#pulling themselves up by the cold stiff bodies burying them

[luna-light-eclipse]

Young Wolf with a throne world and finding out about it when they experience a permanent death but they crawl out a barren sea of blood and corpses of everyone they’ve ever killed.

#luna’s brainbox #destiny #destiny 2 #just thinking of a Wolf who’s been on their last straw #and they wake up to this #they wake up drowning in their kills #pulling themselves up by the cold stiff bodies burying them #because they are a guardian #a dead thing #all they will ever do is kill #you know those people who have tens of thousands of kills on on like one gun but with a bunch of weapons? #imagine how many bodies that would be if you piled it up #I’ve managed to get a thousand or more kills in one day multiple times #imagine doing that #for a decade #a Wolf who only sees themself as a weapon and those they’ve been aimed towards #I’d love to do this with Aster but it wouldn’t really fit #guess it’s up for grabs in the box now

[elysianeclipxe]

How they react to seeing you sleep on the couch

genre: fluff and a little crack?? (just stupid parts)

summary: how these genshin men react to coming home and seeing you asleep on the couch while waiting for them to come home

word count: >800 words

sidenote: just note that you might not agree with the characters in that section, this is just how i see them as. OH YEAH, uhmm navigation is in the works so after that y'all can start requesting if you want

picks you up bridal style and brings you over to the bed

To them this is the quickest way to get you into bed. They don't want to bother you by waking you up since you're probably in a deep sleep at that point, but they also don't want to let you continue sleeping on the couch since the chances of you waking up with a stiff neck are extremely high. They’re such caring partners to the point I’m jealous. Some of them are pretty nonchalant about their love for you though, but if they’re sweet enough to do this then I think it’s pretty obvious they’re real into you. Will get really close to your face to either peck your lips or rub their nose against yours, just another reason why they prefer carrying you to bed. I can see them whispering a light “thank you” to your sleeping figure in their arms since they appreciate you trying to stay up for them. Excuse me, I did not ask for this sweetness, ughh.

— al haitham, diluc, gorou, kaeya, ZHONGLI

gently wakes you up and tells you to sleep in the bed

All of them are surprised that you stayed up and feel their hearts clench at the image of you sleeping, you’re so cute to them. Would try their best to be as quiet as possible and gently shake you awake. You deserve to get some proper sleep… in their arms. AHHHHHHHHHH!!! I can easily confirm that when you wake up still half asleep their eyes would get so soft at the sight in front of them, a smile crawling up their lips cause omg how are they so lucky to have you. Will guide you to bed and tuck you in again before joining you in. Lets you lay your head on their chest and will stroke your hair or run their fingers through it to ease you to sleep. It’s so cute how smitten they are for you.

— ayato, baizhu, THOMA, tighnari

drapes a blanket over you and kisses you goodnight

I can spot sweethearts from a mile away, and these men are it! I’m only like 27% joking rn. HEAR ME OUT!! Yes you’ll probably have a stiff neck in the morning cause of this but they are so sweet when you’re asleep. Really doesn’t want to wake you up so they just let you sleep there, will cover you with a blanket so you don’t get cold. Sighs cause they find you so pretty, one of them for sure has a blush on his cheeks seeing you look so soft *cough* cyno. ANYWAYS, leans down and cups your cheek with his hand and stokes it with his thumb. Kisses you goodnight on the forehead, lets their lips linger there for a bit before pulling away with a smile. Aww, they’re so whipped.

— aether, albedo, cyno, KAZUHA

tries to fit themselves on the couch to cuddle and sleep with you

THESE MFS!!!! Does not give the slightest fuck if you are sleeping on a couch half their size THEY WILL MAKE IT WORK. Just like breathing = living, sleeping will always equal cuddles, it’s just a given. The idea of y’all sleeping in a proper bed just goes over their head, plus this seems more fun. They’ll whisper for you to move a bit so they can fit in. Just saying, these idiots are probably gonna wake you up in the process. Don’t worry tho, they’ll bring you close to their body and give you enough body warmth for you to fall back into sleep. Is the type to bury their head in the crook of your neck, mumbling a soft goodnight that you instantly relax to.

— childe, ITTO, venti, kaveh, heizou

leaves you on the couch, might check up on you here and there

I don’t wanna make them look anti-romantic but y’all I cannot even sugarcoat the fact that they would not care if you were sleeping on the couch or not. I'M SORRY!! But like they probably think you slept there on purpose so the idea of moving you to the bed would not even be there. They think you’re weird for sleeping there, for sure will ask you about it the next day. As much as I want to make them seem like the most unromantic person ever (jk) they will check on you ever like 10 minutes minimum. At one point they get so tired of walking back and forth from the living room and the bedroom that they decide to just sit on the floor beside the couch and sleep there. You’ll probably wake up and see your hand intertwined with theirs, they’re soft boys in disguise.

— dainsleif, WANDERER, xiao

nothing much left to say other then thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed the little scenario i made <3 let's hope i can actually be more consistent with posting, mwah

© elysianeclipxe. all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my content onto other platforms.

#astrid writes🌸 #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #gorou x reader #alhaitham x reader #thoma x reader #ayato x reader #diluc x reader #baizhu x reader #tighnari x reader #kazuha x reader #aether x reader #albedo x reader #cyno x reader #itto x reader #venti x reader #childe x reader #kaveh x reader #heizou x reader #dainsleif x reader #wanderer x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche x reader #tartagalia x reader #genshin impact #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin x reader #genshin imagines

[warmblanketwhump]

hiii love your drabbles so much, can you write something where a touch-starved character gets hypothermia and their teammates have to wrap them in a blanket burrito and cuddle them to warm them up? maybe they could take a cozy group nap together too '

thank you! here ya go!! ❄️

“Shhhhhh, bring them in here.”

“They’re blue.”

“I need warm blankets in here as fast as possible.”

“How did they last that long out there?”

“Because they’re a fighter, that’s why.”

B’s far too out of it to know who said what. The only present thought in their mind is cold.

Deep, bone-aching cold.

The fire within them died ages ago as they struggled to stay afloat in the icy water, trying not to sob as they screamed for help. Their limbs had lost all feeling, and their pleas had fallen to soft whimpers as they’d surrendered to their fate.

A fate they’d face alone, like they’d faced most things in their short life.

It was harder to face the end now, because for a brief moment, they’d had a glimmer of what belonging felt like. They were new to the team, lingering on the edges, trying to work up the courage to let themselves get closer and be a part of this complicated tangle of people, so different and yet so accepting, so welcoming, so close. People constantly leaning on one another, scooping each other up and carrying them around, curled up together on a couch watching something together, affectionate shoves and ruffles of hair.

At first, it had all just been too much for them. They’d flinched hard the first time A had reached for a hug, and A had snapped their hand back, face blushing and apologetic. From then on, the team was welcoming, full of kind words, but the offers of physical touch faded as B made their discomfort with it clear.

But lately, something strange had been transpiring in their body. A restlessness in their limbs, a buzzing feeling in their nerve endings, a pressing ache in their chest that felt a little like they were dying inside.

After several weeks, A realized that what they felt in their chest wasn’t fear—it was longing. They were desperate to be a part of the thing they’d cut themselves off from, but they didn’t know how to ask—so they resigned themselves to hugging their knees to their chest, inches apart from everyone else piled together on the couch, wondering if anyone would mind if they leaned their head on their shoulder.

They’d been working so hard to build up their courage. Just that last night, B had been on the verge of asking for a hug—something to soothe the anxious ball of nerves that had risen in their stomach at the thought of the mission at hand. But the mission alarms had sounded, and they’d missed their last chance. And now, they wouldn’t get another.

What would it have felt like? To be held like that? To hear the soft thud of someone’s heartbeat against your ear, the circle of someone’s arms clutching you close to their warmth as they cradled your head and buried their face in your hair?

It was something B would never know, but the thought was nice to dwell on in these last few moments. A hug. A warm, soft, hug, instead of these glass knives stabbing their every limb.

As they felt themselves fading away, they wondered if they were dreaming the shouts they heard.

———————————————

The next moments passed by in snapshots. A flash, then strong arms gripping them, pulling their soaking frame into the boat. Frantic hands tugging at frozen clothes, complicated by B’s stiff limbs. A rattling noise that they’d realize later was the sound of their own teeth chattering. The sound of the boat hitting land.

A few more flashes - out of the boat, in someone’s warm arms, a dry coat placed over them, being transported, cold, cold, cold….

After a while, the snapshots string together into sequences - being eased onto a soft bed, cold wet skin dried and covered in warm blankets, a warm hand pushing frozen hair off of their forehead, the sound of someone crying softly in the distance. And shivering. So much shivering.

When B finally has the strength to lift their heavy eyelids, their first sight is of the faces, several of them tear stained, all of them watching them intently. They’re wrapped in half a dozen blankets, propped up in a large, unfamiliar bed, while a large fire blazes in the nearby fireplace.

B can’t form words between their shivers and chattering teeth, but they’re awake enough to feel the soft, warm pajamas they’re now dressed in and the thick wool socks over their cold feet. Even so, their body’s internal heat seems to be switched off, pure ice in their veins. Under a pile of warmed blankets, hours after being rescued, they don’t feel warm at all. And there’s a constant shiver in their core that they can’t seem to stop. They’re so tired, and so, so cold.

“You scared us, B.” A’s voice cracks, and the other members of the team nod furiously.

B clutches the blankets closer to their chin, trying to hold the warmth closer to their chilled body, when they see A’s hand, white-knuckled and twisted in the top blanket on their bed, inches from their own.

They’re waiting for an invitation.

Slowly, shakily, B reaches their cold hand from under the blankets to place over A’s. A’s vision snaps up, and B tugs at their hand, more than a little desperate.

“Please. C-closer. M’ so c-cold.”

That’s all it takes for A to gently slide into the space next to them on the bed, slipping under the blankets and curling their body next to B’s, cocooning their trembling body in warm arms. The rest of them follow suit, until they’re wreathed in a tangled mess of warm limbs and sleepy bodies, each jostling for a place closer to them. B’s neurons nearly explode at the touch.

A shifts closer, cupping a hand around B’s head and pulling it closer. “This okay?”

B nods furiously, already feeling a warmth unlike anything they’ve ever felt before blooming in their chest and flooding their limbs. They’re totally surrounded by people they care for more than anything in the world, and it’s better than they could’ve ever imagined.

“We’ll warm you up, B. Don’t you worry,” a sleepy C mumbles from somewhere down in the pile.

Despite C’s promise, B’s bone-cold for two more days - a deep, lingering chill that’s only eased by someone’s warm body pressed against theirs - and they stay bundled up in bed to preserve the meager warmth. The rest of the team gets the bright idea to take shifts with them, but the “shift” idea soon fades because no one wants to leave once their turn is up, and the whole team ends up on the bed by the day’s end. Sometimes they talk, or read a book out loud, but mostly B just craves the warmth being held. After years of loneliness, they can’t get enough.

It shouldn’t make any sense. B’s exhausted and weaker than they’ve ever been in their life, and they’ve never been happier.

It’s late now, the remainder of the fire burned down to coals, and everyone’s brought their own pillows and blankets to spend the night. B’s mostly recovered, by now, but they don’t want to say anything out of fear of losing this thing they found.

“Your hands are finally warm,” A mumbles, wrapping their own hands around B’s. B’s stomach drops. Caught.

“Y-yeah…..I guess so. If that means….you want to go back to your own bed…”

A snorts. “Are you kidding? You’re never getting rid of us now.” They shift slightly, allowing B to ease their head on their chest. “Unless you want us to go—“

“No.” B’s hand fists protectively in A’s shirt. “I mean…I don’t mind. This. All this.”

B could be imagining, but they think they hear relief in A’s next sigh as they raise their hand to B’s head, threading their hand through their hair. “We’re never gonna leave you, B.”

B swallows the lump in their throat as they hug A hard, and B feels A’s arms tighten back.

Warm. Safe. Loved. Was there anything better than this?

#touch starved #hypothermia #warming up #touch starvation #soft whump #bit sloppy but I’m BACK 😂

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Danse Macabre

Astarion x M!Tav / Astarion x M!Dark Urge

TEASER

A03 Link: Danse Macabre

Warning: Depictions of v*olence and t*rture

Prologue

The whip cracks with a harsh tone, splitting the silence that hangs heavy in the darkness. The man beside him begins to chant; it's apathetic and cold, the words unintelligible to the man who kneels in front of the preacher. 

Dain cannot make out the place that surrounds him, as it hurts too much to open his eyes. But he can feel the floor beneath him; freezing, rigid stone cruel against his aching knees, vibrant pain shooting down his shins and up the muscles in his thighs. His hands are held up above his head in shackles that pull him apart; they have been held up for so long he can no longer feel his fingers and a humming numbness buzzes through his arms, setting at the junctions of his shoulders.  He dare not move, he does not know if he even could.

The flail hits his back and the words the preacher mutter stumbles along a crescendo; he fumbles at his pronunciation, but he does not bother to correct himself. The prayer no longer matters, it stopped holding its meaning many years ago when discipline became twisted pleasure. 

Through spotted vision, Dain takes in what details he can of the man who punishes him for crimes he did not commit. The preacher wears a robe that was, at some point in its life white, the cotton now beginning to stain grey along the seams and hemming as the grime begins to cling harder at the fabric, burying itself like an infestation. It is adorned with a symbol he does not recognise, but it resembles a brilliant, blooming sun (his blood now blemishes the saffron yellow and some part of him believes it to be ironic). Draped over his shoulders are heavy gold chains, coming together to meet the same symbol cast in metal.

Dain burns the blazing sun into his mind, cursing the image in what few languages he remembers. 

*****

Dain tastes iron and smoke on his tongue when he coughs. The fractured glass beneath his fingertips threatens to pierce his skin if he is not careful, so he lifts himself slowly, mindful of the pounding in his head, settling contently behind his left eye. His body is aching deep within his bones, muscles stiff, sore and unused. Standing upright on his own two feet grants a pained relief - when he stretches he feels unknown tendons spasm and cramp. 

The ground beneath him feels solid yet moving; it is an odd sensation as if being carried. The rumble of something mechanical, the harsh shudder and swerving of quivering wind. Dain is moving all while staying still. A vessel of some sort?

It takes a moment for his hazy vision to focus and what greets him is the dilapidated hull of unfamiliar surroundings. Unbothered fires burn in the edges of the room, flicking and stroking against the wine-coloured, foreign metal that makes up the walls and fixtures. 

He feels as if he should be panicking; not many would find themselves in a burning room, potentially burning ship, and remain as calm as a fox within its den. However, the fire is (currently) not spreading and the walls are yet to collapse on top of him. Maybe then he’ll run and scream.

What truly worries him is the loss he feels. The untargeted rage and hurt. He searches his mind yet all he feels is a strange sense of regret amidst the fog of his memories. Dain forages and scrambles through a kaleidoscope of images and fragments, unable to piece them in a way which makes any sense. A flash of dark eyes, streaks of red, a flutter of wings, twisted black and a bold sun. The throbbing behind his eye intensifies and he feels his stomach begin to turn with nausea.

He retracts himself from his own mind with a shudder, cold regret seeping through his chest until it stabs at his heart.

‘A second chance, my child. For the both of us.’

*****

This story, due to its size, will be uploaded to AO3, however any important/chapter updates I'll post here :)

I can't wait to share this one with all of you, it's gonna be juicy

xx

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x dark urge #astarion x male reader #astarion x male tav

[kyouka-supremacy]

BEAST SSKK content you ask for? The shit pen poet (the same one he keeps sending you these long ass Beast hcs) strikes again: -sskk's relationship vs their personalities paint such a hilarious picture to anyone involved because many read their the cold, monotone stares (they are communicating telepathically) and quiet glares at each other (admiring each other like the Mona Lisa, up and down, up and down--) when in presence of company as dripping with coldness and disdain. The ADA was so fucking shocked when they learn about their relationship not just because they do not "act" like a couple but because they've apparently been together for like. A while. And Akutagawa simply never felt the need to inform them about their mafia in-law(s) and then looked at them like they were stupid for not figuring it out before (he bribed ranpo to keep quiet).

-For the longest time they could not comprehend sskk being in a loving relationship because they just act like they always do. And then one day Oda stumbles upon them being affectionate in private. Do you know they both wear long sleeves so that they can secretly pull up the other's coat sleeve and hold their hand while it stays hidden from view? It's why they always appear to stand impossibly close to each other yet "never touch". This is canon Oda told me so. Oda also is the reason why the ADA has an 8 minute long video of Atsushi peppering Akutagawa's face in kisses as a way of stalling him from going away on a long mission outside of the city by himself (It was working) until someone came to badger aku for taking so long to get ready.

-Akutagawa hates when the others see him be affectionate he hates that shit. Not cause he thinks it's weak or shameful, he just doesn't want to give his coworkers the fucking satisfaction. Always trying to hide it. One time Tanizaki knocked on his door and immediately opened it cause he heard to many noises from his room and the conversation went somewhere along the lines of,

Tanizaki: "What the hell was that noise? Who were you even talking to"

Akutagawa: (threw Atsushi in the closet) "The voices in my head, now GET OUT"

-Atsushi doesn't hide his relationship but none of subordinates have the courage to ask him until they see him with the gloves off and see a wedding band. (When they do meet Akutagawa they're low-key more intimidated by him from appearance alone than their boss.)

(lackey voices) "Youre married?!" (Atsushi voice) "I've been for a while now." "HUH?" "Hirotsu-san read the vows." (Hirotsu voice) "The executives are still incredibly dismayed that you two rejected having a wedding celebration altogether."

-Akutagawa hated the winter cause he remembers the harshness of of the cold and the countless of friends he had woken up to dead besides him, friends he had to dig out through the snow and use his hands to dig at the earth for them to have any kind of loving burial. Atsushi hated the winter because the basement, the cell he was locked up in majority of his life was unbearably damp and cold, and because the tiger under his skin always prevented him from getting sick or fought off injuries, no one ever gave him and his frostbites the luxury of warmth, and his body would be black and blue and stiff at the joints, heart hoping he could hibernate and never wake up again. They both start enjoying the winters when they bury themselves under tons of blankets and curl up into each other--slotting up against each other like perfect puzzle pieces, or like they're finally complete and whole after years of painful emptiness against their side, in their hearts. Atsushi warms Akutagawa's frail fingers with his own, and Akutagawa allows Atsushi to bury his cold, cold nose against his neck with minimal complaint.

-Akutagawa found out that tigers can, in fact, get high off of catnip. Magical tigers due to ability usage also count, especially with the extremely sensitive senses that can smell it from a mile away. Apparently Byakko loves that shit. They still haven't gotten rid of all of the white cat hair around the house. Atsushi will never live it down. The only good thing that comes out of it is catnip spiked coffee because it's much more bearable to do anything away from your favorite person if you're too high as fuck to be anxious.

-The tiger's regenerative and endurance abilities are so funny to me with its implications because I like to think that it translates to Atsushi being unable to get drunk easily. Chuuya forcing him to socialize and celebrate after a mission and he has to drink when he's poured a glass out of respect, but he never gets seems visibly tipsy. Everyone takes it as a challenge. Akutagawa comes to pick him up from the bar (it's always the text for help) and the conversation is always some variation of "How much did you drink?" "1000 shots." "Now I know why the tiger is always mad." "Hn."

-(I need to cut in, that in my world, BEAST Atsushi doesn't leave the port mafia. Is it healthy? No. but neither is the orphanage. Atsushi immediately hallucinated being chained to the medical table when he woke up there I swear he's never gonna get better dawg. Also I cannot leave the black turtleneck, jeans, and doc Martens behind. He still does evil mafioso shit and stays a bit deranged that's what makes his softer side so good and compelling as a lover. I cannot imagine him not needing the mafia's power on his side to help protect the book with Akutagawa as a part of his mentor's last wish. Also he looks too sexy--//is taken out back and shot like a lame horse)

-talking about deranged, Akutagawa says he loves to hear Atsushi talk until he actually opens his mouth. Sometimes it just makes him mad. You know when you feel so comfortable with someone you can't keep the shit to yourself? yeah. It's something like that.

"Your dorm is small and feels claustrophobic, your apartment looks like a jail cell. "

"Shut up."

It reminds me of the orphanage basement."

"Fucking get out of here."

"No."

-I like to think that one of the small acts of love Akutagawa does for others is sew or patch clothes up. He does it for anyone he cares about. Growing up with nothing, he would use Rashomon to mend and alter his clothes. He would sew up the other kid's clothes or make them tiny stuffed toys for entertainment when he could, be it with Rashomon or with some straws and a sharp edge from a metal hanger that he repurposed to act as a makeshift sewing needle. That being said, Akutagawa knows how important the jacket is to Atsushi--a gift to him from Dazai and a sense of safety to him for various reasons (looks back at the winter hc)-- and takes it upon himself to mend it when its in rough shape, or in one case, near completely torn to shreds. The first time he did it, Atsushi cried to him in relief, body bowing into itself, curling up around the jacket held to his chest, until his head was pressed against Akutagawa's lap, quiet "thank you's" mumbled into the fabric of his pants. Now Akutagawa always fixes his coat when Atsushi asks, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.

-They love kicking the door to the other's work place down they never open it like normal people. Atsushi kicks that shit off its hinges and Akutagawa kicks it open normally but uses Rashomon to tear it off the frame as he walks out.

This was a rollercoaster and probably more out of character than usual but I never claimed to stick to canon unless is suits my own needs. Please enjoy this offering.

Beast Anon far from wanting to being too straightforward but. Will you marry me

All of these are SO so good. Thank you so much. I love you. Your Beast sskk characterization is flawless!!!

I DO agree Beast sskk look perfectly neutral (bordering hostile) towards each other to an outsider. It is true that they… Don't really need words, or kind looks at that, to communicate with each other. Also they're sorta just like that in general, so they're perfect for one another. Tbh, it's years of emotional repression for Atsushi + He's Just Like That™ for Akutagawa. But they ARE perfect for each other I seriously can't stress this!!!! Enough!!!!!! And the fact that they can get each other all the time although their thinking is completely incompressible to everyone outside of them is comforting and endearing (I'm repeating myself here but. It's true. I'm soft for them.). So yeah, nobody at the agency would guess they were dating (or even just friendly frequenting each other)- especially, you know, after the terms they left each other in at the end of canon. Akutagawa of course would never bother correcting them- I can't quite put my finger on why it's like that, but it just feels so terribly right for them to not want others to know they're together? I feel like it has to do – other than both of them being generally highly reserved people – once again with the fact that the connection they share is so intimate and personal and simply theirs, as it is inexplicable and impossible to understand for an outsider (here's the pessimist mindset they kinda share), so they don't bother with explaining, because they already know others wouldn't get it. But it's still very cute. This was written about canon sskk, and although canon sskk and Beast sskk are deeply different, I think it can apply to Beast sskk too. And in addition to all of this, there's also the general phobia of losing someone they love they both share that would have them reticent to make it known to others how much they care for each other, even if it's people as trustworthy as the ada. THAT BEING SAID, Akutagawa IS the kind to taunt the ada for not figuring out once his relationship with Atsushi is unavoidably revealed- “Apologies, I thought this was a detective agency, I had assumed the supposed detectives wouldn't need me to tell them in order to figure it out”. He's just like that. In the end, it's cute, it's a display of trust towards the ada.

