#my mind is SPINING I AM LUCID ! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arcielee · 1 year

Text

Taste of It

Summary: Modern!FemaleReader has a delightful sex dream. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 2406 Warnings: Smutty smut, fingering, choking, language, p in v. Author's Note: Hey, this is my first Reader fanfic I have ever written. I am open to all criticism, because it will help me be a better writer and is definitely not a degradation kink. This was inspired by the story you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me) by @themotherofhorses. I just loved the idea of a lucid dream with Aemond Targaryen. ♥ Thank you @f4ll-for-you for being so kind to read this over! Series: Call It Dreaming

“What are you doing here?”

His voice is low, lethal, and somehow familiar to you, despite the unfamiliar setting you find yourself in. Your hands wash over your body, feeling your favorite oversized shirt, an old David Bowie print that was comfortable with age and just long enough to cover your ass, with the hem touching the peaks of your bare thighs. There is a coldness to your surroundings, which was all the more apparent on your bare feet and the skimpy, cotton underwear you wore beneath your nightshirt.

You remembered being cozy on your couch after a long, hot shower that peeled away the stress accumulated from both work and schoolwork, partnered with a mask to exfoliate your pores. You remembered the scent of your new lotion, a mixture of vanilla and brown sugar, while you admired the reflection of the black underwear and matching bralette on your figure before you decided to put on the oversized vintage top before you crawled beneath your blanket to rewatch House of the Dragon.

“I asked you a question,” his voice repeated, his tone sharp. You could hear the sound of a book snapping shut that caused you to jump and turn on your heel. Your eyes flit over your new surroundings; you were in a room with tapers lit that added to the warm, amber glow emitting from the hearth and its embers, highlighting the meticulous placement of furniture and its grim vibe.

You nearly choke on your heart when your eyes finally find who the voice, the one that was both low and lethal, belongs to.

Aemond Targaryen was seated in a leather chair by the fireplace, one hand holding a closed book by its spine and his brows knitted above his gaze, one lavender eye and one sapphire eye, focused on you with a look of sheer annoyance.

You could scarcely react when he pushed himself from his seat, his long legs allowing long strides to cover the distance of the room, and you could feel the heat from his body as he pinned your back against the door. His large palm was on your neck and he slowly squeezed the sides.

You can still breathe, but your vision begins to fog and he pushes closer, his nose pressed against the side of your head with the hot whisper repeating his question, “Who are you?”

This is a dream, your mind rationalizes. A sexy dream you guess from the heat that pools in your lower abdomen and melds with the heat that exudes from the prince. His scent is intoxicating; he smelled clean, mixed with a woodsy musk and the hint of smoke. It was a dream, you decide, and gods be damned if you would not utilize this subconscious interaction.

“I have been sent for your pleasure,” you finally manage to say, your mind spinning from the lack of blood.

Your words release his grasp, but his hand remains rested on your collarbones. “Another one of my brother’s whores?” He asks with the curl of his lips. Perhaps he tried to sound annoyed, but you hoped instead for him to be intrigued since your modern garb was hardly the fashion of the Streets of Silk. “You may show me what you have to offer and I will make my decision.”

This is promising, you smile at him. Aemond takes a step back but you note he remains within arm’s reach, thinking you may try to flee but he is completely unaware you have no intention to leave this room. With slow breaths as your vision clears, your fingers reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it overhead, dropping it at your feet to show him your black cotton bralette and matching cheeky underwear.

You watch his eye roll over you, pupil dilated, from your head to your polished toes and back again. You hold your breath and only relax when you hear his hum of satisfaction.

Aemond moved to grab you, perhaps he meant to drag you, but you are quick and willing to follow his direction towards the bed, gleeful when you feel his large hands rest on your hips and bring you around to push you back against the mattress.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him bending at his slender waist, his arms caging you and the curtain of silver hair spilling on both sides. His head tilts slightly to peer at you and you stare back with blatant admiration of the sharp angles of his jawline, the gleam of his sapphire eye that you did not notice the dagger he held until the glint of the blade caught your attention.

Your breath holds as he presses the dagger flat beneath the front of your bralette and it hitches in your throat with his fluid motion to twist the blade and bring it upwards, tearing the fabric.

“Hey!” You gasp, pressing up to your elbows to face him as he falls back a step, holding the torn fabric in one hand and sheathing his blade, all while admiring the natural slope of your breasts. You feel a slight burn and look down to see a red line and beads of blood forming from the sliver.

“I only wished to see if you were real,” his words were not an apology, but more an explanation.

You push to sit upright, your hand grabbing his own to bring his palm to your breast. “I assure, I am very real,” your eyes are glassy with your bold words and actions, but it works and he moves to press on top of you. You fall back and mold against the mattress, his tongue burns as it trails the cut and there is the smear of blood as his mouth moves to find your nipple.

Your back arches in response from the touch of his tongue that flits over the peak of your nipple and rolling circles around your areola. His hot mouth closes, suckling and his teeth nipping the soft flesh of your breast before he moves to give equal attention towards the other.

A soft moan spills from your lips and he moves to capture your mouth with his own. His tongue presses to explore your mouth and you welcome the softness of his lips and the copper taste of your own blood. Your hands move to comb your fingers through his silk locks, your nails scratching his scalp and you feel the vibration of his hum of approval.

Aemond presses closer and you can feel his hardness, his hips rolling to rub against your cloth cunt. He grabs onto your hip with one hand, large and warm to the touch, and his other moves flat against your chest; his tongue slows with languid movements, relishing your taste before he breaks away.

“You taste like a sweet wine, but with chocolate and mint?” His brow quirks with his question.

Ben and Jerry’s, you think to yourself but he does not need an answer, instead bringing his lips to bruise against your own and his fingers trailing lower to cup your cunt. He seems pleased with how you are drenched with your anticipation, pressing his lips against your throat with the growl of, “Sīr lōz syt aōha dārilaros.”

So wet for your prince.

You burn with how his tongue rolls the words. Gods be praised, you think when you recognize the words that made your core ache, your annoyance for the Duolingo notifications vanish and you respond with a breathless, “Kirimvose, ñuha dārilaros.”

His brow raises in response and his look makes your heat roll over your body. “You also know High Valyrian,” he says and, again, it was more a statement than a question.

“Mērī mirrī,” Only a little, you admit to him, the heat flushing your face from his brazen stare. You chew your bottom lip as you bring your feet to the edge of the bed and lift your hips, peeling off your underwear.

You note the curl of his lips and he moves to mold against you again, his teeth grazing the pulse of your pounding heart. His touch is gentle, his fingers just grazing your hip bone and moving towards your center, his slender finger trailing your soaked slit before it curled inside of you.

You cannot help but mewl his name as he adds another, moving to massage your walls, his palm cupping you and allowing his thumb to stimulate your clit. The warmth in your lower core begins to boil with his ministrations and your breathing grows erratic, which quickens his motion.

“Jurnegon nyke,” he commands, Look at me, and you bring your eyes forward to see him leaning over and bracing himself above you with his free arm. “I want to hear you,” he breathes.

His breath, his words partnered with the sinful curl of his fingers within you allows your orgasm to crash into you, drawing the air from your lungs with your pitiful cries of release. Your skin is aflame and you had not noticed he pulled away until you heard him cleaning his fingers with his mouth, standing over you, the bulge of his breeches unmistakable.

The sight of him cleaning his slender fingers emboldens you to grab his waistband and bring him against you, desperate to taste yourself on his soft lips. The grace of your tongue is not matched with your hands that fumble with the latches of his tunic, but you feel his smile as his hands guide your own. You peel his layers off to reveal his hard chest with faded scars of silver that decorated the rivets of his toned abdomen, the moonlight mixed with the low flames giving the prince an ethereal glow to his lithe body.

Aemond gives a hum to claim your attention, his lips curling as he is adamantly aware of the hunger in your eyes, and his hands reach to grasp the peaks of your thighs and pull you closer to the bed edge. You push yourself to your elbows and watch rapt as he unlaces to remove his trousers, curious to see if the Tumblr assertion of his genitalia was accurate, but his hand pushes you back against the bed and trails to your neck.

“Open,” he commands and your mouth relaxes, your tongue pink and drowning in saliva from seeing him almost bare.

He presses two fingers into your mouth and you close to suckle, tasting the remnants of your release and his own saliva from his clean up. You coat them and there is a string of spittle that follows when he pulls away, eventually breaking and wetting your chin.

His hands move to lube his cock and you feel the press against your cunt, the undeniable stretch as he pushes into you. Your hands grasp at the bedding on each side and your back arches as he pushes to split you in half. “You take me so well,” he soothes, but does not allow you time to adjust and presses further still.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Oh, fuck me,” you gasp at the mixture of pleasure and pain.

Aemond pauses for a moment, reaching to clasp your jaw and bring your eyes to look at him, “I intend to.”

You shudder when he bottoms out in you and his hands move to clasp onto your hips, pulling you to meet his each thrust, his hip bones digging into the underside softness of your thighs and his cock reaching into you further still. Your hands move to grab above you, twisting into the sheets, and you arch your back into each powerful thrust.

His pace pauses for a moment, his hands wrapping around your ankles and bringing your feet to rest onto his shoulders, canting your hips to angle you as he slips back into your warmth. Your heart flutters when his hands return to your hip bones, admiring his side profile and the scrunch of his brow. “Your toes… is that glitter?”

“Kostilus, ñuha dārilaros,” Please, my prince, you cannot help but whine. You are on the cusp of your second release and the fear of waking up looms over you. “I must have you.”

The High Valyrian renews his attention, as you hope it would, and he pushes to fold you in half, the new angle allowing him to slip into your cunt deeper than before. His arms hold himself on each side, caging you in, and his soft, silver tresses spill onto your bare chest with a tickle. You moan in abandon from the stretch of him reentering you as his hips rut against you.

It rolls in waves, gooseflesh rippling over every inch of your body and your nipples taut from the pleasure, clenching at his cock. The tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you repeat his name, “Aemond, Aemond-”

His thrusts become sloppy and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you; you open your legs to allow him to fall forward against you, a damp brow to your own. You steady your breath, savoring the mixture of his scent combined with the scent of sex, wanting to savor your unconscious a moment longer. Your sex dreams never ended so satisfactory before and you knew it would not be much longer. You bring your hand to his defined jawline to tilt his head up, bringing your lips to his with a slow, lingering kiss.

But you do not wake up, instead Aemond drags you beneath the covers and pulls you flush against his chest, which is hard and warm and molds perfectly with the softness of your backside in the most delicious way.

“You may leave me in the morning,” he murmurs in your ear as he nuzzles into the back of your neck and hair.

When you wake up, you are back on your couch and nestled beneath your blanket, the menu music of House of the Dragon playing on repeat from your television. Warmth envelopes you as you remember the vivid dream you had and you push to sit upright.

I will always fall asleep with you on, but your thoughts are cut short from the cold that touches your bare chest. Your hands wash over your body, naked, and you wince when your finger touches the gash in between your breasts.

Your eyes widen in disbelief.

Where the fuck was your Bowie shirt.

#taste of it #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond smut #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #thanks for reading #♥

1K notes · View notes

inbarfink · 8 months

Text

Goddam, just seeing Simon in these last two episodes is really flooding me with so many conflicting emotions.

Because, on the one hand, after his lowest point in Episode 4 - resigning himself to death in the hands of the Scarab - he’s clearly finally doing better. Just look at him making plans

And showing off his smarts

And finally genuinely smiling and feeling happy

And being so glad to meet the alt versions of his friends

And getting excited about his nerdy shit for the first time in glob-knows-how-long

And cracking goofy geeky jokes

And offering others the same grace and kindness he was given when he was trapped under the curse of the Magic Crown

And trying to be comforting and fatherly and give Fionna advice and cheer her up

He’s so clearly doing a lot better now, he’s rediscovering aspects of himself that his depression has torn away from him, he found a meaning and purpose in his life again. And it should warm my heart, and on some level it does....

But it also sends a chill down my spine knowing that this purpose that brought back the light into Simon’s eyes, the purpose he finally found is sacrificing his mind and identity again for the sake of Fionna’s happiness and her world.

He’s throwing himself right back into the miserable existence and the trauma he tries so hard to move forward from. He’s dooming himself because he honestly believes now that he’s always going to be miserable and lonely and fucked up so he might as well have be the kind of miserable and fucked up that is not lucid enough to know how miserable he is all of the time. The kind of misery that at least fits into his world.

Because he started to romanticize being the Ice King in a twisted kinda way, and now he has found the excuse to turn it into a selfless, noble act. Because the only way he feels like he’s useful and like he has worth is by protecting and helping and sacrificing himself for the sake of others.

(And like, especially in light of how he was trying to resign himself to death just moments before coming up with his plan. Not to get extremely dark, but.... suicidal people often seem to ‘get better’ just before the try to kill themselves. Because they feel like they’re finally ‘doing something’ and their misery is almost over. That kinda feels what Simon is going through right now? Becoming the Ice King again is not literally death, but it is a sort of death for Simon Petrikov’s identity.)

And this new sense of purpose in saving Fionnaworld by dooming himself is clearly blinding Simon to so many obviously telegraphed signs that this is a horrible idea.

He saw hints of just how badly Farmworld Finn has been dealing with his own Magic Crown Related Trauma

and maybe if things would’ve been different this could’ve been something they could have commiserated over. Simon could’ve had someone who understood a bit of what he has gone through, and seeing a version of Finn, of all people, face similar struggles - maybe could’ve helped him feel a little less Uniquely and Irredeemably Fucked Up. (For bonus points, they're ALSO both dealing with the grief of losing their Significant Other)

But his newfound obsession that Everything Will Be Better Once He’s Cursed again was making him totally ignore all of this.

And then there’s their little adventure in the Winter Kingdom. Which had both the Candy Queen/Princess Bubblegum as a perfect reminder of the suffering and pain involved in being trapped in the Madness of the Magic Crown

And the Winter King as a reminder of the harmful and twisted things he was capable of doing as the Ice King.

But instead he basically refused to learn any lesson from that Universe that’s not just ‘Fuck That Version of Me Specifically’ and tried to advice Fionna to do the same.

But well, while I am still worried about Simon’s mental state, his improved disposition does give me a little bit of hope. Hope that maybe he himself will notice that he is doing better and won’t be quite so eager to sacrifice his own sanity. Or maybe more likely, hope that now that he’s not just a miserable sadman screaming at their faces

Fionna and Cake are growing to appreciate Simon Petrikov for who he is and will simply refuse to let him sacrifice himself for their sake. Because, yeah, Simon tried to tell Fionna to not worry about all of that Winter Kingdom stuff, that it was just that Simon was ‘messed up’ - but since when does Fionna Campbell do what she’s told?

372 notes · View notes

elena-mayfair · 2 years

Text

Back in the dream

Paring: Morpheus x f!reader, Sandman x f!reader Warnings: swearing, blood, nightmarish images Summary: As a sorceress and exorcist you got used to the nightmares in your life, creatures that you fight fearlessly. But there is one place where your fear overcomes you, your dreams. Every night you dream nightmares and every night you see him. One night he decides to reveal himself changing your life in the process forever. Word count: 3.3k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Part one of the story: Lost in the dream

***

"I am Morpheus. Dream of the Endless. Lord of the Dreams." these were the last words that you heard before you drifted away into the dream. These were also the first words that you thought of after you opened your eyes. "Dream of The Endless..." you looked around your bedroom and outside of the window. It was a beautiful, sunny morning, the kind that brings a smile to one face, that promises a beautiful day full of joy. You scouted your bedroom once again and to your disappointment concluded that everything was normal, mundane even. The only unusual thing about this morning was the way you felt, you felt good, well rested, happy even. Like you slept for the first time in ages. There was no sand under your eyelids, no headache, no pain in the back, you felt wonderful.

"Lord of the Dreams." with that thought you got up from the bed, made yourself a large cup of coffee, and hit the books. You had plenty of them in your apartment, shelves full of old volumes binded in leather, with gold and silver letters on the spines that fade out over time. Occult books, grimoires, journals, and memoirs were filling in the shelves, piles and piles of mythology and legends books were filling in every smallest space of your apartment. Everything you could find, buy, steal or trade, your priceless possession. You were determined, you were curious, you needed to find an explanation. There was a part of you doubting that the events of the last night even happened "I must have dreamt it all," you thought to yourself while browsing through a particularly interesting volume about dreamwalking.

A lucid dream is one in which the dreamer is aware of dreaming and may be able to exert some degree of control over the dream's characters, narrative, or environment. Early references to the phenomenon are found in ancient Greek texts.

Nothing that you wouldn't know already. Has all of it really happened? Have you really got lost in the dream so much so that you ended up in a different, "different what? World? Reality? What exactly?" the thoughts were bothering you. "Was he really here? In my bedroom? Was it all a part of a dream?" The part of you, the one responsible for instincts and your ability to do magic knew that it indeed all of it was real, but that part was relentlessly fighting the other part, the logical one more grounded.

"I am Morpheus" flew though through your mind, chills went through your whole body on the recollection of that deep, dark voice, and his endless starry eyes. You decided that you could not have dreamt that and with that thought you switched from occult books to Greek Mythology. On the floor on which you were sitting books were surrounding you from every side. You grabbed a beautiful brown leather volume with gold embellishments and started browsing. "Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Demeter, Athena, Apollo, Artemis, Ares, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hestia, Dionysus... where the fuck is Morpheus?!" you were turning page after page sipping a second cup of coffee "there you are..."

Morpheus, son of Hypnos, the personification of Sleep, was the god of Dreams. His name reflects his role in Greek mythology: the Greek μεταμόρφωσις (metamorphosis) translates as “transformation”, which can be broken down into μετα- (meta-) meaning “after” and μορφή (morphe) meaning “form”. Μορφευς (Morpheus) means “form” or “shape.” He could form and shape the dreams of the sleeping.

“To kings and chieftains these at night display their phantom features; other dreams will roam among the people, haunting common folk. All these dream-brothers the old god passed by and chose Morpheus.” Ovid, Metamorphoses

"I'm wasting my time," realization hit you. You knew Greek Mythology, Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Norsk, Slavic you knew them all. In every mythology there were similarities. You could find a similar description of other entities in other mythologies that you were sure of. None of this was of any help to you, none of the information you could find in your books would explain last night's events and you refused to believe that he was a Greek God.

"Dream of the Endless." you reminded yourself of his last words to you. "Endless...." you knew that there was no point in hitting the books and searching for that word. You knew exactly what you would find, jack squat. There was only one person you knew that could have any useful information, but involving him was not something that you were eager to do. After all, last time you talked you didn't exactly finish up things on the good terms.

After a brief moment of contemplation and two cigarettes, you decided that you do not exactly have any other choice in the matter. You grabbed your phone, lid up the third cigarette, and waited for the signal to end...

"Y/N Wha''s up love? I''s bin a while, I assume 'ha' you've go' some'hin faw me. You would no' call me 'o check 'ah I'm doing." you heard in the phone distinct cockney accent.

"How you doing John? Seems to me you're alright, you picked up the phone after all. I would assume that there is no signal in hell" you replied with a sarcastic grin on your face.

"Ah love, 'o 'ell i'm goin faw a cha' an' a glass ov whisky. I''s good 'o be ou' ov reach ov annoyin calls once in a while."

"I'm gonna agree with you on this one," you replied "but honestly, you good?"

„S'ill live an' kickin. Wha' do you wan'" the courtesy was over, time for the business came.

"Listen, I came across this thing, and since you are in the business way longer than I am I thought you might have some information" you explained, but the fact that he did not ask you about your wellbeing did not skip your attention.

"Wha' 'hing?" he asked.

"What do you know about Endless?" you asked with no hesitation. Even though you really didn't want to get in touch with John Constantine again you knew that you needed answers.

"Time is endless love, air, space, an' bo''le ov bloody whisky af'er par'icularly good spell."

"What about Dream of an Endless?" you continued.

"Mee' up faw a drink in 'wo 'ours. We 'aven'' see each o'her faw a year. We goin 'o ca'ch up"

"You are in town?" you got surprised.

"Yes, 'ad some business 'ere. Same place as always." he replied "An' love, don'' you be la'e."

***

Two hours later you were sitting at the Smokey Joe pub, one of the best places in your town, if you were dark interior, old dusty furniture, smoking indoors, old British rock, and good whisky served in not so clean glass. You order yourself a glass of whisky and waited, waited for your old friend to show up. You couldn't help but wonder about all the times you were sitting here with John and agreeing on the terms with clients in need. You reminded yourself of all the drinks you drink with him after the job well done. These were good times. You would not admit that to him but you've missed these times.

"'ello love! you look 'roubled as usule." blond man in the tan trench coat seated himself on the opposite side of the table. Facing you he smiled at you.

"Hi John," you replied with an honest smile, despite everything you were happy to see him "it is good to see you"

"Tell me love, wha' kind ov mess you go' yourself in'o?" he did not waste a time for any small talks.

"I hope none, but something happened," you started but realized that you do not exactly know how to describe last night's events "Can you tell me something about Endless?"

"Why do you wan' 'o knah?" he asked

"John, just tell me..."

"I' does no' wawk like 'ha' love. You ei'her goin 'o 'ell me aw you goin 'o ge' jack on 'he pla'es ov fucks from me." he interrupted, "You 'ake me faw a plonker? folks don'' walk around 'own 'alkin abou' endless! I'm doin 'his gig way longer 'han you do. You've mee' one 'aven'' you."

"I..." you took a sip of an amber liquid from your glass "I think so."

"Which one ov 'he bloody endless you mee'?"

"Dream." you replied shortly. The image of the pale man dressed in black holding you by your arms and looking at you with depthless starry eyes flashed in your mind bringing chills to your body for a second time today.

"Bloody 'ell" John took a sip from his glass "So i' is 'rue. 'e is really back."

"So he is real!" you almost screamed from the excitement, after all it was not a dream, it was real "Who is he!? John tell me!"

"'e is a bloody Sandman, fuckin kin ov da dreams!" he replied with a scoff.

"Sandman is a fairytale John, a bedtime story. He does not exist" you argued yet you felt doubt in your own words.

John looked at you from behind the glass of whisky with amusement in his eyes.

"He is real..." you said to yourself "Holy fuck...." you stared down at the table, shocked in disbelief "Who is he? What is he? Is he a God?"

"no, 'e is no' a god. Awer no' a god in 'he way you 'hink ov god. 'e is endless, bollocks 'ah 'o explain 'ha'..." he started looking at your child-like curious face "they are an an'hropomawphic manifesta'ions ov an idea, ov concep'. Always bin 'ere an' always will be. Da one you've me' is a kin ov dreams, as far as i knah 'e rules dreams, every single one ov 'he dream an' nigh'mares belongs 'o 'im an' is 'is crea'ion"

"Unbelievable... " you said to yourself "Wait, you said they"

"'e's go' siblings. Desire, Despair, Dea'h, Destruc'ion, Delirium, Destiny." he replied

"How do you know all of this?" you questioned.

