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vaguely-concerned · 3 years

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X-men Evolution; the great 2021 rewatch liveblog

exactly what it says on the tin, about halfway through the show I had TOO MANY FEELINGS and had to start writing some of them out haha (gets quite gambit & rogue/gambit heavy in the latter half, Because of Who I Am as a Person)

- this is my childhood’s x-men, my formative experience with them, and I’m happy to report that still seems like a good thing. the little eleven year old within me gets to geek out and have a good time with the characters and the surprisingly good animation and writing, adult me gets to CACKLE at regular intervals at the fashion/technology/absolute bonkers hot garbage comic book nonsense they use to justify a storyline every now and then, it’s been a good time

- I was like ‘ah well it is super dated it probably won’t be quite the same now’ and then rogue’s HAIR did the THING in the opening and ‘it’s all coming back to me now’ started playing in the background... the little baby queer in me swooning across time and space

- such a good beast, both his design and the writing, my heart aches for him all the time. he’s just so passionate! about being a teacher! helping young humans learn the stuff they’ll need in life! the most wonderful nerd man, just let good things happen for him

- I’m going to go ahead and assume that rogue’s ‘crush’ on scott is more of a deeply complex psychological process about desiring normalcy and intimacy and trying to figure out if she’s queer and dealing with her emerging sexuality and latching on to the first and best safely unavailable and nonthreatening older boy to project these issues onto rather than actually being a real thing, because I respect her so much as a person and I cannot bring myself to imagine she’s honestly attracted to a man who has POSTERS OF CARS on his bedroom wall. (I’ll give jean a break just because she seems to have a longer deeper history with him that might counteract some of that libido-kill, and also she’s a jock so lol)

like I am very sorry but can u imagine being a teenage girl with any interest in a boy with model cars in his bedroom when gambit’s swanning around being a much, much, much worse choice on almost every possible level but in a teen girl kryptonite kind of way? inconceivable

(I drag scott quite a few times in this and it’s not because I don’t love him, it’s just his tragedy to be the most draggable man in the world)

to be fair by the time gambit shows up that whole Situation has mostly played itself out I suppose but still

- toad’s design is so ineffably brilliant, I can’t quite tell you why but that ugly cute charm has really stuck with me, he’s one of the characters I remembered the best to this day just visually

- poor evan... he truly never had a chance, did he, they just saddled him with the most 90s teen bullshit they could come up with like he’s some kind of ‘what adult writers think teens like’ frankenstein’s monster ;______; it’s not your fault honey

- poor poor POOR storm, she gets one focus episode and they were like ‘we’re going to make an episode so racist -- ‘

I’m still STUNNED at how bad it was, but undeniably I laughed hysterically to the point that my neighbours were probably worried when that dude was earnestly like ‘He [stunningly breathlessly racist caricature of a ‘witch doctor’ guy] has stolen her powers, and he’s going to use them to take over Africa!!!’ fhajsdlfhsakjldfh oh really? tell me more, like how the fUCK this could be on television within my life time fasdlfhsdkjfhsad f just... fahjksdfh

- it’s a testament to gambit’s appeal as a character that his charm can survive what they’ve done with his hair and beard choices in this one fajskfhs regrettable but true I still fuckn LOVE him and in my highly biased yet Correct opinion he should have been around much more. get you a man who manages to stay hot through sheer Vibes even with a bowl cut

- aw scott/jean is kind of sweet in this show even if it’s taking them forEVER to get there, I like it

- it’s very nice of rogue to not mention magneto’s romantic daydreams and nostalgic memories about charles xavier after touching his face that one time... or maybe her brain did her a service and repressed it, there’s some stuff you shouldn’t have to know about your father figure

- the danger room is the very definition of ‘why do we even have that lever’ and I wonder what the fuck prof x does to have enough money to replace everything that gets busted all the time

- I’d say that a lot of the writing holds up surprisingly well! (but some of it is also incredibly inexcusably racist in ways that beggar belief, so... not full marks here) the characters have distinct voices and their arcs are set up and delivered on solidly for the most part, and there’s a lot of love showing through in small moments that are just there to have a funny/interesting thing to say about the characters and how their powers work separately and in combination. listen, sometimes I get so thirsty for like. basic goddamn competency in storytelling, let me have this

- ugggggh why is there captain america in my x-men have I not suffered enough... very very funny when prof x goes ‘sounds like you knew rogers personally’ and logan is like ‘I did ;)’ *all the students ganging up on steve rogers* “did you fuck our teacher, captain america?!”

- fskadfhas WHY are you showing me hot young-ified magneto’s ass fksjahfskj charles is not even here to see it, what a tragic waste erik

- ...I was sort of kidding before but uh I think logan genuinely did fuck captain america (or at least wishes very much that he did lol)

- wanda can have a little watching the world burn. as a treat for the way every single adult in her life has fucking failed her (’aren’t they treating you well here’ professor x she’s in a straightjacket)

- poor rogue tho can you imagine finding out after your biggest crush on a girl yet that she’s your fucking MOM in disguise... I would break out in cold sweat every time I thought about a boob forever after

- well seems like they really just had all that homoerotic rivalry stuff between quicksilver and spyke in their first ep only to never do anything with that again ever?? I mean even without the gay undertone that seems like a dynamic you spent most of an episode setting up writers what the hell haha

- dslhfkasjlh GAMBIT THERE HE IS MY BOY IS ON THE SCENE THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! I don’t even care about his awful hair situation or the fact that his eyes are wrong here (coloured contact lenses, maybe, for a watsonian explanation? though he’d probably have to get them made special, considering he needs the sclera and the iris covered up in different ways, I’ve seen some comic panels indicating he has been known to?)

(cute little detail: when he shuffles the cards the first time we see him he ends with removing the top card to show the ace of hearts beneath <3 foreshadowing baBEY he’s a... good-ish boy deep down. hey he tries okay shit gets complicated sometimes lol)

- cracking UP at gambit perched cheerily on the edge of a crate dispensing cards in the middle of the battle... he’s like ‘eh it’s a livin’ sfsajkhf remy stop working for supervillains just because you had nothing to do on a thursday afternoon and they said they’d pay you

- I’m guessing magneto must have imposed a strict order of silence on these guys or something because I cannot imagine any other reason for him to shut up, especially once he notices rogue is a QTE (or, far more likely, they hadn’t settled on any voice actors for the new characters until next season haha. it is kind of odd that they’re all keeping up near monastic silence, though, even sabertooth lol)

- WHAT an epic first meeting for us rogue/gambit fans here... first his shadow like there’s fireworks going off behind him lighting him up and then he gives her the fuckn king of hearts and she’s so enchanted by his dumb handsome face she doesn’t even notice it’s about to blow up in her hands and it all happens in heavily meaningful silence afjsdfjashjk no wonder this ship ingrained itself in my hindbrain

yeah look smug while you can remy she’s gonna have you on your knees one day and you’ll be happy about it lol

- god storm is so COOL, everything just fading out of focus when she really gets going... give her more screen time, show!!

- mystique is every person... this person... that person... that bird... that cat... that wolf... I’m not even sure she’s not also me... are you sure she’s not you?

- holy fuck I respect the hell out of the decision to just... blow up the entire status quo in a season ender, I only vaguely remembered that (actually in general I appreciate how good the continuity is -- buildings and places that get damaged in battles need to be repaired or rebuilt, it makes the consequences feel more real even when no one gets seriously hurt. where they get the money to restore scott’s car and logan’s motorbikes every time they go cablooie is still an open question tho lol is it credit card fraud, professor? is it telepathically acquired blackmail???)

- I first watched this when I was nine or so, so it’s a real experience to go from my starry eyed intrigued ‘oh my god... they’re teenagers’ to my horrified adult perspective of ‘oh my god... they’re TEENAGERS D:’

that goes double for the brotherhood boys honestly, I’m here with tears in my eyes like ‘I’m sorry the system has failed you so badly you’re all just a bunch of dumb kids whose caretakers clearly fucked up spectacularly’

like lance is always waiting for mystique to come back because she’s the closest thing he has to a safe parental figure, may we speak about how crushingly depressing that is

- rogue is so ready to throw hands at literally any moment and for that I love and treasure her immensely (I think getting to see her be so surly and unreasonable and sometimes difficult and jealous, like any teenager, meant a lot to me as a kid who was not really allowed to be any of these things, this version of the character has stayed with me so deeply. she holds on so fiercely to her right to feel what she feels and be what she is even when it’s ‘ugly’ or unreasonable, which I think plays in really interestingly with how her powers involve getting invaded by other people’s thoughts and memories to the point of overwhelming her own sense of self and the fact that she clearly has a lot of self-loathing and self-consciousness and confusion about her identity as well. I love her so much)

- oooof this is the ‘the gang experience a microaggression’ episode huh (well more like macroagressions really)

hits a bit different with adult eyes and perspective huh

- hearing jean sound almost like a child when she says ‘that’s so unfair!’ somehow has me like ;______; -- she has to be so adult and responsible all the time, and having her be reduced to the kid she still is and should get to be in front of this awful awful man she could squash like a bug with the flick of a thought... ugh I’m Big Sad (it is funny that jean seemingly plays Every Sport tho djfhaskj)

- MY BOY IS BACK!!! this time with the duster coat and his eyes the right colour, im so happy (too bad about the subdued colour scheme tho; I adore his dumb bright pink getup with my whole heart)

it’s kind of adorable that he takes the time to take the bullies aside and go ‘I know these guys can’t wreck you without getting expelled, but I think you’ll find no law set down by god or man would stop me from doing so whenever I wanted to. so piss off and leave them alone’ lol he’s looking out for them, in his own way

- in this episode: remy lebeau wrangles some kids while looking bored yet mildly amused the whole time. what the fuck does magneto have on you for you to agree to this level of babysitting duty buddy

- fun detail I noticed b/c when I get a fave I hyperfixate: he gave rogue the king of hearts before, but he ‘introduces’ himself to the brotherhood here (lol) with the jack of hearts, probably to symbolize he’s here as someone who works for magneto in this setting and not as his own man? it’s a demotion he’s given himself there, anyway, might be he’s not very pleased about his current position huh

- I like it when rogue and kitty team up, they’re not very effective together but their squabbling is so cute and non-aggressive

- pietro is what draco malfoy would be if I ever found malfoy interesting to watch for even one moment, every time quicksilver talks I’m like ‘what wonderfully insufferable thing is going to come out of your mouth this time you little shit :’)’

- a) why are scott and logan shirtless for this scene? I am not complaining on the logan side of things at least but why and b) I laughed so hard I almost fell off my couch when scott asked logan if he’d ever been in love and he was like ‘once. she was the most beautiful bike I ever saw’ falsdfhaskjfhsakjlfhasklhjfd THE BEST VERSION OF WOLVERINE EVER, ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTES

- mystique’s sheer dedication to being a petty bitch is kind of inspirational tbh, almost makes me want to go on a completely bonkers and extra crusade of personal revenge myself

- oooh they’re doing some genuinely cool things with vision/lack of vision in this one (it’s the scott left on his own in the desert without glasses one btw) even visually, dang! I’m so sad this show didn’t get more seasons than it did, honestly, it deserved it

- hell yeah jean wreck her, go get your man with the suspiciously specific clothing damage normally done to female characters

awww :’) okay yeah they’re super sweet, I love the tiny loving animation details like how he leans his head against her and her stroking his hair away from his eyes

- nooo don’t bully evan leave my t0tally r4dical sk8er boy alone :(

- I love the running joke of people fleeing in blind panic only to reveal that what they’re running from is kitty’s cheerful well meaning little face fskfaskh

- scott and jean are already peak married after officially being together for one episode and it’s adorable, and they just stone cold threw logan under the bus, rip wolverine we hardly knew ya

fjasdlfasldfhslajdkfhsadkjlfhsdkjalfhsdakfh h jean establishing herself as the alphabitch of this relationship by throwing her man to the wolves right after dsjfhaskjfhaskjhfsakjdhfaskjhfaskdhfskjahfskdajhf get smarter or get volunteered scott

- ...eyepatch lady is so hot ngl

oh evan went to the place hank used to go to calm down ;________; (honestly he’s kind of won a place in my heart just by being a pretty normal teenage boy haha)

- jesus fucking CHRIST can you imagine being storm having to look her sister in the eye as she tells her ‘I lost your only child, he’s *vague gesture* somewhere in the sewers we think’ this poor woman

- amanda the self admitted monster fucker you are so VALID (I love her and her family’s design so much tho!)

- it’s so cool that even in his human ‘disguise’ kurt’s fingers follow the shape of his actual hand beneath it rather than moving like a five fingered hand, it’s such a lovingly consistent little detail

- magneto and mystique in a breathless race to see who can be the shittiest parent... tune in next week for yet another parental nadir (also some low-poly gambit appearances in this one, for those at home keeping score (me), he’s in the background looking like someone drew him with their eyes closed fakjldfhasd look how they massacred my boy)

- someone please teach the brotherhood boys about consent huh

- jean ‘soccer mom before her time’ grey and her SUV dfhakjlhds :’)

- im sobbing rogue baby girl i’m so sorryyyyyy, this voice actress is so good, my parental instincts suddenly kicked into overdrive hearing the crack in her voice :( (bb me was right tho rogue centric episodes ARE the best episodes. that tension between ‘do I identify witn this character or am I crushing on her?? both???’ now has the fun new addition of ‘oh god oh no you are a baby I want to shield you with my body from everything trying to hurt you’)

- mystique is like ‘so you see despite you telling me you never wanted to see me again I completely disrespected that and posed as a friend your age, manipulated you by offering you the mirage of direly needed emotional intimacy and belonging and added some sprinkles of homoerotic tension to it just to massively worsen your already existing grievous psychosexual trauma and identity issues... out of love’

god go jump in a black hole you fucking monster

- there’s some very interesting and quite subtle subtext about the people she’s morphing into and what that says about her mental state/how it shows off some of her emotional baggage with the rest of the team. it’s like she’s switching between people/powers that fit the purpose as if she’s going through cycles of fight/flight (and then bursts of freeze where she’s herself, which is... so sad)

- this whole episode is hurting my heart but rogue at full power is undeniably epic

- ‘professor x get your goddamn act together and get this poor girl some fucking tHERAPY’ challenge

- SAFE PAPA LOGAN ;_____;

- EYYYYYY opening straight on My Lad, I cannot stop winning!!!!!

fasdfhsad disintegrating the window with a smiley face... remy I do love you more than my heart can bear honestly, hello may we speak about the fact that his urge to be a little shit is so deep and strong it survives mind control (that little breathed out ‘hiah!’ as he vaults the fence too dsakfjsd)

hahaha and he does up the coat fhsalfdsaj

- magneto dismissing other telepaths like ‘puh-lease, your Meaningful Looks have got nothing on my ex-husband’s’

- :’) rogue and kurt sibling timeees

- say what you want but this pyro guy’s got job satisfaction in being a creepy arsonist with a weird recurring horse theme (well at least twice but still weird)

- I love how beast is the kindest man to ever walk the earth but also straight up savage, this man drags people so hard their ancestors wince in their graves

- gambit taking the time to complete the guard’s game of solitaire -- this episode is giving me everything I want. u little disgrace mr lebeau

and THEN he takes the spider out in the most hilariously bonkers way my heart is so FULL

(I love that when magneto moves by he looks startled and has to quickly move his head out of the way to avoid getting kicked in the temple too that’s a fun detail)

I’m so INTO how this sequence shows off that his greatest strength isn’t even his powers (which are pretty straightforward, really, he makes go boom, longer time and bigger thing bigger boom) but that he’s clever and creative and always extremely ready to be the most harebrained-bananapants-extra-in-a-deceptively-laidback-sort-of-way person in the room (I actually have some genuinely Deep Thoughts about how his whole character does a really interesting thing with having the straightforwardly destructive nature of his powers yield to what his nature as a person is, and how using the playing cards play (heh) into it, maybe I’ll write it out some day. just the fact that he could use anything, but he deliberately chose something that adds style and playfulness and corny charm to it and that also limits the damage of the explosions compared to if he habitually used something with more mass... I find it fascinating how much he’s made a story around himself with it and how deeply it shows he does have a good heart, at the end of the day, in almost a metatextual way. he doesn’t want to destroy things or people, he’s at worst (and best lol) a thief.)

- I honestly have literally no memory of white nick fury (which seems so weird now isn’t it funny) in this series from when I was a kid, he clearly did not make an impression on me lol

- mr wolverine ‘assigned canadian at birth’ x-men

- oh man I dig the androgynity of x-23′s outfit (even tho they had to compensate with the long hair, which... kind of doesn’t make sense in-universe but does on a design level because it’s a crucial thing that she’s a female clone of logan so yeah okay fine whatever have your arbitrary gender markers if you must haha)

ooooooh that’s actually really clever, they make her gender gradually more obvious as she unravels through the episode and her outfit changes -- first the mask coming off, and then her jacket opening to show her silhouette more clearly, that’s cool!

- my god what really sets this show apart is how much it invests in little character and relationship moments, it’s just so fucking GOOD! it gives laura looking in on those moments such depth and weight because it’s new to her but established to us as an audience, this is how you make found family devastating people (storm growing bonsai trees is so charming too haha)

- ooof this is honestly quite harrowing

SHE’S SO SMALL COMPARED TO HIM I’M CRYING (at least that part of his genes translated over faslkfsjdh short king, I say this with all the love and support of a fellow short monarch)

- tabitha seems to just be running around doing precisely whatever the fuck she wants and you know what I support her even if she is an asshole her father left her a bunch of trauma and no fucks left to give

- still thrilled about professor x explaining the spider key fuckup to magneto after the fact like ‘magnus you dumb bitch this is why we split up’

- awww kitty has anime and movie posters on her wall and sleeps with a stuffed toy :’)

- remy rogue

🤝

doing completely unnecessary parkour around the brotherhood living room seemingly just for the hell of it... I’m not saying soulmates but fucking soulmates

- fhsadkjlfhsakjldfhsadjkfhsdajkfh just as gambit’s soul-level need to be a little shit survived his bout of mind control, rogue’s deep and urgent desire to kiss gambit full on the mouth survived hers I can’t breathe

she looks so pleased with herself too GOOD FOR YOU GIRL at least get something out of this other than more trauma

also not only the fact that he’s smart enough to figure out what’s going on (though he’s only partially right about who’s behind it. I do so enjoy gambit/mystique deep and sincere antipathy as a constant across all universes tho lmao pure wlw/mlm hostility) but also that he keeps fending her off like he’s not trying to hurt her even though she’s in nigh on unstoppable and invulnerable terminator mode... awww

- gambit having absolutely no patience for wolverine and sabertooth’s bullshit macho-off and consistently being this little biker trio’s one brain cell is adding years to my life with every passing moment

his voice is a little different in these scenes too, a bit softer and less like he’s trying to impress someone, it’s nice

- hank: well I barely recognize any of these (completely made up) ‘ancient egyptian hieroglyphs’ but from what I can make out -- *proceeds to infodump a perfect coherent narrative* fjdhfak

listen this whole thing is such nonsense on so many levels, I’m just turning my brain off so I won’t have to think about it okay, the compulsion to put ancient aliens in egypt haunts us as a culture

- I am CACKLING about gambit in the snow after having to listen to these two chucklefucks ooze testosterone at each other for hours

he started out taking it in good cheer and is now reduced to ‘dieu would both of you just jump off this fUCKING mountain please’

- ah. a little oops-a-daisy there, we seem to have unleashed the apocalypse. please stand by (they really don’t pull their punches with the season cliffhangers in this show haha)

- opening the season on gambit’s merrily grinning face is the easiest way to gain my favour. yes good this season may commence

baby u r my

ANGELLLLLLLL

(he’s so cute here tho haha I think it shows the design isn’t unsalvagable, just get him better hair and stubble more like logan has and you’ve basically got it)

love his exasperated eyeroll when the dude gets spooked (by his eyes? or just the general weirdness?) too

he’s just trying to keep this crazy family of evil mutants together and unmurdered by one another until they’ve managed to avert the end of the world, bless him

- oh NO rogue’s LIP wobbles my hhhhhheart ;____; such a good animation detail to put in

- like... I know kurt is just a sad scared teenager with a lot of shit going on and all the adults are too busy averting the end of the world to help him... but buddy maybe don’t ask your sister to wake her abuser (who forced her to kickstart the end of the world!!!!!) when she feels utterly unsafe even with her statue version around huh

- ...wanda is good and I want only good things for her. and for her dad to be disemboweled for what he did to her both the first time around and when he forced her to forget I mean what

- magneto throwing an epic satelite-slinging tantrum b/c ‘no I am the biggest sexiest strongest mutant of the pack :(’... erik fucking get over yourself

- yes boys absolutely go along with a plan suggested by a dude who looks at you like this

nothing bad can come of this surely asdfkhsa

- lance’s quarter of a braincell always trying to go ‘hey wait, maybe... not do this???’ and it never helps lol

- in this episode: Logan Has A Bad Day

...some very specific bondage positions he’s held in here, I am sure this episode awakened something in someone once upon a time lol

- logan shielding x-23 with his body... im fine it’s okay I’m not crying don’t look at me

- afsdhlsdfjasdlk those sure are some ‘scottish’ accents flsadkjhkdsjahfsd

- scott relieved to finally be able to cede the position of ‘charles xavier’s least favourite son’ to someone else fjsaklfhsajd (poor scott it’s not your fault honey)

supremely cowardly to suggest there is an ex-wife involved rather than charles slutting his way around the british isles back in the day but okay

- kurt with a cold is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. it’s okay kid it’ll get better soon

- ...is there an implication here that professor x is naturally blond. because I am losing my entire little mind about it (i mean he at least has to carry the gene, as does this lady?)

ETA: upon doing some research into this I can indeed confirm that charles xavier does seem to be naturally blond, and after this knowledge I will never be the same

- “listen, dracula” fskdafghasd oh scott you sweet baby angel I love you

- I know jean’s abilities are a bit ‘as strong or as weak as the plot needs right now’ at this point (so you can have the setup for what’s going to happen with them eventually and she’s basically invincible ;____;), and normally I’m cool with it but god I want her to just squash lucas like a little bug

- ewwwww please don’t ever say ‘daddy’ like that again

- ...what the fuck is even going on this episode’s a mess

like okay the split personality thing could be something but the way it’s done... what just happened lol

- MY BOY EVAN IS BACK! with a real glowup too (...though kind of weird how he suddenly looks like a grown man)

- augh scott’s eyes are so pretty oh my god ;__________________________;

- that episode in the first season where evan makes the ‘this is my new family!!’ video is so sad now (also, again, his poor poor parents)

- time for: life affirming road trip with gambit (involuntary) faskljdfhaskjd

stunt therapist remy lebeau

- I mean the way he goes about it is batshit insane and it’s very much secondary to what he’s actually up to but this is the first time rogue’s sounded genuinely hopeful and confident and like herself in like a season <3

- he is disconcertingly pleased about her nearly throwing him off the train, and may I just say I agree it’s so nice to see rogue with her old fire back

- the first time I watched this it was of course dubbed into norwegian, so I had no idea either of these characters were southern lol (though to be fair I probably wouldn’t have had much context for what it meant exactly either, I was like ten at the time and not too interested in america) I seem to dimly remember the norwegian voice actor did a little more of a ‘french’-tinged accent for gambit all over tho haha

- you know what respect where it’s due, pyro dude knows to live his life for the lols and one has to admire his sociopathic dedication to it

interesting that he, too, seems to have fucking hated magneto -- I wonder if the implication here is that he kept all the acolytes in line with blackmail or by keeping something/one hostage? (except sabertooth maybe he’d just have to say ‘you get to fuck shit up and fight wolverine’ and that’d be enough)

- fsdakfhsd he’s so focused on her he doesn’t notice that guy about to hit him fkafhsa

- fuck everything else except whatever the hell these two’ve got going on

- it’s weirdly cathartic to have rogue have a conversation with someone who was not happily adopted as well, I don’t think kurt like. gets it because his parents loved him unconditionally and still do

birds of a feather motherfucker

- fun detail: when the x-men team are on the shore and logan is sniffing around scott is stepping in something and trying to wipe it off his boots in the background

- when he wakes up after passing out from the touch he’s smiling even though she’s standing over him looking like the rage of god outlined by the moon fsajfsa well the last time he passed out like that it was from a kiss, maybe he still has some hopes and dreams in that direction lol (also he recovers from the tumble down the hill first and is checking on her before accidentally brushing her cheek with his hand, which I thought was sweet)

and it was in that moment he knew he fucked up *passes out*

- ‘I can explain’ can u remy. can u

- did it ever even occur to you to just. ask her. to help you. I mean I know it didn’t but like rogue’s always one second away from throwing hands with some bully and is stupidly ride or die, if you’d given her the puppydog eyes she would have crumbled immediately (fair enough I guess this entire episode is telling us he’s not from a background where he has much experience with people just helping him without a price haha)

- his eyes glowing when he’s angry or upset or using a lot of his power is undeniably cool as all hell. I’m just saying it would be Big Sexy if they sort of flickered with light in moments of genuine vulnerability okay

- his coat... his coat is what makes the Silhouette tm and I could not be happier about it

- another parent of the year contestant enters the running lol “hey remy have you ever considered that you’re more of a walking bomb factory than a person? that’s certainly how I think of you hahaha c’mon kid let’s go”

- the running joke of jean luc getting dollar signs in his eyes seeing the other mutant powers and gambit being like ‘nO!!!!’ and pulling him along is amazing haha

- from the way he looks when he touches rogue accidentally and the way he talks to his dad I’m sort of getting the feeling this gambit might actually be a bit younger than he looks?

here too -- idk why but it’s making the ‘wait is he baby???’ alarms go off in my head haha. very early twenties at most.

- and we’ve officially seen him with all the face cards in the heart suit folks! (yes this is the sort of thing my brain notices no I don’t know either)

- poor logan running his ass off this whole episode in a panic and then she’s like ‘nah he’s fine (in several meanings of the word ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ) please put him down’ hfaskfsda

- rogue without makeup!!! her eyes look so naked like this haha <3

- oooh here’s a really interesting thing that tickles my brain a bit in this specific part of the scene where gambit frees his dad -- the part where he’s leaning against the door frame waiting for jean luc, who’s about to suggest using the opportunity to ruin the rival gang from the inside rather than slipping away while they still can

from his expression here he knows what’s about to happen, what jean luc is about to say, and it’s clearly a ‘man who thought he’d lost all hope loses last additional bit of hope he didn’t even know he still had’ sort of situation. he KNOWS what jean luc is like, and it still hurts that he really, honestly can’t give him even this, can’t appreciate that remy’s already done all this shit for him when he extremely didn’t have to, without immediately (no really, it took him less than ten seconds to go there? jesus) demanding more.

remy tells him “I’m just here for you” and jean luc does not understand it. remy seems to be sincere in this motivation -- rogue certainly thinks so, having experienced it second hand and found enough at least emotional merit in it to decide he was worth saving even after all his bullshit (lol a bit of a running theme maybe. I think it’s very telling that after she absorbed mystique she was like ‘what the FUCK you’re a fucking monster’, and after she absorbed gambit she went ‘you did the wrong thing for the right reasons’ after she got over the first wave of outrage)

there’s also what he says as he stands there: “You don’t need me for that”, with the distinct implication that jean luc would only keep him around because he has a use for him and for no other reason -- and then jean luc shamelessly doubles down on that by specifying that it’s not even him he’s got a use for as such, just his powers. that’s some kicking puppies level of deliberately missing the point, it’s almost impressive in how cheerfully mean it is haha

this idea of using people is really important in this episode because remy’s doing basically exactly the same thing to rogue to begin with; it doesn’t really matter to his plan that it’s her that’s with him through this, just what her powers are. (I think it’s p r e t t y solidly implied that he does actually like her a lot outside of that too and maybe there is some comfort in having her around for this, but mostly he’s behind a smokescreen of lies through the whole thing sooo I doubt he’s even aware of it, honestly)

but then it does matter that it’s her when she comes back for him, even after what he did. and unlike jean luc he understands what that means, that she did that for him, and that she didn’t have to. and instead of asking her for more, in return he gives her the thing it’s been established is what he considers the most valuable thing he has; his ‘last card’, the thing he’s credited with keeping him alive many a time, basically. it’s gone from using to mutuality, a tentative place of friendship, and at the end of the day he is a different man than his adoptive father, with a capacity for selflessness and love he lacks. which is of course some of the same stuff going on with rogue and mystique too, except rogue acted from a more fragile and unstable place and did something she regrets, or at least has a LOT of doubts about now, and she found some catharsis in helping someone make a different choice in a similar situation. man there’s some Stuff going on under the surface here haha

(by the way it’s a weirdly... meaningless yet intensely meaningful thing, the gifting of a symbol? of an idea? but he’s putting something very crucial of himself into her hands, is the subtext, and he expects her to understand, which she also does seem to do. at the beginning of the episode he’s proving that he’s seen something true about her -- “You’re such an unhappy girl”, knowing where she comes from, the way she’s mourning her lost confidence and autonomy with her abilities -- and here she’s proving she’s seen something true about him. :’) I wish this show had gone on long enough for this dynamic to progress, it’s really interesting and touching)

- gambit dragging himself up onto dry land seeing someone approaching (to help?!): :D

gambit seeing that it’s logan and the look on his face: D:

- rogue using her powers so confidently and fearlessly in this episode tho!!!!

