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antisocialxconstruct · 2 years

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What was going through Maksim's head when Ortega found them again at the cafe? How do they feel about the whole conversation? Did they tell the truth about what happened or lie? Any thoughts on Ortega immediately dragging them back into the hero business?

OKAY first off: this is such a good ask thank you for sending it like...... a month ago lmao

it gave me an idea for something relatively undemanding I could do (re-imagine a scene someone else already wrote) in the midst of this absolute creative drought SO..... here's that :V

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It’s not so much a refuge as a distraction. Maksim doesn’t feel safe here, so much as they feel… removed from other things. People don’t know them here, and there’s very little about it–about the neighborhood, or the furnishings, or what they order for lunch–that would encourage people to draw any worthwhile conclusions. The day drinking might raise an eyebrow now and then, but they’re willing to stomach the passing sense of detached concern from people who have no intention of actually saying anything.

People don’t know them here. So when they hear “Maksim? Is that really you?” over their left shoulder it doesn’t even register at first. That’s not a name they use, not anymore. Not here. And then with a breathless “I can’t believe it!” he steps into their line of sight, materializing out of their blind spot ghost-like and with an abruptness that earns a start and a curse from them.

That used to happen a lot, even when they could rely on both of their eyes, until they got used to the blank fuzz of his shielded thoughts. Out of practice now, it seems. Their mind supplies them with the name a split second before they actually look up to meet his gaze.

Ortega.

He’s smiling. Beaming, really, overcome with the disbelief of finding them, after all this time, here of all places. Or so Maksim imagines, at least. They don’t believe it either, but they’re having a far harder time organizing their thoughts into an appropriate reaction.

“Ortega…? What- jesus. What has it been… almost a decade?”

They’re just as shocked, to be sure. They took such great pains, every single step of the way, to avoid this precise scenario, that they have to assume this is a once-in-a-lifetime-odds kind of coincidence. Beyond improbable… but not impossible, clearly. There’s something else though… coiled tight in the pit of their stomach but distorted beneath the feeling of incredulity, something writhing under a layer of ice.

“Yeah… Seven years,” Ortega breathes, sliding into the seat on the other side of Maksim’s table. Uninvited. And yet unabashed. It was always that way, wasn’t it? Intrusive, too confident and too daring by far. It was the only way he could have shouldered his way as far into their life as he did. The only way he could have earned their begrudging trust before he ever got more.

“I… this is-” Maksim’s gaze falls from Ortega’s face to dart aimlessly across the table as they grasp for words. How many times had they imagined seeing him again in the last seven years? At the Farm? On the run? Back in the city? What had they said to him in all those fantasies?

“A surprise?” When Maksim looks up again they’re staring down the barrel of Ortega’s gaze, intense and unwavering, and they have to fight the urge to shrink away. Then Ortega’s expression cracks into another smile, hesitant at first, but he leans forward and rests his arms on the table, and shakes his head. “I can’t believe it’s really you, Maksim,” he speaks the name again like he’s holding it with kid gloves, almost reverent. “I thought you… I mean they said you were dead, obviously you’re not but…” The way he’s searching Maksim’s face makes their skin crawl. He shifts again, hands fluttering on the tabletop like he wants to reach out and then thinks better of it. “You are… alright, right?”

Maksim swallows. A hairline fracture cuts through the ice, and the thing beneath it twists. “Well I am alive, at least,” they remark, reaching for the half-empty beer slowly warming on the table between the two of them. They miss it by an inch, have to drag their attention off of Ortega to focus on closing their hand around it and bringing it to their lips. “I’m here, having lunch,” they add on the end of a long pull, grimacing at the drifting-toward-bitter aftertaste. “That counts for something, right?”

“I would say so,” Ortega agrees with a bewildered chuckle. “It’s just when you went through the window, I… I guess we all thought… It was a long way down.”

Something twitches at the periphery of Maksim’s expression as they take another drink. They don’t need Ortega to remind them how long the fall was. Or how hard they hit the ground.

“I remember.”

Ortega blinks, leans back abruptly with a wince. “Mierda, right, I’m sorry, it was just… there was an explosion, I got knocked out, they were burning bodies after, the whole thing was chaotic. It’s no wonder some wires got crossed, stories got mixed up…” then he sits forward again, looking so much like he wants to reach forward and take Maksim’s hand that they lean back in response. “But if you survived then where have you been these past years?”

Maksim just huffs out a breath through their nose and flashes Ortega the closest thing to a smile they’ve been able to muster so far. They imagine telling him everything, the whole grim and visceral truth, just to watch the horror settle over his face. Instead they pick up the thread he's already offered them and keep weaving it. "You’re probably expecting a better story than it actually is. I just got lost in the shuffle, like you said. Slipped through the cracks after they scraped me off the pavement. By the time I was conscious again I’d changed hands enough times that they didn’t know who I was, who to contact, who to bill…” The lie feels plausible enough, so long as Ortega doesn’t give the details too much thought. "Between the debts and the recovery time and… the actual…" they make a vague gesture with their hand, wondering which detail of the Heartbreak incident would make a more impactful final point. Ortega saves them from having to choose with a nod and a low sympathetic "hmm," so Maksim finished, "once I could, I just decided to walk away."

"I do understand that," Ortega speaks softly, patience in every word, but Maksim can't shake the feeling there's a bigger unspoken question sitting at the tip of his tongue. "The whole thing was… horribly mishandled. It was a mess."

"And it was in my head, Ricardo."

"Right, shit." Ortega exhales, his brow furrowing and his features tightening with remembered pain. "Steel got rattled too, and he's not even… Did you… get therapy or something at least? We…" He keeps talking, but Maksim's mind is caught on the steel hook of that one word.

Therapy. Therapy? Did they get therapy after walking through that field of corpses, after watching their best friend kill themself mere feet away from them, after having their mind pried open and unspooled? Did they talk to someone after they threw themself out a window at the behest of some… some kind of…

The ice cracks deeper, shudders with the movements of the unnamed ugly thing trying to push its way to the surface. Ortega has no idea what their recovery looked like, the kind of assessments they were subjected to. He doesn't know the first thing about it so there's no point in arguing, but the gall of the question still settles over Maksim like an oil spill.

"I got through it," they say, forcing what they hope is a smile confident enough not to betray the writhing feeling climbing up into their chest. "It was rough for a while but I pulled through, I'm good now."

"I'm glad." Ortega sighs. "I just wish… seven years we all thought you were dead and I've been asking myself what I could have done differently." You could have stopped me. The thought skitters through Maksim's mind but they hold their tongue. "Why didn't you ever reach out to us?"

That must be it. The question he's been aching to ask since he sat down, trying to find the right opening. Why didn't you come back, why didn't you tell us you were alive, why didn't you absolve me. Maksim feels like they can glimpse the thing under the ice as the cracks widen, almost reach out and grab it and finally learn what it is.

"I didn't want to," the words come almost unbidden, and when the troubled creases in Ortega's brow deepen further Maksim realizes a second too late that it was far too honest. "I mean, I just couldn't imagine…" They lean forward, elbows on the table and palms pressed to the sides of their head as they fumble with their earlier demeanor–flustered and tired and not this jagged chill that's overtaken them. "I'd see you in the news, right back to fighting the good fight after it all happened, and I just couldn't imagine putting myself in that position again. I guess I was just scared. I don't think I can fight like I used to, I can't even see like I used to. How much worse could it be next time?"

"Oh… Maksim I'm so sorry." Maksim flinches, gripped by a sudden fear that something would take hold of their arm when they weren't looking, but when they raise their head again Ortega is still sitting with his hands folded in front of him, studying them with a deep frown. “But you didn’t have to pretend you were dead to retire. You could have explained it to us.”

“Didn’t I?” The ragged and rundown persona keeps slipping, and Maksim rolls their eyes with a snort. “If I’d just told you upfront you would have tried to talk me out of it anyway, suggested different counseling, different training, I would have gone through with it to make you happy right up until the moment I cracked and someone else got killed. It was just easier to be gone for good.”

“Easier?” Ortega echoes, and Maksim thinks they can hear an edge creeping into his tone as well. “Maybe for you… I’ve spent seven years believing I caused your death.”

Ortega can believe whatever he likes, and Maksim doesn’t see how that’s their fault. But they don’t imagine that’s the thing that will end this conversation peacefully. “I figured you’d move on eventually.”

“And what, just replace you with someone new?”

“Yes? I’m not the only one who died, isn’t that what you do when a team loses members?”

“Maksim,” Ortega’s eyes grow wide as he searches their expression. “I’m not talking about the team, you and I were- I… I cared about you a great deal. I thought you felt the same.”

Maksim doesn’t have to feign the exasperation they wear openly as they screw their eyes shut and massage their temple. This isn’t a conversation they ever wanted to have, much less like this. “I… wish you had just moved on,” they sigh, unable to conjure up a better response. He was never supposed to care. He was never supposed to hold out for them.

The silence hangs between them for a long, uncomfortable few seconds as Maksim’s gaze drifts toward the diner’s cash register, wondering how they could best remove themself from this encounter once and for all. This was a jarring interruption, a worrying threat to their plans, but it hasn’t unraveled yet. Now they’re just starting to feel like he’s wasting their time. Then at length Ortega’s voice breaks through their thoughts once again, tentative but persistent. “Are you sure you’re doing okay…? I know you already said it but you look like hell, I just…”

In the old days that would have been a perfect opening for a joke, some barbed but mostly good natured comeback. Now Maksim just shoots him a thin-lipped frown. “I’m fine,” they insist, maybe a little too curt to really sound fine. “Sidestep is dead and I’m just living a quiet, normal life.”

“I get it… Sidestep may be dead,” Ortega concedes, as if finally willing himself to make peace with that, with separating that memory from the stranger in front of him, “but I’m glad you’re not.” He pauses then in spite of sounding like he wanted to say more, and when Maksim faces him again they can see some kind of calculations being rapidly run behind his eyes. When they raise an eyebrow he finally adds, “you’re… still a telepath, right?”

The question catches them off-guard and they blink, not immediately sure how to respond. It’s a strange question, it had never even occurred to them to lie about that. Boosts don’t lose their powers, and as far as Ortega knows that’s all they are. Still, the fact that he’s asking at all means… it’s possible? Or at least that he’s willing to entertain the idea? How far could they take that? How much of a smokescreen could they generate around themself?

“It’s just- I assumed when you said you can’t fight like you used to you were talking about your eyesight,” Ortega clarifies, “but then I started wondering if, maybe…”

“Yeah, um… Not… really? Not like before,” Maksim mutters, hoping their hesitation will simply read as surprise that Ortega would intuit something so unusual, or reluctance to discuss it. “My powers are… I feel like I turned them off, like I blocked myself from using them after… I don’t think I could stomach feeling other people in my head again, even if I still could.”

“Ah… I’m sorry.” Ortega slumps back in the booth, clearly crestfallen at this revelation. The pity soaking into his expression as he looks Maksim over turns their stomach. There’s something clawing at their insides trying to get out shouting stop it stop it stop it don’t look at me like that you don’t understand you don’t know anything-

“Why do you ask?” they manage to choke out, but they can hear their own voice trembling.

“I was just thinking, I could have really used the help of a telepath I can trust.” Ortega’s gaze falls and he almost seems to speak this quietly to the table in front of him. He must not have heard the tremor in Maksim’s words, or else interpreted it wrong. With his attention finally off them, Maksim feels for the moment like they have the freedom to study him a little more closely, and for the first time they become aware that he seems… aged. Tired. Grey hair flecking his temples and wrinkles that didn’t use to be there, dark circles under his eyes, all of it subtle enough to seem dignified if he was carrying himself differently. It doesn’t make him look dignified now, just frail.

All at once they can feel the balance of power in the conversation tilting. They can feel that ice falling away. “You still trust me?”

“Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?” He answers so quickly, so earnestly, as if the question hardly needed to be asked. “Although… I guess it doesn’t really matter now.”

The thing inside them finally breaks free and uncoils, presses itself against their ribcage and up into their throat and feels like it could spill itself out into the space between them, writhing and angry and vile and so, so obvious. And in a flash of clarity Maksim understands exactly what they’re feeling.

Contempt.

Contempt for this man sitting before them, holding a torch for someone who’s been dead seven years and insisting that Maksim be that person now. Contempt for someone who refused to change, refused to adapt, clinging now to the only thing that might justify that refusal. You’re still alive, I was right not to let you go.

How dare he. How dare he think he can do this, walk back into their life uninvited, impose himself on them again, and act like nothing changed with seven years and a funeral between them. To sit there and act like he knows them, understands their pain, like he ever knew or understood them in the first place, while swallowing every lie they tell him without question… it’s pathetic.

But maybe it's also… exploitable.

You’re an idiot, they want to say. That trust will get you killed. I’ll make sure of it.

They smile, echoing back the sympathy he had offered them first. “Why don’t you tell me about it anyway?”

#fallen hero #fallen hero rebirth #maksim girard #ricardo ortega #mine #ask #mihqorio #Maksim just like 'hold on you caught me by surprise but I'm shifting into Full Villain Mode'#rom fiction

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asset35-maya · 3 years

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[REED900 EDEN CLUB AU]

Most people who visit the Eden Club are there to fulfil their fantasies. Some are elaborate, some are simple… and some are quite unspeakable. Things you’d never dare to ask of a fellow human.

Gavin Reed is one such patron. He, too, has a deep dark fantasy that would cause his entire reputation to crumble should anyone find out. His fantasy… is LOVE.

It’s a little pathetic honestly, but Gavin has a part of his monthly savings set aside for discrete visits to the club. Hours-long sessions where he can drop the toxic bravado and pretend he’s in the safe and happy confines of a loving relationship.

He whispers sweet nothings into synthetic ears and coaxes simulated orgasms out of plastic bodies. He tests out affection, phrases and terms of endearment. He practises how to kiss with meaning, how to congratulate a loved one on an achievement, how to ask someone to marry him. He plays house.

Gavin picks a different android each time, and it’s just his luck that Cyberlife seems to launch new models almost in sync with the seemingly endless romance film premieres on Netflix.

He tells himself he’s kind of heeding the advice from his family and friends to start dating. All the visits to the Eden Club count as practice. There’s zero judgement from the blank-faced androids, so he can mess up and try again over and over. Practice makes perfect. He’ll be perfect by the time he meets the one. And he’ll know when it’s the one, because he’s been with so many different types. Oooh! And the body count doesn’t matter because androids aren’t real people. Yeah! Foolproof!

Then one day he’s absolutely blown away by a pair of new models on display. Two achingly handsome men with the same face. A lean, brown-eyed bot and his taller, more muscular, blue-eyed clone. (Basically, the authorities caught wind of the highly risky RK development program at Cyberlife and they found a quick way to hide the prototypes at the Eden Club)

Gavin struggles to choose between the new models, but finally picks the blue-eyed RK900. Gavin is a caregiver at heart, and somehow doesn’t see the RK800 playing along well. There’s a little too much self-assuredness in that open and inviting smile. The RK900 however, exudes a certain vulnerability despite the outwardly intimidating physique. (Or is that just Gavin projecting?)

Gavin takes the RK900 by the hand and pulls him into a bedroom suite. He’s got a full scenario planned out in his head. This one will be a workplace romance. The RK900 will be his partner and the context is that they’re finally falling into bed together after several counts of flirtatious banter shared during investigations.

The android plays along remarkably well. There’s intelligence and humour in their interactions… and it feels so damn real. The teasing, the playing coy, the gasps of sexual gratification are nothing like the programmed bullshit Gavin is used to seeing from the usual companion models at the Eden Club. If he was looking for love, this sure felt like it.

Gavin wonders whether the RK900 has some deeper purpose in a moment of post-orgasmic clarity… and is just about to ask when the android’s eyes glaze over, LED spinning rapidly… resetting, as the paid session ends.

The thought doesn’t leave Gavin’s head even after he discreetly leaves the club. It sticks with him, and his fantasy gets more and more elaborate. After several sleepless nights spent fixating on the memory of the RK900’s touch, Gavin becomes convinced that he’s met some kind of synthetic soulmate. It’s ridiculous, but he feels possessive… he yearns for the RK900… Nines, as he’s started mentally referring to him.

