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adamstnheights · 1 year

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Stitches - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You’re the newest recruit to 141 and still trying to figure out your intimidating, mysterious lieutenant. Being assigned as his partner on the field for the first time on a sniper mission, you’re unsure exactly how to act around him, especially when he has such an… effect on you. But when you both get caught in the crossfire, you’re forced to take cover with him and mend his wounds, much to his (begrudging) appreciation.

An alternative take on the Recon by Fire mission in MWII. Also based loosely around the Simon Riley ASMR video by Jim ASMR on YouTube because it was just so cute :)

Reader’s callsign is Zero (iykyk)

Content: Reader uses she/her pronouns, Sniper Reader, Reader used to want to be a medic, Military Inaccuracies, Medical Inaccuracies, Gunshot Wounds, Ghost being super soft, You taking care of Ghost, Ghost taking care of you, Gentle touches, Needles, Bandages, Stitches, Developing feelings, Ghost trusting you, Flirting, Fluff, Ghost is a cat person (REAL)

Word Count: 7.4k

“Ghost and Zero, you’ll station up at the top of the hill and see if you can take any of the cartel guards out from a distance,” Price ordered over comms. “When the path is clear, Gaz and I will move into the hatchery and clear them out, looking for any evidence of the missiles. Laswell will be out on the water on overwatch. If we need her, she can get to shore and join us in the hatchery.”

Usually, you would be standing in the debriefing room to hear your instructions for a mission, but because of the short notice and urgency, you were listening to Price’s voice over comms in the back of one of the task force’s vans. While Price continued to speak, you slowly let your gaze move over to where Ghost was sitting across from you in the back of the van, only for your whole body to seize up when you realized that he was already staring at you. And of course, you couldn’t tell what the hell he was thinking—basically his whole expression was covered by his mask. It frustrated you to no end. It felt like he always had the upper hand, not allowing the enemy or opposition to get a read on his face, which was understandable, but you wanted to know. You wanted to be able to know what he was thinking. In comparison, it made you feel extremely vulnerable. Maybe you’d look into getting your own mask.

Being the rookie made you feel extremely out of place. It didn’t matter you had five years of being a sniper under your belt; you’ve only been with them for six months, so to the rest of Task Force 141, you were still the newbie. Talk about your skill had been passed around by word of mouth, and soon Captain John Price had approached your former unit and proposed a deal to you that was too good to pass up. So a few months and a location change later, you were the newest addition to 141, thus securing your label as “the rookie.” There wasn’t really anything you could do about it.

Luckily, the guys in the unit welcomed you with open arms, although the kindness did come along with a fair share of humorous and flirtatious remarks. Soap and Gaz basically took you under their wing immediately, taking pride in teaching you new things and showing you the ropes of 141. They urged you to join in on their game nights and when they would go out to the bar after a hard day of training or a rough mission. You felt at ease around the other men, too, for the most part.

Ghost was another story. From the first time you met him, you were intimidated. He had a towering, large figure that could speak for itself, but also his voice was deep and gruff, especially when he was barking out orders. You weren’t scared of him, per se, but you were cautious. From the interactions you’ve had with him and the way you’ve observed him on missions, you definitely wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. He was mysterious—the mask and skull cover showed that the most, but on top of that, you noticed the way he expertly dodged any prying questions that Soap would ask him over comms during a mission. When you and the rest of the crew got drunk and began spewing out stories from your former lives, you noticed how Ghost would simply sit back and listen, observe, but not provide any stories of his own. You were sure he had his reasons for being closed off, but you couldn’t help but wish that he were… more approachable. Especially now that you were on your first mission with just him by your side, you felt like you knew him the least out of the other members of 141.

The van slowly and quietly came to a stop towards the top of the hill. Ghost opened the back doors and jumped out onto the ground and you followed, rifle in hand.

“Zero, on me,” Ghost said, nodding his head his way.

The fog along the coastline was thick—good for the enemies not spotting you, but not as good for you spotting the enemies. You stationed yourself about forty yards away from the edge of the uppermost hill, where the grass was thick and high. The outline of the hatchery could be seen far, far in the distance, right along the edge of the land. From where you and Ghost were crouching, you could see below where a dirt path winded slowly down the hills. It would take some time and patience to fully push forward and make it safe enough for Price and Gaz to breach the buildings down below. But you were ready; more importantly, you were counting on this mission to prove your worthiness to Ghost. It was kind of pathetic. You knew you were a damn good sniper out on the battlefield, and yet, ever since Ghost’s intense, unreadable gaze landed on you, you’d felt determined to do whatever it took to get his approval. It didn’t help that the way he looked at you kind of really made your heart race, in the most confusing way, and the periodic sarcastic jokes he would make over comms made him more endearing.

Still, you didn’t want to push your luck. The last thing you wanted was for this mission to bring you back to square one in terms of your reputation on the team. In front of you, Ghost crouched even lower to the ground, pointing his rifle outward and looking through the scope. You fell back slightly behind him, also crouching in the grass. After a few moments of silence, you furrowed your brow at him, unsure whether he was going to say something or if he was just trying to act like you weren’t even there. Maybe he was annoyed by you, annoyed that out of everyone else on 141, he was stuck with the rookie.

Finally, he nodded his head forwards, motioning you to follow him. Both of you crawled through the grass until you reached closer to the edge of the hill. You both got down, fully lying on the dirt. Through the fog, you could now make out the wire fences around the hatchery, where cartel were guarding the entrances and walking along the dirt paths surrounding it.

“I can see about ten of ’em, all ’round the entrance fence,” Ghost finally broke the silence.

“We need to take our time,” you said, “They’ll spread out, into groups of two or three. Then we can take them out.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” he replied, “Let me know who to take out.” Normally, he would be argumentative to a new recruit taking the initiative, but there was something about you that fascinated him. He didn’t mind hearing your voice walking through the plan and telling him what to do. Price had told him about your skill; he knew that you knew what you were doing.

You readjusted your rifle just so, looking through the scope.

“On top of the building, two snipers,” you announced, “Do you see my laser on your thermal?”

You could hear Ghost repositioning his rifle a couple feet away from you in the grass. “Affirmative.”

“Go.”

You pulled the trigger, hitting the sniper on the right. Mere seconds afterwards, you heard Ghost’s rifle go off and through the scope you could see the second sniper’s body fall over.

“Got ’im,” he said. “On the right side of the fence, near the blue shipping container, there’s two.”

“I’m on him,” you said, lining up your shot next to his.

Ghost shot first this time, you followed him. The two men by the shipping container dropped to the ground. You continued scanning the area.

“Three more, below, closer to us, walking by that white van,” you flexed your hand and regripped the trigger.

“I’ll get the stray,” Ghost said.

“Copy that.”

You lined up your shot to the guy furthest to the right, watching as Ghost’s laser appeared over the man next to him. Again, seconds after you shot, Ghost followed, taking out the other. He quickly readjusted his hold on the rifle to focus in on the third one of the group. As you watched through the scope, the third man immediately went onto high alert, pointing his gun around him. Ghost wasn’t worried though as he lined up his shot. Poor bloke; unlike the first two men, this one would spend his last living seconds in panic mode.

Unfortunately, in the few seconds in between, the third man shouted and seemingly alerted someone else. Immediately after Ghost shot him down, two more men came running into view, shooting upwards towards the two of you. With a few uncoordinated shots, you and Ghost took them down quickly, but the not-so-subtle gunfire from your direction gave away your position. Before you could even think about moving, a bullet sped right past your view and into Ghost’s arm.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Ghost grunted, sucking in his breath in pain. “Where the fuck—?”

You were frantically scanning the area for where the shot could have come from when another bullet came speeding towards you, and you felt a sharp pain searing through your own arm. Furrowing your brow, you struggled to look even harder through the scope. “Shit—!” You winced.

“Got ’im,” Ghost announced, pulling the trigger, “To your left, on top of that small shed. There was another one.”

“Fuck.” You noticed two more men emerging from behind the shed. Both of you quickly took them down. “We– We need to push forward, we don’t have the best view from here. I can’t tell if we cleared the whole area.”

“Copy that.”

You began to crawl forward, the pressure of leaning on your right arm not helping the gash there. Before you could crawl even a foot you felt an unfamiliar touch on your forearm. Ghost had placed his gloved hand there, and you turned to look at him.

“You okay?” He asked lowly. You nodded your head, too shocked to speak.

You and Ghost quickly moved forward, onto an area of grass a bit lower down the hill than where you were before. You could see a bit closer now, and from the new angle, you could make out the rest of the area below. There were a handful more men on guard around the building, and you gripped your rifle hard in an attempt to distract your body from the pain. You monitored Ghost’s laser and helped him take out the men accordingly. Barely any more gunfire was exchanged.

“Price, Gaz—we cleared the outside surroundings of the buildings. You should be good to go in now,” he directed over comms.

“Copy. Good work, you two,” Price replied.

You met Ghost’s eyes from between the blades of grass and you could tell that he was intentionally not letting Price know that you two got hit. You could have spoken up yourself but you had successfully eliminated everyone and neither bullet seemed to have hit anything critical. Giving the lieutenant a knowing nod, you scanned the area and noticed a stream of water by a small stone building. It wasn’t really a building, more like a small hut. Ghost saw where you were looking and nodded his head towards it, giving you the go ahead.

Crouching slightly, you both quickly snuck towards the stone shack. Ghost positioned himself to cover the rickety wooden door, which you kicked in, instantly holding your rifle up to clear the inside. He followed you close behind, checking all corners of the worn-over room. Everything inside was covered in moss or other overgrown plants.

“Clear.” Ghost stated, lowering his gun. You were already sliding down against the stone wall towards the corner of the room, grasping the side of your arm. Ghost rushed to your side, sitting next to you. “Here,” he went to look at your arm, but you expertly reached for him first.

“Show me yours first,” you whispered, “Mine’s just a graze. Yours is worse.”

“Are you defying your superior?” He asked. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“Yours is worse,” you repeated, shaking your head, “The bullet lodged in there. I need to take a look.” You were staring at his left bicep, where the layers of jacket and shirts were ripped into by the bullet. The hole in Ghost’s skin was large, bleeding profusely.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “I’m more worried about you, Zero.”

Your eyebrow raised and you tilted your head up to look at him. Behind the mask, you could see his eyes clearly. They were hazel, and for probably one of the first times since you’ve known him, they looked soft and genuine. Up close, you could see little spots where the black paint smudged and his skin was peeking through. His eyelashes were blonde, slightly covered by some black face paint, but definitely blonde. Suddenly, you were trying to picture Ghost’s blonde hair under the mask and balaclava. You weren’t as intimidated by him anymore as you were intrigued—deep down, you wished you could see more of him.

From what you’ve observed of him (plus things Soap and Gaz have said), you knew he wasn’t really as big and scary as he seemed to be. He cracked jokes over comms during missions. During downtime on base he’d join the rest of the group playing cards or drinking, still wearing his balaclava obviously, but without the skull cover and only minimal black eye black on, so you could see more of his face clearly. You would never admit it to the rest of the guys, certainly not Soap, but you found Ghost to be quite handsome. (You could just hear Soap teasing you: You don’t even know what he looks like! He could be ugly!) Between his deep voice, towering figure, and the way his hands worked around his rifle (you have stared too many times to admit), he was… hot. What more could you say? It felt like a silly high school crush; he was your superior and you barely knew anything about him. But… you wished you could learn more. You would, if he’d let you. You would.

And now, with his face only inches away from yours, his eyes looking at you intently, you felt determined to take care of him. You wanted to see that softer side of him, and you also wanted an excuse to dote on him. Already, he was acting a bit more flustered than usual with you trying to defy him. You wondered how long you’d be able to keep it up for.

“I’m not taking that for an answer,” you insisted. “Yours is worse, so we’re taking care of you first.”

Ghost raised his eyebrows, his mouth partly open in shock of your defiance, but his lips spread into a smirk, amused by your determined edge. He was intrigued by you, so he’d let you win this argument. He didn’t say anything more as you inched closer to him. He sat with his entire back against the wall, facing forward. You turned your body towards him, sitting cross-legged as you placed a hand on his arm where the bullet wound was.

“I… think you’re going to have to take this off. The jacket, at least. Sorry, Lieutenant,” you said.

“You can call me Ghost, you know,” he said as he leaned forward to unclip his tactical vest and shuck the jacket off.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, “I was just trying to be polite, I guess.”

“Don’t need to be polite with me,” he smirked.

“Okay… Ghost,” you smiled. You took off your own tactical vest and rummaged through the back pockets, pulling out your first aid kit. You opened the kit and took out the tweezers. “Sorry if this hurts.”

“S’alright, not the worst thing I’ve endured. And I haven’t had the privilege of such an… assertive patching up,” Ghost could feel himself blushing behind the mask. He was glad you couldn’t see.

First, you inspected the bullet. It had implanted inside his arm, making it impossible for any kind of extraction, especially under conditions like these. With only minimal shattering, the pieces embedded into the muscle, there were no critical places hit or at risk. Your main goal was to stop the bleeding so you could stitch the wound closed.

“It seems like… most of your muscle absorbed the bullet. No bone damage or critical areas hit, so… all I’m gonna do is stitch you up,” you explained. You held back a giggle, pushing away the urge to squeeze his arm; you weren’t entirely sure if he’d like that very much (you were almost positive he’d kill you). “When we get back to base, the nurses at the infirmary can keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t get infected or anything, and if not, then it’ll just heal over.”

“Aw, no trophy for me to take home?” Ghost asked.

“You still get to take it home,” you replied, taking your two fingers and tapping his arm above the wound, “just in here. Hey, now it’ll always be with you.” He shuddered at your touch.

You began cleaning around and in the wound, earning a sharp hiss from Ghost’s mouth as you wiped the area off with a small rag and some water from your hydration bladder. You poured some water slowly onto the wound, trying to flush out any dirt or debris, before placing some gauze over it and applying pressure to slow the bleeding. While your one hand was pushing against his arm, you reached your other hand back into the first aid kit, fishing around for your stitching tools. You took out a needle with thread, along with a needle driver. You placed the needle driver on your leg for the time being.

You dug into one of your pockets, brandishing a small square alcohol wipe package, which you promptly ripped open with your teeth so you wouldn’t have to set the needle down. Ghost practically had to hold back from choking on his own breath, the way you were so focused and determined was certainly making him feel some unfamiliar type of way. He had barely gotten a chance to hesitate or argue against you patching him up, he was too mesmerized in watching you and you were already grabbing a hold of his arm again, sending a tingle down his spine as you cleaned his wound.

Then, with one hand, you pierced the skin on one side of the open wound with the needle, then the other side. Your other hand held the needle driver, which you used to grip onto the end of the needle, pulling the thread through the newly made holes. With an even amount of thread left on either side of the wound, you wrapped the thread from the left side around the needle driver twice, then grabbed the other end of the thread with the driver. You pulled from both ends gently, making a first throw of the stitch. You did it again, looping the one side of the thread around the driver, grasping the other end, and pulling it tightly to make the knot. Ghost watched, almost in awe, at your expert handiwork. You made it look so easy.

“I... wanted to be a nurse, or a medic, or whatever, you know,” you rambled as you moved up the wound a few centimeters, piercing the skin to start another stitch, “I made it through undergrad and then… shit just didn’t really work out. But hey, I found out I was a pretty good sniper. So I’m good for somethin’, at least.”

Simon felt his whole body heating up from the way both of your hands were making contact with his upper arm. One hand was gently pressing down on his bicep around the wound while your other had the needle held in between your fingers. The gash you were closing up on him was large; it was certainly going to leave Ghost with a jagged scar. But for once, he felt at ease.

In all his years in the military, the marks and scars that have riddled his body only brought him more shame and discomfort. Sure, there were a few scars that were his “go-to” to talk about when the other guys began showing off about past endeavors (This one here, knife fight. I grabbed the bloke from behind and stabbed’im in the neck, but not before he got one in my side). Other than that, most of the bullet holes and jagged lines where his skin couldn’t fully heal only reminded him of the horrors and the pain. Now, though, the thought of having a scar on his arm from a wound that you took care of, he couldn’t be more elated. A mark on his body, stitched together carefully and gracefully by you. A secret moment—a memory—that only the two of you shared, forever imprinted into his arm; a scar that no one else would know the backstory to, unless he decided to tell it (he wouldn’t—he didn’t want to share this moment with anyone else).

Okay, so maybe some sort of feelings were blossoming in the cold, cold heart of Simon Riley. You didn’t have much of an idea about it, and honestly, neither did Ghost himself. Soap had teased him multiple times about a supposed “crush” that Ghost didn’t fully realize he had. But the sergeant certainly had. Soap teased him about how he always insisted he didn’t want to play cards with the rest of the team, only to grab a seat next to you and strategize how to beat everyone else. Was it an excuse to sit real close to you and exchange whispers and laughter? Soap would never get an answer because Ghost would tell him to fuck off, but he already knew the answer anyways.

Ghost’s heart was racing, suddenly and somehow nervous in your presence.

“Why do they call you Zero?” He asked abruptly, a random question spilling from his lips. He just wanted to keep hearing you talk to him.

“Isn’t that like, impolite to ask?” You smirked.

He laughed—a genuine, full out laugh. Your eyes brightened. “I’m only curious,” he said softly. “Jus’ tryin’ to make conversation.”

“Well, why do they call you Ghost?” You shot back playfully.

“Now that’s classified, love.” His eyes immediately widened as the endearing term slipped from his lips. He hoped you didn’t catch it; meanwhile, you were going to think about it for the rest of the week. You grinned to yourself, and he looked down at his hands and focused on how your needle pierced his skin—a certain amount of discomfort, but something that felt good knowing that you were right there next to him. He didn’t want to get into his callsign; however, he was willing to give you something else. “My name—my real name, I mean… It’s Simon.”

You stared at him, wide eyed. You almost couldn’t believe that he told you, you hadn’t expected him to want you to know something like that. “Simon,” you repeated, watching as he nodded his head. “That’s a nice name. Simon. So… am I allowed to call you Simon now?”

Ghost looked past you at the wall for a brief moment, thinking. “Not on the field,” he stated, “But… when we’re back on base… sure. Yeah. Call me Simon.”

You shivered at his deep voice. Simon, Simon, Simon. You wanted to say it again and again. And he wanted to hear you say it. He would like his name a thousand times better if it was coming from your mouth.

“Simon—”

“Hey.”

“Sorry. Ghost,” you giggled.

Three stitches down. You kept working, quickly and efficiently. Ghost kept watching you, wondering why Price hadn’t brought you onto the team as a medic. Not that your sniping abilities weren’t needed and greatly appreciated, but Ghost selfishly thought about how from now on, if he got so much as a small scrape, he’d go to you for help. Soon enough, you were finishing the last throw on the fourth stitch. You moved onto the next one, lacing the thread through the needle to start again.

“Don’t know how to use half the shit in the first aid kit,” now it was Ghost’s turn to ramble, “Usually just slap a bandage on ’n hope for the best. I mean, I’m not stupid, I don’t leave my shit untouched to get infected or anything. I just… don’t really follow up on any of my doctor’s appointments. But I’ve made it alright so far.”

“You should let yourself be taken care of more often,” you said softly. Your face grew hot when you realized the way that could have sounded and you added, “When you get hurt like this. You don’t have to always put on a brave face and grit through the pain. You need to take care of yourself.”

Ghost scoffed almost instinctively, but his heart swelled at your concern for him. He admired you for being so caring, not just to him, but to everyone on the team. Despite not always showing it, he cared deeply about all of the other guys on 141, he would die for any of them. He didn’t have a family, but 141 was the closest he had to one. The way his team interacted with each other was important to him, and watching how you melded with everyone else over the past couple of months, he felt happy, content. Your kindness only intrigued him more; he wished that he could be the only recipient of your sweet words and attention.

“Well, I– I don’t usually trust anyone to patch me up,” he attempted at some sort of compliment. Your eyebrow raised and you looked up at him.

“Hmm. So… you trust me then?” You asked cautiously. You heard stories about how Ghost hardly trusted anyone, and your heart began to beat faster at the implication that you had somehow made it on the list of those he did.

“You could say that,” he said. He cursed himself in his mind for not knowing how to properly talk to you, how to make you feel cared about the way you made everyone else feel cared about.

“And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?” A smirk spread across your face.

“Fuck’s sake, just take the compliment, will ya?” Ghost practically grumbled, sounding like an annoyed child.

You let out a soft laugh. Ghost put the sound of your laugh into the back of his mind, for safekeeping. “That’s your way of giving me a compliment, huh?” You teased.

“M’not very good at it, am I?” He sighed into a small laugh.

“Just a bit rusty,” you tilted your head up at him, your faces somehow closer than you had remembered, “But you can get better with practice.”

“Practice, hm?”

“Uh-huh. You can feel free to practice your compliments and pick up lines on me anytime.” You were too shy to make eye contact with him after that; you began to focus extremely on his wound.

Ghost’s right eyebrow raised slightly, unable to properly register whether you were genuinely insinuating that you would enjoy it if he flirted with you. As if he even knew how to. Suddenly, he felt embarrassed that he had no idea what to say. He thought about Johnny, and how his downright stupid pick up lines he used on people at the bar usually actually worked. There was no way Johnny would let him hear the end of it if he approached him for help with flirting, but Ghost wondered who else he would want to confide in when they returned to base.

“Almost finished,” you announced, finishing another suture. The skin was carefully pulled back together, only needing one or two more stitches. “I am fairly confident that this will heal very quickly and very nicely. Well, granted that you go back to the infirmary and get yourself followed up on.” You raised your eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Do I have to go to the infirmary when we get back?” He complained. You laughed at the way he practically whined.

You looped the thread again with the needle driver and began the last suture. In a matter of moments, you’d knotted the thread three times over and secured the suture flat to the skin. You moved your head closer to inspect your work, nodding and looking up at him.

“Well, I’m done stitching you up. And yes, you do, because you need to make sure your wound doesn’t get infected,” you said, half sternly. Soap told you probably hundreds of stories about Ghost refusing to get proper medical help after returning from a mission, and your fleeting former life as an almost-nurse made you feel very strongly on the topic. “Please, after all I did to stitch you together, won’t you make sure that it heals alright?”

His heart swelled. As much as he tried to push down feelings like this, he knew that he’d do anything for you. And you asked so nicely. However, he had a negotiation in mind.

“Well… What if I get checked up on by you? When we get back to base? You know, instead of going to the infirmary?” He raised his eyebrow and watched the gears turn in your mind. He prayed that his message would come across properly: I’d rather see you. I trust you more.

“Don’t go getting too attached to your medic, now,” you fake tsk-ed at him, but you were smiling, too. Ghost laughed. Too late for that.

“You can give me a once over when we get back. Vouch for me so I don’t have to go deal with the other doctors,” he pushed.

“You’re very difficult, Ghost,” you tutted. “But… I’d rather be the one to make sure you’re alright. That way I can ensure you’re following the proper recovery routine.” You reached into your kit again and got out a bandage roll. You reached out for his arm again, beginning to wrap the bandage gauze around his arm.

“And what kind of recovery routine would you want me to follow?”

You clicked your tongue, thinking. “You have to let me eat dinner with you in your room. And then after, I can check your wound,” you decided. Luckily, the words coming out of your mouth were far from Go on a date with me, but it was certainly the closest you’d get. Ghost hardly ever ate dinner in the common area with the rest of the task force, you assumed mostly because eating would involve him having to pull his mask up. Remembering this fact, you quickly added, “I won’t even look at you while you eat. I just… thought maybe you’d like some company.”

He stopped himself from blurting out something inappropriate, a dumb teasing line about you just trying to make up an excuse to get into his bedroom. His usual confidence to say whatever dumb, crass joke he wanted disappeared with you so close to him. He was more nervous than anything to scare you away, to say something that would make you not want to be around him.

“I’d accept that,” he finally said. “And… you wouldn’t need to do that.” He could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. “You’re allowed to take a look at me while I’m eating.” He smirked as he saw your cheeks grow red.

“I— I mean, I didn’t mean I wanted to like, stare at you while you’re—” you tripped over your words, stopping to take a breath and collect your thoughts. Slowly, you opened your mouth again, “Well, I mean, I am curious… I guess…”

Ghost was smiling proudly under his mask, finding it incredibly endearing the way you admitted your curiosity. He always stuck to his secrecy behind the mask for the most part; he was sure that the other guys had seen his jawline and mouth from the times he ate or drank around them, but they never made too big of a deal (besides Soap, who would use the mask as a prime source for his teasing). More often than not, on base, he’d retreat to his room to eat simply to avoid any annoyances around lifting the mask up and back down over and over. But now, really thinking about it, he realized he wouldn’t mind at all if you saw him eating. Maybe, just maybe, he would enjoy your company for dinner on a daily basis. He wouldn’t jump to that conclusion just yet, but in the back of his mind, he already knew.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ghost said, “I’d rather be able to look at you and talk to you while we eat.”

“So you’re taking my offer,” you beamed.

“That I am. Now let me look at you.”

The lacerations along your own arm were stinging and bleeding, but somehow the high of the lieutenant caring about you overrode that pain. Still, you weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to have Ghost dote on you, although you had a feeling he wouldn’t be as gentle as you were with him. Either way, you let him help you take your jacket off and you shuddered at the few moments his bare hand brushed against you. He placed his hands on either side of you, on your shoulders, turning you more towards him, closer to him. He looked at your arm.

“Look, we have matching wounds,” he said, raising his own arm up next to yours. You let out a small laugh, not expecting him to say something like that. It was sweet.

“We both have something to remember this day by.”

“You want to remember this?” He asked, as if he weren’t going to think about the way you gently stitched him up and took care of him for the rest of his life.

“Of course,” you replied, “We completed our mission, quite well, I might add, and I think we make a good team. Plus, you told me your name. So of course I want to remember this.”