"Bein on a good 'erms wi'h Lucyfer 'as i''s benefi's love." he replied with a cunning smile. "Listen love, wha'ever you 'hink ov doin don''. They are dangerous beings, beyond any'hin you have ever seen aw faced before. You come across any ov 'he bloody endless you run opposi'e direc'ion."

"I know how to take care of myself John," you replied "I don't need your concern"

"Yes, you do! because you are a bloody plonker followin emo'ions no' your fuckin brain! you goin 'o ge' yourself in 'rouble an' i won'' be savin you! fuckin don'' coun' on i'!" he hit his glass on the table spilling a bit of whisky.

"Don't worry about me," you stood up rapidly "I'll be fine." you gave him a small peck on the cheek and before he could stop you run towards the door "Thank you, John! Doing business with you is always a pleasure!" you said loudly and closed the door behind you.

***

You couldn't hope for the night to come quicker. You muted your phone to avoid John's calls, tidy up the apartment, put all the books in order, and even did some dusting just to waste some time and not think about Dream. But as soon as the night fell you took a sleeping pill, turned off the light, and got to bed. Your were breathing slowly trying to calm down your heart beating. Inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale... you were waiting for the familiar spiking needles to start in your feet and put your body into paralysis. It did take long. Half an hour later your body was numb, blood was pumping in your ears, but fear was nowhere to be found. You drifted into the dream...

You've found yourself on the dark wet street standing in front of the hospital. It was raining. White and red lights or the emergency room were flickering ominously. You knew this place, you knew this hospital. You've been here before. You desperately didn't want to get inside. You knew very well what you will see in there. But it had to play out, you had to go through it. You took one small step and felt your heart rushing in frantic fear. "Why here? Why this? you questioned. You took one more step and suddenly you were standing right in front of the entry. You looked back and all you saw dark parking lot covered in rain. You looked back into the hospital and you saw it. Doctors and nurses running through the hallway next to the hospital bed. You looked closer and you saw it, you saw your dad... lying lifelessly, surrounded by doctors, tubes, and cables. He looked at you, "My daughter" he said soundlessly and you felt your eyes filling up with tears. "Dad..." you took one step inside "Dad...it's me." you rushed inside...

And suddenly everything was gone...

...

"Dad...," you breathed out loud but the nightmare disappeared. You looked around and noticed that you were back in the dying land. You looked up on the small hill, excitement was building up in your veins. Your heart was beating fast but not out of fear and all of a sudden it skipped a beat. He was not there. "What the hell," you thought to yourself. For months you saw him in this exact place, standing in the distance like a still statue, but this time was different, he was gone.

You took two careful steps worried that somehow moving too fast will break the dream and you will wake up in your bed, alone. But when the dream did not end you started running. Not walking fast, but running with all the speed that you could master. Running towards the hill on which he was always standing, running to see if perhaps you will find something there, running to see what he was looking at all this time. You stood up in the same place where he stood before and saw nothing, absolutely nothing. Just endless plains of dust, debris, wind howling lifting into the air dead tree branches and leafs. The landscape in front of you was somehow beautiful and sad. You felt sorrow in your heart, it must have been a beautiful place once, full of life. You imagined green fields everywhere within eye's reach. Forests blooming with life. Sky blue as in the fairytales, wind gentle and soothing. It must have been a beautiful place once. Now everything around you was dead. And he was not here.

You slowly turned around, you thought it would be best to return to the same place where you always appeared in this land. It was gone...

From one side of the horizon to the other there was a wall reaching way up to the sky itself, endless, neverending. And right before you, there were gates made of horn and ivory, shining in the remaining light of the dying sun. You tried to gather it all with your eyes but you couldn't, it was so beautiful, you forgot how to breathe. You could just stand there and stare at the view in front of you. You didn't even notice him standing right in front of the door, reaching out his hand towards it.

"Morpheus..." you whispered quietly yet in the dying lands every noise stood out like the loudest scream. He slowly turned to you and you could swear that you saw surprise on his face again. Even standing in front of the endless magnificent crafted gates he looked so unreal, like a marble statue dressed in black. You smiled unconsciously partially because you were happy to see him and partially because you just proved to yourself that you weren't dreaming last night. Yet you didn't have a chance to dwell on that because within a blink of an eye you found yourself standing right in front of him.

"You have a habit of wandering in places where you should not wander to," he said calmly.

"So you are real," you whispered. You could see him for the first time up close in the light, looking at him made your heart slow down dangerously. His skin was even paler than you thought, raven hair black as the night sky on a starless night, and his eyes endless, like the universe itself.

"I am." he replied. He spoke every word slowly, with care, like he was tasting it on his lips before speaking it, like he knew exactly what to say, what you will say, like there was no point of saying anything more or less.

"Thank you for the good night's sleep," you said with a slight smile.

"You are welcome."

"This is unbelievable," you whispered again "forgive me, I don't mean to stare but, this, all of this" you took two steps away from him and pointed at the gate "this is...my god...it's so beautiful."

"These are gates made from horn and ivory," he followed your hand gesture with his eyes "I carved them myself many eons ago."

"You made these?! Unbelievable..."

"Every Dream that passes through the gate is my creation, my responsibility, " he stated "But no one guards the gates anymore, there are no Dreams in the Dreaming anymore." there was sorrow in his eyes.

"What happened?"

He didn't reply to your question. Instead, he looked at you, he looked through you with his endless black eyes, like he was trying to find an answer to the question that he did not ask.

"You are not a Vortex," he stated more to himself. "What are you? How did you get here?"

"I don't know," you replied quietly.

"Mortals cannot wander into the Dreaming," he stated.

"I really don't know how I get here," you tried assuring him "all I know is that for the last couple of months every night I was dreaming a nightmare, and every night at the end every nightmare I was ending up here." you tried explaining.

"Here?"

"I mean not hear, like hear hear. I mean in this land," you looked around you "and every time I saw you in the distance, standing on the hill, looking over the horizon" you added.

He did not say anything. All he did was look at you trying desperately explain to god like being why and how you got to his land.

"Morpheus, I am not lying to you," you tried to sound confident.

"I know." he cut you off. He turned his eyes towards the gate "It used to be a beautiful palace here, and the land was green, blooming with life," he started slowly touching the gates "Everything died during my absence." he pushed gently onto the gate and they opened, commanded by his will. He turned to you and reached out his hand "Come, Y/N. I invite you to join me in the Dreaming."

You took his hand and suddenly you felt calm, at peace. You straightened your back and follow him inside the land.

"We have much to talk about..." he added quietly.

Part three: Through the Dreaming

~~**~~

Authors note: Damn, so I did write a follow-up! :) I'm kinda surprised because consistency is not one of my strengths. But Sandman inspired me so much, swallowed me whole. I am not quite ready to let it go yet. While I'm writing I'm listing to the soundtrack and images are painting themselves. Regarding John Constantine, I decided to go with John even though I do love Johanna's character simply because I know and love John's character for a long time, and he was a part of the original source material. Also, I wanted to express in the writing his distinct British accent, I do hope it wasn't too much. My apologies to all the Brits out there, English is not my first language, I am no British, it was a purely stylish thing. In the end, as always, Dear Reader, thank you for reading :)

#morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman #Morpheus imagines #the sandman imagine #Morpheus x you #Morpheus fanfiction #Morpheus fic

816 notes · View notes

delta-pavonis · 2 months

Text

Last 10 Fics/Writing Patterns meme + Last First Line Tag Game

First the writing patterns meme, which is such a cool idea! I was tagged by @teejaystumbles! Thank yoooou.

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics posted to AO3 (Sort by date posted), AND see if there's a pattern!

By last updated date:

3 March 2024: Quaternion

KLOT DOD-DOT The knock of the twisted iron ring against its plate on the outside of his library door startles King Morpheus from his reverie. He is supposed to be notating one of the histories of the Moirai, the so-called Three Sisters of Fate, who have ruled the island nation of Ananke with brutal efficiency since seemingly time immemorial. Their ships have been seen too often in view of his coastline of late and he needs to be prepared for whatever their intentions are.

15 February 2024: you might be the answer to the sinner in me

“Hob, are you alright?” Hob’s shoulders tighten and his spine goes ramrod straight. It is the family holiday dinner and he is out on the back patio in the cold, staring at the over-manicured hedgerows that make up one of the distant property lines. He left to have space to pull out his vape pen and take a hit because that is probably the only way that he is going to get through the night.

16 January 2024: Placebo Effect

“You should just DM him,” Desire is studying their nails, the dark red of dried blood, while reclining on a chaise in the living room of their oldest sister’s condo. “My kingdom for anything that might throw Dearest Mumsie and Popsicle off your trail for an evening. I don’t think I can endure another holiday of it.” They sprawl, letting their head loll backwards over the armrest, to look at Dream almost upside down. “What say you big brother?”

6 January 2024: show me who I am

Hob taps his fingers on the table next to the map of Northern Ireland and takes a sip from his glass of shiraz. “I think this is it. This is the plan. We’ve got it. Anyone see something we missed?” He looks around the table at each person in turn, waiting for a response.

1 January 2024: Another Song

Shunk ka-thunkszzzz. The lights in the entire loft go out. “What the FUCK?” Matthew’s voice smacks into Dream despite the thick panels of wood between them.

30 December 2023: Thoughts on the Roman Empire (and Other Pickup Lines)

“You know, I think this whole meme going around about men thinking about the Roman Empire is great!” Hob smiles at the ceiling as he leans back in his chair, balancing it on its back legs, propping his feet up on the table in the private library study room. He doesn't need to look at Morpheus to know that the grad student is giving him a withering glare, or perhaps not looking at him at all. “First off, people are discussing history! Second, some of the jokes are actually solid gold. Like I saw one that just murdered me in broad daylight. Wanna hear it?”

21 December 2023: Levade

“Oh fuck Dream,” Hob writhes in his bonds. “You said you wanted more did you not?” The centaur smirks. “I am simply acquiescing to your request.”

15 December 2023: You create me against your lips

The first time Hob sees Dream is when the latter has the audacity to enter the Morningstar's realm. He watches as the Dream King intimidates Squatterbloat into bringing him to the Palace. The demon is stupid and gullible, easily swayed, and Hob has a mind to bury his morningstar in the moron's fleshy head, but he would rather observe the visitor and his raven from the shadows.

9 December 2023: where I'm supposed to be

For all that he shares a given name with the God of Sleep, has a nickname of Dream, he has only experienced lucid dreaming rarely. Once, maybe twice, before. But. He knows he is dreaming right now.

26 November 2023: Venus conjunct Saturn

“Show me, Hob.” Dream purrs in a way he knows will make his lover shiver. “Show me how she pleasured you.” He is laid beneath Hob, who is on all fours above him, and the only cloth they have is the sheets upon their bed here in the Dreaming.

Other than 30% of those fics having titles from Maneskin lyrics... apparently I like to start with sounds or dialog. Some in medias res beginnings in there, too. Huh. Fascinating.

And, just for fun, here are the FIRST few lines paragraphs of the finished fic I have on deck, a sequel to A Change in Tactics (published in October 2022!)... (originally I was tagged in a last lines tag game by @amielot!)

“We have to stop meeting like this!” Hob laughed as he broke the barstool in his hands over the head and shoulders of another patron of the White Horse Inn. Said patron had just previously been trying to stab Hob with a shard of wine bottle so he most decidedly deserved it. Hob pulled a chunk of wood from where it had lodged in his palm and frowned at the blood that welled up there. A crash to his left stole his attention. “Ope. Watch out Lou!” Lou ducked the tankard aimed at her head with all the sliding fluid grace of one well-acquainted with being deep in her cups. She didn’t spill a single drop of her own ale as she backed around the bar and out of the Inn through the alleyway door. Lou may have been part of starting this fight, but she clearly had no intention of finishing it. Which was just fine by Hob. Lou didn’t deserve to be in hospital any more than absolutely necessary. She had enough going on, as Hob had just learned. Speaking of his mysterious friend… Hob flung his sweaty hair out of his eyes in time to watch Dream elegantly sidestep the brawler charging him like they were a pair in some courtly dance. The beautiful bastard hadn’t even moved his hands from where they were clasped at the small of his back, while his opponent had gone headlong into a wooden pillar. “This only happens when I join you here, Hob.” One loping step over the fallen man and Dream was back at Hob’s side. (Graceful twat.) “This type of violence is notably absent when you visit my Realm.” (Double the twat on that one.)

I tag... everyone who has a springtime birthday.

#Dreamling #learn about Pavonis #Pavonis writes #writing meme #tag game

11 notes · View notes

speuradair · 6 months

Note

You asked for michael afton requetsts sooo

Michael afton being controlled by glitchtrap, glitchtrap trying to continue his legacy with his own son, wether he wants it or not

oh my god i love this. the angst is unmatched >>>

Michael got a little too close to something he shouldn't have

He's always had a habit of doing that

from being a rebellious teen who pushed his luck with a smart mouth to being an adult who just doesn't know how to stay away from the horrors of Fazbear Entertainment

From the very moment he saw that damned rabbit he knew he'd messed up

Now it seems to be following him, lingering in the corner of his eye and creeping in the shadows of his mind

when he's falling asleep and he finds himself in that fleeting mix of lucidity and sleep he can even hear him calling to him

"Hello. Can you hear me?"

No matter how hard he tries, he can't push the image of that thing from his mind

It's there from the time he wakes up to the time he falls asleep, even more so while he's asleep

Michael ends up getting less and less sleep until he's staying up all night

Then, overtired, he's hearing that voice again

"Let me out."

He isn't sleeping yet he's barely awake, functioning on autopilot as he goes through his day and his nightshifts at the pizzeria

He's forcing himself awake, making himself move to stay up and depriving himself of sleep until he's falling asleep at work the second he actually sits still

Michael wakes up in his desk chair in the security office with a pounding headache and confusion clouding his mind

he's used to being creeped out by the eerie atmosphere of the pizzeria at night, from the odd shiver down his spine to that feeling of paranoia that tends to build up over his six hour shift

but that was nothing compared to this

no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't seem to focus

he was dizzy, disoriented, confused

the last thing he remembered was clocking in just before midnight but now the clock read 5:30 am

How had he lost five and a half hours?

It takes a few moments for him to refocus

and then he notices the blood on his hands, the mud on his shoes

what the hell?

Was that his blood?

He didn't think so

He isn't in any pain that would indicate he'd actually gotten hurt

but if that's the case, who's blood was it?

Only then does he realize he can hear that voice again, laughing in satisfaction

#fnaf #five nights at freddys #michael afton #mike schmidt #glitchtrap #angst #maidhc writes #requests

17 notes · View notes

starqueensthings · 7 months

Text

Pairing: pirate!Kix x Fem!reader

Summary: the final chapter of Colder Weather. This one is exceptionally long… and it didn’t need to be, but sometimes I can’t just reign it in and that’s okay. Please read the prior two parts before proceeding to this one, and please heed warnings below.

Rating/Warnings/WC: Teen+ for subject matter, TW: mentions of a complicated labour, TW: mentions of postpartum challenges. This chapter is probably 60% angst. 40% happiness, but the happy parts make up for the sad parts. 8000ish words (sorry lol)

A/N: y’all… I was so close to killing off the reader, but I’m glad I didn’t. He’s made his mistakes, but deep in his heart and soul, our favourite medic Kix deserves a happy ending. Thank you for reading. Not proof read because this has gone on long enough. If you see a typo… no you don’t.

part one | part one.five | part two

“When I close my eyes I see you, no matter where I am. I can smell your perfume through these whisperin’ pines. I’m with your ghost again, and it’s a shame about the weather but I know soon we’ll be together, and I can’t wait ‘til then.”

That intrusive hum should not have wielded enough power to yank you so unceremoniously from the embracing, semi-lucid doze you’d unintentionally fallen into. That brief reprieve of darkness was meant to be nothing more than just an extended blink; a momentary break from the throbbing headache brought on by several days without sleep, yet that whirring, artificial whine had instantly imbued you with such an unbridled panic, that a gasp near-left your lips as your eyes snapped open and darted urgently toward the front window.

Nightfall had already begun to kiss the horizon, the last of that so reclusive winter sun bathing only that of which it could reach between barren branches. The soft hush of dancing leaves, and the indignant squawks of native wildlife begrudgingly adapting to the change in season, had long since silenced; their departure triggered by the crystal blanket of frost that never failed to drape itself upon every unmoving surface during those extended hours of darkness.

The jarring return to reality had your heart hammering heavily against the walls of your chest, and attempting to reaffix your senses to that disturbing rumble proved nearly impossible over the rhythmic pounding in your ears. A moment's pause had you nearly convinced that familiar hum was nothing but the remnants of a nightmare wiped clean from your memory upon waking. Perhaps your weary mind had clutched so vainly at whatever semblance of sleep it could find, knowing reality would continue to rob your being of the repose it so desperately needed yet continued to neglect, but its stark contrast to the the cherished serenity of nature rendered it harrowingly familiar, and there could simply be no further denying that grinding vibration.

“No,” you implored to the empty room as the implications of that wretched noise forced a shiver down your spine.

You hurried to press yourself into a seated position, and that near-debilitating crest of pain radiating from the tender space between your legs had your face contorting tightly and a soft whimper issuing from behind pursed lips, but with the entirety of your waning focus attuned to that haunting roar, you could spare no attention to your body’s plea for stillness.

“No!” you repeated sternly, as if begging some divine force to halt the imminent invasion.

Snatching the ice pack from its nestle between your thighs and tossing it onto the seat of the chair by the window, you clambered to your feet as gingerly as your frantic mind could permit.

The intensity of your labour only days previously had left you “wiggly”; an inappropriately comical label for how unstable you found yourself in those handful of purgatorial moments between sitting and standing. But a trio of sluggish blinks were all you could offer to placate the stars erupting in your vision… there was simply no time for the deep breath your body craved. The sound of that sputtering engine meant you had mere seconds until it parked itself atop your gravel drive, bringing its unwelcome rider to within only feet of your front door.

“No… no… no… no, no!”

Every resounding thump of your socked feet descending the stairs had that defiant refusal pouring from your snarling lips. The adrenaline doped blood pounding in your veins kept your legs in motion; the desperate need to fortify your home by whatever means necessary quickly diminishing those electrifying jolts of pain between your thighs to nothing but an annoyance, and you utterly refused to suspend your frenzied actions until the satisfyingly audible click the deadbolt met your ears.

Breast heaving under agitated breaths, you pressed your forehead to that cool, steel barrier, reaching a trembling hand to blindly activate the lock and engage the chain across the door. That infuriating hum had ceased, replaced by the sporadic ticking of an engine entering slumber mode after a long journey and the rhythmic crunch of heavy boots treading apprehensively across compacted gravel.

A faint draft danced across your ear as you pressed it flush against the gap between door and frame, biting your lip in an effort to quiet the huffs still pouring from your lips.

How many steps until that calloused hand wreathed itself around the glimmering gold door knob perched innocently at your navel? He drew nearer with every exhale; already his steps had near-muted as they transferred his weight from gravel to pavestone. A potent remorse swelled like noxious gas in your chest, pure exhaustion and repressed sadness flooding your mind with flickering images of all the times you sprinted down that cobblestone path and threw yourself, unabashed, into his embrace..

A shiver stole down your spine as you backed away from the door, folding your arms over your chest and fitting a thumbnail between your teeth. Every moment on your feet saw your body beginning to yield further into exhaustion and the primal need for rest, yet the resolve required to yank gaze from the door and head back upstairs for a fresh ice pack and a long nap had utterly abandoned you.

The stare you affixed that dome of gold was unrelenting, and had the Maker blessed you with even a fraction of the power those old wizards known as “Jedi” once possessed, there was no doubt that gold knob would have burned red hot under the intensity of your gaze.

Your thumbnail continued to shred and fray under the anxious gnawing of your front teeth, little shards torn painfully from the tip of your finger and spat unceremoniously to the floor at your feet were offered none of the attention that you’d affixed to the sounds of his impending arrival. His boots had stalled their movements on the other side of the threshold, and the small scraping of plastoid against plastoid sounded through the door as he shifted to remove his helmet. Any second now that knob would wiggle under his touch. Any second now…

“Go away!” you shouted at the first signs of that handle failing to permit his entry, your anxiety momentarily abated by the same surging rage that sent your hands curling into fists.

“Wh— what? Did— did you say ‘go away’?” That voice. That stupid, forsaken voice.

“Sure did!” you spat back at the man who didn’t deserve even an ounce of the confusion that had stalled his advance. “Get your ass back on that bike and get out of here!”

“Mesh’la…”

Your blood boiled at the outrageous levity in which that endearing coo left his lips, and had it not been for the abandoned baby monitor in the next room, interrupting your increasing indignation with the beeping reminder of a dying battery, at least one of your shaking fists would have crashed heavily against the back of that door.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” you seethed through clamped teeth. “Now get away from my kriffing door before I grab my blaster and shoot you through the peephole!”

A brief moment's weighty silence preceded his answer. “I would deserve that,” Kix acknowledged, no doubt sensing the validity of your threat, having personally dismantled and cleaned the pistol you kept hidden in your nightstand.

“Yeah, you would. Now, goodbye!” you snarked back at him, the responding, poignant sigh that left his lips failing to soften your invective.

“Look, Mes— ”

“Didn’t I just say, don’t call me tha—”

“Okay. Okay…” Every emotional huff expelled from his lungs was a breath that only further ignited the embers of your vexation, and saw you withdrawing further and further from the door. How dare he be upset? How dare he feel exasperated? How dare he even show up here, let alone stand at the entryway to your home and attempt to belittle the agony of his betrayal with his own undeserved feelings of remorse?

“I owe you some big explanations,” he muttered slowly. “I have a lot to apologize for, and I— I want to say it all because you deserve it.”

“Oh I ‘deserve it’?” you snorted near-maniacally. “Now? And not six months ago when you hightailed it out of here, and left me in the kriffing clutches of hell?”

“Of course you did, Mesh’la,” he assuaged. “You’ve always deserved it, and I’ve been— well… I’ve struggled a lot, but you know that and it’s no excuse. Can you please unlock the door and let me in?”

“No.”

You intensified the knot of your arms across the tender swells of your chest and snarled as silence ensued. Every elongated second that ticked present into past saw your jaw begin to mutiny against the continued force of irritably grinding your molars together, the discomfort only masked by the powerful pangs of pain between your legs as your body continued to beg for your retreat. But physical agony was mere childsplay; nothing… nothing compared to the debilitating heartbreak that had rendered you emotionally distraught and struggling to keep your head above water since he last fled your embrace, the haunting image of his anguished face erupting in your mind's-eye every time you sought the respite of sleep.

“No,” you repeated weakly. “You’ve had so many chances to talk, Kix. You made your choice.”

Sorrow and grief, respawned by the reminder of a life longed-for and lost, threatened to envelop you. How many months had you begged him for the knowledge that he was now, inexplicably, offering? How many nights did you attempt to chisel away at his walls, refusing to see the efforts as futile, and doggedly convinced that he would feel the same devotion to you if he would just let himself? Now here he was, offering all the things you’d once prayed for on a silver platter at your door, and the undeniable longing that had previously seen you gazing limitlessly into his eyes, still held the maddening power to sag your shoulders and wet those tired eyes.

