#the first time he’s out on a mission and they have to sleep rough cloud is horrified that none of these city boys know even the basics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

myfictionaldreams · 8 months

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Day 7: Somnophilia - Winter Soldier

Summary: He had been instructed to find you after he had completed his mission for a debrief, but he has needs to be taken care of first.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dubious content!!!, consensual somnophilia, kinda freeuse, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, rough sex, obsessive behaviour, multiple orgasms

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The Winter Soldier had only been to your home once more, the location of which wasn’t even included in any Hydra files, but he knew. He always seemed to know where you were, seeking to find you in the darkness. He had been your patient and priority for years. Not only were you his Doctor but carer, the person to give him his missions and report back to; you fed him, helped even to wash him on occasions, you had been ordered to look after the Soldier’s every need, by whatever was necessary.

You’d instructed him two days before report to you following the completion of his mission, and tomorrow, in the early hours of the morning, you were to go to the Hydra base and wait for him to arrive. This was why you were shocked, to say the least when he turned up at your home clearly; whatever had occurred during the mission had riled him up, making him desperate for release.

You should have anticipated this with the Winter Soldier, and to be truthful, you, too, needed some sort of a release from how on edge you’d been over the last 36 hours of watching his heartbeat on a monitor to make sure that he was surviving through the mission. Only after he had confirmed the kill and was on his journey back you finally collapsed face-first onto the bed.

Even though he was your patient, the relationship was significantly blurred as of late as human instinct and the need to find satisfaction through touch had escalated. You weren’t sure when or where, but as he became more unsettled and riled up, his trust in you increased, and he made advances of the sexual kind.

You’d used the excuse that it was to get his frustrations out, which is why you’d allowed it to continue, but in truth, you were just as lonely and in need of human contact, too. The bond the two of you had formed over the years meant that, in an odd way that was inexplainable, you trusted the assassin. There had been enough circumstances that he had lost control and on the warpath, and the only person who would never come to any harm would be you; even after his memory was wiped, he would automatically answer to you and no one else.

Therefore, now, the Soldier was more unpredictable, needing the warmth of your body but also being fascinated by how you reacted to the point that he’d become obsessed. This was how you got to the situation you were currently in.

You’d been in a deep-sated sleep that was desperately needed, but because of that, you were incredibly disorientated. The bed felt softer than usual; the thump of your heart fluttered against your eardrums, covering up the sounds produced further down the bed.

Your entire body was floating like the bed had disappeared, and you’d somehow landed on a fluffy cloud. Everywhere was warm, comfortable and yet vulnerable; you felt exposed at first but soon realised that the bed sheet must have slipped from your body, exposing your nudity.

The more that time ticked on, the more your surroundings began to unblur. You realised that the warmth of your body was actually a burning in your muscles being held in a specific position by a heavy weight pushing on it.

Taking a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with cool air, you soon came to the realisation that you were moaning deep from the back of your throat. Drowsy, dry moans that continued in a steady flow as you reacted to something even in the depths of sleep.

With a whole body shiver, you attempted to move, to understand why your core was pulsing with pleasure; however, when you tried to stretch your legs, thick leather gloved-covered hands held your thighs back so that your knees were grazing your chest.

“Wha-What’s going on?” you asked, but your throat was so dry and sleep still evident so that your voice was croaky and deeper than usual. Your only answer came in a long hard lick of a tongue from your hole to your clit.

Your back arched with an automatic response, hands moving down to deel whoever was there and was greeted with a clammy forehead and hair that felt long, unwashed and draped over your mound.

A powerful suck to your throbbing bundle of nerves forced your eyes to bolt open; back still arched, but now, you were pushing up on your elbows to half sit up and look at the man you already knew who was there, eating you out like a man wholly starved, like it was his first meal in days. You supposed he probably was hungry, besides from the fact that he’d been travelling for hours, as his high metabolism meant he usually was hungrier quicker than others.

The Winter Soldier was lying on the bed, stomach down against the mattress, his tactical gear still on and only his mask was missing. He was still coated in grim dirt from the mission, even on the gloves that held your thighs in place, but he didn’t care, and neither did you as he helped himself to your pussy. For a moment, you contemplated his night; he must have travelled non-stop to get here and then dropped to his knees and started licking your cunt, probably too hyper-fixated on your nakedness even to bother to wake you.

The moans in the back of your throat increased in volume, the tips of your fingers moving further into his hair to hold him in that position right as his tongue curled deep inside your hole just as you liked it.

The Asset's eyes were closed. However, they always were when he pleasured you, as if he was so in the zone, only wanting to listen to your sweet melodies of moans and taste your unique sweet taste like it was the best and only thing that mattered to him.

“Soldier”, you gasped with a rush of air escaping your mouth as you collapsed back onto the mattress, feet tilting and resting onto his shoulders to help keep him in that same position.

The grip on your thighs tightened almost to the point of leaving bruises as he responded to his title, and your walls were beginning to clamp down with more urgency to suck his tongue deeper. Just a little more, a particular flick of his tongue, and you were orgasming, squishing his face by grinding your hips and holding his hair firmly in place as your cunt contracted against his tongue.

The Winter Soldier didn’t stop fucking you with his tongue until your muscles loosened and fingers relaxed, and then dropped back onto the mattress as you stared up at the ceiling in the after-orgasmic bliss.

One minute, you’re grinning like an idiot, blowing out a long, steady breath, and the next, you’re face down on the bed as the Asset twisted your hips, turning you over and rising on the bed himself.

This was usually how it happened, so you had anticipated it, especially to be moved into this position. It was his favourite position to do it from behind, whether it was bending over a desk, countertop, bed or on your knees like you were now, face down and ass up. The conclusion you’d come to that he preferred it this was it wasn’t as personal as face to face, which had happened once, and he’d gone into a complete meltdown to the point that he had needed to be frozen again and Pierce had been beyond fuming after he’d found out what had happened. It was most likely because he’d seen the euphoria on your face during sex and bought back some human emotion for him that the Soldier couldn’t understand.

So now, the fucking was exclusively from behind, but you didn’t mind, especially as it was wild, as he always fucked you so deep from this angle. The Asset only unzipped himself, not bothering to undress any further, finding it unnecessary even to remove his shoes as he wiped his cock up and down your folds to later his tip in your juices.

This was your only warning before he began to fuck you. One sharp thrust in, 5 seconds to adjust and then it was a free-for-all.

Hard, deep, fast thrusts. Your bed bounced against the wall, smacking noises of both the impact of the bed and your hips being slapped against his as he held tightly onto the flesh, using the momentum to push and pull your body against his.

The Winter Solider’s balls smacked your tender clit, swollen from his mouth. Your fingers fisted into the pillow beneath your face, teeth also having to bite the material so that your poor neighbours didn’t complain about the screaming at whatever late hour that it was.

He was rough, but the Asset needed to be. He needed to feel hard sparking touches as anything else would have been too overstimulating in the sense that he wasn’t used to soft touches, only from you, but when he was in control, he craved it to be like this. The mushroomed tip of his thick cock was fucking repeatedly into your cervix, almost making you see stars with how good and intense it felt. Your juices were making squelching noises with each thrust of his member, and it was so loud and obscene that it covered the sound of your muffled moans.

Not a single noise came from the Asset; he was always silent for the most of it. Only his heavy breathing could be heard, but at least this time, he wasn’t wearing his mask like usual.

However, he decided to mix it up slightly, doing something he hadn’t attempted before as his grip on your hip released so he could take hold of your shoulder, pulling on it until you were entirely on your knees, naked back flush against his tactical gear-clothed chest. The arm on your shoulder then scooped around your front, resting between your breasts and fingers around your neck to ensure you didn’t fall forward. You knew the metal arm was holding you up due to the firm feeling beneath the leather clothes.

His parted lips hovered next to your ear like he would whisper something to you, but no noises or words came. The rolling of his hips slowed, but the thrusts were still just as deep and methodical, the buckles of his belt digging into your bare flesh until you were clawing at his wrist to all of the stimulation.

It felt so good, so god damn good that you were already clinging to him and wanting to scream that you were about to orgasm again. Still, he already knew from how your pussy clutched to him like a lifeline, attempting to milk his cock with his hard it was squeezing his length in flutters. The Soldier continued, not phased or slowing as you shivered and then came, warm wet juices soaking down your thighs as your cunt pulsed around his cock.

Nothing could ever prepare you for his libido, though. He could stay hard for hours due to his super serum, and with how needy and lonely you were, you’d fucked him enough time to get used to the long sessions, knowing by the end, you’d be overstimulated and thoroughly satisfied.

Two more orgasms later, you were a trembling mess, having moved to lie on your side as he spooned close behind, hair drenched from how warm he was, still completely dressed. You were curled around your pillow, pussy sensitive and flooded from all of your orgasms, and he finally made a noise, releasing a deep groan as his seed spilt into your pussy, coating your walls and then leaking out and dripping onto the bed.

You were already half asleep again as he pulled out, standing to clean himself. With half-lidded, heavy eyes, you forced yourself to turn onto your back to follow his movements. It was sometimes hard to remember what your job role was, that it wasn’t some kind of a fling or one-night stand, so with great difficulty, you asked, “Mission report?”

#winter soldier #bucky barnes #bucky #winter soldier x reader #winter solder smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #marvel smut #marvel #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #mine*

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qingxin-dream · 9 months

Note

Scara relaxing on the couch with you<3 if u do NSFW having him cockwarm you so he can relax

“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐈𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬”

summary | today was one of those days where nothing could go right. well, maybe, it’s been like that for awhile. and you know damn well that your loving husband was not about to watch you fall into despair. (art credits: unknown)

warnings | not proofread, reader has a mental breakdown, comfort, profanity, smut [18+, MDNI], female-bodied reader, cockwarming, edging/teasing, orgasm denial, slightly possessive/dominant, marking, breeding kink, creampie

genre | modern au, comfort, smut

word count | 3k

pairing | husband! scaramouche x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The sky had been overcast all day, only putting a damper on your mood. Work has somehow become extra stressful lately with more and more responsibilities piling up. You felt the crushing weight on your shoulders with each passing hour and you couldn’t wait for the clock to hit 5pm.

The last place you wanted to be was at work, away from home, and without your husband, Scaramouche. Even then, your relationship was getting to a point where it was nothing more than bitter roommates. He had missions to complete while you were obligated to work every day. Someone had to be the breadwinner, after all.

Sweet freedom washes over your exhausted body when it’s finally time to go home. You rush outside only to find that the clouds had turned a nasty gray color and wet droplets of rain dotted your suit jacket.

Great, you forgot an umbrella.

The rain was really picking up now, your clothes soaked and your hair flattening into drenched clumps. Running through the downpour, you had to make it another block to your car until you got stopped at an intersection—narrowly avoiding the wave of water a speeding car almost splashed onto you.

Once you practically leaped into your car for safety, the sense of stillness that suddenly permeated the air brought you back down to earth. You were more than overworked. You were burned out, with hot tears freely streaming down your face in a choked sob. Gripping the steering wheel, you slumped your forehead onto your knuckles, shoulders shaking as you cried out all the pressure you had bottled up inside. The rain beat against the windshield, drowning out your agony.

Once you managed to compose yourself with a few sad sniffles here and there, you turned the key in the ignition. Tonight you decided to forget about everything. No stress. No work. Not even a single load of laundry. You couldn’t muster the strength for anything other than some sort of self-care or self-indulgence.

When you walked through the door with an expression bordering on despair, Scaramouche knew you had a rough day. He frowned to himself. Frankly, the distance between you two was a sore spot for him as of late and he was expecting you to lock yourself in the bedroom.

At first, he had been stubborn about the tangible separation pushing you further and further away from him. Foolishly, Scaramouche had tried to drown himself in his busy work and missions, simply trying to ignore it. But after a while, he realized that this damned feeling of alienation and being constantly on edge like some old married couple was ridiculous.

That’s not who he married or the life he signed up for, and Scaramouche found himself determined to finally act like you both loved each other for once.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted you from the couch. Looking down at his casual sweatpants and shirt, you wished you could’ve stripped down and lazed around on the couch this afternoon. Sleep was something you desperately needed. He offers a small olive branch with his softened tone of voice. “Why don’t you get changed and come sit with me? I missed you.”

You drew in a hesitant breath. Perhaps it was your way of attempting to decompress before answering your husband or you were unsure of his intentions. The couch was definitely calling to you, and the prospect of your lover’s comforting arms enveloping you was even more tempting. In a haste, you kicked off your shoes and dropped your bag, nodding with a bit of a pitiful pout on your lips as you went into the bedroom.

Scaramouche perked up slightly upon hearing your return, making room for you on the couch so that he could spoon you just right. As you sat down, his hand immediately went to your hip and he found himself gravitating toward the comforting crevice of your neck. Your skin was colder than he expected from the rain but he was more than willing to share his warmth with you, his fingers venturing up the contour of your waist under your baggy shirt.

“There’s goosebumps on your skin,” he noted with an obvious smile in his voice. “Why don’t you take this off and let me warm you up, hm?”

You gaze at him over your shoulder, catching the subtle seductive intonation of his offer. Despite his pads of his fingers gently caressing and massaging your hip in encouragement, you weren’t entirely sure if you had it in you for too much physical affection. Most of all, you just felt tired.

Yet, Scaramouche always got his way. Maybe it was how the words rolled off his tongue that sparked your imagination in the back of your mind, or that mischievous gleam of excitement in his violet eyes. He had no problem catering to your needs, helping you slowly lift that baggy shirt over your shoulders and tossing it aside. He quickly did the same.

Suddenly, he ensnared you in his arms, burying his nose in your neck and sighing. The feeling of your back pressed against his bare, muscular chest was like a balm soothing his soul. You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, surprised by his enthusiasm, and pull a heavy blanket over you both.

“Better get rid of these too,” Scaramouche suggested softly into the shell of your ear, tugging at the elastic waistband of your shorts. He generously nuzzled your neck, peppering a few kisses across your sensitive skin to distract you as he easily slipped you out of your bottoms.

Your whimpers were buried in your throat. You purposely tried to stifle it, but the little shiver of your neck and body against his ministrations couldn’t hide your true feelings forever. The slow drag of his hand up your plush thighs, over the round of your hip, and dangerously close to your breasts was merely a confirmation of your suspicions.

“Scara… please,” you murmur, sounding more like a faint plea for peace and relaxation. “My feet hurt so much. I don’t think I can move anymore, let alone do—”

“Shhh, love, you really think I’m going to make you do anything?” he asks rhetorically, the timbre of his sweet words deepening to a level bordering on husky. His hand travels back down the curves of your body with silent reverence, hoping to ease your worries. “I don’t think you realize how hard you’ve been working until it breaks you.”

With a click of his tongue, your husband continues to let his hand journey over every inch of your lovely form. Your breasts, your stomach, your pelvis, hips, thighs… If he was being honest, Scaramouche would never have thought he’d discover someone as perfectly imperfect as you. To not remind you of how much he secretly worships your whole being would be a grave sin in his eyes.

“I feel like I never see you anymore. We never talk anymore,” he mumbles into your shoulder blade, taking his time to kiss and nibble as much of your upper back as he could. You involuntarily arched your back, the sensation of his mouth along your spine sending pulses of electric desire through you. His voice shifts into a possessive growl. “And I miss my wife.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you weep dryly, rolling your head back to relax on him fully. Your thoughts instantly short-circuited at the revelation of his thick bulge pressing into the plush of your ass, tactically held in place by his fingertips digging into your love handle. You were so ready to just melt into him completely, to give in and let him take care of you.

“Don’t ask for my forgiveness,” he quickly interjected to correct you. You could feel the smirk spreading on his face as he leans into you as much as possible. The back of his hand ghosts your inner thigh, nudging it to the side. “Show me how much you want my mercy.”

You were hanging on every syllable that left his lips in a hushed whisper. A featherlight touch grazed near your outer labia, enough to capture your attention like a moth to a flame. That was all it took for him to push your mind over the edge. It was pathetic, really, how you were desperately trying to mentally fill in the blanks and imagine the pleasure of his slender fingers massaging your needy clit.

Scaramouche knew exactly what he was doing. He loved getting a rise out of you. Admiring the subtle contortion of your features in pleasure may be his favorite pastime. Tickling the insides of your thighs and skirting skillfully around the one place you wanted him most, he scoffed in amusement every time you sighed softly in frustration.

“I thought you were going to be nice,” you groaned impatiently, beginning to lazily roll your hips in rhythm with the intermittent brush of his fingers just shy of your cunt.

“I am,” he snickered into your collarbone, his hot breath pouring down your chest and thrilling your skin. “You can’t lie to me. I know you like when I tease you until you’re begging for me to stuff you to the brim.”

Taking your lower lip between your teeth, you managed to defiantly buck your hips forward and finally feel the tantalizing glide of his index and middle fingers between your slick folds. The sweet victory ripped a lewd moan of your lover’s name from your pretty throat. To say you were utterly addicted to the sound of him parting the lips of your glistening pussy might be an understatement.

“Tsk, tsk, good things come to those who wait. Isn’t that what you humans say?” Scaramouche mocks you lightheartedly, though his fingers don’t leave your clit. Rather, he circles the sensitive nub at a tantalizingly slow pace to earn another cock-twitching moan from your angelic mouth. “I could touch you like this all night… unless you’d rather serve your punishment on my cock instead?”

You were too preoccupied with the intoxicating pleasure concentrated on your aching clit, eyelashes resting on your cheeks and jaw slightly agape. Scaramouche chuckled deeply into your ear with satisfaction, returning his lips to your neck but this time with a little more force. His teeth sunk into you, intent on leaving a good bruise.

It would be a clear reminder in the morning of who you belong to.

He sucked a little harder, causing you to yelp in a mixture of both pain and pleasure. His words were muffled against your skin with a gentle scolding. “I asked you a question.”

“C-cock, please,” you nearly choke, starting to grind sloppily onto his hand for some sense of relief. His other arm underneath you tightened, essentially pinning you to the heat radiating from his body from behind.

“Whose cock?” Scaramouche grumbled jealously at your vague plea. He needed to know that you didn’t just want anyone’s cock to fill up your drenched, gummy hole. The intensity of his violet irises demanded an answer, glued to your blissed out and desperate expression. His fingers were hastily stimulating your clit as he intently watched you parse love and lust on the brink of an orgasm.

“Y-your cock! Please! I need it so bad,” you cried out loudly, the threat of tears lingering behind your eyes. He abruptly slapped a hand over your mouth to quiet your moans, and then shoved his hot, veiny cock pulsating with desire across your soaking wet entrance.

Scaramouche couldn’t stop the salacious groans under his breath, wanting you to hear all the ways you make him unravel. He was eager to drag the mushroomed, pink tip of his cock over your clit over and over, occasionally teasing your hole with the pressure of his length trying to nestle itself within you. But he never pushed it all in. Instead, he continued to gather your essence on his cock—the mere thought of cumming in your rosy folds like this and fucking it messily drove him wild.

“Don’t tell me… hnnnghh… that this is all you want, (Y/N),” he grunted with honeyed pleasure, grinding at a little faster rhythm. You were already nearing your climax again, whispering prayers and praises under your breath for Scaramouche to plunge into you and fuck you senseless.

His hand was still tightly covering your mouth, so you simply shake your head and moan breathily to ask for more.

“Mm, good girl,” he mumbles intimately, kissing your ear and nuzzling you affectionately again. “I know my baby is tired and needy, so I’ll let you be my little cocksleeve tonight, okay?”