Ghost blinked at you, trying to decipher any evidence of disingenuousness in your face, only to be met with the exact opposite. Your expression was soft and genuine. Your eyes shimmered for him. Ghost wasn’t used to hearing such nice, kind things towards himself, and you could tell he wasn’t used to it by the way he remained silent, not even coming up with a dry joke to change the subject. You wondered how many times you would have to compliment him before you could really get through to him.

“You’re staring, Zero,” Ghost’s deep voice brought you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Can’t help that you’re nice to look at.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, trying to ignore the way his cheeks were flushing again. His hands were slightly shaky as he took your arm, closer to him this time. He shifted his whole body so he was completely facing you, ready to patch you up.

You had only been grazed by the bullet, but it still hurt like hell. Your whole right arm was burning up with a searing pain, not the worst you’ve ever felt, but it definitely wasn’t comfortable. The skin on your arm wasn’t torn open the same way Ghost’s was, with the bullet embedding inside, but it was like the edge of the bullet tried to scoop into your skin like a shovel into dirt. It didn’t go through or below the skin, but it was deep enough that blood was trickling down your arm. You were so focused on taking care of Ghost that you had barely noticed it.

“Fuckin’ hell, Zero,” Ghost said, his eyes widening in concern from seeing your wound more clearly. “You’re lucky the bullet didn’t lodge in ya.”

He reached next to him and grabbed a wad of gauze, dampening it with some water and placing it over you. His large hand placed pressure on you to stop the bleeding. You tried not to think about his hand pushing against you in a different context. His hands were warm on you and you couldn’t help but shiver. You hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps along your arm.

After a few minutes of applying pressure to your wound, Ghost lifted up the gauze, inspecting you.

“Looks like the blood mostly stopped,” he told you, putting the wad of gauze next to him on the ground. He took out his own alcohol wipes, holding them up first as if to warn you This might hurt. He held your arm with one hand and wiped the wound with the other. The alcohol stung but it didn’t matter. Ghost was taking care of you. “Hold still.”

As he sanitized your wound, Ghost would wince whenever he heard you suck in a breath or make a small, pained sound from the alcohol. He didn’t want to hurt you. He wanted to be gentle with you like you were with him. Sure, maybe he wasn’t very good at all that, but he’d like to try, for you. His fingers brushed against your skin as he ran the alcohol wipe over the scrapes a few times, sanitizing the area and wiping away the blood.

“Don’t have any antiseptic,” he mumbled.

“Wait, I do,” you speak up, taking out a small tube of antiseptic ointment from your kit. Handing it to him, he put some on his pointer and middle fingers, gently making contact with your skin. He patted the ointment into the wound and the skin around it, his expression deeply focused to make sure he wasn’t hurting you. He wiped the excess on a small square of gauze and looked at you, as if waiting for approval. You blinked at him, smiling sweetly, and he turned away, always nervous when you smile at him, to reach for the bandage roll.

“I, uh, used to have a dog. German Shepherd. He got his back paw caught in a chain fence once and I had to bandage his leg and everythin’... Guess that’s the closest I ever got to bein’ a medic,” Ghost chuckled softly, unraveling the bandage and holding the end of it in place over your arm, using his other hand to begin wrapping it around you.

“A dog, hm?” Now that piqued your interest. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be a dog person.”

He shook his head. “Not really. More of a cat person, actually.”

“You’re joking,” you gasped. You tried to imagine Ghost with a cat cuddled up on his lap or chest.

“Cats get a bad rep,” he said. “I like that they’re independent and do their own thing most of the time. But they’re still sweet, they’ll still rub against you when you pet them and curl up next to you on the couch. They’re more stand-offish and brooding than dogs, I guess. But what’s so bad about that?”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” you whispered. Ghost locked eyes with you, and you could tell that his eyebrows were raised. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. You continued, “But don’t worry. I really like cats, too. Misunderstood creatures. And cute.” You smiled at him, hoping to God he understood that you were trying to flirt with him. It was hard to tell, but you assumed by the way he chuckled softly and moved even closer to you to continue patching you up that he got it.

He placed his hand on your arm and ripped the bandage, placing the rest of the roll back into his kit. He repositioned the ending of the bandage so that it stuck on top of itself, keeping the wrapping in place without any need for medical tape. When his hands left your arm, you had to hold yourself back from frowning, already missing the skin-to-skin contact.

“Well, I think tha’ll do ya good, a’least until we get back, yeah?” Ghost said, leaning back from you a bit. Still, you noticed that the way you were sitting, your legs were still touching.

“Thank you,” you placed your hand over the bandage, moving and flexing your arm to see how it felt.

Ghost got up from the ground and began putting his jacket and tactical vest back on. He walked a few steps across the room where he had leaned his rifle up against a dusty table. Rummaging through his vest for some ammo, he began reloading his gun and humming ever so softly to himself. You watched him, your cheeks tingling with warmth. As much as you wanted to get back to base, you also didn’t want to leave this moment. You doubted that anyone else had the privilege to see him like this. In Ghost’s world, watching him reloading his gun was probably the most domestic thing you would ever be able to watch him do. When he finished, he turned and looked at you, completely catching you staring. You saw slight motion under the mask—he had to be smiling. The thought made your heart race. But you cleared your throat and scrambled to your feet, turning around to pick up your jacket and tactical vest off of the ground. You zipped up your jacket, half turned away from Ghost, but feeling his eyes on you.

“Zero.” His gruff voice sent shivers down your spine. You turned around and met his gaze. Those hazel eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Glad you’re safe.”

Your heart raced. Ghost’s heart softened.

———

The flight back to the base landed in the early hours of the morning. The sun had barely started to rise, the sky a deep pinkish red as you and the rest of 141 walked back into the building. Gaz and Price had successfully breached the hatchery, clearing it out and finding evidence of tunnels underneath the lighthouse on the island. Laswell would talk to Shepherd and figure out a game plan, but at least for one night, you would be able to relax.

As soon as everyone reached back to the barracks, everyone scattered into their rooms to clean up, unpack, and get some shut eye. Despite it being early in the morning, everyone on 141 hadn’t slept for at least 24 hours. You took a quick shower and changed into something warm and comfy, falling asleep in your bed without any tossing and turning. You awoke later in the afternoon, around four o’clock, stomach grumbling. Your face lit up, remembering your arrangement with Ghost—Simon.

You put some shoes on and freshened yourself up in the mirror, suddenly feeling nervous and yet you were so excited. Walking into the common area, you opened one of the fridges and took out a pasta dish you had made the other day. You split the leftovers in half, putting it into two bowls and microwaving them. Humming to yourself, you realized that you were actually getting the thing you’d been wanting ever since you met him: true, one-on-one time with the brooding lieutenant. Since yesterday, your feelings towards him had only blossomed further, and from the way he had looked at you and leaned close to you, you had a little bit of hope that maybe he could feel the same. You felt like a giddy highschooler as you took the bowls out of the microwave and quickly grabbed some utensils from one of the drawers. When you spun around, you almost crashed into Price who was entering the kitchen area with Gaz.

“Oh, sorry, Captain! Didn’t see you there,” you apologized but swiftly moved past them, barely paying either of them any mind.

“Where’s she going in such a hurry?” Gaz asked, raising his eyebrow as you continued down the hall. Price gave him the same puzzled look back.

“Hey, Zero!” Price called. You spun around. “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I’m just bringing some dinner to Simon’s room!” you lifted up your hands with the two bowls of food to show them. Price and Gaz nodded slowly, and you were clearly in a hurry because you hardly waited for either of them to reply before you turned back around.

You turned the corner at the end of the hall out of their view. Both men were still staring at where you were standing seconds before.

“I didn’t know he let people into his room,” Price said, grinning ear to ear.

Gaz stood frozen in place, “I… Did she just call him Simon?”

Price choked out in laughter.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #simon riley fic #mwii #my stuff

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wroteclassicaly · 6 months

Text

After everything with Vecna and since you’re both lonely, Steve asks you to stay at his. And in his bed, because neither of you can (want) to be alone. You’re both there, trying to sleep on your backs, then on your sides. But that doesn’t last long, before you’re both turning over and overlapping questions at the same time, his voice breaking through in desperation and a quivering hesitation, like he expects you would say know before he’s even heard your own reciprocal response.

“Can I hold you —“

“Will you hold me —“

You turn over and let his forearm drape around your midriff, fingertips stroking along the veins, those defined tendons and freckles that run there. He’s got a few cuts from battle, ones you don’t shy away from. There’s a sudden urgency, something you tack onto as comfort, seeing a side of one another for years that no one else has. You don’t need to label, and you don’t fight it. Steve is working you over in his arms, his massive palm disappearing in your sleep shorts and over your own wounds, kissing them with his calloused thumb-pads, reaching the elastic band of your panties as you’re finding him beneath his pajama pants and over his briefs.

His breath is warm against your mouth, lines diminishing before your very eyes. You’re crying, he’s crinkling his nose with the beginning of his own anguish and recovery. “Yeah?” His voice is raspy, lips tickling your own. You can’t hear his wall clock, the tick you had heard many times being in his room over the past several years. He’d smashed it when you both came back here, unable to stand the noise — reasons obvious.

You can hear your own shaky breaths, heart rate stuck to your esophagus, shattering your emotions into a web across your insides.

“Honey, we deserve this. It’s okay.” The bridge of his defined nose glides over your own, and that’s it.

You do. You will. You want to. You need to. You’re taking. You’re accepting. And Steve Harrington is right here with you.

And it goes on without time counting. Hands shoved in each other’s underwear, wrapped around and stroking, fingers inside and pushing. It’s sloppy, hot, wet, and sticky. You’re moving in a secret rhythm, up and down his bed, chests squished together, wrists aching from their twisting movements, fucking yourselves on and in the other’s hand, sheets kicked off, lips open and pressed together when you want to kiss, but you’re mostly sharing pants and receiving whimpers, pleas, and cries.

When Steve Harrington comes, with wide, mossy, midnight blown irises that are focussed on you — tears spill over his thick lashes, and he gasps.

“It’s okay, Steve. We deserve this.” You’re assuring him, reiterating his own words, letting him ride it out and get what he needs as he spills all over your hand and up your wrist.

You find your own release moments later, watching him as he watches you, cream drenching his fingers. It’s loud, but welcomed. You collapse into his injured neck, nosing his chain, lips kissing along the angry red welts.

And Steve thinks, this is the exact definition of okay.

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ginnsbaker · 8 months

Text

A Form of Vengeance (Excerpt)

Summary: “Hold it,” you challenge, locking eyes with her, pushing her to her very limits. “Hold it or you’ll never see me again.”

Word count: 2.4k+ | Tags: Heavy Angst, Dubious Consent, Edging, Toxic Relationships, Oral and fingering (Wanda receiving)

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

A/N: This is basically an excerpt from Chapter 6 of In Losing Grip on Sinking Ships, just so you have an idea how extensive the edits are that's currently in progress for the final PDF version of ILGOSS.

It’s half past midnight when Wanda’s awoken by a loud, angry knock at her door.

Her sleep riddled brain fails to notice how unusual it is for Sparky not to emerge from his dog house and start barking at the unexpected visitor. Her gut tells her it’s you, but just to be safe, she takes Sparky to the guest room, knowing how wary he is of strangers.

“Who’s there?” Wanda’s voice echoes through the empty hall, voice hoarse from sleep and from yelling your name all over the neighborhood.

There’s no response, and yet, each thud against the door reverberates through the room, filling it with a sense of urgency and unease.

Startled and growing increasingly concerned, Wanda opens the door and–

It’s the stench of alcohol that welcomes her first.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, you were both entangled in a similar situation, albeit in reversed roles. The irony of the circumstances isn't lost on Wanda as she observes the unwavering and intense gaze you fix upon her. It's unclear to her how much you've had to drink to be able to find your way to her, but the determination in your eyes speaks volumes.

“Y/N, thank god you’re here. I was so worried–” Wanda tries to say, but the rest of her sentence dies on your lips. With one hand on the slope where her neck meets her shoulder, you push her roughly back inside her apartment, slamming and locking the door behind you with the other.

You harshly nip at her lower lip before releasing it and growling, “This is what you want right? This is what you’ve been chasing me for all along?”

Pinning her with a disdainful look, Wanda feels powerless to refute your allegations. Is that how you perceived this to be all along? How lowly your opinion of her has become?

When she finds the courage to put the tiniest bit of space between you and her, you pull her flushed against your body to capture her swollen lips into another bruising kiss. The moan that escapes you both this time is irrefutable. Something tells Wanda that whatever she says between now and what’s going to happen next, will just be sucked into the abyss of retribution. And so, she gives in to the storm that is your feverish kisses and your hatred punctuating your every touch.

If she were being honest, she just wants to feel you. Logic and reason be damned.

“Y/N!” Wanda mewls when you clumsily rub her through the fabric of her nightwear, pinching her clit as soon as you find it.

There’s no trace of tenderness in the way you maneuver Wanda and deposit her to the carpeted floor of her living room.

There’s nothing gentle in the way you tug down her shorts, letting them pool around her ankles and yank her shirt up, exposing the swell of her breasts to the cool room air.

There’s only lust, and instinct, and vengeance in the painful entrapment of her hard nipple between your bared teeth.

And Wanda loves it.

It’s the punishment she didn’t know she had been craving for since the moment she invited Vision to her bed. If you needed to ruin her, Wanda would let you. She’d gladly take the beating if it means she gets to have even just a tiny fraction of you back–no matter how cruel this fraction of you might be.

Every pulsation from her clit echoes the tempo of her racing heart. Your mouth, slick and fervent, descends onto her nipple, and your tongue drags languidly across in deliberate, lascivious strokes. The visual–the sheen of wetness, the very sensation of your mouth on her–makes her cheeks flame, and instinctively, her eyes drift away. But you're not about to let that happen.

Gripping her jaw firmly, you force her to witness what you’re doing to her. “Watch,” you demand, voice husky and heavy with desire. “Don't you dare look away.”

Without breaking eye contact, you shift your attention, letting your drenched tongue lavish her other nipple, ensuring every inch of her feels that same overwhelming pleasure. Wanda's arousal pools beneath her, dampening the rug and every nerve ending draws her attention downwards, craving that much-needed release.

Wanda gasps when you slide back up abruptly, the rough friction of your shirt rubbing against her tender peaks. She smells the alcohol on your breath before she tastes it, as you pull her in for a dizzying kiss. You’re uncommonly disoriented in your movements, as if you keep deciding and then changing your mind on how you want her.

As her fingers hesitantly make their way towards the fastening of your jeans, you're quick to intercept, pushing them away. With assertive hands, you grab hers, lifting and pinning them over her head, leaving her deliciously vulnerable.

You rarely make love to her when you’re drunk. You never liked the idea of being unfocused and uncoordinated when you touch her, and you were always afraid you’d accidentally do something that might make her uncomfortable or even hurt her. But now, as your fingers skim through her wetness, not caring if your nails scrape against her sensitive skin, Wanda understands. She understands what you’re capable of when you give up control and let pure instinct take over.

She understands how perfectly capable you are of hurting her–in all aspects.

Wanda feels she’s wet enough, but it’s still painful when you enter her unceremoniously with two fingers.

“Y/N, wait–” Wanda gasps as you start to quicken your thrusts before she’s fully adjusted. “S-Slow down.”

Yet, you seem lost in your own world, utterly intoxicated by the sight of your fingers disappearing inside your ex-wife's slick folds. Despite the initial discomfort, waves of pleasure soon drown out the pain, escalating with each thrust. Wanda's left clawing at the ground beneath her as your thumb starts circling her clit, sending shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through her.

Your fingers shift inside her, seeking out the textured area that she's most sensitive to. Wanda’s mouth falls open, warm puffs of air brushing so intimately against your chin. “Fuck, yes, right there–”

You pant against Wanda’s sternum, bitterly thinking that she will always be beautiful whether you’re seeing her through the lens of affection or loathing.

Feeling how close she is, you add another finger into her. The fullness does nothing to abate the tightening in Wanda’s stomach. She squirms beneath you, nearly delirious from the mounting ecstasy, trying to trap your hand between her knees to still your movements. But you force her legs to stay splayed open, angling your fingers to continually target that particularly responsive spot inside her.

“Kiss me,” Wanda breathlessly begs, her words feathering over your damp forehead. But instead of meeting her lips, you trace your tongue along the shell of her ear, eliciting a shiver from her. Just as she seems to reach her peak, you pull back your fingers, halting all stimulation, leaving her teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

She groans in frustration, her chest heaving, eyes dark with need. “Why?” she manages to gasp out, her hips unconsciously seeking the lost contact.

You lean close, lips brushing her earlobe. “Because I can.”

Her breathing turns even more ragged. “Y/N,” she begins, but her plea is cut off as you slowly trail kisses down her body. Every inch you move feels like an eternity for her, every kiss you plant on her skin making her shiver and writhe beneath you. When you finally reach her core, you can see how her pussy clenches with desperate need.

Positioning yourself between her legs, you pull them apart gently but firmly, giving yourself a clear view of her glistening arousal. Without touching her, you take a moment to appreciate the sight, which elicits a whimper from her.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your voice low and dangerous, each word deliberate. “And you tell me this isn’t what you want?”

Your face inches closer to her, close enough for her to feel each exhale against her sensitive skin. She attempts to buck her hips upward, seeking your lips, but you force her down with a dominant hand, immobilizing her.

“Remember,” you whisper against her, causing her to twitch from the sensation, “You're not allowed to come... not until I say.”

This is it–your form of vengeance. But even in your cruelty, it's paradoxically centered around her pleasure.

She emits a sound that's halfway between a plea and a sob, her hands grasping the carpet for any semblance of control. “Please,” she manages to choke out, sounding more desperate than ever. You slide a finger up her slit, collecting her wetness, and then move it up to circle her clit, slowly and tantalizingly. “Hold it,” you challenge, locking eyes with her, pushing her to her very limits. “Hold it or you’ll never see me again.”

The threat almost sends her over the edge.

“I—I can't,” she stammers, tears forming in her eyes, both from the effort of holding back and the emotional weight of your words. But beneath that fear is a stubborn determination. She won't let herself fall, not when so much is at stake.

You smirk, leaning down, your breath teasing her skin. The sensation of it sends shivers down her spine, her body acutely aware of every point where your warm breath touches. You trace the softest of kisses on her inner thigh, watching her tense up in anticipation.

“Relax,” you murmur, voice dripping with false sweetness. “I'm just getting started.”

Her whimper is music to your ears, but she attempts to stifle it, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. You take your time, tracing lazy circles around her entrance with your tongue, but deliberately avoiding the place she wants you the most.

When you finally slide a finger into her, Wanda arches up, trying to chase the feeling, to get more. But you pin her hips down with your free hand, your fingers moving tantalizingly slow inside her. Her breath hitches as you curl them upwards, applying pressure to that sensitive spot.

Wanda's eyes screw shut, her moans spilling out uncontrollably now. Just as she's getting accustomed to the rhythm of your fingers, you press your tongue to her clit. Her entire body shudders, the dual assault threatening to push her over the precipice.

Her whimpers grow more frantic, “Please, Y/N... Please,” a broken mantra, pleading for mercy or release, perhaps even both. But you pull back just a fraction whenever she nears her climax, drinking in her desperation. You watch her intently, taking sadistic pleasure in every twitch, every moan, every teardrop that slips from her eyes. She's on a razor's edge, strung taut, teetering between madness and ecstasy.

She pants heavily, eyes darting around the room in pure desperation, her every nerve ending screaming for release. You can see it, the raw need in her eyes, and the way her body trembles uncontrollably. With an almost wicked grin, you dive back down between her thighs.

Her whole body tenses as your tongue works fervently against her swollen clit. Your fingers find their way back inside her, thrusting hard and fast, in sharp contrast to the tantalizing teasing you’d given her before.

“Y/N,” she moans out loudly, her voice breaking from the strain of holding back for so long. But you don’t give her any room to breathe; you press on, your motions frenzied and insistent.

“Come.”

And then, all at once, she shatters.

“Fuck, fuck! I’m coming!” Wanda cries, her hips bucking uncontrollably, her warm essence splashing onto your chin. Her back arches off the floor, her fingers clawing at the carpet, as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her. Her trembling arms wrap around your neck as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. You silently observe Wanda as she regains her breath, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern. Her brown hair cascades over the floor, resembling a fallen angel consumed by the depths of the earth.

Wanda's face is stained with tears. However, it is only when she becomes conscious of a droplet landing on her nose that she realizes she is not the one shedding them. Cautiously, as if she’s afraid of what she might see, she opens her eyes and looks up at you.

It’s the only picture of vulnerability in you that she’ll see for the rest of the night, and her own eyes well up, struck by the realization that you can never hurt her the way she’s hurt you.

You interpret the look on her face as pity and angrily wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. “This doesn’t mean anything to me.” you mutter scathingly, even as your lips quiver from the struggle of detaching yourself from your emotions.

Wanda’s hands reach out to cradle your face. “I know,” she whispers.

“Then why are you agreeing to this?”

“I never stopped being yours,” Wanda whispers with a voice filled with fractures, and it's only your warm and solid presence that keeps her from falling apart. “It’s just how it is.”

You taste the bitterness in your tears, mixed with the metallic tang of blood from your lip from how harshly you’ve been biting down on it. How could she utter those words to you, knowing that someone else had gotten to know her so intimately in this manner?

Whatever Wanda thought she did, no matter how many times she claimed it didn’t mean anything, however briefly it was–she gave bits of herself to Vision; her body, her mind, her words, her time. Those are the things that you can’t get back. Things you can’t replace. Things you can’t account for.

Lies after lies, you think bitterly.

And yet, it only intensifies your desire to claim her one more time. To remind her what she had traded away for illicit pleasure. To ruin her for everyone else.

“Again,” you demand, the mask of indifference returning to replace the face that Wanda loves the most.

And that seals it–whatever this is. Wanda knows that this can’t end well.

But she couldn’t find it in her heart to care.

"Okay," she mumbles, her voice carrying weariness and resignation.

You wrap her shaking legs around your waist while your arms provide a secure embrace around her back. And then, with her clinging to you like a mindless puppet, you push yourself off the ground and onto your feet, Wanda along with a strength that astonishes both of you.

Wanda buries her head into the crook of your neck, hot tears slipping from her eyes as you carry her to the bedroom.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #ILGOSS excerpt #ILGOSS #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x you #wanda x reader

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somedaylazysomeday · 2 months

Text

A Boon - Part Six

A sleepless night looms ahead, but you don't want to fill it with conversation.

Thranduil x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI

Word Count: 3,800

Warnings: Teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, emotional misunderstanding, emotional vulnerability

Previous | Masterlist

---

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed before Thranduil spoke again - minutes and hours meaningless in the darkness of the night.

“Will you still not tell me what steals your slumber?” Thranduil’s low voice rumbled, perfectly fitting the velvet shadows filling the room. “Unburdening yourself may help you sleep.”

You shook your head, knowing he could hear the motion as clearly as speech. “I doubt it. But perhaps you can help in a different way… if you are willing.”

There was a pause in which you prepared to assure him that he was under no obligation to you. But then Thranduil’s hand released yours to grasp your waist instead. In a fluid motion, he had rolled over to loom above you in the darkness.

“I would be a poor lover indeed if I allowed you to suffer when there is hope of providing respite.”

“So magnanimous,” you teased.

“Always,” he agreed, a bare instant before his lips brushed yours once and again, deepening into something tinged with urgency.

You melted eagerly into the kiss and wormed your way closer, welcoming every touch of your body against his. He was big and solid and so wonderfully warm, especially when he cradled your jaw in his hand to deepen the kiss further.

You hadn’t given much thought to where his other hand might be, not until you felt it high on your thigh and moving steadily inward. You gave a pleased little mutter and parted your legs so he could have space to move between them.

Thranduil’s hand was against the very heart of you, cupping your mound, but he had gone still. You could feel the way his middle finger was lying along your seam, but that finger was not pressing into your core and his palm was not pressing against your clit. Still, there was something oddly intense about the way he was holding you, his grip possessive as he claimed your mouth in a leisurely siege.

When his fingers did start moving, they were slow and gentle as they stroked your folds, teasing the most sensitive part of you. You were squirming under that attention, but unwilling to pull your lips from his to make a complaint. Thranduil finally took pity on you, sinking a finger deep into your heat.

Your body parted eagerly around the intrusion, pulling him deeper. The thickness of that single digit simultaneously felt like the greatest relief you had ever felt and not nearly enough for you.

When he stopped moving, your hips lifted to impale yourself more firmly. The heel of his hand was barely short of brushing your clit, and you could feel the heat of him so close… The stimulation it promised stayed tantalizingly out of reach, no matter how hard you tried to get there.

You were pouting into your kiss when Thranduil finally relented. That finger started pushing gently in and out of you, more of a stroking gesture than a true thrust, but it was enough to make your heart race.

Thranduil was a patient lover. He always had been, and it was one of his greatest strengths. He took his time, carefully drawing every bit of pleasure he could possibly plumb from your depth before he allowed either of you to rest. He had teased you in the past about the desperate speed of humans and how they could only hope to achieve the intensity of elven practices. It was maddening.

Fortunately, you had quickly figured out a particular quirk of Thranduil’s: when he was so deeply involved in teasing sensations out of you, he was susceptible to his own needs. He could fight off the draw of pleasure alone, but when that pleasure was dashed with just a hint of pain, it was as if his mind was taken over by the startling contrast.

With the way he was tormenting you, you could hardly be blamed for giving him a long stroke - fingers at the precise level of tightness that made him weak - even as you delivered a sharp nip to his lower lip.