You hastily wiped the emotion from your face and shook the malignant thoughts from your head; too many tears had already been shed on his account, too many nights had vanished from underneath you, lost in the shadow of loneliness.

He upheld a near-suffocating silence from his unseen perch, and it lingered just long enough to make you wonder if he’d simply turned on his heel and left. Despite reminding yourself that such a departure would ultimately be for the best, the notion of another temerous abandonment at his hands wrapped itself like an iron fist around your gut, further restricting every already pained inhale.

A gentle thunk against the door exposed his presence, and your eyes darted to the area where he’d likely just rested that weary, tattooed head.

“Well,” you offered sadly, unknotting your arms and stretching the tension from your neck. “Not that this hasn’t been… enlightening… but I’m in desperate need of some sleep, so… goodbye.”

You cast one last glance toward the peephole before turning to ascend the stairs again, attempting to placate the twisting in your stomach with a deep, controlled inhale.

“Goodnight, Cyare. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Your hand froze on the railing, chilled toes ceasing their movements at his unexpected valediction, and the slow breath that had promised you some semblance of relief, now escaped your nose in a huff of indignant disbelief.

“What are you talking about?” you barked over your shoulder at the deadbolt.

“I’m not leaving,” he explained. “You deserve an apology and I’m giving it to you. I’ll sleep in the driveway if I have to.”

A scoff left your lips as you shook your head, eyes rolling extravagantly at his unprecedented impudence. “It’s freezing outside,” you snorted coolly.

“Not cold enough to stop me.”

With patience utterly diminished by both his audacious dedication, and the continued throbs of pain in your core, you turned and stomped back down the stairs, a frustrated growl leaving your lips as you unlatched the deadbolt and yanked the door open only wide enough to peer out into the increasing darkness.

There he stood. Your Kix. Those characteristically piercing, dark eyes now so soft they were nearly unrecognizable, and framed by knitted, forlorn brows. Those subtle creases across his forehead, of which typically only emerged in moments where surprise or potent emotion lifted his brow toward his hairline, had deepened and embedded themselves with the same plea swaddling the rest of those familiar features. His tall frame still hid behind that scuffed and blemished blue plastoid kit, that marred and dented helmet hung loosely at his side as it always did when not masking his face, and that bushy, unkempt beard failed to conceal the emergence of several blue, day-old bruises, their pigmentation only matched by the swollen bags beneath those brown eyes.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” you hissed at him through the door’s meager opening. “Where do you come off thinking you can just show up here and make demands? What makes you think I even want your dumb apology?”

“I’m not here to make demands, Mesh’la,” he pleaded, the perimeter of his frame disappearing behind the door as he stepped as close as the gap would permit.

“Then what do you want?” you pressed him sternly, mirroring his unintended concealment by narrowing the gap in the door. “Why are you here?”

“Because I love you,” he urged in a whisper. “And I want to explain everything. Please… just let me in.”

That pure and unfiltered expression of love nearly cleaved you in half; his admonition monetarily overpowering your composure and threatening utterly rob you of the dwindling resolve you’d somehow funnelled into continued refusals.

“No, Kix,” you argued in little more than a pathetic whine. “You’re not coming in her–”

“Why?” he challenged.

“Because! The second you're within arms reach, I’m going to want to smack you for all the bantha-shit you’ve pulled, and I’m not doing that in front of my newborn baby!”

Kriff.

It slipped from your lips… that unintended profession leaving your mouth on a wave of unbridled emotion. You hadn’t formulated exactly how or when you planned to break the news to him in those frantic seconds between learning of his imminent arrival and this moment. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected the conversation to get this far… hell, you hadn’t even expected this conversation to happen. He should have just conceded to your wishes and left when you demanded it of him, not stubbornly refused to leave your side, and revealing the birth of his child so casually and without intent had unmistakably shaken him.

You could only watch regretfully as his head snapped upward from its solemn hang, tired eyes widening and darting back and forth between yours as if peering into their depths would offer him an unfiltered truth. That cherished, sharp jaw softened with shock; lips falling open, chest heaving beneath that old distressed cuirass as you reciprocated his imploring gaze with a diffident, guilty one of your own.

“You— you had the baby?” he choked, eyes boring into yours as the aluminum threshold creaked under the weight of his step, his hand rising to grip the edge of that door as if its previously irksome existence was now the only thing stabilizing him.

Too laden with self-resentment for having so-loosely uttered the revelation, you cast his gloved fingers only a fleeting glance as they pressed the door open as wide as the chain would permit, but the mental space quickly earmarked for regret and self hatred was near-instantly usurped by an unprecedented sense of pity as your gaze fell upon his again.

“Yes,” you admitted in a whisper, nearly cowering beneath the intensity of the plea in his eyes. “Four days ago.”

His throat bobbed, eyes unfocusing as they darted to and fro between yours, and you could only watch apprehensively as those familiar lips parted and closed, continuously failing to communicate the myriad of thoughts and allegations currently ravaging his mind. “But… you weren’t due until the end of this month?” he managed to splutter out. “Weren’t you? That’s what you said: ‘The baby isn’t due until the last week of the year…’”

“Yeah, well… these things happen sometimes,” you answered apathetically, a weak shrug lifting one shoulder as you averted your eyes downward to your toes. “I was shocked too, if that makes you feel better.”

His abrupt about-face stole your attention back immediately, his boots scraping across the cold stone as he drug his feet toward the grass and stooped over. His helmet hit the lawn with a thud, dark hair disappearing entirely as his hands fell to his knees and his chin hung to his chest.

The shift in his demeanor froze your breath in your lungs, his derailment such a surprise that even attempting to locate a consoling word amongst your own tornadic thoughts was feat proven impossible. A sigh left your nose, the biting chill of the breeze turning your exasperation to cloud as your fingers drummed indecisively against the soft cotton of your sweater. The urge to barrel into the darkness and wrap your arms around those sagging shoulders was near-irrepressible, yet doing so would communicate a message you weren’t entirely certain you wanted to send in this already tense moment. You swallowed heavily, confusion sending your thumbnail back between your teeth as you maintained your position behind the door, resignedly averting your eyes from the discomfited sight of a man completely defeated.

“I missed it…” he breathed, standing upright and turning back toward you, his lips pressed tightly together in a disappointed grimace. “I can’t believe that. I— I thought I had time.”

You fought against every ounce of sympathy surging through your veins. You simply did not want to feel bad for him; that wandering pariah had dangled happiness in front of your nose only to snatch it away one too many times to warrant feeling slighted in this moment.

A shiver stole down your spine as you reached blindly for the door handle and began to close the door. Triggered by the squeak of the hinges, his gaze darted toward you, the torment behind those darkened eyes intensifying as your figure slowly disappeared behind that steel barrier again. But his crestfallen frame was hidden from you for only a moment as, against your better judgement, you disengaged the chain from the door and pulled it wide.

“We always think we have time,” you grumbled, leaning against the door frame and perching one cold foot on top of the other. “Until someone we love vanishes, and we’re left with nothing but pieces of ourselves and no desire to reassemble them.”

He took a selfish moment to breathe in your appearance, eyes shifting from your head to your toes, lingering for a fraction of a second on that soft bump still protruding underneath your clothes. You hurried to fold your arms across your chest again, the abrupt exposure to both his eyes and the cold sending another sending your shoulders ashiver again.

“I know the feeling…”

It was barely audible. Had you not been near-glaring at him as he spoke, those whispered words would have simply wafted away with the cold breeze, yet the way his jaw clenched as he trod eagerly back toward you had rendered you more immobile than the horrid implications of his passive statement, and you stood rooted to the spot as he reached to cradle your elbows with his palms.

“Mesh’la,” he beseeched. “I’m sorry about a lot of things. But kriff, it kills me that you went through that alone.”

“Almost killed me too if I’m being honest,” you groused, jerking your arms from the tenderness of his touch. “For making an early entrance, he sure put up a fight on the way out.”

“He?”

‘Maker, have mercy,’ you grumbled inwardly, instantly aware of your second monstrous mistake. As you hurried to shield your face with your hands, he intercepted your need for a moment's separation by enclosing your fingers with his and holding them tightly.

“Please, love,” Kix begged. “Please, let me in. There’s so much to sa—”

“I don’t have it in me for another one sided conversation, Kix,” you interrupted dispiritedly, attempting to snatch your hands from that devastatingly familiar grip. “I did that for years and you fled every single one of them. I’m too tired—”

“I won’t run this time,” Kix urged, letting your hands tear away from his before hastening to gently drape them around your elbows again. “I’m done running. I promise. Once I can say what I’ve been meaning to say, we can stay up for a week straight and talk. Or— or I’ll get back on the bike and leave if that’s what you really want. I’ll do anything, Mesh’la. Please.”

The glorified return of his touch to your body both wilted and unnerved you; the urge to simply fall into him and let those strong arms carry your weary self to bed was strikingly dominant despite the deep-seated resentment that you undeniably still harboured for the reticent pirate.

“Fine,” you hissed, not waiting to gauge his reaction before turning on your heel and climbing gingerly back up that handful of stairs, leaving him to cross the threshold and kick his boots off alone.

Your frigid feet took you on a direct path to the caf machine, desperate for that glorious nectar to reinvigorate your languid senses and grant you something near an open mind so Kix’s pertinent apology wasn’t just a minute wasted as it wafted through your exhausted and cautious ears. By the time you returned from the living room, tucking the baby monitor under your arm and reaching for its charging cord on the table, Kix was stepping apprehensively into the kitchen, crinkled eyes scanning the surroundings that he hadn’t seen in the better part of a year.

“Help yourself,” you muttered, gesturing sightlessly toward the gurgling caf machine.

“Thank you,” he answered politely, pulling a pair of mugs from the cabinet beside the window.

Resolute in reserving the offering of any niceties until after this allegedly imperative explanation, you ignored his every movement, plugging the baby monitor into charge as noisily as possible, clunking it down heavily onto the table in front of you and flinging the cord around while he poured two mugs of caf. You refused him even a glance as he crossed the kitchen and placed the first of the steaming cups on the table in front of you, the only offering of thanks was a quick compression of your lips.

Perhaps sensing the intentional disconnect, Kix perched himself against the counter in front of the sink across the room, bringing one ankle over the other and wreathing the green ceramic mug he’d chosen for himself in those gloved hands. He watched you silently as you snatched an ice pack from the freezer and limped back toward the table, repressing a wince as you lowered yourself onto the seat of a rickety old wooden chair, immediately wedging the icy addition into place and begging the stars that it provide you some semblance of relief.

“Why does it sound like you always had plans to come back here?” you asked him coldly, hoping the bite in your words would eradicate the worry in his eyes as he watched you struggle for comfort. “Would have been nice to be included in that secret.”

“I know,” he said, banishing his mug to the countertop so he could lean backwards on his hands. “You’re a smart woman, Mesh’la, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that I ran out of here more scared than I ever have been in my life. I… it’s been a long time since the idea of fatherhood crossed my mind. So much has happened… it— I didn’t think it would ever be on the table for me.”

Your petulant scoff captured his attention from his toes immediately, his crinkled eyes affixing on you again. “I know it means nothing now, but the second I left here, I wanted to come back. I felt sick the second I turned that bike on, and the entire drive back into the village I kept pulling over and… and telling myself to just turn around. But I’m a smart guy too, and it wasn’t lost on me what I’d just done to you. I couldn’t get the look on your face out of my head, and… and part of me knew I’d just completely broken what little trust you had left in me. So I kept going.

“Ithano could tell something was wrong, and he wouldn’t let up until I told him, but by the time I could bring myself to physically say the words, we were already at the other end of the galaxy. I’ve— I’ve seen him pissed off before, but never like that. He called me an “excuse of a man”; told me that no one in their right mind would pass up the chance for safety and a family; that you were a gift from the stars to make up for all the shit I’ve been through, and I was just throwing you away because I couldn’t see past my own volatility. And, maker, did that make me sick… because I knew it was true. By the time the suns came up the next day, I’d made my decision. I told him I needed some time to square up some old debts, and then I was done. He said he’d help me clean up every mess I’ve left on every planet, and get me ready to wash my hands of the nomad life. So… that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been from one end of the galaxy to the other making sure my name is clear so I could come back here and…”

His voice trailed away to silence, his ashamed gaze dropping back to his toes as you fought to ruminate his words.

The confession was profoundly altering, and while taking your weight from your feet had somewhat loosened the grip of that iron fist around your gut, a large portion of your already dwindling lucidity had been abruptly stolen from you by the stunning implications of his explanation. In the wake of his last, harrowing departure, you’d found solace in utterly villainizing him; pretending that he’d laughed maniacally as he drove away, convinced yourself that he’d find another woman somewhere in the village to use as a means to forget you and the hell he’d bestowed upon you. But despite wanting, with every cell in your body, to despise the olive skinned, peripatetic man that had stolen your heart, there wasn’t even the ghost of a villain hiding behind those features.

And then there was the excuse itself… no, the explanation. Despite having never met you, Ithano had always been in your corner; Kix had expressed on countless occasions that the leader of his crew would like nothing more than for the bereft man from the lost-and-found to plant roots somewhere and leave the hand-to-mouth life behind him. Claiming that he was simply too disoriented by his past and the ghosts that haunted his every step, Kix had adamantly refused the sedentary life, yet had never quite been able or willing to let you go. If this story had validity, and there was something about the way his eyes pleaded for your understanding, was it enough to diminish the hurt he’d left you with?

“The bruises?” you asked him solemnly, gesturing with a small lift of the finger to the discolouration peeking out from the wild expanse of his beard.

“Just a… parting transaction… that didn’t go as smoothly as intended,” he admitted, reaching for his caf again and bringing it slowly to his lips. “Took a little extra effort, but it’s done.”

Your molars clicked as they ground together, fingers drumming thoughtlessly atop the knot in that old wood table as you absently rubbed the pad of your thumb along the spot where the varnish had worn away. “You could have told me, Kix,” you exhorted.

“I should have,” he corrected. “And it would have been lightyears better than radio silence, especially after how I left you, but I knew how upset you were… and I didn’t want to add any worry on top of everything else. And I did have every intention of being back here by the end of the year so I could be with you when the baby was born but… little guy beat me here, I guess.”

You could feel his surveying gaze from across the kitchen, seemingly uncertain if the correct thing to do would be to let you process the information, or to continue his reasoning lest you suddenly get up and extract your pistol from the nightstand. Periodic slurps were the only interruption to that suffocating silence as you aimlessly took sip after sip of caf, sighing periodically as you blindly watched the newborn sleep happily in his cozy bassinet.

“An apology will never be enough,” he continued quietly after clearing his throat. “I know that. And I could spend every second for the rest of my life uttering those words, but they’ll never mean as much as I need them to mean.”

It wasn’t until he pushed himself away from the counter and approached your seat that you offered him a glance, and when he was near enough to reach you, he pulled your hand from your mouth and swaddled it with his own, dropping to a knee in front of your chair and looking directly into your eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he repented. “I’m sorry for every time I’ve walked out on you. I’m sorry for not instantly giving you every bit of love and commitment that you’ve always deserved. You’ve been nothing but supportive, and I’ve been nothing but dismissive. I’ll tell you everything… all about my past, my family, where I’m from, what I’ve done, who I am. I promise I won’t waste another second of your time making you feel unworthy or unwanted, because Mesh’la— you are neither.”

A sob escaped your lips as your eyes clamped closed, forcing a tear to cascade down your cheek. He dropped your hand immediately and moved to delicately cup your jaw, brushing the wetness from your skin with a soft swipe from the pad of his calloused thumb. “You’ll never be able to hate me as much as I hate myself for what I’ve done to you,” he whispered. “But I’m going to work on regaining your tr—”

“I don’t hate you,” you choked thickly as another tear slipped from your overflowing lids. “But I wish I did. I’ve wanted to hate you for years but I just can’t, Kix.”

“Good,” he nearly laughed, chasing away the stray tear. “Then love me. Keep loving me like you always have because it’s making me the man I should be and I’m done fighting it. I’m ready. It’s unexpected and unbelievable and I know that, but just trust me one last time and I’ll prov—”

A shrill, choked cry echoed around the kitchen, the indicator light on the monitor flashing a series of red and orange to alert you that some sort of commotion was issuing loudly from two rooms over. You hastily swallowed the sob still perched in your throat and snatched the device off the table, watching your baby boy’s mouth spread wide in a wail that could only mean his butt was wet and his belly was empty.

“I have to get him,” you choked, pulling your face from his clutches and wiping your nose quickly on your sleeve. “I’ll be back. Just… I don’t know… take your armour off or something.”

He nodded faintly, eyes affixed on the monitor as you placed it back down on the table and stood. He took the ice pack from you blindly, placing it on the table as you strode around him and left the room.

In the dozen or so minutes required to collect the baby, change his diaper, and redress him in a warmer onesie, Kix had take your sage advice and shed his rigid exterior, the kit now stacked neatly on the chair in the living room, while his broad frame paced anxiously around the kitchen. His apprehension was immediately apparent by his incessant fidgeting; his arms swinging madly by his side, each pendulous swing of his hands triggering a snap of his fingers while his feet carried him thoughtlessly from fridge to stove, and back again.

You paused in the hallway and watched him take several deep controlled breaths, pausing in his cadence for a quiet moment before shaking his head and resuming his fervent soothing, but at the first sign of your return, his ministrations ceased entirely, fingers frozen and poised mid snap while his shoulders squared in anticipation.

“That’s— that’s him?” he asked foolishly as you entered through the open doorway, gently rocking the cooing baby swaddled loosely in your arms. “That’s my son?” The sudden surge of potent reality fractured his voice, and he hastened to cover his trembling lip with a bare hand.

“Mhmm,” you answered with a small nod. “Do— do you want to feed him?”

He held his hand in place over his mouth, wide eyes darting upwards to yours with a look of unadulterated trepidation. Your lips had barely parted to retract the offer, poised to reassure him that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, when Kix’s pallid face nodded.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, taking the remaining few steps across the kitchen until you were nearly chest to chest. “Turns out the whole ‘parent’ thing comes pretty naturally. Just be very, very gentle, and make sure you cradle his hea—”

“Cradle his head,” Kix breathed, extending his arms towards you. “I know. I mean— I remember. I learned it so long ago, but…”

His sentiments waned to silence as you placed the baby in his arms and stepped away, hesitating for only a moment to see if the unnatural hold or foreign aroma might trigger a tantrum, but the boy remained placid and observant in his father’s arms, so you turned to pull a prepared bottle from the fridge.

As if instinctively, Kix’s broad shoulders began to sway gently from side to side, guided by the gentle shifts of his hips while soft shushes issued from his lips. It wasn’t until a sniffle met your ears did you realize that the gruff pirate had been utterly robbed of his composure by the innocent boy in his arms. You lingered as long as you could manage in the fridge, hands needlessly shifting items around the shelves in an effort to offer the pair a moment of privacy. Several softly spoken “Hi little man” ’s pulled a smile to your face as you finally closed the fridge and reached to retrieve the kettle from the stove, filling it with enough water to boil.

By the time you’d filled an oversized mug with hot water and placed the bottle inside to heat, he’d begun softly humming the tune of an unfamiliar song, gazing glassy-eyed into his arms.

“Never heard that one,” you mumbled through a smirk.

He turned as if surprised to see you, as if the rest of the world had simply vanished into nothingness once his baby had entered his embrace, and you were quick to raise your eyebrows at the unintentional fracture of his stupor. And then… he smiled. The first smile you’d seen adorn that handsome face in months, and you were instantly sure that way it robbed you of breath had cast a bashful look across your face nearly identical to his.

“It’s an old Mando’a tune,” he admitted, as the lingering embarrassment of being caught mid-vulnerability flushed what was available of his bruised cheeks. “I’m surprised I remember it, honestly.”

You nodded gently and reached for the bottle, upturning it and placing a small droplet of the liquid on your wrist to gauge the temperature. “So… what exactly was your plan then?” you asked as you wiped the milk from your skin.

Kix stopped humming and glanced back at you, the first signs of anxiety reemerging behind his eyes and robbing his features of the bliss they’d welcomed upon cradling the baby. “Well…” he started after a heavy swallow. “I was hoping I could come home and… and stay. If you’ll still have me?”

You sighed and placed the bottle back in the water, immediately dropping your gaze to your thumbnail so you could continue its absentminded destruction. You, truthfully, weren’t entirely convinced of his intentions. While you deemed large parts of his story to be genuine, and while you could not deny the plea in his eyes as he cradled your face with his hands and confessed his devotion, the sting of his past mistakes, regardless of his planned atonement, was an injury that you were confident may never fully heal. You loved him with your entire heart, this had never been in question, but how much could you trust him going forward, and how patient was he willing to be while you two rebuilt the previously precarious relationship?

“Well… we’d definitely have to start things slow because I already feel like I’m pouring from an empty cup,” you admitted shamefully. “But, pending you can communicate as well as you say you’re going to, I think I’d be okay with trying.”

“I’m good with slow,” he answered instantly, dark eyes alight with that familiar, ravishing twinkle. “I’ll sleep on the couch… and— and give you whatever space you need.”

You nodded, nibbling on your bottom lip in an effort to withhold the smile attempting to dome your cheeks. “But unfortunately,” you admonished, feigning seriousness, “I no longer run this kriffing house, so… you’ll have to get Jesse’s permission too.”

You pursed your lips together as tightly as you could, funnelling every effort into suppressing the coy and exposing grin attempting to peel across your face as you waited for understanding to dawn on the love-struck pirate still swaying happily in the center of the room, yet he met your smile with nothing but a cocked brow and a grimace of confusion. “Ask Jesse,” you repeated, pointing toward the gurgling bundle in his arms.

You watched with glee as realization widened his eyes and parted his lips.

“Jesse.”

It was little more than a whisper, an exalted comprehension having nearly robbed him of his voice. Something near a strangled sob escaped his lips as he tipped his head backward and gazed listlessly at the ceiling, a pair of tears trailing from the corners of his eyes and leaking downward into that dark beard.

“Well,” you pressed, dabbing at your eyes with your sleeve. “Go on. Ask him.”

“What do you think, little man?” Kix choked to the infant, gently prodding at the wide nose that almost perfectly mirrored his own. “Want to hang out with me for life?”

A single, pudgy hand emerged from the depths of that soft knitted blanket, wrapping itself around the tip of Kix’s battle worn finger and clamping it tightly.

***

You woke with a gasp, the true horror of the situation immediately apparent through your narrowed and crusted eyelids. It was much too bright; there was simply too much sunlight pouring in from the window beside the bed for only a few hours to have passed since you put the baby in his crib and stumbled wearily across the hall into bed.

Wrenching the blankets off, you threw yourself to a standing position and dashed from the room, panic erupting in your chest as your bare feet trod frantically toward the nursery. Why was Jesse not screaming? He was surely starving, surely had a wet diaper, surely needed someone to hold him and gently pat the air that had accumulated in that tiny tummy?

