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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year

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Penance

Summary: Disobedience requires atonement in Otto's eyes. Warnings: Religious guilt/shame, power imbalance, age gap, smut. Word count: ~1400

Dedicating this to my fellow old man fucker @exitpursuedbyavulcan // Huge thank you to @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for her encouragement and reading through my draft.

She kneels before the Seven Pointed Star, the cold hard flagstones are unforgiving against her skin, and her joints cramp in protest. She has lost all sense of the passing of time, it feels like she’s held this position for an age. Each time the slick of her arousal between her thighs cools it is quickly replaced by the heat of renewed wetness, doing little to aid in her judgment of how long they have been at this. The ache in her cunt is unrelenting, tears of desperation prickle the corners of her eyes.

“Otto, please.” She whines. “I said I was sorry.”

The older man’s blue eyes roam slowly up and down her naked form as he regards her carefully. “And I said you must earn your forgiveness. What part of that is troubling you, pet?”

She attempts to stifle the wail of anguish she longs to let out, a whimper passing her lips instead.

It was never supposed to have happened. A simple serving girl and the Hand of the King, it was scandalous, improper. Yet she had given in all the same. There was no denying that she found Otto attractive, and perhaps that’s what had done it; her lingering gazes as she’d walked the length of the dining hall, her fingers brushing against his as he’d taken the cup from her.

He had remained seated at the table one evening, after everyone else had retired. It had all happened so fast, one moment she was leaning across to refill his wine, the next he had her against the wooden surface, hips pistoning between her legs as the jug toppled over, spilling its ruby red contents onto the floor.

“You will pray to the Mother for forgiveness.” He had whispered as he’d pulled out of her.

The next day a paige had delivered moon tea to her, along with a wax sealed note instructing her to meet Otto in his chambers later that evening.

From that point onward she had spent every evening in Otto’s chambers, wetting his cock and warming his bed.

That was where he’d left her this morning, denied release and with her cunny dripping with his spend. She was under strict instructions not to touch herself in his absence - he’d know.

He seemed to take great pleasure in delaying her peak and, while she was usually all too eager to indulge him, today she throbbed as he left her wanting with no idea of when he’d return. She had tried her best to obey his command, but as the minutes had ticked by into hours her resolve had crumbled.

She had rucked her shift above her hips, sighing in relief as her fingers began to circle her pearl. Eyelids fluttering closed, her soft sighs of pleasure elevated to wanton moans as she pushed herself closer to the edge.

The clearing of a throat had caused her eyes to snap back open. She froze, her heart feeling like it had stopped as Otto stood before her, his gaze dark and disapproving.

“Are you stupid? Or just disobedient?” He asks coolly. It sent a shiver through her. She was in trouble.

Before she had a chance to respond he had ordered her to remove her nightgown and kneel before the Seven Pointed Star. She’d known better than to argue, though he had never raised his voice or hand to her in anger, she wouldn’t dare to disobey him a second time. Otto didn’t deal in anger, he dealt in consequences.

That is how she finds herself now, nipples pebbled in the coolness of the air, and Otto looming over her, a cat toying with a helpless mouse. He has been listening to her desperate apologies in heavy silence, continuing to deny her any form of relief without ever having to utter a word.

He hasn’t shed his outerwear since he returned. He leans down, a leather riding gloved hand brushing between her legs. She shivers at the smoothness of it as two fingers glide between her folds and pull away glistening in the dimmed light.

“This does not look to be indicative of your remorse.” He muses, arching an eyebrow as he inspects his digits closely.

He presses them to her lips and she opens her mouth instinctively, allowing him to press forward as she sucks her essence from the material. He withdraws them with a quiet hum of approval.

“Are you truly ready to repent for your impure behaviour, pet? To atone for your wilful disobedience?”

“Y-yes.” She stammers. She’d agree to anything right now, if only to put an end to this torment.

He circles her, coming to a stop once he’s behind her.

“On your hands and knees.” He orders softly.

She repositions herself, biting back a sigh of relief as she is finally allowed to move. Her weight being more evenly distributed is a welcome respite to her sore knees. She trembles with anticipation as she hears the rustling of clothing behind her. She is sure that in her lust induced haze she must be imagining it, until she feels him kneel behind her.

“You remember who to pray to, don’t you, pet?” Otto inquires. “Or has you behaving like a common strumpet knocked loose all reverence of The Seven from your pretty little head?”

“I remember.” She whispers, feeling her cheeks heat up with shame.

“Good girl.” He says lowly. “Now keep your eyes on The Star and say your prayers.”

She lets out a choked moan as she feels him push inside of her, all thoughts leaving her head the moment his gloved hands grab her hips and he begins to thrust inside of her.

“I shall stop if you are incapable of doing as you’re told.” He grits out, his pace not faltering despite his words.

She mewls piteously, before she is able to speak. “I-I pray to the Father…to ask that his judgment of my indiscretions be merciful.”

The Seven Pointed Star blurs as her vision tears up, the head of Otto’s hardened length bullies at the spongy spot deep inside of her.

“I p-pray to the Mother…m-may she be merciful to me for my sins.”

Otto’s breathing is ragged, his grip on her ironclad as he continues to drive into her.

“I pray…to the W-Warrior for the courage to resist my lustful urges.”

Eliciting a needy cry of pleasure, she can feel herself fluttering ceaselessly, and she still has four more prayers to go. She has no idea how she will last.

“Keep going.” Otto urges, the gravelly edge to his voice suggests that he is struggling every bit as much as she is.

“I ask th-that the Smith protects me from my…from my impure thoughts.”

Otto’s leather clad hand wraps around her throat, pulling her back flush against him as he continues to fuck her. The sensation of his clothing against her bare skin is enough for her to know that he has only freed his cock, yet another humiliating imbalance in their power dynamic, but one that causes her to clench involuntarily around him.

“I pray…gods…I pray to the Maiden for forgiveness for tarnishing my virtue.”

She hears Otto chuckle darkly, the hand not holding her neck snakes around her body to tweak sharply at one of her nipples.

“Oh!” She yelps at the sudden jolt, before continuing. “M-may the Crone provide the wisdom to rise above my baser urges.”

Her climax is painfully close, her body is wound so tightly she fears she may snap, and from the way that Otto’s pace falters she can sense he is getting closer too. Her final prayer is almost strangled sounding.

“I-I pray that the Stranger absolves me of my sins…so that I may depart this life as a woman of piety…oh!”

She peaks as Otto delivers a particularly forceful thrust, her body going rigid as she wails in ecstasy before falling lax against him. He fucks her through her release, before pulling her tight to him and spilling inside of her with a groan. The brush of his beard against her heated flesh borders on being overstimulating.

He pulls out of her, standing to readjust his clothing as he stares down at her prone form. “There is nothing pious about that wet little cunt, you shameless harlot.”

He strides from the room, leaving her laying there, a satisfied smile spread across her face as she stares lazily up at the Seven Pointed Star. She knows that he is right, and if she is a sinner it is because Otto Hightower has made her one.

#otto hightower #otto hightower x reader #otto hightower smut #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd smut #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fan fiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fan fic #otto hightower fanfiction #otto hightower fan fiction #otto hightower fanfic #otto hightower fan fic #house of the dragon smut

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eyes-of-mischief · 2 years

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weekly fic recs | 28

prompt: time loop

fandoms: bnha, bsd, merlin, mdzs, mp100

bnha

once more, with feeling by curovogel

(explicit)

The time loop starts with three of Bakugou’s fingers in him.

Todoroki jerks as he’s thrusted back into his body at midnight, the same seconds of the old day ticking past, and then Bakugou curls his fingers and Todoroki is jerking for another reason altogether.

phantasmagoric by orkestrations

(mature) (graphic depictions of violence)

There’s too many blank notebooks sitting on his shelves (seven, he has seven—he sees good sales and he just has to buy them, because one can never have too many notebooks) so he grabs one and opens it and slaps it onto his desk and grabs a black pen from his pen holder, sending the other writing utensils in it rattling. He clicks the pen, exposing the tip, and writes, at the top of the page, in bold black ink: Time Loop Analysis For The Present (Titling his things has always made him feel better, and it helps even now, a balm on his nerves.)

adjective

having a fantastic or deceptive appearance, as something in a dream or created by the imagination.

having the appearance of an optical illusion, especially one produced by a magic lantern.

changing or shifting, as a scene made up of many elements.

a lesson you should heed (try, try again) by aloneintherain

(mature)

Izuku doesn't know why the day keeps resetting. He doesn't know why he's trapped on campus, or why there's no phone reception, or why Aizawa and Shinsou keep losing their memories of the Saturdays they've already lived, while Izuku remains constantly, painfully aware.

But he does know this: Aizawa and Shinsou keep dying, over and over again, in more brutal and creative ways. And it's his job to save them.

Free Fall by DancingInTheStorm

Getting trapped in a time loop with All for One was the last thing Izuku wanted, but, well, here they were.

bsd

Morning Light by FallenBrie

Atsushi stares for a long moment, taking that in. “That’s it? I just have to die and I’ll be let go?”

“You’ll exit the loop. Sounds fairly simply but remember the time limit, your healing ability is going to be working against you here,” Ranpo corrects.

“I almost die all the time - “ He laughs, a weight in his chest lifting. “I’m going to get out of here!”

Atsushi gets stuck in a time loop and severely underestimates just how dedicated his family is to keeping him alive

mdzs

time waits for no one. by theroyalsavage

Wei Wuxian dies on a sleepy Thursday afternoon in April.

Well. Sort of. To be more precise, Wei Wuxian dies and then he undies. Or maybe it’s most accurate to say that one second Wei Wuxian is dead, and then the next second he is not dead at all, and never was.

He time-leaps.

Wearing Down Every Bone by CSHfic, VSfic

“Sizhui, tell me,” Wei Wuxian says. “Does this feel... familiar to you?”

After running into Lan Zhan on a night hunt, Wei Wuxian is cursed to live the same day over and over and over.

merlin

Quickening Days by Fahye

(mature)

In which dragons & ghosts & prejudices are confronted, Merlin wears a hat (twice) and a dress (once), Arthur breaks some crockery (lots), there are more pranks than pillowfights but at least one of each, and many secrets are revealed.

mp100

tomorrow isn't always another day by suitablyskippy

It’s like Reigen’s been waiting for the question. He stops dead on the pavement, grips Mob by the shoulders, and stares down into his eyes with an expression as haunted as though every ghost the pair of them has ever exorcised has taken up residence behind it. “Mob,” he says. “Mob,” he says again. “Tell me, Mob. Look at me and tell me. Tell me truthfully. Do I look cursed to you?”

Mob looks at him, and tells him truthfully. “No.”

“Well, you didn’t look very long,” says Reigen. “Let’s just stand here for a moment, like so, and you can have another look, a nice long look, and really think about it...”

(There's nothing strange about being called back to exorcise the same haunted photocopier six days in a row. It must just be a very haunted photocopier.)

#prompt #time loop #weekly fic recs #bnha fic recs #bsd fic recs #merlin fic recs #mdzs fic recs #mp100 fic recs

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drgreg · 1 year

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Basic Practitioner Gp In Hout Bay, Cape City, Western Cape, South Africa

Wish I may have been there. I’m happy somebody decided to place this journey together and comply with through with it – along with conservation efforts. Marion island on the bucket list for positive.

Azariah is a popular ladies name!!! Hope Gina is with you & all my other precious furchildren & feathered companions. Give them lots of cuddles, treats and kisses from me. xoxo.

We love you with all our hearts. Mum the time has come to say goodbye. I'm so glad we received the time to spend collectively when we have been all in Cape Town.

Although I couldn't be on the voyage this time, from all accounts it feels like essentially the most great experience for all birders and those of an adventurous spirit. Congratulations to BirdLife for organising such a brilliant trip. Fantastic group of the Flock 2 Marion cruise into the Southern Ocean that provided unprecedented entry to the incredible wildlife seldom seen by the typical traveller.

You have been probably the most incredi ..... We were shocked and saddened to listen to about Kelly's untimely passing, ..... A complete 12 months had passed, and I miss you each single day "You and I ..... I keep in mind you properly from the times I labored for you at Brite Glass Al ..... My darling Mommy I miss you a lot - I consider you every day! My best pal left the building ,but his presence is felt by his un .....

Maybe in the future I may have this opportunity. A member of the family went on this once in a life time journey into the Roaring Forties the place few dare to enterprise. Sounds like an superior experience.

It was a Once in a Lifetime experience and so well organised by Birdlife South Africa beneath very difficult Covid conditions. I could not make it this time however certainly might be there for the next. Such trips tick all of the boxes Dr Greg Hough and are also an excellent private studying experience. Flock to Marion was a tremendous nature lovers journey along with their fund-raising, should win. Sorry we couldn’t make it this time, amazing dedication by Birdlife and MSC to make it occur.

Thinking of you on this present day, and every other. Every evening from tonight I shall be sleeping with t ..... Through your Son a firstborn youngster was born You known as her your Princess and wished her to journey the world and current to her the wonders and treasures therein. I thanks on your love and your affection.

Wonderful initiative by the Bird Club to flock to the islands and shield these chook species. One of probably the most amazing trips I really have ever carried out, so nicely planned and professionally done. BirdLife South Africa is an NGO focused on the conservation of South Africa’s birds and their habitats.

Lack of sleep has an enormous impact in your day and the way folks expertise you. Find out how a lot you must bet getting and why you have to prioritise getting a restful night’s sleep with Rev Tim. Our second Dads and Daughters Camp happened Dr Greg Hough two weekends ago. The objective of the Dads & Daughters Weekend has been specially designed to create house for Dads to spend time with their daughter, strengthen relationships and be taught new things. Jessamy Pedro receives an Honours Award for Netball.

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words-for-holland · 3 years

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Distractions

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Tom and Y/N decide to work in the same room together. The problem...both of them get easily distracted and a whole lotta fluff comes with it.

A/N: Whoa its been awhile but here we are again! Thank you for 1,000+ followers it means the world! Surprises to come 😉

“Hello beautiful.” Tom greets Y/N with a cheeky smile on his face. He quickly pecks her soft cheek as he places his laptop across from his lovely girlfriend, who was currently focused on her work.

She takes a second to look up, returning his smile with a soft one. “Hey, good looking. What’s up?”

“Nothing really. Is it okay if I work here with you? I just want to be close to my girl.”Tom pouts.

Y/N’s heart could burst at the sight and reason he gave. An inaudible “aw” prolonging through her mind...until she quickly realized that there could be some complications with this as a slight frown starts to replace her dimpled smile. “Wait...are you sure?”, she asks. “Dont you have press interviews that require absolute silence? I doubt any of you will want to hear the constant typing in the background.”

“Yeah, your typing is horrendous with those lead heavy fingertips of yours.” Tom teases.

“Well these lead heavy fingertips aren’t leaving anytime soon, so youre probably better off working elsewhere.” She suggests, pointing off to the distance. Tom groans at the idea, using his one hand to put her finger down. He engulfs hers with his, lacing her fingers and holding on tightly.

“Noooo. Dont wanna be anywhere else. Please darling? ” He pouts once more.

She giggles at his plea, rolling her eyes. “Course you can, bubz.” Tom excitedly scoots his chair in as he rubs his hands together to prep for the work to come.

And work they did...for at least 10 minutes. Tom was getting antsy as he read through his next script. Occasionally his eyes would roll to the left, and observe Y/N as she continued to read through an article on her screen. Not that Tom didnt find his own work fun but he always found watching Y/N do her thing just a bit more interesting.

He hadn’t realized himself, but his body start to shift and lean more towards her. His arm extending to wrap her in, as it glided up and down in a steady motion. His thumb doodling hearts on her shoulder. Tom could tell it had an effect on Y/N, discreetly smirking to himself as he heard her audible shakey sigh.

He wanted to see what else could make her sigh like that, so instead of his thumb he used pointer and middle finger, running them up and down her shoulder. Tom could see the smile creeping on Y/N’s face and her little head shake. She knew what he was up to and yet, Y/N still wanted him to think that he was not gonna get her that easily. But God was it hard. Every touch felt like tiny fireworks against her skin, goosebumps forming all over her body with every touch. She to stay strong. No distractions.

Tom eyes perked up, at the action. He must go further, he thinks. Tom starts to trace his nose from her shoulder to her neck, leaving kisses at her jawline. “C’mon darling. Think its time for a break.”, he whispers in her ear.

She turns her head towards him as she smiles, leaving a quick kiss on Tom’s lips. “Its only been ten minutes.” She laughs. “Five if you want to count the distractions.”

