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mandalorewhore · 3 years

Text

Common Ground

Part 2 of Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)

gif by @themandaloriandaily

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga

A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2

This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man.

The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.

However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.

You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake.

There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again.

Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off as a droid.

Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment.

But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.

Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason. Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...

“I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness.

“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond.

“Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”

“Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”

“O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”

“Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine.

“Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops.

He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.”

There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.”

A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?”

“That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”

“Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you.

Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.

“16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous.

Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.

As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind.

Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer.

Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.

You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions.

Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.

You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?”

“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?”

Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.

“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?

You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.

“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze.

Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.

Oh my… Now that’s sexy.

The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet.

“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness.

Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away.

“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling.

“You can carry it from now on.”

What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit?

Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire.

But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.

Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry.

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.

“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”

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

You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.

The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you.

He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.

But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on.

You wish they would fear you like that.

Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.

“Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.

“I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.

You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.

“Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.

“It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”

The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?

“Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector.

Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”

Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-

“She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you.

Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”

Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”

At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip.

Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job.

Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.

“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology.

You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome.

Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time.

“I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger.

“Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted.

“My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose.

After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.”

You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.

“I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.

“Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”

This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.

“On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this.

You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you’re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.

Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.

“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.”

There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously.

“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it.

“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.

“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.

“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.

Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants. He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.”

He waves back. “You as well, girl.”

A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.

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

It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.

Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere.

As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.

It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...

Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about.

Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path.

It’s almost funny how quickly things go south.

Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated.

“I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.

You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison.

The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement.

The blast misses by a few inches.

The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.

You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.

Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.

As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here.

Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.

He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.

“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”

A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.

“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof.

He saved your ass. Again.

You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there.

But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.

“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.

Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about.

It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is.

Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it.

Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.

He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?”

Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.

“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”

“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”

“...Is that all you’re going to address.”

“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”

Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.

“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street.

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

The walk back to the Crest is short.

You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall?

The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.

“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you.

“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp.

You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.

“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot.

“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.

Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it.

You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”

He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot.

Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that.

“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.

“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”

“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”

“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?”

His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.

“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles.

“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again.

“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him.

‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.

“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”

Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan.

His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”

You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now.

Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.

“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.

“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire.

“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”

You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach.

Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead.

“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal.

“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.

The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian.

This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.

Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.”

That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that.

“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath.

He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-

There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.

It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.

“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”

Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit.

Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.

Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando

He stops.

“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game.

“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.

“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-”

“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”

You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life.

His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-”

You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt.

A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims.

He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.

Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement.

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.

It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-

“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words

The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.

Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.

This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours.

His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing.

But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.

‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.

“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”

You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.”

He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator.

“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.”

You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks.

“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness.

“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”

And so you do.

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

It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...

The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this.

“Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”

Wear them proudly.

And so you do.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #fanfic #smut fic #mando x you #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian fanfic #smut #din djarin #star wars #star wars fic #fanfiction

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

Text

v e l o c i t y - chapter vi

The one where John’s your true mate, but he doesn’t want you to be his.

In a universe where fate grants you a new mate whenever you lose yours, John has lived quite comfortably for many years with the knowledge that he was alone after Mary. That all comes crumbling down the second that he meets you. How could the universe choose someone so young to be his omega?

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Things changed ever since that night at the bar, even if in all the ways that mattered, they were still pretty much the same. John still didn’t claim me and seemed resolute in never doing it, but I knew something very important now.

I knew that he actually desired me. And that important information changed everything for me. His indifference was hurtful, and it ignited the flames of spite inside my bratty omega body. But knowing that he actually was affected by me made me even more determined to get any sort of reaction from him. And I could tell that now that his resolve had been broken once, it was even easier to get him to snap again.

“Good morning!” I sang as he and the boys joined me in the kitchen, having already prepared the coffee and was now flipping pancakes to feed their insane hunger. “Have you slept well?”

Dean and Sam answered affirmatively, but John only grumbled. I knew he was trying very hard not to stare at my ass on the tiny sleeping shorts I was still wearing.

“There you go,” I offered them the plate with the mountain of pancakes and stepped away as each of them collected theirs, so I wouldn’t lose a finger in the process. Thankfully, they were polite enough to leave me at least three so I could join them for breakfast. “Is there any reason for you to be staring at me?” I asked, obviously directing my question to John, whose gaze I could feel burning my body, despite my focus being 100% on my own plate.

The situation reminded me too much of the morning after we met, and it was hard to keep the smile off my face.

“I’m trying to understand who the hell would put on makeup right after they woke up. And can’t I look at you anymore? Why are you smiling like that?” A giggle escaped my lips, finally raising my eyes to see his furrowed eyebrows and just how overall irritated he looked at absolutely nothing.

“Can’t I smile anymore?” I parroted his response, and that earned me a growl. “Wow, you’re very easily annoyed this morning. What’s wrong? Is your rut coming up?” That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, if the way he almost broke his mug when putting it back on the table was any indication. “Jesus, calm down… For your information, I’m not even wearing any makeup.”

Instead of angry, John paled at my words, freezing for a second with his eyes wide before leaving all at once. I had to blink a few times to process the unexpected turn of events before I could look at the boys for some sort of explanation.

Still, neither of them looked as confused or startled by John’s sudden outburst as me. Dean was even chuckling to himself, attention completely dedicated to his food as he said, to no one in particular, “You two bicker like teenagers… or an elderly couple that’s been married for years.”

That comment kinda hurt, because it made me realize that there was a gigantic probability of me never having that actual future with him. So I turned to Sam, hoping he would distract me from my sad thoughts and provide me with some answers.

“Do you know what this is about?” He frowned when he noticed I was talking to him, like he wasn’t expecting my question. But then he noticed the genuine confusion on my face, and he seemed to understand that I really didn’t know what was going on.

“Oh, I thought you had picked up on it,” he commented, swallowing a huge bite of pancakes. “He really is nearing his rut. That’s why he’s acting this way, and that’s why your presence is that much more aggravating to him.”

The explanation was surprisingly a shock to me. Despite my teasing, I never actually thought that was the reason for his prickly behavior, and now that I knew what it was, I couldn’t help but to be concerned for him.

“Shouldn’t he be out there, looking for someone to help him get through it?” I asked, even if the thought of John with another woman killed me. I could only imagine the sort of pain an Alpha went through when they had to survive a rut on their own. And even if I didn’t understand why he didn’t want to claim me, I would never wish him to hurt.

I remembered just how bad my first heat had been. It was the only one I’d faced until now, the one where it became clear I was in fact an omega, and since I wasn’t prepared, I spent the most terrible three days dehydrating in my own room, getting by with just my own fingers and toys, until it subdued just enough to let me get some water and food into my system.

Omegas weren’t meant to go through heats alone, just as Alphas weren’t, either.

“He’s been going through them by himself ever since mom died.” My eyes grew the size of the plate in my hands, I was sure of it, just as my mouth hung open to stare at the man in front of me. He started laughing at my reaction but still somehow kept on swallowing down his food.

“What? You think he’d just bring a random chick into the bunker? Especially now that you’re here? No way. He’d never disrespect you like that.” The fact that Sam just knew that his father would take my feelings into consideration overwhelmed me. I didn’t know what to say, so I silently excused myself to wash the dishes and go back into my room.

“Damn, it’s hot,” I thought to myself as I looked at the sweatpants I’d planned to change into and decided to keep the shorts I was currently wearing. “Wonder if there’s a heatwave coming our way.”

#my series #john winchester angst #john winchester #angst #john winchester x reader #john winchester reader #john winchester reader insert #john winchester reader inserts #john winchester fanfiction #john winchester fan fiction

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valberryy · 3 years

Text

efficacy. — zhongli

hi!! this started out as an oc fic, but i thought i'd convert it to a reader insert!! i tried to change some of the more "explicit" oc info, so hopefully it's fine now!

pairing: zhongli x gn!reader

content warnings: mentions of blood/injury/death, contemplations of/vaguely attempted murder, slight swearing. if these topics are sensitive to you, i'd recommend clicking away.

[Name]'s life would be nothing without order. They found a certain comfort in routines—working at the bookshop with Jifang in the afternoons, working for their less-than-legal clients once night fell. There was an odd kind of safety they found in it, in completed contracts and crossed-out bounties on a board: as they wiped the blood off their blade at sunrise, they found themself glad they no longer lived at the whims of ice, and snow, and migrating deer.

Tonight was odd, though.

A dagger twirled deftly between their fingers, and [Name] raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the informant sitting before them. A mask and hood alike obscured his face, and he seemed almost to hesitate slightly beneath their burning gaze—a newbie, then, or a fool.