Kinda went off the rails here but the point is that yes they have whole conversations telepathically. They'd be like Atsushi: Akutagawa: Atsushi: Akutagawa: You know that's not true Atsushi: [Feigning obliviousness] But I didn't say anything? *big cat eyes* Akutagawa: YOU KNOW WHAT YOU SAID

I LOVE THE HOLDING HANDS UNDER THEIR COATS IN A WAY THAT'S NOT VISIBLE FROM THE OUTSIDE!!!!! FULLY INTEGRETED IN MY BELIEF SYSTEM!!!!!! I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!!!!!!! Talk to me about how they're each other's only comfort in the cruel world ANY time. How each other's presence is the only thing that can keep them standing despite everything. How the only thing that can ground them is knowing the other is by their side. I don't want to be dramatic or anything here but they give each other's existence a reason thank you for listening.

I'm sure the ada have whole gossip sessions during breaks about Akutagawa's love life when he isn't there- after all, he is their weirdest member, which is remarkable on its own. I just KNOW Naomi wouldn't believe he could be dating someone (fair enough I’m with her on this), and as everyone is discussing the matter she ends up convincing Oda to investigate- who doesn't really like the idea, but is also notoriously easy to get dragged along and also is realistically the only ada member with a good chance to not get caught AND the only ada member Akutagawa likely wouldn't slice on sight even in the eventuality he did get caught. That's how they got the aforementioned tape.

I know it's the same for everything you say beloved Anon but. Atsushi peppering Akutafawa's face in kisses to keep him from going on a long mission – because sure as hell the ada's priorities aren't his priorities – is also a big Yes (it was working perfectly until interrupted)

Cue to what I was saying earlier about them wanting to keep their relationship very very private but it counts six times as much for Akutagawa in particular. After all, Atsushi doesn't know the ada, so he really doesn't care about what they think (see: Atsushi weaving, half threateningly, half bashfully, at Kunikida and Tanizaki when climbing to Akutagawa's window). Akutagawa on the other hand would HATE for anyone to enter in his private business and would TOTALLY Rashomon-throw Atsushi in the nearest closet / street / out of sight if anyone he knows was to approach (thank you for the throwing-Atsushi-in-the-closet “talking to the voices in my head now GET OUT” image tho Anon literally have been thinking of it every day for one week)

Idk. I know we talk about Beast sskk being married a lot but… The single fact of Atsushi taking his gloves off and having a wedding band underneath… The way he keeps his love for Akutagawa hidden and safe and protected and always with him… I know that's not what I should be focusing on here but I'm having a moment. (The way I'm struck by each and every word you say Anon for real)

Aaaaaahhh, I can see Akutagawa and Atsushi hating winter. The picture you depicted about Atsushi never being granted the luxury of protection against the cold because his ability would have eventually healed him anyway (although did little to ease the pain) is especially impactful and truly makes you wish for someone by his side who can protect him and keep him safe. They are perfect puzzle pieces!!! The image of them under an hill worth of blankets makes me melt, thank you so much. Domestic Beast sskk and especially Beast sskk sleeping together safe and sound is my favorite thing in the world.

CATNIP EFFECTING ATSUSHI ASLKBVWLVBUAGHVB you /know/ Akutagawa would never let him live it down. But also Atsushi missing Akutagawa every second he spends away from him so true 🥺🥺🥺

Ooooohhh I totally agree Atsushi can't get drunk to his regenerative abilities, I've always thought that too. It's cute how Akutagawa would still come to pick him up. Atsushi would send him “help” text calling out for support and Akutagawa arrives to a bar full of passed out bodies on the floor and Atsushi sitting alone on his chair with an empty glass in his hands a big sad puppy eyes. In the end he only missed Akutagawa.

(Seriously, the separation anxiety is strong with this ship)

I can work with the concept of Beast Atsushi staying in the pm!! In the end the pm is one greatly charming organization in bsd, it makes me kinda sad to let it go in Beast (I have my whole theory about pm boss Beast Higuchi and the Beast renaissance but that's for another time). I also genuinely think that the Atsushi / Chuuya interactions in the pm would be wonderful. And Atsushi absolutely needs to keep his cool outfit.

YEAH. OMG I KNOW THE FEELING OF FINDING THAT PERSON AND FEELING LIKE YOU'RE COMFORTABLE WITH SOMEONE ELSE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YOUR LIFE AND BEING PERFECTLY UNABLE TO SHUT UP SO WELL. Man Beast sskk were already traumadumping five minutes in meeting each other, tbh it's not hard to believe Akutagawa is going to know Atsushi's mind like the back of his hand. A LOT of late knight conversations and “It makes me think of…” “Go to sleep.” “You can try to push me down the bed if you want” “No. You're warm.” But in the end Akutagawa always gives in (╥﹏╥) After spending all his life repressing pretty much everything about himself, I guess it'd be kinda exhilarating for Atsushi to have finally found someone he can just talk with, no overthinking- the words would really get flowing.

I DO SUBSCRIBE THE AKUTAGAWA-CAN-SEW BELIEF!!!!! LIKE!!!!!!!!! WHOLEHEARTDLY!!!!!!!!!!!!! Akutgawa sewing is canon to me. And he totally mends everything Atsushi rips off of course, that's what they are (╥﹏╥) For real this is hitting me so hard. Because clothes are such an important side of sskk's relationship, and when Akutagawa patches Atsushi's coat, he's sewing a part of himself in it. That's their coat now, and that's the coat that embodies their love. Beast sskk is insane

Hell yeah kicking doors off + sskk being identical and the same even in the smallest things

Not to be dramatic or anything but Anon you're rewriting a whole bsd Beast universe continuation here and I’m more invested in your monthly asks than any other of the official bsd serializations

#(Anon do you know that this ask got deleted for like six hours and those were the worst six hours of my entire life) #atsushi nakajima #ryūnosuke akutagawa #sskk #shin soukoku #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd beast #people asks me stuff #beast anon #Did you know that a single text block can contain a maximum of 4096 characters. You'll never guess how I found out

[keicordelle]

The Daily Inconveniences of an Au Ra: Funerary Rites

Death in Eorzea confused Keshet. Not because it was particularly different than death on the Steppe - he was already familiar with the fact that others outside the Dotharl did not return when they died, even if he wasn't used to losing friends to that fact. Hyur and Miqo'te and the rest died just as readily as Au Ra - more so, perhaps, given their lack of protective scales, but the same methods still applied. No, it wasn't the death itself that perplexed him. It was the rituals that came afterwards.

The sun shone brightly overhead, it's cheerful gleam in stark contrast to the tear tracks that glistened on Alphinaud's cheeks and the silent sorrow that permeated the air. The stiff black fabric itched at Keshet's skin and tugged at his chest, the borrowed suit as uncomfortable as the Au Ra who sported it. He shifted from foot to foot as subtly as he could, trying not to draw attention to himself as he tugged at the tie pulled snug around his neck. He didn't really understand why he had had to trade his usual attire for Ishgardian formal wear, but Alphinaud had insisted that it was a matter of respect. Keshet suspected it had something to do with making you as uncomfortable on the outside as you were on the inside.

All around him, others wore the same sombre garb, lace veils hiding tear-streaked faces and embroidered handkerchiefs blotting runny noses. Keshet stared up at Artoirel at the front of the crowd, the great spires of the Vault looming over him, and felt even more out of place than usual. No tears choked the back of his throat, and if his eyes watered, it was only because the cold bit at his face. It was not the response that was expected of him, that much he knew. Everyone seemed to expect him to break down and sob, or to erupt in some sort of sorrowful display, but he mostly just felt lost beneath those stolen glances and murmured consolations. It was like they were waiting for something, but he didn't know what.  He felt like he was missing something, like there was some universal truth he'd overlooked that everyone else seemed to understand implicitly and that no one seemed inclined to share. But... Haurchefant was dead. It was tragic, yes, but Keshet didn't see the point to all this ceremony. Haurchefant didn't care if they got all dressed up to cry over him; he was past caring about anything. Why couldn't they just mourn on their own and each remember him in their own way? Keshet could understand drawing support from your community, of course, but it seemed like half of Ishgard had turned out for this funeral, and he knew for a fact that a not insignificant number of them wouldn't have so much as given Haurchefant the time of day a week ago. The ritual was meant to "honor his memory," Alphinaud had said, but Keshet failed to see how any of this honored Haurchefant. If they wanted to honor him, they should avenge his murder - or at the very least carry on his legacy through action rather than this uncomfortable gathering that was more about politics than the man it claimed to honor.

And don't even get Keshet started about the box with the corpse in it. That was... He had no doubt his Eorzean comrades would consider his people barbaric for their treatment of their dead, but to him the concept of entombing the body in stone to preserve it and burying it far beneath the ground was abhorrent. Far better to allow the dead to return to nature in peace than to try to stave off the inevitable decay. When a Dotharl died, their body fed the animals of the desert - the same animals that the surviving tribe members would then hunt down and eat themselves. The dead aided their living comrades even beyond the bounds of their mortality. To have your corpse paraded around for others to look upon and wet with their tears... It was macabre. 

But Keshet stood there like he was supposed to, staring at Artoirel and Emmanellain and Edmont and just anything he could other than the stone box that held the lifeless cadaver of his dead friend. The endless speeches turned into a wordless drone as strangers who'd once whispered cruelties behind Haurchefant's back spoke of how wonderful he had been and all the good he had done for them. Inside, Keshet’s stomach churned, but he held himself still and respectful against the freezing chill beneath the heartless sun.

Artoirel's voice cut through his silent discomfort. "Would you like to say a few words, Keshet?"

Keshet froze, panic singing through his veins. Say a few words? Words about what? About Haurchefant? What was he supposed to say? 'I'm sorry I got your brother killed'? Somehow he suspected that was not the sort of sentiment they were looking for. But everyone was watching him, and they assumed he knew the steps to this dance even if he was pretty sure he was about to stick his big old foot in his mouth. He glanced anxiously at Alphinaud, but the boy had the same expectant look on his face as everyone around them, waiting for him to say something profound or at least situationally appropriate. Right.

"Uh. Haurchefant died a noble death, and if he were one of my people, there's no doubt in my mind that the next child born would bear his soul. But, uh. He's not, so. The best I can do is avenge his death. And um. Remember him?"

The low muttering that rose in the wake of his words was not particularly reassuring, but Artoirel clapped him on the arm and Edmont offered him a watery smile and a respectful nod before continuing on with his own remembrances. And so Keshet returned to awkwardly shifting from foot to foot and trying not to stare at the corpse of his friend, longing fiercely for the easy death rituals of his own people.

At least if he didn't want to attend any more Eorzean funerals, the solution was easy enough: he just had to make sure no more of his friends died.

-

Read the rest of the series on Ao3!

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#ffxiv #au ra #wol #funerary customs #haurchefaunt #heavensward spoilers #angst #cw death #major character death #ffxiv fanfiction #my writing #daily inconveniences #keshet dotharl

[sixty-silver-wishes]

Short story: Elena

This piece of writing is inspired by the story of Carl Tanzler and Elena Milagro de Hoyos, which I feel takes on a new relevancy with the state of women's rights to bodily autonomy in Florida. If you're not familiar with what happened, I recommend reading Tanzler's Wikipedia page for context. CW for themes of necrophilia and sexual assault.

-

She couldn’t feel the silk stitched over her atrophied muscles, patching her decaying skin together as it sloughed off her bones. The plaster encasing her face would have been heavy and suffocating, but her caving lungs had long been emptied, and therefore she did not have the luxury of struggling to breathe, the defiance the human brain so desperately employed when life was at stake. The taut pull of the wires holding her bones together like the limbs of a marionette, the sightless glass eyes set in their sockets like gemstones where her organic ones had long since rotted to nothing, the sickly odor of the perfumes condensing in a fog around her to keep the stench of decomposition at bay- she could not sense any of it, nor could she so much as gasp in terror as two hands felt along her caving hips, jutting out beneath the floral-print dress that concealed the maggoty caverns of festering flesh beneath bright springtime colors, vivid as the Key West sunset. 

She could not curse him when he sang to her at night, his amorous proclamations no doubt butchering the Spanish she’d grown up speaking. She could not repel his advances when his tongue slipped into her mouth, its tip feeling along the insides of her cheeks, stuffed with gauze to keep them from collapsing in on themselves. And she could not scream when he forced the tube underneath her skirt, between her stiff, cold legs, so that he could have his way with a woman who could not refuse him.

Perhaps it was for the best, then, that when he danced with her in time to a tinny waltz from the record player, swaying her dragging feet in the darkness of his house, she had no knowledge of what she had become, could not remember her miscarriage or the man she married or the tuberculosis that had only begun to devour her, leaving her carcass to the man tasked with curing it, so that he could pick her remains like carrion and lie in bed with her bones. 

When at last, after seven years, her sister chanced to look through the window and see them locked in that waltz, his head resting on her sagging shoulders, nose buried in the perfumed clumps of her hastily-replaced hair, a thousand impossible realities all collided together at once. That was the body- no, less than a body, a half-stitched, perfumed, putrefying mannequin- of the girl she’d grown up with, her sister she’d lost to the same disease that would soon take her life as well. Would she ever have known, when they were children, that this was where their futures would lead them? And after she’d alerted the authorities to recover it- no longer her, but it- her sister could not feel the relief of being taken out of that house, never to be touched by those hands again.

Nor could she feel the shame of being displayed in the funeral home like a dress in the window of a boutique.

 For seven years, it was his eyes and his alone that had feasted on her corpse; now, it was the eyes of thousands. They flocked around her like the flies that wormed into her many yawning crevices, gasping and pointing and cameras flashing. While alive, her beauty had turned heads; now, its grotesque mockery was twice as effective. She was fortunate she could not hear them sigh, muttering to themselves about that odd romantic, the eccentric but harmless doctor so desperate for love, even death could not wrench him from the embrace of his young Cuban sweetheart. It was a terrible shame, they said, that her body should be taken from him; after all, he’d gone through such touching care to ensure he could be with her forever. How sad, they sighed, shaking their heads, that the poor old man would never have another night to dance with her, to take her in his arms and kiss her and dress her and make her his own.

If she was granted one mercy, it was that she could not hear them.

#short story #fiction #original fiction #historical fiction #elena de hoyos #carl tanzler #florida #florida history #feminism #reblogs

[obesericewrites]

(not me trying to correct my mistake)

So what if it was all a dream? Mc dying and the whole waking up to see MC there and then blinking in their Gone?

What if it was a dream? they wake up and besides them the bed is warm but MC isn't there and then here comes MC walk in the door with cups of tea a soft smile and says good morning

Please 🥺

Do it for the baby penguins

God, I’ll do it for the baby penguins 😭 Down the rabbit hole to this au here

M: They sit up in a cold sweat. The phantom taste of blood still palpable on their tongue. Their eyes are wide as they rapidly take in their surroundings. It’s morning, they distantly notice; Dawn laying besides them. Breathing softly. Their in your room. That thought made them shake as desperation took over them as they searched around them. You weren’t here. Where were you? Please, let those thoughts from the past be a nightmare. Please—!

Just as they were begging the gods for you to be here. You walk in. Their entire body froze like a small deer, eyes wide and face painfully open. You give them a soft smile, a cup of what smelt like tea in your grasp.

“Good morning, honey.” You smile.

They watch as your face contorted into worry. Placing the cup down, you rush to their side and gently cup their face in your hands. Your hands so warm and filled with life. They can’t help but put their hands over yours. They keep their eyes open till they look like dinner plates, fearing if they even thought of blinking you’d be gone.

“Oh, M. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Their crying? They look down a bit, noticing their eyes are clouded and stuttered breaths escaping them. They tilted their head, kissing your palm softly. The soft yet calloused hands felt so….calming. “I-…I had a dream..” As they explain what they dreamt of. They watch your face crumble.

You practically radiated concern as you pulled them into a tight hug. “Sshh, it’s okay. I’m here, M.” They barely even realize they are shaking. Tears streaming down their face. As you hold them, they can’t help but squeeze you for all your worth. They bury their face in your neck, just enjoying your warmth of life.

The two of you hold each other. One filled with worry and care. While the other grasps one like a lifeline. M spends the entire day attached to you. Getting jumpy the second you disappear for even a minute. They are definitely a lot more touchy with both you and Dawn after that. Hugging you both tightly at night, being almost a protector of both of their most treasured people.

S: They wake up with a scream caught in their throat. Sitting up so sharply that they could swear if they were human, their spine would be broken. Panting loudly. S quickly gets to their feet. Eyes wide as they search the room they woke up in. They're in your home. But just seconds ago they were in a pub. Was it a dream? S swears if this is just another trick by the goddesses. They'd hunt them down the gods themselves.

Just as their thoughts were growing more homicidal. You walk in and their entire being freezes. Eyes wide and their entire body is stiff as they watch you. You had a small smile on your face and a small cup in your hand.

"Good morning, babe." You smile.

S lets out a sharp breath at the sight. So entrapped by your expression that they don't even notice its change. Your eyes brows pull together and eyes fill with distress. Before they even have a chance to reach out to you. You're on them. Hands cupping their face and eyes looking deep into theirs.

"Woah, hey, what's wrong, S? Hey, its okay! Breath for me, okay?"

S takes in a rigid breath. Eyes wide as they struggle to breath. They let out a dry sob as they look down at your throat and chest. No blood. Theres no scar. Nothing. It was a dream. They fall apart in your grasp, holding you tightly. Babbling nonsense that could barely be translated into 'oh gods, Mc' too 'Please be real'.

As the two of you hold each other, you question softly what really happened. They just brush it off, saying they just had a moment. But throughout the day, S is always with you. Making sure to always keep a hand on you. Tensing up when you leave them or if you're speaking to someone else. During the night, they would ask to be held by you. Just enjoying your warm arms around them, feeling more than safe with you in that moment.

B: They jolt awake. Gasping loudly as they struggle to sit up, grasping at their throat. Which felt raw and their eyes burned. Using their other hand to rubbing it clean. They looked around the room they laid in. They're in your home, they freeze at the thought. In your room. But...where are you?? You had to be here, right?!

Just as they are about to call out for you. You walk in and they cant breath. You stand their with a soft smile, eyes crinkling with warmth as you held a small cup in your hand.

"Good morning, Love." You smile.

"Mc..?" They whisper your name like a prayer. Immediately, your body changes from relaxed too tense with worry as you place the cup down and rush over to them. They rush forward to you, grasping at you as they squish you in a hug.

"Hey, shh, its okay, B. Whats wrong, baby?"

Gods, what was wrong? You're here. You're not hurt, no you're here and you're fine. They just sob into your chest, their grip nearly crushing you as they just held you close. B just falls apart in your arms and you instantly begin to put them together.

Later, when they calm down. They explain what happened. You are quick to force them and yourself to take a day off so you two can just enjoy each-others company. B is always looking at you now. As if you where the most beautiful person they had ever seen. And they tell you so repeatedly as the two of you fall asleep in each-others arms. They love you and will always tell you when they have the chance, fearing that that chance may be stolen from them.

#s ask #m ask #ro ask #b ask

[plush-rabbit]

Frozen Knuckles

Request: Its a cold night at the lov, reader is freezing their ass off, bones stiff causing aches, Dabi comes into their room saying that he could hear the readers teeth chattering from his room, /them already having a flirty relationship prior/ and he 'makes' them snuggle up to him for warmth.

Holding the readers hands in his, to his chest, kissing their poor frozen knuckles♡

/Its cold and my knuckles are not having a good time =3= hope youre staying warm tho ^^

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: it’s cold in texas and i am not a fan (it still is, im sorry its late but things came up!!)

-

You’re curled up, blankets that are much too thin are clutched in your hands, pulled and tucked under your nose, the soft point of it burying into the fabric. The rain makes it all that much colder, pattering against the window taped with empty garbage bags that let in a chill ghost of the wind. You have to clench your jaw to stop the chattering of your teeth, yet the pressure makes your jaw ache.

There’s such a vivid thought of you getting up and walking to a different section of the abandoned house, but you were the one who fell asleep. It’d be just like you to choose the room with a broken window. You’re unsure which of the other rooms are available and while you enjoy the League, you know most of them don’t take kindly to being woken up. Twisting and turning in your bed, you wonder if the others are just as cold as you are. Spinner for sure, you think to yourself, pulling your body closer to yourself, curling until you can no longer. Sako must have some sort of heater compacted into marble and if he doesn’t, you’re going to make sure that you tell him to start hoarding some.

Goosebumps rise over your skin, making it uncomfortable and prickly, your face nipped with cold and fingers much too stiff to unfurl themselves from the blanket. You sniffle, trying to think of something warm, trying to plead that maybe even the thought of warmth would suffice. You can hear the doorknob turn, the lock undoing and splintered wood creaking in the silence of the room. You open your eyes, your lips stuck in a way that reminds you that they are too dry. Lifting your head inches off the pillow, you can vaguely make out Dabi’s figure.

“Hey there hot stuff-” you try to play it cool, but the chattering of your teeth makes your words come out all shaky- “what’s up?”

The door closes behind him and you can see his eyes in a brief flash of lighting that illuminates all of him. They’re narrowed, staring down at your pathetically bundled up form with nothing more than an annoyed look. “What’s up is that I can hear you from the room next over.” He jerks his head and you frown, the tips of your ears feel sharp as you flush in embarrassment. He looks around the room, his steps heavy and when you look down, you see that he’s still wearing his shoes.

“You’re not wearing your night clothes?” You mumble, curling back up in bed, your body forgetting for a moment that you’re cold. “You just got here? Or uh, you going somewhere?” Desperate to make conversation, you keep it going, the distraction enough for you to focus on anything other than your chilling body.

“Had to go out somewhere,” he says, kicking at the floor with the toe of his shoe. His eyes bore into you, a slow, almost bored type of look that makes his face fall and relax, and he seems and looks so much softer. “I came back and when I passed your room, all I could hear was you shivering.” Dabi turns his head and when he spots the busted window. “Ha,” he scoffs with a hint of cheekiness, “it’d be just your luck to get the room with the broken window.” He looks back at you, walking closer until he’s at the edge of your bed. “How cold are you?”

You frown. “Very,” you say in a soft voice. “I think I might actually get frostbite or something.” he remains silent and you pout. “It’d be nice if there was maybe a fire that I could use to keep warm,” you trail your words off, sigh loudly and slumping your shoulders. You look up at him, bringing the blankets closer tucked under your chin. He scoffs, and there’s a hint of a smile that tilts his lips. “Come on, please. Don’t make me beg for it. I’m already losing feelings in my hands,” you whine.