He backs up, pretending to look appalled. “How dare you. I’ve been a good lad focusing on my script for the whole ten minutes.”

A playful glare formed on Y/N’s soft face which ultimately ended her up with a fit of giggles. She couldnt take him seriously, but then again she never did with anything. Tom has always said if they were kidnapped by a pair of robbers, her first reaction would be to laugh. As the laughter died down, Y/N paid her attention back to the screen which had been inactive during the playful banter and continued to type out those set of documents that she had been meaning to get to.

Tom on the other hand was still reading through his script, taking mental notes on how he was going to approach his character. This time he was completely engrossed in his work. His eyes moving left to right with every line he took in. Until...he felt something ticking his lower calves. Tom knew it was Y/N’s foot, by the way it brushed just as he had done with his hand on her shoulder. The movements never stopped, her legs now curling around his own. Y/N was trying to getting back at him, but one thing she always forgot was that Tom always wins.

Naturally he had to the same, and what once became a playful game of footsie, now ended up with Tom shifting Y/N to sit on his lap. Her legs now wrapped around his waist and his hands holding onto her hips. Both of them connecting their soft lips, feeling every spark and essence of love. He looked up at Y/N with admiration, thinking how lucky he is to have her in his life. Yeah Covid sucked for the most part and limited their ability to even do anything exciting outside, but it gave them the opportunity to be with each other far more than they could have on a normal day. On a normal day, Tom would be jumping around country to country while Y/N would be home miles and miles away from him. Course, nothings changed with jumping from country to country, but Tom gets to bring Y/N with him now and thats all that mattered to them.

But work never stopped them from keeping busy. Just as their kisses were getting more heated, and their hands tangling each others hair both their alarms went off. The couple stopped their antics as they leaned their heads back, groaning in synchronization.

“Ughh. Thats my cue. I have to prep for an interview.” He mumbles as he nuzzles into Y/N’s neck.

“I know. I have to get ready for another business meeting. Whoo.” she speaks in a sarcastic manner, dropping her head.

“What time?” He asked pressing a kiss to the shell of her ear.

“Mm...3. Why?”

Tom plays with the strands of her soft hair. “Was wondering if you’ll stay with me through mine and Ill stay with you through yours.”

“As much fun as that would be. I dont think were allowed to —“

“Im not saying we have to be on camera for each others meeting. But if one of us will be off camera itll be all right.” He plans, still looking at his girl with pleading eyes. Y/N’s mouth twitches to the left, her eyes furrowed with suspicion.

“You’re doing it again.” Tom states, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

“Doing what?”

“You’re making that face again.”

Her expression quickly changes to confusion, not entirely sure of what Tom was noticing that she didnt about her own face. “What face?”, she asks.

“The one where you twitch your lips and make your eyes look angry. You only do it when youre indecisive about something. Its bloody adorable.”

Y/N snorts at his comment, and tries to get off to give him time to prepare, only to be stopped by his hands pushing her back down on his lap.

“I was serious about wanting to stay with my girl the whole day while doing work. Please?” He pleads again, this time bringing out the puppy face. “I’ll be good and do the dishes tonight.”

To be fair, Y/N knew she was always gonna say yes to Tom. Its pretty hard to deny her dorky boyfriend when hes asking so sweetly and just wants to spend the day together. More so, if the roles were switched, she would have done the same thing. “Go get changed movie star, before youre late for your interview.” She murmurs to him, kissing his cheek before she scrambles of his lap to sit across from him.

Tom whoops with victory as he runs out the room quickly changing into his shirt, fixing his hair, and adding glasses for that sophisticated touch. Sure he wanted to look his best for the Cherry Press, but he made sure his outfit was something Y/N would very much adore as well.

“How do I look?” Tom asked coming out of their shared bedroom.

Y/N looks up from her computer, and smiles widely. “Handsome as always.” She couldnt take her eyes off of him, admiring every detail of the clothing and how it perfectly complimented Tom’s feature. She eyed him from top to bottom, until she noticed something. “Uhh..honey....you’re not wearing any pants.” She asked a bit confused. Her eyes engrossed in the muscles of his thighs and the fit of his Calvin Klein boxers.

Tom smirks at her. “Its uncomfortable wearing pants. Besides no one will see...except you.” He teases, gently lifting her head up so that her eyes meets his. “Eyes up here love.”

“Youre something else.” She laughs, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “Well...least we know who wears the pants in the relationship.”

Tom laughs loudly at her comment. He hooks the waistband of Y/N’s sweatpants and snaps them back to further prove her point. “That was a good one. Ill give you that.” Tom and Y/N high five each other, and then it was press time.

Y/N kept quiet and tried her best to minimize the typing unless it was really needed. Seeing Tom talk about his work and dedication was something that she had always admired about him. He loved his job and everyone can see that. Occasionally they’d steal glances from each other, smiling and holding each others hand under table so that no one could see. But it was just one of those moments that Tom and Y/N couldnt help themselves too. Two hours passed and Tom was free.

“You did so well.” Y/N praised Tom and awarded him with a quick kiss. “I love it when you talk about your passion.”

“Thanks. I love that you were there with me to sit through it all.” He smiles. “I believe its your turn now. It’s almost 3.”

Y/N frowns, knowing shed have to dread through hers. Instead of getting to talk about her passions, itd all be about business, business, business. “Ugh. Do I have to?”she groans.

“Come on now. Dont be like that, you’re gonna be fine. Ill be here with you the whole time.” Tom reassures her with kisses all over her face.

“No distractions?” She asks.

“No distractions.”

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader

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twisted-crumpets · 3 years

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The soft Vil and kissing headcanons I'm- 😭😭😭😭😭 Could I have headcanons for NRC having a ball and MC just walks up to Riddle, Azul, Vil, Idia and Malleus (seperately ofc) being like "I've decided that you're gonna be my date for the ball 😊". I know I picked like, the 5 worst characters for this, imagine the audacity and guts you gotta have to pull that on Vil and Malleus 😂

Pff MC strolling up with guts of steel

I- Imagine like slamming down a corsage or smth and being like “you, me dance a lil, get to know each other, maybe smooch idk” to Vil 😂😂

Also, thank you very much for liking my Vil headcanons, it made me smile.

━━ Riddle Rosehearts ━━

To say that Riddle wasn’t stressed out of his mind would be a complete and utter lie.

After spending a good chunk of his time dedicated to scolding Ace and chasing Floyd the poor crimson leader was staring at his watch, panicking as the seconds tick by.

Hearing soft footsteps, he whipped his head ready to berate whoever was dawdling in the dorms and not laying out the table for the upcoming unbirthday party, but froze upon the sight of his darling.

“Oh! Love, I’m sorry you have caught me at a bit of a bad time. What is the reason for your visit?”

He was not at all prepared for his darling to demand his presence at the school ball and couldn’t help but splutter as his face slowly began to turn into a shade that could rival his hair.

“I- you... do you have any sense of decorum or poise?”

Ignoring the blush smeared across his cheeks, Riddle began to criticise the “invitation” and how it did not comply with the rules of the queen of hearts.

However, he soon quietened down when his love teasingly asked if that meant he was rejecting them, reducing the strict dorm leader into a flustered mess.

“That most certainly was not a no!... I just, I believed that we were automatically going to arrive together... I didn’t expect to be asked so abruptly.... I... let me try this again.”

Clearing his throat, Riddle knelt onto the ground, surprising the dorm members who were slowly filing into the room, sweetly holding onto his dearest’s hand.

“Darling, it would be the upmost honour of the highest degree to accompany you to the ball.”

Laying a kiss onto the back of their hand, he couldn’t hide the smirk beginning to grow onto his face as he amusedly watched their face grow as brightly as his own.

━━ Azul Ashengrotto ━━

Due to the rise in contracts during the exam season, Azul’s paperwork began to increase as well and the poor octopus could already feel every part of his back creak in protest everytime he leant down.

Opening the heavy door to his study, his darling was not surprised that he barely even looked their way before pressing his nose against his documents, scanning their contents tiredly.

Attempting to gain his focus, his darling decided to demand that he join them at the ball.

His response was lacklustre at best, not even taking his eyes off his his work to reply.

“Hm? Ah yes, of course my treasure.”

Suddenly, his quill paused in its journey across his contracts and he froze, dropping it against the pristine desk.

At first, his response was “hmmm? Ah yes of course, my treasure.”

That was until, the demand finally processed in his mind, then he just stood wide eyed and froze, dropping his quill.

He gasped at his darling, his azure eyes getting increasingly smaller in shock.

After a few minutes, his darling was finally able to call his name through their giggles, and he snapped back to life.

“Oh my angelfish~ what a tempting command. But, I can only make wishes come true if they are a request.”

Smiling coyly, he observed his darling floundering for the proper words to ask him.

Crooking a gloved finger, he beckoned them closer, mischief practically glowing in his eyes, and gently pulled them into a slow kiss.

“That is a deal I could simply not turn down. Alright, I will gladly join you, my pearl.”

━━ Vil Shoenheit ━━

As a deep lover of all things intricate and organised, this was nothing short of messy.

Fabrics ranging in colour, texture and pattern covered every inch of his room, and Vil was extremely critical of which would be worthy to be used to decorate the dorm room.

He revelled the peaceful silence that lingered in the room, which demanded complete and utter focus, until his darling came barrelling into the room.

“Ah! Fairest no! You could’ve sullied the fabrics... whatever possessed you to come stumbling in like an elephant better be of high importance.”

Returning to his work, he did not expect shaky warm hands to cup his face, and he slowly moved his gaze to their face, observing the rosey flush due to their exercise prior.

In a shocked trance, Vil watched as his darling bolted from the room, after loudly proclaiming that he was coming with her to the ball.

Snapping his manicured fingers, his poor love was dragged like a sack of potatoes over the shoulder of his loyal huntsman, who overheard the events that unfolded with a wide grin.

“My dear, whilst your confession was executed rather... uniquely, I believe I must be the one to give an answer on whether or not I shall attend with you.”

With a cat-like smile, he basked in the nervous gaze of his darling which bounced around the room, whilst he pretended to find his nails exceedingly interesting, before finally accepting with sophisticated air.

Striding up to his darling briskly to tenderly cradle their face, peppering sweet kisses and giggling at the look of bewilderment and shock that graced their face.

━━ Idia Shroud ━━

Finding Idia furiously slamming his fingers into his keyboard, fully enamoured with the happenings on his computer, was not new.

Observing his hunched and focused figure, his darling decided that it was due time for him to take a break and attempted to tear his eyes away from the harsh glare of the screen.

“Oh pixel, I promise I will stop right after this round don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, he couldn’t even press a single key when he heard his lover announce that he would be attended the ball alongside them.

Turning a blind eye to the blatant ‘game over’ on his monitor, Idia’s hair began to burn a vibrant assortment of deep reds and he muttered incomprehensible half sentences, his current state akin to a phone after being dropped into a pool.

“You... me... public... together... d..dancing..”

Like a mouse, he burrowed his way inside the cozy depths of his hoodie, squeaking out his agreement, before flinging his arms around their middle and smooshing his face into their stomach in an attempt to distract them from his vermillion hair and face.

“.. I would love that very much thank you.”

━━ Malleus Draconia ━━

For Malleus, midnight strolls are the highlight of his day.

From exploring the picturesque ruins of castles he might’ve known once upon a time, to marvelling at the loyal gargoyles that remain standing guard at the entrance, that frequently remind him of the two guards of his back at his dorm.

Although, he couldn’t deny that, the main reason for his enjoyment in his nightly activities was when doing so with his truest love.

On this day, instead of the usual lighthearted air between them, a nervous yet determined one replaced it, filling the horned boy with curiousity, which grew as he gazed deeply into the eyes of his love, who appeared to be summoning every ounce of courage to look back into his.

“Truest, what is ailing you?”

Nothing could quite prepare him for the explosive torrent of words that spilled from their lips that took his brain a whole series of seconds to decipher.

When it finally clicked that he had received that invitation, no one could’ve possibly smiled brighter or laughed merrier than he, as he whisked his beloved into his arms, pressing his lips against theirs passionately.

Pulling away, his chest rumbling with laughter, he cheekily beamed at the dumbfounded expression that graced his love’s features.

“My my, inviting me so suddenly, and with such a demanding tone too. Why this is an interesting declaration, and I would be a fool to not accept. Very well my truest, I accept. You best do well to not be late, I am looking forward to this.”

I’m so sorry this took so long, school said no❤️

I hope you enjoyed your meal!

#brain frying #twisted wonderland #twst #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #vil shoenheit #vil shoenheit x reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #g/n reader

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palmett-hoes · 3 years

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We Need To Talk About Kevin

excuse the silly title, but it’s time for another long character analysis, this time on a character who holds a complicated place in the fandom consciousness: kevin

like every other character in aftg, i have a lot of criticisms for the way that the fandom tends to characterize kevin, because i feel like it tends to reduce a very complicated character down into very binary terms, that of either anal-retentive comic relief or a perfect, underappreciated innocent, both of which ignore his important flaws and the nuance of his character arc throughout the trilogy

now this meta is probably going to sound very, very critical of kevin, as i am focusing on his flaws. but i want to be clear that i don’t hate kevin, i don’t even dislike him. in fact i far prefer the deeply “problematic” kevin from canon to the highly sanitized version in the fandom, just like i prefer my andrew violent and unethical, my neil rude and messy, and my upperclassmen ableist and permissibly homophobic

one thing i really LOVE about aftg is how hypocritical every character is, because it’s honest. they all stand for something but fall a little flat of it in practice. they all hold the people around them to standards they don’t hold themselves to

they’re not simple characters. they reflect their trauma in ways that are not pretty or harmless, and they even reflect wider societal flaws that may not be logical or justifiable.

just like i do.

just like you do.

just like real people do.

---

so with that all squared away: kevin

let’s start with this: what is the essence of kevin’s character? what does he stand for? what is he about? when you simplify him out into a single idea, what is he?

answers will vary, but for me, kevin is an analysis of the idea that you can have everything, you can be rich and famous and talented and immensely lucky on top of it all, and you can still be abused

neil repeats this idea over and over. how he’s jealous of kevin. how he resents kevin. how he wishes he were kevin. because kevin had everything and neil had nothing

remember this?

and this?

kevin the star. kevin the sensation. kevin the media darling.

lucky kevin, talented kevin, beloved kevin

and then neil gets a little bit closer and learns that that’s not the whole story. kevin was isolated, his worth tied to his performance, his whole personhood tied to exy. the perfect boy who was forbidden from being too perfect, who had to walk on eggshells so as not to incur the wrath of his brother and guardian

but at the same time that doesn’t totally erase everything he did have

i think the fandom focuses a lot on kevin’s inferiority complex from being assigned second best, and not nearly as much on the idea that kevin was SECOND BEST, above everyone else

the fact that kevin had power and sway in the nest makes us deeply uncomfortable, because it complicates kevin’s status as a victim, but it’s the truth. kevin was the third most powerful person in the nest, above dozens of ravens, and not even an owned person like jean

we should attempt to reckon with the fact that kevin was not a passive player in the ravens’ power structure, but someone who was actively involved and benefited from it. the ravens were his pawns, too. his subordinates, there to critique and punish as he saw fit. they weren’t his equals and he didn’t have to view them as fellow people

even if you choose not to believe that kevin took advantage of this power in the way riko did, you still have to accept that it very much shaped his perception and way of connecting with others, which is obvious in how he interacts with the foxes

so let’s talk about kevin and his superiority complex

kevin is arrogant, self-centered, and entitled

it’s not all he is. he has other, better qualities. he’s dedicated, passionate, and - in his own way - caring. that doesn’t ERASE his flaws however

kevin believes himself to be correct 100% of the time. he thinks that his methods and his opinions should work for everyone simply because they work for him, and he tries heavily to push them onto other people. andrew remarks that neil will drive himself crazy trying to do things the way kevin tells him to, because he is simply a different kind of player than kevin. kevin’s methodology will never work for neil no matter how hard he tries and will just end up holding himself back if he keeps trying

andrew notices this, not kevin, because kevin believes that neil is simply not trying hard enough to do things the “right” way.

neil.

who tries harder than anyone to live up to kevin’s standards

he’s worse with the rest of the foxes, who unlike neil do not accept his methods unquestionably and don’t do backflips to make him happy.