You nod and hum against his hand enthusiastically.

He takes the opportunity to shower you with a few more kisses, lining the tip of his cock with your entrance once more. Your walls were already squeezing eagerly on the small inch of his tip inside you and he didn’t dare delay any longer. Scaramouche grabs you by the hip and buries the entirety of his thick cock in your slick tightness, his eyebrows crinkling at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him like a vice.

“F-fuck!” Scaramouche curses sharply, bottoming out completely in your aroused cunt. “So good. S-so fucking good, yeah…”

“A-ah, yes! Mm…” you sighed raggedly with ecstasy, pure pleasure and relief washing over you. His huge cock was stretching you perfectly, the lips of your pussy sucking him in at every possible chance. Despite your exhaustion, your husband had wound you up so much that you begged for tiniest semblance of a thrust into your sopping hole. “Oh my god, p-please, fuck me.”

Without warning, you decided to selfishly fuck yourself on his throbbing cock, but Scaramouche instantly snatched your throat. He held you tightly against his pecs and craned your neck with a forceful grip so that you were facing the ceiling, your oxygen partially cut off. The submissive position had your spongy walls dilating in excitement.

“No, no, wait,” he chastised you, his voice cracking slightly at the end as he struggled to adjust to your greedy cunt. “N-Need I remind you, love? Good things come to those who wait; and if you’re lucky, I’ll cum in you.”

He couldn’t believe your pussy was still quaking around his girth, releasing your neck as you nodded obediently. Once he pulled you into him tightly with his strong arms around your stomach, Scaramouche nudged your legs closed so that you could completely envelope his cock. It was incredibly hot every time he shifted to get more comfortable and your walls only swallowed him further. His breathing calmed slightly, wanting to relax with you for the rest of the night deep within your cunt.

“I-It feels too good, Scara,” you whined, cuddling into the pillow on the couch and clutching the warm blanket to your chest.

For the love of Celestia, your body was so exhausted from work but at the same time you wished you had the strength to fuck him like crazy. You made a mental note to wake him up tomorrow morning with the feeling of your folds lubricating his hardened cock, sinking completely onto his impressive length when his pretty indigo eyes sleepily opened for the first time. You’d make sure to hush him and keep his sleeping mask on snugly, fucking him to your heart’s content.

But for now, your husband returned to worshipping the expanse of your soft curves, coaxing you to relax despite the occasional twitch of his cock inside you. Scaramouche’s voice was smooth as silk when he whispered into the crook of your neck, “See? That wasn’t so bad now. Why don’t you turn on your show and I’ll keep this pretty pussy of yours company for as long as you need, hm?”

You both melted into each other’s embrace, connected in every way imaginable for the first time in a long time. The sensation of your lover’s cock nestling into your folds slowly nudged your sweet spot, drawing breathy moans out of you. He thrusted slowly but deeply, marveling at the lust clouding your eyes pushing you just a little bit closer to the edge.

Though Scaramouche was enraptured by the heavenly sound of your pussy slurping his cock, the need burning in his core was beginning to overtake him. “Mm, turn around for me, babe.”

He was gentle and attentive to you as he helped you face him, holding you firmly against his chest and quickly ensuring his cock didn’t leave your cunt for too long. As he stuffed you full, his mouth captured yours in a passionate kiss. His fingers dug into your hair, keeping your lips planted on his as you lazily swirled your tongue on his own and moaned his name.

“Nnghh, can’t take it anymore,” Scaramouche growled hungrily into your mouth, lifting your leg slightly to support you so he could delve his cock deeper. His tone trailed off in a quiet beg, “Lemme breed you, (Y/N). Please…”

“Mhmm,” you agreed without hesitation, cupping your lover’s cheek and kissing him with growing reckless abandon.

He was unequivocally smitten by your ardent claim to his lips, groaning lewdly into the kiss as he began to fuck your desperately pulsating pussy. His grip on you tightened, focusing solely on ravaging your walls until you were on the verge of screaming his praise.

“Hah, that’s it. Goddamn it, I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” he takes your lower lip between his teeth roughly, plunging ruthlessly and chasing his impending orgasm. “You can take it, you can take it, yeah… you better fucking cum all over me or else, I swear…”

You reeled him in with a firm tug of his dark purple locks, nearly crying in pleasure onto his tongue intermingling with yours. Moaning and whimpering like a whore, you clutched onto your lover like your life depended on it. “O-Oh my god, Scara, shit, I’m cumming! I’m… mmph, f-fucking c-cumming…!”

Scaramouche pounded his cock into your sopping release, a guttural groan escaping him as he generously coated your spasming walls with loads of his hot seed. He kept himself buried in your cum-laden folds, your erotic juices mixing around the base of his cock while he kissed you softly.

“God… you have no idea how much I missed you.”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated. my masterlist.

#thank you for the request anon! :)#i could really use a night like this omg i got a little carried away hehe😩#[opulent dreams].✿#[dreams of delusion].✿#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin fatui #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer smut

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Note

I have a request for a drabble...

König and the reader having a cozy morning together in bed

(Also I have a very sensitive neck and kisses, hands being here, licking, anything with my neck I melt, I would like to see his reactions with that.. or him teasing the reader with it)

Thank you so much and happy new year! 🤍

Anon this is SO late I apologize

(I'm running out of Gifs to use I think)

(Spooning, cuddling, sleepy morning snuggles, clingy Konig, touching, hickeys, pillow talk)

You’re used to rousing early in the mornings, eyes blinking awake before even the birds sing quiet songs of dawn. It’s a byproduct of your line of work. In the military there’s much to do at first light- assigning squads, morning roster, drills, equipment checks, intel briefings at the minimum. Usually by the time the sky is cast with light you’re already at the weapons range, the training ground, poring over mission reports.

Which is why now, when your eyes flutter open and you find the hazy, golden light of dawn peeking through the curtains, your mind clouds with gentle, bleary confusion.

That is until you shift, and immediately notice the huge, veiny arm wrapped around your front. Immovable, unbudging even in sleep.

It takes you a moment to gain your bearings, still cuddled under the mess of blankets your boyfriend has managed to kick and twist in his sleep. Yet the man himself is miraculously still, his forehead braced into your shoulder where his dozing, warm breaths billow into your skin.

He’s managed to drag you to him in sleep, both arms tucked securely around your smaller form. One hand splays across the exposed flesh of your stomach, buried there under your night shirt. When you shift, stretch in his embrace it curls there, closing just as you feel him rouse, hum a sleepy note of acknowledgement.

“Guten Morgen.” You mutter to him, one hand coming to rest on the hand tucked along your tummy.

Yet König merely grumbles, arms flexing as he drags you closer, his head burrowing into the soft junction of your neck and shoulder. He shifts, one leg raising under the blankets so it tangles with yours, his knee pressing up between your thighs. You allow it, let yourself burrow back into his warmth to stave off the early morning chill.

“Awake?” You ask gently, and the giant huffs into your shoulder, his warm breath seeping into your spine.

“Nein.” He replies drowsily, his voice a low, rough scrape in his throat as it rasps with sleep.

You smile, bare your neck another inch for his cold nose to skim along the skin.

“Don’t want to get up.” He murmurs there, and you feel the plush of his lips graze against your flesh when he does. “Want to stay with you in my arms, Liebling.”

“So clingy.” You tease, and yet make no effort to move, more than content to remain exactly where you are.

“Nur fur dich.” He mumbles, words obscured before he shifts, raises his lips to ghost across the shell of your ear. “Only for you.”

You can’t suppress a shiver at the hot breath that tickles your sensitive skin. When you do, König smiles, hums a low, rolling note in his chest.

“You’re so soft in my arms, Liebling.” He purrs, voice dipping with suggestion. “So warm.”

Eyes fluttering shut once more, you let out a dewy sigh as König’s calloused, broad palm raises higher under your shirt.

“Y-you must have slept well.” You remark, trying to keep the gasp from your voice when his hand skims across the rise of your chest appreciatively.

König only makes a small, sleepy noise of assent behind you, shifts so his knee rises higher between your thighs. You jerk reflexively when it stops just short of your core, feeling warmth rise to your face when the soldier behind your chuckles.

“So sensitive.” He teases, and you have nothing to respond with when his teeth suddenly scrape along the dip of your shoulder. Yet instead of a bite he presses a gentle kiss there, letting it trail along your skin as his lips raise back up to your neck.

“W-when you touch me l-like that, I- ah!” You gasp as his lips secure around the soft, supple flesh below your jaw and suck.

His hold on your is unrelenting as you arch against him with a little whine, fingers sinking into the meat of his forearm to ground yourself against the sudden warm, melting pleasure of his touch.

Yet he’s had a taste of you now, one that fills his mouth as much as it does his heart, drunk of the feeling of your wriggling little movements and short little gasps as he suckles against the hickey.

“K-König.” You mewl, soft and pliant in his arms, eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

“Stay.” He mutters when his lips pull away, and you feel him smile as you shudder free a breathy gasp just as he rolls a nipple between his fingers. “In my arms, just a little longer.”

You smile, cheeks warm as you huff free a breath and then shift, sinking dowards so you grind along his thigh, whisper your reply within this realm of pale morning light.

“Nur fur dich.”

#König #könig fluff #könig x reader #könig x you #könig imagine #mw 22 #mw22 #drabbles #requests #asks #Reminder asks are closed as I clear out my inbox!

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bouncybongfairy · 2 months

Text

Love Game

Simon (Ghost) Riley x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: Ghost, Keegan and yourself go on an undercover mission. Playing into your role too well makes Ghost jealous. You notice this and tease him the entire ride home. He fucks your shit up at the barracks.

Word Count: 1.0k+

Ref Account: @kaionyx

TW: Dom & Jealous Ghost, Rough Smut, Creampie

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Ghost, Keegan, and yourself were on the way to an undercover mission. The plan was to seduce one of the generals with fake naivety in order to capture and integrate him; under any means necessary. You didn’t recognize yourself once you looked in the mirror. For a couple years, you completely dedicated yourself to the task force, which wasn’t exactly the environment for club dresses and with match pumps. Your mom would be extremely happy to see you right now, looking like a bimbo barbie. As foreign as it felt, you’d be lying if you didn’t like the new look. You’d never admit it but, you were extremely excited to get the chance to have a little fun. Yes it was a serious mission but all you had to do is lure him to the boys.

“You ready?” Keegan said, parking the car in a secluded area that was scouted earlier in the week. Ghost was getting his snipper ready just in case.

“Yeah,” you said, putting the wireless earpiece in your ear and getting out of the car.

A cloud of smoke hit your face as you opened the door, the music was blaring and drunk patrons were all over the place. Walking over to the bar and ordering a drink, waiting until you spotted the target. You immediately recognized him from the debriefing, he did most of the work, approaching you and striking up conversation. Asking you what brings you to the area and what type of drinks you like. You were flirting with him, asking him about himself. It humoured you how he was so full of himself, going on and on about his ranks and time served. At first, knowing both Keegan and Ghost could hear your conversations made you nervous but the drunker you got the less you cared.

“So what are ya doing later tonight?” you asked him, after taking your third shot.

“Are you an option?” he asks, making you giggle not sure what to say, “Hmm?” he hummed into your ear, trying to get an answer out of you.

“Maybe if you work hard enough you’ll earn my ass by the end of the night,” you flirt back, pulling him back onto the dance floor.

“Holy fuck that’s…” Keegan started but then looked over at Ghost who looked pissed so he changed his course of thought,“...unprofessional. It’s- I'm gonna shut up,” he said.

He was fuming, the two of you weren’t in an official relationship; it was more of a situationship. One time he completed a mission a day before originally anticipated. After a long week, he was looking forward to collapsing in bed but you were laying in it. Not only that but you are holding one of his masks he left behind. Keeping it pressed against your face while you sleep. He practically melted at the sight and every time he thought about it his stomach flipped.

He set his duffle down and moved you over, laying down next to you. When he attempted to pull the mask out of your hands, it startled you awake. Yanking it out of his grip before realizing who it was. Letting go of the extra mask, and snuggling your face into his neck. Making sure your nose was touching the cotton, taking in deep breaths and going back to sleep. The two of you never talked about it, just ignored each other for a couple days. Now that he was hearing you drunkenly flirt with men, he wished he’d taken things farther that night. He was grinding his teeth together while listening to the audio.

You were sealing the deal, becoming too drunk to lead this guy on any further. Walking out of the bar, the general was holding you by the waist. Both of you swayed a bit, Ghost and Keegan immediately hopped out of the car and folded his shit. Putting a pillowcase over his head after restraining him and putting him in the trunk. Giggling as you watched Ghost be really rough with him, obviously jealous of the interaction you had. He walked up to you, a small amount of blood sprayed onto his mask and him breathing hard.

“Simmy!” you jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist, “Did you miss me?” you purred, biting onto the side of his mask and playfully tugging on it. He pulled you off him and helped you into the car where the real fun started.

You couldn’t keep your hands off Ghost. After sharing a room with him for months, you couldn’t ignore how sexy he is. Not even caring if Keegan was there to watch and trust; he was. Getting onto the floorboard in front of Ghost, starting to kiss his knees. He was trying his best to swat you away but he was losing the mental game. Looking up at him while on your knees was making you grow wet. He kept glancing down at you but it was obvious he was trying not to.

“Please if you’re not gonna touch me at least have your eyes on me,” you beg, pressing a kiss against his dick print. Taking him off guard, he uses both hands to grab a fist full of your hair. Moving your lips off his already leaking member and jerking his hips back. Rolling your eyes back, moaning and letting drool fall off your tongue as he ripped your head back. Ghost looks over at Keegan, who’s wide eyed and struggling to keep focus.

“Are you even watching the road?” he asked, trying to contain you as best he could.

“I- um, there’s- didn’t- fuck, what was the question?” he asks.

“ETA?” he grumbled, changing the subject.

“30 minutes,” he said.

Boy were those 30 minutes a sight to see. Doing anything you could to work him up. Everything from licking his boot while begging from him to rubbing your soaked cunt against his knees. He was using his hand to cover the erection straining against his boxers. You were kissing his hand, trying to coax him into moving it. He turned up the music to drown you out a bit. You rolled your eyes and mouthed the words ‘pussy bitch’ to him. This got his attention, the look in his eyes became dark and intolerant. Which made you finally settle down, he wasn’t looking away from you. Keeping his eyes locked on you, which was really intimidating. Making you avert your gaze.

“I’m gonna go take a cold shower,” Keegan said, parking the car taking the new prisoner to Price.

Ghost got out of the car, carrying you to his room. He threw you onto the bed, not bothering to take any of his gear off. Pulling out a knife and starting to cut the dress off you. Taking one of the torn pieces and wrapping it around your mouth. Tying it tight, not caring if some of your hair was tangled into the knot. It was so tight, your tongue was being forced to the back of your mouth. Making it impossible to swallow your saliva, it drips down your chest. He picks you up off the bed and sets you on your knees. Back against the wall and hands now resting at his boots. Slowly unzipping his fly, pulling his cock out. The fact that he was in full combat gear while you were naked and vulnerable was only making things hotter. He squats down, your eyes locked on his red and leaking tip. Noticing this, he grabs your chin and forces your eyes up.

“You had so much to say in the car. Where is that pretty little voice of yours?” he asked, rubbing the back of his index finger up and down your throat. Feeling his calloused hand on our body made you moan, leaning your body into his hand. Not being able to handle it anymore, you reach out and grab his cock. He lets you stroke him a couple times before slapping the fuck out of your chest, enjoying watching you bounce.

“I didn’t hear you ask, not even a please,” he scoffed, slapping the other. You start rambling and begging incoherently, spit covering you even more than you already were.

“That’s better,” he stood you up, pressing the front of your body against the wall, “After putting up with you all night I definitely earned this ass,” he chuckled.

Lining himself up with your entrance and pushing himself inside you. Letting his forehead fall against the top of your head, overwhelmed from being engulfed in your tight heat. Spreading your legs with his feet and holding onto the back of your elbows. Keeping you pressed tightly between his body and the wall. The feeling of sexual tension finally coming to a head, you’d dreamed about this for months. Imagining how it would feel to be owned by him and it was better than you ever dreamed. He was huge, the head of his cock pounding at your cervix. He was praising you for taking him so well, snapping his hips against your ass at an animalistic rate. Your legs were shaking, a mix of wetness and squirt were running down your thighs.

“Fuck you’re such a good little bitch, so fucking good. Fuck! Are you tightening around my cock because you don’t wanna let me go? Hmmm?” he asks, erratically thrusting his hips as you cum around him. Your walls spasming and milking his cock as he rode out his orgasm.

You passed out right after, your legs too shaky and weak to hold your weight up. He cleans you up, looking over at the clock and seeing that the meeting to run down last night's mission was in 10 minutes. He gets changed into fresh clothes, letting you sleep with the mask he was wearing last night. He could tell by the look on everyone's faces that Keegan filled them in on what transpired last night.

“Where’s y/n?” Price asked.

“She sustained some injuries from last night's mission, she’ll be out for the day,” he said, ignoring the other guys' snickers while thinking about how pussywhipped he’s becoming.

#simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod imagine #call of duty smut #ghost smut #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley smut

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getthisbread · 2 years

Note

Hello! I love you work and was wondering if you could make hc for the ninja with an S/O who cooks them luches/snacks/food packets, if they are going on a mission, Bc they don't want the them going hungry?

Ty sooo much <3

I love you so.

This request is actually adorable </3 I LOVE STUPID FLUFFY DOMESTIC STUFF!!!!!

title creds: The Walters, I love you so

Summary: While the ninja are away, they miss you more than anything. How would they react if they found you were taking care of them from across Ninjago?

Lloyd Garmadon, Nya Smith, Kai Smith, Cole Brookstone, Jay Walker, Zane Julien (separate) x gn!reader

Lloyd:

Lloyd was heartbroken to leave for the mission in the first place. Poor baby has attachment and abandonment issues, so he hates to leave. So, when he finds your care package it really brightens his mood for the rest of the mission.

Someone, probably Kai, makes a comment in passing about how Lloyd didn't leave anything for you. Lloyd instantly feels worse, but he gets over it. He knows you, and he knows that you wouldn't be angry.

If the mission is going to last a while longer, he will send you a letter. It contains how much he misses you, a very large thank you, and ramblings about how cool he was in his most recent fight. Extremely unorganized, but cute nonetheless.

When he feels lonely without you near him, he re-reads the little note you sent him, 'Hi, honey! I hope you like everything I packed, I tried to pick your favorites. I miss you so much, LOVE YOU!' It makes him feel a little less far.

When he gets back, he is going to be ALL over you. He went so without cuddles, and you even took care of him from across Ninjago!! He is so thankful for you. <3

Nya:

Outwardly, Nya doesn't seem to be affected by having to leave, she most definitely is, though. Nya doesn't want emotions to cloud her view, so she just pushes them down.

When she's alone, she finally allows herself to miss you. Doing so, she looks for the picture of you two she always carries, and happens to find the little package hidden in her luggage.

Nya goes red as soon as she realizes that you knew, you knew that she was horribly sad to leave you. You can read her like a book, and she hates it.

She takes her time to enjoy everything you packed for her when she gets down-time. She is so grateful to you for looking out for her even if you aren't there physically.

Once she gets back, she will be more affectionate in private. It's how she's able to show her feelings without embarrassing herself. She isn't good at verbalizing feelings. (I feel like Nya shows affection like a cat, she comes to you.)