Thranduil pulled away to release a harsh sound, a rough combination of shock and keen interest, and stared down at you with a sharp look in his eyes. Those eyes had a sudden wildness to them, the tremendous sense of age in them edged with something you could only describe as a blunt and determined sort of intensity.

He was going to take you apart, and you could think of nothing you wanted more.

When Thranduil started moving once again, there was nothing soft or gentle about it. His finger pulled free of you only for it to return with another. Those two fingers thrust deep without a moment’s hesitation, stretching you sharply as you gasped and arched helplessly against your pillows.

“Thranduil,” you gasped, clutching at the sheets, his arms… anything within reach that could possibly help you ground yourself against the feeling of his teasing fingers.

He glanced from between your legs and up to your face. His expression was light and joyful, utterly mischievous. “Yes, lover?”

Now that you had his attention, you were uncertain of what you might want with it. The best you could muster was a soft and trembling, “Please.”

Thranduil smiled, drawing another gasp as his fingers twisted inside of you. “Do not worry, little one. I know precisely what you need.”

With that vaguely threatening promise, Thranduil set to work pulling you apart. His fingers pushed and stroked, thumb teasing intermittently against your clit - no rhythm you could decipher with your preoccupied mind. That meant that you could not anticipate his movements, and you were left to Thranduil’s mercy as he worked you steadily toward an orgasm.

And it was no accident that Thranduil was not known for his mercy.

When you fell apart, you arched up off the bed, held in place only by Thranduil’s arm bracing your hips. Your hands were clutching desperately at his forearms, and it was a miracle that he didn’t seemed bothered by the way your nails were biting into his skin. Your legs slammed shut around his hand, holding him in place as your core worked to drag him deeper inside of you.

Thranduil worked you through it, movements steady and inexorable until you were quivering and breathless beneath him. Weakly, you pushed his hand away - though you had to remember to release it from the vice of your thighs first.

“Well, my queen?” Thranduil inquired, leaning over to study you from a closer angle. “Do you find yourself ready for sleep?”

You made a face at his teasing tone, but you did not truly mind it. He was subtly asking whether or not you wished to continue your activities. There were days on which you preferred to orgasm once (or not at all) and be done with things so that you did not become overstimulated. Fortunately, that tended not to happen with Thranduil.

“I am afraid not,” you told him with a sigh. “Though I understand if you are too tired to continue.”

It was a game between the two of you, just as much a part of your relationship as his proposals. Thranduil grinned at you, as delighted to play his part as he ever was. “Not so, little mortal. I am ever ready to ensure your satisfaction.”

You smiled back, but it was halfhearted. The endearment he had chosen struck a little too close to your preoccupied thoughts for comfort, and your urgency was genuine as you pulled him back down for another kiss.

There was a hesitation to Thranduil’s lips and you worried for a moment that he would pull away to ask what was wrong. That was a conversation you had no interest in having with him at that particular moment, so you slipped your tongue between Thranduil’s lips, dueling briefly with his until he seemed utterly distracted.

And then, just to be certain, you slung one of your legs over his narrow hips, repositioning yourself until you were straddling him. His length was pressed against you, insistent and impossible to ignore, but not breaching you.

You intended to fix that.

“Are- Are you ready?” you asked, trying not to openly pant. As was often the case with Thranduil, your orgasm had not quenched your thirst so much as piqued your hunger. The sight of him beneath you, his pretty hair spread across your pillows, made your body tighten with unmistakable need.

“For you?” Thranduil asked, and even in the handful of seconds since you had asked your question, you had already forgotten it. “Always.”

You pulsed your hips forward and back, the movements a mindless mimicry of the way Thranduil’s hips moved when he took you. Thranduil planted his heels on the bed and pushed upward, shoving himself more firmly against you until you remembered precisely what your question had been… and what his answer gave you permission to start doing.

When your hand wrapped around Thranduil’s length, he twitched and thrust into the air at the feeling. It took your full strength to push his hips back to the bed. Even then, you knew it was only because he allowed you to reposition him.

Your fingers around the base of Thranduil’s shaft held him in place as you pressed the broad head to your entrance. As always, he felt impossibly large as you lowered yourself onto him. Perhaps it was the position that always made you feel the burning stretch. More likely, it was that you were unable to slow your pace when you took him this way. You needed him now, not when your body said you could have him.

But he was barely inside of you before he was catching your hips, holding you in place and preventing you from sinking down in one desperate stroke. You made a wordless noise of frustration, opening your eyes to stare at him in confused irritation.

“Slowly, love, slowly,” he urged. “I want to feel you. I want you to feel me.”

You tried to ignore that direction, but Thranduil’s fingers were firm on your hips, guiding you achingly slowly downward. Even as your irritation grew toward the elvenking, you could not argue that this was more intense. Thranduil’s shaft seemed even more impossibly long this way, fed slowly into you bit by bit until it felt like he was stretching up inside your torso, fighting his way toward your heart.

The muscles of your core worked and gripped and twitched around him. Thranduil seemed as entranced as you were, his lips moving as if he was speaking softly, so softly that his words were completely inaudible to you.

When you were finally fully seated on him, feeling utterly impaled on the thick intrusion of his length inside of you, both of you made matching noises of inarticulate pleasure. You were unaware that your hands were braced against his chest until he gently cupped his over the back of one.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” you asked.

Thranduil looked at you with confusion, then with dawning delight. “Why, my queen. Are you asking for me to tell you how lovely I find you? Because I am happy to do so, though I will expect you to refrain from implying that I am the egotistical one in our relationship in the future…”

“No, you have full claim over any ego between us,” you countered immediately. It was difficult to think with his hardness buried so deeply inside of you, but this seemed important enough to gather whatever wits remained available to you. “I meant that you were saying something. I could not hear you, but I felt that I needed to.”

A wry expression twisted its way across Thranduil’s face. Worry grew in your stomach, and your voice was quiet when you asked, “Is it something so terrible?”

Thranduil shook his head, fingertips rising to keep your face aimed at his. “Not at all. I simply worry that you will realize that our shared pleasure is weighted in my favor. It is impossible that I can bring you pleasure equal to the pleasure you bring me.”

“Did we not just discuss ego?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I believe you have no concept of the way you make me feel,” Thranduil said solemnly, light eyes locked with yours. You stilled, trying to decipher what he meant with this serious turn. You felt a stab of fear as you wondered whether Storr would be proved correct. This was just abrupt enough to be the start of the end of your relationship with Thranduil.

But then, the elvenking smiled. “Perhaps I am lucky in that. If you knew how utterly entrancing you are, I fear the power you would gain from the revelation.”

You chuckled with him, but you still felt odd. Unbalanced, somehow, by the unexpected gravity of the moment. Then Thranduil’s hand moved to your breast, thumb stroking over your nipple as he smiled gently up at you. “You are so beautiful. And clever enough to rule a kingdom while working on behalf of citizens who adore you. I knew you would be a wonderful queen, but I could never had expected so much.”

Normally, praise made you uncomfortable, particularly when it was as effusive as this. For some reason, you soaked in Thranduil’s words and felt the weight of them impact your soul. You were a wonderful queen. And you were clever and beautiful enough to bring Thranduil to his knees. Proverbially speaking, of course - you liked him exactly where he was at the moment.

The height difference between you could present a challenge in many positions, but you could lean forward at just the right angle to press your lips to his. Thranduil met you on the way, hungrily accepting your kiss and deepening it until you were drinking each other in.

Since you were already leaning toward him, it was simple to lift up on your knees before sinking back down onto Thranduil. In fact, it was almost easier to keep the motion forward-and-back rather than up-and-down.

The feeling of his thickness sliding out of you spurred you on, and the pressure of his pelvis against your clit at the bottom of every stroke urged you to keep that momentum. Your thrusts sped fast and faster until you had to pull away from Thranduil’s mouth so you could catch your breath.

It was satisfying to see that Thranduil was breathing heavily as well. His chest rose and fell under your fingers, and you could almost imagine that you felt his quickened heartbeat beneath the smooth skin. Every few strokes, the head of his shaft would catch at the perfect place inside of you, shocking your system with the sharpness of the sensations. Each time it happened, your body clamped down around Thranduil’s as he gave a low, urgent growl.

When Thranduil caught at your hips, you half-prepared yourself to swat at his hands. He was clearly as close as you were, and you would be forced into violence if he intended to slow your pace once more.

But he only squeezed your hips, stroking over the sensitive skin he found there. “Lovely, lovely human. I shall not last much longer. What can I do to bring you with me?”

Your mouth was dry from all of the panting, and it took you several attempts to force out, “Touch me, Thranduil.”

“With pleasure,” he agreed, a wolfish smile spreading over his face.

This was once of your most treasured traits of Thranduil’s: when you asked him to touch you, he did not simply lunge for your most sensitive places. He knew that you could find pleasure in every sensation. His hands traveled up your arms to your shoulders, then down the sides of your body, your body singing at the simple contact. He caressed your breasts like he had the rest of you, then continued over the flexing muscles of your stomach and down between your legs.

The thrusting pace you had taken up left little space for him to reach your clit, but Thranduil managed, slipping fingers between you. He teased you mercilessly, following the movements of your body to keep the torment ongoing regardless of whether you were rising or falling.

You had been steadily getting closer to the edge of your orgasm, but it had been a distant thing, growing like a cloudbank over the water before a storm. But Thranduil’s touch brought those nebulous sensations to the immediate forefront.

You slammed yourself down on him, hands braced on his shoulders as you closed your eyes and took deep breaths. The chasm of pleasure yawned eagerly before you, and it was only by holding completely still that you could draw back without falling in. Your body relaxed incrementally, half a step back from the cliff.

Thranduil was unwilling to let you, however. He pressed his knuckle firmly against your clit, thrusting up into you at the same time.

And you were gone.

It was something of a miracle that your arms and legs stayed braced enough to support you. You had no feeling left in them, your entire being so consumed by the sensations wracking you that the world narrowed exclusively to the explosions in your body, the twitching pulses of Thranduil’s length inside of you, and the satisfied gleam of Thranduil’s eyes.

As your body’s frantic spasms eventually slowed to soft squeezes around him, Thranduil’s eyes stayed on yours. You could not fault him; yours were just as blatantly locked on his. His hands on your arms kept you upright even when your muscles no longer wished to support you, and he guided you slowly onto the bed beside him.

The room was quiet, the sound of the waves far below only now audible without the grunts and moans and sounds of sex filling the room. You could almost fall asleep, the worries of your relationship pushed from your mind by your recent activities. But the rustle of the Thranduil’s body against the sheets felt purposeful, a way of breaking the silence, and you knew a conversation was incoming.

“Tell me, my queen,” Thranduil said, gently pulling out of you. “When do you intend to accept my proposal?”

“When do you intend to stop asking?” you returned, lazily rolling your head so you could look at him.

He smiled. “I believe I never shall. Some day, you will agree to have me as your husband.”

“Thranduil…” You knew you were meant to find that funny, but you could not quite summon a smile. Yes, there were serious problems that he refused to acknowledge, but you had never stated them as clearly as you should. Perhaps it was time to bring them up directly.

You rolled onto your side, directing your gaze at him rather than the ceiling. “You will outlive me by a number of years. Why would you want to tie yourself to a wife you will have for the equivalent of a few weeks?”

Thranduil looked over at you and found that you were watching him steadily. He returned his gaze to the ceiling rather than hold yours. “Yes, I will outlive you. That much is a certainty, barring anything unforeseen. But I love you. I want to seize our time together, to spend as much of it bound as tightly as we can be. When you are gone, I will mourn you. I would do so if you left me tomorrow.”

You might have teased him for that, asked if he had designs on your safety… but there was a frown on Thranduil’s face that said the thought alone was causing him distress.

“But would you deny me the knowledge that you had belonged to me and I had belonged to you as much as any two can? That we swore before all kingdoms, all rulers, and every one of our subjects that we chose to be together? Not due to politics or trade or any such thing. But because we loved each other too deeply to live any other way but together.”

Thranduil slowly shook his head. “I mourned my first wife for almost a decade and that was with the comfort of knowing we had been together without reservation. I already care too deeply about you to hope for any less grief, but I worry for that lack of solace…”

“So why do I wish to wed you?” he asked, turning to look at you directly. Thranduil’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, though he fought to keep them from falling. “Simply put: because I love you and I want the entirety of the world to know that I would have none other than you for my wife, my partner, and my queen.”

Whatever expression was on your face, Thranduil seemed to find it unbearable. He turned away, his back toward you. “Please save your objections for the morning. I find I am far too weary to defend my desires to you this evening.”

“Thranduil…” you started.

“Yes?” he asked, still facing away.

Your mouth opened, but you found that you could not answer him.

Thranduil turned toward you once more, his hands rising to cup your face. One of his thumbs rubbed the crease between your brows while the other smoothed the corner of your frowning mouth.

“Yes?” he repeated, voice hushed.

You took a breath, and it was shaky when you released it. “Ask me again.”

Thranduil’s hands stilled on your face. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

His eyes widened an instant before he captured your lips with his own. With the activities of the last hour, you were not quite stirred to need, but your body perked with interest at the way he moved close and closer. You were pressed together, utterly entwined, until Thranduil let you go, pulling away only far enough to press his forehead to yours. The brightness of his beaming smile was near-blinding from such a close vantage point, but there was a mischief in it that made you wary.

“You realize, of course, that our people will not be satisfied with a recounted tale of an accepted proposal?”

You groaned. “Please try not to make your staged proposal too inane tomorrow. I don’t want to lose the respect of my subjects.”

“Never,” Thranduil promised. “I shall devote the entire afternoon to composing a proper proposal for their approval.”

“Afternoon?” you asked. “What about the morning?”

His eyes were bright. “I had a rather different idea of how we would spend the morning.”

---

Author's Note - This pair has been a delight to write from the beginning, but these two chapters represent my final ideas for them. If I ever decide to add to their story, I'll make sure to link it here.

Meanwhile, I would love to hear what you thought! Thanks for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #lord of the rings #the hobbit #the hobbit thranduil #thranduil #elvenking thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #fem!reader #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #lemon #spicy #not suitable for minors #minors dni

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that-ari-blogger · 6 months

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What exactly does Pan teach you?

So, Pan's inclusion in Stray Gods is weird, right? Not in a sense of he doesn't belong or fit in the story, because he certainly does. But why Pan?

When you think of the Greek gods, chances are you think of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. In Stray Gods, these big names are absent, and here is Pan, someone a large portion of players had never heard about before now, offering you some advice.

SPOILERS AHEAD

First up, mythologically, Pan was the god of the wilds, usually. I say usually because there was no cannon for Greek Mythology because of how ancient Greece works. It wasn't so much one unified nation, but a collection of city-states with shared cultural elements. As such, different states had very different views of the deities, and these shifted over time. For example, Artemis is usually defined by a lack of romantic interest, but Sparta worshiped an epithet called Artemis Orthia, who was a goddess of fertility and childbirth. You can see why this gets complicated.

With that said, Pan is usually a god of nature and freedom, sometimes associated with medicine, sometimes associated with madness and fear, and sometimes associated with music. This is a figure who is hard to pin down.

This doesn't really answer the question: Why is Pan?

I think the answer is his distance from the rest of the idols. Olympus is defined by tradition and the past. It is burdened by trauma, and Pan, the god of freedom, represents the exact opposite. This is a character who is desperately looking forward. He seeks grace out because of guilt over Caliope's death, and instead of confronting that, he runs as fast as he can into the future. He isn't as free as first impressions would tell you.

Ok, enough preamble, what is this song about?

First up, this song takes the "why are they all singing" comment about musicals and looks you directly in the face to say "its magic, deal with it."

But second, and more importantly, this song offers you another choice. Stray Gods is about choosing your own fate, and the teaching song gives you an obvious one. Freddie, Pan, or neither.

Stray Gods isn't short of incredible visuals, but this is by far my favourite. And it isn't what you think. In any other story, this would be the choice between going on the adventure or staying home, but you're going, otherwise, Grace will be killed. This is asking you how you will go about that.

Freddie, identified with small comfort, is contrasted against Pan with the very whimsical imagery of the tree. Freddie represents safety, Pan represents urgency. Freddie represents using what you know, Pan represents diving headfirst.

Speaking of that metaphor, welcome to the waters. It's deep, you can't see the surface from here, and the murk stops you from seeing much other than Freddie and Pan. Who do you choose? Who do you trust?

What does Pan actually teach you? Not much, he explains how Grace's powers work and that's pretty much it. Except for one thing, Pan, quite accidentally, teaches you how this story will work.

Welcome to the world, it's going to be murky, you're not always going to be able to tell what is in front of you, but you can always make a choice, and you have to deal with the consequences.

Previous - Next

#rants #character analysis #literary analysis #greek mythology #stray gods #literature analysis #what's so special about...?#stray gods pan #khary payton #khary payton kills in this role

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aqricus · 1 year

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FIRST AID KISS ! feat. tighnari

V SAYS . . . “you keep tighnari on his toes with two things: your lack of care for your well-being, and your . . . spontaneity.”

+ WC . . . 4.4k

+ MINORS DNI. fem reader. fluff. mentions of sex. messy kisses for your boy. <3 i slapped this together in a few hours to kill time since i’ve been so inactive on here recently. pls i’m so tired skfmdks. SEVERELY unedited.

you know tighnari hears you before you enter.

you can tell by the way one of the sleek, sable-colored ears crowning the top of his head is already swiveled in your direction before the sole of your leather boot can cross the threshold of his private workspace, twitching attentively despite his eyes being focused on the fresh kalpalata lotus cradled in his palms. you nudge the ajar door shut behind you with your heel and adjust your grip on the wicker basket clutched in your arms, ignoring the stray pieces of hardened reed pricking at the exposed skin on your arms.

“i’m back,” you announce, voice a tad breathless from the lengthy trek you’d made back from gathering samples, and tighnari finally draws his attention away from the flower to return a warm smile of welcome. his eyes are fond as they trace over you with a familiarity you’ve grown to adore, and his smile blooms into a chuckle at the sight of your disheveled appearance, complete with sullied attire and a delicate sheen of perspiration glazing your forehead.

“i was beginning to think you’d gotten lost out there,” his remark is light-hearted as he gingerly places the lotus into an empty petri dish. “did you find the samples i asked for? they—careful, watch your step.” his equable tone spikes with urgency as he notices the empty pot he’d haphazardly placed on the floor for the sake of a time-sensitive emergency earlier, but you simply step over it without noticing.

“what?” you blink at him, ignorant of the twisted ankle you could’ve potentially suffered.

for a moment, he’s silent, the withdrawal of his hand slow and almost reluctant. “uh . . . nothing, never mind.”

you hum acquiescently at his dismissal and set the basket atop the wooden surface beside the kalpalata lotus. nimble fingers peel back the layers of moist cloth encapsulating the tiny, vermillion seedlings you’d harvested, a proud grin playing on your lips as you display the fruits of your labor to your boyfriend. “i found what you wanted!” you pluck a single seed from the collection and roll it between your fingertips. “you weren’t kidding when you said they were rare. it took me hours to find them.”

tighnari doesn’t respond for a moment, and you’re too preoccupied with examining the seedling to notice the way he’s observing you instead, samples cast to the backburner of his mind as his gaze peruses your body once more—this time, more intently, as if committing your current state to memory. your knee-high boots are now caked with tacky mud and plastered with a variegated patchwork of soggy leaves and tendrils of moss, black laces filthy beyond remedy. your clothes aren’t in any better of a condition, wrinkled and begrimed and a small incision ripped across one of the seams in the right side of your shorts. did you snag them on a twig? tighnari’s ears prick attentively when his eyes snag on a discolored scrape arching up your thigh, framed by splotches of dirt and a couple more shallow scratches threaten to bead with ruby at the slightest wrong movement. or, did you fall?

“aren’t they pretty?” blissfully unaware of his scrutinization, you place the seed in your palm and extend your hand to show him, but it takes him a moment before he’s able to pull his attention away from you and half-heartedly focus on the seed with a clearing of his throat.

“they’re quite unique,” he agrees. “they appear very similar to sunflowers when they bloom and only do so at night, which makes them quite remarkable.” his gaze subconsciously flickers back to your leg, and his voice softens before he realizes it, wrought with concern and a bit hushed. “but . . . hey, did you fall? your thigh is all scratched up.”

“oh!” your eyes glint with a flash of clarity, as if it’d somehow managed to slip your mind during the journey home. a smile blossoms upon your lips, radiant and untroubled, despite your boyfriend’s obvious disquiet. “yeah, it’s no big deal. i wasn’t paying attention and ended up tripping over a root, that’s all.” you assure him with a breezy gesture of your hand. your gaze averts from his as you place the seed among the other before delicately swathing them in the damp cloth, and your hand lingers upon the swaddled seeds as you inform him, “i’ll tend to the scrapes on my own.”

“nonsense,” your eyes widen slightly at the stern edge sharpening tighnari’s tone, and his refusal is further cemented by the single, decisive swish of his tail as he slides the wicker basket to the opposite side of the counter and insistently pats the empty space with a gloved hand. “hop up here so i can take a look.”

“tighnari . . .” over time, he’s learned to recognize this particular tone of yours—that little, saccharine drawl of his name you typically wield to weasel something you want out of him, whether it’s approval to accompany him into uncharted territory or the green light to caress the ears crowning his head. he’s wholly aware of your next move before you can even open your mouth, undoubtedly to claim that you’re okay and persuade him into letting you off the hook. so, he nips the issue in the bud.

your next words fizzle away into a small gasp when one of his hands clamps down on your waist, firm enough for his fingertips to dimple the soft flesh just above the delicate curve of your pelvic bone through your clothes, yet not tight enough to cause you pain. for the next few moments, all you can do is sense—feel the gentle whisper of the flower petals adorning his shoulder over your bare arm and smell the aromatic, kaleidoscopic explosion of crushed herbs and crisp rainwater that clings, ever-present, to his attire—as he leans closer, reaching past you to drag forward a wooden stool sitting just behind you.

you barely have time to register the unforeseen closeness in proximity before he’s withdrawing with a pensive twitch of his ears and a casual instruction of, “here would probably be ideal, considering the location of the wounds.” he doesn’t even bother to allow you to intervene, let alone look at you—although, with way the positioning of his hand combined with his adamancy to care for you is beginning to tug at the corners of your lips and spark tiny bolts of electricity that crackle and fizzle in the pit of your stomach, you figure that perhaps his blissful ignorance is for the best. you do your best to veil the elation and warmth bubbling in your chest by silently complying with his wishes, voice unreliable; but, you aren’t able to suppress the tiny, satisfied smile that crosses your lips as tighnari’s deft fingers shimmy the material up your thigh.

“is something on your mind?” tighnari has always been perceptive—in fact, it was one of the qualities that initially drew you to him, a sense of reverence and wonder toward his ability to detect discrete changes in his visual surroundings, the vibrations rattled off vocal cords, and even the chemical balances of the living beings he elects to analyze. in the time you’ve known him, you’ve rarely been able to sneak anything by him, whether they’re emotions, desires, or concerns; so, you honestly aren’t quite sure why you’re surprised to find his gaze already trained on your expression when you’re snapped back to the present. your tongue wilts, heavy and unwieldy, as his hazel eyes bore into yours, and you merely shake your head, smile earnest.

“no?” he quirks a brow. he knows you aren’t being truthful, you can see it in his eyes, but he doesn’t press the matter. “then, perhaps you can hand me one of those cloths over there.”

“tighnari,” you begin, but you stretch your arm across the wooden surface to pluck a single cloth from the meticulously folded stack, anyway. “y’know, it really isn’t that bad,” you chuckle. “none of them even broke the skin.”

at first, all tighnari does is hum as he vanishes from your side to locate clean water to soak the cloth in, and he doesn’t answer until he returns. “while there may not be any blood present, it is still crucial that you treat the wounds. this one right here,” he hovers his fingertip over a particularly long scrape etched into the flesh further down your thigh, “is dangerously close to bleeding. if you’d fallen with even a little more force, i’m certain you’d have an open wound—superficial, but open.”

goosebumps erupt over your skin at the frigid touch of the damp cloth as he begins wiping off the dirt framing the edges of your wounds, and you shiver. “maybe so, but aren’t you busy?” the touch of your index finger against his shoulder stills him, and as he straightens up, your hand falls away. “you’ve got a lot going on. anyone can tell.” you remind him, and the tip of his right ear twitches. “i’m serious, you don’t have to do this. i can sit right here and take care of it while you work.”

from the jump, you never expected him to patch up every little cut and scrape you endured; and, perhaps that’s part of the reason why tighnari doesn’t have any qualms about doting on you to this extent. you’ve always been so prepared to assist him and fling yourself headlong into his work alongside him—volunteering yourself to run errands for him, wading through riverbanks thick with mud on the search for elusive amphibians, and even recording all of his methods and instructions so you can tend to ill or injured creatures in his stead whenever he’s absent. he can think of a vast number of people who would kill to have the opportunity to have someone so devoted in their lives, and he knows that it should please him; but, it doesn’t—not when you shoulder all of his priorities except for one.

you.

he can’t recall the amount of times you’d voluntarily swap your safety for a quick snap of success, returning to his abode utterly filthy and bruised to hell with a jar of tadpoles or set of floral samples whose importance, without a doubt, paled in comparison to your physical wellbeing. being the one to insist on taking on the jobs, you never really minded and would always rival his concern with a glowing smile and a gait unhindered by any of the injuries littering your skin; but, not even your glacé reassurances are capable of nullifying his worries forever.

