow, as if her own lungs were too tired to make more of an effort. Some strange band was attached around her head, monitors fixed to her temples as a nearby computer beeped and monitored large spikes and numbers that made no sense to Takemura.

The doctor caught him staring as he returned with a cup of water. Takemura sat up as best he could manage, unsurprised when the doctor called in another to stand guard with a gun in their hand while he held the cup for Takemura to drink from. He was not to be unrestrained it would seem, though his prey lay but a scant few feet away.

“Another seizure. Hit her hard. Been out as long as you now, but… well. We’ll see what happens.”

Takemura frowned, “‘What happens’?”

He cursed himself for speaking, but the words were out before he could catch himself.

“If she wakes up. Every time it seems she has one it takes longer and longer… one day I figure she just won’t.”

V had succeeded in removing the relic, had rid herself of her demon and in doing so had thought to free herself from impending doom… and it had all been for nothing. Saburo was dead. Hanako was dead… and V was still going to die.

Takemura refused food when offered and drank only a little, the pain of his wounds a welcome distraction for the turmoil in his chest.

He never would have thought nomads would have such tech available to them, but in the large tent there was enough equipment and cases to fill a small clinic. This man is what Takemura could only imagine was their version of a ripperdoc, but he didn’t have to worry about the man trying to invoke his sympathies towards V for long. A young woman entered the tent and the ripperdoc gave her a respectful nod.

“She good, Tom?” the woman asked and Tom nodded, “Okay. Take a breather.”

She shrugged toward the tent entrance. Tom frowned, but he didn’t argue, getting up and exiting the tent and offering Takemura a quick view of the guards outside. They were still present. Not a good tactical advantage.

The woman set her fists on her hips, eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him with dark brown eyes. She has no visible cyberware to speak of, but it was common for Nomads to reject enhancement, at least in his limited experience.

Takemura, despite his feelings, spoke politely enough.

“I am Takemura Goro. If V has not already informed you.”

The woman looked a bit taken back by his easy words, but after a moment that surprise resumed an expression of suspicion.

“She did. Now you wanna tell me how you found us? And who else knows where we are?”

Takemura frowned, “It is considered extremely rude not to introduce oneself. Even to enemies.”

The woman’s face flushed red down to her neck and her teeth set against the inside of her cheek. She had a short-temper, but also a position of authority and respect given how the ripperdoc had so easily relented to her requests. She was a leader, but a potentially weak one, Takemura set that information aside for later.

“You attack my people and you wanna school me on manners, Corpo?”

“...You have someone I want.” Takemura stated, a simple reasoning for why the young Nomads he encountered were threatened.

“Too god damn bad. Now who else knows where we are?”

Takemura fell silent again, a sigh held back in his throat. V stirred slightly on the cot nearby, drawing both of their attention to the other woman as she flinched and jerked slightly in sleep. The monitors sped for only a moment and then slowed again, whatever neurological event passing quickly.

The Nomad woman’s expression had broken apart quickly from one of stubbornness and annoyance to worry… colored with affection and familial concern. She cared for V. She cared for V very strongly. That would complicate any attempts of persuasion or negotiation, but then again, Takemura had not considered those to be strong tactics to begin with.

The woman looked down at her boots and then, curtly spoke, “I’m Panam Palmer.”

“It is good to meet you, Palmer-san.” Takemeru said, but his words were filled with polite detachment that would make it quite evident even to Panam that they were simply a platitude.

“How did you find us?”

“Simple reconnaissance. I visited towns. Spoke to people. It was difficult for several weeks, but then…” Takemura paused.

“Then?”

“You and your people became lazy.”

Panam sucked in her cheek again, but controlled her emotions.

“Are there others coming?”

“No.”

“Wow… I mean, wow. Didn’t expect you to just offer that one up.”

“I have no reason to lie. My purpose is simple. You and your people are responsible for the death of one I held in utmost regard and respect. I am duty bound to end the life of the one who commanded it.”

Silence followed the end of his words, the steady beeping of the monitor filling the room. Suddenly then, Panam scoffed out a laugh and Takemura jerked his head up to glare at the young woman, forgetting himself.

“Jesus christ… you Corpo’s are really crazy, you know that? You’re ‘duty bound’? By who? You aren’t Arasaka. You aren’t anything. You come here and try to kill my sister because of some deluded belief you owe a buncha criminals and psychopaths? Who don’t want you?”

With each word her volume increased, the look of revulsion so prominent on her features that even if she had chosen not to mince her words, her distaste would have been clear. Negotiation it would seem, was not a viable option.

Takemura felt her words, but only in that they stoked a growing tension edging through his limbs and fueled a gnawing want to snap this crude woman’s neck. He let his anger stream out from his chest and into his hands, clenching them a bit tighter to try and relieve some of the pressure his growing anger exuded.

