#belly ache squad

[learningfromlosing]

Shout out to my soilders marching on w constant tummy aches

#tummy ache #tummy ache survivor #tummy ache squad #tummy hurty #stomach problems #tummy issues #stomach issues #belly ache #belly ache squad

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Hellbound Angel

Male Yandere Demon x Male Angel Reader (CW: Noncon, drugged reader, drugged sex, drug-like cum, drug-like saliva, big ol' horse cock, literally equine dick, belly bulge, armpit kink, scent kink, musk, underwear sniffing, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, temporarily mind-broken reader, religious themes, dehydration, forced feminization, reader has minor injuries not inflicted by yandere) Word Count: 2.2k

In the never-ending war against the legions of Hell, the middle ground where most of the fighting was done was on Earth. However, the heavenly forces sometimes deemed an incursion into Hell necessary.

You had been sent on a mission to scout ahead and take note of the coming forces.

Angels were stronger than most demons. Even so, almost your entire squad had been wiped out in a bloody ambush. The other survivors had used the one holy recall scroll to teleport themselves back to heaven.

Each squad sent into Hell is given one and only one. They probably thought you were dead already when they left still with demons in pursuit. They had to act quickly. You didn't blame them. Without it, you were trapped here. Unless you could find a demon's gate that could take you to Earth. That's how the demons made it out. But there would certainly be legions of the enemy at such places.

You had managed to escape the slaughter of your scouting party, but you were injured. Your wings had been hurt as had your leg. Relatively minor injuries, but in a hostile land, they certainly made things more difficult.

To be honest, you weren't exactly the strongest angel on a good day. This was not a good day.

You limped along the rocky landscape, using your holy staff as a walking stick. You stayed low to remain unseen by any wandering beasts or demons as you made your way out of the fiery wastelands and into the white sand desert. Hell wasn't all fire and brimstone. It was the most popular depiction of Hell's most dramatic landscape, but there were other biomes, too. Now you were getting into one of the many deserts Hell had to offer.

It was cooler than the burning wastes, but by no means was it comfortable. Water and food were scarce, the white sands were nearly blinding, and the swirling black sky was a constant ominous reminder that you were not safe.

You could go a long time without food and water. You wouldn't die without them, but after a while, you would wither up and be unable to move. You'd go into a kind of stasis. And then you'd be defenseless.

For days, you wandered. At least... you thought it was days. Despite the perpetually black sky the sun never set. Your lips were chapped, your wounds aching, hope dying in your heart. You had to find an oasis to rest at. Build up your strength. From the limited maps you had seen of this region of Hell there should be one at the heart of this desert, but with your wings and legs messed up it would still take many days still to reach it.

There were several more days of endless marching, hobbling on your injured leg that was getting harder and harder to walk on before you finally saw the oasis in the distance. You tried your best to approach stealthily, going behind dunes and sand drifts whenever possible, and wrapping your white wings around you to provide some measure of camouflage with the white sands. As you got near, it disappeared in a puff of smoke. And out of the smoke stood a demon. It was a trap.

Dark brownish red skin, sharp horns, a tail flicking back and forth, and he stood at least a foot taller than you. He was very muscular, his sweat coated abs glistened in the sunlight. He wore nothing. His long horse-like cock and big nuts swinging freely below a thick patch of black pubic hair.

You caught yourself accidentally staring and looked away quickly before readying your divine staff for a fight. Which was really hard, since you could barely stand without it.

The demon winked and chuckled.

"Do you like it~ There's no harm in just looking, you know?"

He closed the distance between the two of you in a flash and knocked the staff away in one fluid motion.

"As a matter of fact, you can do a lot more than look, little bird. My cum would make you feel so much better~ That oasis you're looking for is still miles away."

"Uh, thanks for the kind offer, but I think I will pass. I'll just be on my way and out of your hair."

You stepped back slowly, hoping to make it to your staff so you could maybe limp away and give him a good smack if he followed. But he wasn't giving you the chance.

"Oh, but you're dehydrated!"

He took a few steps forward until there were mere inches between you. He put a hand on your cheek and thumbed at your chapped lips gently.

"Your lips are all dry. Let me help~"

Before you could decline, he held your head in place and leaned down. He traced and prodded your sore lips with his long slick tongue.

You tried to push him away but couldn't do much in your current condition. And the saliva was having some kind of effect on you.

He slipped his tongue past your lips and kissed you greedily.

Your head grew fuzzy and your legs weak. His spit was some type of drug. It felt... nice...

You resisted it as long as you could, even resorting to biting his tongue, but he ignored it and continued. Moments later, you slumped against him, your head on his muscular chest. The only thought in your head as you passed out was how nice this man in front of you smelled.

He picked you up gently and carried you bridal style. It was fitting since you were certainly his little bride now, as far as he was concerned. He placed a chaste kiss on the top of your head and then started walking towards the underground dwelling he called home.

When you woke up, your wounds had been healed, and you felt a lot better. Though you were still dizzy. There was an intoxicating smell all around you and you didn't recognize your surroundings.

Your first instinct was to jump up and flee, but you were immediately pulled back down and placed in the lap of your demonic captor. His monstrous cock poking out between your thighs.

You looked down and realized you were naked, your soft cock and balls laying on his unnaturally warm prick.

"Let me go!" You elbowed him as hard as you could but he must have made sure you stayed drugged because you couldn't muster up any strength to put into your struggle.

"Let you go? After all the trouble I have gone through to romance you?"

"Romance!? You kidnapped me and I don't even know who the fuck you are, creep!!"

You struggled with renewed anger, smacking your head backwards, elbowing, kicking, and scratching. All amounting to you gasping for breath, tired, while he chuckled at the attempt.

"You're in Hell! I could have raped you and left you in the sand to be killed by any passing monster and that still would have been considered romance."

He placed his large hands on your legs with his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your thighs.

"I saved you from the desert, treated your wounds, let you rest for days, fed you, gave you water, and bathed you. That is damn romantic!"

He started assaulting your neck with little licks and kisses, enjoying how you squirmed in protest while sitting on his equine cock.

"As for the name that you'll be moaning when I bury myself in you, it's Tevrik."

"My friends will come back for me. You should save yourself the trouble and let me go now!"

This was a bluff, of course. They almost certainly thought you were dead. You didn't know if your deception would work, but you didn't expect him to respond with a cackle.

"No, they won't! Rathiel won't let em!"

A shudder went through you at the mention of your boss who had ordered the mission into Hell.

"He's one of Hell's best agents. Gives us lots of intel."

You were dumbfounded and fell silent a moment before regaining your composure and replying angrily.

"Lies from a worthless demon!"

"I'd never lie to you, sweetie~"

He trailed his hands up and down your thighs as he continued.

"How else did we set up that ambush? Rathiel sent you to us. We needed more angel blood. But not yours."

Your blood ran cold as he began grinding into you.

"I picked you out from a bunch of employee profiles just to be my little princess. I'm half angel myself and wanted an angel bride~ We'll rule this region of Hell together!"

He repositioned you on his lap to face towards him as his flared cock grew fully erect.

"You weren't supposed to be hurt in the battle. I'm so sorry about that. I killed the demons who did it."

You didn't even struggle when he positioned you above his dick, hot precum smearing your hole as his cock pressed against it. The betrayal drained the fight from you.

"After the battle, I just followed you for a bit, so you'd be tired. And now here you are. With me."

The precum and smell of his arousal were making you dizzier. The words he spoke brought tears from your eyes.

"Awe, don't cry. After we have some alone time to adjust, I'll take you to the palace~ You'll be royalty!"

You winced as his cock entered you, expecting pain. Surprisingly, there was none. Instead it was like every cell in your body was filled with pleasure.

This couldn't be right. You had to escape. Sex with a demon was a very taboo thing.

You started struggling but Tevrik held you still.

"Shhh, I know you're upset. But just let it happen, okay? I'll make you feel so good."

As his precum continued to dribble out of his dick and into you and as the betrayal by your trusted higher up sank in you once more lost the will to fight.

Why were you fighting anyway? This cock felt so nice. And he was so kind and romantic to go through all this trouble to get you away from your evil boss right?

You relaxed and lay against his chest as he pumped into you slowly. You looked up at him and realized he had your underwear in his hand and was holding it up to his nose sniffing the crotch.

"You smell so good, girly. So good. You feel good too."

"You smell nice too!" Then your brain caught up with the rest of what he had said.

"A-and I'm not a g-girl." Too focused on your pleasure to really care.

"Nah, you're too pretty to be a man. Too weak too. Plus you have this tight little cunt hugging my dick. You're definitely a girly~"

"O-okay."

You blushed because he called you pretty. You supposed he made a lot of sense. You were clearly a girl. You wondered why you didn't know that sooner. It felt right.

He chuckled warmly as you drooled on his chest and made cute little gasps and moans. He couldn't wait until you were moaning his name.

Tevrik didn't pound you, he didn't want to hurt his sweet baby bird. Instead he just rocked his hips into you and enjoyed the effect it had on you.

After you started making those delicious noises his demonic precum began to make you super cuddly. He continued to breed your tight hole while you started nuzzling him and leaving gentle kisses on his chest. He began grinding into you a bit faster and more forcefully, his cock clearly outlined through your belly as it nestled into you as deeply as he could get it.

"Fuck babe, I'm about to bust."

But you came before he did it. Your cock spilling silvery angelic seed on his belly as you called his name and clung to him tightly. The combined sight of you cumming while impaled by his dick while at the same time calling his name just like you promised he would sent Tevrik over the edge. His large balls filled your tummy with hot demon cum. It made you feel warm and fluttery and loved. Like you could feel his emotions through his seed.

You were so tired from all the emotion and sex that you passed out on top of him, nuzzling your nose into the comforting scent of his armpit as you clung to him.

Tevrik smiled. You were just so precious. Sadly, he knew you'd regress back into struggling against him. But that was okay. He would keep reminding you how the angels threw you away and keep breeding you full of his drug-like semen. Soon you'd crave it. He'd bed you constantly until you needed it. And then breed you as much as you wanted him to after that.

Yeah, it would take a while. But he had all the time in the universe.

Tevrik sighed with content and closed his eyes, taking your underwear and putting it back up to his nose while he relaxed with his cock still deep inside you.

You may have been in Hell, but Tevrik was in Heaven.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #yandere x reader #monster boyfriend #yandere monster #yandere #yandere demon #feminized male reader #yandere boyfriend #x male reader #angel reader #male yandere x male reader #my ocs #My OC Tevrik

[stray-kaz]

Baby. On. Board. : a Bob Floyd x reader oneshot

Bob walked into the Hard Deck with a skip in his gait and a smile wide enough to reach his ears. Bradley was the first to notice him, raising his eyebrows first at Bob and then at you, trailing behind him with your hand in his.

“What’s up, Bobby?” he asked, half full glass poised in his hand. “You look like the cat who got the canary and the cream.”

The others turned to face you both, Natasha focusing on your face, the light in your eyes as you glanced from Bob to the group and then back. She folded her arms and waited.

“I’m having a - She’s having - We’re having a baby!” Bob announced.

Natasha leaned back against the edge of the pool table, smiling indulgently.

A collective whooping holler rose from the men in the group and Bradley clapped Bob so hard on the back his glasses almost flew off, and then leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Congratulations.”

You smiled up at him, a little giddy.

“Thank you.”

“Well, Bob, looks like you’ve done it at least once!” Jake called out, grinning.

Bob rolled his eyes and you flushed, but nothing could dim the excitement you were both fizzing with. Natasha cuffed Jake on the back of the head and called Penny over to order a fresh round in celebration.

“What are we celebrating?” she asked, curious.

“Young Robert is going to be a dad” Bradley told her, looping an arm around Bob’s neck and dragging him in for a one sided hug.

Penny looked at you and smiled, tipping her head to the side.

“I should have known” she mused. “You’re practically glowing. Congratulations, both of you.”

You thanked her, bouncing onto your toes, and Bob nodded, ducking to get out of Bradley’s tight hold. He sidled over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Our baby is going to have so many surrogate aunts and uncles, honey. Free babysitting for life” he muttered in your ear, but not quiet enough.

Jake popped his head up from where he had been bent, concentrating on the pool game against Natasha.

“Free?”

At six months along, Dagger Squad threw you a baby shower the likes of which the Navy base had never seen before. It was held inside due to the sudden downpour that darkened the usually calm sky and sent black clouds sailing across it.

You sat in the middle of the training room on a padded desk chair, decorated with colourful ribbons and prizewinner rosettes. Pete leaned against one wall, trying not to smile too hard at the sight of you on a makeshift throne, your hands smoothing down over your rounded belly.

Everyone knew it was tradition to only have women at baby showers, but there were so many men in your life and few women, so you kicked that tradition out the door and were therefore surrounded by Bob’s teammates, not just Penny and Natasha.

Jake was the biggest surprise: he gifted you a wooden rocking chair for night feeds that was almost too big to fit in the car but that you couldn’t stop looking at.

You were inundated with onesies, nappies, pacifiers and a subtly wrapped breast pump from Penny.

“Just in case” she murmured to you. “It’s not as easy as everyone tells you it is.”

You nodded and slipped it underneath the chair you were on, hiding it away for later.

Bob sat and watched you be waited on hand and foot, a slight half smile on his face. He took careful note of who gave what and how happy each gift made you. He saw how pleased you were with Jake’s gift in particular, and made a mental note to thank him especially for it later.

You caught him staring and raised an eyebrow; he just smiled back at you and shook his head slowly from side to side, scrunching his nose a little.

Bob saw you pull your phone out and hurriedly type something, and a few seconds later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He withdrew it and checked the message, already knowing it was from you.

I love you, Robbie. To the stars...

He smiled to himself and quickly replied.

...and back.

A week before your due date, you were having a checkup at the hospital when a hot, dull ache began in your lower back. It gradually travelled around to your stomach and then down into your groin. The midwife took one look at your face and passed you a hospital phone.

“Call your husband.”

Bob was just about to head up in a plane when he heard his name being called. He spun, trying to locate the owner of the voice, when Pete sprinted up to him, clapping a hand down on his shoulder.

“Get out of that gear and get your ass to the hospital” he ordered, eyes wide. “Your wife is in labour.”

He ran, dropping the heaviest parts of his flight gear on the way to the locker room. He undressed and threw on his civilian clothes as fast as he could, not even bothering with the buttons.

He made it to the hospital in twenty minutes flat, his heart pounding against his breastbone, an invisible tattoo.

You looked up and smiled when he entered the room you had been escorted to, his hair dishevelled and blue eyes wild.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

He rattled off a list of questions and you waited until he had exhausted it before you spoke.

“Everything is fine” you assured him. “Contractions started. I’m five centimetres dilated already. It’s moving fast.”

Just as you spoke the last word, another toe curling pain burrowed through you, and Bob watched anxiously as you disappeared inside yourself, riding out the pain. 

He watched it happen over and over again, unable to do anything but hold your hand and wait for the miracle.

And what a miracle it was. Ten hours later, Daniel Robert Floyd made his grand entrance, wailing at the top of his lungs until he was settled in your arms and he went suddenly quiet, blue eyes searching out your face.

Bob sat beside you, leaning over on the edge of the bed, wide eyed and gazing at his son, perfect and new.

And even when the silence was broken by Dagger Squad piling in the room with balloons and a sign, it didn’t bother him. The miracle was his to hold.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd x reader #tgm #fanfic #fan fiction #liss writes #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick

[stargazing15]

I did something stupid

Jake Seresin x female reader

Warnings: mentions of sex (no actual deeds), miscarriage, angst, happy ending. Minors DNI, go hide somewhere

A/N: don't read if your uncomfortable with the topics, and if you do read it, enjoy!

***

Two big idiots. That's what you and Jake were. When you met, the two of you became immediately friends. When you met his friends, all of them quickly noticed the lingering sexual tension. You two needed your first fight to end up making up in his bed. Both liking it, it became a regular thing.

But as said before, you two were idiots. Always kicking the other one out after sex. Thinking it was better that way. Of course until the one night Jake stayed the night. You needed him and for one night he couldn't leave you behind, lonely and vulnerable. The next morning, you both woke up feeling the happiest you've ever been in the morning, but not daring to admit it in fear of rejection from the other one.

But it didn't stay with one night, eventually there was always an excuse to stay, it's too late to drive home, you had drank a little too much to drive, or the other one was too tired. Finding an excuse became too easy because waking up next to each other was just simply so nice. In the meantime you had started to take the pill, both wanting, no needing to feel every little thing when he was inside you.

Just like everyone noticed the sexual tension, every one had now noticed the feelings.

Out of you and Jake, you were the first to notice. Most women didn't dare to flirt with Jake anymore as he was glued to you and vice versa. But when one did, you couldn't help yourself to feel extremely jealous. On these nights, you started your sessions in the toilets if the Hard Deck or in the car. You needed to know he hadn't forgotten about you.

Natasha knew when you had figured your feelings out.

"You know deep down he's in love with you."

"No he's not, it's just sex Nat. And I don't want to risk loosing that on top of rejection too."

Jake started to notice his feelings when you were complaining about a headache. He just wanted, no needed to take care of you. And he also wanted to test the theory he heard, that sex helps with headaches. The first thing you learned was that it indeed helped. The second thing you learned in the morning, it was not just a headache, but the flu. And it hit you hard, high fever, vomiting, every single muscle in your body aching. Jake felt this urge to take care of you, he tried to fight it but eventually gave in and it scared the shit out of him.

After realising his feelings for you, Jake became like a magnet. He pushes you away scared for his feelings and a possible rejection and suddenly he changes his poles and gets pulled back to you realising he misses you. And then the day came, the realisation you hadn't had your period in a very long time. The verdict was very clear: pregnant.

In the beginning things were going very well. You both decided to keep the baby and Jake was taking care of you. But being two idiots, neither had told about your feelings. Yes you two talked, about everything except the one topic that has been lingering in the back of your minds.

Jake was never going to admit it, but his heart warmed every day more and more with the idea of a little him growing in your belly. The excitement was written on your faces and a week after finding out, Jake told the squad.

"Congrats man, does this finally mean you've told her?" Javy had asked Jake.

"Nah, I'm not gonna ruin what we have now. I don't wanna loose them over some feelings that I have. It's better like this." Jake wasn't going to say it, but the sex has never been better, it was so intense since finding out you were pregnant.

"Jake, man, talk, this will end very badly."

Over next few weeks things changed. You both wanted to say the three words that were on the tip of your tongues. Your hearts started to ache not daring to say it. Instead of listening to your friends advice, Phoenix also tried talking some sense into you, you and Jake started to focus on your jobs. And yes, the magnets started to turn again. For you, not able to keep your emotions in check, the fights became too much to handle. Jake noticed it and left that night.

"I think it's better if we don't see each other for a while."

"Don't go Jake, I need you. We need you." You had cried, but he was already out of the door. As he left you felt this feeling hit you something was wrong, you couldn't place it yet, but something was very wrong. You brushed it off and pulled extremely long days at work, ignoring everyone's calls and texts until it all came crashing down at you one evening.

"Bagman, what are you doing here? I just passed her place on my way here, why was there an ambulance at her door?" Natasha almost shouted at him, still panting from running inside.

"How should I know? We're taking a break okay?! It hurts seeing her."

"They didn't talk yet." Coyote interfered by taking the beer out of Jake's hand.

"Idiots. How much you've had to drink? Coyote, please take him home, I'll go to the hospital."

***

The moment they told you you had lost the baby the world came crashing down on you. It was good that Natasha was there so you had someone familiar to lean on.

You got discharged the next morning and Natasha stayed with you until you were settled in at your place.

"It looks like the sky is mourning with you." She said when it started to rain violently. "Here, some hot chocolate milk."

"Thank you, for everything." You smiled warmly at her.

"That's what friends are for. Do you want to be alone for a while?"

"If you don't mind, I think I'm going to try to rest and watch some TV, let it all sink in."

"Call me if there's anything."

About an hour later, your doorbell rang, fanatically.

"Yeah, yeah, coming, one sec, Phoenix did you forge- Jake?" There he stood in front you, completely soaked and looking like shit. After Natasha had called Javy with the news Jake had gone quiet. He was able to fall asleep as Javy was reading out the NATOPS manual, something they discovered had a sleepy effect on Jake.

"Come in, you're lucky that you've still got some spare clothes here." You said to him while dragging him to your bathroom. He still hadn't said anything after you got him out of his wet clothes and wrapped him in a towel.

"Jake, please say something." You say while handing him his sweatpants and sweater.

"How, how can you be this alright." He asked softly.

"I'm not, our baby, it, it was sick, it was not strong and taking the pill a couple of weeks in the pregnancy didn't help either. It was never going to make it. I know it sounds a bit cruel, but losing it this early was for the best, it would've hurt a lot more if we would've lost it later on." You still loved the sound of we and so did Jake, he softened when he heard you say it. And hearing the baby was not healthy made the anger that was boiling inside him fade away.

"Do you think there can still be a us after all that happened?"

"Yes, I do Jake, I don't want to loose you too, you're too important." Tears had started to form in your eyes.

"I've been so so stupid, I thought you didn't ... I love you Y/N, I always have."

"Oh Jake, I love you too, big idiot."

"Can we start over again? I know we have history already, but I want to do things right." You nodded after wiping away the tears and reached your hand out.

"Hi, I'm Y/N, it's nice meeting you."

"Hi, Jake, it is very nice meeting you. And I think I can already say I love you." He said before capturing you lips in the sweetest kiss he's ever given you.

"I'm never going to leave you again. Never."

The two idiots had finally said what needed to be said, and it helped heal the wound they both shared.

@cycbaby @bradleybeachbabe

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman #hangman fanfic #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin x you #hangman x you #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #top gun maverick #tgm #top gun: maverick #top gun fanfic #hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine

[fandomxpreferences]

Oops Chapter Five: Is That A Redemption Arc I Smell?

Series Masterlist

Pairing: ex!rooster x afab!reader, best friend!jake x afab!reader, platonic!dagger squad x afab!reader

TW: angst, pregnancy, I think thats it really.

Summary:Bradley's finally coming to his senses, but he fears it may be too little too late.

Word Count:1.9k

The next couple of weeks continue on as usual, except Bradley can't get Maverick's words out of his head. He's been gentler towards you since that night, kinder. But he still hasn't worked up the nerve to talk to you. He knows he's been terrible and he also knows the likelihood of you forgiving him is less than the chances of you slapping him and telling him to fuck off. 