the foxes recognize that kevin is talented and could have valuable things to teach them. kevin however thinks that he should have absolute authority over their training because his methods are “superior.” he thinks the foxes fail because they don’t listen to him and conform their playing styles to him

kevin also only approaches the upperclassmen on the court, and even there only with criticism and derision. he has never made any attempt to befriend them or get to know them in any way. he doesn’t need a rapport with them, he’s entitled to their obedience simply because he’s Kevin Day, The Son of Exy, The Best And Most Talented Of Them All

i’ve also written meta before about the assumptions kevin makes in his relationship with andrew. they have a deal that kevin will give andrew something to live for after he graduates. kevin, being who he is, decides that this thing MUST and WILL be exy, no matter how directly or indirectly andrew tells him this isn’t what he wants.

yet kevin never considers an alternative. he never asks andrew what he might want or never attempts to find anything else for him. they spend nearly every second of every day within arms reach of each other, yet kevin has never taken a moment to pay attention to andrew’s interests or preferences, anything that makes him tick. they know almost nothing personal about each other because kevin doesn’t believe any of that matters in giving andrew a future that makes him want to live. no. if it works for kevin it must work for everyone else. if kevin wants it everyone else must want it too

kevin’s relationships often become exclusionary. first with andrew, which i’ve just discussed. then with neil, kevin continually vies for more and more of his time, without regard for his health or concern for any other part of his life. he leaves neil with minimal time for school, pushes their practices late into the night depriving him of sleep, and discourages his efforts to spend time and make connections with the upperclassmen

now if at any point while reading this you, reader, wanted to argue that these things are because of the nest and kevin’s raven indoctrination, yes, you’re absolutely right, they are. it’s abundantly clear where and how each of these qualities developed, but once again, that doesn’t mean they’re not present. in fact, the clear connection between kevin’s flaws and his trauma is a sign of good character writing, showing the multiple dimensions of how our environments and experiences shape us

kevin’s anxiety, his obsessiveness, and his fear all come from the nest, but so does his condescension, his self-involvement, and his overbearing nature.

kevin was raised in a cult, but he was also from the very highest level of it. he comes from immense privilege in terms of his wealth, his influence, his fame, and his access to resources. materially, kevin has wanted for very little in his life, and his entitlement is very prominent in his character. none of this cancels out the abuse he suffered, but it’s also something i very rarely see addressed outside of being hinted at vaguely in a jokingly dismissive manner.

in fact, i often see takes on kevin that fully deny he has these traits at all, and that annoys me. i don’t like to see these wonderfully round characters flattened out, and there’s a particular irritating irony out of changing or misinterpreting a character’s personality in order to make them more palatable or more sympathetic in a series about how even people traumatized in unsympathetic ways are still deserving of help and decency

kevin can be a little morally gray,, as a treat

#aftg #tfc #kevin day #kandreil #kevaaron #txt #meta #character analysis #my posts #cw cult #cw abuse mention

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starcrossedkaiju · 3 years

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Kingslayer AU: Chapter Eight

I don’t know what to say other than I like this one. Rendog enjoyers come get your free angst!

Scott filled the pages of his sketchbook gradually at first. He sat at his window and drew what he saw, focusing on putting shapes on the paper. Many times he was unhappy with the finished product, almost ripping out and throwing away his limited space.

He had to learn to be okay with it. The next time it would be a bit better, and a bit better, until the tree he’d been slaving over didn’t look half bad.

Soon his interests turned to drawing his friends. Their faces would pop up on his pages, drowned in eraser smudges at first. Then it became easy. Like second nature, he could memorize Grian’s knowing grin, Jimmy’s downturned eyes, Martyn’s slightly crooked nose.

He drew the way he saw Ren’s piercing yellow eyes that night, the way they were shadowed by his brow.

It felt better. To have a place where his memories could stay exactly the way he saw them. Scott even pinned some up on the wall of his room.

Soon his supply of paper started dwindling, Martyn told him if he needed more drawing paper to come back and ask him for some. So he did, after Jimmy went to bed and the world was quiet under the snow.

Scott made a trip to the Renchanting base, entering through the tunnel hidden under the mountain. It took him right to the storage area. Which was dark and deserted. Only a clock ticked on the wall, everyone else must have been in the sleeping quarters or back at their bases to fend off the Phantoms.

He took a torch from the “stuff chest” and started making rounds, looking at each storage container. Food, Armor, ores, wood, stone, and redstone. Until there was a wall of chests with people’s names on them.

Everyone in the Red Army had a chest, from left to right there was Ren, Martyn, Etho, Skiz, Impulse, Tango, Joel, and then Scott.

The last chest on the right side, Scott’s name was carved on top. It hadn’t been there before. He placed his hand on the lock, wondering if he should even bother opening it. Someone had cared enough to dedicate a space for him to put things. Under the roof of Dogwarts no less.

His torch flickered and Scott decided he’d spent too long lurking around, so he flipped the lock up and quietly opened the chest. Slowly so it wouldn’t creek.

Inside there was a single stack of drawing paper. Hand-sewn like the one Martyn had given him.

Scott placed the torch down and retrieved the paper. He knew it must have been Martyn. A smile found its way onto his face, and he let it stay there. This time, when nobody was looking.

Blowing out the torch and closing the chest, Scott gathered the sketchbook and decided to just leave through the front. It was almost midnight anyways.

Up the stairs and to the double doors of the enchanting room. The book on the table rose from its position and opened towards him as he walked past. Scott still had his hand on the doorknob when he opened it and stepped out into the frigid night.

Of course he didn’t expect to see anything, so when he did see something he froze in place.

In the spot that Martyn would typically occupy, on the very top of the walls sat Ren. His grey cape was bundled around himself to keep out the cold and his pointed ears were pressed low on his head. He was facing away from Scott.

Huddled on the perch, Ren’s shoulders were shaking. Silently, he cried.

Scott stood in the doorway motionless. He couldn’t believe the scene in front of him. Ren wasn’t one to cry. He was calculating and smart, rarely loosing his temper to even the worst of setbacks. A humorous man in charge of an Army of vagabonds, he never cried. He never expressed so much as a single weakness, he couldn’t afford that.

So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise, not really, that the Red King would save his sorrow for when nobody should be looking. Under the loneliest arm of the Milky Way, coldly gazing down on him. The weight of every star in the sky on his shoulders.

It made him look small.

Scott backed away from the door and ran back to the tunnel he came from, the kind of running you do when you are convinced your worst nightmare is snapping at your heels; and maybe for Scott it was.

He sprinted home without looking back. Trying to shove the image of Ren out the back of his mind.

That night he crept quietly back into bed, doing his best not to disturb Jimmy. Who stirred momentarily before simply turning over.

Scott stared at the arm of the Milky Way through the window until he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Days pressed by, Scott slithered too and from the walls of Dogwarts under the noses of his allies and between Spy Ring meetings. The first page of his new sketchbook lay empty, because whenever his pencil hovered above that damn page all he could see was a man huddled up under a galaxy of stars that would never return his wishes.

So when he was called out on night watch to the Renchanting base, Scott snuck out with his empty sketchbook held close to his chest. He arrived to a sleeping base, aware that his shift would be over in an hour and he would get to go home when the next guard showed up.

He yawned and stared out the window, at the stars above the wall. A pencil came to his hand and he started drawing what he saw. The shape of the wall against the glowing sky. He drew it, but it wasn’t right. The image in his mind came back to the front.

A weeping man holding a million stars on his shaking shoulders, the end of his frayed cape flaring out when the breeze kicked up. Tiny compared to the infinite sky. Scott’s fingers and palm turned black with graphite as he crafted the cosmos onto that paper.

His scribbling and smudging consumed all his thoughts as he focused on making the scene perfect, the pencil dulled and threatened to snap under the pressure.

“Major,” a stern voice came from right behind him.

Scott seized up in his chair, a feeling of terror so pure exploded in his chest that his vision left him for a few seconds. He gasped and turned around with his jaw on the floor.

Behind him was Ren. Clad in his winter jacket, a hand on the back of Scott’s chair. He stared directly into the other’s eyes from behind the dark lenses of his aviators. All the color had gone from his face.

Hoping the Red King hadn’t seen what he was drawing, Scott moved his hand to close the book.

It was too late. Ren had been watching him draw for long enough to know.

“You saw me?” Ren asked, but it was phrased more like a fact. It was.

Scott’s hesitation was enough of an answer. He stared up into Ren’s glasses, reminded of a familiar time. This time was different though, and this time Scott wished he could see behind the lenses.

He nodded and tore his eyes away, it felt intrusive to be staring.

“Ren,” Scott said to the floor, but was dismissed.

“No. Just go home. Now,” the other man ordered with a wavering voice.

Scott didn’t nod, he didn’t look at Ren. He gathered the sketchbook and slammed it shut within five seconds.

He didn’t say goodbye as he fled the walls. Scott ran from Ren, and this time he felt bad about it.

Scott didn’t return to Dogwarts for a week after that. Nobody called him to the night shift, nobody asked him to run any supplies. Maybe he was grateful for that, in the sense that he wouldn’t have to look Ren in the eyes again.

Until one night he couldn’t sleep. The clouds cast a dark blanket over the sky. Scott huffed and crawled out of bed, not bothering to change out of his pajamas. He pulled his boots on and took his coat off the hanger.

A walk is what he told himself he was going on, but really he knew where he was going. He didn’t know why, but for some reason Scott had a feeling he wasn’t the only one that couldn’t sleep.

This time instead of entering Dogwarts through the underground he rounded the front, cresting the hill right in front of Big B’s house. Scott scanned the top of the wall and saw what he was looking for. He shoved his hands in his pockets and entered Dogwarts through the front door.

Scott climbed the ladder and balanced himself as he walked over to Ren, who was sitting with his legs dangling over the side of the wall. His jacket was pulled tightly around him. Scott didn’t greet him when he sat down, Ren had seen him coming a mile away.

Ren didn’t look at him, he breathed in heavily, then sighed out a burst of vapor into the cold air.

“You couldn’t sleep?” Scott started the conversation this time.

“Wouldn’t matter if I could. I’m on night watch,” Ren said after a beat of silence.

Scott nodded, turning his head to the dark sky, “it’d be nicer with some stars, hm?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Ren trailed off. He stared at his shoes.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’ll just-“ Scott made to get up and leave but Ren interrupted him.

“No, wait, you can stay,” Ren pulled on the sleeve of Scott’s elbow.

Scott nodded and pulled his knees closer to his chest. A pocket of clouds had moved, creating a window that let the moon gaze upon the Earth.

“Do you stargaze a lot?” Ren asked, this time he looked at Scott.

He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.

“I try,” Scott replied, “there’s this huge book I found uh, In a village library a while ago. It has everything you can possibly see from down here in it,” he mused.

“Have you ever read one?” Scott asked.

“Uh, an astronomy book?” Ren’s eyes flicked to the left in thought, “I mean I’ve seen them. I haven’t read them. You like astronomy?” he asked.

Scott nodded, then pointed north, into the cloud cover, “you can’t see it now, but Ursa Major would be right over there,” he said.

Ren looked over like he was trying to imagine it, “you like Ursa Major?”

“Easiest to remember,” Scott said plainly.

“I’ll bet. S’ like a namesake,” Ren rested his chin on his palm, “I wish I had a constellation with my name,” his ear twitched on his head.

Scott’s metaphorical ears perked up, “Oh well, there’s one kind of like that,” he said. Ren’s actual ears perked up.

“It’s called Canis Major. It means Great Dog, or Big Dog,” Scott pointed south, “it will always be easy to see on a clear day. One of its stars is called Sirius,” he explained.

Ren nodded, “I’m familiar. Brightest in the sky, right?”

“Yeah. That’s right,” Scott replied.

“Canis Major huh?” Ren repeated. Scott nodded.

“Canis Major, and,” he looked over at Scott, “Scott Major,” Ren nudged the other on the shoulder.

“Right,” Scott said, and suddenly the sky didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Not when you have a friend to share it with.

#listen. hear me out...#the constellation thing was clever okay!!#also Canis Major rises in the winter. I call that poetic #there’s nothing too deep about Scott being Ursa Major other than his name and him being star-born #kingslayer au #3rdlife #3rd life smp #3rdlife smp #rendog #scott smajor #mcyt #mcytblr #cas types

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coltsbitch · 3 years

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last love ~ pieck finger x reader

pieck finger x reader; 1.9k words; fluff; nsfw summary: you may not be first, but you could be last

part of @murmikaa phases of love collab! masterlist

Pieck Finger has loved a lot of people in her life.

First there was the girl down the block she shared kisses with when her dad wasn’t looking. Of course she crushed on Zeke hard in warrior training, even convincing him to be her first fuck after the others left for Paradise. Then there was her whirlwind romance with Yelena that left her a little more heart broken than she would like to admit. And Porco was always a cute distraction with how flustered he would get from her teasing.

There were the random people who dotted themselves in Pieck’s romantic history between those four, and she wouldn’t say she loved them any less.

She had learned from a young age that nothing was guaranteed, watching her mother die from the same sickness that’s now plaguing her father. Not to mention the ticking clock she has on her own life now.

What’s the harm in letting herself feel more for as many people as she can?

So when Pieck is introduced to the newest member of the Panzer unit, it’s almost instant that she decides you’re next.

You were nervous when they brought you to meet the cart titan. For all your years in the service you had never actually seen any of the titan shifters in their human form. Even at war, Marley did their best to keep Eldians as separate as possible.

“She’s able to stay in her titan form for months at a time!”

“Longer than any cart titan before her!”

“It’s truly amazing how dedicated to Marley she is!”

You nod along while the rest of your squad surrounds you, talking your ear off about how amazing Pieck Finger is. Titan shifters had always been honorary Marleyns, but you were surprised to see the intense devotion and admiration they held for Pieck.

“Not to mention she’s the cutest warrior.” One of them says with moon eyes.

Another bops them on the head, “Don’t talk about Ms. Pieck like that! She’s more than cute, she’s ethereal.”

The door cracks open and a woman in a long skirt and untucked shirt comes in. She’s relying on a cane to help her through, and the soft smile on her face means she’s in a good mood.

“I hope you’re not scaring our new member.”

Your fellow Panzer unit scramble and turn around, saluting Pieck, apologizing for their ignorance of her presence, offering her something to drink, groveling for her attention really.

But Pieck waves them off with a flick of her wrist, telling them she’d like to spend some time with you alone. They grumble but make their way out of the office.

“Tea?”

You shake your head, “No thank you, ma’am.”

Pieck throws a smile over her shoulder while she’s pouring the water, “Ma’am? I can’t that much older than you.”

You feel your face heat up, “I, uhh. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Pieck makes her way to the sofa, setting her cup on the table before stretching out on the cushions, “None taken.” She buries her head in the crook of her elbow, eyeing you as you shift awkwardly, “You’re cute.”

You open your mouth to respond but Pieck closes her eyes, snuggling deeper into the sofa.

In time, you get used to her sleepy and strange behavior.

Pieck steals you from trainings in guise of going over strategy, instead you trade information bit by bit. Spends days off tickling your chin with flower petals while you lay next to her on a picnic blanket. Uses your lap as a pillow when she invites you to her room telling you she wants to read you poetry.

Magath keeps her in titan form for almost two weeks, preparing for the battle at Fort Slava. The first night she’s human, she has you ride her face while her fingers are buried in her own cunt.

“Cumming is the one thing that always makes me feel human again.” She whispers into your ear, arms wrapped around your body while you try to catch your breath, “Being in my titan for so long wouldn’t be so bad if I could get off every once in a while.”

You huff out a laugh, “I’m sure that would be a sight.”

Pieck smiles, pressing a kiss to your neck. Shifting, you slide a leg between hers, tilting her head for a kiss. You go to press your lips to hers, but you’re met with soft snores instead. A smile forms on your lips and you lay your head against hers.

It’s less than three days later that your shipped off to aid in the fight against the Mid-East Allied Forces. Pieck pulls you in for a kiss before she transforms, right in front of the rest of the panzer unit who watch in surprise, awe, and jealously.

It’s not that you two intentionally hid your budding relationship, but you tried your best to be as professional as possible. Even if Pieck made it difficult with the sneaky hands during meetings or coaxing you into the cart titan artillery, fingers playing with your clit instead of checking the equipment like you said.

But Pieck gripping your chin and capturing your lips in a heated kiss before giving her tired smile and transforming right in front of everyone? It keeps you on a high during every battle over those two months.

And while you’ve practically been by her side the whole time, volunteering to keep watch most nights and laying against her sleeping form, riding her every day (although not the way you wish you could be riding her).