"So?" they asked, their voice like a whip-crack in the silence. "Don't waste my time."

"Apologies," he said, and [Name] had to resist the urge to scoff. At another raised eyebrow the informant dug through his things and passed them an envelope.

Gingerly, they tore it open. "...Wangsheng?" they muttered to themself, before glancing back up. "I trust you have the right compensation?"

A stiff, "Of course," was their only response.

The knife between [Name]'s fingers stilled, before it became embedded in the cheap wood next to their now-client's head.

They stood, gave an almost-mocking flourish of a bow, and walked off without another word.

ii.

[Name] did not glance up from the shelf they were restocking when the footsteps of another customer coming up the stairs came into earshot, only saying a gruff, "Welcome," as they grew closer.

Their only response was a content hum, and they resisted the urge to sigh in relief that this particular patron wasn't a chatterbox.

The minutes trickled by in comfortable silence, as the man—for he was a man, [Name] learned, as soon as they looked up and towards his direction—browsed through their selection. The only sounds to be heard were the blowing of the breeze and the idle chatter of people walking past.

"What a fine collection you have," he said, and turned to face the counter they were seated behind. At the sight of his face they were thrust back into two nights ago—an unpleasant evening in a dingy old house, an envelope in one hand and a cheap knife in the other.

Not now, they thought to themself. Not now, when the blood can seep into the floorboards. The smell will hang for days.

"Thank you," they elected to say in reply. "...Will you be buying?"

He nodded, a thoughtful hand on his chin. "Indeed. The entire stock, actually."

[Name] faltered. "The entire…?" They coughed into a fist, regaining their composure and leaning forward on the counter. "That's going to cost you, sir."

They could almost see the excited sparkles around him as he opened his mouth to speak again, and whatever thoughts they had on how elegant and refined he seemed were thrown out to sea.

"Yes, of course," he began, "there truly is no treasure greater than knowledge, after all—there is a subtle nuance to the art to capturing a moment in time so vividly using just words alone…"

As he continued to ramble, [Name] rested their chin on their palm. The daggers concealed beneath their clothes were cool and heavy on their skin—a constant reminder, a subtle threat.

When his voice trailed off they gave a small, polite smile, standing upright again. "If you have the Mora, there should be nothing stopping you, sir."

The faraway, almost dreamy look in his eyes grew lucid at the mention of Mora. "Ah, of course. Mora," he said, and started patting his pockets searching for his wallet.

When neither of them heard the telltale clinking of coins, they glanced at each other almost exasperatedly.

"My deepest apologies—"

"...No, it's okay—"

The knife still burned against their skin, but they brushed it aside for a moment to grab an unwrapped copy of a book under the desk. They held it out to him, their face blank but the faintest, faintest hints of amusement dancing in their eyes.

He was…interesting. Dead men can rarely boast as much.

"Take it," they said, simply.

His eyes seemed to widen in pleasant surprise. "Are you certain?" he asked, and at [Name]'s casual shrug in the affirmative he gingerly took it from their hands.

"Thank you kindly," he said, raising the package in the air and inspecting it. "I'll have to repay you, for this."

They looked at him again, and thought of the envelope from the other night, thought of how they could almost feel his pulse as their fingers brushed just seconds prior.

"I'll hold you to it, then, sir," they elected to say.

Not now, not now, not now.

iii.

On his lips played a gentle smile that [Name] couldn't help but to distrust.

"There's a restaurant I believe you'd like," he had said. "Allow me to treat you for lunch, as thanks."

Their head had thus begun to swim with backup plans and what-ifs. Did he know? Was this some elaborate ruse to poison them? Surely not, right? They had been so careful up until now, too…

They blinked away their initial surprise and canted their head to the side. "Where?"

At that he went off onto another tangent, just as long as the ramble he had gone on a few days prior. [Name] found themself zoning out, glancing at where they knew his jugular was beneath his collar—or perhaps poison during their impromptu outing would fare better?

No, they scolded themself, there would be witnesses at a restaurant.

"...Don't worry, of course, I'll be sure to bring the Mora this time around," he said with a velvety laugh, and [Name] suddenly found themself back in the present.

They leaned forward on the bookstore counter, an eyebrow raised. "I don't even know your name, Mister Philanthropist."

Another smile graced his features, then—apologetic this time, and he outstretched a hand for them to shake. "My apologies," he said. "I am Zhongli, consultant for Wangsheng Funeral Parlor."

Gingerly, they took his hand in turn. They could feel the rhythmic beat-beat-beat of his pulse under their fingers.

Soon, they thought.

"Call me [Name]," they said, and forced themself to smile.

A few days later, it just so happened that both of their schedules were free.

"Would you still be willing to indulge me?" Zhongli asked—he had been visiting more often lately, and it just so happened that many of his visits happened to be on the days [Name] was there, as well. Jifang seemed curious, and honestly they were as well—did he enjoy their company? Was there something about their short, curt responses that didn't turn him away?

Or maybe he was planning something, too?

Nevertheless, despite their raging paranoia, it wasn't like they were in much of a position to complain. Jifang seemed content at their new, distinguished guest, and [Name] took it as an opportunity to learn more about him for the time being.

"...If you so wish," they said, plucking the book he was holding out of his hands to wrap it for him.

"Only if you do, my friend." Damn him and his deflection. "But it is my firm belief that the generous receive what is due to them, in time."

They hummed idly as they thumbed through the book he had chosen—something or other about the natural beauty of Inazuma—and then glanced back up at him.

And that was how they found themself here, they supposed.

Their table was relatively silent compared to some others, but it was by no means uncomfortable or awkward. With the idle chatter of other people and the clear sky above as a backdrop, the two dined in comforting silence—only the clinking of ceramic against each other to be heard, and to [Name]'s surprise, no traces of poison to be found whatsoever.

As the sun began to dip down the horizon, and all their food had been finished and the bill paid, the two found themselves taking a stroll down by the docks. Zhongli's gaze was trained ahead, while [Name]'s flitted about cautiously.

"Forgive me if I'm prying, however…" he began, "...But you're not a native, are you, my friend?"

A jolt, then, a bolt of white-hot fear running through their limbs. Did he know? Did they give themself away?

"I'm not," they said. "I was born abroad."

A satisfied hum was their response, and when they turned to glance at him, they found the smallest of smiles on his face.

"It's getting late," Zhongli said. "Thank you for today. I'd like to do this again, with you."

[Name] took pause at that. They thought once again of the envelope hidden under their drawers, and the knives hidden under their clothes.

They thought about the way Zhongli rambled on about whatever tale it was the storyteller across the street had spun—how "that indeed is one interpretation of it, but in the original text, the author actually meant to imply that…"

There was a pang of what almost felt like guilt in their chest, at that.

"...And I, you," they said, finally, "...my friend."

iv.

Perhaps stumbling into your supposed assassination target's home half-bloody with an arrow sticking out of your side was not the brightest idea, but in [Name]'s defense were two things: first of all, they had no fucking clue it was Zhongli's in the first place, and secondly, they couldn't exactly keep running from their angry former client with an arrow sticking out of their side.

And thus whatever levels of discretion they normally would have had were thrown out the window as they climbed into Zhongli's in the dead of night, and probably knocked something over in the process (if the new bruises were anything to go by).

(To be fair, they had been calling each other friends for a while now. Is this what friends did? [Name] couldn't be sure—their shady friends weren't exactly the best examples, after all.)

They had just sat up and groaned in pain when Zhongli came in, alarmed first at the noise and then at their sorry state.

"...Sorry," they muttered through gritted teeth. "Thought the place was empty—ow, shit! I can—I can do it mysel—"

"Nonsense," he said, his voice and hands firmer than they had noticed before. "...I still haven't repaid you for your favour to me, after all."

They stopped for a moment, at that. "...I thought the lunch was repayment?"

Somehow, Zhongli found it in himself to laugh, albeit tensely. From where they were sitting, they could see his face a lot more clearly than they had before—the tenseness in his brow, the flecks of gold in his amber irises, the way his nose crinkled at the density of the smell of blood.

"No," he replied, "that was a thank you."

They hummed, before hissing in pain again. "Pull the other way; the arrowhead went in at an angle—"

"Ah, yes, my mistake…"

[Name] continued, "I suppose this is your repayment, then?"

They only barely hid their surprise when he shook his head again.

"I'm doing this because I want to, [Name]."

(Somehow, they liked their name better when hearing it from him. Was it the timbre of his voice? Was it the appeal of hearing your name from a man who was supposed to be long-dead?)

"...I see."