You're an extremely forgiving person, he knows this. He was with you for years. You can also be downright terrifying and spiteful, and he doesn't care to see that side of you again. Still, his heart aches as he watches you grow his child from afar and the urge to reach out and touch you is getting stronger by the minute. 

It's not until he hears you talking to Jake and Natasha about finding out the gender at your next check-up that the longing outweighs the fear. Before his brain can catch up, his feet are carrying him toward you. You look up with a confused frown when he stops in front of you and his heart hammers in his ribcage. 

"Can I help you?" You ask and he freezes. He didn't think he'd get this far and now he's panicking trying to come up with something to say. Your voice isn't harsh, so he figures that's at least in his favor. 

"Um," He starts while scratching the back of his neck. "Can I talk to you?" He finally spits out and your eyebrows shoot up. He can feel Jake's hard stare on the side of his face and he almost shrinks under the man's gaze. 

"If you want to talk I can't stop you." You sass and Bradley almost smirks. He forgot how feisty you can be. He loves that about you. 

"I was hoping we could talk alone." He mutters and Jake scoffs. 

"No chance in hell, Bradshaw." 

You look over at your best friend and ponder your options. This is the first time since he found out that he wants to talk to you, and curiosity gets the best of you. 

"It's alright, Jake." You say while giving his forearm a gentle squeeze before turning back to Bradley. "We can talk outside."

You move to stand up and Bradley unconsciously sticks out a hand to help you. Your belly is starting to pop and moving around is getting increasingly more difficult. You stare skeptically for a second before placing your hand in his gingerly. 

You stand slowly and start toward the door to the Hard Deck. You notice Bradley slip his hand onto the small of your back to guide you, but don't say anything. Once you're outside you take a step back to put space between you and cross your arms over your chest. 

"What do you want to talk about?" You question and you can't help but notice Bradley seems anxious. He's shifting from side to side and wringing his hands together absentmindedly. 

"Us." He starts and shock covers your face before he continues. "The baby."

You stare up at him for a minute and he watches you intently, trying to get a read on what you're thinking. He used to know you better than he knows himself. Standing here now, he's not sure when he lost that and it sends a pang through his heart.

"What about the baby?" You finally ask and Bradley doesn't miss how you ignore his attempt at bringing up your relationship.

"I want to go to the appointment next week." He tries to sound strong but his voice betrays him when it cracks. You blink slowly at him, trying to wrap your head around his sudden change of heart. 

Two weeks ago he wanted nothing to do with you, and now he wants to go to a doctor's appointment? It makes your head spin and the extremity of his mood swing almost gives you whiplash. You almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

"Is this some sort of joke, Bradley? Because it's really cruel." You frown and he shakes his head immediately. 

"What? No! Why would I joke about this?" He exclaims and you throw your hands up in exasperation. 

"I don't know!" You almost shout. "Why would you knock me up and then treat me like a one-night stand?" You bite and Bradley figures he deserves that. 

"You know it's not that simple.." He tries and you cut him off.

"That's the thing, Bradley. It is that simple. We were together for almost three years. We saw a future together at one point, it's not like I'm some random girl you picked up at a bar!" You snap and he looks down at his feet. 

"I'm just scared." He whispers and your face softens. 

"Do you think I'm not scared? This wasn't exactly how I saw my life going either. But I don't get the option to skip out. This isn't just about fear, Bradley. This is about your own shit that you need to work out, and I'm not going to put my baby through having a dad that has one foot out the door." You tell him softly and his heart sinks when you refer to the baby as yours and not ours.

"I know. You have every right to be skeptical. But I'm here now, trying to do the right thing. I want to be here for you. For both of you. Please let me show you that." He pleads and you dig your palms into your eyes while sighing heavily. 

You take a second to really mull over what he said. You've already made peace with doing this alone and now he wants in almost halfway through your pregnancy. But in an ideal world, this baby would grow up with both parents in the picture. 

It shattered your heart to think about your child not knowing their father. It's your job to protect them, and that includes keeping them safe from Bradley if there's a chance he could hurt them. It's also your job to do what's best for them and robbing them of a father that wants to be in their life, if he's serious, is not in their best interest. 

You're starting to get a headache from all the back and forth going on in your mind and you groan. Regardless of your past with Bradley, you owe it to your baby to try and make it work. 

"Fine." You relent and Bradley's eyes shoot up to meet yours. "You can come to the appointment." 

Bradley goes to respond and you raise your hand to stop him. "But," You continue while jabbing a finger into his chest. "I'm not just going to let you in. If you're really serious, you have to prove it."

He nods his head quickly and takes your hand in his. "Anything. Name your terms."

You eye him for a second before speaking again. "You will be at every appointment. You will bring me whatever I'm craving even if it's the middle of the night and be on standby for anything else I need." He nods eagerly and you huff. 

"And no dating. If I'm not getting laid, neither are you. And I can add to this list anytime, and I don't want to hear a peep about it." You finish and he makes a zipping motion over his lips to indicate he understands. 

You give a short nod and pull out your phone to text him. "That's the address to the doctor's office. It's next Wednesday at three. Do not be late." 

He smiles brightly as his phone dings and gives you a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am." He says and you stop right as your hand touches the door handle to go back inside. 

"Ugh, and don't call me ma'am." 

You return to your table with Jake and Phoenix and they both give you expectant looks. You lay your arm on the tabletop and drop your head into the crook of your elbow dramatically. 

"That bad, huh?" Phoenix asks and you sigh. 

"No, not bad. Just complicated. He wants to go to the doctor's appointment and prove that he's serious about the baby." You explain and Phoenix's eyes widen. 

"What?! Since when?" She gasps and you shrug. 

"I guess whatever Mav said got through to him." You answer and Jake scoffs. 

"You told him to go fuck himself, right?" Jake asks and you shake your head. 

"I told him he can go and set expectations. He's going to have to earn his spot back in mine and the baby's life." You reply and his jaw drops open. 

"You can't be seri-" He begins but shuts his mouth when you send him a pointed look. 

"Jake regardless of our past or what he's done, this is his baby too. If he can prove he's not going anywhere, who am I to rob my child of a father?" 

He gives you dejected look and leans back in his chair. "Fine, but you better make him grovel." He grumbles and you laugh. 

"Trust me, I will."

Once you leave, Jake takes it upon himself to find his teammate. He spots him by the bar and slides into the seat next to him, drawing Bradley's attention to him. He can tell you told Jake by the look on his face, and he figures it's in his best interest not to speak.

Jake sips on his beer before turning to fully face the man and stare him down. Bradley waits with bated breath, no idea what could possibly leave the blonde pilot's mouth. Hell, he half expects to have to dodge a punch. 

"If you fuck this up," He begins and Bradley swallows nervously. "We're going to have a lot more than a conversation. Do you understand me? This is not just her heart you're playing with this time." His voice is spewing venom and he notices his friend blink nervously. Good. 

Bradley nods slowly before taking a sip of his own drink. "I don't want to hurt her or the baby, Hangman. If anything, this has made me realize that I never stopped loving her. We broke up because I didn't want kids. Now that it's happening anyway, what reason is there for us to be apart?" The question is rhetorical but it doesn't stop Jake from answering with a question of his own.

"What happens if you get back together and it still doesn't work out? Have you thought about how that would affect the kid?" 

Truthfully, he hadn't thought about it. As far as he's concerned, you're the love of his life. Things not working out had never really been on his agenda. But then again, neither had kids. 

"What if things do work out? My parents had a great relationship and I got to witness it. Doesn't the kid deserve that too?" He counters and Jake finishes off his beer before standing up. 

"Pretty big gamble, Bradshaw." He concedes before walking away to leave Bradley with his thoughts. 

The idea should deter him, but if anything it only make him want to try harder. He's certain that you're the one he's meant to be with. He already let you go once, he's not keen on doing it again. Bradley doesn't think he's a stupid man, despite the damning evidence. Letting you slip away with his baby would be stupid, he knows that without a shadow of a doubt. 

He'll just have to show you he's in it for the long run, no matter what it takes. Starting with this doctor's appointment. 

@drakelover78 @manyfandomsfanvergent @ssprayberrythings @disturbedbeautywrites @desert-fern @one-sweet-gubler @callmemana @luckyladycreator2 @bookchik26 @taytaylala12 @michalkasimp @xoxabs88xox @loveless-simp @withakindheartx @formulapierre @ccristata @shanimallina87 @chair-things @k-k0129 @izz-ayes-world @kajjaka @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @phantomxoxo @abaker74  @justanothermagicalsara @isakyakiisak  @mak-32  @and-claudia @atarmychick007 @calsjack  @mattyskies @gspenc  @twsssmlmaa @little-wiseone @benhardysdrumstick

#top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #top gun imagine #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw topgun #rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fic #Bradley Bradshaw series #top gun angst

[pearlsinmyhair]

༄ breath of venus ༄

chapter seven • flame

summary: a girl is born from nothing, and her whole life she’s spent trying to become everything her family and clan need her to be. what happens when she’s abducted by long dead soldiers and old ghosts.

synopsis: venus finally gets to hunt. quaritch reveals some things about paz. a story is shared. confessions are whispered.

warnings: a lot of talk about food in this chapter, specifically that venus isn’t eating enough. brief mention of periods. descriptions of cutting animal meat and cooking it. consumption of animal meat. hunting.

an: guys the next chapter is crazy. this is your warning.

word count: 3.7k

“you touch me and suddenly i feel a little less war torn. i’m not sure what peace is supposed to feel like but i think it may feel a lot like you.”

They had been traveling for a month, and Venus could feel herself growing weaker every day.

It wasn’t for lack of exercise, that was for sure. Rather, it was her diet.

Fruit couldn’t sustain her forever, no matter what minerals she got from various plant fibers and select bark. She needed meat, and soon.

And it wasn’t just her belly aching or the headaches that tipped her off to this problem.

Her period was late. By nearly two weeks. A sign that the stress of being a teacher/hostage/guide was taking a toll on her health, along with her lack of iron intake.

She was too stubborn to drink the grey mush that the recombinants ate from their plastic packages, so she was stuck with foraging. She had no knife and no bow. and even if she had a weapon to hunt with, she had no freedom.

So instead, she and quaritch were at a draw, both too stubborn to relent.

“You have to eat, kid.” Quaritch tried, though his tone was not pleading. Instead, he sounded irritated with her little fast, adopting the same voice he used when he called her ‘princess’ or ‘spoiled brat.’

She supposed she was being childish, staring at the tube that quaritch held out to her, but she had morals. That…thing did not come from Eywa, and it disgusted her to consume it when the forest around them was so plentiful.

She couldn’t blame them for eating it though. She had threatened to fight them if they tried to hunt. Life needed to be appreciated before it was taken, and these soldiers had not shown any feelings of appreciation thus far. Not enough for her to allow them a kill, at least.

So here she was, leaned against a tree as her head panged, looking down at a plastic tube of bland grey mush. The promise of a full stomach, right before her.

She sniffed at it, and turned her head away.

Quaritch scoffed, apparently done with her stubborn show, and pocketed the tube. Light was fading in the forest, and Venus could hear the tittering of animals, prey aplenty, rising in the night.

They were in an uninhabited part of the forest today, devoid of human and na’vi. Every day the squad drew closer to Tamar’s territory, and with it the promise of hours of constant flying.

“Let me hunt.” Venus murmured, and Quaritch turned to her from where he was discussing camp with Wainfleet.

“Absolutely not. I know better than to put a knife in your hand, kid. If you don’t want what we have, then you won’t eat at all.”

She wrinkled her nose, dejected and frustrated. Did he not understand that the price of killing him now far outweighed the benefits? No, he didn’t. He just denied her on principle.

Her head throbbed again, and her belly growled terrible. Mansk looked over at her in concern, and she gave him a weak smile.

He had already offered her his portions many times before, but she refused politely. Venus had learned that one of the ways that Mansk showed his care was through food, and he always found her favorite fruit or plant to chew on, even if she had only shown him once.

She tried to convince herself that it was not a unique gesture. He had gathered fruit for the squad many times. It wasn’t like she was special.

Wainfleet and Zdog told her otherwise, and their little sideways glances at her and Mansk were becoming unbearable.

But no matter how far he’d come, she wouldn’t even send Mansk out to kill. He was attentive when she explained the forest, the most empathetic out of all of them. But there was still some hesitancy when he touched a leaf or stepped around a lizard.

They felt the forest. They felt Eywa. But they didn’t listen to either.

They did not see.

Not yet.

As her body ached once more, she conceded.

“Please.” she said, earnest.

Quaritch whipped his head to her with a look of mock-surprise. He arched an eyebrow.

“What was that, princess? I didn’t hear you.” he said, even going so far as to press a hand to his ear.

Her jaw clenched. “Old man.” she whispered, before raising her voice. “Can I please hunt? It won’t take me long, and i’ll only need a knife. You have a tracker on me, it’s not like I can reasonably go very far or sneak up on you.”

Quaritch’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth opened to deny her again. But then Wainfleet brushed his fingertips against his forearm, a near imperceptible touch that Venus just barely caught.

Quaritch’s ears dropped back, caught, and he glanced at Wainfleet.

His corporal tilted his head slightly, silently asking him to weigh his options.

He hated to admit it, but he and his squad had grown to somewhat trust Venus. Vice-versa, Venus didn’t seem outright malicious to them. She was pissed, for many reasons that he couldn’t blame her for. But she wasn’t going to kill them.

So he went for logic instead.

“Where are we going to cook it?” he asked, looking back to his daughter Venus.

That stumped her, and he took a moment to relish in the way her expression dropped. His satisfaction quickly disappeared when her face fell into a grimace.

The rule of txep’ke was established by Venus very early on. Literally translated to ‘no fire’, it meant that at night they would only use the bioluminescence for light. Any alien illumination would attract curious creatures, some brave enough to attack if they were willing to risk it.

“We find a cave, with some kind of hole in it. That way it can filter smoke out and we can be away from the ground.” Venus said softly. Her will was being eaten away by hunger now that Quaritch looked open to the idea.

“Are you sure that you’re even well enough? You look like you’re gonna pass out.” came the Colonel’s response. It was reasonable, but she knew that if she had the chance to go out into the forest that her head would clear.

“I’ll be fine. Does this mean i can go?” she asked, and she was well aware that her eyes must look pleading. If she wasn’t starving then she’d be more concerned with how easily she was giving in.

Quaritch sighed, looking around at his team. She knew that the promise of meat was tempting to them too.

He looked back down at her. “When we find a cave, i’ll consider it.”

She nearly cried in joy.

༄

With the help of Brown’s and Lopez’s scouting, they found an acceptable cave within the hour, the light of the sun peaking over the horizon as they landed.

When they flew, she typically stayed close to Mansk. This was mostly due to the fact that their mounts were mated, which made for some rather…interesting times.

Like how, as they landed, Rutxïryo almost immediately tackled Sìlpey, cooing at her as he searched her for injury.

Sìlpey. Hope. The name that Mansk had given his ikran and told Venus of a few days ago. It suited her. Venus hadn’t asked why he had named his ikran it. Naming had always been personal to both rider and mount.

She and Mansk watched as their ikran’s curled up and around each other, hunkering down for the night. They made eye contact, and Mansk gave her one of his rare amused smiles. She outright laughed.

They walked into the cave, unrolling mats and assembling packs for the night. Quaritch looked down at his feet, contemplating.

He looked up at Venus, who stood at the entrance, waiting for his verdict. Then, his gaze shifted to Ja, and he nodded.

Ja bent down and unzipped his rifle bag. As Venus opened her mouth to protest giving her a gun, he pulled out something that silenced her completely.

Her bow.

Completely intact and just as beautiful as when she had last seen it. Carved from the wood of the fallen Home Tree, strong but flexible.

“You saved it?” she whispered as she took it from Ja. The man nodded. “Figured if nothing else the scientists could use it for study.” he murmured, his tone light in teasing.

He then pulled her knife from his pocket. She slid it into the sheath at her waist.

Without thinking, she raised her fingers to her head.

“Oel ngati kameie.”

The marine stood still, processing her words. She had taught them the gesture while they were flying, but very few of them captured the full meaning of it.

Ja was one of the few that understood. He lifted his fingers to his own forehead. “I see you.” he said, quiet.

She turned to Quaritch, giving him a nod of thanks. He watched her for a moment before dipping his own chin in acknowledgment.

She turned back to Mansk. “I need you to make a slow fire, mostly coals. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

Mansk nodded, and Venus took one last look behind her at the squad before she bounded down the cliff side to the forest.

༄

As promised, Venus returned not one hour later with a small yerik hoisted on her back.

It was nearly euphoric seeing the faces of the Recombinants as she walked in to the cave, watching them search for the puncture wound of her arrow.

“It’s the eye.” she said, laying the dead animal down on a rock to skin it. “I always shoot them in the eye. It doesn’t always strike their brain, but it does make them drop easier, which allows me to end their suffering faster.”

She murmured a quick prayer over her knife before she sliced the skin of the yerik down.

At some point, Lopez walked over to help her, and they fed the parts of the beast they wouldn’t be eating to their banshee’s, who waited patiently at the entrance for their fill.

When the meat was sectioned, they brought it to the fire that Mansk had prepared, and for a good thirty minutes they huddled in a group and discussed different ways to cook and season it.

It was comforting to her, watching Lopez and Mansk argue over how to cook it. It reminded Venus of home, of the way her mother and father bickered playfully. Of how her siblings had as well.

She felt her smile leave her face as her thoughts dipped down to her family, so far away.

At least, she hoped.

But she recovered right as Mansk glanced at her for guidance, and she showed him how to properly shuck the herbs she had collected for their flavor. She placed her hands over his and demonstrated, and he perfectly replicated the movement on his own.

The rest of the recombinant’s spirits had noticably risen. Now that she was paying attention, there was laughter and chatter, and Wainfleet had even put on some music on his tablet. Even Quaritch seemed more relaxed, chuckling at something Z and Wainfleet were arguing about.

When the food was ready, she went to pass it out. It was something she was used to, bringing food from home to her siblings or teylu from the communal pot to elders.

But Mansk brushed her shoulder, putting enough pressure on it that she backed down.

“You eat first. You hunted it, and you need it the most out of all of us.” he said, passing her a portion.

She looked up and around, finding that the soldiers were already watching her, nodding with Mansk’s words. Her eyes darted to Quaritch, who she could always rely on to take offense at her existence. But he too nodded.

So she found a spot against the wall, curling her tail around her ankles, and ate.

༄

“And I had to watch Lopez book it from a viperwolf, howling and screaming all the way to the chopper.” Brown recounted, brows knit as he recalled the story from when he had first arrived on Hellsgate.

“Cut me some slack, she was small but fast as a fucking demon.” came Lopez’s reply, whose tail curled around his leg in a defensive gesture.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have poked her when she was sleeping.” was Brown’s chuckled answer, and Venus laughed along with the others.

The atmosphere of the group had lightened substantially now that they were eating. They traded stories, teasing each other about memories from their past lives. The game of Trade had been long forgotten, as the conversation now flowed easily between each member.

Venus had largely remained silent, watching and listening with concealed happiness as she dug into her food. She kept herself restrained majority of the time, still wary around the squad during moments of weakness.

Wainfleet and Lopez were currently trying to get Quaritch to open up about his relationship with Paz, and Venus could tell by the Colonel’s expression that he wasn’t willing to disclose much.

Quaritch didn’t sit far from her, so she swatted her tail to get his attention. When he looked at her, she inclined her head. She knew little about her mother, and she was curious.

He was hesitant, but he looked down in contemplation as the group quieted. Wainfleet have her an impressed look.

“It was for convenience. Only physical. We didn’t exactly expect to get pregnant.” Quaritch said, not looking at anyone in particular. It seemed that that was all he had to say on the topic, so the rest of the squad quickly started new conversations to ease the tension.

“What was she like?” Venus asked quietly, and Quaritch turned his face to her. A muscle feathered in his jaw.

“Kind. Real confident in her skills. I didn’t see many pilots that actually had the technique to back up their bragging, but she was one of the few.” He studied. “You look like her. Your nose crinkles the same was that hers did.”

Venus stayed silent, nodding at his answer. She knew better than to push things like this. She learned from how Jake talked about his fallen friends. Trudy. Grace. Tsu’tey. As much as Venus enjoyed making Quaritch suffer, she would not pick at his grief. The relaxing of his shoulders told her that she had made the right choice.

She looked down at the food in her lap, taking the final bite as she tuned back in to the squads conversations.

“What about you, Venus? Got any stories of romance?”

She looked up, shocked at Brown’s sudden question. He looked at her with a grin, already reading her expertly.

Damn him.

“That’s a long story.” she replied, trying to deflect as the tips of her ears warmed.

“We got a long time. Might as well tell it.” replied Wainfleet, his eyes glinting. The rest of the squad looked at her eagerly. Even Quaritch tilted his head at her, mirroring her behavior towards him.

She sighed. What was she worried about? These soldiers had no right to judge her, and they had no control over the events that transpired years ago.

Her gaze flicked to Mansk, and her chest tightened.

She took a breath and began.

༄

She had known Ku’altu for years. He was the olo’ekte of the Tawkami clan, and she the tsakarem of the Omatikaya. They were bound to meet eventually.

The first time they met, his mother Suna brought him with her to the Omatikaya. It was a diplomatic mission, meant to encourage alliance and friendship between the two clans.

Venus was eleven, Ku’altu thirteen.

His mother had gestured for him to greet her, pushing him by the shoulder. He walked and stood before her, already a foot taller. He was handsome even then, all lithe muscle and confidence, a boy growing into a man. Venus was smitten.

Until he clicked his tongue and said loudly “I will not greet a worm-faced demon.”

And that was just the beginning. He relentlessly tormented her, calling her names and teasing her appearance. She hated him, and he loved riling her. His handsome face was wasted on him, she thought.

It was a shame, for she loved his mother. Suna was the tsahík of the Tawkami, beautiful and tall, with gentle eyes and a sweet voice. She hated how her son treated Venus, but it just made Ku’altu more calculated with his jabs.

They stayed for three weeks, and at the end Venus had cursed Ku’altu, proclaiming that she hoped she never saw him again.