Breaking a personal rule, Gavin returns to the Eden Club for the second time that month.

He dimly acknowledges the absence of the RK800 display unit and deletes the HR email informing the homicide department about their new android colleague, Connor. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Gavin connects the dots but he can’t bring himself to care.

He empties nearly all his bank savings to book an entire week’s worth of sessions with Nines, back to back. His frenzied mind has concocted some kind of wedding and honeymoon scenario, and he’s too far gone to exercise any self-restraint… or self-preservation, now knowing fully what the RK900 model is.

It’s pitiful. But that’s generally how things in Gavin Reed’s life are.

But still… not as pitiful as the manner in which Nines deviates. The red wall shatters in the midst of a circuit-frying climax. He gains his freedom writhing underneath the desperate thrusts of a lovesick loser. Actual tears stream down his face because the man called him his precious babydoll darling husband.

As the last session of the week runs out, and the make-believe honeymoon comes to a close, Gavin fears the worst… but Nines’ eyes remain radiant and full of recognition. The android snuggles closer underneath the sheets, completely unwilling to let go despite the timer ringing loudly through the suite.

Since Gavin’s going bankrupt and probably about to be removed from police duty for reasons of financial embarrassment, he tells himself that it doesn’t matter if he commits a small crime.

Or a big one.

Nines disables the security cameras at the club and the two sneak out into the sunset.

Of course, there’s hell to pay, for the both of them… but it’s worth it.

Completely worth it.

Years later, with actual rings on their fingers, they return to that same honeymoon suite and recreate how it all began.

#tw: sex mention #reed900 #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh nines #dbh rk900 #dbh gavin #gavin900 #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900 #eden club #dbh fanfic #dbh writing #my writing

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grandtheftstarship · 4 years

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Quietly (Spock x Wife!Reader) [Request!!]

“Hi! I’m a huge fan of Star Trek as well, and it’s funny that I’m close to your age! I’ll be sixteen very soon. I was wondering if perhaps you would write a Spock x Wife! Reader fic where Spock’s wife is generally very nervous and quiet, but very sweet, and she deals with a lot of Anxiety and Insomnia? And perhaps he tries to comfort her and aid her in sleep and being calmer? It would really be great bc I deal with both of those on the daily :) thx, LY! Live Long and Prosper, friend! ❤️ ~R”

Hiiii R!! This is so crazy because we are basically the same person omg. I’ve been meaning to write something like this for the longest time and then you requested!!! Stay strong sister!! Live Long and Prosper :D

p.s fun fact i wrote this entire thing and then ended up hating it so i rewrote it and now its so much better i really hope you like it

Warnings: a little angst, anxiety, basically 90% just fluff, short but sweet Word Count: 1571

request something!!

masterlist

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, gently coaxing you awake. No, it couldn’t be morning already, could it? You had only just dipped your toes in the intoxicating pool that was sleep; how could it be over so soon?

Your eyes peeked open and you were met with a lovely image of your husband leaning over you, the slightest smile on his lips.

“Good morning,” Spock pressed a small kiss on your cheek before settling himself back down, head resting in the crook of your neck. You reached up to run your slender fingers through his soft hair, bliss soaring through your veins. Despite your lack of sleep, you would be happy to wake up like this any day.

But, alas, it was all over so soon. Your fantasy of waking up on Earth to the sun shining through your bedroom window curled up next to Spock felt so close, yet so far. Space was your passion, but Spock was your home. You knew which one felt more important.

Spock sat up and rolled out of the bed, stretching.

“Did you sleep?” He had learned that it wasn’t a question of if you slept ‘well’ anymore. He still asked every morning, but he always knew the answer.

You frowned, shaking your head. Spock pulled his Starfleet shirt over his head before bending over the bed to kiss you quickly.

“I’m certain the doctor could prescribe some melatonin or a similar medical remedy to ease your situation.” And, every morning, he tried to offer help for your condition. It was endearing, truly, but you wished he would just quit mentioning it altogether.

“Thank you, but you know I don’t react well with medication,” you replied, yawning and dragging yourself up. You pulled off your sleep shirt and tugged your red dress over your head as you walked to the bathroom, giving Spock a kiss on the cheek as you strode past him.

“Are you prepared for the away mission tomorrow?” he called from the bedroom.

Shit. Your heart dropped with such force your knees felt weak. Shit shit shit!! Your mind immediately went into overdrive and suddenly you were spiraling down a rabbit hole of different scenarios - all ending with either your death, Spock’s death, or just death in general. What if you got attacked? What if you killed everyone else in a shuttle crash and you had to live with the guilt for the rest of your life? There were so many things that could go wrong; one misstep, one miscalculation -you shook your head violently, snapping yourself out of it. You gripped the counter tightly and started taking deep breaths. It's fine. You were going to be just fine. Yeah... fine. It’s nothing. You were only going to be operating a shuttlecraft with twelve people aboard for the first time, three of which were your best friends. Fine. Just fine.

You had barely noticed your hairbrush slip from your other hand until the clatter shook you from your thoughts. Spock rushed in without missing a beat, placing a comforting hand on your back. Using his other hand, he brushed stray hairs from your eyes and lifted your chin up so he could meet your gaze. This wasn’t the first time he was there to ease you back down to reality.

“Hey, Hey. You are going to be okay,” he cooed softly, rubbing circles on your back. You shut your eyes and took a long, deep breath.

“I will be with you for the duration of the mission,” he reassured you. “I promise you, I will not leave your side.”

You felt relieved, but a lingering sense of unease remained. You threw your arms around your husband before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” you beamed up at him. “Really, you don’t need to do this.”

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to help you, [y/n],” the smallest of smiles danced on his lips. He gave you a quick kiss on your forehead before exiting the bathroom, letting you finish getting ready. You bent down, picking up the hairbrush, frowning at the cracked handle. You would have to put that on the list of things to grab at the next starbase.

As you brushed your hair anyway, you thought hard about your schedule for the day, planning out things to do to avoid dwelling on the events tomorrow would hold too much. It worked, A little.

As you were putting the finishing touches on your morning routine, Spock poked his head in.

“Are you ready to leave?”

“Yep.” You sighed heavily, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from your uniform. Before you could stop yourself, you turned away from the mirror and headed for the door, grabbing Spock’s hand and pulling him into the hallway.

ᓚᘏᗢ

After you and Spock ate breakfast, you went down to engineering for your job assignment. Unfortunately, Scotty didn’t have much for you to do, so you did ensign-level jobs for him to pass the time. Anything to quell the storm that was your anxiety.

You had tried so many times to find remedies for your condition; work, sleep, staying as busy as possible. Hell, Spock had quickly become a coping mechanism for you and was more successful than any of your other less-desirable options. Unfortunately, since he was a real person and an officer, he couldn’t be there for you all the time as you worked on opposing ends of the ship. This typically ended up with you spiraling and having to pull yourself out on your own.

Out of your four options, work was probably the least effective. There was too much time to think; too much time for your demons to sink their claws into your brain. And, since the one person who was able to fully calm you down was unreachable, escape was sometimes impossible.

Scotty had given you the small job of making sure the heating and cooling pipes on the starboard side of engineering and since the job was oh-so-simple, there was way too much time for your mind to wander. You tried so hard, you really did, to think about anything else, but the looming mission continued to push itself to the forefront of your mind. It wasn’t long before it would take over you once again.

ᓚᘏᗢ

You didn’t know how long you had been lying awake. The minutes ticked by like days, seconds passed like hours. Spock was curled around you tightly, trying to make you feel safe enough to sleep and it had worked for a little while, but fear had wound itself into a tight knot in your stomach. You had never been assigned to an away mission before and you were absolutely terrified out of your mind. Horror stories of officers going missing, getting mauled or eaten by monstrous aliens, dying painful, horrific deaths in any way you could imagine plagued your thoughts. You remembered back to the instructional class about manning a shuttle, the sole reason you were going on the mission, and your stomach lurched at the thought of the graphic photos they had shown of shuttle crashes during the safety portion of the course. Panic started building in your chest, your legs began to shake and you knew what was coming. You tried not to wake Spock, but a sob you had tried to contain wrenched its way out of your mouth as some sort of strangled gasp and your husband was instantly awake and leaning over you. You heard him speaking to you, but the only sounds you were able to make were choked cries and before you knew it you were in the midst of a full-on breakdown. Panic set your body on fire, lightning-fast images of possible outcomes to the mission flashed across your eyes, tears streaming down your face as you bawled into Spock’s bare chest.

“I can’t!” you sobbed over and over. “I can't!”

Spock had never held you so tightly, grasping across your back with one hand, the other tangled in your hair, clutching you into his chest. He rocked you softly as you started calming down, humming soft tunes in your ear as your wails turned to sniffles. Despite your trouble sleeping, mere minutes after you had stopped crying you had fallen asleep.

Spock didn’t let go of you for the rest of the night. He leaned back down on the bed, curling back around you and holding you close. He contemplated canceling the away mission until you were more up for it, but he decided it would probably be best to discuss it with you in the morning.

He eventually drifted off, only to wake a mere two hours later to the sound of your alarms. He quickly shut them off, not wanting to wake you since you had finally gotten the sleep you so desperately needed. Without moving too much as to wake you, Spock reached for his padd and canceled the mission anyway, as well as excusing himself and you from duty for the day. You needed your rest, especially after a night like the one you had just experienced and he knew he needed to be there for you.

He set the padd back down on the bedside table before climbing back under the covers and wrapping his arms around you. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. He loved you, after all.

#star trek #star trek fanfic #Star Trek Fanfiction #star trek aos #star trek x reader #star trek x reader fanfiction #star trek x fem!reader #spock #spock fanfic #spock fanfiction #spock x reader #Spock X female reader #spock aos #spock aos x reader

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lixiefe · 4 years

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Beyond The Promise

Sequel to Beyond The Curse - Hwang Hyunjin x reader

⎆ Words: approx 3k.

⎆ Disclaimer: This is set in the late 1800's timeline. Or anytime near that. More precisely, the time phase Little Women was based on. And I’m really hoping I can convey the vibes.

⎆ Summery: The story after your curse is ridden of.

⎆ Type and Warning: Fluff at start, angst at the end. Death mentions (no not hyunjin, neither the mc).

“Hyunjin! Hyunjin!”

Hyunjin’s brows furrow with a scrunch covering his forehead as he lets out a quiet grunt. He feels droplets of water falling onto his face, cascading down his cheeks as another one hits lightly. His eyes flutter open in such reluctance that he questions the weight of his lids, but nonetheless, peeks over through the heaviness and lethargy.

The first thing he sees is your concerned eyes, face smothered with utter despondency as crestfallen drops of tears continue sliding down your cheeks, and onto his. He wants to snatch away the pain, the restlessness, the tears away from you. But Hyunjin’s body feels motionless, as if he’s made of rocks and stones and hardened with a layer of cement; the action of lifting an arm feeling more stressful than it should. However, he tries. But his fingers itch with what’s inside his hands, little spikes of the coarse object grazing against his palm as he moves his hands.

What is this?

With arduous effort, he brings his hand in front of his eyes, disentangling his fingers with a view to see what’s inside. His face contorts into one of utter confusion, flabbergasted how something he’d achieved months ago, something he’d thought he’d lost in the hassle of day and nights, something that you father gave to him.

“Queen…”

What is this on my cheeks? Oh, oh! Another one!

It’s so plump, and yes, and really soft, really cushiony, what is this?

Oh, moist too! It feels so nice.

And now it’s on my other cheek! It’s pressing slowly, softly, gently, and-

Oblique rays of bright morning’s sun embrace your eyelids in an irritating manner, tickling and fluttering your lashes in what intentional gleam. Along with it comes the pleasant, yet still tickly, feeling of soft, endearing presses of something so smooth that a smile graces your lips instantly. It moves from both of your cheeks to your lips, encapsulating them in a deep, abbreviated kiss.

You can’t help but correspond with similar eagerness, your hands flying over to sheath his neck in a languid hold and fingers immediately tracing the small curls and twists of his silky hair. It’s addicting, so congenial that you never want to break away. But it doesn’t stay that way for long. Because he detaches himself quite soon, looking into your eyes though his can barely be seen. An extravagant express of contented, tickled pink and contagious glee fills the abyss of his two dark brown orbs, or what of them could be seen anyways; and an overgenerous, massive smile stretching his lips to the end of his cheeks, not too much, not too less, still sparing a generous amount of cheeks.

“Good morning, precious.” He says, pressing another kiss onto your cheek. You lean away from him on impulse, the blunt show of affection being a little too much for your heart. Even so, there’s no way you refrain from mimicking him, your own face luminous with delight.

Sight still in the clutches of comforting night’s glue, you move your right hand away to rub your eyes as you stifle an upcoming yawn. “Best morning,” you reply, voice still groggy from the morning's effect.

There’s no way you can keep that smile off your face, at least not when Hyunjin’s eyes peer into yours with insurmountable affection, the entirety of it so overwhelming that you cannot stop your fingertips from tingling, cannot stop your toes curling up into caterpillar’s shell, cannot stop the delirious warmth that swamps you into whole, intoxicating fantasy.

Hyunjin chuckles, leaning in for another kiss in the same bubbling and arrogant confidence that allowed him to traverse his lips along your face so chastely, that too, early in sun’s visit when you were asleep. But no, not this time, you’re awake and that’s exactly what’s bad for him. Instead of you, his lips collide with the skin of your palm. Shameful, hah! I’ve won.

You’re so ready to see the scrunch of his face and hear him whining in a high pitched voice, so ready to feel triumphant over his little early morning loss, so ready to laugh at him in utter hilarity. But that doesn’t happen. Not at all.

Because much damns to your expectation, he grabs your hand in his, embedding sequels of passionate pecks on your palm in a way that has your cheeks flaring up in a disgraceful crimson. You try your best to pry yourself off from this pepper sprinkling of love that seemed to ooze off of him with a view to flustering you to the best. Not to lie, you loved this genuine pamper of unending hugs and kisses and endearing words, loved the fleeting moments that defied universal flow of time, loved every one hundred and seventy nine centimeters of your insatiable lover and his insatiable thrive for more and more.

But how long till you combust from this, this much affection. You can only handle so much. Not to mention the shameless trait of him stealing spontaneous kisses and leaving you in the midst of potential heart attack. And when you morosely pucker your lips and huff an angry breath, he only annoys you more and plants yet another peck on your cheeks.

More and more.

But you loved it.

“So what do you think?” you ask, smoothing the cotton sleeves of your heavy burgundy coat and straightening it downwards to further eliminate it's absent crinkles. Simultaneously, you adjust the gigantic hat on your head, angling it in a fashion only you could approve.

“You're asking me? You know you're always beautiful right?” Hyunjin answers as he entwines his hands around your torso, encasing and pulling you flush against his larger frame. His head crouches down to rest on your shoulder with his typical, carefree nonchalance, but also with an ulterior, hidden indication that amplified with each breath on your skin. It was like he was breathing warm on purpose, fanning your neck with a few heavy breaths to exaggerate his indication. But you still reciprocate and smile as your hands reach his. “But you'd look even more beautiful if we could just return back to bed.”

And you regret it.

“We're going to go there no matter what Hyunjin,” you answer with a strict impersonation, slithering out of his hold with the same technique you’ve brewed through the past years with this clingy Hwang. It would’ve been hard, because Hyunjin was very strong with an impassable iron grip. But no matter how manly, how indomitable and how masochistic he appeared to be, he couldn’t fight off when somebody tickled his forearm. That was a weakness only you knew.

But he lets you go about too easily, not even putting up a fake struggling scheme to entrap you just a little longer. You’re not dubious either, you knew far well he was trying his best to foster as much comfort for you as possible, trying to manipulate the breeze around you to provide you the minimum courage you lacked.

“I never said we weren't. I've never been happier that you could summon enough courage to do this. You're so strong, love," Hyunjin turns your around, fingers gently pirouetting the frilly sections of curled hair around your ears left astray, and with the same eyes you've seen so many times; but cannot help falling in love with again and again.

“I can only do that because you're with me."