- *me crying* and then her FAMBILY comes to take her home and he says he’s looking out for her too and kurt still loves her even though they’re having a conflict thing between them and she’s finally able to use her powers without so much fear again and --

- ...did I just watch some baby lesbian love at first sight shit right now???

- okay last two episodes let’s go

- HELL YEAH STORM (I love that she’s like ‘don’t give me a dumb order like that and I won’t have to disobey it’ too sdfjsaj) her voice has such command I’m usually very much not the ‘step on me’ type butttt

- y’know I feel like apocalypse’s main fault across all versions I’ve seen of him is that he’s like an immortal superpowered god king and he’s not even sexy. like at least make him hot if he’s going to be insufferable in every other way

- also callout post for apocalypse: one time he made gambit into the Horseman of Death... and didn’t even make him sexy!!! you were handed remy lebeau, supreme bi disaster slut of the x men universe, and you couldn’t even make his brainwashed superpowered evil side hot?? a beautiful stubbled twunk with glowing red eyes and extremely charming :> face practically delivers himself into your hands and you do that to him???? I mean I’m sure apocalypse did some other bad stuff too but that was the worst one

(comics are so dumb y’all)

- having to watch jean cry is emotional terrorism!! ;___; she has such older sister/mom energy, whenever she gets sad and helpless it hurts

- oh, OH so PROFESSOR X you’ll make into a hunk and ~*strategically*~ rip his clothes to show off a nipple and a flawless pec in a way that makes me extremely uncomfortable because he’s like The Dad??? apocalypse you are rotten to the core this is unforgivable

- so wait wanda never actually gets her real memories back. what the FuCk I hope that was a dropped storyline because they ended the show tragically prematurely rather than like. the plan

- why is spyke calling storm ‘storm’ show that’s his auntie o!! >:(

- as a society we need to acknowledge that apocalypse looks like a fucking clown

- ooooh yeah I have been thinking that this show’s greatest visual weakness so far has been not having a visual way to show telepathy/battles of the minds, but this is a pretty cool way to do it! better late than never

- I’m so happy rogue gets to end this herself, since she was forced into starting it against her will, it’s just nice and neat storytelling

- YEAH FUCKING TELL HER KURT AND ROGUE I AM SO PROUD OF YOU and she has the temerity to look pissed off oh my god

the only valid thing mystique has done in her entire life is be in love with destiny. literally everything else she gets up to is a travesty. like I know objectively she’s hot but my loathing for her stops me from even appreciating it. I do enjoy loathing her tho so please don’t change her haha

(a bit odd to have kurt’s attitude to her swing so much but I’m just going to assume he and rogue had a good long conversation after ‘cajun spice’ and that he understands what’s going on better now)

- this last part is such a cruel tease faskdfhsdaj ‘here are all the cool-ass things we had planned. sucks you never get to see it huh’ im devastated

- magneto without his helmet and playing charmingly with children like charles is going ‘well at least I saved my marriage finally’ fsadkhfjsd (honestly tho I would be super interested in seeing how they’d redeem this magneto because he’s been a real bitch the whole time lol)

there’s an interesting thing here where magneto looks down at wanda as the last thing he does on screen before this epilogue part (yeah I hope it fucking haunts you forever what you did to her erik you absolute piece of hot garbage) and the last thing charles does is look at jean b/c he knows what’s going to happen to her and it breaks his heart... Dramatic Parallells

- just the hint of jean as the phoenix has me in full D:D:D: mode tho maybe I wouldn’t have survived it

- gambit in the last groupshot with his arm around rogue ;^) I mean I’m sure they’re headed for some turns and roundabouts along the way but what’s that thing she says as her wedding vow, that she’ll always find her way back? anyway that got me in my heart

- man I really wish this show had been given more seasons, we were barely even getting warmed up here :’(

#x men evolution #x men #gambit #rogue x gambit #aaah this is like therapy for me... just dumping all my emotions into a tumblr post and then let them go into the ether #I am now wondering if I'm desperate enough to go all the way back to the x-men animated series (which I've never seen before!)#like am I willing to go there for more Contente. time will tell I suppose #happy tag #...this is very long #MAN why can't I channel this dumbass energy into fiction writing I'd get so much DONE

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ficsnroses · 4 years

Text

Skin to Skin - John Wick x Reader

summary : coming home after a rough night, all John wants to do, is hold you close, with no barriers between; skin to skin.

warnings : so much fluff omg. nudity, sex talk. x f! reader.

words : 2.5k

Notes : guess who’s 84 years late to @toomanystoriessolittletime ‘s birthday challenge? :) prompt is the song Yellow by Coldplay. I tried to add only small hues of the song in to keep the story as original as possible. song lyrics are >bolded<. please leave a comment, anon or not if you enjoy! it means so so much and helps me write.

Steph, I freaking adore you my wonderful amazing german friend. you deserve to be celebrated regardless of a birthday or not xox. hope ya like it!

‘Tell me the story about how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night, to let her breathe.’

The moon sat heavy that night; bold, grey, silvers spilling into your eyes that searched, hoped, prayed he was alright. It sat in the inky blackness of the night; painted as the hallow inside your heart.

John hadn’t come home yet, hadn’t so much as called you to tell you he’d be in later than usual.

The cloudiness is killing you, suffocating you; the unknowing is killing you. John’s profession proves cold, stoic, chilling graves and pungent fingers. On his hands, lays the sin he’d never consented to; the daggers he sends are ones he’d never wished to carve.

Your John, pleads, begs, reveries of a life far away from the murk. Far away from the dark clouds that cave around your happily ever after, the grim that taints each semblance of normalcy he desperately craves.

There’s something special about the moon, a vulnerability the sun doesn’t know.

The moon sees everyone at night, at most vulnerable. The moon is often the last thing we cease to; something everyone, every single one, of us, can see. No matter where, no matter how.

If John isn’t home, resting his weary bones beside you; he’s out there.

Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere…

Looking at the moon, too.

You fear that someday, some day sooner than you’d ever dream, John won’t bid goodnight to the moon. You fear that someday, somewhere, he’ll be consumed by the same inky blackness; that someday, your John, won’t come back to you. Potent, haunting thoughts chill your every bone tonight;

but you’d only told the moon.

The crisp of your soft sigh is deep, dragged. It hosts unease; withers within your throat, staring out to the big, mean ol’ moon. In a sea of silky sheets, you sit undone, awaiting the return of your love. Somehow, someway, he’d always make it back to you.

You whisper to the stars that it’ll stay true, that soon, he’d succumb to your waiting arms, lose himself in your embrace the same way,

the moon melts into the sun, each and every morning.

Your thoughts interrupt, a perk of ears hosted by the singed creak of the crème bedroom door open, you’d almost forgot what true, utter, gratitude feels as, before the wash of relief of this moment.

Relief comes in tides, in wavelengths that crash over the uneased shores of your thoughts. In this moment, the sea sinks back to where it belongs, the waves calm, and the moonlight reflects off the inky blackness in vibrant, tranquil, stillness.

Stood in the tall frame of the bedroom door, your John, positions in dreary boned stance; the pitch black suit he wears accents the grim to his features, the most telling of the day’s worries play out on his sunken expression, weary orbs that drown into yours, silently pleading. A glimmer of a smile graces his face, yet it holds nothing but the icy unease, the fatigue that courses through his veins.

Your John, looks exhausted. Everything from the strong, sharp cut of his jaw, to the thin fullness of his lips and the gentle limp in his composure. It all writes as a sheer agony, his limited portrayal letting you know that tonight, would write itself out as one of those nights.

Something ripples in his eyes; something sad, something craving an ounce of sweet, at last. “John, baby?” A quiet croak as you frown, forcing your rasped vocal chords to inquire. Peeling the silken bed sheets off your worrisome frame as you crawl his way to the foot of the bed, John sighs a heavy exhale, crisp suit jacket discarded to the vacant love chair to the corner of your shared bedroom.

In this bedroom, John and you have shared the sweetest of remembrances. Soft, quiet giggles in the dark, gentle, loving touches in the midnight gleam. Within these very walls, you’ve whispered confessions of love a thousand times, never enough.

Some nights, peace triumphs, quiet kisses and tender holds are all the gray walls know.

Some nights, however, it feels as if the nightmares that follow John, claw into your skin. Some nights, escaping the dark becomes tough; and all you can do,

is hold him.

Remind him what it means, what it feels to be human.

You weren’t sure what tonight would play out as. All you know, is hold him you will; kiss his each bruise you will.

Love him, you will.

His laboured sigh is dense, heavy, and his eyes fall downcast when your arms find him, walked up to his towering frame. Your gentle hand rests to his cheek, and you breathe in slow, calm whispers. Much to your gratitude, few fresh cuts litter his face, but the wounds that pierce deeper, are the ones inside.

You don’t know what happen today, what had hurt him more than usual.

And you won’t ask.

You know, you understand. That some wounds never heal, and some scares only burn, the more toil they see.

“Can we…” His tone is gravelly, thick with need. As your hand plants to his chests, and the other says situated to his cheek, you gently coax the skin under his eye with your thumb, soothing. Arms wrapped around your waist, the cold chill of his hand that rests to your hips sinks into your heart seams.

Whoever, whatever did this to your John, you’d wish a thousand moonless nights upon.

A thousand curses fly with the wind their way.

“Can we lay?” John jadedly asks, honey brown eyes soaking into your soul, and you swallow a lump that makes camp in your throat. You nod gentle, a warm smile his way; something that nurtures, soothes his broken soul.

“Of course.” Kissing light to his jaw, you begin to slowly work on the worn out clothes that embroider his skin. The shock of your soulful touch elicits a soft, content sigh off his lips, his own hands never leaving the delicate curves of your body.

Often, on tiresome nights, and days where he needed to feel something; the only antidote that would suffice, would remedy the hallow that carves home inside each crevice of his soul was, laying with you.

With no barriers, no limits. Skin to skin,

sulking within the safe corridors of the arms of the women who owns his entire soul. Safe, within the touch of you; the only other that knows of all the pain that subsists within him.

Perhaps, just as the silver moon; John has a side that isn’t shown to others. He has a dark, guarded side, that no one, no one other than you knows.

And perhaps that is why he feels so deep, longs to be so thoroughly, intimately connected to you. Because you are the only one who really knows him, loves him despite it all.

Gently peeling off his pearly white dress shirt, the buttons come undone within the reach of your fingertips, the skin underneath revealing scars, old and new peppering his skin. The scent of his musky cologne, barely radiating off his skin kisses your nose, and you delicately discard the seams of the fabric off his body. John only stands, watches you undress his body, watches you drink in everything that is him. Gently, you kiss a freshly littered, deep purple bruise that paints to his chest, lips pressed against the skin for a moment longer. Slow, and soft, your hands begin to undo the heavy buckle of his belt, unravelling each inch of him as a beautiful gift.

Which he was; your John, was a gift. Something you’d thank the sky for each day.

As you work his bottoms, John’s hefty hands begin to unstitch across your top, fingers travelling up the hem of your shirt before removing it from your body. His eyes savour your skin, goosebumps layering each inch of your being when he moves closer, slower, deeper, gently reaching behind to unhook the clasps of your bra that shield your modesty from him. Upon removal, John sighs, seeing the beauty that makes home within you. The silk of your satin skin, the swell of your perfectly beautiful breasts; the exquisiteness of what was his.

As you finish removal of his belt, your delicate fingers peel his slacks and boxers off his skin. Smiling slight when his bare, broad and handsomely dark figure stands with you, your eyes brush over his glorious, exposed manhood, hiding underneath a beautifully dark bush of hair; butterflies sparking within your mid, reminiscing on the way his weight, his throb feels inside your aching walls; the way your body yearns for him even after you finish.

and you take his bulkier hand in yours, guiding his bones to the safe haven of your shared bed. Silky sheets prove inviting, comfort of cotton pillows and endless security lure a much somnolent John their way.

Tightening a soft squeeze to your lover’s hand, your eyes connect to his, certain, assuring. Gently guiding him to lay on the mattress, you whisper a quiet ‘relax, baby’ into his ear, watching the way his bare form climbs into the sheets, heavily exhaling as he pulls the covers up.

To your frame, his inquisitive eyes glaze over each inch, intently watching at the way you softly, unhurriedly peel off your own bottoms and lacy underwear, showcasing to him the vulnerable, delicately intimate sight of your unadorned body and naked breasts, before unravelling the sheets beside him, and climbing in.

John’s arms habitually open for you, the brush of his callous skin against yours as he draws your figure proximately close makes your head swim and your lips part, gently kissing a fresher, deeper mauve bruise into the soft skin under his neck.

Only this bruise, is composed out of nothing but pure, unconditional, love.

As your arms loom around his neck, his lips embed a small, loving kiss to your forehead, sighing against the skin. He’s big, beautiful, and warm. His hold is the warmest, purest form of,

yellow.

“You’re tense, baby.” A hand cupped to his cheek, your soft padded fingers barely scratch his beard, voice quiet, guarded above a whisper. Sighing deeply, John’s chest heaves a deep inhale, against yours. With a timid, gentle nod of acknowledgement, John only shakes his head, wanting nothing more than to just bask. Bask, with you.

“Baby, you’re so stiff.” You offer an index to his chin, lifting his eyes to lock with yours. Slow and soft, your spare hand travels to the space between your intertwined bodies, to his manhood, wrapping your hand delicately around the girth of his cock. With a few tender, measly, gentle strokes to his shaft, you whisper. “Do you want me to…?” You propose, more than willing to shower him with relief; to allow him to completely relax if he needed it. John sighs to the feel of your hand on his cock, caressing.

“Fuck…” He exhales, eyes closing as his arms tighten around you. “Feels amazing.” He confesses, yet interjects with a draw of your body closer. “But it’s alright, sweetheart. Later.” Breathe hot against your neck, he rests within you. “I just want to hold you right now.” With his head falling lower, he buries his face into the safe dip of your breasts, kissing a soft peck into the delicate skin. “You’re all I need.” He barely whispers, breathing in the saccharine scent of your skin. Raking soft tugs into his chocolate mane, you nod, holding him closer, tighter, feeling his skin, warm and proximate on yours. John relishes for a moment, before his gaze moves up to look at you, and he sighs. He sighs deep, and his head moves back up, lips offering a soft peck to yours, before his eyes gaze into yours.

For you I’d bleed myself dry, for you I’d bleed myself,

dry.

Staring into your warm eyes is a remedy of its own; a symphony of its own. He thinks, that truly, if the moon loves him, do the thousands of stars, speckled in the dark even matter? If the moon loves him,

if the moon

loves him.

His moon; loves him. His moon, loves him so much, that her eyes well up with tears, knowing he’s safe, within her arms.

Your fingers bury in his hair, reaching softly in to trail your fingers over the rough skin of his neck, stopping at his defined adam’s apple. Leaning closer, you allow your fingers to trail up his stubble ridden chin, before settling on his parted lights. Known, you feel him kiss to your delicate finger tip, his eyes habitually closing, sighing when your legs tighten, tangled to his, and your hold on him firms. Lazily, you draw circles to his chest, smiling, breathing with his heartbeat completely synced with yours. He looks beautiful, like this. Exposed, bare, vulnerable; yet completely safe, willing to be seen.

And you think, you wonder. You know; that all the pretty, golden stars, they shine for him.

This, was true intimacy. Moments such as this, where sex wasn’t needed, chases of orgasm nothing close to what truly mattered. All that triumphed, all that was dire need, was the feel of his skin on yours, and yours on his. The reminder that you are real, as is he.

It’s true, look how they shine for,

you.

His feelings are real, what he’s been through is real.

But, only, solely as real, as the feel of his skin on yours. The feel of the love that also runs in his veins; the feeling of life you bring him when your bodies collide, when your warmth envelopes him.

John’s hand brushes to your hip, just above the delicate swell of your bosom, and you know what he wants. Knowingly, you lean in close, one last time, to allow a soft, love soaked kiss to his pink lips, and a gentler, easier one to his stubble ridden cheek, before you turn in his embrace, your back pressed to his chest.

And as always, as true to a hundred times before, John’s arms tighten around you further, pulling your body in as close as could be, before nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, where he’d speckle a few kisses, sighing. And there he rests, with his face buried between your skin, and your hands holding his that rest to your mid, soft legs tangling with his tired, worn out ones. In complete, simple silence, you both relish in the tune of each other’s silent breaths, skin to skin, relishing in the symphony of your love.

The world ceases to exist in moments like this, the inky blackness doesn’t matter. All that matters, is you and him, and your combined energy, strong as a supernova.

And perhaps, you should crumble for better reasons.

But could reason compare

to this man you call yours? He brings the light of a hundred suns to their knees, the black of a million nights turns yellow.

And for him, you’ll crumble a billion times.

You’ll paint each ounce of him yellow.

because you think- you know,

you love him

more than the moon, and all it’s shining stars.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick imagine #john wick x you

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bauslut · 4 years

Text

highway 1

pairing: spencer reid x reader

word count: 406

warnings: mentions of serial killers, mentions of arsonists, other than that just some fluff

a/n: hiii! so this was a request from the lovely @idiotonanadventure ! this is my second time writing for reid, so i apologize if his characterization isn’t quite down yet. (i haven’t watched cm in a few days so i’m a lil’ rusty) but i hope you guys enjoy! there are still prompts on the list available! i hope you guys enjoy :))

prompt: “i’ve driven down the highway 1 just hopin' that i'd see you soon.”

streetlamps blurred as the car sailed down the stretch of interstate, headlights cutting through the night. streams of cool air billowed into the front half of the vehicle, in attempts to keep the driver awake.

the driver’s brow was furrowed, concentration plastered across his features as he gripped the wheel. the digital numbers flashed 4:31 a.m., the navy blanket stretching across the sky transitioning to a shade of tangerine as the sun crept onto the horizon, promising of dawn within the hour.

prominent rings painted underneath his eyes, a reflection of little to no sleep. as much as his bones ached to rest, his mind desperate for a wink, he couldn’t rest.

not yet.

not until he was home.

of course, this was a metaphorical home to the doctor. a natural introvert due to his enhanced intelligence, he often floated from home to home, bouncing from apartment to apartment, keeping his personal life under wraps.

after all, when you’re an agent for the behavioral analysis unit, building a life outside of the field was strenuous and stress-inducing. with long hours, time spent away, as well as the sheer trauma that followed cases, there wasn’t much room for a normal life.

but god, did doctor spencer reid find some normalcy when it came to one singular individual.

and that individual was you.

god, you were home to him. you were his four walls, keeping him grounded. you were the light in his life, always shining so bright. you were his safe haven, a refuge away from the terrors and horrors that haunted his mind.

your smile was enough to have his knees buckling, his heart all aflutter. and your laugh? oh, it was pure music to his ears, melodic and oh so sweet. a single embrace was enough to leave him all warm and fuzzy inside for days, relishing in the bliss.

everything about spencer reid’s life was ever-changing. there was always a new case, a new mind of some deranged killer or arsonist to dive into, always a new location to fly out to. with the constant change came instability, and as much as spencer reid adapted, he craved stability at times. an eye in the hurricane.

and you were that stability for spencer, bringing him such joy and peace.

spencer reid loved you, more than you could possibly imagine.

and god, he couldn’t wait to make it home to you, driving down that highway one.

#reid #spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader

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bellesque · 4 years

Text

Sweet Dreams (Loki x Reader) Chapter 5: Smell

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 // Read on AO3.

Spotify playlist here.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.4K woooo

Warning/Tags: Incubus Loki, Sex Pollen (sort of—surprise!!!), Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Bondage/Rope Bunny, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Edging/Orgasm Delay, slight Exhibitionist Kink, lil sprinklings of Cock Worship and Cum Facials, it’s filthy don’t tell me we’re surprised

A/N: This took a completely different direction than what I was planning during the early stages. Like it’s not even that centered around smell anymore but we’re gonna roll with it okay

Tag List: @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @lukeyirwy @toozmanykids (Tag List is currently open! If you’d like to be a part of it, let me know!)

THE SILK TIES aren’t by your pillow or above your head where you expect them to be. Just like the previous night, they’re folded on your nightstand when you wake up.

It’s still too early for your brain to process how exactly they ended up there, so instead of falling into the rabbit hole of hypothesizing just what kind of magic Loki has, you swing your body over the side of the bed and make for the bathroom. Not even two steps forward, your muscles ache with the evidence that you finally got what you hoped for—or at least, something close to it. You haven’t exactly been fucked yet.

But ah, the sweet soreness. The greatest tangible reminder of a mind-blowing night. Last night. Touch.

Loki’s touch.

As you get into the shower, you replay the events of last night. Each drop of water that slides down your body is a reminder of the cold, melted ice cube that swirled around your breasts. Even the sigh that echoes in the bathroom is a reminder of your breathy pleas.

Your folds begin to slicken, and it’s not from the water.

You’re tempted to stay in this morning. Take a warm shower only to burrow back under the covers. It’s not that you’re tired—work on Fridays is always a little more relaxed, and everyone’s allowed to come in anytime as long as it’s before noon. You’ve sometimes taken advantage of that but you much prefer it if they let you out early.

Still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go back to bed.

What are the odds Loki would make an appearance?

You’ll lose momentum, the rational part of you counters. There’s a manuscript that’s sitting on your desk, desperate to be chucked into the “Done” pile. You just have two more chapters to go.

It’s just two chapters, the more physical part of you rebuts in turn. You can finish it in the afternoon, no sweat. Today, this morning, right now, the more important thing is Loki.

The smarter part of you flares up again, with a very good question armed and ready: but what if he doesn’t come?

You remember the time you slept like a baby through the night, wearing fucking lingerie for Loki, only for him to revisit you a week later. You’ve gotten stood up before, but even in your dreams? It’s embarrassing if it happens to you a second time.

You’re on autopilot, however, when you clamber back into bed and pull the duvet up to your chin. Thoughts of Loki and all his wicked words and ways fill every crevice of your mind. Emotions coupled with arousal crash over you, and with a shaky exhale your hand travels down between your legs.

The steady rhythm of your fingers, however, do not send you into orgasm—you drift back into sleep.

“Kitten?”

Your eyes snap open. In the hazy morning light that peeks through your curtains, you find Loki sitting cross-legged on the ottoman by the door.

Loki… here? Are you dreaming, or—wait, that wouldn’t—

Your brain hurts.

It’s so strange, seeing him here like this. Not cloaked in darkness, not illuminated by the moonlight—he’s an unfamiliar presence, almost otherworldly. A jarring image that sticks out from the normalcy and utter mundaneness of your room.

He cocks his head, lip curling in amusement as he regards you with wandering eyes. Uncrossing his long legs and leaving them spread open, he leans against the wall lazily.

“My, my, sweet. This is a pleasant surprise. A summons, at this hour.”

With a wave of his hand, the duvet falls away from you. Your heart leaps into your throat when you realize your hand is still buried between your legs. Loki’s eyebrows raise, the shock on his face equally as clear as his delight.

“A very pleasant surprise indeed.”

You’ve already pulled your hand away, but the mortification lingers in your system. Not for long though. The weight of the reality of Loki’s presence sinks in and your heart rate slows to normal.

“Summons?” You yawn, sitting upright to see him better. His pronounced features are more defined, crisper and clearer. He’s even more stunning like this. Breathtaking.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

The simplicity of his statement jolts you awake. Or at least, as fully awake as you can be in this state.

He is here. At a time that isn’t in the wee, ungodly hours of the night. There’s fucking light outside, and even though he never said there were rules as to when he’d appear, you half expect him to spontaneously combust.

“I’d ask if I’m dreaming, but I don’t think the answer would be very helpful,” you mumble.

Loki lets out an amused huff, his green eyes twinkling at you. There’s something that looks eerily close to fondness in those eyes. A quiet undercurrent that you’re in no mood to analyze right now.

Yeah, the more time that passes with him in the room—dominant, unimposing, sexy—just makes you horny.

You’re not sure what takes over you when you slide off the bed, placing one foot in front of the other until you’re standing in front of Loki in your rather sheer nighttime ensemble. If you have him here, now, in the light of day, you want to burn this image before you into your brain. Commit every slope of his face, every fleck in his eyes, each line in his lips to memory.

“You’re a smart woman,” Loki tells you, one hand extending out to stroke your forearm. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Hmm.” You plant your knees on either side of him and sink your ass onto his lap. “Maybe later.”

The hand that was around your forearm slithers to cup your ass, closing the distance between you. His cock strains against his black pants and impulsively your eyes flick downwards to where your crotches meet.

You realize you haven’t seen it. Not yet, at least. You’ve felt how big he is, how strong and unyielding of a force of its own it is. How must it look? Feel against your naked skin, in your hand that’s tiny in comparison? How must it taste?

Oh. Oh, shit, just the idea of it makes your mouth water. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, swirling and sucking and hollowing your cheeks until he cums.

Fuck, his fucking cum.

While your gaze has been lingering on his erection for definitely more than a few good seconds, Loki’s hands are rubbing the sides of your ass in hypnotic circles. “What’s going on in that dirty little mind of yours, sweet?”

Cock cock cock cock cock. That’s what’s going on in your mind.

“I want to see you,” you say instead, pressing your cunt against his erection. “Please, Loki, l—”

“Now where did this confidence come from?” Loki’s tone shifts, his expression hardening along with something else. As if it were even possible. “You are a cock slut. My little cock slut. Do you want me to take you right now? Right here?” His strong forearm hooks behind your waist, knocking the air out of you and sending a shudder down your spine. “I am a patient man, and I had hoped you would be patient as well.”

Arousal, thick and hot, simmers in your belly. There’s something about now that makes you think this is more a game than anything else. One that you’re definitely willing to play.

“Please, it’s been so long.” Your voice comes out like a plea. An impertinent whine. “Please—just fuck me already.”

Loki exhales hard, tightening his grip around you, his pants practically about to burst at the seams. He stares into your eyes, tongue tracing the tips of his teeth before he brings your face close to his and hisses one harsh yet titillating word: “No.”

He holds you. Just like that, your bodies meshed together, separated by clothes, your breaths mingling as you hover millimeters away from him. You could kiss him. Rake your hands in his hair. He could slide his hands over your ass over and over. But Loki doesn’t do anything, which somehow—some-fucking-how—makes you want to be petulant.

With your eyes locked in a challenging gaze, you begin to rotate your hips on his twitching cock.

You watch his eyes widen minutely, pupils dilating, and the muscle in his jaw jumps. A small sense of victory sparks in you at his reaction, but you can’t relish the satisfaction because Loki’s lifting you off his lap, turning you around lightning fast as if you weigh nothing, so you’re straddling him with your butt to his crotch.

Maybe, you think as your breathing hitches when you realize you’re fucking naked, maybe this is your victory. This is what you wanted all along.

Loki snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you to his strong chest with an audible thump. His breathing comes heavy and labored by your ear while his hand claws at your breast. “When I say no,” he growls, pinching and rolling your nipple over and over, your juices beginning to leak onto his pants, “it means no. You cannot out-seduce me. Not yet.”

His hand glides down your abdomen until one finger swipes against your slit. Fuck, it makes you dizzy. You spread your knees wider, your neck falling back against his shoulder, as you flatten yourself so his fingers can reach inside you.

“Look at you. At this. You’re so fucking wet.” He shoves the pad of his finger against your clit roughly, and you nearly arch away from him at the sudden stimulation. But Loki has you in a hold of steel, unable to move even an inch away from him.

It vaguely registers that this is the first time you’ve heard him curse. Fuck, you think with a fresh rush of arousal, you want him to curse again.

“To the floor,” Loki commands, emphasizing his words with a firm push forward.

“What?”

“I’m sure you heard me the first time, sweet. To the floor.”

Loki holds your thighs as you bend forward, until your arms are braced against the soft gray rug. The upper half of your body hangs off Loki’s legs and slopes towards the floor, where your spine curves gently as your face and chest press into the rug. The thread tickles your breasts and goosebumps prick up on the skin surrounding it, spidering out and making you shiver. This is so new, so erotic in its novelty, that you don’t think it can get better.

But it does. Loki shifts your bottom higher, and your clit pulses painfully against his hard length. He brings your knees further apart, spreading you, until there’s a whisper of cool air against your blistering heat.

“Do you think you can tell me what to do?” He roughly grabs the meat of your ass, molding it against his hand and letting it bounce when he takes his hand way. “Tell me when to fuck you?”

You know it’s coming before it even happens. It’s like you’re in sync, in a spontaneous dance you both know the next steps to.