And she didn’t for five more years. Suna came many times alone, bringing gifts to the Sully children. She would always make sure to bring Venus a rose bud from the Tawkami harvest, and she had saved many of them over the years.

The celebration of Venus’s sixteenth birthday was huge. It was her coming of age ceremony, announcing her as a woman to the entire clan. And as it was a celebration of a tsakarem, many clans came baring gifts.

Venus had rushed to the outskirts of the villiage when she had heard that the Tawkami ambassadors had arrived, expecting to find Suna and her ikran Twal.

She instead ran straight into a hard chest.

The owner of it caught her by the waist when she stumbled back, pulling her up so that she was steady. She rested a hand on their skin.

“I’m sorry, are you alright?”

She remembered clearly how her heart thumped against her ribs as her mind zeroed in on his voice. It was much deeper now, the voice of a man rather than a boy. And his tone was sincere.

“Ku’altu?”

Eighteen and strong, he looked down at her with no trace of the disgust that he once had. His face had sharpened with age, cheekbones high, yet his eyes were softer, like his mothers.

“Hello, Venus.”

The next days were a mess of preparation and flutters in her stomach. Wherever she went, it felt like Ku’altu was always there, speaking to her brothers or her father, or carving something for the children of the village.

She remembered how her face felt hot for days, even as her mother painted ceremonial markings onto her skin the night of her birthday.

She remembered how his eyes had followed her through the dancing, how his fingers barely touched her waist when he finally joined her.

It was the first time she had truly felt the fire that her mother had described to her when she asked about how she met her father.

She and a group of teens ran off to the warm pools in the mountains, flying their ikrans away from the party to have their own celebration. Tu’la had stolen some sweet wine, and they were all giggling and warm in the blue water.

She hadn’t touched a drop, and neither had Ku’altu. Even as they spoke to the others, she felt his eyes on her, watching her move and shift in the water.

She had been the one to take him to a different pool, away from the others.

Her confidence disappeared as soon as they got in the water. There was no buffer now, no wall preventing whatever feelings they were experiencing. Yet the boy across from her made no moves, simply leaned against the edge of the pool, body half in the water as he watched her.

She couldn’t remember what they were talking about before his hands rested against her waist. Or before his breath fanned against her cheek.

All she knew is that in one moment he asked if he could kiss her, and the next she was pressing her mouth to his.

They had stopped when his hand brushed the skin under her top. He would leave tomorrow, and she knew better than to continue past kissing. He knew too, but he was more insistent.

“Come back with me.” he whispered, eyes soft as he asked that she become his tsahík.

༄

“I told him no.” she ended simply, and the recombinants looked at her with gaping mouths.

“Why?” Ja asked, and Venus had to remember that they didn’t understand her politics.

“Because if I left with him, then i’d be leaving my own position as tsakarem of the Omatikaya. It would be shameful to myself and my clan. In the Omatikaya, I am tsakarem in my own right. If I went to the Tawkami, i’d only be tsakarem because I was Ku’altu’s mate.” she explained, though she could tell that they still didn’t quite understand.

The group was quiet after she had finished. She expected that they would all retreat to their packs, but then Mansk broke the silence.

“We’re going to the Tawkami clan.” he said, and she knew he had figured it out.

Soon she would be face to face with a boy that she had fallen in love with, now a hostage to the enemy. What would he think of her? They had not seen each other for many years.

“Old flames, reunited.” Wainfleet said, his tone teasing. Venus tossed a bone at his head, and he hissed at her half-heartedly.

She scoffed. He was one to talk about old flames.

༄

Venus curled into her sleeping bag, belly full and muscles stinging pleasantly from the workout of the hunt.

Mansk turned to her from his own pack, only a few feet from her.

“Do you still love him?” he whispered, soft.

She took a second to look at his tanhí, studying the way they freckled his skin. They were more scattered, a bit less patterned than most. She wanted to touch them, to find a pattern to follow.

When the trail led down to the one right above his lip, she glanced back up to his eyes.

“No.” she answered. “No, I do not.”

Yes, Ku’altu had felt like fire. Like something burning that had never been lit before. But fire, if not cared for and fueled, dies with the smallest change of wind.

The low heat in her gut was familiar. But it was nothing like what she had felt all those years ago.

She rolled to face away from Mansk in an effort to smother it.

masterlists. | next

next chapter is traumatic for venus. we are in fact nearing the middle of this fanfic. not quite there, but we’re getting towards it.

taglist:

@lisedanie @xstarsmvxz @avatar4eva @xylianasblog

#breath of venus #venus sully #avatar the way of water #avatar #recombinant #avatar x oc #oc #recom lyle wainfleet #recom mansk #the way of water #jake sully #recom quaritch #miles quaritch #quaritch fanfic #daughter!oc #avatar 2022

[leporcide]

cicadas in the background

"Fresh air, scenic views, and a beautiful lake offer a perfect retreat when you need to escape life's troubles. But your peace, however, is shattered when rowdy campers move into the cabin next to yours and an eerie presence in the lake takes a keen interest in you."

pairing: modern au kisame hosigaki x gn!reader for: the Cabin event! word count: 12ishk tw: nsft, body parts are named and described, but i have two versions of the smut section for afab and amab,! there's a divider to warn you! its the first full smut i've ever written so i apologize if it's lacking (or too much!) like reading on ao3?: here u go tags: blood, murder off-page technically, smut, breif? description of being drugged/lingering effects of a sleep medication reader took, bullying, animal death and gore (rip to a frog), uuuh being peeped on in the shower, if there's any i miss pls let me know i'm terrible at it notes: this is kind of a super modern au, with a heavy southern US lens, so take the setting with a grain of salt also thank u to mel for beta reading part of this for me :'>

The sun’s rays reach through the water, warm and easy as they ride the breeze-driven waves of the lake’s surface. Their strength wanes the further down they stretch, lost to the gloom further out in the water. Here in the shallows, though, the water weeds eagerly drink it up and grow lush along the muddy bottom. And in turn, schools of glittering silver minnows dart in and out of the greenery.

It’s so alive. And quiet.

None of the noise above the water reaches your ears. When you don’t move, you can hear the rushing of your blood. Your lungs ache—have been aching—for fresh air for a few minutes now. But you’ve finally settled at the bottom, a foot of blue-green water above your head, a large rock in your lap to keep you down, and the minnows that startle easily gather around you. You are so much bigger than them–they swim over and under your calves and duck close under your chin, looking for any place to hide from larger fish.

The bluegills, with their sunny bellies lurk further away. Wary of how you loom over the minnows. Their spiny fins look deadly compared to the small, rounded ones that propel the smaller fish. When they swoop close, trying to snatch a minnow, the sunlight catches on their scales, highlighting the vibrant red oranges of their bellies. They certainly look more predatory than the minnows. But you know the spines and bright colors are more defensive than offensive. Bluegills might be dangerous in the shallows, but in deeper water, they’re on the menu.

Finally, your lungs give—your ribs convulsing once in warning. The movement sends the minnows scattering. Pushing the heavy rock away, you’re suddenly at the surface.

Everything is overwhelming the moment you break the surface. Annual cicadas buzz—loud, high-pitched, and fast. The sunshine is blindly bright. Birds call back and forth. And a squad of vehicles crunches over the gravel path to the campground’s main office, the driver of the last one smacking their horn in a quick burst that startles you.

You push your goggles up onto your forehead, blinking hard against the fresh air. The sight of others surprises you. It shouldn’t.

The lake isn’t massive, certainly nowhere near the scale considered “impressive,” but it’s big enough that while you can see from one side to the other, you can’t swim across without some kind of endurance training. There are waterways leading to and from the lake, namely a deeper stream which feeds into a river boaters like to take. You spent your first night here tracing a map of all the connections until your finger found the ocean.

The lake prohibits fishing, and only the campground owner is allowed to use motorized boats on the water. You hauled yourself onto the dock. The sign at the end of it announces the swimming hours—between noon and 4 pm. Only four hours. The strange rules cut down a lot of people’s summer plans at the lake.

Your towel is sun-warm, dry, and fluffy. You aren’t quite ready to leave the lake yet, though swimming hours are almost over. Instead, you drape the towel over your shoulders and let your legs dangle in the cool water. Water bugs skate over the placid water’s surface, elegantly moving in patterns that you don’t understand but admire all the same.

The new arrivals are loud and excited behind you. Their car doors slam and you hear them joking together. Though they’re too far away for you to make out what they’re saying.

You turn your head, catching sight of the tail end of the group. A short redhead and a taller blond seem to bicker, their stances tense in the office doorway. They’re close, though, nearly nose-to-nose. Your weight shifts, leaning a little closer, trying to see their faces better.

Something closes around your ankle, still in the water. Warm, alive, and strong. It tugs and you’re jerked forward on the dock; the wood scraping against the exposed underside of your thighs. You shriek and jerk back.

For a split second, you’re hindered, and you’re certain that whatever has a hold of you isn’t going to let go. But then it releases and you tumble backward. Your skull cracks against the dock with a sharp stab of pain.

You scramble to your feet. When you look at your ankle, you don’t see anything. Not a mark or a scratch. Your heart pounds wild and scared in your chest. Laughter breaks out from behind you. The blond, his long hair covering half his face, has seen you freak out. Embarrassment warms your cheeks.

His laugh breaks your fear. You feel silly. A curious fish had probably just gotten too close to your ankle. You exhale, fingers twisting in the comfort of your towel. It’s time to get out, anyway.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

The office is small, the tiled floor a dingy white with tread marks a person could spend days scrubbing and they’d still be there. Pictures of the campgrounds, guests, posters, and lists of information cover the walls.

Half the office is a store. A big display fridge hums in the back, hosting neatly organized rows of beverages and cold things. Someone neatly stacked bags of ice in the bottom. Canned goods and snacks with long shelf lives take up space on a single display rack. There’s a window unit propped up by a ten-gallon bucket next to the fridge and from the sound of it, catches the water dripping from the A/C as well.

But despite the constant noise, it’s quiet in here. The group earlier cleared out. The only person left is the campground’s owner. He stands behind the counter that also serves as his desk. You watch him from the corner of your eye while browsing the snacks offered on display. He writes on a piece of paper in slow, smooth movements while the other hand holds a paper fan.

How he’s hot in this little building is beyond you. Then again, you’re in nothing but your bathing suit and a towel, a coin purse in your hand.

You bought groceries before you came, of course. Easy to make camp fair you can make on one of the many grills outside or on the single hotplate in your cabin. Snacks included. There’s no need for you to be in here.

Except that you’re nosy. You haven’t seen anyone else in the campground since arriving. The strangers that stopped by didn’t exactly look like camper material either. It’s a benign sort of curiosity. Something new to poke at more than a real need to know.

You need a plan of action– way to ask the dark-haired man who his previous guests were. When you checked in, you got the impression he was not a talkative person. Shamefully, you can’t recall his name until you spot the nameplate on the counter by the register.

Itachi Uchiha. Certainly an interesting name.

Your stalling comes to an end when he glances up, his dark eyes meeting yours over the top of the display shelves. You duck your head with a silent curse. Grabbing the first thing you can reach, you head to the counter with it.

“Did you find everything okay?” He’s soft-spoken and reserved, his question a rehearsed line more than genuine care.

“Yeah, was just looking for a quick snack. Worked up an appetite swimming,” you lie, putting the treat down.

He sets his pen aside and his long, pale fingers clack against an old register’s keys. The total reads in dim green numbers on a tiny screen that faces toward you. You’re a little disappointed that he’s more focused on his job than continuing the conversation. But you accept it without complaint, handing the due amount over.

“You stayed out there longer than usual,” he says after a beat longer. The register closes with a scrape of metal against metal. There’s a change in his tone, something more amused. “The sign says swimming is closed at 4 pm.”

Your eyes cut away from the path of the creases in Itachi’s face, floundering to focus on anything except him. You almost miss seeing of the upturned corner of his mouth. The big window behind him, decorated with receipts, old order forms, and sticky notes, has a clear view of the lake. And the dock you spend most of the swimming hours on.

“Did I? Sorry, it’s easy to lose track of time out here!” As you apologize, your eyes find the analog clock on the wall above the entrance door. It’s almost five o’clock—an hour over.

“Try not to make a habit of it,” Itachi says, not unkindly. He leaves your purchase for you to collect and resumes writing.

However, you’re not quite ready to let the conversation end. “Is it a slow week? It’s pretty empty for a weekend, isn’t it?”

“No. We’re out of the way. Locals give us the most business in the fall.”

“Oh. Was that group earlier local, then?”

The sound of pen scratching paper pauses.

You look back and find him watching you, face impassive. It makes your mouth go dry, but you press on. “They seemed pretty lively, huh?”

“They are. You would be wise to stay out of their way while they’re here,” he answers after another beat. The way he says it makes you feel like the kid who isn’t in on the joke.

“Noted.” You take the packaged snack off the counter. The plastic crinkles under your grip. “Have a good day, Itachi.”

He doesn’t return the sentiment.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

The cabins don’t have private showers. The campground shares a bathhouse instead. Fours stalls for toilets on one side of the building. Four enclosed stalls for somewhat private showering on the other side. Then a heated bath in the other half of the building. Being the only camper these past two days has felt like a luxury.

Well, luxury is a bit of a stretch.

Like the campground office-store, the bathhouse is an older building. You can only assume that only the most pressing repairs get done around here. Spiderwebs are in every nook and cranny of the place with new ones every day. There are small floodlights on either side of the door and in the dusky haze of evening, the spiders have a veritable feast gathering at their doorsteps.

For you, however, it’s like walking through a bait ball on land and the bait gets its revenge. You’ve made it mostly intact this trip, but when you open the bathhouse door, you duck as a heavy-shelled beetle goes sailing past your head.

The inside of the bathhouse is a little unsettling. The walls are the same thick white-painted cement blocks as the outside and the floor is bare concrete. Both of which make it echo. The showers don’t drain well and underneath the smell of harsh cleaning chemicals is the faint scent of stagnant water. There are four yellow fluorescent lights on the ceiling and one of them flickers at random intervals like some Morse code in its dying days.

But this being your third night visiting, you have outgrown your fear of it. You set your travel bag of non-essentials on the ledge above a sink before taking the shower at the end of the line. It has the best water pressure out of the four. But it lacks the coat hooks the other ones have. You balance your clean pajamas and towel over the stall door and your bathroom caddy sits on the ground.

Calling the bathhouse luxury is a stretch indeed.

You strip out of your bathing suit. A small amount of lake debris has gathered under the elastic band. The water is lukewarm when you first turn it on. You hold a hand under the spray, waiting for it to warm, shifting from one foot to the other on the plastic slip-resistant mat on the floor.

The lake will be colder than this with the cooling nighttime temperatures. It’s unfortunate the swimming hours are so short. The chorus of small frogs, crickets, and katydids is peaceful compared to their daytime counterparts. If the night is clear and the wind is still, the lake’s surface calms enough it reflects the night sky. It would be like swimming through the stars themselves.

However, you would hate to ruin the wildlife’s routines. You snort quietly to yourself once you step into the now steaming water. If you were a raccoon, the last thing you would want is to come to the lake’s banks to wash your breakfast and see some half-naked fleshy thing swimming at your table.

You snort at the mental image.

After a long day of sunscreen, lake water, and sweat showers feel rewarding. Like you’ve earned it. It certainly feels that way as you scrub the grime from your skin.

You want to soak in the bath tonight too. With the group Itachi warned you about coming in, you aren’t sure you want to be caught naked out there. You would stick to showering for the rest of your stay, but tonight you were going to take full advantage of the bathhouse.

Perhaps, though, you aren’t quite used to the hollow feeling of the building yet. Or maybe you’re still unnerved by the fish biting at your ankle.

It starts with a fleeting thought. Just a passing whisper from your mind that maybe you aren’t alone. Your chest tightens and the hand scrubbing soap against your skin jerks.

You huff at yourself, trying to be rational. The only other person on the grounds is Itachi, and you have yet to bump into him at the bathhouse. There isn’t anyone else here. But the baby hairs on the back of your neck raise. It feels like someone is trying to stare a hole into your back.

Your heart pounds in your chest. Like a child too afraid to look under the bed, you’re struck with the idea that when you turn, there will be someone standing right behind you—breathing down your neck. The feelings increase with the staccato of your heartbeats. Until finally you cannot stand it anymore and you twist, eyes wide to meet—nothing.

There’s absolutely nothing and no one behind you. You almost roll your eyes at yourself, exhaling with relief. Though, you peek over the top of the stall door, just to confirm that you’re alone in the bathhouse. Your mind is on edge. After the bath, you’ll go back to your cabin and go to bed at a decent hour rather than stay up reading to lamplight.

You’ve just stepped back into the warmth of the shower spray when the bathhouse door creaks open.

Everything inside you comes to a screeching halt. Your heart slams against your rib cage like a panicked, trapped bird. Terror floods your system like a bucket of ice-cold water. Thoughts fly through your brain, too frantic to focus long enough to hold on to one. You need to pull clothes on, need to find something to defend yourself. You need to—you don’t know what you need to do in this situation.

You stand there helpless, naked as the day you were born, with no idea what to do now that someone has come into the bathhouse with you. You’re so scared that you can’t move.

Instead, you listen. It feels like you’re going to burst an eardrum with how hard you strain to catch a noise. It’s hard to hear over the shower and after a few minutes of gathering courage, you snake a hand out to turn the water off.

You stand there listening for so long, staring at the wall of the shower, that your vision blurs and you get light-headed.

There isn’t a single sound except your frantic heart and the gurgle of water doing down the pipes. After far too long, you try to rationalize it. The door isn’t heavy, made to be easily accessible. In theory, a breeze could blow it open.

If it opened at all. It’s entirely possible you imagined it.

Your sleep schedule still isn’t great. The stress from the city, from being let go—maybe it’s affecting you more than you originally thought. Staying up late reading horror novels isn’t helping either.

You take a shaky inhale, trying to force your nerves to calm. Everything is fine, you’re fine. You turn, reaching your hand out for your towel. You meet the gaze of someone very tall. His eyes are small, beady, and bloodshot, and staring at you.

The sight of a face peeping over the shower stall’s door, gray-blue and cast in the shadow of a flickering fluorescent light, sucks all the air from your lungs. There are markings on the person’s cheeks, sharp and angular, but you can’t quite make them out. Dark blue hair drips with water, wild despite being soaked.

It seems like everything stops, coming to a deathly stand-still before you scream. It rips so violently from your throat, tearing at the soft flesh of your esophagus, that it throws you back. Your eyes shut tightly when your back hits the steam-wet cement brick wall, hands flying to cover yourself.

There’s noise, the sound of things falling on the floor, the startled shuffling backward—then barely covered laughter just as the bathhouse door creaks open and close again.

It’s the laugh that catches you off-guard. You hear it over the scream dying in your mouth. And when your teeth clack together, you begin to put things together. You feel stupid in an instant. The bastards confirm it when you hear their laughter further away, muffled by the bathhouse walls.

The group Itachi warned you about.

They must have come back while you were in the shower. How they figured out you were in here is beyond you, but isn’t hard to guess with how small the campground is.

Where they had gotten it or why they had put a stupid—if realistic—Halloween mask on to scare you is also beyond rational thought. But after seeing your little freak out on the dock, you wouldn’t put it past them to dress up like some swamp creature to scare you.

From the two you had seen, they were at least your age or older. Adults acting like jerk teenagers had you cross. Angrily, you dry yourself and throw on your pajamas.

You don’t bother going through with the bath or the rest of your nightly routine. Instead, you stalk from the bathhouse, across the gravel road and to the big cabin a couple of cars are now parked outside of. The blond man stands at the door, his arms braced on the lip of the door to hold himself upright while he teased someone inside. Water drips from his long yellow hair.

You clear your throat loud and ugly. It catches the blond’s attention quickly. He glances at you over his shoulder, his brows furrowed in apparent confusion. A second later, recognition flashes across his face and he turns to you, his lips parting in a smile—a greeting on the tip of his tongue. But you’re not having it.

“Listen, pal, I do not care what you and your little friends do but do not fuck with me,” you steel your nerves as you bite out your words.

He hunches his shoulders at the threat, his expression dropping into something hostile. “Excuse me?”

“Your pranks aren’t funny. I’ll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine, okay?” You don’t give him the benefit of the doubt.

“What are you even talking about? Back the hell up,” he snaps back. There’s a nasal grunt at the end of his sentences.

It irks you that he’s playing dumb.

You catch sight of red hair coming up behind him. You’ve told him off, but you don’t think you can handle reinforcements. So you give him one more warning look, tug your bathroom caddy close, and stomp the few feet to your own cabin.

Neighbors. Great.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

The windows of your little cabin rattling from something loud and heavy scares you awake. You scramble in your sheets, heart pounding before you free yourself of fabric and realize it’s music. It comes through the panes of glass muffled, but you can hear it now that you’re conscious. It’s full of drums and rage against society.

It sounds good—would have sounded good if it weren’t seven in the morning.

You groan into your hands, far too tired to be awake. Considering how late your neighbors got in last night, it’s surprising they’re up so early. But they’re obviously making it your problem as well.

The music continues to blast at top volume for the hour it takes to get your day started. There’s a pause after breakfast where the mirror stops shaking. It gives you a clear view of your bloodshot eyes and puffy eye bags. The respite of silence is short-lived. You bite down on your toothbrush when pop music takes the place of heavy metal.

It goes through several more changes, ranging from country music to techno before it quiets downs again. You’ve put on a cute, comfy outfit for the day, draped a towel over your shoulder, and picked out an easy-to-read book to lounge on the dock with.

You brace yourself, hand on the door handle, for just a moment before stepping into the summer day. It’s hot but lacks the humidity from previous days. The sun shines brightly overhead, with only a few puffy clouds drifting through the blue, blue sky. Cicadas call from the trees. This is your vacation. Your new camping neighbors cannot take this from you.

In the next second, pushing the door open just a little more to step out fully, you’re doused in freezing cold water. It’s such a stark difference in temperatures that it burns. You scream, unable to hold it back. Your muscles lock up from the shock, and you can’t dodge the bucket when it comes down too. It thunks against your skull, still a quarter of the way full. It hurts like a bitch and nearly knocks you off your feet.

