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misalpav · 6 months

Note

ram being in love with the daughter of temple priest and even though he isn't very religious he still went there for sandhya aarti once he saw her one jhumke had fallen and finally able to gather some courage he decided to approach her and they had a talk or something.

also one more request don't use y/n can you pls use the name vaidehi ?

anon!!!! I love this prompt and I hope I did justice to your vision <3 (I'm on a writing high rn so I can actually write fast for once would you look at that?)

yemito ee maya

Two years after Governor Scott's death

Ram slowly walked away from his house, lost in thought. He could feel the wind in his face, rearranging his carefully styled hair and ruffling the shirt he just finished ironing. The sun, shining brightly in his eyes, slowly began its journey back to the horizon as kids laughed and ran back home from school. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, letting himself relax. There was a time when he didn’t know what the word relax meant, how it felt to feel his heart rate slowing and have time for himself. Now that he did, he never quite knew what to do with it. Sometimes, he would make a beeline to Bheem or Sita’s house to talk to them or have dinner together, other times, when he didn’t feel like socializing, he would sit at home and read a book. On days like today, when he just couldn’t get himself to pay attention to the words on a page, he’d huff and put down his book to go for a walk, thinking about how much his life and his India has changed.

“Ram anna, chai thaaguthara?” (tl. Do you want to drink chai?)

He turned his head and saw a group of kids at a street food stall looking at him eagerly and quickly recognized all of them from his colony. His mouth curved into a smile as he forgot about his earlier thoughts and started walking towards them, his hands checking his pockets to find his wallet.

“Aa thaguthanu. Anna, okka chai isthava?” (tl. Yes, I’ll drink some. Can you give me one chai?)

As the seller made his chai, he pretended to look in his wallet for money while secretly watching the kids, and smiled with a glint in his eyes as the kids’ faces fell, realizing he didn’t get them anything. He pulled out a 100 rupee note from his wallet and handed it to the vendor, who looked at him confused.

“Migilina paisalu tho pillalu ki vallaku ishtam ainadhi edhaina ivvandi, inka mitha meeru pettukondi.” (Give the kids whatever they want with the remaining money, and if there’s anything left you can keep it for yourself.)

The kids’ eyes widened at him in disbelief, and they quickly ran to the vendor before Ram could have second thoughts and asked for bajjis, dosas, lassis, and whatever else they could think of. Ram chuckled and shook his head, taking a seat at one of the tables and enjoying the warm taste of chai. He was completely aware the colony moms would make their displeasure very well known to him when he went home, but he figured he’d take it if it meant upholding his role as every kid’s favorite person.

The kids sat around him and became engrossed in conversations about their classes, the math teacher they despised, the cricket game they played last night, and a few other things and Ram sat back and listened attentively to their stories while tending to his chai, zoning out only once in a while when the conversation was directed away from him.

At one of these moments, he heard a laugh and the jingling of bangles coming towards them, and he turned his head subconsciously. His jaw dropped as his eyes rested on the source of the laughter: a woman, busy in conversation with a younger girl, walking towards them wearing a beautiful black and yellow saree, her hair tied back in a neat braid, with a book in her hands. As they walked up to her, he suddenly stood up, catching the woman’s attention. When she turned to face him, he held his breath and examined her eyes, bordered with kohl, and the bright red bindi above the bridge of her nose. Silver jhumkas adorned her ears glowing in the sun and the smell of the jasmines in her hair radiated off her, and he was lucky one of the kids pulled on his hand to get his attention. The woman’s face softened as she smiled, turned away from him, and walked away, and he quickly reoriented himself, telling the kids he had other work to do tonight and started in the direction the woman had left towards, promising the kids they’d play cricket together another night.

Ram speedwalked for a few minutes and finally caught up to them, trailing only a few meters behind, but he couldn’t bring himself to approach her. Internally, he was cursing himself out for making this seem easy to Bheem all those years ago, when he himself was such a mess at it. He wished Bheem, Sita, Jenny, the kids, or literally anyone was with him right now to tell him what to do and how not to embarrass himself. His shoe stepped on something and he tripped over, clasping his mouth to make sure no sound came out. When he turned to see what caused it, he found one of her silver jhumkas lying in the dirt. Ram couldn’t believe his luck and he picked up the jhumka, taking it as a sign from the universe to meet her. He then followed her, his faith in himself somehow reinstated simply by the fact he had something of hers in his pocket.

The women approached a Shiva temple, removed their shoes, and entered, and Ram stopped outside. He hadn’t been inside a temple since his father was killed by the British. Everyone close to him had tried to reinstate his faith in god, but he always shut down the idea by stating that if god was real, his father wouldn’t be dead, and if god is real and let his father be killed, then he had every reason to be extremely angry at that god. Ram almost turned around and left, but then he saw the woman returning outside, and froze, realizing she was staring at him.

“Intha dhooram vachi lopadiki raara?” (tl. You came this far, won’t you come in?) she asked. Realizing he was stuck, he slowly took off his shoes and stepped into the temple.

Once he was standing next to her, she asked him what his name was and he replied saying his name is Ram. She introduced herself as Vaidehi, and he said the name back to her, appreciating the way it rolled on his tongue. They sat in the back of the temple, and Vaidehi opened her book and started reading while he examined her features, and noticed she had removed the other jhumka. Ram hated being interrupted while reading, but he also needed to close this silence somehow, so he craned his neck to see what book she was reading.

“Avunu, gudiki vachi em pustakam chaduvuthunnavu? Adhi intlo guda cheyyachu kadha?” (tl. What book are you reading in the temple that you can’t read at home?)

That beautiful laughter that first got him to turn his head towards her escaped her mouth again and she told him his father was the head priest and she enjoyed attending the sandhya aarti whenever she could. She told him about the book she was reading, History of Dharmashastra, and they both fell into an animated conversation about the development of Indian ancient societies and their dreams for a modern and independent India. She said India needed more men like Alluri Ramaraju and he smiled and agreed, hiding the joy in his heart from hearing her say that. He never bothered mentioning that he was Ramaraju because he found it refreshing to talk to people normally without being treated like a savior everywhere he went.

Suddenly, a man, who he assumed was Vaidehi’s father, stood in front of the garbhagriha and everyone in the temple stood up. They recited bhajans, and while Ramaraju knew all of them from memory from his childhood and his mother, he quietly listened to Vaidehi’s voice. At the end, he took the prasadam from one of the other priests and walked back outside with Vaidehi. She asked him if he didn’t know the bhajans, and he replied saying he did, but he enjoyed listening to them much more than singing them, opting to leave out the truth about his father. They talked more about their interests, exchanged addresses, and talked about meeting again. As the sun finally set, she told him she needed to leave, and that they’d definitely meet again. Ram watched her walk away and put his hand in his pocket, touching the jhumka he never returned, whispering, “I promise we will.”

---

(a/n) should I make this a series lmao I have so many ideas for where this could go. also, I haven't been to india in like 6yrs now (curse the pandemic and then school/work) so idr if 100 rupees is acc a reasonable amount for the chai scene 🗿

open tag list: @obsessedtoafault @rambheem-is-real @lil-stark @manwalaage @contemporarykafka @sinistergooseberries @budugu @the-gayest-tree-you-ever-did-see @hufhkbgg @eremin0109 @eenadu-varthalu @hissterical-nyaan @how-is-it-in-london @gauri-vishalakshi @sada-siva-sanyaasi @bromance-minus-the-b @darlingletshurttonight @voidsteffy @itsfookingloosah @mad-who-ra @fadedscarlets @justmeand-myinsight @rasnak2 @ghungru @irisesforyoureyes @vijayasena

I copied a rrr tag list I literally haven't used in a year and tried to remember as many old urls as I could. if you want to be added/removed from the list pls lmk <3

#rrr #rrr fics #rrr movie #ram charan #ss rajamouli #alluri sitarama raju #ntr jr #jr ntr #komaram bheem #desiblr #rrr fanfic #yemito ee maya #shri writes #shri's fics #shri's posts

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gh4stlyg1rl · 2 years

Text

The sun was beginning to settle on the horizon as Hazel walked through the piles of broken glass and torn papers. Occasionally, she would kick something over or bend down to retrieve and study some object. None of it looked like it would be of any use to her. Honestly, it didn't look like it would be of any use to anyone in its current condition. "This one does look familiar though..." She said as she kicked a pile of burned books off of a piece of letterhead.

"You find something?" Lou called over as he picked at the bonfire with a stick he had found.

"I don't know." Hazel kept her gaze on the paper, talking more to herself than to Lou. "I've seen this somewhere." She bent over to brush the dirt off of the paper and pick it up from the ground. Holding it up to her eyes she studied it more. "I know I've seen this." She said with a small nod.

"Is it your dad's?" Lou asked as he tossed the stick into the fire and walked over to look at the paper she held.

"I don't know." Hazel shook her head, frustrated that she couldn't place where she had seen the logo before. "I need to check some of his things." She shook the paper to get the remaining dirt off of it before folding it into a neat rectangle and placing it in her pocket.

"I don't get why my dad's things would be out here though." He brow furrowed as she went through various scenarios that might explain her find. "He would have no reason to be out here." She looked up at Lou briefly before returning her gaze to the blazing fire she had stopped in front of.

"Most people come out here for drugs if they don't live here." He could think of a few other reasons a person might be out there but he wasn't sure he wanted to mention them to her yet.

"I mean, ok." She said, looking back up at him briefly. "Maybe, but then why bring paper with you? Why would he need that to buy some weed?"

Lou shrugged. "I dunno."

"Unless someone stole it from him." Hazel started to piece together a plausible scenario. "Maybe my dad wasn't up here at all. Only his stuff was."

"If a person was going to rob someone this would definitely be the place to go through the loot." Lou nodded. "You might be onto something there."

"So then I guess we just need to find someone with a reason to rob my dad." Hazel laughed. It sounded so easy, and she was sure her dad had earned a not-so-great reputation with at least a few people, but she had no idea where to even start with this hypothesis.

Lou picked up a liqour bottle that lay next to the fire and peered into it. "Shouldn't be too hard."

"You're joking, right?" Hazel laughed.

"Maybe a little." He smiled. "You don't know anyone who has it out for your pops?"

"I wouldn't even know. It's been so long since i"ve been here." Hazel tried to think of anyone that stuck out but came up blank.

"Yeah, I know..." Lou said thoughtfully.

"What?" Hazel questioned him, unsure what he meant.

Lou's eyes widened. He had nearly given himself away. He knew she didn't remember him so he questioned whether it was even a big deal to mention it, but ultimately decided against it. "I just mean I know it sounds like it the way you talk about it."

"Yeah." Hazel laughed, accepting his answer. "So I guess we look for the town thief. Is there anyone particular that comes to mind?"

Lou kicked nervously at the liquor bottle after dropping it back next to the fire at his feet. He didn't dare tell her that his name was probably the first that came up to most minds when it came to being a klepto. That was the old Lou though. The new Lou wouldn't steal and he knew damn well he didn't steal anything from her dad. Not recently anyway.

Next || Previous || Start from the Beginning

#MoonwoodMystery #Moonwood Mill #the sims 4 story #sims 4 #simblr #ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 story #sims 4 storyline #sim stories #sims 4 werewolves #ts4 werewolves #sims 4 werewolf

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

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A hero is in a coma. Villain visits them every single day, loosing sleep, not eating, their life is now completely focused around the empty hospital room.

Until hero wakes up and notices how sick villain has become due to anxiety and not taking care of themselves. Caretaking?

This is such a cute ask!! There’s only a little caretaking, but as always I’d be happy to write some more ^^

To all non-Americans out there, I am so sorry for using our weird 12 hour clock in this piece

CW//Comas, medical settings, just some horrible self care, mentions of explosions, bad hygiene, sleep deprivation, low self esteem, blaming self, strong language

“How are they doing?”

The voice alone was enough to make Doctor jump, spinning on their heels with such quickness that their shoes squealed on the tiled hospital floor.

Oh. It was just Villain.

Just Villain. It was a ridiculous thought to have, and they were well aware of that fact. Only a few short weeks ago, the name would have been enough to make any well-minded civilian tremble. It was bad enough, to hear it spoken on the news. Worse, to hear it not coming from a television-- in some cases, that name was all the warning one was given, before a terrible fate befell them. A nameless causality in the never-ending battle of good and evil.

But, now, there was no terror associated with it.

Most hospitals, Doctor was well aware, were fortunate enough that villains did not often pass through their doors. When they did, in the best cases, it was to seek treatment. In the worst cases, they had far more destructive intentions.

Their hospital, however, was an exception. There is a saying, that one can get used to anything, and with their experience, they now believed it to be more than true.

Doctor sighed, letting their shoulders fall.

“Visiting hours are over, Villain. You need to go home.”

The villain’s eyes widened, flickering momentarily to the nearest clock. In fact, it was past the end of visiting hours. Well past. Night rounds were about to begin, even.

It was simply so easy to forget Villain, hunched over in their little plastic chair.

Especially with those big, pathetic eyes with which they regarded Doctor.

“I can’t leave.” They pleaded. “Not yet. Can’t I stay just another hour?”

“No, Villain. We’ve been over this. You can come back tomorrow, bright and early, right at seven.”

“But it’s eleven, now! That’s eight hours. Eight hours they’ll be alone.”

“Not alone.” Doctor bit their lower lip. They knew full well that the person before them could render them to a charred corpse in mere seconds, if they so wished. Their tense, skipping heartbeat wouldn’t let them forget it. But, there was no malice in their eyes. Not an ounce. Only that terrible, pitiful sorrow. The sorrow that never seemed to leave them. “There’s people here, all night. A whole medical staff. If anything happens, they won’t be alone. I promise.”

Villain’s lip quivered. Weren’t they supposed to be dangerous?

“You’re sure I can’t stay? Just another hour?”

“I’m sure.”

“O-Okay.” The villain reached into their shoulder bag, and, for a moment, Doctor nearly pressed the nearest panic alarm. Yet, they withdrew no weapon. Instead, Villain took a small, spiral-bound notebook in hand, offering it. “Here are my notes. Um, just so you know. What they did today.”

Doctor’s gaze downcast to the paper. They already had three of these, piled on their desk. Filled to the brim. This one had only recently been started.

The page the notebook was turned to displayed the same thing as all the rest: Impeccably neat handwriting, dividing the page into half hour blocks. In each, letters of equal quality described the patient’s condition, down to the most minute detail.

3:30 - Minor twitching of the eyelids accompanied by singular irregular heartbeat.

4:00 - No abnormalities.

4:30 - Twitching of left index finger.

5:00 - Abnormal breath at around 5:12.

It was the best-kept record of a comatose patient’s condition that Doctor had ever seen. Even if it wasn’t exactly helpful, with how repetitive the patient’s movements tended to be, it was downright impressive.

“Thank you, Villain. I’ll tell the receptionist to expect you at seven?”

“Is there any chance I could come in earlier than that?”

“No. I’m sorry. Visiting hours start at seven.”

“I’m quiet. You know I’m quiet. I won’t be a bother to anybody.”

“I know, Villain. If...” They knew they needed to say something, or this argument would continue all night long. “If anything happens, we have your number on file. I’ll call you myself.”

“Really?” Their eyes widened. “You promise?”

“I promise. Now, you need to go home.”

“Okay.”

“You won’t hide in the bathroom and try to stay late this time?”

“You saw?”

“Everyone saw, Villain. Now, you’ve gotta skedaddle.”

The villain nodded hesitantly, looking to their shoes as they turned, moving down the hallway. As they left, Doctor could not help but mutter in their wake:

“And get some rest.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Six weeks.

Those two words echoed hollowly in Villain’s mind as they plodded along the damp sidewalk, lit only by the dewy echoes of streetlights overhead. The hour was late enough, and the city tired enough, that the streets were nearly deserted-- a state they were in so very rarely.

Their henchmen had spoken to them so many times, lecturing them that moving through the city’s depths, alone and unprotected, was terribly dangerous. Any hero, or any vigilante too cocky for their own good, could try their luck in an ambush.

But, Villain could hardly bring themself to care.

Six weeks.

That was all they cared about.

Six weeks since Hero had moved. Six weeks since they’d spoken, since they’d awoken. Exactly six, now.

Exactly six weeks since...

Villain’s hands clenched to fists at their sides, overgrown nails digging into the meat of their palms.

Since they’d made the biggest mistake of their life. Since the two sworn nemeses, Hero and Villain, light and dark, good and evil, had had their final battle. An industrial sabotage gone wrong.

They should have known better! Better than to use their pyrokenisis in an oil refinery.

But, that hadn’t. They hadn’t been thinking. They never thought! They were so stupid, so reckless, so careless...

Villain’s ears still rung from the explosion.

Their injuries meant nothing, even as they still throbbed. No. Because, for the last six weeks, they had been awake. Moving. Talking.

Hero hadn’t been so lucky.

When they at last arrived at their HQ, the halls were silent. Life existed only in the form of a scattering of guards, nodding their respects, but making no other gestures.

It was with weary legs that Villain ascended to their bedroom. They hardly noticed its state-- they’d grown used to the scatterings of clothes and papers. Instead, upon opening the door, their eyes snapped to the bed.

More specifically, the item upon it. They rushed to it, yanking it off the mussed blankets.

A book. A note, upon its cover.

“Went to bed before I could give this to you. It’s that book you wanted - Henchman”

Villain removed the note, far more interested in the cover it hid.

A Neurologist’s Guide to Chronic Vegetative States

There were more than enough pages within to last them until sunrise; until visiting hours at last recommenced.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

At 5:40, the sun began its ascent, bathing the sky in a dull hue of blue.

When six o’ clock came, the first rays of light could be seen, flashing over the horizon.

With the strike of 6:10, Villain placed down their book. They were only around halfway through-- wandering eyes and brief minutes of dozing lowering the speed at which their foggy mind could process the medical textbook.

They would have more than enough time to read, the next night. The book didn’t matter. What mattered was that visiting hours would commence in 50 minutes, exactly.

Twenty minutes to walk to the hospital. Meaning that, to get there early, they needed to leave in fifteen.

Rubbing sleep from their eyes, Villain rose from their chair, knees popping and cracking all the way to the bedroom door. Quickly, they changed into the cleanest clothes they could find, if only for the sake of appearances, before heading out.

Showering could wait. Showers took time, time that could be spend watching. Reading. Taking notes.