A loud and sharp smack fills the room, the familiar vibrations in this new angle causing you to contort your face as you hold back your moan. Loki can see your ass and your sopping cunt from where he sits, all on perfect display for his enjoyment. He deals another blow to your other ass cheek and then rubs his hand over the mounds of flesh with barely restrained strength.

“I decide.” He traces the swollen lips of your cunt, and you begin to writhe and whimper as he teases you ever so agonizingly with the tip of his finger. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, only to sharply mewl when Loki punctuates your response with another slap.

“Good. So you can scream, whine, beg me all you want, but you will take what I give you, when I give it to you. Let me make that crystal clear, sweet.”

Oh, it is. You really want to grind down on him—up, whatever direction—the logistics don’t matter as long as your cunt connects to his cock. He spreads your cheeks away and then towards your back, digging his fingernails into your soft flesh before he releases and smacks your bottom again, your toes curling.

“You will follow my orders when I give them, and you will not disobey me.”

There’s a polarizing debate that’s happening between your mind and your cunt right now: you’ve been pretty submissive up to now, and an obedient one at that. Maybe it’s because Loki’s here at a time that isn’t usual that makes you think that the rules don’t apply—or at least, there’s some leeway—but you want to deviate. Just a little. Just to see how far he’ll go.

Fuck, how horny are you?

Your dilemma of whether to grind or not is taken away from you, which, in the foggy depths of your mind you’re not sure if that’s a relief or a disappointment.

But Loki plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you without warning, leaving you with no coherent thoughts and a simple, broken, “Fuck!”

He curls his fingers around your warmth, hooking around to hit your G-spot as he pumps in a sinful rhythm that’s got you moaning his name into the rug. The friction on your breasts makes you wetter and you present your ass to him like a humble offering.

“This glorious pussy,” Loki mutters, hips flexing to grind into your clit for a torturous split second. He pumps faster and deeper, the sounds of your sex obscenely filling the room. Your fingers claw at the rug as your hips stutter skyward, trying to meet the rhythm of his fingers thrust for thrust.

“And my little cock slut.”

“Fuck, Loki, please—”

He slaps your ass crudely, fingers still wrecking you from the inside out, and you cry out in a muffled whine. Sweet mercy, that felt fucking good.

“No.”

He somehow manages to go even deeper at this angle, hitting spots you didn’t even know were there let alone would make you cry and beg hoarsely, all the while brushing against your clit with the base of his fingers. It’s like pure magic and sex and lust and before you know it, you’re climbing into orgasm.

Loki pulls his fingers out of you with a growl, grabbing your hips and pulling your torso back up and against him. The abrupt shift has you stuttering forward, nearly losing balance, but Loki holds you securely.

With a searing kiss to the side of your neck, he spreads his knees so you spread even further, your ankles automatically anchoring around his hips. He pushes your pelvis out, shoves his hand back between your legs from behind you, and gives you a single order in your ear that melts you.

“Ride.”

Sinking onto his fingers, you do as you’re told, a sigh expelled from your lungs. You gyrate your hips, clenching your floor muscles, all the while trying not to moan and beg and curse all at the same time. Loki lets you do most, if not all of the work. A steady rhythm builds inside you, and then he takes you by surprise and brings a hand to the front of your mound, slipping inside the soft flesh and making contact with the nerves under the hood of your clit.

“Loki!” you rasp when his hands work in tandem. The hand in front of you works on your clit in steady, controlled circles and the one behind you strokes right into your G-spot. It’s a simmering pot of heat and pleasure, your body warming up as it prepares for orgasm.

“Faster,” he commands, curling both his fingers around your weeping cunt. Your eyes roll back and you reach behind to grip his hair.

Your mouth falls open as you increase your tempo, your legs beginning to falter and shake. Loki’s practically holding you up, the forearm behind you now slick with your juices from your rigorous riding. He plants an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your shoulder, a sharp little nip to the skin, and he’s upping his pace while you bounce on top of him.

“L—Loki,” you pant, eyes lidded and vision hazy while the sensations burn white hot and seem to expand inside you, “Loki, I—”

“Cum,” he coaxes, sucking on your skin. “Do it for me.”

Your thighs shake with the tide of orgasm, and soon you’re quivering and babbling as your walls clench around Loki’s fingers, your cum seeping down and onto the crotch of his pants. Loki pulls you through your pleasure with dirty nothings and a slowed pace. You ride out your high lazily, sated and sweaty and out of breath. Your knees hurt from being bent for so long; you’re so tired you don’t think you can move. He places your feet flat on the ground and you remove your vicelike grip from his hair, limbs shaking like a leaf.

You didn’t expect a quickie like this, if you could even call it that. You fall limp on his lap, shifting so you’re more comfortable, and Loki tips your chin towards him and kisses you hungrily while your walls flutter post-release. His tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, his hands skimming over the sides of your hips.

You can feel your cum still on his fingers, which he paints your skin with, and arousal surges through like a bullet.

“You are amazing.”

The compliment catches you entirely off-guard. It’s as if he wasn’t just playing your body like an instrument in a filthy concert hall. Still, warmth floods your chest and you sleepily look up at him.

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but I’m sure you know you’re fucking phenomenal.”

Loki’s chest shakes with laughter, and then without another word he’s hooking an arm under your knee, the other around your back, and he carries you back to bed.

“Glorious woman.” He pauses when he pulls the duvet over your still naked body. “Might have to do something about that, however.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, kitten. Just go to sleep.”

You notice the succinct kiss he presses to your hairline before your consciousness slips completely from you.

You’re an idiot.

It’s not that you mind that you were late for work. Other than a clipped, “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” from your boss, work was fine. You finished everything you were supposed to, which was a feat considering you came and left for work horny and thinking of Loki.

But still, you’re an idiot.

Not because your mind was elsewhere than at the office. Having Loki in your room during the day was an opportunity to really look at him. Memorize him. Something tells you that you’re not going to have an opportunity like that again, and you wasted it.

Well, not really. But this morning went in a completely different direction than what you initially planned.

You should have just sat in bed staring at him. Admired his beauty from afar. But somehow, you just gravitated towards him like it was instinct pulling you to.

Damn it, you just wanted to see him up close.

Still, this morning was incredibly hot—so you’re not beating yourself up over it too much.

You’ll see him again tonight. And if you don’t, well, he did say you summoned him. Even without you knowing. Maybe you could do it again.

Your mind churns with questions and thoughts as your hands fiddle with the silk ties he left. When you agreed to this, you didn’t think you would be obsessing over it the way you are now. You thought it’d be mindless sex, not something you’d be thinking about every waking moment now. How does it work? Summons? Who is he? Will you ever see him in the light of day?

You don’t mean to fall asleep on the couch with the TV in the background, but you do.

Something tickles your ankles.

You jerk your foot in an attempt to swat it away. Maybe it’s a fly.

Or not. The sensation returns, and while you try to ignore it your mind is already beginning to wake up.

You don’t expect to see Loki on the far side of your couch, your legs sprawled over his lap, his hands tracing delicate, arbitrary patterns over the bone of your ankle and eyes glued to the TV that’s still on.

“Late night television is awful. I pity the humans who are awake at this hour and have no good viewing selections.” He swivels his head to face you, an amused expression donning his features. “Why are you sleeping here, pet?”

You sit up and attempt to pull your legs closer to you, only Loki’s grip tells you that you shouldn’t. His lips curve in a gentle smile and you recall why you fell asleep here in the first place. Even illuminated by the unflattering light of your TV, Loki is beautiful. Without a doubt, he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

“Just fell asleep without meaning to.” You stretch your arms above your head, top riding up and exposing your skin. You note the way Loki’s eyes travel from yours down to your navel, and heat bubbles in your core.

“It’s not very comfortable here,” he murmurs, setting your feet on the floor so he can climb on top of you with ease. “Or are you developing a taste for uncomfortable positions?”

His lips latch onto your neck while the memory of you this morning, ass up and face down, flashes behind your eyelids. The heat that started in your core rockets down into your cunt.

Loki sucks a bruising kiss into your skin, and he pulls away to admire the way your skin flushes red. “Come, sweet. Your bed is far more comfortable than this lumpy thing.”

You follow him into the bedroom, him strutting in front of you as if it’s just as much his place as it is yours. He stops in the middle, whirling round to face you with an expectant eyebrow quirked.

“I took the liberty,” he says, a note of pride in his tone.

Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Of?”

“Replacing that terrible excuse for a bouquet with something more tasteful.”

Your eyes dart to the corner where you had put the flowers Jacob gave you and sure enough, the vase and its contents are gone. Granted, they were singed and charred and really mostly dying, but part of you feels bad and maybe even a little guilty. It ebbs away somewhat, however, when you can see that Loki’s put something so downright beautiful in its place.

There’s a single flower in a glass that looks like it came straight out of Beauty and the Beast. It glimmers in the pale moonlight, and maybe you’re tired, but you swear it looks like it’s pulsing.

You’ve never seen a flower with so many hues and shades, or one that looks like it’s glittering, like this one.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, bending forward to marvel over it up close. Your hand makes to lift the cover, but Loki stops you.

“I’m glad you like it, sweet, but I don’t think you should open that. Not yet, at least.”

“Why?” you immediately ask, head snapping up to meet his eyes.

He gives you a secretive, sly smirk. “I don’t think you’re ready for it yet. Now. Get on the bed, sweet.”

Shooting one last lingering look to the flower, you do as you’re told. Once you lie down, legs splayed open wide, Loki’s gaze settles thoughtfully on your nightstand. “I’m quite sure I left something right here, pet.”

“I think it’s on the couch,” you recall. “Can’t you—”

“No magic tonight, I’m afraid I drained my energy procuring my gift for you, which is why I need you to cum tonight so I can replenish myself.”

Well. If you weren’t wet before, you sure are now.

Loki leaves the room to fetch the silk ties, presumably to restrain you once again, and your blood pumps in excitement. He’s left you alone.

And you know you should listen to Loki, but after today’s events, there’s a huge part of you that just wants to be rebellious.

What did he mean, you’re not ready? It can’t possibly be anything you can’t handle. Your eyes flit back to the glass on the corner table.

It’s just a flower.

As quickly and quietly as you can, you slink off the bed and towards it, eyes trained on your bedroom door just in case he comes back and you get caught.

Do you want to get caught?

Gingerly, you lift the glass, peeking under it just to see what the glittering particles are. A strong, sweet smell instantly invades your nostrils, and you set the glass back down soundlessly.

His footsteps draw closer and you fling yourself onto the bed, spreading your legs like you were earlier and raising your hands above your head like an obedient child.

“Very good,” Loki purrs, sitting on the edge of the mattress as he ties one wrist to the headboard. “Such a good kitten.” His mouth closes over yours, tongues mingling, and you feel the air shift and your head throbs twice.

Wow, what a kiss it must be for it to extract such a reaction from your body.

With your eyes still closed, he wraps the ever-so-familiar silk around your eyes. It’s… did he put some kind of perfume on it?

“Did you put something on the blindfold?” you ask as he double checks the tightness around your other wrist.

“Yes, sweet. What does it smell like?”

You lick your lips, mouth going dry. It’s getting hotter, and your heartbeat’s speeding up. “Something sweet,” you answer. “Like vanilla. And a little bit of cinnamon?”

“Very good,” Loki praises, his hand traveling down your naked body. Your clit throbs and your walls clench. And you… you just want to be filled to the brim with his cum.

“How do I reward you for every correct answer, sweet?”

“Your cock.”

Okay, that—that was not what you were intending to say. Sure, you’re thinking it, but you weren’t planning to blurt it out loud so shamelessly. It’s like your mind and body are out of sync, your urges taking precedence and leading your mind that follows a beat too late.

Loki lets out an entertained, short laugh. “Eager little one today. You will get it. In time.”

He spreads your legs further apart and settles between them. You can feel your slick seeping out of your slit and onto the bed, wetter than ever. Fuck, what’s happening? It’s like you weren’t horny before, but you were—but it pales in comparison to the state you’re in now.

His nose bumps against your soft flesh, and you lift your hips off the bed and promptly rub against his snout.

It’s like you can’t help yourself. Loki has to fight a little to push your hips back onto the mattress, and your lower half falls with a soft thump. You’re breathing heavily and your body—fuck, it feels like it’s on fire. Wherever Loki touches, he leaves fire in its wake. And there’s something in the air—something musky, masculine, smelling like pure sex—

You just know it’s Loki’s arousal.

And hell, does it turn you on. Breaks the scale, if there ever was one. It’s a thick, potent smell that fills your lungs and makes you lightheaded.

He’s tired. Drained of his magic, and he needs you to fill him back up again. And you… you have all this sudden, pent up energy you didn’t know you had…

“Untie me,” you demand. Your voice is husky and your throat is dry, but it doesn’t sink in because you feel like your entire being is just Loki’s arousal and nothing else.

His hand stiffens over your thigh. “Sweet, didn’t we agree—”

“Untie me,” you repeat. You leave no room for discussion. “Even just one hand. You don’t have to do anything.”

There’s a pause where you spread your legs even wider. You lick your lips, heat flooding your cheeks and your cunt.

“Y-you can just watch me.”

You can feel Loki’s exhale fan your wetness, and it makes you shudder in anticipation.

Before he can protest, you continue, “I know you need me to cum so you get your energy. You—you can just take over when I’m about to…”

You don’t finish your sentence. Loki’s untying you with one hand, and then with the gentlest hold around your wrist he guides it downwards. “It appears you’ve disobeyed me. Well, consider it your lucky day that I am in no mood to scold you.” He rests it against your stomach, stroking a finger over the center of it.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs after a while. “While I have the perfect view.”

At his words, you clench. Slowly you bring your fingers to your cunt and trace over your swollen flesh. An echo of Loki’s own ministrations this morning. Only you don’t have as much patience as he does, and so you plunge your finger inside your warmth without any resistance.

Masturbation is not something foreign to you. But the knowledge that Loki’s head is still between your legs, with an unfiltered and clear view to your movements, has your body swimming to orgasm faster than ever. Your fingers fall into a familiar rhythm, dipping into the dependable spots and nerves that have consistently gotten you to orgasm before. Perhaps the eroticism of this exhibition—in front of Loki, no less—ignites an intensity within you that makes it seem like these spots aren’t familiar at all.

His fingers. His lips. His cock. You imagine them all inside you, on your clit, everywhere—it spurs you on, your fingers flying faster, your walls tightening as you race towards orgasm—

Loki gently pulls your hand away, and while you expect to be filled by his instead… there’s nothing. A frustrated huff is expelled from your lungs and Loki only brushes his fingertips against your sides.

“Release? So quickly?” He tuts playfully. “The gift I brought must be more potent than I’d imagined.”

“Please.” It’s a word you’ve been repeating so many times today. At this point, it feels natural spilling from your lips. “Please, I need to cum—you need me to—”

“You will cum when I say so,” he cuts in with a dominant finality that sends tiny sparks along the insides of your legs. “And I say… not yet.”

You let out a quiet whimper. You’ve never wanted to cum and hold it off at the same time as much as you do right now. And fuck—Loki’s tying the silk around your ankle and an urgency surges through you. You know what he’s doing. The smell gets even stronger now too, that musky, addictive aroma—you want to bask in it from the source—

You’re vaguely aware of the silk tie slipping away from your wrist and making its way to your other ankle. Loki’s strong hands run a delicate trail along your body and all you want is his cock ramming into you with his hand wrapped around your neck.

“Touch yourself,” he commands as soon as your ankles are tied to each corner of the bedframe. Your hole is gaping wide—it feels that way, since you’re aware of every breath Loki takes and exhales because of his proximity to you. “And do not cum unless I say so.”

Fuck—that’s what scares you. You’re so fucking turned on that you fear even just one stroke, you’d be a goner. But would punishment from Loki because you came really be all that bad? You’re not sure if you want to test him just yet.

And there’s a new smell in the air, mingling with the heady masculinity of Loki’s arousal. It’s a bit fruity, perhaps even reminiscent of the tanginess of an orange.

It’s yours.

“Touch yourself, sweet, or I’m going to have to leave you like this all night.”

Without further encouragement, your fingers dive back into your folds and your body relaxes with a sigh. Your hips gyrate over your hands as you root yourself in the fact that Loki’s watching you. He needs to see just how turned on you are, how he’s the one who does this to you.

“Use both your hands,” he instructs. “Go deeper. And massage your clit slower. Slower.”

You do as he tells you, alternating your long strokes with circular motions, and fuck, is it agony. It takes a whole lot of self-control not to buck your hips like a madwoman, so you bite down on your bottom lip. Heat prickles over your entire body and briefly you wonder how long you’re going to go like this and if you’re going to cum from this at all.

“Now focus on your clit,” he says after a while. “Shorter. Faster. Harder. How you want it, kitten, as fast as you can go…”

Finally, you think, fingers speeding up and your orgasm gaining momentum. It doesn’t take long for it to build, begin to crest—

“Hands off.”

No—not the words you wanted to hear. Begrudgingly you force away your hands from your swollen sex, slick with your own juice, and wait. You wait for his next instruction, as patient as you can be as a woman chasing orgasm, and then Loki finally says the magic words.

“Go on.”

It continues like this for a while. For how long exactly, you don’t know. Time has blurred and it’s only differentiated by moments of languid strokes and furious pumping, moments of pause that feel like forever, and then back again. He draws you close to orgasm, then away like it’s forbidden fruit, until you’re certain the minute Loki puts even just one finger on you, you’ll come undone.

Your fingers work hard at your cunt, coated in your warm slick, until Loki finally, finally lets you grow taut with the tension of building release. It’s strong, you can feel it. You’re already so sensitive and even if your muscles are growing strained, your need for release is overpowering enough that you don’t mind it in the least.

Loki rips your hand away, shoves his fingers inside you in perfect sync, and you cry out in ecstasy. Your fingers can only do so much, but Loki—he’s pure magic, pure sex that nothing could ever compare or replace him.

His thumb flicks over your clit harshly and your walls clench against his fingers. And the air—oh fuck, it’s the intoxicating smell of his arousal—you just want to rip off his clothes, suck him dry—

In some inexplicable way, Loki manages to leave you teetering on the edge of orgasm. Just between that space of cumming and winding down. So close, yet so far. Your breath comes in shallow pants while your hips rotate to meet him. He has to let you cum, you remind yourself. He has to.

Before you can gasp it out, Loki says, “No.”

Fuck, how many times are you going to hear that today? Your clit is pulsing, your walls fluttering in a sporadic rhythm as you hang in the ripping limbo of trying to hold in your release and let it go at the same time. It drives you mad, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes from the guttural need that needs satiating.

A wave of Loki’s arousal wafts fresh and heated towards you. Your mouth hangs open while his thick arousal hangs in the atmosphere, dizzying and fueling your need to have your fill from the source.

And then without warning, Loki plunges his fingers into you knuckle-deep, moving fast against your clit at the same time while knocking your G-spot over and over until your mouth hangs open, no sound coming out—your back arches off the bed with the overpowering, all-consuming need for release—

“Cum.”

The single syllable he utters has you unwound, undone—little white dots explode before your eyelids while your body convulses with the soul-stealing release he’s bestowed upon you. Toes curling, body tense, you’ve never experienced anything as blissfully shattering as this. Every nerve ending in your system has sizzled out, sensitive to the lightest gust of air.

Loki lets you ride out your orgasm on his fingers that continue to coax out your release. With the blood pumping in your ears, you can vaguely register the sounds Loki’s making. He’s muttering to himself, whispering—and once the pounding recedes from your ears you can make out a few lines.

“Yes, sweet, cum… cum all over my fingers, that’s it, you sweet girl… this perfect cunt, so warm—the way my cock—inside, yes, more…”

You clench tightly, and make a risky decision. One you clearly have no foresight to.

You sit up, and while the quick change in position has your cunt convulsing in stimulation, you ignore it. You’re still horny, yes. It’s as if that buildup to your seismic orgasm wasn’t enough, and while you would love another (or three more), there’s something else you want.

His cock.

Sitting up like this, you can smell his arousal coming from somewhere near the floor. Which, your lustful brain calculates, makes sense because his lower half should be sprawled across the floor.

Some kind of strangled noise comes from the back of your throat, and your hands reach out to fist, well—whatever you can reach. You can’t exactly see.

Your hands actually land in his hair, and your nails dig into his scalp. Loki makes a deep, throaty noise, satisfying you.

“Kiss me.”

Loki doesn’t chastise you or tell you no—instead the mattress creaks with his weight. He pins you down, his tongue delving into your mouth which you welcome instantly. The aroma of his arousal fires you up into a frenzy, especially when you feel his hard length pushes against your swollen clit.

Your hand boldly moves to squeeze his ass, bring him closer to you. Yes, having your arms in a full range of motion is better. Sure, you can’t see or close your legs, but you can touch him. Smell him. Loki bites down on your lip, groaning softly when you tug on his hair and pull him against you by the ass again.

Touch him.

Your brain is on autopilot. Like it’s got a mission it needs to see through to the end, regardless of whatever obstacles are to come its way. While Loki’s taking this opportunity to moan against your neck, telling you how he would just love to fuck you right here, right now, your hand moves from his ass, down the side of his hip, and to the front of his pants.

Loki freezes.

Whether it’s good or bad, you don’t care. You take this opportunity to palm the bulge you’ve felt, a soundless sigh escaping your lips. Your fingers grip around the outline, from what you think is base to tip, and a trickle of your juices flows out of you when you feel him shudder.

It’s all the encouragement you need. You slide your hand over the hard bulge once before your fingers dip underneath the waistband of his pants. Your breathing shallows when the tip of your finger comes in contact with a bead of wetness.

The strong, potent smell of Loki envelops you, and while it feels like you’re already bathing in him and his essence it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. You want more.

Loki hovers above you while you slip his pants down, his breath warming your neck. Licking your lips in anticipation, you finally lay your hands on the prize you’ve been dreaming and drooling about.

Your fingers wrap around his shaft, and as crazy as you sound, you might actually cum from just holding it.

Blood beats searing hot in your veins, your arousals mingling and fueling the other’s. You pump his shaft, once, twice—and you’re distantly aware that you’re speaking now.

“Need to,” you breathe, “t-to smell it. Up close, just—oh Loki, please, I need your cock on my face, just let me—”

Somehow this state you’re in has Loki speechless. You’re begging, though assertive at the same time. Loki lets you lead him until you’re lying down on your back, and he straddles your face, his thick cock hovering just inches from you.

Oh, fucking hell.

Your fingers skim the column of his shaft, savoring the feel of his hard length. You can’t see it yet, but you’d like to imagine how it looks before you do. Your fingers bump against the ridge around the head; veins that traverse his cock bounce against your touch; you trace a finger down the slit of him, collecting precum and trailing it over his frenulum.

Loki bucks his hips against your hands, hissing.

“What are you doing, pet?”

Tentatively, you bring your nose to the base of him and inhale deeply. Your cunt flutters in response and your mind deigns to feed you an image of his cock inside you, stretching you—maybe even wrecking your throat.

A wanton thrill shoots through you, and you drag your closed lips along his cock and then part your lips, salivating as you draw closer to him—

“No.” Loki pulls your hair gently, stopping you. Only it’s almost… reluctant. Like it’s more for himself than for you. Breathing hard, he continues, “Not tonight. Touching, just touching is… is enough.”

You settle for dragging your nose along the underside of his cock, inhaling the sweet, sweet scent of victory. “Alright.”

And then somehow you’re talking again. “I just love your cock,” you whisper mindlessly. “So thick… hard… I just want you, Loki. You can put your cock in my mouth… my pussy needs you a little more though…”

His cock twitches at your statement, and you hum against his groin, smile blooming on your lips. You pull your head away and your hand closes around him. You begin stroking, fisting his cock and twisting your wrist as you get closer to the head and loosening your grip when you get to the base. Soon he’s rutting his hips into your hand, and you relish the way you can feel him tense. All because of your touch. There’s a surge of pride at this new dynamic unlocked.

And his cock—it’s even better than you imagined. You tell him how you love his cock, you’d have it anywhere, anytime, whenever he wants—and Loki’s hips grow more frantic in his movements. You cup his balls, fondling him, and Loki fists your hair roughly, rasping out, “Hold still. But keep going on my cock. Faster. Harder.”

You and Loki work together to reach his orgasm, and soon you can feel his balls slapping against your hands and his movements go stunted, his cock tightening—the incoming smell makes you even dizzier, and you angle your head upward—

White hot ropes of cum splatter onto your face. Your forehead, your cheeks, your chin. Some of it dribbles down onto your chest and you have to fight yourself not to scoop some up and shove it into your cunt.

Loki groans all while he cums, until he’s running his fingers through your hair and tells you absently, “Sweet, glorious woman. An absolute sex kitten.”

His fingers swipe at his cum on your face, and then you realize it isn’t arbitrary—he’s pooling it together for you to eat it. Eagerly you open your mouth, sucking on his finger coated with his cum. Once your face is mostly clean, your tongue darts out the corner of your mouth to collect a drop you missed. No cum should go to waste.

Your heart practically leaps into your throat when you feel his tongue flatten against your sternum, collecting cum that’s dripped down your chest in a straight line going up to your face, and then he kisses you

His taste mingles with his seed, and you relish how delicious he is. You sigh into his mouth and are about to wrap your legs around his waist, only you’re brutally reminded that your legs are tied up.

You hope you wake up like this.

Your hands go to his still-hard cock, and Loki’s surprised, “Already?” has you giggling as you start pumping him again.

When is the next time you’re going to have all this energy after all?

#sweet dreams #by belle #should have just titled this chapter COCK #loki smut #smut #loki x you #loki x reader #loki x y/n #incubus loki #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #reader insert #FINALLY I CAN GET TO WORK ON THOSE REQUESTS

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letitrainathousandflames-archive · 4 years

Text

I Have To Find The Will To Carry On

Fandom: The Clone Wars (2008) | SPOILERS FROM SEASON 7

Characters: ARC-0408 | Echo, CT-7567 | Rex, Clone Trooper Hunter, ARC-5555 | Fives (mentioned)

Tags: hurt/comfort, grief, PTSD, survivor’s guilt, echo needs a hug

Warnings: dehumanization, grieving, suicide ideation, depression/, gore m/, torture m/, medical torture m/, explosions m/, death m/

Set shortly after the ending of the last Bad Bath Arc episode, with a flashback set shortly before said ending. Be mindful of the tags. There ARE spoilers of the new season in this fic.

“You, uh. You just tell us if you need anything else, okay, Echo?”

Echo looked around one more time before sitting down in his bunk with a sigh.

“I don’t think I will, Hunter. This is...” he ran his flesh hand over the soft, clean sheets “This is much more than I’ve had in a long time.”

Hunter shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, and Echo offered him a small smile.

“Please don’t look at me like that. The worst thing you can do is treat me like I’m some fragile thing. It’ll take me some time to adjust, of course. But I can manage just fine.”

Hunter squared his shoulders, setting his jaw.

“Right. I would ask the same, if I was in your place.” and he offered him a salute “I welcome you again to Clone Force 99, corporal. It’s great to have you on board.”

“Glad to be here, sir.”

And with a small nod, Hunter left, closing the door behind him.

Echo looked around the small quarters. The first day in the barracks always feels weird, and Echo felt the small pang of anxiety that dragged him back in time, to his first day at the 501st’s barracks.

Their first day.

Fives had taken the upper bed and would hang upside-down every ten minutes or so to interrupt Echo’s reading of the reg manuals just to show off his recently painted helmet with a rishi eel drawn in blue over the white plastoid. They would giggle quietly to themselves, looking at their new armors and even when they bickered Echo knew he couldn’t possibly have asked for a better person to have by his side through the war, and he alwaysbelieved that Fives felt the same way about him.

When Echo decided to leave with the Bad Batch, Rex had asked him if he could spare him a minute before leaving, and so they had walked to the Captain’s barracks. Rex let the doors slide shut behind him, turning on a single dim yellow light that kept his face partially shadowed as the Captain turned to face him.

Echo didn’t quite know what to say. All the time they’ve spent apart… Everything he had missed… He wondered if Rex meant to fill him in on all of it before sending him away with the Bad Batch.

But Rex didn’t speak. Echo could notice the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were curled into fists, how he seemed to be swallowing down once or twice, eyes staring right into Echoe’s.

The silence was deafening. Echo took a small breath and opened his mouth.

“I-”

He fell silent again, wetting his lips for a second to then purse them tightly. He could feel a shiver creeping up his spine. He knew why he was there. Rex also knew. Still he had to ask.

He had to, had to, had to ask, had to know, had to-

“Where is Fives, sir?”

The sharp, shaky intake of air from Rex should have been enough of an answer. Rex shifted his gaze away from Echo, his entire face becoming twisted with something- something Echo had never seemed in his captain face before. It looked like pain for a moment soon it turned into anger, sheer unrestrained anger that shifted into pain as the captain bared his teeth and lowered his eyes.