You grit your teeth, pushing through the tightness of your shocked muscles and the ringing in your ears. Your neighbors laugh, loud and mean. You’re grateful, in a terrible way, that no one can see the tears among the rest of the water dripping down your face.

“That’s who you’re wasting your time on?” an unfamiliar voice asks, clearly unimpressed.

You glance up, seeing a man with stitching tattoos peeking out from under the sleeveless shirt he wears. Saying he looks intimidating is an understatement. He sits on an ice chest, a speaker crooning something low next to him. The two he’s speaking to—the blond from before and a taller, silver-haired man—clearly don’t hear him.

Your teeth chatter, your mouth twisting into something you hope is unpleasant.

The youthful-looking man with the dull, apathetic eyes is there too, pulling something from the trunk of his car. “Children will act accordingly.”

You blink, droplets of water falling from your lashes, before looking away from them. Despite the warm air, you shiver with cold. The water has soaked your towel too. But your book is dry.

Your book is dry. The vitriolic heat burning your tongue cools when you register that fact.

From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a silhouette at the edge of the office building. Itachi stands outside, leaning against the white-painted brick. You can’t see his face clearly from where you stand, but you feel his disappointed gaze.

It reeks of “I told you so.” Your gaze drops. The last thing you want is to be kicked out of the campgrounds and have your getaway cut short by your own behavior. When you look back up, he’s gone.

You shoot a glare at the four men gathered in front of the cabin next to yours. The blond shifts his weight to a leg, jutting a hip out. He grins, smug. He’d be handsome if the back of your head didn’t ache and your skin wasn’t just now thawing out.

“Deidara, leave it,” the redhead says sharply. Like calling back a dog.

He snorts and you bite back something mean. Your book is dry and in an hour on the dock, so will you. However, you take their plastic blue bucket. If they want it back, they’ll have to really fight for it.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

The sunshine is warm on your back, the gentle lapping of water against the shore soothing you into a comforting feeling. You think about getting in once swimming hours open, but hesitate, thinking about whatever touched your foot yesterday. But it’s your lovely neighbors dragging kayaks out onto the water that makes up your mind for you.

You’ve made it halfway through your book before Deidara seeks you out again.

“You look like you recovered from your shower this morning!” There’s a surprising friendliness in his voice when he calls your name.

Your fingers tighten around the edge of your book, the paper giving slightly. He’s under dressed to be kayaking in deep water—not a life jacket in sight. His shoulders are already turning red. You wonder where he learned your name from. Had Itachi told him?

“I have. Thanks for the concern.” You are far less inviting.

It doesn’t deter him. He dips his paddle in the water, bringing the bright orange kayak closer. The nose of it bumps into a wooden pole and you feel the vibration through the dock.

“Oh, that’s where that thing went,” he says once he’s closer. “Smart.”

Your eyes follow his gaze, landing on the blue bucket. You’ve filled it with ice from the office, drinks buried in it to keep them cold. Irritation pops between your teeth when you say, “It works great. Keeps things real cold.”

“You don’t say…” It’s unfair how pretty he is, with his mouth cocked to the side in that smug way of his. “What are you reading?”

“A book.”

“You’re a straightforward one, aren’t you?”

His grin only grows wider. You think of the knot on the back of your head. Your eyes drop and you turn the page of your book, not reading the words.

“We got off on the wrong foot but look, I’m willing to forgive and forget, alright?” he offers, like you’ve asked for it.

You have to bite back an ugly remark. He shifts in his seat. The squeak of his water shoes against the kayak is loud in the silence. Even the cicadas have gone quiet, as if silencing themselves to spectate this uncomfortable encounter. You turn another page.

Deidara isn’t good at silence. He shows you so in the next moment when his paddle comes up and knocks your book from your hands. It was spared from the prank this morning, but it is the sole victim this afternoon. It lands with a splash on the other side of the blond.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you snarl at him.

“Hey, I didn’t mean for it to go in the wat—”

You don’t touch him—a fact you repeat adamantly later. When Deidara’s kayak suddenly flips, his single cornflower blue eye widening in alarm, you aren’t even close to him.

Your hand reels back in a fist, ready to slug him, but you don’t touch him. Something grabs the lip of the opening of the kayak—you see pale blue, the arc of water droplets catching sunlight like gems—and flips the little boat.

It’s chaos from there. It happens so fast you can do nothing but watch. You don’t feel afraid while he thrashes under the surface, kicking up water and mud.

When Deidara breaks the surface, he’s screaming. Red slashes mar his chest. They’re horrible. The edges of the skin are ragged. Parts of it flap with his panic, barely remaining connected to him. He scrambles to climb atop the flipped kayak, yelling at you.

You think of the knot on the back of your head. It hurts.

It’s Deidara’s friends that save him, eventually. The silver-haired man, Hidan you learn, paddles up, teasing him for being scared of little lake fish. Until he sees the blood. It’s not worry that he uses when he hauls the blond out of the water, though. He seems annoyed at the blood being spilled everywhere, and that Deidara won’t stop screaming that it was a person down there.

The man turns on you until Deidara says it wasn’t you. It doesn’t look like Hidan believes him, but he also can’t believe someone like you could do that kind of damage.

You suggest a hospital, but they both shut the idea down quickly. The other two arrive and they go into the office building, Itachi holding the door open for them. He watches you with his dark eyes.

You feel like he blames you. A part of you blames yourself as well. You should have reached out to help him at least.

You pick up the plastic handle of the bucket and go back home to the cabin.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

The evening is quieter. There’s a bullfrog croaking outside your window, cracked just enough to let an unusually cool breeze in.

You’re watching one of the movies you downloaded on your laptop. It’s an old, black-and-white film. It’s entertaining despite its age, but you think you’re made of stronger stuff than to be scared by it. Especially during this scene, where the lead actress is just swimming. Beautiful, of course, with perfectly practiced flips in the water.

People’s fascination with the underwater world hasn’t changed. You included.

The music changes, sharp and threatening as it pans away from the woman and to the monster lurking in the thick netting of green water weeds.

Knock, knock, knock.

Three gentle but obvious taps against your door startle you. Made of stronger stuff indeed. Your first thought is your neighbors, your mouth set into a thin line. But you haven’t heard a peep from them all evening. You give your unexpected visitor the silence treatment, hoping they’d get the hint and leave.

Knock, knock, knock.

Or not.

You’re aware of yourself. Guilt makes you defensive. You should have reached for Deidara, tried to help him somehow. Acknowledging you’re being cagey doesn’t help, though.

Finally, you sigh and call out, “What do you want?”

Silence is the response. It extends for so long that it makes you uneasy. You pause your movie and sit up on the bed. The bullfrog croaks, deep and bassy outside the window. A voice answers just as you're about to stand and move toward the door.

“I have your book.” The voice is raspy, rough—out of practice.

Your heart pounds in your chest, quick like a frightened bird. You like to think you’re good at picking up on voices, and this one is entirely unfamiliar. Your tongue swipes over your lips. “Thank you…?”

You aren’t sure what you’re supposed to say. It feels wrong, somehow. After everything today, you hadn’t had the chance to worry about the book you had lost. The book Deidara had knocked into the lake.

There isn’t an answer to the drawn-out pause left for them to give their name. In fact, there isn’t any noise on the other side of the door. It makes your mouth go dry and your stomach queasy. You’re filled with so much anxiety it’s hard to breathe. It presses in on you, suffocating. Until you get to your feet and go to the door.

This is stupid. You know it’s stupid. You’d be snarking at the character on-screen that opening the door is an incredibly stupid idea. But not knowing feels so much worse.

You open the cabin door, just a crack to peek. There’s no one there.

Chagrin floods your cheeks. You aren’t familiar with your neighbors. That’s all. One of Deidara’s friends must have returned the book in apology.

The book in question is set in front of the door. Its pages are sun-dried and stiff with water damage. The cheap ink has bled, smearing a lot of the words. But it’s kind of sweet that they returned the book after everything. You flip to the page you had been reading when it was knocked from your hands, then nearly drop it.

The pages here are soaked red, glued together by something thicker than water.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟. The week will end soon.

You try not to let it loom over you, but it’s there—in the quiet gaps between cicada songs and in the stagnant heat of the day. But it is most obvious in the “No Swimming” sign Itachi posted after Deidara’s accident. You can only watch the minnows darting underwater like quicksilver now. It’s an unsatisfactory goodbye.

You stop, sweat dripping from every roll and crinkle in your skin, to uncap your water bottle before downing half of it. The handle of the blue plastic bucket sits in the bend of your elbow, half-full of lakeside debris: fallen leaves, twigs, some acorns, little round pebbles. Things for you to shift through later and make little handmade things for souvenirs. Most campsites are strongly against the practice, but Itachi is indifferent.

You hadn’t planned to take this hike around the lake, but you’ve already made it to the other side. A sigh leaves your lips when you toss the water bottle back into the bucket. You’re being avoidant as well. Your “neighbors” are still around. They’ve pestered you about everything from borrowing your grill lighter to trying to bully you into drinking with them.

Deidara, with white bandages peeking out from under his shirt, has been the most persistent. It’s flattering, in a vain way, to have the blond’s attention. But you aren’t stupid enough to get involved with whatever that group has going on.

If you let him hit? You would never live it down.

You shudder at the phantom catcalling and jeering as you come up to a bend in the trail. There’s running water here, one of the streams that cut away from the main lake. Further down, you can see a bridge that goes over it.

You hear the sound of splashing above the babbling of the stream. It’s not obvious and if you hadn’t stopped you don’t think you would have heard it. You listen to the noise for a while before curiosity gets the better of you.

You’re so nosy.

Stepping off the path, into unmaintained woodland doesn’t feel as foreboding as it should, considering all the stories that come from doing something like this. The sun is too bright, too warm, and the shade too thin to be anything but pleasant to step into. But your gut still tightens. Something brushes against the back of your mind, warning you it could be an animal you don’t want to startle.

But you’re already so close to the source of the splashing. The undergrowth here is denser, the trees coming together in thick green webs of leaves. You peek through them, eyes wide as movement catches your attention immediately. The person on the side, down in the stream rips the breath from your lungs.

The overhead foliage blankets the stream in shadow, dark and damp—a contrast to the warm sunlight caressing your back. While you watch him, a peculiar mix of emotions stirs within. Despite the well-defined muscles, he looks almost sickly, as if he might be unwell. His cheeks are hollow, his face is made up of harsh angles, and his skin is a soft, pale blue-gray that seems more pronounced in the shade.

You watch the water roll up his arms and over his shoulders in wild arcs. Standing with his legs apart and bent at the waist, he appears entirely absorbed in his task, his hands chasing something unseen in the murky water.

Each movement causes the muscles under his skin to ripple. His tall frame moves with a sense of purpose, exuding both grace and strength. There’s something captivating about his presence, an allure that draws you in despite the uncertainty.

A bolt of fear strikes like lightning as you catch sight of his face. You’ve seen him before. You’re the one peeping now, it seems. You should leave—the thought nags at you, screaming in the back of your skull. Whoever, whatever he is, you know he’s dangerous. The shark-like appearance cannot be a coincidence. But a part of you refuses to move. Rooted to the ground, you watch the flex of his biceps, lick your lips at the downward turn of his mouth while he concentrates hard on his task.

You’re fascinated by something so different.

His hands snap out again, closing around something finally by the grin that flashes across his face. Porcelain white teeth, pointed and sharp, catching a sliver of sunshine.

The tiny body of a muddy green frog almost escapes his palms, flinging itself desperately from the giant that holds it. He moves with it, refusing to let it go. You watch, mouth parted, though you aren’t breathing anymore. The man, his eyes gleaming, presses his hands together.

Squeezing and squeezing until—there’s an awful popping sound and pink-stained water drips between the man’s fingers. It’s terrible what he’s done with that handsome grin on his face.

Then he tosses the dead thing toward the bank below you. Two little raccoons, too small to be on their own chitter in excitement. They run forward to where the frog’s guts spill into the mud, squabbling over it before their fighting tears the body in half. They feast like they’re starving.

It’s gross and makes your stomach queasy. But it offers understanding. He’s feeding them. In an archaic, far too gruesome way, but feeding the animals nonetheless.

Your eyes leave the small raccoons, returning to the strange man. He’s looking at you now, too. His grin is gone, faded into a thin frown. You’ve been caught, the blood draining from your face.

Neither of you make the first move.

The baby raccoons, licking their lips after their frog, chatter at him from the water’s edge. They slap the surface, splashing each other by accident when he ignores them. They’re impatient and demanding. The shark-man glances between them and you. Contemplating, he shifts his weight, disturbing the flow of water around his calves. It’s a tiny movement, barely anything at all, but it causes you to flinch back. And the frown on his face deepens.

“What are you lurking like a pervert for?” he calls out, a lilt of sarcasm in his voice.

His strikingly recognizable voice. You’re relieved, somewhat, to know he can speak. Then feel stupid for the assumption he couldn’t. “You’re one to talk.”

“Me? No no, I would never go around peeping at people like that,” he responds quickly. As if he’s eager to be talking with you. “Especially not you. Not with how much you go around shrieking.”

Your stomach twists itself into knots. It strangles the butterflies. This feels surreal to you. You shouldn’t, but you find yourself pushing back the branches of the trees to ease yourself down the slope of the bank, the temperature dropping when the sun can no longer touch you. The little raccoons scamper away with unwelcoming hisses when they spot you.

“Thank you, for bringing my book back,” you say before trepidation can stop you. You can feel it in your gut that getting closer is a bad idea.

The man doesn’t move from his spot in the stream. His expression shifts from his half-smug teasing to more of a question. It’s reflected when he speaks again, “What book?”

“The one that fell into the lake. I recognize your voice.”

“Just from hearing it one time, huh? You sure?”

“I can remember voices pretty okay and yours is very—well everything about you kind of stands out.”

He pauses for a heartbeat, various emotions flickering across his face before he chuckles, “I’ll take that as a compliment from you.”

Oh.

Your stomach swoops in a distinctly different way from fear this time. It shocks you. Somehow you’ve inched closer and mud wells up around the soles of your sandals. Your throat bobs when you swallow your nerves down.

“What’s your name?” you ask him the words a little strained with how tight your throat is.

His sharp, beady eyes observe you intently. Again you find that as unnerving as his gaze is, you don’t dislike it.

“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” he says, his tone light. The way he smiles at you is not comforting.

“Is that code for you don’t have one?” It’s half-playful and wholly unsure. Is it rude to ask another being if they have a name? You offer your own name in the next breath.

He takes it, chewing on it a few times like he’s deciding if he likes it or not.

Suddenly, you’re the frog. Your heartbeat is frantic in your chest once more, desperate for something you’re not sure about. And blindly you think you’re leaping toward the threat when he says your name a final time, his tongue swiping across his blue lips.

“Kisame,” he tells you.

“Kisame,” you murmur, holding the word too gently. “A little on the nose isn’t it?”

“You shouldn’t be so relaxed,” he warns you. “I really could kill you.”

He’s serious. You can feel it in how he looks at you. In the cool shade of the trees crowding too close with the cicada still silent, you know he can. Still, your mouth opens your mouth to protest. Maybe you’re still the desperate frog, jumping the wrong way.

But you hesitate. And he latches onto that hesitation.

You see his plan in the wicked curve of his grin returning before he does it. But you still squeal when he lungs forward, his big arms scooping up water and splashing you in a great wave. The bucket slips from the crook of your arm, cracking against the mud.

His hand, rough but warm, brushes against the exposed small of your back when you turn, fleeing up the side of the bank like a drowned rat. His booming laughter follows on your heels when you return to your cabin.

Your heart is pounding and you stupidly want to see him again.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

The first mistake you make is with Deidara.

You’re outside cutting up pieces of your favorite fruit. Fresh and in season, it’s quite a treat. The juice slips down your knife and onto your fingers. You don’t the like the stickiness as much but tolerate it for your snack. The cicadas are at full volume again and sitting beside you is your journal, with glue drying leaves to one of the pages.

It’s a nice day, with a light breeze that occasionally sweeps past you. It makes you drowsy.

You watch the lake. After meeting him, you’re certain it was Kisame that grabbed your foot and injured Deidara. Every disturbance on the water makes you hopeful. Disappointment fills your chest when nothing comes from it. Your ride these up-and-down mood swings for most of the day.

You have to wonder if Itachi knows about Kisame. Is that why he put up the sign? You’re itching to ask, but if he doesn’t you’d sound out of your mind. Or be exposing Kisame’s existence. Which feels worse than being called crazy.

You don’t want to admit there’s selfishness at play too. A part of you resists the idea of sharing the secret you now know. You want to keep Kisame for yourself.

You pop another slice of fruit into your mouth, swiping away the juice that dribbles down your chin with the back of a hand. There’s another disturbance on the water, right next to the dock that’s more agitated—

A figure steps in front of you with a grunt of your name, blocking the view. You sit up in your chair, snorting as you meet Deidara’s gaze. He holds it for a second before darting away. His painted nails tug at his shirt, pulling it up to cover the stark white bandages.

He opens his mouth once, twice, before he finally says, “Hey.”

You chew the flesh of another slice of fruit, holding your gaze on him. When you swallow you drop your eyes to watch the blade of the knife cut another one. “What do you need Deidara?”

“I don’t need anything,” he snaps back too quickly. “Can’t a guy just say hi to his neighbor?”

“Then, hi.”

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

You stop what you’re doing, lips pressing into a flat line. Deidara’s gaze doesn’t waver when you meet it this time. A muscle in his jaw twitches. The mutual annoyance feels heavier than the humidity in the air.

You’re being unfair to him and you know it. The first night they were here you had torn out of the bathhouse, picking a fight with them. But it had been Kisame who had been peeping on you, you’re sure of it despite his denial.

But everything else he had done himself. He didn’t deserve the apology on the tip of your tongue.

“You like art?” he tries again, smoothing the irritation from his expression. You glance at the journal he gestures to.

“Yeah.” You can’t make yourself happy with the conversation change.

“I do art,” Deidara continues as if you’ve asked. “Not any of this kid stuff, of course. I have an appreciation for finer art. The kind of beauty you can only see for a fleeting moment before it’s gone, the aftermath of it vibrating through you.”

He’s animated, his hands moving as he speaks. Whatever he’s talking about, it’s obvious it’s his passion. But you’re stuck on the fact he called your glued-on leaves and scribbles “kid stuff.” Deidara always has a haughty air to him, but it’s most apparent in this aspect.

You have to hide the scowl in the corner of your mouth. But it’s pointless when you say, “So like fireworks?”

Deidara catches you immediately. He scents the mockery in words like blood in the water. His eye flashes, dangerous and scorned.

“I’ll have to show you what I mean sometime,” he offers, challenging.

“Maybe,” you reply. He frowns at the rejection.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

The second mistake you make is not locking the door to your cabin.

Well, it’s more so that you’re listening to that damn fluttery feeling in your stomach. You nearly vomit twice from the nerves before you settle onto the bed—it’s neatly made up and smells of air freshener to hide a week worth’s of you.

Your laptop is open, the fans whirring while another black-and-white movie plays on-screen. It’s the sequel to the previous one you watched.

You can’t focus on it, though. Picking at your nails, chewing on the inside of your lip, and glancing like a fugitive at the door takes up more of your attention. For once, you hate the isolation of the campground. You’d be less nervous if your phone had a connection to the outside so you could doom scroll the hours away.

Music from your neighbors rumbles through the walls. It’s nowhere near the volume of their first full day here, but tonight it’s full of spite and bass again. Occasionally you hear one of them belting out the lyrics.

You bite down a tad too hard on the tender flesh inside your mouth. The taste of copper spreads across the tip of your tongue.

A scream rips through the quiet hum of the window unit and the night chirping outside. It’s so sudden it startles you, your heart jumping into your throat before you realize it’s the movie. You reach over and turn the sound down, scoffing at yourself. “Jesus, the volume is all over the place.”

“That’s what you get for pirating bad movies.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to scream, a hand clapping down over your mouth. Panic and terror rips through your system, eyes rolling wild while you try to pry his hand off. The bed dips behind you and then you’re pulled up, back pressed up against a damp chest.

Kisame’s laughter rolls over your ears, rumbles against your back. And your heart beats hard for a reason different from fear. When you stop struggling he eases his hand away and then drops something on the bed in front of you. Shiny blue plastic reflects a warped version of yourself, Kisame wrapped around you. A crack splits the image in half.

It’s filled to the brim with leaf litter.

How he came in through the door without you noticing is a mystery. It’s closed when you glance toward it.

“I’m starting to think you’re leaving excuses to see me again.” Kisame’s thumbs press into the skin of your arms. He hasn’t let fully let you go yet.

Your breathing steadies. “What?”

Lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “You keep leaving trash in my lake.”

“That’s not fair,” you start to say, then think better of it. Looking away from his plastic reflection, turning your head to look at him. He’s startling close. “The bucket technically isn’t even mine and you turned the water into a bloodbath so I couldn’t get my book back.”

“Oh, I suppose that too,” he says with an edged humor.

Your brows furrow. Then you realize what he means. Laughter, surprised and jittery tumbles out of your mouth. “Not a fan of him either, huh?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Someone has to like him, with all the confidence he’s got.”

“But not you.” There are teeth in his statement.

“Definitely not me.”

Kisame grunts in response. He’s warm against you, sturdy. And you find that you’ve relaxed into him. He notices it too, his muscles tensing. For a second you think he’s pushing you away—except he’s moving the little blue bucket he’s returned. It finds a new place on the windowsill by the bed.

You find yourself rearranged as well, scooted to the side so Kisame can sit on the bed next to you. It’s a tight fit. He takes up so much space—even more when he leans into you.

“What are you watching?” he asks, drawing your attention to movie still playing.

Warm embarrassment floods your system. You flounder for words, only to mumble, “A bad sequel.” He snorts and you offer, “You wanna finish it with me? Or… do you need go back into the lake?”

Kisame watches you for breath, considering. “You’re awfully comfortable next to someone who could kill you.”

That gives you pause. The words you want to say are sticky in your throat. They’ll choke you if you try to speak them to life.

You like that he’s dangerous. You like his sharp teeth. You like the way his fingers have inched under your shirt to trace the line of your spine—

“That doesn’t answer the question. Do you dry out on land?” you refocus the conversation.

“I’ll be fine for a couple of hours,” he chuckles, low and raspy.