But the crib was empty, the blanket you’d wrapped him in the previous night tossed haphazardly across the changing pad on the adjacent table. You sprinted from the room again and hurried down the hallway toward the living room, eyes narrowed against the near-painful onslaught of daylight beaming in through the open curtains. The couch was just as barren as the crib, Kix’s donated pillow and blanket folded neatly and perched on the sofa’s arm, the soldier nowhere to be found.

The unmistakable smell of freshly brewed caf met your nose as you stumbled into the kitchen, but the typically heavenly gurgling sound of the machine brewing a whole pot of that glorious dark liquid was smothered by the panic pounding in your ears.

“…he was that kinda guy, you know?…”

You froze in the threshold of the dining room.

“…he always knew what we needed to hear when things got really rough. He was a man of few words, but everything he said we took right to heart.”

Kix’s voice wafted in through the patio door; the shockingly warm fall breeze surging fresh air through your home and sending those white linen curtains dancing in the sunlight. You crossed the room and pressed your ear to the crack in the doorway, letting the breeze brush the hair from your shoulders.

“I know I’m biased, but I really think he was the best Captain in the whole GAR. I would have died for him. I would have died for any of th—”

The patio door squeaked in its track as you slid it open and stepped out onto the back deck, the interruption halting him mid sentence and stealing his attention immediately. But his surprise was nothing near yours. You stopped in your tracks, mouth falling open at the unexpected sight in front of you.

That surging panic and dread evaporated from your mind as Kix looked innocently at you, the lagging sweep of dark lashes over his eyes appeared in slow motion as you fought and failed to process his appearance. The beard was… gone, his smile exponentially more apparent now that it wasn’t utterly shrouded by an expanse of wiry black hair. His hair had been neatly cropped and pushed backward off his face, the clean cut of his hairline clear evidence that years without holding a trimmer had dulled none of his hidden barbering abilities.

“There’s mama,” he gasped quietly through a dazzling grin, shifting the baby in his arms to face you. “Give her one of those big gummy smiles so she isn’t mad that we let her sleep in.”

“Kix,” you whispered, still momentarily dumbfounded by the unexpected youthfulness imbued in all his features. “You— I’m not mad, but… but Jesse needs to eat every couple hours. You can’t just let me sleep through feeding—”

“I did it,” Kix answered with a shrug, thoughtlessly running a palm along his shaven chin.

“You did it?” you repeated, mouth falling open.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “He started doing the hungry tongue thing just after you went to bed, so I heated up a bottle. Then again a few hours later. Maker, can this guy ever burp.”

“You… you did both feedings?” you whispered.

“Yup,” Kix chuckled, patting the seat of the identical chair next to his. “And he went right to sleep after both. Falls into food coma’s like his dad. Though, I’ve been lucky enough to never shit myself after.”

You exhaled the panic from your lungs and took a seat next to him, tipping your head back against the headrest and letting the impossibly warm autumn sun wash the tension from your features. It wasn’t until a calloused hand came to rest gently on your knee did you reaffix him with your attention.

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la…” he lamented, squeezing your leg. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I just wanted to let you get some sleep. I imagine you probably haven’t gotten much lately.”

“You can say that again,” you answered with a forced chuckle, lifting your hands to pull the dried bits of sleep from the corners of your eyes.

“You’ve done so much on your own…” Kix continued sadly, retrieving his hand from your leg to tenderly shift the blanket away from Jesse’s chin. “Well… you’ve done everything on your own. But that’s done now.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked over at him, trying to keep the skepticism from your eyes.

“Go get yourself a caf, and then tell me if you’re ready,” he spoke, gesturing with a flick of the head back toward the kitchen while gently and rhythmically patting the baby’s bum and beginning to slowly rock his chair.

“If I’m ready?” you repeated, cocking an eyebrow and shifting your weight onto the armrest closest to him so you could watch Jesse fall back asleep. “For what?”

“To know everything.”

And the way his gaze bore into yours so deeply, had any ounce of skepticism pushed to the perimeter of your mind; the way his eyes glimmered with light as they wordlessly promised you the truth, promised that nothing would change in those fleeting seconds it would take you to pour yourself a caf.

“And if you change your mind?” you mumbled, refusing to avert your eyes from his.

“I won’t, Cyare. Those days are done. My mind isn’t changing. Go… and then I’ll tell you all about CT-6116. About Kamino… the clones… the war… my brothers… Jesse… Rex… Fives. All of them. Everything."

***

“Dadddd! Where’s Jesse?”

Kix snorted as he flicked the last of the soap suds off the tips of his fingers and dried them on the dish towel. “He’s in the orchard, picking apples with your mom,” he chuckled, placing the now cleaned and dried mug carefully on the mug tree. “Remember the fit you threw when you realized they left without you?”

“Ughhhh, no!” Rex grumbled at his fathers seemingly deliberate stupidity. “I meant uncle Jesse. Where is he?”

Kix hesitated, the smile slipping from his lips as his eyes unfocused into the depths of the sink. “You know where he is, buddy,” he answered, looking over his shoulder at his youngest. “He’s in the stars with Uncle Rex… with all of my brothers.”

“But why did they go up there?”

“Well…” Kix started slowly. “They had to go. The stars needed their help brightening the galaxy.”

“So then they was super smart?” his son asked, mouth gaping in awe.

“Definitely super smart,” Kix repeated with a grin. “And super brave, super loyal, super funny…”

“Do you ever miss ‘em?”

Kix paused again and sighed heavily, attempting to conceal the pain that furrowed his brow whenever his brothers were unexpectedly mentioned. “Everyday,” he nodded. “But I can see them at night when I look at the sky. The brightest stars are the ones powered by people we love.”

“So I could see ‘em too?!”

“Sure you can. You and I can climb up on the roof later and we’ll say hello. Jesse and ‘Soka can come too if they wan—.”

“No!” the little blonde boy argued instantly. “No, dad. Just you and me…”

“Okay,” Kix nodded with a smile. “Just you and me. But, Rex… you have to wear your coat this time or your mom will give us both timeouts. Deal?”

“Deal!” The little boy sprinted from the kitchen without another word, dashing out into the backyard where Soka was hanging by her legs from a tree. You appeared through the tree line just to the right, Jesse standing nearly as tall you were, shoulders carrying overflowing baskets of apples while you buffed one on your apron and laughed about something.

And another sigh stole from that aging pirates lips as he leaned forward onto the counter and watched you, wondering what he’d ever done to deserve such happiness.

tag list: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinedaydream @clonemedickix @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @moonlightwarriorqueen @starstofillmydream @mooncommlink @multi-fan-dom-madness @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @rabbitstu99 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis

**if you are on my taglist and we’re not tagged, it’s because you’ve indicated that angst is a no for you.

#starqueenswrittenworks #pirate!Kix x Fem!reader #post stassis!Kix x Fem!reader #x reader #reader insert #clone wars fanfic #tcw fanfic #clone wars fanfiction #TW: mentions of labour #TW: mentions of pregnancy

15 notes · View notes

blue-opossum · 1 year

Text

Wheelchair Escape (image and decoding by A.I.)

Wheelchair Escape (image by A.I.)

Tuesday morning, 9 May 2023.

2 minutes and 40 seconds to read.

Dream #: 20,595-03.

The first scene in my dream originates from my predictable somatosensory response to precursory wakefulness (meaning I am becoming aware of real-world sensations in my fingers through the veil of sleep). Because of that, it includes my natural intuitive awareness I am sleeping and dreaming by placing my dream self in a bedroom, though with an atypical presentation of personified protoconsciousness as a partner in crime. The theme separates protoconsciousness (synthesized liminal space persona) from my real-world identity, which two identical wallets on a bed establish at the beginning of my dream.

The two open wallets about three feet apart contain the same amount of money. It includes four Australian 50-dollar notes and several 10-dollar notes in each of them. The scene's ambiguity (two of the "same" wallet) does not trigger a sense of absurdity. The bedroom has two beds, and protoconsciousness (as an unfamiliar man) sits on the other one.

I consider it fair that, as a partner in crime, I should give him one of the two wallets before we escape. In the back of my mind, there is a thread of causality awareness. The identical wallets came from dividing my "lower" dream self from the liminal persona of protoconsciousness (as a precursor to real-world identity). Giving him the other wallet recognizes my presence of illusory mind modeling caused by my lack of consciousness as I sleep.

We go in different directions after leaving the residence. I summon a car and am immediately in it, driving through an unknown town. I look around for police cars but never see any.

My vestibular response to REM sleep (intuitive anticipation of attaining real-world mobility upon waking) corresponds with the idea that if I roll down the street in a wheelchair, the police will not think I am the thief. (My somatosensory response slowly initiating my vestibular response in this narrative has predictable timing based on tens of thousands of previous dreams.)

As I roll down the street in my wheelchair after mentally transforming the car into it, I still do not see any police anywhere.

Illusory kinesthetics result in seeing railroad tracks (human spine as correlating with my vestibular cortex response). I am perpendicular to the railroad tracks as I roll toward them - and I intend to go to the other side. Each side of the railroad tracks has a ditch, steep embankment, and many rocks. "Slope navigation" predictably becomes the predominant factor (the liminal state averaging of perceptual focus of being horizontal while I sleep and potentially sitting up at 90 degrees).

I reach a stage where my dream's imaginary implication is minimal (though I do not transition into a sustained liminal state in this case) and roll easily over the ground and railroad tracks to the other side, my wheelchair sometimes floating and flying as I do. (Flying has occurred in dreams every sleep cycle for 60 years, caused by my vestibular system's response to variations in REM atonia.)

Protoconsciousness is atypically ambiguous in this dream's scenario. "He" is both my "partner in crime" and the owner of a wallet, yet one wallet is also my real-world identity, which in this case, is why protoconsciousness never appears as police, even as I anticipate them. My intuitive creation, REM response, and control of dreams without so-called lucidness are curious and always intriguing in conscious afterthought despite dream content causality being the same for 60 years.

A.I. decoded my dream's content (though the "meaning" I already knew) by generating an image without instructing it to make the dream content correlations. For example, the "trackbed" - an obvious play on "bed" and "spine or back tracking" and sleeping (and part of a different dream in this sleep cycle that also included "sleeping" on railroad tracks) features bedsprings ambiguously linked to elevated bed slats. None of these words were in the prompt - as A.I. already "understands" my dreams without needing descriptions or explanations.

#dream journal #meaning of dreams #dreaming #my dreams

0 notes

lanaintheskydreams · 2 years

Text

Dream Journal for Sep 28-Oct 2

Lots of fun adventures every night, some new astral romance with some soul every night. I have been SO bad at documenting things so I am lacking detail I apologize, but I am documenting some at least it because it is the REALITY. This challenge is hard. Wanting to document things is hard. Trying to navigate this waking life is hard. But I have had great strides and clarity with understanding this life and what is going on right now. It is CRUCIAL to ENGAGE your TRUE SELF SPIRIT right now. Do not be reactive. Hold your ground and hold onto who you are in each second. Each moment we can either fall or get stronger. HOLD YOUR GROUND. I found that the answer is inside you all of the time. But to know it all at once would be confusing so it is necessary to tune into yourself and then hear the directions one step at a time. The following direction will reveal itself after you take the step prior. Just TRUST. If you are still breathing and alive and existing, then THE UNIVERSE SUPPORTS YOU and YOU MUST TRUST but you must do the work yourself and HOLD UP WHO YOU REALLY ARE. Do not react to the bad news. Take responsibility for your life. If you are feeling lazy don't worry. Every little bit of responsibility you take will give you more motivation so that the work you do for yourself won't feel like work. It will feel fun and rewarding. This world is a lucid dream and we must treat all characters around us as so (but still with compassion) and not lose sight of ourselves.

I have new directions for meditation since I found most directions of meditating to be hard and incomplete. So I will list my own.

Sit or lie down (I like to lie down because I have trouble sitting and then my spine distracts me).

For the first part (I like to choose 5 breaths because it is easy), just focus on breathing and LISTENING to the noises around you. What is outside your home? Your room? In your room? What are you REALLY hearing with your ears? Ringing? Static, etc?

Listen to yourself. First your physical self, your breath. Do this for another 5 breaths.

4. Here I like to check in with myself. Am I safe? Do I have a roof over my head? Am I alive? Am I in danger? Here I affirm that I am safe and nothing is hurting me in this moment. Check in with yourself this way for 5 breaths.

5. If I have the luxury to meditate and still exist and not be in danger, then this is the time where I give gratitude. With each breath, give thanks to something. Give thanks with YOUR HEART, the mind is second.

6. Now, engage love for 5 breaths. I like to think about my "mermaid spirit". How I like to/want to feel all of the time -- playful, magical, light. This feeling emanates from the heart. You can also think about something you love or makes you happy -- a pet, a person, a place, a hobby, etc. The love state is your true intention. We must hold on to this.

7. Now with your safety and love state activated, you can engage other senses -- a question, self-inquiry, visualizations, other intentions and desires. Or you can just watch, and see what comes into play. Here problems can be solved, feelings can be felt. Have a journal ready so you can take action while you untangle all of your thoughts and feelings.

0 notes

to-star-lake · 3 years

Text

one & only

sanzu haruchiyo x f!reader { you're sanzu's one and only. }

18+ minors dni | murder, drug use, dark themes, rough sex, choking, toxic relationship, character death, bonten sanzu

a/n: sanzu's name { 三途 } is written the same as 三途の川 { sanzu-no-kawa, “river of three crossings” or “sanzu river” } which is the japanese buddhist version of the river styx.

sanzu doesn't call you his girlfriend. he'd never use such pedestrian language to describe what you are to him. soulmate is closer. but still, to take everything he felt about you and edit it down to a single word? it wouldn't be possible.

the best he could describe it is perhaps that you were made for him.

the day mikey introduced you to the other executives as bonten's newest advisor, sanzu stood in the back of the room, unconsciously biting his lip as he stared at your clean and crisp white tee shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of black slacks. your perfect skin. your shiny hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. your delicate hands. and the sharp glisten of your eyes. you looked so sincere.

a top scholar and graduate of the national university. your parents had been foreign diplomats. you spoke five languages. all this brilliance packaged neatly behind such a pretty face. oh, you were so perfect. so pristine. i'll make you regret playing with monsters, little princess. sanzu thought he couldn't wait to break you.

it didn't take him long to realize how wrong he was.

he'd stare at your hands, the ones he thought were so delicate, as they beat mercilessly into the skull of a traitor that lay limp beneath you. being a bonten advisor meant you never needed to get your hands dirty. but you didn't mind. and sanzu felt a trickling heat of excitement shimmy up his spine watching the blood splatter across your perfect skin, staining your clean shirt.

he'd listen in awe in the war room as your fingertips traced gracefully over blueprints of the city, and you'd describe plans for a new building downtown. a new shell business to run money through. a merger with a smaller, weaker gang simply as a means to procure disposable foot soldiers for mikey.

on one particular night, he'd sat back and watched you, transfixed, as he pulled the car up beside a dark tinted suv at a stoplight on a deserted street on the outskirts of shinjuku. you'd pointed your gun out the open window, so fast and precise on the trigger, taking out all the passengers in the car. he would've missed the shots with a single blink.

he couldn't recall all the details of the rest of that night. but he woke to find you in his bed the next morning, your naked body tucked comfortably under his sheets beside him.

his head pounded and he tried to remember what happened but all that he could recall were a series of blurred images. of the two of you leaving the war room together after receiving orders from mikey to take out the heads of a rival gang. a vision of your bare thighs, exposed under a short, plaid skirt as you sat in his passenger seat, and the quiet rattle as you attached a silencer to the end of your gun.

he remembered the sound of indistinct chatter and an image of you sitting across from him in a dimly lit restaurant. a vague recollection of a bottle of scotch, of him staring at himself in the restaurant's bathroom mirror as he wiped some white residue from his upper lip. of you, bent over the sink with a straw in your nose. a blurred reel of your legs wrapped around his waist, of him pushing you up against the mirror so hard the glass cracked and you moaned into his open mouth. you sounded as sweet as you tasted.

in the grey winter light here in his bed, he looked at the blotches of blue and purple bruises that lined your neck and chest. at the edge of your perfect lips, a little swollen and the skin a little cracked. at the indentation of teeth marks on your shoulder, red with coagulated blood under the surface.

your eyes fluttered open and for a moment he was afraid. afraid that the cold light of day would be too harsh for you. afraid that all that was mystifying and beautiful in the night would be destroyed by the light. afraid you would leave.

but you'd looked into his eyes for a moment, and your lashes fell closed and you'd snuggled into his side, languidly dragging your arm across his chest.

let's sleep a little more, my head hurts and we still have at least another hour before we have to go meet the others.

oh, your voice sounded so sweet, still raspy with sleep, a lullaby to his ears.

as bonten leaders, he knew a relationship with you was strictly forbidden. he knew what mikey would do if he or any of the others ever found out. and he knew you knew too.

but you simply shrugged your shoulders as you picked up your clothes that were scattered across the floor of his bedroom. like you knew what he was thinking, and said i'm not afraid of them. are you?

he'd laughed at himself then. just who was corrupting who? he wondered.

the time he had with you began to envelope his heart. and the love he felt for you; small, crackling embers at first, had grown into a fire so bright and wild and twisted it could not be extinguished.

you were his partner; his chosen one. he loved the way your knuckles looked when they were bruised and red; such a beautiful contrast against your delicate and soft skin. he loved the way your fingers graced the handle of your gun, the dead calm of your eyes when you pulled the trigger. he was intoxicated with the knowledge that you were watching every time he carried out his duty as executioner.

his infatuation with you burned in his chest when he'd glance up at you, standing in the distance, eyes fixed on him and you'd slowly drag the palm of your hand up your thigh; testing his willpower to not pin you to the ground and tear you apart right then and there in front of his men.

under the cover of darkness, the two of you came alive. going on sprees, speeding through the bright streets of tokyo, the lights around you a blurred spectral of color to your bloodshot, medicated eyes.

in the midnight hours, your bodies would be intertwined, and in your arms he found a sanctuary. your body was the most addicting drug of all. you made all the pain disappear.

the quiet hours of the early morning, when time teetered on the edge of night and day, he'd lay on your chest, and for just a little while, his world would fall quiet. the air around him felt still. he would be coming down from his high, and he could feel everything. but he didn't mind. these small hours of lucidity shone brilliantly in his mind. when he could hear your breathing. feel your heartbeat so vividly beneath your bones. smell the lingering and sweet scent of your skin on his.

he'd become so possessed by you, so possessive of you that one night when he had you laid out beneath him, your legs spread wide for him, and he thought you looked so beautiful like this. so perfect like this for him. your skin, slick with a layer of sweat, luminescent in the moonlight. your lips, parted and choking out shaky pleas for him, begging him not to stop.

he buried himself so deep inside you, nails clawing into your skin, so desperate to be one with you. and he thought no one, no one else would have you like this. he was so intoxicated by the medley of pills in his system, completely unhinged in the euphoria of being inside you, he'd reached for his gun on the nightstand and held it to your forehead, point blank between your eyes.

you didn't even flinch. he watched you knock the gun from his hands, and slide your fingers up his wrists, and pulled his hands to your neck, letting him wrap them around your throat. if you're gonna kill me, do it with your own hands, you'd said.

god, he loved you so much. he wanted you so much, he needed you so much. he'd closed his hands around your neck with the gentlest force and watched your eyes roll back.

say my name, he'd command. and when you did, he closed his hands more forcefully around your delicate neck so he could feel the vibration in your throat as you choked out his name over and over. you'd clenched down so tight around him and he came harder than he ever had, collapsing into you.

he'd slowly let go of you, chest heaving, and gently caress at the skin of your neck, red and starting to bruise.

y/n...if i died, would you die with me? he'd whisper into your skin.

mmh, yeah. you'd whisper back.

i don't want anyone else to have you. i want you to be mine forever. he'd kiss the corner of your lips.

he'd feel your fingers laced up into his hair, your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him close.

what am i going to do with you...i might really kill you one of these days.

he'd lift his head to look at you. and your expression didn't change a bit. your eyes held the same resolve they always did, and you said, then i'll wait for you by the sanzu river.

this was what flashed through his mind when he walked into one of bonten's warehouses late one evening for a meeting of the executives, and he saw all of them standing in a circle around you, bound and tied, blood streaming from your hairline, your bruised body limp on the concrete.

he fell to his knees then, watching mikey shove the end of his gun against your temple.

did you think i wouldn't find out? mikey's thumb clicked down on the hammer.

he saw your eyes flutter open and find his. you smiled.

the muzzle flash was bright, and the shot rang through the dark, open space.

he stared at the blood pooling from the side of your head into the dust. he felt a single tear roll down his cheek. shit, am i really crying right now? he laughed at himself.

WHO ARE YOU LOYAL TO, SANZU?! mikey demanded.

i'll wait for you by the sanzu river. your words echoed in his mind.

mikey may have been his king. but you were the redeemer, his messiah, his salvation.

the choice was simple.

he pulled his own gun from its holster and held it up to his temple.

i'm on my way, love.

#haruchiyo sanzu x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers x you #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu imagines

775 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

While You Were Sleeping... | dark!Stucky x reader

warnings: noncon, somnophilia, dp, slight breeding kink, kidnapping, bondage, drugging, pain kink, choking, spanking, slapping, degradation, mention of blood

word count: 3.3k

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The sound was the first thing you became aware of. Your eyes were heavy, so heavy you couldn’t open them, as hard as you fought. All your effort led to one brief sliver of light, but it was gone so fast you couldn’t process what it was.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

You heard yourself moan softly as you tried to stir, but your whole body was half-numb and as dense as lead.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

It was faster, and louder, until it suddenly stopped. Something shifted after that… something outside you, and something inside you.

“Your turn.”

Hearing words tore one more layer of your sleep away, and you managed to open your eyes for just a moment longer, long enough finally to see your surroundings for a second.

You were face-down on a bed; no sheets, just a mattress. It shifted again, and you realized another weight was settling onto it.

Something warm ran down your spine. Fingers? Was someone touching you? And not through clothes, but straight onto your skin.

...am I naked?

You fought through the static tingling your tired limbs, and wiggled your arm a bit. A jingling noise, a tightness on your wrist; a shackle and chain.

“Are you wakin’ up now, doll?”

Bucky? you tried to speak, but your lips wouldn’t move. You were nearly paralyzed, but conscious enough to move your arm again, shaking the chain louder this time.

“Good,” you heard him reply. “I’ll be honest, the drugs were a compromise for me. I want you to be awake for this.”

Your legs were pushed wider apart. Something hot was pushing against your— no, that can’t be right. This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.

A shift inside you. He was inside you. You tried to kick him away but all that came of it was a twitch in your calf.