It’s still a rush when you see her coming towards you with only two legs.

“I don’t think we have much time.” You whisper between kisses.

Pieck has you pressed up against the side of in the infirmary, tucked down the alleyway. “Don’t worry.” She smiles against your mouth, “They won’t leave without me.”

A train horn sounds, and you raise your brow, “You sure about that?”

“They love me too much.”

You giggle at her confidence, “I know I do.” Your eyes flutter closed and wait for Pieck to continue, but you notice she isn’t moving. Opening your eyes, you see Pieck is intently staring at you, soft smile as always, but there’s the twinkle she gets in her eye when she has one over you.

You think back, body freezing when you remember the words that you spilled. “I, that’s not what I, I mean,” You stutter.

Pieck presses a finger to your lips, “I love you too.”

It’s like you’re on cloud nine in the weeks that follow. After returning to Marley, Pieck is given a reprieve and the two of you spend it attached at the hip. Lazy mornings, lazy afternoons, and lazy evenings.

When you are able to drag Pieck away from bed you stroll through the market, feeding each other bites of pastries and giggling when she nips at your fingers.

It’s there that you overhear Porco making jabs.

You had gone back to get a second tart after Pieck had flashed you her big eyes that you’re powerless to. They must not have heard you return because Porco continues with his remarks.

“So, you’re really taking her to the festival?”

“Why Pokko? Jealous?”

Porco scoffs, “I’ve moved on. Just surprised, don’t think I’ve ever seen you with the same person longer than a month.”

Pieck smiles, “I love her.”

This time Porco can’t hold back his laugh, “Just like all the other ones!”

You feel your heart skip at his comment, sinking even further when Pieck doesn’t contradict him.

Your feet are stuck, but you’re knocked into Pieck’s back when someone shoulders past you.

“Babe!” She cries, catching you by the arms, “You okay?” Nodding, you hand her the bag, voice still caught in your throat. She smiles, peaking inside, “Thanks baby!” Pieck presses a kiss onto your cheek, “Pokko, you should pick one up for Colt! Do something sweet for once.”

Porco rolls his eyes, “I can be sweet.” He grumbles, stalking off in the direction of the stand you came from.

“C’mon.” Pieck pulls you to a bench between a few trees. She offers you a piece, but you just shake your head, “What’s wrong, love?” You flinch at the pet name, “Babe?”

“What were you and Porco talking about?”

Pieck cocks her head, “What do you mean?”

You bite your lip before continuing, maybe you’re overthinking things, “Just what Porco said, about not being with someone longer than a month.”

“Don’t listen to Pokko.” She smiles, “I love you.”

Pieck tries to press her lips to your cheek again but you pull back, “Have you said that to a lot of people?”

Pieck pulls her hand from yours, “Is that a problem?”

You open your mouth before closing it, thinking over her question. “I suppose not. I just, you’re the only person I’ve said it to.” You tell her shyly.

“That makes me feel special.” Pieck says. And from anyone else it would have sounded sarcastic, but the sincerity in her voice seeps through, “You know I only have three years left, right?”

You frown. You don’t like thinking about Pieck’s impending end, and you’re unsure why she’s bringing it up now.

“I’ve known that my life has an earlier expiration date than most for quite some time now.” She turns to look ahead, “Which is why I do and say what’s on my mind.” She looks at you again, a small smile playing on her lips, “It’s why I told you were cute when we met for the first time.”

You feel your face heat up at the memory, how forward and honest she’s always been with you.

“And yeah, I’ve loved a lot of people in my life. But I think I’ve loved you the most.” Pieck picks at the tart in her lap, an uncharacteristic nervousness washing over her, “And with the time I have left, I think you’re it for me.” She continues to avoid your gaze, “So while I might have been your first love, I’m hoping you’ll be my last.”

“Oh.” You whisper, heart filling with warmth and tears pricking in your eyes. Pieck looks back to you.

“You don’t have to say anything, but there is something I want to ask you.” You nod, throat still a little tight, “I want you to take the spot above my nape in the cart’s artillery.” You frown, that’s the most vital spot, protecting Pieck’s weak point, “I know what you’re thinking.” Pieck cups your cheek, “But I trust you.”

“Okay.” You nod, and she smiles at your answer giving you a deep kiss in response. “You taste like raspberry.” You mumble against her lips.

“It’s the tart!” She exclaims, gesturing to the sweet that’s still in her lap. You giggle as she picks a piece off, offering it, and you close your lips around her fingers.

“You think the festival tomorrow will have a tart flavor I haven’t tried yet?” Pieck asks, eyes dancing while she pulls her fingers from your lips.

Shifting, you let Pieck rests her head on your shoulder, and you press a kiss on top of her head, “Not sure, but I’ll get you which ever ones you want.”

Pieck hums softly and closes her eyes. Even if she only has a few more years, at least she gets to spend them with you.

#phases of love #mika’s 4k collab #pieck finger #pieck finger x reader #aot #snk #aot x reader #snk x reader

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narakurosaki · 3 years

Text

title: love in the dark.

summary: when den grows ill, ed takes the first train to amestris to be by winry’s side. sadly, he’s too late, and winry turns to her fiancé for a comfort only he can provide.

or, den passes and winry seeks sexual pleasure from ed to bring her comfort.

words: 5998

rating: m

read on ao3!

Thump, thump, thump!

“Mr. Elric?”

Thump, thump, thump!

“Mr. Elric!”

The man in question groans, stirring from his sleep. A groan rumbles in his throat. He flips onto his stomach and buries his head beneath his pillow, holding it close to his ears to dampen the noise. “Sign says do not disturb. You’re disturbing me. Go away.”

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!

“Mr. Elric, please! There’s an urgent call waiting for you!”

Urgent?

He clambers out of bed and to his feet, nearly tripping on the pair of pants he’d carelessly discarded after an extensive visit to the city’s university library. He fumbles with the doorknob, forgetting to unlock the door in his haste. He twists and tugs, but the door does not budge. “Just a second!” he calls out and gives another tug. He grits his teeth before it clicks—he quickly unlocks the door, twists the knob, and swings the door open. “What happened? Is it my fiancée? My brother?”

The front desk clerk blinks at the sight of a frazzled Edward Elric, clad in only his boxers. He adjusts his hat and says, “Your fiancée, I believe. I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying through her tears.”

Tears.

Winry.

His heart descends into his stomach. For her to cry so hard that the hotel employee struggled to make out what she’d said, let alone to call so late at night, meant something was terribly wrong back home. He retreats back into his room and fetches his pants. He pulls them on and zips them up, and pushes his way past the clerk. He was certain to receive stares, should anyone be awake—he’d forgotten a shirt, leaving his scarred torso exposed, and appeared rather frazzled. Guests were bound to think he was but a madman who had wandered into the hotel and decided to loiter within the lobby.

He takes the steps two at a time, passing on the elevator to save time. When he reaches the first floor, he beelines for the front desk and holds out his hand in waiting. The clerk currently managing it hands him the receiver; Edward snatches it quickly, and brings it to his ear.

“Winry? Are you okay?”

On the other end, Winry sobs uncontrollably. Ed feels as though he’s been punched in the gut. “N-no…”

His thoughts race at a mile a minute, dozens of scenarios serving to activate his sympathetic nervous system; epinephrine floods his bloodstream. He can feel his body begin to tremble. Was it Granny? He breaks out in a cold sweat. Had there been an accident? He feels his heartbeat pulse throughout every inch of his body. Did Winry fall ill? He can feel the burning of stomach acid against his throat’s sensitive tissue. He swallows his saliva in an effort to force the acid back down.

Before he has the chance to inquire further, Winry sniffles and coughs. “It’s.. Den.”

No.

Den had been around since he, Al, and Winry were young. Den could survive anything, of that Edward was convinced. The Rockbell family pet had lost his leg as a pup, having gotten it stuck in the train tracks when he had wandered away from home. After getting him free, the leg had to be amputated due to extensive damage. Pinako had crafted a leg for the dog shortly after his recovery, allowing him to lead a normal life. Since then, he had never grown ill, nor sustained injury. Winry dedicated herself to training the dog to act as emotional support for those recovering from the surgery needed to install automail. He had been a great help to Edward during his recovery process, and served as a walking companion to Alphonse after the boys’ return home. The three of them had grown rather close with him, though neither brother had gotten as close to him as Winry had.

Nonetheless, a sense of dread overtakes Edward.

His grasp on the receiver tightens, and he drives his left fist down upon the front desk. “How bad?”

“Bad,” Winry says, her voice hoarse from crying. Another sob overtakes her, and all he can do is wait it out. “He can’t…” Sniffle. “Keep anything…” Hic. “Down. The veterinarian…” Sniffle. “Said he doesn’t have much…” Sniffle. “Time left.”

Fuck.

“Hey, desk guy!” Edward covers the receiver with his hand to muffle his words. “What time is it?”

The desk clerk, surprised, reads the time from the clock ticking away at his workstation. “It’s 3:47 A.M. sir.”

The next train wouldn’t leave for another thirteen minutes, and that was if he was lucky enough to snag a ticket. He traveled light these days, leaving the majority of his belongings back in Resembool, in Winry’s bedroom. If he hurried, he would be able to pack his suitcase and make it to the station by 3:55 A.M.

“It’s gonna be a bit—” he moves his hand from the receiver and offers the desk clerk a thumbs-up as thanks “—but I’ll be home soon, okay? I’m leaving right now.”

There’s no response on the other end. He hears only her breathing and the clearing of her throat. He can picture her nodding.

“I love you, Winry.”

She sucks in a breath and exhales. “I love you, too.”

— — —

Five days had passed by the time he makes it to Resembool.

From where he had been within the country of Creta, his first train had taken him straight to a town along the Cretan-Anestrian border, a two day journey on its own. He’d arrived late into the night, and was dismayed to discover that the train to Dublith did not depart until morning. While he’d contemplated booking a hotel room, he’d grown far too antsy. Throughout the night, Edward paced the station, watching the clock and counting down the time. His eyes wandered to the payphones often, though he thought it best not to wake the Rockbell household. Eventually, he’d taken a seat on a bench and waited for the train’s arrival, praying to a god he did not believe in for Den to have the strength to survive until he’d arrived home.

He hits the ground running, pushing past familiar faces, beelining straight for the Rockbell home. His left knee squeaks with every bend, a product of his failure to maintain it properly. And while he would usually curse the damned thing for being so loud, he knew that Winry had more important things to worry about than his lack of oiling.

It’s strange to enter the Rockbell’s property without the deep barking of their dog. Edward nearly leaps up the steps and onto the deck, and knocks on the door with the side of his fist. He’d packed his key away in his suitcase in his haste, and there was no time to waste searching for it.

The door squeaks and opens inward. There is no blonde to greet him with a grin and a kiss, only her short-statured grandmother with her pipe in hand. She lacks her eyeglasses, her grief on full display.

Edward forces his way through the door and into the home. He scans his surroundings and what he can see of the living room for his fiancée and her dog. “Where is she?”

“Her room,” Pinako says, taking a drag of her pipe. She blows the smoke into the air. “She’s been in there since Den’s passing.”

Passing.

Oh, no.

We’re Pinako taller, he would have shoved her out of his way. Instead, Edward steps around her and breaks out in a sprint, taking the stairs two at a time. He makes a beeline for the door at the end of the stairs, skidding to a stop before it. Time stands still as he reaches for the doorknob; behind his eardrums, his heart pumps blood throughout his body, the whooshing of each beat prominent as his blood pressure rises. His fingers curl around the knob, his wrist turns, and his arm cracks the door slightly. Cautiously, he peeks inside, met only with darkness. The setting sun struggles to shine through the drawn curtains.

“Winry…?” he whispers, tentatively entering the room. The whoosh of his blood pumping behind his eardrum grows louder, and his brain crafts a faint ringing to drown out the silence.

Golden eyes peer through the darkness, scanning the room as his vision adjusts. The workbench to his left is a cluttered mess, quite the opposite of his fiancée’s organized workspace; the chair in front of the vanity sits crooked, as though it’s last occupant had pushed themselves away in a hurry; and, to his right, curled on her side atop the bed, lies Winry. She faces the wall ahead of him, her body shaking with each strangled sob. It seems as though she isn't aware of his presence. That, or she’s far too distraught to acknowledge it. He closes the door behind him, kicks off his boots, and crawls into bed beside her.

“Hey,” he greets softly, wrapping his arms around her, “I’m here. I’m here.”

Something within her must have snapped, for the moment he’d pulled her to his chest, Winry began sobbing uncontrollably. With each jerk of her body, the clinging of metal-upon-metal rings out, mingling with the sound of her pained cries. Edward brushes her loose hair aside with his nose and presses his lips against the skin beneath her ear.

She hadn’t cried like this in years. Not since that day in Central, when she’d stumbled upon the battle between him, Al, and Scar. He’d been so stupid that day, ignoring his little brother’s pleas to just shut up. He had seen Winry before Ed had; had he known, he wouldn’t have spoken so openly about the murder of her parents at the hands of the Ishvalan. But he’d ran his mouth, reopening old wounds, driving Winry mad with grief. She’d threatened to shoot the man responsible for the deaths of her parents, saved from the life of a murderer by Ed. He’d pried the gun from her hand and informed her that her hands were meant to help people live, not to take away their lives. Winry had shattered to pieces mere seconds after the gun fell against the concrete, throwing herself into Ed’s arms, and sobbing uncontrollably. Her voice had been hoarse by the time he and Alphonse met back up with her.

The sobs that wrack her body send him back in time. He’s fifteen, again, heart aching as his best-friend clutches his cloak and buries her face in his shirt, her warm tears soaking through the fabric and settling against his skin. The only difference this time around, however, is his newfound ability to bring her comfort, to reassure her that she is safe and loved, to kiss her tears away. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and inhales her scent. He squeezes her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here for you, but I am now, okay? And I promise you—I’m not going anywhere.”

In his arms, she turns to face him. She struggles to catch her breath, does her best to sniffle away the dripping from her nose. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, dark circles having made their home beneath them. Clutched to her chest is Den’s collar. The coarse red fabric is stained with tears. Edward gently plucks it away and sets it on the bedside table. He cups her cheek and wipes the tears that spill with the pad of his thumb. Her eyes close—a sign that his presence is comforting—and she buries her face in the crook of his neck as she so often did in difficult times. The hand that once cupped her face finds a new home atop her back, rubbing soothing circles against her skin. His neck grows damp as the tears continue to fall, her silent struggle ripping his heart from his chest more than her audible sobs. He presses his lips to the crown of her head and buries his nose in her hair.

“When?” is the only word he speaks after his skin begins to dry and the sniffles increase in frequency.

She turns her head to the side, her words muffled by his skin. “Yesterday evening.”

Edward grits his teeth. He had received her frantic call in the early hours of Wednesday. Den had passed two days after he’d gotten the news; three days before he’d arrived home. The wound was still fresh, still oozing and hurting and reminding Winry of the last moments she had spent with her beloved pet. While the loss of a dog he’d considered his, as well, hurt immensely, seeing his fiancée in as much pain as she was was the worst of it all. Had he been anywhere within Amestris, the trip home would have taken a day-and-a-half at most, but he’d just had to be thousands of miles away in another country, going about his life without a care in the world. Never had he stopped to think of what might occur while he was away. He’d left Resembool believing all would remain the same upon his return; he and Winry would plan out the rest of their lives, and Den was certain to accompany them wherever they may have gone.

Den’s sudden passing strikes fear into the former alchemist. Bad things could happen at a moment’s notice, and while one could never quite prepare for such a turn in events, they could always depend on the love and support of their friends and family members.

It’s like a knife to the gut.

“I should’ve been here,” he says, shaking his head. Her hair tickles his nose. “I never should’ve left. I should’ve wrapped up the research two months ago when I came home. I should’ve been here.”

Winry pushes herself from his neck, forcing Ed to lift his head. She stares at him with blue, bloodshot eyes, and brings a hand to his face. The heel of her palm scrapes against the blonde stubble he’d acquired on the train, the sound deafening in his ears. The pad of her thumb glides against his bottom lip. “You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

He’s about to draw her back into his embrace when she closes the minuscule distance between them. He tilts his head back, prepared to tuck hers beneath his chin; he’s taken by surprise, however, when her hand slides to the back of his neck and pulls him toward her. Their lips collide. Winry’s are both moist and dry in certain areas, her ragged breaths drying out the skin, her tears wetting them at random as they fell. She tastes salty, something Edward had only tasted on her after she had munched on a bag of pretzels late at night. The taste bothers him, the saltiness serving as proof of her broken heart. He puckers his lips, kissing her back, when she deepens it, the tip of her tongue slipping into his mouth. It’s nothing alarming—Winry craved comfort, comfort from him, and if kissing helped her, then so be it.