Helping. Doing anything, anything they could to help.

Emerging into the hallway, they startled a moment. The lights had already been turned on, despite the fact that their henchmen never awoke this early. Perhaps they had simply forgotten to turn them off the night prior.

Yet, there were noises, from downstairs.

There was no fear left in their body to feel. Justifications were quickly made, and they ran down the stairs.

Entering the kitchen, a scent hit Villain, forceful as a gust of wind. The scent of food-- warm and fresh and garnished with garlic.

Before the stove, Henchman stood. Out of all those Villain employed, Henchman was the least likely to be awake at such an hour. Often, they dragged themself from bed well after ten.

Yet, here they stood, flipping a pancake in a skillet.

“Hey, boss.” Their henchman turned, a grin glimmering upon their face. “I’m almost done here. Get yourself something to drink.”

Villain blinked.

“What... are you doing?”

“Making breakfast? I thought that’d be pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But... Why? You never eat breakfast.”

“Yeah. It’s not for me. ‘s for you, boss.”

They shook their head, glancing at the clock. 6:17.

“I’m not hungry. Besides, I really need to get going.”

“Boss.” There was an endeared, yet frustrated, tone to the voice. “When was the last time you ate?”

“You made me eat a granola bar yesterday.”

“And the day before that, you didn’t eat anything. So, you’re eating breakfast, if I have to shove it down your throat.”

They clenched their hands to fists.

“I don’t have time for this! Visiting hours are going to start soon. I need to be there.”

“No. You need to eat. Then you can go to the hospital.”

“You don’t get to decide that. I need to go. I’m sorry.”

“Boss.” Henchman slid the pancake onto a plate before deftly stepping between their boss and the front door. “I don’t mean to be blunt, but you look like hell. I know you haven’t been sleeping. Everyone knows it. If you keep acting like this, you’re going to be the one in a hospital bed.”

Villain gritted their teeth.

“Maybe that’s what I deserve. Now, fuck off. Get someone else to eat your damn pancakes.”

With those words, and furious footsteps, they emerged onto the sidewalk outside.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When Receptionist arrived at their desk, there was already a patron, sitting in their waiting room.

A few short weeks ago, such would have been unusual. While other parts of the hospital were occupied day and night, the appointments handled by this room did not begin until the hospital actually opened-- right at seven.

Now, though, there was nothing strange about it.

Before they could so much as sit down, Villain was already moving towards them.

Receptionist could not help but note their appearance.

Working in a hospital, they had long since grown used to seeing the sick and injured. And yet, there was something particularly distressing about this case.

They supposed, it was because they had seen it happen. Usually, when patients arrived at the hospital, it was because they could no longer manage their own conditions. Their bodies were in shambles. They showed up in their damaged states.

Villain, on the other hand, had first appeared to the waiting room is relatively good health.

Then, they had begun to appear tired.

And thin.

Now, their appearance matched that of the comatose patient that they were here to see. Skin clung taught about their cheekbones, their flesh pale and eyes glazed over. Most semblances of hygiene had been abandoned entirely; some parts of their hair had even begun to mat, and dirt clung to them like caked and cracked makeup.

But, there was something else in their eyes. The sheer essence of undying compassion.

It was that alone that prevented Receptionist from sending them away.

Villain had no need to speak. As soon as they had time to sit, the hospital employee had paged the proper floor-- a sequence of buttons that had quickly become muscle memory.

“You can go up, now.” They spoke. With a wearied nod, Villain moved to begin their ceaseless watch.

Neither of them could have guessed that, an hour later, the unthinkable would come true.

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When Hero awoke, it was to the sound of a pencil, scratching at paper.

The world filled in with a terrible, exhaustion tedium. Above them, blurs of white and grey turned to a sterile, white tile, while the world about solidified to four pale, beige walls.

A hospital. They’d been in enough to recognize as such, with just how clumsy their teammates tended to be.

But why were they here, now...? Who had gotten hurt, this time? They couldn’t quite remember.

Rolling onto their side, the question was quickly answered.

Villain appeared to be on death’s doorstep, about to press the doorbell. Matted hair clung to their neck, eyes drooping and skin appearing as though there was no blood beneath it at all.

At the very least, they had made it to the hospital before suffering any serious damage.

Wait.

It was only then that Hero realized who exactly was in the room’s hospital bed.

#villain whumpee #hero whumpee #hero villain whump #whump #whumpblr #whump community

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hrina · 3 years

Text

The Thrill of the Chase, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 3.6k REQUESTED: no

hi! it’s been a while since i’ve posted something on here lol, i wonder if anyone still remembers me 🤕

this is PART 1 of the hunter!AU that i’ve been writing. while the story is a patreon-exclusive, my patrons gave me permission to post the first chapter here on tumblr for anyone who’s curious about the kind of content i offer on patreon.

if you want to read the rest of this series and unlock access to my other exclusive work, you can sign up for my patreon here. and as always, please reblog the fics you like and leave feedback for the authors, because we pour a lot of time and effort into our stories. happy reading 💌

~*~

Harry’s life is simple.

He performs only the essentials—wakes up and eats an apple for breakfast. Drizzles some lemon juice into his flask of water to keep his teeth healthy and clean. Shrugs on a few heavy furs. Lets Magnus outside to keep him from howling and pawing at the door. Sharpens his arrows. Knocks on the threshold of the cabin once for good luck. Goes hunting.

Upon returning, he crouches next to the firepit, laying out his kills and skinning them. He cooks one for himself—something small, like a squirrel, or a rabbit. Others, he saves for the market—fox, deer, coyote, boar. The pelts, tusks, and antlers are extremely sought-after (particularly by nobles), and often earn enough coin to carry him through the rest of the week.

He doesn’t entertain visitors, because who in their right mind would trek up the side of a mountain just to seek out one lonely hunter? Despite that, he’s come to appreciate his solitude. The silence is familiar—comfortable. Besides, Magnus proves both excellent and useful company, if the sheer volume of their kills offers any indication.

A simple life for a simple man.

Harry doesn’t need anyone else.

“Ready to go, mutt?”

He scratches behind Magnus’ droopy ears. One of the hound’s hindlegs thumps frantically in response. Harry chuckles, slinging his bow over his right shoulder and pulling open the cabin door.

“Come on, then.”

The sky is a dark, cloudy grey, and the smell of oncoming rain is unmistakable. Still, the two of them persevere, ducking past the trees at the edge of the clearing.

It’s a bad day to hunt.

With the threat of a storm looming just above the canopy, the animals have forgone their typical foraging patterns in favour of taking shelter. Harry only manages to kill a rabbit, and even then, it’s a messy shot. He usually gets them right through the eye—a quick, neat splice that results in minimal suffering. This time, however, his foot slips on a damp stone; he fumbles, and the arrow buries itself into the creature’s stomach.

“Fuck.”

The rabbit is still alive when he reaches it, its furry body heaving with shaky, uneven breaths. Harry kneels down, apologising quietly. His hand finds the scabbard strapped to his waist, and he draws a silver dagger from its depths.

He slits the poor hare’s throat just as rain begins to fall.

It’s easy work, after that. He pins the animal’s fluffy forelimbs together, tying them in place with thick, coarse rope. Magnus whimpers as Harry slides the creature’s limp body over his shoulder. He shoots the hound a tired look and shakes his head. Damp brown curls stick to his temples.

“Think that’s enough for today.”

The two of them have nearly made it back home—Harry’s boots squelch as he jumps over the small creek that flows close to the clearing—when Magnus perks up, lifting his snout and sniffing the air.

“What is it, mutt?” Harry asks.

Magnus releases a loud bark and takes off in the direction of the cabin. Harry sprints after him, one hand clutching his game while the other wraps around the leather grip of his bow.

“Magnus!” he yells.

The dog skids to a stop next to the wide trunk of a tree. He barks again and wags his tail feverishly.

Harry releases his bow, approaching with slow, cautious steps.

“What’s got you so—shit.”

You’re slumped in the mud, unconscious. Harry’s gaze rakes over your form, from your tattered blue gown to the leaves and twigs tangled in your hair. There are a few cuts littered across your face, arms, and chest. Rivulets of blood trickle down your wrist, spiderwebbing across your skin.

Magnus sticks his tongue out and pants.

“Good boy,” Harry mutters, bestowing a rugged caress atop the hound’s head.

He gathers you into his arms, paying no mind to the extra weight of your sodden dress. Your neck lolls over his bicep, sternum rising and falling with shallow, barely-there breaths. Harry carries you out of the forest and into the clearing. When he kicks open the cabin door, your eyelids flutter.

“Bear?” you mumble, lifting your head slightly. Your voice is grating, hoarse.

He looks at you. Your face contorts for only a moment before you slouch back into oblivion.

He sets you down onto the thick, woven rug splayed out in front of the hearth. He works quickly, shrugging off his furs and his game and discarding all of it without a second thought. Rain thrums against the roof, but the sound is lost amidst his heavy footsteps.

He hurries into his bedroom and pulls open the top drawer of his wooden dresser, fumbling for a glass jar and a spool of bandages. When his fingers finally make contact with the desired supplies, he darts back into the other room and kneels beside your motionless body.

He draws his dagger again, gripping the intricate material of your gown and slicing through it. Your corset proves far more challenging, practically embedded into your skin. He sets his knife aside, not willing to risk it. Instead, he hooks his fingers beneath the top of the girdle, rough knuckles brushing against your soft bosom. With a mighty tug, the structured fabric splits under his palms.

He screws open the lid on the jar and dips his thumb inside. The salve is sticky, viscous, and smells faintly of lavender. He smears it across your scrapes before inspecting your wrist.

The flesh is slashed and bloodied—how did you acquire such an injury? Canines? Claws? Harry uses the frayed edges of your dress to clean the mess. He then unwinds a few bindings from their roll, expertly bandaging your wound.

Once he’s finished, he sits back on his haunches, expelling a stale breath. His work is far from over—he needs to wash you, to scrub off all the dirt and grime staining your skin. He’ll go down to the creek with a cloth, he thinks, and saturate it with cool water. He’ll pick the leaves and branches out of your hair, and cover you in spare furs to keep you warm. He’ll prepare a hot meal so that you may eat when you wake. You’ll be ravenous, certainly.

These thoughts whirl around in his head, along with the realisation that you might expire here, lying on an old rug in the middle of a stranger’s secluded home. Still, he watches your chest rise, swelling with proof of your vitality. The sight puts him at ease.

Harry aims a cursory glance over his shoulder. Magnus is stationed at the door, wet snout resting on the ground. The dog gazes at your limp body with big, solemn eyes, as though he somehow understands the severity of the situation.

“Don’t worry, mutt,” Harry tells him, knees shuffling against the floor. “I won’t let her die.”

~*~

Three days pass.

Harry curtails the duration of his hunts. He kills only the essentials: a hare or a squirrel, something small enough to cook over the fire. He has enough coin saved up from his previous trades to last him another few trips to the market.

Every morning, he prepares a simple, homely meal for you should you wake. When you do not, he eats the food in your place—he’ll be damned if it goes to waste.

On the fourth day, he carries a bowl of soup into his room. He’s expecting to see you tucked into his bed, still unconscious. Instead, you’re alert, sitting upright and studying your surroundings. The furs that previously covered your body now pool around your waist, exposing your naked chest. When you catch sight of Harry lingering in the doorway, you gasp, fumbling for the pelts and clutching them to your sternum.

“You’re up,” he says gruffly, stepping through the threshold.

You scramble back, eyes widening in fear. He pauses.

You’re afraid, he realises, tilting his head to the side. This may be more difficult than he initially thought.

“Soup,” he says slowly, holding out the small clay bowl in his hands. “You need to eat.”

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice is patchy and frail. “Where am I?”

He sets the dish down onto his dresser before shooting you a stern, expectant look.

“Eat.”

Upon exiting the room, he strains his ears and listens carefully. The creak of a loose floorboard—you’ve climbed out of bed. The sound of nimble footsteps pattering across the ground—you’re moving toward the door. And finally, the quiet scrape of clay against wood, indicating that your hunger has prevailed.

He nods to himself.

You’re not dead. That’s a start.

~*~

That evening, Harry is perched next to the firepit outside the cabin. The orange sun crawls down the horizon, kissing the tops of the trees. He basks in the warmth, knowing that it will soon be eradicated by the cool chill of nightfall.

He fiddles with the spit poised above the flames. He caught another rabbit, today. The creature’s fur is laid out across the grass, scrubbed clean of blood. The rest of it cooks over the fire, darkening with each passing minute.

A faint creak reaches Harry’s ears. He perks up, glancing at the door.

You hover just beyond the threshold, leaning nervously against the strong wooden beams. Harry relaxes and turns back around. He uses a long stick to poke at the charred logs; the kindling pops, and a few embers float into the air.

“What are you doing?” Your inquiry is soft, shaky.

His reply is curt: “Dinner.”

You approach warily, bare feet treading through the grass. When you spot the hunk of meat roasting over the flames, a feeble gasp tumbles from your lips.

“That’s barbaric.”

Harry rubs his palms against his thighs. “That’s sustenance.”

He stands, and you retreat. His attention then falls to your torso. You’ve covered yourself with the furs from his room; they hang just past the swell of your bottom, rendering you exceptionally vulnerable. Goosebumps crop up on your bare thighs, visible in the golden light of the sunset.

He hums. “You need clothes.”

You look down at the ground.

“That would be nice,” you whisper at last.

He merely grunts in response.

You follow him back inside, albeit from a distance. He strolls into his bedroom, pausing in front of a large trunk shoved against the far wall. Twin latches click open, and he begins rifling through its contents. After a few moments of silence, he produces a pale linen shirt and a pair of dark leather trousers.

“Here,” he says.

He dumps the fabric into your arms. You huff in surprise, instinctively relinquishing your hold on the pelts covering your body. They fall to the floor in a heap, exposing every inch of your skin.

An embarrassed squeak echoes in the back of your throat. Harry averts his eyes, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.

“Put those on,” he murmurs.

You nod quickly, sidestepping his broad frame. Now that you’re no longer in his line of sight, he lowers his gaze. Part of him wonders if he should say something else, but he decides against it. His legs carry him forward, and he disappears through the door.

~*~

You emerge from the bedroom a short while later, smoothing your hands over your hair in an attempt to look a bit more presentable. Harry resists the urge to tell you that here, in the mountains, appearances are hardly significant. He doesn’t own a mirror—such luxuries can only be afforded by the rich.

His clothes are too big on you, but that was to be expected. You’ve rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt and cuffed the brown leather trousers so that they cinch at your ankles. You’re anxious, incisors gnawing on your bottom lip and eyes darting around the clearing, like you’re waiting for a monster to burst forth from the bushes.

“Here.”

Harry cuts a sliver of meat from the cooked rabbit carcass resting on the spit. You sit down on a wide, round tree stump as he holds the food out in your direction.

At first, he thinks that you may vomit. Fortunately, though, he finds himself mistaken. After a long moment of deliberation, you accept the protein, bringing it up to your nose and sniffing it warily.

“It’s good,” he rasps, slicing off another strip for himself. “Rabbit—all white meat.”

He pops the piece into his mouth and chews. Slowly, you copy him, sighing happily as newfound flavour erupts over your tongue. You waste no time, then, impatiently shoving the rest of the meat into your mouth.

Harry’s lips twitch.

“Thank you,” you say after swallowing.

He simply nods. The two of you continue to eat in silence, grinding the remnants of supper between your teeth.

Eventually, your curiosity overwhelms you.

“What’s you name?” you ask, timid.

Harry sits back, wiping his dagger with the hem of his cotton shirt.

“Harry.”

“And how did you find me, Harry?”

A low chuckle resonates in the back of his throat.

“Wasn’t exactly hard. You were lying in a puddle of mud not far from here.”

Your lips part. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.”

“Three days?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember any of it,” you say softly, playing with your fingers. You hesitate before elaborating: “But I—I remember seeing your face. I thought you were a bear.”

He recalls that day, how you lifted your head weakly and uttered the word before sinking back into unconsciousness. It led him to believe that you’d been attacked. Your side of the story, however, proves much more entertaining.

“Well,” he says, exhaling brusquely, “I’m not.”

You examine him with big, tender eyes. He shifts awkwardly under the intensity of your gaze.

“No,” you finally agree. “You’re not.”

He swallows and flips the conversation around.

“Who are you?”

You stiffen, caught off-guard.

“That is…hardly relevant.”

“Perhaps,” Harry says. “But it is fair.”

When you don’t reply, he continues.

“You’re a lady, aren’t you?” he guesses. “A duchess. Your gown was too pretty to have belonged to a commoner.”

“My gown?” You perk up at the mention of the dress. “Where is it?”

“Gone. I tore through it.”

You gasp. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“It was the only way to keep you alive,” he says simply. “Your corset was impeding your ability to breathe.”

“My corset…” you mutter, mostly to yourself. You grimace after registering the implications of his words, thoroughly scandalized. “So, you—you—?”

“Yes. I had to.”

“God,” you choke out, covering your mouth. “How dare you? You should have just—!”

“Let you die?”

His query successfully squashes your disapproval; your lips flatten into a thin line, and you say nothing else. Harry watches the creases in your forehead dwindle as you realise that he’s right. You fiddle with the collar of your shirt, turning to the side and regaining your composure.

“Thank you,” you finally murmur, trying to hide your face from his piercing stare, “for not letting me die.”

He grunts. “You’re welcome.”

Brief silence ensues. A light breeze blows through the clearing, tousling the curls atop Harry’s head. The gust is enough to extinguish the last few flames frolicking over the kindle, until glowing embers are all that remain.

“I am a lady,” you suddenly add, though you refuse to meet his eyes. “But not a duchess.”

Harry leans forward, prodding at the residual ash in the firepit.

“What were you doing in the woods?”

You tinker with the bandages wrapped around your injured wrist.

“I was to be wed,” you confess, peeking up at him. “But I—I could not bear to go through with it. One should not marry for duty, but rather—”

“For love?”

You pause at his intrusion, lips parted in surprise.

“Yes,” you breathe. “For love.”

Your gazes lock. He clears his throat, breaking the contact quickly.

“You ran away, then.”

It’s not a question. You nod, and he hums.

“What is it?” you ask, brows knitting together.

“Nothing. It’s just…I may find good fortune in this situation.”

“How so?”

He shrugs. “Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.”

Though he’s not looking at you, he can tell that you’ve recoiled.