“This is what is gonna happen,” Panam began, her voice having grown colder, “We’re gonna dump you out on the sand with a quart of motor oil and a pistol and take bets on whether you shoot yourself before or after the thirst makes you crazy enough to drink it.”

The image was certainly— vivid. The sadism of such a statement catching Takemura slightly off guard.

“Wow. ” said a voice instantly recognized by both of them as V’s , “I mean, that is one stone cold line. I think I’ll steal that.”

---

“Shit, V— you need me to get Tom?” Panam had all but forgotten about Takemura, moving around to V’s cot to try and prevent the other woman from getting up.

“No.”

Yes. An indignant Johnny-Silverhand-induced auditory hallucination said quietly in the back of her mind. Maybe one day she’d get lucky and forget what the guy sounded like, then her head-voice would go back to just being her voice.

More importantly, she was nauseated as all fucking get out and Panam’s hand on her arm was doing a great job of making V feel a bit more grounded. She heard a faint click, the sound of someone chidingly clicking their tongue against their teeth and looked up to see Takemura had turned from them both, staring pointedly at nothing. But it was nothing away from V.

“No execution by desert, aight?” V said, lulling her head back towards Panam.

“Sure. Fine. Execution by bullet works just as well.” Panam said, shooting Takemura a dirty look that went unnoticed.

“Talkabout it later.” V said, only slightly slurring her words as she pulled the band off her head and peeled the monitors off a moment later. The computer made an alarming noise and V had a funny feeling it was becoming quickly overcrowded and overly loud for the former Arasaka bodyguard.

“Got an idea to make everyone happy.”

Takemura’s interest had been piqued. V caught him casting a look out of the corner of his eye at her.

---

What the fuck, V. Panam's voice still rang in her head, rolling around in her ears and in her skull and fueling an oncoming headache. For once, the voice didn't sound like Johnny though and maybe that was a good sign.

Of course Panam would hate the plan. But in the end, it wasn’t her choice. It wasn’t her life and although it had gone over about as well as V expected, for now, things were set. When she came back inside the tent, Tom had provided Takemura with an old t-shirt, the design on the front so faded it was barely more than a static of print.

His hair was down, which shrouded the grey near his temples and made him look somehow… younger. Less stiff. The look in his eyes though had not changed. Steel resolve and hardened granite. He had built a wall between them and V could hardly blame him for it… in the end, she hadn’t kept her end of the deal. But then again, she was still right where she was at the start. Sick, dying and Arasaka’s most wanted. So he could hardly say he kept up his either.

“Option one,” she began, “I’m dying. So honestly, killin’ me at this juncture would be a relief from what I got coming for me. It’s gonna be slow. It’s gonna be awful. I’m offering you front row seats to watchin’ my body slowly eat itself alive.”

Takemura’s eyes narrowed.

“I know what you’re thinkin’. ‘But you’re lookin’ for a cure’. We are. Which brings me to option two. We let you stick around while we look. If we find one and I get fixed up? You get your pistols at dawn or whatever. Get the satisfaction of knowing you got to kill me when I’m not already dead. Hell, not gonna lie. You killin' me after all this bullshit and then after I save my life too? That would be... well, I’ll give you a genuine fight for my life. If that’s what you want.”

V shrugged, “And you’ve already heard option three.”

“These options require me staying with this caravan for an unknown amount of time.”

“Six months, actually. Or five rather. So yeah. Five month wait..”

“How do I know they will not kill me before either of these things happen?”

V grinned.

“I asked them nicely.”

“Why?”

Her smile faltered.

“Why not pick option three for yourself?” Takemura said, offering the most practical and simple solution. The one she was sure right now, if they were in reverse situations, he would take.

It was a good damn question too. And V was certain she had a good damn answer half a second ago, but now with Takemura staring at her, grey eyes shrewd and with just a flicker of uncertainty… shit, seeing him at all… it made the words sound so ridiculous.

“I told you I didn’t mean for what happened to happen. I owe you, for a lot and this is the only way it’ll… sit right. For us both, I think. You don’t seem the type that would get much satisfaction outta killing me how I am now.”

V laughed, a nervous bubble of sound as she turned her eyes away and picked at a frayed thread on the knee of her pants.

“Also...guess cause we were friends once I feel like I should give you some closure. Not somethin’ I’ve gotten much in life, but welp. Here is my chance to give some.”

“...You wish to die with some honor restored.” Takemura’s voice for once held no trace of disgust, no edge of hatred. His voice was quiet, resigned. Understanding. It was not a tone V had ever thought to hear again from the man.

“Yeah, sure... if you’ll let me.”

Neither of them met each other's eyes. Two people, staring holes into opposite sides of a tent, as if refusing to acknowledge one another would somehow make them feel less.

“It is two options, not three.”