“Whatever.” he walks closer to you, kicking his shoes off and pulling the covers. A chill runs through your body and you curl further into yourself until he comes in beside you, covering you back up. He rests beside you, his hands moving under the covers, grabbing at your shirt, clutching it tight, till you are close to him. His knuckles graze along a small sliver of skin, the soft skin of your stomach cold and rising with goosebumps at the touch. He hisses a curse under his breath. “How long have you been cold?”

“A while,” you say, trying to make it sound like it’s not a big deal even though you chatter between your teeth.

His body is warm, and there’s a scent of smoke that comes from him, flesh and smoke and deep mahogany, and he’s so warm. The white shirt is dirtied, something dark clinging to the edge, something red splattered at the sides that’s hidden by his jacket. His pants are warm, dark and faded, frayed and soft, as your legs move to intertwine with his. He smells like death, quite literal death that makes it difficult to breathe, but it’s addicting and you wonder if this is what nicotine is like, something so painful to fill your chest, but so addicting that you can’t help but wonder and miss the pain in your chest, to feel the fumes swell in your chest and cloud your senses till the taste remains, seared onto your tongue.

“Where were you?” Your hands played with the openness of the jacket, feeling the rough texture scratch against the pads of your fingers. “You smell like fire.”

“Did you forget my quirk?” It’s almost teasing, and maybe you could have thought that it was if it wasn’t for the way that he remains stiff, still clinging onto your shirt, and not to you.

You hum in response. “Different type of fire.” The first knuckle of your finger traces along the white of his shirt, following a line that you know all too well, feeling the grooves of the metal that keeps him together. You feel no difference. “You’re okay?”

Finally his hands start to move, they curve over the side of your stomach and you turn away, his hand lifting and falling back down as your back faces him. He doesn’t answer you and you feel his hand curve right under your chest, pressing to your ribs. His movements are slow, tapping against your body and something stirs inside of you. It bubbles and makes acid rise to the back of your throat. You dread what will come from it, you dread how you still seek him out and how he knows just when to find you.

“Remind me again why you’re here,” you ask, grabbing his hand and bringing it up to your lips.

“Because you were cold,” he says, responding without missing a beat, the answer so simple to him.

“In the League. Why’d you join the League again?” You reiterate, his index jumping lightly and knocking against your upper lip.

“I can ask you the same thing. Don’t think I’ve ever gotten a clear answer from you,” he starts, his hand curving around your cheek, keeping you close to him. His hand falls slightly and you stare at it. His scars creep ever closer, reaching for the tips of his fingers, arching and jagged, skin so rough that it scratches against your lips. You press a kiss onto the hand, the texture such a new sensation with every kiss. He huffs and you stare at the wall, the crooked, bumpy surface, cracking and decaying before your eyes and in this old building, where the chill runs deep, you are warm and held. “Yeah, well,” and he trails off, not knowing exactly what to say and leaving the conversation up to you.

You’d like to say that you know him, that you and Dabi are friends at the very most, that his playful attempts of flirting are just that, and you wish there was something more to that than just being playful, but you also have to be realistic. The truth is, you don’t know whatsoever. You don’t know his real name, you don’t know his favorite color, you don’t know why he keeps pushing people away, trying to keep them as faceless as possible, but you so badly want to know. You want to know him better. At the very least, you’d like to think you two are friends, that he wouldn’t do just this with anyone. That you have to be special to him. The thought of being another faceless figure in his life makes acid itch at your throat. You’re worried that perhaps you might have pushed his boundaries, but his arms are still around you, so he’s still here with you.

His hands move slightly, dancing around the hem of your shirt and it’s so mindless, a repeating pattern that doesn’t stop or falter, and you’d bet that he has no idea what he’s doing. His breath is warm against the back of your neck- deep and slow, and you’d think he’d be asleep if it weren’t for the slow movements of his hands.

“I’ve told you before,” he starts, his voice low, but not quite a whisper, “I’m just following Stain’s ideals.” You frown. “You might not like it, but it’s true. I’ve got no other motives other than that.”

You press your head deeper into the thin pillow, the mattress turdy underneath the both of you. “It’s just-” his hands stop playing with your shirt and you regret what you’re about to say- “sometimes it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like you’re waiting for something. Like you’re this- this weird calm before the storm and every so often I feel,” you hesitate, your legs kicking softly under the covers, “I feel scared.” You open your mouth, and his hands curl, fingers drawing close over your stomach, your shirt slightly ruffled and his pinky scratching against your soft skin.

“So now I scare you?” You can hear the controlled venom under his voice. “Is that it?” Then why the fuck am I here.” His hands pull and drag, and you clasp yours over his. “Cause I’m not fanboy like lizard over there-”

“I get scared for you.” You correct, hissing and emphasizing that it isn’t him that you’re scared of, but it’s for him. You rise, coming to a sitting position, the cold air chilling your warm skin. “I think that someday, you just won’t be here.” You hold on tightly to him, fearing that he’ll vanish right here and now. “I don’t not want you to be here. I want you to see what we’ll all do. What we can all accomplish together.” You let go of his hands and his stay still. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know you,” you admit, fingers twisting in the blanket.

“You do,” Dabi finally says, curving his hand over the soft swell of your tummy. “You know me better than the others. What? You think I do this with everyone?” You can hear the smile in his voice and it’s a relief to hear something softer than the other tone. His nose brushes along the back of your head and you can feel the press of his lips against the back of your head, a hand falling underneath your shirt. “Come on,” he says in a soft voice, “get back in bed. You’ll get cold again.” You stare at him, the frown still present but it’s crinkled with concern. He clicks his tongue and his hands float to tug lightly at your forearms. “Come on. I don’t-” his eyes shift and his tone shifts, whatever he was going to say, is lost- “Get under the covers.”

He looks at you, and you finally give in, falling to rest underneath the covers, now facing him, and his hands squirms between the two of you to grab your cold hands. They’re put between his chest and yours, his calloused fingertips running over your knuckles. You’re tired, eyes heavy and it is much too difficult to think.

You can feel his gaze heavy on you, unwavering and focused on how you react with every movement that he makes, no matter how small. He dips his head down and his lips linger where your hairline starts. He doesn’t make a kissing sound, only a simple press that he ends by pulling away. His hand lifts yours, and his lips trace over and bump against your knuckles, the chill burning against his lips and the warmth providing comfort until he pulls away. He mumbles under his breath something intelligible, placing your hand just beneath where his scars start to curve over his body.

“I hate the cold,” you murmur, your legs moving and entangling with his. You press yourself closer to him and he welcomes it, shifting to make you more comfortable.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “I do too,” and Dabi almost sounds wistful when he says it, his voice sounding far away. “All that talking finally weird you out, huh?” He teases, and it’s so clear that he wants to continue talking, that he just wants something more right now. You hum, pressing further into him, hands falling and so heavy that you can’t help but rest your weight against him. “Fine, just go to sleep.” His arms hold you close, and the wind howls outside, high pitched that makes the trees whistle. His hands never leave you, they change and shift, but he’s always on you, holding you and keeping you close to him. His nose brushes along your temple, tracing upwards in a line until his lips press like a phantom onto your forehead, kissing you softly and pulling away. His fingers tighten around your shirt, twisting into the fabric, his eyes heavy on the wall you stared at not too long ago and his skin burns from the warmth and the cold, and his only solace is that you are pressed to him, asleep and warm, needing him more than you would ever need anyone or anything else. The same sentence follows him, his fire burns and consumes him from inside, out; and yet, he’s here in a building, holding you and stuck in clothing that is sullied beyond repair.

#bnha #bnha imagines #bnha hcs #dabi #dabi x reader #bnha dabi x reader #mha dabi #dabi headcanons #touya todoroki #touya imagine #touya todoroki imagine #touya todoroki x reader #its so cold #like im not meant for cold weather #my fingers are frozen stiff #oh!! #i got a job!! so thats cool #but my hours are fucked #but since im new and bad at math #i dont think ill be able to change the #them #i should learn how to lie #like good and plan ahead lmao #okay bye #love you and everything

[bisexualreginaldpeters]

so bobby goes to luke alex and reggie’s shared funeral and sees the boys in their caskets. which is already hard on him but then he starts noticing how unlike themselves they appear because their parents got so many details wrong trying have the boys look how they wanted them to be instead of having them be who they are. at first it’s small things that can’t really be helped. but it still hurts to see them like that. completely unlike what and who they are were.

like how reggie isn’t smiling, there’s no color to his cheeks and it’s upsetting and weird because reggie was never so still and vacante. he’s bouncy and always smiling and his cheeks are always rosy but now he’s… stiff and it looks so off and wrong but he’s dead so of course he’ll look pale and still (not mention they didn’t bury him with his leather jacket on like he would’ve wanted) reggie looks too serious and it sits uneasily in bobby’s stomach but he doesn’t say anything. it’s not like the peters had much money to spend on the finer details. even the suit they picked for him didn’t seem to fit him right. a size too small. everything is just a bit off (like the whole world shifted to the left and bobby still struggling to adjust) he doesn’t mention anything to the peters. they wouldnt notice the difference anyways. bobby stays silent and distant and cold with most of the people there because what can be done? what could he or anyone else do? it’s always going feel wrong.

still it doesn’t help when he sees alex’s hair isn’t done anywhere near how he likes it. it’s too neat and pushed back like he’s going to sunday school and bobby knows alex hated when he had to part his hair that way. it lacks any of his personality and carefull reckless and the frustration of they don’t look like themselves builds, the anger and sadness and hurt that they’re gone gone gone gone keeps setting deeper into bobby’s bones and then it all collapses on top of him. the weight of the reality falling hard when he sees luke. something snaps and bobby can’t help himself but ball his fists and sob, though he wants to scream to, at the patterson’s for never caring for their son in the way he needed them to and at himself for not being there when he should’ve and at the world for taking away his friends and maybe at the boys for leaving him, because he walks to the final coffin and sees they put luke in some stuffy outfit with long sleeves. hair combed back and face a slack strict set expression replacing any trace of his once wild grin. even staring right at luke it doesn’t look right. not anything like him. not like the luke bobby knew. the real actual luke who would’ve never touched that outfit with a ten foot pole.

‘he’s in too many layers. the collars too high and he doesn’t like long sleeves. he can’t wear them for too long. he won’t be comfortable,’ bobby mutters and eventually repeats loudly in tears reaching towards the body only stopped short by emily’s hand. ‘why is he in sleeves?’ ‘he looks fine, son. he’ll be alright now’ ‘ no -no his sensory problems. he won’t be comfortable- he won’t… he wouldn’t want be in sleeves’ he’s gripping the edge of the coffin and pushing too close. he wants rip the sleeves off because he knows luke would’ve done it himself. none of this is right. none of them look right.

bobby has never seen a dead body before. let alone three with faces identical to his best friends (because whatever was in those caskets couldn’t possibly be the same people he grew up with and loved so deeply it felt he was dying just looking at them. it made his chest so tight he thought his heart might squeeze out of him because surely they couldn’t be the same. they couldn’t be his boys. not really. not when they looked nothing like themselves. it had be a sick joke. a bad fever dream. something so unreal it couldn’t really be happening, could it?).

mr. patterson pulls him away from the set of caskets. or maybe it had been his own father. bobby isn’t sure. the memory is fuzzy. even while it was happening it wasn’t all that clear. he was still too focused on his boys with faces grim and stiff instead of usual lively grins, and neatly tucked hair that had once been always tossed and messy, and arms suffocated in thick fancy fabric knowing that even in death they’d never wear something like that. but there isn’t anything bobby can do. their bodies may have been laid to rest but bobby would never know peace seeing them buried like that

#yeah this popped into my head because of the funeral scene in my girl #‘he cant see without his glasses’ breaks me every time and i think bobby might had gone through something like #knowing that boys parents never really saw them for who they were #and bobby knowing them so deeply seeing everything wrong with how their bodies got done and just #it hurts yknow #like it puts him in so much panic he has to be dragged away #and then he sees them as ghosts. looking exactly how they want to be. how he remembers them exactly and it lifts some of the guilt off his #chest because they arent stuck forever dressed up in all the wrong ways #exrta angst with trans luke au where hes put into a dress. worst of all a long sleeved one #anyways this got long but i thought about it a lot so yall are going feel the hurt with me >:)c #i learned how do the readmore and nothing can shut me up now :D #jatp #julie and the phantoms #alex mercer #reggie peters #luke patterson #bobby shaw #bobby wilson #trevor wilson #long post #why do these always end up being so long i need slow down lmao

[wazzupmrstark]

instead of you [part fifteen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption

word count: 1.7k

series masterlist

Don’t tell Sam. Sam. SAM.

“Shit.”

You had to fix this in a matter of seconds. Should you slap him? Act like nothing happened? Pretend you were drunker than you actually were and play dumb?

“Wait, you’re not Sam?” you squinted your eyes like you were trying to see who was in front of you, acting like you were too drunk to remember who you were with. “Oh my god.”

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” Tom tried. 

“I-” you didn’t know how to respond. “Why did you do that?”

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I don’t know, it didn’t mean anything!” You’d be lying if you told yourself that didn’t sting a little. If he didn’t have any sort of feelings for you, why would he kiss you? “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Please don’t tell my brother.”

“You want me to lie to my boyfriend?”

“I mean, is it lying if you just don’t mention it?”

“It’s a lie of omission- are you really going to debate me about philosophy right now?”

“Then yes, I do want you to lie to your boyfriend because if he finds out he’ll never speak to me again.”

“You realize what kind of position that puts me in?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes.”

You couldn’t even think straight. Feelings of confusion, panic, anger, and regret fought for control of your conscience. “What if someone had seen us? Taken a picture of us? You’re a public fucking figure, Tom. That could’ve put your career at risk.” “Don’t you think I know that?” he growled. “I don’t need you to lecture me on how stupid it was.”

“You’re an asshole,” you scoffed.

“I know.”

You stood from the table to leave, hoping he wouldn’t follow you, but he called after you, your name echoing in your ears like a warning. Reluctantly, you turned back to face him with a bitter taste on your tongue.

“You won’t tell him, right?”

You stared him down for a moment, watching nerves etch themselves onto his features before answering. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

It was a promise you didn’t want to make, but you felt like you had no other choice. You hadn’t just broken the ‘no flirting’ rule, you’d blown straight past it into completely uncharted territory. And technically Tom had been the one to initiate, you hadn’t kissed him back, but you couldn’t say you hadn’t felt something when he did. 

You had never lied to Sam before- at least not on this scale. You felt sick to your stomach, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol. 

You almost didn’t want to go back to your room. You urged the elevator to go as slow as possible as you checked your appearance in the reflective wall. The tarnished gold was smudged with handprints, but you were still able to make out your ruined lipstick. You weren’t sure it had been messed up sometime during dinner, or if it was Tom’s doing but you couldn’t take a chance. You used your thumb to wipe away the evidence as the intercom on the elevator let out a ding to let you know you’d reached your floor.

With a shaky breath you pushed yourself into the hallway and forced yourself to put one foot in front of the other to walk to your room. You didn’t have a key, so you had to knock. You half-hoped Sam was already asleep, even if it meant you’d have to spend the night in the hallway. 

But as luck would have it he was still up and he opened the door seconds later. He was definitely out of it, blinking at you to put you in focus. 

“There you are,” he said tiredly, rubbing one of his eyes with his hand. “I was wondering when you’d come up.”

“I hope I didn’t keep you up,” you apologized as you breezed past him into the room. 

“Nah, I was just messing around.”

A lie, you knew, but you let it slide knowing you were keeping a much bigger secret. He was already dressed for bed in his boxers and one of your t-shirts and his hair was wet from a shower. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, noticing your anxious energy.

You nodded. “I had too much to drink.”

“Ah, me too, I think. Come take a shower. It’ll help.” 

You took his advice and tried to sober up in the shower, letting the cold water run over your bare skin until you were shivering. When it didn’t make you feel any better you turned off the faucet completely and dried off, wrapping a towel around your body and sitting on the edge of the tub. 

“Y/n?” came Sam’s muffled voice from the other side of the door. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

You sighed. Why did he have to know you better than you knew yourself? You pushed yourself up from the tub and opened the door. 

“I had like three more shots after you left,” you mumbled.

The color drained from his face as he took in this additional information and he frowned. “Jesus, I thought I was drunk. Do you feel sick?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, well let’s go to bed,” he urged. His accent was always thicker when he was drunk, and in a funny way it sounded like home, like all of those Friday nights back on campus. 

Sam gave you space to change into your clothes for bed and crawled under the covers to wait for you. You dressed yourself, hung your towel in the bathroom, and shut off the main light before feeling your way through the darkness over to the bed. 

You managed to get your drunk ass in bed without tripping which you considered to be a miracle. Sam slung his arm across your stomach as soon as you settled on the mattress and pulled you against his hip. You tensed underneath his touch, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

You couldn’t relax no matter how hard you tried, and sleep taunted you for hours, hovering just out of your reach. 

Sam’s alarm woke you from restless dreaming some hours later, when the sun had barely brushed the horizon. 

You groaned and rolled over onto your stomach, burying your face in your pillow. Your head was pounding and you didn’t even want to think about facing Tom. The simple motion of rolling over had made you nauseous and you knew that standing up was going to be a whole nother ordeal. 

“Come on, love,” Sam said, nudging you with his knee. He was already sitting up, rolling the tension out of his neck from a night on the stiff mattress. “We gotta be downstairs in a few minutes.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you felt pathetic. You didn’t have the strength to be around Tom today, especially with Sam right there.

“Don’t feel good,” you moaned.

“We’re all hungover,” Sam sighed. “We’re not even doing that much walking today.”

You turned your head enough for him to see the tears running down your cheeks and he pursed his lips, expression turning worried. 

“Oh.”

“Can you make something up?” you pleaded. 

He nodded. “I’ll tell them you have a fever or something.”

You swallowed your shame and squeezed your eyes shut, whispering thanks into his shirt. Sam kissed your forehead and then got up. You vaguely heard him moving around the room getting ready, but drifted in and out of sleep as he did. 

Once he was dressed he softly told you goodbye, that he hoped you felt better, and that he’d bring you back some food later on. 

The door clicked shut and you let your guilt continue eating you alive. 

You wondered how Tom would react when Sam told his family you weren’t feeling well, if his face would give anything away. He was an actor, he should be able to handle it. But you also wondered what he was feeling, if he felt as guilty as you did- or even more so. Or maybe he wouldn’t even care. You never knew when it came to him.

You rolled onto your back and propped yourself up on a pillow, using the free time to respond to some messages from friends and family. It was the middle of the night back in the States, but at least they’d wake up knowing you weren’t dead. To be fair, everyone knew your communication skills weren’t the best so they probably weren’t expecting anything from you anyway, but you still wanted to put in the effort. 

The rest of the day passed by quicker than you would’ve liked. You spent it in bed, tossing and turning as you desperately tried to fall back asleep. You kept pushing the blankets off of you, then burying yourself beneath them again, flipping between hot and cold. Maybe you really did have a fever. Your clothes were suffocating you so you ended up stripping and dropping them on the floor by the bed. 

By the mercy of some higher power you were able to nap for a couple of hours scattered throughout the afternoon, but by dinner time you were wide awake again and passed the time by watching Avatar: The Last Airbender in Italian on the hotel tv. 

It was playing an earlier episode, the one where the gaang visited Kyoshi Island. You couldn’t understand any of the dialogue, obviously, but you still found comfort in the familiar scenes. 

There was a knock on the door suddenly, startling you out of your focus. You jerked your head towards the sound and scrambled from the bed. You slipped back into your t-shirt, but didn’t bother putting on pants before opening the door because you figured it was just Sam. And it was. He looked exhausted, but in the best kind of way and was holding a styrofoam container of food that was presumably for you.

“Forgot the key,” he said sheepishly, offering you the food. You smiled and took it from him, stepping aside to let him in. 

He didn’t take your cue, instead he stayed where he was standing in the doorway awkwardly. It was then that you realized he wasn’t alone, that his older brother had been standing behind him the entire time.

Sam offered no explanation, only shrugged like he didn’t know why he was there either.

“Tom?” you asked, awaiting an explanation for yourself.

“Can we talk?” 

ik tags haven’t been working idk why i’m sorry!!! but lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

forever tags: @mischiefmanaged49 @bookingbee @cloverrover @captainbuckyy @perhaps-he-schnapped-blog @awkwardfangirl2014 @the-queen-procrastinator @tastingthestarz @sleepybesson @everythingbooknerd @sunshine96love @bitchymathematician @livingincompletesilence @melsbooktrash @swim-deep-or-die @fizzy828 @spider-slutt @theamuz @nedthegay @astroasethic @stuckonspidey @darlingtholland @sgtbookybarnes @tinyplanet-explorers @mildcockandballtorture @uglypastels @gennyld @devin-marie @r-wooooosh @hell-yeah-peter-parker @itssnowingandimstuckinside @relise-thefury @osteporosis @legendsofwholock @peterunderoos @fuckyeahhomerun @nobelwarriorheroes @delicately-important-trash @thwip-it-real-good @claryfray101 @softholand @tomhollandseverything @cool-ultra-nerd @jillanaholland @dinasaur36 @farfromhaz @hanlons-wp @moon-390 @parkerstylesperalta @httpchrisevans @screeching-student-unknown @almondholland @noisyzineeggsbandit @5sos-microwave @quackson-love @smilealways19 @quackeroos @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @wolvesofwinter @mukesnugget @mytonycinematicuniverse @itsjusttor @percysmcu @peterquillzsblog @lovewolfspirit @biebsmylife95 @a-disappointing-teen-author @justanotherusername80 @b-buckys @sunkisseddreamerr @hufflepuffprincess24 @princessxcryxbaby @tinyyoungblood @holyfrickfracks @amii-nyc @clara-licht @veryholland @captainamirica @ultrunning @cocoamoonmalfoy @nellbellzz-blog @bookfrog242 @honeymoonlover @nellabellaa @its-the-solar-system @spiitfiires @tomhollandfangirl1 @parkeromanoff @randomstufflol29 @pogueslandia @hollandswife @bunnyweasley23 @determined-overthinker @madz-holland @hi-yekaterina @rinaaa334

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#instead of you #iou #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland series #tom holland x female reader #tom holland x bi!reader

[sweeterthansammy]

Better Than Sex? || Trevor Belmont

Trevor Belmont x Female Pirate!Reader; Reader plays the role of Trevor’s wife.

Summary: When Trevor claims that ale is better than sex, Y/N gives him the worst case of blue balls.

Genre: Smut

Written in third person point of view.

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, fingering, fisting (?), vaginal penetration, rough sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, orgasm denial, hair pulling, biting, choking, mild language, sexual innuendos (throughout the imagine), mentions of drinking, mentions of smoking, mentions of pregnancy, & Trevor being the horny little shit he is lmao

A/N: So, I posted this on my first piece on AO3 and let me just tell you...I FUCKING HATE IT. Anywho, enjoy this while I go to sleep :)

Word count: 3.5k

She twisted her neck as she sat down, groaning audibly at the stiffness in her neck.