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

He examines your face in the periphery of his vision. Your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

Just then, Magnus races out of the cabin, his tail wagging eagerly behind him. He trots over to you, sniffing your shoulder and releasing a high-pitched whine. You use one hand to swipe hastily at your cheeks; the other migrates to his head, tickling his floppy ears.

Harry watches the interaction unfold, completely stunned.

“He—he likes you.”

You glance over at him, still wary of his previous threat.

“I suppose he does,” you say quietly.

Magnus paws at your thighs. You direct your attention back to the keen bloodhound, pressing a feathery kiss to the tip of his wet nose.

Harry blinks a few times, trying to pinpoint the reason for his mutt’s newfound behaviour. At first, he wonders if his eyes are simply playing tricks on his brain. Yet with each flutter of his lids, the sight before him only seems to solidify.

“He doesn’t usually take well to strangers,” he mumbles.

When you don’t respond, he clenches his jaw tightly. Countless thoughts zoom through his head, spinning like wheels, tangling like thread.

Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.

Harry is not a sensible man.

~*~

The three of you retreat indoors when the last shards of sunlight fade from the sky. Magnus circles the large woven rug poised in front of the hearth. Eventually, he collapses onto the mat, his snout drooping over his front paws. You stretch your arms into the air and yawn gently.

Harry is the last one to enter the cabin; he shuts the door behind him.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you say lightly.

You spin around and nearly crash into the hard barrier of his chest. Reflexively, his hands fly up to grasp your biceps, steadying you. He peers down at your face in the darkness, his thoughtful gaze tracing the contours of your cheeks. Your eyes are wide, lips split apart as you suck in air.

“Sorry,” you say, frozen in place.

He only grunts, releasing your arms and stepping away.

Your attention lingers on him as he approaches a wide pile of furs stacked into the corner of the room. He’s been sleeping on the makeshift cot for the past three nights, and though his back is always sore the next morning, he has yet to find a better alternative.

“What are you…?” You hesitate, rethinking your question. “What is that?”

“My bed.”

“Do you…always sleep there?”

“No,” he rasps, lowering himself onto the thick pelts. “I prefer to sleep in my room.”

He shoots you a pointed look, and you frown when the realisation sinks in.

“We—we can switch,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t want to impose.”

“No.”

“I insist.” You try again.

“As do I.”

You clamp your mouth shut, unsure of how to respond. Magnus has already dozed off—his soft snores filter through the heavy silence hanging over your heads.

“He’s lovely,” you suddenly say, referring to the quiescent hound. “Well-trained, too.”

“I won’t take credit for that,” Harry grumbles, rubbing his palms against his thighs. “He was a palace dog.”

You blink. “W-what?”

“A palace dog,” he repeats. “I found him alone in the woods after a hunt. His leg was broken—the guards left him there to die.”

“That’s awful.”

He hums in agreement.

“You took him in, then,” you say. When he nods, you add, “It seems that you have a knack for nursing others back to health.”

He doesn’t reply.

“The hunts—” you start, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. “Do they…occur frequently?”

“Why do you ask?” Harry says. His shoulders wobble with a hollow chuckle. “Are you afraid of being caught?”

You inhale sharply, and he realises that yes, you are.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Subconsciously, his voice drops an octave, taking on a soothing quality. “They don’t come around often. And even if they did, I doubt that a single runaway lady would be of much concern.”

You blow out a relieved sigh, though the uneasy expression on your face never wanes.

“You’re probably right.”

A few hushed seconds draw out, during which neither of you speak. Your bare feet shuffle clumsily against the cold floor. You appear to be waiting for some sort of cue—a sound, a gesture, anything.

“Er—” Harry breaks the peace, cocking one eyebrow. “I sleep naked.”

“Oh.”

The exclamation is unbelievably breathless. Your throat bobs amidst a difficult swallow, and you totter back.

“Of course,” you stammer. “I’ll just—”

With a trembling hand, you motion toward the entrance of his bedroom.

He nods wordlessly.

“Right,” you mumble, retreating. “Goodnight, then…Bear.”

At that, he pauses. Your cheeks twitch with a feeble smile, but you don’t comment on the sweetness of the simple endearment.

Harry remains completely still as you scurry into his room. He sits there for a prolonged moment after the door shuts, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Your features have been stamped onto the backs of his eyelids, practically seared into the skin.

At last, warm air spills past his lips, and he allows himself to utter the low, relentless reply pulling at his tongue.

“Goodnight.”

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #uhhhh yeah so here u go. if this flops it never happened i guess #hunterry #harry writing

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hauntthebodies · 2 years

Note

The accidentally saying i love you prompt with Aman 👉👈🥺💖

Sure, writing this with the route where mc also had a crush ❤️

The both of you sat by the water, his legs crossed while yours dangled from the pier, idly swinging as you both watched the water, “Have you seen any this year?”

“Mhm,” Aman hums with a slight nod, “A couple, one has a pup.” He looked over at you with a smile, the expression warming your heart as you mirrored him.

Aman’s never really explained his fascination with sea otters, aside from a simple: I just think they’re neat. But here you were, sitting out on the pier trying to catch sight of any, sun setting low in the horizon.

You both remained there, pointing out to each other when you saw seals and otters. It was beginning to turn evening when you spotted one seal, trying to find a way on one of the fishing boats, hoping for an easy meal.

You turned to point it out to Aman, but found him looking at you instead, a warm smile lighting his features despite being caught staring, “What?” You asked, amused by the dopey look on his face.

He didn’t seem to quite catch what you asked, but his eyes did drop to your lips briefly as you spoke, “God, I love you.” The words were breathed out under his voice, a thought spoken aloud. Aman’s widening eyes met your own, the realization he had said it catching up to him, “I, uh-“

You yourself were still trying to process his words, the tone of his voice making it clear he meant more than a platonic love, “You love me? As in, in love with me?” You question.

His expression twists from surprise, a pained looked on his face as he looked out over the water, voice barely audible, “Yeah, MC.” He admits, a quiet laugh following, “Have been for a couple years now.”

“You-“ Any attempt at talking fell away from you, watching Aman avoid your eyes, his fingers worrying at the ring on his hand, “Why didn’t you mention anything?” You ask, brow furrowing.

Aman gives a half hearted shrug, “How would I? ‘Hey I know we’re best friends but I’m sorta, kinda in love with you’?” He asks, incredulous, causing a laugh to break from you.

“Yes!” You continue to laugh as his eyebrows shoot upwards, clearly not expecting the answer, “If I had known sooner, it would have made things a lot easier.” You move closer as you speak, Aman watching you curiously as you rest a hand along his jaw, the contact making him swallow heavily.

“Oh-“ He gives a gruff laugh, clearing his throat as he met your gaze, “I didn’t really think I had a chance-“

“Then you are fool.” You cut him off, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss against his forehead, “Because you do.”

#he’s cute #Drabble #prompt #ask #c:aman #c:mc #Vincentvan-ohno #interactive fiction #haunt the bodies if

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bubble-tea-bunny · 3 years

Text

come fly with me

[hermes x reader]

author’s note: every time i see his name i pronounce it like the brand out of habit even if there’s no accent grave lol

word count: 2,572

You sense the bright light of morning through your closed lids and it prompts you to wake. But even as your eyes slide open, you still feel as though you’re dreaming.

A man is kneeling down next to you. You don’t know who he is but perceive he means no harm, for his gaze as he observes you is concerned, no doubt wondering what you’re doing out here. You don’t remember falling asleep outside, but the weather has been so nice as of late, you wouldn’t put it past yourself to have drifted off after laying beneath the stars, simply appreciating their magnificence.

As your vision comes more into focus, and the blurred edges merge into finer lines, you note that the sun shines behind this stranger’s head, and it appears remarkably like a halo. Your focus slides lower, drifts over brown hair pulled back into a neat braid to avoid obscuring his face, the highlight of which are his eyes—brilliantly blue, like crystals, and putting the backdrop behind him to shame. He’s beautiful.

Suddenly you’re nervous to be the center of his attention, so rapt it’s like he can see right through you. You must look a disheveled mess in contrast, your own hair tousled, your eyes bleary with the last bits of sleep. But as if he can hear your thoughts, he smiles gently, a gesture to put you at ease.

“Hello,” he greets you. His voice is hushed, taking care not to disturb the peace of these early hours, and it’s warm, washing over your skin and fighting away the chill of the cool evening.

You open your mouth, poised to speak, but at first nothing comes out, though from nervousness or from the fact your vocal chords are still waking up after hours of not being used, you don’t know.

“I… I must have fallen asleep out here,” you state rather dumbly, because what else could it have been? It’s not as if anyone had carried you out here in the middle of the night. Your cheeks redden from embarrassment but the man’s smile widens, amused and—if you aren’t imagining things, owed to the idea that maybe you really are dreaming—charmed. Though for what reason, you haven’t the slightest clue. You struggle to call yourself a picture of grace at any other point in a day, least of all fresh from sleep.

“It seems you have,” he responds. “I imagine it was comfortable?”

Not wanting to continue this conversation while still laying down, since it’s a little awkward, you sit up, and he backs away slightly to give you space. The notion of sleeping on the ground certainly doesn’t sound comfortable, and so you assume he asks this in light jest, but oddly enough, you don’t feel any stiffness or aches. Your body is relaxed, pliant. You feel well-rested.

“It was, yes…” you trail off, absentmindedly pondering on this anomaly.

The man nods, satisfied with your answer, and stands. You have to crane your neck to look at him, and as he turns his head to look out at the rolling hills, lush green and divided in the middle by a dirt path, you see a string around his neck which is attached to a golden helmet. The brim swoops and lifts in the back, colored silver to resemble a pair of wings.

Then he turns to you again, now offering you his hand. “Well the day is too nice to waste staying here. Would you like to take a walk with me?”

You’ve been aware this entire time that you don’t know who he is, and logic would dictate you turn down his invitation. No matter how nice he may be, it would be unreasonable as well as unsafe. But even for all that, you find yourself not tied down by any semblance of reason, and perhaps it’s against your better judgment that you accept.

You take his hand and he pulls you up easily. Maybe it’s his smile that does well to quell any apprehension, for you think you would follow him anywhere. Maybe you were incorrect and to go with him now was the better judgment on your part, because you don’t feel that this is wrong or dangerous. And he’s right: the day is splendid and it would make no sense to stay on the ground alone. It’s better enjoyed with companions.

The two of you follow the trail for a while, pausing whenever small creatures cross from one side to the other: mostly bunnies and deer, but at one point when passing by a lake there’s a duck and her ducklings plodding single-file behind her. As the world around you wakes and you walk in comfortable silence, your anxiety melts away and you instigate a conversation.

“Were you just passing by and happened to see me?” you inquire.

The man glances down at you briefly before looking ahead once more. “I was.” He nods. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He’s sincere as he says it, and it makes you grin. “Well I’m glad it was you who found me.”

The smile on his lips mirrors yours. “I am too.”

Flowers line the path, leaning inward as if to welcome any who walk past. They grab your attention, and you skip ahead to pick some of them. They only require a gentle tug for the stems to snap and you gather them until you’re holding a small bunch of the white flower in one hand. You bring them closer to your face so you can smell them: the scent is subtle and fresh, like the air after it rains. The man finally catches up to you and you twist around. There’s that expression in his eyes again, one of amusement, and again you blush, attempting to hide it by the flowers as you duck your head, but you don’t think you’re successful.

He peers over your shoulder. “Let’s go this way now. There’s bound to be more flowers in that direction.”

You turn and follow his line of sight. The trail has led to a forest, and veering off here would lead you into the thick of it. The man takes the last few steps to close the distance and stand next to you, and you look up at him. “Okay.”

Sunlight pierces the gaps in the foliage, the rays which light the ground soothing to behold and to walk through. It’s like a painting, calm and peaceful, displayed on the finest marble and you’re honored to be in the midst of it, maybe not as the subject, for you think the birds who cast shadows as they soar above you are more worthy of the privilege, but you’re content to be there at all, even just off to the side.

The woods lead to a meadow and the man was correct: there are more flowers here. Their colors vary, from white to lavender to yellow, and the sun envelopes them all in its heat, unhindered in this clearing. The tall grass shifts with your every footstep and brushes your calves, light as a feather, and you giggle. It tickles.

Your eyes rove over the expanse before you. There are more trees, another portion of forest, on the other side, but this place is so peaceful, and the sun is in the perfect position, centered in the sky, that you would hate to leave so soon.

“I’d like to lay among these flowers…” you murmur. It’s an aside you mean to mutter only to yourself, but given your proximity to the stranger—no, not a stranger anymore, but more of a friend—he hears you fine despite the low volume with which you said it.

“Why don’t we?”

At this, you blink and glance up at him. He’s already watching you with a twinkle in his gaze and he’s smiling. You can’t help smiling too and you feel so warm to be in his presence.

So in the middle of the clearing you find a suitable spot and settle down, lying on your back with the bunch of white flowers still clutched in one hand. You have to squint and use your free hand to shield your eyes from the glare of the sun, but then you close them and the furrow of your brow relaxes, and you can fully enjoy the nature which surrounds you.

Dragonflies buzz and you can hear them flittering along, the beating of their wings louder as they approach, then becoming quieter as they pass. The grass shifts as your friend comes to join you now. He sits, and you hear a brief shuffling before he follows suit and lays down. Together you bask in the sunlight, but for how long, you aren’t sure. Not that you’re interested in tracking the time.

“Your suggestion to tarry a while was a good one,” he compliments, breaking the silence. “It feels pleasant to rest here.”

His compliment makes you grin and your eyes open. You turn your head to look at him. He’d removed his helmet from where it was hanging around his neck and placed it next to him to allow him to lie back comfortably. “The sun makes you feel so refreshed, doesn’t it?”

He hums. “I think it has more to do with the company.” He opens his eyes and also turns to look at you, and the blueness of them is incredibly soft. Your smile grows.

And though you’re confident you could pass the rest of the day in that meadow, the two of you move on. It’s done with a bit of reluctance on your part, but it fades quickly because you agree with him: it’s the company which makes you feel refreshed. The colors of the sky are shifting as mid-afternoon turns into early evening and it occurs to you that you have been walking since the morning yet you aren’t tired, nor has it felt like many hours have transpired. You know it has to do with him. You think you could do this forever, walking with him.

When the sky is a blend of indigo and orange, you ask if anyone is expecting him. We’ve been together all day, you explain. No one might wonder where you are?

He chuckles. “That’s kind of you to be concerned.”

Your cheeks feel warm. He’s awfully good at getting that reaction out of you.

“No one’s expecting me,” he continues. “But even if someone were, they’d understand my lateness, given I’m with someone so sweet. I’m not keen to part ways too soon.”

Your chest feels tight, like your heart is wrenching and you’re scared it might break. “Me neither,” you state shyly.

Then gradually the indigos and oranges transition to black as the sun fully disappears below the horizon and you are sad to see it leave. You’ve also long since left the meadow and the forest surrounding it behind. The land you walk through is wide, flat, empty. There aren’t any plants or animals and it feels foreign, adjusted as you had been to the lush scenery of this afternoon. The only feature worth noting are the mountains that come into view now, which, while you’d already assumed them to be tall, are taller than you first thought as you get closer, so high they seem to touch the clouds, perhaps even extending past them.

“This way.” The man’s voice pulls your attention away from staring up at the clouds. There’s a path that leads farther into the mountain. “Watch your step. It’s rather dark.”

What light of the moon reaches through small gaps in the mountain reflects off the helmet strung around his neck. He takes care to move slowly to ensure you don’t lose him but the glint of his helmet serves as a beacon. The more you venture in, you wonder where you’re going. Should you ask him? The idea of doing so hadn’t crossed your mind all day because you’d been happy just to be with him, no apprehension about the destination, or whether or not there was one. But now…

The words are on the tip of your tongue, about to be voiced, but they die out once you turn a final corner and spot a river. The water is dark, almost black, and a haze settles above it that obscures what might possibly be on the opposite shore. Once you do speak, it’s still a question, but it’s no longer about where the two of you are headed. He doesn’t need to tell you that.

“Wanted to let me down gently, didn’t you?” The manner in which you ask this is quiet, lightly teasing but also laced with a sadness you do little to hide.

Hermes—for now you know confidently who he is—leads you right to the edge of the water and then stops, twisting around. “I chose to take the longer route with you.”

You meet his gaze. His eyes are sorrowful, yet for their melancholy they are still just as beautiful, and they’re tender as he looks at you. “Why?”

He takes a deep breath, momentarily glancing at the water then returning his focus to you. “You hadn’t realized what happened, and I didn’t want to tell you. I decided we would venture through the nature you love so much, taking breaks where you desired, to listen to the bugs and to feel the sun.”

Thinking back to this morning, you recall that when you’d woken up, you hadn’t checked behind you. If you had, you would’ve noticed your body there. You’d been too enamored by Hermes to do that. Though you suppose there are worse ways of being led to the Underworld, and you’d always be grateful to Hermes for choosing to take the long way.

“Through it I’ve grown very fond of you,” he confesses. He offers a small smile, and you surmise it’s a struggle, at odds with a frown because of where he has brought you, and what it implies. “A day with you was a lifetime, and it still didn’t feel long enough.”

You muster a smile of your own. “One day or an eternity, I don’t suppose any length of time ever would.”

A boat comes into view, appearing to materialize through the fog, and once it stops at the small dock, the front bumping gently and the water lapping against the support beams, Hermes gives the ferryman two coins. Treat her well, he instructs. And then he turns to you a final time, and when your heart squeezes, you really think it has broken.

Glancing down, your eyes settle on the flowers you’re gripping. You’d kept them with you the entire journey. But now you hold them out to Hermes, and the heaviness in your chest seems to lighten slightly as he takes them and the expression on his face becomes a little less crestfallen. You would hate to leave him in such a forlorn state.

“Thank you, Hermes.” You hope he can detect the sincerity, and when he smiles faintly, you know that he has.

He helps you onto the boat, clasping your much smaller hand in his to provide support, and he stands on the shore as the ferryman pushes away, watching you until the fog engulfs the boat once more. And though he’s alone, the flowers in his hand make him feel far from lonely.