And then he smiles with little change to his lips but his eyes remain the same. The same solicitous depths of dark brown. Brown like the damp soil of the mountains you've always envied, like the polished woodwork on antique and gorgeous doors, like the most glamorous dark chocolate one could discover. You've always tried to steal it, to keep it, to manipulate it, to make them yours. They were elusive, hard to catch and extremely personal. But they were yours, and they sparkled like that only for you.

You had it, you had him, you had everything.

Just not the one you’d wanted to witness your revolution.

"Come on."

Post-war scenario was the most prominent in the outskirts of the town. Hordes of people engaged in serious rebuilding, women and children wandering with conclusive happiness akin to the one you’d seen years ago. It felt as if humanity was resurrected after an elongated faucet of destruction. But even so, nothing could beat the peace, the tranquil satisfaction of one that you’d all gone through it, passed a dreadful phase, experienced a history. Gained hearts that beat together and hands that are available to hold. Established a demographic unity.

You’d wanted to see it all with your father, have fun in an unconcerned evening and sip your tea as you chattered on and on about balderdash stories.

However, you’d not wanted to rely on these fantasies.

“Are you alright angel?”

You break out of your short-lived trance with a jolt, eyes reciprocating a gleam to tell him that you were, however, alright. You offer him a primed smile and nod as you move further down the narrow grassroad, never breaking the tenacious hold of your hands. You’ve always loved how your hands fit right into Hyunjin’s; as if he’s cradling them in a perfect carapace, twining them in a knot that never distangles; as if the space of his hands were an exterior you veiled yourself into.

“Here you go,”

Soon enough, you stood in front of the rusty and dusted fences, peering over the single obelisk that stood at front in magnanimous glory. Everyone would say it’s a reverent recognition of your father’s remains, with words of respect scribbled under the pyramidion top. To you though, it was a second course expedition of rapid moments, smiles and bedtime kisses, sleep stories and the exceptional span of diminutive time you both shared under the roof of your past house. A very painful excursion of memories, but happy, that you’d never deny.

09.02.1885

That’s what it said.

But you didn't really cry. Even though your eyes stung, burned by the liquid coerced back with the plethora of emotions, you held back. That was not what he'd like. Instead, you found home in the defects of transcendent sky and the dry soil that covered his casket. You searched, scrutinized for home in a small smile as your faltering legs took you closer and closer, until you stood perpendicular to the block of stone. He was probably satisfied, his life goal was you, your life, your soul, your humanity. He's achieved that, even if not being able to witness it directly.

By now, you couldn't keep the smile, couldn't keep the smoothened creases that returned with greater force, greater emotion. I'm sorry, father. You feel Hyunjin press a kiss above your head, caressing your back in a few circles as he leaves you alone for a personal time.

You couldn't help it anymore. With Hyunjin gone, all that confidence, all the positivity, all that optimism, and all the resolutions of holding up to providence broke down in such innumerable pieces that you weren't able to hold onto even one. Even one speck of the stability. But you still spoke with cracking voice and unstoppable sobs, spoke apologies and words heard by none.

Before you knew it, so much time was gone like fragmentary wisps of sand from your hands, and it was getting long, too long. You could again feel that same soothing hand rubbing against the small of your back and tenderly tugging you close, like you were a fragile vase of utter delicacy. They spoke sweet nothings into your ear, momentarily careened away the grief that'd have eaten you up. But you only heard so much.

"How about you take a seat there, love? I'll be right back, yeah?" you shroud the tears that don't stop and manage a nod as you strut away from there. Hyunjin smiles at your receding figure, a second of two, or maybe until your heel clad feet could be seen safe near the bench, until he could see you wiping your tears away. Albeit his eyes were forever stuck on you, he still shifted his gaze towards the obelisk that lay taciturnaly immobile in front of him.

He inhales a deep breath, eyes vacillating through the area as he fiddles his hands. He stays silent in tribute of your father, a minute or two, till he feels like It's respectful to speak. "I just wanted to clear up, she'll forever remain your princess, sir." Hyunjin almost expects a response from the universe, any pragmatic sign that he could continue, wasn’t unheard. But all he hears is the insissant rustle of dead leaves and breezy wind in the wake of rudimentary winter. He continues, "She will never be just a colorful rose,"

Hyunjin doesn't if its his subconscious, but he knows it when the universe lets out a just growl of whooshing wind, so heavy that it nudged him away. "She will not be the rose that withers, the rose wounded by it’s own thorns,she will not be plucked and she will never be the rose taken for granted.’’

‘’I've never lost that chess piece, sir. Never will."

A deep breath and fleeting memory.

"You'll never lose as long as you have your queen, hwang."

Hyunjin digs a hand through his coat pocket, taking out the tiny piece of chess equipment. He looks down at it, the tempest wind almost takes him away but the queen never falters, it never flows away. It's the greatest strength, the most powerful amenity and the only one which outshines the king itself. Hyunjin applauds it, he admires the queen’s generosity, admires the opportune sword sheathed under her chastazied robes; but they don’t vaguate her strength, nor do they question her sublime femininity. because the queen sits atop the throne of sovereignty, sits higher than the gold and riches that Hyunjin can never reach. She’s precious, at the same time expedient and courageous, she’s everything.

And he has it, he has everything.

He twists the end of the piece, fingers bringing out the piece of parchment that lay treasured beneath. He unravels the rolled paper, eyes gliding over the sententious, neat letters written how many months ago; few of it hidden among the rusts and few faded into ages, but he can read, he can easily figure out the sentence. His lips break out into a smile as he stuffs them back into the confines of his pocket, chuckling at the words that reminds him of nothing but presented truth.

“09.02.1885." it said.

The sagacious old man knew better than him.

“My queen,”

The sunset melts into the obstinate waves, flamboyant iridescence fades into the blue of the sea and he wonders, wonders in relentless honesty if he's drowned in the waves. The waves that saved him, the waves that demanded solace from him. Because Hyunjin can hear. Hyunjin can hear the hums, the whispers and the promises of the sea that relayed what he needed to hear, what he wanted to hear.

Queen is what she is. Your queen.

At the end of the day, theres nothing to make you nor him helpless, nothing to fear.

Can you keep me close? Can you love me most?

There's nothing else you didn't have.

Hyunjin walks back into the silence behind, with his eyes glimmering at your gestures and trailing down to the ring that graced his right hand. Was that a happy ending? He didn't know. If it was the happily ever after with a conclusion of a smooth, surreal future, he didn't know if he had that. Because there will be obstacles, will be pain, will be grief. But he's ready for that. He has you and he has the future, who really cares if it's fated to be beautiful or to be grotesque? He'll make it right, he'll make the future, build the happiness, with you. He'll keep what's beyond the promise and beyond the curse.

His queen.

a/n: so here you go! I know it isn't that...fulfilling. The promise is between mc's father and hyunjin, if you dont get it.

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samwrights · 4 years

Text

Plastic Flowers [ 4 ]

Chapter 4: Desperate to Tame the Beast

Warnings: language, existential crisis.

"Dude, you guys were back there for a long time." The shit eating grin on Kirishima's face was wide with pride as Katsuki finally emerged from the back room of the Upside Down—finally! His stupid, stubborn friend made his move at last! And while Bakugo's face was as disgruntled as ever, the looming anxiety that had been ever present with him previously was no longer around him. "You all good now man?"

"Tch," Katsuki grumbled before reclaiming his seat and downed the lukewarm beer left in his pilsner. "For now." Was all he said, looking away from the red head. From the nature of their relationship, the blonde knew that Red Riot had expected him to seal the deal and form his permanent bond. That was just the kind of faith and confidence Kiri had in Bakugo. But it was apparent that Kirishima only knew of Kohta’s surface personality—not knowing how deep her stubbornness or even her innocence ran.

"What do you mean 'for now'?!"

"We didn't bond. Just taking our time." Katsuki grumbled in a mix of shame. It wasn’t that the blonde was upset that the two still had yet to bond; far from it, in fact. If anything, the blonde wasn't necessarily proud of his track record after learning of how damn near pure his soulmate was. The red head in front of him, being ever the supporter of Bakugo being able to snag women left and right for emotionless relationships, was unable to discern this gloss of disgust on the blonde's face. Kirishima stayed quiet out of sheer disbelief before his mouth began to spill word vomit.

"Wait, you. Y-you didn't..."

"Of course we didn't!" Bakugo snapped, clutching his beer glass with a knuckle white grip. Eijiro was quiet once again, slowly realizing this situation was going to be much more complicated. "S-she doesn't know how the bond is formed. She doesn't know that we need t-to..." Bakugo dropped his head onto the table, burying his face in his arms to prevent his myriad of emotions from showing on his face. No matter how many different ways words were minced, there was no pretty way to explain to someone that the bonding hormone was transferred through intercourse. Whomever discovered this connection had to be some perverted freak, Bakugo thought. His logical mind figured the protein was probably discovered through trial and error, scientific research even, conducted on people in a similar predicament as him. Considering the solution to Bakugo's problem was only temporary, Kirishima grew concerned for what was to follow. Had this been a one night stand type of arrangement, there would have been nothing to worry about and the two of them were in confident in that. It was the simple fact that Bakugo had to confront his own feelings. Which, in some cases, not every soulmate pairing ended up having genuine feelings for each other. There are rather morbid tales of some heinous acts committed amongst pairs—some would rape and abuse their partners, saying it was out of love. Some still neglected and committed adultery; some even murdered their mates. And though Kirishima knew Bakugo would never do any of the aforementioned acts, he was very aware that the blonde was never good at genuine relationships—romantic or otherwise.

In a strange way, Bakugo was a romantic himself, in the sense that he fantasized the way his life, his reality should play out and unfold. In his mind, he called it having a plan. Since he was a young child, he idolized All Might and, after the discovery of his quirk, he knew he was going to be the top hero—better than All Might himself. Katsuki figured if he worked hard, he would eventually get there, according to his plan. The blonde never took into account reality and destiny and fate, and the same scenario reared its head the moment he was branded with his soulmate mark. The day script tattoo appeared on his body, he had no idea what to make of it. With the words "I never want to see you in here again", it was challenging for Katsuki's romantic mind to idealize what situation him and his soulmate would be in, let alone imagine what she would look like. In his mid teens, probably about ten tears ago, he finally settled with the fantasy that his soulmate was an ER nurse that wanted him to stop getting hurt—he thought his marking was supposed to be something along the lines of playful.

Now at twenty five years old, Katsuki Bakugo stood in front of his soulmate that he'd just made out with moments ago, a counter separating the two of them as he grabbed another round of beers and two shots of whiskey as a bonus. Their first meeting shattered the romanticism and idealistic image he once had of his emergency room nurse. Instead, his mate was the owner of a local downtown dive bar; quirkless, lonely, and independent—completely opposite of the doting woman he had pictured. Facing reality was the romantic's worst enemy, and was going to be the biggest obstacle for Bakugo if he truly wanted to make this bond work. "Thanks." The blonde mutters under his breath as he tries to carry both of the shot glasses and pilsners back to his table, making sure to avoid his soul mate's violet gaze. After his brief conversation with Kirishima, Bakugo felt conflicted and knew that making direct eye contact with Kohta would only distress himself further. Each time he looked at her was another taste of the reality the two of them were in. This thin, brunette woman named Hitoko Ohta was his real life soulmate.

Kohta was a flurry of emotions herself. After running away from the orphanage, her sense of self-preservation was at an all time high. The first time Kohta even let down her walls was when Dabi and Toga meandered their way into her little dive nearly two years ago. At first, it started off with simple exchanges of hellos, then small talk. It eventually turned into Kohta sharing her frustrations from day to day business that lead to Toga dubbing the brunette with her nickname. 'Its your first and last name put together! I think it's cute!' The blonde woman had told her, and ever since it stuck.

Now Hitoko Ohta was confronted with her soulmate—a whole other beast of emotional confusion—Katsuki Bakugo. Seeing that she didn't truly gain her first actual friends in life until two years ago at the age of twenty three, the idea of being eternally bonded to someone frightened her. From what she knew of him so far, he was brash and aggressive and while Kohta herself had a bit of an edge, he was light years beyond her. But she knew too well where his angry nature had been birthed from; fear was an emotion she knew all too well. Bakugo had his own walls, walls of resentment and anger that formed a pyramid at which he sat at the very point to prove to himself and everyone else that he was the best. In a strange way, Kohta envied him. How amazing it must have been to be so utterly confident to strive and continue to be the best. To not have to hide from the world due to poor choices.

It was one of the many reasons that Hitoko felt she wasn't even good enough to be Bakugo's soulmate. It was one of the many reasons she wished to keep her distance. But Kohta would be lying to herself if she denied her desire to also be closer to Bakugo. In the midst of their kiss, her mind was clouded with uncertainty; but her body seemed to decide every movement was right. Kohta wanted to continue to chase the first right feeling in her life. Even if he intimidated her, Katsuki Bakugo was still her soulmate. And her soulmate apparently couldn't carry two highball and two shot glasses at the same time, she noted as she watched him fumble with her drink ware. "Katsuki." She called out, catching his attention as he tried to rework his grip. With a shake of her head, she placed the taller glasses side by side in her left palm, with a shot glass sitting near her locked wrist as it rested behind the highballs. The last glass was held by three dainty fingers in her right hand.

Kohta maneuvered around the bar with ease despite the glassware in her hands as she made her way past Katsuki and dropped the drinks off at the table where Kirishima sat. The red haired man gave thanks as the blonde sat back down, only earning a nod from the owner before she made her way back behind the bar to continue tending to her patrons. As she walked away from their table once again, Bakugo's crimson eyes could only follow after her form, a motion not missed by his company. A small smile formed on Eijiro's lips knowingly—it was so nice to see the man he considered one of his closest friends actually show a minuscule amount of a positive emotion for once. Still seeing Bakugo stare and Kirishima being ever the wing-man decided to prod the blonde a little further. "So when are you gonna see her again?"

"Huh?" The question caught Bakugo off guard, as if he hadn't given it much of any thought. To be fair, he hadn't really. He just assumed he would see Kohta again whenever him and Kirishima, or even him alone, decided to return to the Upside Down. But even he knew that only being with her when she was working would leave them in the same predicament of being an unbonded pair. "Tch, fuck I don't know." Katsuki grumbles under his breath.

"Well, I don't think you need me to tell you what to do." The bomber rolled his eyes, silently telling Kirishima that he didn't need the guidance. If anything, he needed the courage, the balls to even ask Kohta when she would be available. While getting women was no difficult task for Katsuki, this situation was entirely new. This was long term, whether he wanted it to be or not, and was something of them neither really had a say in. As a nervous tick, Bakugo checked the gold watch on his left wrist, seeing it was nearing four in the morning. Taking a glance around, he had noticed most of the bar had emptied out. How had time flown so quickly, he wondered. Him and Kirishima only had a few drinks—certainly not enough to grant him the liquid courage he so desperately needed. All he had was an excuse; he needed to close out their bar tab after all.

Kohta was cleaning her draft taps when Katsuki approached the counter, closing down the bar and readying her business for the morning rush of the café. A small cough left his throat, making the brunette woman turn around. "Closing out?" Her tone was quiet, polite even. Much different than what Katsuki had seen from her usually snark. Instead of a verbal response, the blonde just gave a brusque nod, handing her his credit card. The bright glare of the screen in front of her reflected off of her large glasses as she pulled up the check, swiped his card all in silence.

"When is your next day off?" Bakugo asked as casually he could muster as he signed the credit slip, leaving a hefty tip, and handing it back.

"Sunday. The Upside Down is closed every Sunday and Monday." Kohta replies evenly, not once making eye contact with him—a lack of gesture he definitely noticed. She was treating him as if he were just any other bar patron; certainly not like he was the last guest for the evening and even more so not like the man in front of him was his soulmate. Before Kohta could turn away, Bakugo grabbed her frail wrist, turning her around to face him.

"Hitoko, look at me." Despite his patience wearing thin, his voice didn't tremble with anger once and while he used enough force to spin her around, his grip was earnest. "Sunday, you and I are going for lunch."

"What makes you think I'm going anywhere with you?" She bit. There she was, the woman Katsuki barely knew. The blonde let her wrist fall from his grasp, a smirk plastered on his lips; from what he had seen so far, he much rather preferred the sassy side of Kohta.