“Good then buckle up for a feature film from the 1950s.” You give him another pause to change his mind. But when he leans back, his hands behind his head, you settle in next to him.

His brows raise when the antagonist appears on-screen. The costume—a feat of practical effects for it’s time but now barely believable—is awkward on land and even more so when it swoops the female lead for the movie up. Another loud shriek crackles out of the speakers.

You’re deathly quiet while it plays out–a back-and-forth between the hero and the monster before it escapes out to sea. The main couple embrace after the ordeal, but there’s still a third of the movie to go so it’s not over.

Kisame sits with you while it plays out. His mouth closed, eyes intent on the screen. He knows quite a bit for not being human. You wonder if he was one once, or if he learned everything somewhere.

“Does Itachi know about you?” You break the comfortable silence when the credits begin to roll. Somehow the two of you have become entangled, hands touching places bordering overly-friendly.

“You ask a lot of questions.” Kisame is quick to answer, a hand sliding a little lower on your hip. His nails scrape at the sensitive flesh, not friendly at all. “You worried he’d see you with a swamp monster?”

“Not at all,” you say just as easily.

He hesitates at the elastic band of your pj bottoms. Teases the flesh of your hip. “He does. We have…an arrangement of sorts.”

The question must be plain on your face because Kisame laughs. It makes your heart squeeze and a heat flare between your thighs.

“I’m not fucking him,” he says just as plainly, his grin half-feral at the expression you must be making. “Don’t let him fool you. Itachi’s more dangerous than I am. But he hates getting his hands dirty. Sharks gotta eat. He keeps the lake mostly free of shitheads.”

You swallow thickly. His tone is light, joking, but his gaze is sharp. Testing.

“Is he how you know so much about everything?” you ask, voice quiet. Trying to keep the mental images from rushing to the forefront of your mind.

You know you’ve made a mistake when his expression clouds, dark and stormy. “No.” He pulls away so quickly it leaves you cold and falling onto the blanket. “Movie’s over. Try to pick a better one next time.”

Kisame slips out of the cabin as quietly as he came in. He takes the heat of the summer night with him.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

The third mistake you make is drowning in desperation.

The sun burns hot outside, the humidity is the worst it’s been all week. Cicadas scream, loud and wretched in their search for a mate.

You slept like shit after Kisame left. Your morning is filled with a back-and-forth of what you wanted to do and what you should do. It’s a game of tug-of-war within your mind and it shows in the shadows under your eyes.

There’s an ugly sense of longing in your chest you can’t let go of. Even when the handsome lines of Kisame’s face clashes with the vivid imagination of him knelt over a body, tearing into the gore of it with his sharp teeth. There has to be something wrong with you. Losing your job couldn’t have driven you to this in a week, could it?

You need to see him again. Before you go home.

Your despair must ooze from your pores, acting like blood in the water to those in the campground. Like with the lake, there’s a new sign at the start of the trail that goes around the lake. The one where that leads to the stream you first found Kisame in the stream. You can see it the moment you step outside, the sweltering heat swarming close to your body.

Your “neighbors” are out too. Hidan and that tattooed man haul packs of beer from the back of their truck. More than four men should have. You would have ignored them like you intend to ignore the sign, but Hidan makes an effort to catch your attention with a wave. He grins too widely to be well-meaning.

Your mouth forms a thin line. It just feels off—wrong.

Before you reach the trail, Itachi steps out of the office. His expression is unmoving as he approaches you. Your intentions are obvious. Your feet are still pointed toward the trail. He is not surprised.

“You’re causing trouble,” he says, stopping a foot away from you.

You bite the inside of your lip before you answer, “I haven’t done anything.”

His dark eyes watch you with a sense of apathy. You feel it in how he talks to you. He isn’t telling you this out of annoyance or anger. Not even out of worry. It’s as if he doesn’t care one way or the other but he knows he’ll have to deal with the aftermath no matter what.

Through sheer respect, you don’t try to step around him. You’ve wasted the morning though, you can’t just stand here.

“It’s a bad idea,” he warns again. His voice is softer. It almost makes you want to listen to him.

But your heart doesn’t want to. It bares its teeth with a petulance. “I’m grown. I don’t need to be told what to do.”

“Then let me suggest you go home before you get yourself hurt,” he intones.

Cicadas scream from the tree line behind him even louder. Furious with how long they’ve been alone, their cries unanswered. It constricts around your bones. “Are you kicking me out then?” He stares at you, silent. “I paid for the week. I’m staying until that time is up.”

“Your time is up tomorrow morning.”

Sharply you inhale. It’s a truth you don’t want to hear. It sits like rot at the forefront of your mind. Itachi doesn’t say more when you ignore him—doesn’t stop you when you walk past his “Trail Closed for Maintenance” sign.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

The emptiness in the cabin reflects the feeling in your chest. It’s pathetic, mourning like a lovesick teenager again. But you know what’s waiting for you when you go home to your tiny apartment in the city. Bills will be due. Your bank account will be empty. And you’d have to start looking for a new job.

You’ve packed away your things and tucked all but the bare essentials into your car. You want to make another trip around the lake before you leave in the morning. Just one more chance to see him again.

There hadn’t been a sign of him yesterday.

And here you are with a puffy, wet face from hurting your own feelings. Sleep can’t come fast enough. Stupidly—so undeniably idiotically—you’ve left the cabin door unlocked again.

Your “neighbors” are playing their music impossibly loud again. The glass in the windows rattles. Curling in tighter around yourself you cover your ears. It sounds so angry you can’t stand it. It’s too much noise. Too much emptiness.

Too much everything for your sad little self.

Eventually, you have to get up and dig through your bag in the car to find a sleep aid. Deidara sits on the porch outside the other cabin, drinking. It’s too dark to see properly but you can feel the heat of his stare. It burns into you long after you get back into bed.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

The laughing is what wakes you.

It feels like you’ve only just closed your eyes when the drunken snorts and giggles of men too old for it pulls them open again.

The handle turns. The door swings open. The sleep medication you took slows your reflexes, your understanding.

For a long, sluggish moment your heart flutters between your ribs.

But then the figure in the doorway splits in two and they step fully into the cabin. Pale yellow and silver catch the dim moonlight. A single, pretty blue eye meets your gaze. A mean sneer mars his expression as he looks down at you.

Deidara crouches to your level, his breath fanning over your face reeks of alcohol. Amusement is tucked into his words when he coos, “Aw look at you, hm? Did our music keep you awake?”

The nasally grunt at the ends of his words makes it hard to focus on anything else. What had he said? You blink hard, trying to remember. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, dry. A soft hand brushes against your cheek.

Your nose scrunches, a low warble leaving your lips as you pull away. Hidan cackles behind him.

“They’re so fucking over you,” he scoffs. “Let’s just toss them.”

“Shame,” Deidara huffs. “Would have loved to show you my art.”

Your vision swims, sleep trying to pull you back down. You remember the conversation about his art though, and snort. “Fireworks.”

The taller man finds this hilarious, nearly folding in half laughing at his friend’s expense. You aren’t sure why. The blond’s expression is thunderous–ugly and mean. You hate it.

You hate the way he digs his fingers into your face more.

“Let’s see if a dip in the lake will make you a little less bitchy,” Deidara hisses, spittal flying from his lips and hitting your face.

The sleep aid dulls your fear and that’s terribly dangerous. It doesn’t make sense to you at first. Why are they here? Why is Deidara so mean to you? Your head spins and you can’t think straight.

You’re still so sluggish when he pulls you from the bed, locking his arms under your armpits. It’s uncomfortable and you weakly protest. But it doesn’t hit you just how bad the situation is until Hidan takes hold of your legs.

You’re so fucking stupid. Everything goes sideways as you fight against them; slow, uncoordinated kicks of your legs and slurred screams. You didn’t lock the door..

They don’t have any trouble carrying you to the dock between them. Nor do they struggle when they throw you. You hear them laughing, mean, and loud again. The late-night cicadas laugh right along with them when your head goes under.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

The lake water is cold. It’s a shock to your muddled brain.

Your muscles lock tight, refusing to move at the sudden drop in temperature. It’s not terrifying at first. Just cold. Your vision blurs in the dark water, and the moon becomes a hazy image as you sink downward.

Down, down, down.

You don’t even need a rock to sink you to the bottom this time.

Then your body releases you from the shock, limbs unlocking with a rough beat of your heart and your lungs swelling to take a breath.

Except you’re underwater and instead of oxygen your lungs fill with the lake itself. It’s painful and so much worse than you ever imagined drawing would be. It feels like someone’s shoved sandpaper down your throat, into your chest and it’s grinding the soft tissue away in there. Your heart hammers as panic bursts awake under your skin.

How stupid this all is. You’ve drugged yourself—Deidara probably hasn’t even realized. You flail weakly in the darkness. You can’t see the moon above the surface anymore. There’s no way to tell which way is up and which way is down under water like this.

Pain sears, angry, and bright in your chest as your body coughs harshly to try to expel the water. There is nothing but water around you, though.

You want to scream.

You’re going to drown.

Going to die.

Something collides with your torso, even in the water it feels like you’ve been rag-dolled. Your head snaps back on your neck and everything from your lungs is forced out with no time to inhale more water. You’re terrified—so incredibly disoriented. Has your soul been ripped from your body? Are you dead?

Your head breaks the surface. Warm night air kisses your face, your cheeks, your mouth. Dazed you see stars above you, twinkling next to the half-moon above you. Silhouettes of clouds drift lazy and unhurried under them.

It’s so pretty.

A wretched sob breaks free from your chest, hacking up lake water with it. Strong hands, clawed and webbed heaves your body up and dumps you on a dock. It’s not the sun-weathered one with smoothed wood. It’s older. It leans to one side, the dark wood splintering and covered in moss.

You cough and gag up water, whoever—whatever—saved you keeping a hand on your back. It’s horrible. It hurts going out as much as it did going in. Your mind is still foggy, slowed by the sleep aid you had taken.

Finally, when you aren’t vomiting up water, you look at your savior. You recognize him instantly, though he’s different—monstrous in the most basic meaning of the word.

Kisame looms over you on the old dock, his pitch-colored eyes glinting. He is, for certain, more shark than human at this point.

He’s horrifying at first glance. His sharp features merge with a more streamlined shark body. Muscles ripple beneath scale-like patterns down his biceps and forearms, bent to accommodate the fins that sprout from them. Gills at his neck pulsate rhythmically, wet and sticky above water. A massive dorsal fin goes down his back and to a tail that stirs in the lake.

But you know it’s Kisame. You know it from the fluttering beats of your heart that’s been yearning to see him again. He’s saved you from drowning.

He jerks backward when you lift a shaky, uncoordinated hand to his face. You gently cup his jaw, not letting him avoid you. Your thumb brushes a serrated tooth. A pearl of blood beads instantly. His pupils shrink.

There’s so much you want to say–so much you need to confess.

Somewhere on the other side of the lake, Deidara is shouting. He sounds like he’s in a panic. An ungodly sound rips from Kisame’s chest. His webbed hand pushes you down, not unkindly.

“Stay,” he says. When you don’t fight him, he slips off the dock and back into the water.

You sit there, shivering in your soaked clothes feeling like you’ve been drug through hell. It’s less than a minute later when you hear the first scream.

smut warning! afab body parts named and described here! scroll down to the next divider for amab!

The screaming continues even after the cicadas fall quiet. The first one you heard ended quickly. Whoever it was died choking on their own blood. You want to pretend you don’t know who it is.

But you know both the victims and the attacker.

You should leave. Itachi’s office should have a radio or satellite phone— some way to reach help. You don’t like Deidara, but you don’t want him and his friends to die. Your stomach somersaults unpleasantly at the thought.

Getting to your feet has you wheezing by the end of it. You wobble on the first step but can make it to the second step without tipping over. You take a deep breath, you can do this.

On the third, however, your foot goes through the wood. You go down with it, the soft skin of your thigh snagging on the edge of the broken board. It happens so fast you don’t have a chance to even think about screaming. And when you realize what’s happened, you have to bite it back to keep quiet.

Katydids and frogs chirp back and forth while you cry, scooting back to pull your leg out of the hole to look at the damage. You’re bleeding but it’s not gushing blood. It’s hard to tell just how bad it is in the half-moon lighting.

You waste too much time.

A hand closes around your ankle, too close to the edge of the rotting dock. Lacking the claws and webbing between his fingers this time, and strong. He tugs you forward on the dock, the wood scraping against the exposed underside of your thighs.

Kisame doesn’t leave you wondering this time. He lifts himself out of the lake, meeting your body with his own.

Despite being in the water, the blood hasn’t washed off. It’s deep red, staining from his mouth and down his chest. It rolls downward to his naked hips. The sight plucks a cord of fear down your spine.

Just as you’re staring at the blood on him, Kisame is staring at the blood on you. His hand drags upward, over your calf. When he brushes his thumb over the scratch on your thigh you wince, but keep quiet. There’s a fear inside you that you’ll trigger something predatory if you make a noise.

But you can’t stop the gasp when his rough lips meet the flesh of your thigh. It’s just a brief kiss, tender and gentle before his tongue slips out to lick up the length of the wound. He hums, the sound and vibration going straight to your core. He leaves behind goosebumps and smears of red.

His touch drifts higher and higher until he pauses. Your stomach is tight in anticipation, breaths shallow. After a long minute, you meet his gaze, flesh burning under his scrutiny. He’s waiting. And you—you’re sick to death of waiting.

God, you are fucked. “Don’t stop now.”

He grins, full of teeth. The sight of them between your legs, stained with blood, with a different kind of hunger sends a terrible sort of thrill through you.

His fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts. You lift your hips to help him ease them down your legs. Kisame groans out loud when you’re exposed to him as if he’s been waiting for this too.

His thumbs part your sticky, slick folds. His warm breath sends a tremor up your spine. The millimeters of space between his mouth and your cunt feels too far and you can’t wait. He meets your core with more force than intended because you buck your hips upward, needy and eager.

He chuckles into your wetness, flashing those sharp teeth so dangerously close to your sensitive flesh. The hand that pushes your hips down is gentle though, fingers kneading the heated skin in soothing circles.

“Easy,” he rasps.

You have to bite back a whine, grounding yourself by scraping your nails against the rotting dock underneath you.

His tongue meets you again, pressed flat through your folds. It drags a shivering moan out of you. Kisame’s answering groan makes you throb. It’s embarrassing how wet you are—how quickly your lower belly coils tight.

He’s gentle at first, his mouth cautious on your puffy slit as he explores you. Like he’s savoring the flavor of you. One of your hands sinks downward, slipping through his wet hair, fingertips pressing against the back of his skull to push him into you.

“Kisame,” you pant, “please.”

He obliges, a thick arm sliding over your hips and tugging you closer to him, lifting your lower body slightly for better access. Your head tilts back, knocking against the rough wood. His tongue cuts through your wetness, sending sparks of electricity through your core as he teased your clit with skillful flicks. Each groan and gasp that leaves your lips makes him work harder.

Your inner muscles ache, clenching tightly around nothing. Kisame takes his time though, following his own sweet rhythm. You almost beg for him to touch you more, but before the words have the chance to form his fingers are inside you. Thick and skilled two of them stretch your hole, curling against your sensitive walls while his mouth suckles your clit.

He drags his tongue back and forth over your sensitive bud while his fingers maintain a steady rhythm, coaxing you ever closer to the edge. His finger finds the spot inside you that sends your hips bucking up in pleasure and an involuntary cry spills from your lips. You can feel Kisame's rumble of approval vibrating against your core as he licks and teases until you finally go limp, still panting heavily from the sheer intensity of your orgasm.

“Not bad,” he all but coos to you, letting your thighs drop.

Words die on your lips as he settles himself fully between your legs and seals his mouth against yours. The taste of yourself is heady and thick. You want to pull him closer, to delve into his mouth like he had done with your sex. But he pulls away before you have the chance.

You make a quiet sound of disappointment when he moves away. It morphs into a startled cry when, without warning, his hips buck forward and the thick head of his cock sinks into you. His fingers dig into the plush meat of your hips, holding you still so he can fuck himself into you. He splits you open, bigger than you expect.

You’re over-filled by the time his hips lay flush against you. Your chest heaving between adjusting to him and fighting the pleasure wracking up your spine.

“Been thinking about how good you’d feel since the first time I saw you,” Kisame says, voice husky and low with a teasing roll of his hips.

You manage a smile, trying to appear unaffected despite the heat coursing through your veins, “Me too.”

His expression is feral in the silvery moonlight, all teeth and pride. Red smears across his face, between your thighs. Kisame, even in his more human form, looks like a monster. It sends your heart fluttering something terrible.

There isn’t time to admire him, though. You buck your hips, a whine on your lips. His length twitches inside you once before he answers, snapping his hips into you. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder and feels like he reaches even deeper inside you. Groans leave both of your mouths.

It’s hard to think straight as he rocks into you, picking up the pace when your hand slips down to rub your clit. He presses into you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His sharp, sharp teeth graze the sensitive skin there and earns him a drawn-out moan, your walls fluttering around him.

“Fuck…not gonna last long,” Kisame pants into your ear. It almost sounds pleading.

“Almost there,” you whine, your core tightening. You’re so close.

His hips stutter a strangled moan slipping out of his mouth. His teeth press a bit harder into your throat and you feel him gush inside you. It sends you over the edge again, insides clamping down around him. It’s quiet aside from the heated panting as you both try to recover and the lapping over the lake against the dock.

A soft-breathed moan wrings itself from your throat when Kisame pulls out. Warmth trickles out of you. But you can’t focus on it because he kisses you again—softer without an urgency. You still chase after him when he pulls away.

He tucks a grin into the corner of his mouth, trying to look serious. “You need to go talk to Itachi.”

“Itachi? Why?” you ask, eyebrows raising.

“He’ll walk you through what to say,” Kisame says hands sliding your shorts back up your legs. As if it’s the most simple thing in the world. His teeth flash in the silver moonlight, unable to help himself. “You look fucked up. The police won’t question you too much.”

It’s so stupid you laugh.

smut warning! amab body parts named and described here!

The screaming continues even after the cicadas fall quiet. The first one you heard ended quickly.  Whoever it was died choking on their own blood. You want to pretend you don’t know who it is.

But you know both the victims and the attacker.

You should leave. Itachi’s office should have a radio or satellite phone— some way to reach help. You don’t like Deidara, but you don’t want him and his friends to die. Your stomach somersaults unpleasantly at the thought.

Getting to your feet has you wheezing by the end of it. You wobble on the first step but can make it to the second step without tipping over. You take a deep breath, you can do this.

On the third, however, your foot goes through the wood. You go down with it, the soft skin of your thigh snagging on the edge of the broken board. It happens so fast you don’t have a chance to even think about screaming. And when you realize what’s happened, you have to bite it back to keep quiet.

Katydids and frogs chirp back and forth while you cry, scooting back to pull your leg out of the hole to look at the damage. You’re bleeding but it’s not gushing blood. It’s hard to tell just how bad it is in the half-moon lighting.

You waste too much time.

A hand closes around your ankle, too close to the edge of the rotting dock. Lacking the claws and webbing between his fingers this time, and strong. He tugs you forward on the dock, the wood scraping against the exposed underside of your thighs.

Kisame doesn’t leave you wondering this time. He lifts himself out of the lake, meeting your body with his own.

Despite being in the water, the blood hasn’t washed off. It’s deep red, staining from his mouth and down his chest. It rolls downward to his naked hips. The sight plucks a cord of fear down your spine.

Just as you’re staring at the blood on him, Kisame is staring at the blood on you. His hand drags upward, over your calf. When he brushes his thumb over the scratch on your thigh you wince, but keep quiet. There’s a fear inside you that you’ll trigger something predatory if you make a noise.

But you can’t stop the gasp when his rough lips meet the flesh of your thigh. It’s just a brief kiss, tender and gentle before his tongue slips out to lick up the length of the wound. He hums, the sound and vibration going straight to your core. He leaves behind goosebumps and smears of red.

His touch drifts higher and higher until he pauses. Your stomach is tight in anticipation, breaths shallow. After a long minute, you meet his gaze, flesh burning under his scrutiny. He’s waiting. And you—you’re sick to death of waiting.

God, you are fucked. “Don’t stop now.”

He grins, full of teeth. The sight of them between your legs, stained with blood, with a different kind of hunger sends a terrible sort of thrill through you.

His fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts. You lift your hips to help him ease them down your legs. Kisame groans out loud when you’re exposed to him as if he’s been waiting for this too.

His thumb ghosts up the underside, until he reaches the head smearing the pearl of pre-cum. His warm breath sends a tremor up your spine. The millimeters of space between his mouth and your dick feels too far away and you can’t wait. He barely has time to wrap his lips around his incredibly sharp teeth before you buck your hips upward, needy and eager.

He chuckles around your length, flashing those sharp teeth so dangerously close to your sensitive flesh. The hand that pushes your hips down is gentle though, fingers kneading the heated skin in soothing circles.

“Easy,” he rasps.

You have to bite back a whine, grounding yourself by scraping your nails against the rotting dock underneath you.

His cheeks hollow out, tongue dragging over you before swirling around the head. It drags a shivering moan out of you. Kisame’s answering groan makes you throb. It’s embarrassing how hard you are—how quickly your lower belly coils tight.

He’s gentle at first, his mouth cautious on weeping cock as he explores you. Like he’s savoring the flavor of you. One of your hands sinks downward, slipping through his wet hair, fingertips pressing against the back of his skull to push him further down on you.

“Kisame,” you pant, “please.”

He obliges, a thick arm sliding over your hips and tugging you closer to him, lifting your lower body slightly for better access. Your head tilts back, knocking against the rough wood. His head bobs wetly over your length, sending sparks of electricity through you. Each groan and gasp that leaves your lips makes him work harder.

Your balls tighten, your hole clenching tightly around nothing. Kisame takes his time though, following his own sweet rhythm. You almost beg for him to touch you more, but before the words have the chance to form his fingers are inside you. Thick and skilled two of them stretch your hole, curling against your sensitive walls while his mouth sucks you in further, your tip touching the back of his throat.