As he sealed the last of the bandages and allowed them to adjust their clothes, he helped them over to what they assumed was a guest room, of sorts. He helped them to take a seat on shaky legs, and placed a firm, almost comforting hand on their shoulder.

"Promise me you'll be more careful, my friend."

They glanced away, their face oddly warm. Wasn't blood loss supposed to do the opposite? "I can't guarantee that, Zhongli."

He followed their gaze over to the floor, and then glanced back at them. "If not that, then I'd at least ask you to…rely on me more," he said, and something about the sincerity in his voice struck them as odd.

They almost wanted to burn that envelope in their drawers when they went home.

[Name] glanced back up at him, forcing themself to face his questioning gaze.

"...I'll try."

But only for you.

+1.

In [Name]'s life, there exists a line they do not dare themself to cross. On one side stands sweet Jifang from the bookshop, the tenacious Traveller and their friends, and the ghosts of their loved ones from Inazuma; and on the other stands themself and their other shadowy benefactors.

The first to tread the line between the two was Zhongli—who, despite the bounty on his head, still managed to maneuvre his way into them somehow being able to call him their friend.

Honestly. The Seven damn him and his stupid charisma, and his stupid voice, and his stupid encyclopedic knowledge of silk flowers.

When [Name] woke up, they were not in their home.

Through their shock they failed to register the bandages wound around their torso, and bit back a yelp of pain as the wound threatened to reopen. In the dark they could see their overwear folded neatly on the bed next to them, and Zhongli asleep, slumped over in a chair.

Suddenly, they were acutely aware of the old bone knife under their clothes—their only souvenir from home, unstained by blood for years, and years, and years.

Would Zhongli be its first, then?

Quietly they stood and dug through their folded clothes until they felt it—the uneven blade, the worn-down grooves near the hilt. They skulked their way over to where he slept, and tried to ignore how painfully peaceful his slow, even breaths were.

His eyes fluttered open just as they pressed the blade to his throat. He seemed too calm, though, not even a twitch of his hands or a hitch in his breath to give away any surprise at all. All he did was place a loose grip on their wrist—a stark contrast to their white-knuckled, shaking hand—and ask,

"What are you doing, [Name]?"

They grit their teeth. "...I'm sorry," they said, "but I have a contract to complete."

Something in Zhongli's eyes softened at that. This was his domain, they realised—contracts, and contingencies, and wordplay.

His grip on their wrist tightened, ever so slightly, and he traced his free hand over their clenched jaw. "But so do we," he replied. "I've still never paid you back, after all."

There was a pause, then—a long, pregnant silence.

"May I kiss you?" Zhongli asked, his voice like a whip-crack in the space between them. [Name] said nothing, but the crease between their brows deepened further.

The dagger embedding itself into the floor and the soft, firm press of their lips against his was enough of an answer.

#genshin impact #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact oneshot #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli x reader #too many thoughts!!!!! not enough braincells #i ammm just . barking #hoo #bee writes

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hungryflowers · 3 years

Text

You’re Different Backstage

Title: You’re Different Backstage

Rating: Explicit (NSFW)

Continuity/Fandom: Balan Wonderworld

Character Relationship(s): “Balance” Balan/Lance

Character(s): Balan, Lance

A/N: This is going to be my FIRST NSFW submission for this fandom. Do not come at me with the torches, pitch forks, knives or shotguns. I, very recently, sent myself down the rabbit hole of Balance (Balan/Lance) and kept wondering: how nice would it be to see some good ol’ fashion sexy time with the two of them? Since no one has done it yet, I thought, why don’t I? What’s stopping me? Who can stop me? NOBODY!!! So I did this. And it took me 10 days to do, so please accept my thing!! Also, also, this will probably be the longest porn w/o plot I’ve ever written. Hence why it took nearly ten days. The editing alone was bananas!! Another thing, I’d like to apologize in advance if I offend anyone here who is Non-Binary or go by They/Them pronouns. Since Lance is canonically non-binary, I tried to keep it as close to the orientation as possible. This was real hard as I usually default to male pronouns for both of them.

However, I didn’t do the same for Balan, as he does tend to go by more male pronouns than Lance does even though they are also androgynous in appearance. Maestro is a more masculine term even if neither of them actually are. Another big thing: Balan’s genitals here. Since they don’t have actual default genitalia, I like to think that he has the ability to oscillate his genitals. He can have male and female parts just not at the same time. With that out of the way, please indulge in this steamy lil’ fan fic. And yes, I take criticism.

Other/Warning(s): Massive smut warning!! Penetrative sex, Oral and Cunnilingus, Some minor swearing, graphic depictions of sexual situations as well as multiple orgasms.

Lance didn’t enjoy setting the ‘mood’ as others had assumed it. They weren’t deeply inclined to romantic, or sappy gestures like the better half of themselves had been. Balan seemed better at the sentimental side of affirmations of love and adoration. Or of praises and well-wishes that devolved into lasting conversations of love and happiness.

No. No such things came out of Lance. They never gave in the way Balan would crave it. All they have ever wished for in turn was the physical catharsis of those suppressed feelings. Lance never called it love. Far be it from them to say what it wasn’t, but call it what it is. For them, it was just sex. The debasing art form of it too; bed-rocking, sloppy and wet, body tingling sex. That kind one would have as a means to purge the physical, mental garbage of the day and get back to work. The sex that revolved around more the need to take and not deal in the emotional ramifications. Lance’s fangs would draw in a wicked grin, the idea of that perfect, lasting till the morning time sex rarely sounding so bad. They had raptured, fantasized of the feel of Balan’s more delicate, tender frame mashed into theirs as he was ridden to a mind-blowing high that could leave them both speechless for a long while.

They would languish in these thoughts. The perverse nature of them driving him to do insane things in search of the release from the monstrous, bone-rattling ache. For now, Lance busied themselves to look away... their thoughts hazy and muddled with the resurfacing gnaw of pursuing pleasure. Their mouth ducked into their tattered caplet, hiding the baring growl that prickled at those lips. Soft, ocean-colored eyes hardened with shock, and some surprise as they locked with Balan’s. They must’ve been so entranced with the inner turmoil, Lance never registered the glance the maestro was giving them. The Maestro of Wonderworld’s presence did things to Lance. Things they acknowledged and didn’t like. Gods, who decided to torment them so by making this being so damned beautiful and siren-like? How dare he sit with an air so casual, it appeared nothing ever bothered him? Damn him. Damn his soft, luscious and devilish curves; feminine in some ways while masculine in others. But moreover, damn those goddamn large and intelligent yellow eyes.

Golden pools shimmered deliciously in the lamplight of the slow evening. The theater was always quiet at night. It was period of reflection, relaxation. Or maybe a time to finish some old project. Maybe begin anew. For Balan tonight however, it was his time to catch up on a few good reads. He hadn’t picked up a good novel in some time. Usually the only papers he read were his rough drafts of scripts and plans. But he loved to read. When he didn’t harass Lance with trivial tasks, or for the nuisance of conversation, Balan read. If not that, he wrote. He was a maestro of the craft; short stories, full-lengths, prompts and scenarios, or sometimes just a journal entry. On this night he didn’t busy himself with putting quill to parchment.

Balan's mouth opened, a sound coming out but no words. He wasn’t entirely sure how to ask about Lance’s wellbeing with being snapped at. The other appearing to be in a dour mood tonight. Placing the book on the small, rounded oak table Balan unfolded his legs to stand. He stretched idly, rubbing at the back of his top hat before pulling it off his head to fluff out his bouncy mint-colored dreads. Humming a little tune, Balan rummaged through his showman jacket, pulling out a golden rubber band to tie his long dreads back. The tendrils folded down his shoulders neatly once they were out of the way, exposing the intricately made heart marking atop his dark forehead.

His eyes fanned over the negati’s hidden features before he walked over to the bar on the far side of the room. Opening one of the cabinets, he pulled out an aged bottle of wine; the label slightly tarnished and dusty read in calligraphic silver “Caraveét”. He grabbed gold-rimmed chalices, pouring the shimmering iris colored wine into each of the glasses. He grinned, smelling the sweet and tart flavors. He took a slow sip from his glass before tapping the bar table with his gloved fingers, the racketing bring Lance out of their stupor.

“Did you want some?”, He inquired, hoping the swirling liquid would ease the storm that ravaged the negati, “You seem a bit broody tonight. Perhaps, a couple of glasses should ease both our minds.” The maestro chuckled giddily raising his glass as it gleamed in the low light.

Lance regarded the glass, then the maestro as he walked over to them. The tentacles on their back lashed so abruptly, Lance had to do a non-verbal apology when they knocked over a few chairs by accident. They weren’t brooding. Not even mad, but they were feeling something. Just not sure how to find the words for it.