“Rough day, m’lady?” the clerk asked, filling a tankard with the cold ale before slipping it in front of her.

“You bet your arse it was a tough day,” she replied, taking a swig of the ale as she gripped onto the stein. “I’ve got my husband groaning about the number of night creatures he’s killed in one night, my crew complaining about me leaving. I just needed a nice cold-”

“Stein of ale.”

The voice was familiar enough.

“How the fuck did you find me?” she asked, annoyance bountiful in her tone.

She loved Trevor to bits but having him up her behind all day was becoming a whole task.

“It isn’t very hard when you’re practically married to yourself,” he snarkily chuckled, tilting his head back as the yellow liquid streamed down his throat. “Oh my god, that is better than sex.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest before kicking his stool. Never underestimate the leg of a pirate - that was rule number one in Trevor’s book to marrying a pirate. His malt came spewing out of the mug, landing all over the lower half of his face and the collar of his shirt as he landed flat on his bottom.

“Glad it’s better than sex, Trevor,” she hummed, taking one last sip of her ale before slinging her coat over her shoulders, swiftly making her way out of the pub.

“That’s why I never got married,” the clerk retorted, drying a stein before placing it rim-down on the counter.

-

“Better than sex, he says,” she grumbled as she lathered lotion onto the spans of her legs after stepping out of the shower. “Can’t fucking believe he’d embarrass me like that!”

She trudged out of the bathroom, slamming their bedroom door shut behind her before dropping her towel, stepping into a silky nightgown before getting under the covers. She cried aloud as she heard his groans downstairs, just now coming home from the bar. She placed the covers over her head, trying to drown out the sound of him stumbling up the steps but it was near to impossible. He barged into the room, reeking of nothing but ale and other assortments of alcohol.

“Trevor, go take a shower-”

She was cut off by his hands taking a hold of the underside of her knees, pulling her to the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice stern as he caressed her thighs.

“Can we?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side as she rolled her eyes.

“You don’t want me to kick you in the balls, do you?”

“No.”

“Then I highly suggest that you let go of my legs before I do.”

He dropped her legs with a whine, falling forward so his forehead rested against her chest. She carded her fingers through his hair, a residue of his sweat on her fingers as he pulled away from her, leaning on his hands as he towered over her.

“Go shower and maybe I’ll let you bury ya little cock inside of me,” she chuckled, softly kissing his lips before pushing him away.

He stood, rubbing his eyes like a child as he left the room.

“It’s not little!”

“Hurry up! I’m not wearing any underwear,” she teased, a fit of laughter consuming her as she heard the shower turn on in an instant.

By the time he’d drunkenly lathered soap all over his body, he was near to asleep. Y/N had been fast asleep, the shower running for twenty minutes straight. He blundered into the room, briefly waking Y/N before she scolded him “to turn the light off and go to sleep.”

“But you said-”

“Trevor, just get in bed,” she said, her voice fading into a whisper before soft snores left her mouth.

He dove under the covers, a heavy arm throwing itself over Y/N’s waist as his hand reached up to rest itself atop one of her breasts.

“Horny even in your sleep,” she muttered, turning onto her other side to face him before throwing a leg over his waist, her arm splaying itself across his back.

-

A week or two had passed and Y/N was quite proud of herself. She hadn’t fallen for Trevor’s weak attempts to get in her underwear. She wasn’t letting her hard demeanor fall no matter what he proposed. 

Though she wasn’t giving in to him, she was doing a whole lot of teasing - biting and sucking his sweet spots in the midst of a makeout, wrapping her legs around his waist and running her nails over his clothed black, and most of all, stripping down to just her underwear before heading to the bathroom to shower. 

Tonight they were taking a trip to Alucard’s castle, visiting him after many long-awaited months. Y/N was far more excited to rejoice with their friends than anything, hurrying to get on the carriage while Trevor struggled with her bags.

“Oh, right,” she muttered, hopping off of the carriage before taking her bags from Trevor, throwing them in the back.

“Thank you,” he snarled, a sigh following.

The ride was everything Y/N could have imagined. Though it became cold at night, Y/N greatly adored the trees adorned by emerald leaves and birds chirping throughout the forest. Night creatures were the least of her worries, she and Trevor taking them down in less than ten minutes. 

On the contrary, the ride was dreadful for Trevor. He and Y/N spent many hours with their lips locked, her ending up on his lap somehow, but it was her motive to stick to her plan, hopping off of him as he went to undo the buttons of her shirt. At this point, he was tired of it but he hadn’t exactly done anything to prove so.

“Please?! I won’t be long, I promise,” he’d beg.

“It’s quite a bumpy ride, it’s going to become uncomfortable very quick.”

“Then we can pull over!”

“Night creatures. And villagers. It’d be embarrassing if we were to get caught by anyone or anything. Besides, I’d lose my drive after having to sever off the head of a human-sized wolf.”

Trevor indignantly accepted his fate, remaining silent for the majority of the rest of the trip.

-

“Alucard!”

She was quick to jump off of the carriage, stretching a bit before running to greet her pale best friend.

“Hello to you too, Y/N,” he chuckled, his hands lingering on the small of her back as he peered at her. “Y’know, I’d expect you to be knocked up after not seeing you for so long.”

She chuckled, glancing around to find him popping a cigar between his lips.

“I’ve given him possibly the bluest balls ever since we’ve been together.”

“You are a terrible woman,” he grinned, slipping past her as he went to greet Trevor.

Settling down in the castle that night was far beyond elating, Sypha arriving quite late but still making it in time for dinner.

“You know,” Y/N started, taking a sip of wine after swallowing the bit of roasted potato in her mouth. “I was seriously stunned by how attractive you were when you first floated out of your coffin and I was tempted to drop to my knees right there and then only to be turned down after telling me that you didn’t go that way.”

As Sypha and Alucard laughed away, Trevor glared at her, his jaw clenching at the unnecessary insight of information.

“And I was greatly upset when Trevor made his move on you. I was waiting to pounce on him but then I realized how hot you two looked together,” Sypha giggled, bringing her attention to Trevor’s reddened face. “Of course, I don’t feel that way about you know. I’m more so jealous of the fact that you’re married to her. I’m not sure if it’s the insane amount of sex you guys have been having but she looks gorgeous. She’s always been beautiful but the pregnancy glow that is to come,” she paused, kissing her fingertips. “Chef’s kiss.”

“Why does everyone think that I’m pregnant or I’m going to be pregnant?” she asked, a fit of laughter following as she took a sip of wine from the glass in front of her. “I wouldn’t be drinking this much if I were.”

“Well, you’re postponing it,” Trevor mumbled, earning a guffaw from the other pair as he’d muttered loud enough not only for Y/N to hear but for anyone within five feet to hear.

“Piece of shit,” she muttered, quiet enough for no one to hear.

Drinks flowed like water, the group intoxicating themselves as each hour passed.

“Come dance with me,” Alucard encouraged, standing in the center of the living area as he put his record player on.

“Had you figured out how to not step on someone’s feet while dancing or do I have to smack you upside the head like I did the first time?” Y/N asked, fixing the button of her blouse ere to taking Alucard’s hand.

“You’ll just have to find out,” he winked, pulling her body flush against his while his other hand slithered around to meet her waist.

Y/N watched as Sypha dragged Trevor to dance with her, her eyes getting caught with the cerulean ones she was infatuated with. She grinned at him, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth as she shot him a wink. Alucard spun her around, their feet moving in a series of patterns with one hand onto his shoulder and the other in his palm.

“And switch,” he called to Sypha, the two boys switching their partners.

“And we meet again, Belmont,” she sultrily spoke, one arm draping over his shoulder while the hand of the other took ahold of his stubbled-chin.

Her chest was pressed against his, her breasts nearing his collarbones as his arm that remained tight around her waist found a way to hoist her body.

“You’re such a little fuckin’ tease, you know that?” he grumbled, his teeth nipping at the skin of her neck.

“What? Am I gonna get punished for it?” she mocked a pout, her cleavage on full display as the buttons of her shirt slowly came undone.

He responded with a growl, his fingertips digging into the plump flesh of her ass. Their legs were an entangled mess; her knee pressed right up to his crotch and his thigh firm against her clothed sex.

“Might as well just fuck me in front of them,” she muttered as he spun her around, her back against his front with one of his hands fixed on her breast.

“Trust me, I’ve considered it.”

Adrian and Sypha looked up for a moment, feeling the thick, tense rope between the couple. They simply looked at each other, stifling their laughter as he spun her around yet again, this time switching her off to Adrian while Sypha was reeled back into his arms.

“That was quite intense,” Alucard retorted.

-

He slammed her back against the door, knocking the wind out of her lungs as his lips attacked hers. Their lower regions ground against one another, his hands holding onto her knees while his upper half held her up. 

He pulled away for a moment, groaning at the sight of her swollen lips, a combination of their saliva coating the flesh. He bit the skin of her neck, rolling it between his front teeth before letting go, sucking on the skin to alleviate the tingling sensation.

“Strip for me - don’t take off your underwear,” he ordered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, panting.

She did as told without a fuss, shimmying out of her skirt and her blouse. He took one look at the white garter around her thigh, letting a scoff-like chuckle fall from his lips. Quite amusing she was. He watched as she stood there, nothing but white lace adorning her body.

“I told you to strip,” he said blatantly.

“But I want you to take it off,” she whined, folding her arms over her chest as she frowned like a toddler.

If he weren’t so desperate to have her around his cock, he would have no problem spanking her until she began to cry. However, he didn’t give up his rough demeanor. He held onto her waist, her chest right up to his.

“Fine, since you want to be such a little fucking brat.”

His arms reached around, fingers effortlessly undoing the hook of her bra before coming back to her front. One leg of his came up, his heel planting itself into the mattress of the bed before he spun her around, one of her arms throwing itself over his leg while the other held onto the one that trailed down her stomach, making its way into her underwear.

“Why can’t you just be a good fucking girl?” he quietly grumbled, his lips hiding into the nape of her neck as his fingers played with her clit. “You’re really fucking wet for someone who has so much mouth.”

His pinky and his thumb resting on the insides of her thighs, serving as a mini obstacle to halt her thighs from caving around his hand while his middle and index fingers fucked her furiously. She moaned aloud, her head rolling onto his shoulder. 

He continued at a vigorous pace, profanities tumbling from her lips as he curled his fingers inside of her, reaching for her sweet spot. Her legs quivered as he continued doing this, the tips of her fingers digging into his clothed shoulders.

“Trevor, please,” she murmured, her voice light and airy as ecstasy took over her.

“Please what, darling?” he asked, his voice gruff as his mouth neared her ear.

“Please let me cum.”

The chuckle that came from his lips elicited a groan from her throat.

“We barely even started and you need to cum already?” he tsked, pulling his hand out of her underwear and swiping his fingers over her bottom lips, requesting access as her saliva coated his digits.

“Mm, I should torment you for needing to cum in less than five minutes when I’m sucking your cock, shouldn’t I?”

She’d earned it. But he hadn’t decided whether or not he wanted to edge her until she broke or overstimulate her until her cunt was quite literally palpitating. He pulled his fingers out of her mouth, a dark chuckle leaving his mouth as he pushed her onto the bed. 

As she attempted to get onto all of her fours, he held onto her neck from behind, pushing her upper body down so her ass was in the air. He pulled her underwear down, earning a string of moans as he blew air onto her soaked pussy.

“You love tempting me, don’t you?” he queried, his fingers entering her one by one with each pump he gave, his thumb stimulating her clit.

His knuckles were deep inside of her, her moans lewd as they curled and twisted.

“Fuck,” she whispered, the side of her face planted deep into the sheets.

“Go ahead, be the loud fucking slut you are. I want them to hear.”

She didn’t give in to his commands, groaning into the sheets. A yelp came from her mouth as his free hand wrapped her hair around his fingers, grasping at her scalp afterward. He leaned over her yet again, not having anything to say at this point. His hand removed itself from her cunt, placing a taught slap on her swollen folds. 

He undressed in a matter of minutes, cursing at the layers of clothing that adorned his brawny build. He looked at her body, her body shaking from not receiving its release. He laughed to himself, rubbing the head of cock along her folds, her body shuddering under his touch.

“Shit- just fuck me already!”

That had come out a bit more pushy (and a bit louder) than she’d hoped it would come out. She was pretty sure that even Alucard, who was all the way at the end of the hall could’ve heard that.

“Such a little whore,” he spoke, swiftly burying his cock between her velvety walls.

Her back arched as he pushed himself further and further into her womanhood. Had it really been that long? She felt so full - for a moment, she forgot what it felt like to be filled up with Trevor’s cock. She felt every inch, their skin slapping with every inch. She instinctively clenched around him, enticing a loud, dragged out groan from Trevor. 

She knew she didn’t have much longer as she had two previous orgasms pent up inside of her, her hands clenching onto the sheets while one of his were on her neck and the other digging its nails into the skin of her hips. Her legs shook, confusion consuming her as he didn’t stop. She came around him, an utterly intense moan rippling from the back of her throat.

“Fuck,” she cried out, her back arching even further as both of his hands held onto her hips, pounding into her.

“Turn around, I wanna see your tits,” he grunted, breathless as his hips snapped into hers.

She did as told, struggling as he still screwed her.

He hoisted her legs, the pit of his elbows supporting the back of her knees.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she got out through moans, one hand throwing her leg over his waist so it could occupy the free space of her neck.

“Making up for lost time, angel face,” he obtained a “matter-of-factly” tone, adding a wink while bringing her to her second orgasm.

And it continued like this all night. His abdomen flexed as each orgasm washed over both him and her, the moonlight shining on their gorgeous bodies. 

“Gonna make you cum for each fucking day you decided to torture me.”

His hands had practically been engraved into her neck, red marks forming from how much time his nails spent digging into the sides of her necks. Her chest was littered in bites and hickies, a particularly dark bite embedded into the skin below her collarbone. 

His semen painted her walls, filling her stomach as the curvature of his cock protruded her womb. He pulled out of her after earning a whopping twelve orgasms before her walls clenched around him unbearably tight, squirting around his length as her hands scrambled for any bit of his skin. 

This orgasm waved through her like no other, her back entirely leaving the mattress as her nails pierced into Trevor’s skin. He pulled out of her, her jaw fallen slack as pants fell from her mouth. He admired the way his seed threatened to spill from her cunt, yet she clenched around nothing, sort of any attempt to cave it inside of her. 

He hurried to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He tenderly maneuvered the wet fabric around her folds, muttering encouraging words as she fought sleep.

“You can sleep down, angel. You did so well for me.”

“I can’t believe how outstandingly you performed.”

As much as she desired it, she didn’t go to sleep, waiting for Trevor to return. She let out a content sigh as she rolled over, one leg throwing itself over both of his as she held his body close to hers in her arms.

“You are one very determined man, aren’t you, Belmont?”

Her voice was hoarse, surely moaning and praising him for how well he was fucking her caused more than half of it. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, eventually shutting once Trevor kissed her temple.

“Only determined when it comes to you,” he muttered, his arms caving around her waist as he too fell into a deep sleep.

-

“Oh, fuck me harder,” she heard Sypha as she approached the kitchen, rubbing her eyes as she looked to see the three people she loved most.

“Don’t stop, Trevor! You’re fucking me so well!”

She couldn’t fight the pink tint that splayed itself upon her cheeks, the warmth radiating through the rest of her body.

“Oh, you guys are just jealous that you aren’t getting any of this Belmont dick,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the scorching frying pan in front of him.

“Eh, you might be right about that one,” Alucard muttered, earning a snort from Y/N.

“Look who’s finally awake,” Sypha chuckled, looking at the deep red, soon to be purple marks decorating her best friend’s neck. “You two really went at it last night, didn’t you?”

“Pfft, it’s like he’s having sex with an animal or something,” Alucard retorted, his eyes trained on the bright red scratches on Trevor’s chest, back, and arms.

“Oh, shut it,” Y/N snapped, trying to hide the embarrassment by burying her face into the pit of her laid out arms. “When’s the last time you got laid?”

“Touché,” he muttered, an exaggerated sigh coming from his mouth as he took a sip of his overly brewed coffee.

“Besides, weren’t you two begging us to give you godchildren?” Trevor grinned, earning a groan from the rest of them. “I thought you’d be happy!”

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #castlevania series #castlevania smut #trevor belmont #trevor belmont imagine #trevor belmont imagines #trevor belmont smut #trevor belmont x reader #trevor belmont x you #trevor belmont x y/n #platonic!alucard x reader #platonic!adrian tepes x reader #platonic!sypha belnades x reader

[bloomyagi]

beautiful, beloved, mine (m)

summary: you set him ablaze. he can only hope you like watching him burn for you. alternatively: this love for you is consuming him, and it all comes out in a badly vomited confession after he corners you at a gala.

pairings: shouto todoroki x f!reader

genre: pro heroes au, characters are aged up 20+

warnings: smut, dry humping, shouto comes in his pants, sub!shouto, he’s a good boi for you, he loves you very much n wants to be your baby

length: 2,447

notes: can u tell how much i love him pls -

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.

.

“Can I be yours?”

Shouto Todoroki, ranked third pro-hero in Japan, has his strong arms braced around your head. In all your years of friendship, he has never been anything but exceedingly polite. He is well-behaved, thoughtful and sharp. He is guarded, though not intentionally, not anymore—it is reflex, a shield he has never really learned to lower. A reminder of his childhood.

You think he’s drunk. He must be, beautiful dual-coloured locks dishevelled, black button-up half-open and exposing his gorgeous collarbone. You watch, unwittingly, as a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, biceps flexing.

The dimmed lighting unfairly accosts you with his devastatingly handsome features and muscular body. And his eyes. His heterochromatic eyes are alight with something fierce and intense. They are also clear, glowing, almost, in the dark.

The two of you are somehow on the balcony, shut away from the rest of the world, the bass and the sounds of life fading in your little bubble until all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, the warmth of his breath, the heat of skin and the fluttering of your heart in your throat. The cement wall digs into your back.

No, you correct yourself. He isn’t drunk. He’s barely tipsy. He doesn’t like to drink, rarely acquiesces to Kirishima’s insistence of shots.

He doesn’t smell like alcohol. His scent has always been calming, detectable under the thin layer expensive cologne he uses—he doesn’t like perfumed smells either, only uses it on nights like these, when he’s obliged to look the part—that fresh, cool scent. Of clean sheets, laundry detergent.

Still, this is out of character. Todoroki has never once crossed a line with you, with anyone. He’s quiet, reserved, though he smiles more now, the forming dimples in the corner of his eyes a living testament to his character growth. He treats others fairly. He is not unkind, honest and straight-forward. He is many things, and with the way he’s gazing down at you now, you are suddenly reminded of Midoriya’s hushed remarks earlier.

“You can’t see it, but Todoroki-kun treats you differently. He thinks about you, what you’d like and what you like. He cares about you so he’s careful around you. He wants to cherish you. He’s cold because he uncertain. He doesn’t know what to do. This is all new to him.”

“What is?”

The number one pro-hero had looked at you strangely. “Being in love.”

Midoriya is indisputably Todoroki’s best friend. Still, his actions are baffling. Why you? Why now? No, you couldn’t see it at all.

“Todoroki, are you drunk?”

“No. Though I required a little … liquid courage, as they say,” he rasps. He’s so close. His voice, so deep and husky, has you biting your lower lip. His gaze falls immediately.

He doesn’t touch you. The way his arms flex, hands clenching and unclenching, and his stiff posture tells you he wants to. He’s visibly restraining himself. Waiting, watching. Hoping.

“You never … why me?” You say softly.

“I could not. I wanted to, so badly. I have always wanted you. I always thought it was impossible for someone like me—to find someone I would want to share my life with, given my upbringing and dysfunctional family. But then things changed, got better, and then I met you.” He takes a shaky breath.

“I found wordless comfort in your mere presence. I found I could be emboldened, empowered, changed by your words. Every day I wondered how I could be worthy of you—if I could ever be worthy of you. Then I realized it was you … it would not matter to you, so long as I was honest with who I was. That is just the kind of person you are …” He shuts his eyes. His lashes are so long, you note absently.

“I am touched by your existence … I find joy in your spirit, yearning for your embrace, for the heat of your skin pressed against mine, I crave it … these foreign desires, they elicit something dark within myself,” he continues, breathing a little ragged now.

“This need, this desperation, like fire spreading in my veins, uncontrollable and hungry … I feel restless, itching for something, someone … Now I finally understand. I feel like I want to—to devour you. It is no longer enough, seeing you as I do, being as we are, mere friends … I want more, need more. With this desire to monopolize, I fear I have become … insatiable,” he trails off, turning his face to the side in shame.

Oh. Shouto Todoroki is in love with you, you realize with a jolt. He longs for you. For your companionship, your wit, your soul and your body. Your heart.

You reach up with a trembling hand to touch his jaw, guiding him until he looked at you once more. He doesn’t resist, pliant and eager as he leans into your hold.

“Only if I can be yours in return,” you say.

He lurches forward, knees nearly giving out as he slumps in your arms. “Oh, thank god, I … I was anxious I would have ruined everything. I knew it was unlikely they would be reciprocated, but I—I had to try,” he gasps. “This desire, it was consuming me.”

“Todoroki …” You thumb his cheekbone. He sighs faintly, body curving over yours as he presses close. “Call me Shouto, please …”

“Shouto.” He makes a strangled noise.

“Again. Please. You must understand, I have longed for this for so long …” He pleads shyly.

“Shouto,” you whisper, stroking his cheek. He’s so unexpectedly adorable. So, so adorable.

“My apologies, darling. I know I’m taking liberties, but I’m weak … I’m not strong enough to resist such temptation. Not while you are here, in front of me like nights when I dared to dream… So beautiful.” He nuzzles your palm.

You flush at his term of endearment, at the rawness of his tone. He has laid himself bare, singing his truth like a Shakespeare sonnet.

“You woo me like you’re waxing poetry … does this often work with others?” You murmur. You think you’re in real danger of melting.

His eyes fly open in alarm. “No. Never. It has only ever been you. I speak only from the heart, I have never—never done this before, am I explaining myself poorly? I am often told my words could use some more tact …”

Your heart swells.

“I’m just teasing, Shouto,” you say softly, combing a hand through his locks apologetically. “Your words are beautiful, I’m touched, truly.”

He relaxes, curling closer in your embrace.

“You don’t know … how I dream of building a home with you, of sharing all my firsts with you, cooking and setting the table with you … breakfast after long nights, filling the space between us with laughter and joy. Sleeping next to you,” he slurs. And then he goes on plainly, “How I fist myself every night thinking of the swell of your hips, the curl of your lips, your sweet, enthralling scent …”

You inhale sharply. Part of you is entirely taken back by the dual-haired hero’s use of uncharacteristically vulgar descriptions. His words drip over you like a honeyed aphrodisiac. Sweet and addictive.

“May I?” He draws closer, hands releasing you to brace against the concrete behind. Your body shivers involuntarily, missing the heat of his palms immediately.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Shouto dips his head, beautiful heterochromatic eyes watching you carefully for any sign of hesitation or indication you wanted to stop. Ever the gentleman.