“That all the fight you got, sweetheart?” Bucky chuckled. You could feel his hands on your hips, pulling you into him each time he thrusted forward. You were thankful for the numbness, because you knew this would be painful without it; you could feel how far his intrusion was stretching you, how deep he was inside you. So deep that you could feel it in your stomach.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The headboard slammed into the concrete wall with every thrust, the sound marking each time he buried himself as deep as he could go. He was so impressed that you could take all of him, even though it would probably be challenging for a version of you that was fully lucid. There had been a little blood after Steve was finished with you, so he knew you were being pushed beyond your limits. But he also knew you could take it.

Well, he knew you had no choice but to take it. So maybe not so much that you could, but that you would.

“So tight, doll, especially when you try to fight it,” he praised, groaning when your walls pulsed around him again. “You came when you were knocked out— twice. Wanna see how many times I can make you come when you’re awake?”

You fought the instinct to writhe in protest, knowing now that it only egged him on.

“There’s a good girl,” he groaned, “just lay there and take it, honey. I’m just sorry you can’t feel all of me like you know you want to. The last of the tranquilizer should wear off soon…”

No, no, that’s the only thing making this tolerable, you realized. “No…” you managed to mumble aloud, though it was broken and nearly inaudible.

A harsh slap landed on your ass and your body jerked with the pain.

“What’s that, doll? Can’t hear you,” he mocked.

“Bucky…” you murmured, still barely able to believe that he was doing this. He’d acted weird around you a few times, Steve had told you it wasn’t a big deal—

Steve… Steve would help you.

“Steve?” you slurred.

“What is it, pet?” his voice echoed from behind you.

He’s already here?

The realization made your gut sink. He was already here. Your turn, you remembered someone saying; it was him. He’d been here a long time, hadn’t he?

“Want me instead, huh? Buck’s not doin’ it for ya?” Steve laughed.

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky groaned. “She’s gonna cream on my cock any second, I can tell.”

“Go ahead then,” Steve encouraged you, “come for him if you like it so much.”

“No…” you managed to sigh again, but it wasn’t to them this time; it was to yourself. You needed to stop this, because Bucky was right and you weren’t ready to cope with that in this moment. You needed to hate this, it needed to hurt. And both of those things were true… but you were going to come in spite of it. Or, perhaps, because of it.

You started to sob as your mind warred with your body, as pleasure and fear and dread and disgust were all overshadowed by a deep primal need.

Bucky leaned down, his body crushing yours as his teeth nipped at your neck. “You’re drooling all over the mattress, sweetheart; our brainless little fuckdoll, so stuffed with cock you can’t think.”

A tingle ran up your spine so strongly that your back arched involuntarily, pushing his cock even deeper into you. Bucky grinned and you would’ve grimaced if you could move your face that much. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? We knew you needed to let go, but you would never do it on your own. That’s what the drugs were for, to loosen you up a bit. But you’re awake now, and you’re finally realizing how good it is to be owned, aren’t you? Nobody’s here but us, baby, we won’t tell anyone how much you love it. It’ll be our little secret.”

Out of nowhere, you came. It was dulled and distant as it fought against the effects of the drugs, but undeniable. You felt hot all of a sudden, like you would burn up, as you shivered and tightened involuntarily. You could really feel him now, every ridge and vein, every detail sliding along your insides and stretching you impossibly wide. It felt like it wouldn’t stop so long as he didn’t stop fucking you; your skin erupted into goosebumps, even though you felt anything but cold.

“Just like that, doll… so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through your bones. “Squeezin’ me so goddamn tight, I could come right now—”

“No!” you yelped.

“Is that the only word you know?” he hissed.

“Not… not inside…” you murmured.

“Not inside? Doll, Stevie already filled this filthy little cunt,” Bucky informed you with a purr. “You couldn’t even tell, huh? Don’t worry, you’re gonna feel it this time.”

You whimpered but couldn’t put a sentence together, focusing most on not moaning every time he thrusted into you; his balls slapping into your clit was just enough sensation to keep you on the edge, but his thick head massaging your g-spot was too intense to ignore.

When you opened your eyes, you could see Bucky’s long hair falling in front of your face, and his hand reaching out to interlace his fingers with yours. How could he do something so intimate, like he couldn’t feel the restraint around your wrist as he did it?

“I’m close, sweetheart, you’re gonna make me come,” he grinned, and it was weirdly prideful. Like he knew that some part of you craved for his approval. Of course you did; he was your superior, your Sergeant, your boss. You just didn’t intend for this to be the way you got it.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

You bit down on your lip to keep quiet, hoping you could give no reaction at all. It didn’t work, because just as he’d promised, you could feel his cock flexing and pulsing, you could feel his seed pumping into you. A groan of protest slipped from your lips, louder than you’d expected. It seemed to go on forever, or maybe it was just because you knew the potential this had… he’d said Steve had come inside you, too. You just hoped they’d let you go in time to get a Plan B. Surely they were going to let you go soon, now that he was done and they’d both had their turn.

The idea of them taking turns with your body made you feel sick. So did the rush of hot liquid that oozed out of you as Bucky pulled his cock out.

“Can you go again, Buck?” Steve asked gruffly.

“Sure,” Bucky answered, seemingly just as curious as you were as to why he would ask that.

“Get under her,” he demanded.

“Wh… what…?” you moaned sleepily, trying to understand what was happening. You were being lifted and manhandled, limp in his arms, as Bucky slipped under your body and wrapped his arms around you. Your head laid against his chest as you pulled at your restraints again, more determined than before but just as fruitless.

Another weight moved in behind you; Steve, of course. You could tell by the little laugh he made as his rough hands moved up the backs of your legs.

“Your pussy looks completely ruined,” Steve informed you, “like it was meant to be.”

He reached down and gathered some of the come that had leaked out of you— yours, Bucky’s and his own all mixed together— on two of his fingers and pushed it back into you. You winced and struggled, even just his fingers big enough to stretch you. Then again, anything was big enough to reignite the pain in your sore channel by this point.

“But this hole is still untouched,” he added, his fingers slipping out of you and trailing up to— oh.

“N-no,” you moaned quietly, “not there…”

“Not where, honey?” Steve taunted, his wet fingers drawing circles over your puckered opening.

“Not… not in my ass,” you pleaded weakly. You could hear Bucky’s heartbeat get faster next to your ear. “You can use my pussy again just… not there, please.”

“Oh, so generous,” Steve grinned, but his amusement turned to anger as he slapped the inside of your thigh. You squealed with the pain, jerking inside Bucky’s embrace, and Steve hit you a few more times. “Bargaining with your body as if it’s yours in the first place. Stupid whore. Both these holes are mine, you understand?”

You cried out when he hit you again, the telltale burning of oncoming tears starting to sting the backs of your eyes. But you refused to cry.

“Do you understand?” he repeated, firmer.

“Yes, Captain!” you blurted out, an old habit from when you were at work. You felt your face burn with shame as both of them laughed at your obedience.

“Such a good soldier,” Steve praised. “I know you can take it, baby, if you just relax and let it feel good. I’ll make it good for you. Buck’s gonna keep that greedy little cunt full, too; won’t you, Sarge?”

“Yes, Cap,” Bucky grinned, rubbing his cock through your swollen folds again. You hadn’t anticipated that their stamina would apply to this. They’re going to keep me here for a while, aren’t they?

As Bucky teased your clit with his fat and leaking head, Steve pushed his fingers into your hole. You tried to relax through the burn, gasping and groaning in spite of yourself.

“Ever been touched here before?” Steve asked, curling his fingers inside you until you let out a little moan. “Doesn’t seem like it. You were always hard at work, never had time for a boyfriend did you? Not one that knew how to treat you right, at least.”

“Is this your idea… of treating me right?” you hissed through heavy breaths. “Knocking me out? Chaining me up?”

“That was just the only way to get you to let us take care of you,” Bucky explained. “This is treating you right.”

Before you could ask what he was referring to, both of them pressed their cocks into your holes. Bucky’s cock slid in with a hint of pain, but Steve’s hit more resistance— not that that stopped him.

You screamed, knocked out of the last of your drug-induced haze and thrown head-first into reality. Sick, stinging, sharp reality. Your arms pulled at the chains as your legs kicked wildly. Steve grabbed your ankles as they swung by, pushing your legs up and holding them down until you were forced to straddle Bucky. The new angle made you feel somehow more exposed to both of them.

“Shut up and take it,” Steve groaned darkly. They both pushed in deeper, their cocks getting thicker the further down you got, and your eyes rolled back into your head.

“That’s it, just let go, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered. “You can take it, you were made for us, you can take it…”

You were too overwhelmed to process his words, though, as they kept filling you and you wondered if it would ever stop. You wondered if you wanted it to stop, even though it was painful and degrading and beyond twisted.

“Almost done, honey, you’re takin’ us so well,” Steve cooed.

“She might pass out, Steve,” Bucky realized as he examined your face, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Maybe then she’ll stop fighting,” he shrugged in reply.

Bucky was buried all the way into you, but there was still some of Steve left to take and you were sure it wouldn’t fit. You already felt so full that you could barely breathe. Just to rub it in, Steve slammed that last inch into you, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“Fuck,” Steve sighed, “you feel so good, babygirl. The others call you a tightass behind your back, did you know that? They don’t know how right they are…”

“Talk to me, soldier; are you still with us?” Bucky asked, slapping your cheek lightly to get your attention. You nodded quickly. “Feel how full you are, doll?” You nodded again. “You like it, don’t you?”

You stayed silent this time.

“No need to pretend, honey, we can tell,” Steve groaned. “You’re dripping all over the both of us, and your cute little ass is clenching around me.”

“Just say it,” Bucky moaned. “Say you love it.”

“I… I love it,” you stammered, hoping that it was just to appease them.

“Then ride our cocks, like the little slut you are,” Steve demanded, smacking your ass one more time. You tried to lift your hips, shuddering with the way it moved both of them inside you, but it was so difficult with your weak and aching muscles. When you did it again, you fell suddenly with a wavering groan.

“Too weak, baby? You’re so pathetic; let me show you how,” Steve offered, grabbing your hips tightly and lifting them with almost no effort. You moaned, properly, as he used your body and dropped you up and down on his and Bucky’s cocks roughly. “The least you could do is sit up; go on, put your hands on Buck’s shoulders and arch that back, show me how bad you want it.”

The chains were long enough that you could do it, though looking down at Bucky and the metal cuffs on your wrist was a lot to take in. With a groan of pain, your wobbling arms lifted you up.

“I knew you could be a good girl,” Steve sighed, moving your body faster against his as his grip left bruises in the shape of his fingertips on your skin.

Bucky reached up and wrapped his cold metal hand around your neck, choking you suddenly. Both men groaned as the loss of air made you flutter around them. “Fuck, you like that, huh? You like getting choked, doll? Dirty slut.”

When he finally let go, it was like all the sounds that had been caught in your throat came out at once. A groan, a sigh, a moan, and a sob churned together to make something inhuman and debasing. They were fucking you like animals, you were shackled and bound like an animal, and now you sounded like an animal.

“Do you wanna breathe, doll? Or do you wanna come?” Bucky growled.

“I wanna… I wanna come,” you moaned. The hand on your neck tightened again, and the tingles of lost sensation spread over your body quickly. You were so close to coming again that you could barely imagine how it happened so fast. They were reaching every sensitive spot inside you— rather, they were turning every spot inside you into a sensitive one. The loss of air only pushed you closer, and you wanted to scream but all you could do was dig your fingernails into Bucky’s shoulders as it hit you hard. You went completely limp in their arms, only Bucky’s hand holding you upright. He relaxed his grip, still tight enough to keep you completely aware of his power over you, but loose enough that you could breathe.

“Don’t stop coming, sweetheart, I love seeing you do it,” Steve beamed. “You can give us a few more before we’re done— right, Buck?”

“I don’t know man, she feels really good,” Bucky moaned, choking you again so you wouldn’t interrupt their conversation.

“Get it together, man,” Steve teased, “you can’t get all sentimental on me again.”

“I can’t help it, okay? Been waiting for this for so long…” Bucky trailed off, or maybe it was just that your hearing was fading out as the loss of air pushed you towards the beckoning darkness.

You gasped when he let go again, your moans turning into sobs and tears finally rolling down your cheeks. You’d sworn you wouldn’t let them see you cry, but you couldn’t even remember that now.

“Such a cute little crybaby,” Steve purred, slamming into you faster. “Can’t take it anymore, huh? It’s too much for you?”

“Please…” you whispered, so hoarse that you couldn’t recognize it as yourself.

“‘Please’ what, doll?” Bucky pressed, massaging your neck in his palm.

You didn’t know what you were begging for, truly. Bucky choked you again, grinning up at you and fucking you rougher than before.

“I know what you want: you wanna come again, yeah? So needy… this’ll be, what, the fifth today? Go ahead, princess, show us how bad you need us.”

They all started to blend together after that. Just one big haze, interlaced with so much sensation that you couldn’t parse any of it into separate incidents. Steve leaned forward to suck a mark on the back of your neck; Bucky used his free hand to twist your nipples and slap your tits, before moving down to roughly rub your aching clit with his thumb. Bucky came first but stayed inside while Steve roughly pumped into your ass. Without the distraction of Bucky’s movement inside you, you became more aware of how far Steve’s cock was stretching you. He came with a cry and Bucky’s fingers pulled another orgasm from you, too. He never stopped rubbing you there, not even when they’d both stopped moving and you were too exhausted to do anything but take it. It made your body jolt even though your muscles ached and begged for rest. You vaguely remembered begging for rest, too, but you didn’t get it until Bucky was satisfied.

When they both pulled out, you could feel the hot sticky mess gush from your holes; it was disgusting, and yet you felt a weak pang of arousal run up your spine. Bucky slipped out from under you with an exhausted groan of his own, leaving you to flop down onto the bed lifelessly.

“Get some rest, honey,” Steve encouraged. “We’ll help you shower when you wake up.”

Any other day and you would’ve needed to shower first before you could fall asleep again, not to mention having your wrists freed from the chains. But you were already nearly gone by this point, your eyes heavy again as your mind went blank.

The last thing you heard was a heavy steel door slamming shut: thunk.

#dark!stucky x reader #dark!stucky noncon #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!stucky smut #dark!bucky barnes smut #dark!steve rogers smut

3K notes · View notes

deancasbigbang · 3 years

Text

Title: The Angel in the Marble

Author: zuzeca

Artist: errantia

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel, mentioned past Dean Winchester/Cassie Robinson and past Dean Winchester/Others

Length: 20500

Warnings: Major Character Death, Drug Use, Sexual Content

Tags: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Alternative Canon, Metafiction, Cosmic Horror, Bittersweet Ending, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, Angel Wings, John Winchester’s A+ Parenting

Posting Date: October 20, 2021

Summary: When a routine solo hunt involving a haunted angel statue turns into an overnight stay in a mysterious mansion, Dean discovers haunted statues are the least of what’s contained within its walls. Who is Castiel? Who is the reclusive owner, and why are the lines of reality beginning to blur? As the mystery unfolds, Dean realizes he and Castiel are trapped by the narrative in more than one way, and they’re running out of pages.

Excerpt: Dean has rarely been one for lucid dreaming, even in his nightmares, so that’s his first clue that something about the house is messing with his mind. He’s walking down dark hallways on unnaturally silent feet. Moonlight through high windows casts moving shadows on the walls, the pattern of dead trees. “Why are you here?” says a voice behind his shoulder. It’s deep and rough, masculine, like the guy’s chain smoked since the cradle. Dean stops, tries to turn, but he can see nothing. A brief flicker in the corner of his eye, a trick of the shadows. “Paid to be here, aren’t I?” Dean says. “Who are you?” says the man. “Just a hunter, my dude. This is my bread and butter. Hunt monsters. Kill monsters. Get paid—that’s more of an intermittent thing.” “Are you here to kill me?” “You Iceman?” “Iceman?” “Stone Cold Steve Angel. The statue that’s been perving on me while I eat pie.” “I don't understand. My name is not Steve.” “You got a name?” “I…” the man trails off. “I think so. It’s difficult to recall, like a note scribbled in the margins and half-erased. Do you have a name?” “Course. Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire.” “You have two names.” “You don’t?” “No. Or if I did the other is lost. I can only make out one.” “Feel like sharing with the class?” “What class?” “Tell me your name.” “Castiel.” The word echoes between them like a struck gong. The shape and sound of it are alien, like it’s not spoken by a human mouth or tongue. “Castiel,” Dean repeats, and the air quivers, a cold wave rippling down his spine. Castiel draws in a sharp breath. “I don’t think you were supposed to say that.” “Why not?” “I don’t think I am supposed to have a name. Maybe at one point I was, but no longer. To speak of something erased causes ripples of disturbance.” “Well I’m not going to keep calling you Steve. And unless you want to keep being dude, or angel, or Iceman—what about Cas?” “Cas?” “Yeah, like a nickname?” “You’re giving me a name?” Dean feels the hairs on the back of his neck raise, but his mouth is already moving. “Sure.” Castiel is silent for a long time, or only an instant; the movement of time in dreams is fluid. “Yes,” he says at last. “You may call me Cas. I...would like that.” Dean wants to ask him more, to unearth the mystery and draw this little side quest in his life to a close, but his mind is already drifting elsewhere. He can feel it pulling him away from Castiel. “Dean,” says Castiel, a note of urgency in his voice. “You have to know. There isn’t an en—” Dean wakes with a start. The last thing his dream self sees are the black shadows of enormous wings.

DCBB 2021 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2021 #fic preview #2021 promo #deancas #destiel

108 notes · View notes

riewritten · 2 years

Text

03 UNAVOIDABLE

DUSK IN THE BRIGHTEST | chapter directory

erwin smith/fem!reader, erwin smith/you | slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff & smut, mutual pining, pining erwin smith, canon AU, college/univ AU, professor erwin smith, commander erwin smith, non-linear narrative, manga spoilers

Trigger warning: canon-typical violence, graphic description, explicit sexual content, suicidal thoughts, mental health issues, trauma, implied/referenced sexual harassment, implied/referenced abuse, attempted murder, overdosing

Plot: It was always the nightmares, really. Entrapped with walls, human-eating giants, fighting through metal strings and swords – utterly violent, dreary, recurrent. But behind the blurry faces was a man with menacing blue eyes and vivid features; eventually appearing before you as your new reputable professor, Erwin Smith. Since then, the disaster had slipped beyond your subconscious. AO3

Historia, 4:30 pm.

I'm reluctant to tell you about this but the professor you claimed as the man in your dreams is named Erwin and he asked me a favor about you. He knew what happened to you that day so he would like you to come to his office once you feel better to go to school. Can you do it? Or do you need someone to go with you? I put the syllabus of his course in your bag. His contact details are there.

Me, 4:50pm.

are you serious? erwin? is his surname smith?

Historia, 4:51pm.

Yeah? Anyway, I can go with you if you want

Me, 4:51 pm.

he will make me kill myself

No way. There's no way you're seeing a man who looks the same and has the same name. Without any hesitation, you browsed your student portal and clicked the drop subject button. You followed it with an email that says you're dropping his course for personal reasons and you're waiting for him to approve it so you could process the dropping fee. It wasn't long until your phone rang and almost made you jump on your seat.

"Why," You said flatly upon answering.

"Are you serious? You scared me shitless! You think I'm a joke to you?" Historia rasped in sheer panic.

"I'm sorry."

"You're not."

"I am."

"Well then, kneel when you see me." She huffed. "But are you serious about dropping it?"

"Historia, I'm not joking when I say he'd make me kill myself." The other line paused for a while and so you realized you might've said something bad. "I mean, sorry, I just can't see him." Still no answer. You muttered an apology again.

"I'm just worried about what'll happen to you, that's all." She said defeatedly. That's when guilt crept through your spine. She's the only person who sensed something was wrong that day despite being meters apart. If she hadn't grabbed you outside that door you wouldn't be able to even shed a tear. You'd instantly faint on the spot.

However, as if she's been reading your mind, she clarified. "It's not your fault, okay."

You released a small laugh. "You won't even let me say it."

"I know you already feel bad about this and I'm not the one to put unnecessary pressure but you know we're not even supposed to be batchmates. You've been behind for years now." She remarked worriedly. "I know graduating high school with us back then hurt you a lot because that meant how far behind you were with people your age. I just don't want to see you cry like that again." Looking back on that memory, however, it wasn't the graduation that made you cry that hard. It was rather a lucid nightmare of your parents murdering someone in some basement, which was partly mentioned in your latest dream.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for making you worry a lot." You lamented.

"No, that's not what I'm trying to say. This is about you dropping that subject. You know we're in the same class, right? If it's heavy for you I could just help."

"Oh, that. I've had my most graphic nightmare so far and got really horrified with the thought of seeing that man again so I immediately sent him an email before you called."

"Oh god." She exhaled. "Have you apologized yet?"

"Why? We haven't even met formally—"

"Do you have any idea how much help he offered to me when you dropped unconscious that day?"

"What the fuck?"

"Yeah, what the fuck."

"How the fuck is it my fault? I can't even remember anything!"

"I ran back to the class out of panic because I can't carry you all the way to the clinic." She groaned out of embarrassment. "Well, it's not like I screamed to everyone that you died, I just called his attention and whispered that you're unconscious. He excused himself out of class and carried you all the way. I'm–” She didn't even get to finish because both of you started groaning at the same time.

You screamed on your pillow and dropped the call. You can't even fathom getting near him and the fact that he actually carried you himself appalled you. Thinking about him as a real moving figure that could actively interact with you isn't something you could take just yet. When the coast was clear and you confirmed your mother finally went out, you grabbed some water to calm yourself down. You almost jumped again when your phone dinged.

Erwin Smith, 5:20 pm.

Good afternoon. I hope you're doing well right now. Regarding the course dropping you have filed, I'm afraid we have to talk about this first personally. Come to my office once you're better.

You bit your lower lip hard until you tasted copper. Nails pierced the skin of your knuckles as you hurriedly came up with excuses he could buy.

Me, 5:23 pm.

I don't think I'll get well anytime soon. I am also concerned about the inconvenience this would cause you. Is it fine to just discuss it here?

Erwin Smith, 5:25 pm.

We can just settle this once you're okay and can come back to school. And to be honest, I am leaning towards making necessary considerations that would suit your situation rather than dropping you out of class. Hope you can think about it further before we talk about it.

The best consideration you could ever give to me is getting out of my sight. You muttered in fright. At this point, you feel like you don't have to force yourself to school anymore. Heck, you'd be willing to drop out altogether. Garnering another agenda, you prepared for your things and called Furlan to inform him you'd drop by. Before he could even ask how you are after the previous commotion, you hung up the call.

You swung the sliding door open and the cafe was empty, much to your confusion since it's almost evening already and this place is well known enough to be bombarded with people during rush hour. You walked to the counter and greeted Furlan.

"Levi said to close early because he's had tons of drinks with his friend lately and doesn't feel like working at all." Furlan explained as he cleaned the table counter. Levi's sleeping on the bar table with a fluffy blanket around him and so you nodded in relief. Until you discover why you're seeing him with contempt, you decided to just ignore him for your peace of mind.

"Quite unusual to see him like that." You dropped your coat and bag on the chair beside Furlan's and then got yourself some water.