Balan’s eyes drifted to Lance’s, regarding them. Waiting for them to answer the question they most likely didn’t hear in the first place.

“What?” The tone was not to be a biting, agitated type yet Lance couldn’t make themselves look at Balan, knowing full well the turmoil they were in.

“Nothing... I was just asking if you would like a glass of wine? You are more the brooding lot than usual. Drink with me.” Balan’s playful baritone voice felt like velvet as it caressed their ears. That voice caused Lance to sulk further more, hiding their face inside the caplet as the thoughts, seeming to feel more like whispers of temptation, dominated their rational thinking.

He took the offered glass yet chose not to drink of any of it. Instead he loomed over the rim as Balan took a long swig of his.

Lance licked at their lips, unknowing of the gesture. They would give more than anything to kiss the taste off of Balan’s lips. Or just to kiss them at all. They had wondered what it would be like to feel the maestro’s lips tentatively licking, caressing theirs in a heated lip-lock. The maddening thoughts came back tenfold, causing the other in audible snarl, attempting to shut them away.

“Lance... are you okay?” They heard Balan on the bridge of their conscious, the other’s voice like a muddling hum as they stood up quickly to move in front of Balan. The other, not knowing how to judge the move, backed into the bar, his glass still in hand while he searched the eyes of Lance. They appeared to be wild, nearly frantic with an energy Lance never expressed.

Lance leered at the other silently before pushing himself right into the maestro’s form; trapping him in front of the wood lacquer. Balan’s fleeing gaze made Lance smile. Not grin... smile. His mouth perking with something that could not be said as his hands went to Balan’s cravat, pulling the other slowly toward him.

“No...”, Lance confessed, eyes lulling closed dreamily, “I am not okay. And you are to blame.” That smile showed off the fangs, the points flitting in the soft lamplight.

Balan could not fully process what was going on before Lance leaned in fully to capture the other’s lips. Night after night, they had dreamt up this moment and even now they cannot believe they had gotten this far. It was far better than any dream or wish; light blue eyes sliding closed as a slender tongue went past the maestro’s parted, stunned mouth. That moment caused a ripple of shock to seize Balan, contents of his glass spilling onto the floor, no doubt leaving a stain that’ll have to be dealt with. He didn’t even have the knowledge of dropping it, yellow eyes staring at Lance’s softened face before he willed himself to kiss back. His hands, once frozen indecisively, pulled Lance in close.

Neither were sure how it had come to this, but Balan didn’t have the heart in him to make Lance stop. A small purr rumbled the kiss as Lance began to pull off. They disconnected breathlessly, only the small tail of spittle between them. Their breaths were heavy and hot, burning like steam with each exhale. It took the maestro to gather his bearings before his mouth was able to work again.

“W-Why am I to blame?? Lance what’s happened to you?” Balan felt as if he knew what was about to happen, and tried his best to make it all make sense. He was normally in a lot more control in surprise like situations; yet here... he was unable to predict the sheer tumbling force that Lance was portraying.

“You’ll understand soon enough,” Lance whispered, deftly kissing down Balan’s neck, inky-black hair brushing amethyst sparkled cheeks, “I’ll make you understand.” They said louder with a growl that exposed fangs.

Purrs rumble through Lance as they fumbled with anything that would be able to get Balan’s ensemble off. Instantly they are met with resistance as Balan shoves at them, hands going to the sharp shoulders defensively.

“Lance! What do you think you’re doing?!” Balan exclaimed, standing his ground before Lance doubles their efforts to expose the maestro. They are only slimly successful when get to expose Balan’s upper shoulder; the tear just big enough to reveal swirling lines of golden runes, “Have you lost your mind?!”

The other refuses to answer him, bringing themselves flush against Balan to kiss down the exposed markings.

Had they managed to lose their mind? Lance would have to give that some thought later on. In the afterglow. But first, they’d have to get down from the tantalizing high that has them under a spell. Their lips brushed softly down the exposed skin, running lightly over the maestro’s clothed arm. Gods, both of them just had on too many layers. Lance flared up, frustrated by the inability to firmly feel the decadent skin.

“Lance, let me go!” Balan demanded, the command in his voice barely swaying Lance to push off him. He was losing control of the situation. And the scary part of it was that was what he wanted. Balan would have been lying to himself if he said that he didn’t want this. Yet to get it from Lance this way was never a part of the plan.

“You don’t want me to let you go.” Lance stated, eyes twinkling with more than just mischief behind them.

“Yes I do!” Balan choked out, his act and bravado beginning to fail him.

“Then why are you pulling yourself into me?” Lance chuckled, allowing their hands to wander down Balan’s waist.

“I’m-” He stammered not expecting to see or know that he had been pulling Lance closer the entire time. Forbid it all, he wanted this negati more than anything right now. And he was showing how badly. Damn his body for this. He was normally in better control of his reactions, this lapse should not have been tolerated.

His be-speckled face shown with the brewing embarrassment of being caught before shoving himself a bit harder, finally escaping Lance’s grasp. The poor thing looked a fright; face flushing a deep violet, hair askew as it rolled down his shoulders and back, teeth clenched in discomfort as he attempted to steady his breathing. His chest must’ve rattled from the urge to scream at Lance. Instead he stamped off, refusing to let Lance see how flustered he became. He’ll have to be in his room for a while to work out the steam that began to build.

He didn’t get far as a few tendrils of inky black wrapped around the other’s waist. He could hardly make a verbal protest while being pulled back into the other’s form. Large claws going up his neck, arresting Balan’s smooth belly as the tendrils dipped further. The tentacles moved lively, squeezing and pulling on the other as Lance’s hands swept and groomed over the maestro’s suit. When one hand dipped between Balan’s legs, he seized up.

Yellow eyes dilated, Lance’s touch freezing his mind. The groan that escaped him was not intended yet was enough to make Lance’s groin ache. He was going to force those sounds out of Balan. In one way or the other. Their night was going to be fulled with these delicious noises. The tendrils smoothed over him, probing the other perversely.

“Lance...please.” Balan became unaware of what he was begging for. He wanted this to stop, but he also felt like he’d regret refusing. This Lance... was much different than the one he’d encountered previously. The change felt real jarring; since they never made moves into his personal space. For anything. Least of all... This! He wanted to see where this could go. How much better it could get.

His own hands skimmed over Lance’s suit, prompting the other to loosen their grip as Balan slid away from the tendrils. Balan took one coil in between his fingers, golden eyes gazing into the blue ones. The heat behind the other’s eyes made Lance shudder, a harsh sigh coming from his mouth as Balan took the tip of Lance’s tendril into his. The look stayed as the tendril came from Balan’s mouth, his tongue connecting it. The appendage darted out to swipe at the excess spittle left behind, the maestro’s eyes still glowing with a renewed heat.

The action prompted a sneer from Lance’s features, their hand waving for a portal to open up behind Balan. The maestro gasped, turning to the hazy violet-colored portal. The shout of shock was to be expected as he was shoved right through it, the residual tethers of Lance’s self control snapping audibly as it receded.

The overwhelmed, unknowing audience of Tims sat, wiggled, waddled and creeped up to sit in the place both beings had been.

______________________________

It was not the fall that left him breathless as he landed on the massive expanse of what felt like a lavish bed. It wasn’t the deep contrasting colors of purple and gold accents that were illuminated by rainbow-esque runes and paintings of Negati markings throughout the immense, intimate space. Nor was it the pulsating rivets of scarlet that blended salaciously with the black and purple blankets and amassing of huge, plumy pillows.

Lance himself left him utter breathless; transfixing him, mesmerizing him with the oscillating negati runes that gleamed in the room. Lance had never done this display before. Their runes barely pulsed or shined vibrantly whenever they were around each other. Evermore rarer when he was alone. The runes gave him an ethereal hue that the nighttime sky couldn’t rival. He brushed that thought away as Lance struggled out of their wardrobe, hardly mindful of seams, buttons or zippers as the top half of his shorn cloak was disposed of somewhere in the low lit room. Balan flinched yet shuddered at the ferocity Lance had showcased in removing his own tunic and darker colored vest from underneath. With his chest exposed; the tapestry of rune lines and fuchsia gleaming in the violet backdrop of the room, he was on Balan.