This is who he is, you realize. Respectful of your boundaries, honest and, with you, gentle. He eyes flutter close when his lips touch yours. They’re warm, sweet with a hint of the alcohol he consumed earlier. Your fingers bury themselves in his locks, the kiss unhurried, savouring each moment.

Then you open your mouth, tongue touching his. And Shouto falters. He groans throatily, your nose tickling at the scent of ash. Ah. He’s losing control. He jerks away quickly, right hand enclosing over his left.

“Don’t tempt me,” he rasps, blush rising.

You snag the rumpled collar of his shirt, pulling him close. “Kiss me again.”

And when you guide his hands over your hips, he grips them tightly and crushes his mouth against yours, kissing you hard. Spit runs down your chins, messy and sensual.

Something hard presses against your inner thigh. You push his legs apart and shove your leg in between. He chokes, eyes rolling back.

“Ngh—!” He gasps. “More—hngg—please!”

You pull back to survey him. He chases after you, lips slick and swollen.

“Shouto. You like this?”

He pauses, sucking in a breath sharply, eyes flickering. And then—

“Yes,” he whispers, a whisp of flame flaring on his left.

Your core clenches over nothing at his needy, humiliated tone.

“I like this too,” you confess, trailing a hand over the ridges of his abdomen, fascinated by the way the muscles clench.

Shouto mewls, chest thrusting forward when you pinch his nipples experimentally through the cotton. “Ah—ughh—yes!”

“Can you come like this?” You wonder absently as you twist his perked nubs harshly. He moans brokenly, hips jerking.

“I—I d-don’t­—kno—hah,” he pants, eyes half-lidded as he struggles to focus. Pleasure clouds his senses, head fuzzy and vision hazy.

“Can you get off here, like this?” You ask softly. “I want to see you come undone.”

Shouto blinks blearily at you, nodding eagerly. “Hng—yes, wanna be good for you,” he slurs. Oh. My. If you weren’t dripping before, you certainly are now.

He stumbles a little as you push him against the wall, switching positions. He’s barely standing at this point, leaning heavily against the cement as he gazes up at you with glazed eyes. He looks utterly fucked out and utterly delectable.

You undo the remainder of his buttons, holding him back firmly when he whines, pawing at the fabric, wanting to rip it off.

“We still have to walk out of here,” you remind him, giggling. His only blinks at you blankly as if to say and? Too gone to think of the consequences.

“This view is reserved for my eyes only,” you murmur, nails scraping against his nipples. He gasps, back arcing. “Yes, yes!” He agrees mindlessly.

He grinds against your thigh desperately, the weight of his cock heavy and hot. He throbs at every touch.

“Kiss—kiss, please,” he whines, reaching for you. You oblige, internally fawning over his cuteness.

His hips move faster, chasing release as he moans and keens into your mouth.

He parts from you with a gasp and wet shlick. “Feels so good—sho good—hngg,” he babbles. His asymmetric temperatures intensify, the heat of his left searing you and the chill of the right piercing you.

“Oh—I’m—I’m c-cu—” he cries out, gripping you tightly as he fucks himself against your thigh urgently. You push your leg against him harder, nails digging into his stomach.

“Come for me Sho,” you murmur, biting his lower lip. His mouth parts in a silent wail, head tossing as his eyes roll. His body shudders, something warm seeping into the fabric of your jeans.

With a strangled groan, he sags against you, exhausted and spent. You stroke his hair soothingly, brushing back the sweaty locks and peppering chaste kisses over his face as he comes down slowly.

Faintly, you register someone calling your name.

“Oh, Midoriya. Over here.”

Shouto is too out of it, still coming down from his high, his soft moans tickling your ear

“Oh, there you are! Have you seen Todoroki-kun? I—oh!” He squeaks loudly, spinning on his heel immediately and covering his reddening face.

What a sight the two of you must be. A perfectly debauched Shouto, shirt falling over his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to his glistening skin, raised lines over his bare chest that appear angrier in the darkened lighting, slumped over you, body trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

The One for All user pales when he spots the noticeable burn the size of a palm on the wall behind your head.

“Uh—neverminditwasn’timportanthahahaohsomeone’scallingmegottagobye!” Midoriya practically screams in your face before bolting from the scene in the next beat.

Shouto manages a tired chuckle as you blink in the wake of his dust.

“You’re surprisingly shameless,” you remark when you turn back to him.

His wry smile slips, letting out a weak mewl when you squeeze his cock over his slacks teasingly. He’s already chubbing up, hips rolling slowly against your touch.

“I told you, didn’t I? I’m insatiable when it comes to you, darling,” he murmurs, cheeks dusting.

“Then let’s continue,” you say, helping him stand. He valiantly tries to salvage whatever is left of his shirt, but it’s hopeless. He gives up, letting it drift apart, sculpted abdomen and chest in full view.

“Hmm. I quite like this view,” your palm rests on his stomach, smiling when he jolts at your warmth.

“My place or yours?” He breathes, pulling you flush to him.

“Yours, I think. I’ve been meaning to try out your new jacuzzi,” you rest your cheek against his chest, tracing nonsensical patterns on his pec. Goosebumps rise on his skin, and you can hear the rapid fluttering of his pulse. He’s—nervous?

“I built it for you,” he confesses, burying his face into your hair. “After you mentioned how much you wanted to try one, I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. I only know that I went out the next day to hire a contractor and expand my bathroom. I suppose part of me nurtured a hope I’d one day pluck enough courage to ask you to come over and give it a try …”

You pull away, looking up at him in disbelief. He laughs dryly at your expression.

“Yes. I know. It sounds as irrational as it felt. I still haven’t used it yet.”

“Then …,” you hesitate. And then you say shyly, “Then if you’d like … we could try it today? Together?”

“I … yes, I’d love that,” Shouto swallows thickly.

You take his hand as the two of you start to make your way back. He squeezes your hand once.

“Let’s go home,” you say softly. The corner of his heterochromatic eyes crinkle, lips curling into a gentle beam. He looks radiant, beauty amplified by his dishevelled and unkept state. He leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Yes,” he says. “Let’s.”

#shoto x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #bnha imagines #mha imagines

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Quite at Home in Hell

For @whumptober2021 day six & day 21:  blood-matted hair & hunger

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, noncon touch, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, biting, captivity, dehumanizing language

Vampire Chris AU Masterlist | Follows directly from this piece

Thanks to @boxboysandotherwhump for helping me with the German & @alittlewhump for helping with the French!

-

1918, the Western Front of WWI

The prisoners are held in a small, hastily constructed sort of barracks far too close to the front lines.

Gefrieter Erich Eeten knows why, of course. The hope is that his own people will hesitate before they blast this bit of dirt apart, that they will be concerned enough about killing their fellow soldiers that they’ll give up a few key moments of pause to the French, the Americans, and the British. Give them the advantage in a firefight.

They want to shield themselves with the bodies of the men in this tent, unwashed and dirty, who are exhausted from a day spent digging trenches for their enemies to hide in. 

He can’t exactly blame the Allied powers for it. 

It’s a brilliant bit of strategy, if less and less effective as men on both sides become so battle-hardened that they cease to care about their own lives, let alone each other. Still. He’d almost rather be at one of the true POW camps further away from the front lines, where the Red Cross at least comes to check on their treatment.

Here, so close to the front, there is no one keeping watch on what happens to them at all… and the longer the war draws on, the more viciously they kill each other, the more the prisoners kept here too far for oversight feel like they are teetering at the edge of some terrible invisible cliff. 

There’s a stiff breeze outside the tent, whipping the heavy, waterproofed canvas edges. They’re flapping a little, making a sound that Erich will one day hear in his nightmares. The cold sneaks in through the slight space between tent and ground, and the men in here are huddled together for warmth, sharing the meager blankets they are given. 

At least, though, their captors are officially the French. 

Say what you will about the blasted frogs, they never deny their prisoners a nip of strong cognac to help hold off the cold. The Americans, on the other hand, seem to be laboring under an enforced lack of good liquor, not just for prisoners but for their own soldiers, too. That seems a worse crime than nearly any other, in circumstances like this. To force a man to be a cruel killer without even a nip or three to soothe his conscience… to Erich, it sounds like brutality.

There’s a bit of a scuffle outside the tent, and the prisoners look up. Erich is at the back, leaning back against the rough frame of a cot he sleeps on at night, cards in his hands wrapped in strips of bandage cloth just for warmth. What happened to his gloves, he’s no idea. Probably one of the Allies took them for a souvenir.

The canvas wraps work well enough.

“Au garde-à-vous, prisonniers! Sur vos pieds!” Erich knows the voice - it’s the main guard of the tent they sleep in, a man named Alain who looks entirely too old for war. Here he is, anyway, all moustache and silvering hair, pulling open the entrance of the tent, moving the flap aside. 

Erich glances left and then right, meeting the eyes of his fellow prisoners, and the half-dozen of them that share this single small tent push heavily to their feet, shifting apart as much as the tent will allow, hands behind their back. 

His stomach dips, a low drumbeat of dread alongside his heart. Something tells him this isn’t a social call he wants to be part of. 

He’s even more certain when a tall, thin American steps into the entrance, nearly silhouetted by the dim, barely-there light behind them. Their hair is long, in a loose plait with parts undone, and their eyes gleam, briefly seeming to glow in the dark. Erich is reminded of his mother’s cat, who would stalk mice at night and whose eyes did just the same when light hit them.

He feels very… mouselike.

They wear a medic’s uniform, but it’s a little tattered. There are unrepaired bullet holes through the heavy woolen tunic, and they move with grace and disdain for how heavy wet wool must be, how itchy and uncomfortable. As if it simply doesn’t matter to them.

Because, of course, it doesn’t. The damn thing is a walking corpse, baring fangs in a grisly smile.

“Hello, soldiers,” They say, in a voice that isn’t quite a purr. “You all look a fright.”

“Verdammte Blutsauger,” Lukas Müller mutters to his right. 

Erich hates the bloodsuckers. Everyone does. They come with the Americans, monsters brought from the shadows as a kind of secret weapon. Erich has never seen vampires out in the open before - back home, they are creatures of hiding. They live in cellars and basements and houses with the windows painted in thick matte black. They sweep along the streets at night, a risk for anyone who stays out too late.

But they’re not part of anything. 

Here, they’re death itself, demons quite at home in hell.

 Oh, sure, the Americans claim they use them only for bringing the injured back to safety - and some of them, he’s sure, are kept to that purpose. Some kind of ability to deny the truth of them, if there are enough seen doing only what the official story claims.

Erich, though, has seen one dispatching wounded German soldiers one by one left behind in a field, killing them before they can be recovered by their own people. He’s seen one with fangs buried in the throat of a man who would otherwise have lived. They’re listed as medics, but those things are what keeps the Germans on their own side of the battle lines after dark, and everyone knows it. 

His own side brings canisters of poison gas. The Americans respond with an army laced around its edges in abominations the gas can’t touch.

The vampire sighs, faintly disappointed. “No good morning for me from my audience?”

Erich speaks the best English out of them all - his grandmother was English, taught it to his father in the cradle, who taught it to him. It’s made him more or less the spokesman for his small group of prisoners, and for the larger group when they are moved and briefly allowed to interact with the others. He clears his throat, stepping forward slightly. Lukas and Vilhelm, on his other side, nudge him just a little with their shoulders. It’s meant to be support, he supposes. 

He feels like he’s being pushed onto a target painted on the floor, one invisible only to him. 

“Good morning,” Erich says, voice flat, letting his accent roll far more heavily off his tongue than it needs to, turning good into gut. It’s always good to let the enemy believe you know less than you really do, so he pretends that English comes with difficulty and not ease. “Should you not turn to ash?”

Their eyebrows raise just slightly, not quite in amusement, and they give a brittle little laugh. “First off, Fritz, that’s a myth. Secondly, it’s not even morning. Probably close to evening now, honestly.” 

Erich rolls his eyes. Lukas mutters something under his breath next to him, but the slight creaking of their boots seems to cover it too much to be understandable. Erich sighs, heavily. “Then why did you have us say to you good morning, Blutsauger?” 

“Because it’s funny that you don’t know what time it is, of course. All right, who here is Fritz, who is Hans, and who am I just going to call Kraut?” 

“No one here is named Hans and no one is Fritz, fangs.” Erich tips his chin down slightly, a lock of greasy brown hair falling into his eyes. “May you drown in holy water.”

He spits at the vampire’s feet.

He feels a pang of regret when the vampire turns to look at Alain, the French guard and points back at Erich, cheerful. “I want that one. He’s rude.”

“Das ist pech,” Lukas whispers.

When Alain simply stares at them blankly - and Erich knows Alain speaks English, they’ve spoken before in a tongue they had in common when neither spoke the other’s mother-tongue -  the vampire groans. They don’t seem to know Alain is pretending not to understand them. “Fine. Let’s try this again. Je veux cet homme, s'il vous plaît.”

Alain’s expression tightens a little. He nods, and he won’t look Erich in the eyes as he draws the entrance open a little wider. “Emmenez-le alors.”

“Merci beaucoup,” The vampire says, giving a little bow. Erich backs up, but there isn’t anywhere to go, and none of them is armed. Besides, any resistance is met with removal of meals, with being denied the smallest comforts that make this bearable. With the possibility of all of them being handed over to a vampire, not just one.

This war had been civilized, in some ways, before the Americans brought their monsters.

It’s not actually true, but in this moment it comforts him to pretend it, to have a place to put his furious disgust as the vampire’s thin, long fingers close around his arm and yank him forwards with inhuman strength. They’re clicking their tongue against the top of their mouth in a strange animal way. Erich thinks again of his mother’s cat, making just that sound watching birds outside the windows.

“May your hands be pressed into the holy cross,” Erich snaps as he’s forced out into the freezing humid air outside the tent. There are others walking around - a war camp is never less than controlled chaos, no matter the time of day - but none of them will look at him. No one acknowledges him, although they’ve all seen this before. They know what’s going to happen here. 

“Je déteste ça,” Alain mutters.

A bell is rung, clanging in a discordant note, and soldiers move into the POW tents. Erich is led towards a pole in the center of the ring of prisoner tents, something that a half-century ago might still have been a flogging post, a punishment for mutinous men. 

“Crosses don’t really harm us,” The vampire says, careless and casual. “Very little does, actually. I’m a big fan of garlic, for instance. Silver, though…” They hum, dragging a fingernail over Erich’s wrist. “That hurts.”

He jerks his hand back and free, only to have the vampire laugh, bright and brilliant, and grab him again, spinning him around until they’re behind him, chest pressed to his back, using that demon strength to twist his arms up his back until his bones creak and ache, forcing him forwards towards the pole. 

“I hope you have silver shoved down your throat,” Erich manages, but his heart is pounding in fear as the vampire grabs his hair and jerks his head to the side, forcing his cheek against the rough-hewn wood. Splinters bite into his skin and he grunts as his arms are moved, forced to encircle the pole. His wrists are tied with rope, leaving him looking a little ridiculous, as if he decided today to go for a hug. 

Another rope goes around his shoulders, keeping him in this awkwardly pressed position. He tries to kick back, pulling viciously, but then his ankles come next. The rope goes from them to small metal hooks driven hard into the ground, keeping his legs more than shoulder-width apart. He can’t kick, or even balance himself. He must rely entirely on the pole he’s tied to in order to stay upright. 

“I’m going to enjoy you,” The vampire murmurs. 

Behind Erich, the sounds of a crowd gathering begin. Soft mumbles, exhalations of surprise and disgust. He closes his eyes against the rush of heat he feels - more rage than tears - knowing the prisoners are being brought out to witness this, to be shown what could happen to them next.

It does an excellent job of making them grateful for every day it’s not.

The French commander of the POW camp is barking a running list of commands to his men, but Erich doesn’t speak enough French to clearly understand them. Someone comes close by behind him, and he jolts as there’s a clap to his back. There’s a laugh behind him, not the vampire but someone else.

He manages to see from the corner of his eyes. A different American, of course. Comfortable enough with the vampire to get this close to them. 

“Isn’t this a sorry sight,” The American says, and laughs. “What’s the prize for, fangs?”

The vampire lifts their hand, gently brushing Erich’s hair from his eyes. He spits in their face, this time, and is gratified by a flash of very real anger that briefly overtakes their constant amusement. They slowly wipe the spit away, then clean their hand - sort of - on Erich’s uniform. 

It’s so dirty they’re probably even less clean after that than they were before.

“Reported a desertion. Now I get fresh food.” They lean down, meeting Erich’s furious hazel eyes. “I’m so hungry, Fritz. All the time. Imagine being surrounded by schnitzel and cabbage as far as the eye can see, and you’re not supposed to eat your fill. Imagine how empty you would feel.”

“Fick dich.” 

“What, you won’t even curse at me in English anymore?” The vampire pouts, lower lip sticking out. He hates them more than he’s hated anyone during this godforsaken war. “Come on, you have to understand how hard this is for me, right?”

Erich ignores them, jerks his wrists again, trying to yank himself free of the ropes through sheer force. His back already is aching from being slightly bent forward, his thigh muscles stretched. He does the only thing he can think of - he slowly, with effort, drags his face along the wood and manages to turn away, and look the other direction. 

“Well, fine. I suppose you’ll be mad at me for acting like you all eat schnitzel and cabbage, too,” The vampire says behind him. He doesn’t dignify them with an answer. He fixes his eyes, instead, on a point in the dark roiling clouds in the sky, above the remaining trees. 

“The prisoners are well-positioned to witness,” A French officer states, speaking with a light, dancing accent but without the difficulty and hesitancy some of the regular infantry have. “You may feed when ready, Private Saathoff.”

That gets Erich’s attention. “Saathoff?”

“That’s right.” The vampire laughs, stepping up behind him. Their fingers move through the hair that curls, grown a little too long, over the back of his neck. He shudders with disgust at the intimacy of it. Their mouth moves close to his ear, but there is no heat of breath. Only the brush of lips. “Ich bin Deustcher, genau wie du.” 

“Nothing like me,” Erich grinds out with his teeth gritted together so hard his jaw is already aching. He presses his forehead into the rough wooden pole and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. 

If he’s going to die…

“Vater unser im Himmel,” he begins, halting. He hasn’t seen the inside of a church since he was fourteen, and that was twelve years ago now. Still, the words to the Lord’s Prayer come easily, more muscle memory than thought. “Geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme, Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden-”

“Zu jeder anderen Zeit hätte ich dich als Haustier behalten.” They use his hair to jerk his head back, and their fangs jam into his neck with a flash of sudden agony.

It’s a white-hot pain that races down his spine to the very tips of his toes, and Erich screams, the sound strangled and thin but still echoing, bouncing off of trees and tents and back into his mind, crashing like the shells that slam into the earth. 

Lukas jerks forwards as if to run to help him and is pushed back by one of the French soldiers, their expression set in a grim line. They have to twist Lukas’s arms behind his back to hold him as he shouts, angrily, that this isn’t fair, it’s against the laws of conduct. 

There’s laughter, at that, from their captors. 

The other prisoners grumble and shift uncomfortably, look at anything but Erich whenever they can, but they can’t escape the sound of his horror, of his pain. 

There’s no pulse of the much-spoken-of venom. There’s no numbness to drift in, there’s no fog to cloud out his awareness of what is happening to him. Every muscle of Erich’s body is tensed tight enough to snap the bones they wrap around, the veins standing out in his throat as if giving them a roadmap of where the food can be found.

He didn’t know vampires could choose not to use the venom.

He didn’t know they could make it feel like this.

When his scream dies, he can’t get enough breath to make another. All he can do is let out high-pitched, thin whimpers and cries. Spots dance before his eyes. Beneath the sound of his heart pounding in a sudden panic to push more blood faster to replace what is being lost, he can feel - can hear - a low rumbling sound against his back.

Erich has heard the rumors that vampires purr, and now he knows they aren’t rumors at all.

He can feel it right through his back, just barely. It’s a vibration that would be pleasant if it didn’t seem to be somehow making everything hurt even worse, waking up his nerves the way the venom is supposed to deaden them. Their hands are closed around his ribs, pressing the tips of their fingers rhythmically against them, as if playing a piano, as if he is dough to be kneaded, as if he isn’t human at all.

As if he’s nothing but a field mouse that found his way into the wrong house, and the vampire is the housecat who has waited too long for a living toy to torment.

There is no prayer, in pain like this. There is no thought beyond the body’s fight for survival and the mind wanting to flee from it, if surviving means this feeling will not end. There is nothing but the feeling of his blood being pulled forcefully out of his body, nothing but his nerves screaming to escape it, nothing but the bite of the ropes that ensure he can do no more than jerk in his bonds and choke on his agony.

It feels like forever - and like a moment - when their fangs pull free, their cool rough tongue lapping at the wounds to close them, purring against his ear with contentment. Their fingers knead into his skin a little bit longer, drawing the moment out as he slumps against the wooden pole he’s tied to. He’s only standing because of the ropes.

Pain rolls through him, breaking against the edges of his body from the inside, like the smaller waves after a storm falling onto a beach already strewn with debris. He slumps. His own breath is a rasping wheeze, taking far more effort than it should.

Nein, Erich, Erich stirb nicht…” Lukas’s voice comes from somewhere so far away, filtering through the noise in Erich’s mind slowly. He can’t even begin to form a response. His mouth won’t answer his commands. It only hangs open, panting, pulling in the chilly air over his tongue. He starts to shiver as the breeze hits the cold sweat in his hair and on his neck, cuts through his uniform somehow.

He doesn’t have enough blood left to warm himself.

Their tongue licks up his neck behind his ear, matting his own blood into his hair there, sticky and hot. It starts to cool and dry immediately in the cold air. Erich’s stomach twists.

“Oh, he won’t die,” The vampire coos, petting through his hair slowly. Their nails scratch at his scalp. “Not today.” Their mouth presses back against his ear. “Thanks for the meal, Erich. And for being so entertaining. Maybe I’ll find you after the war. I’ll buy you a beer… and some schnitzel.”

They push themself away from him, turning away to wipe a bit of blood from the corners of their mouth, and walk with a jaunty step through an opening that appears in the ring of watching prisoners, whose eyes follow them with apprehension and no small amount of fear. 

When Alain comes up to untie him, Erich simply collapses into the Frenchman’s arms as soon as he’s free of the ropes. Lukas is allowed to move up to stand at his other side, putting Erich’s limp left arm around his shoulders, while Alain supports his right. Erich lets his head fall into Lukas’s shoulder, hitching his breath as he forces down a sob. 

“Wh… why do you let them do this?” He asks, his English slurred with the exhaustion that means he is dragged with his boots carving paths through the mud back towards the tent. 

Alain is silent until Erich is dropped onto his cot, the hard frame digging into Erich’s back right through the thin mattress. He glances over his shoulder, the three of them alone in here for the moment, and then looks back. 

“It is believed that this is how we will win,” He says, and pats Erich’s hand. “My apologies. I do not believe in the monsters, but I am not the one to run this war.”