His hands position themselves—the right at the back of her neck, the left at the small of her back. He kisses her eagerly, pouring every ounce of himself into her. He’s missed her immensely, wanting nothing more than to take her pain away. The hand at her neck grips her tight, and he hopes that she knows just how much he loves her.

The kiss, however, doesn’t end, even as his mouth breaks from hers. Her plumped, warm lips trail kisses down his neck, sucking on his pulse point. He can feel her hands fumble with the button of his pants. His heart catches in his throat, the blood in his body beginning to swell what’s within his pants. She wants sex, that much is clear, and as much as he wants it, too, it feels wrong. Winry is distraught over the loss of her dog, and Ed isn’t certain she’s thinking clearly. He grabs her wrists as she tugs down his zipper.

“Wait, stop,” he breathes. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “Stop.”

Her mouth detaches from his neck, the artificial breeze from the ceiling fan cool against his slick skin. She’s breathing heavy, giving in to the lust that has fallen atop her like a large wave. He can see it in her eyes, yet the pain associated with grief lingers within. The pull tab of his zipper remains grasped between her thumb and forefinger. He swears he can feel her tug it slightly upward. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong—” with her wrists still in his hands, he brings her hands away from his body and holds them between their bodies, her hands at eye level. ”—is this, Win. I can’t sleep with you knowing you’re in so much pain. I don’t want you throwing yourself into something you might not want to do.”

A fire burns in those bright blue eyes of hers. Her brow furrows, almost as though she’s glaring at him, and she yanks her hands away. “Yeah, I am in pain; that’s why I want to have sex with you.”

He screws his face into a look of puzzlement.

Winry rolls her eyes. “You make me feel good, dummy. Really good. I just want you to make me feel like that right now, so I can just forget about everything for a little while.”

It was easy to forget about the world when one had sex. No matter what was going on, Edward always lost himself whenever he was inside of Winry. It was as though they were the only two individuals in existence whenever they made love. Her work and his research were nonexistent during those times, leaving them free to show just how much they meant to one another. Those were some of his favorite times. Now, with it spelled out before him, he understands where she is coming from.

His gaze falls to his torso as his hands begin to unbutton his shirt. He can feel Winry’s eyes on him, watching his fingers move delicately, as not to tear the buttons from the fabric. He leaves the shirt open, exposing his chest and abdomen, and grabs her by her waist. Automatically, she throws her arms around his neck. The tips of their noses bump together, and they look at one another for a brief moment.

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

He registers a quick nod just before Winry angles her head and kisses him. Her arms move from his neck, hands trailing the width of his shoulders and pushing the fabric down his body. He rolls her onto her back and pulls his arms free of his sleeves, crumpling the red shirt and tossing it aside. He kisses her with hunger and passion, pouring every inch of his soul into each movement of his lips. He has two months worth of pent-up lust for the woman beneath him, though he is also driven by her desire to feel the immeasurable pleasure only he can bring her, rather than the pain of losing the family dog. Calloused fingers weave through the hair at his neck, unintentionally tugging as they curl into a fist. The other hand pulls the tie from his hair, allowing it to flow freely down his back. His own hands work at removing his old t-shirt from her small frame. Their kisses are briefly interrupted as Edward removes the clothing from her body. He tosses it aside and dives back in to resume what they had been doing, while Winry reaches between them to continue unzipping his pants. He’s hard beneath the constricting fabric, his bulge growing even more prominent as she pushes them down his waist, though hidden still by his boxers. He refuses to, once again, place their kissing on hold; he wedges an arm between her and the mattress, bringing her up with him as he rolls back onto his knees. With his free hand, he pushes his pants off one side at a time, and lies her back down when they reach his calves. He does his best to kick them off the rest of the way, cursing against her mouth in the process.

“Wait, wait.” Winry’s words catch him off guard, though he struggles to form coherent thoughts in his haze. It isn’t until he feels her push his pants the rest of the way with her feet that he understands the need for the brief pause. Once they’re off of him completely, a crumpled mess at the foot of the bed, her hands find either side of his face, drawing him back in for more.

It’s easy enough to forget the loss she has suffered, the loss he has suffered, as they grope and nip at one another. Edward’s every sense is enveloped by her—he feels every inch of her body beneath him; the smoothness of her skin beneath his palms, the moisture of her lips against his, the slick heat dampening her underwear as his knee positions itself at her core. Her scent—sunshine, iron, grease, apples—intoxicates him. Her taste—salt, cinnamon, and something inexplicably Winry—drives him wild. He steals a glance of her bare chest as his kisses move to her neck, noting how shallow her breaths have grown, marveling at her breasts that only he was allowed to see. Her whimpers and high-pitched moans are like music to his ears as his right hand palms her breast, his thumb toying with her nipple.

She writhes beneath him, writhes against his knee, and claws at his sculpted back. “Ed,” she whimpers, “Ed, please.”

It’s impossible for him to abandon his assault against her skin. He trails kisses down her neck and toward her chest, dipping his tongue in the groove of her collarbone. He’s free to do as he pleases here, free to mark her skin in the heat of passion. His hand, however, abandons her breast and disappears between her legs, fingers working their way between her folds and rubbing circles where she needed it most through the damp fabric of her underwear. A quick gasp escapes her, and her nails dig into his skin.

“Ah—!” her head falls back against the pillow. Her nails scrape along his skin, and he relishes in the sensation, proud that he is capable of bringing her to such heights. His hand disappears into her underwear, fingers vanishing amidst coarse curls. She gasps in the middle of a whimper, having grown upset by the loss of contact, as he drags his fingertip from her bundle of nerves to her opening. He slides it in easily enough. She breathes out his name.

His mouth detaches from her skin, his head pulling away to look at her. Her skin, from her face to her chest, is flush. Three marks have been left behind on her chest; one beneath the dip in her collarbone, one on the inside of her right breast, another between both. Her head is tossed to the side, leaving but the left side of her face exposed. Her eyes are shut tightly, her lips parted and her jaw clenched. Sweat beads upon her skin, and Edward can taste it when he leans down to kiss her cheek. He presses his forehead to her temple and quickens the pace of his fingers as her walls begin to clench around him.

He’s lost in his rhythm and the moans that fill the air. His erection has reached its peak; it throbs painfully in his boxers, yearning to be buried within the woman he loves. But he isn’t here for himself. He’s here to please his fiancée, to get her mind off of things, to make her feel amazing in a way that only he can do. It comes as a surprise, however, when a hand gropes him through the loose fabric.

A strangled whimper escapes him. His hand comes to a sudden halt, his fingers still inside of her, and he breathes raggedly against her skin. His golden eyes are half-lidded, mind struggling to make sense of it all while his lower half cries out for movement. He gives an involuntary buck of his hips. The friction created by the fabric of his boxers hurts, but the reassuring squeeze Winry offers sends a chill down his spine.

She turns her head and meets his gaze. He can feel the quick rise and fall of her chest, hear the shallow breaths she takes. There’s a pleading look to those blue eyes of hers. “I need you, Ed.”

The majority of his brain has been shut off, the momentary pleasure she has given him short-circuiting his thought process. He isn’t sure what she means. She has him, part of him, inside of her, fingers curled to stimulate a spot he’d memorized long ago when he’d first happened upon it. She’d been close, and he could bring her there, if only she would let him finish…

There’s cool air at his back, burning the scratches she had made. Her other hand has left him to join her right, gripping the waistband of his underwear and tugging them down his hips. She takes him in her hand once more and begins to stroke him.

The sound he makes would have embarrassed him two years ago when they’d begun their sexual relationship. But Winry had heard every sound he could make; there was no longer embarrassment, only an overwhelming sense of gratification that she was capable of making him feel such ways. He grits his teeth and growls deep in his throat, the hand he’s using to hold him upright gripping the sheets.

“Ed…” There’s his name, again, this time in a much more commanding tone. “Please…”

What remains of his working mind is lost in an overwhelming fog of lust. He removes his fingers and wipes them carelessly on the sheets. A fire ignites in his eyes, darkening his golden irises. His fingers curl around the slim waistband of her underwear and he tugs them down her hips. He tosses them aside, and Winry’s legs lock around his waist, pulling him to her. He’s pressed to her core, twitching in anticipation, when her lips crash against his. Her lips move at a feverish pace, and Edward struggles to keep up. Their teeth clack against each other, and their tongues meet at awkward angles. There is a point at which she takes his bottom lip between her teeth and gently tugs, sending him into a frenzy. She’s grown impatient, hips bucking upward, begging for him to take charge. He grips the sheets at either side of her head; a primal urge takes control, and she assists in guiding him as he enters her.

It is an entirely different state of being when he is inside of her. They move as one, instinctively matching the rhythm set by the one taking charge. Their ragged breaths mingle with the sounds of skin-upon-skin, and it isn’t long before Winry’s pleasured cries start to ring out.

“Ed… Haa…” She gropes at his arms, hands sliding down to his wrists. She pauses to throw her head back and moan as he buries himself inside of her. Her fingers wedge themselves beneath the edges of his palms, and she grunts through her teeth, “Hands… Gimme… your hands…”

His knuckles, white from the strength of his grip, begin to pinken as he lets go of the sheets. He slips his hands into hers, threading their fingers together, and holds them tight. It’s a simple gesture that makes their love-making that much more intimate. Edward continues to bury himself deep inside of her, his rhythm never once lost. He leans down to press his lips against the tip of her nose, and rests his forehead atop hers. He shuts his eyes and basks in all that is her. The smell of sex lingers in the air, the sound of her moans fill his ears, and an overwhelming sense of pleasure courses through his body. He begins to groan as he inches closer and closer to his climax; his pace begins to quicken, a warmth settles in his stomach, and an electric current spreads throughout him like fire. Her walls grip at his length, her moans growing louder and more frequent. He needed only to hold on just a little longer…

He’s midway through a thrust when his name rings out like a mantra from her lips. Her nails dig painfully into the backs of his hands, her thighs squeeze his waist with crushing strength, and she closes around him repeatedly. Her body shakes beneath him, hips bucking frantically as her body seeks to prolong her orgasm. It all becomes too much for him—he grows rigid as he finishes, her name on his lips as he cries out in pleasure. “W-Winry…!”

The last of his thrusts are shallow and lack rhythm. His limbs grow heavy, his arms shaking, barely capable of keeping him upright. He collapses atop her, his face buried in a mess of her hair, struggling to catch his breath. There’s a deafening ringing in his ears and a blinding light behind his eyelids. His body is unbearably warm and tingly, the part of him still inside of her throbbing and becoming overly sensitive. One involuntary flex of her muscles, and he would be done for, seeing stars and incapable of silence.

Time passes. At some point, Winry had untangled their hands from one another and begun rubbing his back. Her fingertips ghost across his skin, tracing the scar left behind by his automail port, and that at his lower back that had nearly claimed his life. He feels himself slipping into unconsciousness—the stress, worry, and lack of adequate sleep on the train, combined with the exhaustion following sex, weighs him down. He can’t succumb to sleep, however. Not this time, at least. He needs to know that he did what was asked of him, he needs to know that she’s okay.

He reluctantly pulls out and collapses beside him, on his back. He throws his left hand atop his belly and splays his fingers, taking a mental note that he’ll have to fetch her something to clean up with in a moment. With his other arm, he wraps it around her body and pulls her to his side. She responds by lying her head against his chest, her hand quick to follow. His fingertips explore the length of her spine.

Her chin digs into his collarbone, though he isn’t bothered. That lazy smile of hers is far too cute to even give the discomfort a second thought. “Hey,” she utters.

“Hey,” he says back, voice hoarse, a crooked smile on his face. He waggles his brow as they stare at one another. He licks his lips and closes his eyes, again, offering her a quick peck. She giggles.

It’s like music to his ears. She had laughed so much after he and Alphonse had returned home. It became his personal goal to make her laugh whenever possible—seeing her smile, hearing her joy… it never failed to make him fall for her all over again. And now, after shedding tears night and day, he’d gotten her laughing, and with something so simple. His heart soars.

“I love you,” she presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. “I love you.” Again, to his chin. “I love you.” And again, to the hollow of his throat. “I love you.” And one last time, to the center of his chest where his heart lies. “So much.”

He wraps his other arm around her and crushes her to his chest. She giggles again, and he swears he could walk on water at that moment. “I love you, too.”

He watches her fight the heaviness of her eyelids. She had been through so much in such a short amount of time—she deserved rest, and as much as he would like to join her, he opts to observe her, instead. Winry loses the battle against herself and closes her eyes; Ed hopes that the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest aids in lulling her to sleep.

Yet, not even a moment later, she smiles and traces circles against his skin. “Thank you.”

Thank you? Thank yous weren’t typically exchanged after sex; at least, not in their relationship. He stares at her, brow furrowing in his confusion, and it hits him like a ton of bricks. She’s thanking him not for pleasing her, but for bringing her comfort when she’d needed it most.

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me, Winry.”

“Yes, I do,” she insists. “I didn’t ask you to come all the way out here for me, but you did it, anyway.”

“Well, yeah, that’s because I love you, and you were hurting.” He grits his teeth, the sounds of her sobs on the phone playing in his mind. “I wasn’t here when it mattered most.”

A comfortable silence settles within the bedroom. The invisible patterns she traces along the planes of his chest continue. Edward lets his head fall to the right, his gaze landing on the burgundy collar he’d set atop her bedside table. Gone are the days of Den’s loud barks waking him up in the early hours of the day. No longer would he or his brother have to anticipate being knocked to the ground by the old dog upon their return home. The metal tag on his collar would no longer jingle through the house with every step he took. He would no longer find the dog’s head in his lap, begging for food at the dinner table, nor would he find him jumping on the sofa, lying atop him like a lap dog.

His attention returns to the woman on his chest, at peace in his presence, if only momentarily. His chest tightens as the guilt settles in. He closes his eyes.

“I think…” His lips purse, and his fingers comb through her hair. “I think I’m done traveling.”

Winry swats at his chest. “No you aren’t. Stop being stupid.”

“Win, I’m being serious!”

She pushes herself up to scowl at him. “Traveling is your thing, Ed.”

“Not anymore,” he shakes his head. What should be a joyous moment is shadowed by grief. He frowns and twirls her hair around his index finger. “When I was in Creta, I kept thinking, ‘what if something bad happens and I’m not there?’”

“Edward…”

“I kept pushing that thought to the back of my mind because I was so sure nothing else could hit us. But then you called me about Den and…” He pauses, chewing at the inside of his cheek. He drops his gaze. “You crying over the phone killed me. I hadn’t heard you cry like that since…” He trails off again, his left hand gripping tightly at her hip. He sucks in a breath before continuing. “I need to be here for things like this, Win. I can’t handle the ‘what if’s’ when I’m gone.”

Winry swallows. He can feel her eyes upon him. “…What about Al? What about your research?”

“I can research from home. I’ve bought enough books while I was out there, and Al can always send me what he comes across.” He peeks at her through his lashes, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Besides, do you really think Al would be against me being home with you?”

His smile is contagious, spreading to her own face. She flashes her teeth at him. “No,” she presses a chaste kiss to his lips, “he’ll probably celebrate.”

“I think we can get a headstart on our own celebration, don’t you?” He rolls Winry back onto her back, pinning her against the mattress. She bursts into a fit of giggles as his hands roam her sides and his lips explore her body.

#edward elric #winry rockbell #edwin #edward/winry #edward x winry #fma #my fics #joey tribiani voice: IM BACK BABY

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krisdreaming · 4 years

Note

hi ^^ I really like your writing so I'd like a request with bokuto. I'd like the reader to be a female with long hair. The reader is a manager and she's friends with kuroo. She's pinning after bokuto and wants to know what his ideal type is. So she ask's kuroo and as a joke he said "short haired girls." Believing it the next day she came in with her hair cut into a bob. bokuto notices that day and keeps staring. When asked about it by reader he confesses. Thanks so much ♡

Ayy, you sure can! Reader is Nekoma’s manager, btw. Fem reader! I had so much FUN writing this! ^^ That’s probably why it got so long, so I put it under a read more! This symbol is right under the read more: ➳♥

WC: 2k | My only warning is that it’s kind of crack-y

“Kuroo-kun?” He turns to look at you, and it’s officially too late to back down now. You hug your clipboard to your chest. You’d been going back and forth on whether this was even a good idea, and now that he’s looking at you with that too-knowing stare, you’re swinging back to “no”.