The maestro’s bright color scheme contrasted a great deal with the whole room, snow white wrapped in gold and scarlet with the fettering of navy with his undershirt. The colors screamed obnoxiously in comparison, and Lance wanted them all off. Balan looked on, dazed by the negati while Lance’s -no longer gloved, dark- fingers delved to pull apart the top of the collar, effortlessly tearing it asunder, a low suffering sound coming from the maestro but not much else. He would figure that Lance would be like this. There was no such thing as intimacy or care with the negati. Everything he touched broke in his hands. Balan knows well that this time will be no different.

Those warmed hands skimmed over the prone body, fingers probing through the opened seams of the tattered clothings. They tickled him, a warm and fuzzy sensation spreading throughout the squirming frame. Balan felt lips on his chest, hands assisting in the pleasing endeavor while the other arched and shook. His mouth opened in an exhalation of steaming desire. When Lance pinched a nipple, Balan shot upwards in heated rebellion, forcing Lance to restrain him with his tendrils.

He was about to demand that Lance release him yet was cowed into silence by a startling growl, “This ends if you keep moving.” That voice, their voice had done something to the maestro. In other instances, Balan would have fought Lance until the other relented control, but during this... he went oddly still, placate as Lance continued to trace a trail of kisses down his chest. He brought his hips forward and up as the negati began kissing down his belly, stopping shy of the seam of his pants. Warm hands went into the other’s pants, the kindled heat coming off of Balan’s genitals enough to make Lance purr.

The maestro struggled against the hold as Lance pulled his pants down, heeled boots joining them as pile on the floor; kissing trails down his waist and down his legs. When the teeth pricked his skin, Balan thrashed. His face aglow with purplish speckles that brightened with his flush. He sparkled everywhere; cheeks, chest, hips and down the markings of his illuminated, swirling markings. Even the tendrils of his hair began to glow a slight with the forbidden heat. The hold on the restraints doubled.

“What did I just say?” Lance growled, the reverberating making Balan tense.

“L-Lance! Lance...”, Balan was calling to him yet couldn’t reach him as the negati roughly rid him of his clothing. Nearly naked, Balan shivered in the cool of the room as well as under the heated gaze of the negati, whom crawled up his frame to, again, kiss and lick at his newly glowing speckles, “Please... don’t stop! Please, Lance.” The maestro whispered pleas were a shock to the negati’s ears. He still wanted to punish him for fighting but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was becoming so lost to the feelings.

“Save your voice, pet...”, Lance whispered as his fingers slipped past the maestro’s brightly colored panties, feeling him for the first time, “It is too premature for you to be screaming for me now.” He chuckled more as his folds became reactive to the fingers smoothing them over, luscious wetness forming inside the panties.

Balan’s eyes widened, the shock of Lance’s finger boldly touching him made him to squirm, his own palm moving atop the negati’s. Much to Lance’s surprise, he didn’t hinder him yet chose to guide his fingers even closer, near enough for them to breach the delectable, delicate walls. Sun-yellow eyes rolled back once he felt one fingertip push its way inside, stopping short of sinking in completely. The maestro’s moan was unabashedly loud, body rolling in venture of more fingers. Lance marveled with fascination at the other’s willingness; form softening as he shook his head to and fro in delirium. He couldn’t stop shaking, lithe body aroused as the finger came from his wet sex. He smelt utterly delicious, dripping the natural nectar like a perfectly ripe fruit. His tongue slipped out to have a taste of it... and it had been everything he had hoped for.

The aroma of the finest wine with the scintillating notes of vanilla and lavender. His cock pulsed in his own pants, over eager for its own taste.

In horny glee, Lance yanked off the maestro’s panties, tossing the last piece of clothing into the darkness of his chambers in order to marvel at the most succulent sight in between the other’s rune spiraled legs. The plump lips of the vulva were just perfect enough to kiss, the natural wetness dribbling onto the blankets, glittering a soft purple as it did. The negati locked eyes with the heated, glazed expression before moving to take Balan’s mouth in a heated, soft kiss. The other kissed back with more fervor than before, free hand going behind Lance’s head to drag him down.

They pulled away with a long, loud sigh. The other scoring hot in contrast to the sheets beneath. Balan splayed his legs more, allowing for more room.

Lance grabbed up his thighs roughly, pulling him to the end of the bed to comfortably rest on their knees. Without much warning, Lance dipped his mouth right onto the humming lips of his vulva. That tongue went right to work at lapping up the sticky juices in and around those lips, a soft chuckle coming out of Lance as Balan shouted in lewd desire. His giant hands went right to Lance’s head, twining his fingers in the other’s hair as he shook and shimmied to the lapping tongue, hips arching to bring those lips closer to his pussy.

Lance focused on the luscious flavor of his cunt, dragging Balan closer to them as the maestro attempted to pull back. Their grasp got tighter the harder Balan fought against the hold. He felt the other’s grip in his hair, the tugging just enough to keep Lance deep. He lost his mind to Lance’s teeth grazing the top of his clit before sucking hard on his folds.

“Gods! Uhh, huh, L-L-Lance!”, Balan stammered, the corner of his eyes prickling with unshed tears while he fought and screamed into Lance’s lips. He was in heaven, but damn him if he’d admit that to the Negati. Balan flailed his head, mint-colored dreads going all over as he lost all semblance of control, “Dear gods Lance! Please! I cannot take...!” Balan pleaded for him to stop, to show any mercy on him as an intense rush of savage, carnal desire shot through him. When the other didn’t heed him, he wept. A startled sob ripped from his gasping maw as he arched into Lance’s rippling tongue.

Lance backed off in order to awe at the loss of self control Balan was beginning to display. He took in the panting, shaking mess of a maestro before his very eyes; mouth hanging open as he greedily swallowed gulps of air, body aquiver with mind melting lust, hands holding his head like a vice as those sinful thighs wrapped around him. The sight of him made the negati moan unintentionally, tongue plundering the maestro. The vibrations of it caused Balan to clench on him and scream, both hands abandoning Lance’s hair to slide against the cooler sheets.

“Oh! Oh gods, please, please...” The maestro whimpered, body relishing in that feeling while his mind boiled in intensity.

Lance, accounting for Balan’s behavior, moaned louder and longer against the lips of Balan’s clit, as well as kept their tongue inside with the intent to find his G-spot. They kept at it for sometime, their tongue buried deep as their hands massaged over Balan’s heated, dark thighs. They kept the maestro as close as they could as they tongued the bundle of nerves located far up the other’s pelvis.

“Wait! Wait! Lance please... don’t...please-” He hardly could finish the plea as instant rapture shot through his frame, causing him to clench on Lance’s tongue in a spine-melting orgasm. His mouth hung open in a room-rocking cry as his body snapped rigid, arms behind him as he grasped tight on the sheets. His chest thudded rapidly to his erratic breathing. His flesh clenching and tingling around Lance’s tongue the climax continued through him. There would be no reprieve however as he became rigged again, legs snapping around Lance’s head suddenly with another powerful orgasm.

Lance had not stopped even through the second climax. Not even with Balan wailing in what could be felt as pain. The silky walls gushed with his essence, the liquid sex simmering on the negati’s tongue as they drank it. A pleasured laugh rippled through them as they pressed hard kisses to the top of Balan’s pussy. Kissing it several more times as Balan screamed at them in another language. They still didn’t stop as he felt the other kicking at them with feverish intent. When he almost clambered away, Lance reinforced their hold to plunge their tongue into him again.

“For gods sake Lance! I can’t take anymore! Stop, please! I beg of you!” He wailed as tears streamed down his face.

An empathetic grimace came to Lance’s face as they finally relinquished his hold on the thoroughly ruined maestro. Their lips were deliciously wet with the slick of the other’s sex, the taste even better than the wine he captured on Balan’s lips only moments ago. He watched him roll on the sheets, finding some balance of his overheated body and the cold contrast of the dark sheets. Deliriously, he crooned and purred as he came down from the high. It took him about five minutes total to calm himself. And then he smacked Lance’s shoulder. Hard.

“Bastard! I told you to stop! What in the hell would it have taken for you to listen to me?!” He hissed, eyes narrowing darkly as he sat up. He seemed the opposite of pleased at the moment. A contrast that Lance felt prepared to deal with. Can’t please some people. The sentiment literal in Balan’s case.

“You were fine with me not a few minutes ago.” Lance jabbed as they groaned at the pressing of that erection against their tight pants. The glare Balan shot at Lance made the other’s ears pin low.

“That was before I had two orgasms in a row, heathen! You should have more respect for me. And be more receptive Lance. This isn’t just about you!!” He snapped. Nope. None too pleased at all.

Lance blinked, “This... wasn’t about me. Trust that if it were; I would’ve fucked you through this bed. The only reason I didn’t do that is because I want to see you cum. I’ve only ever heard that-”

“Wait, wait a minute. You’ve heard me climax?” Balan started, a touch confused.