Kai:

Some little mission? Nothing the fire ninja can't handle! Kai is so confident, almost to a fault, so he acts like nothing bothers him. When, in actuality, a lot of things easily get under his skin. Leaving you, especially.

Kai is very emotional when he finds the little package, he will even start to brag to the other ninja about how amazing you are, how you're all his, the ninja start to get annoyed with him lmao.

Kai being dramatic aside, the smallest most unnoticeable things you do make his heart melt every time. He thinks he's all big a nd tough, but you just make him so soft.

Kai will lay in his cot, and think about you at night. <3 He'll hold his pillow and pretend it's you to finally be able to sleep. Poor baby wishes you were here to take care of him and dote like you always do.

But seriously, he falls even more in love with you, if that's even possible. Kai is rough and fiery, much like his element, the sweet things you do always seem to brighten his flame tenfold. He is always willing to complete a mission if it means he can see you afterwards.

Cole:

Cole probably didn't notice till like the last day- In his defense, the mission did take most of his time, and the only free time he had was spent training. When he does find it, he's like, "Who the fuck put smashed cake in my clothes????? >:( I'm still going to eat it!!"

When he does notice, he is so happy, especially because you packed him a slice of cake, SCORE! He'll even eat it out of his clothes, he's cute, not clean...

He is genuinely so touched that you would bake/buy a cake and send him some for the mission. <3 The way to his heart is through his stomach, that's for sure.

Next time, he will check first thing if you sent him any goodies. He's like a kid on Christmas. The other ninja see him rip all his clothes out of his suitcase as soon as they get to their destination and are like, wtf??

Because he found it closer to the end of the mission, it will be fresh on his mind, so he will be sure to give you a big thank you in person. He will be yours for like the next two days, all over you.

Jay:

It would probably be so hard to sneak something in Jay's stuff. He definitely checks that he has everything over and over again. It's like five minutes before the ninja need to leave and he's re-packing his underwear lmao.

If you somehow are able to hide a care package in his stuff, he'll find it almost immediately, it's like he's got a nose for it I swear-

It makes him really happy though, his mom used to pack him little things when either of them would be away, so it's like a sweet little burst of nostalgia, he cries.

He rants to Cole about how amazing you are, Bestie Things™, Cole is lowkey so thankful Jay has you to look out for him, it makes Cole happy too. :)

When they get back, Jay will tackle you in a hug, he is so mushy and sentimental all of the sudden you think something happened. He has to explain, no, nothing happened he just loves you and wants you to know it. <3

Zane:

Zane is a robot, so it's a bit hard to choose what to send him. Like what does he eat??? Batteries?? You genuinely do not know what he can eat, if anything. So you send him some nice double A batteries and oil, yummy, right?

He leaves something for you too, he's like a 5-star chef, so he cooks all your favorites before he goes, sweet boy wants you well fed and happy!

When he finds everything, he is a tad confused. He eventually realizes that you just want him taken care of however that may be for a robot.

There are times that he wishes he was human like you, there will be a point when you pass away and he will be alone. So seeing you try to take care of him, albeit in a strange-ish manner, he forgets about his past worries.

Even if he can't enjoy what you sent, it's the thought that counts. Zane was made to protect those who cannot protect themselves, so having you doing your best to help from the sidelines motivates him to do his best.

I am sosososoos sorry this took so long. I'm actually sick rn, but I'm starting to get better!! I hope this isn't bad- I guess my writing gets worse when I'm sick lmao. Thank you for waiting though!!! <3

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hirik0 · 21 days

Text

You always meet twice 9

Ghost/Soap

NSFW

It took nearly 3 months for them to have enough time to get on leave, missions being back to back and Soap has the feeling he missed the point to tell Ghost he found the news articels about his families death. So they are on a flight to Manchester to vistet a graveyard. Great he really did something here. He looks out the window of the plane there are on. Only clouds and still 2 hours left till they are landing. Ghost is reading the book he bought at the airport but it dont really look like hes enjoying it. Soap start to bounce his legs, as hes getting nervous about 'seeing' Tommy for the first time since he joined the millitary. A hand is resting on his leg and Ghost gives him a questioning look.

"Nervous", he simply says and Ghost goes back to his book. Soap has to hold back a annoyed sound, Ghost is even more closed off then normal. Soap knows it is becasue he is sharing a gigantic part of his personal life that he likely never talks to anyone about. It also is not helping seeing Ghost in civilian clothes. wearing a surgial facemask, sunglasses and bennie to hide his identity as much as possible. Soap himslef is wearing a oversieceed hoodie to conceal how buff he is, just like Ghost. Two rows infront of them a couple is arguing louder and louder about a guy called Ryan. Soap never is somebody to ovehear other people problems, but these two are loud on a air plane and it is intressting and imbossible not to hear. At least more intressting then looking out the window on a flight. He flighs so much for work, so why is flying on leave so diffrent?

"Soap?", Ghost wisperes looking at him. Soap started to bounce his legs again.

"Bit nervous, don't know, guess not the same as flying for work." Soap tries to explain and Ghost clearly dont get it but nods anyway.

"Dont like the entertainment?" Ghost ask refering to the couple.

"Well I know more about this Ryan I ever wanted to know", Soap answers the question. Like really can't they fight in private?

"At least Ryan makes me cum something you can't do because you cant keep it up longer then 30 seconds." The woman says for the whole plane to hear and the two are sharing a look with the third person in the row. A very pregnant pause before the man is answering.

"Well it really hard to fuck somebody that sounds like a guinea-pig."

"The fuck", Ghost is wispering and Soap now has ro many questions in his head.

The fly of hell is finally over and they walk out the airport taking a taxi to the hotel they are staying in. They are silent and driver tried a conversation but Soap who usally chats off everybody ears said they had a rough flight and the driver understands. Soap as the more social person is handling checking in, while Ghost is checking out the lobby for potential threats. They have a room on the 10th floor at the very end of the hallway. Soap opens the door to a room with one queen bed. Ghost own nervousnes spikes at this. They can sleep in the same bed, no problem right? Soap is also nervous about the one bed, because his brain is hunted by Ghost and he's not sure if he will not do something dumb. They look at each other absolutely exhausted from the mission and the horrible flight.

"Window or door? "Ghost asks simply wanting to sleep.

"Window", Soap yawns his answer before dropping the bag on the couch. He watches Ghost who is reaching for a hiden knife hes not wearing because they flew civlian.

"We can buy a knife later", Soap jokes after Ghost is reaching for the next hiden knife. Ghost is turning towards him, giving him an angry look that is hiden behind the stupid sunglasses making Soap laught softly. He steps towards Ghost and removing his cover.

"The receptionist ask me if you are a star or something. Told her you are." Soap babbels a bit trying to not look directly into Ghost eyes. But he wants to look in these warm brown eyes.

"Maybe Im just ashamed to be see with you outsite of work and dont want to be reconiced." Ghost quips back, huffing amussed about it.

"Eejit" Ghost smiles amused at this, before ruffeling Soaps hair what is pissing the scot off even more. Ghost pulls off the mask and Soaps protest is stucked in his throat, holly shit dont freak out, stay calm, you saw his face before. More then ones by now.

"Get ready for a short rest, Sergeant", Ghost orders more as a joke but Soap follows his order with out thinking. Ghost chuckels, he didnt even use his Lieutant voice, ones a soilder always a soilder huh. Soap is pulling out some cloths out of his bag before disapearing in the bathroom. God damm it, he still needs to tell Soap that Tommy is dead.

Soap is closing the bathromm door, now is probably the time to tell Ghost he knows about the death of his family. He stripps out of the hoodie he actully Ghosts that got mixed up in the wasching and he never told Ghost. He dont even thinks Ghost knows that one of his black hoddies is missing. He keeps the T-shirt on and then strips out of the jeans, he for some reason chose to wear on a 4 hour flight. After putting on a pair of sweatpants, that are a littel to short on the legs and thigt for him now, but still good to sleep in. Splashing some water in his face before he picks up his cloths and leaves the bath room.

"Ghost", he says a bit unsure geting bouncy again wipping on his feet back and forth.

"You broke something?", Ghost asks confused by his behaivor.

"I... I know they are death and we will go to a graveyard", Soap shares his knowledge. Ghost is tillting his head looking like he is a bit more relaxed.

"Did you listen to one of these awfull potcasts?", Ghost just asks sounding tired. If they get even more out of hand he has to kill some of them.

"No, I saw the headlins of the news articles from when it happend. Didnt fell right to snoop further", Soap states and Ghost nods.

"Thanks Soap." Ghost says before he enters the bathroom. Soap drops down on his site of the bed and thinks about the thanks. A small word meaning a whole lot. Thanks for respecting them, thanks for not brining it up as soon as you learend, thanks for giving me the space to get ready to talk with you about it. A smile is apearing on Soaps face at this before he looks at his phone. Doing a quick search of techno clubs in Manchester. He can bring it up to Ghost later, about going to in a techno club in Tommys memories. He doesnt hear Ghost returning to the room, till the man is standing next to the bed.

"If you steal the blanket I will kick you out the bed." Ghost treatents him and Soap knows that this is not an empty one, being able to identfy Ghost modes by his voice alone by now.

"Well, then I still have the blanket", Soap points out grinning getting a anoyed sound from Ghost.

"3 hours enough?", Ghost ask being on his phone.

"Yes, Sir."

When Ghost is slowly being pulled out of sleep, he feels something heavy on his shoulder and chest. His instincts are imidiatly kicking in, pinning what ever is on his chest down into the bed. Reaching for the hidden knive that should be onder his pillow, to just not find one.

"God damit L.T.", a very familiar voice is complaining and Ghost need a few minutes to put one and one together. Right he is in a hotel in Manchester with Soap because they are visiting Tommys grave. So no knife under the pillow and Soap used him as a pillow. He gets of he Sergent mumbeling a sorry. Soap is revield that the weight on him is gone, but is know very aware on how hot his body thinks the whole situation was. Hes half hard and he his cheeks are red. Worst moment to learn something new about himself.

"You're heavy", Soap fake complains to play of how into he is in what happend.

"Need to eat more vegetables so you get big and strong." Ghost throws back and Soap nearly says something very dumb.

"I ate all my vegetables"; Soap stattes, a lie he only eat like 3 as a child, but all of them. So really a half lie.

"Com'on, Price will hate it if we get caught breaking into a graveyard."

The drive is short and Soap is a bit more chatty with the driver and Ghost just feels how all the conflicting feelings he always get when visiting the graves. He usally did break in, in the middel of the night, its more private and fits his mode better. The problem is that Soap is such an unknown factor in this visite. He thinks he now understands how Tommy felt when he intruduced Beth to his mother, he still made fun of his brother while being deployed at the time. Tommy absolutly give him the same shit now if they would be alive. He honestly would be a lot less nervous to introduce Soap to his living mother, because she would absolutly love Soap. Her not meeting him feels so wrong, its unfair one of the endless thinks that Roba is taking from him beyond the grave. Of course Soap notice him being even more closed of as usall checking in on him in the same silent way they do on missions. Ghost slowly nods unsure if he should not shake his head instead, Soap would understand and tell him they dont have to go there today. Deep down he knows he would find reasons for them not going here, he needs to remember this is not about him, its about Soap being able to say goodbye to Tommy. They reach the graveyard and get out, Ghost is not sure he will find the way when its not dark.

They need some time to find the grave site, Soap is polite enough to not comment on it. They are standing in front of it and Ghost feels himself locking all his emotions away. The only thing to stop him from fully disasociating is Soaps hand holding his.

"You think they would like me?", Soap asks sudenly knowing that his own family after some time would absolutly love Ghost.

"Without a doubt", Ghost answers tears starting to fill his eyes. It never felt like this. Its always this painfull emptyness and he never crys, so why now? Why now after so many years.

"You think I would be Josephs favourite uncle?", Sopa asks more as a joke to lighten up the mode a bit.

"Never." Ghost answers voice thin, holding back the tears as best as he could. Soap looks at Tommys name thinking really strong that he dont need to worry and he will look after Ghost for them now. He gives Ghost the time he needs, squising his hand and rubbing with his thumb over the knuckels of Ghost hands. They stand in silence for a moment till Soaps stomach growls loudly. He looks up at Ghost smilling unsure a font teary smile on Ghost face.

"Cant have my favourite Sergeant starve can I?", Ghost jokes getting a glare from Soap that screams eejit, but hes to respectfull to say it at the graves.

"I could eat", Soap agress after a while, his stomach doing funny things when he sees the amused smile on Ghost face. Hes so in love with Ghost its painfull sometimes. He also feels proud to make Ghsot smile when being here is clearly very hard for him. They are dancing around each other for months now and Soap is confident that Ghost feels the same about him, as he feels about Ghost. Ghost is using hth not intervient hand to lift Soaps chin up, and Soaps heart is ready to beating so fast it springs out his chest. Their first kiss on a graveyard, things that happen to you when you have a crush, no fall in love, with a guy everyone calls Ghost. Its a short kiss, before Ghost pulls him towards the exit.

Ghost leeds him to a hole in the wall italian restaurant, with amazing lasagna. Ghost is eating his spaghetti with a aioli sauce and shrimps. Not something he thought Ghost eats with his history of what he consinders food on a mission.

"This was moms favourite", Ghost says inbetween bites and Soap is not sure if he minds the restaurant or the dish. Nodding understanding, maybe its both.

"You always go here?" Soap asks leaving out the when you viste their graves and Ghost nods with a mouth full of pasta.

"Usally before." Soap frowns at this, slowly conecting the dots, leting out a painful sigh, of course Ghost vistes the graves in the middel of the night. Ghost shrugs at him, whos there to judge him before. Besites the dead but they keeped ther opinon to themselves.

"You want to go to a rave?", Soap asks feeling there is now good time to ask the question, but a restaurante is better then next to the graves. Ghost is chewing his pasta thinking about it.

"To honor his memory?", he asks and Soap nods mouth full of lasagna. "You already have a place dont you?" Soap smiles at this, trying to look innocent. Ghost should have known but he also has no reason why they should not go. Soaps lucky Ghost likes him and has no knife with him. Every other person would get stabbed.

"No talk to dubios people", Ghost warns him and Soap is pointing his forke full of food towards him.

"I can protect myself now." Getting a 'are you sure about that' look from Ghost, have saved Soaps life numerous times now, by simply watching his six. "Eejit."

Ghost is ones more reminded he absolutly hates techno and only listens to it when he misses Tommy really badly. Atleast Soap dont forces him on the dance floor, yet. He has the felling Soap absolutly wants to dance with him at some point. Well, if he looks at the crowed wipping from site to site with your arms up and jumping from time to time is something he can do. Watching their drinks, looking grumpy and keeping an eye on Soap nothing changed since he and Tommy became friends, well minus dealers. Atleast he hopes so, for the dealers sake, because whatever Soap does not do to them he absolutly will.

"Eh, exuse me?", a high pitched voice is screaming a question to him over the music and 3 teenager girls are standing next to him. He raises a eyebrow trying to figure out if they are even old enough to be here.

"Yes?", he acknowledegs them two hiding behind the girl that talked to him.

"Can you watch our drinks, we want to dance and.. ehh", the girl stammers also losing her courage the longer he stares at them.

"Sure" Ghost agress, three more glasses are really not a problem. The girl gives him a big smile that reminds him of Joseph. He lets it not affect his mood, honestly the three are very smart for asking somebody like him.

"Thank you." With that three glasses are palced on the table Ghost is claiming as his own and the girls are disapearing on the dance floor. He dont sees Soap or the girls for at least an hour, when Soap is getting out of the crowd. Smilling at him, not even minding Ghost is not dancing with him.

"Had fun?", Ghost asks him and Soap nods, before taking a sip from the now warm beer. Before he points to the three glasses that where not here when he left Ghost alone.

"Looking at them for somebody", Ghost explains and Soap gives him a puzzelt look. Who in their right mind would ask Ghost to watch their drink with the aura hes radiating? Must be some brave souls. Soap looks at Ghost, with the lights its not that easy, but hes pretty sure Ghost reached his limit to be here. So he trys to finishes hes beer quickly till the people that asked Ghost to look after them come back si they can leave soon after. Ten minutes later the first girl is coming out the crowd, shortly followed by the other two. Soap watches them, smillling at them while they look betwenn the two. The girl that askes him is still trying to figure out how their relationship, while sipping her drink.

"So you two are... like dating?", the girl asks after a while looking at Ghost for an answer.

"We're thinking about it", Ghost gives a vague enough answer. The girl nods at this still looking inbetwenn the two.

"Celine, thats non of our buisness", one of the other girls warns her. Celine is shrugging at that, she askes a harmless question. The third girl is looking at her phone, eyes wide and hands shaking.

"Lilly?", the still nameless girls asks her. Lilly is mouthing mom. Soap and Ghost give each other a look. Clearly both asking themsleves if the girls are atleast 18.

"Your mom is calling?", Celine asks finishing the rest of her drink in one big gulp. Lilly is mouthing facetime. Looks like these three are in trouble. Celine looks at the two soilders smilling.

"Hope you figure it out, we have to go and thanks again." With that the three girls disapearing towards the next exit. Soap chuckels at this, he dont even know how often Tommy and him ended up in a similar situation.

"We're thinking about it huh?", Soap says after a he finished his beer. Getting a 'watch what your saying' look from Ghost. Really Soap has no buisness saying anything about this, he send drunk expliced text and voice messages to his CO. Soap finsihes the last bit of beer in his bottel and the moment he palced it down on hte table, Ghost is leaning in close to his ear.

"Pretty sure when I look there is a message on my phone of you telling me something about my dick in your ass. So what else should i have answered because a simple coworkers is not covering it." Soaps feels his face flushing, and hes lucky Ghost is so close to his ear he cant see the rest of his face. Jesus why does Ghost have to bring that up now? Soap is opening and closing his mouth no words leaving it.

"Cat got your tounge? Johnny?", Ghost asks smugly knowing he is crossing some wires in Soaps brain.

"So does that mean you want to fuck?", Soaps asks a bit unsure where this is leading.

"You still want to ride my dick badly?" Ghost simply asks back as if hes asking is water wet, before kissing Soaps cheek. The heat on Soaps face is burning stronger, oh god, yes.

"Yes." Soap answers after his brain needs a bit to long to figure out how speaking works.

"Lets get out of here."

Ghost has no idea how they got back to the hotel room at all, but they both pulled the other at some part of the way both eager to go bak to the room. The moment the door is closed he pressing Soap against a wall, kissing him, how he wants to for a while now. Feeling how Soaps arms are closing around his shoulders.

"You know these voice messages you sent me? You fucking tease, drove me insane and ever since I plan to get these noices out of you", Ghost wispers against Soaps lips, felling how Soaps breath is hitching at this. Picking up the Sergeant like he weights nothing to put him on the bed, stepping back a few steps. Looking at his meal, his delicous meal. The red cheeks, the way Soap licks over his lips, the confident smile, that he ever thought they would not end up at this point. In the end he has to be honest with himself, Soaps text just speed up what would have happend sonner or later.

"Just looking? Sir?", Soap asks sitting up to watch what Ghost is doing. Looking the other man up and down, stoping a bit longer at the bulche of Ghost dick and damm it does look big. Ghost walks towards the bed, getting out of the black shirt he wore at the club. Soap is smillig cocky at him, before opening his legs a bit wider so that Ghost can fit in between them better. Ghost leans down to kiss him again using his hands to pin Soaps thighs down. They kiss for a while till Soap makes a annoyed whine, needing some fiction at his dick.