“What’s up?” He asks, cocking his head to the side and propping a hand on his hip. “Everything good getting ready for the training camp?”

You take a breath to steady yourself, then nod. “Yeah, great!” You manage a smile. “I just, well, I had a question for you. I was hoping you could, uh, help me out with something.” You really had been trying to look him in the eye, but by now your focus is on a flyaway strand of hair sticking out from his head.

“Yeah, sure. Shoot,” he prompts.

“Well, I was wondering…” You look down at your clipboard as if the best words to say will materialize there. They don’t. “Your friend Bokuto-san. Does he have a certain type that he likes?” It rushes out all at once. “Of girls?” You add, as if it wasn’t already obvious.

A grin slowly spreads across the captain’s face, and you chew nervously on your lip as he crosses his arms. “So, it’s Bokuto, is it? I figured you had a crush on somebody.”He laughs. “A type, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.” He seems to be enjoying this a little too much. “Anything for our precious manager.”

“Yeah?” You say weakly, huffing out a breath of relief now that you’d finally manged to say what you’d set out to.

“Here’s the thing. Bokuto really likes girls with short hair.” Oh. You can feel your smile begin to fade off of your face. “I mean, you know, it’s not make-or-break, but yup.” He nods sagely. “Short hair, I’m afraid.”

You subconsciously toy with the ends of your hair, wondering if it might be time for a change. It’s not as though you hadn’t ever considered it, and your friends always told you a shorter style would look good on you. So, maybe…

“Oh, but hey!” Kuroo is still talking. “That’s not the only thing. He also likes girls who smile a lot, girls with a sense of humor, girls who give him lots of encouragement…” He ticks them off on his fingers, “And girls that are dedicated. Sounds like somebody I know.” He grins, socking you lightly on the shoulder. You nod slowly, pasting on a smile in return. “You want me to put in a good word?” He asks.

“N-no!” You sputter, “That’s not necessary. I’ll just - thanks, Kuroo-kun.” You don’t want to imagine what sort of things he might think up to say to Bokuto about you. “You’ve helped plenty. Not a word about this, please?” You plead, clasping your hands in front of yourself.

He slides his fingers across his lips and makes a locking motion. “My lips are sealed.” He says solemnly, and gives you a genuine smile that says he’s telling the truth. “But if you change your mind, let me know!” He calls after you as you turn to go. You lift your hand in a quick thumbs up, knowing hell would freeze over before then.

➳♥

The next day, you arrive at the training camp bright and early to help the other managers get everything set up. You’re immediately greeted with a chorus of screeches and exclamations.

“Y/N-chan!” Kaori grabs your hands, “You cut your hair! It’s so adorable!” She giggles.

“Ah, thanks.” You nervously fiddle with the ends of your hair, now falling just above your shoulders. You’d loved it, then hated it, then loved it, and right now, you’re not quite sure what you think of your new style, but the encouragement is definitely pushing you back towards loving it again. You have to admit, it is much easier to style this way, and much cooler to deal with the summer heat of training camp week.

“So, is there someone special you’re trying to impress?” Yukie asks coyly, and you feel your cheeks heating up.

“Ah, well…”

“It’s Bokuto, isn’t it?” She interrupts before you can say another word. “Don’t lie! I see you stealing glances when you think no one is looking.”

You laugh weakly. “Um, well, yeah.” You don’t have much of a choice but to admit it. “Kuroo told me that he likes girls with short hair, so…” You don’t catch the look shared between Kaori and Yukie, the former of which gives her head a slight shake. There isn’t much time for the conversation to continue, because across the gym, you hear a cackle that can only belong to one person.

“That, right there, is dedication!” Kuroo wheezes as he approaches you, and you narrow your eyes, self-consciously reaching for your hair again. “You look great.” He assures you, laughter still hanging on his voice. “Adorable.” He gives your hair a slight ruffle before you duck away. Kenma casts him a suspicious glance before looking back your way.

“Y/N, your hair looks nice.” He assures you with a small smile, and as the morning progresses, the rest of the team says the same, in one form or another. Their opinions aren’t really the ones you’re concerned about, though.

When the rest of Fukurodani finally arrives an hour later, you try to act cool while also attempting to steal glances at their captain. It seems every single time you glance his way, his eyes are already on you. It makes your face feel hot even though you aren’t entirely sure what his expression means.

“Y/N!” When he calls out to you, it takes a few moments to register that he’d actually said your name. You turn to him and remember at the last second to smile, because Kuroo said he likes girls that smile a lot. It sounds like he changes what he wants to say at the last second, because after an awkward pause he blurts out, “Are you keeping Kuroo in line?”

“Totally!” You say, giving him a thumbs up, “It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.” You laugh, and he laughs, too, a warm sound that makes your heart leap in your chest.

“Well, you do a great job!” He says, beaming at you. “So, Y/N…” He steps a little closer to you, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Bokuto-san!” He whips his head around at the sound of Akaashi’s voice, standing with his arms crossed on the neighboring court along with the rest of the team.

“Oh,” He says, sheepishly reaching for the back of his neck, “Guess our first match is starting. We’ll catch up later, yeah?” He asks, looking so earnest and sincere that you don’t have to think about the easy smile that comes to your face.

“Definitely,” You agree, watching as he jogs back over to his team. You stand rooted to the spot until you feel an elbow jab into your side.

“Y/N, our match is starting,” Kuroo prompts, and it’s only when you turn your gaze to him that you realize how closely you’d been watching Bokuto. The grin on his face is insufferable. “I know you’d much rather stand here and admire the view, but we kinda need our manager right now,” He chuckles.

“You’re- You’re-” You mutter, unable to figure out just what he is.

“A great captain and wonderful friend? I know.” He laughs, jogging away before you can land a hit. You have no choice but to follow after him.

The rest of the day is filled with practice matches and between working with the other managers to prepare lunch and running back and forth to fill water bottles in addition to filling out your paperwork for each match, you have very little time to even think about Bokuto. It isn’t until the evening as you wash the water bottles for tomorrow that you let your mind wander.

Does he like your haircut? Does he like you? Was his special attention really special, or is he just that friendly of a guy? Does he see you as anything other than Nekoma’s manager? You’d been scrubbing the same poor water bottle for three minutes when a voice interrupts your train of thought.

“Oh, Y/N!” You turn, and there, standing in the hallway behind you, is the person who’d taken over your thoughts. “Hey,” He says with a grin.

“Hey, Bokuto-san, how were your matches today?” You’ve been smiling since the moment you heard his voice.

“They were great, but, Y/N! You cut your hair!” He gestures to your head, and you run your fingers through the ends of your hair yet again.

“Oh, you noticed?” You duck your head as you feel the tips of your ears grow hot. “I just though, you know, time for a change and all that. So you like it?” You ask, shocked at your own boldness.

“Yeah! Yeah, I really do. It looks good on you.” He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, cheeks starting to flush just the slightest bit.

“Good,” You murmur, “I’m glad you like it short,” You admit bravely as he takes a step closer to you. The water bottles and dissolving soap suds in the sink behind you are completely forgotten.

“Short hair, long hair, I don’t really care as long as it’s your hair!” He blurts out, and he must realize exactly what he said the moment the words leave his mouth, because his face instantly turns two shades redder. “B-because I think you’re really cool,” he continues, more subdued, gaze flickering between your face and somewhere past your shoulder. You can’t even formulate a response, so you keep watching him, wide-eyed.

“Bokuto-san?” You finally say, when the silence stretches too long.

“Don’t call me that, it makes me think about Akaashi, and I don’t want to think about Akaashi right now.” He chuckles nervously. “Just call me Bokuto.”

“Okay,” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Bokuto?” You can’t believe this is happening.

“I really like you, Y/N! You’re really cute, and fun, and you always make me smile. If you want, I thought maybe, some day when the matches end early, we could get ice cream or something.” He says it so fast, in one breath, that it takes you a few seconds to process everything, and a few more to realize what just happened.

“Wow,” You breathe. His expression is frozen, waiting. “Bokuto, I - I really like you, too. I think - I’d love to go out with you,” You finish with a breathy giggle, still not quite sure this is actually happening.

“Really?” He laughs, grabbing your hands before you can react. “That’s - that’s great! Perfect!” His hands are warm and envelop yours completely.

“Good,” You say softly, giving his hands a squeeze as warmth continues to bubble up in your middle. Something he’d said earlier is still niggling in the back of your mind. “Bokuto? Can I - can I ask you a stupid question?”

He cocks his head. “It won’t be stupid, but go for it!” He says, nodding encouragingly.

“Do you - do you prefer short haired girls?” You ask, cringing at the strange nature of your question.

“Well, I dunno, I guess I never really thought too much about it,” He scratches his chin. “But I like it on you!” He adds quickly. “Really, it looks great! Your long hair was great too, though. Um, is that what you wanted to know?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Yeah, sorry.” You lean in closer, focusing on his smile and the way his eyes are completely fixed on you. Kuroo is very, very lucky that, right now, you’re entirely too happy to think about kicking his ass.

(”Are you okay, Kuroo-senpai?” Lev pauses from receiving practice to ask. He notices the strange look that crosses Kuroo’s face.

“Yeah, fine,” Kuroo assures him. “I felt a weird shiver just now. It was probably nothing.”)

#Haikyuu #Haikyuu imagines #Bokuto Koutarou #Bokuto Koutarou x reader #Bokuto x reader #Haikyuu x reader #request

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dreamlover31 · 3 years

Text

Love Will Find a Way: Chapter 1

“Liv, I appreciate you trying to help but I just don’t think it’s a good time for me”

“Alexa, you can’t shut yourself off from people just because you’re afraid of getting hurt. Life is about taking risks and dealing with its aftermath whether it’s good or bad”

Alexa sighed as she took another sip of her wine, while Liv had a point about how she shouldn’t close herself off from people just because of a bad breakup, she didn’t feel that now was a good time to jump back into the dating pool. Earlier that day, she’d stopped by Liv’s apartment to check in on her and Noah and to get the low down on what’s been going on between her and Tucker, but at some point, the conversation shifted from talking about Olivia’s relationship status to hers. The drama started when Alexa found out that the man she’d been dating for a little over a year was cheating on her with one of his coworkers, heartbroken and devastated, she turned to the only person she could trust; Liv. Alexa couldn’t believe how she could have been so stupid, she gave her heart and soul to this man only to have it ripped to shreds, for a while she had gone into a deep depression in which she thought she would never crawl out of but luckily Olivia was there to help pick up the pieces. Now, here she was, sitting on Liv’s couch trying to gracefully decline her offer of being fixed up with a close friend of hers.

“Look I just don’t think I’m ready to take that leap again”

“I understand your hesitance, but I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think that the two of you would be great together”

Alexa sighed, “…So this guy works with you?”

“Yeah he’s the ADA for Manhattan, he’s a little rough around the edges but once you get to know him…he’s a pretty decent guy”

Alexa takes a moment to consider her offer, well if she’s vouching for the guy then I guess it wouldn’t hurt just to at least talk to him, what’s the worst that can happen right.

“Alright, I’ll meet with him but if things go south with this one, not only will I kick his ass, I’ll kick yours too”

Olivia laughed as she patted Alexa’s shoulder, while they sat on the couch drinking their individual glasses of wine, the two of them continued with small talk as Noah played with his toy truck in the middle of the living room floor, but in the back of her mind Alexa couldn’t help but wonder if she was making a mistake. A couple of days later, Olivia had texted her while she was working her shift at a domestic violence shelter, she told her that she was able to schedule a meet with him at the coffee shop down the street for later that day. Alexa sent a quick text back to confirm the time and place, once it was sent she felt a bit of anxiety at the prospect of meeting this mystery man, oh man what if I meet him and he’s not my type or that he’s too high strung for me or something…no wait, do not jump to conclusions until after you meet him. After she clocked out, she walked right down the street to the coffee shop and took a seat at one of the tables outside.

As she anxiously awaited his arrival, her nervous ticks started to kick in, first she tapped her fingers on the table then she would constantly look down at her phone every three seconds, the anxiety proved too much for her so she rose up from her chair and was about to leave when she saw an older man wearing a dark grey three-piece suit and brown long coat with a briefcase in tow approach the table. As she looked upon him, Alexa immediately recognized him as the ADA who was in the news recently for indicting those three cops in the Terrence Reynolds shooting, the same ADA that Liv had told her about that day she visited her apartment, he extended his hand out and said:

“You must be Alexa, I’m Rafael Barba”

“Yeah, I know who you are…I’ve seen you on the news.” Alexa replied as she reciprocated his handshake, after the initial introductions, she motioned for him to take a seat in the second empty chair that sat across from her. As the two of them sat down, the anxiety that she had felt earlier had slowly dissipated.

“So how much has Liv told you about me?”

“Well…she said that you are very dedicated to your job, that you are very passionate about getting justice for the victims but that sometimes you can be pretty stubborn-in fact she’s always mentioning how the two of you are constantly butting heads whenever a high profile case lands in her lap”

A smirk spread across Rafael’s face as the conversation continued. “What about me, did she give you any details?”

“Just that you’ve been working at domestic violence shelter for the last three years…and she mentioned that you suffered a break up recently”

Alexa nodded as she displayed a small smile, but then quickly changed the subject by suggesting that the two of them order some coffee because she believed that they both could use a caffeine fix after the long day each of them had. Rafael followed her lead as she stepped inside the establishment, while she was at the counter, she placed an order for two coffees-black with no sugar. With drinks in hand, they both made their way back to the table outside, the conversation continued with the usual back and forth; Alexa talked a little bit about her family but did not go into further detail while Rafael shared stories of his upbringing in the Bronx and of his years at Harvard.

As the hours ticked by, it became increasingly clear that Alexa was impressed by how a man like him had come so far in his life, a poor kid from the Bronx making it all the way to the Ivy leagues to become one of the greatest and toughest ADAs not only in Brooklyn but Manhattan as well. When he made the comment of how his big mouth would get him into trouble as a kid, Alexa thought to herself: gee from what I’ve seen on the news, it looks like that big mouth of yours is still getting you into trouble. As she continued to listen to him, Alexa was thinking about how aside from his looks and intelligence, he seemed like an all-around nice guy and that maybe he deserved a chance. The conversation was then interrupted by the ringing of Rafael’s phone in his breast pocket of his jacket, once he reached in and pulled it out, he saw that it was a text from Liv and let out an annoyed grunt.

“I’m sorry, I’m needed down at the precinct…it was a pleasure meeting you Alexa,” Rafael said as he rose from the table and extended his hand towards her, as she shook his hand, she replied:

“Likewise…maybe we can do this again sometime”

“Sure, I’d like that”

“Great, I know this little Italian place about a block away from where I live…maybe we could have dinner”

“Alright, I’ll get your number from Liv and we’ll set it up”

Rafael hailed a cab and as it drove off, they waved each other goodbye, as she walked off in the other direction, Alexa smiled to herself and thought: wow that went better than I expected…remind me to thank Liv the next time I see her.

Tagging: @madpanda75 @laceybellerain @tropes-and-tales @southern-magnolia @thatesqcrush @glimmerglittergirl @misssirenlove @beccabarba @madamsnape921 @teamsladsandgents @karens-imagined-world @itsjustmyfantasyroom @youreverycolor

#rafael barba x reader #love will find a way #raul esparza #bringing back an oldie but goodie

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juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years

Text

Not by the Moon | 01

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, allusion to anxiety

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Next chapter

Masterlist

There is nothing quite like visiting a bookshop on a rainy autumn day, walking the pavements that will soon deepen in their shade of grey as the scarlet and burnt orange leaves will be decorated with tiny watery crystals. The fierce wind preludes to the sorrow of the gloomy clouds overhead, the chill creeping beneath the navy trenchcoat cooling the little skin bared by a simple ink black V-neck shirt. Caffeinated bordeaux sneakers hasten their step when leaving the district ruled by busy city life and entering the artisans district on the east side of town, where the boroughs are ruled by artists, individual shops, cafés and independent bookstores that each have their own vibe.

For a while now, a specific one has yet to be visited, intending to drop by ever since that long walk that lead through many a cobblestone street lined with brownstone houses and not a single business anywhere in sight. Except for Paper Souls, a hidden gem tucked away at the edge of the area where homes and commerce just meet and have resulted in a small store disguised as a proper worker’s house. As can be judged from the window display, the shop sells both well-known titles alongside more obscure ones, bound in editions fresh from the press and those having lived a ready life on someone’s shelves.