The low light wasn’t low enough to keep the tears brimming in the captain’s eyes from glisten some, before he blinked them away. Rex lifted his gaze to Echo, wet trail drawn over his cheek.

“I’m so sorry.”

The period Echo had spent in cryostasis had been so cold. The invasive, forced surgeries performed by the separatists’ medical droids under General Grievous’ supervision had been so painful. For a moment throughout the process in whish Echo had been turned into something more machine than human, he had thought he had lost his humanity. His ability to feel anything other than the numb state of sedation and cold.

He had never hated to be wrong so much as he did now.

The pain seemed to cut through the circuits welded on his chest and into the soft, weaker flesh beneath.

“No.” he heard his own mouth say while his mind felt distant, detached from his body that wasn’t his anymore, hadn’t been since the explosion “No, no, it- It can’t be.”

Echo looked back and forth, brain trying to understand what Rex was saying. No. That was impossible. Fives was… Was the best of them. He couldn’t- he wouldn’t-

“No, no, no, it can’t be, it can’t be!” he speaks louder, like he can convince Rex to change what he had just said “No! He would wait for me! He wouldn’t just- He can’t have just-“

Echo reached forward, grabbing Rex’s chest plate and yanking him closer despite his weakened joints.

“Rex, it can’t be, Rex-“ a sob cut off his words, and Echo felt his eyes hot with tears that blurred his sight like the ice in the cyostasis chamber would and he almost felt like he was back in the cursed thing, trapped, breathless, freezing from the inside out “Rex, please, I’m begging you…!”

Rex wrapped his arms over Echoe’s, pulling his brother into a hug and Echo just slumped against him, shaking his head over and over. It was like the last shred of sanity he had been clinging on to – his brothers, his family, his home, his only sense of normalcy in this chaotic, wretched universe – had been torn from him.

“He died as a soldier, Echo.” Rex said, voice half-choked

Back in the Citadel, the impact of the blast aimed at Echo had knocked him back into the shuttle with such violence that his helmet slipped out of his head; his body had hit the back wall so hard all the air left his lungs as the explosion made everything turn into a spiral of scorching heat, and roaring fire. The concussion had been enough to make him barely feel the charred stumps of his right arm and left leg or the weight of the durasteel cargo crate that had crushed his right leg. The last couple of breaths he had taken before losing consciousness ached, both because of the smoke-filled air and his two broken ribs. Fainting had been almost a blessing.

Not much later the droids had forcibly amputated what was left of his three limbs after the explosion with no anesthesia, and Echo had trashed against the binds that kept him secured over a table, screamed himself hoarse, lost control of his bladder, begged for death over a thousand times. He then had wires and tubes connected to his spine, heart and lungs before the ice engulfed him and his mind was ravished, invaded, and every ounce of resistance was met with punishing agony

All that pain, all that torture, and cruelty and still, still-

This was the most painful moment of his life.

“Why?!” he sobbed, feeling Rex’s cheek wet with tears against his jaw “He had no right… He couldn’t leave me..!”

Echo wondered for a moment if he was upset at Fives for dying or if he was just jealous of him. The entire time he was away, his only wish had been that the separatists had let him die. And now he would have to live without his dearest brother.

“Isn’t fair… We should’ve gone together… Side by side, I would’ve… Would’ve been glad to march away with him…”

Rex ran a gloved hand clumsily over the back of Echo’s hair. It reminded him of the way older cadets would soothe their younger brothers when they would confess to be afraid to go to battle.

“I know you would. I know, Echo.” Rex swallowed down, not letting go of Echo “He loved you so much, brother. Never was the same after he lost you. Kept searching for meaning in all of this, kept trying to make sense of it all. Made sure to ensure all regs were being kept like he… Like he was trying to bring some of you with him wherever he’d go.”

Echo sobbed harder at that, clutching Rex like a lifeline. His legs whirred, weakened by the overwhelming feelings in his brain, and Rex kept him standing still. He would always carry his men whenever they’d need him.

“We all missed and mourned you at the base, Echo. We felt your loss, but the scar it left on Fives never healed. He fought and bled and struggled to protect everyone, you knew him. And this wish to protect us ended up costing his life.” Rex paused for a moment “It was all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

Echo pulled back some, trying his best to keep his legs working still, despite how much he wanted to just sink to his knees and rip the circuits off his chest to make sure his heart would finally cease to beat for good.

“You always said that, captain.” Echo sniffled, rubbing his eyes “I’m sure you blamed yourself over what happened to me, too. It wasn’t your fault. None of it is.

Rex raised his eyes to the ceiling, clearly trying to hide his tears as he drew a long breath and let it out sharply to then look back at Echo. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, so tired. Echo knew he wasn’t looking good at all after everything the separatists had done to him, but the captain seemed to have aged so much since the last time he’d seen him.

Was it their fate, all of them clones? To wither away, to be tortured and mutilated, to die in pain? Who could say the ones of them that survived were the lucky ones?

Rex opened one of the pouches on his belt, retrieving a small comm device from it and offering it up to Echo.

“Here. I’ll reach you through it soon.”

Echo looked at the thing with curiosity before placing it in his own pouch.

“That’s… nonstandard.”

“That’s because it won’t be used for standard communication. I need an outside line to you. Its signal is scrambled, and the communications through it must be kept short to avoid us being heard, understood?”

Echo gave Rex a tiny smile.

“Ah, yes. Breaking the rules. Now it feels like home. Fives would-“

Echo stopped himself. He couldn’t say his name. Not yet. Rex swallowed down, reaching for the same pouch again.

“Oh, and this is for you.” he held his hand up closed in a fist “Fives used to keep it on him always, but he left… his equipment behind before his last mission. I managed to retrieve it and kept it with me, and when I thought that we might finally meet again, I brought it with me so that you could have it.”

The captain opened his fingers, and in his palm there was a small piece of durasteel. Echo took it with his flesh hand, holding it close to inspect it. It was slightly blackened, and the shape of it made it look like it had been cracked off from a larger piece rather than crafted to be of that exact size, although it did look like someone had smoothened the edges of it some to make them blunt.

“What is it?”

Rex gave him a bittersweet smile.

“No one knew. He only told me what it was right before we… lost you. This is a piece of the Rishi Moon outpost, after Hevy blew it up. I figure it must’ve been a part of one of the reinforced windows.”

Echo looked back at the memento in awe, sight going blurry with tears again.

“Rishi Moon… it feels like forever ago.”

“Yeah…”

The two of them shared a moment of silence, and as Echo stared at the piece of durasteel, he thought of Fives. Of his funny quips, his chaotically improvised plans, of his laugh and his particular way to annoy Echo as a display his affection. And he knew Rex did the same.

Remembering a fallen warrior was the way to keep him marching beyond. If it was up to Echo, he would make sure that the memory of Fives would never fade away.

Echo laid down on his bunk, reaching for the crook of his neck and feeling the small silver chain to then tug gently at it until he managed to pull the small durasteel pendant from under his black shirt and over his chest – where it clanged softly against the plate over his sternum.

He shifted on the bed, still unused to the weight and lack of mobility of his prosthetic legs, thinking of the comm that Rex had given him, hidden under a few bundled wires of a compartment in his. Skywalker had made him a new prosthetic arm that lighter and more efficient, with actual jointed fingers and sensors over the digits and palm. What was it that Rex wanted to talk about, hidden even from their superiors?

Echo ran his fingers over the piece of durasteel hanging from his necklace.

“What am I gonna do without you, brother?”

The haunting silence that followed never answered his question.

#to post on ao3 #hurt/comfort #clone feels #echo #rex #tcw #tcw spoilers

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aurora-the-kunoichi · 4 years

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For The Love Of Shell - Chapter 40 Unhappy Reunion (FTLOS)

Here is chapter forty of my OC story For The Love Of Shell.

His blue bandana whipped around his green skull snapping and fluttering against his sweat soaked brow. Massive three fingered hands clutched nervously at the blue hilts of his katanas as the plates of his chest heaved with exertion.

Just the sight of his giant exceptionally toned body made every part of her woman hood clench in knee jerk reaction. Besides catching him and bunny foo foo in the street this morning this was the closest she’d come to blue banded terrapin in a year. It was unfair; he still took her breath away and by the extra bulk on his arms and legs he had be dedicated to his self improvement.

A thin layer of sweat covered his green skin from his earlier victorious battles. The icy blue pools of his intoxicating gaze locked in on her purple ones and for a moment she forgot to breath. Involuntary she let out a whimper grasping her katana tighter, the leather creaking beneath her strength. She knew there was a chance she would face one of them in here but why, why did it have to be him? And why did he have to look so good? This was going to be harder then she had originally thought.

Almost instantly Leonardo’s famous concentration broke and his blades lowered. “Aurora..” he began sheathing a katana to reach for her. Leo ignored his role in this tournament and tried to talk to her but Aurora shook her head stopping the terrapin before he could continue.

“Don’t Leonardo.” She virtually snarled, “Please…… don’t do that. I can’t deal with you right now. I need to concentrate, we need to concentrate. I don’t want to hear it anyways. You made your point loud and clear this morning.” Not giving him another moment to rethink his strategy Aurora dove for him, blades aimed for the soft spot between his carapace and his plastron. The soft corded muscles that she had loved to touch, to kiss. “Stop that!” she scolded herself concentrating on her fight she was determined to win.

His full name from her lips stung more then he cared to admit. She looked beautiful as ever, the year away had been good to her. He was fascinated with the purple streak in her hair; it seemed to enhance her features but he figured she could have done anything and he would be enthralled. It was true what they say, absence does make the heart grow fonder.

He could feel his body begin to ache. It all came rushing to him realizing how much he missed her, how much he still loved her. Even the harsh tone of her voice made his heart beat faster with longing. There was nothing more he wanted to do then gather her in his arms and kiss her, claim her, mark her. Kiss her deep enough that she would forgot about everything he had foolishly done and be part of their lives again. But there would be no easy fix, he could see the resentment and pain in her eyes, Aurora would have none of it right now, maybe not ever again. Suddenly her eyes darkened, and she lunged for him with such ferociousness that it caught him off guard. The sheer force of her blow sent him stumbling back trying frantically to regain his footing before he fell on his shell.

She was on him in a second, their blades grinding against each other creating sparks from the immense friction. But the large body in front of her made her weak, made it extremely difficult to think clearly, especially being so close to him. Even his god damn smell was distracting! If she didn’t get a hold of herself she was going to lose to him and that just wasn’t an option. Not after everything, she had to win she had to prove to him, to herself she was strong and didn’t need him to be happy. Every ounce of her pain flowed through her, engulfing her in the warmth of her thundering passion for the blue terrapin, fueling her resolve. Focus!

Ue-Sama watched high above the nexus championship his eyes trained in on one battle and one battle only. Aurora attacked Leonardo with everything she had taking the large mutant by surprise. He barely had to time to defend himself as she struck again and again determined to win. It took Leonardo a few minutes to gather himself and start to attack back but Ue-Sama could tell by Leonardo’s reaction time he was not focused on the battle but on the woman. The woman who looked like she wanted to end him with every swing of her blade and thrusting kick of her leg. She had the power within her to do it too, he knew it, saw it when his father tapped into it with his staff. The raw power that flowed within her small frame was enormous and he wanted it, needed it. She had no idea how to harness the power she possessed, and he could mold her into what he needed her to be. Aurora would be a crucial part of his plan and he had to figure out how to keep her here with him. And with how she was looking at the turtle at this very moment he didn’t think it was going to be as difficult as he first thought.

When she was brought to the palace by Gyoji this morning his father had asked where the turtles were. Much to his delight Aurora told them how Leonardo had ended things between them urging her to move on with her life finding normalcy. It had been a year since she had seen them and was trying not to interact with them as much as possible. She knew there was a chance they would meet in battle but hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Now she was wiping the floor with the blue leader wearing him out ready to end the inevitable. Or could it be he was letting her win? He shook his head, it didn’t matter either way she was upset with him and maybe would be inclined to stay with him.

Moving from the balcony that over looked the battle Ue-Sama sauntered back into the palace and headed towards his wing opening the door to his personal dojo. In the far corner lurked a large cloaked figure it’s glowing eyes fixed on the young prince.

“My lord.” It smiled wickedly stepping into the light, its hulking frame towing over Ue-Sama. “I think this woman will only cause trouble with your plan. If she is anything like the turtles and that blasted rat she will not be persuaded to help you over throw your father as Daimyo. She is growing rather fond of the old coot and I would doubt she’d wish any ill will on him.”

“Quiet your tongue you insect! Remember your place here, you are my counsel nothing more. I do what I want, and I want her. You didn’t see the power, the shear raw energy within her body. She will be a pivotal part in all of this and she will have to agree. She’ll see what’s at stake and will want her own piece of the pie. Woman always want to be in control, to be part of the power of a Daimyo. My father had no problem finding wives. She won’t be able to resist me once I’m Daimyo.”

The large figure narrowed its eyes in frustration lowering its body’s height in an awkward bow to show submission, “As you wish my Daimyo.” It cooed softly before shifting back into the shadows.

Leo had definitely gotten better since the last time they had squared off; she was out of breath, her chest heaving from the effort she had to put into defending herself. With the back of her hand she wiped the sweat from her brow. Every flex of his impressive biceps or pulse of his thigh muscles sent heat rushing between her thighs. Even his goddamned heavy breathing was affecting her. “Fuck!” she screamed internally. He shouldn’t be affecting her this much. It had already been a year! He swayed nimbly on the balls of his feet, his katanas out and ready before him. She could tell he was ready to strike the coil of his calves gave him away. Ready for his next move Aurora sheathed her katanas and slid forward on her knees ducking below his next attack grabbing a hold of his wrists pulling him down and over. Sailing between his open legs she pulled him into an unsuspecting summersault making him land on his shell. Aurora didn’t give him time to react; she spun him on his carapace to face her and straddled his narrow hips. Pulling a kunai from her thigh holster she brought it down on his plastron.

Before it could connect with the plates of his chest Leo’s eyes widened in shock and his body disappeared beneath her in a blue dust taking him from the competition. As her body settled on the ground Aurora let out a shaky breath closing her eyes holding back unshed tears.

Leonardo reappeared in the medical wing of the palace with Raphael looking down on him with a shit eating grin. “Who took ya out?” he laughed helping Leo to his feet.

“Aurora.”

“Oh shell! Man that’s rough! Did she say anything to you?”

“I tried to talk to her but she wasn’t having any of it. You should have seen her Raph; it looked like she wanted to actually kill me. But shell, it was hard to concentrate having her so close.”

“Well fearless you did break up with her and then the first time she sees you , Asuna has her tongue down your throat. I can’t say I blame her.” The red banded turtle didn’t help as he patted his older brother’s shell.

“Yeah yeah, I got it, I messed up. If I could go back in time I would.” Leo waved his brother’s hands away from his back while they made their way out into the halls of the palace to watch the rest of the games from the contestant’s row.

Donnie lasted two more rounds while Aurora and Mikey dominated defeating each of their competitors with ease. Begrudgingly Donnie took up the seat next to his brothers sitting down with a frustrated huff his arms crossed over his chest. Leo put his arm around his brother pulling him into an awkward side hug before playfully pushing back away with a deep chuckle.

Raph was intently watching their younger brother flip and maneuver around his latest victim, there was no doubt that little shit was faster than the rest of them, and way more flexible to boot. He was without a doubt holding back during practice. He turned his head to face Leo but his eyes remained on the dizzying display of talent just below them. “You know if he wins this thing, we’ll never hear the end of it…..you know that right?”

Leo and Donnie smiled nodding as they watched their little brother use all of his training bringing his nunchaku down ending yet another fight. They watched their orange banded brother search the crowd for their faces hoping they were watching him. The grin that spread over his face when he found each one of them howling for him couldn’t have compared to the brightness of the sun.

He bowed to them and returned his gaze to Master Splinter who had the very familiar proud papa gleam. Mikey bowed to his father as well, a silent think you for giving him the tools he needed to get this far.

As the rest of the matches ended the partitions retracted revealing the last of the contestants. Mikey stood near his brothers in the arena as Aurora was revealed farthest away just as she was sheathing her katanas. A large purple anthropomorphic pig to their left lifted his hands above his head letting out a triumphant roar and crablike alien turned a few times hyping itself up but made no noise. The roaring crowd died down when the Daimyo and Ue-Sama rose.

“Congratulations to our final four warriors! You have come a long way to get to this point. Your skill and stamina is a true testament to the hard work you’ve done to get where you are today. We thank you for sharing your talent with us all this day. Now there are two more matches before we declare a new battle nexus champion and I’m sure you all are excited to see this championship to fruition. When this battle is over and two remain the walls will drop and will go directly into the championship. Good luck to you four.”

Aurora made quick eye contact with Mikey as the partition rose giving her a quick playful wink before he disappeared behind the large wall. This time Aurora wasn’t engulfed by the light and stayed where she was. After a few seconds the blue light swirled in front of her and the crablike alien appeared before her. It looked her up and down all the while snapping it’s pinchers and began to laugh, a deep crackling laugh that reminded her of a sputtering diesel engine.

“This will be easy, a stupid human woman cannot beat Klarkapil!” its pinchers snapped quickly in front of his large awkward body before he shuffled forward on his many thick legs.

Aurora roller eyes at the alien wondering how something so large and awkward could have gotten so far in the tournament? The answer soon came when its pinchers came at her with impressive speed snapping at her throat. With a quick yelp of surprise Aurora dodged the alien crustacean’s snappers rolling to the right pulling her katanas free.

“Yes woman run away from Klarkapil! Tremble with fear at my size and speed!”

This thing was way too cocky and was beginning to annoy her as it circled around clucking about how good it was and how scared she should be. Maybe that was part of its shtick, to annoy her into submission? Again a pitcher lunged for her this time snapping at her leg but she managed to evade the snapping appendage. She had to be careful this thing was fast and vicious. Despite the alien’s bulky frame it was able to move very quickly and its pincher’ aim was precise.

As it rattled off more sexists insults Aurora figured out how she could avoid its pinches and end the battle. It seemed too concerned with putting her down to come up with any kind of strategy let alone pay attention to what she was devising. He was too cocky and wouldn’t be able to resist her trap. Blocking another pincher she flipped through the air and landed several feet in front of him and sheathed her swords and knelt on the floor closing her eyes and waited.

Almost immediately the crustacean laughed and rushed forward ready to claim his victory. Its pinchers reared up and snapped in preparation before they came down ready to crush the woman below. As they connected with hard ground he gasped in surprise seeing the spot where she had just been empty.

Aurora rolled beneath the large circular body and popped up behind pulling her tantou free from its sheath behind her back. Crouching down she sprung forward onto the aliens back landing just behind’s its head. As she brought her blade down she whispered into the once smug alien’s ear. “You were just beaten by a woman.” Before the blade connected with its shell its scream of dismay disappeared with its large body in a blue dust of defeat. When her feet connected with the ground the crowd roared with a thunderous applause as she stood to her full height. Looking around the spectators she saw happy ecstatic faces, especially from all the females. Sheathing the tantou behind her back once again she took a moment to celebrate and raised both hands into the air with a shout.

Turning around she saw Master Splinter smiling down at her his furry hands clapping with the crowds applause. He looked so proud of her as if he had watched her grown up and develop into the woman she was now. Her heart broke a little at that thought; would she ever be able to spend time with the old rat again? She had a feeling she could still learn a few things from him.

The movement of the walls indicated the match beside her had ended and she was about to see who she would be fighting for the championship. Soon the familiar green scalp of Michelangelo appeared as the partition began to recede into the ground. Then his baby blue’s framed by his signature orange mask came into view as his eye ridges waging with mischief. She would be fighting the youngest of the turtles for the win, adjusting her stance she placed her hands on her hips waiting for the turtle to be fully exposed to her. Before it was fully recessed in the ground Mikey stepped over the wall and into her space closing the distance between them, his nunchaku hung loosely from his fingers.

“Fancy seeing you here Angel cakes. Long time no see.” He cooed stopping a few feet from her.

Tears began to prick her eyes threatening to spill as she took in the warm sight of the young turtle. She missed them so much it hurt. Being this close to him was ripping every bit of strength from her tearing away at her sanity. Her lips began to quiver but bit her bottom lip to stop it. She needed to get this over with so she could win or lose and go home. Pulling her katana from her sheaths she readied her stance. Doing her best to blink away the offending tears in her eyes she gave him a small smile. She didn’t want to be mean to him he just didn’t understand how much it hurt to see him and not be able to touch him, hold him, kiss those rosy cheeks of his.

“Hey Mikey, are you ready?”

“For you? Always.” He started spinning his weapons with his wrists. “Ladies first.”

Mikey could see the pain flash over her face as he got close to her, could see the tears welling up glossing over her purple iris’s. It actually pained her to see him and that tore at the very fibers of his being. The last thing he wanted for her to feel in his presence was pain let alone him making her feel that way. Leo needed to fix this and fast. He wanted to touch her to tell her how much he missed her but unfortunately this wasn’t the time. He had a championship to win and Aurora was the only one standing in his way. He wouldn’t like defeating her but if that was the way to prove to his father and brothers he was an equal part of this family then so be it. He had been training for a year for this moment. He wasn’t going to let it pass him by even if it was Aurora in his way of his victory. He could do this.

Leo, Raph and Donnie were standing now with the rest of the audience, there was too much sweet anticipation running through the crowd to stay seated. Below them their baby brother and Aurora were about to fight for the title of Battle Nexus Champion.

“She’s gonna mop the floor with him.” Raph laughed gripping Leo’s shoulder a little too tight.

“I don’t know Raph, you’ve seen him the past few matches. This is the best I’ve ever seen him. I think he has a chance against her. It might be slim but there is still a chance.” Leo winched feeling Raph’s fingers bite into the soft tissue of his shoulder. His fingers reached up prying the three digits from their perch.

“Oh sorry Leo, just a little excited. Man, I need some popcorn.”

Instead of attacking Aurora began circling the orange turtle, it had been a year since she had taken him on. Leo had improved significantly and had almost won, there was no doubt Mikey had gotten better as well. Hell, he had made it to the end and not his brothers. That alone was a sobering thought. How good had Mikey gotten? This was going to be fun figuring it out.

His eyes never left her as she circled him watching him move. No doubt looking for some sort of tell or a moment when he wasn’t paying attention. But if she was waiting for that she was going to be sorely disappointed, she was the only thing on his radar. She had his full attention. The clink of his chains on his nunchaku while they spun were the only sounds in the arena, the crowd was eerily quiet fixed on the two final warriors of the championship anxious for a winner.

The ball of her boot shifted across the ground scraping against the sand and dirt. Her fingers flexed with the tightly bound leather and silk of her katana handles. Aurora was ready as she’d ever be, it was time. Bending at the knee she dug her foot down and launched forward.

If Mikey had a strategy she couldn’t figure it out. With each attack she doled out his wide but nimble body flipped and darted away. She wasn’t landing nearly as many hits as she wanted too by now. His speed had increased and his ability to perceive what his opponent was going to do next was finely tuned. Mikey was quickly becoming better than his brothers. She was seriously impressed. Even his flexibility had gotten better.

“Jesus Mikey are you made of rubber?” Aurora laughed landing behind him, giving his carapace a swift kick sending him forward onto his knees.

“This turtle got skills yo.” He chuckled lifting his nunchaku up taking the brunt of her katana.

Aurora jumped up and swiped her leg across his body hitting him square in his chest. While he tumbled backwards onto his back she flipped forward landing on top of him bringing her blade down once again “Well color me impressed.”

Catching her blade on the chains of his weapon his legs came forward wrapping around her neck, his feet locking around the back of her head. He heard her startled gasp when he rocked forward bringing her down on her back with his large hand pressing down on her abdomen holding her in place. Her purple eyes wild with shock he raised his weapon above his head ready to make the final strike. Mikey grinned down at her squished face when a smile crept over her flushed checks. She was pinned and could nothing more to stop him, the fight was over. His hand hesitated faulting just above his head.

Her voice broke though his jumbled thoughts. “Do it Mikey, you won, end this.” Her eye filled with pride she nodded but he could tell she was still trying to break free even though he had her immobilized indefinitely.

Bringing down his nunchaku she disintegrated into blue dust eliminating her from the tournament leaving him the battle nexus champion. The crowd broke out into a deafening roar as he stood claiming his title. His eyes found his three brothers in the stands all on their feet screaming for him. They looked so proud.

Aurora found herself lying on the floor of the healer’s quarters in the palace with three healers hovering over her. “I’m fine. No injuries. Just a bruised pride.” She reassured the three concerned healers who nodded and let her be. She sat there for a moment catching her breath with her forearm over her eyes. At least she made it to second place, after all the competitors she saw today, she was lucky to get that far. At least she lost to sweet Mikey, he deserved it, the lovable goof.” Again, emotions bubbled up from her gut, she had been so close to Leo and Mikey reminding her what she had lost a year ago. “Fuck.” She mumbled under her breath holding back tears for the fourth time today. She needed to get out of there, she had no doubt they would come looking for her and that was something she wasn’t ready to deal with just yet. Especially Leo, she knew she couldn’t trust herself around him. Just being a few feet from the tall muscular turtle in blue sent her traitorous body into heat. But the swish of a long tail across the floor told her she was too late. Removing her arm from her face she sat up to meet Master Splinter’s warm stare.

“You did splendid my dear.” He cooed as he watched her get to her feet.

Retuning her katanas to their sheaths she bowed to the old rat. “Thank you, Master Splinter. Your sons fought well today, they have improved significantly. Your training has paid off.”

Master Splinter’s dark iris’s seemed to flood with emotion as he neared the woman he hadn’t seen in a year. His small furry hands came out and took hers; he could feel her tense a little at the contact. With a little tug he urged her to lower to his height, after a few moments she obliged the old rat and met him eye to eye.

“They have trained hard this year plus the extra patrols around the city because of the rise in crime have kept them in top physical form. Leonardo has been pushing them to better themselves, to keep their minds moving. He has been trying to keep his mind from wandering to something he lost, something he regrets letting go.”

Splinter didn’t need to say it, she knew he was talking about her. Pulling her fingers from his hands she stood back up to her full height and turned her gaze from the old rat. “It was good to see you Master Splinter.” And with that she turned from him and disappeared down the hallway.

She flew down the hallway running for the room she was provided for the tournament by the Daimyo, for some privacy. As she turned down the final hall she ran smack dab into a tall sturdy body. Arms grabbed for her steadying Aurora’s rocketing form. She pulled herself away from the warm body looking up to see red hair and green eyes.

“Ue-Sama. I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking to wh..”

“Aurora I’ve been looking for you. I am sorry you lost to one of those troublesome terrapins. Are you alright?” his hands rested on her hips keeping her close to him.

She didn’t fight it for now, but she still wanted to be alone, and she especially didn’t want to deal with Ue-Sama’s bullshit right now. “I’m fine, Mikey deserved to win, he did an excellent job today.”

“Then why are you running? You seem upset, is there anything I can do to help?”

Aurora put her hands on his chest pressing gently trying to discreetly let the red haired ninja aware she wanted to be released from his grasp. But it went unnoticed; actually it felt like he pulled her a little closer. “I’m not upset because I lost; I’m upset because seeing the turtles for the first time hurts, hurts more than I thought it would.” Again she pushed, a little harder but his determined hands remained on her hips.

With the speed of a true ninja, his arms shifted from her hips and enclosed around her back spinning them, so he could press her up against the wall. The sheer speed of his movements along with being caught off guard sent her mind spinning unable to stop what happened next. Ue-Sama leaned down and slanted his mouth over hers pressing his tongue into Aurora’s mouth moaning as his questing tongue found hers.

His knee slipped forward parting her thighs pressing up against her core grinding his crotch against her thigh. Her mind reeled at the unwarranted advance. His lips were rough and impatient taking the kiss, nothing like Leo’s. There was no passion, no gentle urging just pressing and pushing, taking. Leo’s kiss sent heat coursing through her body making every part of her tingle with anticipation. This was nothing like that, she didn’t want him, she wanted Leo, god she missed Leo.

Everything rushed back to her and she panicked pushing against his chest frantically desperate to end the kiss. She tore her mouth from his gasping for breath. “Ue-Sama!” she yelped looking up at him in dismay. Pushing him further from her Aurora glared at the red haired ninja.

“Please, I’m sorry for that, I just can’t help myself. Let me help you, help you forget him, help you forget them.” He moved forward reaching for her yet again.

Aurora held up her hands stopping his advance. “Please stop, I appreciate the offer, but you can’t just do that Ue-Sama. I gave you no indication I wanted to be kissed. Just a few seconds ago I told you that I was clearly not over…… I - I just can’t do this right now.” Without giving him a second to respond she spun around and ran to her room escaping inside.

Ue-Sama was fuming when he finally reached his room. His hands were clenched trembling with the force of it. A large cloaked figure emerged from the shadows edging up behind the red haired ninja.

“What troubles you my Daimyo?” it smoothly questioned it’s red glowing eyes flashed behind the dark cloak.