"So impatient", Ghost huffes at this before removing the shirt from Soap. Wanting to respond but Ghost is kissing him breathless. Soap uses his hands to roam over Ghost back, trying to not linger on the scars to much. Scratching down Ghost spine when he grows inpatient again. His pants are uncomfortable thight and need to get them off. Ghost smiles against his lips, before he sits up and his hands fly towards Sopas belt.

"Si..mon", Soap moans a complaint, when Ghost is rubbing over his dick to tease him a but more.

"Patience Johnny, I waited for monthes to get here, you can wait a few more minutes", Ghost chuckels opening Soaps sipper.

"I rather get fucked by you for a few more minutes", Soap answers shoving his pants and underwear down.

"I think we can have both." Soap thinks about flipping Ghost of for this, but a hand is around his dick. Ghost smears the pre cum with his thumb, before licking the finger clean, keeping eye contact with Soap, holding the others chin so he cant look away if he wanted to, but Soap dont want to. Then Ghost stands up, to get to his bag and leavin the scit to make a frustrated noice.

"Catch." With that a full bottel of lube, Soap has no idea when Ghost bought that, is flying towards him and a few condoms. Ghost smiles pleased at Soap confused look. While Ghost returns to the bed, Soap is opening the bottel. Squezing a good amount on Ghost holt out hand. Ghost warms up the lube, while John is turning around for easier access. Ghost spreads the lube, around Soaps hole before, he pushes the first finger in. He takes his time, always waiting for a impaient sound from Soap before he continues the preparation.

"Its good, focus on your legs at the moment", Ghost says into the room, after a while to rail Soap up a bit more.

"Si", Soap complains wanting to get to the main programm.

"Just a littel more or your into a bit of pain with your pleasure?" The moan that Soap is making is not really helping to understand what he wants.

"Words, Johnny." Everytime Soap trys to answer Ghost is rubbing over his prostate.

"Si, just get your dick out", Soap gets the words out, hes sure Ghost would have the patient to make him cum with his fingers only. The other is reaching for one of the condoms as asked, before he gets out his pants and boxers, only now realising how uncomfortable his pants gotten to engaged with getting Soap ready and rilled up. Soap turns around and gulps a bit, shit Ghost is big. Maybe he should just have waited till Ghost thinks hes ready, but well he wont back down, just going slow. He strandels Ghost lap, kissing him to get his nerves a bit down. Still not believing this is happening. Ghost is leaning back pulling the scot with him, till his back hits the sheets. Roaming his hands greedly over all of the skin he can reach till he rests them on Soaps waiste. Soap pulls back, feeling for the condom Ghost dropped somewhere on the bed. He finds it and looks at the foile for the size, getting a smug grin from Ghost. He takes place in between Ghost legs, so he sees what hes doing, with the condom and beause he wants to play with Ghost dick for a bit. Like Ghost earlier he uses his thumb to get gather pre cum at the tip and licks it of his finger, before he rolls the condom down, with one smooth motion realising, he barly can close his hand a round the grith. He swallows, this is probably the bigest dick he ever had. He takes the lube Ghost is holding out for him, before he lubes up Ghost dick, being more generous then he normaly would be. He gets in position and Ghost hands return to his waist. He sinks down slowly, feeling the stretch and how Ghost is also making sure he dont goes down to fast with all the impaients he shown earlier.

"Fuck", Soap courses when hes halfway down, deffentitly the biggest he ever had. "You're fucking big, Si." Ghost is rubbing circels in his skin, watching how he slowly disapears in Soap.

"Taking it so well", Ghost purrs some praise and Soap invoulentary sinks down a few more inches. Moaning when the tip is rubbing along his prostate. Precum drolling out of Soaps dick at this. Soap wiggels a bit from site to site as a test and the grith is so big theres no way it wont rub along his prostate the whole time.

"And is it the best ass your dick was ever in?", Soap jokes before going down a bit further. Ghost chuckels at this shacking his head.

"Had worse", Ghost simply states pushing Soap down a bit further, making the scot drow his head back. "So thats the best dick you ever had up your ass?"

Soap laughts at this, he should have known that Ghost would throw the question right back at him.

"Top 3 worthy", Soap admits and slightly challenges Ghost, before he sinks down the rest of Ghosts cock. They both are panting and Soap needs a while to get used to how full he feels, finally putting his hands on the others man chest. Soap starts slow, barely lifting himself up, before he goes down again a constant flow of pre cum leaking out of him, with every moment, oh this will be a amazing orgasm when he gets there. Ghost hands wander down to his hips, possesivly holding him. He will wake up with two hansprints on his hip. Slowly working himself up to a rythem that is not to over stimulating for him. He looks down at Ghost whos eyes are half closed, mesmericed by what Soap is doing to him, his lips are sligtly open and hes smilling. Soap cant stop feeling proud about this. He does this to the Ghost most feared asset of the SAS. Hands wander down his legs and Ghost is pushing his knees further apart changing the angle, causing his dick to push more against Soaps prostate.

Ghost is not sure how long he just watches, but he feels that Soaps thighs are shaking by now from the work the scot is putting into ridding him. He swattes Soap hand away when he try to reach for his dick.

"Si?", Soap pants, barely abel to take it much longer.

"Pretty sure the best dick you ever had is enough to make you come untouched, Johnny", Ghost states, loving the distressed sound Soap is making. He knows the other is at his limit, about to burst, but a selfish part of him, wants, no needs Soap to come only one his dick.

"Simon, please" Soaps desperation is such a turn on for Ghost, he wants the scot to go for longer. On the other hand he said please and how is he supossed to not give in. He uses one of the moves they use in training to flip them over, using all his weight to press Soap down on the matress. Soap trys to push himself up, but Ghost is increasing the weight on the other to keep him down.

"As much as I enjoyed the view I had." He feels Soap shivering at this, seeing the scot clawing the sheets. "I rather fuck you like I want to now."

Ghost goes deep and slow feeling every shiver Soap is making, his moans muffelt by the pillow. Soap is starting to squirm under him, the worse the overstimulation gets.

"Si, please", Soap sobs in the pillow its getting to much.

"Its easy Johnny, you just come from my dick and its over", Ghost explains directly in Soaps ear.

"I never", Soap whines and shit, now Ghost wants to be the first so bad, he wants to ruine Soap for everybody else, claiming the spot of Soaps best fuck ever making sure nobody will ever be better then him.

"You can do it", Ghost encurages him. Going a bit faster, and the moan from Soap is barely muffeld by the pillow. Soap feels himself starting to cry, with how overwhelming this is getting.

"Come for me", Ghost oders him and that somehow what he needs. His vison goes white, while is dick is exploding making an absolute mess on the sheets.

Ghost gets in a few more trust in to Soap before the comes in as well. Soap going limb under him. He pulls out carefully goes into the bath room throwing the condom away, before he gets a towl wet, to clean Soap up. He carefully moves Soap checking in on him, wipping the tears away, he needs to aks about them later. Wipping the cum from Soap and the bed, before the returns the towel to the bath room and drinks some water before he fills up a glass for Soap.

It takes Soap sometime to get back in the world of the living, felling a hand rubbing along his spine. He makes a sound blinking his eyes open. His head resting on Ghost chest.

"Si?", he slurrs his words confused. Feeling a kiss to the top of his head. Hes not sure if Ghost is saying something to him, but slowly he starts to feel he fabric of the sheets and the warmth of Ghost body. The next think he feels, is that is left shoulder hurts for some reason. He lifts his head, blinking at Ghost whos having a smug yet somehow pleased smile on his face.

"Si?", Soap says a lot clearer now and a glass is coming in his field of few. With the help of Ghost he drinks all of it.

"Did you bite me?", Soap asks and Ghost smiles apologetic at him.

"Yeah, when i came to not be to loud", Ghost admits.

"Fucking animal."

"No i would have fucked you diffrent, if i wanted to fuck you like a animal." Soap weekly slaps Ghosts chest.

"You never gonna get rid of me if you fuck me this good every time." Ghost kisses his forehead at this. As if he wouldn't keep Soap to himself.

"Did I hurt you, you cryed." Soap needs some times to get enough braincells working.

"No, a bit to much, because somebodies ego needed me to come with out my dick touched." Ghost kisses him, being absolutely pleased with himself.

"Dont worry I will only do it when we have the time for it." Soap looks up at him, yawning noding along.

"That sounds good, Si", Soap yawns out while fighting his eyes to stay open a bit longer.

"Sleep love", Ghost is wispering in his hair, before alowing himslef to also fall asleep.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #call of duty mw3 #cod mw3 #cod mw2

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strawhatsoraya · 2 years

Note

Your writing is amazing so i want to request a fluff-nsfw oneshot! Y/N is the short, affectionate and shy blacksmith of Straw Hat who has unrequited feelings for Zoro. After Dressrosa arc, Law inevitably starts to fell in love with her despite knowing her feelings for the swordman so he never tried anything. In Wano, when she found Zoro and Hiyori sleep together she breaks her heart and starts to be more low-spirited. One night, Law decide to show Y/N that he's better option than her nakama.

Hey Nonnie! I hope you're doing well. It's been a week, give or take, since you sent this in. I think that's pretty good considering my track record! LOL. I wanted to be a little more concise with this request but it got away from me and I have 2.4k for you. I don't know if you prefer shorter or longer fic so sorry lol. I usually tend to be very long winded. I hope you enjoy regardless! Thanks for requesting!

Forget Him

LAW X FEM READER | NSFW WORD COUNT: 2.4k (this has taken me all day omg) CONTENT WARNING: Kissing, biting, groping, profanity (?? i think), Law can be a little mean but that's cause he's impatient and Y/N is playing games, dom!law, rough!law, the man says you can keep the clothes on it's all the same to him, i didn't proof read this so if you say typos or mistakes just look away and leave me alone!!! unless you want to proof read for me lmao A SUMMARY: Y/N loves Zoro, Law loves Y/N but when Y/N gets her heart broken the Surgeon of Death takes it upon his own capable hands to heal what ails them (maybe)

It began as admiration.

He was strong, and determined. His dedication to his dream was unparalleled by anyone that wasn’t your captain, Monkey D. Luffy. Roronoa Zoro was someone you looked up to.

He was a distant cloud in a mostly empty blue sky. Although he covered the expanse of your line of sight, your fingers never grazed him when you’d reach out to grasp him. You were okay with keeping your hands empty. Instead, you busied them with your work, building up calluses on top of calluses. Zoro was relentless in battle and keeping his swords in top shape was something you pride yourself on. It was as if you were his partner. Almost, anyway.

You knew in the way he smiled at you, that his feelings were as shallow and simple as his expression. He concealed nothing because there was nothing to hide. Zoro’s goal had been something you both discussed, as you beat his blades into submission, repairing the nicks on the steel’s edge. He wanted to be the greatest and strongest swordsman. You wanted to support him.

Sometimes you wondered what had been your original dream when you set out at sea, and decided to join the Strawhats when Luffy asked. You had forgotten already, and sometimes it shamed you. So you threw yourself wholeheartedly into your work, thoughts scattering away every time your hammer came down.

You met Law while he was wearing a scowl on his face. Luffy introduced him to the crew, with an expression that was the complete opposite: excited and joyful. You couldn’t help the small laugh that shook your shoulders, and you had tried to hide it behind your hand. Law had noticed anyway, and he fixed his golden gaze on you.

Sometimes you’d think about that while working on Zoro’s swords. Sometimes you don't think about it at all.

It was hard to think about anything, much less your feelings, with everything that was happening. Once your crew arrived at Wano you all had your own missions to complete. You took up residence in a small stall, offering your services as a blacksmith. It was hard at first. There was plenty of competition, but you ended up having a small set of regulars who were always pleased with your work. Zoro would visit you infrequently, just to catch up. You knew he only wanted to make sure you were okay, but you couldn’t help feeling elated whenever you’d see his swaggering figure coming up the dirt path. He was always wearing a grin on his face and holding a bottle of sake in one hand. It seemed like he belonged here all along.

Perhaps, that is the reason your crew can’t find him. Perhaps that is the reason no one seems too bothered by his disappearance. You tell yourself, logically, it’s because they trust Zoro. They know he is capable, strong, and reliable. There is nothing to worry about. Zoro always appears when he is needed the most. Yet it doesn’t stop your legs from taking action. You make up an excuse for Luffy, and a more elaborate one for Sanji who finally concedes in letting you search alone. You’re convinced you can find him, before anyone else can. You knew him well. This was the least you could do.

The bitter cold settles in your bones as you march through. Vision is blurry, and bright. The blinding snow threatens to deter you but you push through regardless, a burning heart in your chest keeping you warm. It is by sheer luck, you think at first, that you find him.

But that luck quickly twists into a cruel joke. He is asleep next to Hiyori’s body. You don’t dare to move further from the door, the blizzard steadily screeching behind your back. You try to reason with the imagery. It should mean nothing. It meant nothing. Your brain is logical. You are kind, and understanding. You could be these things if you wanted to. This meant nothing. What you saw meant nothing. You nod, trying to convince yourself but your heart is not as easy to bargain with.

Your bottom lip quivers before you set your jaw, and back away slowly into the storm.

The events that unfurled after are as blurry as the snow flurries. They cloud your vision, but don’t reach inside you. Inside, you still feel cold and icy down to your bones. You go about the days in a haze. You answer automatically, and fix a taut smile on your face. You laugh when everyone else laughs, and you pretend to taste your food when you eat. You support your crewmates in battle to the best of your capabilities, as you always do, but your heart is somewhere else.

Your heart is buried under the snow, back at the spot where it broke.

He doesn’t know why no one has noticed. He doesn’t know but he wonders. Perhaps it’s because everyone is so worried about Kaido. Law thinks perhaps it’s because there are so many enemies, so many obstacles, it’s hard to find the right timing to sit down and talk to you. He thinks it’s this until he runs out of excuses. He thinks it’s this until everyone is celebrating, eating, rejoicing at the victory of the battle.

It is cruel how some can feel so lonely while surrounded by others. Law watches you sit by Nami, a small smile on your lips. Your eyes look distant, and while the glow of the fire shines warmly on your skin, your sadness outshines your soft beauty for once. It pains him. He hated to admit it. You were a weakness. You were a wound inflicted that refused to heal. There was no balsam or stitchwork he could perform himself to be rid of you.

He had come to terms with that. His only resolution was now to make you his. But how could he make you come to him when you were still obstinately tying yourself to someone who wanted nothing from you?

His pride had prevented him from seizing the moment before. Law blamed the alcohol in his veins for his sudden lack of inhibitions. It is not like him to stand up while there is a crowd and walk towards you. It is very unlike him to take the seat next to you, and ignore Nami’s presence even when she smiles at him knowingly. It is not like him to brush his knuckles against the hand you used to hold on to your drink, and it’s not like him to lean towards your ear.

His breath is warm against your earlobe. “You should smile more while he’s looking,” he says, a tinge of anger clipping his words. “Why are you letting him win like this?” These aren’t words you want to hear from him right now. So you turn your head, and glare at him. Law is taken aback, at first, surprised that you of all people could manage such an emotion. A smile slowly blooms on his lips. “I think your smile is beautiful but this expression?” He pauses to brush his knuckles up the side of your flushed cheek. It is warm and enticing. He wants to touch you more. “I like this one too.”

You should walk away. You don’t have the energy to deal with Law and his sudden affection, but his hand is warm when his fingers wrap around yours after taking your drink away. You follow him wordlessly as he leads you away. You hear Nami say something but don’t quite listen. She laughs and her giggling fades the further you make it from the party. Law leads you into a small storage room. You look around, unsure of where to stand or you should even be there.

Law leaves you no room to think further. His hands grip your small shoulders and he pushes you against the nearest wall. You smell wet wood, and grains. “We-we can talk without all of this, you know?” You say with as much courage as you can muster. Your face feels extremely hot. Your heart is racing, banging against your chest like war drums.

“I know,” Law agrees, with a tilt of his head. His hands release your shoulders to fiddle with the obi of your kimono. Your hands find his, and you grasp them with shaking fingers. Law looks up at you. His eyes are usually the color of a setting sun but they are becoming darker and darker.

“We keep it on? That’s fine too.”

You have no idea what he means, and you think about asking him to elaborate but his mouth presses against yours. You swallow the inhibitions loaded on your tongue. When he comes up for air, you try breathing. “What do you want from me?” you ask him.

Law breathes noisily. He knew you were shy but seeing you squirm against the wall with his hands on your hips is too much for him to handle. The flush of your cheeks makes him want to kiss them over and over again. You’re peering at him through your lashes, and they flutter, offering him promises he knows you can’t keep.

“Give me tonight,” he answers finally, pulling your kimono off your shoulders to expose skin. He leans forward to drop a kiss; one on each shoulder. “If you still won’t come to me after tonight, I won’t bother you anymore.”

You swallow thickly as he kisses up the column of your neck. His lips are soft against your skin, forcing your eyes closed at the tenderness. You’re not sure if it’s because he is him, or because you are feeling particularly lonely but his touch makes you want to be reckless. You wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“I’ll make you forget him,” he claims boldly, licking up the shell of one of your ears. You shudder in response, a rattling gasp settling in the back of your throat.

“You can try,” you say and regret it the moment Law pulls away to look at you. There is a darkness behind his eyes that you can’t quite name. He gathers your face in his hands, and you try to mentally prepare yourself for the onslaught. His kisses are greedy, and sloppy. You never expected that lack of finesse from the Surgeon of Death. His teeth tug on your bottom lip, and the corners of your mouth as his hands move. They slope over your hips to your waist before traversing over your chest. He grabs your breasts, digging his inked fingers until you cry out.

Pain or please, he isn’t sure but he doesn’t stop to find out.

The small storage room feels hot. You feel drops of sweat sliding down the back of your neck, disappearing somewhere down your back. Law has you gripped by the thighs, picking you up so he can press his hardened cock against your heated core. You hum in pleasure as he buries his face against your neck. His mission is clear. He plans to stake his claim, so he marks you, over and over, leaving small bruises with his name signed in blood.

Law bites your chin, before groaning against your mouth. “I’m gonna put it in,” he announces but you still shout in shock when you feel his fingers smearing the slick around your folds. You still gasp when he presses his tip against your entrance. His eyes are on your face, looking for any signs of hesitation. You set your jaw in determination.

“Hurry up,” you tell him in between ragged breathing. “You said you’d make me forget. So make me forget.”

You know better than to incite him, but the words slip out of your mind. You feel like a mad woman. There was a hole in your chest you desperately craved to fill, and you knew this is not the way. But you still toss your head back when he enters, and moan loudly. You still hum in pleasure as you clench around him, adjusting to his girth. The muscles of your belly contract at the jolts of pleasure when he starts moving his hips. You’re in a trance, sweat coating your breasts. You move your hips too, as best as you can, as he pounds into you.

“Should I fuck you harder?” he asks as he watches you, a frown on his face. You whimper, and bite down on your lip. You’re not sure what he means. Is this not hard? “You haven’t said my name yet. So I should definitely fuck you harder.”

Your grasp on his shoulders tightens just in time. Law is relentless. He snaps his hips savagely, time and time again. He is aware that you will bruise. He is aware that he should be a little softer, a little more gentle. He is aware when you cry out, when your nails dig through his clothing and into his skin, that you are reaching a point of no return.