V looked up at the remark.

“Option one is, remain to witness your death or be the cause of it should you recover. Option two is motor oil and pistol.”

V held back a smile just barely. How could someone remain this pedantic even when discussing such a morbid topic?

“I accept option one.” Takemura met her eyes, only briefly, “I am patient man. I can wait.”

“Plus it gives you time to actually heal and then say fuck it and off me in my sleep or something.”

Takemura wrinkled his nose, “I could ‘off’ you now if you’d like.”

He pulled up his arm, revealing that at some time during all this chatting and debating he had gotten out of one of the cuffs.

Takemura casually used his other hand to put his thumb back in its socket, finding it impossible to miss how V did a full body shudder at the sound.

“Hard pass.” she said, still cringing.

“I will honor my word,” Takemura said, easily making work of the other handcuff and tossing it aside. He flexed his fingers, bringing them up to begin pulling his hair out of his face. V, for some reason, felt compelled to avert her gaze. It felt weirdly intimate, like she was watching him undress. Takemura brushed his fingertips over his wrist, frowning to himself before letting his hair go, falling back around his shoulders.

“You need a scrunchie?” V asked, unable to stop the small smile from forming at the corner of her mouth. What could she say? Johnny had tried to kill her once and she forgave him. Her standards were never exactly high. And a part of her, a small hopeful part of her thought maybe there was still time to make something right before she died.

Wrong city for happy endings. Her inner voice chided in Johnny's flat tone. But they weren't in Night City anymore.

#cp 2077 #cp 2077 v #cp2077 fanfic #cp 2077 takemura x v #takemura x v #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 fanfiction #cp2077 fanfiction

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

Text

☁ Drifting Away (Giotto) #02

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Previous

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☁ Primo ✗ Curiosity ✗ Confusion ☁

“Boss – !” One of his men called, rushing into the office to make sure his precious boss had been left unharmed. “Should we go after them?”

The blonde shook his head, standing up from the leather chair. “No. I’ll handle it myself.”

“But – “

Before the man could protest, the blonde swept out of the office with the intent of looking for you. His cloak billowed behind him as he exited the building. The fact that you knew who he was, knew about the Vongola Famiglia… weren’t you just a teenager who had gotten lost? Why did your eyes widen in disbelief when you realized who he was? And why did you feel the need to run? Giotto surely had no intention of hurting you.

He wanted to know who you were and exactly what you knew. He had to find you.

Italy was a large place, but he doubted you could get too far on foot. Giotto didn’t know what it was, but his instinct was telling him that he had to find you. He was sure his men wouldn’t be too gentle if they were to search for you, as they proved in his office, and there was no point in involving his guardians when he could handle something so small by himself.

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You gasped for breath, leaning on a nearby stone wall for support; you were never very good with running. You were far too lazy for it despite being someone who had been trained so harshly under Reborn. If he could see you now, he’d probably shake his head, kick you in the rear and walk off.

‘What the hell is happening? It could have been Lambo’s 10-Year Bazooka, he’s always messing around with that thing, but…’ Doubt washed over you. The Bovino Family’s 10-Year-Bazooka switches whoever is hit with their self ten years in the future but you were clearly in the past. “Damn Lambo. Damn Giannini.” you huffed, glaring at the ground, “I’ll kill both of ’em.”

You had no proof that Giannini had upgraded the Bazooka and, in turn, screwed it up again – who could forget what happened to Gokudera?. And sure, you had no proof that Lambo had actually hit you with the thing, effectively sending you back in time – you didn’t remember being hit with it but it may have happened while you were asleep, but… what other explanation was there?

When Shouichi Irie brought Tsuna and the others to the future, the Bazooka was originally used to get them there. ‘Course, he used that damned machine of his after that, but the Bazooka was the original object used to get them there. Had someone gotten ahold of the device? No, that simply wasn’t possible. The Shouichi of your era was still just a kid and the future incident had been solved long ago, thanks to Yuni and Tsuna. She had given her life to make sure nothing like that ever happened again.

You were all alone.

No Tsuna. No Reborn. No Gokudera. No Yamamoto. No one.

Something suddenly dawned on you. The unfamiliar sights, the language you couldn’t understand… Giotto was Italian and his family lived in Italy… If he was here, then that meant…

“I’m in Italy!?” you exclaimed, bashing your head against the brick wall you had previously been leaning on. You fell backward onto the stone-cold pavement with a groan, your hand flying to your aching head. You closed your eyes to try and reduce the pain, “At least I know this isn’t a dream…”

Dreams didn’t physically hurt, right?

“It’s finally happened!” you exclaimed to the darkening sky. The sun had already halfway set, turning the sky a soft orange with strokes of purple. “Being around all these Italian Mafioso every day has finally destroyed what little sanity I had left! I’ve gone nuts!”