With a pained grunt Ue-Sama’s fist collided with the rough walls of his massive room. “I will never have her if those pesky turtles are still around. Even after a year she still has feeling for them, especially Leonardo, curse that turtle! I kissed her, I kiss her with all the passion within me and she pushed me away like I was on fire.”

“Maybe it’s time to let her go my Daimyo? She will never go along with your plan and once she finds out she will tell the turtles and they will do all that they can to stop us. I believe it’s time take care of the meddlesome turtles before they become wise to our plans, while their guard is down as they celebrate. I can send my shadow ninjas to take care of them, take care of them all.”

Ue-Sama strode to his window and looked down at the arena filled with the contestants of his father’s tournament. His heated gaze narrowed in on the four turtles in the center of the arena celebrating with the rest of the competitors. His anger grew as he stared at the turtle in blue patting his younger sibling on the back. How did Aurora find that monster of a mutation attractive and not him? He was a prince in his own right, primed and ready to take over the throne from his father. He had so much more to offer her then a smelly sewer, three brothers and a giant rat? He would have the throne and Aurora with her power if it was the last thing he did. He spun around to face his counsel and growled his order, “Destroy those turtles and you can do what you will with the rat as promised but do NOT harm the woman. After they’re gone she’ll have no one and will fall into my arms. Especially when I am sitting on the throne with the war staff in my hand and control the Battle Nexus Championship.”

@imthegreenfairy88 @alonia143 @ravn-87 @bluesakurablossom

Here it is in its entirety

#tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fandom #tmnt fic #TMNT TMNT fanfiction #Fortheloveofshell #Chapter 40 #Aurora

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leah-rainweaver · 3 years

Text

((From the pre-Shadowlands campaign Battlestein Company did.))

Leah was cold.

Perhaps not a strange occurrence to most, but it had been years since Leah had been well and truly cold. Adjusting the temperature of the air that she felt so that she was always comfortable was just second nature to her, as easy and as unnoticed as breathing. But this air was different. It didn’t respond to her the way she was used to. She sat on her bed, blanket wrapped around her, book in her lap, struggling to distract herself from the low hum of moans and shuffling that surrounded Ironhearth.

She had sort of seen the ravages of the Legion, how they burned through areas and left little in their wake. The hordes of undead were almost the opposite. Slow moving, cold, and in their wake, more death and undead. They consumed all in their path.

From down the hall, Leah could hear Nancy singing a song to Flora. It was one unfamiliar to Leah, but it spoke of summer? The sun perhaps? It was hard to make out the exact words, but she was able to follow the melody, and for a split second, she was able to block out the moans from her mind. But then the singing ended, and the moans crashed upon her ears once again.

Leah snapped her book shut and set it on the floor next to her bed, then curled up with the blanket, pressing her hands to her ears as she quietly tried to replicate the melody that Nancy had sung. Her humming helped for as long as she could keep it up, but the moment she stopped, the undead chorus returned. It was a good thing they were going to set their plans for leaving in motion on the next day. Leah was sure she would go mad if she had to keep listening to the dead sing their song.

Perhaps a drink would help her sleep. She got up, keeping the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and went to her door. Carelessly, she flung it open and stepped out into the hall, nearly running into Glauric as he returned to his own room. Leah stopped short, offering an awkward, apologetic smile, “Och, sorry ‘bout that.”

She met Glauric’s eyes and he returned the smile, even if it did look a bit formal and not as warm as it used to be. “That’s quite alright. Though you should watch where you’re going.”

Leah forced a pitiful laugh in response and nodded, “Aye, aye, I’ll try and remember that.” She swallowed, forcing herself to resist the urge to bury herself into Glauric’s chest. If anything could make her feel safer--and saner--it was certainly that. But Leah had no right to it anymore, and she knew she needed to continue trying to move on. It was best for her. Did she want to end up like her father had? In love with someone who couldn’t completely love her back? Who couldn’t completely love their children?

She gestured towards the stairs leading down to the main floor as she noticed Glauric giving her an appraising look, “Just gettin’ a nightcap. Sleep well, eh? Big day t’morrow.” Leah turned to leave almost as soon as the words had left her mouth.

“I could join you.” He said as she turned.

‘Of course you could. I would love for you to join me.’ she thought to herself. But outloud, she replied as she stopped at the top of the stairs, “Nae, that’s alright. Just grabbing a quick drink, nae plannin’ on stayin’ down there long.”

Leah could see the faint disappointment in his eyes, but he nodded, respecting what she’d said. “Very well. But we’ll have a drink to celebrate our arrival back to Ironforge tomorrow after we rescue everyone as is always our task.”

She smiled genuinely and nodded, “That, I can agree t’.” And she gave a small wave and then tucked some hair behind her ear as she began to head downstairs. Though as she went, she could have sworn she heard Glauric say something else, but it was unclear to her; she was just trying to get away from him as fast as she could so that she didn’t give in and seek out comfort and normalcy from him. They weren’t together anymore, she reminded herself for the hundredth time that day. She’d done just fine on her own before Glauric, she could do just fine on her own after him as well.

A few people remained in the dining room of the inn as she arrived at the bottom of the stairs. One or two pairs of eyes looked up to greet her, but everyone was subdued. Conversation, if it existed, was quiet and short. The weight of what faced them on the morrow was easily seen in everyone’s faces.

Leah grabbed a small bottle of her favorite drink and retreated back upstairs with it. Glauric was no longer in the hall when she returned, and she felt disappointment creep up within her chest; though she was quick to try and stomp it back down. He’s moving on, just as you are. Can’t expect him to be pining after you. There are probably dozens of women that have tried to move in on him now that he’s unattached again.

She clutched the bottle tightly to her chest, one arm sort of wrapped around it as she took quick steps back to her room. Leah put her hand on the doorknob to go in, and then paused. Was she being stupid? What if one of them died tomorrow? What if -both- of them died tomorrow? She should go to him, right? Both of them were doing everything they could to pretend that they didn’t still care for each other, but that was stupid in the face of almost certain death.. or undeath, as the case might be.

Leah turned and looked down the hall, three doors away from her own. Her hand remained on her own doorknob through sheer force of will. But then it slipped. And before she could stop herself, her feet carried her to Glauric’s door. Her heart hammered in her chest as she reached for the doorknob.

But she stopped.

Her fingers rested lightly on the doorknob. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats. They felt like eternity as she stood there like a statue. And then she withdrew her hand.

Going in there meant that she was accepting a fate where neither of them lived. How could she possibly allow herself to think that? They were going to live. All of them. Glauric, Bath, Losk.. the entire company. Everyone within Ironhearth that night. The portal would work. They would all survive and laugh about this over drinks.

Leah took a step backwards away from Glauric’s door. She could feel her heart ache with the dull pain that had been with her ever since she had told Glauric that she couldn’t be with him. Most of the time she could ignore it or pretend that it wasn’t there. But it was always with her. And in the stillness of the hallway, for the first time that night, Leah could not hear the moan of the undead outside. She could only hear her heartbeat, and she could feel the cold.

She was alone. But she would live. And that had to be enough.

#leah rp #Leah Rainweaver #WRA RP #dwarf rp #Wildhammer Dwarf

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unlockthelore · 4 years

Text

Tasteful

Was inspired by @fluffberries!

Hiei was no stranger to the troubles of sleeplessness and the horrors inflicted by the mind. Nightmares came to him regularly, but Kurama was a deterrent in the best of ways, soothing his battered mind and soul with a warm embrace and listening ear. However, the last few months had been a trying experience, leaving them with wounds that even Kurama’s remedies and their newly found strength couldn’t heal.

Though they grew closer from surviving the Dark Tournament, it came at the cost of Kurama’s mental health. Hiei would have done anything if it would take away the pain plaguing Kurama in his mind. More than once, Hiei would wake to muffled cries and shuddering sobs. Kurama, unable to cry out in his waking hours, shed tears in his sleep when he was at his most vulnerable to the world and to his trauma.

The solid wall of his youki was imposing, threatening to shove Hiei from his side of their bed and as far from Kurama as possible. A barrier to protect the youko, not from Hiei, but from the one that lingered in Kurama’s mind despite being long dead. Easing through the barrier, gently molding a path for himself with his own youki, Hiei’s fingers brushed over the silver tear tracks on Kurama’s cheek.

The youko stirred, staring up at him with bleary, glazed green eyes, uttering his name softly as Hiei gathered him in his arms. It wouldn’t be the last night that he saw Kurama’s eyes like that, nor the last night that Kurama buried his face against his chest and shuddered, unwilling to utter a sob until he was deep in a fitful sleep. Only soothed when Hiei’s youki wrapped around him in a caress to protect him from the world, even if he couldn’t save him from his mind.

To his slight dismay and relief, Yusuke and Kuwabara were adamant on “team building” by hanging out whenever they could all spare the time. Catching up on their schoolwork and checking in with their families took priority, but in their downtime between or after cases, they’d whisk Kurama to arcades and restaurants to simply have normalcy. Hiei was dragged along, often times begrudgingly, and sometimes because Kurama would look at him and he’d tell himself that it was worth listening to the bickering or being part of the crowds to see Kurama’s smile.

The soft chiming of Kurama’s alarm roused Hiei from his thoughts and his gaze drifted to the phone’s vibrations, pulling his hand free of Kurama’s hair to tap the dismiss button. Silence reigned, punctuated by Kurama’s soft breaths and the distant noises from the city surrounding them. The smell of salt filled the air and turned Hiei’s stomach as his gaze drifted to Kurama’s face, obscured by his hair splayed across Hiei’s chest and tangled around his fingers.

Among the silver tear tracks visible on the curve of his cheek, a stray tear caught on the tip of Hiei’s bandaged finger as he brushed it beneath Kurama’s eye. Lightly tracing his finger along Kurama’s cheek to his earlobe, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear in a futile attempt to tame his mane or provide him comfort.

Slowly, Kurama stirred from the touches to his hair, Hiei’s fingers running through to free it of knots. Hazy green eyes glazed with unshed tears peeked up at him from beneath red locks and Hiei’s heart stammered. He brushed his fingertips along Kurama’s ear, pressing his arm closer to him as Kurama melted beneath his touch, nuzzling his cheek against his chest. Warm breath fanning across Hiei’s skin sent shivers down his spine as Kurama carefully pushed himself upright, his hair draping over Hiei, shielding him from the world and the early morning sun.

“Good morning,” Kurama muttered in a rough voice, brushing their lips together. “Did you sleep well?”

Hiei hummed softly, his eyes half-lidded as he leant closer, their lips fitting together in a soft kiss. It was followed by another which gradually led way to another. Hiei’s hand pressing to Kurama’s lower back, fingers gliding over his skin, tracing over old scars and new. He didn’t grunt when Kurama’s weight settled on top of him, unsupported as Kurama’s hands found their place caressing his neck and jaw.

“That wasn’t an answer,” Kurama muttered, smiling against Hiei’s lips and Hiei’s heart fluttered even if he couldn’t see it.

“Doesn’t stop you from accepting it,” Hiei teased, wrapping his arms around the small of Kurama’s back, careful to leave his hold loose. Kurama tensed against him, his breath hitching as Hiei’s arms wrapped around him.

Hiei sighed. Kurama was trying not to push him out, but he was afraid. And if Karasu lived by some unholy chance, the Void would be too good of a punishment for the pain he inflicted. Shoving aside thoughts of the wraith, Hiei opened his eyes to find Kurama staring down at him with a pained expression. His eyes widening when he noticed Hiei looking back at him and the subtle shift away making Hiei press albeit lightly to bring him closer.

“You don’t have to pretend that you’re not in pain,” Hiei said, rubbing his fingers in slow circles along Kurama’s lower back as the youko relaxed in his hold.

“I know,” was Kurama’s bitter reply, a soft undertone of worry and guilt tugging at Hiei’s heart. “We survived, and that is what I want to celebrate.”

Hiei hummed a reply. It’d been some time since they were like this, but he was willing to give Kurama his space. The words that Karasu had spoken to him, assuming what Kurama wanted and desired, were nothing short of disgusting and demeaning. If Kurama needed distance then Hiei would give it to him, but the more Kurama called him closer, the less likely he was to leave his side. Now, having him in his arms, it was difficult not to answer Kurama’s request as Kurama peppered his skin with small kisses.

His eyelids. His nose. His cheeks. The corner of his lips. Even brushing his hair aside to press a kiss to the closed Jagan, a shudder coursing through Hiei as Kurama’s lips returned to meet his own.

“Indulge me?” Kurama breathed against his lips, waiting a hair’s breadth between them, setting Hiei on a precipice.

And just like a fool, he leapt off without looking where he leapt, eager to have Kurama close to him. “Did you have to ask?” Hiei muttered, leaning up and catching Kurama’s lips with his own, warmth encompassing and the world drowning out.

Hiei wasn’t sure how much time passed, lazily trading kisses and touches with Kurama in the early morning, but a second alarm interrupted with a shrill cry. Kurama pulled away from him with a dispassionate groan, leaning over to look at the time, his eyebrows knitted together and lips pinched in a pout. Hiei snorted, knowing better than to mention it, gently easing Kurama off of him with a kiss to his chest over his heart. A sweet smile replaced the irate pout, Kurama shifting the blanket off them both and lowering his feet to the floor.

While Hiei began tying on his ward, he glimpsed Kurama discretely wiping at the tear tracks as he rubbed his eyes. The smell of salt was stale but Hiei hated how it mingled with Kurama’s scent, his touch gentle as he reached out to bring Kurama’s hand to him, pressing kisses to the pads of his fingers then his palm. Kurama’s fingers tensed then relaxed, curling to brush against his cheek, tipping his head up as the youko leant down to kiss the clothed Jagan.

“Thank you,” Kurama whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling and filled to the brim with emotion.

Hiei’s heart ached but his voice remained firm and worriedly chiding. “You don’t have to thank me for this.”

Kurama snorted, pressing another kiss to the corner of Hiei’s lips before pulling away with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Okay then, I won’t,” he said, pulling his hand away and flopping backward, his hair splaying out beneath him.

Hiei rolled his eyes and nudged his side, shifting to the edge of the bed. “If you have the energy to tease, get up.”

“Hiei…” Kurama called, the only warning he had before a hand on his shoulder pulled him back into Kurama’s embrace. The youko burying his face in his hair, inhaling deeply and hugging him close, nails lightly scratching against his skin then smoothing over with the pads of his fingers.

Hiei shifted, half-leaning in Kurama’s embrace with his feet planted on the floor. Sighing, he pulled backward, in sync with Kurama as they adjusted for comforts sake, Hiei sitting between his legs with Kurama’s arms around him and face buried in his shoulder.

“We’re supposed to be there early,” Hiei muttered half-heartedly, all too comfortable with Kurama’s light kisses peppering his shoulder.

“I’m comfortable,” Kurama whispered, pressing a kiss behind Hiei’s ear.

Hiei sighed, trying to will himself not to shudder as Kurama nuzzled the side of his neck, pressing a kiss to the line of his shoulders. “If the oaf and the detective start complaining and I have to sit through it, I’m blaming you,” he grumbled, trying to maintain an irritated look as Kurama’s fingers brushed against the underside of his jaw, guiding his head to one side.

“I’m fine with that..” Kurama smiled, pressing their lips together again.

— 幽☆遊☆白書 —

Saturdays are one of Hiei and Kurama’s favorite days. Not only is there a lack of obligation to prepare for school or a quick patrol of the neighborhood, but they’re given the space and chance to simply be. As much as “being” is allowed in the Ningenkai that is; though Hiei had to give up his sword for an outing, the loss was quickly replaced with joy at the feel of Kurama’s hand in his own.

Train rides were another hurdle to get over, with the sheer number of people and being in an enclosed space. Kurama’s youki pressing against his own, and his voice a gentle lullaby urging him to find sleep until they reached their destination, considering he wouldn’t get a moment’s peace once they were in Yusuke and Kuwabara’s presence. Their hands clasped on the armrest between them and Hiei’s head rested against Kurama’s arm, drifting off to the rocking of the train.

When Hiei awoke, the cityscape was long gone, replaced with mountains and trees as far as the skyline could reach. Most of the train’s passengers were gone, but the very few who remained gravitated to different spots in the car, quietly keeping to themselves. Hiei tried and failed to stifle a yawn, gaze drifting up to Kurama’s face, the youko staring listlessly out the window.

You’re thinking about something.

Kurama’s eyes widened, flicking down to meet Hiei’s own, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Aren’t I always?

Hiei hummed quietly, his lips parting with a deep sigh as he pressed his forehead against Kurama’s upper arm. The heat radiating through Kurama’s sleeves was intense around the areas where his bandages were wound tightly. His youki intertwined with Hiei’s own to cauterize his wounds and help them heal. While it was nice to know that Kurama trusted him enough to keep a part of him so close, it also worried him.

How much pain was Kurama in?

How much was he hiding behind those smiles?

What was he thinking of?

Hiei sighed, pulling away and shaking his head to dismiss the thoughts, leaning forward to peer at the lush forest surrounding the train station from their window.

How long was I asleep?

Kurama slowly stood, stretching his arm above his head, his other hand still holding onto Hiei’s own. With his sleeve rolled back, Kurama glanced at his watch and hummed.

About an hour.

Hiei frowned. An hour. And the number of people on the train had significantly lessened once it was at the station. In fact, the operator seemed to be calmly waiting for everyone to disembark rather than hurrying. There wasn’t even a chime or a tinny voice to tell where they were. Odd. Kurama was at ease even with the unknown presence and squeezed his hand, urging Hiei to follow him off the train.

Where are we?

The lush forest was vibrant, glowing with life and energy from both the Ningenkai and the other. Traces of foreign youki were everywhere on the platform and a few of the people, who at closer glance weren’t human at all, minded their own business, keeping their energy pooled around them protectively. Some would glance their way as they passed, Kurama keeping a tight hold on Hiei’s hand every time his youki instinctively flared at another’s.

Demons in the Ningenkai. It wasn’t unheard of and something he knew well. Ones who wished to escape the chaos of the Makai but hid in the Ningenkai, disguised and often preying on humans. Hiei wrinkled his nose as they passed by a kyūkonki, the dark grey-skinned demon glancing at him from the corner of his eye and baring large fangs.

Don’t bother with them, Hiei. They aren’t worth our time. As for where we are, it’s a village outside of Sarayashiki.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Kurama’s nonchalance, his insistence on planning the trip and the secrecy around where they would be headed. Not even Kuwabara and Yusuke’s best rounds of prodding and annoying clamoring could get him to budge. He planned this all from the beginning.

We’re going to that place.

Kurama glanced at Hiei from the corner of his eye and the faint smile broadened, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Hiei could practically hear the laughter bubbling beneath the surface of the youko’s calm demeanor, torn between relief at the glimmer of his usual trickery and exasperation for falling into another one of his traps.

Leaving the train platform, they walked down a dirt path surrounded by a dense thicket of green untouched and thriving. Flowers turned to face Kurama as he walked past with Hiei in tow, their blooms opening and the scents were overwhelmingly potent. Irritation welling up beneath Hiei’s skin and coursing through his erratic youki began to seep out of him.

Vaguely, he knew that the flowers and their aroma was meant to calm and ease aggression. This place was one that was meant to be a sanctuary and for one to reflect on all that they’d left behind by coming. More than once, Kurama mentioned coming here with his mother just as many humans did to escape the bustle of the city. Demons hiding amongst them but retaining the peace for this one moment.

A silent truce that was kept until boarding the train to leave the countryside.

The oaf is going to panic.

Kuwabara recovered entirely from his bout in the Dark Tournament but his spiritual awareness was at an all time high. To say that he was jumpier than ever would’ve been an understatement but he wasn’t a slouch in his training either. If Hiei were to give him one compliment, it would be that his tenacity would be what kept him alive. If he applied himself that is.

Kurama glanced down at him and the soft lilting smile told him that the youko was thinking of something or knew something that he wasn’t letting on. Hiei wrinkled his nose and squeezed Kurama’s hand for emphasis of his displeasure. Kurama’s answer, a barely-kept snicker as he bit into his lip and turned his head away, his shoulders trembling.

Hiei rolled his eyes and tugged Kurama closer as they narrowly avoided a downed tree covered in kodama. The tiny spirits chittered and clacked, the gaping holes in their heads showing nothing but darkness inside, like hollows formed in the trunk of an old tree.

“They’re a sign that the forest is healthy,” Kurama said once he regained his composure, giving the spirits a slight bow to which they chittered louder as if cheering. “Inari is quite popular among forest spirits.”

“And so are you,” Hiei said, noticing the procession of kodama following after them and through the trees. He didn’t mind them aside from the chittering which ruined what would otherwise be a peaceful walk with Kurama. But their surprise and excitement at seeing him confirmed Hiei’s suspicions.“You haven’t visited your father since the tournament ended.”

Kurama’s shoulders tensed and his grip on Hiei’s hand loosened. Despite their mental connection, Hiei didn’t need to peek into his mind to see the conflict brewing on the surface. There was something brewing beneath the surface, something that Kurama didn’t want his father to see or anyone else for that matter — anyone that wasn’t him. The youko was at his most vulnerable when it was the two of them, but even then, he hesitated to shed tears or quake beneath his fears. Hiei’s eyes softened and he pressed his lips together in a thin line, looking ahead.

“See him when you’re ready, and not a second before,” he said with a squeeze to Kurama’s hand, his thumb gliding across his knuckles then pressing to each one as he drew it back. “But you are responsible for answering his questions.”

Kurama’s youki pressed against Hiei’s own, attempting to wrap around him in an embrace when the gentle chime of the youko’s cellphone shattered the moment. For the second time that day, Kurama seemed irritated by the device and pulled it from his pocket.

“Looks like Yusuke and Kuwabara are already here,” Kurama said, narrowing his eyes at the screen then rolling them with a faint smile playing at his lips. “Yusuke’s getting impatient and Kuwabara is catching on.”

Hiei smirked. Maybe there was hope for that idiot.

Kurama tucked the phone away in his pocket and slowed his strides, bringing Hiei to a halt beside him. The fire demon looked up at him confusedly as he turned to the procession of kodama and said something. A soft velvety voice uttering words in a Makai dialect that the spirits took hint of, their chittering quiet for the first time since they were spotted. One by one, they vanished from sight, taking to the tree boughs or the bushes and the grass. Their energy thrumming but otherwise quiet.

“… Kurama?”

At the sound of his name, Kurama turned to Hiei and the fire demon shuddered at the warmth in his eyes. One step forward led to Hiei taking one step back and he told himself that he wasn’t running — it would be impossible to separate from Kurama with his hand held in Hiei’s own. The youko squeezed his hand then slowly pulled away, his fingers brushing against Hiei’s palm then the back of his hand before sliding up to his wrist.

Another step backward and the trunk of a tree pressed against Hiei’s back, his eyes wide as he glanced over his shoulder.

Never corner a fox. That is when we tend to show our teeth.

Hiei huffed as Kurama’s fingers traced the line of his jaw, tipping his chin upward, the youko leaning over him. Shadows cast over his face, his green eyes seeming brighter to where Hiei almost wanted to look away. He didn’t feel trapped so much as curious as to what brought this on. Kurama closing the distance between them and pressing closer to him, kissing him dizzily.

His head spun — the warmth between them, the softness of Kurama’s lips, the scent of the flowers around them — it was all disarming and overwhelming. His free hand clawing at the side of Kurama’s shirt before taking hold at his belt, yanking him closer until they were flush against each other. Kurama’s hand thudding against the tree bark close to Hiei’s head to keep himself oriented, the other interlaced with Hiei’s own and giving a squeeze.

“What are you doing?” Hiei muttered once they parted enough for him to speak, rewarded with a light kiss to the corner of his lips.

“One more.”

A soft protest was lost in another kiss, deeper than the one before and just as overwhelming. Relief, appreciation, adoration, feelings overwhelmingly potent and strong passed over from Kurama’s mind to his own.

Ah, so that’s what it was.

Hiei loosened his grip on Kurama’s belt, snaking his arm around his waist to hold him closer. One more turning into two and two turning into three before he lost count entirely.

Later, much later, when they arrived at the village halfway through the woodlands, Yusuke and Kuwabara were pacing around at the gate. Quite a few people gave them looks as they passed in and out especially when Kuwabara seemed to jump at every other person. Kurama straightened the collar on his shirt when he saw them, and smiled down at Hiei, tapping beneath his jaw.

Hiei arched a brow and felt beneath his jaw, his heart jumping at the stinging pain and he glared up at Kurama. The youko’s mischievous grin equally warming and annoying him. Pulling up the hood of his jacket to rest at the back of his neck, Hiei grumbled and shoved his hand in his pocket, ignoring the urge to reach out to take Kurama’s in his own.

“Huh?” Yusuke looked up from scuffing his shoe in the dirt and waved as they approached. “Hey! Took you both long enough.” He hurried over with Kuwabara in tow, looking between them appraisingly. “What was the hold up?”

Hiei scoffed, diverting his attention to the nearby huts’ thatched roofs. With how quiet the village was, he was almost surprised that everyone hadn’t heard Yusuke. And as annoyingly perceptive the spirit detective could be, Hiei didn’t need him peering too close. He wasn’t one for decorum when he found something interesting to tease about. A trait that he shared with Kurama, to Hiei’s dismay.

Someone kept asking for ‘just one more’.

The slight pressure of Kurama’s youki pressing against his own, a giddy amusement traversing the connection heightened by Yusuke’s complaints and Kuwabara’s insistence to know what it is they were up to.

I wonder who that could’ve been.

Hiei snorted harshly, drawing the eyes of both teens and a few passerby. With a quick glare, the onlookers continued about their business and he leveled the pair with a narrowed-eyed stare. “We’re here, isn’t that enough?”

Kurama cleared his throat, though from the soft huff, Hiei deduced he was covering up a laugh as well. “Besides, now you know how Keiko-chan feels waiting for you.” With a smile, he patted Yusuke’s shoulder then strode past him with his hands tucked in his pockets.

Kuwabara looked on confusedly then snorted, grabbing his stomach as he laughed. Yusuke’s dumbfounded expression drawing a ghost of a smile from Hiei as he slowly recovered then charged after Kurama.

“Hey! What do you mean?”

“Oh nothing.”

“What was that about Keiko? Tell me!”

Yusuke’s shouting drew attention toward them as he raced to catch up to Kurama’s longer strides. The youko’s teasing warming Hiei’s chest as he watched them walk side by side.

“Hey.”

The smile faded from Hiei’s lips almost immediately, his usual mask of neutrality slipping into place as Kuwabara stepped into his peripheral view. His usual goofiness abandoned, the air around him was stiff with unspoken questions and radiating worry. For all of his talk about being a tough guy, Kuwabara was remarkably caring and Hiei could barely fathom how someone like him would survive in the realm of demons let alone a village teemed with them. Kuwabara’s crackling energy serving as a reminder that he wasn’t as helpless as others would deem him to be.

Once Yusuke and Kurama were out of earshot, Hiei dulled his end of their connection and inclined his head forward, falling into step beside Kuwabara.

“How is he?” Kuwabara asked, concern seeping beneath his even tone.

“One of your few talents is with reading energy, you tell me.”

Kuwabara grunted, his jaw clenching as if he was in pain. Hiei half-expected one of his usual barbs but considering his reaction, this was not one of their usual talks. “From before we left that place and recently, he hasn’t been doing too hot…” Kuwabara said, his gaze lingering on Yusuke’s back. “Urameshi knows it too.”

While he knew that Kurama was someone who had his secrets and for good reason, he was grateful for how astute Yusuke and Kuwabara could be. Hiei knew he wasn’t the best at words and no amount of intimacy and closeness could ease the pain of what Kurama experienced. That would take time and more comfort than Hiei could give alone.

“So you’re not as foolish as I thought.”

“Make fun of me all you want, but you’re just as worried, pipsqueak.” Glancing at Kuwabara from the corner of his eye, the oaf smiled at him and knocked his elbow against Hiei’s shoulder. “All I’m saying is, we’re all gonna do our part.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and pointed a finger in what Hiei supposed was supposed to be a menacing gesture. If not for the smile on his face and the look in his eyes, or the lack of a reiki sword being pointed at him. “So don’t go thinking you’re in this by yourselves or else I’ll really kick your ass.”

Hiei rolled his eyes, ignoring the twitch in his lips and the urge to smile. Since the tournament, for some odd reason, the oaf was growing on him and he wasn’t in the place or state of mind to worry about Kurama and this. “Is that your idea of intimidation?” He rolled his eyes, tipping his head to one side. “I’ll do as I always have, nothing more, nothing less.”

Kuwabara chuckled, pocketing his hand and grinning as he looked ahead. “Whatever you say, short stuff.”

“Tch…” Hiei smiled to himself, looking ahead at the pair standing outside one of the huts. “Idiot.”