#hermes x reader #hermes imagine #blood of zeus x reader #blood of zeus imagine #blood of zeus #hermes #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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eijispumpkin · 2 years

Note

Wordless ways prompt 11, 34 or 17 please

17. Folding their clean laundry and putting it away. 34. Mending an item of their clothing that was ripped.

Manhattan sunsets truly are breathtaking. Ash didn't lie about that. Seeing the sun sink down behind the skyline to the west, its rays glinting and sparkling against the glass and steel of all the skyscrapers, makes Eiji's fingers twitch for a camera even on the dreariest days. The golden hour is magnified tenfold when every surface is a mirror.

And yet, today, he can't appreciate any of it. All he can do is worry.

That's the problem with doing the laundry, see; it keeps his hands busy, but leaves his mind free to wander. And as he matches another pair of socks, all he can think is that it's sundown, and Ash isn't home yet.

"He'll be back soon, Eiji," Bones tries to offer, but it's cold comfort when Eiji's already spent entire evenings in this empty apartment alone, hoping and praying that Ash would return safe and sound, until he fretted himself to sleep on the sofa.

"I know," Eiji says listlessly, and reaches for one of Ash's shirts, to fold and set atop the neat stack of the rest. "You always say that."

Bones makes a soft, strained sound, tugging at the end of his braid in the way he always does when he's thinking, or stressed. "He's--nothing's gonna keep him from coming back here, to you. He's Boss. He'll be fine. You gotta know that."

And here--

Eiji wants to snap, sometimes. It would be unkind, and cruel, and he knows that the boys need to see Ash as peerless and invincible so that they feel safe following his lead, but sometimes Eiji wants to snap anyway, because Ash doesn't need that.

Ash needs someone to see him. The darling boy with years of hurt heaped upon his heart, the jokester who makes fun of Eiji's fashion sense and runs away at the sight of a pumpkin. The perfectly imperfect, vulnerable human that he really is.

Eiji sees him. Sometimes he wonders if anyone else ever has.

"I don't know that," he finally says, and reaches for another shirt. His fingers catch on a tear in the side, and his eyes widen as he realizes what the brown discoloration alongside it is: a bloodstain.

Here it is, then: direct evidence that Ash hurts and bleeds the same as anyone else.

A hard lump rises in Eiji's throat. His chest grows tight.

"Eiji," Bones tries again. "I know you're worried, but you gotta have more faith in 'im. He's fine. Promise."

On the strap of Eiji's camera bag hangs the omamori his sister gave him. An enmusubi, for luck in finding a deep, true love. It sits innocuously in the corner by his desk, now, tucked aside while his camera click-click-clicks away to document the men doing horrific things in the building next door. The sun catches it, in the evenings, just for a few minutes before it sinks below the horizon.

"Can you pass me my sewing kit?" he asks quietly, staring down at the torn fabric across his lap. "His shirt is ripped here."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Is it on your desk?"

"Top right-side drawer, behind you," Eiji says. And while Bones rummages around to find it, he swallows the tears that threaten to fall and takes a deep breath. He might not be able to do much for Ash, not in the ways that matter, but at least he can do this.

So he sits, he sews, and he waits. He listens to the silence, the lack of a key in the door, and he passes the needle through the fabric over and over.

And he prays, quietly, to whatever gods are listening, the same thing he prays for daily: that whatever power is in his omamori can bring his love home again, just for one more night.

50 wordless ways to say "I love you" prompts!

#asheiji #bones #written #its funny because its asheiji but ash isnt even there lol #oops this one was a bit sad but uhhhh canonverse has some Sad Eiji Hours #set sometime btwn 17-18!#rimi talks

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clefairymuke · 3 years

Text

regrets | chapter eleven

prev. chapter | next chapter

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut

tw: violence / explicit sexual content

word count: 1913

Ten feet. That's how far you had walked today without stopping to rest. Hange was practically jumping up and down, and Jean hugged you more tightly than he ever had before. For the first time in weeks, you started to feel a little less helpless. On the way back to the infirmary room, you held on to Jean's arm and limped back rather than being carried. It made you feel strong. Today was a happy day, which you had decided for yourself when you woke up, warm and cozy as you could possibly be under the thin white blanket that adorned the soft mattress. You felt refreshed; ready to work on your leg that morning, ready to see Jean, ready to make more progress. In the furthest part of your brain, you were also ready to see Levi that night. He was gone already when you woke up, like every other day, but that had never bothered you. The thought of good-morning small talk with Levi was awkward at best.

Now, you sat across from Jean with a hand of cards. You thumbed through them for what felt like the tenth time as Jean took his sweet time on his turn. He finally laid down a card, only for you to play one of the moves you'd thought out over the last five minutes as soon as he did. As the cycle started again, you found yourself looking out the window. The sun was almost ready to begin sinking, the blue of the sky becoming duller by the minute. You greedily awaited the purples and pinks that meant teatime. Throughout the day, the quietly nagging piece of your mind that wanted to see Levi grew bigger and bigger, until you finally had to admit to yourself that you were excited for it. You decided it was half because the tea was good, partially because he was good company, and a little bit because your hand still tingled when you thought of him.

Jean's turns got painstakingly longer as the game went on, so much so that you thought he was doing it deliberately. Your impatience grew as the sky turned orange, and Jean put the cards away. When he left, the sun touched the horizon.

The brevity of your alone time was unexpected yet welcome; the thoughts that possessed your brain while you sat in that room were hardly ever pleasant. You decided you were grateful that you didn't have your own bedroom -- the presence of company had become necessary in recent weeks. In that brief alone time, however, your mind did not hesitate to race. You recounted the events of the day before: Eren's anger, Levi's affection. For someone confined to a room, the past few weeks had surely been interesting.

You wondered about how it felt when he had touched you; you had many theories, but the leading one was that Levi put some sort of numbing solution on his hand to mess with you. Sure, it was out of character for him, but it was also out of character for you to do anything but dislike him. That was the theory you intended to stick beside.

Every time you heard the tiniest sound, your eyes shot to the door. Each time, you were met with disappointment. You looked around the room absentmindedly, eyes landing on the table that held only a glass of water. You leaned up as far as you could and grabbed it on two sides, sliding it between the chair and your bed. You felt accomplished when you laid back down, resting your hands on your stomach and focusing your eyes on the ceiling. You tried to push the thoughts of yesterday as far out of your mind as you could, but it was difficult. When the orange of the sky finally moved to pink, the door opened. There was Levi, as always, carrying along his tea set.

"Hey, Levi," you greeted him, a welcoming smile finding its way to the corners of your mouth. He nodded his head back to you as he sat down, his dark hair falling slightly forward as he leaned to pour his tea. For the first time, you studied the man sat in front of you. His lips were formed into a slight frown, more often than not. Though he was looking at his teacup, you knew his grey eyes looked focused, his thin eyebrows perpetually drawn down. You followed the slope of his nose with your eyes. His features were graceful yet sharp, all fitting cleanly together. The ends of his hair fell fell haphazardly along his cheekbones and ears, perhaps the one thing about him that wasn't perfectly neat.

"Why are you staring at me?" he asked when he looked up, sending blood rushing to your cheeks.

"I've been looking at this room for three weeks. There's nothing new about it. People look a little bit different every day," you answered him, your face hot. You pulled your eyes away from him in search of literally anything else to look at, finally focusing on your own folded hands.

"You're a pretty good liar, you know."

The two of you sat there chatting for at least an hour before you were interrupted by a knock at the door. Levi looked at you expectantly, and you told them to come in. It was a scout you didn't recognize, relatively tall, with shaggy brown hair that fell across his forehead. He only came in about a foot, then saluted. "Captain, the Commander needs to speak with you. He'd like you to come to his office as soon as possible," he said.

Levi nodded at him in dismissal, and the boy left as quickly as he had arrived. "I shouldn't be long. I'll be back soon," he told you as he stood. He followed the boy out the door and left you to the candlelit room all alone.

---

After two hours, you had long understood that Levi was a good liar, too.

It was now pitch black outside, the candle failing to provide much light. Sleep was fighting you tooth and nail as you shifted around the bed, attempting to find even one comfortable place. Your eyes were begging to shut, but your body wouldn't allow it. You continued like this for another half hour before your mind finally found rest, closer to passing out than comfortably drifting.

When Levi finally returned, the tea was cold. He was quiet as could be, careful not to wake you as he sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair; your position was less than peaceful, he noticed, your body more sprawled out than curled up and your hair in a tangled mess. Your eyebrows were drawn in tightly, your face displaying blatant discomfort. When he looked away, his eyes were pulled right back by a sound escaping your lips. It was soft, yet distressed. He wondered if he should wake you.

You started to toss and turn, your little gasps and groans growing more frequent and closer together. His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward. He tried to make out words, only deciphering the occasional "help" and "mom." Admittedly, it struck his curiosity. He sat and watched you for a moment more before rising from his seat and laying his hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently. "Hey, wake up," he said, trying to sound soft, but really only getting his typical tone across. He called your name, which tasted sweeter than it should have, twice before you finally roused awake.

You sat straight up, practically throwing his hand from your shoulder as you drew in shallow breaths. Your eyes darted around the room, vision a bit blurry, and you jumped when you saw Levi at your side. You were disoriented at best, not taking the time to speak. You noticed the tears brimming in your eyes after a moment, and immediately lifted your hands to wipe them.

"You were having a nightmare, I think. I'm sorry I took so long," Levi finally spoke up, not moving from your immediate bedside.

You cleared your throat, knowing sleep would still be present in your voice, before you replied. You looked over at him, his typical concerned expression more prominent than usual. "It's okay. It isn't your fault," you told him, laying your head in your hands. You felt vulnerable, and you didn't like it. Part of you wished Jean was here to snore loudly while you woke up in tears, not requiring you to interact with anyone.

"Are you okay?" he asked you. You noticed his hand twitch forward and then return to his side -- was he going to reach for you? You found yourself hoping he would.

"I'm . . ." you started, not really knowing how to finish your sentence. You tugged at a tangle in your hair. "Used to it, I guess. Not okay, not terrible. Just indifferent." You figured it summed up your emotions enough. Sleep had started to nag at your eyelids again, likely knowing it would be refreshing rather than restless now that you were no longer alone.

You laid your head back down and looked over at Levi, waiting for him to either reply or sit back down. He did neither; he stood there, studying your face as you had studied his only hours before. He didn't answer until his eyes finally met yours. "Do you need anything? At all?"

The look in his eyes was confusing, one you had never seen before. It was soft, almost endearing. Your voice answered him before your brain permitted it, and you regretted it as soon as it left your lips. "Would you lay with me?" You cursed your mouth and nearly vowed to never open it again. You felt yourself blushing, so much so that you wanted to turn over and bury your face in your pillow to never be seen again.

He wasn't embarrassed, though. His eyes widened a fraction for only a moment before he nodded, then sat on the edge of your bed and unlaced his boots. He pulled them off slowly and set them under the wooden frame, then stood and took off his jacket. He pulled his cravat from his neck swiftly and laid both over the back of the chair. He unbuttoned his shirt quickly, leaving only the gray shirt he wore beneath it. It joined the rest of his clothes on the chair. You moved away from the middle of the bed, allowing him plenty of room.

He didn't use it. He lifted the blanket and climbed in close to you, sliding his arm underneath your shoulders and gently guiding your head to his chest with his hand. Your heart had built up so much pressure you were sure it would explode out of your chest and leave the both of you a bloody mess. You adjusted yourself, shifting to face him and allowing your arm to drape over his stomach. You avoided looking up at him at all costs, but you could feel his eyes burning into the top of your head. This was the strangest, most foreign thing you had ever felt. The most off-center part was that you were entirely comfortable, your body more than relaxed despite your chest's unrelenting tightening.

"I --" you began, unsure of exactly what you were going to say. It didn't matter, because he was quick to interrupt you.

"Hush," he whispered. "Get some sleep."

#AoT #aot fic #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #levi attack on titan #levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #snk x reader #enemies to lovers #slowburn

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levicanpunchme · 3 years

Text

Eren X Y/N

Genre: Angst/Fluff/Romance

TW: Violence/Murder/Mentions of suicide-Manga spoilers.

Summary: After the attack on Marley, your injured self desperately runs to Eren for answers and his response clarifies your doubts. You realise the end will never change and decide to free Eren-while in the process revealing your real identity.

Soulless

Your mind was numb. The pouring rain felt like rubber bullets piercing your skin and dropping to the ground in retribution. While your body was deadly nonreactive, your heart was so alive, bursting with vigour as it drummed against your chest. You wished the silence of the night would swallow you whole. You wished you were able to foresee that nothing would change; the tragedy would always recur.

Eren Jeager, the only hope left for humanity, bound to save this world from eradication-right?

The shrilling silence of the world weakened your limbs and you fell to the ground as sobs wracked your frame. Your hair was a wet disaster, clinging to your neckline, just the way Eren hated it. He liked it combed back into a neat ponytail. You instinctively grabbed your sticky strands, clutching them together and then you stopped. Your body shook with painful laughter. You were still thinking of him. Your body was still reacting to his likes and dislikes-even after you were confronted with the truth. Pathetic. How pathetic.

You dropped your hand and threw your head into your knees, the aggressive pain weighting down your chest. His laughs, his smiles, his sobs, his cries, his pain, his despair, his excitement, his liveliness playing before your eyes, clawing at your chest. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to shake him. What was he doing? You thought you were changing it. So, the bitter end to this sage was never going to change?

You realised that his bottling pain was going to unleash upon humanity and take everything down with it.

“She’s going to die this way!” You heard a familiar sharp voice cry in the distance. You pretended to ignore it because right now, your conscience didn’t want to hear answers your heart knew.

“Mikasa-bring her inside! This storm will take her away!” Despite your attempts, you identified Jean’s gruff voice and cowered into your lap further. The deafening thunder struck again and your pale body tucked itself deeper, hoping the earth could crush you easily.

A warm embrace cradling your body caused you to stir which made the dull pain in your knee worse as the numbness subsided. You hesitantly opened your eyes and were met with dead ones of Mikasa’s. She locked her arms under your knees and lunged you up, into her arms easily. You stared at the terrorising sky with sobs reaching the horizon.

When Mikasa had brought you into the safety of the farmhouse, all the soldiers circled around you as she placed your wet frame on the ground. You were curled into your body and your knee was bleeding profusely; it only occurred to you now that a bullet had hit you in the Battle against Marley. Your eyes wandered to your comrades who were staring at you, sympathetically, sadly. Someone was examining your wound and shouting for medical equipments.

“Hey Mikasa-” you don’t know why but you called out for her in a small frail voice. She was right beside you as she responded. “Eren. Where is he?” Your weak tone grew aggressive and everyone stared speechless.

“Dungeon,” the low tone of her response made your fury worse. You pushed away the hands attending to your injury and tried to stand up, but embarrassingly fell back.

“Hey-Y/n, now’s not the time! Stay still!” Connie yelled, his narrow eyes wider than usual. You shook your head and your body moved on its own accord, desperately crawling to the stairs. “Stop it! Stop being so stubborn-” Jean’s shouting went through one ear, out the other. Your palms were inflamed from before. As you pushed towards the stairway, you could feel the loose skin tearing from friction; however, there was a greater pain in your chest. You had to get to Eren before the pain burned you alive.

“She won’t stop until she meets him,” this time Captain Levi was the one to speak up and then you felt your body hoisted up onto his shoulder. You fought him for a minute by punching his back but halted when you realised he was actually carrying you downstairs, to the dungeons, to your Eren.

Your eyes narrowed, unaccustomed to the sudden darkness but impatiently opened them, desperate to see Eren. Captain Levi dropped you to the ground and announced casually. “Your lover’s here,” he monotonously said.

“I said no visitors.” Even before you could see him, you heard his threateningly low voice and your soul shook in fear of the reality.

“Shut up,” was the last thing Captain said and then he left.

You turned to the light, which was shining from the fire lamp inside the jail cell and your breathing ceased. Your heart almost lurched out your throat as your gaze met his. The green orbs once bustling with passion were dead-so bleak they made your heart throb. Dead was the once alive forest, dulled into eternity. Every question inside your mind was answered with that one glance. Someone had once told you that the eyes are a gateway to one’s soul which means... Eren was soulless.

“Why’re you here?” He whispered with a bothersome irk in his tone. He ran fingers through his black hair and glanced over at your small frame.

You then saw an emotion ignite in his orbs. He, who was standing five feet away from the cell’s door was suddenly right against it. His towering frame lowered and his orbs shook.

“Y-you got shot?” His voice cracked, his warm hand suddenly touching your face. He stared at your dislocated knee, his chest rose and fell harder and his hand touching you trembled. “Y-you, why’re you injured?” He rasped, his frown deepening as his cold demeanour melted. “I didn’t see this-I didn’t see you injured.” Did he imply that he didn’t see you hurt in the airship or in the future? Your head didn’t function.

Finally, you moved. You slid your hand into the cell’s bar and smacked his cheek hard, imprinting angry red inflammation on his face. He was visibly astounded, his pained eyes widening and then he stared at your hand and grabbed it. “Your palm—” his lip trembled as his gaze traced the skinned palm, red hot flesh brutally exposed to the air.

His lips softly grazed your palm and your toes curled out of love.

“Eren- why?” Your sob pierced through him and yet he didn’t so much so as move. He kept inspecting the wounds, pretending he didn’t hear your screaming.

“Get it checked. Right now,” his command was now monotonous, his eyes threateningly dark. He impatiently gazed back at you and you slapped him again, hard. The sound of your flesh hitting against his resounded within the confinement of the dungeon. This time, he didn’t even flinch.

He again turned his head to look at you. “Y/n, your knee is fucked up. Leave.” You stared at him like he were a crazed man. Your body shook as a cold wave struck your wet frame. You tried to not tuck yourself into your clothes as you daringly kept your gaze at him.

“Eren, you haven’t changed your mind yet?” You heard your voice tremble as your nose burned, tears clogging your vision. This seemed to catch Eren’s attention and his ears perked up, his eyes colder than ever, tracing every inch of you. He waited for you to continue your words but you stayed silent and his aggravation mounted.

“What?” He gruffly muttered. “I had to turn or else they’d never back down-”

“You didn’t have to turn when so many of innocent people were present! Why did you do this.” A guttering groan left his mouth as he watched you breakdown. “Weren’t we innocent? Weren’t our children innocent when they sent titans to invade the walls-?” His harsh tone grew horrid, his gaze unexpectedly dark.