He is aware but he can’t bring himself to stop. He desperately wants to hear you say it as you fall apart; only for him and no one else.

There is a heat swirling at the end of your belly. It circles and circles; a dragon trying to eat its own flaming tail. You shout when the heat builds, Law’s name shooting past the front of your teeth. He hisses as it catches in the thick air of the storage room.

“That’s what I thought,” he spits through clenched teeth. You think he would let up, now that you were so close to your peak but he chases it after it blindly, savagely; all teeth and bloody claws. You cry out, time and time again, as pleasure ripples through you. You clench around him, and Law gives in. He kisses you deeply, tongue seeking out yours as he rides his orgasm, spilling inside you.

You feel hot wetness slip out from your puffy and bruised pussy. “Did you forget him?” he asks you, kissing the apple of one cheek. You don’t answer him. You’re still somewhere up in the sky, floating; free falling. He bounces you up, adjusting your hips in his hands. The weight of the bounce startles you awake slightly. Your eyes are glazed over as you look at him and he laughs softly. “No? Should I try again then? We still have all night.”

#fic request #law x you #law x y/n #law x reader #one piece law #trafalgar law smut #law smut #one piece smut #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader

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zeroducks-2 · 8 months

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strapping you to a chair and forcing you to write fluffy sladick >:3

Reporting live from the chair I've been strapped to, have some fluffy Sladick!

(I used this other ask to give myself a prompt, I hope you'll see it anon!)

5. "Sing to me" Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson

Dick has never been a fan of the rain, even if living in Gotham he needed to get used to it if he wanted to survive. It doesn't mean he has to like it, and the way the city is perennially covered by layers of polluted air and stormy clouds is his least favorite aspect of it.

However. Sprawled on the bed with way too many pillows propping him up in a semi-sitting position, the wall-sized windows of the loft letting him see the entirety of Gotham bay, the way it's engulfed by clouds, the soft patter on the glass... well, that he's been enjoying greatly. He's been at it for a while now, just resting like that and watching the rain fall on the gray sea, and by this point he's hungry and would get up if he could, but he doesn't dare move. Not with Slade currently sleeping face down against his chest, an arm partially wrapped against Dick's middle.

Dick has fingers running through his hair, slowly and gently enough not to rouse him, and listens to his heart beating in an uncharacteristically slow way. They had a rough night. He knows he'd be dead, wasn't it for Slade. Slade would be dead too, wasn't it for Dick. At least they're even, he thinks with a half smile, and if this isn't the first time he and Deathstroke exchange favors, it never happened before that once the mission was over, they'd found themselves kissing and groping each other under the relative cover of an isolated alley.

«Little bird.»

Dick doesn't flinch because he's used not to, but his caress halts if only for a moment. «I thought you were sleeping.» He says and it's true, not much changed in the way Slade's breathing and his heart is beating, he might be sleeptalking for all Dick knows.

«I was.» Slade straightens up but remains over him. He doesn't lean against Dick's chest anymore, instead cages him with his own. «But, I understand you might want to go.»

Dick smiles and leans in to close what little space there is between them and kisses him, and their bodies are not touching anymore so he can't be sure, but he could bet that the man's heartbeat picks up.

«I'll stay until you're fully healed, okay?» He says but barely even finishes the line because a hand comes up on his cheek and there's another kiss, deeper this time, more urgent. Like Slade was still gripped by adrenaline after seeing Dick get nearly decapitated.

«Yeah.» The man says, appearing to forcefully pull away but their foreheads remain touching. «Stay as long as you wish.»

Dick frowns and brings both arms up to hold him, recognizing apprehension when he sees it. «I'm alright.» He says, straightening up on his knees so that they can embrace properly. «I'm not hurt. You made sure I wasn't. Please don't be worried about me.»

«I know, Dick.» Slade replies and runs a palm down Dick's naked spine, and he frowns, realizing that this is the first time the other calls him by his first name. «I'm not worried. I'm just glad you're here with me.»

He widens his eyes and feels his face flush, not knowing what to say or do with what he just heard. He doesn't break the embrace and searches the edges of the bandages he himself wrapped around Slade's middle; that's what prevented them from actually tearing each other's suit off in that lane, the night before. The fact that Slade was bleeding out, the wounds too severe for his healing factor to take care of without assistance. At least they managed to get to Slade's safehouse. Or, well, whatever this luxurious loft in Gotham Central classifies as.

«Sing to me?» Slade asks, holding him back and breathing in once dipping his nose into the hair on the side of Dick's head. «Like you did last night.»

Dick smiles, he thought Slade was passed out and didn't even realize. He nods and lies back down with him, letting him rest against his chest again, then hums an old song from his childhood.

Thank you for asking Jelly and anon ♥ Here's the prompt list for whoever wants to peruse it, or send me another prompt :)

#long post #sweetheart you don't need to strap me to chairs I will always write Sladick for you as long as it's not in my DNWs ♥#my asks #my fanfictions #three words prompt game #sladick #they be soft and in love #but they haven't spoken about it yet

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villainofmyownstory · 3 days

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WIP whenever

I was unexpectedly tagged by the very talented writer @pricegouge to post an updated WIP. Thank you very much! And before you check out these little thing, check out @pricegouge's stories, in particular I recommend Fatted Rabbit - a true masterpiece. <3 Let's just say that the one below is a continuation of Blurry. Unfortunately I've been very busy at work lately and haven't had time to write anything. But hopefully in about two weeks I'll get back to a normal routine and have more free time. I'll tag @ilragnotessitore , @kyletogaz and @hyperactively-me don't feel obliged, no pressure if you don't want to post anything

______________________________________________________________

It is said that falling in love comes easily. That there is such a thing as love at first sight. That soulmates can be met instantly.

Well, your first meeting with John was not what you heard about in stories of friends falling in love. Or in family stories told at your parents' next wedding anniversary.

It was completely different.

When you first met, you didn't seem nice or kind to him at all. But maybe that's what he needed. Maybe he just needed a harsh and rough tone. Maybe also a little rudeness. At that time, everyone felt sorry for him, patted him on the head or walked around him on eggshells.

And you were completely different. Years later, he always said that that spark of anger in your eyes attracted him to you from the very beginning.

Although you found it hard to believe, after all, he was your husband. Well, exactly - he was.

Another day had passed when you were in that house, every morning he asked you the same thing. Moreover, his short-term memory was problematic, but he remembered exactly what his missions were like 20 or 10 years ago.

”But what did you do yesterday Captain?"

“Oh, little dove, how could I forget a doll like you?”

Every day was the same. And you didn't cry about it anymore. Maybe it was better that way. One heart shattered into millions of pieces was enough.

Doctors said not to push, not to remind him of those worst, most difficult moments. That could have made his condition worse.

But he wasn't the same person he used to be.

He wasn't himself.

He wasn't Captain.

And even more than that, he was no longer your John.

He could look better physically, and many doctors, nurses in the hospital, tried to date him. Even the married ones. However, when it came to the story of this accident.

Well. He's stuck with three boys and you.

Despite the pain, you were unable to fully let go. Even though piece by piece you felt your heart being torn into more small, bloody fragments.

However, on the last day, when you are already sitting packed in the living room, waiting for the arrival of the person who will replace you. Someone who will take over the care. His phone rang.

And hearing his cheerful voice, you immediately knew who was calling.

His past. A person with whom he had experienced more seasons than with you. Someone he remembered. And what probably hurt you the most. His previous life came to an end long before. But it always made itself known at the least expected moments. Coming out of a dark corner, biting at ankles, pulling at shirt. Causing dark clouds to appear in your head again.

Because his previous family was still present. Even though he closed that chapter long before you were together, it still bothered you. It made you feel uncomfortable.

Now his laughter echoed in that empty big house, but it wasn't meant for you.

And you lose yourself once again in longing, in the need to be someone again. His.

“Oh, little dove, how could I forget a doll like you?”

And yet, he still didn't remember.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

aaaannd also tag @blackhawkfanatic @who-needs-to-sleep @rafaelacallinybbay bc you ask for part 2 sorry to disappoint you but I need more time, but I'll definitely come back to it someday

#wip whenever #some wip of blurry #let's say it's part 1.2 #exhusband!johnprice

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haytham-loves-chocolate · 6 months

Text

Enola Rossingol’s Journal Entry 8

Warning: a bit of foul language, mentions of blood, mentions of fighting

9th of July, 1755

Any way the wind blows

I cannot say what happened last night, but all seemed to turn on me in a flash. This aching feeling in my stomach, the loneliness I felt without someone beside me. Haytham insisted on camping elsewhere on his own, and it took all my mental strength not to show my true ways, but to reach out and touch his hand, begging him to stay.

I feel blue, I see the blue sky above me. When it comes time to handle the situation, I slowly rise from where I slept, and I catch sight of a cloud slowly moving through the sky. Then, I felt the hand of someone familiar to me, with copper-like skin, the man I met with Ziio, Amias.

“Your friend is already in the eyes of the enemy. The others have gone to help him.” His voice whispers to me, our faces close to each other, close enough to feel his breath close to mine.

It would make any other lucky lady blush, but I am so focused on the mission I have to turn my head to look at the setting before me.

All the beautiful trees, the beauty of nature. I wish I dared to leave. The bombardment, the sinking ships, the Natives that wish only for peace. I wish I dared to go.

I turn my head back towards Amias, seeing his intriguing features in perfect detail. The light brown color of his eyes reminds me of chocolate, sweet like he was when we first met. The size of his nose is a cute tale to tell, with his high cheekbones giving much for his oval-shaped head. The nose, as I’m trying to explain to myself, may have been a bit crooked, but it is cutely small. From the side of his face, there is a small black line of warpaint, it looks a bit like eyeshadow. Or did he not get enough sleep last night? Whatever that case may be, I cannot help but describe his lips. Full, thick, glossy like lips. That chin, though, my god, diamonds could be his worst enemy if they ever touch that. He is of muscular build as I have said in my earlier entries, and hasn’t changed it since then.

A gunshot rings out from kilometers away, giving me the warning that I should make my way towards the others. Amias’s rough hands took mine before I could turn from him, and as I looked down at our hands, I saw he had taken the risk, to intertwine our fingers together. The blush on my face was apparent, even thinking about it now gives me goosebumps. It took a few seconds to think I should let go of his grip, which I proceeded to do.

The first thing on my mind is running again, but I hesitate in which direction. From the corner of my eye, I see a gorgeous brown horse with a unique white spot around its left eye with other white spots close to the saddle. Without another word exchanged between us, I ran towards the horse. I quickly hopped up on the saddle and grabbed the reins. I use the heel of my boot to tap the flank of its body, and I get the reaction I wanted. The horse’s movements go from trotting to galloping, moving through the battle ensuing.

I see Haytham’s redcoat outfit and know how he looks very well. The athletic build, the way the hat fits, and obviously, the red ribbon that flows with the wind to keep his hair tied together. I see that man on the ground; what was his name again? Ah yes, George Washington, that man. The Native woman, Ziio, has him down to the ground and her hand on a knife that she uses to best him. I dart my eyes over to the ensuing soldiers on the British side and the French side, shooting and stabbing each other with their bayonets. The other Natives try to help, but with what they have, it feels hopeless.

I leave Haytham to finish his job, to assassinate the bastard bitch named Edward Braddock. I join Pitcairn, Hickey, Church, Lee, and Johnson in attacking the French, but I also attack some of the British soldiers who think it is right to attack me who is helping them. The practice helps, parrying, thrusting, and rolling over various people just to stab the person next to them.

After a few more minutes of fighting, I glance up from the tops of my eyelids to see Haytham reunite with Ziio. From this moment, I noticed my vision turning black, but in a transparent way. It seems like time has stopped just for a moment as I look around to see the damage, the bodies, and my friends. Behind me, I see time play forward, showing me a British soldier with his gun out, his mouth open in a fit of rage, about to stab me with a bayonet. I snap my head back to where I was looking, at the two. Time seems to play normally, and I use this to my amusement.

As I hear the soldier’s yells, I touch the tip of the bayonet with my bare hands, bending backward so the bayonet stabs another British soldier, and I do not hesitate in making the bayonet share its target. I bend the gun back as quickly as I move my hand close to the bottom of the musket rifle. I pull the trigger, making sure the target of the mini cannonball is his neck. It succeeds, and I quickly escape from the battle, securing my hiding spot behind some bushes as I take a closer look at where Haytham and Ziio are.

They seem to be in a short but deep conversation, and in Ziio’s hands is the amulet that was once around Haytham’s neck. I saw Ziio give the amulet back to him, and the amulet was back around his neck, which surprised me as I simply told the future out loud.

I leave my hiding spot when I see Lee and the others getting closer to my location. My feet start to move in the direction of Haytham, being as quiet as I possibly can. But, I suddenly stop in my tracks as I see Haytham leaving with Ziio. I feel my heart crack open just a little more than it did last night, and I hate that feeling, the feeling of his leaving me. I feel my eyes dilate, I feel my pulse race. I feel… fear. This fear that he has left forever, that he is hers and I will never be in his line of thought, his line of sight. This jealousy will be the death and the beginning of me.

I feel the wind in my hair, I gaze out towards the blue sky, towards the tall forest of trees. I feel a couple of stares, while I feel the presence of Haytham and Ziio slipping away.

I feel blue, oh so blue. I’m stuck back where I once was, following the Master like a small puppy, begging for attention. I am pleading for it again, and he’s abandoned me. He’s out of my league, yet I keep running to him. Love is a shit-mouthed whore.

Tonight, I go back to the aftermath of the battle, not caring I am the only one around. I sit under a willow tree, and I write to the Grand Master how many have died, I write to both the British and French soldiers of how many men they have lost. I write another letter to Amias, telling him of how many Natives became heroes, that this war will turn for the better. All I write is a total lie, but it makes me happy to know this will lift his spirits just a little.

The night sky casts an eerie light on the fallen, and I feel a sudden change of scenery. I will need to be prepared for what comes at me.

#haytham kenway #assassin's creed #ac3 #assassin's creed 3 #assassin's creed iii #haytham kenway x reader #Enola Rossingol’s Journal #written in the style of his journal #assassins creed forsaken oc entry version

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nerevar-quote-and-star · 1 year

Text

I Didn't Know You Were Keeping Count - Part II: Raven

ao3

masterlist

First (previous) | Next

Shout out to the fantastic @ravenmind2001 for reading over this and keeping me from going nuts.

Taglist:

@ravenmind2001 @incorrectskyrimquotes @uwuthrad @dark-brohood @owl-screeches @binaominagata @dakatmew @constantfyre @kurakumi

#######

Delphine’s face contorted into incredulous confusion. “She’s a Blade.”

“Yes,” Esbern nodded, having already gone over this with her a couple of times. He didn’t seem to mind, though. He looked happy enough to have reunited with both women away from the danger of the Thalmor.

Leara, for her part, sat in a corner, polishing the curved steel of her katana. They left Riften just over a week ago, taking the roads at night and sleeping in the brush during the day. Every day for over thirty years was a new lesson in survival, but roughing it through the wilderness was something she’d not done since her escape from Skingrad before the end of the Great War. She took the hunter’s trail through the Jeralls. Between Esbern’s compass spell, her clairvoyance anchored to Riverwood, and her Blade’s memory of her previous trip through, they made it in due time to reach the Sleeping Giant Inn by the end of the month.

Delphine was waiting for them. Just Delphine.

Leara never thought she’d be so glad to see the stubborn Knight-Sister, but the feeling was soon dismissed when Delphine could do nothing but gape after Esbern revealed Leara was once a Blade herself. Leara was simply glad that Delphine didn’t have to know about her history in the Dominion. The mission had been so secret that the only record of it that the Grandmaster ever gave the chronicler was that she was relocated from Cloud Ruler to Alinor for reconnaissance. Anything more was need-to-know and there was no one left alive who needed to know. Not anymore.

She traced the engraved glyphs on her blade with the pad of her finger, deep in thought. She nearly missed Esbern’s scrambling for one of his books as he spoke in a rushed, almost absent whisper about Alduin’s Wall and an ancient Akaviri temple.

“I know where it is,” he was saying, flipping through his notes. "Ah, yes. The entrance seems to be near to what's now known as the Karthspire. We'll have to see what we find when we arrive."

Delphine nodded, “Then let's go.”

·•★•·

They took the Falkreath road to the Reach, the cover created by the pines and mists offering more protection than the open tundra of Whiterun. Leara and Delphine shouldered the brunt of the night watches, taking turns to peer into the shroud of night beyond their little camps. Fires were kept small and low burning, just enough to cook the occasional rabbit and ward off the damp chill that sank into their bones each night. They avoided the roads. While Leara had no choice in the inevitability of showing her face in public, the threat of being hunted by the Thalmor bound the three Blades into the shadows. Eerie noises followed them through the forest, strange lights appearing and disappearing at intervals between the trees once the sun was down. Out there, bandits and highwaymen were the least of their problems. One grey morning, before rousing Delphine and Esbern, Leara spied a High Elf in scout’s armor watching from the edge of a cliff. Even after she woke Delphine and told her, it was hours before they could leave, waiting for the scout to leave the area.

Their arrival in the Karth River Canyon wasn’t the end of their trouble. Leara found herself toe to claw with a half-woman, half-bird monster in a magic duel that only ended when the Dragonborn drew her katana across the creature’s feathery chest and sent her squawking into the river with a Fus Ro! It echoed through the valley, subduing all other sounds.

One of the remaining Forsworn stared at her from across a bridge, crude sword half raised and face full of terror. It twisted into hatred. “She-Bear!”

Then all the remaining Forsworn converged on Leara.

By the time the Forsworn were dead and Delphine and Esbern hauled her into the cave system at the heart of the camp, Leara was winded. Her lungs felt stripped, and her hands were freezing. She stumbled her way through the various traps and riddles set up by the ancient Blades to guard their temple. Her knees finally buckled when they reached the blood seal. It was a while before she could stand and attempt to open the barrier. The head of Reman Cyrodiil watched her as she hobbled to her feet and cut a gash across her palm with the heel of her katana. Her eyes met those of the statue’s, crystal on stone. It felt as if he was assessing her.

Nothing happened for several long moments as her blood dripped down to coat the seal. From the corner of her eye, she saw Esbern begin to deflate back into the hopeless state she found him in. Her hands on her hips, Delphine rolled her eyes and scoffed before pacing away. And then, below Leara, the seal pulsed golden. Fires around the room burst to life as if lit by an invisible hand. The statue of Reman Cyrodiil bowed and moved away, disappearing into the ceiling to reveal a broad winding stair.

This was Sky Haven Temple.

After that, everything seemed to click into place. They found the temple, and inside, in a place of eminence, they found Alduin’s Wall. Collapsing into a chair older than the Third Empire, Leara almost fell asleep while Esbern studied the temple’s architecture. Delphine’s hurried voice faded in and out, telling the old loremaster to focus, as Leara fought against sleep. Her bones still ached from the weight of the Forsworn piling on her. There was a pinch in her side from an awkward dent in her armor. She’d need to have it beaten out once she made it back to Whiterun. After she got some money.

Torch in hand, Esbern examined Alduin’s Wall, exclaiming over its preservation. As he read the wall, Leara lulled into a light doze. She watched a black dragon rise from behind the wall and swoop around the cavernous hall, shouting “She’s mine! She’s mine!” as Delphine and Esbern ran around like headless chickens.