“your wellbeing takes precedence, and you’d be foolish to think otherwise.” he fishes a small, circular tin from the top drawer of his desk and unscrews the lid. he doesn’t return his attention to you as he swiftly swipes his pinky finger through the sweet-scented salve contained within, but he can still sense the weight of your gaze. “the flowers can wilt.” he spreads a sparing amount of the ointment over each individual scrape. “and, the amoebas can die. but you . . .” he finally meets your eyes, and you can feel heat trickling over the cusps over your ears at the certainty glimmering, crystal-clear, among murky puddles of coalesced oak-brown and forest-green, “you cannot.” there is no solemnity or grimness in his expression, only an easy confidence accompanied by upturned eyebrows and a neutral expression, as if he is speaking of a matter as simple as predicting the forecast—as if this is something he’s expecting you to already be wholly aware of. he only holds your gaze for only a moment longer before his attention bounces back down to your thighs, and he taps your knee. “spread your legs for me.”

“what?” your eyes round. “why?”

“not like that!” tighnari snaps, but you can tell that the implications of his words aren’t lost on him, either, based on the twitch of his ruffled tail and the way your knees are suddenly apparently far more intriguing to him than anything else. “there’s one last cut i haven’t gotten to. it’s further toward your inner thigh, whereas all the others were either front and center or along the lateral side.”

“it’s not a cut,” you shoot back. “it’s still not bleeding.”

“did you even know it was there?” tighnari’s brows arch as he glances up at you; and, the indignant huff that’s forced from your lips is the only answer he requires before he’s gripping your knee. “i didn’t think so.” the only resistance he receives from you is an intelligible series of mumbles as he eases your thighs further apart.

fortunately, you don’t squirm or contest his decisions as he cleanses and applies the healing salve to the final wound. you remain quiet, but he can still feel the indignation emanating off you in waves as your eyes slit skeptically at his actions and your arms weave together over your chest. he cracks a small smile. always durable, always independent, yet he can still sense the soft fondness underlying your gaze as you observe him.

“you’re good to go,” he announces with a shuffle backward. you don’t hesitate to slide off the stool, soiled boots landing on the maplewood floorboards with a dull thump. “don’t change your clothes until the salve has time to soak in, or else we’ll—or rather, i—will have to start all over again. and, be careful when you walk upstairs. don’t let it smudge onto your other leg.”

“yes, sir,” you remark wryly, but you don’t bother to disguise the upward quirk of the corners of your lips as you tilt your head in his direction. “how horrible, indeed, it would be to have your hands all over my thighs again.”

tighnari snorts, and he angles his face away just before you have time to discern any changes in his expression, occupying himself with slipping the tin of ointment back into the drawer before rummaging around the controlled chaos for something else. you frown and pensively dig the toe of your boot into the floor. pity.

“ah.”

the small noise of realization that arises from you is the only warning tighnari receives before his ears swivel attentively at a string of quiet footsteps swiftly beelining towards his turned back. the final step is punctuated by the graze of a single finger beneath his chin, index finger hooking beneath his jaw to redirect his head to the side in one fluid movement. already aware of your presence, he doesn’t think to parry your touch or even question it, expecting perhaps a simple, chaste kiss planted on his cheek or lips or even a set of arms wrapped around him.

what he didn’t anticipate was the soft press of your chest against his, accompanied by a pair of lips slotting against his in a fiery kiss that couldn’t be further from the innocent smooch he’d envisioned. the tip of your tongue caresses the slender expanse of his bottom lip, laving over the slightly chapped flesh to coax his jaw into yielding. a quiet, pitched hum of surprise is kicked from the base of his throat at the sensation of your tongue delving past his ajar lips, and his muscles tense against the feeling of your nimble fingers twisting the hem of his hoodie into your closed fist. his ears erect, pointed and stiff and bleeding with heat beneath the thick layer of dark fur, when the hand resting idly beneath his chin begins to move, ticklish fingertips snaking down the porcelain column of his throat to wind around the back of his neck and draw him almost impossibly closer.

his mind whirls at the onslaught of affection, body scorching with heat, and he can’t help but find this situation somewhat reminiscent of another—an occurrence he cannot quite place or recall in the heat of the moment. but, the sensation of your lips constricting around his tongue to suckle almost painstakingly gently on it discards the inkling almost as soon as it appears, wiping his mind blank until all he can do is allow himself to be engulfed in your presence, your touch—everything. tingly bolts of electricity arch down his spine, and his jaw twitches reflexively, sinking lower to allow you the freedom to move about him as you please. he can’t subdue the shiver that wracks his muscles at the light graze of your teeth against the sensitive muscle, nor can he silence the soft whine that rolls off his vocal cords when your grip tightens on his shirt. you shift toward him once more, sealing your lips over his once more to effectively swallow up all of the tiny sounds that spill from his throat.

you’ve initiated a fair amount of affectionate gestures in the time you’ve been his partner, but rarely have you ever approached him like this—all messy, sloppy kisses and bold invasions of his space to sap the strength from his knees and snatch up control in one fell swoop. considering how busy he’s always been, you typically prefer to transition smoothly into exchanges such as these, easing him into the mood and preparing him for what you want from him via teasing ministrations or outright requests. but this—he barely had time to think, let alone react. but, as he feels himself melting into the kiss, returning your gesture with identical fervor and a newfound heat stirring in his chest, he decides that while certainly unexpected, he supposes he could find an appeal in spontaneity as well.

his hands finally slip away from their place draped motionlessly over the edge of the drawer, lifting to blindly seek purchase along your figure. there’s a sense of desperation neither of you can deny in the way one of his hands tightens around your upper arm, fingertips roughened by countless hours of research and grueling field work pressing indents into your supple flesh just beneath the cuff of your sleeve to keep you pinned in place. your skin is overly warm, and so is his, housing twin flames that thrum and writhe with life and desire, each fueled by the other until your bodies are swathed in a heat so intense tighnari can feel a single pearl of perspiration trickle down the length of his spine.

his other hand slithers around your waist, fingers just barely dipping past the waistband of your shorts, and the delicate sigh of content that feathers past your lips as you relax against his chest has his ears folding back slightly. he indulges you—or, rather, perhaps it is you who indulges him. neither of you are quite positive who is more eager, each sloppy kiss complemented and doubled until tighnari can feel the first traces of excess saliva beginning to pool on the cusp of his lips.

although, he finds that it truly doesn’t matter, because after a few more moments, you withdraw entirely. it’s almost downright sinful, the way your eyes maintain their innocuous, teasing glimmer when they bounce up to meet his, as if you hadn’t just siphoned his soul directly from his lips. still ensnared in the moment, tighnari makes an attempt to pursue your lips, but you angle your chin upward before he can succeed, placing a quick peck to the bridge of his nose instead.

“what are you—” tighnari begins, but his voice is breathy and bears no real demand.

“i forgot to kiss you hello when i came in.” you reveal. you relinquish your hold on his shirt, but your touch doesn’t stray too far, drifting down to settle on his hip. “so, i thought i would combine it with my ‘thank you’ kiss.” you grin.

for a moment, all tighnari does is stare blankly at you, a tiny, disbelieving smile twitching to life upon his lips. a hello kiss? a thank you kiss? you’re screwing with him, surely. you have to be. that kiss was far too intimate—far too messy and heated—for it to be for something so trivial. you must have an ulterior motive. you don’t kiss someone like that unless—

all at once, he’s sparked with a moment of recollection, a split-second realization where he’s finally able to remember why the situation initially seemed so familiar. the kiss you exchanged was identical to the one shared two nights ago when he had you spread out under him, legs locked around his waist to keep yourself anchored while the flushed tip of his cock bullied your g-spot with crippling accuracy. he can still envision the way your fingernails etched pale scarlet crescents into his shoulders, your entire body convulsing as you moaned against his lips, demanding more! more! between each greedy kiss that left rivulets of saliva cleaving through a translucent sheen of sweat that layered both of your bodies.

“cum inside me!” you’d whimpered. “fuck—please, i want it all. need to feel you.”

tighnari stiffens at the memory, ears swiveling to stand at attention once more. “wh—” he clenches his jaw at the incriminating wave of heat that sweeps through his systems, only to scoff at your poor attempt at concealing the knowing smile playing on your lips. you’re clearly more than aware of what you’re doing. “you’re horrible.” he gripes, but there’s no genuine venom detected in his tone. you laugh. his tail swishes sharply, and he reaches out, briefly pressing his fingertip into the center of your forehead. “not to mention, still injured.”

“only kind of!” you insist and move to bat his hand away, but he’s quicker, shifting his wrist to block your strike.

“your legs are all scratched up!” he argues.

“barely! none of them even broke the skin! you said so yourself,” you fire back. “i still need to—”

“what you need to do is change your clothes and sit down.”

“fine!” you huff, but tighnari knows you well enough to understand that you mean no simple acquiescence. “but, only if you come with me.”

“and, why, praytell, do i need to go with you?” he folds his arms.

your hands flutter animatedly, and tighnari sighs, already predicting the utter nonsense you’re about to spew. “because! you keep going on and on about how bad my injuries are, so obviously i need you to accompany me! what if i pass out? what if i fall and can’t get up?”

“it builds character.”

“tighnari!” your eyes widen in protest, but the momentary fit of laughter that wracks your body refutes the existence of any genuine hurt.

“you’re so obnoxious.” he snorts, but his hand is warm against your skin as his fingers coil around your wrist.

he rolls his eyes at your playful smile and the exaggerated, dreamy sigh that succeeds it, but you ignore it, deciding to continue teasing him. “you just saved my life, tighnari. i hope you know that. how fortunate i am that you love me, or else you’d surely leave me for dead.”

“you’re pushing it,” he huffs, but he can’t help the ghost of a fond smile that crosses his lips. it’s faint and nearly indiscernible, yet most certainly present.

because, you are, indeed, correct.

beneath all of his pointed remarks and no-nonsense attitude, he does love you—probably more than you’ll ever be capable of realizing.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #tighnari x y/n #tighnari x reader #tighnari x you #tighnari scenario

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yanyanfeii · 1 year

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tending to his wounds

cw: spoilers for dendro archon quest, scaramouche real name, sub scaramouche, dom gn reader, scara receiving, NSFW BELOW!!!

synopsis: you recuse him after the fall, healing his wounds and tending to his other desires ;)

you watch as the “false god” falls quickly from his broken creation. stripped of his gnosis, his heart, he closed his eyes in defeat as he accepted the idea of death. the stone beneath him clouds in smoke as he hits the ground, to his surpise he remains concious, alive. he curses the fact not even death would welcome him.

you quickly ran over to the ruble, tearing past the travler who stood shoked as Nahida outstreched her arm to stop them from chasing after you. You pant heavily, hands grabbing at the broken stones, throwing them aside as you desperately search for him. you feel a sense of urgency, you had met him before he turned, before he came a shell of himself. your hands ached as the sharp cold tile scraped and tore at your flesh.

soft breathes moves the gravel from his chest, you lifted up a larger piece of the debre, reviling the one known as kunikuzushi. his eyes were halflidded, staring up, icy and cold. your hand out streched and tugged on his arm. like a puppet he motionless gave into your strenth, sitting up ,head hanging low. “Kunikuzushi.” you utter in fear. you had never seen him like this, a complete devoid of life. “what.” he rasped lowly, it was soft like a whisper on the wind but as heartless as the stone surronding him. you bit your lip, watching his unmoving body. “are you okay?” a stupid question really, but nothing else came to mind that sounded right.

he laughed airily, though it didnt spring from happiness. the type of laugh that dances the line of insanity from pain. “am i alright?” he repeats almost mockingly, even in such a state he still had the energy to be sarcastic. “im wonderful, stripped of my heart, denied my one true purpose. why would i not be alright.” his shoulders draw up and he shakes his head ever so slightly. your growing frown deepens, your hand reaching out to place itself on top of his hand. he stiffens, eyes darting up to find yours. “what the hell do you think youre doing?” you muster up a smile. “laughing at my defeat? came to rub it in, throw me in a cell? do your worst.” his vocie is laced with venom as his violet eyes darken.

you shake your head. “i was trying to be a friend.” his eyes widen. “a friend? how huomorous.” your brows furrow in mild frustration, he wasnt making this easy. you move closer, sitting down beside him and like a snake he practically recoils away. “i want to help you, you know.” he makes ‘tch’ sound looking up at his broken robot. “i dont need it.”

all of a sudden his head feels heavy, the room feels like its spinning.. maybe the effects of the fall took awhile to sink in. Scaramouche finds himself groaning softly in pain. ‘i am a weakling’ he repeats in his mind, hand drawing up to craddle his aching head. His back aches where the break from the tubes were left, death would be a releif. his distress does not go unnoticed and you quickly hold him up in support. the purple haired man huffed in protest, too weak to protest.

your arms slowly wrap around his frail body and you pull him closer top your chest. his attempts to escape you are short. you close your eyes placing your hands on his back begining to heal his wounds. not many people knew you as a healer, something you didnt tend to share. but in this moment you could tell just how much he needed this. slowly the ache starts to lesson, his body warms at your healing touch. his breathing grows more steady as he rests his head on your shoulder and gives in to your touch.

you smile softly as you can almost feel life returning to his body. melting into your touch like puty. the feeling of another touch, a soft touch filled with care was something unfamiliar and like a drug he couldnt get enough. he sighed deeply nuzzling into your embrace.

you pulled back slightly to get a better view of the man before you, the look in his eyes was pitiful. you leaned in pressing your lips against his, he may not remember you but you remember him. this, something you only dreamed of doing, now realizing how close knocked you threw your inhibitions aside. his eyes flew open, face blooming red as his hands weakly place on your shoulders in a attempt to push you off.

your hand cups his cheek as you press your tongue past his lips, forcing it into his mouth. he whimpers, letting his eyes fall closed. his brows furrow as your other hand tenderly trails down his chest going lower and lower. he shivers against your touch as you pull him closer. your tongues swirl together as you devore his baited breathes. “st-stop.” Kuni moans against your lips, head tilting back, your hand gently rubbing at the fabric of his pants.

his pleas fall on deaf ears, and you feel him grow harder under your fingertips. “they’re gonna hea-hear.” he groans, your hand slipping under the waistband of his shorts, fingers brushing against his pulsing cock.

you loved the sinful sounds that crawled out of his throat, the power he gave you. your hand gently stroked his dick, feeling the warmth of precum fill your palm. his breaths catch in his lungs, biting his lip in a feeble attempt to conceal his moans. “does it feel good?” you tease, voice laced with honey as you nibble on the shell of his flushed ear.

he quickly nods, brows furrowed and hair sticking to his forehead. you take his dick between your hand, rubbing his slit with your thumb. chocking out a moan his hips buck upwards, and his shaking hands grab your face pulling you against his lips. your face flushes at the unexpected forwardness, you feel your legs clench together.

you breath out a moan against his lips, sucking on his bottom lip delicately. your hand moves faster, pumping his cock with rhythmic pase. he cries into your mouth, hips shuttering as he continues to buck into your hand like a dog in heat. “please don’t stop!” you smirk against his lips, hand clenching around the base of his dick.

feeling it twitch in your hand, dripping with precum. he lets out another loud moan, pushing up against you as he comes. your hand continues to caress him, coaxing him through his orgasm. his utters breathless moans, falling forward against your body.

his head on your shoulder, he pants. your hand pulls out from his shorts, and you stare at the mess of cum coating your fingers. you kiss the top of his head. “you did so good.” you praise hearing him sigh happily against your neck.

scooping him up in your arms, you flee the scene. no doubt the traveler heard all that and was just to stunned to do anything. ;)

an: not proofread, hope it’s alright🤍

#kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi #scaramouche genshin x reader #scaramouche headcanons #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader

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viismyworld · 6 months

Text

CaitVi drabble_____

Vi x Transfemme!Cait

NFSW MINORS AND MEN DNI!!! 🔞🔞🔞

Summary: Broke college student AU where Cait has morning wood so Vi helps her out

Really just wanted to write Vi pulling a reverse cowgirl (also another rare instance where Vi tops)

_______________________________________________

Cait groaned groggily, rolling over to realize Vi wasn't next to her in bed like she was the night before. She looked over with a squint to the bathroom door, it was slightly open, the light peering through, letting her know Vi was there. Once aware of where Vi was, another feeling made itself noticeable; her night shorts were painfully tight…tight enough to frustrate. Fuck….she cursed. Thankfully Vi was in the bathroom (the only bathroom they had in this horrifically cramped apartment unfortunately), so she figured maybe she could rub out the bones before she came out. She shoved the covers off, freeing her erect member from the confines of her shorts, spitting on her hand and stroking in a rather rushed manner. Not even seconds after the bathroom door swung open, slamming against the wall "Hey have u seen the-" shit! This morning was shaping up to be great, Cait thought. Vi paused at the sight of Caitlyn stopping herself a little too late, the embarrassment on her face apparent. "Woah…a little early for wet dreams don't you think?" She quipped. "It's not- what d'you need…?" Caitlyn asked hurriedly. "Was just looking for the nail clippers is all…" Vi started to catch on to what was going on due to the urgency in Caits tone and the painful boner in her shorts. "Haven't seen them…" Cait said. "Right, okay, I'll look elsewhere then," Vi tried to stifle a snicker. "Please do…you standing there in a towel isn't helping me much…" Vi's ears perked up at that one. "Oh? What, do I turn you on or something?" "I…what no I-!" "Y'know…I guess you're right. Im not being very helpful right now…but…I could be," Vi offered, her tone suggestive. Caitlyn's face grew even redder which seemed impossible with how embarrassed she'd been this whole time. "You-" "Only if you want I mean if not I'll just-" "Wait a second-" Cait couldn't believe she was about to take her up on this, though if she was being honest with herself, she hadn't had good cunt in a while. And if Vi was offering…

Vi stripped herself of her towel, tossing it to the floor as she hopped on top of her roommate. Caitlyn guided her cock inside of Vi's waiting cunt, letting Vi sink down onto her. "Fuuck~" the blue haired woman sighed out. Fuck was right. She was a tight fit, hot and wet as she welcomed her in. Vi smiled, biting her lip as she moved up and down slowly, adjusting to Cait's length. "Fucking hell, you're bigger than I thought you'd be~" she admitted with a strained laugh falling from her lips, though she persisted nonetheless holding herself steady on top of Caitlyn, looking her in the eyes as she soothed her aches. She rose off her cock, only to slam down a little hard, making Caitlyn curse with a throaty groan. She kept at it, slow and bruising before she picked up her pace, finding her expert rhythm, one she'd used to ride other girls before Cait. Sticking her wet hair out of her eyes, she let herself bounce on Caitlyn's cock at her leisure, turning into nothing but a moaning, bouncing mess. Cait held onto her hot body, dampened with water and sweat. She was in awe at how well Vi rode her, practiced hips grounding and grinding in all the right ways, strong legs holding her up and bringing her back down at a perfect pace. Vi seemed to be getting into it, especially when she decided to turn around, coming off of Cait and readjusting herself to where Cait was faced with her tattooed back and perfect ass. Vi sat back on top of her, holding herself up by her hands as she rode her backwards, whining and moaning as she occasionally swept her hair back. "Fuck Vi-" the blue haired woman gasped, watching her cock sink into her roommate over and over as she continued to bounce. Seconds turned to a few long minutes, and Cait felt herself ready to burst. "Shit~ViI'mgonnacumfuck!!!" She breathed out, her breath quickening. Vi laughed, breathing out the words "cum inside me" as she continued, going at it until Caitlyn reached completion. Vi suffered and let out a moan directly from the throat, head falling back as she felt Caitlyn release her load inside her. She smiled at the satisfaction of being filled, finally coming off her roomie after a while. "See? I can be helpful~"

#vi arcane #viarcane #vi lol #vi x reader #caitvi #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn kiramman #violyn

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lovejosephquinn · 1 year

Text

Authors Note: Part 4, I'm sorry about all your broken hearts and frustration at Joe, hopefully your opinions might change soon? Thank you so much for all the love I've had for this series! I'm absolutely obsessed with it and so glad I had that burst of inspiration on a random Tuesday morning 😘

OH AND THERE WILL BE A PART 5, WHICH WILL BE THE FINAL PART!!

Summary: You're marrying a man for an easy life, yet you're so in love with your best friend it hurts. What would happen if everything changed drastically between the two of you before you were due to be wed?

Under 18's DNI. Warnings: Angst, smut, friends to lovers? Word Count: 2.7k

Taglist: @kayleeelena97 @eddiemunson-mylove @itsfreakingbats @joeschains @choke-me-eddie @creoleguurl @almightywdm @xlilithb @shawnamae87 @mythicalea @aysheashea @chickennug90 @figmentofquinn @sidthedollface2 @tlclick73 @chrissy-mj-stan @evansgal

Part 1 ✨ Part 2 ✨ Part 3 ✨ Part 4 ✨ Part 5

You ran a few laps of the club, looking in every possible knuck and cranny in attempt to find Joe. It had only been 5 minutes since he'd escaped your grasp, but it felt like a lifetime of torment and it's true; it really was when you thought about it, purely from the ultimate punishment of being so in love with your best friend for the majority of your time of knowing one another. He had to know, he will know and you were determined and in of more a sane mind to go fourth and let him know. Surely if you'd of told him from the beginning, as soon as he followed you into the toilets about your feelings back, things would have gone differently, who were you kidding, you knew they would of.

After at least 10 minutes, you bumped into one of your friends that you'd left alone, she caught you in a hurry, grabbing you by the arms wondering what on earth it was you were in such a rush to move along for.

"I saw Joe, I need to find him." You yelled over the music, the beat pulsating through your body from the thumps of the melodies.

"Where is he now?" She looked unnerved herself.

"That's the thing, I've no idea."

"Have you been crying honey?"

"That doesn't matter, I just need to find him. Will you cover for me? Say I've gone home. I'm sorry to cut my own hen night short but I need to talk to him, it's urgent."

"Go ahead, I got your back." She shot you a smile, a brief hug was exchanged and you exited out of the club.

You tried calling him, his phone was off. Of course it was, at a time like this why in the world would his phone be on? Thoughts coursed through your head like the speed of light, vile thoughts that he'd done something to himself over the hurt or that he'd never speak to you again after this, you desperately needed to get everything out in the open, if it was to end after this, at least you'd know you had your answer and as hard as it may have sounded, you could try your best to get over him.

Whilst your brain got the better of you, you sped walk into the back of a guy walking in front of you.

"I'm sorry." You gasped.

He turned around, to your luck, wasn't a stranger at all, Joe's best friend Wesley turned around in a sudden state of shock, staring at you like a rabbit in headlights.

"Wes! Oh my god, have you seen Joe? I need to talk to him."

"Best you don't, he's in a state. You look like you're in a state. What's going on with you two? Aren't you-" he stared at your get up, the bride to be sash crinkled up nicely from when you were wrapped around Joe being attacked by his lips, a welcoming flashback indeed.

"On my hen night, yes. Speaking to him is more important right now, where is he?" Wes could tell you had a sense of urgency about you and deep down he looked like he knew something, as his eyes looked down to his feet you could tell he was contemplating on the situation, but it was the simplest of answers that you were being prolonged from knowing.

"Do you want to marry this person?" Ugh. That old chestnut.

"Is that important?" You sighed.

"If it's going to hurt my best mate then yes it's important." Why did he have to do this now.

"I can't promise a thing, just tell me where he is for fucks sake."

"He went to another girls house..."

Your heart smashed into pieces.

"I'm sorry, I must of not been listening, did you just say what I thought you said?" Your eyes welled up and you tried your best to ignore it, how could you be mad at him for that? For wanting the attention he so rightly deserved. Maybe it wasn't like that or maybe you were just delusional.

"I know he's going home, you can go wait for him there if you really need to talk to him."

"But that could be hours." You didn't really need to think about it, you'd wait forever if it meant telling Joe what you really felt.

"I'll wait with you if you like."

You pondered on his offer, you knew full well either Joe had told him the whole ordeal or that he'd put two and two together, he wasn't stupid, clearly he knew what was really going on.

"Ok." You took a silent stroll over to Joe's house, sitting on the porch and waited on him. You felt like you'd been sat for hours on end, making small talk with Wes about god knows what whilst you anticipated his return, your mind was elsewhere, trying to figure out exactly what you were going to say and how you were going to approach it; all guns blazing was not an option.

All of half an hour later or a lifetime as you would've described it, a taxi cab pulled up outside the house, the passenger door opened and out came Joe, thanking the driver and slamming it shut, on a mission to get back into his house and shut himself away clearly. He looked upset and you couldn't blame him, but he'd clearly used his booty call for a quick get away from all this bullshit.

Your eyes caught each other at the exact same moment, they flickered straight to Wes after who briefly nodded at him, his lips pressed into a straight line, feet slowing down and coming to a brief stop about a metre away from where you were perched.

"Why are you here?" His eyes kept on Wes, but you knew exactly who he was referring to.

"Waiting for you mate, she said she needed to talk to you and I waited with her." Wes stood up, patting you on the shoulder, a silent way of wishing you luck and walked over to Joe, giving him a slender hug before disappearing off into the night.

Joe's eyes fell back to the floor, he walked up onto the porch, unlocking the front door and holding it open, looking down to where your bum was still firmly placed on the step, his eyes fiery with the torment of you in his very presence.

"You coming in then?" He said calmly.

You nodded, your body engulphed with goose bumps from the chilly spring night, but you were boiling in respect of the anxiety which was coursing through your veins at this very moment. Standing up, you followed him in, closing the door behind you, standing like you were a told off child, your hands firmly intertwined together, knees weak from just the sight of the man you loved in front of you, leant against the wall, staring at you with intent.

"Wes told me you were with a girl."

Joe's eyes became wide, lips parted a little and he huffed a sigh, loud enough for you to feel his breath travel over to where you were stood. Waiting on an answer, you could see him watching you with eagle eyes, it really looked like he was considering lying to you, but you trusted him enough to respond right.

"What's it got to do with you?" He spoke in a harsh tone.

"It's got everything to do with what I'm about to say." You snapped back, not about to take the shit that came with it.