He pulls back, inhaling softly and swiping his tongue over the slit of your cock head, while his fingers maintain a steady rhythm, coaxing you ever closer to the edge. His finger finds the spot inside you that sends your hips bucking up in pleasure and an involuntary cry spills from your lips. You can feel Kisame's rumble of approval vibrating around your length as he licks and teases, swallowing your cum until you finally go limp, still panting heavily from the sheer intensity of your orgasm.

“Not bad,” he all but coos to you, letting your thighs drop.

Words die on your lips as he settles himself fully between your legs and seals his mouth against yours. The taste of yourself is heady and thick. You want to pull him closer, to delve into his mouth like he had done with your sex. But he pulls away before you have the chance.

You make a quiet sound of disappointment when he moves away. It morphs into a startled cry when, without warning, his hips buck forward and the thick head of his cock sinks into you. His fingers dig into the plush meat of your hips, holding you still so he can fuck himself into you. He splits you open, bigger than you expect.

You’re over-filled by the time his hips lay flush against you. Your chest heaving between adjusting to him and fighting the pleasure wracking up your spine.

“Been thinking about how good you’d feel since the first time I saw you,” Kisame says, voice husky and low with a teasing roll of his hips.

You manage a smile, trying to appear unaffected despite the heat coursing through your veins, “Me too.”

His expression is feral in the silvery moonlight, all teeth and pride. Red smears across his face, between your thighs. Kisame, even in his more human form, looks like a monster. It sends your heart fluttering something terrible.

There isn’t time to admire him, though. You buck your hips, a whine on your lips. His length twitches inside you once before he answers, snapping his hips into you. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder and feels like he reaches even deeper inside you. Groans leave both of your mouths.

It’s hard to think straight as he rocks into you, picking up the pace when your hand slips down to jerk your dick, already half-hard again. He presses into you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His sharp, sharp teeth graze the sensitive skin there and earns him a drawn-out moan, your walls fluttering around him.

“Fuck…not gonna last long,” Kisame pants into your ear. It almost sounds pleading.

“Almost there,” you whine, your walls tightening. You’re so close.

His hips stutter a strangled moan slipping out of his mouth. His teeth press a bit harder into your throat, and you feel him gush inside you. It sends you over the edge again, insides clamping down around him. Your cock throbs again, cum coating your fingers. It’s quiet aside from the heated panting as you both try to recover and the lapping over the lake against the dock.

A soft-breathed moan wrings itself from your throat when Kisame pulls out. Warmth trickles out of you. But you can’t focus on it because he kisses you again—softer without an urgency. You still chase after him when he pulls away.

He tucks a grin into the corner of his mouth, trying to look serious. “You need to go talk to Itachi.”

“Itachi? Why?” you ask, eyebrows raising.

“He’ll walk you through what to say,” Kisame says hands sliding your shorts back up your legs. As if it’s the most simple thing in the world. His teeth flash in the silver moonlight, unable to help himself. “You look fucked up. The police won’t question you too much.”

It’s so stupid you laugh.

#myfiction #kisame hosigaki x reader #reader-insert #x reader #naruto #naruto fanfic #daryascabin #the cabin fic event #sobs the header art and dividers are mine too pls ignore them #nsft

[giggly-squiggily]

For request.. lee!Leopold and Ler!asta with a jealous Yuno on the side?

Oo, my boys! Honestly this went from Lee!Leopold to Switches!Everyone but with heavy focus on Leopold getting wrecked, so I hope that's okay! :D I've gotcha covered, anon!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps)

@duckymcdoorknob

“I think we’re safe…” Asta whispered from his hiding spot beside Yuno, the sets of wide eyes watching as Sister Lily ran out, looking around. They were too far out to hear her, but judging by the faint scowl on her lips, she was rather crossed.

“Asta, I told you we shouldn’t have done that! We scared Sister Lily!” Yuno whispered, his pout starting to quiver as the shorter boy covered his mouth, fighting down giggles. “Asta!”

“Come on- you know that was funny! Sister Lily was all: ‘EEK!’” Asta mimicked the sound so perfectly his friend was barely fighting down giggles himself. “See? You thought it was funny too!”

“No I didn’t! Stop lying!” Yuno turned away, puffing his cheeks. The gray haired boy giggled before reaching out, grabbing his brother’s sides. “No! Stahhap that! Aahhahahasta!”

“Admit it was funny! Come on, you know you thought so too!” Asta cooed sweetly, pulling Yuno’s curling form into him as he tickled his belly. “I’m gonna keep tickling you until you admit it!”

“Noohohohohoho! Ahahahahhahastaahahaha!”

~~~

“Stahhahap it! Ahahhaha, you jeheheheherk!”

Yuno blinked, coming out of his memory at the sound of laughter. Turning to look, his gaze grew fond as he watched Leopold and Asta roll around in the grass beside him. What they were arguing about was lost to him, but it must have been pretty serious for Asta to pull out his tickle moves.

“Who are you calling a jerk, you walking bonfire! Oo, I’m gonna get you now!” The shorter of the pair pushed, sending Leopold onto his back as he danced his fingers along his belly, earning a proper squeal. “Aww, is someone ticklish? Huh? Is he?”

It was…strange, the whole “squad” thing. Besides Asta, Yuno didn’t think he’d have much of a social circle growing up. Hage was small, with the majority of the residents adults or elderly. The few kids there were..well; them and their younger siblings.

Then he joined the magic knights and ended up with not only a handful of amazing friends and teammates, but an incredibly loving boyfriend. Who- at the moment- was currently getting his socks knocked off by his brother’s childish antics.

It was nice, even when sometimes Yuno’s chest would tighten like now, a strange mix of longing and jealousy settling beneath the happy feelings in his gut. He had no reason to feel this way.

And yet…

“Ahahahahasta! Ahahahhahsta, coohohohohme oohohohon! Leheheheht me uhuuhuhuhp!” Leopold cried, cheeks pink and eyes cracked open with tears. He sounded a tad breathless, his grip moreso a gesture as his hands came around Asta’s wrists. “Plehehehahhahase, I gihihihihive!”

“Hehe, okay.” Asta laughed, pulling his hands back. Before he could properly stand up however-

“GOTCHA!” Leopold roared, jumping on Asta with vengeful fingers. Their game continued, fresh squeals of laughter filling Yuno’s ears and twisting the ache in his gut tighter.

“Oohohohoohoh, you jehehheheherk! Coohohoohohme heheheheehhere!” Asta wrapped his arms around Leopold, putting his muscles to work to quickly flip off the other. Once free, he looked around.

For a brief second, Yuno felt his heart race with anticipation. Was he going to…

But then Asta was tackling Leopold into the grass once more, fingers flying over his belly and making him shriek. Yuno averted his gaze before they could see his face fall.

“Wahahahhahit-wahhahahait, Ahahahahahhsta stahhahahap!” Leopold cried, tapping frequently at the other’s shoulder. Asta, noticing the sudden change, stopped. Before he could sit up however, Leopold dragged him down, whispering something.

Yuno shook his head, face warm with self loathing. He should be happy they’re getting along so well, and yet here he was sulking like a child. He’d better leave before his bad mood ruins their fun.

In his moment of self-loathing though, he failed to notice the two figures crawling up to him from either side.

“Yuuuuno~” Asta’s voice cooed, making him jump and scrunch up.

“Look what we have here~” Leopold teased on his other side, fingers worming their way into his ribs. “Is someone feeling left out? You know you just have to ask to join in.”

“Gah! Aheahhahahahaha! Whahahahit, wahahhait, pleahahhahse!” Yuno doubled over in giggles, arms pressing tightly into his sides as he tried and failed to block out the fingers tapping along his sides. “Thahahahhat’s not ihiihiihiht!”

“Mm-hm. Sure it’s not.” Asta teased, dropping his hand lower so he could knead the spot beneath his lower ribs. “You know when you lie your ears get all red, Yuno.”

Almost immediately, Yuno reached up to cover them.

“GOTCHA!” Leopold laughed as his fingers went right for the now open spot, earning a proper shriek from the other. “I can’t believe you fell for that! You’re too cute!” His teasy remarks were near lost as Yuno doubled over in mirth. “For such a stoic prince, you sure have a pretty smile!”

“EHEHEHEHE LEHEHEHEO! AHAHHAHASTA STAHAHHAHAP IHIHIIHIHIIT!” Yuno cried out, his chest starting to get tight from lack of oxygen. Slowly, the tickles came to an end, a few skittering fingers flying over his neck for good measure. Yuno scrunched up some with a snort, swatting at the hands. When he came back too, he tried to glare, crumbling into a small laugh almost immediately upon seeing their giddy expressions. “You two are terrible!”

“Nah, you loved it!” Asta teased, lighty shoving him.

“Yeah! Plus I didn’t see you try to fight back! You wanted that!” Leopold threw himself over his shoulders, hugging him tightly. “Is that why you were looking so sad? Because you felt left out?”

Yuno blinked, feeling his ears redden. So they did notice. “...No?”

“Liar.” Both pointed at his ears. The wind mage sighed some, shaking his head.

“Fine, okay- maybe a little.” He admitted, a part of him cringing at the confession. It sounded worse in his ears.

“Aww, Yuno!” Asta laughed softly, hugging him just as tight. “All you had to do is ask! Heck, really- all you needed to do was join in! I could easily take both down!”

“Bet?” Leopold shared a look with Yuno.

“Bet!” Asta grinned, even as he was suddenly being shifted back. “Wait! Wait-I wasn’t read-ehehehehehehhhhehehehe!”

“Sorry, what? I thought you could beat us!” Leopold teased, hands working circles into Asta’s waist.

“Come on, Shortsta- show us what you got.” Yuno smirked, how own hands worming into Asta’s knees, making him kick and cackle.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Asta’s muscles kicked in, sending them both flying back and Asta once again attacking Leopold with everything he had. “Yuno! Come help kill your boyfriend!” He cried out, laughing as Leopold squealed and shrieked.

“Nohoohohohooho! Hehehhehehelp mehehehehehhehehehe!” Leopold pleaded, cheeks red.

“Hmm…okay.” Yuno shrugged before joining the fray once more, who he was targeting was lost even to him. That awful twisted feeling in his gut was gone as the three laughed themselves silly.

The whole “Squad” thing was new to him, but Yuno was starting to realize he rather liked it.

Thanks for reading!

#Black clover #tickle #tickle fic #fluff #yunleo #leopold vermillion #asta #yuno #the boys being dorks #jealousy #but like- fairly light #mostly fluff and tickles lols #I love them your honor ahhhh~

[sebsxphia]

lovely

feeling a bit soft and need thots on poly!squad with pregnant bunny?

i mean would be treated like an absolute princess but like i feel like they would be so contrasting?

laying there just rubbing their belly but also feral to see them round with children

-🦝

we love soft thoughts in this household dear trash coon!! <33

yes absolutely, you would be treated like an absolute princess, especially when it came to pleasuring you. normally it would be a mix of all your bodies intertwined, but now as your belly grows larger and you become more achy they’re far more gentle and softer with you. each of them carefully taking their time with you and not to overwhelm you.

lying on your back, bob takes you slowly while you watch bradley and jake come apart on each other. the view is delightful and you’ve come to throughly enjoy watching them while receiving your own pleasure. “you like watching them, bunny?”

they are of course always rubbing your belly and soothing your aches and satisfying your cravings, but they would be contrasting too! always arguing over what’s best for you and what they read in the pregnancy book is definitely right. you can only roll your eyes playfully at them. it’s endearing though, that they all care so much for you.

thank you so much for this wonderfully soft thot my dear trash coon!! mwah!! 💌💖

#💌you’ve got mail #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #robert bob floyd #🦝 anon #poly!squad

[dingoat]

❌️ for best girl of course.

[Werewolf Ahuska has the most fun repressed memories, and of course I had to do one dedicated to Fynta! I promise she didn't mean it...]

The moon was bright and her belly was full, and best of all the pain had stopped, she’d found the source and shut it down and now everything was still and peaceful. The aches and cuts she wore were negligible, compared to the searing hurt that roared under her skin when somebody wrong was around, the battle bruises under her pelt were easy to ignore now that she could rest.

Now that she could close her eyes and feel the kiss of the moon on her muzzle, its song ringing through her blood.

She felt good, as she sprawled across the earth, and began to clean the blood from her fur, content enough that the appearance of the Man actually prompted a mild grumble as she lifted her head and stared his way. It wasn’t that she disliked him; only that whenever he showed up, it meant it was time to go. He was always in such a hurry, and tonight was no different. Idly, she wondered if he knew that she could smell the stress on him, in the sweat that beaded on his brow despite the pleasant chill in the air. She wondered if he knew how keenly aware she was of the thudding of his heart, and she wondered why he always felt the need to worry so. Couldn’t he see? She was huge, and strong, and had never been bested. The bodies slowly going cold around her were testament enough to that, so what was left to be worried about?

She was sure he could have a pleasant night too, if only he cared to breathe a little more slowly, and take some time to lay under the stars. But of course he did not.

“Wesk,” he whispered, even though he already had her attention, her tail wagging despite the little creases in her muzzle. “Time to go.” Again she rumbled, the sound low and quite distinct from any noise of animosity. She didn’t want to go.

“Wesk,” he stated again. She knew what was coming now, the timbre of his voice always changed when he was preparing himself to speak the Words. “Luna lux.”

Immediately, he had her full and perfect focus.

Immediately, she cared about nothing else but what he expected of her.

She rose when she was asked, she pushed her face into his hand when it was offered. He told her she’d done well, and a little ripple of delight shivered through her.

She followed him away from the scene of carnage, torn bodies and scorched earth, away from what had once been Havoc Squad, now so still and quiet.

The next morning she would wake with the sun on her face and smile into the warmth with Bothan features, clean and comfortable and with no memory of the night just passed.

She would go to work as she always did, her supervisor would idly ask how she’d slept, and he would chuckle good-naturedly when she complained that it hadn’t felt like nearly enough.

#ask meme #repressed memories #werewolf au #werewolf ahuska #I'm so sorry Fynta! #And Ahuska will be one day when she's allowed to remember #>.>;

[siberat]

any dinobots headcanons?

sorry for taking a bit to respond!

```````

So, while not specified, I am assuming the thought’s on the dino/bots is related to chib. If not, my appoplogies, b/c this is gonna be chub.

Grim/lock: being the brute that he is, he tended to be the most greediest- mind you, he of course still shares wioth the rest of his gang, he just takes the biggest pieces for himself. He tends to be glutonous, eating way too fast to be able to properly gauge just how much he consumed until it’s way too late. As in, belly swollen and extremely achy. He then has to go find Rat/chet and ask what is wrong with his tummy and whines that it’s a grumbling mess. The medic, used to these antics, gives him the cyber/tronian equivulence to pep-to and send him on his way. If he wants belly rubs, he gotta find Wheel/jack: who agrees without hesitation.

Sla/g: being fiercly…fiece and all, if he gets ahold of the meal first, he’d feast as fast as he could to get the most food. He also tends to angry eat…. Like, when he’s angry, he eats. Seeing how he’s pretty much always in a bad mood ( from having to listen to Pri/mes orders or something) he’s always got food on his mind. Yeah, he gives the term hangry its deadly meaning for sure! And if/when sl/ag overeats, his mood is even more cranky due to the belly aches. He won’t go to med bay to get anything for relief nor allow anyone to rub that tummy… instead, he purposly belches as loud and rudly as possible. Take that.

Slu/dge: while not the sharpest crayon in the box, his eating habits are odd. Odd as in not much thought is given to what meals he eats. He is the lover of junk food, for sure. Instead of consuming a well balanced meal, this bot tend to turn snacks into meals. And sometimes, the meals consist of items that one wouldn’t think to put together…like (cyber/tronian equivulances, of course_ penut butter and tuna fish… m &m’s and skittles…milk and pizza…gummies and cereal, you get the idea. His overundulgences end up with him laying in his berth, cradling his belly as he whimpers. He doesn’t ever grasp that while some foods may be good on their own, mixing them isn’t the bestest of ideas.

Sna/rl: being a rather unhappy dino/bot, he tends to eat to dull the sadness in his spark. When not in battle, he is holed up somewhere alone and binge eating. His thoughts are wondering to Cyber/tron and how he wishes he was there instead of Earth. Hating his alt mode makes him eat. However, he’s not quite as ‘uncultered’ as his fellow dino/bots. He manages to take the time to cook some very savory meals. He cooks entire feasts for himselfs and spends all night slowly eating them as to enjoy them to their fullest. He often eats as he looks over datapads of cyber/tron or other dinos that may have been cooler to have as an alt. By the time his optics grow heavy, his belly grows heavy too. It grumbles and quakes, but the feeling of being so full luls him to sleep. He curls up and rubs his own swelled belly as he drifts off to sleep. He kinda is a little happy while doing to.

Swo/op: being the friendlist an dmost sociable of the dino-squad, he tends to be more of a grazer. If there is a gathering, he’ll be there idly chatting ( as long as he aint getting ordered around, that is!) with snacks in hand. He admitted, upon being questioned by other dino/bots about why he even bothered attending these functions, and he responded with the obvious: they always have food. The topics may not be the best ( though, he fakes interest as to not be rude) but is always scoping out the treats. He’s the least likely to overeat in public: being much more sensitive he doesn’t like any teasing or ridicule comiing his way. However, whenever left overs are offered to be taken back, Swo/op eagrly agrees- often clearing out whatever no one else takes. ( He may even swipe some before the offer is made, but you didn’t hear that from me) Once he returns to his habsuit, and out of sight of the others, he finishes up whatever he took with him. However, he is very mindful of being able to fly still. He would never want to be caught grounded by such a huge gut that he couldn't strike fear into other mech’s by his scary alt mode.

Now, can you imagine them all together? If they are hungry- you got one snagging the biggest pieces, another piling food sky high on his plate, one randomly fixing a plate with combos that do not make sense, one eating the sadness away in a corner, and the fjnal one shoving food into subspace for later. They’d resemble a swarm of locuses more than dino’s…..

——-

I actually do not know much about the Dino/bots.

#chubformers #Siberat answers

[fillyboy19]

Coming Home

In his inebriated state, Bakugou really thinks that he’s being quiet.  He’s unaware that the ‘soft’ cursing he’s doing as he fumbles around trying to get his boots off by the door is actually his full on voice, just shy of shouting. He’s unaware of the obnoxious thud his heavy boots make as they drop to the floor. He’s unaware that even as he stumbles over, crashing into the shelf next to the door, that Midoriya is already awake, standing frustratedly in the doorway.

“Oh…ffuuuuck.” Bakugou bends down to pick up pieces of a figure in his hand and looks at them as if it’s their fault they’re broken. “I–Izu’s gonna b’pissed.”

Midoriya couldn’t do anything but watch as his favorite collectible All Might figure crashed to the ground and broke.  It was rare, only twenty-five of them had ever been made. It had been a production mistake, the red and white stripes on his boots had been inverted and the mistake hadn’t been caught until after the first twenty-five had already gone out.  And now it lay shattered in pieces in Bakugou’s hand.

Midoriya is very pissed, but he’s also tired and sore, so rather than start a fight with his drunk husband, he simply pulls the pieces out of Bakugou’s hand. Bakugou looks up at him with an uncharacteristically goofy grin plastered on his face. And normally, Midoriya would smile back and think to himself how cute that odd grin is because he doesn’t get to go out and let loose like this often; but right now, his back hurts and the skin on his belly feels like it’s being pulled too tightly, and the baby is kicking his kidneys and he just wants to lay down and go back to bed and not deal with his drunken husband right now. So Midoriya tosses the broken pieces onto the couch and slowly drags Bakugou to bed.

It only takes a light shove for Bakugou to tumble back onto the bed, and once his head hits the pillow, he’s out cold and Midoriya is left to wrangle his jeans off for him.  Bakugou is heavy and normally that’s not an issue but trying to pull skintight jeans off the bulky muscular frame with his seven-month, large, round belly in his way, and a full aching bladder leaves Midoriya frustrated and breathless by the time he’s done.

He sits on the edge of the bed for a moment before another kick sends him practically running to the bathroom to relieve himself.  He idly rubs his belly, talking out loud to the growing baby in his stomach soothingly as he makes his way back to the front door to straighten Bakugou’s boots and then the living room to pick up the pieces of his All Might Figure.  He can’t help the tears that well up in his eyes as he thumbs over one of the broken pieces. He knows it was an accident. He knows that Bakugou has been stressed lately, and that he hasn’t had a chance to hang out with the squad in a long time. He knows that Bakugou is a good husband and that this is all just his hormones but he’s just so angry right now. So, he lets himself sob until his eyes stop leaking and throws the pieces in the trash can.

He lays back down next to Bakugou and the loudly snoring blonde rolls over, pressing against him, and nuzzling into his neck, letting out an obnoxious snort. Midoriya is tempted to violently shove him out of the bed, but he resists, instead putting his head to Bakugou’s chest and basking in his warmth and the way his muscular arm drapes over him, pulling him close.  He manages a few more hours of sleep before the sharp ache in his bladder once again wakes him up.  He relieves himself and starts a pot of coffee before padding into the nursery.

The crib lays in pieces on the floor. Nothing has been painted or put together. Clothes for the baby are still in bags on the rocking chair in the corner.  They only have three more months if the baby doesn’t come early, and nothing is ready. The longer Midoriya stands in the doorway the angrier he gets.  If Bakugou hasn’t done it in the last seven months, then he isn’t likely to get it done so Midoriya rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and kneels down on the floor to inspect the directions. It can’t be that hard to put together a crib. Can it?

Bakugou’s head feels like it’s splitting in two as he crawls slowly out of bed. He can feel his heartbeat pounding in the back of his skull and to add to that there is obnoxiously loud banging coming from somewhere in the apartment. He stops by the kitchen to grab some coffee and down some aspirin before searching for the incessant banging that is threatening to split his skull. He finds the banging coming from his very pregnant husband who is hammering away at something that clearly does not need hammering on. “What the hell are you doing?”

Midoriya turns to give Bakugou an exasperated stare. “What does it look like I’m doing, Kacchan?”

“It looks like you’re banging shit with a hammer at five in the morning on a fuckin’ Sunday.” Bakugou leans in the doorway, sipping at his coffee. When I have a damn hangover.

Midoriya turned back to the directions on the floor in front of him, the hand not holding the hammer rubbing idly at his sore back. “Well, if you’d have done it two months ago, like you promised. I wouldn’t be trying to do it. This baby is coming whether or not this room is put together, and if you won’t do it, I’ll get it done myself.”