"Yeah, the person he drank with is someone we haven't seen for quite a long time so he ended up having too much."

"Must be someone close. Family?"

"Not someone related but is close to everyone inside the house just like you. Actually he started working at our school recently. Have you heard the new professor at yo–" The glass you've been holding was shattered into pieces then. No way, no way, no way, no way, no way. Furlan stopped on his tracks wide-eyed, and Levi abruptly got up on his seat and dropped his futon, suddenly wide alert.

"What the fuck?" Annoyed Levi exclaimed.

"Are you okay?" Furlan quickly rushed to you as you crouched down to clean the mess.

With wide eyes, ragged breath, and surrounding slowed down, you picked the shards up and they clutched on you quick and tight— harder and deeper yet the pain wasn't coming. How could I even cut ties with him when the closest people I have outside my family know him? The question rang repeatedly. You snapped to reality again when Levi stood in front and called you out sternly. He quickly dropped the broom and dustpan he's been holding and examined you with curled-up eyebrows.

"Stand up." He deadpanned, which you followed immediately due to his annoyance.

"Your hand." You complied. Furlan rushed with bandages and disinfectants. Levi quickly did its wonders cleaning your wound.

"Sorry, I was just trying to pick it up."

"A wound this deep won't make me believe you really just thought of picking it up."

You also pondered why. "I wasn't able to feel it. Maybe because I’m not feeling well the past few days."

"Just tell me what Furlan said that made you so shocked."

It’s not like you could blatantly say his friend’s been pushing your buttons imaginatively. "It's no big deal. Just had a hard time earlier." Luckily for you, he only hummed in acknowledgment and didn't press further.

"So, about your friend, I have a new professor at the college right now and I'm wondering if–"

"Erwin Smith," You shot your eyes open and flinched. "Why? Rang a bell?" You shook your head no but your frown can't go unnoticed by him. "Done. Sit."

Furlan then gave you a hot tea. "How are you? Things must've been stressing you a lot. Is it really a good idea you came here?"

"Thank you. And yeah, it's okay. I just have to fix something at school."

"And that is?" He glanced at your wrapped-up wound.

"I'm going to Mr. Smith’s office to tell him I'm dropping his subject." You sighed then gripped harder on the cup. "Or I'm thinking of just going straight to the college secretary to file a leave of absence again? I honestly don't know."

"Why?" Levi chipped in, done with cleaning the mess. "That man did you bad or something?" You sunk at the question. Time and time again, you're dropping major things in your life because of something that can't be deemed real.

"Well… there's nothing in particular. I just thought I can't do school in general. Maybe I'm meant to join Isabel after all." You faked a laugh.

But then again, maybe your action makes more sense this time. Someone in that dream appeared before you after all. However, how sure are you that you're seeing the same person? What if you're just hallucinating and this Erwin Smith doesn't really look like him?

"So you went here because?" Levi asked and it took you time to answer.

If your eyes are indeed fooling you and this Erwin Smith isn't the one in your dreams, then why do they have the same name? Countless possibilities are taking over your mind again. Insane. Trapped. Cornered. The bones cracking and blood gushing are real. You made your brother die.

"I am extremely afraid to face him," You shakily blurted out. Only when you turned to the two did you realize how weird it sounded.

"Off we go then. Bring the keys with you, Furlan." He then turned to you. "And fix your face, we'll go with you."

"Pardon?" You shot them with a confused look. How did the conversation turn into this?

"Did I stutter?"

"No, it’s just very unnecessary."

"We don't have anything to do for today either way." Furlan said.

"Yeah, and don't mind us," Levi slightly raised his hand holding a medium-sized paper bag. "I also need to bring this since that old bastard forgot to claim his orders."

"Yeah, no, but really– you don't have to bother yourselves with my matters." You stuttered.

"You can't convince us otherwise with that state." Levi pressed. "And wipe your face now. There's no point in crying."

"I'm not?" But when you tapped your cheeks to confirm, it was indeed moist.

Levi shot you a glance before walking away. "Oh? I must be blind then."

And there you go, with Furlan just beside the door while you and Levi stood in front of him; sitting in his glory with thin-layered silver eyeglasses which you're quite thankful for. It created a slight distinction from the man in your nightmares.

"We just saw each other earlier. Never thought you'd be that clingy." He mused at Levi. Yeah, and I never thought you'd be this approachable. You thought to yourself.

"Well, this," Levi threw a paper bag with his products at the man, luckily Erwin caught it quickly. "And this," Then pointed at you. "Just wondering what made her so frightened of you. Figured I'd humor myself."

"No! I'm not!"

"Yeah, we just came with her since she's dropping your class or leaving college altogether, something like that. We got nothing to do after all since you made my boss drunk. We also figured it'd be nice for Isabel to have someone we know as she goes beyond her life endeavors." Furlan chipped in, already inside the office and walking at the bookshelf.

"I thought she doesn't feel well, though.” Erwin muttered and so you looked sidewards. You completely forgot about the email. He also glanced at your hand wrapped in a bandage. “Are you really okay now?"

You hid it behind your back. "Since you asked me to talk about this personally, I figured I'd do it now."

"Okay." He then called your name. Such a trivial gesture and yet it sent horrible chills down your spine. It's presumably his first time uttering your name but somehow it feels like he's been doing it since since forever. "What are you planning to do now? Are you really dropping this semester?"

"I'm considering it yet."

"If that's the case and you’re filing another medical leave then you need your legal guardian or someone close to that. You're not all unfamiliar with it, are you?" Ah, right. Of course, Hannes will tell him everything he knows about the situation. This man’s first impression of you was literally knocked unconscious on the floor, after all.

"That's why we're here," Levi answered on your behalf then walked onto the office couch to sit. "Her only dependable guardian is away from here and the other who's supposed to act as one is a shitty woman who is being taken care of by my mother as of the moment. If there's someone who must accompany her on this matter, it's us. If a certification will be needed then we'll go for it." You turned to him wide-eyed. How much does he know exactly? Also, he’s not the one to intervene on your stuff. It’s not like you’re annoyed. It’s just that it’s been so long since you heard him speak of your matters that way, with sheer concern.

You wonder how many years were wasted because of your avoidance.

"Hm," Erwin sounded reluctant. "I have another proposition to offer if that's okay." Then looked at you for approval.

You want to get out of this room. "I don't mind."

"As I said, I was informed about your situation by the faculty so I decided to give any consideration needed just so you could finish this subject." The disappointed sigh you intended to keep to yourself was let out loud instead. It was needless to say Erwin looked surprised and amused by it. "And I would like to reiterate that this is the second time you'd be taking this subject among others. You previously filed a leave of absence mid-semester after all. Dropping this would certainly not look good on your records, don't you think?" Congratulations on your discovery, Commander smart-ass. Considering my age, it’s needless to say I’ve had bad records since I started school.

"I just don't have any idea how to push through when I go to a point of fainting at school, even before classes start." Not to mention his presence is what made you like that.

"Ah yes, I completely understand and I considered that as well. If I remember correctly, most of your professors for this semester are also aware of it and so far there are no other sentiments from them other than making necessary adjustments."

"How do you know that?" You curled your eyebrows at him.

"Mr. Hannes told me. And honestly, please don't pressure yourself regarding matters like this." I'm not pressured. I'm annoyed. "I'm quite new here but I can already see how kind our department is. They're very understanding of their students' welfare." No way. You're just stalling me here.

"That's true. Students in my department complain about the unnecessary pressure there, and hope they just went here instead." Furlan chipped in. "They just have no idea how to write."

"So, I propose to have extra time outside class hours for students who would need extra supervision for the course like you. I have plenty of time to offer. And also, I believe writing class should be as flexible as writing itself." Is this a drama plot somewhere? You almost scoffed out loud. Not because of misplaced annoyance but rather the dread. If this were Hannes you'd be really thankful, but a part of your mind screams please just don’t get near me instead, while the other screams guilt because he isn't doing anything wrong to warrant your disfavor.

"It’s not convenient for you, though. I don't think the faculty should waste their time and effort on people who are bound to quit."

Erwin sneered. "And I think you're overestimating our faculty. Academe is here to equip students so they'd be able to go on with their lives properly. It's their responsibility to nurture people so they won't be bound to quit."

"I'm a student who has academic lapses more than once. I think the consideration here is getting out of hand."

"Well, it's not like you wished to be in this position, is it?" You were shut into silence with that. "To clarify, I don't think the faculty is holding you down for no reason. From what I've been told, you were able to write projects that went big in the theater field despite being a student, let alone with what you call academic lapses." He mused in slight amusement at the term you came up with. "You were able to represent the university theater with your craft despite being here for a short time. I'm not quite sure with the details but the faculty didn't regret facilitating a talent test separate from the entrance exams, because they were able to get talents like you."

But then, what he said were things you completely deem irrelevant. Competence isn't what follows through when you see crushed bodies and pools of blood on a daily basis. You've got a distorted sense of reality for god knows how long already, and so your self-perception slipping away is the least of your concerns.

"So, what do you think about it? Extra classes are flexible time-wise. I also opted for output-based attendance so students don't have to rely on their presence alone to pass in my class." He then removed his eyeglasses and as if that's the much-needed trigger, you started trembling in your place. You want to run now, the only thing stopping your limbs is the self-consciousness of appearing like a stupid little girl.

"I'll consider it."

"Well, I'm afraid to break this to you but I do not plan to approve your filing of drop. Not at all. So I'd appreciate it if you could confirm your compliance with this right here. Or speak your contentions so we could go for other options."

"Huh?" You huffed. "But deciding to drop is my basic freedom as a student."

"Freedom does not acquit you from reason and so far you haven't presented me any valid basis as to why it's better to drop you than adjust on course requirements." And you won't believe me if I say you're a cold-blooded military man and seeing you makes me confused about what's real and not.

"But this isn't about me being a good student, this is about the inability to comply with the bare minimum of an enrolled student in this university."

"Which is again, something that can be talked upon for adjustments." Erwin interposed. He heard the small tsk you let out so he continued. "Okay. Three sessions. Attend three sessions of my class then decide again whether to quit or not. I won't be interfering with your choice by then." Would you be able to hold down for that long when right after seeing him you already got the worst nightmare of your life? Even as he speaks you can hear things.

"Just go with it. We'll help you." Furlan offered. You glanced at Levi for another opinion and little hope that he could say flashy things like earlier, but he's already slouched on the office couch with his coat covering his head. Honestly, it's getting tiring for you to come up with lackluster reasons.

"Fine, I'll go for it. But when that time comes I hope there'll be no more contentions from you."

"You have my word." You turned your back in quite a rush because the trembles are getting harder. However, he called your name. You faced him again only to see the most gentle look you've ever seen; utterly contrary to the ruthless persona you've witnessed on the same face. "Things might go harder from here on. So please don't hesitate to ask people for help. I'm sure they're all here for you." Your blood ran cold at the possibility that he might be pertaining to your nightmares. Even Levi and Furlan don't know the exact premise of it. And it really did become harder than ever since he came. You stormed out of the office immediately with hardest attempt to not cry.

And that concludes one of the most excruciating conversations you’ve had for a while. Historia demanded you spend the night at her place and since your mother doesn't seem to go home tonight, you grabbed her offer. She never failed to reiterate how imperative it is to not let any details slip, and so you told her everything that happened in your dream, your mom crying to Kuchel as well as Erwin's suggestion.

"How do you feel about your brother?" She asked.

"Just the same. Like, how-could-I-even-say-something-so-evil-at-age-two thoughts."

"And I'm reminding you every single time that it's not your fault. Being bothered with it for a while is understandable, but making it a basis for neglecting her daughter for more than a decade is another topic." And while you completely understood, it is different when you hear your mother crying about it every time she has someone in the house. You perceive it as her trying her best to overcome her demons. Echoing Erwin's statement, It's not like she chose to be in that position. You've been waiting for her for so long so you wouldn't mind doing it longer.

"Maybe the whole dream was me projecting that guilt." You curled up into a ball.

"I understand but I don't think it's that simple."

"What do you mean?"

"I always sound silly saying this and I try to shrug these thoughts countless times but, I really think there's something deeper with the nightmares. I mean!" She paused and you instantly got an idea of what she was about to say. "What if it's actually real all this time? Like, some sort of another world? Don't you think it sounds thrilling?"

"You're delusional."

"I agree! I may sound stupid about this!" She huffed. "But look at it now. You've been with me all your life. Almost everyone you knew I knew as well. I am certain you've never met that person before, but now that this happened I'm not sure anymore. Why did you dream of his face before we even met him? Why is his name in your dream the same as here?"

You huffed a small laugh, "Okay. You can stop now."

"Okay. I just wanted to prove a point."

"Taken, but see, whenever I face him I hear bones cracking and blood spilling. Even the giant footsteps are ringing in my ear. That's what I was feeling before I fainted."

"Oh no. It's that bad?" Her mood was instantly replaced with guilt. You're well aware of how she's just trying to make it lighter considering how bad this had affected you all these years. She's always been horrified with it as well but figured that both of you need to move forward and work around not making it disturb your life forever.

"I think it helped me a lot when Levi and Furlan went with me. At least I was reminded that there were people beside me who are real and uninvolved with the nightmares. But I still have no idea how to face him on my own, especially with the extra session crap he proposed. What if I just file an LOA again?"

"If that's the case then I'll be your constant reminder. We're in the same class after all.” Her tone became cheerful again. “I’d be even willing to accompany you with the sessions if needed! I'm so bored after all!" You sighed in defeat. What followed suit was a series of boring conversations people would have every sleepover, and you realized you're lucky enough to have this kid exhaust your thought process to the point of sleeping.

With a sharp breath, you felt your arms and leg sting. Your bones are cracked. Opening your eyes you saw the familiar moist wooden ceiling. It doesn't take you long to realize you're in the Scout Regiment's infirmary and aside from the bandages is a dry rough cloth you've been gripping on for dear life. Memories from the expedition flashed before you and upon realizing that this ragged cloth is the only thing you've brought back of your brother, tears welled up in your eyes again.

Is that really the outside world your brother was thrilled to explore? Life inside the walls is as miserable as it is but what good is there in your life if the outside land is more atrocious?

A scout member who entered the infirmary came to check you, and fortunately, he let you finish your cries first before approaching to check on your wounds. "How are you feeling?"

"How many days have passed?" You inquired plainly.

"It's been a week. Your progress is commendable so far. Such deep wounds may require a long time to heal if not permanent. But it's best to lie down until your wounds close, which may take a month or so."

"W-where," You stuttered as you felt an abrupt headache ringing all over you. "...are the others?" Your head's in a kaleidoscope. Different stuff and voices pile up in your mind continually. Maybe you hit yout head hard.

"We only managed to save a few people who were brought back. Some of them were dead on arrival, while others were able to survive but with blunt trauma. It's needless to say they're unfit for combat for the rest of their lives." He explained. "You are one of the few Scouts who managed to survive with the guarantee of full healing, so please avoid forcing your body to do things otherwise."

Observing him in one arm, it seems like he's no different from them. With a sigh, you asked him if it would be possible for you to eat. When he nodded and went out of the room, it came to you that all infirmary beds were occupied. It took only a minute until came back with what seemed to be a large wooden bowl of soup and a cup that smells like tea.

Before you could lament on how plain it is after being unconscious for a whole week, he clarified. "You just underwent surgery, and a large serving of meals would do you more harm than good. I also don't think you're capable of chewing your food yet." And he’s right. You actually don’t have the appetite. Furthermore, your squadmates flashed through your mind and panic rose again.

"Squad Leader Erwin, where is he? And the Scouts under his command? I would like to see them." You figured they must be the first people you ought to see, especially Erwin.

"Oh, so you were part of the surviving team from Squad Erwin?" His tone changed then. You looked at him in confusion. "That explains how fast you heal from your wounds compared to others. You must be strong enough for that man." He released a wry laugh upon realization. "I remember you now. Claps for your team, though. Almost all the squads present at the expedition were wiped out or incapacitated, but Squad Leader Erwin only managed to reduce you guys in half. So much for being his pawns."

"I dare you to say that again." You scowled. You're not taking anyone who'd trample on your brother's death and call him a mere pawn.

"Please don't be angry with me. I'm on your side. You're the sister of that man who's a sucker for Erwin, right?"

Utterly deprived of your rationality to stay composed and watch your mouth, you repled. "I wonder what made a permanently injured soldier who can't do anything but stay in this wicked place so drawn and contemptuous of my squad?"

His smug smile turned into a snarl. "Don't mix me in with the likes of you, all delusional for a new world when we can't even walk past the walls without hundreds of comrades turning into pulp."

"I may not be blinded with the idea of a whole new world like my brother, but I won't tarnish the name of our fallen comrades as if they risked their lives on something so futile. I don't get why people like you go to a place like this when you hold Survey Corps with such disdain."

"Don't get me wrong, missy. I used to be like you as well. Heck, I think I'm more like your brother than you. But before anything else, I would like to confirm something first. Your brother was eaten on Erwin's behalf, am I correct?" Your anger was quickly replaced by sheer numbness. You even felt your breath hitch after the inquiry.

"Seeing your reaction, I suppose I'm correct." You held on to the empty wooden bowl firmly, ready to make his head bleed if your patience runs dry. He continued to press nonetheless. "A comrade—no, a dear friend of mine died the same way."

"And?"

"I know hearing this would be hard for you. But please listen to me, not as a comrade but someone who went here years before you two." He started as he closed his eyes for a moment to sigh, and then continued. "Erwin and I went from the same division in Cadet Corps, so we knew each other for a long time. We graduated together and chose the Scouting Regiment together. We went along just well, to say the least. We even ended up together in the same squad. I was too foolish to think it's fortunate that we did. Trust me, I completely understand where you're coming from." With this, you're no longer on alert. Still, he noticed how your anxiousness persisted so he asked for your approval first before continuing. You nodded warily.

"Hope finally diminished in me when I got my hand eaten and I witnessed my friend die. Erwin and I had the most horrified looks on our faces. It was the first time someone really close died in front of us. It hit us harder than everything else. Honestly, I'm not insane enough to blame it on Erwin at first, even though our friend died protecting him." After this, his tone changed into anger and he gritted his teeth. "But that bastard, after everything that we've gone through, I was expecting him to lament over it. I was expecting him to at least show how remorseful he was about what happened. But he!" He banged his fist on the infirmary counter. "I can't believe I didn't notice how ruthless and insane he actually was. When I went to him after recovering from my lost hand and asked how he is after the traumatic encounter, he remained grimly indifferent. I pressed on him, slowly, but one day he just scornfully remarked that I should stop lamenting repeatedly over something that's over, or I'll be the next one crushed to death. Then I screamed at him, told him it was our friend who died, and he died to protect him! And you know what the fucker said? It was inevitable, which I agree of course, but then he remarked that my friend in the last minute of his life chose to die. So Erwin will choose not to be guilty about it because guilt is what would kill him. Erwin said not feeling bad about it is for the better to honor the death of our comrade. It put me off when he said that, honestly. In what way did he honor my friend's death exactly? So I picked a fight with him until he asked me with an annoyingly unbothered face, 'What good would it do to you if a death of a single person holds you back that much? If you can't suck it up and continue, just withdraw from being a Scout. Living in the comfort of the walls would suit a mentally weak person like you the best,' and that's how our friendship broke."

You held on to your blanket tight. Even though you can imagine him saying something like that, you cannot see him as someone so ruthless to disregard a comrade's life. Your brother, and even you who held him with slight contempt, never saw him like that.

"Since then he had became the eloquent man that he is now. He started talking trash about how important our comrades' lives were, and that we're here to continue the legacy of those who died so we should just fight until we achieve the answer beyond the walls. He talked and talked, and let other people die believing his bullshit. A manipulative bastard who secretly valued his own life and hid it with his eloquence."

You looked at your body all wrapped in bandages with a question ringing in your head— For whom did I offer these wounds? For whom did my brother offer his body? Although you know better than acting emotionally based on just one narrative, you can't help but be greatly affected by this. "What happened after?"

"You won't believe it! That man apologized after a month, saying he was very wrong to call me mentally weak. What the fuck was that? A last attempt to save face. And you know what, that Shadis doesn't make it even better. Our commander who does nothing but arrogance despite his soldiers dying on him is the one at fault for the death of your brother!" He's saying it with terrifying wide eyes and a maniacal laugh. It's one of the most deranged expressions you've seen for a while.

"To be honest, if not for the trust I put with my brother for his choices, I'd be seething in anger as well right now, but I'll see this for myself."

"I'm not asking you to buy my story. I just want you to understand why soldiers, and even citizens, hate Scouting Regiment to guts. Ever heard of the Dissolution Faction?" You bent your head sidewards in confusion so he continued. "Due to the people's unwavering plight, noblemen started to hear us. An anti-expedition faction intended for the fall of the Scouting Regiment was formed for a while now. From what I know, it was led by the concerned noblemen who think the Survey Corps are wasting people's funds, and expeditions must be postponed permanently."

"Don't you think your friend's life would really turn into vain if Survey Corps will not be successful in finding the answer beyond the walls?" You know these noblemen, you've worked with plenty of them. They might have different faces and different levels of fortune, but they all know better than being genuine to the masses. Behind that flamboyant facade of heroism is a sinister interest of their own— to have more of anything they put their eyes on. This nobleman, whoever they are, is no doubt using this faction to have the funds for themselves.

"My friend's life was already wasted the moment he died for that bastard." He rebuffed. "Good luck on seeing things for yourself though. I hope it won't hurt you the way it did for me. I was able to warn you after all."

"Whether or not it would hurt me is not your business,"

"Three spies from the Dissolution Faction will be entering the Survey Corps soon. The moment I'm waiting for will finally take place. I am thrilled to see that Erwin Smith and Shadis turn into ashes."

"Why are you saying this to me? Don't you think I can just easily turn you into the higher-ups?"

"It's not like you can do anything. What do you think will happen when you try to say it to them, huh? You think they'd believe you?" He provoked. "You have enough reason to hold our leaders with disdain. Your brother died because of their negligence after all!"

"Stop bringing me and my brother into this." You scowled.

"Believe me, if you died in your brother's stead, he'd come with that faction too." I doubt that but go on I guess. "You're smart enough to be in the Military Police so I trust your intuition to figure out how dirty things really are here. Come at me if you changed your mind. I have connections with them. My name's Vander." Military Police is way dirtier though, you thought to yourself. It's not like you're choosing the lesser evil, it's just that the mission here is way more sensical than that regiment.

As he went to fix some stuff, a knock was heard from the door. "This is Squad Leader Erwin Smith." The visitor remarked before entering.

"Speaking of the devil." Vander released a wry snark. He abruptly opened the door with your utensils at hand. He then turned around again, calling out your name. "Think about what I said, okay?" Then winked. You looked at him in disbelief. As he went out of the room, he intentionally bumped hard into Erwin's shoulder. Erwin remained stoic nonetheless.

"What a way to wake me up." You whispered with eyebrows curled and then started to massage your numbing legs.

"How are you feeling?" Erwin called your name.