A chuckle reached your ears. “I believe it, the way you’re talkin’ to yourself!” you blinked up at the man that now stood over you, his feet at your head. “You alright, kid?” he held his hand out for you to take, and you hesitated before allowing him to pull you back up onto your feet. Whether it was the headache or the sudden rush of being pulled to your feet that made you stagger, you couldn’t be sure. It was probably a mix of both.

The man standing before you oddly resembled Iemitsu Sawada, Tsuna’s dad, with his blonde hair and friendly smile, welcoming attitude, and strong build, but.. wasn’t the Primo Tsuna’s great great great grandfather? The only difference was that this man didn’t have a beard and his eyes were a deep forest green with specks of brown. They also held a childish glint.

He held his hand out, a large smile on his face. “Italo Sawako.”

Well, the name was sort of the same. A distance cousin of Giotto’s, maybe?

“Er…” your hand was engulfed by his large, calloused hand. “Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, do you have a place to stay?”

“Not… really…”

“You can stay with me, then!” he grinned, grabbing your wrist and tugging you along. “By the way, how old are you, kid?”

“Eighteen,” you responded after muttering a ‘not really born yet’ under your breath.

“What’s an eighteen-year-old doing out here, alone, at night, with no place to stay?” he wondered.

You stared at the man’s suit covered back as your mind began to drift off. This was all just too weird, nothing made any sense to you. You had seen a lot of crazy-ass shit since you had met Reborn, but this definitely takes the cake. This was just downright ridiculous!

Italo glanced over his shoulder as you finally entered a large building where you assumed is where he lived. You were so out of it that you didn’t realize where the man had taken you until it was too late.

“There they are!”

“Ahh, shit,” you muttered, seeing the familiar black-clad men from earlier.

That’s when it finally clicked in your head. This man was obviously a member of the Vongola, especially if he somehow had ties to Iemitsu or Giotto. Damn it, your perfected ‘not-paying-attention-to-your-surroundings’ skill has screwed you over once again.

And so, you found yourself back in the Primo’s office, sitting on the leather couch situated in front of his desk. Italo was standing by the arm of the couch, on your left. His men were positioned outside the door, just in case you tried to run again.

“Tell me who you are.” It was a demand that left Giotto’s lips, but his tone was so soft and kind it almost didn’t sound like one.

“Errr…” What were you supposed to say? “I’m… affiliated with the Mafia.” Oh, that could work.

“Which family?”

“Vongola,” ‘Shit!’ you bit your lip, slamming your head against a mental wall. It had been an automatic response due to your pride and love of the family. It came out before you could stop it.

His eyes shifted to your bottom lip, which you were currently chewing on, before returning to your eyes. You refused to meet his piercing gaze.

“Really? I’ve never seen you around before, kid!” Italo grinned, looking down at you and setting his large hand on your shoulder, “You’re not Italian, either.”

“No. I’m half American, half Japanese,” you muttered under your breath, staring off to the side where a bookcase sat, taking up a little more than half of the wall.

Despite how low your voice had been, the Primo still managed to catch the words you uttered. “Italo,” he called, gaining the attention of the other blonde. His eyes never left your form as he spoke, “Can you excuse us?”

“Ah, sure thing, boss!” Italo grinned wider, patting your shoulder before leaving the room. Silence followed his departure and you found yourself reading the spines of the books to take your mind off of the crazy situation. You also made a mental note to kill Reborn if you ever managed to make it back home. You squirmed uncomfortably under his piercing gaze. It was like he could see right through you, like he was reading a book.

You honestly hated that look. It felt as if he could even read your thoughts and that annoyed you to no end. Giotto took in every breath you took and every move that you made – he was searching for something. If he did manage to figure out what was going through your head, you had no clue what fate would await you.

‘I am truly screwed,’

“You seem anxious,” he observed, “You said you were affiliated with the Mafia. In what way?”

You went to respond, prepared to use your ‘quick-lie’ talent, but he cut you off, his expression softening.

“You do not have to lie to me. It’s okay to tell me the truth.”

That tone… he acted as if he was talking to a mere child which, to him, you kind of were, but that’s beside the point. You scowled, biting your tongue to keep in the smart remark that wanted to run free, “You won’t believe me.”

“We will not know that until you tell me.”

You bit down on your lip once more, hard enough to draw blood. Your eyes stared down at the Vongola ring on your finger. Something that looked like recognition flashed through his eyes but disappeared seconds later, as if it was never there to begin with. How could you explain this without sounding like a total nut job? Your fists clenched tightly around your jeans, “I… I’m not… from this era.”

“Oh?” he leaned back in his chair, hands folded and one leg crossed over the other, “Explain.”

“I’m… from the future…” Why not try the truth? Who knows, maybe it will work out.