“Do you think if our fucking walls were still intact, we’d be happier?” He rasped, standing up, away from you. You grabbed onto the cold bars and followed, painfully rising up on your feet. Your knee injury was so painful, you had to grit your teeth to avoid screaming.

“Eren—”

“Leave. I don’t want you to understand. I don’t want anyone to fucking understand.”

Your head was pounding, your blood turning cold. This was what you had feared all along. You felt your throat closing up, your breathing staggering as your mind started to convulse the new plan.

“Eren— have you ever wondered why you never saw me?” Eren turned to you, his gaze reflecting his confusion. “Why you never saw me in the past, present or future?”

Eren’s body grew cold.

He stared.

His pupils shook.

In a moment, Eren was against you, his pale face growing horrified as he stared into the soles of your eyes. His chest was heaving, his body shaking.

“H-how do you know?” His breathy whisper cascaded down your forehead and your lips trembled again, a cry leaving your mouth.

“I’m not a part of your world.” You said it simpler than it ever was-to be fair, it was true. You were never supposed to exist in this universe. You were never a part of this story. God knows what happened-when you were suddenly sucked up into this world of titans. Your transmigration left you speechless-dumb and confused. You were so horrified to even breathe when the world you had once seen on your television became a reality.

At first, you thought it was a dream but each passing day mocked your insolent thinking. This world was as real as the normal world: the world of attack of Titan.

Initially, your plan of action was to stay out of main character grounds and disconnect yourself from the plot line- so you tried to fail your training as a cadet. Like a slap to your face, each time you attempted to intentionally fail-your day restarted. After trying again and again, you had bared enough of Keith Shadis’s painful yelling and decided to properly train. As you progressed, you realised, you had to be part of the main plot line or else you’d never get to leave this world.

And soon- you were part of the survey corps. In the first few days of training, you kept your eyes glued to Eren. He was the main protagonist of the show and would end up destroying humanity for Paradis. The realisation that only you knew how the future would unfold gave you a feeling of superiority and power over everyone and you let the overconfidence get to your head. You questioned your role in this- were you supposed to stop the tragedy from unfolding? You decided against it-you didn’t care anyway. You just wanted to live till the end until you could leave.

When the female Titan (Annie) hunted for Eren, you sat back and watched. You remembered soon about the brutal deaths of the Levi squad. Despite knowing the tragic end, you stayed unfazed. And it happened— Eren trusted the Levi squad and didn’t turn until the very end- and they were massacred as if they were destined for it.

Their deaths didn’t hurt you because your mind was so busy thinking of everyone as just ‘characters of a show’ that it didn’t occur to you how awfully human everyone actually was. After that day, one night, you found Eren sitting outside on the patio, staring at the blank sky.

You joined his side since you didn’t feel like sleeping.

“Eren, why’re you here so late in the night?” You wondered, staring at the pale man before you. He didn’t look at you or answer you.

“Eren?” You muttered softly. He was faraway, you could tell.

“When this ends, I’ll never be able to live.”

Your eyes widened as you watched his lips twist into an agonising smile. “Why did I live to be the one?” His voice cracked and he stared at you.

“I don’t want this. I never wanted to do it, y/n.”

“I wish- I wish someone killed me before I could get hold of the founding. Every death I cause... every death I will cause... I won’t be able to atone it.”

“I don’t want to be that heinous monster.”

“Y/n, can you free me?” The longing in those orbs left your heart palpitating. Sadness and regret ceased your mind. Without thinking, you slammed your lips into his. You didn’t know where the emotion emerged from, but it overwhelmed you so much, you wanted to drink away every ounce of pain from Eren’s troubled mind. To your surprise, he kissed back desperately as if for a moment- he was not Eren Jaeger, the owner of the attack Titan, not the humanity’s hero-not a destructive weapon against the world, just Eren.

When the kiss ended, reality kicked in. Eren stared at you confusedly, doubtfully and then used his powers to eradicate the memories of what he had said to you and what you had done to him.

Little did Eren know, you were immune to his power.

And then you embarked on a journey with a new objective: you had to change the future or the end would be the same.

Your first mission was to expose Reiner and Berthrold before they could cause more trouble but it caused a malfunction-everything glitched and restarted. Your attempts went in vain. You tried and struggled but later realised that you could not change anything.

You tried time and time again to save Eren. At the airship, your desperation to save Sasha blinded you. You attempted to shut the door of the airship, but in the end, Gabbi still stalked her way inside. You attempted to shield Sasha but in the end, two bullets were fired, one at your knee and the other at Sasha.

There was nothing you could do.

In the end... you will lose Eren as a monster to this world.

“Eren— you told me to free you. You told me you wanted to be normal boy-away from war. You dreamt of a family. A family of your own.”

Eren’s heart was pounding, your words dull in his eardrum as the only sound he could hear was his heart. Everything he had said to you... while staring at the blue sky-every honest word he had told you- you remember. You remember it crystal clear.

All this time, he felt alone. He had so much to say- so much to tell his friends and yet he could only pathetically take away those memories. It destroyed him. To repeat the things again and again and wipe them away like he was messing around on a whiteboard. The turmoil raging inside his heart wanted to break free and destroy everyone. He was terrified.

And yet you remembered. You stuck to him every time he felt alone as he would empty his chest off its litter. He told you his selfish desires which he never even shared with his friends and you never struck him with shock. Your gaze remained honest and pure while looking at only him. You listened. You silently understood.

Then he would repeat the same cycle and erase those times.

How did the memories never leave you?

“Eren, I love you.”

It was the last thing you said to him as you stared into his watering eyes. Your sobs transgressed the earth, shattering pieces of your heart. With trembling hands, you pulled out the black rifle. Standing before him, your quivering hands held the gun at your lover’s forehead.

He stared at you. His lips curled up into a genuine smile which you’ll forever commit to memory, his eyes brimming with tears but never leaving your soul. He held your hand, caressing the skin. Without blinking, breathing, he kissed your callous skin one last time.

“Thank you.”

You pulled the trigger.

Screams ripped out your chest.

Someone yelled in the distance.

Someone held you down.

The last thing you saw was the splitting image of a green-eyed boy who once dreamt of freedom laying soulless on the red ground.

A/N: Please note that I never claim my writing is a solution to AOT. It’s not smart and may have plot holes. I just wanted Eren to leave the AOT world like a normal person-friend-lover and not a genocidal criminal. I really wanted to express this version of Eren Yeager.

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millllenniawrites · 3 years

Text

enchanted (Poe Dameron x Reader)

part one of dear love of mine

summary: The last thing you wanted was to fall in love. That was your sisters’ job, to marry and have a small army of children for your mother to dote on. But when the man courting your eldest sister brings a mysterious guest to stay with your family for the summer, you may not have a say in the matter.

words: 1.5k

warnings: afab!reader; reader has a last name; regency au for the aesthetic but it’s historically inaccurate for the *vibes*; slow burn; sexual themes throughout; eventual smut; warnings will be added as the series progresses

a/n: the series i’ve been talking about for months is finally here!! Totally was supposed to post this yesterday but I forgot. I started outlining this after reading @writefightandflightclub ’s Regency Femdom Week 2020 fic Of Rears and Vices and watching Bridgerton was like taking steroids so here you go!! I haven’t done an actual series in a long time so i’m super stoked about this whole thang. this is a short chapter cause I want you guys to get to know the universe and the characters but the next few are gonna take some time because they are long bois

You sat at the window, looking down at the long drive that led up to your estate. Lord Barnes was supposed to arrive before lunch and, though your stomach rumbled, you didn’t take your eyes off the horizon.

“You’re almost more nervous than I am.” Ana called.

You blinked quickly to allow your eyes a moment to adjust from the bright light outside to the dim interior of her room. Your sister stood in the doorway, her hair glinting in the sunlight. Her blue dress complimented her features and, even without the sun, you were sure she would have been glowing.

“You remember that I’m the one he’s courting, right?” Her slippered feet whispered against the floor as she crossed the room, hopping up into the window seat across from you.

“Of course I remember.” You flailed your leg out, striking her in the shin with your foot. “It’s only the happiest day of my dear sister’s life.”

She tossed a scrap of paper into your lap. On it, scrawled in a neat print, was yet another declaration of love from the strapping Lord Barnes for your sister.

You read aloud, “My dearest, Ana, how I do miss your gaze. The stars here are truly incomparable, having seen your eyes— Is this what men think is charming?!”

She snatched the paper from your hands. “I think it’s charming!”

As you laughed, you snorted, sending her into a fit of giggles right alongside you.

“I really do think he’s going to propose this time, Ana. And you know I’m happy for you.”

The summer prior, Lord Barnes had been in town on business, settling assets after the tragic death of his father. To distract himself from his mourning, he had begun going door to door, learning the names of the people who lived in the county he had so suddenly inherited.

Ana had not stopped talking about him since and, if his letters were any indication, he was just as charmed as she was.

“Of course I know that.” She turned around, flopping herself back into your lap. “You also know that by my marrying Lord Barnes, I’m helping you secure a suitable match.”

“A suitable match!” You couldn’t help but laugh again. “For Siena, yes. For me?”

“You cannot keep your nose in those books forever! I cannot let you. Don’t you think you’ll get lonely in this big house all by yourself?”

“A marriage would simply hand over our family’s legacy to whatever man decided to sign the papers. I do not think that is what Father would have wanted.”

She rested her elbows on your legs and leaned her chin onto her palms. “I think Father would have wanted you to be happy.”

With a roll of your eyes, you shoved your poor sister out of your lap and onto the floor. She landed with a soft grunt and a flurry of skirts and immediately tried to clamber back into your arms.

Ana loved to remind you that you would be tasked with taking care of the family property once your mother passed. She had seen it as such a burden that, even as the eldest of three girls, your parents had decided she could pass on the responsibility. Siena, the youngest of the three Dean daughters, was just as enamoured with the idea of marriage as Ana was, so the future of the estate had passed to you without complaint. Their wish was to be romanced and married. Yours was stability. And with your father gone, your mother wasn’t about to keep any of you from your true wishes.

Siena was in her room, no doubt pruning and prepping for the arrival of Lord Barnes — it didn’t matter that she wasn’t the sister he was coming to visit, she had reminded you — and you did miss her presence as you and Ana shoved at each other and grappled for her letter. It was moments like this was you cherished, knowing that soon, handsome men would arrive and sweep your sisters away. Your house would be left empty of two of the most precious things you had ever beholden.

“Girls!” Your mother shouted, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You and Ana squished yourself together in the window seat. A dark carriage had begun it’s way up your drive.

“Girls!” She shouted again. “Come down here!”

You and Ana raced out of her bedroom and down the long staircase. Both out of breath by the time you reached the bottom, you clutched each other.

Your mother and Siena stood side by side, their arms crossed. They were mirrors of each other, their coiled hair pinned into place and eyebrows furrowed in distaste.

Siena turned her nose up at your giggling, but you could see a glint of playfulness in her eye. Though she tried to appear sophisticated, her twelve-year-old spirit wasn’t easily quelled, much to your mother’s dismay.

“Are you sure you’re ready to get married, sister?” Siena’s voice was soft, more like silk than sound.

“He hasn’t proposed yet. You needn’t be so serious.” She skated over to Siena and wrapped her arms around her sister’s middle, swinging her around.

“And when the Lord Barnes proposes, Ana will be quick to get ready. Just you watch.” Your mother winked at you before grabbing Ana’s arm, pulling her off Siena. “They are about to arrive. Go look presentable.” She shooed both your sisters towards the front doors before limping along behind them.

Mister Kirk, your family’s butler, stood off to one side. He was a thin man, the grey hair atop his head so thick that it looked as thought he might topple over at a moment’s notice.

You nodded your head to him. “Thank you for the work you’ve done setting up for our guest, Mr. Kirk.”

“It is my job, Miss Dean.” He said softly. Your sisters would have teased you about the fondness in Mister Kirk’s face had they been there, but the opening of the front doors had thoroughly distracted them. “And it is guests, Miss. More than just Lord Barnes is set to join us for the summer.”

You cocked your head but didn’t dare say more. It must have been a new development. Why else would your mother not share this with you?

You didn’t wait for Mister Kirk to elaborate, heading towards the open doors of your home.

The carriage pulled up right in front of the steps. A footman hopped down from the back of the carriage, setting a stool out before opening the door.

Lord Finneas Barnes stepped out of his carriage, grinning up at your family. “Hello Ladies Dean!” He called, waving grandly.

You all curtsied, a chorus of ‘Hello Lord Barnes’ causing his smile to widen further. “There’s no need for the formalities. Please. Call me Finn.”

Everything about him was refined, down to the buckles of his shoes. His dark hair had been done in waves, tight to his head, giving him the impression of wearing a crown. And he walked like it. His smile was sweet, but everything else about him oozed boldness and masculinity.

You could have sworn Ana nearly swooned beside you. A curious mischief glittered behind her eyes.

When you looked back to the carriage, another figure was stepping through the door.

The stranger tossed his head, his thick curls bouncing back away from his eyes to reveal his sharp features. He was dressed in blue, clearly a military uniform. Various pins on the front of his coat winked in the sunlight. His dark eyes quickly took in your family waiting on the steps and his dark eyes stalled when he reached you. Mouth quirking in a slight smile that had your heart racing, his gaze passed on.

The two men ascended the steps. Your mother curtsied again, the rest of you following behind her.

You could not take your eyes off the mysterious gentleman.

“This is General Dameron, I presume?” Your mother asked.

“The one and only,” Lord Barnes boasted, clapping the gentleman — General Dameron — on the back.

The General bowed. “Thank you for hosting us while the Barnes estate is renovated, Lady Dean. Your invitation for me to join Finn here was the best surprise I’ve had since the Coast.”

The Coast. You vaguely remembered hearing about the war from the girls in town last summer. They’d had brothers and fathers go to fight — and come back victorious, if your memory served you — but as your household was of only girls, you hadn’t been particularly invested in the news of battles that did not impact your family.

“It’s not a problem.” You heard your mother say.

Ana griped your arm, viciously whispering, “He’s quite handsome,” before dragging you back into the house.

You glanced back over your shoulder at the General and your mother politely discussing something — the topic of conversation could have been the weather for all you heard of it. It was as if your ears had been stuffed with cotton.

The General’s dark eyes met yours again and your breath caught. You tore your gaze away, snapping your head around to face forward.

It would be the last you’d see of him for the rest of the day.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #regency au #star wars #oscar isaac fic #mywriting #dear love of mine

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

If life gives you melons...

Ship: Loki x F!alt! reader

Rating: Explicit / word count 5,5k

Summary: You've heard about meet-cute, how about meet-ugly? Reader has tattoos and a tongue split. There's this joke that "bisexual alt girls go looking for a girlfriend and end up with sad, tall and skinny white bois" and boy did that hit home. Inspired by this cringy video of Hiddles [youtube link].

During a panel at a comic con, Loki notices reader and they go on a date, reader gets railed: top!Loki, choking, rough sex, unprotected sex, all the good stuff. Open ending, with a bonus of reader and Loki pranking Clint.

x. I usually fancy they/them pronouns for Loki but seeing as it's a smut-shot, I decided to go along with he/him for the sake of simplicity. Loki's at least 6'4 tall and you can fight me on that. Also, I write like a Tony stan - I feel the need to apologize to Loki stans for that. I love you guys! 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

The long line of people appeared to be neverending. Loki was an enhanced, as the government recently had adopted a politically correct term for Earth's non-human inhabitants, but even his enhanced endurance had begun waning due to sheer amount of people wanting a piece of memorabilia signed by The God of Mischief. Loki had gained a considerable amount of fans after doing his part in killing the mad titan Thanos and by extension, saving the world. It turned out, humankind was a sucker for a good redemption arc.

Loki's hands ached where they wrapped around the pen that he'd been using for nearly 4 hours to neatly place his name, written in neat runescript, on various pieces of merchandise that his fans (and wasn't that a strange thing!) presented to him. He used to think that he would have actually succeeded conquering the earth if he had a grasp on how to use social media and his charm; now, he just wanted the torture to end. An involuntary sigh left his mouth when he saw another print of himself in full battle gear being placed in front of him by a reasonably attractive young woman.

"Um, thank you," She stammered, giggling softly, and Loki spared her a painstaking smile, scribbling his name once again. The woman briefly caught his eyes. "Um, you're the reason- the inspiration for me. I became a stripper."

Loki blanked, feeling his eyes widen and blink on their own accord a few times. He wasn't sure if he heard the woman correctly, as the unusual statement made his brain freeze.

Loud snickering from behind the blushing woman interrupted the system error that he was experiencing in his head. It wasn't often that somebody managed to render him speechless. It looked like whoever was in line behind the stripper woman had taken advantage of that. Loki's eyes snapped to the short-haired person, who looked torn between cringing and breaking into embarrassed laughter.

The stripper left without a word, and as Loki picked up the cursed writing instrument once again, the short-haired person smiled at him kindly. "That was a little weird," They snorted, "And thanks, have a nice day Mr. Loki."

"When life gives you melons, you might be dyslexic," Another woman, that appeared to be the short haired person's friend, deadpanned and gave a cynical side-eye to the departing stripper. Loki heard snickering coming from the short-haired person and quietly joined himself. The woman noticed it, winking at him as she collected the newly signed t-shirt. "Bye," She smiled kindly.

It was a split second decision, really. Something about the cheeky way she addressed the situation sparked Loki's interest. "Wait, you forgot something, darling," His baritone called out to the departing woman. She turned around, confused, and hastily grabbed the standard issue photo that he was holding out to her. With a final grateful nod, she smiled and left.

If Loki's smile had returned for the time being, none of his teammates made any remarks on it. Only his brother, Thor, gave a couple of knowing looks to the Asgardian sorcerer.

The woman in question didn't think twice about the photo that she stashed in her backpack along with the signed t-shirt. The Comic-Con had been full of people and the lines were unfairly long. The sheer exhaustion after attending a 3-day long convention had set in and she was eager to simply come home back to her apartment and crash on the nearest soft flat surface. Upon arrival, she did exactly that, flopping down gracelessly on the couch, her backpack landing next to her with a careless thud.

Unloading her trophies was a short time affair: a single white tee with a dozen signatures on it, written in what she hoped was waterproof Sharpie; one mug, shaped like an Iron Man helmet; one poster, showing Spider-Man on a picturesque NYC horizon and a signed photo of one Loki. Strangely enough, she did not remember requesting it - not that she was complaining. Free merch was free merch.