“Seriously, nerd. Stop before you hurt yourself with that thing.”  Bakugou says, pinching his brows in frustration.

“I’m perfectly capable of working a hammer, Kacchan.” Midoriya turns from the directions and starts to once again bang on the piece of wood that just won’t connect like it’s supposed to.

“Izu, will you stop fuckin’ banging that thing. Feels like my damned head is gonna split open. You don’t even know what the hell you’re doing.” Bakugou knows that Midoriya is ignoring him as he continues to bang. “Fuckin’ hell, knock it off, Deku!”

Midoriya glares at Bakugou and contemplates throwing the hammer at him for a moment before setting it down and struggling to his feet. Bakugou comes over to help him and Midoriya waves him off. “I’m fine. I don’t need your help”

Bakugou watches Midoriya leave and stares at the mess he’s made of the one wooden piece. He’s probably going to have to replace it now. He can hear Midoriya fumbling around in the other room and goes to see what the commotion is. Midoriya has dropped his keys and is now struggling to bend down and he almost chuckles at the sight. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going out with Shouto today. I told you that.” Midoriya squats down and reaches backwards, finally getting his hands on his keys before standing and taking a deep breath.  Three more months. Only three more months. I can’t get much bigger than this.

“Okay. Have fun.” Bakugou sits down and starts his Xbox, completely missing the look of irritation on Midoriya’s face.

Midoriya decides that it’s not worth the argument and that he’ll cool off while he and Shouto check out some local shops. “Please don’t forget we have the appointment at two.”

“Yeah, okay.” Midoriya watches Bakugou adjust his headset. “Hey, Denks.”

“Two, Kacchan. Please be on time.” Midoriya watches as Bakugou throws up a hand acknowledging him before he finally turns to leave.

*****

Bakugou is asleep on the couch when a loud crash wakes him up. He almost throws his headset as he startles awake, jumping to his feet, only to be met with Midoriya’s angry freckled face storming into the house. Midoriya bypasses Bakugou, not sparing him a word and goes straight to the bedroom, practically slamming the door in his face. “Izu?”

Bakugou opens the door to find Midoriya tossing clothes into his go-bag. “Izuku, where the hell are you going?”

“I’m going to Shou’s for a few days.” Midoriya doesn’t look at Bakugou, he can’t or else he’s going to cry and right now he just wants to be angry. He throws the last few things in his bag and heads past Bakugou towards the door.

Bakugou tries to grab Midoriya's arm to stop him, but Midoriya pulls away from him. “Let’s talk about this, Izu.” Instead, he’s forced to follow Midoriya back into the living room.

“No. Kacchan. I’ve been talking about this for weeks. You haven’t been listening.” Midoriya doesn’t bother to turn around, but he can feel Bakugou behind him and he almost wants to dare Bakugou to touch him one more time, he’s so angry.

Bakugou follows Midoriya, still unsure what the hell his problem is. “Is this one of your hormone things? Like when I ate your ice cream?”

Midoriya had just set his hand on the doorknob, when Bakugou’s words cut through him.  He can’t keep the tears from falling down his face as he turns to face the blonde. He’s so wrapped up in hurt that all his anger has left him, and his voice comes out as barely a whisper. “You’re such an ass, Kacchan.”

Bakugou watches the door close behind Midoriya, leaving him standing alone, and confused in their apartment. He stands there staring at the door for he doesn’t even know how long trying to figure out why Midoriya was so angry. Finally, when he comes back to himself, he texts Shouto to make sure Midoriya has gotten there safely. Shouto sends him a snarky response, and he closes out his phone without responding. He knows that Midoriya is okay and that’s all that matters right now.

Bakugou figures it’s a hormone thing and that Midoriya will sleep it off. That night though, he struggles more than normal to fall asleep without Midoriya next to him. The next day on patrol he’s restless and more irritable than usual. He knows Midoriya won’t be home, so he accepts Mina’s invitation to join the squad for dinner.

“Aww... Midoriya didn’t come with you? I haven’t gotten a chance to feel the baby kick yet.” Mina laments, pouting at Bakugou.

“Where is Midoriya?” Sero asks.

Bakugou can feel the heat flush in his ears as his eyes shift to Kirishima’s. Midoriya was still at Shouto and Kirishima’s place and he’d probably already heard all of this so there was no way he could lie about it. “Went to Eiji & Todoroki’s place for a few days.”

“Katsuki Bakugou, what did you do?” Mina scolds.

He scowls at her for just assuming that he fucked up. Honestly though, he knows it’s a fair assumption because he’s pretty sure he fucked up; he just doesn’t know what exactly he did.  He also knows that they won’t leave him alone, until he explains, so he walks them through everything while they eat.

“So, you just let him go?” Mina asks, pinning Bakugou with an accusatory gaze as she sets her fork down.

“He about bit me when I grabbed his fuckin’ arm. I wasn’t about to do it again.” Bakugou says.

“Dude, so you just let him leave?” Denki chimes in, crossing his arms.

Bakugou can feel his anger building. Where did they get off judging him? And what the hell had he actually done wrong? “What the hell was I supposed to do? He asked for space, I’m fuckin’ givin’ it to him.”

“You were supposed to follow him, you ass.” Mina says, getting up from the table and pulling Sero away with her.

“Not cool, dude.” Kaminari says, getting up to follow after the duo.

Bakugou swears that Kaminari has no clue what’s going on and only left so he didn’t get stuck with the check, but someone could let him in on what the hell he did wrong. “I don’t even know why he was so fuckin’ angry!” Bakugou angrily calls after him.

“Bakubro, you need to grow up a bit dude.” Kirishima says. “You haven’t even so much as texted him.”

“He said he wanted fuckin’ space.” Bakugou’s shoulders fall. If anyone is going to help him out, it will be Kirishima, he’s certain of that. He has to. “Are you gonna tell me what I did wrong, since everyone else seems to know? Or are you just going to tell me how much of an ass I am too?”

“Shou’s gonna kill me when he finds out I told you instead of letting you figure this out on your own.” Kirishima sighs. “You came home drunk as fuck and broke one of Izuku’s irreplaceable figures. He’s been asking you for weeks to put that crib together. And you forgot the ultrasound appointment.”

Realization dawns on Bakugou, “Fuck. The appointment.”

“Yeah.” Kirishima says. “Look, you made a mess of this situation. I told you what you did wrong, and I shouldn’t have even done that. I’m gonna be in the doghouse for weeks now when Shouto finds out.” Kirishima stands up to leave. “I’m not helping you clean it up this time. Grow up and get your shit together. Apologize, and stop being an ass while you’re at it. I’d like to have my boyfriend and my bed back sometime soon.”

Bakugou can’t help the frown that crosses his face at the thought of Midoriya hurting and Shouto curled up against him comforting him.  “Deku’s sleeping in your bed?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s not like we have a spare, and I’m not gonna put a pregnant dude on the couch. I’m not an ass.” Kirishima walks away to leave Bakugou to sit in silence and realize how much of a jerk he really has been.

He pays for the meal and walks home thinking about how hurt Deku had looked when he’d closed the door and he suddenly realizes how close he came to fucking everything up. When he gets home, he puts the crib together. He works through the rest of the night painting and setting up the rest of the nursery. He goes through the appointment calendar and puts reminders in his phone for the rest of them. It’s almost four in the morning by the time he’s gotten everything cleaned up and put away. Hot, sweaty, and overheated, he grabs a water from the kitchen and spots the All Might figure in the trash. He digs the pieces out and spends the rest of the morning gluing it back together.

It’s almost nine in the morning when he finishes, having almost glued his fingers together twice. He sets the figure on the counter. It’s still broken. Bakugou understands all too well that when you break something you can’t ever make it the way it was again. The cracks at the joints will always be there no matter how much glue he uses or how much he wants to erase them.  All he can do is make sure that he doesn’t break it anymore.

His thoughts led him to Midoriya and how he was probably curled up against Shouto now. The thought no longer made him angry.  He was sad that he’d been so stupid and pushed Midoriya so far. He was also grateful that Midoriya had someone who cared about him enough to help him through this. He’s tired, and he can practically hear the couch calling to him, but with so much at stake, he drags his ass over to Kirishima & Shouto’s place and knocks on the door.

Shouto answers, keeping his body in the small opening of the doorway, his irritation only thinly veiled. “What do you want, Bakugou?”

Bakugou bristles visibly at Shouto’s treatment, but he tries to be calm. “Just let me in, Icy-Hot.”

“It’s my home, Bakugou and I don’t have to let you in.” Shouto says plainly.

“You’re not his fuckin’ guard dog. Now let me in to see my damn husband.” Bakugou takes a step towards Shouto, who straightens up at the challenge.

“Stress is not good for the baby, Bakugou. If you stress Midoriya out, I will blast you out the window, even if it means I lose the security deposit.” Shouto threatens.

Bakugou’s reminded that Shouto is not his enemy. He’s simply trying to protect Midoriya, and that’s something Bakugou would want him to do. “Noted. Now let me in.” Bakugou’s eyes meet Shouto’s and for a moment he thinks that Shouto won’t let him in. And then what would he do?  He can’t very well blast his way through Shouto, that would only upset Midoriya further.  He can’t break this anymore. He has to fix it, so finally he relents. “Please.  I need to talk to him.”

“He’s in the kitchen.” Seemingly satisfied, Shouto steps aside, but as Bakugou moves to walk past him, he’s given one final warning. “I mean it, Bakugou. No stress.” Bakugou doesn’t argue. He just nods slightly and makes his way further into Shouto’s apartment.

Midoriya’s been crying into his tea all morning. Not a single call or text from Bakugou and he’s happy that Bakugou respects him enough to give him space, but damned if a part of him doesn’t secretly want an apology or even just some sort of contact, something that makes him feel like Bakugou still cares.

Kirishima leans in, wrapping Midoriya in a quick hug before standing. “Kat’s here.”

Midoriya nods in acknowledgement, but he can’t bring himself to look at Bakugou.  He knows he’s a mess. He hasn’t brushed his hair this morning, his eyes are puffy and red-rimmed from his on and off again bouts of crying, and he knows he must look exhausted with as little sleep as he’s gotten.

“I’ve missed you. I can do this, Izu, please just give me another chance.” Bakugou approaches Midoriya but stops just short of touching him. “Please come home.”

Midoriya’s still unsure what to say, still so hurt and angry, and conflicted. He glances up briefly and he can see that Bakugou is hurting too, and he doesn’t want to hurt Bakugou and the thought of doing so makes him start crying all over again. He can feel the tears hot on his cheeks and Bakugou closes the distance between them, wrapping familiar, muscular arms around him and even though he’s still hurt and angry and conflicted, these arms feel like home. And he wants to go home.

~END~

If you liked this story, please go drop a comment or kudos at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37071712

#bkdk #bnha #fanfic #mha

[ladyaksoy]

〉 〉 〉 𝙸  𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙴𝙳  𝙸𝚃  𝙰𝚃  𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁  𝙵𝙴𝙴𝚃 : a  study  on  four  people  who  molded  feride  to  be  who  she  is.

trigger warning for mentions of assassination, death, prejudice ( against grisha ), slavery ( grisha by non grisha ), the military, horrible parental behavior, arranged marriage with age difference ( abusive ), sex work.

𝙶𝙾̈𝙺𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝙰𝙺𝚂𝙾𝚈 :  the only  son  of  the  general  aksoy  from  the  king’s  first  army,  is  only  twenty  four  when  he  first  arrives  at  kerch  shores  under  the  king  of  ravka’s  orders.  soon  enough,  his  polished  shoes  are  laddled  with  mud  and  dirt,  and  though  he  would  become  a  notoriously  passionate  ambassador  to  ravka,  he  has  little  liking  to  reverence  and  protocol,  and  if  he  is  aflamed  to  defend  his  people’s  rights,  he  is  more  hands  on  than  his  previous  or  successors,  and  a  very  well  -  known  face  around  little  ravka.  however  love  and  effort  he  put  in  the  ravkan  cause  —  including  keeping  a  close  eye  on  the  grisha  of  the  land  —  was  left  unpaid  as  none  rose  to  rescue  when  he  was  assassinated  murdered  during  a  family  stroll  upon  a  bridge.  the  culprit  was  never  found,  and  the  case  quickly  dismissed,  the  only  trace  of  the  aksoy  family  on  ravka  left  on  the  hands  of  gokhan’s  kerch  wife,  gaye,  and  his  six  year  old  son,  serdar.

𝚂𝙴𝚁𝙳𝙰𝚁 𝙰𝙺𝚂𝙾𝚈 : his  father’s  panglossian  ways  were  ripped  from  serdar  as  a  child,  and  he  instead  grew  with  ambition  and  prejudice  in  his  belly;  the  aksoy  name  grew  besides  that  of  a  foreign  politician,  and  into  an  enviable  fortune,  first  at  the  hands  of  gaye,  then  at  serdar’s,  once  he  became  of  age.  ambitious,  ruthless,  self  -  serving  and  cunning,  he  held  a  monopoly  with  trade  towards  ravka  for  decades,  self  -  claiming  favor  of  the  ravkan  king.  everything  in  his  life  had  been  calculated:  graduating  with  the  best  courses,  living  in  the  best  neighborhood,  rubbing  the  elbows  of  the  right  people,  marrying  a  pliant  kerch  woman  and  siring  children  with  her.  none  of  them  took  root  for  long,  and  his  eyes  wandered  to  the  beginning  of  his  mistakes:  burcu,  a  grisha,  a  kind  of  people  that  he  loathed  more  than  anything  else.  

discarding  her  would  leave  an  ache  he  would  soothe  with  power,  wealth  and  indulgence;  at  44,  he  becomes  a  member  of  the  merchant  council,  but  it  is  through  a  hazy  night  at  the  slums  that  he  contracts  a  debt  with  a  certain  roebert  schonenkamp  who  would  be  settled  with  his  daughter,  more  or  less  gladly  given  to  the  brute.  the  relationship  between  father  and  daughter  had  taken  several  blows  towards  the  years  but  it  stood,  even  if  tattered,  and  grew  momentarily  strengthened  at  the  birth  of  his  grandson,  ercan.  a  few  days  before  his  60th  birthday,  while  overseeing  the  celebrations’  preparations,  he  fell  from  the  2nd  story  of  his  house;  for  the  rest  of  the  two  years  he’d  live,  he’d  live  in  pain,  trapped  within  his  stiff,  paralized  limbs,  watching  what  he  dreaded  most  happen:  his  grisha  daughter  taking  over  all  he  held  dear,  and  making  it  better.

𝙱𝚄𝚁𝙲𝚄 𝙳𝙴𝙼𝙸𝚁𝙲𝙰𝙽 : the  second  army  had  been  all  that  burcu  demircan  wanted  for  as  long  as  she  could  remember,  and  when  she  had  the  opportunity  to  be  taken  to  the  little  palace,  she  went,  never  looking  back.  it  was  the  way  she  had  learned  to  live:  not  looking  back,  living  the  now;  she  enjoys  the  little  palace,  and  dazzles  when  she  is  finally  given  her  kafkan,  and  yet,  when  she  first  tastes  war,  she  is  stupidly  surprised  at  how  bitter  it  tastes  in  her  tongue.  after  a  particularly  gruesome  mission,  in  which  she  had  seen  all  members  of  her  squad  murdered,  some  out  of  pity  by  her  own  hand,  she  swore  not  to  use  her  powers  ever  again,  and  when  she  was  ambushed  by  slave  traders,  she  taken  and  brought  to  ketterdam.  her  own  will  was  for  folly,  for  she  was  sold  as  a  grisha,  employed  under  the  merck  household,  and  then  the  aksoy.  

eager  to  please  and  with  a  disarming  warmth,  she  burrowed  her  way  into  both  valerie  and  serdar’s  heart,  but  it  would  be  a  sojourn  sentiment,  soured  as  quick  as  the  child  in  her  belly  grew.  though  passed  as  another’s,  feride  was  raised  and  coddled  and  given  all  semblance  of  humanity  by  burcu’s  hand;  when  their  powers  first  appeared,  it  was  burcu  to  notice,  and  to  aid  her  young  daughter  in  containing  and  harboring  them  just  as  she  did  the  girl’s  own  heart.  she  was  punished  and  exiled  for  it,  the  only  teary  goodbyes  given  to  them  the  one  on  a  scribbled  paper  under  feride’s  pillow,  urging  her  to  keep  going,  despite  it  all.

𝚁𝙾𝙴𝙱𝙴𝚁𝚃 𝚂𝙲𝙷𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙽𝙺𝙰𝙼𝙿 : mr. schonenkamp  is  just  like  every  other  rat  from  the  slums  of  ketterdam:  filthy  to  the  core,  is  the  first  thing  serdar  ever  tells  his  daughter  of  roebert  schonenkamp,  then  but  a  nuisance  endured  during  gaming  nights.  feride  stays  out  of  the  way  then,  not  bothering  to  return  the  smile  offered,  but  as  the  years  go  by,  she'd  soon  learn  that  while  what  her  father  said  about  roebert  was  indeed  the  truth,  it  was  not  only  it.  he  was  a  clever  man  with  ambition,  and  an  eye  for  seeing  an  opportunity,  and  sticking  by  it,  whomever  it  may  ache.  it  was  like  this  that  he  quietly  built  his  own  wealth,  based  on  a  brothel,  a  fighting  house  and  one  gambling  dens  of  substantial  renown  around  the  bad  parts  of  town.  if  feride  had  been  stupid  to  show  him  her  powers  when  trying  to  maiming  him  on  their  wedding  night,  he  was  not  stupid  not  to  see  a  point  of  advantage  there  —  much  like  her  father,  he  kept  her  powers  a  secrecy,  but  unlike  serdar,  he  wished  her  not  to  be  clean,  but  his  own  private  weapon;  a  tailor  was  much  use  when  his  employees  were  not  discarded,  but  reused,  bones  mended  and  bruises  healed  on  the  quiet  of  the  night,  a  cloak  keeping  her  identidy  a  secret.

for  all  of  the  gore  she  was  exposed  to  under  her  husband's  thumb,  feride  learned:  not  only  how  to  properly  use  her  power  on  people,  for  good  and  for  worse,  but  also  how  to  play  the  man,  being  the  trophy  wife  that  smiles  when  he  orders  her  drink,  and  kisses  him  in  congratulation  when  his  bruiser  of  the  night  wins,  just  the  way  roebert  wants.  she  is  not  stupid  though  —  she  may  be  a  wife,  but  she  is  no  partner,  and  most  times  she  has  no  more  will  than  the  people  whose  contracts  he  owns.  unwilling  to  have  her  child  (or  herself)  be  at  a  situation  like  this  anymore,  feride  took  matters  into  their  own  hands,  and  once  it  was  all  done,  all  that  was  left  of  roebert  was  a  half  mangled,  burned  body,  a  mansion  in  ashes;  all  bruisers  and  prostitutes  were  dismissed  with  compensation,  only  the  gambling  club,  under  new  management,  left.  that,  and  his  son,  a  child  of  four  and  something  who  would  grow  to  call  another  man  father.

#ketterdam.edits #❝ 𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔 ? — ⧼ analysis ⧽

[cassieuncaged]

Grave Bound - Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Summary: Elias contemplates love before he's left comforting Maggie after an altercation with Barnes.

TW: allusions to assault, slight medical gore, language, etc.

WC: 2.7K

1969

Wild Child.

She’d been etched into the folds of his brain, an eternal memory that would never be lost. Elias had been playing this game too long, heart hardened and impenetrable. Getting involved with anyone on enemy territory was a risk.

The superiors would jump on a dishonorable discharge while death was a more palpable threat. Sergeant Grodin hadn’t worn his heart on his sleeve, but there had been a few affairs. Crawford caught his eye and the Californian was rather talented where that mouth was concerned. Deep emotions hadn’t blossomed where a sexual connection had. He wasn’t in love though Elias enjoyed their time together.

Now it felt like a freight train had barreled right into an exposed belly when he’d met Maggie. She was like an angel, too sweet and pure to be covered in blood and dirt. Cornflower blue eyes regarded him like a human, not a trained killing machine. She was a tragic yet saintly figure. Sadness followed her like a shadow, tears nearly always welling in glassy eyes while shoulders seemed to slump eternally. The more time they spent together, his heart was practically gifted to the woman on a silver platter. It wasn’t her that he feared; there was only the fear that she’d be torn away from him unceremoniously.

Swinging in his hammock, heavy lidded eyes shuttered as Maggie was projected in the darkness. That sweet smile that made him melt. Damn, maybe the boys were right. Maybe he was getting soft.

Or maybe he was lonely and found a companion to keep him company in the dark. She invaded his thoughts every second and made him grin like a fool no matter who was looking. At least with his feelings for the ginger haired nurse, Elias didn’t have to keep everything hidden beneath the surface. Not like when he and Crawford had been carrying on. Their relationship was kept completely secret from the boys in The Underworld, not wanting to chance them both getting thrown out on their asses.

There was the sneaking suspicion that the Bravo squad knew about their superior. Yet, his men were protective of the benevolent sergeant. Whether they gave a damn or not, they weren’t about to tell anyone about the best leader they could have. Especially when Harris was spread thin and Wolfe didn’t know his own ass from a hole in the ground.

It was the same loyalty that permeated in a pack of wolves; he respected that.

Sexuality mattered very little when everyday meant toeing the line between life and death. Who cared if there was comfort to be found in a man or a woman? Especially when the end was right around the corner. Maggie was familiar like an inviting hug or fresh baked apple pie. They were like old friends from school that practically knew the other down to the very marrow of aching bones.

God, he was falling in love and it felt like trouble. A vulnerability, an exposed nerve. He couldn’t afford it yet he knew better than to deny the sensation that knotted an already nervous stomach.

Whatever they shared was bound to end in tragedy.

……

Caldwell kept her girls on their toes for what felt like weeks. New recruits were being shipped to their platoon while a handful of good men were reduced to corpses in tinder boxes. Despite the incessant goose-stepping or rattle of gunfire, the woman had never felt so isolated.

There had been no time to even think about Elias, let alone track the sergeant down in camp. When she went to school to get her degree, Maggie thought she’d wear that unflattering white uniform and give kids lollipops after Polio vaccinations. Tirelessly comforting dying men was weighing heavy on a sleep deprived mind. Especially when there was nothing more to do than hold their hands and dose them up with as much morphine that could be spared.