“The future?” His monotone voice never changed, making it harder for you to understand what the man was feeling or thinking.

“Yeah. I woke up and found myself in this era,” you stood up, walking over to the bookcase and running your hand across the spines. You could feel his eyes boring into your back and it made you uncomfortable. “I don’t know how or why I got sent to the past but I do know I’m going to kill that damned cow when I get back.” Your hand clenched into a fist and you huffed in announce.

Then realization hit you. Hard.

You had been there for well over five minutes. You weren’t returning to your era. Would you ever be able to get back? Your heart clenched at the thought of never seeing Reborn or Tsuna again.

Two hands landed on your shoulders, a wave of calm shooting through your body from the contact. “You’re very stressed out. I’ll put you up in a room for the night, and we can finish this discussion tomorrow after you’ve gotten some rest.”

“Sure…” you muttered, realizing just how tired both your mind and body were. Who knew being sent to the past would be so tiring? You couldn’t stop the questions that swirled around in your brain, though.

Would you ever get back to your own time period? Would you ever see Reborn and Tsuna again? Or would you be stuck in the past forever? What would become of you? Did Tsuna and the others even realize you were gone?

“Relax,” he whispered in your ear, his breath fanning over your neck. His hands slid down your arms, encircling your waist as darkness took over your mind. The feeling of being picked up was the last thing you registered before your mind completely shut down.

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mordigen · 3 years

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I had not written anything in a minute, as I typically use this as my sounding board, or soap box, if you will....but I guess things just hadn't gotten under my skin lately to make me feel the need to sound off. Which is a beautiful thing, I suppose, even if writing is lacking.

Indeed it has been quite....quiet, quite harmonious within the circles I frequent. Which is unusual, especially as we've had a couple Holidays, which usually stirs all the controversy. And I know with my last 3 part post I noted I had much more to talk about....but I've forgotten them all. So, they must not have been that important, eh?

It has been nice.

But (as there's always a but) in this quiet time I noticed something else - something I am certainly not unfamiliar with, but have never talked about, or confronted at all really.

I find myself feeling drawn away - and no, not in the depressive sense, as I am also certainly not unfamiliar with, but in a way that I have a hard time defining.

It is melancholy in the sense that it feels like a deep seated yearning - but not in a bad way, by any means, as I feel like if those yearnings didn't come and go over time, then I wouldn't be wholly myself. They are a part of me - they are not a bad thing, even if bittersweet.

They ebb and flow, and sometimes recede completely - at other times consume me completely. Though they usually hit me without warning, they start gradually and I can feel the oncoming tide. And once they've run their course, they recede just as swiftly, and gently, as they've rushed upon me.

It has happened for as long as I can, lucidly, remember. Though putting an exact date or age to it is difficult, as childhood memories tend to mesh and bleed together over the years, it can easily be said adolescence, at least, so it has been quite some time. But I still haven't ever gotten used to them, or have figured out how to cope with them - mentally or emotionally, anyhow. They do not prevent me from functioning or living my life, but they do wreck my mental state in a way. Though, I'm not sure I want to figure out how to cope with that...

I have been told by various people, at various points in my life, that I suffer from various forms of a disassociative disorder. Knowing I have depression issues I have investigated....but, No. Just no - it's not right. In all the many ones I have done ample research in, it's just not right - that is not me, that is not what I am experiencing. That is not what is happening, the "symptoms", even if some appear similar superficially, are all wrong.

When I say I feel drawn away, I do not mean I feel *detached*. That is a very big distinction - I'm feeling pulled away, to somewhere or something else, I do not feel disconnected. You can feel a connection to multiple things at once - so to be pulled into a something or somewhere else doesn't mean I have to detach, or "disassociate" with the here and now. I don't. Perhaps it is a foreign thing to try to describe to someone who has never experienced it before, and yes it is a hard to find the right words to begin with to really explain it in depth - but it's not that I "disassociate". Stop calling it that.

It is this very reason why I have never talked about it in depth at all, because even the slightest mention of anything puts others on high-alert. I know they are only trying to help, but no - you are not listening, you are not understanding. The best, and simplest, way I can recount it is like prioritizing. This thing - it's always there. It's always in me, and sometimes it just needs it's time. It doesn't even come first, as I still put all the needs and wants and important bits of this finite world first and foremost, but it needs its time in the sun, too.

As a child, they would say I was "dreamy" or just had an active imagination - I would day dream frequently, locked up inside my own head. Though I loved to play, and read, and write, and draw, I didn't need those things to enjoy my time. I could lay around for hours, in my own thoughts, completely happy and content, drawn away, off on an adventure, listening to the silent things whisper when they think no one is listening. I would doze and nap, and sleep extra long through the night - not because I was bored, or tired, but just because it gave me time in my own head - in my 'dreamland', where all these other things happened that wouldn't - or couldn't - in the waking world. As a young child, these were always described as good things....as a teen, it's often described as having your "head in the clouds" - something that is not necessarily good or bad, potentially problematic if left unchecked, but still nonetheless endearing. But as an adult? Phh. Well. Something must be wrong with you.