Once he and Kuwabara arrived, he stepped back to Kurama’s side and let the two teens inquire about where they were meeting up for the day. It was a tea house, a quaint one with the faint sound of talk from inside and a variation of smells that both pleased and confused Hiei’s senses. He couldn’t understand some people and their preferences but demons were a mixed bunch. Yusuke insisted that they head inside as he was tired of waiting and wanted to get to it already, Kuwabara following in pursuit, not one to be outdone.

They were considerably quieter upon entering, taking off their shoes and finding a place to sit. However they both paused and Yusuke tensed up while Kuwabara glanced around confusedly. The two sticking close together as if they were going to be attacked at any second. And with the number of eyes on them once they stepped inside, Hiei could understand why.

You were having an interesting conversation with Kuwabara-kun, care to tell?

He glanced aside at Kurama as he pulled off his shoes, setting them aside, waiting for the youko to do the same.

Are you saying that you weren’t eavesdropping?

Hiei, I’m hurt. Even if we’re together, it doesn’t mean that I’m privy to your every thought.

And yet here you are in my head.

Kurama fell in step beside him, ignoring the looks and the watchful eyes on their backs as they went to the table where Yusuke and Kuwabara sat rigidly. With all of the grace he could muster and the will to hold back his laughter, Kurama took his place at the table and Hiei did as well, nonchalant while their teammates were on edge.

“Relax, you two, everything will be fine,” Kurama promised, resting his hands in his lap as Yusuke leant forward, halfway leaning across the table.

“Don’t know if you noticed, fox boy, but we’re in a shop full of demons.”

Hiei arched a brow at the nickname and Kurama dismissed it mentally, giving Yusuke a patient smile. One second passed then another and the spirit detective’s expression shifted from one of wariness to surprise then horror.

“Wait a minute, you knew?!”

Kurama chuckled softly as Kuwabara took on the same surprised look and they both devolved into whisper yelling which drew more eyes than their usual volume. Hiei sat back on his hands and tucked his chin to his chest as he listened to the sounds of the shop and those at the table, letting himself relax as much as he could without his sword at his side.

Well, the shop is a little loud for a personal conversation and our friends even louder.

Hiei nearly paled at the word ‘friends’. He’d long since suspected that something was budding between him and the two humans across from him but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Kurama’s insistence that they were becoming closer — friendlier — was reprehensible.

Friends are only a crutch for the weak.

A lull in Yusuke’s arguing with the youko allowed him to sneak a glance at Hiei, his smile soft yet knowing.

Mm, it’s been a long time since you’ve tried to lie to me like this.

Hiei’s heartbeat quickened and he bit his tongue, reminding himself not to comment aloud, or let his body temperature rise. But the warmth met his cheeks and he turned his head away sharply, staring up at the colorful cloth hanging from the doorway leading to the back of the shop.

Don’t start.

Well, it doesn’t matter. I have very good friends.

Kurama’s soft laughter echoed in his mind and warmth pooled in his chest. This was what he enjoyed the most. His laughter, his happiness, the simple joy of hearing the smile in his voice even if it was at his own expense.

And a wonderful partner.

Beneath the table, he felt a light brush at the back of his fingers and pressure as Kurama’s own inched closer to lace together. With the billowing sleeves of Hiei’s jacket covering his hand from view and the tables surrounding them, it would’ve been hard for anyone else to see unless they were pointedly looking.

But it was obvious to him and his refusal to pull away seemed to please Kurama greatly.

What did I say, Kurama?

Kurama squeezed his fingers in response and Hiei tucked his mouth behind the collar of his jacket to hide his smile.

“Hey Urameshi?” Kuwabara leant closer to Yusuke, his arm wrapped around his shoulders, jutting a thumb at a waitress emerging from the backroom with several colorful drinks sporting caricatures that seemed oddly familiar. “Is that us?”

Hiei looked up and surely enough, there were miniature figures that looked remarkably like the four of them. A fifth of Genkai as the Masked Fighter, with one eye peeking from the mask in an oddly accurate portrayal of the psychic. Hiei turned to look at Kurama, the youko’s shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter, his thumb caught between his lips as he tried to stifle it.

“It seems we’ve made enemies and fans from the tournament,” Kurama said once he gained his composure, unfaltering beneath the dirty and skeptical looks from his teammates.

Hiei rolled his eyes, ignoring the eyes on their backs even more now that he knew why.

You had fans before then, he reminded, feeling Kurama’s thumb press against the ball of his own.

I don’t need the affections of baseless demons who can’t look past the skin and dwell in the past.

Hiei arched a brow at the cold response and glanced at Kurama. Green eyes meeting his own and softening as his voice lowered as if he were whispering into Hiei’s ear.

Besides, I have you.

Distantly, he knows that Kurama might have been trying to tease him but he also knew that he was telling the truth. And he wasn’t sure which made him feel more.

“Hey guys, check this out,” Yusuke said, holding up a menu and turning it to face them. “They’ve got special drinks for each of us.”

Kuwabara grinned smugly, cupping his chin as he looked at his own. “Fight for burning passion like Kuwabara,” he read proudly, ignoring Yusuke’s eyeroll. “I gotta take a picture of this for Yukina-san.��

At the mention of his sister, all thoughts of what his feelings toward Kuwabara might have been were out of the window. “She doesn’t like pictures.”

“Who asked you!?” Kuwabara huffed grumpily, his tall form hunched over as he tried to angle the camera of his phone just right.

Yusuke snickered, resting his chin in his hand with his elbow pressed firmly to the table. “Maybe the next time she’s in town, you could bring her here, right Kurama? Hiei?”

Kurama nodded with a smile too innocent for Hiei’s liking. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, we’ll all go. It’d be like a family outing, don’t you agree, Hiei?”

Kurama.

Yukina deserves to have friends and other company, if she wants Kuwabara’s then who are we to say otherwise? She’s strong enough to tell him no if his advances get to be too much.

Hiei didn’t have an argument for that. Not a sound one that would make him sound less than what he was trying not to be. Clenching his jaw, he grunted and focused his gaze on the tatami mats instead.

Such a sweet brother, so concerned about her.

You’re teasing me? Now?

Kurama smiled softly, his gaze flicking to Yusuke and Kuwabara who were debating on whose signature drink was better. The youki of other demons in the shop was on edge as if they were unsure of their presence but unwilling to contest.

Hiei smirked. The Dark Tournament, while nothing short of a disaster, had gained them notoriety in demon society and that was something that he could get used to. If anything, it’d potentially bring stronger opponents to him and keep the riff-raff from trying anything.

He still couldn’t get the bad taste of that idiot Roto’s pitiful excuse for a trick to keep Kurama complacent enough to control him. If any more attempts on Shiori’s life were made, Hiei would start to think of measures to make an example out of anyone who tried to touch her again.

Hiei, want to play a game?

Kurama’s voice roused him from his thoughts and he glanced at him, seeing the menu held in his hand. He shifted it over and the number of items on it drew his eye although the upper right corner was adorned with all manners of colors along with miniature caricatures of them and their “signature” drinks.

Order something I’d like.

Hiei arched a brow and waited. When Kurama said nothing, he looked down at the menu and glanced toward what they considered Kurama’s signature drink to be. He wrinkled his nose and huffed.

…? Are you going to tell me?

Nope.

Of course he wasn’t going to make this that easy. Kurama was fond of his games but this felt like something else entirely. Not a test to see how well Hiei knew but something else.

Fine, order something I like.

Kurama eyed him for a moment then squeezed his hand beneath the table. The glint to his eyes, a brief flicker of gold, there and then gone once his gaze shifted to the menu.

Alright.

Determination radiated from him and Hiei wasn’t sure if he walked into a game that he could win. Looking down at the menu, the ambience from the scents surrounding them and the familiar bickering between Yusuke and Kuwabara was calming.

The pad of Kurama’s thumb brushing along the back of his hand in slow circles, their youki blending together and pressing against one another in a way that they couldn’t physically. It was oddly intimate and with the closeness making it harder for him to tell what was his and what was Kurama’s, he wondered if it was appropriate outside of the comfort of the youko’s bedroom.

Kurama didn’t seem bothered, if anything he seemed pleased by it, sitting close enough that his elbow brushed against Hiei’s arm. Occasionally Yusuke or Kuwabara would engage them in conversation, wanting to talk about how they found this place or how long it’d been there. Kurama was eager to tell them what he remembered and Hiei listened to their laughter and teasing, basking in the moment rather than the looming shadow of their shared trauma. Like this it was almost as if the Dark Tournament was a horrid nightmare that they all somehow dreamt together.

But on occasion, a demon passing by would get too close to their table and Yusuke’s arm would tense. His knuckle twitching, reflexively making the motion for his spirit gun, only to stiffen and awkwardly scratch his cheek. Kuwabara’s laughter would die down and his gaze would traverse the room, seemingly taking in the decor, but looking for something. Likely mapping exits or taking stock of the demons around them. And Kurama, his relaxed pose was something that Hiei was used to but the faintest tells were in his smile and his eyes.

When he smiled with his eyes closed, it was disingenuine. He was hiding something. in the briefest flicker once his eyes opened, the underlying distrust would show then be gone once again. They were all on edge but trying to return to some sense of normal. Although Hiei doubted that anything would be their definition of normal again.

The Dragon shifted on his skin, pulling at the bandages and inching its way toward the hand interlaced with Kurama’s. Hiei tensed his muscles, forcing the deity’s energy back to where it had been. A growl echoing in the reaches of his mind, his sight temporarily stolen by darkness.

“Hiei.”

Snapping back to focus, he glanced aside at Kurama then the others who were all staring at him with varying degrees of concern or confusion. The waitress standing by their table smiled at him politely and canted her head to one side.

Are you alright, Hiei?

“Hm.” Crimson eyes narrowed as he tried to gather his thoughts, dismissing Kurama’s concern with a squeeze of his hand. “Do you have any herbal teas?”

She nodded and listed off a few but none of them matched what he had in mind for Kurama. The shop did take requests and with a glance at the youko from the corner of his eye, Hiei made up his mind.

“Rooibos with rose petal garnish and rose syrup,” he said without taking a breath, hearing Yusuke’s confused ‘huh’ and Kuwabara’s soft sigh of ‘woah’. “And mint.”

Kurama arched a brow and a smile tugged at his lips, his gaze lingering on Hiei for a moment longer, analyzing him for something that the fire demon wasn’t sure of. Whether he found what he wanted or not, Kurama smiled politely at the waitress — one of his dazzling smiles that often made Hiei want to smile in return.

“Black chai with fresh ginger juice, and cayenne.”

This time, Yusuke’s jaw dropped and his gaze flicked between them. “Did you guys order for each other?” He asked once the waitress left, disbelief coloring his voice. “Isn’t that going to be spicy, Kurama? And that’s going to be kind of sweet, isn’t it, Hiei?”

Kurama, never one to give away his game, simply smiled at the spirit detective’s needling for answers. And Hiei would die before he gave away that he had a fondness for sweets to the likes of Urameshi Yusuke. Kuwabara, seemingly catching on quicker than his friend, smirked at Hiei and the fire demon narrowed his eyes challenging.

It didn’t take long before the conversation started up again at their table and the waitress returned with a hearty smile, setting down their drinks. Yusuke’s matcha latte was quickly snatched up and put side by side with Kuwabara’s honey oolong. The two judging by colors and smell of which was better, sharing a sip of one another’s before continuing their bickering.

Hiei reached for his black tea only to find it pushed out of his reach. The smell of spices drifting toward Kurama while roses were extended to him. Looking down at the rooibos tea, Hiei arched a brow then glanced at Kurama, watching him pick up the tea cup and inhale before taking a sip.

So that was his game.

Staring down at the rose garnish floating on the liquid’s surface, his face felt warmer and he fidgeted. It reminded him of the aftermath of Kurama’s Rose Whip, rose petals floating on the wind. Potentially threatening due to the youko’s ability but beautiful nonetheless. Hiei bit the inside of his cheek. He had nothing to fear from a drink of all things but the gesture was oddly intimate.

It was something that Kurama agreed with. Something that would remind him of him. His heartbeat quickened and the fidgeting in his fingers intensified, the urge to grab onto something — or in this case, someone — barely resisted.

You seem embarrassed, Hiei.

Hiei nearly flinched at the sound of Kurama’s voice so close to ear. The youko at his side continuing to take measured sips of his drink, his lips unmoving, but the smug tone was there in his mind.

What was the point of this game?

Kurama lowered the cup and sighed, the scent of the cayenne mingling with the chai and the youko’s flowery scent reminding Hiei of home. The mornings and nights spent tangled in sheets with Kurama by his side and their scents intertwined into a place that was theirs.

I know I haven’t been the easiest to be around, and I’m sorry for that, but I’m grateful that you stayed.

Hiei knew that the way demon’s hearts beat were different than humans but the concept of a heart missing a beat was all the same. He tried not to let his surprise show lest it worried the two across from them and broach a topic that none of them were ready to discuss. His hold on Kurama’s hand shifting, curling his fingers around his own and holding tight. The rose petals floating on the surface a welcomed distraction to the turmoil inside.

You’re Kurama. That’s enough reason for me to stay.

There was a hitch in Kurama’s breathing, faint but Hiei was used to listening for the sounds and reactions from him. He loved being the one that caused them. All the happy ones that made him feel warm inside. Kurama squeezed his hand and Hiei peered at him from the corner of his eye, setting his hand on the side of his tea cup.

When Kurama said nothing, he brought the cup to his lips and one of the rose petals brushed against his tongue.

Is that your way of saying you love me?

It took all of his strength and control not to choke on the tea or shower Yusuke with it. The spirit detective casting him a curious glance and a wary one as he shifted slightly closer to Kuwabara. Gulping it down, Hiei’s eyebrow twitched and his youki shoved against Kurama’s own.

Absolutely not.

He bitterly glared down at the pink tea and the rose petals. Kurama’s lack of a response a tell that he was waiting for Hiei to finish his thought. A slight tremor in their clasped hands as the embarrassment wrested with the acknowledgement in his chest.

I could do better than that.

Kurama’s chuckle echoed in his mind and his arm brushed against Hiei’s own, the smell of spices closer as the youko shifted slightly, their knees brushing.

I look forward to it then.

#yu yu hakusho #kurama #hiei #kurahi #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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metatiki · 5 years

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Chapters: 1/7 Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford Characters: Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Dorian Pavus, Cullen Rutherford Additional Tags: Angst, Time Travel Fix-It Summary:

Angsty Cullrian story about what happens if everything goes wrong after it’s fixed?

Note: This work is experimental storytelling for me. I initially wrote if for the Cullrian Discord I participate in (The Herald's Rest, check it out!) but decided to go ahead and publish it. Expect to see a new chapter every few days.

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Phase 1: Hunger

It started with a fall.

Dorian fell into Cullen's arms when he arrived at Haven, finding in the man's arms the precise description of the town itself. Fleeing towards the Inquisition after the Venatori had descended upon Redcliffe had been an act of sheer faith--not a commonplace occurrence at all.

His faith was rewarded with a hectic run through snow-covered mountains, their survival dependent on the haphazard collection of supplies which had somehow made it out of Haven. Each step was taken with a glance over the shoulder, wondering when the Elder One would pursue them, or if instead the Inquisitor would appear miraculously from the destruction of Haven.

When neither appeared, the despair truly set in.

Over the course of the next few weeks as what remained of the Inquisition struggled through the mountains, it shrank. Doubt caused attrition through desertion, and without the one who had led them to victory at the Breach, even Cassandra and Leliana, the Hands of the Divine, could not keep the momentum of the Inquisition going. When the Chargers left, Dorian knew it was over. If the Qunari wasn't interested enough to keep a spy in their midst, then that meant the Inquisition was truly finished.

Yet Dorian remained one of the stubborn ones, staying with the core of the Inquisition even as the numbers dwindled. When they found an old, rundown ruin on the top of a mountain after weeks of searching, he hunkered down with them as they desperately tried to make sense of a world increasingly going mad.

But then, where else did he have to go? He had no home, no family--his own father had told him that. So this was it, for him. The last chance.

Over time, the struggle to survive made for strange bedfellows. A chess game played to strive for a sense of normalcy turned into a small haven of its own, and soon he noticed the way Cullen's fingers lingered on his as they set up the pieces for the games. Soon the touches and glances moved on to more, until the chess games were moved to Cullen's office, and then became a pretext for them to dawdle in Cullen's bed.

But around them the world continued to fall. The rifts grew larger, the demons were more widespread, and the Venatori grew more and more bold. Ferelden and Orlais, it seemed, could not be called upon to save the world, but only lament its downfall.

So Dorian took up his mentor's obsession. He returned to the rubble of Redcliffe in secret, digging through the debris until he found a glowing white amulet. In secret, he slaved at his task, as the hollows in Cullen's cheeks grew and the smiles faded entirely from Skyhold. Laughter became hard-earned and even more precious than gold, and the moments they found in each other's arms became their only solace as the winter closed in around them.

As time passed, Dorian's fingers ached with magic as the fat in his body melted away and left him with only lean, hard muscle. Cullen's ferocity in his weapons practice hardened him as well, though more worrying still was the faint scent of lyrium Dorian caught every once in a while on his clothes.

Cullen expressed his worry towards Dorian by trying to give Dorian his own meals, and Dorian made sure to hold his store of lyrium all the more tightly to keep it from Cullen's grasp. They fought, but the arguments always ended when they realized tomorrow could always be their last. Yet the heat between them in bed and on the table became intertwined with and tempered by a desperate worry as each man tried to figure out why the other slowly withered as time went on.

As the world grew worse, the population within the ruin they called Skyhold grew, full of refugees who had managed to escape from the madness of the Venatori and the war between the mages and the Templars which still raged in the plains below.

Until, one day, Dorian found the answer.

He kept Cullen in bed for two full days after that, breaking only as their bodies necessitated it, ignoring the man's pleas to tell him what was wrong, until finally he cast a sleep spell upon Cullen so that the man wouldn't see him leave Skyhold in the dead of night and return to the now-blighted plains where Haven had once stood. Dancing through demons and worse, he walked beneath the pale green sky and saw the Fade peeking through. The red lyrium had also spread, marching far beyond the confines of Haven and making his travel that much more treacherous. He felt it wearing on him day after day, and felt the beginning of crystals beginning to settle in when he finally reached the crumbled walls of Haven and the buried remains of a trebuchet.

With no time to lose, he cast his spell.

And...it worked.

He was able to return to that fateful night so long ago when the Inquisitor had not emerged from the destruction of Haven. It took quite a bit of effort to arrange it so neither the Elder One or the Inquisitor saw him, but when he saw her disappear through the wood he'd weakened and drop into the tunnels below Haven, he sighed in relief and followed. Carefully he guided her towards the camp where he knew the rest of them were awaiting her, and sighed with relief when Cullen and Cassandra ran through the snow to retrieve her when she collapsed.

Things were different now. Surely it would be enough. Surely the world would be better.

With hope in his heart for the first time in a long time, he made the hike back to Skyhold ahead of them and cast the spell which would return him to his proper time. As he opened his eyes and looked around the library, he smiled. He saw shelves of books, not the nearly empty travesties of before, and people bustling all around. A glance out the window showed a healthy blue sky and plenty of troops along the parapet, and he smiled.

It had worked. The Inquisitor had returned, and that had made all the difference.

Quickly he rushed to Cullen's office and flung open the door, a smile already on his face, only to be greeted by a scowl from Cullen and a shout from the woman on the desk beneath him.

And, in the time it took to shut the door and lean against it, the realization hit him: the Inquisitor was back. Things were different.

But the skies were clear, the rifts were being closed, and the Elder One was being thwarted at every turn. The world was better, significantly so. Could he really object if the one thing that changed just so happened to affect him, and only him, on such a personal level?

Or should he simply realize that it was but another lesson in the fallacy of believing in unicorns?

It seemed he must.

So he accepted it, watching with gritted teeth when Cullen and the Inquisitor strolled along the ramparts, or played a game of chess, or disappeared to be alone for hours upon hours. He kept hoping the pain of it would lessen, but it never did. Cullen paid no more attention to Dorian than he did to any other soldier in his rank, a fact which sent Dorian to the tavern more often than not. A few nights with Bull did little to assuage the pain, but it did give him an excuse to drink more.

Eventually the night came that Corypheus was defeated. Everyone was celebrating the Inquisitor's great triumph, but all Dorian could do was hold on to his drink and keep it as full as he could manage despite his equally frequent attempts to empty it. When he saw Cullen disappear with the Inquisitor, it abruptly hit him.

He was free.

He left that night, ignoring Bull's knowing look as he walked into the tavern to pay off his full tab for the first time. It didn't matter that it was the dead of winter, or that he only had two coppers to rub together, or that his store of food would not sustain him for long.

At least, eventually, he would forget. And for good, this time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read on AO3

#cullrian #cullen x dorian #angst #dragon age inquisition #dai #cullen rutherford #dorian pavus #fic: Phases #fix-it gone wrong #my writing

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gold-gguk · 5 years

Text

《 Kiss Me Over Coffee 》

summary ↠ Your coworkers are ruthless, and the worst part? After years of teasing you for never having a New Year’s kiss, they still think it’s a joke. Stuck, yet again working your least favorite shift on your least favorite day, it’s all you can do not snap some necks when your least favorite person can’t miss her chance to take a dig at your singleness. At least they scheduled the new barista with those dimples to work with you...

genre ↠ a cupcake of angst with fluff frosting | barista!tae member ↠ kim taehyung warnings ↠ rude thot word count ↠ 4.0k

moodboard by @jiminspjm || Happy New Year to all of my homies. Here’s this random blurb inspired by Tae’s recent attempts to wreck my bias and the infamous kiss that all the lone peeps at the party stand awkwardly for. Let’s go.

It isn’t the crowd that has your shoulders in knots.

It’s not the roar of the multiple mounted flat screens hung around the room, one of which insists on emitting the most subtly annoying fuzz that you can’t seem to tune out from the undercurrent of the excitedly conversing space. It’s not the spillage of overzealous and over-caffeinated strangers that hasn’t failed to catch the corner of your eye every minute or so, each drop of rich, caramel-colored liquid that sloshes haphazardly over the edge of the cup agony to witness drop out of sight towards the wood varnished floor. You know you’ll be the one scrubbing up the stains a few hours from now.

No, it’s not even the fact that this idiotic rush of inconsiderate customers has left you with the abhorrent mountain of dishes in which you’re currently buried up to the elbows, complete with ravines of suds and pools of murky water, your lower back already starting to feel the dull ache that lingers after a shift bent over the awkwardly low sink hidden behind the coffee bar. However, despite your compromising posture and ever-growing frustration with how hot it seems to be amidst all of this unwanted body heat swimming in the air, what truly has your muscles pulled taught and throbbing with the weight of an annoyance purer and more cutting than diamonds is that caterwaul of high pitched squalling that someone had the audacity to label laughter careening into the air again.

You would gladly bar your tongue from ever complaining about the rest of your problems for the rest of forever if it meant you could go five minutes without being subjected to that tortuous sound. As if on cue, the guffawing screech tumbles out and slices right through the rest of the chaos abounding around you, cutting straight to your ears that are starting to heat red as you feel your fraying edges begin to snap.

The milk steaming pitcher that you had been vigorously scrubbing is suddenly being slammed to the metal of the sink counter by tense hands, every nerve ending you own hauling all-hands-on-deck to reel your frustration back in, uncaring to the geyser of lukewarm water that bubbles over the edge of the sink and onto your worn converse. “I swear, I will rip those fucking vocal chords right out of her throat.”

“Whoaaa, getting a teensy bit aggressive for such a happy occasion, aren’t we?” a familiarly teasing voice suddenly sounds from over your shoulder, breaking you momentarily from your ravenous reverie.

Taehyung. One of the newer baristas hired on a few months before the holiday’s had started, though not the newest, so none of you had much cause to pick on him anymore--not that that’s stopped you. Overbearingly confident and annoyingly sarcastic, he’s the perfect mixture of everything that makes someone just insufferable enough to find endearing, though you would never let on to that notion, rolling your eyes to his face while finding it hard not to smile to yourself the moment he’s sauntered away. You still swear it’s the dimples that got him hired, customers can’t resist a good set of dimples.

Tonight, however, you’re not so easily swayed from your rut of barely contained rage, the milk pitcher slipping back into the water as you huff the floating strays of your hair from your face, shoulders aching as you force them to roll back. “‘Happy occasion’ according to the young and drunk,” you scoff, your eyes flitting sideways to see Taehyung setting down the stacked boxes of various decafs, flavors, and blends that had been running low along the coffee wall.

“You’re young,” Taehyung offers, revealing that half-smile of his as he straightens up, dark locks pushed off his forehead.

“I’d rather be drunk,” you mutter, teeth gritting with the re-tensing of your shoulders as that laugh soars into the air once more, so potent and pure, you’re convinced she’s targeting you.

Taehyung’s low and breathy chuckle pulls you away from the noise and commotion on the other side of the coffee bar again, your gaze traveling back to where he’s now leaning his long frame against the counter beside you, his arms crossed casually over his chest. “Hmm, I don’t know. You seem like you’d be a dangerous drunk.” He attempts to appear thoughtful, scrunching his eyebrows in joking concern, a tantalizing tease still twinkling in the irises that flit towards the source of your frustrations.

“Lethal,” you assure, meeting his deep, chocolate, doe eyes with your daggers for only a moment before that half-smile is reappearing so slowly you find yourself mirroring it, allowing the stretch of your lips to refresh you momentarily before you catch yourself. “Stop that, I’m annoyed.”

“Stop what?” Taehyung questions even though his growing, boyish grin reveals that he knows exactly what.

You roll your eyes, a different kind of frustration bubbling in your stomach. “Just go finish the coffee wall, you idiot,” you reply instead, jabbing a finger back towards the boxes of beans he’d deposited. “If we’re late getting out of here, I’m blaming you for distracting me.”

Instead of replying right away, you feel Taehyung move a step in your direction, drawing your gaze for the third time as your wide eyes catch his hand raising towards you. Choking on your words, you watch his face as the back of his jointed knuckle brushes across the apple of your cheek, his lips slightly parted as his eyes train on the spot. It’s over, and he’s pulling away as quickly as he approached, smiling softly to himself in thought. “Soap on your face,” he clarifies simply before turning and ambling off back to his closing duties.

You blink back your confusion as you watch him go, having to shake away the last of the small exchange before returning to your own task, memory already being filed away along with the plethora of other strange interactions between you and Taehyung since he started here. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s left you dazed and speechless, and you’re sure it’s probably not the last.

With some sheer stroke of dumb luck, you’re able to get through the rest of the dishes without any more interruptions, your hands almost pruning with how much water they’ve sifted through and lower back screaming for the relief you lavish upon it when you’re done, bending and stretching and cracking until you’ve restored some semblance of normalcy. Sighing into the first peaceful moment of the night, it feels, you begin glancing around the coffee bar, looking for the next job to speed up the closing process when you see a sight that makes your insides curl in the most vile way.

Approaching the register at the other end of the bar is none other than the keeper of The Laugh™, the sight of her emerging from the masses and into your line of sight forcing your hands in clenched balls at your sides. Suddenly, the past 20 minutes of freedom from that siren seem all the more precious, and you wish you could slink back into them until this hellish evening finally comes to a close. You grit your teeth, eyes frantically looking to Taehyung only to find him intermingled in the crowd along the far wall, somewhat struggling to refill the numerous jars of beans in the shelves with a stray hip or elbow bumping into him every other minute.

With no one else on shift at the moment to save you from your doom, you close your eyes, taking in a ragged and shallow breath that’s pretending to be under control and begin to make your way to the register where Ms. Giggles is emanating a lesser version of her product towards the boy she’s hooked around. He seems almost oblivious to the sound--bless his heart--whispering something down to her with a sly grin that sends her reeling just before you make it to the register, biting the inside of your cheek in an attempt to not let your face give away any reaction.

“Y/N!” the girl greets animatedly the moment her attention is shifting at the sound of you clearing your throat.

“Hi, Rose,” you respond with a half-hearted sigh. “Need something?”

“Just a chocolate donut and double shot English Toffee latte, thanks!”

You quickly key in the order, adding the employee discount, and wait a moment while she looks to her arm candy with expectant eyes, beaming when he begins fishing his wallet from his pocket. “Having fun on your night off?” you carefully question as you take the cash being handed over.

“Oh, it’s been the best,” Rose grins, completely unaware to your sour mood. “I was soooooo relieved when Tiff let me off for New Year’s again. Oh my god, it’s such a disaster.” She laughs like a gossiping housewife from the south, unnecessary use of hand gestures included, before continuing. “I mean, I remember a few years ago when I did have this shift, and I barely had time to break at midnight for the New Year’s kiss!”

“No,” you gasp, raising your eyebrows in mock surprise to which she remains completely dense.

“It was so stressful,” she sighs, shaking her head. “If you aren’t starting your year off with someone you care about, then what’s the point?” She’s back to giggling in that high pitched manner, grinning in what you’re sure is supposed to be an endearing way, but for the life you, you just can’t seem to smile along.