“Hey, Leara.” Leara startled awake. Delphine was staring at her expectantly. Esbern was still studying the relief, but from Delphine’s frown, they were no closer to finding the answer to defeating Alduin than they were when they left Riverwood. Delphine pursed her lips, disgruntled. “Have you ever heard of such a thing? A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?”

A Shout that could knock a dragon out of the sky–? Her mind raced back over everything she’d learned about dragons since defeating the first one outside of Whiterun back at the end of winter. She knew precious little about Shouting, most of what she’d learned coming from the Greybeards during her brief time in High Hrothgar. If anyone knew about such a thing, it’d be the Greybeards. She told Delphine.

The younger Blade sighed in resignation. “You're probably right. I was hoping to avoid having to involve them in this, but it seems we have no choice.”

Haunching forward with her elbows on her knees, Leara pinched her nose. Don’t ask, she told herself. Do not ask—

“Delphine, it’s obvious you have an issue with the Greybeards. What have they done to make you resent them so much?” To be honest, Leara got the impression that there wasn’t a lot that Delphine didn’t resent. Not without just cause, but there comes a point when it all becomes too much.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you don’t resent them yourself,” said Delphine. At the Dragonborn’s look of shock, she elaborated, “If they had their way, you'd do nothing but sit up on their mountain with them and talk to the sky, or whatever it is they do! The Greybeards are so afraid of power that they won't use it. Think about it. Have they tried to stop the civil war, or done anything about Alduin? No. And they're afraid of you, of your power. Trust me, there's no need to be afraid. Think of Tiber Septim. Do you think he'd have founded the Empire if he'd listened to the Greybeards?"

Leara stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown horns and started ramming her head into the wall like a dumb goat. Is that what she thought of the Greybeards’ philosophy? A responsibility to use power wisely and respect the natural balance of the world was reduced to petty isolationism and fear. She could almost see the little Breton, head too small for the Blade’s helmet she wore like a crown, begging the Grandmaster to deploy her to Summerset. Heedless of the danger and finesse involved in such a mission. The woman in front of her had grown into the skin of one used to hiding, but still lacked the insight and tact necessary to find a path back into the sun. Distrust made Delphine bitter, and Leara pitied her.

She was too tired for this. “The Greybeards,” Leara began, tone diplomatic, “teach balance and restraint. Too much or too little will over-tip the scales and upend the natural order of things. It’s not that they fear power, they respect it.” She refrained from pointing out that Tiber Septim’s founding of the Third Empire was born from his unquenchable greed.

Delphine scowled. “For a former Blade, you sound rather comfortable with their way of doing things.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a rivalry,” Leara sniffed, choosing to ignore the ‘former’ Blade comment.

“There’s not – look. There's always a choice, and there's always a risk.” Delphine gave her a pointed look. “But if you live in fear of what might go wrong, you'll end up doing nothing. Like the Greybeards up on their mountain.”

“Are you worried I’ll run?”

Delphine was quiet, Leara met her gaze across the short distance. Everything about the Breton was pale, from her platinum hair to the grey-blue of her eyes, but at that moment, in the torchlight, she was a phantom from the past. The fire reflected in her eyes was an accusation. Traitor, they screamed as the fires consumed the tower and the lake shone and burned. Traitor. Traitor.

Leara blinked, and the spell was broken. Delphine’s eyes were her own again, no longer a ghost’s.

“Just don't let them turn you away from your destiny,” she was saying. “You're Dragonborn, and you're the only one who can stop Alduin. You should remember that better than anyone.”

“Right,” Leara said. She got to her feet, casting a weak magelight overhead as she passed Delphine. “I’m going to rest. I’ll set out for High Hrothgar in the morning.” She needed some time alone.

·•★•·

A tempus spell told her it was after the fourth watch when she woke. One of the others must have built a fire after she’d gone to sleep, its coals still glowing with dying warmth. She pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders, shuddering. The old temple was drafty. She fancied she could almost hear the wind, howling like a pack of wolves up the mountainside and over the peak. Again, she regretted leaving Karnwyr in the sewer. Leara allowed herself a moment to think about the wolf before getting up. The sun was already up, but if she started off soon, she could beat the dusk out of the worst of the Reach’s mountains. Then straight to Whiterun.

She stirred the coals, adding a few more sticks brought from the Forsworn camp down on the river. Across the makeshift hearth, Delphine rolled over, hair lashing across her pallet in a tight braid. Leara sighed and began to pack her things.

Once dressed, she stopped to look over Alduin’s Wall. The white of her magelight cast it in stark relief, harsh and bold compared to the eerie shadows set to play across the carvings by the torches.

“Delphine said you were setting off for High Hrothgar.”

“Yes,” she nodded, not surprised to find Esbern off to the side, already working despite the hour.

“She found this while exploring last night. She thought you would find it useful.” As Esbern approached, she saw in his hands an ancient katana, sheathed in black. She could feel the electricity curling off it. Electricity and something else that set her teeth on edge. “From what I can uncover, this katana is particularly useful against dragons.” He offered it to her.

“Is it?” she said, not taking it.

“Yes,” Esbern eyed her. “I couldn’t help but notice that the katana you carry isn’t the one you carried before the war.”

“You want to know where I got it,” Leara stated, understanding. He was curious, and he had a right to be. Delphine carried a katana, but it was the same one she carried before everything went to Oblivion. It was rare for a Blade to take the sword of another except under special circumstances, and even then, those were usually temporary. Leara looked down, pulling her katana slowly from its sheath. “It was given to me.”

Esbern peered at the bare blade under the steady magelight. “These are Altmeris,” he said in surprise, a frown creasing his lined face. “Did you acquire this in Summerset?”

“No, High Rock.” Leara shifted from one foot to the other, for once giving into the impulse. She sheathed her katana. “I should be going. Thank you for showing me that katana, but I think it will be more useful for you two to have it on hand in case a dragon attacks.”

“Of course, of course.” And Esbern returned to where his books and papers lay strewn out on the old stone table dominating the center of the room.

Leara was at the top of the stairs that led back into the caves before stopping. Bracing a hand on the archway, she called softly back to Esbern, just loud enough to catch his attention without disturbing Delphine. “Esbern?”

“Hm?”

Hesitating, Leara swallowed. “My katana, it belonged to my great-grandmother. She was a Knight-Sister during the Oblivion Crisis.”

There was a scrape and thud from Esbern’s chair as he rose from the table. “Your great-grandmother–?”

But Leara was gone.

·•★•·

She snuck by every Forsworn hunting party and Imperial patrol while trying to keep in sight of the road as she followed the Karth back to its headwaters in the mountains. It was late at night when she spied a village situated high on a rocky embankment on the river’s north shore. Hoping for an inn with an innkeeper that didn’t ask too many questions, Leara climbed the path into the village. As far as an inn was concerned, she was in luck.

A little bell chimed, and she was hit with the comforting glow of a hearth and the smell of fresh bread. The common room was well-lit and homey, with several tables scattered around the large central hearth. Old Nordic and Colovian style weapons hung high on the walls in places of honor. She focused on a polished pair of Nordic axes in a prominent place behind the bar as she approached.

“Ah, a visitor. Old Hroldan Inn has hundreds of years of history, friend,” the woman behind the bar, a blond Nord with tired eyes, said by way of greeting. “The name’s Eydis. You'll be looking to rent Tiber Septim's room, I take it?”

“Pardon?”

Eydis smiled at her, “In the Second Era, Tiber Septim himself led the army that conquered Old Hroldan from the barbarians of the Reach. Septim would later found the Empire that united Tamriel, but his first known battle and victory was right here. And this inn has the very bed the great general slept in on his first night as Old Hroldan's liberator. As good as it was hundreds of years ago."

Oh yes, the Battle of Old Hroldan. Studying keynotes on the Tiber Wars was one of the lessons given to many young knights during their Blades training. The Battle of Old Hroldan was the first victory in a campaign that led to the taking of the Western Reach. “His room’s for rent?”

“That’s right, for ten septims, it’s yours for the night.”

Leara reached for her belt, and then into her satchel, and then she padded down her armor, even though silver plate didn’t have pockets. Eydis eyed her the whole time, a crease deepening in her brow.

“I’m sorry, I thought I—” Leara coughed, flushing with embarrassment.

“If you don’t have the coin, I’m afraid I can’t board you,” Eydis said, not unkindly, but Leara could tell the woman was tired. Divines knew Leara was tired.

“Maybe I can—”

“This will cover her board for the night, and mine.”

A chill clawed its way up her spine. An arm bound in dark leather appeared in front of her, depositing a small pouch on the counter, even as she felt another wrap around her, almost completely encircling her waist. Eydis eyed her over the counter, weary eyes darting between Leara and the man looming by her shoulder.

“This one with you?” she asked, skeptical.

“Well . . .”

“Oh yeah, I’ve been looking for her for days on the road. You know how dangerous the Reach is. Thought I’d never find her for all the damn Forsworn scuttling around.” Bishop’s words were like honey in the innkeeper’s teapot: dripped just right in the bottom. He poured the water: “I’m glad I found her. I was starting to worry she’d been carried off or something.”

Eydis nodded along, thumbing through the coins in the pouch. “Right, of course. This is the right amount. Have a good rest. She looks like she needs it,” she added, thrusting her thumb in Leara’s direction. “It's the big room with the double bed.”

“Thanks,” Bishop called over his shoulder, pulling a stunned Leara along to an open door. Beyond it, Leara could make out a large bed covered in furs. The bed Talos himself slept in while still mortal. She didn’t expect to sleep a wink.

Bishop closed the door behind them. Leara sat heavily on the bed and glanced around, searching. “Where’s Karnwyr?”

“Outside.”

“Oh.”

“You left me.” Slowly, Leara lifted her head to meet Bishop’s burning eyes across the room. Even that was too close. “You left us fighting for our lives in that blasted skeever trap!” His voice was low, probably so he wouldn’t alert Eydis at the bar, but the quieter pitch was more menacing than a proper yell. Dragons Shouted like thunder. Bishop hissed like lightning. “Against the damn Thalmor! What the Hell, woman? What did you do to have the Aldmeri Dominion hunting you down?”

“I’m the Dragonborn,” she stated, focusing on the wall. There was an old tapestry depicting an artist’s rendition of Tiber Septim Shouting apart the Old Hroldan gates. It reminded her of a mosaic she saw in Bruma years before the war, before the Chapel of Talos was rededicated to Martin Septim, sainted by the Imperial church. It was gone when she went back, replaced by golden stained glass depicting the defeat of Dagon in the Oblivion Crisis. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Yeah, I got that. You’re not exactly subtle, sweetness.” Bishop laughed, but the sound held no amusement. Not any she could understand, anyway.

“So sorry I don’t rise to your expectations.”

“Didn’t have high ones of the Dragonborn to start with.” She stared at him, stunned. “I always thought it was a good story, something to tell around the fire, but a relic of the past, just like the dragons. As far as I was concerned, the only people who could shout were those Greybeards up on the Throat of the World, leeching from the pockets of gullible people. Them and Ulfric Stormcloak.” He said the name with a faux reverence worthy of the Thalmor. “The best thing he ever did was Shout apart the Forsworn.” He began to pace, agitated. He reminded her of a predator.

“Until me,” Leara sighed.

��Until you. And now the Thalmor are hunting you. Word is they’ve got a price out on your head. Not a public one, but the word’s moving through the crime world, ladyship. Some pretty nasty bastards are already on your trail.” He stopped in front of her, and suddenly he dominated her field of vision. Leara didn’t move as he stepped closer to her. “What happened to your armor?”

“My armor?”

“The dent in your left side, above your kidney,” Bishop pointed. “And on that subject, the bruise over your eye and the cut on your lip. Who attacked you?”

She swallowed. “Forsworn.”

Bishop cursed and returned to his pacing. “I don’t think you quite understand the danger you’re in, Dragonborn or not!”

“I can take care of myself, thank you,” she said, straightening up. She’d done so since before this man was born. She would do so after he was dead

“That’s just it, you don’t have to now!” Bishop shook his head, growling. He was like a caged animal. “I can protect you! I protected you from the Thalmor in the Ratway! They’re dead now because of me.”

“Am I supposed to be thankful that you saved your life and it just so happened to benefit me and my goals at the time?”

He scowled at her. “I’ve risked my life for you numerous times in the last month when nobody else gave a damn about you! And that’s the thank you I get?”

She didn’t speak. The bottom left corner of the tapestry was frayed, like it’d been caught on something and pulled. Part of its picture was warped and faded out from the damage. She felt like the tapestry: whole for the most part with her mind and magic intact, but she’d been yanked around, and now her edges were frayed, raw from wear, and part of her was missing, an important part that she didn’t know she had before it was gone. The tapestry could be restored, but her? Leara wasn’t so sure.

Why was she even there?

Bishop cut off midtirade when Leara pulled off her boats and laid down on top of the furs, hands folded on her stomach as she stared at the ceiling. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to sleep,” Leara said, the familiar discomfort of lying down in armor settling through her body. Her right hip ached. She ignored it. She was ignoring a lot of things lately, but that was okay. It kept her focused on her primary objective. “I am going to bed and am no longer continuing this discussion. If you wish to stay, grab a blanket and sleep in that chair. If you wish to keep talking, go outside and talk to the moons. They might have time for your whining.”

“Whining?” squawked Bishop. He sounded like that – hagraven? – when she Shouted it apart at the Karthspire. “Now listen, sweetie, I don’t—”

“Shut up.”

Spluttering. That’s how the hagraven sounded when it was drowning in blood and water. “What did you just—”

“You don’t shut up,” she said, then rolled over.

Leara ignored Bishop for the rest of the night.

·•★•·

A scream broke the still air of the pre-dawn.

Leara was yanking her boots back on as she hobbled into the common room, a yawning and stretching Bishop strolling leisurely behind her. He seemed unbothered by the scream but determined to follow Leara wherever she went, to ‘protect’ her, as he so elegantly put it the night before.

Eydis stood beside the bar, the remains of a juniper berry pie dumped on her feet and splattered across her skirt and the flagstones. The woman was as white as a sheet, eyes blown wide in terror.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Leara asked, rushing to Eydis’ side.

The woman pointed.

“Holy . . .” Bishop trailed off.

At the far table, under a nasty looking battleax black with age, was a hazy figure. Seated at the table, it seemed engrossed in the empty space before it, as if seeing something that wasn’t visible to anyone else. It moved its arms, as it would if it were eating; in their wake was a pale smoke trail of luminous blue.

A ghost.

Eydis grabbed her arm, grip fierce even through the hard silver plate and chainmail. “Do you think the ghost is one of . . . Tiber Septim's dead men?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bishop rolled his eyes. “That’s not a ghost! It’s some Forsworn black magic, and if it were a ghost, what makes you think it’s one of Tiber Septim’s men?”

Eydis glared at him, an intimidating sight despite her disheveled hair and juniper-stained clothes. “He's from the battle, I just know it! He's one of Tiber Septim's soldiers . . . back from the dead!”

Bishop’s laugh was loud and mocking. It didn’t seem to faze Eydis, much less the ghost. “That is such bull – what are you doing, woman?”

Leara sat down on the bench across from the ghostly figure. An impression of curved horns blurred in and out of focus, reminiscent of the ancient Nordic helmets she’d seen in Bleak Falls and Ustengrav. The ghost didn’t seem to be a malevolent spirit, but a lost soul. He was a warrior, and either through time or space or both, he was a long way from home.

“Hello, are you lost?”

Bishop’s “Are you serious?” faded into the background as the spirit lifted its head, alert. The embers of its eyes bore into Leara’s, arresting her movements. A chill shuddered through her, and she got a distinct impression that the ghost wasn’t seeing her, but seeing through her.

“I've been waiting for you. Hjalti.”

Hjalti struck a chord within Leara, though she couldn’t quite place it. She was sure she’d heard the name before, but . . . “Who is Hjalti?”

“You promised me, Hjalti,” the ghost said, lifting a faded hand toward her. Despite herself, Leara leaned closer. The ghost’s hand was so close, there but not; she fancied she could almost feel it on her skin, cold and warm all at once. “You promised that when we sacked Hroldan, you would make me your sworn brother.” The hand clenched, light darkening s a dying fire. “And I've waited. Even after the enemies' arrows dug into my chest and their hammers crushed my bones. I've waited. Give me your sword, Hjalti. That we may become brothers as you promised.”

Love and longing and expectation borne over centuries filled the ghost’s voice. The pieces clicked in Leara’s memory, and she knew who this was. He was one of General Talos’ men.

“What are you doing?” Bishop hissed from behind her.

She waved him off, “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m talking to someone.”

“Yeah, a fricking ghost!”

“He needs my help,” she said.

Bishop plopped onto the bench next to her. “A ghost needs your help, and so does every other Daedra-blasted sucker in Skyrim! That does not mean you should go out of your way to help every idiot that crosses your path, asking you to retrieve their hat from a cave full of vampires!”

“I’m not retrieving a hat,” she spat. She turned back to the lost warrior. “I’ll retrieve your sword.”

“I long to taste battle again,” the ghost sighed into a moan that shot ice and fire through Leara’s blood. Bishop didn’t seem fazed. “I’ll be waiting, Hjalti.”

“Of course.” Leara got to her feet with a nod and returned to the bar, Bishop cursing under his breath in her wake. She didn’t know where to start in hunting down this sword, but she had a feeling she knew who might.

Eydis stood behind the counter, hands clenched bone-white in the folds of her apron. Her eyes lit with an intrigued sort of fear as Leara approached, curious and frightened all at once. “Is it really one of Tiber Septim’s men?” she asked.

“Yes,” Leara nodded. “It seems he died in the battle with the Reachmen. He’s restless, waiting for Tiber Septim’s return. Has he never shown up before?”

Eydis twisted her apron in her hands, deep in thought. “I've heard stories that Old Hroldan was haunted, but no one’s seen a ghost here since the Great War. I haven’t, and I’ve never heard of any ghosts from the Battle of Old Hroldan showing up, either.” Eydis’ eyes trailed over Leara’s shoulder, and she turned to see the ghost milling about at the end of the hearth, warming his hands. It was an act of memory more than need. “I wonder why he’s here now?”

Leara watched the spirit. He’d called her Hjalti. Hjalti was Tiber Septim before the Nords called him Talos Stormcrown – if one believed the account in The Arcturian Heresy. Parts of Tiber Septim’s history were missing or altered, every young Blade knew that from their studies, and so all accounts were to be addressed and evaluated for historicity’s sake. But a decade in the Aldmeri Dominion and years in hiding after didn’t do her memory any favors. This ghost was one of General Talos’ men, and believed she was Hjalti, who she was pretty sure was General Talos. But why? Was it because they were both Dragonborn? Lost spirits often sought out the familiar in their wandering, looking for rest. That must be why the ghost appeared now: it felt the return of a dragon soul and came looking for help, thinking that General Talos – or Hjalti at the time – had come back for him, but all it found was her instead.

It was tragic.

“He claims Tiber Septim promised him his sword before the battle,” Leara explained, “But he was killed before he could give it to him. Do you know anything about Tiber Septim having a sword?” She pointed up at the weapons mounted along the walls. “Could it be one of these?”

“You can’t seriously believe these are from an actual battle!” Bishop said.

“They are! – well, except those axes. They belonged to my grandfather,” Eydis pointed above the bar, “But none of these belonged to Tiber Septim. Although I remember a legend that Tiber Septim had attacked one of the enemy camps before he came to Old Hroldan. It could be there.”