You're expected to grow out of it, but I find in adulthood it hits harder, and comes heavier, than ever as a child. Possibly because as children we're given room to indulge...it's creative, imaginative, learning to be content with your own company is touted as idealistic means of coping skills and personal growth - until it isn't.

For an extended time of my adult years I was wrongfully persuaded that it was hormonal as others had noted I tended to feel this 'drawing' around my cycle. I do get more emotional, and boy does the fatigue hit hard - but that still didn't make sense to me as it didn't happen *every* time on my cycle, and there were plenty of times it happened not on my cycle at all. Well, it doesn't have to happen everytime for it to be related, and hormones fluctuate throughout the whole month, so you don't have to actually be physically bleeding for it to be cycle related. What a cop out. With that logic, anything and everything under the sun and moon can be "cycle related". Bonus points deducted for the fact that every person telling me this was also, in fact, a woman. Shame. Lazy medicine right there. Lazy womanhood right there. And that's not even a feminist statement - that's just a common sense statement. Oh, so is every possible problem you ever have because of your period, M'AM ? So stupid. Stupider, yet, is that I listened to them. But I did, and I followed their suggestions - none of them worked, but with each new wave I would think the next would be better and easier if I just stayed the course - ignoring the fact that nothing was inherently wrong, and that this was only deemed an "issue" as it was categorized as "abnormal" and therefore must be fixed.

What I have come to realize now is that all those incidents - people wanting to categorize me with mental disorders, emotional disorders, or hormonal imbalances - call came at I time when I was, in fact, disconnected with something : my spirituality. I didn't have any type of falling out, or disillusioned from anything I ever believed in. Life just simply got in the way, I had more important things to worry about and do, and much less time to do them all in, so you just let certain things go that are not as pressing. Looking back at it now, I think maybe that is why they pulled on me harder in those years. Perhaps it was something drawing back in... I'd like to believe so, anyhow. And that's why I was stupid enough to believe doctors, and counselors, about stupid things I knew were not right - because I wasn't listening to the other half. And of course, nothing the ever suggested ever made one bit of difference - because it's not what was happening to me. And truthfully, because nothing was ever wrong.

As life started to level out, I slowly started doing little things here and there with my beliefs, with my workings. Little things, but baby steps, right? You can't just get off the couch and run a marathon - you have to warm up those muscles, start exercising those parts that have atrophied, and retraining your skills. Same applies - baby steps. It grew slowly over a few years - the tidal waves kept their course, as they do, and I just sort of accepted it at face value. But then the pandemic hit, and the world shut down. And boy, did I have all the time in the world.....and I used it.

Over this last year what I have come to realize is that, firstly - I was absolutely not alone. But also that I wasn't really paying as much attention as I thought I was - or my attention was skewed , by 'professionals', to focus on the wrong things. There was much more a pattern than I had ever noticed. These waves didn't come out of nowhere - though once they were on me, I could feel the gradual build - but before they ever even tickled my feet there were signs, there were patterns. I'd have days of restless nights, strange dreams, then it would fold into die-hard sleep, with absolutely no dreams at all - but waking as if I hadn't slept a wink and had been working all through the night. I'd wake with aches and strains, sometimes even bruises. We'd joke that our mattress was beating us up at night - we even forked out decent money for a brand new one. It's fabulous, and it solved zero of my problems, though my husband now sleeps like a baby...

It's only after these restless, exhausting nights does the tide start to flow back in, and the dreamy, dozey longing set in. The ache for something I cannot put my finger on, and the willingness to relent and let it take me away, even for just a time, and indulge in that pulling out to sea. I let it take me now - I do not fight it, I do not endure it, I let it take me and draw me out. And this is what so many professionals call "disassociating" - but that's not right. That's not what's happening.

And this is not some great spiritual come to Jeesus moment I am preaching to any of you, or certainly not meaning to be, but just the simplicity of paying attention. We, as pagans, just have the driven, inherent understansung that there are many more forces, and much more out there than what you see on the surface. And I had forgotten. Though I've kept my mouth shut, I've taken note when the topics and discussions come up - tons of people were in my very shoes. But they had been paying attention all along. I had forgotten. Some of the stories thrown out there I can't always get behind. Some of them are just flat out - No. But there were many more that weren't - they talked of the moon. The conjunctions. Astral travel. Being spirited away in the night. The veils. The Oran Mór. I was so stupid, I had been so blind.

And then, this year of much more laxed time gave me the opportunity to actually listen. These tides... their pattern.