Handing the change back to the man, you hold your breath, waiting for them to walk away in hopes your exchange will just end here, but as if Rose takes blithe delight in so innocently adding insult to injury, the next question that comes sends your taught shoulders slumping. “What about you, Y/N? Did you bring anyone this year to celebrate with?”

It’s the same glorious inquiry you get every year without fail, always from whatever coworker and company shows up that year, and always succeeding in solidifying the shitty-feeling half of your emotional spectrum with a reminder that never gets easier to be reminded of. “No, Rose, I didn’t.”

She ceases the almost laughable way she’s scanning around the faces in the room, trying to seem optimistic as always that you’ll prove her wrong while really just waiting to hear the confirmation straight from your own lips.

“Hmm,” she hums sadly, gazing at you in a sympathetic way that only makes you want to lunge across the counter. “Maybe next year, then! I’m sure of it.”

You don’t even manage your usually well-rehearsed fake smile before she’s hopping away, boy in tow, to await the calling of the drinks you now have half a mind to spit in.

“I...ah...I didn’t know you were a donut assassin.”

Your head whips around to find Taehyung nestled into the small space between the pastry counter and yourself, one elbow resting on the level surface while his free hand points down causing you to scrunch your brows at him. Your eyes trail along with his finger to find that your own are holding Rose’s chocolate donut in a vice grip, what was once circular goodness now just brown mush in your hand.

Huffing in annoyance, you turn and throw the remains of the pastry into the garbage, shuffling over to the sink to rinse the sticky chocolate from your fingers and trying to ignore the way Taehyung’s presence seems insistent on following you. You scrub at your hands so hard that your skin is beginning to feel raw, but you can’t find it within yourself to stop, throwing all of your focus into the task already completed as your jaw tenses and un-tenses in tightly wound rhythm.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung’s voice creeps in ever so gently from beside you, the soft question, meant to soothe, only rubbing at your raw edges.

“Would you just go do your job?” you snap, untamed eyes silently pleading behind the cold glare you’re shooting at him. He seems slightly taken aback by your outburst, usually cocked smile and confident gaze now almost lost looking, lips parted in a stuttered response that he decides is better left unsaid as he turns and silently leaves you to your brooding.

The rest of the night becomes no easier.

You do what you normally do and shove all of the strangled emotions and bubbling thoughts to the backyard of your brain, throwing on a fake smile that just can’t seem to fit itself comfortably to your lips and bulldozing through the closing list like its completion is your ticket from hell. It’s not too far off.

Taehyung makes himself scarce the remainder of the shift, for which you’re not sure if you’re actually grateful for or not--a thought you kick out the backdoor with the rest of your troubles. The list is almost complete before the end of the night with you and Taehyung working around each other silently, but you begin to question what a good idea it was to throw yourself into your work so heavily by the time the hour of the main event arrives.

People had stopped ordering drinks a while ago, all raptured for the last 30 minutes around the TV’s all playing the New Year’s Eve countdown, awaiting the moment the ball finally drops. This, however, paired with your caught up list, means that you have nothing to distract you from having to watch it yourself.

Your eyes feel heavy in their sockets as you slowly witness the ball begin to descend, your feet rooted at the back of the bar, lacking any form of energy as almost every person in the coffee shop grips onto the body next to them. Smiles and laughter and cheering raise in a chorus that reaches deaf ears, and pair after pair of lips meet in sweet and loving connections. You feel your fingers flex gently against your leg, a chill creeping into your hands as you fold them together in front of you, feeling your smothered emotions tapping at the backdoor as if they’ve gotten cold too. You even spot Rose, of all people, grinning against her date as he dips her down in a kiss that sends your blood curdling. You look away.

To anyone else, the moment would’ve seemed over just as quickly as it had begun, people still chattering happily as they gather their things and begin to move out of the cafe, back into the chilled night air, and on to their homes or possibly a bar with a different type of beverage service for a continued celebration. To you, however, the moment feels lodged in your mind like it is every year, that deep-seeded frustration pinching at your nerves more and more, anxious for the last of the customers to go so you can finally put this holiday behind you.

“Maybe next year. I’m sure of it.” Rose’s broken-record voice has been squeezing at your patience since she gave her spiel, more-so than in years past for some reason, and even as the final customer bids a goodnight and you’re shutting the door behind him, you can’t shake the reminder that you’ve spent yet another year alone.

The thought eats at you, slowly and maddeningly as you find yourself filling in your time card for the night, locking up the cash drawer, and shrugging your coat out of the closet in preparation to finally leave this now quiet hell-hole. Knowing Taehyung will lock up when he leaves soon after finishing taking the rags to washer, you push your way outside, welcoming the cold air that fans over your face in a brief respite before the thoughts start gnawing away at you once again. You turn and begin to forge your way up the dim sidewalk of downtown, the heavy music and loud conversations spilling out of some bar a block over doing little to distract you from the annoyingly incessant voice in your head. By the time you’ve crossed the street at the stoplight near where you’re parked, your eyes are practically burning with restrained frustration at how poorly this night has gone. Your irises are blurred with water as you sift around in your bag for your keys, fingers fumbling to grip them as they clang metallically to the pavement.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you begin to bend down to retrieve them when a set of long and graceful fingers that don’t belong to you are wrapping around the object instead, its brother resting on your lower back as you stand upright, chilled hands wiping at your bleary eyes before you turn to face Taehyung. He’s standing cautiously close to you, his hand having moved from your back to your forearm as you turned, gentle fingers half-aware of their position on your person. He’s looking down at you with that same concerned expression from before, eyebrows folded in thought, eyes soft and solicitous, and lips pink and parted as you take him in.

“Y/N,” he breathes slowly, his voice jarring you out of your stun as you shake your head, gingerly pulling your arm from his hand as you step back.

“What?”

He sighs, his hand dropping back to his side after it hovers for a small moment, his eyes still searching your face in a way that makes your own gaze trail the ground, your converse kicking at a stray stone. “Are you okay?” He repeats his question from earlier, but this time with a deeper tone, more sincere.

“Fine,” you reply, still not looking at him.

There’s a long pause before you hear him exhale again. “Was it something she said to you?”

You’re staring at him now with wide and questioning eyes.

“I may have overheard,” he shrugs softly, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his pants.

You blink back your surprise for the second time. He seems to have a knack for catching you off guard. “N-no...it’s nothing,” you try to cover, but you know the tone of your voice gives you away with every word more that you speak.

“Y/N,” Taehyung calls again, tugging your gaze with the way he says your name, so simply. “You can talk to me about it. I won’t tell anyone. Just you and me.”

You gaze over him a moment longer, the way he’s half-smiling again, but in a different manner--not so confident, but more genuine--and the way his dark eyes seem to shine against the colorful glow of the large tree covered in Christmas lights from brach to root standing nearby, and the way he’s here, wanting to listen...it all sends you over the edge.

“I hate New Year’s,” you state, your shoulders pulling back as you breathe deeper, letting your backyard back in.

Taehyung chuckles endearingly, his eyes squinting somewhat against his boxy grin. “I could’ve guessed that part.”

“I hate New Year’s,” you repeat. “But I don’t hate it because everyone downtown is drunk out of their minds, or because classes start back in a week, or even because it means Christmas is a whole ‘nother year away.” Your words become more brazen, more heated, bubbling up and refreshing themselves with all of the crappy moments of the evening playing like a movie in your head. “I hate it because every year, every stupid, insufferable year, there’s this one night where I’m never reminded more blatantly and belligerently of just how alone I am.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows flinch in reaction almost imperceptibly, scrunching as if he wasn’t exactly expecting that direct of a confession.

“I’m 22 years old, and I’m aware I can spare you the sob story, because I know plenty of other people have it much worse, but I’ve never been kissed. I’ve never even been on a date. But that stuff doesn’t matter! It shouldn’t matter, at least, not as much as it does, and it wouldn’t matter if---no, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t...God, I don’t even know why I care so much!”

You’re practically speaking in hysterics now, your voice raised three pitches in tone and volume, and you would be conscious of how crazy you looked if there was anyone else on the street corner besides you and Taehyung.

“No, don’t do that,” Taehyung speaks for the first time since you started emoting, drawing the snap of your eyes to where he’s still standing calm and attentive, his eyes steady as he shakes his head. “Don’t cut yourself off. It wouldn’t matter if what?”

“If all of them didn’t shove it in my face every year!” you finish, your voice cracking as your hands fly up. Taehyung gives you a gently curious look that let’s you know he desires an explanation.

“Them?”

“The other coworkers,” you reveal, feeling the pain in the back of your throat intensify as you struggle to keep your jaw still. “Every year it’s the same shit. One of them shows up with their date and gets their jolly’s from parading the fact that they’re in a happily committed relationship while I’m still riding solo. It’s like they don’t realize their tradition actually fucking sucks. Who likes being reminded that they’re undesired?!”

“Y/N...” Taehyung breathes, unbelief and sympathy whispering under his utterance.

“Honestly...” you continue on, huffing ironically with laughter that heaves from desperate lungs after you’ve regained a facet of your composure. “It really doesn’t matter to me. Really. New Year’s is overrated...It’s lousy. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up just like I do 364 others, and get over myself...” You breathe heavy as you fight the subtle ache in your body telling you to bring the emotional upheaval down a notch. “...but goddamn it, for once it would be nice to just get a lousy, overrated New Year’s ki--”

And so you do.

Taehyung’s lips are warm and tender and unexpected against yours. The hands the were shoved in his pockets are suddenly cupping your cheeks, soft thumbs dancing over your blushed skin, red from the nip of the air and the singing tingles warming up and down your spine. Your eyelids flutter closed in moments, just after you register the blurred close of Taehyung’s eyes only centimeters from you. There’s something needy about the kiss, as if a collection of passing moments and secret thoughts are attempting to be conveyed in this one connection.

You have no idea what you’re doing, to say the least, but Taehyung more than makes up for your lack of experience with the way he’s leading your lips so effortlessly, molded securely against one another. His hands aid in tilting your head in subtle variations of the same angle, somehow deepening the innocent kiss into something rawer. Your hands blindly find the hem of shirt, fingers fisting the material on either side of his waist as he steps closer to you, his height forcing him to curl over your stature as he continues to sponge syrupy kisses against your mouth.

And suddenly you know what everyone’s been talking about. The buttery sparks igniting in bursts of rapturous flavor all over your body are enough to cultivate a desire to stay here like this forever, forgetting any and all other responsibilities and people until it’s just Taehyung and his kisses and his stupid sarcasm and floppy hair and little dimples that sell coffee like nobody’s business.

All too soon, though, he’s pulling away, leaving you to chase after his lips in a moment of sedated fog, still lost in the spontaneity and warmth of it all. It’s his low chuckle that has your eyes fluttering open again until they are as wide as you can manage, sputtering for words between the hold he still maintains around your jaw, still thumbing over your skin.

“...What was--??”

“I may have had...a little crush on you since I started here,” he admits shyly, his eyes darting away before resettling on your face. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to do that.”

You try to respond, but nothing of coherency seems to be forming tonight.

“It’s not midnight anymore...” he starts again, his swollen pink lips, devilishly enticing as they pucker around his words. “But can it still count?”

Your own parted, frozen lips are suddenly spreading into an uncontainable grin, teeth and all, as your hands brave the journey around his narrow waist, latching together behind him. “I’ll let it slide.”

He’s grinning back at you now, eyes twinkling with that boyish life and excitement as he slowly leans forward to leave a sweet peck against your forehead. “I’ll be on time next year. Promise.”

hahahahahahahaha i’m not ok

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holylangdon · 5 years

Text

Moments Silence (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Request: 14D & 10K & 6/8 from the BDSM Michael prompt list by @michael-lives-on

Warnings: Dub!Con-ish, generally NSFW, Fem!Witch!Reader, physical harm to the reader that causes unconsciousness, Michael makes sexual advances on the reader, taunting, brief choking, kidnap (technically), probably more

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: slightly dubcon?? maybe? i've never written anything where informed consent is not 100% there or is a grey area so i hope its good but anyway enjoy

You never thought the world would truly end. You were under the impression that earth itself was an indestructible force to be reckoned with, something that was beyond anything or anyone’s control. When in reality, everything you’d ever known and loved was just like a water balloon; If you apply just the right amount of pressure in the right places, just the right amount of stress and hurt, and it explodes from the inside out. It’s contents spill all over, creating a horrible mess. A horrible, horrible mess.

That’s what was happening at this very moment in time.

You’d been at home when the first missile hit. Korea, the news man on Channel Eleven said. but Anne Barnes from Eight said it was in Canada. The next channel said Russia. Ukraine. Portugal. No one had any clear understanding of what was going on in the world, save for the fact that the United States had not yet been struck. They estimated that the major cities would get hit first. New York, Los Angeles, New Orleans. You were in Los Angeles. Coven business had sent you here many months ago, back when the council went underground. You never expected to be smack dab in the beginning of the end of the world.

The president and vice president appeared on television next with half of their office, making some halfhearted statement about how they’re sorry for the mass tragedy that’s happening in the other countries but that the United States of America is an unsinkable ship. We won’t go down easy. When this is all over, we will donate funds and resources for recovery. That’s what he said, at least, but you could read right through his facade. He was just as scared as everyone else. His uncomfortable seat at the wooden desk in the Oval Office couldn’t protect him now and he damn well knew it. Hungry reporters ate every word from the palm of his hand but you flipped the channel instead, in utter disbelief of his words.

The newsman was crying. Hysterical. Weak and damn near paralyzed with fear. He began to plead for his life, apologizing to his wife and children that he wouldn’t be coming home, for another bomb had dropped. Here, this time. That’s when you began to hear a faint rumbling in the distance. It grew stronger and stronger until you were knocked to the floor by the sheer force of it’s impact. Another missile had hit somewhere, and it couldn’t have been too far from you, judging by the sound of it.

Just as you began to stand up, a panicked mess, you reached for your phone. Cordelia. Mallory and Coco. Madison. They needed to know what was happening. You needed to call someone, anyone. You needed to hear a familiar voice. But now, you quickly realized, all of your sister witches were gone. Your mentors were buried twelve feet in the dirt in a deep hibernation. Coco and Mallory were in Beverly Hills, unknowing of who they truly are. Zoe and Queenie and Misty and everyone else you could think of were dead.

There was no one left to help you.

Moments later the door to your apartment was bust open by two tall figures in bulky black armor. They looked like police, almost, except for the hellish and evil aura they exuded as they stood in a military-like position of order, staring over you. You held your palm out in a halfhearted attempt to keep them from crossing any further.

“Y/N Y/L/N, You need to come with us.” The shorter one said. A woman. About six foot tall, she was far scarier than the man next to her. Just her tone was enough to make you shiver.

“We’re sent by Michael Langdon to retrieve you. We are authorized to use force.” Your eyes darted to the nightstick on his waist, the thick leathery gloves around his fingers. The woman had a belt on, no doubt filled with dangerous weapons too.

“Why wouldn’t he come for me himself? Why would he send you?” You felt yourself backing away from the two bodies, but with every step you took backwards, they stepped forward. You’d trapped yourself in a corner, your mind racing. What would the Antichrist want with you?

“We belong to the Cooperative.” The man stated simply, not exactly answering your question. He took a small step forward. “Mr. Langdon has given us strict instructions to retrieve you and bring you to a secure lo-”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to send them flying backwards with a flick of your wrist. They stumbled, lost their balance, but were soon back on their feet together. Your magic wasn't strong enough to stop the guards as they each grabbed one of your arms, placing them in thick metal cuffs. You focused, mumbling small Latin words under your breath, not even sure what you were trying to do. Stop them? Slow them down? Whatever it was, it wasn't working.

You fought as they dragged you down the stairs. Kicked, yelled, bit, scratched and screamed until finally, after an exchange of hushed whispers above you, the man slammed your head into the wall.

When you woke up, you were greeted by no one but the cold air inside of whatever dim concrete hell you'd entered. You were tired, your body aching in pain. The room smelled almost of copper, which you noticed as you stood from the bed to inspect it. Freshly made, the imprint of your body sunken into the duvet. You must’ve been here a while. A wooden nightstand rested beside the bed, a series of candles on top of it. You weakly flicked to light them, revealing the rest of the room as you explored.

It was almost like a studio apartment, not much different than your own. A small kitchen and dining table in one corner, a thin wall separating the two spaces. Directly across from the bed was a door, likely a bathroom, if you had to guess. A large couch and old record player sat in the opposite corner. It was nice, save for the dark concrete walls and floor. You spotted a drain in the middle of the floor. That meant you were underground. A bunker, maybe?

“You’re awake.” A smooth voice echoed from the other side of the room, snapping you from your adventure. You turned around sharply. Michael Langdon, the Antichrist himself, leaned against the entrance to the room that you hadn't yet noticed. He was dressed nicely, a black button-down shirt and red tie with black slacks, beautiful rings adorning his fingers. His messy strawberry waves were tucked behind his ear. Handsome, almost. If he were anyone else you’d be glad to be trapped here with him. “Took you long enough. I started to think maybe you wouldn’t wake up.”

“How long have I been out?” You asked. He stood up straight, crossing his arms over his chest as he began to walk around the space.

“A day or so. Forgive me, it’s hard to keep track of time when the world is ending.” He smirked, picking up a small globe on the table beside him. He inspected it for a moment, shaking it, before putting it down. An eerie feeling loomed over the room. He was up to something. If keeping you in a bunker wasn't enough of a sign, the normalcy that surrounded him was.

“What do you want from me?”

“How does it feel to know you’re the only one of your kind left on this burned up planet?” The blonde man asked, interrupting you as you finished your sentence. He laughed lightly, gesturing for you to come closer. A disgusted look crossed your face as you took a hesitant step closer to him. “Lighten up, little witch. I’m truly curious, seeing as the two of us are in a similar circumstance at the moment. Antichrist, last witch on earth...”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” You dully noted.

He visibly relaxed when you spoke, almost a bit too much. “Is that a threat? I didn’t think you’d be so fierce. But when you are the last of your kind... It makes sense. Sit.” By the end of his sentence, you’d moved to stand in front of him across the table. Following his order, you sat in the cold chair. He stood still, letting his eyes roam over you. “I chose you for a reason, you know.”

“And why’s that?”

“Your power. You may not be the next Supreme, but with the power of thousands of your dead sister witches flowing through you... I’m sure you’ll do an exquisite job.” He quietly walked closer to you, his fingertips trailing along the table.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and swallowing your fear. Pride, too, preparing for an almost certain death as you questioned him. “What if I choose not to help you?” Michael leaned down, just at your eye level, his mouth coming close to meeting your jaw.

“Maybe you didn’t get the memo.” He whispered, his breath hot on your ear. He rose from his position, leaning onto the table instead. He raised his hand, but not to strike you. Instead, he brought his ringed thumb to your cheek, stroking the soft flesh lightly. “Everything is mine now, and that includes you. I’m afraid you don't have an option, Y/N.”

His bright blue eyes were dark and hungry as he looked over you now, his hand sliding down from your cheek, stopping at your neck to feel over your pulse. He let his hand roam your cold skin for a moment before a deliciously evil smirk crossed his lips. He leaned closer to you once more, humming a quiet tune as he locked his hand around your throat. He had done this before, you could tell, by the way he squeezed just perfectly enough for you to feel the intense pressure but still be able to take in shallow breaths.

His other hand crept closer and closer to your top, working to pull the hem out of your jeans. You shivered in disgust under his touch but could do nothing to stop it. He had you in a strong grip, one slight movement away from death. If he moved an inch, or applied just a bit too much force to your delicate throat, you’d be dead within seconds. He clearly got aroused by that idea as he now worked to unbutton your pants.

“I don't want to punish you.” He said lightly. It almost sounded sincere. “You’re going to be a good girl, correct?” You nodded to the best of your ability and he let go. You took in a deep breath, having missed the freedom of doing so. “Take off your clothes.”

You sat still, not moving to follow his order this time. He let out a light sigh and muttered something to himself as he stood from the table, moving behind you. He placed his arms around you, physically lifting you up and turning you to meet his chest. His quick fingers began to remove your top again, but you attempted to take a fall back in resistance. He put his foot out to stop you, but the both of you were shaken by a distant rumbling. Another bomb?

You almost fell to the ground by the sudden shaking of the earth as it hit, but Michael’s new strong grasp on your arm kept you in place. “You hear that? You can scream all you want, there’s no one left to come rescue you. You’re all alone now, Y/N, so you might as well just submit to me.”

“No!” You shouted, trying to pull your arm away from him. He was far stronger than you. It was useless to try. Michael pushed forward with a certain passion, pressing his lips to yours as his grip on you loosened.

You almost pulled away. Almost. But you found yourself enjoying the simple pleasure far more than you should have. After a moment, your hands instinctively reached for his hair as you nearly arched into his body. His hands roamed your ass, making you gasp as he gave it a rough squeeze. Just enough for him to slip his tongue between your lips.

Rather quickly, you snapped out of whatever lustful trance he’d put you in. This was the Antichrist. He was singlehandedly responsible for the genocide of over seven billion people. Less than one percent of all humanity remained on his Earth. You could smell the sweet scent of death and destruction in the air, but as he pushed you closer and closer to the bed... You found yourself not wanting to fight back anymore.

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thewhiterabbit42 · 5 years

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Home

Pairing: Gabriel x Winchester!sister reader Summary: It’s hard to be normal when what you need, who you are, and who you have is anything but that, but it doesn’t stop you and Gabriel from trying. (Requested by @phantomwarrior12) Word Count: 2034 Tags/Warnings: Fluffy feels, a touch of angst, needy Gabriel

“Honey, I’m home!” Gabriel’s dramatic announcement carries from the front of the house clear through to the kitchen.

It amazes you how he uses the front door instead instead of flying in anymore. Whether he’s finally gotten sick of you ruining his nice shirts (stabbing still tends to be your go-to panic response), or he’s decided to try and uphold the guise of normalcy you’re trying to emulate, you’ll never know. While so much has changed, some things never will, and Gabriel, being Gabriel, makes you pay for straight answers in concerted effort and a level of frustration that easily shaves three years off your lifespan.

Whatever the reason, it’s nice, though you’re not sure you’ll ever fully get used to it. Mostly because you know you’ll never be what you pretend to. There’s a thousand different reminders on any given day that whisper with how this is just an act. Today, it’s in the way you recall the exact number of footsteps he needs to cross the house and in how you diligently tick off the seconds it takes for him to appear.

He rarely stops along the way, always as eager to lay eyes on you as you are him. Yet, he never races, and you always force yourself to remain wherever it is you are, because most people don’t need to act like every day might have been their last to see their love.

You feel him enter more than you see him in your peripheral, his presence brimming with angelic energy he just can’t seem to tame when he’s around you. He pauses, leaning against the doorway as he watches you chop away at your ingredients. Who knew you’d be good at filleting anything other than monsters?

A smile blooms across his face, wide and warm, and you wonder what he sees. Is it the sheer domestication that pours off the entire situation that tickles him? Or perhaps it’s the pattern of pigs with wings on your new apron, harkening back to your remark about settling down when pigs learn to fly.

You avoid looking directly look at him. You know the moment you do, dinner will become a distant thought. You’ll simply melt, and all you’ll want to do is be close to him, to drown in golden depths while running your fingers through silken strands of honey. You thought you couldn’t get enough of him before, but now you ache whenever he’s gone. Literally. A tightness encompassing your chest along with the need to see, touch, smell, taste, know. That he is still there. Alive.

He finally straights again, sauntering toward you with a, “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

Curiosity has him glancing at the various items in front of you, but his focus is solely on closing the distance. He moves behind you, an arm enveloping you securely as he leans around the side of your face and presses a kiss to your cheek. His hand is warm, but the tip of his nose carries a hint of chill, causing goosebumps to ripple out from where he begins to nuzzle you with it. There’s an air of freshness clinging to him that’s crisp and almost makes you want to step outside yourself. Almost. Because he is not there, but here, breathing you in with one long, sweeping breath.

“Something new I saw online.” You inclines your head to the iPad on the counter next to you. He barely gives it a look, and instead turns his attention to pressing small, affectionate kisses along the side of your jaw that say he’s missed you just as much as you have him.

“I got you something on the way home, today…” His other hand creeps around the side of you, a beautiful bouquet filled with fall colors shrouding the green and red of the vegetables you’ve been prepping. “I think the florist might be getting sweet on me, with the deal I got on these.”

You take the flowers from him with a snort, eyes drifting over to the four vases on the table already filled from this week. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with how you’re single handedly putting at least one of his kids through college.”

“Mmm, not talking about the owner. His assistant. Eduardo.” He gives the r a drawn out, sultry roll, arms shifting tightly over yours to pull you back against him. “Though I’m sure the special tip I always give him helps.”

You turn enough to meet his gaze, brow inching up as you give him a falsely measured look. “So long as it’s just the tip you’re giving him…”

He laughs, a genuine bark that makes his eyes light up and crinkle at the corner in ways you hadn’t seen until the two of you took off together. Away from his family drama. Away from yours. Leaving behind the the toxic, well-meaning misguidance from both sides of the fence.

“Don’t worry, hot cake, that part of me is one hundred percent, unequivocally yours.” He brings his face closer, his nose rubbing yours for a short series of Eskimo kisses that has warmth suffusing through your chest and your heart dancing.

“Better be,” you murmur, mouth seeking his in confirmation. And what an assurance you receive when he captures your lips like there is nothing sweeter and more precious in the universe to him. He snaps, and the flower disappear from your hands, allowing him to turn you around so he can kiss you properly; hands cradling your face, keeping you close, drinking you in so deeply you can barely breathe.

Dinner never had a chance.

There’s that signature click of his fingers again, this one sending you both straight to your bed. You’re not certain why you thought this Friday would end any different. He’s done this every week since he’s started working, and you know the routine by now, your hand already behind his thigh, guiding it to your hips as he hooks it around you.

You’re not certain when the apron has disappeared, only that it poses no hindrance. Neither does his jacket, the heat of his body easily seeping through the material of his shirt and yours. He pulls you tight against him, and it’s like he’s trying to absorb you, his need overflowing beneath every point of contact. He relishes closeness in a manner most people could never fathom, and the way his mouth joins yours again echoes how much this intimacy transcends physical desire.

You can tell by the need that thrums through him, spilling over onto you, that he could do this for hours. You, on the other hand, can’t. Your human limits keep him tethered, guiding him back before he loses himself completely. He waits until the very last moment, enjoying every drop of you he can before pulling away, resting his forehead against yours as he allows you some much needed air.

What you feel is indescribable. Heady. Euphoric. Like you’re drunk, not just on his being, but the wholeness you feel on a level you never thought possible. Above all else, there is freedom that blossoms in these moments where the world, time, existence all cease to be and there is nothing but you and him.

Your breathing has almost evened out by the time he lays his head on your chest. It’s an instinct, to wrap your arms around him, holding him as snug as the leg that still clings to your waist. Your fingers find their way into his hair, carding through the curls gathered at his neck, and you savor every second of simple contact you’re allowed.

“Do I have to spend forty-three hours a week away from you?”

You almost laugh at how petulant he sounds, and at the fact he tries to act like he didn’t tell you last weekend, on a rant, that his job makes him leave for exactly forty-two hours, thirty-six minutes, and fifteen point twenty seven seconds. You’re swept away, however, with a swelling symphony of sentiments at the thought that this infinite being doesn’t want to be without you a second longer than necessary.

It takes you a moment to find your words. “A big house in the country requires a big income.” It’s not exactly what you want to say, but you know better than to give voice to things you barely understand, let alone try to explain them to him.

That and you’re just as dodgy as he is these days when it comes to laying all your cards out on the table.

He lets out a slow breath through his nostrils, and you can sense his disappointment welling up within him, and the quietness of his tone only confirms it. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

You hold him even tighter, his words squeezing at your chest. “You do take care of me, Gabriel. With or without the big kitchen with an island and granite countertops.”

You know he’d given you those things because you’d never had them. He might have been the only person who didn’t just want a better life for you, but actually tried to make it happen. In truth, you could take this quiet place in the country or leave it. It was the time and privacy with him that meant everything.

“I’m just happy to still have you.” You almost aren’t able to tell him that, your focus shifting to fend off intrusive snippets of memories you want nothing more than to wipe from your mind. Your bury your face against the crown of his head, filling every one of your senses with him.

“You weren’t supposed to be there.” The admission catches you off guard, draws you back with startling haste. “I never wanted you anywhere near Lucifer, let alone for you to see him --”

You shush him quietly, holding him more tightly against you. “I needed to.”

You are far more appreciative for it, grounded, and for the first time in years, you feel like you can see things clearly.

You sometimes wonder if your brothers will ever be able to.

“Do you miss them?” It’s as if he senses the shift in you. Perhaps, he does. He seems to know you better than even Sam and Dean sometimes, despite how you’ve only known him for a handful of years.