“In your bedroom, when you think you’re alone. True, there are no visitors around but someone was always in the theater,” Lance purred as soft as a breeze. The negati smiled at the brightening embarrassment on Balan’s face, wishing now he had his hat to hide it. It softened them so seeing the normally composed, bombastic maestro reduced to a shivering, blushing mess. Gingerly as allowed, Lance caught Balan’s face, causing the other to look at them, “I guess I just wanted to put the face to the voice. And I am not disappointed.”

Lance leaned over to kiss the still warm cheek of the maestro as the other side-eyed him, the smallest smile forming.

“I’m... not used to this side of you. You’re normally so far away from me. In fact doing you’re very best to stay out of my sight. Even when I want you there. You know...”, A slow pause before Balan finished the thought, “You are different... too bad we both have to be backstage to see it.”

“I’m different backstage?!”, Lance’s long ears perked at the comment, not ever having someone feel or compare the sentiment, “I’ll remember that then. Do you want me to continue then? Or would you rather sulk about how I never know about your needs and cues?” Lance’s eyes sparkled with a mischief that could rival Balan’s.

“Yes, damn you. That...was a genuine experience.” He giggled, the noise a delight to Lance’s ears, leaning back on the plushy pillows, tendrils sprawling out comfortably behind him. With a singular exhale Balan relaxed against the sheets, hands going in his hair, fiddling with and tossing a singular white sliver of his tendrils. Only... it wasn’t his hair, Lance noticed and then raised an unseen brow in suspicion.

“Is that... an ear?” They breathed a laugh as Balan hid it in his hair again. When he sat up, it confirmed everything that Lance thought prior; he had the same ears as they did, a slight longer, floppier and appeared to be super soft. The negati’s eyes sparkled as they pulled out the hidden appendages, wondering why they hadn’t noticed them until now.

“I-I-I never liked them. They’re long, cumbersome and don’t fit under my hat properly. So I just have been tying them back along with my dreadlocks. Wha? Why are you pulling them?!” Balan shrieked, his sensitive membranes folding as Lance fiddled with them. The stark white with the hue of light green made the ears stand out, the occasional flap picking up the slightest noise.

“Why hide them? I think they’re absolutely wonderful.” Lance emphasized as they waggled their own long, dark ears. Their ears sat higher than the maestro’s and didn’t bend as much. He crawled over to the negati, aligning his hips in between the others legs with care. Their pulsing erection awoke his deepest desires, causing Lance to grind their clothed crotch into Balan’s exposed one. He gasps weakly, feeling the outline of the negati’s cock against his sensitive folds, gloved hands moving up Lance’s arms to bring them in for a deep kiss.

Consumed by more the kiss than the passion behind it Lance drove their tongue deep into Balan’s mouth, tasting the other’s breath and intermingling the taste of his fluid sex. Balan’s tongue stuck out as Lance’s lips engulfed them, teeth grazing over the appendage while Balan groaned hotly. He brought his head higher, the expert work of that tongue making him drunker than any alcohol. The longer it went, the more impatient the maestro became; his hands going from Lance’s arms to dip into their pants to rip out the other’s cock.

Lance’s eyes flew open as hands peeled off their pants and pulled out their cock, the member free from the strain at last. They’d never lie to themselves about not feeling relieved. The darker phallus was impressive at best; thick in girth and longer than Balan’s, some negati rune marks trailed on either sides of their crotch and lower hips, and the tip looked spire like yet appeared to be soft to the touch. Balan would find out soon enough.

“I get it. This is moving too slow. But I thought that you’d appreciate it.” Lance inquired, chest rippling in steady laughter. It felt like a punishment for forcing Balan to ride out his first orgasms.

Balan didn’t speak as he shoved Lance over, raising himself atop the other. Seated on their lap Balan took in the sight of his paramour, and just how dazzling they appeared. Chest rising and falling with softened breaths, the runes coming to life again in a brief flashes of multicolored lights, but he couldn’t stop looking at the other’s face. The heart marking atop his forehead blazing almost vermillion instead of the darker pink it usually was, their small fangs bared, glittering in the soft purple hue of the bed chambers.

He leant down, kissing the long neck, chest, pressing his lips hard onto his ribs and trailed a heated kiss down their pelvis; stopping just short of that maleness. He spared them a coy heated glance before kissing the drooling tip, eyes going to Lance to see their reaction. The other tensed, mewling the moment they felt those lips, tip swelling on demand.

“I’m going to suck the soul out of you. Just as you had did to me.” The heat in those words made it more fact than statement and Lance couldn’t wait long enough. They could have never imagined having the current maestro of Wonderworld’s mouth on their dick. To be honest, they could not imagine any of this happening right now. There was something so decadent and sinful about the way Balan talked dirty. Such things were just never heard from such an angelic mouth.

He stopped thinking altogether as Balan removed his gloves, throwing them onto one bedside table to fist his thickness roughly, stroking the lengthy girth. Thumbing over the head, he gauged how steady Lance was, the swelling member making the maestro’s mouth drip with unshed spittle. From the way he opened his mouth and sucked in them in deeply, Lance could have sworn that he had done this before yet can never remember a time this would ever happen.

“Ohhh yes! Balan...” Lance’s lungs stopped working the second Balan’s tongue encircled the head and bobbled repeatedly, his saliva silkening his hot length. Lance shuddered, moaning deeply as the tendrils on their back came back to life and spread across Balan’s pussy, massaging the outer vulva instead of the velvet walls. The sensation caused the maestro to moan around the dick in his mouth, a chain reactive shiver from Lance followed.

Balan slowly rocked on the tentacles that fondled on his folds as he swallowed down more of Lance, lips almost resting on their crotch before pulling off. Soon the maestro began working his hands with his tongue, hands pulling at the medium sized balls as the underside of the long cock was stroked by Balan’s tongue.

The tentacles worked Balan harder, the other groaning loudly with the near penetration on one tendril. The movement caused Lance to swear, hands digging into his hair, pushing the mint colored coils out of his face.

“Don’t stop Balan! Please don’t stop!”, Lance cried as they got closer to an explosive release. The vision of seeing cum painting the maestro’s immaculate, lovely face caused a shudder to surge out unconsciously. The tentacles groped the silky vulva with an intensity that caused Balan to pull off the other’s cock to choke out a cry.

“Lance!,” Balan called, drippings of drool falling onto the sheets as he shivered on the tentacles that never penetrated. He growled low as he pushed himself back on the largest of the tentacles, the bulb going right into his pussy, slicked with the welcomed wetness, “Ha, oh yess.” He crooned before stuffing the throbbing cock back into his mouth, pumping and sucking with the same vigor as the tentacle inside.

Lance mumbled something in a different language, thrusting into Balan’s warm mouth, along with the tentacle slipping through the sticky mess seeping from his tightening walls. They could barely muster the maestro’s name as a ringing sound flushed through their ears, body going tight as a bow while Balan swallowed down the cock fully. Their hands dug into the other’s hair making sure Balan was close enough to swallow all of the rich, violet colored seed as it splashed down his throat. The tentacle widened inside of his pussy, pushing on the clit with the vibration of its master’s climax.

They thrashed in zeal as Balan continued to suck them dry, not worried about the veiny tentacle that fucked him deep. He was determined to live up to his statement; soft, warm hands smoothing over Lance’s sharp hips as he swallowed him down more, moaning and whimpering as the length sputtered more seed. When the tentacle pushed more into the G-spot, Balan cried out, forcing his hips down to rock with his new orgasm. He had to get the cock out of his mouth in order breathe a bit proper as his walls vibrated with the climax.

The room became blanketed in a contented silence as they both came from their highs; Lance’s chest heaving air as Balan sat on their hips to find his mind. He purred with fervor as the tentacle slipped out of his cunt.

“That was good, yes?” Balan inquired, eyes wide and soft, body just as soft and pliant as he awaited a reply. The poor darling was self-conscious. A trait he never displayed when performing for anyone, nor anything.

Lance’s laugh brightened the maestro’s be-speckled face, ears twitching with the tenor of sound.

“That was the best head I’ve ever gotten, my lune-light. And you did what you said you would do.” Lance spoke breathlessly while they leant up to brush their forehead against Balan’s. The feathery kiss, as well as the compliment, drove the other to keen delightedly, ears flapping in exuberance.

“Your... ears. They flap whenever you’re excited or praised don’t they?” Oh, Lance was about to be so evil now. The sly grin invited as much.

Balan nodded his head, not even knowing he was acknowledging the question, smiling and flushing like mad as he did.