The restless nights always came with the moons - these tides, they always came around significant dates....days when the veils are thinning. And now, as I feel the sweeping tides begin to pull again - here we are. Bealtaine is on the horizon. And as I wrack my memories.... every time.

Every. Time.

What is happening to me exactly? I still do not know - is this the call of the Oran Mór? Are the veils pulling at something deep inside me? Are the Fae trying to steal me away, as so many are quick to warn... Is there danger in letting the tides take me? Is this some deeper part of me being drawn home, trying to jar me to pay closer attention to things I have left forgotten? Something in there makes me think of my brothers...

I don't know all these answers, but I can't ignore them now that I've taken the time to listen. What I do know is that, whatever they may be - I don't want these tides to leave me. And believing that doesn't give me a dissociative disorder.

#pagan #truth #madd mordi #mordigen #ethereal #mordi #veils #thinning veils #holidays #astral #mental health #pagan awareness #spirited away #spirituality #being pagan isn't a mental condition #spiritual beliefs aren't a mental disorder

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solynacea · 4 years

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The First Tree

Merry Christmas, @babydonut01s-world! I was your Secret Santa this year; below is a story based on The Christmas Fairy of Strasburg by Francis Jenkins Olcott. I hope you like it!

As Lord Meliodas paced the halls of his keep, he found himself more irate than usual. He had only just come from another fruitless meeting with his advisors, who continued to press him to take a wife so that he might have a son to whom he can one day leave the reaches of his domain, yet all those presented to him for his consideration had failed to rouse the barest of his interest. They were too tall, or too short, or too round, or not round enough, a high-pitched nag or a simpering fool. No doubt the old fools who served him believed they had chosen the best for his perusal; if those wretches were the best his lands have to offer, then he would remain unwed for the rest of his days. Let His Majesty decide where the fertile forests and fields go upon Meliodas’ death. He would have no use of them then, anyway.

He decided, as he sometimes did when his mind was thunderous, to take his horse down the forest trails. It was the only time he found any solitude, or peace, and he returned to his quarters only briefly to bundle up against the winter cold before heading down to the stables. A boy there hastened to prepare his finest steed; with the cool leather reins in his fist, his heart began to lighten, and he guided the horse to and through the castle gates. Snow fell lightly through the air, the flakes slow and fat and lazy as they spiralled to cover roofs and shrubs, no doubt bringing joy to the children who lived in the village nearby. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and they would sing their cheer at how fitting it was that it should snow, only to curse it when they were forced to wait for their fields to thaw.

His breath puffed in clouds as he moved through the gnarled oaks that marked the boundaries of the forest. Meliodas had no particular destination in mind. He would ride until he was too cold to bear it anymore, then return to the warmth of his halls and drink mulled, spiced wine to shake the chill from his bones. He passed bushes of holly, their bright fruit obstinately cheery, and firs with coats of lush green needles, taking a meandering path as meaningless as the continued insistence upon his marriage. When he tilted his head back, the whirls of snow drew him in, landing with soft, cold kisses upon his brow and cheeks. Perhaps he would simply remain here for the rest of his days. Estarossa could have the lands, or Zeldris. They would run it well.

It was the abrupt halting of his horse that shook him from the near trance; they were in a part of the wood unfamiliar to him, and a frown marred his features as he carefully dismounted. A small clearing surrounded him, still and quiet, and in the center was a spring, the ground near the edges unfrozen and vibrant with soft, green grass. It was peaceful, and alluring, and he crossed to the water, kneeling next to it to peer within its depths, surprised to see it dark and deeper than he first thought. A soft light swirled within, seeming to call to him. Reach out, it said, warm yourself within my embrace. Aren’t you cold?

He realized quite suddenly that he was. His hands, which he had forgotten in his haste to cover with gloves, ached with it, the fingers pink and stiff and the rings like little blades biting against his flesh. But beneath the ridiculous urge to sink them into the inviting waters was the warning imparted to him by his mother, a woman of whom he only remembered her voice and the kindness of her smile. “The forest is no place for a boy,” she’d told him from beneath the blankets meant to break her fever. “There are fey creatures there who would love nothing more than to keep you forever. Estarossa did not heed me, and he is addled now. But you will be good, and listen to your mother, will you not?” And he, a mere child of seven, had solemnly promised that he would, and he had never set foot within the woods on his own until the hunt that sealed him as a man. Yet there was nothing dangerous here, not that he could see, and steam curled enticingly from the surface of the spring, as if pleading with him to rest and warm his hands. After another moment of hesitation, he listened to the call, dipping his fingers into it.