There’s a budding pain along old wounds etched intricately along the chasms of history flowing through your veins. The sting is salved, however, by the sheer effervescence of his being and the effect it has on you, as well as by the light you coax out of him with each day that passes.

“Not as much as I’d miss you.” You know it sounds awful, but sometimes the truth is. Your brothers are your blood. You will always love them, but they can’t give you what you need. Not anymore.

“You realize I have no idea what I’m doing, don’t you?” There’s more hope in his voice than sarcasm. That you do recognize this. That you haven’t somehow been tricked into thinking he has all the answers. To be honest, you hadn’t caught on to that little caveat, but it’s a relief to know he’s making things up as much as you are.

Despite neither of you having a clue, you don’t feel lost. You actually feel settled in a way you can’t ever remember being. The uncertainty melts away as his fingers begin to trace what you think are nonsensical patterns along the skin of your lower back, his energy slipping beneath the surface of your body.

It’ll take you another three months before you realize he’s actually warding you. The safety of it along with his intent, however, translates, nestling into your bones and relaxing you in ways you never knew you could.

Some things will never change. You’ll still need to run. You’ll still need to keep your head down, but it won’t matter where you have to go, or how often you’ll need to move. Home has never been a place for you, anyway. You realize it’s never truly been anything until now.

“Don’t worry, feathers,” you murmur into his hair. “We’ll figure it out together.”

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phantomarchive · 5 years

Text

A couple years ago, I wrote a starter for a friend who RPed as Nate, and now I’m posting it here. It also functions as just a piece of (hella long) writing, but ultimately takes place during UC4 under the assumption that Elena doesn’t go back for Nate, but is still concerned about him, so Sully gets in touch with Chloe to see if she’ll go find him and make sure his dumbass is safe. We’d had a whole plot planned, but alas.

Anyway, writing under the cut!

Victor is damn lucky he catches Chloe when he does.

His call comes late in the afternoon, after she’s been passed out for hours after a too-long flight home. The job in Kagoshima was quick, nothing to get too excited over, in and out within four days and hardly even a scrape to her knuckles. Easy. She loves the job, though, regardless of how short it is, of how little danger there is, of minimal risk and moderate reward, but still it feels good to be back in a warm bed, in a temperature controlled apartment, with locks on the door and eight floors of residents below her to act as a buffer between her flat and anyone potentially trying to reach her. The thrill of the adventure can still, at times, be outweighed by the comforts of home. Of familiarity. Of the quiet hum of the air conditioner soothing her ears after days of near perpetual gunfire when things go bad (and so often do they go bad; it’s almost not enjoyable if they don’t, to a degree).

She can’t sleep on flights, though, never could, and when she finally landed back in Key West after three layovers and too many in-flight movies, her eyes too heavy to even read her notes anymore, she managed to wrangle a taxi ride home, barely making it out of her jeans and onto her bed before sleep won and she slipped into a series of meaningless dreams for a solid eleven hours. It isn’t unusual for her to crash so hard after a job, but it’s the flight that really took it out of her this time. For the amount of trans-oceanic flights she takes, she thinks she should be used to all of this by now, might know how to relax and shut down on a flight - and yet here she is, pushing her mid-thirties, more than half her life spent in the business, and still unable to to do more on a plane than close her eyes and slow her breathing and try to imagine the thrum of the engine is her air conditioner at home, but to no avail. Frustrating, but it’s why she plans a few extra hours on either side of her trips for the red-eyes and long flights.

She hadn’t planned anything after this job. Maybe a couple weeks off to let her aches recover, to start working on selling some relics from recent jobs, maybe start poking around for her next one. So when she’s woken up by her cell phone vibrating near violently beside her pillow, Victor’s name illuminated through the spiderweb of cracks in the screen, she knows it’s one of two things: an invite to drinks, or something with Nate. Both of which end up being time consuming, and he’s lucky he caught her now.

Her mouth is thick with sleep, and she has to clear her throat a few times before she can clear the hoarseness from her voice, but even then she still sounds tired.

“Victor?” She tries to sound alert, or at least more so than she actually is, pushes herself onto her elbows to clear her head, blinking sleep from her eyes. But it isn’t anything she does that has her mind snapping to attention and her heart pounding so hard it might break through her ribcage. It’s what he tells her. It’s Nate, because of course it is. It’s been a long time since this brand of call has come through to her, but she can’t say she hasn’t been expecting something like it eventually.

She can still remember the last time she’d visited the Drake household, the look on his face when she mentioned where she was headed next - Uruguay, at the time, to look into the credibility of La Luz Mala. The way his eyes widened slightly, brightened, and she could damn near see the wheels turning in his head as he already tried to figure it all out, where he’d start, what clues would fit, historical facts and tidbits they had once spent countless days and nights poring over together - and how those wheels slid to a sharp stop when he forced himself to change the subject. He can’t follow that train of thought. He has a wife and a house and a relatively normal job. He’s left the life of fortune hunting behind in favor of the normalcy he didn’t get growing up. It broke her heart to see the light dim when he moved on to other topics and pushed a smile into place. He’s happy, but he’s also not, and the lure of adventure is a tempting mistress they’ve both spent their lives giving in to the siren song of.

He resisted, but she knows how goddamn easy it is to go back.

“You mean…even more stupid than usual?” A pause as she listens, and she forces herself into a sitting position, dragging her hand over her eyes, down her face, back through her hair. She tries to play it off like a minor annoyance, but the truth is, she knows the recklessness that can come with spending time away, and she’s terrified for him. Keeping herself under control is easy, even in the vulnerability of the aftermath of sleep, but she feels the rising panic make her chest ache. Her only audible sign of it is the sigh she gives, heavier than she’d intended and carrying more worry than she could put words to.

“Of course, Victor,” she says, pulling a pen and whatever scrap of paper she has towards her to take down the notes. Coordinates, last known location, where he’s headed, the destination itself - Avery’s treasure? She damn near scoffs into the phone. Son of a bitch went looking for it without her. Another sigh. “Yeah, I’ll go drag both Drake asses home.” The phone balances between her cheek and shoulder, tongue pressing against the flats of her teeth as she scribbles notes to herself. She falls silent for long seconds, rereading everything, ensuring she has it all before speaking again.

“I’ll leave as soon as I can catch a flight out.” Another short pause. “Love you, too, Victor.” She pauses, then lets the phone drop to the bed, hearing the audible beep of the call disconnecting.

And then she lets herself feel everything she tried not to on the call.

Fingers tremble only slightly as she books the flight, paying extra to land in a small, out of the way airport that’s closer to the island Nate’s headed to, and good god, what has he gotten himself into? She knows Sam’s at fault here, no one else it could be, but that’s a strange recent history of prison visits and delivering rare books on pirating to him behind the corrupt backs of bribed guards (and learning about him was something else entirely, a series of six-degrees-of-separation connections that led her to him, and fucking hell, Nate, a brother?). She’d thought Sam was just bored, but apparently he’d been serious about the lost treasure. She should’ve been more suspicious of the calls he made to her in the middle of the night, his attempt at casual still sounding panicked, but she’s had a little too much on her own plate to worry much about his.

And now it involves Nate. (And Avery’s lost treasure, christ. She’ll find time to be more annoyed about that later.)

It takes less than hour for her to pack a spare change of clothes and basic toiletries into a travel bag and get to the airport. Waiting for the flight only adds to the stress itching her skin, and it’s sheer willpower that keeps her from pacing in the terminal until it’s time to board. She sits instead in a chair at the end of a row of chairs, fingers pulling at a loose thread in the hem of her shirt while she holds a compilation of what notes she has about Avery in her other hand. Brushing up on her knowledge of the man barely holds her attention, her eyes steadfastly focused on the pages though her mind is far from rapt, focused instead on Nate and what the hell he’s doing. It’s been a good while since she’s seen him, and she’ll be damned if the next time she sees him is dead, not unless it’s both of them dead together. (A stupid promise made five beers deep in the middle of the night when humidity wasn’t the only thing keeping them warm. A stupid promise, but a promise anyway, right?)

At this point, it’s become routine to suppress her feelings, move on and not acknowledge them anymore. Years of pretend and fake smiles until it was too much to bear and avoidance became her best ally, and even that gave way to caving in and seeing the entire crew again. They’re her friends, dammit, and she can’t lay claim to many of those. So she pushes it aside. A semblance of ‘moving on’ she’s never quite reached. And it’s things like this that bring it all back to the surface. Chloe doesn’t get these calls when it’s a simple fix, or when Nate is in just a spot of trouble. She gets these calls when it’s gotten bad, and even if getting bad is fun, there’s a line that even she doesn’t want crossed, and she can’t help but feel that this is one of those lines Nate’s leapt across with both feet.

Her hand abandons the loose thread and instead her thumbnail fits between her teeth, brows pulled in, eyes not even comprehending the words on the page, and fucking hell, is the plane leaving yet?

It takes too long, too long, before the flight starts boarding, and she should’ve taken Victor up on his offer to fly her there, but she’s here now and waiting in line is frustrating, and she has to remind herself not to clench her teeth and to take deep breaths to stay calm. She has a several-hour-long flight ahead of her, and she’s really only thankful that she slept as much as she did beforehand. Not that she’d take any rest after she lands, not with everything that’s waiting at the other end of this all, but at least she won’t be dealing with tired eyes and the irritation that sets in when she’s awake for too long. Small mercies.

She finds some sort of solace in steady breathing and the knowledge that she’s on her way, she’ll be there to help him soon. He’ll be with her, where she can know he’s safe. It’s a small comfort, but it allows her mind to settle as she finally gets to her seat and waits for the plane to take off.

———-

If nothing else, on landing, she’s learned more about Henry Avery and his connections than she knew going into all of this. Her resources were limited on the plane, but she’d packed her phone with anything she could download on the taxi ride to the airport, and even the unreliable sources had some entertainment value, even if they were incredibly inaccurate. Part of her would eventually find it suitable to be annoyed that he’d figured so much out already, that the connections were made without her, but that can wait. A storm is brewing and the little plane she switches to is barely fighting against the growing winds. He gets her as close as possible, but the landing isn’t as soft as she’d like, and somehow she thinks it’s drier in the ocean she landed in than in the rain insisting these islands join Atlantis.

“Dammit, Nate,” she sputters as she pulls herself ashore, barely, the water pulling at her boots and jackets as if reluctant to let go of her. The travel bag secured around her is waterproof, but she’s sure everything inside will be drenched when she checks. Of all places, of all times, the storm hits now.

“You better be alive.” He has to be. He’s survived a hell of a lot of shit until now, there’s no chance a mountain and a storm could take him from her. (From them, she corrects herself.) It’s a promise she repeats to herself as she starts the trek through wet grass and mud until she has to start climbing. The rocks are slick, and he’s definitely alive. Her hand slips a few times and she has to take it slowly, carefully, and he has to be alive.

The path isn’t easy to see, but she knows his style well enough to feel confident in the path she’s taking. They make sense, even when the ledges are small. Nathan Drake may not always take the easiest routes, but he takes the ones that make sense, and she can see the handholds he would take as if he were pointing them out to her himself. It’s a slow process and the storm refuses to let up. In fact, she’s positive it’s gotten worse, though how to tell through sheets of rain so thick she can barely see her outstretched hand, she isn’t sure. It doesn’t show signs of letting up, though, and it drives her to move just a touch faster. Careful. But faster.

How long has he been here? Has he been wandering through the storm at the same time as she has? How much of a head start has he had? Is Sam impatiently trying to make him go faster, or are they taking it slow together? Concern buries itself in her mind, and she presses on. Mud and rain and battered knuckles and bruised knees, and it’d be like old times if Nate was here with her and they eventually took refuge from the storm in one of these small caves, bandaging up wounds as best they could while resting weary limbs.

He’d better be alive, dammit.

She loses sense of time as she moves determinedly forward, one hand in front of the other, boots securely in place before shifting weight. Her arms and stomach ache, legs are exhausted, and it’s been a while since she’s gone long enough to wear her down like this. Nothing could have prepared her for this, and for long moments, she clings to her handholds, fingers numb and bruised, legs shaking, and she clenches her teeth to keep herself strong. She’s so tired, though. Surely Nate would’ve called things to a halt soon, right? Had she missed him? The wall ahead looks broken, and she’s eyeing for a path across - and she sees him. Below. Unconscious and on his back, and that’s a hell of a ways to fall. The panic she’d manage to suppress earlier rises in her chest again, heart hammering and hands trembling, and she lowers herself as carefully as she can to where he is.

“I swear to god, Nate, if you’re dead…” She leaves the threat open-ended, fights back the stinging in her eyes, and has to drop the last six feet down to get to him, the bend in her knees making the fall easier, but there’s no waste of time in rushing to his side. One hand above his mouth, the other pressing two fingers against his neck and pausing, waiting, feeling for any sign of life-

And there, a slow heartbeat, strong beneath her fingertips. He’s alive, he’s alright, and she lets out a laugh, leaning her forehead against his chest as relief sweeps through her. “Bloody hell, you asshole,” she breathes, taking only a few moments to gather herself. He’s alive, but he’s also freezing and in direct path of the rain. He isn’t a light man, years of muscle compounded on that frame of his, but she hooks her arms beneath his, lifts, and drags him into a dry section of the cave, beneath an overhang. No way to make a fire, but that’s why she wore the bigger jacket over her own. It’s wet, but he’ll warm it up. She drapes it over him and sits close, pulling her arms into her own jacket and tucking the sleeves into the pockets to keep cold air from getting in, and she settles in for however long it takes for him to wake up.

“Remember that time in Colombia?” she asks softly, her voice barely carrying over the rain. Not that he can hear her anyway, but that isn’t the point. Maybe the point is to keep herself calm while he rests, to keep the concern from working its way deeper in case he doesn’t wake up. “It didn’t rain this much, but it sure could give this place a run for its money.” A pause and a sigh, and she tucks her mouth and nose into the neck of the jacket.

They’d taken refuge in a cave there, too. Ground level, entry hidden by plants, rain so thick they probably wouldn’t have needed the plants to keep them out of sight of the small group of mercs hunting them. It’d been dark tucked in the back corner of the little cave, the sky almost as dark outside. They’d sat side by side, legs and arms touching, heads leaned against each other. The sound of her breathing a steady rhythm to the quiet story he told her. The warm press of his lips to her temple, to the the curve of her cheekbone, to the smile that so easily crossed her face when she was with him. It’d been different then, the feel of his hand in the curve of her waist familiar and comfortable, and did it still feel the same now?

Stupid, Chloe, she thinks with a deep sigh. She tucks her face a little deeper into her jacket, but keeps her eyes on him. “Don’t die on me,” she demands of him, determines she’ll be pissed if he does.

———-

The rain eventually stops its attempt at flooding the entire island, and she puts her arms back through her sleeves and stands, stretching the stiffness from her legs and walking around a bit. The sky is starting to clear up, still not visible, but also not deep grey, either, and she squints slightly as she looks up at the sky through the hole Nate fell into. Where the hell is Sam? In her worry for Nate, she forgot that Sam was supposed to be with him. Had he left him behind? Chloe barely knows the man, isn’t sure what kind of person he is. Would he abandon his brother in the middle of a storm in search of Avery’s gold? Chloe could have her moments of abrasiveness, but to be that cruel? If that’s the case, Sam had better hope Chloe doesn’t catch up with him, or there’ll be a different sort of hell to pay.

She’s starting to muse over how serious she is on that threat, when she hears movement behind her. Turning, she watches as Nate slowly pushes himself up, grunting through the aches from the fall, waiting for his eyes to land on her. Gives him a friendly smirk when they finally do. “Morning, love,” she says as she moves the six steps it takes to get to him, and now that she knows he’s alive, that he wasn’t injured so badly he wouldn’t make it out of this cave, she can’t help but to let her mild bit of annoyance at what he was even doing here in the first place seep in.

“You know, if you wanted to get yourself killed while looking for Henry Avery’s lost treasure, you could have at least called me beforehand.”

#(we'd also plotted that chloe met sam while sam was in prison. during the time between uc3 and 4)#(sam wanted to get some reading material on avery and he knew a guy who knew a guy-)#(who knew a guy who knew chloe and she became sort of a contact with him)#(later learning who he is and being like ???? a brother??????)#(but anyway here's this longass piece of writing that i still absolutely love)#long post #〘 Treasure hunts make better stories when there’s treasure at the end 【Ｃｈｌｏｅ　Ｆｒａｚｅｒ】 Muse 〙#〘 Treasure hunts make better stories when there’s treasure at the end 【Ｃｈｌｏｅ　Ｆｒａｚｅｒ】 Writings 〙

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unrefinedtales · 6 years

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tomione // madness

previously

I hope you guys like this one.

THE NIGHT WATCHMAN ~ PART NINE

"Easy, easy Pull out your heart to make the being alone Easy, easy You break the bridle to make losing control Easy, easy Burn all your things to make the fight to forget Easy, oh, easy” -Easy, Son Lux

I had hated him an hour ago. I still hated him. But now, I would have given anything to have him back.

I wandered the halls, aimless, until my legs gave out. I collapsed in a heap outside the ballroom, and there I stayed, drifting in and out of sleep, until morning. The fresh cuts on my hands and feet ached, but I could not summon the will to move. I prayed to the shrouded black creature to come back for me, to take me for good this time. No one came.

I stopped counting the days. I stopped reading, and most often forgot to eat. I continued to wash myself, but only because it was a thoughtless way to fill the time. I spent my days lying back on my sofa, counting the cracks in the ceiling. There were five hundred and seventy-six of them in my room. Five hundred and seventy-six. Only three hundred and twelve in the library. I had not yet finished counting those in the ballroom. I drank myself into a stupor as soon as the sun went down every night.

I burned the empty television sets. The smell was horrible. I mounted the resulting heap on my wall. I spoke to it, sometimes. I pretended it was my mother, or my supervisor at the office, or Tom.

After some time, I burned the piano, too. The ballroom had been restored to normalcy, mirrors intact, in my absence. I hacked the beautiful instrument to pieces with a broadsword I found in the cellar. I took off my clothes to dance around the bonfire. The flames reached high enough to tango with the chandelier. It was so beautiful as to bring tears to my eyes. Naked and ecstatic, I ran to the pool while the piano still burned. The water was mirror-still. I dove to the very bottom of the water and opened my eyes to see the immense blackness around me. Still underwater, I laughed.

Out of sheer boredom, I tried to drown myself. Nothing came of it.

One morning, cross-legged on the floor of my room, I turned to my twisted effigy of a wall ornament and smiled.

“You know, Tom,” I said, “you were right. I lied to you. Or rather, I didn’t tell you the parts of the story that really mattered. The story of my death, I mean.”

I ran a brush dreamily through my hair. I had never said the words aloud. Now was as good a time as any.

“It’s true that I fell into a ravine,” I continued, nodding at the wall. “But I didn’t explain what happened before. I was on my way home. I’d had a fight with him, my fiancé, I don’t even remember why, and I’d decided to leave him. To leave everyone. I packed a bag and left a note and everything. I was finally going to go and see the world and try all the things I wanted to try. I thought I’d just start walking, like a proper vagabond. But I’d only gone a few miles when I started to get cold feet.”

I set down the brush and pinned up my hair. It was gratifying to have such a patient audience.

“I got to thinking about how disappointed everyone would be. How they wouldn’t understand, and they’d just think I’d been selfish. They’d never know that I just wanted more than what I had, more than what everyone else seemed to think should be enough. Is that selfish? I’m not quite sure.”

My captive audience gave no answer.

“So, I turned back,” I said sadly. “And I felt sure that I was doing the right thing, the responsible thing. But at the same time, I started to cry. I couldn’t understand why the idea of reconciling with everyone and settling down into the life I’d always planned was making me so sad. And that’s why I fell. I was crying, and I was reckless, and I didn’t see the cliff. And I could have caught myself even then. I could have stopped it if I’d really tried. But I had just one moment where I wasn’t sure it mattered. I didn’t reach for the nearest branch. I just let myself fall.”

I chuckled. “If I’d known where I was going, of course, I would have held onto that branch for dear life. But then I never would have met you, Tom. And in a way, I’d have been just as trapped, because I never would have realized that I made the wrong choice. Really, I should have kept walking away from that ravine and never looked back. You taught me that. Curious, how things turn out, isn’t it?”

“Curious,” repeated a voice from the doorway.

I whipped around. There was Tom, solid, fully formed, not the figment I’d conjured up so many nights. Tom, in the flesh. There was Tom, smiling like I had never seen him smile.

I scrambled to my feet and faced him, cautious but thrumming with amazement. The space between us seemed to crackle.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” I breathed.

“Yes,” he said. “I thought that too.”

I wondered if he felt it too. The tempting caress of insanity brushing cool fingers against the nape of the neck. I had let it curl its fingers around my spine many times since he’d gone. Judging by the wildness in his eyes, the sunken patches in his face, he’d felt it as much as I had. But now its grip was loosening. Now Tom was here.

I closed the space between us and kissed him.

He kissed me back with such vigor that I was almost knocked off my feet. He was much taller. Reaching down to wrap his arms around my waist, he lifted me up until my toes barely touched the floor. My skin was burning. How simple and precious a thing, not to be alone.

My hair came undone from its knot almost immediately. Without realizing it, I had started to dig my nails into Tom’s back. This was not the sort of kiss I was used to. Was it because I’d been alone so long? Or was it something else? Tom soon had me wrapped around him against my bed. He was making shreds of my clothes.

I had a brief moment of clarity and tried to tamp down on my joy. Tom was still a killer. And not just any killer; he did not take lives out of necessity but out of self-interest. I thought of the disembodied hands beating at the insides of his screens…

“You’re still angry,” Tom said, breaking the kiss. I must have been showing some reluctance. I pulled back and frowned. “That’s not a problem.”

“What?” I muttered. I felt as though my reason had been taken hostage.

“Be angry, if you like,” said Tom. “Show me your anger.”

I didn’t understand. He looked amused.

“Show me,” he insisted.

Slowly, I lifted my hand up to his face and cupped his jaw. He’d grown unshaven and thin in his absence. I ran my thumb over his lips. Then I drew my hand back and slapped him.

It wasn’t much of a slap. Tom’s eyes danced merrily.

“You can do better,” he said. “You’re angry. Stop denying yourself. Do you think you’ll hurt me? You’re roughly half my size, and we’re both dead.”

I slapped him again. There was a crack as my palm met his face. I could see the outline of my hand on his skin. He was flushed. I could hear him breathing unevenly.

“Again,” he said.

This time I put some effort into the slap. But Tom caught my wrist mid-air and forced my arm down, pinning it against my back. I tried in vain to push back. It was like fighting an immovable object. I raised my other arm and placed my hand cautiously around his neck. He smiled.

“How does that feel?” he asked, breath hot against my ear.

It felt, frankly, incredible. I didn’t know how to speak. Tom dug his fist into my hair and pulled my head back. I yelped. It didn’t hurt; I was only jolted by the surprise. He bit lightly at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Too lightly. I dug my nails into his back again, and he bit harder.

You’re angry. Stop denying yourself.

He’d been right. I felt timeless. Weightless. I placed both my hands on his shoulders and sent him down to his knees. He looked up at me with approval and a devilish grin. Tom had taught me so much already. Now, he taught me how to discard shame and restraint.

Afterwards, while I drifted in and out of sleep, Tom sorted through my books. The ones I brought up from the library were my latest obsessions. I opened my eyes in the early afternoon and saw him immersed in a book of poems. His face was unguarded. My head swam with a proprietary sort of affection.

“You’ve added little to your collection,” Tom said when he noticed I was awake.

“I was alone seven weeks or so. At least, it’s something around that number. I’m not quite sure. I was starting to really slip some cogs. I stopped reading altogether.”

Tom frowned. “Seven weeks?”

“Yes. Was it longer for you?”

“I think about a year.”

I opened my mouth in surprise but didn’t know what to say. A year? How had he survived a year on his own? Though I suppose I’d done three, myself. But that had been before Tom had arrived. It was different now.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

Tom did not seem especially disturbed by the idea. I wondered what he’d been through. I had never asked him about the figure in black I’d seen on two occasions. It had never left the back of my mind that he would run off to seek it, leaving me behind.

“Listen,” I told him. “There’s something not right going on. Have you had any sort of hallucinations? I don’t mean movement in the corner of your eye. I mean something big.”

Tom nodded. “I’ve seen things… I’d rather have not seen.”

“I found a corridor on the day you disappeared—”

“You’re the one who disappeared. I was here all along.”

“On the day we were separated,” I amended. “I ran and ran for a long time, and I ended up in a white corridor. Like in a hospital. Modern and clean. And there was someone there who wasn’t human.”

“Tall,” said Tom. “With crimson thorns and robes?”

“Well, black, for me. But I have a feeling we’re talking about the same thing. I also saw it another time, in a cherry orchard.”

“You saw it before you died?”

“No, the cherry orchard was here. I walked through that door right there, and suddenly, I was at the foot of a mountain in Japan. The thing came towards me, and I fell, and I was back here. Just like that.” I didn’t want him to think I’d made it up. “Didn’t you ever have a vision of someplace outside?”

Tom took his time in answering. This wasn’t a subject he was comfortable with, I could see that at once.

“Always a graveyard, for me,” he said at last. He said nothing else.

“Well, it might be wise to think on what that could mean,” I said.

“What was the meaning of your garden?”

“That was the garden where I killed someone.”

Tom shut his book at once and moved to sit at the foot of my bed. I didn’t know what to make of his piercing interest in my worst act. I looked away from him when I spoke next.

“I’m not proud, you know.”

With a wave of his hand, Tom dismissed my hesitation.

“You said it was self-defense,” he said.

“Not self-defense. I was defending someone I cared about.”

“Hardly a crime.”

But he hadn’t heard the whole story. I took a steadying breath.

“He was my friend’s new boyfriend. She was a sweet girl. A little indolent and lost in her own world, but always, always kind. After she met him she started to change, and I knew exactly what was happening. She started wearing long sleeves in Summer. She spoke only when spoken to. She flinched when someone raised their voice. A few of us tried to speak to her about it, but of course she always defended him. We didn’t understand him, she said.”

“One night she came to my door in tears. It was like a horror film. There were several broken ribs and fingers, and some internal bleeding. I helped her make a plan. We were going to go together to look at places she could stay. But she went back to him that same week. That was when I knew he’d end up killing her one day. Then, a month later, we all went on a vacation abroad together. Seven of us stayed in a rented house. One morning while she was off swimming he went for a walk in the gardens alone, and I followed him.”

“Jean,” said Tom quietly. I realized I’d been gripping the sheets so hard that my whole arm was trembling. I gathered myself.

“He walked for a long time. So long that eventually we were well out of sight of the rented house. We were completely alone. I don’t know what I meant to do. I think I wanted to speak with him, to tell him that he needed to do better by her or let her go. But as soon as I showed myself he was on guard. He told me he’d wanted to be alone because he knew we all thought ill of him. He became sort of unhinged, ranting about the hardships in his life, and he wasn’t paying attention where he was going. He stepped right onto a viper in the tall grass.”

Tom was staring at me as though trying to put together a puzzle.

“Then,” he said slowly, “you didn’t even kill him?”

“I watched him die,” I said. “The venom of a pit viper is slow-acting but very painful. He sort of collapsed and thrashed around for a long time. I could have run for help. There was a nurse in the house across the way. But instead I waited until he wasn’t breathing, and I rolled him into the lake nearby. He’d had a fight with some of the boys traveling with us the night before, and everyone thought he’d just left in a huff. His body was never found, because the fish in the lake picked his bones clean. He had no family to go looking for him. It was forgotten about in time.”

I looked up. Tom, to my relief, wasn’t smiling. He looked quite serious.

“I was wrong,” he said. “I thought we were put here because we’re alike.”

“What do you think now?”

He stood. “I think I’d like to go for a swim.”

I followed him down to the cellars in silence. We stripped down and jumped into the pool in tandem. I wanted to know what Tom was thinking so badly, it was almost sickening. Surely, he didn’t think less of me? He’d killed many times.

“Let this be the last time you think of it,” Tom said unexpectedly.

I turned to him, confused. The water formed microscopic prisms on his lashes and his brow. It was hard to look at him and listen at the same time.

“Leave your guilt in the water,” he went on. “When you emerge, you won’t carry it with you anymore.”

I swam closer to him, amazed. It was nonsense, but such lovely nonsense at that. So easy to believe.

“I don’t know that I’m the key to helping you,” I said. “You might be my key instead.”

Tom laughed. “Are you going to throw me on death’s mercy to save yourself?”

“I couldn’t go back. I could never have told anyone in my life what I just told you. They’d never have looked at me the same way again. If I went back, I’d be just as alone as I was before you got here.”

He kissed me. When he broke away I blinked and swam straight for the edge of the pool. I hoisted myself out. Tom followed me to the edge, a curious look in his eye. I leaned back against the cool marble of the pool deck and pulled him down with me.

“Again,” I said.

#tomione

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