The front side wasn't signed whatsoever. Overcome by curiousity, she turned it around. A phone number was written on the back of it, the handwriting neat and the letters obviously being inked out by a thinner, more sophisticated pen than the one Loki had used for scribbling on the tee. The woman gaped silently, not believing her eyes. Did Loki himself had given her his phone number?

One margarita and a hefty helping of Chinese takeout later, the numbers persisted staring back at her mutely, the neat cursive being almost mocking in its quiet. The woman's smartphone had found a comfortable place right next to the photo, equally mum regarding the unusual situation.

An additional margarita was needed to gather the courage required to actually type out the number in the receiver box. Fruity alcoholic concoction in one hand and phone clutched in the other, the woman's eyes squeezed shut tightly as soon as the dreaded "Hey, got your number today! :)" read delivered. She'd typed and erased the message several times, groaning in embarrassment. How the hell does one approach an alien god?

"Hello! May I ask your name?" The response came after a brief moment - a moment the woman had suffered through by taking too haste sips of her drink, her common since screaming her to not overdo it and wait at least a full minute before replying. Everything felt awkward and misplaced.

In no time, she was sending the screenshots of the conversation to her girl-advice group chat that consisted of her closest friends. Chatting with Loki turned out to be surprisingly easy and he was great at upholding conversation, something that couldn't be said about all those Tinder matches she had had back in the day.

Even if using proper grammar during a text message conversation was something she had to reacquaint herself with, she was glad he wasn't just another boring, shalllow, condescending-ass white boy. Despite the cultural differences and his lack of knowledge of things like pop culture and music - something he said he was working on since New Asgard became a sovereign state on Earth - they bonded over music and tattoos and generally being rebellious against society's standarts.

The invitation to dinner didn't come as a surprise for the woman. She agreed happily, looking forward to continue their conversation outside of the internet - if Loki's part of the chat was anything to go by, not only was he charming, but also quite intelligent. And easy on the the eyes, too. They had traded selfies at some point and the Asgardian didn't look any worse in a hoodie and sweatpants than he did in his battle leathers. Loki had appeared to truly have had integrated into Earth's society.

The night of the date, the continuous text exchange did very little to calm her nerves. Loki texted as much as an overeager teenage boy: every now and then he would double-text and grossly overreact to her sending a simple meme. In fact, he smugly conveyed the fact he'd single-handedly started a meme war between the Avengers and even Steve was forced to participate; something that was, allegedly, out of character for the blonde man.

She didn't mind. Not like she had many friends to have so much fun with. Even if it took her twice the time to do her favourite eyeliner style, it was worth it. She hoped Loki would appreciate the bold, but classy make-up and the dress and shoes combo that accentuated her assets. Her date expressed curiousity about her tattoos and the difference between her preferred style and the humans he spent most time with. She guessed secret agents were not particularly fond of anything that made them memorable so she held out quite the hope for... Showing off some of her tattoos in a more private setting.

In other, simpler words, the woman came in prepared for both a friendly, leisurely stroll and a quality night. Either way, it would be a time well spent.

Loki's shiny, raven hair was impossible to miss as he towered over the rest of the people waiting by the restaurant's entrance. He wore tailored black trousers and a simple cashmere sweater, perfect for the evening's damp, cool air. Tall and lithe, Loki was mouthwateringly handsome.

"Come here often?" She wormed her way through the crowd, causing the man to smirk down at her. Her cheeks flared from the tiny gesture alone.

"Just waiting for a friend," Loki uttered lowly, extending an arm towards the woman, which she gracefully accepted as they made way towards the entrance. "Reservation for Loki," The Asgardian stated to the hostess, who, after a rapid doube-take, led them to a private, secluded area in the back of the restaurant.

Loki shouldered the slightly awkward interaction with grace, paying no mind to the girl. His focus was solely on his date and he was nothing but gallant as he took the woman's purse and held out the chair for her to comfortably sit down. As a prince, he was taught well, she mused.

"Usually I would ask 'what brings you to our little ball of water and dirt?' but I think we can skip that part," The woman stated with a sheepish grin, idly flicking through the menu and curiously eyeing the items that were unfamiliar. The desire to try something new fought with the possibility of accidentally ordering something too far out - like snails or other things that rich people fancied, for some reason.

Loki's greens briefly appeared over the top of his menu, grateful and sparkling. "I think it's best if we do just that," For a second, he looked away, before returning to the menu. "I can think of better things to discuss. I recall you didn't finish telling me about that college friend of yours, who was an anarchist... I'm dying to know..."

The waiter came and went, barely noticed by the pair, as they both poked at something that sounded the most familiar for both of them. Stoically, Loki admitted that Tony Stark did the booking for him and the woman reluctantly acquitted she wasn't very familiar with upscale establishments, being of middle-class background and working a middle-class job.

Interrupting the story she began telling hours ago, the woman took the time to point out the things she was familiar with on the menu and advised Loki to stay away from - like the aforementioned snails, and other things, slimy and salty things that she considered to be 'disgusting but rich people liked it for some reason'. The conversation slowly progressed into Loki telling her the mischief he got up to at the feasts Odin threw. The Asgardian shared the woman's disregard for influential people doing gross things to show off.

The food was good - it was really hard to miss with a traditional Italian lasagna - and seeing Loki shovel an obscene amount of food was an experience, but she didn't comment on it, tactful enough to consider his alien biology might have different dietary requirements that her human one. It was great, really, that she could order dessert and not feel guilty about it.

The gelato melted in her mouth like sweet ecstasy and she moaned with her next bite, only partly aware of how obscene really was the noise.

Loki's hand stuttered on it's way to his mouth. Wide-eyed, he stared at her lips, at her mouth, where her tongue lapped up the small drops of dessert from the spoon. "Why the split tongue?" The Asgardian finally gathered his wits, having had a good look of what he was sure was a trick of the eye at first.

She grinned, acutely aware of the effect that particular body modification had on men. "I like being different. I embrace the weird." She giggled, not at all ashamed, sticking out her tongue and wiggling both parts of it teasingly.

Loki's Adam's apple bobbed; "Weird?" He raised his eyebrow, fighting to maintain his previous cool composure.

She nodded. "Weird," She retorted coyly. "I usually don't divulge the details at least until the third date. Wouldn't want to scare my potential suitors off," The playful wink was the proverbial cherry on top. He was hooked, his eyes darkened, following the plump arch of her lips as she took another spoonful of the treat and savoured it, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

It was pornographic.

"Obviously, Midgardians don't know what's good for them," Loki scoffed in his usual bored monotone, fully aware of how fitful his attempt to conceal his excitement was. He sounded needy even to his own ears.

"And you do?" She pushed away the empty plate, chastely patting her mouth with a napkin. The raised eyebrow and the little smirk spoke volumes.

The grin he wore was hardly anything but feral; he asked for the waiter's assistance by flicking his wrist in an impatient fashion. Once the bill was paid and the woman's cardigan found its rightful place on her shoulders, Loki once again took hold of her arm, this time holding her smaller body against his larger one, taking care to slow down and keep his strides shorter.

She found the coolness of his presence refreshing in the moist, heavy air of the New York city.

"Where to, milady?" Loki asked her, looking down at the woman fondly.

"My place is a block away. Walk me, good sir?" She gave a delightfully easy smile in return.

He nodded, letting her lead the way, allowing himself to get a little bit lost in their shared presence, a little bubble of them in the middle of a busy city. It was as if someone had quickly turned down the volume of the honking cars and noisy pedestrians around them, leaving the soft breeze and the sun slowly descending below the skyscrapers. It felt far too short, partaking in the comfortable silence together, skin tingling under the thin layers of cloth where they were touching.

The sun was trapped in the strands of her hair as she smiled at him from her doorway, worrying her lip between her teeth. It was a bittersweet moment.

"A kiss good night for the good sir?" She asked hopefully, eyes darting between his face and his mouth.

Loki obliged, resting his palm flat on the door frame, towering over the woman as he gently slotted his thin, cool lips against her warm ones. The woman stood on her tippy toes, eager, placing a hand on his chest. The pair melted into the kiss - it had no business being this mind-blowing, brain-freezing for two people that have not met until that very day. The woman didn't refuse when Loki probed with his tongue, requesting entrance to her mouth; she licked into his own with fervor, fisting her hands in the soft fabric of his sweater.

With the hand that was free, Loki pulled the woman flush with himself, feeling the heat of her start a fire of its own inside of him. Her breathing rapid, the gesture only served to tighten her hold on his sweater, until a soft, barely audible moan slipped into his mouth, causing his brain to quickly reassess the situation.

Regretfully, Loki pulled away, clearing his throat. "Perhaps we should take this elsewhere," He meaningfully looked at the array of doors around them.

"I thought you'd never ask," She retorted with a fond eyeroll, tightening the grip on his sweater once more, to pull him inside her apartment and shut the door behind her. The awkward moments were few and in between; neither knew who reached for the other first, mashing their mouths with less grace than before, clutching at the other's arms and hips with hunger.

This time, Loki didn't hold back his own muted groans of satisfaction, shivering when the woman's hands snuck under his sweater and the simple tank top he wore underneath. Blunt nails scraped along his abs.

Step by step, she pushed him further inside her apartment, determined in her small quick strides. There was no mistake of their destination; no mistake in her desire: she was as hungry and as impatient as him. The crease between his eyebrows deepened, long arms extending to unzip the top of her dress to reveal a simple but tasteful black lacy bra covering her breasts. The woman barely noticed the action, stepping out of her dress as soon as it hit the floor.

He admired her. Inches of soft skin covered by intricate ink, some patterns bizarre and complicated, some beautiful in their simplicity. Loki couldn't wait to find out about the meaning behind every one of them, to trace the lines with his tongue and sink his teeth into the heated flesh.

The hands that were holding onto him for dear life tugged on his sweater and he chose to simply vanish it, too preoccupied with looking at the view in front of him. She gasped and her eyes met his: uncanny, magnetic emeralds shone with magic and power and desire.

"Fuck," She more mouthed than said, walking backwards in a trance until her shins hit the bed.

Loki grinned, advancing on the panting woman with the grace of a predator. "Darling?" His tone was innocent; his expression was anything but. His large hand encompassesed the side of her face, thumb running over her bottom lip in a possessive gesture that had her squirming in her place. He loved the way she just melted into his touch.

Their lips met again, slower this time. The kiss was once again graceful and unrushed, allowing them to explore the softness of each other's skin, mapping the arches and valleys with gentle strokes of their palms. The broad expanse of Loki's back was uneven, riddled with scars and blemishes, and she mapped every single one, blunt nails raking down it as she pressed into him, arching into his hands where he held her.

The soft flesh of her ass, barely covered by a scrap of black lace, was shamelessly grabbed - the woman didn't doubt there would be marks left - letting her feel his arousal pressed against her belly, hard and twitching. She didn't resist her desire to ge handsy and palmed it, taking note of the gasp and the twitch coming from the man occupied with the clasp of her bra. In no time, it flew away, forgotten somwhere the very moment Loki's palms took over her breasts, running a careful thumb over each nipple.

"Fuck," She parroted her previous statement, equally breathy and considerably more aroused.

"That's the plan," Loki's chuckle was hoarse.

She huffed, biting her bottom lip before reaching out to swiftly pop the button of his trousers, smirking at the hiss the friction of her palm produced against his cock. It shouldn't have surprised her that Loki was a commando kind of guy, but still, she gasped, partially from the ministrations of his clever fingers, partially from the mouthwatering sight in front of her. The thick, flushed length made saliva gather in the corners of her mouth.

He must've heard the audible swallow. "Not so haste, darling," He tutted, giving her relaxed body a gentle push, causing her to land on her back, heated skin against the soft duvet of her bed. "Let me taste you," A thud; Loki had dropped to his knees, using his large palms to spread her legs, opening her up to his eyes.

If his previous work hadn't made her so pliant, so aroused, she'd have been rendered speechless; instead, the woman arched her back, presenting herself and the desire that had pooled down below. The Asgardian chuckled, fingertips soft against the scratchy lace.

"Tease," The woman moaned, outstretching her arm to guide him but quite unable to reach him. She had to settle for squirming in her place, receiving a fraction of the desired traction against her swollen lips.

"Am I, love?" Loki asked her sweetly, caving enough to dip a single finger to run along the outside of her slit. It glided easily thanks to all the moisture gathered there, lips parting easily before his touch. The panties were vanished away promptly, another finger joining in immediately to rub slow, precise circles around her clit.

She keened low and long, fisting the fabric in her hand until her knuckles turned white. Loki knew what he was doing. It didn't take him very long to slide his long digits to the welcoming heat of her opening, dipping them inside until she began to make the noises he so craved. His mouth followed after that, long agile tongue drawing senseless shapes on the inside of her labia and dipping deeper, where her clit stood out engorged and slick.

He could smell the bittersweet of her arousal, mouthwatering and hot.

"Loki, fuck," She moaned, only half-coherent and partially aware of her own hips following his every stroke, every flick. He only advanced, hitting that sweet spot inside her with every stroke; the sparks traveling up her spine quickened with each time she changed his name like a prayer. "Loki, Loki, Loki..."

He growled, attaching his mouth firmly to her clit, and she arched for the final time, coming undone, squeezing around his fingers and gushing in his mouth, the obscene sounds covered by her own scream of delight and his impatient growling. The growling that sent shivers of aftershocks throughout her body.

"Darling, you taste so sweet," Loki groaned, still panting.

She took the time to open her eyes: Loki looked comically out of place in her bedroom, he dwarfed her bed and made her feel small, but it didn't matter at all at that very moment. His erection stood out hard and proud; despite the leg-shaking orgasm just moments ago, she wanted more, she wanted to taste him, she wanted to feel him inside-

With unsurprising agility, one swift motion was all it took for her to rest comfortably against the pillows, his throbbing member resting against the juncture of her thigh. She tasted her own release on his lips, however brief, whispering a weak, "Please," aching to feel the emptiness.

"As my lady wishes," Loki's cool breath ghosted over her cheek. She waited with baited breath until the tip of his manhood breached her, exhaling a moan into his neck and immediately wrapping her lips around a patch of skin as he stretched her so sweet.

Loki's arms shook slightly as he waited for her to adjust. He kissed her, soft and sweet; there was something vulnerable in him, something as sweet as the ache he'd taken away. Once he began to move, slow and fluid, all there was left was an all-consuming need to feel. As graceful as dancer and with a deadly precision, Loki pounded gasps, moans and screams out of the woman's slack mouth, kisses turning hungrier and sloppier by the second.

"So sweet," He cooed, relishing in the snug grip of her cunt around him.

She only keened in approval, too far gone and unused to the intensity of the feelings from a man with centuries of practice and the power of a god.

His thrusts slowed gradually until he was rutting into her, grinding his pelvic bone into her clit. The gasps and screams turned into drawn-out, longing moans; her hips followed his, meeting in a slow, sensual motion.

Loki was not a patient man. He withdrew - she gasped in protest - flipping the woman over on her fours with ease, taking but a split second to admire the curve of her body presented on display for him. Just for him.

With that thought burning in his mind, Loki sheathed his cock deeply inside her spasming cunt. It was nearly unbearably stimulating and only his own desire to prolong the bliss held back his own impending orgasm. That, and his own ego; he was naught if not a generous lover.

She slurred something, quiet and incorrigible, fucking back onto his cock as eagerly as he was plunging into her heat. The hand he'd placed on her shoulder promptly wrapped around her throat in hopes of lifting her close enough for him to hear the words but instead, it sent a full-bodied shiver throughout her. Loki grinned, tugging her that much closer.

The arch in her back looked quite uncomfortable yet she didn't mind; it was the exact opposite, in fact, her cunt tightened around him, drenching his shaft down to his balls. Her fingernails dug into the flesh of his thigh, the sting of pain going straight to his cock-

"Loki, I'm gonna, I'm gonna-" She slurred, gasping for air.

He weakened his hold on her throat enough to let her gulp the so-needed oxygen. It was her undoing: was it the rapid pace of oxygenated blood traveling to her brain or was it his cock, mercilessly pounding against her g-spot - she was violently spasming around his cock, much like she did around his fingers not too long ago.

It felt like ages, her crescendo coming in waves with no signs of stopping any time soon. Loki's continuous thrusts, his hips slamming into hers, her skin feeling like molten lava.

"Gonna fill your sweet cunt with my seed," Loki moaned lowly, holding her up by the throat, the other hand leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the outside of her hips. "Mark you from the inside out," His voice had gone into primal territory, growling filling up the room.

"Please..." The woman rasped, oversensitive.

And he pleased, with a series of sharp thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt in her, the force of his release making her shudder and moan once against, going limp in his arms. Loki kept her in her place until every drop was inside of her cunt. Nothing was sweeter than that.

The Asgardian didn't bother with getting under the covers to hold her, conjuring a soft, comfortable throw in modest green, to cover their nudity. He didn't need the extra warmth but his companion was by far more fragile and sensitive to these things- Loki's fingertips traced the array of bruises he'd left in the wake of their passion, expression surprised as he found the woman smiling.

"Feels nice," She supplied meekly, eyes half-lidded, face trusting and open towards him.

He gave a small grin in return, placing a chaste kiss atop her head. "Yes, it does, darling."

Time after time, she didn't expect much out if their date. The sex was nice, nice enough for both of them to want seconds and thirds after their rushed first time - but it wasn't like she expected him to hand around. It was a pleasant change from the usual mutual ghosting she'd done with her previous partners, but Loki had texted again and they had resumed their conversation via text like nothing had happened.

No, that would be incorrect. Now, she had a wonderful friend who was a great conversationalist and an even better lover. There was no pressure to put a label on their relationship so the woman didn't bother with it; it didn't seem like Loki cared about the label, either, so she left the topic alone and enjoyed things the way they were. It wasn't like she had a line of suitors anyway.

She couldn't help the smile that creeped onto her face when she unlocked her phone and saw a video call request from other than Loki himself. She still had thirty minutes worth of lunch break to waste and this was a wonderful time to chat with a friend.

"Stark, hand it back or I swear to Norns-" Loki's voice sounded agitated and far away, accompanied by sounds of a struggle; the bearded, smug face on the screen was not who she expected at all. Only years of customer service and low bullshit tolerance combined stopped her from freaking out seeing none other than Tony Stark smirking at her from the screen of her phone.