“None of us are,” Erich says, weakly. He closes his eyes. “We are only the ones who must fight in it.”

There’s a pause, and Alain’s exhale is audible in the quiet tent. “I will ensure you are given extra meat rations tonight, and I will find you some schnapps. Essaye de dormir, maintenant, si tu peux,” he says with soft regret lacing his voice. Then there is a shuffle of footsteps, and he’s gone.

Lukas shifts and sits with his back to the cot, in the same position Erich was in before. He swallows, picking up the abandoned cards from the game they’d been playing, looking over Erich’s hand. “You’d have won, you know, on the next hand,” He says in German, before he reaches out to grab the others’ cards and reshuffle the deck.

“Do I still get my… my winnings?” Erich can barely move his lips to speak. He’s so tired. So, so tired. He can feel his hands starting to shake, now that it’s over, the trembling moving slowly up his limbs, stuttering his breathing. 

“My share of the liquor? Not on your life.” Lukas pauses, and then his tone gentles as he looks Erich over again. “You know what... of course you can. You’ll need warmth. What did the bloodsucker say to you, anyway? I couldn’t hear.”

Erich thinks about the promise to find him after the war, about the way they spoke into his ear as if he were little more than a toy top to be spun at their command. In another time, I’d keep you for a pet, they had whispered, before they bit down. 

He shakes his head, slowly. “Lies,” He answers, and feels the softer-edged darkness of sleep begin to take him.

“Lies?” 

“I hope… I hope they were lies.”

For the moment, at least, he is too exhausted by the present to feel terror for the future.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump @thefancydoughnut

#whump #whumptober 2021 #whumptober2021 #no. 6 #no. 21 #blood-matted hair #hunger #captivity #war whump #noncon touch #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper #cheerful whumper #vampire whumper #vampire whump #vampirism #blood drinking #horror fiction #horror #blood tw #defiant whumpee #angry whumpee #biting #brief xenophobia #just a couple paragraphs and mentions #period-appropriate #WWI #WW1 #world war one #world war 1

[doveypink]

the one i left behind [technoblade imagine]

summary: you recount the moments leading up to your death. genre: angst words: 5.3k warnings: death, (past) abusive relationships, swearing, general violence a/n: i've been working on this one for a long time. i hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it!!

[ part two: come and find me ]

Freezing. I was absolutely freezing.

The brisk wind was sharp, leaving pinpricks of its icy touch upon my skin. I could have sworn there was snow, but when my eyes finally cracked open to peer around me, there was only the burning blaze of the sun and lush fields surrounding me. I turned my head to the side lazily, feeling the grass tickle my cheek. My body felt stiff and I stretched my arms out as though clasping the sky between my fingers, and my muscles loosened as I lifted myself from the ground. How long had I been laying there? Time seemed to escape me as I tried to recollect myself. I was just tired, that was all; if I went home now, I’m sure I would remember again. I would make myself a big meal, as well, something hot to melt away my chill, even though I didn’t seem to feel any ounce of hunger within me.

I walked in the direction of a place I couldn’t quite remember, attempting to turn the preceding events over in my mind. The only thing I could seem to recall was the smell of something burning, a bright flash of light, a big bang — fireworks, an image of creation and destruction all at once. It was almost as though I had never existed before this moment, lying in a bed of flowers, untouched by the calloused hands of the living.

I walked through the field, reaching out to pick a single flower from the blades of grass—a blood-red carnation—when I noticed that the shade of my skin had lost its warmth. Where it once had the flushed undertone of my blood, it was now ashen with the impression of death. I flinched, suddenly shivering as my cold bones once again made themselves known. A thought occurred to me, a memory that had slipped my mind in my haze: I only had one life left. 

And I lost it.

Without thinking, my feet began to glide over the earth, kicking up dirt and pebbles as I ran. If I had lost my last life, something awful must have happened. What was it? I tried to pull the memories from the vault in my mind, but it seemed to be locked. All that was left were the shadows under the door, the footsteps in the distance, the keyhole that could only provide a glimpse into a scene.

I smelled it, then, the same scent that I recalled upon waking up, though fainter: something hot and burnt. Up ahead, there was a wisp of smoke floating above the trees, and I hurried towards them. The ground became blackened with scorch marks and, among the ruins of a building I could no longer recognize, I caught sight of blood. My heart sank, and with a start, I realized that there was a crater full of rubble and fires that had long been burning. I stepped through the debris, stumbling over broken doors, shards of glass, golden goblets and picture frames; dozens of signs of life all buried in ash and smoke, melted into a haunting image of destruction. Nothing was recognizable, but I knew what this place was: L’Manburg. Or, more accurately, what was left of it.

I searched the ruins of the country, cringing at the blood streaked debris and discarded weapons and armor that lay haphazardly among the wreckage. I circled the edge of the massive crater, unable to step much further into the space due to its depth. I looked down at the scorched land and moved out, surveying the surrounding area. 

Upon noticing the remnants of a building—someone’s house, maybe? It was too far gone to make out—I felt compelled to search what was left of the structure. I wasn’t sure what drew me to suddenly climb through burnt wood and broken cobblestone; some part of me felt as though I would find an answer to all my questions, a sign, anything to point me in the right direction. I felt desperate to find something to satisfy the tug in my cold heart. My freezing hands sifted through the mess, shoving away rubble and pushing through the debris until my hands were covered in dirt and bruised from the digging. My hands suddenly found something smooth and dense, and my searching became frantic as I pushed through the ruins to find what I had been unknowingly searching for: my bow. I tugged it out from under stone and dirt, running my fingers down the edge of the smooth silver. It remained unmarked despite the destruction surrounding it, the curve of its limbs untarnished and shining brilliantly in the evening light. I searched some more and discovered the hard shell of my arrow quiver and a number of silver-tipped arrows still inside. I stood and slung the quiver over my shoulder with my bow in hand, feeling almost complete with the items on my person. 

The wind picked up and blew through my hair, insisting that I look further. I stepped into the wreckage of the building, an unsettled feeling rising in the pit of my stomach. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of red against pale grey stone; I turned, staring at the scene before me with wide, horrified eyes.

A short distance from where my bow was found, there was a violent splatter of crimson against the rubble. It looked like a balloon full of paint had popped, streaking the cold stones with a sickeningly bright shade of red. Among the drying mess, there was a flurry of scorch marks strewn across the area, a minor crater digging into the earth where the scene lay. I realized what this all was, my hands trembling as I clutched my bow. 

I had died here.

I screwed my eyes shut, plagued with a sudden onslaught of memories that I no longer wished for. Falling to my knees, I held my head in my hands and shook violently, my head pounding with a torrential rain of scenes flashing in my mind. All I could do was be swept away in the flood.

* * * * *

“Are you still mad at me?”

I blinked at Techno with an arrow in hand, sharpening its tip and inspecting the edge. I was mad at him, but I didn’t feel like giving him an answer. If he had to ask, he already knew; we were both smart enough to understand each other like that. He sighed when I wordlessly turned my gaze back to my arrow, stepping towards me and plucking it from my grasp. I jumped up, prepared to steal it back. “Hey—!”

“You know why I had to do this. Don’t get mad at me,” Techno said, his voice low and serious. 

I crossed my arms and frowned. “Right. You have to team with Dream just to blow up a country. You definitely couldn’t have done it on your own or, I don’t know, with me to help, yeah? Because the great Technoblade is always right—”

“We have common interests—”

“And I hate being interrupted.”

Techno went silent after I snapped at him, adjusting his cape while I gritted my teeth. “I thought you hated him,” I said slowly, “and I hated him too. You know what he did, you know how it hurt me, and you still…” I trailed off, feeling suddenly exhausted—exhausted from fighting, exhausted from chasing a peace I could never have. 

Techno placed a gentle hand on my shoulder—a gesture he rarely used, and reserved for me—and met my eyes. “Just this once,” he said. “I still owe him a debt, but this will be the end. It’s within our reach.”

“I could die,” I said plainly. This made Techno pause, his entire body freezing over like a lake in winter, so I pushed further. “I could die. I could lose my last life, and I gladly will for what we’re doing, because I believe in this. I know we haven’t always been right, but I know that this is. I hate that you let Dream in, and I’m going to be angry. I deserve to be angry.”

“You’re not going to die,” he said with certainty. “Not when I’m there.” 

I couldn’t tell if Techno was trying to reassure me or himself with his words, but either way, the weight of the possibilities made my stomach turn with anxiety. “You can’t be so sure. I’m not exactly as talented as you are at everything,” I countered.

“Don’t say that,” Techno insisted, his tone full of frustrated reassurement. “I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you. Never again. And hey,” he started, poking my cheek, “you’re more than capable of handling yourself, anyway. You couldn’t die even if you wanted to.”

“I think you have too much confidence in me, Techno.”

“Cut that sentence 3 words short and I’ll consider agreeing with you.”

I sighed, finally letting myself crack a small smile. “I’m still mad at you, but I trust you. Only out of pity though—I know you couldn’t last a day without me around.”

Techno grinned, his sharp-toothed grin melting the ice as he returned my arrow. “Good thing it’ll never come to that.”

I shook my head, twirling the arrow in my hand while I inspected it silently. Techno turned away to prepare his own weapons, leaving me alone with the aftermath of our conversation. 

My anger had been redirected with my friend’s words of reassurance, now colliding with my resentment for Dream. Even though I did have faith in Techno, I still feared the possibility of Dream playing a trick on us. I sharpened my arrow and considered my choices: I follow Techno’s lead and go along with Dream’s help, or I take matters into my own hands. I finished up with my arrows, placing them neatly into my quiver as I prayed that the latter wouldn’t have to occur.

I already knew well enough that war was brutal.

With a deep, tired sigh, I leaned back and recalled a time not so long ago—just a few years at most—when I wasn’t resentful of Dream. We were friends, once, and I’ll admit that I admired him; I bitterly wondered what would have happened if I had ever found the courage to tell him just how much I adored him, but the thought made some long forgotten part of me ache, prickling my heart with thorns. It was shameful of me to wonder what could have been, even more so to speak it; there was a reason why only Techno knew, and there was a reason why his decision made my blood bubble over in frustration and betrayal. 

I considered the moment I caught Dream shifting, edging away from his former self as his own hubris overtook him, rotting his soul as something else took form. He had always treated me as an equal, and he charmed me with his kind words and gentle gaze. I couldn’t begin to understand how suddenly he was so cruel to me, taking me by surprise when his usual soft tone became sharp and grating, tearing me apart from the inside out. I had only ever been supportive of him, even when he did things I couldn’t agree with; even when his friends turned their backs on him; even when I found myself seeking his approval at every turn despite his cruelty. Nothing I did could ever seem to be enough.

The first time I was separated from Dream was after Techno captured me, initially planning to use me as leverage against his rival to put an end to the government. After finding me, though, he must have seen what I couldn’t: the hollowness that Dream had left behind. The anarchist took pity on me, if you could even call it that; mostly, Techno shook me awake from the nightmare I had been living and made me realize the extent of Dream’s manipulation. I felt dirty for a long while after my realization, plagued with the sense that I would never feel safe or whole again. A part of me still felt that way, even, but at least I had the sense now to not seek out the shadows when they beckoned me over.

Technoblade was a surprisingly good friend through it all. It was him who helped me become myself again, but he would always argue that it was my own doing. He frustrated me sometimes with his monotonous tone and his thirst for anarchy, but at the end of the day, I could never stay mad at him; Techno had a good heart, and his honesty and dedication to his morals was enough to convince me. Even through my fog of anger at his teaming with Dream, even when I questioned whether this was a good idea, a sensible part of me knew that this was nothing like what Dream had done to me. Techno didn’t hide his nature as Dream did, and I could trust him in that.

A knock on the cabin door brought me out of my thoughts. I heard Techno’s footsteps as he stepped back into the room, a knife in hand. “Do you know who it is?” he questioned, scrutinizing the door when I shook my head in response. I stood from my chair and followed behind Techno, who peeked out the window and let out a tired sigh before swinging the door open.

“Hello, Dream. What are you doing at my house?” my friend deadpanned.

Dream lowered his grinning mask, his own lips drawn back into a polite smile. “Oh, just checking in before tomorrow. I wanted to see if you needed anything.”

“You could have sent a message first,” Techno replied, tapping the messenger device on his wrist. “I don’t really appreciate unwanted guests.”

“I figured it wouldn’t be much of a problem since we’re on the same side now. And I tend to find surprise visits are a lot more… Insightful,” Dream mused. His eyes peeked over Techno’s shoulder to meet mine and I stiffened, standing straighter. Dream, perceptive as usual, smiled wider, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners before he spoke to me in a soft voice. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

A cold hand gripped my heart, the blood pulsing in my ear drums. I hated him; I hated that he hardly had to speak for me to begin to crumble. I attempted to reply in a steady voice despite the slight tremor that shook me. “Yeah, it has.”

Before Dream could say anything else, Techno stepped up as though to shield me. “You know, we have everything we need here. You should probably make sure your things are sorted, though,” he announced. 

Dream’s smile faltered for half a second before returning. “Hm, I think you’re right. Just remember to give me the signal,” he said, beginning to turn away from the door. Dream hesitated, giving me one last look before he addressed me, his words kind, though laced with a cold, haunting tone. “I’ve missed you. Good luck tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until Techno had shut the door and confirmed that Dream had left that I allowed myself to breathe. I hadn’t even realized that I was holding my breath in the first place; I felt lightheaded and weary as Techno sat me down and asked if I was alright. I nodded, watching the worried man cross the room to fetch me a glass of water. With a shudder, I took in the sight of the floorboards and listened to my friend rummaging around the kitchen. My stomach churned and my mind flashed with sudden clarity about what I would have to do.

I was going to kill Dream.

The following day felt like a blur. Every motion leading up to the total destruction of L’Manburg was like a sharp jab of a paintbrush, a swipe across a canvas already drenched in paint. There was a picture here, some greater meaning when you stepped away from it all, but in the midst of things, it didn’t quite matter. All Techno cared about was erasing the country for good and keeping us alive; all I wanted was to get the day over with.

I had spent the entire night trying to decide whether it was truly a good idea for me to go after Dream or leave him be. A part of me felt that it was a terrible idea, a decision that would only serve to lead me to certain death; still, another part of me wanted closure. I didn’t think of myself as anything special compared to Techno, Phil, or even Dream himself when it came to combat skills, but the truth was that I was more than capable of holding my own in battle. I had been through my fair share of wars, and the experience in addition to training with Techno led me to become a skilled warrior of my own. As I considered it, I found myself realizing with a newfound confidence that I had the strength to take down Dream all on my own if I wanted to. My only question was how I would go about this.

The answer came surprisingly soon.

Techno and I had been doing well against L’Manburg’s defense—there was only a scare when Sapnap came close to taking one of Techno’s lives during a fight, but I had stepped in with a nicely timed arrow to his head, which made our enemy disappear into a cloud of smoke as his life was lost. Techno and I chugged some invisibility potion, courtesy of Phil, and hid around a building to watch everyone fight off the withers while we healed ourselves.

“What’s taking him so long? We’ve been at it for—” Techno glanced at his watch, “—thirty minutes! And here I thought Dream was all about punctuality,” my friend griped, taking a bite out of an apple.

“I’m not surprised. Of course he would choose today to take his sweet time,” I assessed, thumping my head against the brick building. “He’s probably going over his plans to sacrifice us next as we speak.”

“We are not getting sacrificed.”

“You never know,” I hummed. “It’s not a bad thing to be cautious, is it?”

Techno snorted. “Well, I suppose not. We’ve survived this long, though, so I have a good feeling about this.”

I nodded, peering in the direction of my friend. We couldn’t see each other due to the potion, but if I focused hard enough, I could catch a shift in the light that alerted me of his position. I felt a sudden urgency within me—some calling to spill my fears, inky and black, before I choked. “I need you to do me a favor,” I blurted.

I watched the light shift and turn. “What? What’s going on?” Techno wondered.

“If something happens to me, if I lose my last life,” I began in a serious tone, “don’t look back.”

“I… don’t understand. What are you saying? You won’t—”

“Techno, if I die, you carry straight through with the plan. Don’t come for my things, don’t try to help me, just go. Please. Can you promise me that?”

The light shimmered slowly, hesitantly. “Of course you choose now to drop that on me,” Techno muttered bitterly, but I could hear the underlying hurt. “I can never say no to you, though, can I?”

“It is your best trait,” I joked, though there was a heaviness in my voice.

The shift in the light leaned back as Techno sighed. “Alright, fine. It won’t come to that, but I’ll do it. I promise.”

“Thank you. For everything,” I confessed, stressing the importance of all that he’s done for me in my reply. 

Before Techno could reply, a resounding boom went off nearby. Dirt and debris flew past us as plumes of gray smoke shrouded our sight. Between the clouds of smoke, I could see a flash of bright green and a bone-white mask.

“He’s here,” Techno mumbled next to me. “Let’s get moving.”

The pair of us sprinted across the land, dodging at the sight of explosives and attacking enemies under the guise of our invisibility. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dream dropping TNT from the tops of buildings and hurling them at every patch of land in his vicinity. By the time he was finished, I knew there would be nothing left.

The invisibility began to wear off shortly after that, and I watched as Techno’s vibrant red cape began to fade back into view. I followed my friend from a short distance until I realized that Dream was completely distracted in his efforts to destroy the nation. As Techno veered down one path, I caught him by the arm. “I’m heading the other way,” I said.

Techno immediately began to protest. “No, you’re not. Don’t be stupid.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You were the one worried about losing your last life, and now you’re trying to split? We have to stick together.”

“I’ll be quick. You won’t even know I’m gone,” I reasoned, already turning to leave. “I promise I’ll be back.”

Techno frowned, but eventually his shoulders became less tense as he reluctantly decided to let me go. I gave him a nod of thanks before hurrying off to a building that hadn’t yet been destroyed. Fortunately for me, the citizens seemed to have cleared out, so no one was there to intervene as I leapt over crumbling buildings and the charred remains of the nation. My heart raced in my chest and I clutched my bow tightly in my hand. It would all be over soon enough, I thought, and I would be the one to end it all. 

I reached a building that hadn’t been completely damaged from the TNT and scaled the wall. My fingers were wedged into the grooves of the brick until I reached the ledge at the very top, tugging myself up and throwing my legs over the side. I huffed and looked up to watch Dream, practically gliding on air as he hurled explosives at the ground without remorse. I squinted and realized through the haze of smoke and ash that he had nearly hit bedrock, yet he continued to demolish the same area of land. It was like he wanted to blow a hole straight through the ground, so deep that he’d be able to see the other side. 

I shook away the nervous shudder that ran down my spine and instead raised my bow to aim while Dream was distracted. I glared at the back of his head and lined my sight to him, the familiarity of the motion sending a sort of ease through my tense muscles.

It was an easy shot. I could do it.

I drew a deep breath and held it while I drew my arrow back, pulling the string taut. With a slow sigh, I released.

My arrow soared above the destruction, seeming to transcend the rules of time and space. The light made the metallic edge glimmer as though a star was shooting across the expanse of land, bright and beautiful and destructive all at once. 

Dream was still turned away as the arrow launched towards him, and for a moment I felt sure that I had succeeded in my efforts. Right before the arrow was able to lodge itself in his head, though, Dream ducked, and the arrow flew past his head. He rose again to stand straight and turned slowly to face me, the blank eyed smile on his mask mocking me. My blood turned to ice in my veins and I frantically drew another arrow to fire, this time pointed at his heart. 

Before I could release the arrow, Dream held up a stick of dynamite and pelted it right next to the building I stood on. It was close enough that I took damage and fell back as the earth shook around me. My head smacked against the roof and I groaned at the dizzy shock that sparked against my skull. I lay there, my head pounding, focused on the rumble that rattled my bones as I tried to regain my bearings. 

By the time I had struggled onto my knees, Dream was hovering over me. I glared up at him for one silent moment before snatching my bow and striking his mask, which cracked and shattered to the ground. He stumbled back and I took my chance to load an arrow, but my head was still pounding, my coordination thrown off by the blow I had taken. Dream took advantage of my weakness and kicked the bow out of my hands, where it skidded across the roof and over the edge. I had made a feeble attempt to catch it before it tipped over, but I was too late.

Dream caught a fistful of my hair, yanking me backwards, and I growled, an animalistic sound that scratched my throat as I dragged my feet and struggled in his grasp. I kicked up dirt and clawed at the pale hands that trapped me, yelping when my captor shoved me to my knees. I must have looked ridiculous, like a child throwing a tantrum, as I thrashed and screamed to try and get away. “This is what happens to anyone who doesn’t follow my orders. You really thought you were smart enough to turn on me?” Dream laughed darkly, tightening his grip even as I scratched streaks of red into his skin. “You’re pathetic. I almost feel bad for you.”

“Fuck you,” I spat, attempting to jerk away, but Dream’s grip was unbreakable.

“I hope you’re not this rude to Technoblade. Where is he, by the way?” I struggled while Dream called out for my friend, who I watched sprint towards us between exploding buildings and smoke.

“Dream, what is this?” Techno heaved, meeting us on the building. 

The man in question nodded his head towards me, a warrior bloodied and brought to my knees. “I think it’s about time I used that favor,” he said coldly.

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach, and I felt my body begin to numb with fear. If I wasn’t sure of it before, I was now; this was the end for me. 

It was almost laughable, the irony of this situation; the promises to keep each other safe that I had made with my best friend—the only friend I had left—were tearing apart at the seams. 

“Maybe you should rethink this before you do something you’ll regret, Dream,” Techno threatened.

“Oh, I won’t be regretting anything. But you might.” Dream gestured with his free hand towards the bundle of fireworks in Techno’s hand. “Kill them.”

The situation was eerily similar to another from so long ago in this very nation—when Techno was ordered by Schlatt to kill Tubbo. I could see the realization in his eyes, the acknowledgment of the parallels, the regret and anger and so much fear. I had never seen him so scared, but he remained stubborn. “I won’t do that,” he replied.

Dream’s grip tightened as he jerked my head forward for emphasis. “Listen, Technoblade, you’re going to kill your little friend here because you owe it to me. If you choose not to, I’ll just take them for myself so I can do it instead. You probably wouldn’t want that, though—I won’t be so kind. Oh, and don’t even think about trying to kill me instead. One of you was already stupid enough to try.”

“This isn’t what I meant when I said I’d do you a favor.”

“Isn’t it, though? Look around, Techno. The only reason this is happening right now is because Tommy betrayed you. He could have chosen you, he could have stayed on your side, but he didn’t. This is the consequence, right? And this—,” I yelped as Dream snatched me and held me up as evidence, “—is what happens when I’m betrayed. You all agreed to help me, and now my trust is broken. So pick up a fucking weapon and do me a favor.”

My friend stood frozen as he tried to calculate some way out of this, but I knew I had ruined any chances of a better life for us. It was my actions that were about to get me killed, by the only person who ever truly loved me, nonetheless.