“Do you know which one he attacked?” Leara asked.

“Oh yeah. Do you have a map?

·•★•·

They approached the redoubt from the northeast. It was situated in the crevice of a valley, tall spires of Old Nordic architecture jutting out of the Karth’s headwaters as they flowed down from the Druadach Mountains. High on the steps, the animal skin tents of the Forsworn were visible, shielding many of the Forsworn from Bishop’s bow and Leara’s ice shards. They stood behind an outcropping of rock, watching the camp in silence. Beside Leara, Karnwyr stood, hair bristled and ears pointed forward. He’d been quite happy to see her once she emerged from the Old Hroldan Inn with a sulking Bishop and marked map, but now the wolf was all business.

“The best thing to do,” Leara whispered, careful despite the roar of the waterfalls, “is to sneak through and take out targets individually.”

Bishop’s grin was wolfish. “You want to pick them off one by one.”

Leara nodded. From what Eydis told her, Lost Valley Redoubt was once a center of deep spirituality for the men of the Western Reach, but was weakened during Tiber Septim’s campaign through the region. Legend said there were dark caverns full of black magic secrets hidden under the old barrow, but if they existed, they were destroyed or blocked off long before Tiber Septim and his army arrived to rout the remainder of the Reachmen. Now it was barely an encampment, but even so, Leara knew not to underestimate the Forsworn.

Bishop’s part in the plan was simple: snipe the Forsworn from the rocks while she snuck into the camp. Everything was okay until the man set off a tripwire and brought a giant mammoth skull swinging out of nowhere to fall on his head. The Forsworn began to gather in groups, looking for the enemy, and Leara was forced to duck into a tent for cover.

There was an alchemy station dusted with crumpled flower petals and drying mosses. A row of neat little potion bottles sat off to the side, though Leara was certain they weren’t quite as benign as they appeared. She pulled her nightgown from her satchel and, folding the bottles inside it, nestled them in the side of her bag. Perhaps the alchemist in Whiterun would buy them off her. Further perusal uncovered a few pouches of fire and frost salts.

There was a shriek outside and the explosive shockwave of a fireball. The Forsworn had a mage, or a shaman, or something. Leara prayed to Akatosh that there wasn’t another hagraven. Knowing her luck, though, there were probably two. And they probably had the sword, too.

Peeking out of the tent, she spied Bishop in the midst of a Forsworn pileup that made her ribs ache from the memory of the fight at the Karthspire. She turned to continue up through the summit. Then stopped.

Back at the inn, Bishop had been quite vehement in reminding her that he’d saved her from the Thalmor in Riften, and though she still didn’t think she needed his protection – she was a Blade, first and foremost, never mind being the Dragonborn with a power like the Voice – she owed him one. Plus, he was right. She didn’t have a lot of friends in Skyrim, and she needed an alley.

Katana in hand, Leara looked around for an idea of what to do. Marching forward would put her back where she’d been when the Forsworn attacked her at the Karthspire. After she Shouted.

Muffle cast and katana raised, Leara snuck around the rear of the tent and along the perimeter, back to where Bishop was playing chase with at least half the camp. The shaman stood back, glee twisting her already hawkish face into a dark point. Leara slipped up behind her, her Illusion spell failing as she slipped her katana into the shaman’s ribs.

The choking gurgle alerted several of the other Forsworn to her plight. By the time they reached her side, there was blood smeared around her mouth and down her side, with no sign of the assailant.

“Where is it? Where is it?” one of them shouted in anger.

“Is it a spirit?” one of the smaller girls asked.

“Don’t speak so! The spirits wouldn’t have done this to Aoife,” snapped another.

Then the shaman’s body exploded, and the air was filled with screaming.

On the next flight of stairs, a dead Reachmen at his feet, Bishop watched as an unholy fire consumed the main encampment, an unnerved fascination dancing across his face in the firelight.

From the shadows, Leara appeared beside him, Karnwyr at her heels.

“What in Oblivion . . .”

“You’re welcome,” Leara said to his dumbfounded expression. “You’re lucky I found fire salts, or they would have used you for some kind of ritualistic sacrifice.”

“Fire salts . . .?”

“Yes, do keep up. We still have to find that sword.”

·•★•·

There were two hagravens at the summit. And there was a ritual, too. It looked like they were trying to resurrect a dead man in elk hide and antlers by inserting a glowing green seed into his chest in place of the dead heart. There was something else there too, humming in the air and singing the song of the winds in her ear. She was beginning to recognize the song of the Word Walls when she came across them. Power, it sang, calling to her. Power, power, power. Not yet, she told it, looking around. She needed to take care of the hagravens first. One was bad enough, but two?

Karnwyr brushed her hand, and she followed the direction of his nose. A boulder sat precariously above the archway that led into the ritual site, held in place by a small pile of stones piled on a thin board.

Bishop hissed, “What do you think you’re doing?” as she scaled up the rock face to the ledge above the boulder. Slipping behind it, she lined herself up so the hagraven to the left of the alter was directly below and on the otherwise of the boulder.

“Fus Ro!”

Shrieking, smoke, and then a sickening crack as the boulder hit home, spraying dust and dead greenery across the clearing. The beak of the second hagraven was open in a soundless screech as her beady eyes focused at the stone where her sister had been, before darting with fiery rage to Leara as she slipped down.

“Hello,” Leara gave the bird monster a little wave.

“She-Bear! Defiler!”

“You’re an idiot,” Bishop moaned in the background.

Leara only smiled, sharp and inviting all at once as she drew her katana and charged the hagraven. The bird woman threw her hand out, and then Leara’s path was blocked as the Forsworn zombie clamored to his feet.

In his hands was the sword of General Talos!

Akaviri and Nordic steel rang out against each other, echoing off the stones only for the sound to be lost in the crashing boom of the waterfalls. Blades locked, Leara assessed her opponent: what this undead Reachman lacked in finesse, he made up for with sheer muscle, broad shoulders and thick arms bearing down on her slender frame. She wasn’t going to win this through a show of strength. She feinted, and he lurched forward, with enough momentum to swing his sword toward her neck. The sword struck the altar, steel skidding across stone in a bone-quivering wail.

Leara slipped across the ground, out from between the Forsworn and the altar. She lifted her katana.

A howling shadow swept overhead. Leara watched from the ground as Karnwyr’s front paws struck the undead Forsworn in the chest, toppling him backward. While the revenant – he wasn’t gross enough to be a zombie – tried to shake off the ravenous wolf, Leara turned to engage the hagraven. Ice coated her hand, and she hurtled spear after spear at the creature, frost meeting flame.

Steam curled through the ritual site, blooming and hissing from the collision of elements. Leara danced closer to the hagraven, mindful of her fare as she raised a frost cloak to ward off the worst of the assault. Her katana spun through the mist, gleaming with ice crystals. She struck at the hagraven.

A staff countered the strike, and her katana bounced back from the twisted wood. Letting her momentum spin her past the hagraven, she struck at the creature’s back. The staff again!

When she visited High Hrothgar, Master Arngeir mentioned a Shout that could disarm with a single Word. If only she knew it! All she knew were fragments of Unrelenting Force, Whirlwind Sprint, and—

Ah.

In a wash of fire, the hagraven swung the staff toward Leara—

“Feim!”

–and it went straight through her. Unbalanced, the hagraven went through the ethereal apparition and into the ground. Leara resolidified in the world with a single stroke to the hagraven’s thin neck.

Heart pounding against her ribs, Leara turned to find Karnwyr tearing into the fallen revenant’s chest, the glowing green seed lightless and cracked. A black arrow stuck at an angle from the dead man’s shoulder, but it was clear Karnwyr’s teeth did most of the work. Leara stooped and retrieved the sword of General Talos from where it had fallen.

It felt heavy in her hand, but not from its weight or the legacy it carried. A sense of purpose filled her, the hilt warm in her hand. This was the sword of Talos Stormcrown, and she held it in her hand.

She gave it a few practice swings as Bishop slunk up to her side.

He whistled. “Is that it, then? The sword of the almighty Talos, or whatever?”

“Yes.”

“It looks like any other old hunk of metal stuck into a crap hilt.” At Leara’s glare, he blanched. “What?”

“Oh, nothing! Only that you reduce a historical artifact to trash,” she sneered, the pale gold of her complexion hardening into marble.

Bishop laughed at her. “I really do question your intelligence sometimes, darling. I wouldn’t put my faith into any god, especially one that used to be a red-blooded man like me.”

“There are no men like you.” And she left him standing there, smirking as if she’d given him some sort of compliment. Approaching the Word Wall, her eyes traced the draconic glyph. She couldn’t understand them literally, but as she read, the song of the Words drew her to one word, Zii. Spirit. It was the second Word in her ethereal Shout. Her soul soared with her new understanding,

Bishop came up behind her. “Can we take this sword back to her ghost friend or are you just going to stand here all day and stare at the old stone?”

She deflated. “Yeah, let’s go.”

·•★•·

“Is that the lady who went to get Tiber Septim’s sword, Mama?” a boy seated at the bar whispered as Leara slipped into the barroom.

“Yes, Skuli, now shh,” Eydis said, reaching over the counter to stroke the boy’s hair.

Leara’s gaze zeroed in on the ghost, piddling at the spit where a roast was searing. He seemed uninterested in the roast, however; he was making stirring motions as if preparing dinner in an invisible pot.

Coming to his side, Leara drew the old sword. Like a moth to flame, the ghost turned, focus wavering between the Dragonborn and the promised sword. “I have Hjalti’s sword,” she said. With both hands on the sword, she offered it up, head bowed in respect.

The ghost reached for it. When his hand met the notched steel, an image of two young men locked in a sword fight flittered through her mind. The darker of the two swept the legs from under the taller blond. He went down with a grunt. When the dark one reached down to help up his friend, the blond dragged him to the ground, pulling him into a wrestling match that ended with both youths laughing.

The ghost gave her a wan smile, and she saw the laughing blond in the curve of his face. “It's been an honor to serve you, brother.”

Leara swallowed. “Likewise, brother.”

The weight of Hjalti Early-Beard’s sword vanished from her hand as the ghost evaporated from before her, at peace at last.

“Are we down now?”

Leara held back a sigh. Squeezing her eyes shut, she blinked back the ghost’s memory and turned to the room at large. Eydis and her son were still at the bar, wide-eyed in the wake of the ghost’s disappearance. But Bishop’s pale stare burned into her, expectant.

“We leave for Whiterun,” she said, gliding back to the door and the long road ahead.

#oc: leara roseblade #delphine #esbern #bishop #fanfic #the elder scrolls #tes #skyrim #dovahkiin #anti bishop #ao3 #karnwyr #mod post #i didn't know you were keeping count #last dragonborn

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northerngoshawk · 1 year

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ao3 first lines tag game

thanks for the tag @itsmoonpeaches!

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

1. The Darkened Path

There is a legend passed down from generation to generation, a legend about the Spirit World and what lies within. Once a mere folktale spun by a mother for her children, it had gradually spread throughout the world, with each culture taking its own interpretation of the tale.

2. bleeding out (with you to carry me home)

It was supposed to be a peacekeeping mission.

3. these sleepless nights we spend (waiting to come home)

Hakoda can’t sleep.

4. dreamless dreams

Every night, he dreams of death.

5. going back, moving forward

He smiles from across the table as he moves another piece on the board. Aang sits and looks down at the table, thinking over his piece placements, analyzing his strategies. And yet, at the same time, he can't shake this nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

6. see the sky and sea (and remember me)

Who are we?

7. everything

A figure sits alone on a hill overlooking the temple below, facing the setting sun. He fingers the beads on the necklace in his hands, traces the whorls etched in the wooden pendant. Blue arrows wind their way from the back of his hands to underneath his robes.

8. grazing among the stars

Appa let out a low bellow as he cruised through the sky. With the sky's blue fading to pink and the clouds taking on a golden color—not to mention the hours upon hours spent in the sky—it didn't take much to guess what he needed.

9. protecting you

The rough sackcloth was suddenly ripped from his head, and Aang found himself in a dungeon.

10. never letting go

"You can't save everyone."

tagging: @justoceanmyth @thinkingisadangerouspastime @shrinkthisviolet @madamefluffnstuff @chocomd @flameohotwife @thatcroissantgurl @shifuaang @benwvatt @azulamakesmeblank and anyone else who wants to join!

#northern gets tagged #tag game #tag game answer

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sweetthepotato · 9 months

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The Final Pillar: Chapter 4: Loud Enough to Scare the Birds Away

Disclaimer

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary

Parts of the Nightmare Hashira's past begin to unravel. She is then approached by a familiar, but friendly face.

Contents

Hints of fluff. Maybe some emotions.

Nightfall at this time of the year was incredibly cold. Luckily, Kagome managed to re-patch her clothes in time for her stay outside in the wilderness.

The Nightmare user had managed to climb up an oak tree and rest on one of its larger branches. Her legs were outstretched along the length of a thick branch, and she kept herself secure by focusing her breathing on her sense of balance. She was fortunate that the intel she gathered regarding the town's surrounding forest was accurate, though the trees were less evergreen than she had anticipated.

It had been more than two days of training that required the use of makeshift traps and various exercises. In her current condition, her muscles felt like lead, but that was exactly what she was after. Holding herself taught against the rough bark, she was reminded that the extent of her strength as a human was vastly limited, and so she needed to push herself beyond if she had any chance of protecting anyone else.

Her activity now was star watching, which was a rare treat that derived as a result of being close to sights periodically visited by demon slayers. She noticed how the stars burnt brightly tonight, and how the moon was now a waxing crescent. She supped at the silence, appreciating the fact that no one else seemed to have come by her position. She assumed, in her sweet solitude, that the other pillars would've been assigned missions by now.

With a deep inhale, then an exhale, she meditated. It was difficult, untangling her mind to the visage of a straight, unending line, but her heartbeat slowed to a less erratic pace. With her newfound calm, came her ruminations, which petered out alongside each slow breath. Each second that passed her by was purposeful; since her previous mission, the Nightmare user resolved to rely more on her forms. The reflection that the title of 'hashira' was something that was thrust upon her, rather than something she was actively pursuing bore down on her shoulders. It took a while for her to finally manage placing those insecurities to the side.

The picture she was currently seeing was akin to a blank slate, which allowed her to progress onto her sense of perception, her radius widening across the forest floor. Within her mind, she tried to envision the presences that pinged on her radar. She started as big as she could go, beginning with the existence of a snoring boar, and then moving onto that of the tree snakes and frogs that moved into the night. She stretched her perception further, trying to catch the smallest insect that made the signals in her body hum, to even the presence of trees and grass.

Each sign of life was a soothing balm to her. With her eyes closed, she was eventually lulled to sleep, her deep-seated tiredness managing to creep in. Her head leant against the trunk of the tree, feeling heavier and heavier...

...The colours in her brain started to swim. They blurred and swirled together, but as the clouds shifted, they organised themselves into a recognisable image in the dark. Given some time, she eventually realised that it wasn't just a still tableaux, but rather a moving picture.

At first, she saw a man in his late teens, his honey-coloured hair covering the scar that implied the loss of his left eye. Soft strands, framing an angular face, were tucked back, showing off the gold cuff on the edge of his right ear. The man was familiar, at least, but the last time she saw him had been when she was twelve.

He wore the standard uniform of the Demon Slayer Corps. The usual kanji for 'destroy' was on his back, but it was hidden by a pale indigo haori that looked like it was ripped apart and stitched together at various points. The katana and wakizashi on either side of his hips did little to dissuade her of his truly gentle nature, of the arms that she could remember warmly embracing her when she was little. Neither did his most menacing accessory, the curious-looking but ugly oni mask that sat securely at the top of his head.

He was crouching down, his eyebrow raised to show off his caramel eye. His calloused hand, much bigger than it looked the last time, was held out in offering. Another hand -was it hers? -much younger and much smaller than it should be, stretched towards it.

'So you're the kid who keeps stealing my demons, huh? And here I was, thinking that I'd be promoted a lot quicker,' said the man, pouting. His voice was mellow, jovial even, in the way he spoke.

Demons? That's what they were? The last one had knocked her down for a tick, but she could sense that they were different from normal humans somehow. They were more like her, but not. Her gut instinct, though, told her that if she wanted to live, she had to eliminate them first, and that was the voice she had to follow.

It had been a while since anyone bothered to talk to her. The rage she felt since she was much younger had died down into a familiar, hungry pain. She looked every part of a normal, human child, but she didn't feel like she was one, really.

After a period of silence, the slayer stopped pouting, his lone amber eye wary of the broken katana held in the child's hands. She was bleeding, almost set on losing fingers on the blade, it seemed.

He inhaled, pausing a moment, and smiled, 'You know, you did brilliantly, killing that demon. How old are you? Seven? I'm, hm...' he counted on the hand that wasn't holding his nichirin, 'Well, I'm turning eighteen in the summer. Do you have a name?'

She stared at him through a curtain of matted hair. She thought of his question in bewilderment. She had a name, once, one that she came to hate eventually.

'No? It's not uncommon, I suppose, for street urchins to be without names... I guess I'll have to introduce myself. I'm-'

-Kagome startled awake.

She cursed herself for lacking the vigilance to stay up the previous night. She felt the wetness that was present on her cheeks, start to dry up in the open air. Her left hand, as if on impulse, was already grabbing onto her nichirin katana, a long blade that stretched into darker shades of teal at its point.

Her haunches rising, she realised that the forest in the daylight was too absent of noise.

Thinking about what might be out there, she struggled to shrug of the last dredges of grogginess from her system. She reasoned that, since it was just before midday, it was highly unlikely that it was a demon of any kind. If anything, whatever beast that was encroaching on her terrirtory was most likely human or, for some probable reason, a very self-conscious bear.

Oh, wait! She remembered, startled from her reverie. I forgot to tidy up those traps yesterday!

With that in mind, she frantically hoped for the latter probability. At least, a bear's death from surprise stakes to the face wouldn't result in a tribunal.

A branch snapped and Kagome heard the sound of a shoe digging into soil. She crouched, legs bent from where she was perched, and leapt down towards a much lower branch. She restrained her own sense of self to match the wavelength of her surroundings.

'Hello? I know that someone's here, I managed to dodge the last set of knives, and so I'd like to meet whomever set those up!'

Was it just her imagination, or did that voice sound familiar? She peered down from where she was, and spotted the blond patch of hair belonging to Rengoku.

She let out a slow sigh of relief.

'Kagome-kun? Ah, of course this was your handiwork!' To her chagrin, his eyes, now tinted an ochre shade in the sunlight, were pointed at her tree. She was shocked, believing herself still hidden by foliage.

'Senpai, what are you doing here?' She asked, after some time.

Rengoku grinned, his top row of teeth showing without any resemblance of malice, 'Iguro-san and Kanroji-kun were both called away for missions! I was staying at your inn for the last few days as well, funnily enough!'

Well that... that was unexpected. She leapt from her branch onto the forest floor below. She made sure that her legs were bent on the way down, so as to absorb the impact.

And there he was, white embellished cloak and all.

'I had no doubt you have good taste, not just with inns, but also with trap-making, I had an excellent time experiencing both, Kagome-kun!'

'I see...' she began, 'And you, senpai, I'm assuming, are heading towards your place of residence?'

Rengoku nodded with enthusiasm, resulting in Kagome becoming more perplexed. He was prepared to travel, but he came here? And decided to converse -with her?