"Yes?" She arched an eyebrow, taking note of the anger of Loki's tone.

"Hi, I don't think I need to introduce myself," Stark babbled, eyeing her - disheveled and with a wall full of sticky notes and miscellaneous items acting as the background to her video. "Reindeer games refused to show you to us so we decided to persuade him," Tony's grin grew wider, muted whispers being rapidly exchanged in the background all the while Loki screeched "BROTHER!" and various expletives at the top of his lungs.

"You could've, I dunno," She paused, unimpressed. "Asked me to dinner, like a normal person. Instead of stealing, you know, like a thief," The eyeroll that she performed had the team worried her eyes would fall out of their sockets.

"I merely borrowed his phone, don't be dramatic," Stark huffed, and for a moment, she could see various other people trying to look at the screen and by extension, at her. "So, what is it that you do? Because Smurf over there wouldn't..."

"Oops, bad signal. Sorry, can't hear you properly," Her side of the call suddenly shook and in a moment, she ended the call, not at all willing to deal with people that lacked boundaries. Sure, it might have been Iron Man, but if he was planning on being a snooping asshole, she wasn't gonna go down with that easily.

Exactly five minutes after she had clocked out, an incoming call from Loki had her equal parts excited and mortified. What if..? But he was apologetic. And very angry, swearing in his native language - something that he'd promised to teach her at some point.

"So, Clint did it?" She sipped her beverage, strolling home with the phone pressed snugly against her ear.

"Most of it was his fault, yes," Loki grouched on the other end of the call.

"I vote we get back at him. Invite me over, if he's so inclined to see me, and watch him get humiliated in front of everybody," It wasn't a secret she had her own mischievous tendencies.

"As much as I appreciate your vigour, darling, I doubt the Widow will appreciate you verbally castrating the Hawk in public," He replied sourly, his voice still betraying the faint notes of interest.

"I have a backup plan!" She stated without a hitch. "He'll embarrass himself and I'll be your alibi."

"I'm listening," Loki perked up immediately.

They decided to not to stall and schedule the 'family dinner', as Thor himself dubbed it, for the next available weekend. Loki had made sure Tony's AI had been made aware the trickster would be gone all day, and it took him very little magic and effort to pop in and out of the tower for the five minutes that were needed to execute their prank.

His friend barely managed to keep the snickering at bay as they ascended the elevator to the common floor where the dinner was being held. Not only that, but the woman spouted an area of dark purple love marks, barely obscured by the low turtleneck of her blouse.

She made her introductions and they made theirs. "This affair could use some background noise," She remarked off-handedly, casting a meaningful glance at the TV.

Tony Stark was known for being a great host so he entertained her wishes, flicking on the huge flat screen with a flick of his wrist.

The team froze.

"I... -" The woman stared at the screen, mouth hanging wide open at the scenes that played out. "... am not going to kinkshame, but please turn it off," She stated in a small voice, seemingly unable to tear her eyes away from the mass of tentacles commencing erotic assault on a woman's body.

Wordlessly, the TV shut down, immersing the room in stunned silence. Loki face-palmed, the slap of his palm against his face echoing in the eerily quiet room.

"Loki!" Captain America, red as a tomato, instantly accused the most obvious person.

Except, he had forgotten one thing. "Loki was with me all day," The woman replied, unkindly. "Do you need more proof?" She tugged on the hem of her turtleneck, exposing an inch of skin marked blue.

The good Captain's face changed the shade once again, venturing very well into beetroot territory. "Who was the last one to use the TV?" Rogers asked, now with a hint of anger, as he stared at a guffawing Bucky.

"I believe it was Mr. Barton," The AI piped up, mechanical voice sounding almost insinuating. Or, perhaps, it just appeared that way.

#loki x reader #Loki smut #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #tom hiddleston #it's 4am y'all #we be THIRSTY

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admiringlove · 3 years

Text

𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲: fukurōdani academy

愛してる: 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏.

— we invite you to celebrate the brewery’s first valentines’ day, with freshly brewed sweet drinks, to honor the day dedicated to love. click for valentines’ day special menu!

↳ 梟谷学園 — fukurōdani academy.

credits for image @ roarzoro on twitter.

akaashi keiji

as we all are aware, akaashi keiji is a reserved boy. he doesn't speak up most of the time unless it's absolutely necessary, so his confession is a little reserved, shy, quiet, and unconditionally adorable.

he watches you in class because you sit next to him. he befriends you almost instantly when you join the volleyball club as a manager. he tries to be closer to you—which is his way of saying, "let's be together", or "i want to spend some time with you."

his blushes are only slight, because akaashi keiji doesn't show that he's in love. he's not one for grand gestures, because his love is subtle. it's the quiet glances, the small stares in the library(but looking away when you notice because it makes him flush irrationally), the bringing you recommendations for novels, or studying in the library together(and sitting in a way where your legs brush together, making his heart afloat with wonder).

he looks forward to the weekends. because that's when you tend to invite him to places. but, sometimes, the two of you show up to places without planning that you are going to meet. like last weekend, when akaashi was browsing through the romance section in the library, and you pulled a book from the other side of the shelf, making instant eye contact with the cerulean eyed boy.

so, since akaashi has this little infatuation with you, he decides that it's gotten to an extent where he has to tell you no matter what.

his heart paces up every time you're around. he loves the way you ruffle his hair before going into your house(the two of you walk home together), his mind is always thinking about you, and he can't even shake you away in his dreams.

and so, begins the confession. akaashi keiji, being the smart and collective boy he is, confesses to you with a letter.

you were heading home, and it was quite late in the evening. your part-time shift at a local bakery had just ended, and you were tired when you stepped outside, locking the door with a slight huff. you turn around, to see your best friend waiting there, as you slightly flinch back, making the messy-haired boy chuckle.

"keiji!" you said, a hand over your heart, "how are you, this fine evening?"

he chuckles at the way you greet him, gesturing for you to walk alongside his figure as he muses, "i'm doing spectacularly well, m'lady. here, i brought some tea to refresh you as we walk home."

you beam, taking the flask from his soft hands, and bringing it to your lips. the aroma of the clove, cardamom, and other spices immediately in your senses as you excitedly ask, "this is chai, isn't it?"

"yes it is," he replies as you take a long-awaited sip, sighing after you do as the hot drink travels down your throat, clearing it almost instantly. you grin as you look up at the already velvet night sky, specks of joy littering the navy hue across the horizon. tonight feels pleasant to you—the company of your best friend, who always tends to make your heart swell up like a balloon, was quieter than usual tonight. he didn't speak much, wore a black face-mask to cover his overwhelming flustered state, and his reading glasses perched up onto the bridge of his nose that he kept pushing desperately.

"keiji, is there something wrong?" you ask, placing a hand on the blade of his shoulder. he flinches suddenly, his eyes looking up at you in worry as he says, "we're here."

"yes, but-"

"don't say anything tonight, [y/n]. i need to do something," he mumbles, shoving his hand inside his bag and pulling out a small envelope with a wax stamp. he holds it out for you to take, which you do gratefully as he says, "open it when you're inside, okay?"

"keiji, is there something wrong?" you murmur, but he only shakes his head, ruffles your hair, and begins to walk towards the direction of his home. you sigh, opening your front door and take off your shoes, immediately tearing through the envelope and reading its contents.

your eyes begin to moisten as you read the small moments that akaashi describes in the letter—which you thought made something bloom in your heart, but you weren't sure if he felt the same. you stop, eyes widening in the realization that your best friend is outside, and probably overthinking to an extent where his brain is probably going haywire.

you run outside, not heeding that you only have socks on as you find your friend merely blocks away. he's about to enter his own home when you yell out his name, letter waving in your palm in the air, "oi, keiji!"

he turns to look at you, the outside light reflecting his glassy blue eyes with his mouth partly open. you stop, panting as you shove the letter in his face and say, "why couldn't you give me this sooner?"

"w-what?" he whispers, his voice stuck in his throat as his mind thinks at a pace of a million miles per hour. why are you here? you're supposed to be at home. you don't like him back—wait, do you?

"if you had given me this letter sooner, dummy, we could've celebrated valentine's day together in the library instead of me doing it out at a coffee shop with my friends!" you huff, engulfing him in a warm embrace as he blinks away the confusion. his heart calms down, as he returns the hug with grace and hums into your ear indulgently, "i love you."

"i love you too, nerd."

bokuto kōtarō

bokuto needs to double-check everything with his more mature, sophisticated, and intelligent best friend, akaashi for confirmation that he actually does like you.

he's going on-and-on about you. he doesn't intend to stop anytime soon, but akaashi is fed up. although the setter doesn't want to admit it, he thinks that the small infatuation with you has gotten to a level where it's either annoying or adorable to listen to bokuto ramble. and right now? it was annoying, because bokuto is supposed to be focusing on volleyball.

akaashi stops bokuto after practice, leading him to a quieter place outside the gates where the two spend some time(again, bokuto is talking about how neat your notebook is, or how kind you were when talking to him—akaashi had tuned him out at this point) when the blue-eyed boy finally snapped.

he tells bokuto that he should probably confess to you because talking to akaashi about his infatuation is probably not going to help your relationship develop into something more serious. till now, you were only friends with the ace; a friendly classmate whom bokuto loved talking to and partnering up with for projects.

bokuto thinks about it for a few days, his mind completely clouded by what akaashi had said. he even consults kuroo during the weekend, and finally comes to the revelation that no matter what, he has to confess his feelings to you. and of course, since valentine's day was on a sunday this year, he would ask you a day before.

but, the ace is left dejected when you come to school one day with a few roses and chocolates in your hands. his hair deflates, eyes disheartened and he sulks into his seat behind you. you're concerned, but you continue paying attention to class.

after school, bokuto realizes that there isn't volleyball practice today. how is he supposed to distract his mind now? you were right behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he flinches.

"ko-san?" you mumble, "are you okay? you haven't been talking to me the whole day."

bokuto's amber eyes soften at the nickname you had given him, as he shakes his head and chuckles dryly, "oh, no. not at all, [y/n]. i'm completely fine."

"you do realize, you're a really bad liar," you giggle, pulling his coat sleeve along as you begin walking out the gates. the school was fairly empty, you had waited to talk to bokuto, because today was the day you had decided that you would finally confess. but he had been behaving strangely, and he avoided you even in recess—which was when you were about to tell him your feelings, but he ran away after getting only a glimpse of you.

"ah, i'm sorry. i was just a little upset that volleyball got cancelled today," he mutters, a hand on the back of his neck as he averts his gaze from you. you chuckle at the awkward ace, who's usually booming with joy and radiant with his obnoxiously loud persona. you attempt to give him a head-pat after getting on your tippy-toes, but alas, it doesn't work out(come on now, the boy is huge).

he begins laughing at your pout but continues to bow down to your height so you could run your hands through his hair. you feel chills run down your spine when bokuto smiles at you after you do it, as you accidentally blurt, "you should continue smiling. sulking doesn't suit you."

"you think?" he asks, a slight blend of a smirk and a grin plays itself on his face as mutters, "i think you should smile more too."

"really?" you ask, "oh yeah, do you want to come to a coffee shop with me?"

he looks up at you almost instantly, and blurts, "i thought you had someone to do that with now."

"what?" you widen your eyes, stopping in your tracks as you laugh, "wait, you mean the little chocolates and the roses?"

he blushes, covering his face with his hand as his grey hair shines—but you laugh more, because of how adorable the scene unfolding in front of you was.

"me and my friends exchanged valentines' day chocolates with each other," you chuckle, "i'd rather go out with you."

you shrug lightly, your eyes fixed on the pavement below your feet(because grey is such a complex color, right?) as you wait for a response from the grey-haired boy. he sighs theatrically, and the next thing you know, two huge arms are wrapping themselves around you, and a voice utters into your ear, "i'd go out with you too. i was about to confess today but... i got sad after seeing you with valentines' gifts."

you laugh, looking up into his majestic yellow eyes as you peck his nose softly, "that's adorable."

regular customers(taglist). @babyworld @renee1414 @anotherhydrangea @seita @tobiosnoelle @weebslxt @tsukkiwaifu16 @loveusandoor @kozumebri @sarawrz @crackheadsara @kyuudere @cultsax @supernovaa-a @akaashikeijisan @b3llo-there @sugasloverr @kagebunshiin @iwaizoom @velvetfireworks @seijohlogy @vhskenma @sweetsamus @sakuric

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tatttletale · 3 years

Text

Roulette!AU | Steven Universe

AU: Basically, Rose is still Pink Diamond, but this time around, due to her life on Homeworld she's more skittish and soft-spoken, and because of her gentle treatment with her new Pearl, that's allowed her to become more confident, and in this AU Pearl is the leader of the rebellion and Rose is more in the role of "terrifying renegade Quartz". Garnet stays the same as a fusion, and so does Bismuth, but her love interest has changed on account of the personality changes.

Let's start at the beginning. The very beginning.

○○○

"I— I can't believe it," Pink Diamond murmured, voice soft, disbelieving. ". . . My own colony!"

"Isn't it exciting?" Pearl agreed. "And it looks so beautiful! What should we name it?"

Pink smiled at Pearl's boldness. If any other Pearl had suggested their owner's colony was just as much theirs, they would undoubtedly be reprimanded. It was safe to say, as well, that Pearl wasn't really hers anymore—she was her own Gem, and if anything, Pink found herself more Pearl's than the other way around.

"What about. . . Earth?" she gave a soft laugh. "It feels good to finally say it. . . I've been saving that name for so long."

"I love it," Pearl grinned.

"Have you already organised the Lapis Lazuli schedules for us?"

"Of course! The terraforming should only take a few weeks, and then we'll be making our own Gems!"

"I can't wait," Pink sighed, wistfully.

○○○

Pearl sighed, reaching out to the control panel from her seat on Pink Diamond's lap.

For now, the moon base was as close as they could get to their new colony, but it quickly grew dull. The Earth hung in front of them like a giant blue marble, teasing them through the communication room's full-wall window.

"The Kindergarten was injected years ago! Shouldn't they be emerging by now?"

Pearl squirmed a little on the restless Diamond's lap and placed a hand on the panel, electricity buzzing up through her arm and into her head. Graphs appeared before her eyes.

"The terraforming is going as scheduled. Lapises are already terraforming the Beta Kindergarten in the northern-western hemisphere. Bismuths have constructed strategic warp panels across the Earth and Peridot technician stations are planned to be developed in the Kindergartens soon. The first—" With a gasp, she lit up, quite literally. "Pink, the first Quartz soldiers are scheduled to emerge soon!"

"Finally, something exciting!" Pink agreed.

In a rush, they bustled down to the viewing orb and Pearl turned it on. The walls lit up with a holographic vision of the Prime Kindergarten.

Pink gasped, gazing around in awe, and Pearl threw an arm out, pointing. "Pink, look!"

On the far rocky wall, what appeared to be a Gem-shaped hole was glowing pink. A beat later and a grinning Amethyst burst from the rock and landed on the floor. The gem set against her upper arm was clean-cut and pristine.

Pink felt excitement flare up within her. "We're creating life from. . . nothing!"

"Welcome to Earth!" Pearl cried to the hologram, and then her face fell as it walked right through her and into the arms of a pair of newly-emerged soldiers.

Pearl sighed, face resigned. "I wish we could be there."

Pink said nothing, dreading the inevitable.

As she'd anticipated, Pearl's features suddenly lit up. "Wait— of course we can be there! We can warp into the Prime Kindergarten!"

"Wh-What? Pearl, no—" Pink Diamond found herself cringing. "If we went down to the kindergarten—if we were caught—I would never hear the end of it from Yellow and Blue." She let her eyes drop. "Blue would throw me in the Tower."

The room was silent for a moment, and then Pearl padded over and reached up, lifting her face a little. She could just reach her this way, as she was kneeling on the floor.

"Pink. . ." Pearl's voice was soft. "You can't let them control you like this."

Pink only shook her head. "I can't do anything about it—they're my family. If. . ." Her voice petered out. She didn't like the idea herself, but if it would make Pearl happy. . . "—If you want, you can go by yourself. I'll stay here and wait for you."

"What? No!" Pearl sounded scandalised. "I'm not doing that! We'll both go, together."

Pink tried to ignore the fluttering feeling her words brought about in her stomach. ". . . How?"

"What if. . . you shapeshifted? To look like another Quartz?"

Pink raised her head. "You think so. . .?"

"Yes!" Suddenly, Pearl was completely onboard with the idea. Gem aglow, she projected a model of her Diamond into the air before them, saturated in a holographic blue. "If you shrink down in height, widen your build, grow out your hair. . . no one would know the difference!" The model complied, shrinking down into a soldier with tight ringlets.

"I. . . I can try," Pink said, if only to appease her. She took a good look at the hologram and then closed her eyes, imagining the form in her mind's eye, withdrawing the excess of her light projection back into her gem.

She heard Pearl gasp, and she opened her eyes.

"You look amazing!" Pearl cried, and brushed a hand over her chest. She shivered. "You even remembered the Court symbol!"

Pink smiled down at her in relief, and she could have sworn Pearl flushed before she stepped back and cleared her throat, shooting her a mischievous smile. "Are you ready to go?"

○○○

The Kindergarten warp pad chimed, shooting a beam of light into the sky. When the light cleared, it left a Pearl and a pink Quartz soldier standing together, gazing in awe around at the enormous canyon.

"Pearl. . . look!" Pink-Diamond-as-Quartz leaned over the warp pad ledge, pointing at a band of marching Amethysts. Pearl's grin was luminous.

"This is incredible!" Her wide eyes sparkled in excitement, and she grabbed ahold of Pink's hand. "Take us down there, quick!"

Taking her under an arm, Pink-as-Quartz obligingly leaped from the warp pad and into the air. Even as they drifted down to the Kindergarten floor, chunks of rock burst from the walls as dozens of Amethysts emerged and jumped down.

"Pink," Pearl breathed as they touched down. "This is. . ."

"Out of my way!" a newly emerged Amethyst cried, and shoved them apart as she ran past. Pink-as-Quartz fell to the ground with a surprised ugh!.

"Oh, dear!" Pearl cried, a small smile on her face, and padded over to help her up. "Are you alright?"

"Of course," Pink returned, taking her hand. "But this is. . . so different."

"Isn't it?" Pearl agreed with enthusiasm. "You're fitting right in! No one's saluting you now!"