Despite appearing unaffected, seeing him right after the talk about your brother's death and the possibility of Erwin using him, or you, as a pawn bothered you to no end. Pretending to examine your injuries, you answered. "That infirmary creep told me I'd get better in a month or so if I follow my treatment. So many injuries for my first expedition, I wonder how long I'd last at this point."

"I give my sincerest condolences and apologies for the death of your brother." Erwin lamented and you gripped hard on your legs upon hearing it.

"Why are you apologizing? Is there something you did wrong that caused my brother's demise?"

"Admittedly so," He answered without hesitation. "I am your squad leader, if there's something that caused your brother's death, it's my dereliction of duty. He also died while protecting me. If someone has to take accountability for his death, it should be me." It was hard to maintain a straight face as tears welled up your eyes again. You just turned your face to the side opposite from him so he wouldn't see you falter. What he said was very contrary to what Vander talked about, at least for now.

"And how'd you account for that?"

"Your brother left his will for you to me. I promised him to show it to you once he passed on."

previous chapter | next chapter

short reference for the chapter

15 notes · View notes

whatgaviiformes · 2 years

Text

Ficlet of FishTank and Enki

A/N: one of these days I am going to stop hurting Gordon. It is not this day. No title yet, but have a snippet

...

Virgil woke as he often did - with a gasp of alarm and his limbs jerking while his mind drowsily caught up with whatever sensation in the real world pulled him from his place of lucid dreams. The transition was abrupt, uncomfortable, and vivid colors fell away to the panting of his own breath and the clammy feeling of his own skin.

“Shit.” He ran his hand through his dark, wild curls. “John, what’s—”

It wasn’t John that woke him this time. Something about that bothered him. His room was quiet, there was no situation behind called in, no hologram of his brother with his arms crossed and an amused expression as he took too much pleasure in pulling him from his rest.

But his heart was still pounding.

Why was his pulse racing?

He pulled at his Henley, the material bunching up under his fist, and forced himself to breathe intently until he calmed.

Maybe it had just been his dreams, the content already fuzzy around the edges and slipping away.

And yet? There was a nagging feeling that sent a shiver up his spine. Something was wrong. He knew it as sure as he knew his own name. The urgency itched under his skin, and it was disorienting to feel so pulled into awareness, but not know why.

He slid his feet into a pair of slippers and opened his door slowly.

The hallway that connected their individual living spaces was bright, and as he stepped through to the empty lounge, the windows opened their space to the natural light of the tropical sun. It was a cloudless day, the water a mirror of the sky, and the kind of day where sensitive fish hid deeper below the surface to escape the light.

Well. His own brain was not often attuned to the movements of fish, and it was with a nervous energy he realized the last thought was not his own.

The itch he felt in his blood – it was their cry. Their worry.

Gordon.

His brother’s bedroom door was innocently closed, the lights dim and blinds drawn based on the lack of light through the cracks of the frame.

“Come in.” Gordon’s voice came through the door while Virgil’s knuckles were still poised to knock. Instead, with Gordon’s permission, he reached for the latch and pushed the door in, letting himself enter the dark space.

The bed was untouched but sans a pillow and the woolen blanket at the foot of his bed.

His squid of a brother was sat near the covered window, both missing articles tucked close to him.

Gordon in his recliner was never a good sign. The foot of the chair was extended, and the afghan spread over his legs. The pillow, he held close this chest, his fingers curling tightly into the material.

Virgil’s breath must have caught.

“Oh, my god. Thank you,” Gordon breathed, his movements stiff. “It worked. I wasn’t sure it would.”

“Gordon?” He knelt down beside him. “What happened? What do you need?”

His younger brother closed his eyes. “Bad morning. I can’t move.”

“Let me get you to the infirmary.”

“No!”

Virgil placed his hand on the end of the arm rest. “Gordon—”

“No, Virg.” Gordon reached for his hand. “Please, that’s the last thing I need.”

Virgil sighed. It was Gordon’s fault his hair was going to go grey. “At least let me help you to bed.”

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way Gordon was looking at him, his eyes bright and pleading, enough mischief behind them for Virgil to know he wasn’t going to like what Gordon was about to say….

“I need to see Enki.”

#Gavii Scribit #ficlet #enki #For the love of FishTank

33 notes · View notes

dr3amofagame · 3 years

Text

more of the mutually assured destruction duo, post-prison this time! this one was really fun, thinking about what this dynamic might be like in the future gives me SO much brainrot, im so excited. this one’s also a little dark, so make sure to read the warnings + tags !! :D

tw: implied prison abuse, starvation, toxic relationship, touch starvation, manipulation, panic attack, trauma, blood, injury

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison.

And it's ironic, because Wilbur hasn't even been around, has been in hell for fuck's sake playing Competitive Solitaire for nine-odd years, but even he could've seen the self-destruction hanging like a cloud around the other's head from a million miles (and several months? years?) away. Perhaps, he thinks wryly, you can only see the signs when you've lived them, or maybe red flags don't raise alarm when you’ve painted the entire figure in blood, but it doesn't really matter, in the end, because the final result is the same.

Still, it's just a little funny when he's stopped in the middle of his journey through the Nether, not a piece of armor on him per usual and an unused netherite sword slung over his hip.

"Hello, Sapnap." The kid is standing in front of him, eyes gleaming in badly-hidden anger and desperation, smoke rising from the mottled red-black skin on his hands. "Fancy seeing you around."

"You-" Sapnap sputters, unable to speak as his face flushes red in frustration, and Wilbur smiles at him condescendingly. The expression on the other's face is one he's seen before - one Tommy had been particularly inclined to give him in the past, when his emotions raged so heavily that there was nothing for the pressure to do but build, too thick and heavy to force themselves out of his throat. "You're monsters," Sapnap manages, finally, and Wilbur quirks an eyebrow.

At least we're self-aware, he thinks, the all-too-familiar twinge of irritation at Tommy's - and apparently, Sapnap's particular brand of reckless naivety pulsing at the base of his skull. He lets none of these thoughts show on his face as he cocks his head to the side, smiles wider - and Sapnap, just like Tommy, takes the bait.

'Why are you smiling?" He looks achingly young - they all do, really, their expressions and reactions dripping with a sort of innocence and sincerity that dissolved from Wilbur's own face somewhere around the fifteen-hundreth game of poker, and it really does feel ironic, how quickly the outside world can fall apart compared to the unending constancy of the void - but he digresses.

He didn't know Sapnap well before his whole death thing, and as much as he wants to use his partner to get information on the other members of the server, he doesn't really think Dream is really even lucid enough for that - the man clearly hasn't been thinking clearly, not for a long time. It doesn't matter, though, because you learn to read people when your life becomes nothing but running the same broken-edged memories over and over again in your mind and smiling jaggedly over the same few card games - Wilbur had always been a people watcher, and Sapnap's feelings are stamped on every corner of his face.

"Monster, huh," he says, saying the word slowly, rolling it over his tongue like he's tasting it for the first time, watching from the corner of his eye as Sapnap squirms, "Interesting word you've got here. You use it often?"

Sapnap bristles, smoke curling from his nostrils - "It's what you are, dickhead."

Rolling his eyes internally, Wilbur keeps up the act, humming as he fiddles idly with his cufflink. "I mean, if you really believe that," he rocks forward on his right foot, stifling a smile at the way the younger draws back, "But really, it's all a matter of perspective." He twists himself around, pivoting around his heel, beginning to walk in an arc around Sapnap's left side, watching as he spins around, shoulders drawn up to his ears. "What do you think?"

"I think that you're full of shit," he says, voice flat, and Wilbur laughs. It's genuine, really, because well - Sapnap's different. He's fun; the entire server is, after so long in the void. You can only spend so much time with the same two people before they drive you a little up the metaphorical wall, but Sapnap's reactions are fresh and new and different, still saturated with vitality that hasn’t been leached out by the same deck of cards in the same scarred hands shuffled and reshuffled for eternity. He's interesting, and new, and most of all, predictable.

"Say, Sapnap," he continues, blowing over the other's anger, knowing that it'll only make the frustration build more. He lets his hair flop lazily over one eye, lets his smile grow wider, lips pressed together in amusement, turns his face so that it's lit eerily by the lava lake beneath them. "If we're monsters for, I don't know, setting off a few stacks of TNT," he waves his hand flippantly, watching the muscle of the other's jaw jump in poorly-hidden rage, "What does that make you for what you did to Dream?"

Sapnap's eyes go wide, and Wilbur knows he's struck the jackpot. He lets his lips part to reveal bared teeth, jagged and glinting in the light. "I'm sorry, did that hit a nerve?"

The kid's mouth opens- closes- emotions warring on his face, fists curling and uncurling at his sides, lip trembling. "We- we had to-" his hands come to his face, palms digging into his eyes, and while he's not looking, Wilbur draws his expression back a bit, becoming softer, more welcoming. When Sapnap looks back up, his eyes are shining, hands shaking still; he steps forward, then rocks back on his back foot like he doesn't know where to go. "What do you mean?" he throws the words like they're meant to be a threat, but by the end his voice has devolved into something high-pitched and keening, overflowing with desperate grief that Wilbur latches onto like a starving man (ha) with his last meal.

"I'm sorry, it does seem rather insensitive for me to assume," he resumes pacing around the other, voice lilting, soft, "I just mean, it seemed pretty obvious, don't you think? I don't think I've ever seen someone so skinny, really, but I guess that is what happens when you get starved,"

"Shut up-"

"Not to mention the whole panicking thing, I mean, he's like Tommy sometimes with all of the fucking shaky breathing and mumbling around like creepers, not that I'd know what all of that's about," he watches Sapnap through half-hooded eyes, darkly amused, "and pickaxes, oddly enough, but oh well. Who am I to judge?"

"Shut up-"

"And all of the scars - I thought they were from you, honestly, he told me about the whole 'taking his last life' thing, but then he jumped into lava one day - I guess there wasn't much to do in that cell, huh? He didn't even scream, it's really pretty fucking incredible - I thought I'd actually have to break him down a bit, but really, you've made my life so much easier-"

"SHUT UP-"

Wilbur watches with a too-wide grin as Sapnap finally, finally charges, a netherite sword appearing in his hand as he races blindly ahead, tears shining on his cheeks, his words more pain than thought as he brings the blade down-

A blur of purple, the sound of crumbling netherrack and metal meeting metal, flesh hitting flesh - Wilbur moves smoothly out of the way as Sapnap crashes to the ground, an armored figure bearing down an axe against the shield he's raised between them.

Dream, hair tangled and long, wearing armor that is far too heavy for his skinny frame, every inch of him shaking in panic, should hardly be a threat - but this is Sapnap, weakened by Wilbur's sharp words and crippled by the shock of seeing his former best friend's face again, eyes still unfocused from the rage and tears that had clouded over them moments before, so he can do little but raise his shield as the netherite slams into it, again and again. Not a word falls from Dream's lips, but he brings down the weapon at a ruthless pace - ever since he's been free, his attack style has changed greatly from the defensive style he used to favor, even to Wilbur's untrained eye - there's no skill, no art to the way he attacks anymore, just the fearful ferocity of a dog trapped in a cage for far, far too long.

He finally kicks Sapnap down the netherrack cliff that they're on, the other man left to nurse his wounds below them - Wilbur doesn't bother sparing him another thought; Dream's far too weak to cause any permanent damage. Instead, he approaches his partner, weapon, with a smile, watching, satisfied, when he whirls around with a manic expression.

"I'm alright, see?" he croons as Dream's shoulders move up and down with his heaving breaths, eyes fever-bright, teeth bared. He brings a hand down on the other's shoulder and watches as he flinches at the movement, breath hitching, every muscle freezing, knuckles pale on the handle of his axe, before moving again, stumbling forwards, hands reaching for Wilbur's head and stopping halfway. Wilbur tips his head forward, lets the shorter brush his face with trembling fingers, checking his unmarred skin for blood through the purpling bruises already forming on his cheek, and thinks how powerful he is to have a god at his beck and call, a perfect attack dog brought to heel, death itself obediently at his side.

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison, and as Wilbur runs his hand up and down his back, feeling the way his spine arches at the touch, at the fluttering pulse under the skin-and-bone wrist under his fingers, he thinks how fortunate he is to be the first to notice.

#old stuff :]#queue <3 #tw abuse #tw panic attack #tw manipulation #tw toxic relationship #tw blood #tw injury #tw trauma #tw touch starvation #mutually assured destruction duo my beloved #post prison dream brainrot always lmao #my writing :D #my asks !!

228 notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

lavender latte xi (no longer canon)

NOTE: Chapters X and XI are not longer considered canon in Lavender Latte.

....

(explicit, r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

|| series masterlist ||

word count: ~6.8k

beta’ed: @hawnks (thank u!! 💕)

heat in two ways

warnings: spicy content, a little bit of overstimulation. enjoy, loves ;^)

...

a/n: a little recap from last chapter, because its been awhile! keigo and reader ‘nested’ together after that nasty little panic attack from a few chapters ago. and now? guess you gotta see find out!! ;^) enjoy my loves!!!!

Things felt calmer, later. Your combined world had settled into the sheets with slumber.

Thank god.

When you both awoke, the sun was just beginning to set.

The light that filtered in from the cracks in the curtains was amber, painting orange streaks across your dark bedroom.

The two of you had shifted, somewhat, perhaps falling even deeper into the nest you’d made, the softness of it forming to the contours and curves of your snuggled-up bodies.

It was cozy, burrowing your face into Keigo’s chest, hardly awake and vaguely aware of the way his hands pressed wide against your lower back.

You felt melted in the best way.

“Comfy,” The word slipped from your lips without much thought, snuggling closer.

Your skull was no longer throbbing, neither was your hand or foot.

It just felt calm, the only sensations Keigo’s breath and heart, and the ambient hum of the rest of the world.

“Am I now?” Keigo chuckled from above you, voice crackling with sleep. “I have to say the same about you.”

You made a high sound in the back of your throat, shifting the slightest bit to drag your lips along his throat, bearing into the flesh with the barest drags of your teeth.

He shuddered, squeezing the fat around your hips.

Maybe it was that your mind was still somewhat raw, but you were feeling particularly gooey.

Maybe, it was that your mind didn’t have the will or the way to be too guarded, not when you felt so safe, especially in contrast to the hellish mindscape you’d been in hours before.

Not that you remembered it all that well— and good, you didn’t want to.

Your only bits of lucidity were in the present.

And god, did that feel good.

Keigo tended to wake up quickly.

It was just how he ticked, as tired as he was at any given time, he could always pull himself to wakefulness so quickly.

With you, all warm and fucking perfect against his side, it was both a blessing and a curse.

Sure, he could’ve gotten to sleepily awaken with you, if his body hadn’t startled him from REM sleep the moment you shifted and whined against him.

Though, being awake meant he got to watch you wake, and that in and of itself was a privilege he coveted.

It was new, even with the few ‘sleepovers’ the two of you had shared, all that sleepy peace was nearly untouched. The stillness and natural slowness of it was something that Keigo had come to crave.

He traced shapes against your ribs, leaning into the feel of you.

“How are you feeling?” His words were muffled into the top of your hair.

“Good.”

“Very descriptive.”

“‘M sleepy,” You truly whined, twisting your legs with his own. “Don’t wanna think right now, Kei’.”

He suppressed a shiver at the little nickname on your lips.

“That can be arranged,” Keigo hummed, pulling a blanket higher on your shoulders. “Do you want to keep sleeping? I can run out and grab some food?”

There was a moment of silence before you sniffled, burrowing your face into his neck.

Still so fragile.

“D-don’t leave yet, okay? Just a little more, please,” Your voice was pitched up with sleep, wobbling as Keigo felt the smallest tears begin to wet his sleep shirt.

His heart sank.

“I’m not leaving, not unless you ask me to,” He murmured into your hair. “I’ll keep telling you that as long as I need to.”

The multiple meanings of his words mostly went over your head, yet you felt overwhelming and instant relief of knowing that Keigo wouldn’t be leaving your nest on his own volition anytime soon.

The assurance made your heart swell, even if your tired mind couldn’t swim in the depths of his tone.

All the same, you sucked in a breath before pulling him down into a needy kiss.

It was reminiscent of the kind that you’d shared earlier. All desperate and clawing for grounding and stability in touch.

Keigo gave it freely in the same way you gave it without knowing.

He nipped at your bottom lip, relishing the high keen that pulled from the back of your throat.

You’d done this all before, heated kisses and much-needed touches, but there had always been a line to stay away from. Especially on such an intense day, the last thing Keigo wanted to do was push your limits.

But, maybe you wanted to.

You tugged at Keigo’s waves, snuggling closer in time with the way you kitten-licked into his mouth.

He groaned, shifting against you. You moved with him, craving him in any way you could get.

His leg shifted between your thighs. Immediately, you squeezed around it, feeling his own tight, lean muscle.

You’d gotten good at repressing your desire for his touch, barring yourself from any contact that could push past your threshold toward overstimulated disaster. Maybe, you had been overcautious, but it seemed better than scaring Keigo away with your potential shortcomings.

Wound together in the heat of your ‘nest’, though?

Your quirk and mind had already detonated and didn’t have anything left in you besides fumes. All that burned in your gut was the swell of want and heat.

You ground against him, barely, whining against his lips.

Your heart panged a bit when Keigo pulled back, lips wet and pupils wide.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you carefully rolled your hips against, the hardening bulge in his joggers pressing against your navel.

“I want to feel you,” It slipped out desperate and sticky as you locked your hands around the back of his neck.

It was more than okay, better than okay.

“I promise, I’ll stop us if anything gets to be too much,” You told him, a little more sheepish as Keigo stared up at you, wide-eyed.

His lips parted as his words got lost between his mind and mouth. His hands stayed still at his sides by sheer power of will.

“I just...” Your voice wobbled as you rubbed at your eyes. “Is this okay?”

You were too soft for too much, but Keigo didn’t mind; he never did.

“Very.”

He pulled you down by the collar of your shirt to show you how ‘okay’ it was.

Admittedly, he was needy with his touches. His palms cupped your ass, squeezing and massaging over your shorts. Keigo had been holding himself back in the weeks prior without issue, but getting more of you, in any way was intoxicating.

That was not to say that he didn’t keep in mind your fragile state, no, he just made sure his touch was firmer, and his breath ran hotter.

Sensation served as a gentle reminder that ‘Keigo was right there, and he wasn’t letting you go.

You kept a tight grip on his sweater as he flipped the two of you, nudging your booted-leg to splay out comfortably.

“Fank’ you,” You mumbled against his lips, chasing them for a moment as he drew away.

“Of course,” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, trailing lower to nip at your neck.

You whimpered when he reached a particularly sensitive patch

“This okay?” Keigo hummed.

“V-Very,” You replied, playing with the hem of his cropped sweater. “Please keep going.”

(Like you had to ask.)

You kept an eye on your fragile state, but with how little there was left in you and the quiet of the surroundings, there wasn’t much to watch. All you could feel was the roll and heat of each other’s bodies. There was nothing else to ring loudly in your skull.

Just Keigo and you, twisted up in each other and the bedding of your nest.

Perfect.

You snuck your hands up the back of his sweater, running your nails down his back, just barely teasing at the roots of his outstretched wings. Teasing him was easier than you’d thought it’d be, considering you knew how gooey he got any time you even got close to his wings.

The shudder he gave you was confirmation of that.

“Careful there,” Keigo warned with a chuckle. Despite his laughter, you could feel the way his breath stutter with each sweet touch.

“Why? Whatcha gonna do about it, Kei’?” You grinned back, smitten, as he stilled around your collarbones.

“There’s plenty I could do,” It was a warning, one that enticed you to no end.

“Oh yeah? Tell me about it.,” You challenged.

“I think you’d like that too much,” Keigo chuckled against your neck. “Seems you’re pretty excited already too, hm?”

A few of his fingers teased at the waistband of your shorts.

He wasn’t wrong.

(At all.)

You scraped your nails along the base of his wings and much to your joy, Keigo’s spine arched and he practically whimpered.

“Cute,” You snorted, rolling your hips up into his. “You’re not so tough, either.”

Something like a growl rumbled from the back of his throat.

“Hush, dove,” Keigo cooed, far too sweetly for how his hands were dipping underneath your shirt. “Neither are you.”

Both of you were so damn doughy for the other, the banter fell away. There was plenty of time for teasing, but both of you were thinking of a very different kind.

Before you could quip back, Keigo was palming at your breast, teasing your pebbled nipple. You bit your lip to suppress a whine, shots of pleasure turning you even gooier and pliant.

“I’m sure you’ve got plenty of soft points,” Keigo sounded all too pleased with himself as he hovered his face over yours. He gave a few slow blinks, pupils blown wide. “And I cannot fucking wait to find them all.”

...

If you hadn't soaked through your panties before, you certainly had now.

Keigo could do anything to you, you decided. Having him over you, all sleep golds and heat was warming your insides in the best ways.

And you wanted more.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed, and quickly melted as your shirt was pushed higher and higher. Every piece of you, raw and needy, wanted Keigo, needed him close, even closer—

And Keigo fed the flames your mutually hot desire without shame.

“I’ve really wanted to learn you like this,” His fingers slowly traced over your side, taking his time to watch you squirm. His voice slowed to drawl, “All the ways I can get you fucked off my touch.”

Oh, what a prospect.

The thought of Keigo wrecking you was only a smidge daunting. It was easy to forget any potential unease when you let your relax against his touch, imagining all of the things he could do to you.

God, did you want him to have his way.

“You’re welcome to t-try,” You gently challenged as Keigo hiked your shirt over your tits, teeth scraping over the skin of your neck once more.

With a chuckle, he lapped at your pulse point, “Gladly.”

Despite his confidence and your waning will, you weren’t to be outdone.

You wound your fingers into the small, fluffy feathers at the base of his wings, teasing the roots with the pads of your thumbs.

In the earlier weeks, you’d found Keigo to be surprisingly sensitive. He joked occasionally about touch-starvation, but you knew there was a fair amount of truth to it. There had to be, with how his breath hitched with even your lightest touch.

His wings were the culmination of that thrumming need and craving for contact, and you were more than willing to exploit this knowledge.

Keigo moaned against your neck with the stroke of your fingers, cursing under his breath. Your light massaging only seemed to spur him on, nails digging lightly into the soft flesh of your chest.

Despite the pricklings of pain, you still felt so soft.

You were too weak for him, all wound up in the softness of the bedding and him, in every sensory sense, to put up too much of your own front. He felt too good not to invite and urge closer.

You tugged him up by the hair on the back of his head, pressing your lips together and stroking your thumbs down his cheeks.

Keigo kept his hips mostly still but was very aware of his own ragingly hard cock. Maybe, he was leaking into his boxer.

Maybe.

You gasped against his lips, all breathy and sweet, “F-fuck, Keigo.”

His mind ran blank, white-hot from the pleasure of mere words.

He mentally repeated your words a few times, in your perfect cadence. The way your breath stuttered in your chest, the heat of your surrounding him, the softness of your body and the break in your voice—

No one had ever said his name like that before and God, did he want more of it.