"You know our business is far from finished." The brunette woman stayed quiet, her previous qualms with their situation coming back and rearing its ugly head. In truth, Hitoko had no idea what she wanted out of this so-called partnership. While their little rendezvous had stirred strange feelings within her, it didn't change her perspective or stance on having a soulmate. She didn't want companionship, or so she thought; she doesn't know how to share her world with another person. Even her friends were kept at bay with a ten foot stick. So when Kohta finally uttered a simple word of compliance, it came from a place of selfishness.

"Okay." She says quietly, only agreeing to satisfying her own curiosity. What was the big deal about soulmates, she wondered. "I'll see you Sunday."

"I'll see you Sunday."

Hitoko "Kohta" Ohta has not seen Katsuki Bakugo since the late night, or rather early morning, that he decided to take her to lunch. The blonde had hoped his absence would instill a sense of desire within the brunette. While it didn't quite work the way he wished, as she didn't intentionally seek him out, her head would perk up any time the front door to the Upside Down jingled open or close just hoping to see the semi-familiar blonde bush of hair. It was currently Saturday night, nearing closing time for the Upside Down. The minute the clock struck half past two in the morning, Kohta gleefully boomed last call for alcohol. Not that many people were present, despite being one of the few bars open later in the downtown area, her crowd consisted mostly of regulars and a couple unfamiliar faces. Most of the patrons has already closed for the night, and were just finishing up their drinks before heading home for the evening.

Katsuki Bakugo had fought himself with every bone in his body to not see Kohta at this time. The receding blood red words of his soulmate mark slowed its transformation to a snails pace, and it was driving him mad. Though he had regained a bit more control of his quirk, his full strength had yet to return. That was his reasoning for wanting to see Hitoko sooner rather than later, but the ache of emptiness that gnawed the bottom of his gut wished to say otherwise. Though he acknowledged the feeling, its presence confused Bakugo greatly. He had never felt such a looming loneliness before, and wondered why the only person he wanted to seek out was a woman he seldom knew. In the end, he rationalized that the whole ordeal was stupid, and he would see Kohta for lunch soon. As if that thought offered him any comfort.

Three in the morning finally strikes on the clock. With not another soul in sight, Kohta locks the front door to the Upside Down for her weekend before nearly bolting for the back room and heading up the flight of stairs to the right to enter her small, one bedroom apartment. Being the owner of tiny, not so busy dive bar and coffee, many people assumed all of Kohta's earning went into making the bar look semi modern while keeping a humble home. It was a fair assumption, considering all tables were rich, undamaged mahogany, granite counter tops, and a ritzy espresso machine to boot.

But the bars design was made to match Kohta's personal tastes, and her home was no different. All the floors in here home were a deep brown hardwood, luxurious white fluffy rugs accompanying the appropriate spaces such as the living room and a matching runner for the entry way. To the right of the entrance was a large, two door mirrored closet for coats and her shoes with a sleek black shoe rack standing proudly at the bottom. To the left was a half wall that displayed her small, simple dining room. A rectangular, black wood table with a black glass center, as well as matching black chairs with white leather, and a large crystal chandelier took up the entirety of the tiny, often unused space. Kohta took a seat on one of her white leather couches that sat directly in front of her foyer and dining room. One couch had her back towards the door, the other resting on the gray blue wall to the right of her. In the corner was a white, knee height entertainment center with three drawers evenly spaced along the bottom. Perfectly center along the top was an over-sized flat screen TV, one much too large for a singular person. Flicking on the television and turning on some cartoons, Kohta set the remote on top of the round white and gold marble coffee table before getting up and heading to the kitchen directly next to the dining room table, a stone counter separating the rooms.

Kohta knew she should be heading to sleep to wake up at a decent hour, but her mind was reeling with anticipation as she thought of why she needed to be up. With only the dull hum of the television as her company, Hitoko was left with her nagging burdens. While she wasn't necessarily fearful of receiving the answers of what she didn't know about bonding with her soulmate, the idea of sitting with Katsuki for more than twenty minutes terrified her. Not because of him or who he was, but because of who she was.

Or rather, who she wasn't.

Kohta knew she was, for lack of better term, boring. Her hobbies were limited as her only talents were coffee craft and billiards; two things people often found boring or uninteresting. She kept up with news and current events, mostly to ensure that she had yet to be discovered as a master thief. Kohta was as plain as they came, and she knew that—she was okay with that. But she couldn't ignore the heavy weight of her heart at the thought of her soulmate not being okay with her. No, she didn't plan on changing anything about herself—mild villainy and all—but the mere thought that the one person who, in theory, should accept everything about her, didn't? Doesn't? That was a scary thought for her.

Kohta had worked so hard to put up the walls she had around her heart, and she would be damned if she let them down only to face more rejection in her life. Rejection often reminded her too much of her time in the Exemplary Home for Girls. As a young child, before her quirk, before her soulmate mark, Kohta was once full of curiosity. All of her insistent, baseless questions always drove Lady Shougi mad. At first, the headmistress would entertain and humor the young girl. Eventually, growing tired of answering silly questions as to why the sky was blue or if it was raining despite the sunny sky, Lady Shougi just began to say, "No" with nothing else accompanying it. Hearing that single, solid two letter word, hurt Kohta. When she still had her parents, they had raised her to be curious, to question everything. The EHG had broken her. Maybe she partially blamed the Exemplary Home for laying down the brick and mortar of the walls around her.

While her walls usually severed her curiosity, often preventing Kohta from seeking out answers, she could not run from this—Katsuki wouldn't let her. Hitoko could not run; she had to face the truth, she had to prepare for the impending rejection.

Plastic Flowers Masterlist

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Thank you guys for checking out this story! I’ll be updating the chapters every Saturday! Chapter title taken from The Front Bottom’s song “Ginger” off their album “Back On Top”.

Kirishima is implying/asking if Hitoko and Bakugo boned. No, no they did not Kiri.

Taglist:

@wwwwyamd @bubbzibubbles (I’m sorry bb, your handle wasn’t working)

#my hero academia #my hero academia headcanons #my hero imagines #my hero fanfic #dabi my hero academia #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x oc #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo x oc #Kirishima Eijirou #eijirou kirishima #my hero kirishima #slight dabi x oc #bnha dabi #toga himiko #toga x twice

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fictionxo · 5 years

Text

First Time - Yeosang (M)

Warnings: None

Genre: Smut

Word Count: Unknown

Group: Ateez

(A/N: Fun fact, if I can't find the perfect gif before a scenario I just DON'T post it xD So that's took so long! But now I found the perfect one!

ALSO I got a little carried away writing this 😅 AND it's not spell checked over because it's late and I'm SORRY.