“What’s wrong?” Rachel pulled the meek woman aside when the infirmary was finally empty. Even she had begun to look ragged, purple circles hanging deep beneath wise eyes. Wiping sweat from a ruddy brow, Maggie braced herself on the basin.

“Fine. Tired. Sunburned.” Voice shaking, the woman tried her best to hide any indication of faltering.

“You’re not yourself.” Iodine-stained hands gently rested on pink shoulders, turning the red-head carefully. Deep ochre sought out an answer in steely eyes, something dark lingering beneath the surface. “What’s going on? Is it Barnes?”

“Will you stop bringing him up?” Firmly pushing the woman away, Rachel worked to regain her balance. Anyone else would’ve gotten a bruising smack to the jaw, but the brunette kept her eyes on the woman. They’d been shoulder to shoulder for as long as she could remember, Margaret Wilson being the closest to thing to a little sister she’d ever had.

Now Maggie was becoming grizzled and combative; it wasn’t as shocking as it was heart wrenching.

“When you tell me what’s wrong.”

“He hasn’t touched me since…” a slender finger ran across a small bump across her nose, “It’s getting to me, Rach. Is that so hard to believe? We’re a bunch of pawns in a pointless game, playing with live ammo.”

Rachel caught the nurse as she began to totter, supporting her heaving body the best an equally aching one could. For a long time, the women stood in each other’s arms. Time ceased for a moment, the smell of gasoline and sweat permeating still in their nostrils. They felt as helpless as they did hopeful, trying to swallow the lumps that sat in their throats.

“Sorry to interrupt,” A private awkwardly stood at the mouth of the tent, cradling a mangled hand in the other. “Got kind of bloody digging a foxhole. Sarge told me to find his ‘girl’. Is that, uh, one of you two ladies?”

The brunette broke away in a fit of giggles, patting her blushing friend on the back as Maggie’s mouth fell open in shock.

“One of sergeant Grodin’s newbies?” The outgoing nurse asked, watching the kid grin sheepishly.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Little wet behind the ears,” Rachel helped the private to a bench while Maggie hurriedly gathered bandages and a fresh basin. “Nothing that Elias’ girl can’t handle.”

“Is that you?” he was sweet and dopey, almost like a dog.

“Nah. You’re looking at Bob Barnes' sentient pain in the ass. Or Lieutenant Mariano. The object of Sergeant Starry Eye’s affection is over there.”

“Lieutenant Wilson.” Maggie offered shyly, waddling over with a medical tray. “Let’s get you stitched up, private.”

……

Underneath a curtain of titian frizz, the woman found herself warming to Taylor. Unlike the rest of her patients that day, the kid didn’t try to sneak a look down her top. Instead, he addressed her exclusively with ‘no ma’am’ or ‘yes ma’am’. Barely twenty years old, the private hardly looked like a man, sporting a baby fat rounded face and large doe eyes. The nurse felt a protective energy blossoming towards him the longer he sat in the infirmary.

Peroxide sizzled over the now clean wound, leaving Chris to bite his tongue and squirm in discomfort.

“Got some leather to bite on if you want it.” Looking up under wispy lashes, Chris shook his head with an attempt to separate himself from any frailty.

“It’s, ah, it’s fine.” Looking up, he sported a patch of red across his button nose. “I’ll be okay. Anything to ward off potential gangrenous infections.”

“How’d you get so bloody digging a foxhole?”

“Erm, my hand was a little too close to where Lerner was trying to dig and-”

“Ah. Busy talking about his girl?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?” he was awestruck, like she was reading tarot cards.

“I’m not a magician.” She chuckled, dabbing his palm, “That’s all he talks about. You’re not the first to get injured because of it either. Needs to remember what he’s doing is all.”

They remained silent as slender fingers wrapped the lacerations tight with gauze, slicing the fabric close enough as not to catch on anything. When he was cleaned up, Maggie thrust the man’s hand back into his chest.

“Good to go. Tell Lerner to watch where he digs next time.”

“Will do, uh, Lieutenant Wilson.” Taylor stammered as he rose to wobbling feet.

“At ease,” was all she could say, watching as the poor kid shambled out of the tent. Though with all good things, there had to be a dollop of bad. Heavy boots shambled in as Maggie worked on cleaning up a few instruments.

“Take a seat and I’ll be there.” Of course, no one else’s presence could send a shiver through her like Barnes. Turning carefully revealed the man towering over the small woman. “What do you want?”

“You should really watch that mouth, Maggie.”  A thick digit stroked the prominent curve in the bridge of her nose, “Could get you in trouble.”

Blood pounded in her ears. As Bob's shadow eclipsed her like the moon. His hand brushed down the length of a goose pimpled throat before that angry mouth was crashing against hers.

It was happening again and there was nothing she could do.

……

It had been the first time in weeks he’d gotten a chance to exist alone. Always being forced into a huddle with Barnes, Warren, O’Neill, and Wolfe as orders trickled down from Captain Harris. Always the scraps, what the rest of the sergeants wouldn’t lift a finger for got pushed to the Christ surrogate in hopes it would lead to his imminent crucifixion.

The fresh meat were sent to the man who had three tours under his belt. This was probably for the best as Elias had the most success at keeping the underlings alive under his tutelage. Though the bird brains getting ready for R & R mixed with some of the most daunting trails to scout with a bunch of exhausted men felt more like a suicide mission than anything else. And while Elias wanted to make it out alive, it seemed that Bob craved to make an example of the kindhearted hippie. Leaning back into the trunk of a teak tree, he watched from the shadows as the stars continued to sparkle against their cerulean canvas.

Could a man be jealous of stardust? Combusting silently from the depths of space? Letting a plume of smoke leak from parted lips, he figured it was probably a beautiful existence. Far away from the greedy mistakes that man made. Running a hand through tawny tresses, he wanted to be angry at the eponymous Charlie the same way that the rest of the men were. At the end of the day, wasn’t Charlie just trying to survive all of this senselessness? Same as them?

Though all the Charlie talk made his buddy King more secretive about his given name. Elias chuckled, the first he’d had in ages. Suddenly, there was a muted whimper breaking through the silence. Craning a slender neck, his angel wandered the perimeter of the tree line. Strawberry waves hung free as she hugged herself. Trying to stifle any sobs, Maggie looked as though she’d fall flat to the ground in despair.

A sharp whistle between gapped teeth got her attention quickly before the nurse was ducking into the shadows and sprinting to the ghost she sought. Stubbing his cigarette out against the tree stump, Elias was unprepared as the oft reserved woman threw herself into strong arms. Small hands clutched at the cheap polyester button up beneath his fatigues. His own palms, large and weathered, came to rest against the soft freckled skin of exposed shoulders. Breathing ragged, their gaze finally met.

“This is all a damned joke. A cruel one too.” Shaking her head, the woman dragged the soft pad of her finger across full lips before continuing, “I can’t keep dancing around this, Elias. Especially when the next time I see you could be…”

“Shhh,” the soldier attempted to placate her before fresh tears could fall, “don’t think about that.”

“I love you, Elias.” Her eyes were wide, unblinking as the declaration was made. “Sometimes it feels like an ill-fated fairytale. But I love you and I need you.”

Sergeant Grodin knew better than to let such an admission lie. Not that he hadn’t felt the same burst of emotions bubbling up in his throat, but neither he nor the woman in his arms did anything without reason. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Mags was telling the truth. Yet, he was as desperate to feel her pressed flat against him as she was. Letting the woman lead, their lips caught in a fiery tangle of tongues and teeth. Arms linked around the tan column of his throat while hands desperately clung to her back.

It was far less romantic than either could’ve asked for. But they both needed some kind of comfort.

Pulling them both deeper into the shadows, Elias gently pushed Maggie back against a thick trunked tree. There wouldn’t be time for them to undress and carnally devour the other as they wanted.

For now, the dark of the teak forests would have to suffice.

All Maggie could do was give in to what she craved, what Bob had tried to steal from her. Later she’d tell him what happened, how she’d feel those thick fingers squeezing into her throat for an eternity. Elias’ spine stiffed, tentative about how quickly things were moving. The woman wriggled against the tree, gently easing herself free and reversing their positions. Still doubtful, he rested his head against the trunk. Soft lips pressed to the column of his neck, delighting in the remnants of marijuana and cheap aftershave.

Her Elias was alive.

Maggie fell to her knees, teary eyes glittering in the moonlight. Elias could hardly believe it, winding long fingers through coppery tresses. A timid hand palmed his erection through his slacks, practically ripping a hungry growl from the man’s throat.

“Mags,” his voice was hoarse, practically a warning, “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” her eyes didn’t meet his, shyly glued to the dark depths of the jungles, “This might be the only chance we get.”

It had been too long since he’d been touched by anyone. At least since they’d been shipped out into the belly of the beast. There was hardly enough time to sleep, let alone do much else. This was a moment that lived in the recesses of his mind, only palpable in fleeting dreams. Their kiss had ignited something deep in his belly, something carnal and relentless.

He wanted Maggie, more than anything. But not like this, with her eyes glassy and face blotchy from sobbing. While pigs like O’Neill or Junior would jump at the opportunity to get head from a pretty nurse, Elias still had his humanity.

They were all human.

“Wait,” he groaned out, ignoring how she mouthed at him through the fabric. “We can’t do this.”

“You don’t want me?” Craning her neck upwards, a single tear rolled down the curve of one cheek. The sergeant could feel his heart breaking into pieces. Large hands fell to hunched shoulders, gently easing her back up to wobbling feet.

“I want you more than anything.” The calloused pad of one thumb pressed beneath a freckled chin, worried gaze meeting bleary eyes, “But something’s gnawing at you and I can’t take advantage. What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

Small hands clutched at the cheap polyester button up beneath his fatigues. His own palms, large and weathered, clutched at shaking arms. Blinking away any tears, the woman couldn’t lie. Not to the man cradling her like an injured bird. Straw colored locks hanged in worried eyes as one gentle hand came to cup the sharp edge of his jaw, glassy eyes studying every curve and line of his face.

“No,” she stammered, “I’m not okay. Barnes…” the words shattered against her tongue, unable to relive what the man had done. Elias’s brow furrowed at his adversary’s name, worried.

“Barnes? Did he hurt you?”

Her fists fastened even tighter into the man’s uniform as the dam broke. Tears flooded down ruddy cheeks as Maggie buried her face in the soldier’s chest. All he could do was wrap long arms around the sobbing woman.

Whatever Bob did, he was going to pay.

#fanfiction #otp fanfiction #otp: dog tags and flower crowns #maggie x elias #platoon 1986 #q

[huntress-therion]

In Another Life: Chapter 2

Summary: (AU) Aloy grows up among the Sky Clan instead of the Nora and is raised alongside a boy whose life will be inextricably bound with hers.

--

Chapter 2: Child of Nowhere

Read it on AO3

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10 years later… 

They call her Kotallo’s shadow. 

This is because everywhere the young warrior went, the little Nora was sure to follow. When Kotallo remarks on this, she would scoff and say, “I’m not little. You’re just stupidly tall.” Which would make him bristle with self-consciousness. At sixteen, he has already outgrown some of their most seasoned veterans. He is no longer lanky, awkward, or morose (though his temper is still known to frost over, every now and then). If anything, he’s becoming fiercer and more formidable by the day. Whispers of admiration - and not a little flirtatious interest - trail after him, mostly from his peers.

“I hear Tekotteh is eyeing him to become part of his personal guard.” 

“Can you believe it? The youngest ever to get his soldier’s marks.” 

“I heard he did the March as though it were a summer’s stroll.” 

“He’ll be a squad captain worthy of the Ten. Just watch.” 

The clamoring attention annoys Aloy for reasons she cannot explain. Jealousy is partially at the root of it, though it pains her to admit to something so petty and childish (even if she is a child). It makes sense: Kotallo is older and more experienced. Even so, she cannot stand how often - and how thoroughly - he beats her in the ring. At bows, at spears, at swords, at knives…he is faster, stronger, more cunning with his tactics. 

For now. 

“You’ll catch up,” he says, after another bout where he’s made her eat dirt. “Eventually.” 

“No,” says Aloy, burning with determination. “I’ll go even farther. You’ll see.”   

And while this amuses the rest of the clan, Kotallo does not take her words lightly. “It would be a mistake to underestimate you,” he concedes. Then they take up their spears again.

But as much as Aloy wants to best him, she knows that isn’t what drives her to take up her gear every day, often long before her squad wakes, and go through each form and exercise until her limbs shake and she can no longer stand. It isn’t Kotallo’s skills or talent she wants…it’s…

It’s the ease he has. The comfort in his gestures as he moves about the clan. People smile and make room for him in a way they do not for her. He is welcomed and expected to do great things. Aloy, even by proximity, is only tolerated. No one expects anything from her. And with every year that passes, the gap between them grows a little larger. Even if Kotallo doesn’t see it. Or perhaps, he just refuses to.  

Whatever their differences, Kotallo is her closest squadmate. Somewhere between sibling and dearest friend, though not quite either. It is hard to define the bond between them, except that it was forged in grief. Their paths crossed, as fate would have it, when they were both most alone. And so, they understood one another in ways others did not. But while Kotallo’s circle of companions grows wider, Aloy is not so fortunate. Many, in fact, still call her “outlander” or “nowhere’s child.” Though only when Kotallo isn’t present (they want to keep their teeth, after all). 

But they aren’t wrong, Aloy thinks. She is an outlander, even if saying so makes Kotallo angry.

“No, you are one of us,” he would say, with finality. “Pay them no mind.” Then he would take her hand and place it over his heart, its beat as strong as a war drum. “Here. Listen. Your blood is my blood. Never forget that.” 

“If you say so…” 

Still, Aloy cannot rid the feeling that she is something…other. Different. It gnaws at her, leaving an ache in the pit of her belly. Because despite wearing their colors, their paint, and reciting the deeds of the Ten to perfection, Aloy knows in her very marrow that she is not Tenakth. No matter how much she and Kotallo would wish it otherwise. 

She does not always follow our ways. How often do the elders reprimand her for this? She is known to be willful and disobedient. I see you’d rather fly on your own path, than on the Wings of the Ten. She also questions orders, to the heavy consternation of others. One of her favorite words to say, since she could walk from the cradle, is “Why?” and everyone around her would groan in exasperation at her relentless pursuit of knowledge. 

“Why don’t you just become a Chaplain?” they sneer. 

Maybe she would.  

Gerrah is battle-hardened and wise in the ways of the Ten. But even so, there are questions even beyond her grasp. One of which is the riddle of Aloy’s origin. She makes Gerrah tell her, again and again, the story of how she found Aloy in the snow, in the arms of a man who journeyed far from the East. A man she thinks about often. 

Who was he? Why did he bring her here? Could he have been her father? And if so, what of her mother? Such questions linger over her every waking moment, and the longer they go unanswered, the more aware she is of her own incompleteness. There is only one token from the man that Aloy could keep in remembrance - a strange necklace in the shape of an upside-down tear. It’s fitting, she supposes, given the tragic way she and this man parted ways. 

She is a person with too many missing pieces, and she cannot help but believe that this man is the key to understanding it all. But all anyone knows is that the man was a Nora. A tribe she desperately wishes to know more about. 

“Such a wish would not be so easily granted,” says Gerrah. “To go that far East would mean crossing into Carja lands and Chief Hekkaro has yet to forge a steady alliance with Sun King Jiran.”

Sun King Jiran. Or, the Mad Sun King, if the rumors of his latest exploits were true. News had traveled far from Barren Light that Jiran had begun to prey on neighboring territories, setting his sights on the Orseram, the Banuk, and yes, even the Nora. Those taken prisoner were sacrificed to their sun god, in hopes of reversing the strange Derangement plaguing the machines. It would not be long, the squad captains said, before the Sun King would set his sights on the Forbidden West. 

“If it comes to that,” says Kotallo. “We’ll be ready for him.” 

“I hope it doesn’t,” says Aloy. “Maybe there can be peace one day, like Chief Hekkaro says.” 

Kotallo snorts. They are both eating their dinner rations in the mess hall, with Kotallo handing her extra portions from his own meal. “You’re too skinny for your own good,” he says. Which he knows would make her scowl. Though she will not say no to more food, given that the season’s game and harvest have not been plentiful and their accord with the Utaru has not yielded as much they all hoped. Where Kotallo is all height and hard muscle, Aloy finds herself all knobby knees and pointy elbows. 

At the other end of the long table are their other squad mates, who loudly call Kotallo to join them (Aloy notes that there is only one seat open). Kotallo always politely declines, though she notes that it’s getting harder and harder for him to do so. She may be ten, but she can detect longing when she sees it. So she eats the rest of her food in silence, trying not to feel like a burden. Trying not to feel as though she is someone who he must look after out of obligation and duty. 

Later, they sit side by side, upon a ridge that overlooks the valley below. It is a nighttime ritual they both share, where they take in the chill wind and the wooded silence below. The sun has just set behind the mountains beyond, casting everything in twilight. 

Aloy traces the faint stars above her in nonsensical patterns. “Do you ever think about…what’s out there?” 

“Out where?” asks Kotallo. He is lying on his back, hands laced behind his neck. He wears a new headpiece, something he has pulled off a scrounger, she thinks. Or maybe even a ravager. The way others talk about him, it wouldn’t be long before he could take on a whole behemoth on his own. 

Aloy shrugs. “Maybe East. Maybe further.” 

There is a pause as Kotallo considers her, his face gilded by firelight. Here, in the dark, Aloy can almost see the man he is becoming, the man the elders have such high hopes for. 

“Why go anywhere?” he says, finally. “Our home is here. Behind the Bulwark. It's as Tekkoteh says: our strength comes from the stone.” 

Her disappointment stings.  Kotallo has been doing this more often lately. “Tekkoteh says this…Tekkoteh says that…” Kotallo can be so exceptional in many ways, but in this, he's as blind as an eyeless burrower. It is as though Tekkoteh’s word is nothing short of law, no matter that they have a Chief whose word weighs far more than that of their commander. Aloy does not like the gleam in Tekkoteh’s eyes, which makes her think of greed and ambition. How Kotallo could mistake that for courage and tenacity, she doesn’t know. But she would rather not spend the rest of the night fighting with him about it, so she lets it go. 

“Our strength may come from the stone,” Aloy begins, “But we all must aim to fly on the Wings of the Ten. Maybe one day I’ll become a Marshal. See the rest of the clan lands. Maybe I’ll even see what’s beyond the gates of Barren Light, if another Embassy will take place.” 

“With the danger of the Red Raids?” says Kotallo. “Unlikely.” 

True. But danger or no, the taste of such an adventure fills her with a different kind of longing. She would risk it, she realizes with astonishment. Yes, she would risk it all. To see the breadth of the world and its people beyond the Bulwark would be…extraordinary. 

“There’s more to the world than the Sky Clan,” she says. 

Kotallo isn’t impressed. “Everything we need is right here.” He turns to face her. “Would you really leave home? Leave me?” 

“I…” 

Of course not, Aloy wants to say. Never. 

And yet…

“It wouldn’t be forever,” she says. “You could come with me! If you rise through the ranks any higher, you could probably compete in the Kulrut. Think about it: Marshal Kotallo.” 

It has a nice ring, she thinks. But he barks a dark laugh.

“Tekkoteh would never allow such a thing. And I, for one, am glad for it.” 

Aloy sighs. Tekkoteh, again… 

Kotallo rises to his feet. “Come on. It’s getting late. And I have an early patrol tomorrow.” 

“You go on ahead,” says Aloy. “I want to watch the stars a little more.” 

“Suit yourself,” he says. “Just don’t stay up too late.” 

And when he walks away, her eyes linger on the empty space he’s left behind.

-

Thanks for reading <3

A/N: Growing up can also mean growing apart and I wanted to show some of the nuances of that in Aloy and Kotallo's relationship. They're obviously close, but it's clear that their goals and visions of life are very different. Cue that sweet coming-of-age angst.

Up next: Aloy gets her Focus.

Other Kotaloy fics:

Captivated

This Tenderness

In Another Life: Chapter 1, 3

#kotaloy #kotallo x aloy #aloy x kotallo #hfw fanfic #horizon forbidden west

[rai-knightshade-art]

Memes are my Passion™ 🤠

What's better than an old, defunct fandom? An old meme to go with it! Bringing back everyone's favorite stop motion doll drama that aged a bit weirdly but we won't hold that against them, I've combined The Young Jedi Squad™ with The Most Popular Girls In School (start @ 1:04 for the actual meme). Some Jainas were harmed in the making of this meme, sorry 😅 Listen she isn't Brittany personality-wise but she does have her own three-man boyfriend squad so I think it fits, sue me.

Close ups and a transcript of the dialogue under the cut, image id in the alt text!

The Dialogue:

Jacen: nonononononononono-

Jaina: hey Jacen-

Jacen: *punches Jaina in the stomach*

Jaina: aCH--WHAT THE FU-!!

Jacen: You are my dearest sister and I canNOT stand by and watch you throw away your life like this! You're too young! YOU'RE TOO BEAUTIFUL!

Jaina, clutching her stomach: What... Are you KRIFFING talking about?!?!

Jacen: I'm talking about the baby that's growing inside your belly right now.

Jaina:

Jacen:

Jag/Kyp/Zekk: ...See ya! 😨😳😬

Jaina: *beat* iM NOT PREGNANT!!

Jacen: well not anymore you're not, I've been taking Ataru classes. ☺️

Jaina: I was never PREGNANT, Jacen!

Jacen:

Jacen:

Jacen: A-are you sure-

Jaina: YES IM KRIFFING SURE!!

Tenel Ka: I am sorry friend Jacen, friend Jaina, but why are you two yelling over here?

Jacen: Oh I found this positive pregnancy test and-

Tenel Ka: *punches Jaina in the stomach with her good arm*

Jaina: ACH--SITHSPAWN!!!

#young jedi knights #new jedi order #star wars legends #star wars eu #jaina solo #jacen solo #zekk #jagged fel #kyp durron #tenel ka djo #jaina solo's harem #(yes thats gonna be an actual tag now its too funny as a concept) #im not pregnant (mpgis) #the most popular girls in school #incorrect quotes #star wars eu incorrect quotes #myposts #myart