“Do it,” I told Techno. “Please, just get it over with.”

Technoblade looked down at me, his eyes full of hurt as his brows furrowed. “No. You’re crazy, why would I do that? I made you a promise—”

“So did I. But there’s nothing else to do. I fucked it up, so I’m asking you to do this. Not for him, for me,” I pleaded, painfully aware of the grip Dream had on my hair. “I’d rather it be you. No one but you.”

I watched as Techno’s face contorted into a woeful expression. The guilt was bubbling over in the pit of my stomach, an all-consuming feeling that made me sick with sorrow for what I was asking him to do. We were one and the same, him and I, a pair of lonely people made better with the other around. I would miss him and, even if he never chose to admit it, I knew he would miss me too. I could only hope that my absence wouldn’t destroy him. 

Slowly, Techno raised the firework launcher as he pointed it at my head. “You know, I always had a soft spot for you.”

My smile was regretful and watery; I prayed that he could hear my apologies without having to speak them out loud. I prayed even more that he could hear my unspoken words of gratitude, the unfinished symphony that was our friendship. “You’re the only person who ever knew me.”

Behind me, Dream groaned in annoyance. “Shut up with the monologues and get it over with,” he griped. With a harsh shove, the tip of the fireworks were pressed against my forehead. I bit my tongue, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth as I tried not to seem too meager in my final moments. Dream dropped me to my knees as he escaped the line of fire, now peering over Techno’s shoulder in waiting. I watched my friend’s hands shake, the light tremble of his finger as it hovered over the trigger. I wanted to give him some sort of reassurance, but how could I? How do you ease the heart of someone forced to kill their friend?

With a shaky, mournful sigh, Techno looked down on me, his knuckles white as he gripped the weapon. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

I squeezed my eyes shut with tears running hot over my cheeks, trying to recall a better picture in my mind. I thought of when I first met Techno, brainwashed and broken, a person slowly made whole again. I thought of the softness in his eyes even as he yelled at me over some mistake I had made. I thought of the nights he spent hunched over his desk writing about anything until I threw a blanket at him and dragged him into his bed. I thought of the mornings we would wake up early on a day of traveling just to catch the sunrise. I could have seen it a thousand times, and still, nothing would have ever compared to him; no amount of wealth or glory could even come close to making me feel as elated as he did. Techno was, without a doubt in my mind, my soulmate. The universe decided that for us; the sun and the moon and every star in the sky chose to bind us together, and what reason did I have to refuse it? 

My heart ached, jumping as the click of the trigger sounded. There was a bright flash, a pop, an explosion of color and sound—

Then nothing at all. 

#dove writes #c: technoblade #into the shade #technoblade imagine #technoblade x reader #techno imagine #dsmp techno #tw death #tw violence #tw abuse #cw swearing #mcyt imagine #x reader #youtuber imagine #youtube imagine #reader insert #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagines #dream smp #mcyt techno #mcyt x you #mcyt x reader #youtuber x reader #dreamwastaken x you #dream x you #dreamwastaken x reader #mcyt dream

[bimswritings]

Armorer x Reder Pt. 2/2

Pt.1

Kofi

Ao3

Warnings: Typical Canon Type Violence

A/N: Part two for my love! Now that I've finished this, you can expect part three of the Savage fic, with the outline already nearly finished! Hope you enjoy, and until next time!~Bim

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“What is the meaning of this?”

She had been expecting Paz to have come to her earlier, seeking answers for what had just transpired . It could be considered nothing short of a blessing from her ancestors that she had been allowed the time she was, for if he had arrived not five minutes earlier she surely would have not been able to answer him. Even now she found it hard to find her voice, swallowing thickly as she tried to dispel the invisible grip that held her. It was as if the dust from the rubble had infiltrated the filter of her helmet, invading her senses and clogging every sense with a layer of dust.

“The empire sent TIE bombers.” The vecoder of her helmet masked the cracking of her voice from the large warrior in front of her, lest she appear anything but unyielding even in such a moment. It did nothing to dampen the way it reverberated within however, and the echo fact was like a hit to the chest plate all over again.

“Were there any other survivors.”

A light shake of her head gave him his answer. Even if they were strangers to her, the carnage she had witnessed would have been a shock to anyone.

None had been spared from the Empire’s wrath. Not a single structure nor person was left standing, and at places there were little more than scorch marks burned into the ground, the only testament of what was once there. The burns matched those marring the flesh of the scattered bodies, which there was no shortage of. Most were too burned and damaged to tell age or gender and she had no doubts that there were more victims, either buried or bodies completely destroyed in the initial blast and still burning flames.

“How did they make it?” He questioned further, and unsurprisingly.

“Their house was located further outside the village. It received the least of the blast, though there is still no home to return to.”

Yet again she was thankful for your reclusive behavior. It was only thanks to your distance, and the armor she found you buried in, did you survive, though you weren't without injury.

As soon as she received your transmission she had turned back mid flight, making it there in record time. Having never used the transmitter before, the fact that you did so now expelled any worry she might have had over your previous encounter.

When she arrived to find what had happened, she had immediately started digging. Using every tool and ounce of strength at her disposal to move the rubble, looking for at least a body to confirm her fears.

At long last she had found you, body bloodied and arm twisted at an unnatural angle. It was a shock to her system, heart nearly stopping as she took in your still form, thinking you were surely dead. Gloved hands ghosted over your exposed skin and still attached armor, which itself was badly damaged. As well made as it was by your own hand and her careful guidance it still had trouble holding up to the immense weight and damage it took. The metal surface was marred with countless scratches and dents, even completely caved in at places. There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that you were already gone. There was no telling how long you had been under the rubble before she had arrived, and even if she had gotten there minutes after, your wounds were so numerous it would have been close.

Raw pain ripped through her as emotion broke through her carefully crafted dam, spilling out all at once over it’s months of accumulating, effectively taking grip over her entire being. She did not cry however. The ability to do such had been lost to her years before and would never come back. Instead, she simply held your body close as she knelt in the dirt, mourning what she had never had the chance of claiming. She had been so close. Her helmet showed that your heat signature had not even grown cold.

Taking her glove off, she reached for your own hand. Even if it was just once, she wanted to feel your skin against hers, without the barrier of metal or leather you both consistently wore. Fingers lacing your own, it once again brought a wave of sorrow crashing over her.

Your hands, strong and calloused from years of work, felt better pure Naboo silk to her own. They remained loose and unmoving, even as her own knuckles turned pale at the strength with which she grasped them. A silent plea to her ancestors, the maker; anyone who would answer the questions she herself didn’t know. Never having been one to believe that those unseen could have much of an influence on the living, she didn’t expect an answer. Only someone to shift the unbearable grief to.

Yet, as she lay mottionless over your corps, she received one. If her own hand hadn’t been so tightly clenched she may have missed it, and in her stay she thought she was imagining it. But then it happened. Again. Then again.

Your pulse, weak and uneven, but there.

Throwing herself back, she quickly changed the viewing mode on her helmet as she tried in vain to keep her hopes from rising. She knew very well it could just be her own that she was feeling and until there was concrete proof then-

There.

In the corner of her visor read your heart rate weak and uneven, just as she had felt before, but there.

She wasted no time pulling you from the rubble and nothing short of sprinting back to her ship, keeping in mind there were undoubtedly unseen and internal injuries as she did her best not to jostle around. She could only thank whatever force there was out there that she had taken the one ship of the coven that had a med chamber in it. Though it was well worn and outdated at best in comparison to the newer ones, it would serve her purpose until she could do something better.

The machine’s light humming reached through the air as it began working on your more severe wounds, the steady drone of the machinery a stark contrast to her own shaky hands as she piloted the ship off the cursed planet, making sure to keep an eye out for any lingering ships of the empire. It would only make your situation worse if you were to be caught in the middle of a firefight as your wounds were tended, though she did not even know if she would be able to gain enough control of herself to fly away from such an endeavor unharmed.

Once certain that there was no one following and they were out of range of the planet, she set the craft to autopilot and was back by your side immediately. The droid had just finished removing the armor from your body and tending to the majority of life-threatening wounds, moving on to what it could finish with the limited supplies it had. She had to resist grabbing your hand, instead putting the energy into pulling the medical log. Reading over it, her heart sized at the vast number and varying severity of each listing as she read further and further on.

Oblique-displaced fracture-R/Humorous, Transverse Fracture-R/Tibia, Hairline fractures of Ribs-R/arm/leg, Bruising of Kidney/Lungs/Liver, Puncture of R/Lung-Bone Frag. Removed-Origin-twelfth intercostal rib, Sever Grade four concussion, Multiple lacerations

She had no idea what had been fixed and what had not, but the number of bacta patches missing from the supply put a small ease on her, and the sight and sound of your slowly steady vitals was enough to keep her from jumping to extremes. She had no particular love for droids, though certainly not hating them as much as the young Din, the money spent to install the machinery was well used, even if the original purpose had been to heal warriors after missions with wounds that needed immediate attention.

That did not mean she found any time to rest on the way home, constantly watching for the slightest sign of life other than the low beeping of the monitor, and the ever so faint rise and fall of your chest as she counted each breath you took. The flight seemed to take double the amount of time it normally did, each second dragging on for eternity, until finally the landing gear of the Starjumper touched the surface of Nevarro. Thankfully it was night, and she had no issues once again lifting you into her arms and carrying you through the deserted streets to the coven. Its familiar coolness encompassed her as soon as she emerged from the stairs into the lower levels. The deathly silent halls were a stark contrast to her own panic.

Ignoring the guards, who’s attention faltered as they caught sight of her haul, she brushed past and headed straight to the only person who could help.

Olia, their healer, answered the door in her sleeping clothes, helmet clearly having been shoved on in her haste to answer the Armorer’s loud and incessant pounding on the door.

“What in the stars do you want this late..at..” Her sentence tapered off as she saw it wasn’t just a random idiotic warrior who had injured themselves, but her Alor, holding someone who clearly wasn’t Mandalorian.

“Fix them.”

The next few hours were a flurry of activity as Olia fixed what the med unit had not, resetting your afflicted arm which had been simply bandaged before and trying not to flinch at the nasty noises it made while doing so. Each thread of the needle to close skin together felt as if it were digging into her own flesh. Still, she watched, unable to tear herself away even as she knew in the back of her mind that rumor had already spread about her return. They would be looking for answers, and she would give them in due time. For now, they would have to practice patience just as she was.

Finally, two hours later, Olia was done. Wiping the sweat from the back of her neck as she admired her work, she explained the situation to the Armorer as she approached your bedside on stiff legs. She simply stared, not daring to touch when you looked so fragile. She hated it, the way your skin had lost its beautiful tone. The once powerful and proud posture she had seen stepping around the forge like a wild loth was nowhere to be seen. Your body seemed to have sunken in on itself, defensive even now.

“Her body is keeping itself under for now. Not surprising given the amount of trauma and injuries sustained, but if she does start to come around, I’ll give her something that should keep her under, or at least enough that she won’t register what’s going on. I would recommend it for as long as we can so that her wounds have time to heal without issue.”

She looked back over your still body, letting out a sympathetic sigh as she moved to do so.

“Even then, she’s not going to be moving around on her own too much any time soon. Wherever she came from, I hope they aren’t expecting her back anytime soon.”

The Armorer could feel the underlying question in her words, and for what she had done the women had earned her answer.

“That won’t be an issue. There is nowhere to go back to.” She looked away from your form for the first time, something that did not go unnoticed by the observant healer.

“She’s ours now. Treat her as you would any warrior, for she has fought just as bravely.”

She nodded solemnly. The Alor was know to always be serious and straight laced, but the way she was acting now gave way to more than words could ever tell. Tentatively, she rested a hand on her pauldron.

“Go. Get some rest. I can watch over her for now.”

The Armorer hesitated, feeling the lack of rest catching up as the adrenaline finally began to wear from her system. But to leave now would only leave her mind to wonder instead of knowing what was happening at every moment.

Olia sensed her hesitation, pushing her more firmly in the direction of the door.

“Once she’s more stable I will move her to a more comfortable bed. If there’s any changes then I’ll alert you but until then there’s nothing for you to do, and the others are bound to be wanting answers.”

Rod straight shoulders dropper slightly at her words, and a smile tore its way across the old woman’s face as she realized she had won.

Guiding her further out, she made sure the smith was out and well on her way to her own space before closing the door. What she didn’t see was that, instead of turning down the hall that led to individual dwellings, she instead turned right, down the path that would lead her to the only place she could think, to feel less powerless than she was right now. Her forge, where she fell heavily onto her work bench, unmoving as she stared blankly into the once comforting blue flames of the fire. Now they only acted as a painful reminder, thinking back to the times back in your own dwelling. She had yet to move, and Paz found her in the same position when he entered, leading to their current situation.

“I would never doubt your commitment to the tribe, but I must doubt the wisdom of bringing an outsider here! Into the heart of our tribe!”

Had she been in any other situation, she would have no hesitation in putting him back in his place. Heavy infantry expert and lead warrior or not, he had no right to speak in such a way to her. The only thing that saved him from her hammer and tongue was the fact her mind was still filled with thoughts of you. In this moment she even found herself thankful for his questioning. It meant that there was at least one person still thinking straight enough to be an effective leader in her stead.

“It’s her.”

“It's her?” he parroted the words, twisted with their own sense of confusion. “What do you mean it’s h-“ The words stuck mid-sentence as the wheels turned in his head, slowly putting the pieces together. From where he knew she was going, the small glimpse and rumors he had gotten from the others describing you, and the way his Alor was acting now, he was able to come up with his own relatively accurate assumption.

“The Smith.”

Her silence was his only answer, but it was all he needed.

Moving slowly, he settled his own large frame next to hers on the bench, which creaked under the weight. It felt odd, seeing her look so deflated and almost small. Even after years of putting on muscle from the forge and training, she still had nothing on him size wise. Though he was still positive she could beat him in a fight if it came to it, and she had countless times before.

His voice took on a softer, more rumbling tone.

“How did it happen?”

“The Empire. I only got there after they were gone, though there was really nothing left to go back to.”

He wanted to ask more, what they were doing there, why they chose such an outlandish, insignificant town, but he already knew. They both knew. It was because of them. While tolerated by the empire, both sides knew the other would wipe them out if given the chance. With so many going to one town multiple times, it was bound to draw attention. They had just been willing to believe that the Empire would turn a blind eye to it, just like they had with Nevarro.

How foolish of them.

Now they had dragged an innocent bystander, who had done nothing but help them and expecting nothing in return, into their fight, costing them not only their home but almost their life.

Though Paz was more akin to fighting than feelings himself, he could see the turbulence going on within her. Years of being what one might consider confidents let him know everything he needed to.

“She’ll pull through. From what you’ve told me, she’s strong. Not to mention she has Olia looking after her. And besides,” he stood up, walking out to give her space to do what she did best. To think, and come up with the next best plan of action for them to take.

“I still have yet to meet this mysterious smith.”

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You had never been much of a morning person. Waking up bright and early just to face the scorching heat of your planet's twin suns combined with that of your forge didn’t make for a promising work day. Alas, that was when a majority of customers would come looking for wears and weapons, as well as to hire your services. Even though you preferred working during the marginally cooler nights, you still braved the day, gritting your teeth and dragging your feet as you forced your body into motion. As hard as it had always been then, it was nothing compared to how you were feeling now.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been run over by a Loshev, then further trampled on. Not even in the early times of your apprenticeship, when you had gone to bed with the inability of even being able to lift your arms to fold back the blankets after lifting your hammer an immeasurable amount of times, had you ever felt this sore. Everything from head to toe hurt, and the thought of moving at all was enough to fill your body with a sense of dread.

Instead of doing so, you settled on just getting your eyes open, which itself proved to be a difficult task. They felt as if the skin itself was welded together; made of Kiern metal as they dragged open painfully.

Darkness was the first thing you saw. Shapes and colors only came along after a few moments as your eyes adjusted. Blurred objects slowly came into focus as you took in your surroundings.

You were in a dimly lit room, the only source of light coming from a small lantern hanging from the wall. It’s glow cast drastic shadows on each object, giving the unfamiliar space a touch of comfort with its warm light. The furnishings themselves were rather bare, consisting of only a few boxes stacked on top of one another with small trinkets of one kind or another littered around, and the bed which you currently resided on.

Pulling the blankets aside, you hissed at the way your body groaned in protest, feeling as if every nerve were on fire. It appeared that the lantern also provided the only source of heat because as soon as the surprisingly quality blanket left you were subjugated to the cool air of the small space. You noted areas of bandages scattered all over your body, covering most of your arm and spilling across your torso. The scratchy material could also be felt under your pants, catching on the material and rubbing uncomfortably at your temples.

Pushing yourself into a sitting position, your head swam as the pounding from within increased, leaving you gasping for breath. As much as it hurt, you had to keep moving. You didn’t know where you were, or who was around. The last thing you remember was the walls of your home coming down around you as fighters screamed overhead. For all you knew, you were being held by some backworld smuggler who intended to use you for profit, working to make weapons or using your body for other means. Bandaged wounds or not, you had to get out before the choice was taken away.

Getting to your feet was, unexageratly, one of the most difficult things you had ever done. Your legs gave out as soon as they touched the ground, forcing you to use a majority of upper body strength to drag your way across the room to the door on the opposite wall. It was far from graceful, and there was even a point where you bumped into one of the various stacks of crates. It was nothing more than a little bump, but enough to knock a precariously placed holoboard from its perch on the edge.

Clattering to the floor loudly, it only prompted you to move faster, the fear of someone having heard the ruckus and coming to investigate. You prayed to the maker that wasn’t the case, but with the luck you had been having lately it should have been no surprise when the door opened with a loud creak. A shadow fell over your crawling form, and you looked up expecting the worst. Someone like a pirate or scavenger, maybe even an enforcer. What you weren’t expecting was a child, or what you assumed was one at least.

The person standing in the doorway was small. They were just shy of reaching halfway up the frame, lithe frame hunched in on itself from what you could see peeking around the opening. It was hard to tell their exact age, due to the achingly familiar helmet they wore. While far from being a replica, it was still close enough to that of your beloved Armorer to send a pang through your already aching body. The polished metal reflected the new light of the hall in an almost blinding manor. An owlish visor stared down at your form, just as frozen as you were.

Then, before you could react, they were gone. Light footsteps echoed down the corridors, growing more and more faint until they disappeared completely, leaving you in silence once again. There was only a moment of hesitation before you were on the move once again, now with a reinvigorated urgency.

Finally making it to the door, you used the frame to pull yourself up, gasping all the while as sharp jolts of pain stemmed from every part of your body. Emerging from the room you were met with the sight of similar metal walls as the room. They extended in both directions, the one to your left extending into darkness while there were two branching paths on the right. While having no idea where exactly you were and no reference on how to get out, you still pushed forward.

Heading right, your path was lit by only the occasional light on the wall. Some were the normal low lights that could be found on virtually any planet, while others were a more archaic version using oil and gas were scattered in between. You could tell you were most likely somewhere underground judging from the cool, damp feel the air carried. Either that or you were on an already cold planet, as judging from the state of the room you woke in, it was doubtable that you were in such a place that would waste resources on high quality cooling.

Reaching the split path, you paused, giving yourself a moment to breathe and recuperate as you listened carefully down each. The left was dead silent, almost unnervingly so, and for a moment you thought the second was the same. However, the light flicker of the nearest flame caught your attention. It moved consistently back in the direction you came, not like how it would normally; and with how much of your life had been spent staring and carefully watching such flames it was almost childs play to tell it was being manipulated by something else. Listening closer once again, you could hear it. The slight whisper of the wind. It’s draft was light, almost undetectable, but if you enough it was there. Gently caressing your skin and whispering promises of a way out.

It was a slow go, and painful the entire time. Your body gave not a moment of relief, in just as much pain as when you woke up if not more. It was hard to even take a full breath. Your lungs felt as if they would burst with each inhale. It was as if the air itself was made of fire. The pain didn’t leave much room for thought, but those that you did have were for the armored warrior you had been so abruptly reminded of earlier.

You had no idea where she was now, or if she even knew what had happened. The message may have never even gotten through, and while the Mandalorians were always well informed of the events going on around the galaxy you had no idea how long you had been here. It could be just a night or day; maybe even a week. She only visited every thirty rotations, so she could only find out when she came by for her next visit, only to find nothing but ash.

Would she mourn your supposed death, or would it be more so due to the loss of a weapons provider and face they could use to get supplies and information without knowing who it was really going to? Maybe it would be a relief not to have to worry about any information about them being uncovered. A loose end tied up without them having to do any of the work.

The thought of her throwing whatever connection you thought you had away, especially after having fallen so hard for the strong woman, hurt your heart almost as much as your body. It was a mortifying thought, and one that distracted you from not only the pain for a moment, but also caused a lapse in judgment that allowed your pursuers to get so close. It was only too late that you heard their footsteps echoing behind you in the dimly lit hall. A new wave of fear coursed through your body, pushing you further as they got closer to you, and yourself finally emerging into a larger section of the hall. This one had alcoves lining the top of the wall, allowing the moonlight and cool night air from outside to filter in and drain the hope from your body. The entire time you thought you were getting closer to a way out, you had just been losing yourself deeper in the maze of the unfamiliar compound. It was cruel for fate to do so, but there was nothing to be done now. Not when your pursuers were getting so close.

Your eyes darted around the small area, locking for a place to hide or at least a weapon to defend yourself with, before settling on one of the many alcoves. It was under the small windows that allowed the traitorous light and breeze in, leaving it bathed in darkness.

Thinking quickly, you limped over and forced yourself into the narrow space. It was plenty tall, but so thin it forced your shoulders straight and grated on your exposed skin as you slipped in. Here, your breaths sounded even louder and more labored, forcing you to muffle them with your hand and making it even harder to breathe. It wasn’t the best spot, and quite obvious now that you thought about it, but there was no time to find a new one as a group burst in through the arch you had emerged from seconds prior.

It was hard to see with your eyes still adjusting to the dimness of your little space combined with the light blur they still held, and you simply squeezed them shut, unable to watch as you listened to them get closer to your hiding spot, and focused on remaining as silent as possible. One hand clamped over your mouth, the other wrapped around your body as it squeezed as tightly as possible, as if it were the only thing keeping you together.

You could hear them talking. Their voices sounded muffled even as they bounced off the cold stone walls, and they spoke in low tones that made it nearly impossible to hear. A few still made their way through however.

‘Escaped’ ‘gone far’ ‘Find them-’ ‘kill’

The last word sent a shiver down your spine. It was only made worse as one of the group got closer than any had yet stopped mere feet away. The rough, damp stone dug into your skin as you pushed yourself further back, duly noting the itching pull of your wounds as they grew heated.

They were going to find you, and once they did they were going to kill you, or worse.

A moment passed. Then two. Then several more, all waited out with tension so thick it would put any ship hull to shame, before the shadowy figure retreated. Their own footsteps faded in with the others as they moved on in search of their present target of you, continuing to head down the maze of halls.