"Which means?"

"Did you fuck her?"

There was the sound of silence again, your heart palpitated with suspense, did you break out and run or do you wait?

Joe scoffed loudly, turning away and walking in the kitchen. You stay put for the minute, staring into thin air but eventually hear the sink running, walking on forward you find him leaning on the countertop, elbow secured and hand to his forehead, sipping on the glass of water that he poured himself.

"Are you going to answer my question or is this the part where I fuck off?"

"What if I say I did?"

"Then there's no need to talk." You scoffed back, a humiliating reaction to the one he gave you just a couple of minutes ago back in the hall way.

Joe turned back to you, sipping the water, making it apparent when you heard the slurp from the glass. You rush over and take the glass out of his hand, his movement delayed when he pulls away at the feel of nothing.

"Did. You. Fuck. Her." You say through gritted teeth.

"What. If. I. Did." You don't know why you did it, but your body took control of your entire mind and the water was thrown straight in the direction of Joe's face.

His hands clawed over his face in disgust, yet a slight sadness apparent to the aftermath of what you just did. It looked as though tears were streaming down his face but you weren't sure if they were just water droplets or tears of disgust in his own self.

He shook his head, showing the upmost remorse he possibly could.

"No. I didn't fuck her." Your mouth made a silent o shape as you placed the glass back to the countertop in fear of dropping it on the floor, keeping your firm grip around it just in case things escalated further.

"You didn't fuck her?" He just answered your question, your head is screaming why the fuck did you just say that out loud.

Joe rolled his eyes which immediately had your blood boiling once again. "Well I went to but, I couldn't."

"Well you could've but-" You were interrupted suddenly by his next response.

"But what? She's not you."

"And he's not you." You whispered sheepishly.

Joe took a step forward to you, not watching where he was placing his hand but full of intent where he was going, his fingers briefly touched the other half of the glass you weren't holding, the tips brushing against your knuckles but instead of grasping your hand straight away he moves the glass from your reach, your peripheral vision catches the sights of his hand coming over to turn yours over, holding onto it as tightly as he can.

"Say that again." Joe screeched in an even lower tone.

You closed the space between you, your bodies almost becoming one. Reaching up onto your tip toes, you take a seductive tone. "He's... Not... You."

In the blink of an eye, your lips collided together, the place where your hands once sat were now feeling the material of each others clothing. Joe pushed you back against the wall, holding you in place so you couldn't move, it was the most alluring yet dangerous act you'd committed together yet.

Joe stepped back taking a hungry look at you, with one lick of his lips and giving you the come to bed eyes, your eyes followed the pattern of his hands that lead to your dress, with the strength and frustration that followed, he tore it from the chest down.

"You're so fucking beautiful princess."

"Say it again."

The dress falls down to your feet quicker than you could've anticipated, his mouth quivering in a smirk at your mimicking, leaning toward your ear, the only word he utters back is princess.

Your neck was suddenly mauled by his mouth, little nibbles here and there and his muscle working your skin, tasting the scent that he'd longed to taste since that one night when you were teenagers. Yet although you'd done all this before, given yourselves to each other it felt like the first all in the same breath.

You were lifted up by surprise, a tiny whimper leapt out of you, a similar position to when you were held up in the bathroom in the club, you unbuttoned his shirt in almost slow motion whilst he carried you up the stairs, the top half of his clothing discarded on the top step, just like you were now that you'd found yourself being almost thrown down a top his bed.

Joe kissed each part of your body like it was a drug to him, making sure he left no skin left untouched. A starved animal that craved every single part of you. Pulling you back up, he unclasped your bra, sweeping it over his shoulder, attacking your chest, sucking on each nipple in turn. Your hands spread around his curls, clutching them in your grip.

"Joe. I need you. Joey please."

"Let me have this moment just a little bit longer princess, I need you, but I need this time to appreciate your body."

"What if I beg?"

"I'm listening." The most flirtatious voice you'd ever heard.

"Trust me. We'll have all the time in the world, please just give me what I want."

"And what do you want?" He sighed, palming his hand over his trousers, a borderline pornographic groan escaping his lips.

"Fuck me."

"Your wish is my command." It truly didn't take him much convincing, it was obvious from the erection that was straining to get out.

You got into position, spreading your legs, laid on your back at the edge of the bed, bracing yourself when you saw his cock spring free, tiny spouts of pre-cum dotted all over the tip. He pushed slowly inside of you, stretching your walls finally, a breath of relief came from the both of you in unison as he started to move.

"Oh fuck." The profanity had never sounded more beautiful as you squirmed underneath him in pure ecstasy, your cunt clenching around him.

"Harder." You cried out, his hips rutting into yours, balls slapping, the smell of sex filling the room.

"You're mine." Joe leaned down biting onto your lip but you couldn't even get the response you wanted to out of your mouth.

"You're all mine." Hovering above you his fist gripped at your throat, not enough to hurt you but enough to get the message across.

The knot in your stomach came at full force, an orgasm near on the brink.

"You're so god damn tight princess, holy shit, you gonna cum for me yeah, give you what he never could?"

Something about what he just said made your back arch and his thrusts become erratic, your slick covered his length, dripping out and coating his balls with the contents he'd helped you create.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum." The gasp that burst from his vocal chords was erotic, a feeling that you couldn't recreate twice. He almost gave way and crushed you, his hands now squeezing into the sheets beside your head. Breathless, begging for oxygen, he pulled out and fell to your side, unable to find the words that were left unspoken.

The deed was done.

"It's over." You whispered.

Joe tilted his head toward you.

"What?"

"With him. I'm going to end it."

"Wait you're serious?" Forgetting the mess you'd made, the conversation had turned full force, his arm came over your stomach in an attempt to comfort you, but you needed to confess, you needed to get the truth out once and for all.

"How can I be with someone I don't love and don't want to be with, when there's always been someone else." Your breath hitched at the words coming out loud, becoming reality.

Joe gulped his own saliva back. "Of course."

"It's you, it's always been you."

"Then it's us princess, I can't bear the thought of a world without you."

"Promise me we can get through this." Joe reached for your hand, placing it to his heart.

"I promise." That was all you needed to hear.

#joseph quinn angst #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn fan fiction

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murdocking · 7 months

Text

„ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ”

- a chishiya series. intro ch2

masterlist

warnings + notes: since theres a few canonically known games within the manga that were not depicted in the adaptation, i will have to concoct my own version of these for the purpose of being entertaining before having that slow burn begin when chishiya and the reader properly meet within the games😈😈fun fact that i adore escape rooms so this show and the idea of me coming up with my own versions is making me giddy

this shit is so long guys sorry its truly just a filler i promise

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ:

- TWO OF DIAMONDS

in your mind, you thought you looked bad. the blazer you had worn just hours ago to your first big-girl interview was thrown somewhere on the train tracks in shibuya station. your face was covered in sweat, and patchy makeup. your sandals were feeling the wear and tear of just simply walking- and your button up shirt was stained with some dirt and sweat as well. despite that, laying eyes on the man in the corner made you believe you were a model in comparison.

his shorts seemed to just be burnt pants whose threads gripped onto the pieces of fabric for life, and his blue shirt was dark brown on the right side of his body- where you seem to notice his patched up arm. you can only assume that the brown spots scattered amongst his attire was his own dried blood, and he scratched at the other drying cuts littered on the arm with urgency. his face was stiff, covered in thick mud and grime, and his eyes were dark with fixation.

he was not the person you were interested in approaching.

to the left of you was a woman, her short hair seemed unintentional- matted and torn as though a child had taken scissors to it then rolled it in the one-armed man’s blood. besides this, she was focused, staring at the table in the center of the entranceway. you even notice her eye twitching slightly, and how her shorts seemed too loose for her frame and her shirt too big.

you follow her stare at the table, and notice what it is that has grabbed her attention so well.

walking over, its an array of phones- and dark bracelets, with the little white sign saying “take one”.

you decide not to test this gathering, and grab a phone and put on the thick metal band that snaps to your wrist snugly. you start flipping the phone around searching for an on switch- just for it to do it on its own. it brightens up and says the word SCANNING before saying WELCOME.

you turn to the woman, and inquire, “what is this supposed to be?” and you think she has truly lost it when she meets your eyes.

she stutters throughout, but chuckles maniacally regardless. “have you never been in a game before?” and your shaking head and puzzled face gives her the sign to continue. she motions for you to get closer and she grips onto your shoulders tightly, leaning towards your face.

“this is your childhood fears come true! here… death chases you like a goblin… and he sends his demons to torment you in these games… don’t you know?” she stares at you crazily and you immediately regret not entertaining the idea of asking the man for information instead. “we play… naïvely to live.. see look.” she clicks on her own phone- pressing the words VISA and the app presents 6 hollowed out club symbols.

“we play.. to live and stay here longer… or else…” she points up at your forehead and then quickly brings her hand down pointed to the floor with a ‘WOOSH’ sound. “death takes you himself.”

she didn’t exactly reassure you, but as another person joins, you politely thank her and decide to speak to someone more sane.

a girl, seemingly about your own age, speaks to you. “shes right.. is this your first game?” her brown lashes flutter when the doors to the entrance way suddenly shut- but she never even flinches from the action. “every game is different, and it tests different parts within you. i suggest if you’re not the athletic type,” she scans you briefly, and you feel a bit small because of the action, “be careful of spade games. those test your physical endurance the most. diamonds need quick wits, and clubs require effort from a team. but hearts games.. those will leave you to yourself every time… it will cut you raw inside.”

you look at her, and you see she is quite serious. “thank you.”

GAME REGISTRATION CLOSED!

DIFFICULTY: TWO OF DIAMONDS

RULES: SURGICALLY REMOVE EACH ‘TUMOR’ FROM THE BODY INSIDE OF YOUR DESIGNATED ROOM LABELED ON YOUR DEVICE. EACH ‘TUMOR’ REMOVED WILL GRANT MORE TIME, BUT WILL DEPRIVE YOUR FELLOW PLAYERS OF TIME, AND LIGHT IN THEIR ROOMS. REMOVAL OF ANYTHING ELSE WILL RESULT IN INDIVIDUAL PUNISHMENT. THE FIRST TO REMOVE ALL ‘TUMORS’ WILL HAVE A GAME CLEARED.

surgical removal..? though you encouraged the idea of medical school, blood wasn’t really your thing- neither was biology. you look around, theres only four of you, and you’re starting to become painfully aware of the band on your wrist, is it getting tighter or is that your mind?

the man with one arm sighs, and fixes his posture, and makes way to a door with a heart imprinted on it. you look at your phone, it has given you the spade shape- and you take your place to the third door. to your left, the girl you spoke to has been chosen for clubs- and the woman has been designated for diamond.

you each enter your respective rooms and the door shuts behind you. it seems to be an office, a television is placed on the wall in front of you- though it seems to be off. a single industrial light illuminates the room, hanging off of the cement ceiling. there are bookcases and a rolling chair placed naturally as well. but what catches your eye is a sheet placed over a silver table. your patient is waiting.

the tv lights up, and the 2 hour countdown has begun.

you see a patient file ontop of the chair, and open it up. there, you find the odd names for several tumors diagnosed to the hopefully fake body. there are four, and you’ve never cut up a person before. the idea of it starts to make you gag harshly- but the overbearingly loud ticking from the tv brings you to your senses.

each listed tumor has a card symbol beside it, and the pale dead man in front of you begs for your attention. the first you decide to go for is the angiosarcoma, linked with a heart symbol.

you browse the books behind you, searching for anything on anatomy- until you finally spot one in the top shelf. you continue your rapid search, the time going down more as you look for health science information. scoring it and shakingly looking for the desired cancer amongst the table of contents. flipping to the page, its detailed and graphic in every nature, but its enough to tell you what you need to do to get out. you sit up straight and lift the sheet completely off of the man- seeing the deep purple and black spotting on his right hip and grab the scalpel amongst the tools next to his body.

getting to work, you disgustingly plunge the scalpel into his hip, and cut jaggedly like a true amateur. the idea of mixing his still blood with your dusted and dirty hands makes you cringe, but you still pull the flap of skin back to use the tongs to grip onto the tumor that comically is shaped most definitely like a heart. cutting it out, you throw it onto the silver plate between the man’s legs.

3 more to go.

the tv stops the time at 1 hour, 23 minutes, and 57 seconds. looking up, it flickers to a 3-way split screen and you can clearly see all of the other players, the lights dim for all 3, but you don’t lose sight of how the one-armed man has a woman in front of him, her serene frame degraded by his lengthy and bloody cuts on her ribs, his hand and shirt has her freshly dead blood on him and you see the frustration is rising in him. he doesn’t notice he’s being watched, and you wished he did so maybe he would stop. but he doesn’t, and he claws out a chunk of her and throws it into the bin. suddenly, he starts screaming- thrashing around as you see the bracelet on his arm expand and push wired needles into his forearm. they’re electrocuting him and hes gargling on his own spit and blood.

you look away quickly, and notice the older woman simply staring at the bookself, the cloth on the dead patient has not been touched. you assume she gives up.

the girl however, has books littering the floor, shes hunched over the female body given to her- and you can see her using her knee to pin down spots of flesh so she can remove her selected tumor.

your light dims.

this is incredibly real to you, and you rapidly start to move on to the next tumor. merkel cell carcinoma listed has a diamond placed against it, and you search his whole body for something you saw in the textbook. and it takes a while, before your light dims again. you look up- but the tv has stayed on the time, the playing broadcast has ended for you.

its harder to see now, and you rely on your fingers to feel the smooth but protruding bumps on the backside of his neck. within ten minutes, you have thrown the diamond tumor into the plate. and the tv flickers back to the broadcast- pausing your time once again at 48 minutes.

you notice the woman’s light is completely out, her figure is practically invisible to you. the man twitches with every movement- the volts have traumatized his body. but the girl is relentless. she’s aggressively tossing the dead woman in her room, bending her neck over a pile of books as she uses the butt of her scalpel to feel down the woman’s spine.

you’re wasting time staring at them. you need to finish.

the third, melanoma spotted on the back calf of his left leg, was simple- but its removal was difficult and has left you with 19 minutes remaining.

you’re eager to get this over with, the last tumor however, is blanked out by black marker and has the spade symbol against it. how are you supposed to solve that? you would be able to see it maybe if your light was fully lit, but its near pitch black in the room. panic seeps in.

you search for anything in the two books- but there are no special indents, pages out, bookmarks- nothing. you just stare at the time, at 7 minutes, you know you won’t win.

until you stare longer at the tv, and see the barely visible reflection of your door. you quickly turn- and see the ribbed detailing on the flatly grey door thats shut against the walls. on the other side, spade was imprinted into the door… why has the imprint not gone through? you trace the ribbed door, feeling its curves.

curves?

you feel the detailing once more, and it feels like its forming an eye. eye cancer.

you rush to the book, and you can sense the light beginning to flicker again.

you search among the various eye tumors listed, and reach over the poor man you are about to deface and see nothing wrong in his eye, until you lift the lid of his right eye.

its pupil is pale with grey and yellow.

retinoblastoma.

but you cant remove it without taking out his eye, and you remember what happened to the man. but if the lady was truthful, you did not want death’s demons to bring you to your end so quickly.

with bravery you grip onto the edge of his socket, speaking a desperate apology before popping the eye out and the light flickering out.

how are you to see this now? the eye had not ripped its nerves so you were not yet punished. yet.

the only light is from the tv screen, turning your 3 minutes into 2. you begin to jump off the table, and push it closer to the wall with the tv, grabbing the man and slumping him against it as you lift the face towards the television where the light gracefully points out the yellow matter in the back of his eye.

once removed, your light comes back on, and its nearly blinding. you did it

the broadcast begins again- the woman is still in darkness, but the screams she makes are noticeable regardless. all three get injected by their bracelets- the man is sobbing and weeping like a child because he has already known the pain. the girl screams, kicking the silver plate across the room as her arm tenses and burns against the needles. she stares at the camera, shes found it. and she stares into your soul with hate.

she joins the dead body when the needles dig completely into her.

GAME CLEARED! CONGRATULATIONS!

you can feel the bile rising in your throat as the tv shuts off and the spades door opens and greets you with the now empty entranceway- with a single white table holding a two of diamonds playing card.

they’re really dead.

#chishiya shuntarou #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #niragi alice in borderland #alice in borderland #kuina alice in borderland #arisu alice in borderland #alice in borderland fanfic #aib x reader #alice in borderland x reader #chishiya imagine #chishiya angst #chishiya fluff #aib headcanons

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moralanxietystudio · 11 months

Text

Roadwarden - In Search of Urgency Through Limitations

(This is a repost of my Twitter thread that got quite a dose of love yesterday, so I figured you may be interested in it as well.

1/ Hi! I was invited to post a thread for #MAMG23 on a unique feature of my fantasy game, Roadwarden. I’d like to tell you about its most controversial design choice - the time limit. The expectation that you’ll finish the game without seeing some parts of what it has to offer.

2/ In RW, you play as a single character patrolling the roads of a distant peninsula, aiding or harming its tribes. This land has grown detached from any strong, governmental body, and you start the game as an outsider, an agent, a spy sent here by the city.

3/ You’re encouraged to travel, make friends, learn more, but instead of being The Chosen One, you’re just a rider, a traveling sheriff. And you’re meant to get back to the city soon - usually, in 40 days, after which you are held accountable for your actions and their outcomes.

4/ You start with a personal goal you can select from a short list, and a few other quests to guide you, but none of them are obligatory. You may shape the fate of various people, or even whole settlements, but that’s just a small dent in the grand scheme of things.

5/ I think the reason why it works is that RW tries to make you feel attached to its NPCs and villages. Most people are guarded at first, but open up as you prove your worth to them - or manipulate them. You get options to spend time with them, to share meals and ale.

6/ You see NPCs’ perspectives as you exchange news and rumors. You get familiar with the way people get by, with their routines, and their plans for the future. My NPCs may not have the most depth, but in many ways, you get to learn about their vulnerabilities.

7/ At the start of the game, you’re also vulnerable system-wise, and you won’t increase your stats much. Instead, you rely on others to help you get out of the loop of hindrances. You grow closer with people - by quests, trading, hanging out - and open access to convenient tools.

8/ You unlock new shelters, free supplies, free care, free advice, lower prices, even direct help during tasks. You collect favors. It’s no wonder you may grow attached to NPCs and their problems, and actually care about what’s going to happen to them.

9/ (It’s a very different approach to many older video game plots, where your character would get dropped into mid-apocalypse, saving the world they know nothing about, or trying to save their sibling/village after a brief introduction, relying on our real-life contexts.)

10/ Your character is weak, and travels between the “points of light” (villages, inns) and the threatening wilderness, seeking ways to optimize your journeys, avoiding threats until prepared to face them, sticking to the main roads at first, then exploring the more obscure paths.

11/ But the game needed tension to make this work, to let you game the systems while pushing you into taking an occasional leap of faith. Balancing between risk and preparations is where the challenge comes from. Hence - the time limit.

12/ In the core game mode, the character has 40 in-game days to explore the peninsula. They can complete the game before that, but once the time runs out, they are forced to return to the city - very often begrudgingly. Not many people get to finish all of the quests.

13/ Without save-scumming (reloading the game in hopes to get better results) or looking up a guide / seeking advice online, the player will struggle. I didn’t intend for them to see everything during their first playthrough. They’re meant to taste failure.

14/ RW is most rewarding when the player accepts their character’s shortcomings. When they decide that they need to leave a village to itself since they lack the time to help it. That they can’t rescue a traveler, or a place, because they’ve got to move on.

15/ Judging by RW’s reception, it’s an unintuitive, and not exactly welcome, design. Most people, myself included, expect to have the option to 100% the game from the get go. Despite my best efforts, it seems like I didn’t succeed at setting the game’s promises correctly.

16/ The tutorial section of the game tries to set the expectations straight. It promises that the peninsula is overgrowing, wild, filled with monsters, that the locals are *pagans*, that the time limit is pressing. But many players don’t treat these threats seriously.

17/ Oftentimes, they see these promises as the set up for a story of success, something to overcome with enough grind and wit. It seems like the game failed at making it clear that it tries to embrace human limitations, that it’s a part of the core experience.

18/ The game didn’t make it clear that by deciding what matters to you the most, whom you want to help, whom you leave behind, which mysteries you unravel, which conflicts you solve, and when you put your needs above others - you get to make meaningful choices.

19/ My ideas did resonate with some, and I saw people playing the game once on the “standard” mode, then again, on the “casual” mode - with no time limit - to experience the rest of the story threads. I think it’s even better to take a longer break between playthroughs.

20/ This way, you focus on your character, and encounter the realm beyond your grasp. You get to embrace your mistakes and choices. If you return to the game after a year or two, it will feel different, as you are also not going to be the same being.

21/ It may not be a reasonable expectation on my part. But to justify myself, I’d like to make it clear that the time limit is not just a gimmick, but rather a system I play with in many ways. You can’t travel during nighttime. You need to restore stats every day.

22/ Some quests disappear or show up on specific days. Some actions are available only at specific hours. Days get shorter. You can care for the roads to ride faster. In many ways, time is a resource, and various tasks can be solved by spending it.

23/ Take the wooden lantern, as an example. You can buy it from a merchant, or hang out with a friendly carpenter to make your own, chatting with his neighbors. What do you need more right now? Money? Coins? Friendship? Without the time limit, you’d get limitless resources.

24/ The world of Roadwarden is rotting, collapsing, fading away, reaching a new form. With no time limit, it’s a playground, a place to be tamed according to your will. And the time limit was meant to turn it into a mystery, an interactive adventure. #MAMG23

#indiedev #pixelart #gamedev #screenshotsaturday #fantasy #rpg #pixel art #indie game #gaming #roadwarden

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harrisongslimited · 26 days

Text

George Chapter of the Day

Chapter 14

I Saw Her Standing There

Trigger warnings: adult situations and conversations, swearing, smoking, drinking, fluff, sexual tension.

Chapter 14

Joie's hand felt so good in George's, she felt safe and comfortable, and in some strange nondescript way, felt she was where she belonged. She hoped it would be the same at the Harrison's house. Meeting them previously, Joie knew they were warm, funny and comfortable with what they had. George and Joie pulled up to his parents' house and George stopped and turned off the car.

On the way over, it went from the lovely orange and red of dusk to the midnight, deep blue of evening. The air turned cool and there was a light breeze. To George, it was balmy, to Joie, it felt like near winter.

"I'm from California, George," Joie reminded him, playfully. "Any temperature under 60 is officially 'winter'."

George laughed, then focused his dark chocolate eyes on hers. It was impossible to distinguish his irises from his pupils, and his laser like gaze went right through her, leaving her shivering down her spine. Smiling, his face gentle but focused, he leaned towards Joie, pulling her hand towards his back to bring her in closer. Wanting to remember everything about this highly anticipated moment in her life...when she kissed a man she was growing to love...their lips met tenderly for a delicate kiss.

George wasn't too sure how he would know to stop. His internal radar about women went haywire as soon as his eyes met hers. She was beautiful in a suntanned, fit body. The corner of her eyes tipped up slightly and her lips were full and exceptionally sensual. George watched her hook her short, soft auburn hair around her ears, something she did when she was nervous.

He was willing to stop right there. Joie had another idea. Scooting as close to him as she could, her left hand combing through his hair, she eased him forward to kiss him again. It was the most amazing feeling she ever had. Her eyes closed, and Joie pulled George closer. As she did, he eased back slightly, and his tongue rimmed her full, pink lips then eased between them to really kiss her. It was as sweet as he ever felt.

Joie, "French kissed" badly by Charlie, said, "What the hell, why not?", and welcomed George's tongue into her mouth. She was unsure initially, then just followed George's lead.

For both of them, a switch flipped on and they allowed the feelings of urgency and passion to take over. George felt Joie relax slightly, and he knew she was no longer unsure and it became urgent and passionate. It was nice when his hand wrapped around the back of her neck and their kiss deepened with each one feeding the other's desire. It was as if they were two starved people finding solace in each other's arms. Butterflies flipped inside her; she could feel the pounding of George's heart.

Suddenly, there came a rap on the side window of the car next to Joie. It was a man with a flashlight. Joie looked at George with real fear and rolled down the window. Bending over, a flashlight in one hand, a billyclub in the other, she came face to face with a police officer.

Panicky and shakey, Joie relaxed when George wrapped his hand around hers.

"That's enough you two," the man stated flatly. "Go on home now."

"We are home, sir," George leaned down to look the officer in the face.

The policeman suddenly began to laugh as he recognized George. Joie raised her eyebrows, opening her dark brown eyes.

"Right, there, George," he broke out in chuckles. "You two have a nice evening...."

And he was gone. George and Joie looked at each other and began laughing.

"10,000 miles from home and I finally get busted for necking in a car. Go figure."

..........

They exited the car and headed up the stairs to the Harrison's home. Before George rang the bell, his hands slid around Joie's hips and pressed her in close. Her arms flew around his neck as their mouths crashed together. Joie, going off instinct and the electricity between her legs, tilted her head slightly and George drove his tongue further, his mouth wider to completely deepen the kiss.

When they leaned back from each other, Joie knew she just experienced a kiss like no other and George leaned his forehead against hers.

"We keep this up and I'm going to need a cold shower," he laughed, lightly kissing her cheek.

Joie looked at him warmly and gave him a tender kiss. "You know, i wish we could have the entire evening to ourselves."

"Hmm, yeah. I'm missing a good round of Monopoly myself." He looked at her with a mix of mystery and mischieviousness.

After she gave him a playful swat on his ass, he finally rang the doorbell.

The door flew open immediately and Mr. Harrison stood there with a pipe in his hands.

..........

The Harrison's house was warm and inviting. It was the perfect size bungalow for the two of them with a small garden in the back. Both Mr. and Mrs. Harrison smiled at Joie and seemed glad to have her after George re-introduced them.