A second before the first tears of the heavens fall and make their presence known by ticking against the window, the bookstore is entered with a low sigh of delight. Nothing comes remotely close to the distinct scent of books, this specific combination of mustiness and ink laced with the fragrance of the weather outside and perfumes of customers. Or, in this case, solely the owner’s.

Here and there, a rumour about the man ruling the paper kingdom has been picked up and it is safe to say not all have been positive. A subject that has been frequently touched upon, oft causing more of a stir than the overall intimidating attitude, are the differently coloured eyes. One brown like hazelnuts at the end of the year and the other as blue as the ocean far outside the harbour.

The ones belonging to long blonde locks with dark roots looking up from the current read behind the counter and which are briefly met with a polite nod and casual greeting. At least one aspect of the groundless gossip is true because the disgruntled stoicism on the handsome face acknowledging the professional meaningless acquaintance silently makes the heart race and constricts the throat. It awakens the need to run and hide somewhere among the chestnut shelves, become a character in a tale so as to vanish and thus avoid upsetting the clerk by merely being present. Which might be the biggest problem, considering today’s goal of staying inside and spend it as is habitually done.

Don’t be silly. Just find a book and settle down somewhere to read a few pages. As long as you’re quiet, nothing’s gonna happen.

Thus, mayhaps repeating the self-chastisement once or twice, the creaking worn floorboards are walked upon as ghostlike as possible though every step makes the Body cringe due to the loudness disturbing the silence.

And him.

The young man whose gaze is momentarily met before fleeing to the vintage couch in an incline with a gorgeous Penguin hardcover copy of William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience, which has been found in the poetry section across from the counter. Breath was held while standing on the tips of the toes while reaching for the thin volume on one of the highest shelves, hoping to not attract attention and refusing to use one of the nearby dark-wooden stools to climb atop because such acrobatics would likely not sit well with the person causing the hairs at the back of the neck to stand on edge.

A sigh of relief cannot be helped when loosening the buttons of the trenchcoat and tossing it over the arm rest before snuggling up in the corner of the sofa. Finally a moment devoid of stress, a chance to be carried off by the works of a beloved poet and artist embodying the truth of childhood and adulthood.

But being brought back all too soon from criticism on the corrupt Catholic Church by the oppressive presence of loose ripped jeans which are perceived just above the edge of the mustard cover. Despite being barely able to gather the courage to look away from the page, lashes nevertheless look up to hands tucked into denim pockets and non-matching irises peering down. Curiously, though it is also alarming, the gaze from above is awkward as if unsettled by the mere presence of a well-meaning bookworm which confirms the assumption about being a nuisance.

Although, the paradoxically misplaced inquiry spoken in a husky voice undermines the deduction. The lowering of broad shoulders does too, allowing personal defenses to waver a bit in the pursuit of kindness. ‘’How do you like your coffee?’’

Bewildered yet finding no clear reason for the kind question in the stoicism of two-toned locks, the simple reflex of asking for a repeat is acted upon with a sheepish tongue that does not know what to make of the situation. ‘’Sorry, what?’’

‘’Coffee. How do you drink yours?’’ A gruff slightly chubby thumb points toward the door, the glass decorated with autumnal tears. ‘’It might be raining, but I still need caffeine. Figured I might as well buy you something too. So, what should I get?’’

What do I do? Do I accept the offer? I mean, he offered it, but declining would still be polite. Then again, it’s free coffee.

‘’Oh, uhm, that’s very sweet of you.’’ The bundle is put down in the lap, flabbergasted shy hands tucked between the thighs while trying to stay as small as possible. It is a silly instinct, but the closeness of the intimidating bookshop clerk calls for it. Moreover, the deep slightly hoarse tone that sounds both as if still recovering from something and being exhausted with the world does not make matters better.

However, albeit for a split second that is not credible enough, little will-o-the-wisps illuminate the entrancing wildness of an ocean and hazelnut forest as a quicksilver smile flashes over roseate lips. A beautiful fleeting sight which might never have arisen from the solemnity resting like a mask on the youth’s face.

A daydream.

Indeed, surely that is what it must have been. What other reason could there be to show a sign of being pleased with someone who does not feel particularly welcome and at ease in this paper kingdom?

Led astray by the unfocused train of thought, distracted by what may or may not have been witnessed, the actual answer comes out on a mumble. All the while boldly looking back, wondering. ‘’An iced vanilla latte... would be nice.’’

Acknowledging the order with a mere low rumble similar to a wolf’s, the clerk sets off on a caffeinated journey and leaves an affected soul behind.

While still being highly uncomfortable with the lad’s presence, the thought of what just happened and the offer of a drink that was not in the slightest reluctant imprints a warm impression on a racing heart. Yet, before any ungrounded fantasies arise, the poetry bundle is quickly picked up again and later exchanged for a thick volume of Keats’s poetry that has been picked up in a rush to seemingly have never moved from the leather couch. To not leave a single trace of chaos which might trigger the wrath of the bookshop keeper and perhaps end up in being drenched by cold coffee.

All the fear is evidently in vain because, when being once again engrossed by poetry, the ghost of a touch over the cheekbone breaks the spell. As if awakening from a dream, the suggestion of the outstretched cold drink passes unnoticed. Instead, it is replaced by a look at ripped jeans beneath a loose tartan blazer, resulting in the novel discovery of a little gem embedded in the right nostril.

The rattle of ice entrapped in plastic fully awakens the senses as well as the sharp rustle of a paper bag bearing the logo shaped like an apple out of which a bite has been taken. ‘’Here. It’s on me. Don’t think anything of it, I just don’t want you to get dehydrated or hungry.’’

‘’Right.’’ With trembling hands expecting to have the food carelessly thrown into the lap and drink pushed into the palm, the surprising meal is accepted. Without the slightest sign of pushing. ‘’Still, thanks.’’

Once again, a beastly grunt is all that is received in return before checkered trainers retreat to the front of the establishment. Strangely, they soon return with the current read which was enjoyed behind the counter alongside the cold brew that was picked up to battle the fatigue that noticeably laces demeanour. Because, when sinking back into the sofa after having been gestured at to scoot over and haphazardly making room, lashes flutter shut for longer than a mere blink. Notwithstanding, they are awake enough to notice the shift in reading. ‘’Keats?’’

‘’Uh, yes. He’s one of my favorites alongside Blake, Donne and, on occasion, Wordsworth.’’ Personal enthusiasm takes over when mentioning the last poet with whom there is a love-hate relationship, erasing any anguish at being close to the keeper of the kingdom and thus making it possible to ignore the few centimeters of space between bodies. ‘’Even though he’s basically a fraud by turning his sister’s experiences into poetry. It makes one wonder whether he had any talent to come up with something himself. Now, I do believe some of his works are genuinely his, but not all. Sorry, I’ll- I’ll shut up.’’

Questioning chestnut and water reintroduce the silence disturbed by autumnal rain accompanied by howling winds, stretching out over the empty streets. Nobody likes a blathering fool, least of all the stoic who surprisingly has decided to join one’s company.

Or, so was the original thought that is now nullified by a sliver of a smile and something inaudible smokily mumbled beneath breath. There is no courage to inquire about what was said nor ask for a reason for being evidently entertained, simply rapidly picking up the volume again to resume reading with an overheated, ashamed mind.

Here and there, however, sneaky peeks are thrown in the direction of bleached locks thoroughly enjoying Dante’s Inferno, a work that has been on the to-be-read list for the longest time and somehow has never been crossed off.

Come on, you can do it. Ask him how it is, whether he likes Dante. Don’t be a marshmallow. Okay, one, two... fuck.

‘’How’s Keats?’’ Beating the barely daring tongue to it, the young man interrupts the hardly focused enjoyment of poetry that maybe lasted about fifteen minutes.

‘’Good.’’ More wants to be added to the opinion, but cannot be shaped nor voiced due to the bafflement at seeing sincere interest pierce through an unwavering expression. On the other hand, another unnameable sentiment underlines attitude too, floating ever so slightly beneath the surface.

‘’You haven’t touched your food.’’ Lips slightly pout when glancing at the paper bag that rests on the trenchcoat that had hastily been draped over the other arm rest when bleached locks sat down, colourful irises dimming.

Worry.

Why does it affect him? What does it matter if I eat or not?

To hopefully grant a bit of reassurance, an absent-minded promise is made before diving back into the misery of a nightingale. ‘’I’ll eat in a bit. Just one more poem.’’

As fast as lightning, the volume flies from hapless palms and the scent of books mingled with musky mint suddenly leans over to grab the purchased treat, fingertips pressing against the side of the thigh. Every muscle tenses up at the new form of intimacy, inwardly praying for the tartan blazer to return to his place as soon as possible. ‘’No, it’s already two o’clock and I’m sure you had breakfast early. You should eat. Where’s your coffee?’’

A trembling finger points to the untouched iced vanilla latte on the floor, put just in front of the sofa. Hands rise even higher when the bookshop keeper’s heartbeat and heated broad chest can be temporarily felt when slightly chubby digits lean over to grab the plastic cup. ‘’I’m not…’’

‘’What?’’ Clearly not understanding the need to keep looking away, unsteadily focusing on the sides of the nearest bookshelf, the question comes out agitated as the retrieved items are pushed forward, unmistakably intended to be taken. The shift in behaviour is as little comprehensible as the likely appearance of warm rosy cheeks going paired with a fist pressing on the lips, tongue-tied.

Mentally chastising oneself for the awkward display, courage is forcibly gathered to face the puzzled grumpy young man and answer with a whisper. ‘’I’m not comfortable eating in public.’’

‘’We’re not in public.’’

‘’Or with people I don’t know.’’

This revelation is clearly unexpected, eyes widening when reluctantly elaborating on an irrational fear with folded hands tucked between the thighs. For a second, there is nothing but an uncomfortable hush in which the worst outcome is vividly painted in the mind. Fortunately and oddly, it is broken as the stoic’s attitude shifts to something that has not been witnessed before and which goes against any rumour floating around town.

A gentle smile plays around the corners of the mouth as the tense grip on the food and drink loosens, gently putting the rustling bag in the lap and a warm palm grabbing one hand to place the lukewarm cup in it. ‘’There. I’m Jaebeom, JB for short. Now, can you please eat something? And I promise I won’t judge you.’’

‘’Shouldn’t- Shouldn’t you eat something too? You look like you could use some energy.’’ Up close, the fatigue has become visibly noticeable outside the moment of sitting down and closing eyes for a little bit longer than would suffice for a blink. Affected by the niceness of the gentle acquaintance and thoughtfulness, the croissant in the bag is torn in half to offer a part to the current company. ‘’How about we share this?’’

‘’You don’t have to.’’ A low breathy chuckle rolls forth at the gesture, strangely elating the heart and stirring up a storm of butterflies in the stomach. Again, the same unintelligible phrase that was muttered under breath earlier seems to be repeated.

A penny for your thoughts. What did you say?

Putting aside curiosity to not prematurely cross any boundaries of politeness, what wants to be asked is suppressed and reformed into a request for sharing. After all, the lack of energy outlined by vague dark circles beneath non-matching irises is truly a cause for concern. ‘’Please? I don’t have that big of an appetite.’’

With a resigning sigh, the offer is accepted. Much to the strange delight of the soul who still is not entirely trusting of the bookshop keeper yet already has the mental defenses down a little bit more than before. ‘’Alright, if you insist.’’

What follows is an absolutely adorable though also surprising scenario as the pastry is enjoyed in one bite, the food disappearing without any trouble. Nibbling on the other half, staring cannot be helped as a sip of coldbrew is enjoyed to wash the treat down. However, the unintended impolite mannerism, of course, cannot pass under the radar. Hence is why dark brows furrow in puzzlement when remarking upon being a point of attention. ‘’What?’’

‘’Nothing. You just…’’ a moment is taken to try and find the right word yet failing to think of one which accurately describes the eating manner, ‘’you just wolfed that down.’’

‘’Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. I can be a bit, well, unmannered at times.’’ The gaze focusing on the iced black coffee adds to the sorrowful side profile, unwillingly nostalgic, but unapproachable for comfort. ‘’I try not to be. I’m trying to, no, never mind.’’ Another sip. ‘’Forget it. Just eat and stay as long as you like.’’

‘’Jaebeom?’’ In a reflex, after swiftly wiping fatty fingertips on the coarse paper napkin, the bookshop keeper is grabbed by the sleeve as he tries to move away. Alarmed by the sudden bold move, non-matching irises briefly flare with an odd mixture of fear and annoyance before seemingly realizing something and thus calming down. All this goes hidden behind a badly enacted tolerating low hum. ‘’Can you, I mean, only if you don’t mind, could you... could you stay here? For a little while? At least sit down for a few more minutes. I promise I won’t stare as I did and actually read.’’

‘’You want me to... stay?’’ Dark brows furrow in a strange confusion, uncomprehending of the normal request. Although, perhaps it is not so casual seeing as it needs to be thought about. ‘’Stay? Here?’’

‘’If you don’t mind? I’m sorry if I freaked you out, I really didn’t mean to.’’

‘’You didn’t. I should be the one apologizing for being so distant.’’

‘’I don’t blame you. You barely know me.’’

‘’I don’t know you.’’ The observation hits hard, the sternness of the reply crucifying the heart and constricting the throat. How odd a fact should have this result. Withal, the misplaced hurt is a little soothed by the promise that follows. ‘’I’ll stay. But I’ll be closing in about two hours.’’

And thus, for one hour and a half, the paper kingdom falls quiet. Solely the tinkering tears of heaven decorating the glass of the windows, howling winds stirring the richly warm leaves into dance and occasional wandering lonely umbrella break the silence. Inside, the only noise to disrupt the hush is the turn of a page or sniffle that may or may not prelude to a cold.

However, all tranquil beauty knows an end for Time always runs out. Henceforth, it is at half past four that a light tap goes paired with the barely audible comment “you have to go”. Likely due to the aftermath of being pulled from a world of poetic Nature into gloomy Reality, there is a wrong perception of Jaebeom’s voice. Surely, the sorrowful reluctance is imagined.

As you said, you don’t know me.

The mere thought pains Body and Soul when grabbing the navy trenchcoat off of the faux leather arm rest, stepping towards the bookshelf where Keats was found and the exit afterwards. No chance of wandering a little longer between the books is given, the clerk following closely behind and unconsciously guiding feet towards the entrance.

‘’Y/N? Will you, uh…’’ Restless trembling palms hover in the air like two bent paws failing to illustrate something, a rosy flush spread over the cheeks, ‘’Can I put your jacket on? I mean, let me help you put your jacket on. That’s how you say it, right?’’

With an affirming hum, big palms with slightly chubby digits are allowed to help dress into the piece of clothing.

Glide over the side of the neck when collecting hair to make it flow over the collar instead of being tucked beneath it, leaving a trail of goosebumps and sharpening breath.

All the while maintaining eye contact, both our faces distorting with timidity. It is then that glances are haphazardly thrown around the empty store to avoid each other for a second wherein composure is hopefully found.

And it would appear that the buff tall blonde youth is the first to do so, speech matter-of-factly when voicing an unspoken suggestion while holding on to the upper arms. ‘’I haven’t even asked your name.’’

Bashfully, the answer is uttered in a proper vis-á-vis with entrancing two-toned irises though the urge to bolt out the door remains. Nevertheless, the rapid loss of contact is disliked, JB realizing how the intimacy might come across when glancing at the fingertips digging into fabric, almost begging to stay. ‘’It’s Y/N.’’

The instinct to flee is lessened by the step forward thoughtfully repeating the name, carefully feeling out the syllables as if comprehending a siren’s song. ‘’I had a good time, Y/N.’’

‘’Me too.’’ It is true because, despite the distance that was endeavoured to be closed with food, reading and shallow conversation, the time spent together was actually quite enjoyable. Notwithstanding, too much of the clerk remains unknown to say whether all has been out of politeness or if any sincere trust has been shown.

‘’Even though you’re still scared of me?’’

‘’I’m not!’’ A sigh rolls off the tongue at the sight of a smug grin on roseate lips knowing better than to lie about genuine sentiments. ‘You’re just... just kinda intimidating.’