Even once they were gone you didn’t allow yourself to relax for a full minute, too fearful of them coming back. But as the momentarily spike in adrenaline wore off and your current position became increasingly uncomfortable, you allowed yourself to relax. Greedily gulping in as much air as your recovering lungs would allow, you were doubled over as you tried to recover. That position, combined with the increasingly loud pounding in your ears, left you unaware of your surroundings and defenseless against the shadow that unknowingly approached.

Their arm reached in, easily pulling you from your hiding place and out into the open.

“N-no! Stop!” You fought back weakly, pushing away at the figure that held you in an iron grip, not yet painful but refusing to budge as you clawed at it uselessly.

“Please.” It was a whimpering, pathetic sounding plea. One born of desperation and fear. Never in your life would you think yourself to sink to such levels, yet here you were, bracing for the pain you knew would come. They would drag you back, either to that little room or somewhere even more secluded, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You braced as the person shifted, recoiling as they brought their free hand up. You expected a hit, a slap. Something that would daze if not knock you completely out. What you weren’t expecting was the gentle caress of fingers along the skin, tracing along your cheek and following its slope up, where it gently rested, silently urging you to open your eyes and raise your gaze.

There was hardly a chance to be confused by the action before a sense of familiarity hit. Worn leather, softer than porg fur and just as warm despite the chilly environment, was stained with the smell of oil and sharp tang of metal. It was a scent that you had thought of many times, haunting your thoughts at night as you wished to be nothing more than wrapped in its comfort.

With a shuddering breath, you forced yourself to look up into the visor of your captor.

The gold of her helmet seems even brighter now as the light of the moon causes it to practically radiate under its glow, starkly contrasting the inky darkness of the owlish visor as it tilts in a way that gives away her concern.

There’s a moment of silence as you simply stare at one another, an exchange of silent emotion as you take each other in.

“Tracinya’ika…” The voice that flows from her helmet is akin to a whisper, seeming almost impossibly soft for such a warrior. However quiet, it’s enough to break the last of your resolve. The Armorer catches you as your legs give out, exhaustion finally catching up. She doesn’t say a thing, simply letting you bury your face in the warm fur covering clasped over her shoulders as you silently hiccup and stutter.

“H-how did I get here? The last thing I remember is-” your unable to finish, screams of the villagers mingling with tie fighters coming to the surface along with a crushing, constricting feeling gripping your chest, as if you were trapped under the rubble once again.

Seeming to sense your thoughts, the Armorer places a comforting hand on your lower back to lead you away. When it becomes apparent that there’s no way you’ll be walking on your own, she pauses a moment, before bending down and sweeping you off your feet to carry you bridal style down the hall, past the other Mandalorians that had appeared without a sound. They were silent as she passed, though their curiosity was almost tangible. She paid them no mind however, easily carrying you through the dim halls and allowing you to once again bury your face into the fur of her cowl. If she minds she says nothing of it.

“There is much to explain.” Her voice rumbles, vibrating through her chest and against your cheek. “But you have been through much. For now, rest. When you awake, you can ask as many questions as you like.”

You wanted to argue, to protest, but there was no energy left to do so. Your escape attempt had left you drained. Instead, you simply let your head rest against the chilled metal of her armor, allowing the gentle sway of her walk to lull you back to sleep without the fear of what was to come, knowing you were safe as long as she was around.

____________________________________

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

You froze, the crate of rations you were about to hand to the man next to you blocking your vision from the worst of the glare you could already feel. That barrier was shortly removed, leaving you exposed to the cross Mandalorian.

It had been foolish to think you would be able to sneak off without her knowing. Nothing went on in these tunnels that she didn’t know about. If you didn’t know any better you may think that she had monitors hidden around the place, or maybe even a tracking device to keep tabs on you. It was more likely someone had mentioned your whereabouts in passing, or she had come for one of her usual check-ins throughout the day.

“You should not be up and about, none the less moving supplies.” Her gaze snaps to the others, who were all similarly frozen as they watched. You felt slightly guilty, knowing they didn’t deserve her wrath.

“Why would you let her in here? If the cold doesn’t make her sick then the labor will only make her recovery that much longer.”

The man visibly flinched at her tone, her attention now focused on him as the others slowly back away, letting him take the blame.

“Well, I just thought-”

“You clearly did not, else she would not be working herself to the bone.”

She takes a step closer to the man, sending him into a panic as he quickly backpedals, stammering.

“Hey.” You grab her arm, instantly shifting her attention back to you. Unlike the others, you don’t shrink back or even flinch. Instead you stare back into the darkness of her helmet. “It’s not his fault. I told him it was alright, that I was fine to work.”

The Armorer stares a moment longer, glancing back once more at the others before grabbing you by the hand, shoving the crutch you had been using since your leg healed enough to put weight on into your hand and dragging you away. She continues to scold you as she walks, never pausing in her climb from the lower levels as she continues to make you feel more and more like a child.

“There is no reason for you to have to work in your condition. Olia said rest would do you best.”

“That was weeks ago.” You huff, using the wall to stabilize yourself a bit better as you attempt to keep up with her quick pace. “And it’s only right that I do something to pull my own weight, especially after all that you and the others have done for me.”

“You have already done enough for us, and once you are fully healed I know you will continue to help. Until then I implore you to rest.”

The concern she held made you blush, her complimenting words nearly winning you over. Too stubborn for your own good however, your tongue speaks your thoughts before you can stop it.

“I know, but I can’t help but feel that I’m taking advantage of you. I just want to be, you know, useful.”

Your words cause her to pause, nearly causing you to collide with her back, sending a glance over her shoulder to your deflated figure. Logically she knows that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to help out, even sending a streak of pride through her at your eagerness to help her people, but the small voice constantly hounding her and leading to her protectiveness was too loud to ignore.

To your surprise, instead of heading down the left hall to what you knew would lead to the room you had been set up in since arriving, she turned to the right. Following cautiously, you looked about with wide eyes, having never been down this way before despite being her for weeks now. There were still many parts of the tunnels you didn’t know, mainly memorizing the paths to important places such as the communal area, storage rooms(which were the easiest to sneak off to help in), and of course the forge.

Soon enough you enter another section. The smell of metal and oil hits as soon as you step over the threshold, taking you by surprise. It was even stronger here than the forge, which was saying something. Though with the number of weapons and armor lining the walls it was to be expected. Every inch of the room, from the ceiling to the floor and even laying in piles were weapons. The order with which they were all organized in was impressive, not a single piece out of place in the organized chaos. And there, in the middle of it all, was one of the biggest men you had ever seen.

Your own father had been large, standing at six five, and while this man seemed to be slightly shorter he more than made up for it with width. Shoulders like a rancore, with hands so large they made you jealous of the potential grip strength, he looked as if he could snap you without a second thought. It’s not as if you were some petite thing in your own right, yet you felt dwarfed for one of the first times in your life.

As soon as he noticed you enter, he stood, his head bowing in acknowledgement.

“Alor.” He helmet shifted towards you, unconsciously forcing you further behind your bronze protector. “How can I help you?”

She shifts to the side, exposing you further as her hand gently rests against the small of your back, pushing you further towards the giant.

“It seems our newest friend can’t sit still. Unfortunately I can not watch them at all times to ensure they do not sneak off, but I know I can trust you to watch and keep them entertained.”

His head tilts, studying you closer as your heart jumps to your throat. In the process of trying to pull your own weight, you were now nothing this man with having to babysit you.

“I’m sure he has better things to do. If we just go back I could-”

“No. You will stay with Paz until I come for you. He will keep you from sneaking to the lower levels and lifting boxes.” A warning lay under her tone, both for you and Paz. His helmet dips in a nod once again, silently accepting his new instructions as she lightly ruffles your hair, pulling back only when your hand swats at hers.

“Do not worry. I am sure you two will get along just fine. I’ve had enough trouble keeping him away as it is.” Before you could try and argue once again she was gone, turning on heel and heading back down the passage. Great. Now you were alone with a giant and potentially grumpy Mandalorian while surrounded by weapons, which was both potentially good and bad.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage and turned back to Paz, as he had been called. He was still standing, watching as you cautiously approached.

“H-hello there.” You mentally cursed yourself for stuttering, only imagining what he might think of you now. Still, you powered on. “You’re name is Paz, right? I’m-”

“I know who you are.” He cuts you off, flopping back down into his seat as he picks up the weapon he had previously been inspecting.

“Oh….You do?”

He snorts. “Everyone knows who you are. You made quite the entrance.”

You flush, still embarrassed you had made such a spectacle arriving. Definitely not how you had hoped to meet such esteemed warriors, bloody and defeated. He seemed to sense your embarrassment.

“No matter. I’ve known about you before then.” He twirled the blaster in his hand, one that you now recognized as your own craft. “Been a fan of your work for a while.”

Gesturing to the bench across from him, you soon found yourself becoming comfortable with the blue man. Within the hour you had relaxed completely, joking around with him as he answered any questions you had about the location of rooms or the odd Mandalorian you had yet to talk with. The conversation quickly shifts to, of course, weapons, as you talk about the ups and downs of each design.

“It’s good to have someone to talk with like this. Nobody back on Quilon were interested in the craft of weapons. They just cared if they shot or not.” He took the weapon you had just finished checking, looking for nicks or spots needing maintenance, and handed you another. It was a small mercy he had granted you. While not a physically demanding task it was enough to keep you busy and feeling useful. There was a lot to get through after all, and he surmised there was no one better to check weapons then one who knows their ins and outs.

“While many like to use the weapons, they don’t get too familiar with their inner workings.”

“That’s why we’re here though.” You point out, only causing him to sigh.

“Yes, but if I have to fix one more blaster that simply has a residue build up that could be solved with a good cleaning I’m going to strangle them.”

“I’m glad she brought me here. What she’s done, what you’ve all done, is amazing. If I could spend my life working alongside her it would be more than enough.

He pauses, in the middle of sharpening a skinning knife, his helmet tilting up before going back to his work. “I’m sure she would be delighted to hear so. You should tell her yourself.”

You pause, confused. “What do you mean? She already knows that I want to continue making weapons for you all.”

Now you had his full attention, staring back at one another across the small gap as you both tried to discern the others thoughts. His words made no sense. She knew your intentions to stay, so why would you need to explain any further? You wanted to stay, more specifically just for her, but there was no way you could just tell her that. To risk ruining everything you had built between the two of you? Just for some silly little crush? No thank you. You were content being as useful to her as you could now, relishing in the little crumbs of affection you received now.

“You have to be kidding me.” He finally says, breaking the silence. “She literally calls you ‘ni tracinya’!”

You blink owlishly, still not understanding. Your Mandoa was still coming along. As of now you only knew a few words, mostly greetings and curse words, much to the amusement of the clan and the disdain of the Armorer.

He throws his hands in exasperation, head practically slamming back into the wall behind him. “It means ‘my flame’ for makers sake! Listen,” He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees as his voice takes on a more serious tone. “Think real hard, back to when you first came here. You’re telling me you haven’t noticed anything?”

Now that he mentions it, you do remember some odd things that you had never really put into question before now.

When you had first been cleared to move out of bed by Olia, the Armorer had insisted on moving you to a room closer to the forge, claiming its warmth would do you better then the cooler parts of the tunnels where the injured normally stayed. You had been cautious, unsure of being so close to the center of the tribe space and felt as if you were being invasive. She had assured you it was only temporary, to sooth your concerns you suspected, though that was quickly thrown out the window as the small space quickly collected a number of trinkets thanks to the little ones. After overcoming their initial hesitancy and fear of being an outsider, they were constantly bringing small objects and bits of easily bent and cut pieces of metal for you to make things out of, trading your creations for their own crude versions. The majority were from the Armorer however, and you treasured those the most. They were nothing extravagant, certainly not to the level of detail you would go into, but you wouldn’t have expected her to. Her focus was always more on practicality, though that’s not to say her works weren’t beautiful in their own right. Your own just placed more emphasis on the small details, and you were allowed the time and pleasure of putting them there.

She had brought you all your meals during that time, eventually evolving to the point where you would enjoy them together in her forge when you were well enough, your backs pressed to one another with a covering tightly wrapped around your eyes. Hardly was there a time when you weren’t greeted with the warm shine of her armor, the fur she wore brushing your skin and sending shivers down your spine with how close she stood at times. Her hand would constantly be touching your back or shoulder, holding your wrist as she led you through the halls even when you knew the way. There were many nights you would fall asleep in the forge, lulled by it’s warmth and the familiar sound to metal striking metal. It both soothed and made the itch to work once more that much worse.

The memory brought on a shy smile, accompanied by a light flush across your skin. It was times like that when you could allow yourself to wish, to hope, that you might mean something more than just a friend or fellow smith.

Just as soon as the thought arrived you were quick to banish it. Dreaming of the impossible would only bring more disappointment. And so, with a small laugh and roll of your eyes, you implored Paz to put it to rest; and to his credit, he did. The thought still lingered on your mind however, and you wanted to curse him for putting it there.

You continue to check and clean the weapons in peace, avoiding any and all conversation surrounding the previous topic until dinner. Or what you thought was around the right time. It seemed that even with all the time spent in the dark tunnels you had yet to gain the innate ability to just tell what time it was without looking at a clock. Paz sure knew though, racking his weapon with you following his lead.

“Your company wasn’t as annoying as others, and your weapons knowledge and appreciation is respectable, though I would expect nothing else from someone in your situation.” He reached his hand out, watching as you realized he wanted you to shake it. His hands were just as strong as you had thought, firmly grasping your own as you got into a small battle trying to squeeze the other. “Feel free to find me any time you’re bored. Keep Alor from getting frustrated and who knows, once you heal enough I might be able to teach you how to fight for the next time you run into any imperial troops.”

“That sounds...great.” He dropped his arm, handing you your walking stick and leading you back through the tunnels to the communal area as you added the new path to your mental map. His large strides were hard to keep up with, and though you suspected he had adjusted his pace you were still out of breath by the time you reached your destination. Inside the circular space there were a number of mandalorians lounging around. Children ran amuck, some helmed some not, weaving between the adults and ignoring their complaints. As soon as you entered a crowded space they descended like a swarm. Small hands pulled at your clothes, climbing up your non injured leg. After the scolding they had received last time they made sure to give your injuries a wide berth.

They were clamoring, all trying to be first to show you the small projects that had been working on or made that day. The others looked on with mild amusement, or so you assumed that's what was shown behind their visors. There were many jokes passed around that you were turning their young warriors into inventors and thinkers, though you hardly saw it as a problem. Exploring bright minds and exercising critical thinking skills would only make them that much better in any tight situations. It’s not like they couldn’t do both after all.

Your eyes scanned the crowd, bouncing over the family colors painted in intricate patterns on armor as you looked for one in particular.

“She’s still in the forge.” You jumped, causing your current passengers to squeal as they were nearly thrown from your elevation to the ground. Olia stepped closer, shooing the children away, causing a ruckus of groans and complaints, but nevertheless did as they were told. They knew better than to disrespect an elder, and their medic at that. Placing two ration portions into your hands, she’s already pushing you down the main hall.

“Never a moment of rest for that one.” She jokes, turning on her heel and heading back into the common area before you even have a chance to speak.With nothing more than a shrug, you continue on, walking the by now familiar path to deliver the food.

Warmth is the first thing that greets you, a heavenly contrast to the otherwise cold and damp dwelling. Not that you hated it, but growing up on a planet with two suns and working in a forge for the majority of your life made anything below blazing feel like Hoth. The clang of metal striking metal rings clear and crisp, but as owled eyes catch your movement, the hammer pauses mid strike, afloat for just a moment before quickly being deposited back into her belt.

Holding up the ration packs for her to see, she’s already moving, fluidly packing up her project and clearing a space as you pull the bench from the wall, settling on the wood with a light creak. Not long after, gloved hands found your skin, briefly brushing over your cheeks and causing butterflies to erupt throughout your body, setting every nerve on fire as the soft fabric of the blindfold replaced her hands. It wasn’t something you ever questioned or protested, simply content being allowed the level of trust such an action required, though you would often question what you had done to earn such an honor from an esteemed figure such as herself. The tools along her belt clicked softly, the only thing telling her location as she closed the shutters to the forge.

Not a word was said the entire time, and you didn’t need any. The practice had been born after she had gotten on your back about finishing meals, only to have you express your awkwardness of eating alone while she watched, combined with your own concern with her eating enough. She was always working, crafting new armor and weapons, or meeting with elders and warriors to discuss and organize the smaller aspects of clan life. The disregard she had for her own health when she always put so much work into that of others was both adermable and frustrating. It became one of the few things you could do during the day, making sure she had eaten and stayed hydrated in the heat of the forge. Dinner was the only time she sat down however, enjoying whatever rations or food had been chosen for the night.

After the blindfold was on and your own ration pack was in hand, it wasn’t long before you felt her warmth at your back as she too settled down on the bench. The fur of her cowl tickled your skin, telling you of how close she sat. Then you just talk. Telling her about your day and the new things you had learned.

“Introducing me to Paz almost makes up for the scene earlier.” You joke “His knowledge of weapons and their care is amazing. I can see myself getting closer with him.”

You could have imagined it, but you could swear you felt her tense behind you.

“Not too close I would imagine. Olia has informed me that you should be cleared to go back to work within a week or two.”

Perking at her words, you grew excited. It had been so long that you had begun to think you would never craft again.

“I’m glad to hear that. I already worry about the muscle mass I’ve lost since being laid up.” Laughing, you bump your shoulders against hers. “I feel like my shoulders are only half their size now, everything all atrophied and squishy.”

She’s silent, and you think the joke just fell flat, or she’s simply tired from the day.

“So you enjoyed staying with Paz today. I can assume that means I won’t have to worry about you sneaking off if I leave you with him again?”

“No.” Chuckling, you set down the now empty ration container. There’s no rush for her to finish, as you enjoy these small moments. It’s easy to pretend to be something more, something closer.

It may have been the comforting warmth of her body combined with that of the forges own heat and scents, or simply the exhaustion that came with having been able to do actual work for the first time in weeks. Either way, your tongue was loose and words flowed without thought.

“It’s hard to believe I’m here. I never thought I would ever go anywhere besides Quilon. It’s where my family has lived since forever. My mother and father, my grandparents, their parents and so on. We’ve all come from the same planet. After they died I was scared to even think about traveling. I thought that if I left I would be alone. The forge was the only thing I had left even close to family.”

Losing it had been hard. When you had first heard the news after waking it had felt like you were crushed by its foundation all over again. Olia and the Armorer had to practically force you to eat, not having the energy to do even want to get out of bed. Recovery had been slow, especially when there was nothing to go back to. It was around the time she let the children into your room, tasking them with keeping an eye on you while she tended to the clan duties she had been neglecting. It was the young ones, so bright and full of energy, that pulled you from the slump. As soon as your crafting skills were discovered after absentmindedly making a flower out of paper scraps they had all but demanded you show them more. Leading you through the tunnels and teaching you games had come after. Soon enough you were almost back to normal, able to smile and laugh once again.

It had nearly broken her to see you in such a state. The fire your eyes had once held had been reduced to little more than smoldering ash, while the glow that radiated seemed to radiate from your skin itself had dimmed. You had lost everything to the empire, but Maker be damned if she wasn’t going to do her best to give it back and then some.

“Would it be wrong of me to say it was a good thing?” She jerked at your words, taken by surprise.

“And why would that be?”

“Well, I got to meet all of you. Olia, Paz, even the young ones. You’ve all been so kind to me.” A slight hesitation, unsure if the next words would be stepping over boundaries.

No. You had come this far, and knowing her she would only pry in that aloof way of hers until you divulged a proper answer.

“Even if none of you feel the same way, I like to think that you’ve become something of a family to me. It’s been so long since I've known what it's been like to be a part of a family, so that’s what I think this feeling is at least.” A deep breath, pushing the words that seemed to catch. You can’t live feeling like this anymore, Paz’s words coming back to you once again and giving you a small amount of confidence.

“I would like to be a part of your family. With you, that is.”

With bated breath, you wait. She’s silent, but not in the way she normally is. It’s more calculated, the air itself charged. Heart pounding in your ears, you're not sure if you would have even heard her answer. Instead of any words however, you find yourself blinded by the light of the flames as your blindfold is practically ripped off, revealing the cause of your emotional rollercoaster herself, helmet back on yet with a gaze more intense than you’ve experienced yet.

“I have always been content with my deal in life. I provide for my clan, do my best to lead and keep them safe. True leaders are those that are selfless, however,” her hand grasps yours, pulling you closer. The cool feel of her helmet sends shivers down your spine; a stark contrast to your own burning skin. “But since I have met you, I have been nothing but selfish. I want everything that you are; from your body to your soul.”

Getting up, she leads you to the far corner of her forge. A small strike of disappointment hits as she lets go of your hand to dig through one of the storage compartments. It quickly dissipates as she emerges with an all too familiar item.

You gasp. It was a helmet, just like the one you had been working on and lost on Quilon. The real one was lost, but the one before you took many of the elements you had worked into your own and combined them with a more traditional Mandoan style. The eyes had the same wider vision you had been incorporating. A combination of the classic t-visor with the more elegant swooped eyes that females seemed to favor. The jawline was also slightly more convex then normal, allowing for greater range of the head and felt less claustraphobic. Other than that, it seemed she had taken her own creative liberties and upon closer inspection you saw it was eerily similar to her own. Instead of bronze it was a silvery blue, the same three lines running down the forehead with only two horns, looking as if they were coated in the bronze color as her own. Etched into each of the cheek recesses was a hammer and tongs respectively, done in the same elegant etching found on many of your own weapons.

“I will not push you to make a decision, but I do wish you to know; if you pledge yourself to the creed, to the tribe, to me, you will never find yourself alone again. I will personally make sure of it.” Her voice barely makes its way past the vecoder. Never before had she spoken in such a gentle tone, even to yourself.

“You will be mine as I will be yours.”

Taking the helmet in your own hands, the surprising lightness of such a large metal object nearly causes you to throw it. Turning it over and inspecting every inch, you know you’re only delaying the inevitable. For so long you wanted to be part of a family, to help and be more than just a weapons crafter. Furthermore, the very person you wished, no, yearned, to spend the rest of your life with was the one to ask.

“To spend the rest of my life by your side, providing for the tribe, would be all too short.” Smiling, you pull the helmet, your helmet, closer.

For a second you think she’s short circuited, frozen in place. Then, quick as a blaster shot, she grabs your arm and drags you from the forge, all but throwing the shutter open and practically running down the hall as you struggle to keep up with your still sore leg. Briefly you catch a flash of familiar blue armor, but it's gone before you can get a good look. Instead you focus on keeping pace with the bronze warrior.

“Wh-where are we going.”

Others are watching as you pass, moving out of your path as their Alor continues her war path.

“The elders.” She says without stopping and, not winded in the slightest as, in one fell swoop, you find yourself swept into her arms and being carried bridal style as her pace continues to pick up speed. An impressive move if you hadn’t been so shocked.

“We have much to prepare.”

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