"It's been a long time since I've had a girl in the house," Louise told her. "My daughter got married and moved to the States, so it's been a little lonely."

"Thank you so much for having me," Joie told both of them. "Your home is lovely."

"Thanks to George," Mr. Harrison said proudly. "We moved in here about a year ago."

George showed her around and placed her bag in an extra bedroom. Joie followed him and was so glad to be there. It felt like home. The smells and feelings she remembered when her mother was still alive, watching her make dough for fresh bread, were always accessible in her daydreams. Stirring the spaghetti in an impossibly large pot on the stove, the smell of pot roast when stepping into the warm home from the cold outside.

Joie felt like she was home.

George walked to her when they were alone in her room. George wanted to kiss her again...and again...and again. Was he moving too fast? Feeling he wasn't, he kissed her lightly and then said, "I'm taking a vacation when this tour is over. Ireland. John and Cyn are going too. Would you like to come?"

Joie didn't really think the question through and blurted, "Oh, yes," Joie exclaimed.

"I'm glad. I was afraid you'd say no."

"Why?"

"Well, alone in a foreign country with me."

Joie crinkled her nose. "Are you dangerous?"

"When it comes to you, I just might be..." he nodded his head and slipped his hands around her hips.

When her face fell, he questioned her immediately. He wasn't about to get so close to being alone with Joie and not rebuke all negative thoughts.

"George..."

"What?"

"Um...well...I don't have enough money to go on vacation. Im actually on vacation and won't be working these next couple of weeks ..."

"Let's not worry about that for now," George told her, confidence in his voice. He breathed a sigh of relief. If that was all he had to worry about, he'd fuckin' dance naked with the Irish fairies at dawn. "We'll figure that out later," he assured her.

"But you always say that...." Joie told him. "I'll have to ask my dad for a loan so I can pay my own way."

"Joie...." George began, combing his fingers through his hair. "I wish you'd stop worrying about that. I asked you to go and I'm planning on paying. No strings attached. I just want to spend some time with you. I just hope we can stay under the radar with the media."

"Me too....," she answered bashfully. "but I still need to pay my own way."

"Stubborn Americans," George shook his head. " Let's just figure it out later. Kissing you has turned my brain to mush."

Joie laughed. "Ok."

Joie moved closer and looked into his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her. Joie put her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

..........

Soon, he was gone again, leaving her with his parents. He called nearly every day, just to check on her and Joie was relaxed and enjoying being mothered by Louise Harrison. Every afternoon they would have tea together and talk. Louise told her all about his childhood and Joie told her how she lost her mother when Jordan was a baby. Louise couldn't imagine how Joie had grown up without a mother. It made her think of John and Paul, who loved being at their house because they had both lost their mothers early in life. But while John was scarred, Joie learned to take the place of a mother and take care of her sister and make sure her dad had dinner every night.

"It must have been hard when you were a little girl," Louise said, pouring the tea. "You had to grow up fast."

"My dad is a good dad....like Paul's from what you say," Joie told her sipping the hot tea. "He really tried to be a mom and a dad, even though he missed my mom so much."

"Did your dad remarry?"

Joie shook her head. "No. He was always too busy working and taking care of us. I hope now that we are getting older that he will get out there and start dating."

"I can imagine it will be very hard," Louise said gently.

Joie nodded.

When the phone rang, Louise looked at her. "Please go ahead and answer it. It's probably George for you."

Louise smiled. She liked the young girl and she could clearly see that her youngest son was hypnotized by her. Louise knew he would never bring anyone to meet them unless he was dead serious.

Joie jumped up with a huge smile for Louise and answered the phone, "Harrison residence."

"Hi American," George said happily. "How are you?"

Joie told him about her day, about how wonderful his parents had been. "But I miss you....," she whispered into the phone.

"Miss you too," he replied softly. 'But John is here, and he wants to talk to you."

"Greetings you slagger," he laughed. "You should be here to hold my blathered head over the loo. Yeah...I'll say it. I will you fuckin' cretins," he shouted over his shoulder at George, Paul and Ritchie.

"Yeah, like I was trying to tell you before I was so rudely interrupted, we all miss you, American. Mal doesn't tell us to go fuck ourselves half as good as you."

"Thanks, John," Joie answered laughing.

"Do me a favor?"

"Of course," she answered.

"Call Cyn. Maybe you could meet her at the house for lunch or something." He said, rather embarrassed. "We had another little argument over the phone and I think she's upset."

"I will call her tomorrow," Joie promised.

"I hear we are going on vacation together," John added. "And I'm glad. For an American bird, you are ok."

Joie smiled. "Thanks John. For an English bloke, you are ok too."

John laughed and handed the phone back to George.

"How are things going?" Joie asked him.

"Ok. Can't wait to get home and then go on vacation," he answered. "Need a vacation. Then we are going to start on the next movie."

"I hear. It's going to be wild."

"Gotta go. Say hi to mom and dad. I'll try to call tomorrow, but we are traveling."

"Ok.," Joie answered.

"Bye Joie. I'm glad you are at my parents' house."

"Me too. Thank you George."

............

Joie's dad called the next night and spoke to Mr. Harrison for quite awhile before speaking to her.

"You sound a lot happier than the last time we talked," her dad said. "Are you doing ok?"

"I love being here, Dad. The Harrisons have been wonderful to me."

"I wanted you to know I got a call from your young man..."

Joie questioned him. "Who?"

"George. Seems he wants to take you on vacation and wanted me to know that everything will be very proper and in order, mainly because I'm a police detective and could bury him where no one would find him."

"That sounds true," Joie laughed. "Better to schmooze than be murdered," she responded truthfully. "But, dad, George called you?"

"Yes. And he's a very nice man, Joie girl. He cares very much about you. We had a nice long talk and I'm glad he called. Ireland sounds like a wonderful trip. He said another couple is going with?"

"Yes," Joie told him. "John and Cynthia."

"Well, I told him I had no problem with it as long as you don't."

"Thanks, dad," Joie said. "I love and miss you, Jordan too."

That night, Joie went outside to the Harrison's backyard to have another cup of tea and a cigarette. She sat on the little swing and looked into the dark, English sky, thinking about George....thinking about the trip to Ireland. They had really only kissed a couple of times. What would Ireland be like? Would they share a room? Would she have her own room?

All she knew was she missed him when he was gone. She missed the feel of him. She wanted him to kiss her again and feel that tingle. Was that love? Did she love George? Maybe she would find out in Ireland.

And what did he think of her? It seemed to Joie that he cared about her and after talking to her dad, she knew he had gone out of his way to make sure her dad was comfortable with her going on a trip with him. He liked her, of that she was sure, or he wouldn't have gone to all the trouble for her.

She went to bed finally after the house was quiet. She would call Cyn the next day and maybe meet her for lunch. George and Joie trusted her. Maybe she would ask her about Ireland and she what she thought.

..........

"Joie..." Cyn greeted her when she made her way to the Lennon's front door. "How are you? How are you getting along with George's mom and dad?"

"They have been wonderful, Cyn. Wonderful. I feel like I'm at home."

"John loves George's mom and dad. They were always so good to him when he was younger. I can't tell you how many times they fed the boys and let them practice at their house when no one else would."

They ate a light lunch of chicken salad and iced tea and talked about the tour, the fans, the media.

"Cyn....what do you think about the trip to Ireland?" Joie finally asked, rubbing her finger nervously over the condensation on the iced tea glass.

"I can't wait. I think it will be great fun. We will have a wonderful time." Cyn told her, honestly.

"I'm really excited....but a little nervous too." Joie admitted. "The fans, the press. What if they find out?"

"Brian is arranging everything. It shouldn't get out. He can be very discreet."

"Cyn...." Joie started, then stopped. She scratched at her nails and peeled off the nail polish. "I'm nervous about George. George and me. I don't know how he feels....and...I'm....very inexperienced."

Cyn reached over and touched her hand. "He cares about you Joie. And if there is anyone to trust in this world, it's George. He's very smart, he knows where he comes from. The fame hasn't gotten to him. Of that, you can be certain."

..........

It would be another week before George would be back, but he called nearly every night to talk to Joie. She missed him, more now than ever. Since they kissed, Joie couldn't get him out of her mind...the feelings that stirred inside her when his arms were around her, the sweetness of his lips on hers. She couldn't wait until he got back home and they could leave on their trip. They'd be alone together. And that could mean anything. Joie was nervous and excited at the same time.

"I'll be back tomorrow," George told her finally. "I'm going to come over straight from the airport. I just don't know what time it will be. There's a press reception I have to go to first and then I'll be there. If the reception doesn't go too late, I'm going to stop at the house first. Mal has dropped your car off. But I think I'll have him drive me to my parent's because my car is there."

"Ok," Joie told him, sincerely. "I can't wait to see you."

"Me too," he answered, tenderly. "I'll pick you up and we'll drive back to the house at some point. We are leaving for Ireland on Tuesday."

"Your parents have been so great, George. They have just treated me like part of the family."

George was quiet for a moment. "Joie, you are part of the family."

..........

The next evening, Joie couldn't stay still. She paced and checked her watch. She had tea and scones and checked her watch. She went out in the backyard and sat quietly on the swing and checked her watch. Then she paced some more checked her watch. Their plane was supposed to land at 5, but by 7, there was still no sign of George. Louise noticed Joie's nervousness and smiled at her. 'He'll be here soon," she told her at one point. Joie hugged her tightly.

By 10pm, Joie thought maybe George had gone home and would come in the morning. She went out into the back yard ... to her spot on the swing with a cup of tea. She was alone with her thoughts, but didn't know what she was thinking. Her mind was blank in anticipation.

She decided to go back into the house as she felt the coolness of the night envelop her. As Joie stood up, she heard the back door open and close. Joie turned toward the sound.

It was George.

He walked towards her silently. Joie blinked to make sure it was really him. In a rush of emotion, she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck, her leg around his.

"Thank God..." she whispered. "Thank God you're home."

He leaned away from her slightly and kissed her. Joie held onto him as if she would lose him if she let go. She kissed him back, feeling things she never felt before. Need. Passion. Arousal. He was all she could think of. He was home.

"Joie," he said as he held her tightly. He kissed her again and craved every inch of her.

"You're home...., " she said, filled with emotion. "you're finally home."

"I've missed you., baby," he told her, still holding her tightly in his arms. He had to keep kissing her. He had to.

"I've missed you too," she answered, not letting go of him either.

He kissed her again, passionately this time, hungry for the feel of her. Then they heard the back door open and broke the kiss. George reached down and held her hand as his father approached.

"Thought I heard you come in," he said cheerfully. "Good to see you, son."

"Thanks Dad," George answered. "Good to be home. Is mom awake?"

"Yes. She's waiting inside."

"We'll be right in....."

Harold Harrison gave a slight wink. "Right. We'll see you inside."

George waited until the back door closed again before taking Joie in his arms again. He kissed her lips, her eyes, her neck.

"We'll go home after we talk to mum," he whispered to her. "I want to take you home."

"I want to go home with you," Joie answered, never more sure of anything in her life. "I want to go home."

George smiled and kissed her lightly. "C'mon baby."

And he led her back into his parent's house. They visited with his parents for awhile, then Joie grabbed her already packed bag. Soon they were in his car, heading back to Esher.

"Why did you have me stay with your parents George?" Joie asked finally.

"I thought you needed a mum..." he answered, glancing at her.

And he was right.

#the beatles #beatles #george harrison #john lennon #paul mccartney #ringo starr #beatlemania #cynthia lennon #slow burn romance #writer #tumblr writers #beatles fanfic #fanfic #falling in love

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munsster · 2 years

Note

can you please do a robin x theater kid reader?

thankss

curtain call

A/N: (P.S. I GOT TWO SEPARATE REQUESTS FOR THIS🥰) as a,,, fellow (retired) theater kid, i think i’m gonna enjoy writing what i know 😏 ummmmmmmummmm i turned it into smut because my brain is just funky like that!!!!!!!!!!!!! if u would also like just straight up theater kid on band kid fluff, i can do that, too!! lmk

Pairing: University AU, Robin Buckley x Fem!TheaterKid!Reader

Summary: The band kid and the theater kid getting together behind the scenes: what could possibly go wrong? 1.0k words

Warnings: secret dating, cursing, smut, CHARACTERS AND READERS 18+, dom!robin, SMUg robin *panting*, dry humping, praise, pet names (pretty baby, sweetheart, pixie, baby), semi-public sexual activities, slight choking

The work lights flickered off. Nobody could catch you stumbling over old props and scrapped set pieces. Heart racing in your sweetheart, bengal-striped halter top, navigating blindly between toppled fresnels and floodlights and you trip on a clamp, fumbling forward into a welcome pair of arms.

"There you are," she whispers, "you're late." She's lax against a filing cabinet, bowtie unraveled down the frame of her shoulders. But her hair is braided back, messy and professional and girly when she beams at you.

"Sorry, Robs, Johnson totally cornered me to ask about his script, but like, I told him I tossed it so why—"

Her fingertips trace the swoop beneath your eye, and her tongue flicks at your bottom lip, swiftly flooring you, but she keeps tugging you closer by your untucked shirt, thumbing the elastic on your white spandex shorts.

"I don't mind," she whispers, every syllable gracing the rounded corners of your mouth, the crest of your lips, and when you smile, you feel her working along your sore tech week muscles. She traces the line of your thigh where she remembers it ached when she stretched with you back stage before her own call time. And she was in such awe. That someone can do what you do with no effort at all. Someone like you can look her in the eye and smile so sweetly she would happily drop to her knees. Wouldn't even mind the bruises.

And when Robin finally quits her teasing—she finally kisses you—you taste the haphazard chapstick licking the smooth skin of her lips. But it's all the same with your hand splayed out on her heaving rib cage, her upper lip newly blurred red due to the smudging of your frantic mouth on hers.

"You look... handsome," you hum, cradling her jaw so she can tilt her head with a sigh knowing you're content cooing into her sweaty skin with her thigh creeping past your knees, scratchy against your sheer nylon wrapped legs.

"Why, thank you, pixie. A very pretty girl helped me get dressed"—her fingertips dance the length of your wrists, feeling the shifting column each time you leave traces of your kisses just below the collar of her starched shirt—"and then undressed. And dressed again—”

Her hands are firm, strong with the curve of your hips when you shudder over her thigh. She’s off-kilter, and her spine is laid flat on the metal drawers, her weight balanced on one leg. But with one sweep, you’re pinned to the cabinet and winding your fingers into her loosened plait. And her leg is taut to your cunt, nearly four layers of clothing pinched between lust and urgency.

“You know how it goes,” she mumbles into the soft space below your ear. A hand slips cradling around your hard-swallowing throat, nerves spinning when the orchestra vamps from the pit. “And I know how good you were for me. How good you are.”

Her gold-ringed and nimble fingers squeeze, and you whine.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

Nodding, hotly rolling up the hard muscle of her thigh.

“You can be good can’t you?”

Neck slack, mouth watering, falsies fluttered shut. A harsh exhale from her nose mimics her sweet laugh, and her hand trail down and down cupping the dip of your side. You buck right at the hips and mindlessly, endlessly grasp for her. Like always. Like she’s always on your mind. Always slow-dancing and holding hands, close-contact with forbidden love by morality, Shakespearean in principle, nauseating in reality. To trip through prop closets for love and be forced apart in blinding daylight.

It’s not poetic how you pulse against her pressed slacks or how her eyes bore into yours to make sure you’re being, “good. good girl, just like that, baby. Jesus, you’re angelic.” She doesn’t even mind when two minutes in, your hips stutter, breath choppy against the roof of your mouth. First tome stoner, choking up and hot-faced, watery eyes and smoky. She just sucks the salty skin of your jaw and flattens her tongue into yours, teeth and bone clacking between hesitant laughs and the slow roll of your hips.

“Look at you, pixie,” she pants, forehead to forehead, glancing where you rub your greedy cunt on her like she didn’t ask for it. She’s taunting you with that sick smile, planting her palms beside your head to plummet you into work. Your own hands floundering, erratic, panicked. Eyes wide, you fist her button down, enough to claw the rough material.

“Atta girl.” Her wise-ass hand curls around your inner thigh, thumb flexed and circling your clit, assuming confidence when you grab her close and open-mouth moan with her. Teasing her cockiness with your pinched expression. Her eyes squint, loath to shut lest she miss the split second you still, back arched, head thudding back against the sharp edge of the cabinet. “That’s it, pretty baby.”

You grasp for her like a mirage, trick of the mind. She’ll be bounding back up the steps, settling into her plastic chair, scanning sharps and flats while you’re waiting from the wings, smiling wide even if you can’t help your own disillusionment. The broken promise of a princess’s true love. The kind of true love that’s marketed far from honeyed and sapphic.

She grins at your hips twitching before sagging with crotch feverishly damp at the crux of her thigh. You’re savoring. If not forever, then right here and right now: her thumbing your bottom lip and homing her tongue beneath your canines. Scraping and supple, your lacquered fingernails ruche her frizzed hair, and she sighs, resting into you recklessly.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, babe.” She knows how attached you get. How needy she gets. Winking backstage and tainting vanities and folding hands under cast party tables. Private dismay. So you gaze sweetly where her temple lulls on your sighing shoulder. Where her smile lilts away with negligent remembrance of what there is to hurry back to.

And you sigh. “I love you.”

“I love you, pixie.” Tender kiss pressed to her tilted chin reciprocated against your knuckles.

masterlist

#robin buckley fic #robin buckley smut #robin buckley x fem!reader #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x theaterkid!reader #stranger things #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #st4 #stranger things 4 #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #*

343 notes · View notes

babbiweeb · 7 months

Text

love in bloom-kyojuro rengoku

(anime in gif:howls moving castle)

tw:n/a

initial tags:pre-established reader background, kyojuro rengoku, ruka rengoku, female reader, demon slayer:kimetsu no yaiba

genre:romance, fluff & comfort, meet-cute

story playlist:

something about you-eyedress ft. dent may

little bit-lykke li

ophelia-the lumineers

slow dancing-v

fall again-loona

authors note:well of course–i just had to write a flowershop au! kyojuro and a flowershop keeper? oh yes yes! flame boy and flowers all in one! i hope you guys enjoy, talk later!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Fall brought the bountiful harvest every season, allowing us to plant less and adapt to the changes of the world. Less planting, little time in the sun as the days grow short–an ideal environment that forces us to adapt to the change. Though, some see change as something they are unwilling to welcome. Change could be a poison to those who crave routine and structure.

However, as the leaves fall, the season brings forth the option to start anew. The cycle of nature serves as a reminder to us all that nothing is ever constant–be ready for the change as life waits for no one.

We simply must carry on.

Cosmos

The hustle and bustle of the town created an atmosphere similar to that of a working hive. Everyone seems to always have something to do as well as ensuring said task is completed quickly. Unexpectedly, this environment works out for the greater good of the community. An organized mess of the working class kept busy in hopes to maintain balance.

Just then, the quaint shop down the long strip of buildings had finally seen their first customer of the morning. Perhaps it would be best to say that said keeper works by her lonesome self. A woman that little know of, and yet, that same woman is seemingly selfless. This shop had been passed down by her family–she takes such pride in tenderly caring for all that surrounds her. A perfectly peaceful life is led by this kind woman.

Y/N-

“Y/N?”-The chime of a small bell rings faintly, followed by a much older voice.

“Ah! Mrs. Hayashi–good morning! What brings you by?”-Walking towards the front of my shop, I meet one of my best customers halfway. An elderly woman who resides with her family at the edge of town–right by the forest line. She has always been so kind to me!

Frantically, she speaks once more–she’s always been known for theatrics.

“Goodness dear! My grandson–as you know, has been courting one of the shrine maidens. It seems he is ready to take the next step and ask her to marry!”-She spoke with urgency as she began pacing around, looking through my early morning selection of freshly cut flowers. Mrs. Hayashi usually made sly comments regarding the young men in her family. Always reminding me that they could be potential candidates, I wonder–

“Though, secretly, I prayed that she wouldn't be as interested. Then maybe, just maybe, I could have you a part of my large family!”

Nope. There it is.

Her fragile, soft hands caress my face as her fingers pinch the apples of my cheeks. A red tint followed soon after she once again tried convincing me of marrying one of the many young men available. Warmth flushed throughout my supple face as I couldn't help but smile–

“M-Mrs. Hayashi! T-That is fantastic news! But I fail to see what you are requesting from me!”-I spoke tenderly as I slowly backed from her grasp. Her hands held by mine as I stood across from the elderly woman. With a firm squeeze, her smile brightens.

“Oh how silly of me! Of course! I’m not here to play matchmaker today!”-She teased.

“I was hoping you could make a simple bouquet for my grandson! One that would surely make this maiden swoon!”-Before I could even get a word in, she simply could not help herself.

“You know, since you wont marry him!”-Her tease is all in good fun, but a part of me understands that she is quite serious. She tried for months to get me at least in the same room as him–but to no avail.

“Oh please! You know I’m not currently looking! Besides! I know practically every man in town! I would know if any of them caught my eye…”-I snicker as my laugh fills the room.

I’ve never been opposed to marriage. I just never found time to truly settle down. Nor has a man deemed me worth courting. At least, that’s how I see it. Perhaps this is just my slight insecurity talking on my behalf. Though, seeing the joy and pure love of the young couples around me truly stings the heart. To be completely enthralled by the grasp of love–I wonder what that would be like?

Her pout speaks a thousand words as I continue-

“I will make a marvelous bouquet for the couple! I am positive she will say yes! She will be the perfect wife for him–offer more than simple roses and seeds!”

Within an instant, her demeanor switched. As if she understood a hidden pain within-

“Oh dear. You bring this cold world such joy, more than you realize. Your own perfection comes from simply living. Never forget that.”

Harmony. That is what I felt. She didn't offer much, however, what she said was more than enough. I told her she reminded me of the cosmos. She embodies the beauty of order, balance, and harmony. The language flowers speak has always been fascinating to me. So much can be said by a simple bud that hangs from a stem. Words to me are almost unnecessary-

Soon, after a brief moment of banter, Mrs. Hayashi leaves me with the request to finish this bouquet by late afternoon. Happy to fulfill, I bring along a wide basket as it rests on my hip. A small meadow remained my secret for the longest time. There are only the select few that know of this small garden of eden now. The vegetation there, even during the harsher seasons, seems to always supply the most beautiful growth.

As I walk through town, all is the same. The many faces I’ve grown to familiarize myself with all greet me with warm smiles as I pass the crowds. Children run across the road as laughter and talk fill the streets. With every passing face, my eyes eventually trail to the very end of the strip. A group of the local youth surround what seems to be a man with brightly colored hair. Bright, just like the sun–

Curiosity grows within me, but my legs seem to still lead me away. Holding up the hem of my yukata, I step onto the dirty path that strays away from prying eyes.

“I wonder why so many surrounded him?”-My mind is filled with all sorts of thoughts. It isn't often we receive visitors that are worth such a crowd. Who could he be?

Kyojuro-

“Greetings! I was wondering if you had a local florist? It seems my neighboring town keeper has unfortunately closed up their shop!”-My voice had filled the ears of those around me. A booming request as I feel my face brighten.

I have never been to this town before. It’s rather quaint. Character lies here, that much I can tell!

“A florist you say?”

“Oh yes! We have a wonderful florist! She makes the most beautiful bouquets!”

Many voices speak over one another, though one captured my attention rather quickly-

“Mrs. Hayashi had just requested her service! She may still be out, but her shop is just up there!”-One youth had pointed towards the end of the road. My eyes find a small shop, decorated from top to bottom with plants and blooms.

With a smile, I bow slightly to the young group. Lifting myself slowly, I thank them as I take a step forward. She may be out huh? Perhaps I will wait by her shop then! Looks of interest follow my trail as I pass by the crowd–it seems this town is yet to know the presence of a demon slayer. I chuckle to myself as I come to realize how strange I must appear in my uniform. My hand rests at the hilt of my sword as I approach the shop, sitting comfortably on the bench out front.

Her shop seems perfectly clean. The sweet aroma of flowers fill my senses as a wave of peace washes over me.

She must be a lovely woman. One that has been taking care of this little shop for years, decades even! I must show my appreciation to the elder-

“Y/N! Y/N! You have a man waiting for you!”

My thoughts are interrupted as I look to my side. My eyes find the sight of one of the young kids latching themselves to the hip of a woman in pale green-

She looks just like a dream. The conversation of the two goes mute as my fiery orbs capture her. That basket? It seems to be full of quite a bit of stems as part of them are covered by a sheer cloth. Could she be?

Within a moment of pure tranquility, our eyes met. Her smile had taken me by surprise as she seemed so comfortable at the sight of a strange man sitting down by this shop. Soon, her figure comes to meet me. Standing across from me, just by the front entrance, she greets me-

“So I’m told I have yet another request this morning? Please, come in!”-Her voice is calm. Her words give away what I had suspected prior. So, she is the flower shopkeeper.

“Ah yes! Good morning! Thank you for inviting me in!”-With a quick bow, I lift myself walking in toe right behind her as she reopens her shop.

She placed her basket down atop a workshop table that is full of vases coming in many different shapes, designs and sizes! Just then, I found myself looking all around her careful shop. Plants hang from even the ceiling! Vines trailing down wooden posts and into pots full of greenery.

She has quite the green thumb. I am in good hands–

“Sir? Are you alright?”-Her voice pulls me back down to reality as I look back at her.

“Hmm? Oh! Yes! I’m quite alright!”-My boisterous laugh echoes as I smile.

“I apologize if you were speaking to me! I do not mean to ignore you! I was simply taking in the atmosphere! It seems I still get quite lost in thought.”-My laugh now a chuckle as I catch myself.