“Look at you. Flushed, heated and so devilishly handsome. A most salacious siren you turned into,” Lance growled as they pulled himself up but kept Balan in his lap, “A gorgeous being like you deserves to be drenched in the most opulent of pleasures. The thickest form of desire. Do you want me to worship you?” That damning voice caused Balan to shudder and grasp them in desperation.

“Yes! Worship me, worship my very body, revere it!”, He shouted, no longer bringing himself to care about anything other than the euphoria, “I want to feel you in me, on me, all over me!” Heat basked from his body as his ears flapped, mouth open in heavy pants. His naked cunt rocked on Lance’s cock, not sinking in fully. The movement caused Lance to spur into action, going on their knees to better to better position Balan, the maestro spreading his thighs eagerly on Lance’s lap.

Lance’s fingers intertwined with Balan’s, his hands warm and only touch wet. They pressed their teeth into the skin, reveling in the dark wrists that glowed subtly with golden accents and swirling patterns. Lance repeated the motion, tongue lapping at both wrists, palms and fingers. Lance felt the smoothness of the maestro’s beautiful hands. Their eyes shimmering in reverence as they pressed sweet kisses to each fingertip slowly. Their own hands felt up his palms; still so warm and just as silky soft. That tongue continued to trace the long golden lines, taking his time to press his lips into his wrists.

“Balan...” There weren’t enough words for Lance to say, or piece together for the time spent with each other. Nothing could prepare either of them for the sheer intensity of this new emotion. Melding of carnal lusts neither have the ability to describe. So for the first time tonight... Lance stopped talking. Letting only their bodies say so much more.

Steadying him, Lance brought Balan down on the hard thickness slowly, agonizing slow. The maestro’s glint was hot and heady, hands going to Lance’s shoulders as support. Lance heaved a hot moan, aligning the next thrust directly into the maestro. There wasn’t a need to test if the other was ready for it or not; his tightness giving way subtly with each small piston. The fiery gaze of Balan soften into kindled embers once he was fully seated on the other’s cock. He was starting to perspire, a reaction that Balan never had to anything in his life. Rushing sweat beaded down his neck, his chest and around his waist glazing him in a hue of condensation that began to make his body slippery.

They stayed in each other’s laps for a second before Lance thrust upwards, igniting Balan’s tongue again. He cried out in another language, most likely a swear considering the dialect. He groaned weakly, his body submitting to the roughness Lance invited with each movement. The moment Lance had worked out the rhythm the thrusts became harsher, more precise, pinpointing the exact spot to hammer him into a delectable frenzy. Lance’s breaths got rougher, louder, more of their teeth becoming exposed as they snarled in ecstasy.

Balan could barely hold on. Literally. His grip on Lance’s shoulders loosened each time the negati impaled him, the motions making him too sensitive, body on fire. Though barely cognitive, Balan did his best to rock up to meet with his thorough pounding. Moving his hips at an angle, Balan caught the ribs of Lance’s spired phallus, screaming out as it stabbed him.

The maestro’s screams did something primal to Lance, the sex-fueled fire warping and corrupting their licentious mind.

“You like it?”, The negati spoke deeply, the baritone voice smokey and laced like a honey-tipped whiskey glass, “Look at yourself. Becoming undone with just my cock. You cannot comprehend how fucking devilish you are! Siren!” Lance dragged Balan down, further stabbing him with the rigged member. They were so close yet weren’t about to go if Balan didn’t first. They were going to see the maestro climax on his dick. There would be nothing to stop it now. Astoundingly, Balan replied to the question, voice much like Lance’s yet tremulous in its form.

“Yes! I love it, I love you!,” His gaze meets the others in an embrace that Lance cannot escape from, “I love you so much, don’t stop please.” The plea is whispered as the remainder of Balan’s self control is pounded out of him. His lanky legs surrounding the negati, forcing them to stay the course as his cunt devours them hungrily.

It becomes too much for Lance; the fucking, the confession... just the sounds of Balan’s voice as they fuck. They snap forward hard, cock slamming the maestro’s pelvis as they climax, taking Balan right with them. The guttural snarl that surges from Lance actually scares Balan, those golden eyes wide with an erotic fear of the other before it fades with a deep-bodied orgasm that reverberates through his soul. He wails out, the pleasure so cavernous it eats him alive, body stiffening to the point of pain, absolution and exultation drowning him in high waves. His clit sucks Lance of everything; reason, sense, the will to stop. He trembles at the feeling of the other’s seed shooting inside of him, viscous ropes of cum shoot forth as Lance loses the rhythm of their own thrusts.

They stop fully when Balan’s cunt loosens its hold, the negati falling forward atop the messy sheets. Balan makes a cry of something between pain and pleasure when he is flopped on his back with Lance atop him. Lance’s member has yet to soften inside the other’s creamy walls, the spired tip rubbing on Balan’s g-spot.

The room falls silent again, save for the heavy pants and breathless laughs from the two. Neither recovering fast enough as the euphoria drains all other sensations from their bones. Lance’s spine is dexterous as wet spaghetti, mouth open in loud gulps of air. Balan fares no better, legs twitching uncontrollably. Bare chest dripping with sweat, golden markings along his arms and stomach gleaming and flickering in the contrasting violet lights. His coils are drenched as well, pouring over his eyes and messily over his face. Speckled markings aglow with the shades of amethyst make him look pulchritudinous.

Lance raise themselves up, both of their hands going on either side of the exhausted maestro’s supine form, loins still burning from the near volcanic heat from their fucking. They readjust their position, body flush to the other, seeming to never be close enough. They smile softly as Balan smiled chastely at them.

“That was fantastic... honestly the best sex I’ve ever had.” Balan complimented, his eyes not as glazed from before.

“Good to know, but I hope you didn’t start thinking it was over?” Lance drawled, the tone eerily lustful.

Balan stares quizzically. How could anyone want another go after that?

“You want to go again?”

“Just one more?,” Lance breathily laughed as their hips rock gently, phallus a touch harder than prior, “If it helps, you can lie on your back and I’ll handle the rest.” They lean over Balan, kissing his cheeks and the heart on his forehead.

Balan rolled his eyes. He wasn’t complaining about another time, but his body sure was. He internally decided one more bout wouldn’t cause too much strain.

“Lancelot, the insatiable one. Who knew you’d be addicted to my cunt?” Balan chuckled; the nickname still an endearment to Lance. It would be rude to lie about how the name made them warm on the inside. And hearing that sugared voice utter it with a playful air softened the negati.

“Not just your cunt... but you as well. I love you too.” The words came out before Lance knew. Their lips moved yet didn’t have any prior knowledge of it until seeing the way Balan stiffened, long ears swaying upwards at the words.

Both of their chests fluttered; Lance never expected to say those words during sex. This...this was not supposed to be about love. And yet, it was all Lance had on their mind. They had Balan now. All they would have to do is love him. In more than this way. With all of this joy they had felt in the confession, the familiar ick of something tar-like bubbled to the surface. Lance’s mind honed in on all the deprecating things the voice said.

‘What? You can love? Oh Lance... it will be ruined by you so soon.’

‘You once loved...and look at what it turned you into!’

‘This is sex Lance... that’s all it will. ever. be.’

‘He can only feel pity for loving a monster like you’.

The voices began to make Lance physically sick. No matter how hard Lance tried, they wouldn’t be willed quiet. They began to tremble uselessly, a sob retching from the negati as those thoughts and words; their own words swallowed them.

The maestro lunged forward, planting a kiss on the other’s lips. The cathartic heat that came from it brought Lance out of their head, focusing on the other below them. They both stayed lip-locked for a moment, Balan kissing as if Lance were about to drown any minute. The kiss saving them from themselves for a moment like this. The voices dissipated, barely a hum coming from the back of Lance’s mind. They didn’t matter. Only Balan did. The kiss ending when Balan pressed those lips to the fuchsia colored heart atop Lance’s brow.

The touch was so gentle. So tender that it made Lance’s heart swell.

They looked down at Balan, who smiled pleasantly back at them. The look of love so much more than it could ever be. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay’ is what those golden pools spoke even if Lance didn’t hear it aloud. There wouldn’t be a need to.

In spite of how small it was; Lance smiled. The motion felt real. He hadn’t had a genuine smile in over a thousand years. Gods, when was the last time he felt pure happiness unfold in his heart? There’d be a time and place to think on that later as they shifted Balan’s hips more, grinding forward, hips shifting to reawaken his long erection. The stings of pleasure rode through Balan, arms going behind his head to grab for the jumbled mess of velvet purple blankets. A small whine went past his lips as Lance’s midline bumped against Balan’s pelvis again, causing a flare of scorching desire to arise. The maestro never subdued, or otherwise suppressed his moans. He would allow Lance the ability to hear how he felt for him.