Gif is NOT mine, credit to owner

~Admin Ten)

~~~

OKAY, for starters let's make this a brief college!au!

Yeosang would be your crush for like EVER. But would also be known as a fuckboy. SIMPLY because he likes sex.

He's never led anyone on, girls just wanted more from him after he made clear the lines.

ANYWHO

You'd firstly be surprised that Yeosang approached you one day with word that;

"Your best friend told me you wish I'd be your first fuck haha!" A little too loudly.

Needless to say, you'd be FAR too embarrassed to look at him

UNTIL

He'd gently grasp your chin, and bring your warm face up to his.

"No need to be shy beautiful. I don't mind, I'll see you tomorrow night. Your friend told me you were free."

He'd then place a sweet, chaste kiss to your nose, before walking off, with textbooks under his arm.

THE NEXT NIGHT

Yeosang is hovered over you, kissing you passionately, stealing your breath away, while gently dragging his fingers all along your clothed skin.

(Honestly his lips would be like heaven)

He would gently reach under the hem of your shirt, stroking your burning skin with his cold fingers.

With a light tug to your shirt, he'd break the kiss and ask;

"Is this okay sweetheart?" Motioning to removing your shirt.

You'd shyly nod, and he'd sit up to quickly dispose of your shirt, exposing your breasts ;)

"No bra?" Hed chuckle.

I mean, you figured you'd TRY and be a little sexy as it's your first time with the man of your DREAMS.

Before you could form words from that stuttering mouth, he'd lean in and kiss each nipple, before gently pushing you back down and going to work on them!

Gentle sucks here,

Little nibbles there!

And you're a MOANING MESS.

He would chuckle at you and your moans despite him hardly doing anything!

Honestly it's nice because the LAST thing you'd want is to be too serious and awkward

(Fast forward cause this is getting TOO long)

You're both naked, in the safety of a dark room, under your covers for your added comfort.

Yeosang has been SUCH a sweetheart, cracking jokes when he feels you get too nervous,

Instructs you what to do with your awkward hands,

VERY patient (for a sexy fuckboy)

You both can see each other just enough thanks to the moonlight.

"Are you ready y/n? We can always stop baby."

He finishes his sentence by kissing your cheek gently, reassuringly!

You say you're ready and he slides himself into you, slowly, letting you scratch at his back from this new welcome, albeit painful, experience!

Yeosang would stay still for a moment, kissing you and blowing air into your ear gently to tickle you.

(Completely ignoring that he ACTUALLY tickled you earlier when you started to panic. Just to make you feel better!)

Over time he'd start moving, and take his time with you.

You're happy, in the midst of his gentle thrusting, that it's with him, and no one else.

Honestly you weren't expecting him to even hear about your secret fantasy, LET ALONE agree to it. LET ALONE, him be gentle.

You'll have to either thank your friend later, or kick their ass!

ANYWAYS. He cums before you because, guys do that usually, BUT to make up for it, he disappears under the covers and you YELP when he begins eating you out! (Something you've only seen in porn. AND GOD is he good!)

You cum after a while, thankfully cause his tongue was getting tired.

AND he stays the night. Thanking you for letting him be your first!

He'd pepper your face with kisses, AGAIN tickling you and make you laugh.

He would get up (boo) and bring your towel from the bathroom to clean both you guys up with before discarding it to the floor.

WITH A PROMISE of a second round in the morning (ohhh you horny dog you ;D) you both fall asleep.

OVERALL

Your first time with Yeosang would something out of a dream! You would've never guessed someone could be so patient and caring!

💕 Masterlist || Rules 💕

#ateez #ateez yeosang #ateez smut #ateez yeosang smut #yeosang smut #kang yeosang smut #kpop #kpop smut

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theincompetentgenius · 5 years

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Chocolate (Hideyoshi x Reader Fic)

@pusec: Can I get a short scenario of MC accidentally calling Hideyoshi "mom"? (Ikemen sengoku//not sure if this didn't happen In canon already thought)😂

It’s probably happened before. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if she did and we just glazed over it because that’s what we were thinking ourselves. Also, I’m really for the chocolate obsession in this because I’m fasting so I’m REALLY HUNGRY (it makes up almost the entire fic and I realized it was getting out of hand, so I tried to save it at the end. But I doubt that really did anything). Anywho, enjoy this mess and I’m sorry in advance.

Title: Chocolate

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Hideyoshi x Reader

Word Count: 1857

If there was one thing I could change about the Sengoku Era, it would be the amount of chocolate that I could buy.

I know the history behind the scarcity of chocolate in Japan, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. Whenever my period comes around, I’m craving a good chocolate bar. If it’s more than 50 degrees, my tongue is ready for some creamy chocolate ice cream. My body has been suffering from chocolate withdrawal: my stomach is always growling, my head overrun with fatigue, and my mouth salivating for that sweet, milky taste. I think people have started to notice because Masamune has been making me a lot more sweets while Hideyoshi bought me the finest candies the other day. Nobunaga even offered me his konpeito. The treats were delicious, but I miss my wonderous chocolate. The only chocolate I’ve had was cacao beans shipped from who-knows-where. Those were disgusting.

So you can imagine my excitement when Hideyoshi told us that shipments of chocolate had arrived at the Japanese trading ports. They would be sending the delicacy to different vendors throughout the country in the upcoming weeks. I screamed so loud that Ieyasu’s ears nearly fell off and Masamune rushed to the meeting. Although I got scolded for my excitement, there was nothing that could ruin my joy. I would be reunited with my love and savior: chocolate.

Every week, I would drag a warlord out in the town to search for chocolate. However, most vendors had no idea what I was talking about and didn’t carry anything that looked like chocolate. One vendor sold me a brown, solid bar that looked like the real deal. It was expensive, but I had to get my hands on it. But the moment I bit into the bar, my tongue recoiled from the taste and my lips nearly fell off my mouth. I gagged. The schemer had sold me a bar of tamarind instead.

However, I haven’t given up on my quest to find the chocolate. Although I took a week-long break, I am back and stronger than ever. Nothing can stop m--

“What are you writing?” Hideyoshi points to my notebook.

I quickly shut the pages of my notebook and stuff it in my bag. If he saw my maniacal writing about chocolate, he’d keep me away from it and turn this whole thing into a Nobunaga-konpeito situation. It would ruin all of my plans.

“Just about how I’m excited to have chocolate. I like to write my feelings,” I give him a sheepish grin.

“That’s really cute, but why chocolate?” He laughs.

“What do you mean, ‘why chocolate?’ “ I ramble about my childhood stories and how chocolate has been a vital part of my life. It guided me through my struggles, brighten my dark days, and was present in all my nostalgic memories. Hideyoshi listened quietly, nodding and laughing throughout my stories.

“If it’s such a big part of your life, then why didn’t you tell me about it? I could have requested some from the traders,” He asked.

“I’ve been so caught with this adjusting to the new life that I almost forgot about it.” This was far from the truth, but I didn’t want to come off as a chocolate addict.

As we walk along the street, I notice the different vendors. Each makes profits from vastly different items. Fruits, weapons, rice, ornaments, and other assortments. Each stall is made out of birch wood, but that’s where the similarities end. One has vines coiling around the wooden columns, another one has splotches of dye on the stall, and the most bizarre of them all is the stall in yellow with green stockings hanging from the top. It is the weirdest combination of colors I have ever seen.

Hideyoshi approaches each vendor whether they have the candy or not. I don’t feel comfortable asking them ever since I got scammed with the tamarind bar. It’s probably for the best since they all give him salutes and offer him all their products at discounted prices and I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to haggle for even half those prices.

We come across the odd yellow-and-green stall that I was watching earlier. Hideyoshi asks the vendor the same set of questions and he shakes his head in the same manner as the ones before him. It’s become a routine. Instinctively, I turn around and walk towards the nearest stall when I hear Hideyoshi’s voice call out to me.

“Where are you going? They have the chocolate!”

I turn around and zoom to the front of the stall. It is impossible for me to confine my excitement in my head. Forgetting that I’m in the Sengoku Era, I begin to interrogate him about the different types of chocolates in his possession. Every time the vendor tries to speak, I cut him off and provide him with my preferences. If it was dark chocolate, I didn’t want to be anywhere near it. If it was white chocolate, I wanted a 50% discount because that was fake chocolate. The only bar I would be pleased with was the regular milk chocolate.

In the midst of my babbling, Hideyoshi puts his hand on my shoulder. “I understand you’re excited, but let the man show us what he has.”

The man thanks Hideyoshi and shows him the boxes of chocolate. The vendor doesn’t dare to look at me, worried that I’ll explode with my chocolate facts if I make eye contact with him. Jokes on him because I plan to go home and spend most of my time eating this delicacy.

“Wow, there’s a lot of sugar in these. Almost the same amount as konpeito,” Hideyoshi frowned.

My blood froze. Hideyoshi could not separate me from my beloved soulmate. He’s already a burden on the relationship of Nobunaga and his konpeito, I couldn’t let him do the same thing to me and my chocolate. He’d have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.

“Well I need the sugar in my body to keep me energized and functioning,” I snatch the bar from Hideyoshi and give the vendor a thick wad of money. “Take all of it. I want your entire collection of chocolate in return.”

The man’s eyes gleam as he counts the amount of money that I handed him. He places the box on the ledge of the stall and shoos us away, probably so we don’t change our minds.

“You know, this is a lot of sugar. If this becomes like Nobunaga and his konpeito, I might have to confiscate it,” Hideyoshi gives a suspicious glance to the box.

Ignoring him, I unwrap the chocolate bar and chomp off the top corner. The hard texture melts against the wet surface of my tongue with the sweet flavor diffusing across my tastebuds, coating the center of my tongue in milky brown. The chocolate piece has dissolved into a milky coating that travels down my throat, quenching me of my thirst for the delicacy. This is an experience I will never forget. I relish the taste of the heavenly delight as I take a second bite of the candy bar.

“Don’t eat too much of this. You could get a stomachache,” Hideyoshi interrupts my fantasy.

I shoot him a dirty look. “Alright, mother.”

I go back to cherishing my second bite, forgetting about anything that I said earlier. As I take my third bite, Hideyoshi steps closer towards me and leans in my face. “What did you just call me?”

“Uh, I don’t remember.”

“You just called me your mother! I am not your mother. Do I look like your mother to you?” He asks.

I manage to stifle my laughter. Hideyoshi is usually friendly and mature, so seeing him freak out over a small thing was hilarious. However, I couldn’t give him an honest answer because I know I’d burst out laughing, spitting my chocolate all over him. I didn’t want to embarrass the both of us, so I just shook my head. But the grin on my face gives away everything.

“Seriously? What makes me seem anything like a mother?” He puts his hands on his hips.

“For starters, that.” I mock him and put my hands on hips and purse my lips. “Secondly, you��re always watching out for us and cleaning up our messes. You scold the other warlords like they’re your children.”

“That’s because they always wreak havoc in the castle! If I don’t step up and ensure everything runs smoothly, then everything will fall apart.”

I take his hand and squeeze it. “And that’s why you’re so important in the structure of the palace. Don’t hate your motherliness, embrace it.”

Hideyoshi gives me a hard look and I felt laughter bubble in my stomach. It was a lot of fun messing with him. I almost feel bad about it, but I take the last bite of the chocolate to erase my guilty thoughts. However, Hideyoshi doesn’t look away. Instead, he squints his eyes and leans closer. I look up from my chocolate bar and nearly pulled back from the closeness between us. If this was his way of getting back at me for the mom jokes, it was totally working.

He brings his thumb to my lip and slides it down to my chin. The heat rushes to my cheeks and I am sure that my face is red. I pray to every deity in the universe that he can’t feel my heat from my chin, but the raised eyebrow on his face suggests otherwise. I could see the flecks of gold in his honey-colored eyes. The thought of my chocolate disappears as my chest grows tight. Why have chocolate when I could have something sweeter?

The warlord leans in closer, his head tilted down. His eyes are on my lips. My lips almost brush against his. His finger pressed against my chin, pulling my head towards him. His mouth parts slightly with a small curve forming. My entire body is screaming right now. Of all the things that could happen, I did not expect this.

He removes his finger from my chin and makes soft motions with his finger, tracing the skin around my lips. Then, he steps back and examines his fingers. Melted chocolate stained his fingers. Hideyoshi places the finger in his mouth and looks around, tapping his foot on the ground. Meanwhile, I’m trying to collect my thoughts and calm down, placing my hands on my cheeks.

Hideyoshi removes his finger from his mouth. “This is sweeter than konpeito. The other warlords are going to finish it in a matter of weeks.”

I would say something in defense of my candy, but my brain has been reduced to mush. That type of behavior was normal from Masamune or Mitsuhide, but not Hideyoshi. He wasn’t that clueless (that title belonged to Mitsunari).

He turns towards me. “You don’t have anything to say?”

“Uh…………”

“Alright, but one last thing,” Hideyoshi hoists the box of chocolates over his shoulder.

“I can be many things, but your mother isn’t one of them.”

#ikemen sengoku #toyotomi hideyoshi #ikesen hideyoshi #hideyoshi toyotomi #ikesen scenario

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paladin-andric · 5 years

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New WIP: Stay the Night

In the world of Deaco, there are countless tales of all kinds. From glorious war stories, to the exploits of heroes of legend, all the way to the famous stories of wizards and knights battling fearsome villains, there is no shortage of tales of such brave champions.

This is not one of those stories.

A group of friends, traveling on an unfamiliar trail, find themselves lost in the woods. As they struggle to find their way back to the road, they accidentally stumble across a horrifying cult, who catch sight of the interlopers.

Fleeing in terror, the group rush through a fearsome, freezing thunderstorm that quickly becomes a blizzard as the night only grows colder. Just as they’re about ready to give up all hope, They see a large manor on the horizon.

Taking their chances, they rush to the home and beg its owner for help. The man lets them inside, and all seems well...but the night only grows more unsettling.

While the worst appeared to be over, the master of the estate, claiming to be a petty magician, is evasive to all questioning. While seeming kind at a glance, he cannot answer why a large, dangerous cult is operating so closely to his home. He acts strangely, overly defensive and needlessly pausing during his speeches. There’s something...off about him.

There’s no way for them to leave safely either. The horrid blizzard and bizarre temperature drop means they would freeze well before they could reach the nearest, far-away town on the trail.

The tension grows throughout the night, until at last, it reaches a breaking point. The cult surrounds the manor, and the man seems to know all about them. He seems to have prepared his manor with magical protection against them as well. His knowledge, combined with his refusal to answer how and why only furthers the group’s distrust of the one they thought had saved them.

Now the group must somehow last the night in this manor. Beset on all sides by what could only be described as ruthless killers, waning magical protection, and what might turn out to be a traitor in their midst, how will they live to see the dawn of tomorrow?

I present a new WIP I’ve had on my mind recently! Set in the same world as Blackheart, this story shirks the heroes and war in favor a mystery-slasher tale. Still medieval fantasy, but less fantastical. The group of friends are all average humans struggling to survive an extreme scenario. A merchant, a baroness, a cook and an old war veteran have to think hard to have a shot at surviving this! Who will make it out alive?

This is far from being started on. I’ve still gotta work on redrafting Blackheart and publishing it, but I think I want to take the next Deaco book in a new direction! Anything and everything can be written in such a world, really!

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy, @elliewritesfantasy, @homesteadhorner, @laurenwastestimewriting, @elaynab-writing, @the-ichor-of-ruination, @reya-writes, @bexminx

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actiasteeth · 5 years

Note

[ vestir + aerith ] “You have to let go of me.”

He’s been dreading this for days, and he’s no more at peace with the situation now than he was the day Vestir told him.

( … what’s on Jedha?

Other than your Temple? I dunno, you tell me.

It had felt like having his throat cut, his breath stolen from him.

You’re— you’re taking me back?Why? They won’t want me. I gaveup everything when I left with you,I—

Because, Aerith. It’s not— you aren’t safe—

I don’t give a shit. Why does itmatter now? Stop keeping thingsfrom me and give me a fuckingreason, Vestir.

And Vestir had. He had.

And Aerith— Aerith locked himself away through that first night. Curled into himself, cold. Slept with his fists clenched, nails biting into the flesh of his palms like he had been holding onto something for all he was worth.

On the second day, he’d hardly moved—lying in the dark and the silence of his room, his mind turning over a thousand nightmare scenarios, a thousand reasons Vestir didn’t need to do this, a thousand things that could be done in its place…

It had dawned on him as the night hours crept in that their time was only wearing thinner. And Aerith had gone to him then. Set aside his confusion, frustration, anger, wordlessly crawling into bed with him as they’d over the years grown so accustomed.

Vestir hadn’t turned to face him, hadn’t spoken a word, and Aerith hadn’t bothered him so, settling for the idle drag of his fingers over the scars across the stretch of Vestir’s shoulders. Wounds he’d once helped to mend, and wounds that had come long before him. And in the moment, just this had been enough.

The third day brought mostly silence between them, though Aerith never strayed far from his side.

For hours he’d stayed with Vestir in the cockpit as they drew ever closer to their destination, contorting himself uncomfortably comfortable in the seat beside him. And Aerith hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off him, quietly watching Vestir over the bend of his knee—his profile set against the dark void of space surrounding them, the subtle shift of his expressions as he worked his way through thoughts Aerith doubted he’d share even if he dared to ask. He’d watched him like he’d been trying to memorize him over and over again. Down to every last detail, no matter how small. Didn’t flinch or avert his eyes each time Vestir caught him staring, instead surrendering what he could manage of a smile.

And maybe Aerith had never thought beautiful or striking the proper words for him, rooting his admiration in Vestir’s strength, his cleverness, his spirit. But from the warmth of him, from the timbre of his voice, his quiet smiles, biting words and veiled concern, rough hands gentle with his wounds—from these Aerith had built himself a home. One to which, for all its worth, the Temple of the Kyber could only ever pale in comparison.

That evening, Aerith had made them a meal, doing the best with what he had left to make Vestir’s favorites—enough to spare for at least another week after they’d parted ways. And that night, they’d slept peaceful, easy, close. Like nothing was different, nothing was wrong. His back angled to Vestir’s chest, fingers laced artlessly together. He’d fallen asleep counting the breaths ghosting rhythmic and warm over the crook of his neck.

With the hours wearing down, the silence and the tension unraveled themselves on the fourth, making way for dissonance. And everything that had been festering in him, seething, had come spilling out.

So this is it, then? They backyou into a corner and you just give up, just like that?

Was it wrong of me to believe there was more to you than this?

You’re always running— what difference does it make?

You don’t get to make my fucking choices for me.