My ears perk up for just a moment as I hear her own laugh. It’s reassuring.

“Oh! That’s alright! I’m glad you have taken an interest in my little world of green chaos!”-Playfully, she teases her own workstation as she begins to unpack her basket. My eyes never wavering-

“Sir, what is it you need from a florist today?”-She continued as she worked by her table, seemingly prepping for a bouquet. I feel myself fluster at the prospect of being called “sir” repeatedly. Given that we seem to be within the same age range, surely we can drop formalities?

“Right! Before I speak on that, allow me to introduce myself! My name Is Kyojuro Rengoku! I overheard one of the children calling out your name! Y/N? Is it?”

“Yes! That is my name! It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rengoku!”-An itch had almost been scratched. To be called Mr. Rengoku? She is well mannered, but boy does she make me feel old.

“Just Rengoku is fine! Or even Kyojuro! Please spare me, surely I don’t look that old!”-I chuckled slightly as I looked into her eyes, almost pleading.

Her laugh fills the room once more before her voice carries-

“I see then! I shall spare you the formality, Kyojuro. However, if we are speaking based on looks, would it be too much if I asked you something?”-She stopped moving entirely as she gave me her undivided attention. Without another word, I shook my head up and down, anticipating her question.

“That uniform? What exactly does it symbolize? You wear fire proudly, and I must say I am quite interested.”

Yet another one of my speculations had come to fruition–this town is mostly unaware of the existence of our work. Though, I have piqued her interest.

“Ah, a keen eye you must have, for how could anyone notice my subtle look?”-I laugh once more alongside her as our banter continues playfully.

“I am a demon slayer, working for my master to ensure the safety of civilian life. Officially, I am known as Kyojuro Rengoku: The Flame Hashira.”

A proud smile creeps onto my face as I witness her eyes light up with curiosity and adoration. How sweet.

Y/N-

Kyojuro Rengoku, The Flame Hashira? What an incredible title, and well, judging by his uniform–he has status. He must rank quite high within this organization. How curious-

“Amazing! A demon slayer? I have only ever heard stories! I won't pry for any details, just know that you have my gratitude!”-I spoke with such confidence as I felt my body grow warm. I am now face to face with a demon slayer, one who must be quite strong! I must fulfill his request with the utmost care!

“Ah well thank you Y/N. You are too kind! I shall take your gratitude to heart during my battles!”-A faint red hue dusts along his cheeks as he speaks. A brief, gentle hum escapes my lips as I acknowledge him completely.

He is gentle and strong willed, that much I can tell-

“Now then, what can I do for you?”-I spoke excitedly as I continue to wrap Mrs. Hayashi’s order. A delicate bouquet flushed with an assortment of pale pink cosmos, bright orange marigold, and white cornflower. All coming together to make a bouquet full of peace, purity, and fertility. Perfect wishes for the young couple-

I wish them well after tonight.

“You see, I wish to buy a bouquet for a very special woman. A beautiful woman who holds a special spot in my heart–my mother.”-He speaks with such fondness. The love he feels for the women who had blessed him with life is palpable. How sweet.

“In fact, I would love it if you included that flower there!”-He walks close to my station, pointing to the blooming cosmos.

“Pink matches my mother well. I always thought that she would look lovely in such a pale color! What exactly is this bud called?”-He asks, swiftly pulling me into the world of botanical knowledge. He is so quick that I fail to notice the hint of sadness that had crept up.

As if this had been my subconscious attempt at alleviating the tension, I smile as I hand him an extra bud. His fingers brushing up against mine as he takes hold of the stem.

“That is called a cosmos. They come in all different colors, and shapes. The cosmos for most, symbolizes harmony, order, and balance. I believe this would be quite the flower for your mother.”

“Oh my! How lovely! I did not realize flowers could mean such wondrous things! Perhaps you are correct! These may suit my mother after all!”-He spoke with his usual cheerful voice once more, bringing a sense of calm within me.

Caught by surprise, his hand reaches for me in one quick motion, placing the blooming bud just above my ear. The delicate petals nuzzle close to my hair as it remains snug. My eyes widen slightly as I feel my cheeks grow much warmer than before-

Why? Why does he do this? Is this simply a friendly gesture? An overly friendly gesture towards a woman he had just met?

The chime of a bell rings–

“Oh my! My apologies! Am I interrupting something?”-Mrs. Hayashi had announced her presence with a mischievous tone shamelessly dripping from her voice.

As if I thought I couldn't grow any warmer, my body soon felt raging heat. Fate truly loves playing with me-

“M-Mrs. H-Hayashi! Goodness! Y-You a-are early! You said you would pick up by this afternoon!”-My stutter has become apparent now as I shy away from him, creating a short distance between us.

“Well dear, the local children had informed me of a man waiting by your shop! And of course, being the ever so worried old lady, I just had to stop by and ensure your safety!”

Please. Gods. Here is my plea. Save me from this woman's dramatics!

Kyojuro had cleared his throat, making himself known fully. As if he is hard to miss to begin with-

“Oh see! Everything seems to be just fine. This must be the young man! Let me get a good look at him!”-Just as she does me, her fragile hands reached for his cheeks. The apples of his face being pinched and loved on.

“Oh! Look at how handsome! And a man of uniform?”-Her gaze trails back to me with a sly smirk as the gleam in her eyes grows. Whispers fall from her as she nudges at the prospect of something more.

“You know–Y/N has quite a bit of suitors! One of which had been my own grandson! She is quite beautiful, however, I find the men of this town not worthy of her company. Perhaps, we will see you often?”

The lies of this woman! I’m not giving a lick of my next batch of fertilizer!

By now, I feel lost in my own world, doing all that I can to tune the embarrassment down. My shy gaze every so often finding him as my delicate hand fidgets with the ends of my hair.

“Kyojuro, I apologize on behalf of the crazy village lady! I implore you to run while you can!”-Darts of my serious glare now focused entirely on her as my flushed cheeks fade.

Then, a moment of silence as the two of us look at him. The dead air broke as his boisterous laugh relieved the tension felt throughout my body.

His laugh is utterly contagious.

“Ladies please! I must take my leave! Mrs. Hayashi, was it? Ma’am you have truly brightened my morning! I may return often just for your humor!”-His laugh continued on even in between words. The way he treats people is unlike anything I have ever seen. Understanding and truly kind-

My heart filled to the brim with pure warmth as I watched on in complete awe. He truly is like no man I have met before.

For once, Mrs. Hayashi stayed quiet, as he respectfully left her side. Returning to me, his eyes looked into mine, making me feel as if I was the only one here. His undivided attention, now mine, even if just for a moment.

“I shall return later to pick up my order! Please, take care until we meet again.”-His smile was unlike the others he had shown me prior. This one has matched his eyes perfectly. His orbs of fire had almost sparkled as we locked on one another.

“O-Oh! Yes, yes! I shall see you later on then…”-My voice just above a whisper as I dip my head–a sign of respect.

“Thank you, Kyojuro”

With one final look, he took his leave, the chime of my bell signifying my hope to see him again–and again, and again.

Kyojuro-

What was that? That moment of time felt lost as I stared into her eyes. I had no problem upon meeting her. What changed? Or is it that this warmth had always been there, and I just failed to sense it?

“How silly”-I spoke aloud to myself as I made my way back onto the road. Perhaps time to myself adventuring around a new town will help ease my thoughts.

Her touch still lingers on my fingers from when we brushed against each other. I wonder about this woman. It seems she has taken over my mind–while knowing absolutely nothing of her. Do I see myself coming back here? Do I see myself coming back to her? I smile to myself as I place my hands above my head, sketching the tense muscles of my arms-

I believe I will make time for this one.

–

“Oh, so he’s the reason that you neglected courtship within town! Y/N I never even realized! I must say, he is far more handsome than my own grandson!”

“Huh? No! Mrs. Hayashi! This was just one big misunderstanding! We are not courting one another, nor do I know him! In fact, we just met today…”

There is a fondness in her voice, a hint of longing as she gently removes the cosmos from her hair. Admiring the flower as she speaks, and somehow, the petals seem brighter. The flower seemingly has a greater meaning to her now-

“Uh-huh…right of course! Well I suppose I shouldn't fill the air with any more of my crazy village lady ideas! If you say it’s just one big misunderstanding, then I believe you! A shame though–watching you two became such a lovely sight.”

Her smile widened as she relished in this new feeling.

The elderly have much to offer the youth–especially wisdom. Ever so observant, it is clear to all looking in, that this indeed infatuation.

Though, Mrs. Hayashi will keep this to herself and offer her own wisdom much later–maybe.

“Alright my dear, thank you very much for putting together such a beautiful bouquet! This will be perfect for the young maiden! I truly hope my youngest grandson secures himself a wife tonight!”-With that, she pays for the young woman’s service as she takes the bouquet, keeping it close to her heart.

At a moment’s peace, Y/N catches herself briefly, gathering her thoughts. Soon after, her hands work to create the most wonderful bouquet in regards to such a woman–a woman he is blessed to have been born from.

“What a woman she must be”

Y/N-

The chime of the bell rings throughout my shop, sending a wave of excitement through my body.

Why am I so excited? I couldn't possibly be this giddy! Especially over a man I had only just met! That’s right! This is just pure excitement from meeting someone completely new!

I tried so hard to rationalize my own fleeting feelings, but everything seemed to fade as I met his gaze once again.

“Welcome back stranger!”-I spoke out as I finished the final wrap of his bouquet.

“Ah–thank you! I hope you worked well despite the distractions!”-His laugh echoed all around as he approached. He wasn't entirely wrong, usually, I find it most difficult to focus–especially with her around. Though, this bouquet seems very important to him, which in turn motivated me to create something perfect!

“W-Well I typically tune that one out as best I can! However, I appreciate her company nonetheless, she is a great woman!”-Drawing back my stutter as best I can, I continued holding back what I truly wanted to ask.

“Would you truly only return for her humor?”

Or could there be more? Should there be more? Do I want more?

“Did you enjoy yourself in town?”

His laugh faded as he spoke. “Oh yes! This town is most enjoyable! I find it hard to believe that I have yet to stumble across this place until now.”

He must live nearby then…perhaps in the town over? What prefecture would that be I wonder.

“I’m glad to hear such kind words of the place I’ve grown up in! We do have some wonderful places you should discover! Like the gardens and parks! Nature is ever so lovely around this time! Vibrant yellow and orange leaves coating the streets…”-As I drift off into my own little world full of autumn dreams, I slowly lift the wrapped bouquet and hand them to him. A small smile curves onto my lips as I admire my work all over again.

A calm fills the air as he takes hold of the bouquet, all while I fail to realize how he now directs all his attention to only me.

“You have such a beautiful way of thinking. I never thought to take the time to simply enjoy the changing colors–perhaps one day soon I will.”

“O-Oh, well t-thank you Kyojuro! I suppose it’s much too easy for me to become dazed while I’m out and about!”-A gentle strand of hair tickles my face as I tuck my hair directly behind my ear. My cheeks have flushed into an adoring tint as my urge to hide has faded.

“H-How d-do you like the bouquet? I truly hope it is to your liking!”-I continue.

His eyes trail to every bit of the delicate sight. The colors compliment each other, filling the eyes with such soothing energy. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips-

“Pure perfection”

“You clearly have put much effort and thought into such beauty! You have a talent my dear! I appreciate this immensely!”-His words flowed from his lips as his praise filled my heart to the brim. But then–what was that? “My dear”?

Brushing this off entirely, I continue to fluster as I take his compliment head first.

“Goodness, thank you! I really hope your mother enjoys this gesture! Send my regards to her!”-A sigh escapes his mouth as he held the bouquet in one hand, while reaching into his pocket with the other.

“I will…now then! How much do I owe you?”-Tilting my head ever so slightly to the side, I smile.

“This one is on the house! Please, just deliver this to her! That is all I ask!”

Dumbfounded, his wallet in hand, he continues quickly after me-

“No! I couldn't possibly leave you with nothing at all! Please, allow me to-”

“You have left me with much more than you think. I insist you take this gesture as a token of my gratitude.”-Way to be subtle–though, something tells me this has gone over his head. A short and comfortable silence grows as we simply eye one another. I seem to have grown all too familiar with his gaze.

“F-Fine. With such persistence, I doubt I can argue against this any longer.”-He chuckles, putting his wallet back into his pocket as he now holds the bouquet with both hands–close to his heart.

His footsteps return as he turns to walk away, leaving me stumped at the sudden loss of attention. Frantically, I round the corner of my workshop, standing feet behind his trailing body. My mouth hangs open, though the words fail to leave me. As the bell chimes one last time by him, he reads my thoughts–will you return?

“Y/N. You are a commendable woman, one that I will seek out often. So please, get used to my presence.”

My eyes widen as I look at his back, admiring the earnest man in front of me. He will return for me, even if just for my service–I am happy.

For once, light in my life had brightened, fueling my soul with something to fight for. There could be more. I want more.

He is most extraordinary, very kind–How curious to feel so liberated.

“Yes, Kyojuro. Thank you Kyojuro.”

Daffodil

A light drizzle of snow blanketed the town with a piercing color of white as many prepared for the events to come. The time of rebirth is felt throughout the community as joy fills many hearts far and wide. December, the month we all look forward to as families gather around in celebration of new beginnings.

Laughter fills the air as rumor has it–the local beauty had found herself someone worthwhile. Off and alone by a bed of daffodils, her hands pluck from the root. Her breath is visible as the harsh cold gradually grows. Her mind travels to the warmth of a hearth, or perhaps, the warmth of a certain hothead.

September. Fate brought them together, allowing the most tender meet to take place amongst the growth of cosmos. Not much was said that afternoon, though, he kept his word. The fall season brought on many more moments together.

To reminisce proved to be just enough to bring on a rush of warmth from head to toe. She melted under the thought of just him.

Y/N-

The hush of whispers grow silent as I walk through the crowd of familiar faces. The looks from those who I have come to regard as family have become all the more transparent. It’s as if they all no longer care to hide what they truly think. I suppose I should feel happy. Happy that so many wish just that all for me.

“How silly.”-I spoke with a slight smirk creeping upon my lips as my walk came to a halt. Without turning, I continued.

“I know you’re there. You can come out now!”-As if on queue, my words sent the herd. The feeling of ice cold hitting my back fills the air around me with my screams. A shiver sent up my spine as I registered what had just happened.

Laughter once again fills the air as the children surround me, snowballs in their tiny hands. Brushing off the snow that stuck to my overcoat, I swiftly placed my basket full of daffodils down. My own hands now scooping the small pile of snow-

“Oh! Now you’ve all done it!”-I couldn't help but join in the fun as I turned chasing down the local kids. Snowballs flying back and forth-

“Who’s idea was this? Huh?”

“Big brother! Big brother made us!”

Of course! That big lug always putting the children up to no good! I felt my smile widen as I finally caught up to the small children, wrapping my arms around the three. Snuggling close, I make sure to drop the three kids into the pile of snow. Cries of “sister” pour from them in between laughter-

A cough grounds me back to reality as all four of us stare up to the man of fire.

“I believe this belongs to you my dear?”-My basket, now in his possession.

“Big brother!”-The arms of the children leave my sides as they all get up quickly to hug him. Left on the ground, I take my time to look at him. He isn't in his usual uniform, rather, he wears casual attire with a thick overcoat. Snowflakes sat in his hair as the apples of cheeks became that of a rose.

“So now that you’ve plotted the children against me, you steal them? How cruel Kyojuro!”-I chuckle as I slowly pick the hem of my yukata, ready to lift myself from the cold ground.

“Never! We love you too sister! But brother is much stronger!”-The tease never ends, and to prove their point, his hand reaches for me. His strong, large hand now waiting for me.

“Oh you know everyone adores you! Come now!”

Everyone huh? Hmm-

My small hand meets his as I place mine in his palm. His fingers wrapping against my skin, pulling me up in one swift motion. The warmth of his body combined with mine as we stayed quite close, now sent an invitation to the children to cuddle up. Nothing in this world could take me away from his comfort.

“Hello Y/N.”-He spoke softly as his smile brightened. A certain fondness lingered-

“Hello Kyojuro.”-The snickers became all too common the more he visited, even the children played into the game of the grown. Despite the loud protest, I have always told everyone how we are simply friends. Besides, the life of a Hashira, proves to be too stressful. As he has described it, it seems as if romance is hung up for now-that thought alone always pulls at my heartstrings.

“How have you been since our last meeting? I hope all is well!”-Before he could speak, the children had hugged our legs tight just before saying their goodbyes. With this motion, this gave us a chance to finally take a step back away from each other–a chance we decided to ignore.

“I have been well! I have many stories of my most recent missions, if you are interested?”

“Oh! That would be fantastic! I’ve always enjoyed hearing more of your life! You live so differently compared to me!”

He chuckled-”Ah, well! It's times like this I wish I lived a much simpler life. I must say, I am quite envious of you Y/N!”

He places my basket further up his own arm as he takes a step back, leading us back to my shop.

“Envious? Of me? But whatever for? Surely the life you lead is quite fulfilling! Most nights I lay in bed, wondering what it would be like to just be out there!”-As we walk side by side, my hands fall, dancing around his.

“While you are correct about my life being fulfilling, especially as a Hashira, I can not help but wonder myself. To live a life just as my mother described. My mother had always advised me to use my strength for good, which I hope I have done–but then, there are moments I catch myself thinking of her and my father.”-A short pause in between his thoughts kept me on my toes as I anticipated his story.

“They were always so happy. The love within them aired out beautifully, surrounding our home with such joy. That simple, domestic life–do you ever dream of such a thing?”

I had to think for a moment. Was this truly my desire? To live peacefully like he described? I never gave it much thought, even though that was almost an expectation of women. I could never chalk this through, especially if I found the one made for me.

“I suppose I have dreamt of this once or twice. I never expected you to be so fond of this idea–it’s endearing to hear a man speak this way.”

“W-Well y-yes it has been lingering throughout my mind for sometime…actually-”

A sudden shift within him as he caught himself. He wanted to say something, but this hesitation had stopped him. I wonder?

“Uhm…speaking of my family, I would like another bouquet please! If you aren't too terribly busy!”-This definitely wasn't what he originally intended on saying. There is something else.

“Ah, another bouquet for your mother I presume? She is a lucky woman to have such a thoughtful son.”

“Yes. Quite a lucky woman indeed. I haven't seen her in so long since my missions have picked up!”-He spoke as he picked a stem from my basket.

“These are different from the last bouquet you made me! What are these called?”

I giggled softly as I took the flower from his grasp-”Yes very different! These flowers are in season! They are called daffodils!”

“How pretty! Just like the last bud, does this flower also have some kind of meaning? You must tell me!”

“Yes actually! Flowers truly speak a language all on their own! Most commonly, in our region, they are regarded as joyful flowers! As well as symbolizing rebirth and new beginnings!”-I spoke as I gently placed the flower above his ear. Drops of snowflakes fall and land perfectly on the bright yellow petals. An instant flash of memory hits me like a wave–he truly is too kind.

Words fell short as we continued to walk, nearing my shop. It was as if I had left him utterly stunned, even as we found shelter from the cold. Ever the blind, his eyes sparkled as he watched me by his side.

“My side–where she belongs.”

Kyojuro-

Rebirth and new beginnings she says. Mother? Is this a sign you give from beyond? Surely the language of nature speaks to me just as you would have. She’s so kind–just as you were.

“I would like to thank you Y/N. You have truly been wonderful company these last couple months. I have been rather dull lately. Feeling as though I have been missing something.”

“You have nothing to thank me for! I am simply just as happy to be in your company as you are me. Everyone deserves a bit of understanding.”

Our conversations flow like the river, constant and gentle. We have only grown fonder the more we stay together. By her side is where I feel most cared for. Worries of my duty fade effortlessly the second she speaks. It’s almost scary how easy it became for me to-

“Now then! How about I use some of these freshly picked daffodils? Your mother never ceases to amaze me! The way you speak of her is beautiful! Tell her I wish her the best!”

Shaking my head slightly, I smile as I once again lose myself in her.

“I’ll be sure to say so the next time I visit!”-Quickly, I continue.

“So then, what can I do to help? You say your life here is simple! I refuse to believe you! Your talent takes up your time, I believe it! So please, teach me how to be a florist!”

Her giggle surrounded me as I pulled out a stool, sitting close to her workshop. My eyes glowing eagerly as I watch her every move.

“So the mighty Hashira wants to learn how to handle flowers? Well I suppose you can be my very own student!”-Her giggle grows into a laugh, as she prepares my very own station.

Now this will be interesting!

The snow outside began to fall much more as it stuck to the ground. The large bay screen gives the two a view of purity. A blanket will soon cover, but even still, many ready themselves for festivities. The conversation became everlasting, there had never been a dull moment between the two. They were always so quick to keep up with one another.

His hands worked alongside hers as they both made their own version of a daffodil bouquet. But of course, she was the expert. Never to be deterred from his own work, he kept up, admiring her along the way.

“Now see, the folds go here! When wrapping, be sure to crease the edges so that this process goes smoothly!”-Her touch has strangely become all too familiar in such a short amount of time. Those small hands guide mine as we simultaneously fold the wrap, tightly keeping the flowers in place.

“You’ve got it! See?”

“I owe this knowledge all to you…little flame.”-Her hands left mine as she remained close. Her gaze found mine as our eyes met. A pleasant surprise had been written all over her face. Perhaps this new nickname had been all too much for her? Too much at once?

“Thank you…Kyo!”

Her reassuring smile had sent a wave of butterflies to take over. Perhaps I am not too much for her. And that nickname? My name said like that? I felt my cheeks flush as I slowly shook my head up and down, acknowledging her.

Mother. I feel content.

The ring of the bell chimes through, grounding me back to reality as we both slowly pull from one another.

“I knew those kids would tell me the truth! Hello Kyojuro! Long time no see young man!”

On queue, here is-

“Mrs. Hayashi! Hello!”-I spoke while Y/N had made her way by her side. A slight bow by the both of us as a sign of respect-

“Yes hello Mrs. Hayashi! What can I do for my best customer?”

As the two spoke, my eyes trailed down to her hand carrying a decently sized bag-

“Mrs. Hayashi, I do not mean to interrupt, but what is it you have there?”-I asked as my curiosity got the best of me.

“Oh yes! This is what I had in mind for your shop! Such a good boy! Reminding this elderly woman why she's here!”-She laughs as her bag opens wide, revealing multiple carefully tied steams of green.

“The local townspeople decided it would be a wonderful idea to introduce yet a new tradition this holiday season! I hear most other towns have already adopted this!”

A gasp escapes the lips of the woman standing close to me. Y/N’s eyes had sparkled as she picked one branch up gently.

“Mistletoe!”

Mistletoe? Have I heard of this before? I feel this is rather foreign to me. Though, I must have read this somewhere before!

“Mistletoe? What is that Y/N?”-She turned to face me with the beautifully tied plant in hand.

“Mistletoe is a plant some hang above entrances as decor for the holiday season! I find it quite beautiful, especially tied with ribbon!”

“Oh come now! Don’t forget the best part Y/N! So modest!”

“The best part?”-I questioned soon after as my thoughts escaped from my lips. What could possibly be better than using this plant as decor? It is a simple concept, no?

Y/N remained silently flushed as my attention now directed towards the elderly woman-”Mistletoe is a new tradition taking over our quaint town, it is especially popular with the youth! It is simple really! Two stand under the plant and share a kiss!”

A kiss? A kiss. What in the world? I have never heard of such a tradition? Yet, it has become popular during the season? I suppose this could be a romantic gesture! How would she feel if-

The apples of her cheeks have turned into a glowing red. It seems she knew more than she had initially let on. I wonder why she left this part in the dark? Soon after this thought, my eyes immediately found the mistletoe in her hands, and how close we were-

“Y-Y/N? A-Are you alright?”

I spoke softly as my concern grew. She had remained silent since the realization. A kiss is truly harmless. Just two souls exchanging a bit of warmth–but then, why do I feel so differently when I picture us doing just that?

“Y/N my dear, if you won't kiss him! I will!”-Swiftly, the delicate hands of the elderly woman cup my face, squishing me and bringing me forth. Her paper thin lips plant a short kiss upon my cheek–satisfying the tradition.

I must admit, a part of my heart craved something more than this. This new sense of tradition filled my senses and overwhelmed my thoughts. Mrs. Hayashi pulled away as she snicked, the subtle warmth had left my cheeks as I wiped off the trace of her.

This kiss wasn't what I had expected. My eyes never once waived away from her. Her lips look so full, they seem to be ever changing. Some days I come to visit, her lips are redder than usual, or even pink! Her features change slightly–I like that about her. A woman who always keeps me on my toes. A woman who I can admire through and through. A woman full of mystery.

I wonder what her lips feel like?

“Alright! I’ll leave you kiddos to it! I just had to drop this off for you my dear Y/N! You both take care now okay? Stay warm, it’s really coming down now!”-Mrs. Hayashi’s presence had left, though our goodbyes were nonexistent. I couldn't stop looking at her. I want to be able to read her.

What was she thinking about? Why was she so quiet?

“Y/N? Hey, you've grown so quiet! Please tell me you’re still there!”-I teased playfully as I put a little more distance between us. She must be overwhelmed.

“H-Huh? Oh! Yes! My apologies! I tend to tune out that one when she gets to her theatrics! I really must put my bell around her neck!”-Her apologetic look had spoken on behalf of the elderly woman’s behavior. Though, this is something I have gotten used to. Mrs. Hayashi is a kindhearted woman, but yes, she can indeed be a bit much!

Though, maybe I’ll thank her one of these days. Her little show had given me much needed insight.

Y/N, I truly believe I can in fact read you. I see you now. Wait for me.

Peony

Spring had indeed sprung as trees filled with blooming cherry blossoms, adding much needed color to what had been yet another harsh winter. Spring brought on a new sight of optimism as the new year promised rebirth.