Joy, fierce and strong, sung through him as a golden heat climbed slowly through his veins. It was not just his hands that lost the cold, but the rest of him too, until he was sweating beneath his heavy cloak. Meliodas let out a quiet groan and submerged himself farther, so that the water lapped around his wrists, an unbidden smile creasing his cheeks. Here, he forgot his worries and his ire; all that mattered was the soothing embrace of the spring and the comfort that came from it. He even fancied that he could feel another hand, small and dainty and smooth, caressing his own like a lover, and he closed his eyes to dwell on that, because it was lovely. Then he leaned over to dunk his face, and when he was mere inches from doing so he paused, his breath catching in his throat. There was another set of hands, white and smooth, curling softly around his own, and as he drew away with a shout of alarm, they tightened just enough that the golden ring he wore slippes over his knuckle and into their palms.

He returned to his horse, goading it into a sprint back to his keep. The ring was no small matter, as it was given to his family by His Majesty and marked their place among his nobility, and he was of the mind to have the servants go and drain the spring. But it was night when he returned — the loss of an entire afternoon sending more unease settling over his heart — so instead he left the horse at the stables and returned to his room to draw up a written order for the next morning. When that was done, he retired to his bedchamber, falling into the couch and closing his eyes, attempting sleep. Yet that eluded his grasp, and he settled into a half-doze, until the baying of the watch-hounds in the yard pulled him harshly from that. Meliodas remained where he was as the sounds of feet on the stairs reached his ears, coming to a halt in the antechamber. Then there were voices, loud and jovial, and he sprung from the couch in a mixture of fury and fear, the starting of a strain of lovely music doing nothing to soothe his nerves.

In the antechamber, there were numerous beings, singing and dancing and chattering excitedly amongst themselves as they flitted about an enormous fir. Some of them were no bigger than the lantern bugs of summer, while some towered to the beams of the ceiling, and their skin is varied, yet all of them seemed full of cheer. He watched them for a moment, his voice locked in his throat, as they decorated the tree with strings of pearls and ruby bracelets, golden circlets and rich silk sashes, daggers with jewel-studded sheaths and rings glittering with sapphires. Meliodas could not move, entranced by the glittering tree, the lights that twinkled from its branches, and, as with the spring, his fear melted away to be replaced by a comforting warmth.

Then the folk fell silent, parting to make a path from the tree to him. Through it stepped a lady of dazzling beauty: her kind eyes seemed cut from the same sapphires that adorned the fir, her long, silver tresses were crowned with a diadem of gold and precious diamonds, her hair flowing around a silk gown of softest azure. She stretched out her hands, elegant and white, upon one which rested his lost ring, and said in soft, musical tones, “Lord Meliodas, I am Queen Elizabeth, of the fae. I have come to repay your Christmas visit, and to return something that was lost in the Fairy Well.”

Her voice was alluring, drawing him as it had at the spring. He took the ring from her small hand, sliding it over his knuckle; then, unable to resist, he pulled her to him, and she smiled as she folded her fingers over his own and lead him amidst the fairies. They danced until dawn, and Meliodas forgot his coldness towards maidens and his disdain of marriage; when the sun kissed the horizon with rosy hues, he fell to his knees and begged her to become his bride. Elizabeth joined him on the floor, lifting his face to hers with her fingers. “I will stay by your side,” she answered softly, “so long as you do not utter the word ‘death’ in my presence, as it is the most abhorrent thing to me.”

And Meliodas agreed.

They were married the next day, their wedding celebrated with much pomp and magnificence, and lived together happily for many years.

Yet men are full of folly, and arrogance, and often forget the promises they have made. So it was when one day, after the ground had thawed and the air was alive with birdsong, that Meliodas decided upon a hunt. The horses were saddled and bridled, stomping nervously against the ground, the men dressed in leathers and light armor, some with spears and others with bows, yet Queen Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Meliodas paced the hall, impatience and ire festering within him, until even his brothers watched him warily. As a youth, his temper had been fierce and dangerous and, though he had managed to tame it as he grew, it still flared to life on those occasions where he felt insulted. Finally, Elizabeth appeared in the hall, dressed elegantly in a green gown of silk, her diadem seated firmly against her locks, and he rounded on her in a fury.

“You have kept us waiting for so long,” he cried, “that you would make a good messenger to send for death!”

Scarcely had the word left his lips when the fairy let out a shrill, wild wail and disappeared from the hall. In vain, Lord Meliodas, overwhelmed by grief and remorse, searched the lands high and low for her, yet he could find no trace of her except for the imprint of her hand in the stone above the castle gate. Years passed, and Elizabeth did not return, and Meliodas continued to grieve. Every year, remembering the night they met, he set up a lighted fir in the antechamber where he first laid eyes on her, hoping that she would return. He never married, nor so much as entertained the maidens who came to court his favor, and the running of the castle fell to his brothers as he fell deeper into his sorrow. Time passed, and the young lord died not so young, and the castle eventually fell into ruin.

And that, some say, is how the first Christmas tree came to the kingdom of Liones.

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