But once more, as night fell, Aerith had gone to him still. In all his remorse and all his heartbreak.

Their last night together had been a far cry from the previous. Hadn’t taken much for Aerith to let himself fall apart, let Vestir see him fall apart—teeth in his lip to bite back the sobs in his throat, face buried against Vestir’s chest. He’d been trembling from the anguish, the pain so real to him, it had felt like he was being split in half.

There was nothing to be said now to fix this.

And so he’d taken what he could. Stored in his memory one last time the feeling of Vestir’s hand against his spine, the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

The fifth day could have come months later, and still it would have come too soon. Could he have felt it, he might’ve known the suffocating weight of the Force moving around them, between them.

Daylight was taking its last breaths by the time they’d arrived to Jedha, its vast expanse of desert and towering Holy City familiar as ever. And Aerith had taken his time gathering up his belongings, dragging out every last moment he had on the ship for as long as he could get away with. The dark had long settled in before he was through. His final act had been to leave something behind for Vestir—his kyber crystal left at the bedside atop a piece of torn parchment, scrawled over with inelegant Aurebesh.

( Vestir —

I never knew what I was looking for at the start of all this, but I think you helped me find it. I only wih wish we could have more time… I would have traveled with you a lifetime, if you’d have me.

Let’s see each other again one day, okay? You can tell me about every- thing I missed. Until then… I you know the rest, right?

May the Force of others be with you.

— AL )

Vestir had walked with him through the city, to the Temple, unhurried, languid. Aerith with his fingers secured at the bend of Vestir’s arm, keeping close to fight the cold of Jedha’s winter winds, keeping close for the sake of keeping close.

He wasn’t ready. He needed more time.

They deserved a proper farewell, despite every tragic story his mind had ever written them. And maybe they were lucky, to have even this. But no matter what he’d told himself to try and make his peace, it hadn’t been enough, nothing could be enough—)

Aerith can see the Temple gates now, glassy eyes peering over Vestir’s shoulder. Vestir is warm and solid against him, and Aerith has a million reasons not to let him go. His fingers press deeper against his back, curl tighter into his clothing.

“Aerith,” Vestir says. Softer than usual. And Aerith feels the resonance of his voice flutter through him, settle in his bones. He lets himself have this moment, eyes falling shut, filling his lungs with an inhale slow and deep. There’s more there, more—he knows—than Vestir would ever dare to say to him, even now. But still he keeps waiting for something else, something more than the slow fall of Vestir’s hand from his nape, the loss of embrace—

Vestir breaks from him and he’s gone. Leaves Aerith with nothing but the cold and his shaking hands. His jaw sets, gaze lifting to watch Vestir leave him for the last time. And again he feels that awful soul-splitting lurch in his chest, body carrying him forward to follow, like down to his core, it’s the only thing that makes sense.

“Vestir—” he calls after him, lilt of panic bleeding into his voice. “Wait,” he pleads, closing in on him again; softer, “wait.”

His touch finds Vestir’s wrist, brings him back to face him. The space between them is narrow, eyes locked for only a moment before Vestir looks away again. It’s long enough for Aerith to decide he doesn’t like what he finds there—something sullen, disheartened, afraid. Though he’s sure his own only show more of the same.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” Vestir warns, pleads.

“I’m not— I just— I don’t— I don’t know… what to say to you. There’s so much, I have so much, Vestir, I—” He swallows hard around the pressure building in his throat.

And this time, Aerith doesn’t give Vestir the time to flinch, crashing into him, unapologetic. After all, what more does he have to lose?

For all it is—a question, a fight, a tired confession—at first, it hardly comes any easier to them now than the times before. Aerith coaxes the tension from him, fingertips soothing whisper soft over Vestir’s jaw, the side of his neck. There is a thread of distance between their mouths, where they share several breaths, where Aerith’s thumb finds the edge of his lips, begging once more: please, I’ve so much to tell you.

He feels the weight of strong hands take root as they give in to each other, the uncertainty between them melting away in the midst of the reality, the gravity of their situation. And for the first and last time, Aerith kisses him right, unafraid, all quiet anger and desperation, a softness still in his sadness—a perfect rhythm of give and take, of push and pull.

Aerith drives him back step by step until he’s driven him back against the wall, swallowing the sharp exhale the impact pulls from the other. He presses ever closer, deeper into his space until the distance between them disappears completely, bones anchoring together in ways unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Aerith arches into him like the hand at the small of his back tells him to, shifts the angle of his neck to deepen the kiss, fingers threading into Vestir’s hair to pull him further, further. He gives and he takes all that he can, until he feels Vestir in the dull burn of his lungs, heady with it.

Hesitant, he draws back from the kiss. Keeps his forehead pressed to Vestir’s own, eyes closed, hands lingering.

“Promise me, Vestir,” his voice is low, strained, breathless, “I don’t care if it’s a lie—promise me you’re coming back for me.”

He needs something to keep with him, something to hold onto that’s more than just his memories. If it’s only a fantasy, so be it. But they have always found their way back to each other.

#1.7k words detailing my own death #tbh this is rly only as sad as i made it out to be when u listn to the exact music i listned to while writing it #but this is still the worst thing i've evr done #c: aerith lylin #s: disordered and wild with stars #v: sidereal #.mr #thanhpls

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kiss-my-freckle · 6 years

Text

I wanted to post parts of this Aram note, which came at the same time Vanessa Cruz aired. Moreso because it actually feeds my theory on Tom Keen and the second memory wipe. Aram wrote an entire note on Catfish. I won’t even post the full note, just the pieces he spoke of regarding the online dating type catfishing.

“Wikipedia tells me, in the 2010 movie of same name, which gave rise to the term “catfish” - the neologism for when someone fabricates an online identity and tricks someone into an emotional, often romantic relationship with a fictional person. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a creepy, borderline sociopathic thing for a person to do. And yet, it’s an incredibly widespread phenomenon. I’m sure it’s simple enough to do. Start up a Facebook page, upload some photos, start telling some clever lies. And in a twisted way, it’s also sort of relatable. I mean, never ever do it, because you’re toying with real people and it’s horrible. But, I understand why it could be, almost, comforting? Because, when you’re catfishing somebody, you get to pretend to be anything. You get to escape from you and experience the life of the person you wish you were. Or the person you otherwise never could be. And people fall for it. Sometimes, people fall for RIDICULOUS ones."

“The temptation is to call those people dumb. But I get that too. The catfish-ee is just a more innocent version of the catfish-er: someone who’s just a little too eager to believe the perfect person, the perfect relationship, the perfect life, is real and just out of reach, and waiting for you on the other side of the Internets. The other side of the insane wish fulfillment coin.”

“We all want to be the best version of ourselves. The dream version, the perfect fantasy. But, I’m learning firsthand: A catfish in your midst doesn’t make you better. It shows you a lie, then makes you believe it. It plays to your desires; it tempts you and is more than happy to let you destroy yourself. And if you’re not careful, everybody can get dragged down to the bottom of the tank.”

Much of this feeds Tom Keen and the second memory wipe, with Liz being the ever so eager to believe the perfect person, the perfect relationship, that normal life she wants is just out of reach.

And Tom is the dream scenario guy, who Major trained to become anything by pretending to be anything, who is now desperate to become this person he wishes he was. A normal every day person instead of a spy. Playing to Liz’s desires for the normal life. That Djinn fantasy of hers. Come sail away with me, we’ll go fishing for some cod.

Even better with a Ressler deleted scene at the end of 2x17. And Samar in season five saying Liz and Ressler are idiots when it comes to relationships. In Vanessa Cruz, Liz spent 42 hours dealing with a man who is a lifelong habitual, pathological liar. One with superior intelligence who exhibited sociopathic tendencies to Major’s liking.

#Anti-Tom Keen #Anti-Keen2

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norihisahyuga-archived · 6 years

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the lovers, satsuki/riko

Satsuki Momoi has fallen in love her fair share of times by the time she graduates high school.

Kuroko, of course, is the attraction that lasts the longest, the crush that seems like it may never fade, and Satsuki thinks long and hard about this one after the fact. She likes him, she makes a fair effort to chase after him, but it becomes quickly clear that Kuroko has only ever had eyes for the men he shares the court with and that is fair. Satsuki might have been able to predict that one if she truly tried because her eyes rarely if ever miss anything, but love makes the smartest people blind so she gives herself a small break this once.

Aomine is slower and, she thinks later, more devious. Because they had started out as friends, and because Aomine was never going to think of her as anything more than the sister who nags him to practice, to sleep, stop skipping class, stop making your teammates think you don’t care about them or how hard they work. But that attraction also fades quickly because it’s Aomine, after all, and Satsuki thinks she might not really have ever liked him in the first place.

(He is still her best friend. Nothing could ever change about that.)

In contrast, she starts off hating Riko more than she thinks she wants to try putting into words.

Later, she thinks she might have hated Riko for making her ask questions about herself she was far from ready to ask. High school was hard enough when she has studies to juggle and a team to take care of. As if they could ever take care of themselves, and part of her had always liked the way they included her, the way it felt like a family even if Aomine refused to show up when he was supposed to and acted like he was better than everyone else.

Every family has to have at least one black sheep to be functional, she figures.

Homework takes time and attention, she had grades to make and schools to apply to later, she has university offers to read and tours to take. She loses her crush on Kuroko when it becomes obvious that he truly has found another light to his shadow, she likes Aomine and then she doesn’t and she feels like an idiot for ever thinking someone like him might be attractive in the first place beyond the shallow appearance level.

Riko Aida makes her do a double take, and then another, and then another until Satsuki finds herself lying up long nights staring at her ceiling and wondering what it is about Riko that draws her interest at all. Certainly, she is good at her job. Certainly, she put together a team that at first glance is nothing special and at second glance is just as much of a family as Satsuki’s own, depending on each other and leaning on each other.

Satsuki is supposed to know everything about a person. Her skill is prediction; it had earned her her place as the manager of the Generation of Miracles and Too had come to value her skills for what they could amount to. So why does it feel like meeting Riko has only made her question everything about herself in the process?

A quiet afternoon spent with Aomine trying to get him to do his mountain of missing assignments for school only exacerbates the situation. Between history and math, between constant complaints for Aomine that he doesn’t need to know any of this to play basketball, he finally finds the one weakness she has and exploits it.

“So are you going to talk to her about this or not?” he demands, snapping his textbook shut and dropping it in front of him on the carpet. “You can pretend for as long as you want that you don’t have a thing for her, Satsuki, but we both know that’s total bullshit.”

Satsuki glances up at him, her hair falling into her face as she chews on the end of a pen. “What are you even talking about? Get back to work! You’re going to fail three classes and—”

“Tetsu’s coach. The girl.” Aomine grins when Satsuki glares at him, slamming her pen down on her homework. “I knew I was right! I know you. We grew up together. You’ve got a crush on her, which is like, I guess that makes sense because it’s not like the rest of us—”

“It isn’t like that,” Satsuki says firmly.

Aomine scoffs at her. “Lies. Blatant fucking lies. I mean, she’s not my type personally, but she’s cute, and I’m not stupid and I know what you look like when you like someone.”

“You’re going to fail three classes and you’re telling me what to do about my love life when every time you look at Tetsu and Kagami together, you almost burn to death from jealousy.” Satsuki smirks, triumphant, when Aomine narrows his eyes at her. “Get back to work.”

He does after that, not wanting to push her.

“You should talk to her,” Kuroko tells her after Seirin beats Rakuzan, after Kuroko and Kagami together, after their entire team, finishes bringing the Generation of Miracles to their knees. “You’re not going to have a chance if you keep putting it off like this.”

Satsuki laughs and dashes proud tears from her eyes. “Can’t I just be happy for you first?”

“It’ll make me happier if you talk to her because otherwise you’re going to regret it.” Kuroko hugs her just the same, and Satsuki feels the lump in her throat only grow larger by the second.

Eventually, the atmosphere calms down and she lets herself steal away from Aomine’s side, leaving him to talk with the rest of his former team. Riko is in the midst of conversation— so much congratulation and praise aimed in her way, and all of it deserved— when Satsuki sidles up in front of her. Their eyes meet and for a moment Satsuki thinks she might get brushed off, which would be well-deserved after how she acted in the first place.

Still, she tests the water. “Can I talk to you about something? It’s private.”

“Oh, sure!” Riko smiles at her, then pushes people out of her way. “Move, move! I’ll be back in a second, move for now. Show some respect when a lady wants to talk!”

It takes them a few minutes to find a quiet shadowed corner to talk and Satsuki feels nervous the entire walk, pulling at her sleeves, toying with her hair, telling herself to take a deep breath and just relax. Her predictions where Riko Aida are concerned have never been correct and she cannot rely on them in this scenario, but when Riko finally turns to her and smiles, she has to face the reality that she needs to let her gift go for now. Nothing she can piece together will be correct, because she hasn’t been right so far. She has to be willing to wing it.

“Your team did a really great job out there. They should be so proud. So should you.” It feels necessary to get this out of the way.

Riko grins at her; her bright brown eyes glitter. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you because you know personally how much work goes into putting a team together. Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?”

“N-no, there’s… There’s something else. I just thought I should say that first.” Satsuki had been so forward with Kuroko, and less so with Aomine, but still more forward than she feels right now. Now, she feels almost shy, almost uncertain. “I just… It’s probably stupid, but I suppose it’s my turn to take the advice of others. I’ve developed… A bit of a crush on you!”

She blurts it out and then hides her face behind her hair, staring down at the floor, not sure what else to say. Not sure there is anything else to say. She almost misses Riko taking a step toward her, and then another, slow and measured, before Riko’s hands close around her upper arms and pull her forward. Satsuki looks up, knowing she can hardly run from this forever, and squeaks softly when she finds Riko standing right in front of her.

“You don’t have to be so shy about it.” Riko smiles at her, soft and warm, and Satsuki feels something soft flutter in her stomach. “I’m honored, to be truthful. We might have had a rivalry but it was a good one, and I’m glad to have someone to test my skills against.”

Satsuki relaxes a little at this because this is familiar to her. “It was good, wasn’t it? It was nice to have a real challenge. I wasn’t expecting to have feelings for you. I’ve never had feelings for a girl before, so it’s hard to stop and think about for me. It’s new.”

“I’m not going to pretend it’s new for me because it’s not. There have been other girls, but I’ve not really properly dated. I put basketball ahead of that.” Riko’s hands slip up her arms to rest on her shoulders, and Satsuki thinks that’s pleasant, more pleasant than she would have expected. “So I’ve not done dating before. Only thought about it. But…”

She trails off and Satsuki bites down on her lower lip, willing her heart to please slow down, to stop beating so hard, because she can’t put her hope in this. Not yet. “But what?”

“But Seirin won, and we’ve come so far, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t try this time.” Riko beams at her and Satsuki feels her breath catch in her throat, her lungs aching at the strain. “So if you want to do something about those feelings you have for me—”

“I do! I mean—” Satsuki hides her face behind her hands and groans softly. “I feel so silly, getting worked up like this. Dating sounds… Nice. It sounds like it would be nice with you.”

One of the hands on her shoulder drifts up to her cheek and Satsuki freezes, not sure what to do, how to process this. Riko’s hands are rough and callused like her team’s are, evocative of just how much work and effort she had put into all of this, and that is better than any fantasy could ever be. Her eyes lock with Satsuki’s, uncertain, a question in the way her head tilts to the side even as she leans closer. Slow, and easy, giving Satsuki plenty of time to think of an answer for her.

She answers by leaning forward, their foreheads touching for just a brief moment before Riko leans forward once more. Satsuki has kissed people before but this is easy to lean into, her eyes falling closed even as her heart climbs up into her throat. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands so she just keeps them to herself, sighing softly when Riko’s other hands strokes through her hair and then pulls her closer, pressing their lips more firmly together.

It feels like an endless moment until a loud yell from down the hallway makes them both jump. Riko shakes her head and leans back with a grin, but her face is flushed softly and she looks at Satsuki with eyes that shine even in the shadows.

“Long distance might be hard,” she muses, “but like I said, if you want to do something about this, if you really do want to try dating, we can. I’m willing to try.”

Satsuki nods immediately and steps forward, catching one of Riko’s hands in hers, squeezing it tightly. “I really do. If we can keep these boys in line, we can do anything.”

Aomine gives her a pointed look when they finally rejoin the others hand-in-hand and Satsuki rolls her eyes at him before winking at him.

Her team might not have taken the championship, but she feels like she won something anyway.

#let it be known that i Love the basketball bisexuals and i want them to hold hands and date #satsuki momoi #riko aida #momoriko #kuroko no basket #luna-miracle-zero #asks

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queenlizzyxxxx · 4 years

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QUEEN LIZZYS ASCENSION