Each falling petal landed gently upon the streets, rivers, and even into the hands of young couples who expressed their passion through such delicate gestures. To kiss a petal, sharing it with the one you love in hopes to share a moment of privacy.

A new found motivation had taken over as in her eyes, she believes everyone deserves a bit of kindness. Though love, true love was something you had to fight for-

Just as the seasons come and go, nothing remains the same. You must fight for what you deem worthy.

Y/N-

“So then, what do the blossoms in the trees mean?” Surely even the branches speak to one another!”-His ever growing curiosity grew exponentially as the snow melted. Always in the mood to learn much, much more.

I smile before picking the perfect spot, just atop a small hill-”Well, I find the symbolism of cherry blossoms to be quite morbid. They serve as the constant reminder that life truly is fleeting. To symbolize life and death. They live only so long, still–they are the embodiment of beauty.”

The rustle of grass below becomes faint as we both lay out the blanket, swiftly claiming our spot. His hands drop the picnic basket right in the center as I cozy up, crossing my legs further tightening my yukata.

“You make such a tantalizing point. Life is fleeting–always passing us by no matter the circumstance. However, that is the beauty of being mortal. Both growing old, and passing away: these are the things that make being human beautiful.”

My eyes widen as I come to terms with his words as they ripple through my mind. He has always spoken so eloquently. He has such an airy way of speaking–a way of bringing comfort even during the most tense of moments. I will always appreciate him because of this.

“Oh actually! I don't think I ever asked you what your favorite flower is! You’ve filled me with such knowledge, and I am yet to ask you what you find interesting!”-He spoke, continuing the lighthearted tone as he unpacks the basket. A display of finger foods and dessert soon decorate our blanket.

A giggle fell from my lips as I spoke-”You are quite alright! Hmm? If we are talking about the current season, I would have to say the peony is one of my favorites!”

“A peony? I want to say I have seen that flower! Yes! If I can recall, there is a portrait of my mother and father! Her yukata featured multiple buds, one of the patterns looked mighty stretched as her belly carried me!”-He laughed loudly as he spoke fondly of his family.

“Ah, well, if the bloom seemed rather large to begin with it could very well be a peony! The petals are soft to the touch as they ruffle over one another! Your mother has wonderful taste, as the peony is one of my favorites!”

“I can see why! I always believe my mother to be as beautiful as that bud. I would often find myself looking back at that portrait! Please! Do tell me what they mean!”

“You are ever so kind Kyojuro! Especially when speaking on behalf of your family! It seems you have found part of the meaning of the peony. Happiness, honor, and love.”

“You flatter me so Y/N!”-He spoke softly as his fingers teased the rim of his cup, his voice trailing off to the distance leaving room for me to continue.

“I have known you for quite some time Kyojuro, I mean what I say. My hope is for you to fulfill the wishes of the peony. As you find all three, that would truly solidify my own happiness my friend.”

I felt as though I was ready to pour myself to him, giving him all the more reason to have faith in his journey. To find the one that will bring him peace in its purest form. While kind, he holds back something. If anyone is deserving of happiness, it is him.

“And what of you? Why haven't you been spoken for just yet? I can’t seem to remember a time where you boasted about the pure bliss of sheer romance!”-His cheeks turned into a tinted red as his eyes focused back at mine. A glossy layer adding such a beautiful shine to his fiery gaze.

“Hmm? Why, these are quite loaded! I suppose I am yet to find someone willing to share their life with me.”-Lies fall from my lips just like poison. My heart has spoken for me since day one, but fear drags me back.

“Well, how about this–just like a peony, I wish you happiness. I wish you goodwill and purity. I am sure you will find all the answers to those never ending questions very soon.”-Goodwill? So it seems he truly has been keeping track of the many flowers that bloom throughout the seasons.

My lips curved into a smile as I simply brought my head down, acknowledging him with a soft nod. Our wishes to one another nuzzled deep within, bringing a sense of fondness.

If only you knew.

“A second visit this week? My, my! What could the occasion be? I fear you will lose your status as Hashira with all this sneaking away!”-I couldn't help but tease him as I swept my porch, starting up my spring cleaning.

“Oh ha ha! They couldn’t get rid of me even if they gave it a valiant effort!”-He spoke confidently as he stood tall. His uniform is wrinkle free and clean. He just got on with no duty! No wonder he decided to show up today–poor thing must be bored.

“Your confidence never ceases to amaze me! What can I do for you? Perhaps it is time for yet another bouquet?”-I spoke as I continued to sweep my front end.

“W-Well no…actually. I was hoping I could take you somewhere? J-Just to y’know…”be out there”!-Within an instant, my hands halt their movement as I turn to look at him. He remembers my dream? My dream to simply be free to do as I please? To see our world beyond my own town.

I remember that conversation. We kept going back and forth even after that day! Always brainstorming different ideas of what we could potentially do together!

“Kyojuro? Goodness! Yes! Let me pack up shop!”-Dropping my broom quickly, I immediately waste zero time in collecting myself and closing shop way earlier than typical. The chime of my bell rang twice.

The first being when I rushed through, reorganizing my mess while moving all around. Buckets of flowers pushed to the side, as I put up each vase left out atop my shelves.

The second chime rang as I slowly made my way back out to him. A glance at my own reflection as I pass by a small mirror that hung right by my door–alone with him and away from town?

There is a first for everything.

Kyojuro-

That chime rang through my ears as my attention drew back to her. Not much time had passed since, and yet, she came out looking much different. The flush in her face had become apparent, as if she no longer wanted to hide herself.

Good.

“Ready little flame?”-I held out my arm instinctively, almost as if this felt right to begin with. A simple nod gave her away as she shyly hooked her delicate arm around mine. Oh goodness, if only you knew. If you knew much sooner how I felt, I wonder how many times I would have been able to keep you this close.

As we walk side by side, neither of us has spoken a word since our departure. This peaceful silence as we continued our stroll was perfectly welcomed as we simply enjoyed one another.

Mrs. Hayashi had met my eyes as I watched her walk on the opposite side of the street. Her arm interlocked with her grandson as he accompanied his new wife. Her eyes sparkled as she lowered her head slightly, silently giving her blessing. The happiness felt had easily transferred over to those closest to Y/N–she is truly one to leave an everlasting impression.

“If I may ask, where do you plan on taking me Kyojuro?”-The silence broke as her gentle voice spoke up, eager to know our destination.

“I intend for our destination to remain a surprise, but I can assure you, we aren't far off. I just hope you don't see me differently after today. You mean a lot to me Y/N.”

Her arm tightened around mine as I heard a slight hum escape from her lips.

“Full of surprises I see? What did I do to deserve such a wonderful man by my side?”-Her words were effortless.

“By your side? Hmm! Perhaps this is where I belong?”

“Perhaps…”

Her voice trailed off leaving room for our imagination to run wild-

Eventually, the street became a dirt trail, full bloom cherry blossom trees line up the path. Torii standing tall as we both approach-

“Kyojuro? Is this?”

“Yes. Shall we?”-Taking a deep breath, I kept her by my side all while bowing slightly. A sign of respect to the dead. She had followed suit, and every now and then, her eyes would find me once again.

Our walk soon came to a slow pace as we reached the end of the trail–we’re here.

“Kyojuro?”-She spoke softly as she soon came to realize.

“This is where I come often to visit my mother. Sometimes I visit with my younger brother, Senjuro. He was so little when our mother passed.”

We stood across from her tombstone. The Rengoku family name engraved-

“He remembers little to nothing of her. He relies solely on my own recollection of such a courageous woman. She filled me with so much love.”-As I fell to my knees, my hands clasped together as I began a silent prayer.

Hello again mother. I hope you are well. Today, I have brought the one I have been telling you about for the past few months.

Mother. I am content. Since your passing, my days have felt incomplete without your bright presence. But somehow, the heavens have blessed me after roaming alone for so long. I do not know what I have done to deserve such light, but I promise, with your blessing–I shall remain by her side.

Mother. I am in love. Since your passing, you have never once left my heart. I think of you day and night. But now, I have made room for another woman who holds a special place in my heart. I hope I make you proud mother.

Please, watch over us.

As I reopen my eyes, the light fills my senses. Slowly, I turn to witness the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Her head stayed low as she prayed right alongside me–her heart is pure.

I wonder what she is talking to you about mother? I hope she means well, especially when talking about me! I’m still just as boisterous as ever! I’m not as picky now as you may remember me to be mother! She has taught me a lot about flowers! The language flowers speak is simply beautiful, I wonder if you ever knew such a fact. Flowers speaking? Foreign I know!

But, I wouldn't have it any other way with her.

Her head rose as she finally laid her respect down. A smile curved upon her lips as the wind picked up, blowing through her delicate locks. In an instant, her gaze meets mine. Though, something once slightly hidden now made itself known. Her face spoke a thousand words-

“Kyojuro. This is beautiful. I want to thank you for bringing me here today. I shall forever be grateful to meet the woman who has raised such a tender boy.”

My eyes had illuminated the fire that I kept at bay within me. She truly understands me. There is no malice here, Y/N sees me. Just as she did. My memories are joyful because of you mother, but now, I wish to create new ones with her-

“I must ask, however, the bouquets? Two dozen roses? I don’t recall you placing this order with me!”-She gasped playfully as she placed her hand over her heart.

“Have you found another?”

Never.

“Oh goodness no! I simply wanted to continue the surprise!”-I chuckled softly as I firmly grabbed the end of one specific bouquet. The roses are still tightly kept in their place.

“Roses are special, and can be given year round. Like many other flowers, the rose carries its own symbolism. For instance, I gifted my mother an assortment of colors, as to signify how I feel so much more than love for her. Gratitude, compassion, and friendship are just a few feelings that I hope reaches her from beyond.”

“Ah, I see that you truly have taken this to heart. How exciting Kyojuro!”-Her voice lingered as did her eyes. Knelt by my side, she shifted towards me. Her cheeks had dusted into a beautiful hue, adding on the most desirable color to her smooth skin. Her mouth had opened ever so slightly as she continued eagerly.

“A-And the red roses?”

I couldn't help but feel a shiver run down my spine as it soon became my turn to flush. There is no going back now–as if I ever would.

“An observant eye you have always had my little flame-”

Give me the strength to make her mine mother.

Just then, the wind had picked up, sending a herd of cherry blossom petals to fly through. Whether by sheer coincidence or not, something from beyond our world had spoken to me. The warm spring air acted as my guide as it carried a small petal snug into her locks. My guard had loosened as my gaze softened at such a wondrous sight.

My hand raised slowly as I plucked the gentle petal from her hair. My fingers dared to linger-

“The red rose symbolizes all that make a potentially great love story. True romance captured all in one bloom. Passion, desire, admiration–everything I feel, for you.”

The Earth within that moment had stopped moving. The world around stood still, becoming something we never knew before. The woman that sits across from me now has my heart at the palm of hands–I belong to only her.

“Kyojuro Rengoku…”-My name fell from her lips as a hushed whisper. The look in her eye is something I will lock into memory. A new one, like I had wished to create.

“Y/N, please, accept my confession with care. My heart now lays vulnerable in your hands.”-My fingers that dared to linger, now caressed her supple cheek as I felt her lean into my palm. Our warmth sets our bodies ablaze.

“Kyojuro Renogku. You have always had such a way with words, rendering me utterly speechless. In return, I vow to always take care of your heart. I accept you with open arms.”

The hint of a wind chime rang somewhere along the distance as the man sat across from the woman of his dreams. The look of unadulterated love had crept up slowly. That wind chime, a familiar tune from a distant memory of Kyojuro.

The bouquet of love was now shared in between the two as the distance had soon closed. Their foreheads had linked together as they shared a moment of pure bliss, finding comfort and warmth within each other.

“Mother. Springtime made way for rebirth.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

authors note:well hello there. teehee! okie okie! so what we think? i'm super happy with the way this all came together! especially the goat mrs. hayashi lmaooo! fun fact, she's based on an actual filo woman i knew growing up. filipina's get more ruthless the older we get man. very persistent! (where are the grandbabies?) i wanted to also add in some seasonal fluff because my head has been in christmas land since june. (hashira christmas hc's incoming?) please send kelp. oh oh! and of course! i had to pay respects to one of the many best mamas of kny! ruka brainrot is also really real guys. i love the rengoku family so mach wah! alrighty! time to work on some more kny stuff! thank you for taking the time to read! take care and until next time!

word court:10224

many thank! -babbi₊˚⊹♡

-09/25/23

#anime and manga #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro #ruka rengoku #kny x reader #female reader #reader insert #flower shop au #babbiweebwrites

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luna-writes-stuff · 1 year

Text

CHAPTER XXXIII

A Kili X OC fic

Previous chapter // Next chapter

Tw: Violence, decapitation, general against orc violence, flashback, Bilbo being an anxious mess, Kili is sort of sad, Fili rights. Short chapter, but only because we have like two/three left.

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The filler before the storm

“The key to taking down your opponent is your own balance.”

The break the company had gotten at Beorn had been welcomed, to say the least. Raewyn had taken it upon herself to teach Bilbo the basics of fighting. At least so he’d survive the rest of this journey. She figured that they’d come across much more than orcs in the meantime.

“How do you maintain balance when walking?” The hobbit wondered aloud, pointing towards his own feet, before looking up at Raewyn.

In return, the Asha smiled at him, offering him one of the two sticks she found in Beorn’s garden. She figured they'd minimise the damage, would any be dealt.

“Tackle me.”

Looking up at her with wide eyes, the hobbit shook his head. “You’re still recovering.”

“Believe me. I’ll be fine.”

Though unnerved by her words, Bilbo grabbed the stick. He observed his friend for a short moment, trying to assess the perfect place to strike. As if she heard his thoughts, Raewyn tapped the side of her knee with her stick, now parting her legs for a stronger stance.

Inhaling deeply, the hobbit nodded, grabbing the stick with both hands before advancing. His weapon hit the shown spot, but due to his carefulness, it felt like a mere nudge to Raewyn’s legs.

She raised her eyebrows at him, giving him an expectant look.

“I can’t just hit your knee.” He defended, referring to her still healing body. Rolling her eyes at him, the ranger struck her smaller companion on his shoulder, causing him to grow distracted. Turning his head to look at the hit shoulder, Raewyn nudged her foot between his, before kicking to the left gently, making the hobbit stumble before falling to the floor. Aiming her makeshift weapon at him, she smiled, shrugging as he shot her an incredulous look.

“Wounded enemies will still strike, Bilbo.”

Huffing in defeat, said hobbit clambered back up, hitting his thighs as to shake off the sand.

“These are your gravitational points.” Raewyn continued, pointing to her hips, then gesturing to her friend’s. “They should be aligned with your feet. Part them too far, or too near, and you’ll easily fall.”

Bilbo copied her movements as she parted her legs slightly in demonstration. Wielding the stick, she silently urged the hobbit to wield his as well.

“Now, the key is not to hack your opponent aimlessly; try to get them off their balance.”

“And how do you do that?” Bilbo asked, swinging his weapon slowly, trying to mimic everything his friend was doing.

“Well, orcs and goblins will most commonly be your enemies. They lack basic fighting skills. All they know is punch and slash. They’ll be easy to knock down.”

A confused furrow of his eyebrows was all Raewyn got in response. Smiling at the hobbit again, she went on with her explanation: “Get your opponent moving, strike when one foot has left the floor. Sheer panic will force them to put that foot down. It is up to you whether they regain their balance, or if you let them fall.”

“That’s when I strike?” The hobbit repeated for clarity, to which Raewyn nodded. “That’s the easiest way.”

Spinning the stick in her hand, the Asha gestured to her knees, then her feet. “Try it. With more urgency now. I won’t break.”

Inhaling deeply, the hobbit not held the stick in firm hands again, holding it out in front of him. Advancing slowly and hesitantly, he aimed towards his friend’s knee. Stepping back as his attempt, Raewyn showed him a playful smile.

Setting his face in more determination, Bilbo advanced again, quicker this time. Letting the hobbit have his chance, Raewyn shielded her other side, effectively allowing the hobbit to successfully tap his target. With a dramatically wounded expression, she fell to the ground, clutching her knee.

Dropping his weapon in shock, Bilbo rushed to his friend kneeling down beside her. Calling her name, he laid his hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention to him. When she lifted her head, Bilbo could see the huge smile on her face, followed by heartfelt laughter.

“You heathen!” Bilbo sighed, returning his hand before shaking his head.

“I got you good.” She spoke between laughter, rolling over in joy.

“You’re hilarious.” He stated monotonously, standing up from the ground.

Whilst Raewyn laughed off her joke, the hobbit wandered back to his gatherings, staring at his sword in particular. The blade Gandalf had gifted him. As if she could sense the sudden change in the air, Raewyn stopped laughing, raising herself from the floor as well.

“Gandalf said he hoped I wouldn’t have to use it.” Bilbo voiced as he pointed to the weapon.

“As do I,” Raewyn spoke, immediately catching onto his meaning. “But I am a lot more realistic than Gandalf. I know you will have to face opponents before this quest is over. I’d rather have you tactically prepared, than give you words of encouragement and bravery.”

Scoffing lightly in agreement, Bilbo sat down of a log next to the bags.

“What was it like? Travelling with Gandalf when you were younger?”

A tiny grin formed on Raewyn’s face at the interest. She knew her friend to be naturally curious, but where others would usually ask about her blood-related family, it was Bilbo who had been the first one to show genuine interest in Raewyn’s history with Gandalf.

“You learn manners quickly,” She answered, after thinking about it for a while. “You wouldn’t say, but Ashas can be unfriendly to those outside their kin. You wouldn’t be able to separate us from dwarves if it was not for our language. And even that sounds Khuzdul.”

A questioning glance was thrown her way, causing her to snicker in humour, before clarifying her words. “Dwarvish.”

Mouth opened, Bilbo nodded, not saying anything. Taking it as a silent invitation to keep on talking, Raewyn obeyed his silent order. “Gandalf is caring,” she concluded. “You naturally feel safer around him. Not because of his magic, or intimidating appearance.”

Stuck on the thought, she fell silent, staring off into the distance. “I really couldn’t tell you why.” She admitted, before continuing: “You can trust him. Always. There is not a safer place on Middle-Earth than beside him. He’ll watch over you. Even after you parted ways.”

‘There is no safer place on Middle-Earth than beside him’

Bilbo had no idea why that memory suddenly rushed through his head, but as he and Gandalf made way towards Laketown, he was glad to have been with the wizard. Every ounce of respect he held had been given to Raewyn in the mere months he had known her, but she was right to say he’d feel safer beside Gandalf.

The lakemen had stormed into the town, adamant to defend their home. Gandalf and Bilbo had ran with them, walking away from the large battlefield in front of Erebor. The hobbit was glad they had Raewyn. Of course, it wasn’t a guaranteed victory, especially not against an orc army that large, but he knew it was the right side to fight on.

It did leave him anxious to be surrounded by men all of the sudden. He was half their size and didn't have an ounce of the courage they had. There was panic in his eyes as he watched the orcs nearing the people, slaughtering them as they paved their way.

“What do we do?” He gasped, his voice on edge as another step took him closer to the wizard.

“We fight, master Baggins,” Gandalf spoke glumly. “We fight, or we lose.”

Across the plains, their friend stood her guard, taking down as many opponents as she could muster. The dwarven army kept shrinking by the second, and she could see the realisation setting in as she looked towards Dain.

The dwarf in question swallowed thickly, not letting his intimidating facade fall, but allowing it to water just slightly. His eyes were set in determination, whereas Raewyn’s were assessing the situation, building strategy as her mind went.

“We need to fall back!” She concluded, knowing they had lost too much of their army to continue pushing. “We’re losing too many soldiers!”

“Not now!” Dain protested, dismissing the Asha’s order as she cut down multiple orcs in one swing. “We almost got them!”

“No, we don’t! Look around, Dain!” She yelled to him, urging the dwarf to obey her order. He had seen his kin fall, but only now did he see the amount of dwarven bodies littered over the floor. “We’re no good for Thorin if we’re dead.”

Distracted, an orc advanced towards him quickly. Failing to call out of time, Raewyn grasped her axe with both hands, raising it above her head, before lunging it forward, the blade embedding in the creature’s torso harshly.

Turning around at the sound, Dain watched the creature fall to the floor, sending a nod to the woman who had thrown the axe. Swinging his weapon violently, he began to call out.

“Fall back! Fall back!”

Swiftly turning around while picking up a stray sword, Raewyn followed the dwarves, keeping a close eye on Dain. She had only been fighting for a couple of minutes, but she could sense her muscles tensing in her arm, tiring of the unexpected heavy armour and clumsy dwarven weapons.

“To the barricade!” Dain continued yelling. “Fall back!”

Ignoring the protests her body was giving her, she resumed her path, pushing the heavy feeling down. Dwarven endurance be damned, she never wore iron armour. And she had begun to understand why.

Commands in dark speech were thrown over the field, no doubt originating from Azog. Raewyn didn’t have to look around to realise he was rounding up his army for a final attack on the mountain. Groaning internally upon the realisation, she clutched the swordin her hand a little tighter

On top of the gates of Erebor, the dwarven company watched on as their kin began to return to the front of the mountain, trying to fortify there. In desolation, they stood there, looking down in remorse and sadness.

“This isn’t how it should be,” Fili complained, his voice muffled in a grumble. “We shouldn’t be sitting around while others fight for us.”

“Aye, I tried, lad.” Dwalin tried to console. “He won’t listen to me.”

“Balin?” Bofur tried to help. “You’re his oldest friend.”

But his response was a broken expression, shaking his head sadly. “Once the sickness has gotten to him, you can’t turn it back. I’m afraid we’re stuck here.”

Mumbles of disappointment ran through the group, but none dared make another remark, frightened of the king’s response, would he be listening. That was, all but one.

“No, we’re not. We can leave.”

All eyes fell upon the heir of the throne. He had stood up from his seat, looking down at the battle with pain in his eyes.

“And disobey the king?” Dori protested, his heart with the people on the floor, but his loyalty to Thorin still.

“I will not watch more lives be forsaken because one person told us we couldn’t fight!”

“Fili, lad,” Balin began, looking at him in sorror. “I admire your bravery, but we have to heed the king’s every order. You’ve seen what he does to those who fail to listen to him.”

The reference to Raewyn hadn’t been a pleasant reminder for any dwarves. But on the contrary of how they met her, they now thought back in pain and sympathy, for the longer their journey became, the more they had found themselves sympathizing with the young Asha. And now she had ultimately left, not only on bad terms with their king, but without a proper goodbye.

“Maybe she was right to refuse his words.” The blonde went on. “We know this isn’t right. But we do nothing!”

Where his brother was defending the honour and heart of their kin below, Kili had distanced himself from the group, staring down at the battle in horror and anxiety. His heart was beating at a dangerously quick pace, a sinking feeling entering his stomach. One he just couldn’t shake despite what he thought of.

“I’ve sent her to her death.” He mumbled, his hands shaking as he tried to run a hand over his face in frustration.

“She would’ve left anyway, lad,” Gloin attempted to comfort, familiar with the anxieties Kili was dealing with, and having sat closest to him to hear his self loathing. “If she was here now, she would not have sat idly.”

“What if she falls?” The younger dwarf shot back almost immediately, his lips trembling as spoke his worries aloud, now comprehending the entirely realistic possibility. “I’d be because of me.”

“You can’t think that.” His companion tried to soothe, but Kili shot him down.

“It’s true.”

Before Gloin could find it in himself to argue with the prince, a figure came from out of the mountain, drawing the attention of everyone on top of the gates.

There, Thorin walked, his crown, armour and robes forsaken, now dressed in plain leather, his sword drawn as he walked up to his company.

“I will not hide behind a wall of stone, while others fight our battles for us!” Fili proclaimed, walking up to his uncle. In return, Thorin walked towards him specifically.

“It is not in my blood, Thorin.”

Kili slowly rose as well, despite his anger and pain, still siding with his brother.

“Nor in mine.” He spoke as he stood beside Fili.

“No,” The older dwarf returned solemnly, his face now different than last they saw it. They were faced with their friend and kin now; no longer the mad king. And smiles begun to spread through the crowd as the company slowly began to realise this.

“It is not. We are sons of Durin.” His head now turned to the rest of the dwarves, speaking louder. “And Durin’s folk do not flee from a fight!”

Turning back to his nephews, Thorin laid his hand on Fili’s shoulder, a smile climbing onto his face. Swallowing thickly, Fili smiled back, Kili copying his movement with tears in his eyes.

Thorin leaned forward slightly, connecting his forehead with Fili’s, closing his eyes in affection. Unable to suppress the grin growing on his face, Fili gleefully returned the gesture, bathing in this silent moment of peace. As Thorin broke away, he looked to his other nephew, a look of sincerity in his eyes.

“I have no right to ask this of you,”, then, he turned his head to the rest of the company, speaking to all of them. “To any of you.”

Before he could even ask his questions, his friends had already stood up, weapons drawn. Not in a threatening manner laced with malice, but rather in one of determination and joy.

“But will you follow me one last time?”

—

Taglist: @err @writingawaymylife @justnerdystuffs @spidergirla5 @fallenangeloflight @bianavacker-is-bi-as-hellhell @lxdymormontnt @deathofafangirl01 @the-cranck-hobbit @chaoticpaintsplatter @zaddyluvr @bxtchopolis @derangedcupcake @radbarbariancupcake @gay-destiel

#Starcrossed losers #the hobbit #kili #kili durin #aidan turner #kili x raewyn #kili x reader #raewyn asha #raeli #raewyn supremacy #kili x oc #fili #thorin #botfa #battle of the five armies #gandalf the grey #bilbo baggins #thranduil #fili durin

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