'Why did you decide to use the forest, if the nearby towns are comparatively more comfortable?'

He took a moment to ponder the question, his eyes glinting with amusement, 'While you're correct in the sense that the nearby towns would shelter me from the elements, there are times when even I need a break from interacting with other people! I'm sure that you can also relate to that?'

Yes, very much so, she nodded. Even without her biology making her feel so conscious, she felt the most stifled in the middle of crowds and with the vast majority of strangers. She didn't know him too well, but for someone like Rengoku to admit to that...

'I thought as much!' He surmised, 'Since you're also here, if you'd like, we can travel together until either I reach my estate or either of us get called up for missions!'

Kagome fought her instinct to walk away there and then, her shyness wanting to take control over her body. But then again, there was a secondary emotion, one that wanted to keen into the Flame Hashira's openness. He appeared to be a dramatic departure from Iguro's interrogation back at the donburi-ya, which compelled her to stay put. Unlike the Snake Breathing user, he was giving her the option to refuse, as if that was the least he could do.

Kyojuro eyed his kouhai carefully, who'd re-sheathed her nichirin only moments ago upon discovering that it was him.

Ambling awkwardly on her feet, she was holding her forearm, a nervous habit, he supposed. She looked up at him from her petite height, the very picture of a young girl trying to imitate the demeanour of someone else more composed.

His thoughts strayed, wondering where she kept the person whose tripwire launched a series of poisoned arrows at his feet. Uzui said that he found her was amusing, and his flamboyant friend was hardly ever wrong.

'Oh, and before I forget!' He interjected, 'If you are joining me, we should still have plenty of time to disable any traps along the way! We could also train, if you'd like!'

Eyes widening, her quiet stammering was a source of ample entertainment. While he didn't know where it came from, exactly, he didn't have to exert much effort to observe the brunette's insecurity among the others in the upper ranks. He was also able to perceive that she was reserved in the way that Muichiro wasn't, despite their similar ages. Her presence during that previous meeting made him remember his own introduction to the other pillars. If she was indeed intimidated by all of their strong personalities, he understood that feeling, at least.

She took a while to consider his offer, her eyebrows furrowing and then unfurling into the centre of her face, 'I... I don't mind joining you, if that's what we're going to do.'

'Well then, that's settled,' he nodded, turning around to lead the way through the piles of yellowing leaves.

'Uh, senpai,' she called in a thin voice, walking briskly from behind him, trying to catch up to his pace.

'Yes?'

'Those traps... um... I really intended to dismantle those earlier, just so you know.'

And, as if all the tension in the air subsided, Kyojuro laughed loud enough to scare the birds away.

#demon slayer #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer oc #kny oc #kimetsu no yaiba oc #demon slayer fanfic #kny fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #rengoku kyojuro #fluff and comfort

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kinetic-elaboration · 1 year

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March 30: Mist Pt. 3

Mist: The stunning conclusion. I might mess around with the ending some more, and probably make some other edits etc. before I combined all three parts and post to AO3, but basically, this is it. Is this a conceit that needed 3k words to tell? Probably not, but here we are.

Linctavia fic, Canon-divergence, ~1380 words

For parts 1-2, see the tag "mist" on my blog

The fog becomes thicker, impenetrable. There is no more talk of scouting missions, nor of venturing beyond the safety of the camp wall.

Even navigating between the tents, or back and forth from the Dropship, becomes nearly impossible, when every step is shrouded by heavy, thick, slow-shifting whirls of white and gray. Only the vaguest hints of familiar landmarks loom out of the mist, and only sometimes, and in the new quiet that has overtaken the camp, it is now possible to stand at the center of it, very still, and forget for a moment that any last remnants of civilization, or any slow-struggling outgrowths of new life, could yet exist.

Some delinquents have taken to lighting their way with torches, even at noon. At a middle-distance, these grotesque smudges of orange light resemble demonic fire or the outtakes of dragon's breath. Apparitions from bedtime stories and ancient fairy tales.

The fog seeps in around the soft edges of the tents and makes everything damp, brings on a cloying feeling in the lungs. Small groups set up camp in the Dropship, huddle in their sleeping bags and blankets on the top floor, try to wait out the siege.

Octavia feels, as they do, the unease awash all along her skin, the sticky taste of it on her mouth, but she does not abandon home. She will not shut herself up in yet a smaller space. Sometimes, she stands in the stillness, listening for sounds to ground her in the dirt again, feels only the breathless thick, soft mist, and she wonders if this is what it is like at sea. She was, for a time, obsessed with the sea—this was right after Bellamy told her that they too lived on a ship—but even now she's never seen water any wider or deeper than a lake that she can stand in. Imagining an ocean vast beyond limits is like trying to truly fathom the end point of the stars. But she imagines great fog must roll in off such waters, and that the solitude in the middle of the ocean, past the last sight of land, must give a person a similar sense of vertigo as this.

The sense of being unmoored, drifting without anchor. Reaching out blind, trying to discern the shapes of things.

She wonders if this world is perhaps but a dream.

Only Lincoln does not complain about the weather, or express unease, or ask when it will end. He says little at all. Octavia follows his habits, tries to discern habits, but sees only that he is adrift, too. Searching without seeing. Some days he eats not at all, and others he is ravenous, and she gives him her rations and faces hardly any argument in return. He stays up late, tossing and turning and restless, throwing his weight against the cot with creaks and whines; the next day he sleeps, deeper than the dead sleep. Wakes from dreams clutching at his chest, as if his heart were pounding. Holds his hands up to the campfire at night, so close his palms should burn, watches them with flickers of firelight reflecting in his eyes. His mouth parted and awed. Stalks the perimeter, impossibly quiet, nearly invisible amid thick clouds of fog. Flickers of an outline of his solid, familiar body appear for a moment and then disappear again, as insubstantial now as puffs of smoke.

One day, he sits hunched over on the cot in their tent and flips through the pages of his sketchbook, eyes narrowed with fascination, as if he were viewing his own work for the first time. He runs his fingers over the lines of graphite, across the rough-cut paper-edges, traces the curves and angles of the Dropship, reproduced, or the image of Octavia's face.

She suggests, after a while, that he might want to sketch something again, but he throws the suggestion roughly away.

"What's gotten into you?" she snaps. But he looks up at her and through her and says nothing.

She exhales a sharp breath, feeling her nostrils flare. She could ask him just who he is, and what he did with her Lincoln, the man that she knows—she could ask him what happened to him out there, which is what she really means—but there's no point in wasting breath on such things. He'd never say. He never does.

Instead, she breaks his stare, and instead climbs up and slots herself behind him, in the narrow space between his back and the wall of the tent. There is no morning or noon or evening now, only cycles of darkness and gray, and now it is gray, and they are sitting without light in the persistent dampness and the shadow. She rests her hands gently on his shoulders first.

"Why don't you tell me a story?" And, when he does not push her away, "Like you used to. Stories about your clan or about the woods or about growing up—"

"Stories."

He says the word like a curse, and she pauses in her movements, her hands working to unknot the kinks along his shoulders, her fingers just about to gently graze against his neck. She cranes her own neck forward to try to look at him. He throws the sketchbook across the tent so that it hits the opposite wall and then falls to the ground, and she almost jerks herself forward to try to save it—but if damage was done, it's been done. She doesn't want to take her hands from him.

"You don't," he tries again, through gritted teeth, "understand—"

"Because you won't explain it to me!"

An ugly instinct tells her to push him away, but instead, she wraps her arms around his neck and clings to him, her chin digging into his shoulder, tries to wrap her whole self around him like this could secure him, not just to her, but to himself, to the earth, to life—give him tether and make him feel real. She's breathing hard as if from exertion. Harsh outtakes of breath hit against the shell of Lincoln's ear.

Slowly, he raises his hands and grabs at her arms, clinging to her, too.

She sinks into him, eyelids fluttering closed, and she does not so much kiss the side of his face as press her open mouth against his skin, cold and clammy skin to skin, and now that she is here, she takes to pressing kisses next to his ear, against his cheek, down along his jaw. She slides around him, and he pulls at her, until she settles on his lap. His arms circle around her tightly. They are scrambling for each other. She kisses him breathlessly. Something is rising, rising, and she is sinking beneath it. When she pulls back to look at his face, she sees a near-familiar spark across it, as if he has found something still-familiar to him too.

Slowly, still locking eyes with him, she pushes off his jacket, and then, despite the shiver in the air, she grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off him, too. Still he only looks at her. She passes her palms down his chest.

Stops, and frowns, at an unfamiliar rise, like a small ridge, across the skin.

When she glances down, she sees that her fingers have found an ugly, flared red gash just over his heart, like an unhealed scar, or a wound that has only barely stopped its bleeding. She reels back. "What—did—did you tell Clarke—"

His gaze still hasn't left her face, his eyes wide and unblinking. But in his answer, she feels a rush as if of held-breath released, of relief. "Why would I?" he asks. "There's nothing she can do.”

Her own lungs hitch. She pulls her hand away, only half an inch, and then on the exhales, presses her palm flat against the blazing red gash again. She feels nothing underneath it. No heartbeat, and only a mechanical, rote working of lungs.

Nothing she can do.

Nothing—because it's already over. It's done. Something has been taken, and, from out there beyond the fog, on the other side of the river, beneath the Mountain, something has been returned. Like Lincoln himself, she is powerless to understand what.

#the 100 #linctavia #linctavia fan fiction #octavia blake #lincoln the 100 #mine #my writing #the year 2023 #2023: free write #mist #man it's so late i gotta get to sleep goodnight

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dr-tormentum · 1 year

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The Eye of the Blood Red Moon

Chapter One: Knock on Wood

Tw: Kidnapping, Swords, and Scary Descriptions

“I’m home.” Naruto was greeted by his dark and empty apartment, the moonlight barely shining through the window. Dust had settled around the place, books and scrolls carelessly scattered around the wooden flooring. Dishes and Trash were piled in their respective places, although they had needed to be washed and taken out days ago. He kicked off his shoes and walked to his bed, fatigue weighing him down. He slightly glanced at the stack of ramen bowls, but decided against opening one up, instead opting to collapse onto his bed. Not even bothering to change into his night clothes, he hugged his pillow and wished for the morning to come quickly.

But his mind was racing. Training under Jiraiya– one of the three legendary sannin, who constantly was pushing him towards goals– and turning out to be a Jinchuriki; having the same tailed beast inside of him that had almost succeeded in destroying his village years ago, the same beast that had killed his mother and father, who would have killed him if not for his parents his parents who had sacrificed their lives to keep their child and the village safe. Thoughts sped through his mind, denying his body’s roaring cry for sleep.

A knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts, a loud and sharp sound in contrast to the stillness of the night. Naruto rubbed his eyes and dragged himself to the door, silently wishing to himself that it was just his imagination playing tricks on him.

“Jiraiya Sensei, why are you-” Adrenaline kicked in, his heart beating harder and harder, until his chest started to pound and ache from the harsh breaths of cold, stale air he was taking in while frozen to the floor, hands shaking as his courage swelled and diminished at nearly the same time. “What the- Who are you? Why are you here?” The man stepped into the apartment as Naruto’s words echoed throughout it, his eyes locked onto Naruto as he walked forward, the floor creaking beneath his feet, denying an answer to the questions. A small amount of moonlight reflected grimly off of his damaged headband and revealed a blood red cloud pattern on his worn down cloak that hid his body like the pitch-black shroud, but not one of a dead man who was being buried six feet deep. He was wearing the shroud of death; the shroud of the grim reaper himself.

“Hard to believe that such a child carries a nine-tailed fox.” Naruto stumbled backwards, the floor rough against his calloused hands as he tried to compose himself enough to try and do something instead of freezing in his spot like the cat he had to chase down and catch– like a predator that would pursue its prey– on one of his first missions.

“Itachi.” A second man walked across the threshold, larger than the first while wearing the same pitch-black shroud of death that concealed his body. His eyes were white pinpricks in the dark, until he stepped into the light, where his headband harshly reflected the same moonlight that displayed the pale tone of his sharply outlined face. “It’ll be a pain in the neck if this kid makes a run for it.”

Itachi glanced back at the second man, thinking about what he had implied. “Right.” He shifted to the side so that the taller man could walk up to Naruto with ease. His cloaked arm made its way back towards the dull outline of a wrapped sword resting on his back, the dark fabric shifting once again as he removed the sword from its resting place.

What should I do? Do I have time to use Ninjutsu? Should I attack with my Kunai? Thoughts once again swirled around his head as he tried to move, but his body felt stuck in place, as if it had melded with the ground beneath him, too tense to even try to move from where he shamefully cowered in his own apartment. His eyes were frozen to the intruder when the sword started coming down towards him, time moving too slow as he took in the sharp smile etched upon the pale mans face, his teeth too sharp to be human, those eyes that grinned, locking with his own, the white pinpricks crinkled in the glee of violence, markings upon his sharp face moved with the ever so widening sneer as the blade lowered further and further down towards his target with an off-white wrapping, the blade which was wrapped that was too rounded to be sharp, the hands holding the sword too pale to be human, the damaged yellow ring etched with the word North, his nails painted as black as the void that swallowed Naruto whole.

The man sheathed the strange sword before picking up Naruto’s unconscious body, throwing him over his shoulder to carry him easier, though he didn’t weigh very much to the man. “That was less of a fight than I had figured there was going to be.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself Kisame. We still need to get out of the village.” Itachi looked around at the pitiful apartment while Kisame picked up the Jinchuriki. He turned around and walked out, glancing behind to make sure his partner was following as he led him down the staircases from the highest floor of the apartment building to the ground floor, where they exited with no witnesses to their crime, and glad to be back on the dirt where their steps were muffled instead of the wood flooring that creaked and moaned with every step they would take, potentially giving away their whereabouts and their very mission.

Walking through the village was easier in the veil of the night, when the pale moon didn’t see and the burning stars couldn’t talk, when the dirt road consumed the sounds of their feet quietly thudding against it. Nobody was out in the dead of night as well, the lights all snuffed, letting the once casted shadows engulf the streets of konohagakure.

The only variable that remained was the most precarious. Jonin and Anbu that were possibly returning from missions could still be walking around and outside of the village, so the men had to be silent and take care not to attract any unwanted attention, lest they be attacked and lose the unconscious Jinchuriki, which would result in failure of the mission, making it harder to ever try and capture him again.

“Jonin, hide.” Itachi helped Kisame up into a tree nearby to lie low for a moment, considering he had the Jinchuriki. After Kisame was up, Itachi jumped and landed on a thick branch, concealing himself in the heavy leaves that assisted in keeping him from being detected.

Kisame watched as the Jonin walked past them into the gates of the village, unaware of the danger that lurked right above their heads. Their pace was leisurely, contradicting their stressful and hazardous missions that they were more often than not assigned to. Their obvious pale grey outfits and white masks faded from view as they entered the village, leaving Itachi and Kisame alone once again in the silence of the night.

“And they call themselves ninja?” Itachi only lowered himself to the ground, seemingly ignoring Kisame’s remark. He motioned for Kisame to come down as well, so the pale man jumped down from his spot in the tree, feet thudding on the ground beside Itachi.

“You need to be more quiet Kisame.” He didn’t look back at his partner as he spoke, instead continuing to run at a fast pace, eager to get away from the village which harbored his dark and gruesome past. “Don’t forget there could be more Jonin and Anbu in the surrounding area.” He quickly glanced at the dark trees encompassing them, some of the trees bark torn and scratched from kunai and shuriken, and others charred and blackened from Ninjutsus.

Kisame only nodded at his partners command, but the need to ask questions still churned inside of him. He knew that Itachi had a past with the village, being an Uchiha, and that he had slaughtered his own clan. But Kisame didn’t know why he did it; no one other than Itachi himself knew why, but Kisame shoved the question to the back of his mind, as he respected Itachi’s wishes to keep his past to himself. After all, everyone had reasons for doing anything, as he and the other members of the Akatsuki had their reasons for joining, however different they might be. Itachi’s reasoning, much like his past, was covered in mystery that was certainly never to be revealed by him, as he kept his secrets hidden very well, as did all Uchihas, the clan itself was one big secret to those who were not among it. It may have even been a secret to those within it as well, but Itachi would never tell a soul about the inner workings of the clan he had slaughtered with his own blood-stained hands.

The forest started to get thinner and thinner, rotted trees far outnumbering the damaged healthy trees, roots torn up from the ground, revealing their deformed and twisted roots that spread wider than the trees were high. The dirt had also faded from their path, instead replaced with sand, the coarse grains filling their shoes and blowing harshly across their faces, cloaks trying aimlessly to stop the relentless tearing of the rough particles flying through the air only to collide into the two men who were on the run.

“The hideout shouldn’t be too far from here.” Itachi glared at Kisame, his partner disobeying his orders to refrain from talking to say something that they both already knew. Kisame locked eyes with Itachi, realizing his mistake. He sighed and adjusted the Jinchuriki that was carelessly tossed upon his shoulder barely even hours ago. “We should still be on the lookout for Sand and Leaf Shinobi. They’re like insects, you never know where they’ll be until you have to kill them.” The rough wind howled in response, saving Itachi from having to glare at his partner for saying such evident things.

"Let's hope we don't run into any then." Itachi suddenly turned North, with Kisame following closely behind. "And if we do, they shouldn't be much of a problem." His eyes narrowed, annoyed at the thought of having to stop to fight a few stray Jonin or Anbu that might block their path. If they were smart, they would keep to themselves and save the two men from the trouble of a fight, but chances were they would try and defeat the two men themselves, becoming arrogant and overconfident in their abilities that paled in comparison to the ability of even one of the Akatsuki members.

"And if we get spotted?" Kisame ran faster to be beside Itachi, facing the shorter man as he talked.

"We won't be." He slowed down to a stop as they came up upon the Akatsuki Hideout, The wooden Torii a bright crimson red in comparison to the dull brown of the rocks surrounding the arch. A few papers were stuck to the torii’s wood, and a larger paper with a symbol was posted on the large rock that stood behind the wooden arch. Some of the other members had gathered outside already.

"Where are the other members?" Pain's purple spiraled eyes narrowed ever so slightly at Kisame’s question, annoyance radiating off of him.

"You have the Jinchuriki?" Pain questioned whether or not the assigned Akatsuki members had finished their task, completely ignoring Kisame’s previous question, not caring to answer.

"Yes-"

"And he's alive, correct? You know we cannot work with a dead Jinchuriki."

"It'd be a lot easier if we could though." Deidara crossed his arms as he muttered and complained to himself, while Itachi glared daggers into the young Akatsuki member. “What? I’m just saying.” He quickly tried to diffuse the situation as he caught eyes with Itachi.

Pain sighed as the youngest member of the Akatsuki stumbled on his own words under the gaze of Itachi Uchiha. “Bring the Jinchuriki inside. We’ll start the… Technique when we are all gathered on top of the Statue.” He turned around and moved the large rock sealing the entrance, revealing the dark cavernous insides of the hideout. The sharp walls reflected a deep, sinister shade of wine purple that reached out towards the Akatsuki members, yet falling short before the torii, the sun breaking the shadow of its extended claws.

“Are you going to move, or not?” Pain’s annoyance was clear as he questioned the other members, sighing as they all gave him a silent nod, fearful of what may come if they spoke to him in his current state of irritation. He walked inside the opening of the dark cavern, the shadows swallowing him without a trace. The others outside of the cavern followed suit, the darkness of the cave consuming each of them one by one until there were none left.

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