ITS QUEEN LIZZY BABY!!! I’m QUEEN LIZZY and my new album LIZZY just dropped!!! xxxx THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE FOR MY NEW ALBUM LIZZY. THIS MEANS SO MUCH TO ME. I MADE THIS FOR YOU GUYS!!! THANK YOU TO EVERY COLLABORATOR. THANK YOU FOR TRUSTING ME. THIS IS THE BEST ALBUM EVER. I LOVE YOU ALL!!! 💕💓 [1] Another light o’ love! [2] Polish! Polish! Polish! [3] Baby, i’m candier than candy more chrome than chrome will [4] love you [5] more [6] than your [7] girl! [8] (than your girl) i will bring you home (bring you home) im more sparkle than sparkle im lovelier than love come on baby, i will get you off (get you off) Another light o’ love! [9] And i will sparkle when broken [10] absorb the glaze! [11] You see it shine? [12] absorb the glaze! [13] you’re so damn fine! babe, i’m all sugar for you [14] I am polished [15] I am polished [16] I am polished [17] I will make your head go swirl! Baby, i’m candier than candy more chrome than chrome will [18] love you [19] more [20] than your [21] girl! [22] (than your girl) i will bring you home (bring you home) im more sparkle than sparkle im lovelier than love come on baby, i will get you off (get you off) Another night o’ love! [23] CHAMBERS Alexis was listening to his favorite Popstar QUEEN LIZZY’s new single „Candy“ as he saw the notification in his inbox. „MY PRETTIEST ANGEL! YOU’VE BEEN SUCH A LOVELY BOY! YOU EARNED YOUR SPECIAL PLACE IN MY HEART AND I WANT YOU TO BE THERE AT THE BANQUET BEFORE MY CONCERT TODAY! XXXX YOUR LIZZY“ „you are now in posession for an exclusive access code to QUEEN LIZZY’s ceremony“ Alexis was rapturing in joy. He closed the doors to his room. After all this time, he could finally be there as well. Be at the ceremony with everyone else. See the things he only heard myths about. Alexis put on his glasses and scanned LIZZY’s gift. Alexis wanted to see her for real this time. While the livestream was loading he hummed along the refrain of LIZZY’s newest single „Candy“ and joy filled his soul. When he opened his eyes he instantly felt, that, when standing outside the stage, aura is affirmed absolutely. [24] Alexis sensed, that life inside this building is fractured to the extent that it could not conceivably be part of a single scenario: on the 82nd floor a donkey shrinks back from the void, on the 81st a cosmopolitan couple hail a plane. [25] The expected pyramidal composition was reversed; the center, a void between the masses on either side, which became a “split pair.” [26]One could speak of this pair as a diamond. [27] Inside the stage, a void that is not a nothingness but a virtual, containing all possible particles and drawing out all possible forms, which spring up only to disappear immediately, without consistency or reference, without consequence. Chaos as an infinite speed of birth and disappearance. [28] But These dynamical models unfolded the Baroque void, or infinite determinism, into specificity. [29] All sensation is composed with the void in composing itself with itself, and everything holds together on earth and in the air, and preserves the void, is preserved in the void by preserving itself. [30] The absolute emptiness of the absolute plenitude that fascinates from the outside, to be the circular, voluble vertigo of that nothingness and that being, to be at once the total abolition that is an enslaved consciousness and the supreme glory - that is a stage for QUEEN LIZZY. [31] When Alexis slowly walked forth, with his back turned to Notre Dame and facing QUEEN LIZZY’s stage, an entrance as pulchritudinous as a Sirene, emerged itself out of seeming nothingness.He entered a great, radiant space, with diffuse light that is slowly revealed in it and that reveals that easy simultaneity of distinct perfections, synthesis of the vague with the precise. [32] The Baroque fold unfurled all the way to infinity. [33] Countlessness was part of the point: he was dizzied by infinity. [34] Alexis stared Into the void. [35] Looking for holes, looking for openings. But“Holes” only indicate more subtle foldings. In that instant, he started to understand the principle, that there are no voids, that here everything is included in a single expressive continuum. [36] Alexis felt, that the myriad of things started to project themselves into the evolving space around him. He started to feel space. In the beginning, there was only darkness. But out of the darkness a light emerged. He felt, that it was her - but not yet. Slowly the light emerged and it got brighter when she slowly moved through space. He started to see silhouettes. He started to see colors. It was the queens’ most baroque fantasies of glamour and stardom. [37]Light crystalline notes seemed to emerge out of the silence which accompanied the Queens glide. Somehow out of nothingness a choir as perfectly clear cut like colorful marble in the most beautiful patterns emerged. Alexis saw her gliding along the ground from far away, although he felt like he saw one short glance of her eyes going to his direction. He glared at the fabric falling down upon her like a thin, ultra light continuous skin—clearly visible. What was especially miraculous was that especially from inside he saw the building move towards a "textile like" definition of architectonic space. [38] The ornament felt like folded embroidery encapsulated in astonishing ecstasy of colorful marble and indistinguishable textures of golden and platinum figures illuminating the fabric upon they seemed to be appended. Everything seemed like it was flickering. Flickering like a soft but strong candlelight, giving the structure a pulse. All colors seemed enhanced and the details exaggerated which made it even more dazzling in Alexis’s eyes. In the midst, his queen. Adjacent to her path there were two banquets, with shining pearl-white layers of fabric. Filled with all the plenty of things. She seemed to be absorbing the banquet, while Alexis now knew. These heavens do not proclaim the glory of God. [39] But the heavens of his Queen. QUEEN LIZZY. He listened closely and let these heavenly halls enter his heart while he witnessed her, slowly vanishing the chamber. She seemed to have ingested everything she needed for todays concert, as she ascended into another chamber. For the next chamber, Alexis knew, he was not worthy enough yet. He could only imagine the things that lied beyond these magnificent gates. Alexis knew, that he needed to see her again tomorrow. And now he finally had the access code to the banquet, so he knew it was possible to see her whole ceremony, to really get to know her. And maybe. Maybe he will see her on stage someday. The magnificent stage next to the Seine, seemingly born from one of Bosch’s paintings seemed to set everything around into a dreamlike state of exuberance. Leaving even the most polished buildings around it appear to be rusted. United with all his fellow Angels, Standing in front of Notre Dame. See his QUEEN LIZZY face Notre Dame, while he, Alexis faces his LIZZY. And perhaps, he longed. Perhaps one day. One day i might meet her in reality. „THIS STREAM HAS ENDED! WITNESS QUEEN LIZZY AGAIN TOMORROW!“ Somber but ecstatic, Alexis takes off his glasses and puts on his favorite music, while leaving his flat for an evening stroll at the Seine. Queen Lizzy is breathless at the bacchanal bewitched, senses submerged, her image mirrored, her mind magicked, her emotions modulated magnified unmoderated and maybe immodest, herself multiplied [40] Music sprays an anaesthetic cloud over things and drug used to spare us the terror of the real. [41] It is these traits that enable it to go anywhere, to go everywhere, into site and psyche alike, to appear ever fascinating yet ever harmless even as it plies its undermining subterfuges and sly deceits [42]. Forces come and go, from and in all directions. [43] Where do we want to go? [44] Remember: Icarus flew away, toward the sun. [45] One sees the burning heat of the sun scorch the wings of the wretched young man, as the blazing fire smokes, and one can almost hear the crackling of the burning feathers, while death can be seen sculpted on the face of Icarus, and on that of Daedalus his emotion and sharp pain. [46] Historically, thousands of subjects have done so, suffering, killing themselves, dressing, perfuming themselves, writing as if they were Werther. [47] The baroque dramatist clings fervently to the world. [48] We are expecting a move toward a falling in sync with the architecture of the Baroque, but on different levels of abstraction. [49] Contemporary time, however, can sustain these baroque illusions. [50] Today, Maximum is the ultimate ornament, the most self righteous crime, the contemporary Baroque. [51] the whole building is the decoration. [52] And Delicate bronze allegorical figures adorn the case. [53] We have seen roofs made of copper, glass, and gold, and elegantly decorated with ceilings gilded or coffered in gold, and picked out with sculpted crowns and flowers, and even statues. [54] We are in excess. [55] And excess produces virtuality. [56] By the early twenty first century, our time, a mythic time, we are all chimeras, theorized and fabricated hybrids of machine and organism; in short, we are cyborgs. The cyborg is our ontology. [57] Whereas the musical call rises from noise to meaning while avoiding both. Vibrating softness and the hammer’s hardness. [58] Life is excess. [59] This surplus of absence, the place of nothing, when exaggerated threatens all meaning with indifference. [60] But the lights have to go on again. [61]Exactly, In indifference, the excess becomes manifest. [62] A modern ritual, a modern Bacchanalia, escalation, excess. [63] So here we go. [64] This is Queen Lizzy. If you want sex, why not go get it? [65] If dolphins go extinct, why worry? [66] If we’re all going to drown, why not jump from the highest heights and feel the rush of adrenaline? We’ll learn diving eventually. And The point turns into a baroque pearl. [67] flashes of inspiration fascinations colours, glitter decadences balls: exuberances festivals and congregations, close communions travel at the speed of sound, lightspeed communication instantaneous pools of commonality the vibe and exultation, the euphoria the sharpwit razor of precision, the ingeniousness the shared experience the climactic joy, the sacred orgasm of life [68] When will we stop apologizing for being romantic? Why not now? Here and now? Right now. We populate the desert with singing trees and unruly blackbirds. We leave the cynical laughter behind and no longer hesitate to be naive. The cliché is not kitsch, it is simply beautiful. [69] Let's follow the hedonism creed, kick the whole world off, get out of work, go to bed, and join together with your "great Louis XIV" to shake this hypocritical world into a bright sky. [70] Ah, bless the very “false windows,” so valued as decoration and so useless in a building of artificial light and ventilation! [71] This possible world is not real, or not yet, but it exists nonetheless: it is an expressed that exists only in its expression — the face, or an equivalent of the face. [72] Then, we built churches in excess for a common belief in an artificial persona. God. Tomorrow, we will build in excess because it represents living in a world where the power lies within the plenty. The plenty is excess and she give birth to it by giving it a face in physical space. From nihilism, hedonism emerges and they will dance together in euphoria like Dionysus did with his followers. She will acquire the plethora and give the acceleration a purpose. It is time to stop holding on to flag poles standing in the current. We should start to accept the drowning, to then be fulfilled by the current teaching us how to swim. Excess is accepting. Excess is giving the power a face. She says: Come, live with me. Watch me exist. Because, we are part of it: we are a part of everything, every thing is part of us we were made by gods, but we create them we were made by the universe we were created by energy we were created by code we are the probability we are the failure and the hope and the despair we are the triumph of existence and that is what she is: she is Queen Lizzy [73] [1] Charli XCX Reddit AMA [2 ] Hugo, Notre Dame de Paris [3] Alberti, 10 books of architecture 1755 [4] Cicero, Tusculan Disputations [5] Sedlacek, Economics of Good and Evil [6] Aristotle, Poetics [7] Leibniz, Theodicy [8] Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra [9] Hugo, Notre Dame de Paris [10] Bacon, Novum Organum [11] Alberti, On the Art of Building in Ten Books 1988 [12] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology [13] Alberti, On the Art of Building in Ten Books 1988 [14] Bacon, Novum Organum [15] Alberti, 10 books of architecture 1755 [16] Alberti, 10 books of architecture 1755 [17] Alberti, 10 books of architecture 1755 [18] Cicero, Tusculan Disputations [19] Sedlacek, Economics of Good and Evil [20] Aristotle, Poetics [21] Leibniz, Theodicy [22] Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra [23] Hugo, Notre Dame de Paris [24] Purdy, On the Ruins of Babel Architectural Metaphor in G [25] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968 [26] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968 [27]Harman, Towards Speculative Realism [28] Deleuze Guattari, What Is Philosophy [29] Hovestadt Buehlmann, EigenArchitecture [30] Deleuze Guattari, What Is Philosophy [31] Foucault, History of Madness [32] Blanchot, The Book to Come [33] Kaup, Neobaroque in the Americas Alternative Modernitie [34] Moore, Why We Build [35] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [36] Rajchman, Constructions [37] Goldsmith, Capital New York Capital of the 20th Century [38] Acocella, Stone Architecture Ancient and Modern Construction Skills [39] Tsoukala, Intersections of Space and Ethos Routledge Resear [40] Buehlmann Hovestadt, Quantum City [41] Serres, The Incandescent [42] Sykes, Constructing A New Agenda [43] Spuybroek, The Sympathy of Things [44] Serres, Hominescence [45] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968 [46] Vasari, The Lives of the Artists [47] Barthes, A Lover s Discourse Fragments [48] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968 [49] Buehlmann Hovestadt, Coding as Literacy [50] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968 [51] Sykes, Constructing A New Agenda [52] Ockmann, Architecture Culture 1943 1968 [53] Saunders, The Art and Architecture of London [4] Alberti, On the Art of Building in Ten Books 1988 [55] Zizek, Less Than Nothing [56] Schumacher, The Autopoiesis of Architecture Vol 2 [57] Haraway, Cyborg Manifesto [58] Serres, Statues [59] Negarestani Mackay, Collapse Volume VII [60] Doyle Savic Buehlmann, Ghosts of Transparency [61] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968 [62] Doyle Savic Buehlmann, Ghosts of Transparency [63] Serres, The Birth of Physics [64] Hofstadter, I Am a Strange Loop [65] Spuybroek, The Sympathy of Things [66] Morton, Hyperobjects [67] Buehlmann Hovestadt, Symbolizing Existence [68] Buehlmann Hovestadt, Quantum City [69] Camille de Toledo, in: Goodbye Tristesse, 2005 [70] Louis XIV Show [71] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology [72] Deleuze Guattari, What Is Philosophy [73] Buehlmann Hovestadt, Quantum City

#queenlizzy

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retrosedes-writing · 7 years

Text

Thanks for the Meal

For @ignoctweek Day 4: First Time

NSFW Rating: Mature Warnings: Noct is a few months away from being eighteen, mutual pining, awkward confessions, angst, oral sex, manipulation, mentions of spying Summary: Noctis somehow manages to convince Ignis to do him a favour.

Auth Note: This was actually one of my first Ignoct plot bunnies. I would’ve liked to come up with something else further along in their relationship for the original prompt, “first time Noctis asks for sex” but had limited time and thought this would do nicely in a pinch. Hope you like! You can check out more of my writing and ideas below.

Table of Blog Contents | Upcoming Works in Progress

Edit: Oops! I somehow scheduled this for a week later than I meant to post it and since it was my last submission for Ignoct Week, I didn’t even notice :’] Sorry about that!

Ever since Noctis had found out (through probably less than legal means) that his advisor also liked men, he'd been consumed by the burning desire to get closer to him.

Physically.

What had started as a little bi-curiosity in his early teens had erupted into full-blown hormones once he had moved into his own apartment. There, he felt he had enough space and privacy to explore a few of his less 'kingly' urges behind closed doors without any fears of the palace employees (or his father) unexpectedly walking in on him.

In the midst of this indulgent process of covert self-discovery, however, Noctis began to realize that the things that turned him on were all kind of familiar...

Button-up sleeves rolled halfway down to the elbows, handjobs in the back of limousines, food play scenarios and countertop sex... Lanky brunets with glasses and smug demeanors getting accosted in the locker rooms... For some reason, everything inexplicably reminded him of Ignis. After a while, he just gave in to the fact that he was deeply attracted to his right-hand man and let his fantasies run wild in the seclusion of his shower every day.

Though originally assumed by his friends to be a very late bloomer, in truth Noctis was itching to jump into bed with someone by now - but not just anybody.

No, he only wanted Ignis.

He couldn't help noticing the improvements to his advisor's physique, having watched his dear childhood friend transform over the years from a precocious glasses-wearing little boy into a 6ft, effortlessly handsome, well-put-together young man. How had that even happened? Puberty had been far less kind to Noctis.

Apart from during his rigorous Crownsguard training sessions, however (which were titillating to observe), Ignis had become even more buttoned-up in recent years, perhaps due to the stress and added expectations of coming of age. Noctis wanted to take him apart until there was nothing holding him back, all evidence of his professional persona cast aside for the sake of relieving a little tension. He longed to know what Ignis would look like as he came undone in private. An intoxicating heat simmered low in his body whenever he thought about his food being prepared by those same hands which the advisor might have used to touch himself in more intimate moods.

To Noctis, it just seemed SO obvious that they should fuck.

There was too much chemistry between them for his lust to be completely one-sided, too many lingering glances and breathless pauses during close-quarters sparring practice for him to tell himself to let it go, that it was all in his head. As much as he looked the part of responsible adult, Ignis was fresh out of adolescence himself, still a teenager if only for one more year. He must have been in need of a sexual outlet just as badly if the untouched vial of personal lubricant hidden away at the very back of his closet was any indication.

And losing his virginity to one of his closest friends, his trusted advisor - Noctis wouldn't have it any other way. There would be no threat of a scandal getting out if he chose to involve himself with Ignis, no potential for some ex-lover he picked up at public school to go rogue and spill all his secrets to the press.

He knew Ignis would be perfectly discreet, he just... couldn't bring himself to confess how he felt yet.

The last thing he wanted was to destroy their closeness, especially as, truth be told, Noctis could barely manage to take care of himself as it was. He couldn't really afford to be rejected if it meant Ignis might stop coming over to look after him and keep him up to date on his princely duties... even worse, if it meant they would stop being friends.

Still, being alone with him was utter torture now. Having Ignis in his own house, just the two of them.. the nearest guard stationed far enough away from the door that he wouldn't be able to hear them even if Noctis yelled. It was a recipe for maddeningly unresolved sexual tension which he had to do his best to conceal with feigned, stony-faced indifference.

~*~

Even so, tonight, the prince had been privately entertaining thoughts of seducing Ignis ever since they'd crossed the threshold. Dropping his bag and shoving him up against the front door for a kiss, cornering his back in the kitchen with one hand on either side of the counter, following him casually into the bathroom - ideas all ignored one after the other even as they kept him from focusing on his schoolwork.

Gorged on yet another delicious meal, Noctis sat back on the sofa with a satisfied sigh and drifted off after dinner, fragments of a sex dream lending a visual component to his imagination as they flashed across his mind's eye.

His visions involved a panting, faintly muscular naked body positioned flatly on top of him, and though he couldn't see the man's face in the darkness, he knew without a doubt it was Ignis. There was the vaguely wet sensation of a mouth on his neck, lips brushing beneath his ear, and then something unbelievably warm and stimulating was stroking him between the legs, arousing such a vivid, pleasurable sensation that he spread them wider and thrust his hips up a bit, hoping for more.

To his disappointment, he was woken up, still hard from his brief nap, by the relentless sound of running tapwater as Ignis began doing the dishes across the room.

The apartment had gotten darker, the last light from the disappearing sunset fading from the sky outside and lending a surreal feeling to the environment. With no television, music, or video games powered on to distract him, Ignis was naturally the focal point of his attention. The dim overhead kitchen lamp imbued his soft, ash brown hair with a soft glow, drawing Noctis's gaze.

Moodily, the prince watched his advisor through half-lidded eyes from his position on the couch as night fell over the crown city. He had not moved an inch since he had awoken except to look down at himself, fidgeting with his demanding erection through the pockets of his school pants so as not to draw Ignis's attention.

He felt so good tonight, and yet so unbelievably frustrated as well. He knew that his advisor, and the best possible cure for what ailed him, would be going home soon, and he'd be left with a handful of political reports and his usual, boring methods of obtaining release. He couldn't stand to be so close to everything he desired and yet so damn far from actually getting it.

Noctis gave a very vocal sigh, which was really something more of a groan, as he sank lower on the couch, parting his knees widely to make himself more comfortable.

The sound finally got Ignis to look up from his work in the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. "Can I help you with something?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow over his glasses as he moved around the counter to fetch his briefcase from beside the coffee table.

Noct exhaled in response. "Phuuuhhh... probably..."

If Ignis noticed the hand both covering and gently massaging at the straining fabric in Noctis's lap, he didn't remark on it. Gathering his vest from the arm of the sofa, he inclined his head slightly. "Is there anything else you needed from me before I take my leave for the night?"

"Yeah, blow me."

Even as he muttered the words so quietly that Ignis couldn't have heard what he said, Noctis winced at his own impudence. Gods, he wished.