He’d pull it from his lips as long as you’d let him.

You pulled away only to meet his eyes with your blown pupils and upturned lips.

He calmed himself at the sight, reminding himself carefully that the last thing he would want to do is push you over your invisible edge of overstimulation.

“You okay?” Keigo asked instinctively, running a hand through your hair to soothe any potential ills.

“I-I am, very okay,” You swallowed, “Two things, though.”

“Shoot.”

“One, can you lose this?” You fiddled with the hem of his sweater. “I’m not... sure how to get it off with your wings.”

Yes, yes, yes. Holy fuck.

Maybe, Keigo was acting a bit too needy, but he couldn’t make himself care. With the sweetness on your face and the insistence in your touch, you were right there with him.

Keigo immediately sat up over your hips, tugging his shirt from around the base of his wings.

He swore his heart was going to burst as he took in the absolutely love-drunk look in your eyes. Your throat bobbed as you took him in,

You reached up to run a hand along his navel, visibly swallowing, “Keigo... you’re so gorgeous— it’s kinda overwhelming sometimes. In a good way.”

Fuck his ego being ‘boosted’, more like inflated.

Maybe ego wasn’t the right word. His chest felt too full for it to just be some superficial sense of pride. It all felt too raw and sweet to just be some baseless confidence.

It was that earnestness of yours again, lighting him up from the inside out.

“Sweetness,” The name rolled off his tongue, new and comfortable. “You’re too kind, really. But, I gotta know, what was that second thing you mentioned?”

You blinked back your stupor, shaking your head.

“Uh, fuck, it made more sense before, sorry, it’s alright.”

Keigo frowned, lowering himself back down to brace his arms on either side of your head.

“Nah, tell me, dove. I want to know.”

You bit your lip, turning your head and gaze away. Keigo tapped your chin back to center, nuzzling into your nose with his own.

“You sure?” You asked softly, hand trailing up and behind his shoulders.

“Of course.”

“Earlier it just seemed like you were... uh—” You averted your gaze again. “Holding back is all. On my neck. You don’t need to.”

Keigo cocked his head to the side, “What do you mean?”

“Like...” You were struggling to get the words out, face heating up. “I would really like it if you marked me up a bit, you know. In that sense. You know?”

The gears turned in his mind, something burning deep in his chest.

If his cock wasn’t rock hard before, it was now.

The thought of marking you, his sweet, somewhat injured partner (mate), up in the comfort of the nest the two of you made together made something stir in his gut and mind.

And fuck, if he wasn’t going to act on it.

Keigo fully slipped your shirt off, trying to take in as much of you with his eyes before his hands and mouth got their turn.

Hungrily, he wound a hand into the hair on the side of your head, pulling to bear your neck shoulder full to him. With a growl, his teeth raked over your neck, hard enough that your moans cracked as they fell.

Without thought, Keigo spoke, earnest and hushed, “You have no fucking idea how much I want to wreck you, do you?”

You swallowed, “Show me then.”

...

That honesty was going to be the death of him and you, he was sure of it.

Keigo held nothing back as he sucked and bit along your neck and shoulders, leaving bruises and marks in his wake wherever he could.

The little glimpses of red and purple had him scalding under his skin.

Much the same for you, notably.

“Fuck, Keigo!” You gasped when he sucked a bruise onto the underside of your breast, lips moving to the bud of your nipple later to massage and suck and tease and generally make you undone.

Your cunt physically ached with the need to be touched, the little bit of friction you could manage from grinding against Keigo pelvis was something, sure, but hardly enough.

Not to mention you wanted to feel more of him too.

“C-Can I touch you? Please?” You asked, breathless and pushed yourself up on your elbows.

Keigo pulled your shirt up and over your tits, panting.

Idly, he traced over the hickeys and bites he’d left.

“How do you want to touch me, dove?”

He left the question open, eyeing you with a half-lidded, nearly black gaze.

You swallowed down any fears you might’ve had, body thrumming, but quirk sufficiently dormant.

You slid your hand between the two of your bodies, cupping Keigo’s cock over his sweats.

“However makes you feel good.”

Keigo’s expression nearly broke, but he retained his composure, barely between his ragged breaths and hungry eyes.

“Can I suck your cock? Please?”

Keigo couldn’t hold back the way his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

You, begging for his cock, bruised and bitten all for him with the sweetest whine to your voice.

“P-please, dove, please.”

Oh, to hear Keigo beg for your mouth, for your touch— for you.

You obliged eagerly.

Keigo slipped off his joggers, palming himself through his boxer as he kneeled in the bedding. His wings had assembled themselves more fully, the red plumage outstretched and almost rippling with the heat of the room.

You knelt below him, mouth watering.

“You sure, sweetness?” Keigo asked, giving you a last chance.

“Very, please, let me make you feel good,” Your voice nearly broke.

It was all the confirmation you needed.

Nimble fingers pulled down the front of his boxers, cock springing up, pearly and wet on the head.

He was curved and thick, darker in the head with a bit of well-groomed blond trimming patched around the base. His balls were fattened, swelling with need and hot to the touch.

Part of you wanted to make a joke, crack some line about how ‘excited’ Keigo was, but your bodily reaction was far louder.

You thumbed at the head of his cock, biting your lip as Keigo tossed his head back, cursing under his breath.

You wanted to hear more of him breathing your touch, you had to.

Leaning forward, you licked away the preek before spitting back onto his cock.

Keigo had to be fucking dreaming because his cock was in your mouth and you were doing so well.

He babbled out sweet praises as you swallowed around him, twisting your wrist and the base and bobbing your head. You always felt so good, but this was a new kind of good, the kind that made his balls tighten and head light.

“W-woah, dove,” He could feel how close he was as he buried a hand in your hair. “Slow down—”

You pulled off his cock was a pop, looking up at him with tear-pricked eyes, “Don’t you wanna come down my throat, Kei’?”

He audibly whined, stroking a finger down the softness of your cheek with a slow nod.

Like that, you were licking up the underside of his cock, pulling him back into your mouth.

His hands tangled into your hair, not pulling too much or too hard, only bracing himself on you as you dragged him closer and closer to the edge.

Keigo reached a gasping end as your nose brushed against his navel, painting your throat white in ecstasy and god, did you let him. His wings stretched and puffed outwards, shuddering and twitching with his high as he choked out a moan against his clenched fist.

Your nails left crescent indents on his hips as he pulled you off his cock, drool and spittle dripping from him and off of your own chin.

You were certain you looked fucked out and fuck, did you feel it.

Blinking up at him with teary eyes, you cracked a wide smile.

“Dove, you’re so good,” Keigo dropped from his knees to smother you in the best possible way. “So, so good.”

He meant it.

He peppered your face with kisses, wiping and licking away any spare spit that stickied your chin. There was so much care in his actions, considering how fucked out he was and filthy the two of you were.

Not that either of you minded.

Keigo had you on your back again, surrounded by softness, as a brief reprieve.

“How was that?” You asked cheekily. “Feeling good?”

“So good, dove,” Keigo sighed, lowering himself against you. “That being said, could I help make you feel good?

You swallowed, assessing yourself.

Your panties were soaked, thighs sticky beneath your shorts. You knew you were ambiently squirming for a fucking crumb to satisfying your craving and need for touch, for him.

“Y-yes,” You stuttered, something akin to relief rushing through you. “Please.”

Keigo didn’t need to be told twice.

His head spun, pleasantly love-drunk in all the best ways. With you splayed out below him, heat singing in your cheeks and heat at the surface of your skin wherever his fingertips drifted.

“Get comfy, dove,” Keigo pushed lightly on your sternum, encouraging you back into the plushness of the nest. He allowed himself a moment to compose himself, trying to calm the tremble in his hands.

Maybe he was a little... nervous.

Not for any good reason. He knew his own prowess, and he was confident that he could easily make you come undone in any number of ways.

The anxiety tied up in his gut and his own perked up arousal made his palms go clammy.

The source of it all was also splayed out before him.

It was you, and that made this feel a hell of a lot more important than any of his previous trysts.

He was stumbling.��

You noticed.

Keigo’s jaw tightened visibly, and he chewed at his lip—

All he needs is a little push.

An idea formed in your head.

“Hey, Keigo? Can we try something?”

“Anything,” His gaze refocused, alight and rewarming.

And, God, was his voice fucking desperate and dripping with something hot and infectious.

You stopped your hand at the waistband of your sleep shorts, sinfully soft and thin.

With a shaking breath, you cracked “I-I know I could get overwhelmed, but I trust you, you know? I love you.”

Your breaths hitched in time with each other.

“I love you too,” Keigo’s exhale matched yours, hands finding their home on your hips, “So much.”

The words had a lot in them for how new they were, and you only wanted more held in each syllable.

And preferably, something stuffing your cunt.

You bit your lip, sliding your hand closer to your aching sex, silently praying you’d get your words right.

“Tell me what to do.”

There was a moment of quiet as you tore your gaze from Keigo and you immediately cursed yourself.

“I-I mean–” You tried to backpedal.

Keigo was quick to hush you with a kiss, something deep that made you shudder.

“Elaborate,” As he pulled away, he stayed close, thumbing at your burning cheeks, “How far do you want me to take that statement, dove?”

“Like...” You kept your confidence as strong as you could. “Tell me how to touch myself.”

Keigo was silent for a moment, a shaking breath dripping from his lips as his feathers in all their places practically writhed.

“Gladly.”

Keigo pulled himself together, despite how weak-kneed he felt. His breath out over the back of your neck, his words curling against your ears as he watched your hand linger near your neglected cunt.

Pity.

“First, shorts off.”

You nodded, wiggling out of the soft fabric with Keigo’s help, though he made sure to keep your panties on. Ideas were spinning in his skull, too many, probably, but it wasn’t too hard to narrow down particular pleasures that you obviously needed.

The vulnerability of it all made your insides twist.

How long had it been since you were this bare with another person...

A while.

You had to be gentle with yourself.

And Keigo needed to be soft with you.

He pulled you from your thoughts with a coo, tracing little nonsense shapes on your stomach from between your parted thighs.

“Dove,” Keigo dripped something that made your insides boil. “Touch yourself a little for me. Just over your panties, tease yourself. I want to see you .”

You keened in the back of your throat, going to mush in his arms as two of your fingers traced over the wet patch on your panties.

(Keigo mentally stored that you got off on being told what to do, suppressing the way his eyes wanted to roll back into his skull and ignoring the way his dick switched..)

One of his broad hands ran over your hips, squeezing the fat of your thighs as he coaxed you onto your back.

It was more vulnerable for you like this, almost entirely exposed to him, but in the lowlight and softness of the room, it wasn’t nearly so intimidating.

It helped that within moments, your lips caught his, a moan muffled into his mouth.

As you broke apart, Keigo tugged at the elastic of your panties, “You’ve already gotten these pretty messy, hm? Let’s get them off.”

They followed your shorts onto the floor.

Keigo let his wings do as they pleased as he took you in, watching your expressions, feeling your breath and heartbeat with each twitch of your body.

It was like putting together some divinely crafted puzzle.

He meant it, ‘learning you’, and your suggestion of guiding your own getting off was the perfect time to sample your pleasures, mutually.

You pulled Keigo from his thoughts with a kiss, snaking out a hand to grab his, and pressing it between your thighs.

“Oh? You want me to show you now?” Keigo murmured against your lips, tracing patterns on your thighs.

“P-please.”

Keigo clicked his tongue, eye half-lidded, “You know, I could get used to you begging.”

Any retort died on your lips as he slid two fingers up and down your slit, stopping to roll and circle your clit.

Pleasure burned across your insides in the best way.

You’d craved his touch in this way for so long, why had it taken so long to let him touch you like this?

Maybe, the barest bits of your quirk activated as he rose from your side to slide down your body, little kisses and touches in your wake. Your mouth filled with sweet cream and cinnamon as you caught his gaze, burning and doughy all at the same time.

One of his fingers crooked into your cunt and you swore you saw stars and sweet fruits from that alone.

“Oh, good, dove, let it out,” Keigo’s voice felt too sweet, perfectly, as he kissed your thighs, heating you through and through.

It was all so tender, you could feel stray tears leaking down over your temples.

When was the last time someone touched you like this?

(Never.)

Keigo was supposed to be fast and frizzy, but nothing about the way he licked your cunt was even close to that. He was supposed to be flighty, but with the way he laid between your thighs, sucking at your clit and stretching you on his fingers, he was anything but.

Your hand buried in his hair, your ground against his face, thighs squeezing his cheeks. The heat of it all burned you in the best way, singed you with syrupy fire that you’d wholly let consume you.

“K-Keigo!” Your voice shattered as he massaged at your insides in time with the stroking of his tongue.

You’d thought he’d tease, but he was enjoying this as much as you were, wrapped up in it all.

With your eyes screwed shut, you couldn’t see the way his wings wrapped around and hid the two of you from the world. You couldn’t see how he’d shift his gaze to your slack jaw and watery eyes, all fucked out and open-mouth.

Each sensation of you around him, in the comfort of the little nest you’d made together, made him wild.

Keigo had wondered briefly, how love worked, considering he didn’t know much about it. Not beyond what he’d seen in movies and books, or the fragments of it from his own upbringings. None of his old flings ever held anything close to how he felt towards you.

Love was different than all of what he knew, which is probably what made it so easy.

He had a blank slate to etch with you, and god, if he wasn’t excited.

And only a piece of that was the way he fucked his fingers into your cunt, the wet sounds mingling in his ears with your high moans and little pleads. He could feel you fluttering around his fingers, practically pouring into his mouth.

He drank each drop of you down.

It was all so good—

Too good.

Each touch was like sweet flames, pouring down your throat to your toes and cunt, stirring you up and never letting you settle. Keigo’s tongue and touch were heaven, sweet relief and addicting in every way.

Except when the embers became too hot, burning you instead of warming you. The honey in your mouth went stale and the cinnamon singed like broken glass.

You’d passed over your threshold.

It happened so suddenly, you felt like you were drowning. Your moans choked in your throat, stuffed with wet wool. You grappled with sensation, eyes going wide as your chest began to heave. Burning and floating, you threw your arm over your eyes.

You tried to take a deep breath, but all of the sensation flowing through your fried body weighed too heavily to be fought through.

“W-wait, stop.”

...

Everything had already gone still.

Keigo was far too perceptive and sensitive to let you slip too far.

“You’re okay, we can stop, whatever you need,” Keigo rose, pulling a stray blanket over you as he scrambled for other ways to comfort you.

You reached down, shaky and teary, “N-no more, please, can I hold you?”

Any sort of barriers of shame or reluctance were gone, now that you were fried through and through.

Keigo was at your side in a moment, carefully tucking you into his side after some insistent tugging at his biceps.

“I’ve got you,” He hushed you, pressing his wet lips over your damp crown. “Big breaths.”

“Uh-huh,” You clung to his words, sucking down his scent of sweat and comforting spices. “Big breaths.

Keigo rubbed your back and shoulders as firmly as felt right, resting his chin over your head as you shook against him.

“I promise, I don’t get overstimulated this much,” You whispered in his chest. “This is ridiculous.

“You’ve had a long day, dove,” Keigo reminded you with a laugh. “The fact that you almost came is impressive.”

“... You could tell I was close?”

“Of course. I love you, dove, you know?” Keigo breathed, almost soundless, mostly to himself. “I gotta know that kind of stuff.

But, the room was too quiet and far too still for the words to not to be noticed.

“I love you too,” You kissed the underside of his chin, the stubble still sticky with you. Maybe it was a bit gross, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. With your own light giggle, you shook your head. “I can’t believe my quirk edged me.”

Keigo’s chest rumbled for a moment before he squeezed you, hard, busting into a full fit of laughter that you couldn’t help but join.

And it felt so good.

The last spinnings of your quirk faded as you caught your breaths, Keigo’s airy giggles tickling your nose and sending trailing touches at the base of your spine.

As you caught a glimpse of his bare, dewy chest rising and falling and the sweetest smile you’d ever seen stretched across his lips, you decided you’d do anything to keep it there whenever you could.

A mission of goodness, as pure and idealistic as it was.

Neither of you minded.

You both rested, for however many moments, until you both were able to shift, still leaning into each other, but rising up in your nest.

You wore a sheepish smile as you tucked a bit of Keigo’s unruly waves from his face, “Wanna try that again sometime?”

He went literally soft, leaning into you.

“Anytime,” Keigo kissed your wrist. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“So you say.”

“And I’ll keep saying it—”

Keigo’s hands squeezed your thighs as he pounced, pushing you back into the sheets, pressing kiss after kiss to your salty cheeks, wings fluttering above the two of you.

It was all perfect, truthfully and truly.

The way you spent the rest of the night held by each other, not as heated as before, but still, just as safely and comfortably. Over a bit of takeout, an endless amount of banter and laughter, and a goodnight’s sleep, you were both feeling miles better than the days and hours before.

It was all as perfect as it could get, between the two of you.

(But, perhaps, the inevitable details would come into play. Perhaps.)

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Keigo felt refreshed for the first time in months when he arrived at his agency the next morning.

He’d gotten to wake with you slowly for once, what a fucking treat, he was sure he’d never tire of it with you pressed again him. After some rolling, early morning kisses, he packed up his things and tucked you back into the nest of sheets to rest as much as you needed.

You’d been quick to drift off, a few of his stray feathers staying close by even in your slumber.

Despite how energized he was, he was sipped on the canned coffee (had it always tasted this bad?) and preparing for his office day.

He waved to his interns, smiling something real with a pep in his step as he entered his seldom used office.

As Keigo organized himself, he practically had to dust off his far-too professional looking desk before setting his bag down, and starting up his computer.

The door clicked open moments later, and a ruffled-looking Akane gave him a stern look from the doorway.

“Hello, Hawks. I need to talk to you—”

“Paperwork will be done by noon, don’t you worry about that,” Keigo laughed off her oblivious irritation as he clicked into his desktop. “I know taking a personal day isn’t really my thing— “

“It isn’t, and this isn’t about your paperwork.”

She reached behind her to click the lock in place.

Keigo’s gaze drifted to the diamond insignia on her breast pocket, almost twin to the one he wore on his bodysuit.

Both wards of the same beast, one could say.

When he was younger, still being trained so ruthlessly, they assigned him ‘handlers’, like some sort of animal. Once he’d gotten his own agency, he’d been assigned Akane, raised and trained in a similar way he had been. Another product of a failed system and an opportunistic, greedy power structure.

They understood each other in that way.

“I said I needed to talk to you two days ago and I meant it,” Akane sighed, shaking her head and approached his desk. “I’ve managed to cover you so far, but I need an answer.”

“...About?”

It wasn’t like her to be cryptic.

Akane fished around in her side bag for a tablet, clicking it to unlock and tapping.

“I know there are things you do that the bosses don’t even tell me about, and that’s how I justified all of this, continually.”

She placed the tablet in front of Keigo, an image displayed and glowing.

His eyes went wide when he saw the picture.

It was him, flying to your balcony. It was late, the warm glow of the nearby streetlights half-illuminating his face, even from far away.

Akane scrolled to another picture, much the same, except taken in daylight.

Keigo bit the inside of his lip to keep on his plastic smile as Akane scrolled through picture after picture, all of him coming and going from your apartment.

A pit was growing in his stomach.

“We’ve been paying tabloids off, blacklisting folks. I know you’ve had a lot on your plate and have been particularly distracted, so I put it on work we aren’t allowed to know about. Still, I wanted some confirmation.”

Keigo’s heart dropped like lead slick with mercury in his chest, a poison feeling spreading over his gut—

“It didn’t seem right though. And then I got some confirmation with this one— “

The next picture made him burn.

“It’s from yesterday morning.”

Yesterday morning.

From the balcony window, the early light was perfect to see directly and clearly into your apartment.

It captured Keigo kneeling on the floor, wings slack and resting on the floor, softened with a concerned quirk in his lips.

He held your forearm in his, pressing an obvious kiss to the back of your bandaged hand.

And then there was you.

You.

Teary-eyed, even in the photo, haggard and tired, but still obviously looking at him with love that made Keigo break in his ribs.

“We caught this one last night. Your publicist is pissed, but I covered for you. That being said, I need an answer. I’m not blind.”

His mouth went dry.

“Who the hell is that, Hawks?”

...

The two of you hadn’t talked about this yet.

The publicity of your relationship, if and when, was something that had been alluded to, but never deeply conversed about. There was too much glowing new love and healing being done to worry about the details.

But now, the details were staring him in the face.

Thank god for his training, and his ability to keep his expression even.

“Sorry about all that!” He laughed, leaning back and propping up his feet. He pushed away the tablet with the toe of his boot. “Just some work and play for a mission. It’s been getting a little... interpersonal, if you know what I mean.”

He wiggled an eyebrow to really sell himself.

Akane met his express with a dry glare.

“... And you took a personal day for that?”

An incongruence.

Keigo kept on his sickly smile as Akane sized him up.

“Had to be nonchalant, right?”

He was coming to hate lying, after being so intimately around your candor.

The feeling of illness in his chest grew.

Sentiment was terrifying.

“... Right,” Akane ran a hand through her hair before taking back the tablet. “I won’t say anything, and I’ll tell your publicist to keep doing what she’s doing. Just try to be less obvious about all of this... ‘interpersonal work’.”

She wasn’t convinced.

Maybe Keigo had become a shittier actor, or maybe Akane had just come to know him too well.

Akane fished around in her bag, pulling forth a small piece of folded paper. She placed it on his desk, and slid it until it bumped his boot.

“Just in case you’re interested, these are the names of the photographers responsible. Do with that what you will.”

She gave him a darkened look as he sat up, unfolding the note and taking in the names.

They wouldn’t be hard to find, if needed.

“Thank you, Akane. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

She turned to leave, but paused, hand hovering over the door handle.

“Hawks?” Her voice went more gentle than he was used to. “I mean it, I won’t say anything. To anyone. Just... whoever they are to you, be careful, alright?”

Akane’s gaze drifted back to his, a sharpness there that she’d been hiding.

Knowingness.

Despite the smile he still managed to wear, his must’ve looked quite grim as Akane left his office, leaving him in the almost silence with plenty to stew over.

+++++

💕 tipjar 💕

+++++

taglist (send me an ask to be added!):

@thepandapopo @hawksexual @sinclairsamess @darcia22 @inhalingsoysauce @yee-fxcking-haw @call-me-rhee @peach-buns-unicorns @amethyst-rose-17 @mega-bastard @an-untamed-rose @ravioliplease @keigosangel @gobestupidsomewhereelse @themusingsofmany @mariiloei @hecatve @assassinslittlesister @thepuckishrogue @sleepylittlebarista @cathy8taffy @heydae20 @crapimahuman @indecisivehusky @levawks @hawkscumslutt

if your url is crossed out, i was unable to tag you due to your accounts settings. let me know if you’re able to adjust them!

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #hawks imagines #takami keigo #hawks x you #hawks reader insert #hawks smut #i can finally tag that lol #lavender latte #kisses loves #hope u enjoy!!!

472 notes · View notes