Pink-as-Quartz gasped lightly. "You're. . . You're right!"

"This is so fun," her companion gushed. "Thank you so much for doing this for me. I couldn't have done this on my own!"

The words warmed Pink, and she smiled before taking her hand. "What about those Amethysts?"

"Yes!" Pearl cried, and hauled her over to the gathered soldiers nearby. When they pulled up in front of them, Pearl gave Pink a sly nudge.

"Uh, hello. . . fellow Amethyst guards!" Pink-as-Quartz called. "What. . . are we all up to?"

"There's two more from our unit that haven't emerged yet so we're gonna wait for 'em," one replied, eyes half-hidden beneath a neat fringe. At that moment, a section of the rock wall lit up and burst apart. The new Gem tumbled to the ground before them wth a groan. ". . . Here comes one of 'em!"

Delighted, Pearl stepped forward. "Oh, my stars, look at you!"

"Welcome to Earth!" Pink beamed from behind her.

"That is the first and. . . nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," the Quartz smiled back, soft eyes flicking between them.

"What's going on here?" Another light-haired Amethyst ran up to the group, hands on hips. "Our orders were to move out as soon as you emerged!"

"But. . . 8XM hasn't emerged yet," a different Amethyst replied.

"She can catch up with us later! Go! Go! Go!"

Pink began to move after them, but was quickly stopped in her tracks by Pearl. "We can come back here later. Wouldn't you like to explore some of Earth's other features?"

Pink-as-Quartz gasped. "Pearl! Yes, let's go!"

They emerged unhurried from the Kindergarten, transitioning from barren dirt to lush green grass. A light chirping filled the air. "So. . . this. . . is Earth," Pink breathed.

Vast green fields, carpeted with pink organics, and rising on the horizon, majestic purple landforms, framed by a clear blue sky.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Pearl beamed, and took her by the hand. "We have to see it all."

○○○

The day sped by. They laid together on the grass and gazed at the clouds; they gathered flowers, throwing petals into the air where it fell as pink rain; they explored the mass of tall trees, glimpsed organics in the patches of dappled light; and at one point Pink-as-Quartz made a grab at a fluttery-looking organic, which escaped her fingers and instead flew around them in circles.

They came across a flowing body of water, through which they watched slippery organics swim, and Pearl bent down to trail her fingers through the water. Then, across the banks, Pink noticed a set of figures. As she watched, the small one gathered water and walked back to the two taller shadows, disappearing again into the trees as Pearl stood up. She thought she could feel Pearl's elation falter.

They made their way back to the Kindergarten in growing shadows. There was a rumbling somewhere nearby—it seemed to come from the grey sky. As soon as they crossed from green grass to brown Kindergarten dirt, Pink stopped.

"We can't go through with this invasion," she said, voice soft.

Pearl sighed, and took her hands into her own. "I know. I didn't realise that. . . that all this life, growing wild on Earth. . . that it's going to be destroyed."

"We're not creating life from nothing," Pink murmured.

Pearl's eyes mirrored her own sadness when she answered. "We're taking life, and leaving nothing behind."

There was a flash from the sky, and water began to fall in droplets from the grey overhead, pattering onto the bare rock walls of the Kindergarten, washing the dirt away in a brown wet mess.

A newly-realised Pearl and her Diamond stood, hand-in-hand, gazing out at the endless green, wondering how much longer it would last.

(Chapter 1/13)

Check out the rest of this story on: - Wattpad - FanFiction - Archive Of Our Own

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one-boring-person · 4 years

Note

I would love you forever if you wrote something for Iceman where the reader is Viper's daughter and also in the Navy

Of course, I hope you like this! 💛❤ (sorry if it's a bit rushed!) I actually really enjoyed writing this, so thank you for requesting it!!

We Are More Than Dead.

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x reader

Warnings: implied sexual themes, inflight violence (mild)

Note: The reader's call sign is Cobra (seeing as her dad is Viper😅)

Masterlist

"Hey Cobra? Please warn me next time you wanna pull a stunt like that!" My RIO, Wasp, instructs me in resignation, her voice laced with exasperation as she tries to recover from the tight spiralling loop I just took the jet around, the pressure having been a little too strong for the average human body to deal with.

"Sorry," I apologise, laughing to myself as I check the surroundings again, before radioing our wingmen, "Are there any more bogeys around?"

It takes a few seconds, but the other pilots and their RIOs are quick to respond, their voices slightly distorted thanks to the distance between us, though they are coherent enough to understand.

"Nothing over here." Goose, Maverick's RIO, replies, cheerful voice decisive but strained, as if he is looking around.

"Likewise, sweet cheeks." Iceman teases, the pilot chuckling at my protest. Behind me, Wasp makes a noise of disgust, the RIO being the only one who knows of Iceman and my relationship, the others only hinting at it, her fist coming round to tap against my helmet, her way of telling me to keep it PG.

"Roger." I finally retort, guiding the jet into a gentle turn, the left wing tipping so it's in line with the ocean below me, giving us a clear view of the horizon.

"Hang on, I think I see something!" Wasp suddenly speaks up, hands grabbing at the clear canopy, helmet knocking against it as she cranes her head back, "Yeah, there's a bogey on our six! They're following us around."

"Great." I mutter, checking the radar and swiftly finding the correlating dot pursuing us, a plan forming in my head.

Clenching my jaw, I pull out of the turn and level off, keeping the jet as straight as possible as I cruise just above cloud level, my pulse picking up as the familiar beeping sound of the missile lock radar begins, the enemy pilot responding to my ploy. I slow the plane, keeping the bogey interested as Wasp starts to question me, only to keep quiet when I tell her I know what I'm doing, her trust in me a great relief but well earned. As the aircraft behind us nears, the high pitched beeping increases in volume and frequency, becoming one long droning sound that assaults our ears, before quickly cutting off as I sharply roll the jet into a tight barrel roll, out of range of missile lock. The other jet flies right by, the pilot turning their head in our direction in surprise, not quite realising what I'm up to.

Rolling out again, I smirk to myself as I give chase, switching on missile lock and swiftly finding my target, allowing it to focus before pressing the trigger. Seconds later, the jet ahead goes up in smoke, debris erupting into the sky with a flash of orange flames, illuminating our cockpit as I fly past, avoiding any large pieces with practiced ease.

"Last one down." I report to the others, whoops of relief and triumph following a moment or so later.

"Nice one, Cobra!" Slider congratulates, cheering through the mics much louder than the others.

A minute or so passes before the tower radios back, giving us permission to land, to which we all respond with relief, seeing as we've all been out for hours already. One at a time, we all return to the aircraft carrier, our two wingmen landing before me, giving me time to loop round the ship itself, until it's our turn. Bracing myself for the impact, I manage to land the jet pretty smoothly, only drawing a small grunt from Wasp as opposed to the usual yelp l, her helmet only tapping lightly against the back of my seat. Once we've come to a halt, I taxi the jet into a safe stationary position, carefully unclasping the canopy so that we can climb out. Unclipping myself from my seat, I heave myself out and onto the open deck, stretching as ground staff rush to check over the aircraft, ignoring me and Wasp as we start walking over to where the boys are waiting.

"Well done for catching that last bogey, Cobra. We never even saw it." Maverick congratulates me, smiling at me gratefully.

"Thank you, but I wouldn't have seen it without Wasp. It very nearly killed us." I brush off, blushing at the attention.

"It wasn't just the bogey that nearly killed us. You fly with a suicide wish, (Y/n)!" My RIO huffs, rolling her shoulders.

At this, Iceman let's out a sharp laugh, the sound making butterflies spring to life within me.

"Damn, the commander's daughter flies dangerously, who'd have thought?" The blonde pilot smirks at me, gesturing with his helmet, referring to my father, Viper.

"Shut up." I mutter, grinning bashfully at him, letting him loop a strictly friendly arm around my shoulders, pulling me subtly against his muscular body.

As a group, we walk towards the changing rooms, Wasp and I splitting off into the female ones, where we quickly get showered. As always, Wasp finishes before me, sitting on the bench in the centre as she watches me change (in a non creepy way), our attention drawn to the door as it suddenly opens, a tall figure stepping in. A smirk crosses her face as she catches sight of him, swiftly getting up and leaving the room with a suggestive wave.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" I whisper-yell at Iceman, watching as he comes closer, holding my shirt up to my chest to hide myself from view.

"What? I can't come and admire my girlfriend?" The pilot asks in mock offense, continuing to approach me, grin widening as I remain in place, eyeing him.

"Not when we can be caught! You know what the rules are, and you know what my dad is like!" I protest, my voice faltering a little as he reaches out his hands to skim up my sides, one coming up to lower my shirt, revealing my clothed chest to him.

"Relax, no one will catch us." He hums, pulling me towards him, pressing his body against mine using his toned arms, grinning as my breath hitches, my own palms coming up to rest against his chest.

"If anyone does, we're more than dead-" I go to say, only to he cut off by the sensation of Tom's lips against mine, one of his hands coming up to cup my jaw and hold me against him, though there is no need, as I hesitantly reciprocate the gesture, carding my fingers through his hair. Deepening the kiss, Tom briefly pulls away as he sits on the bench behind him, encouraging me to sit on his lap, which I do, his lips instantly returning to my skin, sucking and biting their way up the column of my neck, small gasps and moans escaping me as he reaches my sensitive points. He grins against my skin, marking my sweet spot with a deep purple hickey, despite my protest, kissing back up to my jaw, where he licks a line straight back to my lips, capturing them again. His hands move to my hips, pulling me closer to him as they smooth down over my ass, a squeak leaving me as he abruptly squeezes, the sensation unexpected, drawing a throaty chuckle from him which resonates in my ears, goosebumps rising along my skin.

A loud knock on the door interrupts us, snapping me back to reality with a horrified jolt, though it is accompanied by disappointment as Tom rests his head against my chest, clearly as frustrated as I am, but not nearly as panicked. Hastily, I scramble upright and pull on my shirt, fixing my hair and making myself look neat and presentable, thinking it to be Wasp at the door. In my hurry, I forget to cover up my neck, leaving the dark spots clearly visible to anyone who looks close enough, Iceman and I quickly going to the door. Opening it, I step out into the corridor, only to stop dead when I see who it is, Iceman bumping into me before he realise this, too.

Nervously, I swallow down the lump in my throat, cowering under his stern gaze.

"Hey, dad."

#iceman #top gun #top gun: maverick #maverick #goose #top gun imagine #iceman x reader #requests #ask #answer

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loversandantiheroes · 4 years

Text

Hotel Hobbies - Prelude

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Reader Author’s Note: I have nothing to say for myself other than the most shameful of yee-honks. This was largely just an attempt to break through some writer’s block, but also a little bit of a fuck you to Whiskey’s godawful characterization (get thee hence, canon, thou art dead to me). In either case I 110% blame @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa for dragging me into the Pedro pit and for making the “yeehonk loser” tag funny enough for me to go see what the fuss was about. Either way, this is unbeta’d and barely edited and is probably just a big goddamn mess. Which fits, quite frankly. Apologies in advance if it sucks. Summary: He’s an insufferable, obnoxious blowhard. Which would be fine if he wasn’t also - some-fucking-how - hotter than a fucking wildfire. Warnings: Drinking, flirting, swearing, Whiskey being the obnoxious prick that we know and mostly tolerate. Rating: Mature (for the moment) Word Count: 1510

You’d met him, of all places, in the hotel bar, shored up over a drawn-out business conference. He’d turned up three nights running, a brash braggart in a stetson and too-tight jeans that seemed to stroll dick-first around the room, tossing pickup lines at anything that moved. By sheer luck he’d missed you, leaving the first night with a leggy blonde and the second night with a considerably curvier brunette.

Both times you counted your blessings as you watched him walk out with his arm around the unlucky lady. You didn’t know the man but you knew the type: the costume cowboys that laid on the charm as thick as their cologne to mask the smell of their shitty personalities.

But now on Sunday, night number three, your luck seems to have finally run out. Just as you finish your drink the bartender sets down another – whiskey, neat – and gestures at the end of the bar. “From the gentleman.”

You hardly need to look up to know what you’ll see. Smug, half-cocked grin. A gentle tip of the hat.

Fuck. Jesus, why.

You grimace out a polite smile out of sheer habit, and before you can even begin to slide the drink back towards the bartender the man has appeared at your elbow like a country-fried jack-in-the-box.

His cologne, at the very least, is not as heavy as you’d expected. Small mercies.

“Thanks, but-” you begin, already bracing yourself against the bar to stand.

“Oh no need for thanks.” He rolls right over you with all the practiced ease of a well-oiled steamroller. His voice is low, with a thick, heavy drawl that feels just a bit too put-upon to be completely real. “You’ll have to forgive me for being so forward, but I simply couldn’t stand to see a lady as lovely as yourself drinking alone three nights in a row. Thought I might offer the benefit of some company.”

He extends a broad brown hand. A tiny blurred bullseye marks the skin between the thumb and forefinger. “Name’s Jack. Most folks just call me Whiskey.”

“Whiskey,” you repeat, trying not to roll your eyes at the rather awful joke.

“Yes ma’am.”

You purse your lips, considering, as his hand hangs between you. You know more than a few ways to cut this little introduction short, though several of them – while wholly effective – might just see you banned from the hotel bar. And with easily another three days of bureaucratic bullshit on the horizon, you’re really not keen on that happening. Present company aside, the bar’s pretty nice.

Maybe if you're lucky you can bore him to death.

Begrudgingly you take his hand. The skin of his palms is thick with calluses. A surprising thing. His clothing is more designer than LL Bean, which made you think he was a business man or entertainer – the sort of rich asshole that owned a prized stallion at a private stable somewhere that he rode once or twice a month when he wanted to feel a little authentic.

But those callouses are hard and smooth. Not quite a workman's hands, but certainly the result of something a good deal more tactile and involved than pencil pushing. And that’s enough to make you wonder a little. Now that he's up close and personal, his face makes you wonder a lot. This is no Kentucky white boy. Not with eyes that dark, or that curving nose. And honestly, if it wasn’t for that insufferably cocky look on his face, he’d be a hell of a looker.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says, thumb grazing your knuckles before releasing your hand.

"No, you didn't," you say lightly. "And I'm afraid I don't have much of a taste for whiskey."

He grins, leaning heavily against the bar and motioning for the bartender. "Well now, if my namesake isn't up to your liking, what would be to your taste?" He hooks the tumbler of whiskey towards himself with a finger – a rather thick finger, and that's one detail you're a little dismayed to find yourself lingering on – and takes a slow sip.

You tap your glass with three fingers as the bartender approaches. "Tequila."

The man who calls himself Whiskey gives an appreciative whistle as three shots line up in front of you. "Well now ain't that a plot twist. You must have a hell of a constitution. Tequila always leaves me flat on my back." He eyes you up and down, grinning, and the hot flush that brings on isn't half as uncomfortable as you'd like it to be. "Reckon I can see a similarity or two."

"I just get the feeling I'm going to need something a little stronger than a Cosmo to get me through this conversation," you reply coolly, ignoring the innuendo. "You have until I finish these shots, by the way."

Whiskey purses his lips, pouting. "I see you've already jumped to a few conclusions about me. Hardly seems fair."

You shrug, downing the first shot with little fanfare. "You've hardly been subtle. What happened to Friday and Saturday's girls?"

He takes a sip of his own drink, thumb rubbing thoughtfully against the side of his jaw. You try not to watch the way his throat works when he swallows. "Now if I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you were a little sore it took me so long to come and see you."

He positively croons that last, and you tell yourself the warmth you feel kicking up in your belly is just the tequila. Thank God for plausible deniability.

"Don't flatter yourself, cowboy," you say with a glare.

He chuckles. "Darlin', had I known you'd had eyes on me this whole time I would've come over a hell of a lot sooner," he teases.

You can only shake your head, half in wonder and half in contempt. "How did you even fit that much ego through the door?"

Whiskey tips his glass to you with a smirk, unfazed. "Patience, dedication, and a whole lotta practice."

You reach for the second shot, and Whiskey lets out a little sigh. He puts his hand over your wrist, fingers flat.

"Hey c'mon now. Slow down, sugar. As much as I like to tease, I ain't about to put sensibilities or your liver out of sorts for the sake of poking fun."

When he pulls his hand back, reaching for his own glass, it's everything you can do to mask the little shiver that ripples up your back. He is quite warm.

"I figured you for the sort that'd prefer a girl to be out of her sensibilities," you say quietly, fingers tapping against the rim of your glass. The skin on the back of your wrist hums where he touched you, and you do your damnedest to ignore it.

The corner of his mouth hitches up in a half-grin. "Oh, afterward, surely. But never before."

You roll your eyes. "An asshole with a sense of propriety. Now that's novel."

"Part of my charm," he says. “Bastard by profession and gentleman by nature. But I mean it. You are well within every right to walk away. Ain't gonna harm nothin' but my ego, and Lord knows there’s enough of that to go around.“

You roll the shot glass between your palms. "And if I walk away?"

Whiskey shrugs. “Well, then I get to cherish the view as you leave."

"God, shut up."

His grin widens and he leans in, teasing. "A bittersweet thought to keep me warm, alone in that big empty hotel bed tonight."

The glass almost rolls straight out of your hands. "I am not fucking you," you sputter, and your cheeks burn as you realize you practically pole vaulted directly to that conclusion with barely any preamble.

The silence hangs after that, heavy and charged. Somehow you think Whiskey's eyes have gone even darker.

“I said nothin’ of the sort,” Whiskey says delicately, hands raised in supplication.

There's a cold-burning fire in the pit of your stomach.Some of it's the alcohol. But most of it is a shameful delight at the way he's looking at you, and the mounting surety that you are probably certainly definitely going to fuck him if you don't walk away and call it a night now. You're not sure whether you hate him more for the assumption, or for almost certainly being right.

He says nothing, just looks you over expectantly. Waiting to see what you’ll do.

Slowly, you down your second shot. Fuck it. If this asshole is going to be your next mistake, you might as well make it on your own goddamned terms.

"So," you say, resting your elbows on the bar. “Whiskey. What is it that you do?"

He laughs, full-throated, and the corners of his eyes crinkle up in what you suspect might be a genuine smile. It's lovely, and that might just be the most infuriating thing of all.

"Oh darlin'. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

#agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #I hesitate to tag for the source bc I have Strong Feelings About It #wtf am I doing with my life #yeehonk

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