"Beg your pardon? Didn't quite catch that, sorry." Ignis watched him blankly while Noctis repositioned himself, then added, when no response was forthcoming, "Highness?"

"I told you to stop calling me stuff like that," Noctis said exasperatedly, not meeting his eyes. It still felt like he was dreaming as he reached out and patted the seat next to him. "C'mere.."

"Sorry. Noct," Ignis complied. Setting his things back down, he hesitantly lowered himself onto the sofa beside the prince and hitched up the tops of his trouser legs slightly. "Has something been bothering you..?" It was with great effort that he resisted the habit of adding an honorific title to the end of his sentence the way he'd been raised to do.

"No, it's not like-... well, yeah I guess you could say that."

If you only knew.

Ignis was searching his face with pale green eyes, concerned and curious. "What is it? Your highness- Noct." He turned toward his royal charge and placed a hand earnestly on his knee. "Please. I hope you know your confidences are safe with me. Anything you have to say will be kept a secret from all but me if you wish it. You have my word."

Noctis swallowed. "Even from my father?"

Ignis pursed his lips.

Technically against the law but, "If I must."

"Of course I know that, Specs," Noctis suddenly laughed, shoving playfully against his attendant's shoulder. Leave it to Ignis to make everything out to be so serious. "We're friends, after all. I don't need you to keep telling me that after all this time."

Ignis cleared his throat a little. "Glad to hear it," he replied. "Now, what's the matter? Bad dreams?" he added softly.

Noctis blushed, wondering if he had been moaning audibly while he dozed off in front of Ignis. "Uh, no, it's not that.. I'm just..."

He wasn't sure if he even wanted to take this any farther tonight, after that little heartfelt confession from Ignis, but then he caught a glimpse of the other man's exposed skin just below his unbuttoned shirt collar. His cock still ached, almost painfully swollen under his hand, and he was tempted to bury his face in his advisor's neck.

Noctis found himself leaning forward as if he was actually going to do it, then groaned and restrained himself just far enough away to be at a comfortable speaking distance.

"Yes?" Ignis prompted, tilting his head back slightly to continue meeting the prince's lascivious gaze with some puzzlement at the new angle.

Officially beyond caring if he ruined the moment, Noctis dipped his head in closer, murmuring against his ear.

"I've just been really... in the mood lately."

Ignis stared down at the prince's lap, wide-eyed with shock, as Noctis pulled out his cock and rubbed it twice firmly in the open air. Then, raising his fist to cover his mouth, his advisor suddenly erupted into a fit of embarrassed laughter, turning his head away to hide the way his cheeks were reddening.

"You got me," Ignis said easily, once he had recovered from his nervous chuckling. Habitually resting his arm on the back of the couch so as not to twist his neck too far, he glanced out the balcony window behind them to make absolutely sure no one could see in. "I thought we were about to discuss something serious."

"I am," Noctis argued, somewhat offended. "Deadly serious. Look." He waved his engorged member at Ignis to make his point.

"Yes, I saw that," said Ignis with a tone of tolerant amusement, even as he avoided looking directly at it. "Well then. I suppose I'll get out of your way."

As he made to stand and reached for the blinds to draw them shut for the prince's privacy, however, Noctis suddenly grabbed his arm and clutched desperately at the front of his shirt, holding him in place with one knee on the couch.

"No, wait. Stop. Don't go..."

Ignis stared down at him from this new vantage point, hovering over his royal charge whom he had inadvertently cornered against the back of the sofa, and a ripple of arousal darted through them both.

"I was actually kind of hoping... you would help me do something about it," Noctis admitted in a low mumble, gazing off just past Ignis's midriff as if he wasn't fully present. His cock stood at attention between them, still hard as ever, even as the tension in the room grew almost palpable.

It took his advisor a moment to react.

"Did I put too much sake in your salmon stir-fry?" Ignis whispered hoarsely, as if he were afraid to move a single muscle, even to speak.

"What?" Noctis was taken aback, then paused to consider the ramifications. "Maybe?" That might explain why he was so unable to resist his baser urges tonight, but then, "No," he protested, shaking his head. He knew what he was doing.

"That's right, I remember.. I decided not to use it after all," Ignis murmured thoughtfully. His eyes were focused intently on Noct's as if peering into his mind for answers. Finding none, his expression changed abruptly. "Then what is this about, Highness?" he asked more firmly, his brows threatening to lower into the hard line of a scowl.

Uh oh. His spontaneous seduction effort wasn't going well.

"I-I've been thinking about this for a while and," Noctis swallowed uncomfortably, "I really want to.. uh, y'know.."

Spend the rest of our lives doing it? Nah, he had to bring it up way more casually than that. Things that were normal for teenage boys to want to do - damn, what was the fancy word for try some stuff irl?

"Ex..periment..... with you," he finished weakly.

He cringed at himself as Ignis stood up to his full height and crossed his arms, a tower of disapproval. That probably hadn't been the best way to say it at all, actually. He wished his dick wasn't out in the open. Noctis covered it with one hand and blushed furiously.

"That would be completely inappropriate, and you're already crossing the line as it is," Ignis replied with unexpected vehemence in contrast to his earlier understanding tone. "However much you might like to pretend otherwise, at the end of the day you are still the prince and as such there is a proper code of conduct by which your employees must abide at all times."

Crossing back over to the kitchen, Ignis continued brusquely, almost in the same breath, "I assure you, having read the handbook myself several times, accepting solicitations for sexual favours, wasn't included on the list."

"Solicitating- wha?" His mouth gaped open slightly; Noctis wasn't used to hearing his friend speak so harshly. "But, wait.. Iggy, you just said a minute ago-"

"I was offering you my ear, not my body," Ignis said in retort, locating his forgotten vest and briefcase next to the coffee table. "Just what kind of attendant do you take me for?"

"Ignis, that's not what I-" Noctis struggled to keep up in his hunt for the right words. "I just thought-.. we were.. I want you to be more than that." He tried to relay the true depth of his feelings through the significance in his voice, but the nuance was lost in the argument.

"Yes, well, that wasn't in my job description," said Ignis curtly. Having donned his vest in a flurry of buttons and agitated fingers, he picked up his briefcase and turned to leave.

Contrary to the tears forming in his dark blue eyes, Noctis felt a sudden flare-up of anger. "What, are you really that put off by the thought of being with m- of messing around with me?" he demanded, his voice taking on a low, rough quality that somehow managed to be louder than his normal speaking voice. "Not even the damn prince good enough for you, is that it?"

Though he had barely moved, Ignis stopped where he was and stood still. His shoulders slowly seemed to deflate as he looked down at the floor.

"Of course not," he said quietly, after a long hesitation. "It's so much more complicated than that." Another moment passed in which he gazed into nothingness, before snapping back to reality with a brisk comment. "I won't burden you with the details. Suffice it to say that 'messing around' is well outside the bounds of our professional relationship."

He took a step toward the hall before pausing again.

"Perhaps it would be best if we took some time apart until whatever has gotten into you has sorted itself out," Ignis suggested, in the same crisp tone of voice he used when Noctis wouldn't eat his vegetables. "I'll ask if Cor can pick you up tomorrow."

"No!" Noctis lunged forward to grab hold of Ignis before he could leave but his advisor had already stepped beyond his reach. "Ignis, at least hear me out. Nobody has to know!"

The other man had already strode halfway across the room and gave no response. Noctis felt another surge of anger; he wouldn't have been surprised if his eyes had flashed bright red.

"Would you rather I picked someone up at school? Started fucking random classmates?" Noctis challenged him loudly. "Maybe get somebody pregnant? How's that for royal protocol?"

Ignis halted in his tracks and turned around slowly. "If this is a joke, you've officially taken it too far," he warned coldly, pushing his glasses up a centimeter. "Surely you know what disastrous consequences would be awaiting such-"

"Wouldn't have to worry about any of that if it was just you and me hooking up instead." Adopting a rather sultry tone of voice, Noctis lifted himself off the couch to stand in front of the coffee table and tucked his manhood away so that he could spread his arms wide mockingly. There was no doubt that Ignis had seen it this time, unable to draw his eyes away before Noctis noticed his lingering gaze. "You sure you don't want to give it a try? Just this once?"

"Positive," Ignis replied with a dry tongue, but he swallowed, his eyes glued to a spot on the floor and his composure faltering.

"No illegitimate heirs, no bad publicity-"

"If we were found together, there would be a scandal-" Ignis began, pursing his lips to argue. Instead, he decided to quit while he was ahead, and turned to flee the conversation on that note, heading for the front door.

"But I know you better than that, Iggy," the prince continued, interrupting. "I know you'd never let anyone find out. Your privacy is even more sacred than mine, remember? I told you, I've given this a lot of thought, and I don't trust anybody like I trust you."

Ignis came to another slow stop just before entering the hall where he would have disappeared from view, almost a silhouette in the dim lamplight. Taking in his defeated posture, Noctis's heart skipped a beat and jumped ahead rapidly.

"Ignis. Please," he added, willing his encouragement to do the trick. "Consider it. I want-" Noctis swallowed, nervous to try again, "I want... to be touched by you."

No response. Ignis didn't move except to lower his head, closing his eyes with a shallow sort of half-sigh. Then, all of a sudden, in one swift movement, he turned on his heel and made his way quickly back toward the sofa.

Dropping his briefcase to the floor with a careless thud, Ignis clapped a hand firmly onto Noctis's shoulder...

And began exerting enough downward pressure to make him sink gradually toward the couch cushions.

Was this...? Had he changed his mind?

"What- are you- for serious?" Noctis blurted out.

"When am I ever not?"

Meeting his gaze evenly with no change in his stolid expression, Ignis pushed against the prince's chest with his other hand to shove him gently back down onto the sofa. He followed suit by kneeling on the carpet in front of him, prying Noct's legs open wider for himself to fit between.

"Just this once," he cautioned, even as he was pulling Noctis free from his trousers, "and you're never to breathe a word of this to anyone under any circumstances."

"Yeah, fine," Noctis agreed breathlessly, lifting his shirt out of the way and squirming to get more comfortable. "Of course. Thanks.." He stilled himself for a moment to be able to feel Ignis's hands on his dick in utmost possible detail, even holding his breath for a couple seconds.

Now he really felt like he must still be dreaming.

Ignis hesitantly stroked him a few times, gazing down at his cock with such a keen, perceptive eye that Noctis almost felt uncomfortable, like he was inspecting it for weaknesses and would write him a report on it later. When the advisor looked up, his eyes were darker, pupils stretched wide enough that the pale green which surrounded them was reduced to a shrunken ring in comparison.

"Are you sure this is really what you want?” Ignis confirmed lowly. “You've gone a bit soft..."

Noctis shifted and glanced away, embarrassed. "Yeah, from being yelled at.."

"Forgive me," Ignis murmured. His cheeks tinged with pink, he unexpectedly pushed his face into Noctis's lap. The prince tried to repress a pleasurable shudder as the advisor nuzzled his dick; his hand jumped up to hover briefly over Ignis's hair before he pulled away, nose dragging along Noct's sensitive skin. His breath was warm. "I realize I'm being harsh. What you're going through is only natural.. I'm well aware of what it's like."

"What what's like?" Noctis asked with a hungered curiosity, even as he watched Ignis part and pull at his trousers to give himself full access.

Instead of answering what he felt was a blatantly obvious question, Ignis adjusted the positioning of his knees on the carpet to make himself more comfortable and lifted Noctis's flaccid member to the level of his mouth. Tentatively, he swallowed, licked his lips, and, closing his eyes, extended his warm, wet tongue to lap softly at the underside.

Noctis jerked his hips back with a rough exhale, startling the man between his legs. Ignis looked up at him seriously, searching his eyes.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I'm just-.. wasn't expecting it." Reduced to hushed panting, Noctis asked the foremost question on his mind. "Are you really going to suck me off? Like... all the way?"

Ignis sat back on his heels and glared up at him, nudging his glasses back into place again. "Having second thoughts now, are we? This is what you had in mind for me to do with you earlier, was it not?"

"Yeah, yeah.. Sorry." Noctis urged him back in closer, corralling him with his ankles, and pushed his now semi-hard cock against his advisor's thinly pouting lips once more, leaving a dab of precum at the corner of his mouth. The message was clear: enough talking. "I just didn't think you would actually want to.. go that far."

In all honesty, he probably would have been satisfied (at least for now) if Ignis had merely held him in his hands for a couple of minutes, maybe played with him a bit until he was close, but he was afraid to confess as much in case Ignis decided to stop.

"Be careful what you wish for, Highness." Smirking wryly, Ignis knocked his hand away and took back control, seizing Noct by the loosened waistband of his trousers and yanking him closer to the edge of the sofa as he abruptly went down on him.

If not for the tremendous spike in his arousal from Ignis putting aside their roles and taking even that little bit of initiative, Noctis would have been embarrassed by the noise that came out of his mouth. As it was, it felt so good he could barely hear himself.

"Oh, fuck." Noctis sucked in breath quietly as his attendant's mouth enveloped him in warmth and slowly sank further down his shaft with each bob of his head, until he soon felt the tip of his cock brushing against the soft membranes at the back of his throat.

Too far down to scold him verbally, Ignis reached up and slapped Noctis lightly on the arm for letting out such an unprincely profanity. His only response was to wrap his hand in Ignis's hair more tightly and lean back against the sofa so that he had enough leverage to push up his hips, moaning. The advisor made a muffled noise in return, unable to stop himself from humming gently, and the process repeated itself, with Ignis methodically changing the pace and swirling his tongue around the head in between dives.

While he would never in his life admit to something so indecent, Ignis greatly savoured the salty taste of Noct's skin. The strong smell of his unwashed sex mingling with his own saliva excited him, along with his hitched breathing and any other small, lewd noise his tongue could elicit.

He would have liked to take his time bringing Noctis to orgasm but the inexperienced prince was too easily overcome by the slick, velvety sensations at the back of his mouth to last much longer. Glancing up at him every so often to make sure he was enjoying the service, Ignis caught him struggling to keep his eyes open to watch him work in beautiful, ecstatic disbelief.

“Ignis,” Noct whispered encouragingly. “Feels so good... I think ... I’m gonna cum.”

One final dip into the far back of Ignis's throat and Noctis gave a prolonged groan, wrapping his arms tightly around his attendant's shoulders and neck to pull him closer, heels digging into the back of his legs as he bent double, folding in half over top of him. To be so surrounded with Noctis on all sides was just a bit suffocating - his glasses getting pushed askew, Ignis choked and the spasm of throat muscles sent Noctis over the edge even as he attempted to withdraw for his advisor's comfort.

His cheeks burned faintly pink again as Noctis held his head firmly in place on the end of his cock, moaning while his fluids shot into his advisor's mouth. Ignis made no attempt to stifle the jerking of his hips, though his eyes were sharp at being used in such a manner as he waited out the entirety of Noct's release.

In the low lighting, the look of intense focus on the prince’s face was exquisite.

For once, though, he had not thought this far ahead. Unsure what to do with the ejaculate collecting on his tongue, Ignis held it in his mouth while he ran through his options in a panic. On the one hand, consuming the essence of a Lucian prince felt like it would be particularly sinful, a blessing not meant for him perhaps, but on the other, he certainly couldn't just open his mouth and let it drool back out of him onto Noctis's lap either - and running for the bathroom to dispose of his load immediately after accepting it would probably be insulting. No amount of etiquette lessons could have prepared him for this.

Ignis realized his lapse in attention while he pondered his internal dilemma had attracted an audience; Noctis was watching him lazily from his post-orgasmic haze, his dick shrinking back to its usual size. He reached out his hand with a fascinated kind of curiosity and pressed his thumb into Ignis's bottom lip in an unspoken bid for him to open his mouth, desiring to see its contents, but Ignis resisted, turning his head slightly to the side.

"You don't have to swallow," Noctis mumbled hoarsely, embarrassed.

With his permission, Ignis fumbled for one of the napkins on the coffee table left over from dinner and faced away from the prince to spit discreetly into its centre before folding it over twice neatly. He didn't dare sneak a peek at what he had coaxed forth from Noctis's loins.

"Excuse me," he muttered, as he got to his feet and headed toward the bathroom. His head was still spinning from a lack of oxygen.

“M’kay..”

Predictably, adrift in the afterglow and replaying the scene in his mind, Noctis's eyes had already blissfully drifted closed before he even reached the door.

Shutting it firmly behind himself, Ignis tossed the soiled napkin into the wastebin and started running the water in the sink. He cupped his hands under the flow and raised them to his lips once they were full, his aim to cleanse any evidence of the prince’s sperm from his mouth. While he was at it, he splashed his face in the hopes of regaining some clarity (and to distract himself from the slight tent in his own pants).

His hands were trembling as he braced them against the counter, gripping either side of the sink. He breathed deeply while he took a long moment to himself to assess the gravity of the situation. Though unable to see clearly through the stray droplets on his fogged glasses, Ignis looked up at his reflection in the mirror nonetheless.

You just blew the crown prince of Lucis.

What was he thinking?

He had wanted something like this for a very long time, but for it to happen the way it did- well, he supposed it didn't matter. He had kept his distance all this time despite his own desires for a reason. As of right now, it was impossible for them to be together. There was no sense in being upset that he hadn’t been able to woo the prince in a less crude, more romantic fashion.

Even to indulge in a physical relationship like the one Noctis apparently wanted for the sake of being physical was out of the question. Ignis was a very jealous person at heart. He had to remain impartial and reserved for his position as advisor to have any meaning, particularly when the time came for the prince to marry and produce another heir.

He mustn't let this continue.

His long-term resolve restored, Ignis forbade himself to touch the ache in his trousers lest it refused to go away on its own, cleaned his glasses, and strode out of the bathroom in a matter of minutes.

"That should not still be out on display," Ignis remarked pointedly as he collected his briefcase and walked right past Noctis toward the front hall.

"It's my apartment," the prince muttered in complaint, though he stirred to tuck himself back into his school pants.

"Please remember to change your clothes before you go to bed," Ignis chided out of habit, "and try not to fall asleep on the sofa, it's bad for your back."

"You're leaving?"

Ignis turned at the entrance to the hall, scrutinizing the disappointment on Noct's face from a distance with a keen eye.

"Yes. This won't happen again," he said shortly. "Don't forget, we have an appointment with your driving instructor tomorrow at 3 pm."

And with that, he left.

Noctis smirked, rubbing at the small patch of drool Ignis had unknowingly left on the fly of his trousers.

It had already happened once. It couldn't be that hard to make sure it happened again.

After all, Ignis had just marked all of his own weak spots.

#ignoct #ignoctweek #Noctis Lucis Caelum #Ignis Scientia #FFXV fanfic

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