‘’Kinda? To me it seems like a whole lot more than ‘just kinda’. You almost seem eager to go even though you were hesitating earlier.’’ Bright hazelnut and the summer sea are overcast by lonely grief putting on the airs of suppressed rage, painfully re-establishing and enhancing the distance that was briefly shortened with a step backwards. ‘’To get away from me. Make up your mind.’’

‘’Yes, I’m intimidated by you. A lot.’’ The renewed cold emptiness is warily bridged, planning out the words to say to not make matters worse. ‘’And, to be honest, I don’t want to go. Still, it’s because you intimidate me I might seem uneasy and glad to go, but I can assure you I’m not. I really had a good time. We might not have talked a lot, but I still had a splendid afternoon. With you. And for that, I’m grateful. I’m sorry I confuse you, make you feel awkward because of my behaviour.’’

The waterfall of a confession catches the bookshop keeper off guard, but also manages to make tense broad shoulders lower their defenses as colourful eyes calm down. Digits rise from the pockets of loose ripped jeans to envelop the upper arms once more, this time rubbing them reassuringly and let the personal walls crumble too. ‘You don’t have to be afraid of me nor apologize. Look, we’ll talk about this another time. For now, you have to go and I have to close the shop. Get home safely and don’t catch a cold.’

‘’You too.’’

‘’Don’t worry. I won’t.’’

With a last nod and gentle smile relieved at the prospect of good health, warm palms are stepped away from.

The watery autumn chill cools the heat from being seen off by blonde locks.

I couldn’t get sick even if I wanted to.

When the enchanting scent of summer citrus, autumnal blackberries and juicy peaches has faded, the two volumes that were touched by it are picked from the shelves without a clear understanding of why. Neither is there a sense of comprehension when it comes to the sheer curiosity about what it is that the adorable shy doe so likes about these specific poets. Notwithstanding, both books are picked up and put on the counter alongside the current read to take upstairs after sweeping and properly closing the shop.

Which does not take long, soon after already stumbling up the metal stairs to the apartment above the establishment with a famished stomach and tense muscles, watching the oppressive concrete clouds slightly give way to the lilac dusk before heading inside. Fortunately, dinner has been prepared in advance so the various side dishes solely need to be warmed up in the microwave just like the rice in the cooker. The hair dye job, however, will have to wait until tomorrow. That is, if it is remembered like the face of the local historian who seems awfully fascinated by the affliction distorting identity.

Shedding off the weight of the day, clothes are removed and tossed on the couch to be replaced by the bathrobe that was put there in the morning after yet another long night filled with amnesia. Afterwards, bare feet trod to the kitchen to retrieve the cold dishes from the refrigerator and put them in the microwave to heat up.

It’s getting late, but at least there’s still some time to read. Funny how my last thought is of you.

Just as the melancholic thought arises over a big bowl of bibimbap accompanied by William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience, the screen of the phone on the counter lights up after a brief buzz. When getting up to check, the message appears to be from the supernatural scholar.

“Good luck tonight. I’ll be at your place around 7. Hopefully, you’ll be yourself again. If not, I’ll wait outside. Jinyoung.”

As always, the text is signed with the young man’s name to help ease the recovery of ever-fading memory. Even after living around three years among humans again, the ability to recall actual names alongside how to enact civilized behaviour remains hard.

And becomes more difficult with every passing day.

For now, I want to try. I want to speak to you at least one more time and explain myself. Part ways on good terms, let you know what I am.

A smile cannot be helped at the sight of the bowl next to the mustard poetry bundle, vividly re-imagining how it was held by small hands on the faux leather sofa this afternoon.

How those same tiny digits tore off half of the croissant without hesitation and offered it to an animal, nibbling adorably on theirs while endeavouring to put on a human act and failing due to the hunger always preceding hell.

But a fantasy never lasts.

Time never stops.

It solely ticks.

Runs out.

Hopefully, I’ll remember you.

And the moon cannot be sworn by for She cannot stay away nor remain the same.

That night, the name of the bookish fawn is the last powerful word to recall before losing a grip on the world in the cold dark illuminated by artificial light.

Naked and shackled beneath the concrete ground.

Hoping for a memory.

Y/N.

#ksmutclub #GOT7 #GOT7 smut #GOT7 x Reader #Jaebeom #Jaebum #Im Jaebeom #Im Jaebum #GOT7 Werewolf AU #Werewolf!Jaebeom #Werewolf!Jaebum #Not by the Moon

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bienmoreau · 3 years

Text

here’s some spite dedicated to @everythingthatmatters

It takes nearly half the year for Jiang YueLou to set everything up, to tie up loose ends and finish his business in the city. There is so much to do, so many of the threads of his life severed so uncleanly, frayed and unravelling. it takes him time to gather all the scraps into something workable. the funerals come first of course. there have already been so many. he feels empty from them all. each one feeling like it has taken a piece of him with it. and of course this last; the worst, the hardest. he doesn’t know how he is able to stay standing for it, except that he has to of course. there’s so much to do and he’s the only one left to do it. it just takes him a little time.

He makes contact with Doctor Qiu, tells him that the clinic and all its contents are his as long as he takes responsibility for them. its not something he would know how to deal with and he’s not sure he’d be able to anyway. that place is YuZhi’s and he wants no part in dismantling it.

He wraps up as much as he’s able at the bureau. Establishes the groundwork for that bright future he dreamed of for the city. Jin DaCheng finally gets his wish of a higher position than him and despite his ribbing about it being only right there is also a moment of quite after he takes his seat at the desk for the first time before he mutters a reluctant, “this will take some getting used to” and the cocky grin he sends Jiang Yuelou away with is more melancholy and understanding than it’s comfortable for either of them to acknowledge.

He’d moved out of his own place already, knowing that it would be too much to ask Keying to leave her home again so soon and in the midst of so much grief.

But once all else is dealt with and the precious few left to say farewells to have been seen. They pack and close up number 58 too. He tells Keying to take with her anything she wants but doesn’t take anything of YuZhi’s for himself. Except the second copy of their photo.

Maybe one day they’ll come back to the city, -Keying still wants to be a doctor, “i want to help people like gege did” , and she’ll need an education for that- but not for a while, maybe never for him.

It’s summer when everything’s finally ready; he’s been finding all the things in the city that they never had the chance for now. The spring and summer excruciating reminders of how short their time really was. He knows already that this first year is going to be the hardest for this reason, everyday a reminder of all the experiences robbed from them. Winter had been so long and so hard for them and neither of them would ever have to chance to know anything different now.

The city is populated by ghosts and new grief around every corner, so he takes Keying and the cat and their bags and they leave.

The journey is beautiful this time of year, green and bright and bursting with life as they follow the river. The village is busier than it had seemed those long months before, not that he saw much of it then. It’s a good, simple busy; the hum of lives ticking over peacefully in honest days of work being done. He finds himself smiling just a little at that, it feels like a deep breath after too long underwater.

He stands in front of the house, Keying’s small hand in his as she looks at him, unsure but trusting his care for her. He wonders, not for the first time, if he’s going to be able to live up to it, but he already resolved that he will LIVE trying to. even if its the only thing he does with the rest of his days, for Yuzhi.

Keying is just about to get impatient with standing there when Aunt Wang opens to door, she has a basket of fishing line in her arms and clearly wasn’t expecting anyone, but her recognition of Yuelou is near instant. she puts the basket down looking between Yuelou and Keying as she steps closer.

Her expression softens when she gets a good look at him, like she can see that he’s barely holding himself up, and something inside him starts to tremble.

“I- I was hoping I could take you up on that soup you offered”

his voice doesn’t break but its a near thing and he’s vaguely aware of Keying squeezing his fingers where they’re starting to shake.

There are tears welling in Aunt Wang’s eyes but she closes the distance between them before they can fall and envelops Yuelou in her arms, and oh, its been so long. he lets go of Keying’s hand and allows himself to curve into the woman’s smaller frame. the tremble inside him grows in magnitude so that he’s sure she must be able to feel it, so that it starts to crack open the part of him that got frozen solid that day in the snow.

He knows he cries then, face buried in her shoulder, but he must pull himself together enough at some point to stand up again; to introduce Keying, to be ushered inside with her and sat down. Aunt Wang fusses over Keying and making sure they have drinks and something to eat.

He knows he needs to explain -later when Uncle is back too- and he should probably be embarrassed at just showing up and in the state he was in but can’t bring himself to care about that now. The house is cool and smells of fresh water and steaming fish.

Keying is telling Aunt Wang about the little fat cat they have in the car and she’s laughing for the first time all year. Jiang YueLou closes his eyes and just breathes.

He has a promise to keep and no idea what he’s going to do but that sound,

it’s a start.

#i cant believe my rage made me actually write something #if only it had been my essay...#anyway its 1am and no i am not going to proof read this #you get what you get when you wake up. im sorry you dont get a bank holiday maybe this will make up for it.#im going to bed and not thinking abt this again from now. im done.#killer and healer #my writing #mine

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godseen · 3 years

Photo

tw : death by fire characters featured : eddie , nat , ash .

it began just like any other day .

with only a couple hours of sleep ( thanks to insomnia and his choice of hyperfixation for the week ) , reggie jr was tired and lethargic as he got up at dawn . languid with his movements as he got dressed , a loud yawn escaped his lips that was quickly followed by a quick groan at the annoying tick and tock of the wall clock amidst the quiet of the morning . tick … tock … tick … tock … tick … tock … and reggie would have taken its batteries out there and then if he wasn’t suddenly distracted by the very faint smell of iron and burnt meat in the air . but in the end , reggie shrugged it off as some weird morning hallucination as his senses awoken with him . he had other things to worry about . it was 5:15 AM . and he was already running late .

reggie stood there for a moment , ( breathe in , breathe out ) channeling all the energy he could muster to face the rest of his day . then , a whirlwind of motions — he let his dog out to the backyard for a quick poo , brushed his teeth , took his vitamins , and prayed to his god for a great day for everyone in town . it was 5:49 AM when he was finally prepared , everything was muscle memory with his routine at this point .

the first signs of sunlight kissed his skin when he stepped outside , a comfort as the cold morning breeze hit his pale cheeks , but reggie didn’t have the time to bask in its warmth — eleven minutes before the first delivery , less than an hour and a half before opening time . the walk to the diner was brisk , with a few minutes to spare before fernando , their regular shipment driver , would deliver the produce that they couldn’t get from hidden hill farm . it was 5:59 AM , and reggie was waiting behind the diner for the shipment while he fed a family of stray calico cats .

he made a mental note to ask fernando about how his date went , remembering how excited the other man seemed to be about it the last time they talked . reggie always made a point to make conversation with everyone he’d come across , such a social creature with charm and the gusto for bringing people together . it was 6:20 AM , twenty minutes after fernando was supposed to arrive and reggie felt uneasy as it was the first time the other had ever been this late after all these years without any notice . the strange scent made its presence known again , stronger this time but reggie still couldn’t pinpoint what it was and where it was coming from .

beginning to be perturbed by the smell , reggie went back inside the diner , glad to see ruby ( auntie ruby , he’d call her — a good friend of his dad’s and a line cook for the diner since he was little ) was already there . he greeted her and asked how her weekend was , only to be ignored . he didn’t take it personally , albeit a little disheartening , since he figured she just woke up on the wrong side of the bed . they spent their opening preparations in awkward silence and reggie wondered whether something was wrong , but he didn’t want to prod so early in the morning . he was thankful when the clock struck 7:00 AM , finally time to open the diner and serve great food to darkwood residents , and their praises and conversations were his own food for the soul .

but it was unusually quiet , the silence almost too overwhelming that reggie couldn’t help but tap and knock on the counter endlessly to drown out white noise — their morning regulars seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth . and those that came were disinterested in his chit chat , simply took their coffee and meal , leaving without a word . he smiled at every customer , greetings highlighted with pep , disheartened at every time he was disregarded — again and again and again and again and again , like an endless repetition that left him deeply disturbed . there was something alien about what was happening … something so eerie , especially when the old jukebox unexpectedly began to play on its own to break the silence — and reggie wished it hadn’t .

i know you belong to somebody new but tonight you belong to me although we're apart you're a part of my heart but tonight you belong to me — the song began to play faster and faster with every syllable , and while it had malfunction before , it had never just played on its own accord — waitdownbythestreethowsweetitwillseemoncemorejusttodreaminthemoonlightmyhoneyiknowwiththedawnthatyouwillbego and the song continued to speed up until it just sounded like a loud high-pitched ringing , forcing him to cover his ears as he ran towards the jukebox so he could unplug it . and then , back to complete silence .

it was only 9:15 AM when reggie took his first break , so deeply disturbed that he had to step outside for fresh air . he texted nat , offered free strawberry milkshakes and curly fries just for her to stop by and make him feel less like a lunatic over what was happening . but she left him on read , which didn’t happen often , or at all if she could help it . he began to pace outside , which would have looked really strange if there was anyone watching — but the town was almost deserted , like he had been left behind by everyone that ever mattered to him ( a list that consisted almost of the entire town ) . it was a sick joke , it had to be . he texted ash , no detail spared — it was a nice bait , ash would probably laugh at him for thinking everyone had suddenly conspired against him but he needed to talk to someone . anyone .

if ash was stupid about her pride and their whole rivalry , then reggie was stupid about ash . he never wanted to be in competition with her , would very much rather have a bond based on mutual interests and fondness for each other — and yet , for years and years , reggie went along with it in hopes that it would make her feel more involved . and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy seeing her show the smallest semblance of happiness whenever she’d beat him in their most trivial feuds . he enjoyed his time with her , so , he hoped for a reply . no , he prayed for it . he could already imagine ash’s smug smile when they’d talk about this in person and how it would make his day just to see it .

but minutes passed and still nothing . he tried to call his dad , mom , siblings , eddie , pari , his neighbors and even the police — all nothing . reggie felt ill , almost lost his balance at the thought of being alone in a world without everyone he cared for . he had always been able to hold onto hope , but not when all signs lead to everything he feared for . he ran back inside the diner and auntie ruby was gone . it was the terror of patterns and schedule thrown awry , the banality he was so used to suddenly replaced with dread growing exponentially in the pit of his stomach . what was his life if not to care for people ? what was his life if not trying to make their sleepy little town a better place ? his life meant nothing if he was alone , and god , he couldn’t stand it .

he raced outside , barging into every store , knocking on every door , desperate for any signs of life . he went to his family’s home — completely empty of life , his parents and siblings gone as if they were never there in the first place . people were not just supposed to vanish into thin air . he wondered if this was the rapture , if he had been left behind because he wasn’t good enough . it was a painful thought , his dedication to everyone else meaning nothing . he ran and ran and ran and ran until he couldn’t breathe , collapsing onto the ground ( breathe in , breathe out ) as he became painfully aware of the lack of air in his lungs . his throat was agonizingly dry , tears welling up in his eyes as he realized that this had to be a nightmare . if not , then it must be hell .

he closed his eyes and sent up a simple , desperate plea to god , ❛ please , wake me up . ❜ but the prayer went unanswered . and once again , the smell came back — so strong , so pungent that he could almost taste it , that he felt like throwing up . he was scared to open his eyes , but he was betrayed by his own body . in front of him was eddie , standing tall and proud ( of what ? he wished he would never find out ) as that sinister smile on his lips taunted him .

❛ you were wrong , reggie . about me . about everything . ❜

the conviction in eddie’s voice left his powerless , his faith in eddie finally deteriorating with the evidence laid behind him — a pile of ablazed corpses , his loved ones and the people of darkwood slowly being reduced to ashes . the wind blew soot and god , it burned his eyes but reggie remained unblinking at the horrors , mouth agape as he stared at the horrors against his will . he wasn’t sure how long he had been looking at it — seconds , maybe minutes — when god finally answered his prayers and he finally blinked .

the next time reggie opened his eyes , it was 5:15 AM and it was time to start his day . tick … tock … tick … tock … tick … tock … and the annoying clock went on and on , but he was too listless to do anything but sit on the edge of his bed and contemplate that dreadful nightmare . was he truly wrong about eddie ? no . no . no . he couldn’t let himself doubt him now , too . it was just his psyche playing tricks , recycling the rumours and gossips the townspeople tried to imbue on his mind . eddie was innocent . he paid no mind to the other parts of the dream , that sickening loneliness he felt — it was just a nightmare , and being awake meant he had other things to worry about now — eddie , ash , the diner , his family — and he was already running late .

#𝐯𝐢𝐢. dossier ━━━ 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 ╱ 𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗱 𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗷𝗿 ( tasks ) .#hhqwriting #ft. ash !#ft. eddie !#ft. nat !#its a b-horror movie luvs

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