The negati gripped Balan beneath his thighs, pulling his legs away so they could splay open. The new position allowed Balan to relax instead of trying to readjust too often.

A surprised gasp from the maestro made Lance look at his face; the beatific expression of this dazzling, bewitching and downright mesmeric creature spurring Lance to pump into him harder. The be-speckled maestro had his eyes closed, turning out the warm, shimmering pools of the richest gold many would never see.

“Please lune-light, open your eyes for me.” The reciprocal adulation of love Lance gave could break someone’s heart and warm another’s but it was his tone that made Balan’s eyes open; aroused and so husky. When he looked upon the negati, a form of ardor seeped through him. A shy smile graced his features as he nuzzled into Lance’s chest.

“Ohhh, say that again. Call me that again,” He whispered as his body arched with the deeper, slower thrusts, “I need to hear it again, Lance.” He began pining for the sound of the other’s voice, chest heaving in irregular patterns. Long ears flicked up, picking up the sounds of Lance’s exertions as they grounded each other closer to climax.

“Lune-light...my lovely lune-light, you are so stunning.” Lance cooed, eyes warm as they watched Balan’s ears flap in jubilance. They fucked into him harder, faster when Balan’s hands went from the sheets to cling to Lance’s arms in order to steady himself. He was succumbing again, mind lost as avaricious lust ensnared his visage.

Lance repositioned one hand to grab the maestro’s tight waist and underneath his back, slowing their thrusts first in order to shift a portion of their weight to sink in deeper. They kissed the inner thigh of Balan’s left leg as the other hand grabbed there and held him tight. The new position brought Balan’s ass up from the bed, both legs hanging on either side of Lance as they brought their pelvis’s together. The negati had to get to their knees for the next part to become effective, sprawling their hips a little. When they had gotten in position, they leant over to press another reverent kiss to Balan’s forehead, the friction causing the maestro to growl.

“Move. Lance, I beg you.” Balan’s resistance melted a long time ago as his hands tightened around Lance’s upper arms.

When they move, Balan’s equilibrium gets flipped upside down. The position had the maestro screaming so loud, Lance tipped their ears down to block out the sound. The reaction was instant, the gorgeous being’s mouth flying open as he threw his head back with each stroke. His hands scrambled for purchase of the negati as he began thrusting back on the other’s cock. Body spasming at the rippling sensations.

The change in position did wonders for Lance as well; they were able to take in all of the other’s grace, elegance and succulent desire. The screams of pure ecstasy powered Lance onward, eyes half-lidding as they aimed their thrusts. Lance felt the maestro’s bruising grasp loosen, the body tightening from the exertion. He looked as if he was going to lose his mind again; assuming he had ever found it after the first few times.

“Look at this.... look at you,” Lance growled, hands leaving Balan’s waist to drag the other further down, “This is what I have been wishing for. I’ve have been waiting for you and this! Gods, now that I have you, I’m not letting you go.” The negati enunciated a portion of their words with alternating thrusts that caused Balan to spasm around them erratically, the maestro’s head swaying, more mooring, like a boat on torrential waters.

Balan tried to stutter something in response. There could not be any words he could be able to use in a circumstance like this. The euphoria blanketing his headspace, only the want for this to never end on Balan’s mind. He wished he could stay like this forever; being loved in between his legs the way that Lance was loving him. Tears welled up but were blinked back. That familiar entrapment, that build was upon him now. A spring ready for release as Balan angled himself to meet a harsher thrust from Lance. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he tugged on the negati for some leverage. And he tugged at him desperately.

“I-I-I can’t-- hold it back much! Lance, I need this! I can’t hold back! Oh my gods!” Balan’s pleasured whimpers were music to the other, the noise causing Lance to pulsate inside those divine walls. He was about to let it all go. Neither of them capable of denying their animalistic need for a blissful finish.

“Do not hold back my lune-light! I want us to be in climax together. I’m ready, just like you are. Lock me inside your heaven!” Lance yelled, throwing their head back unabashedly for the final few thrusts.

Something in the gravelly tone caused Balan to relent all self control at that moment, the high octane pressure rushing from his pelvis, seeping into his blood in a body rattling orgasm. He screamed, more belted out his release, muscles contracting and constricting in a severe, mind-numbing vice. He could no longer keep his eyes open, passion scalding his insides making his body heat unbearable.

He kept spasming, helpless as Lance roared one last time, pinning Balan’s softened frame to theirs in a rough, possessing manner. They dove off the pinnacle with as much fury and need as Balan did. Their fingers dug into the tender skin, maw wide with a roar that shook the room. The negati’s own form convulsing and seizing as Balan’s cunt squeezed their cock to the point where it ached. They shuddered with the intensity and rush of seed; feeling way too hot inside of the maestro, shooting deep inside, not stopping even as Lance humped Balan through their own climax.

When they were sure they had nothing left to give Lance let Balan go, the other’s spent body flopping atop the bedspread. The negati pushed back their inky dreads back from the sweat drenched face, eyes slightly glazed. They shook with the inglorious feeling of satisfaction before pulling out of Balan’s thoroughly ruined cunt, their cum drooling out in delectable, erotic ribbons. The scent of the intermingling sex made the cock twitch. Without a thought given, Lance’s pointer finger went past the swollen, beat-up lips of the maestro’s pussy; swiping the oversensitive folds for just a taste of the cream.

Balan yelled, overstimulated and a touch annoyed, kicking at Lance.

“Fucking stop! You’re going to kill me!” Balan cursed, his chest heaving. He was the perfect picture of the word ‘ruined’; mint-colored coils askew all over his face, sublime form thrumming with the residual orgasm.

“Would this have not been the best death to have?” Lance giggled sweetly, tongue slipping out to lap at the mixed cream of their sex. The taste was of it was so divine, it couldn’t be described. When their legs regained function Lance dipped into the conjoined bathroom. Balan barely registered the sound of water coming from a faucet. Though he wasn’t going to register anything for a while. His eyes slipped closed, breathing becoming more steady as the high simmered out of his frame. He didn’t hear Lance’s footfalls when the other returned into the room yet the feeling of the cold, damp cloth felt exquisite on his hypersensitive skin. He smiled happily as the cloth went over his face, chest, arms and even his back, swiping away as much sweat that wasn’t collected by the sullied bedsheets.

He winced as the cloth went between his legs, touches kept tender and dainty while the negati cleaned his clit. The movements were apologetic in the sense of the rough handling. With the remnants of their sex thoroughly cleaned, Lance threw the dirty cloth into a hamper nearby and crawled into bed. They felt the need to say something to Balan, yet was not prepared to see the other fully asleep. The smile remained on his face as he dreamt soundly. Safely.

The maestro rarely slept so seeing him do so, even in the other’s bed, was recherché. The moment a surprise to see with their own eyes. It warmed their heart in so many ways. Lance wondered inwardly if their heart could get any fuller. Carefully, as to not wake him, they slid Balan’s frame underneath the heavy blankets, keeping his head low to rest it against the larger puffy pillows.

As much as Lance tried, they couldn’t lie to themselves about how adorable and desirable this being was. Is... and still will be. They could make up some spun tale about how Balan lusted for the feeling of this sex. And yet, they wouldn’t. They weren’t going to deny the affirmations and litanies of love, passion and reverence he bestowed. In this way, Lance loved Balan. Balan had loved them too. This new feeling blossomed and flowed within them. It was all Lance cared about and would gift this love in kind to Balan tenfold. It was definitely what they both deserved.

For now, Lance snuggled into the maestro, a happy little smile playing on their cheeks whilst pressing their face into the other’s neck. The mint-colored coils of the other’s hair fell in a tangle on Lance’s face, making them wrinkle their nose.

“I...love you, lune-light...”, Lance whispered pressing a singular reverent kiss to the glowing heart on Balan’s forehead, the mark shimmering against the darkness. The negati nuzzled the sleeping being, arms crossing Balan’s chest to swaddle him close to their body, “I don’t know if you had heard me, but I just hope you know.”

Unknown to Lance, Balan had heard him. His own smile was genial and kind, taking the affirmation as it was. There was no need for Lance to explain themselves. Such things like this rarely, if ever, happened. So Balan accepted this. He had openly accepted that Lance is, and will remain, worthy of love.

“I love you.” The enamored statement was simple, sweet and soft-sounding. So such so that Balan wasn’t sure Lance heard him, the negati was already snoring before he could say anymore. With an exhale, Balan’s eyes slipped shut once more. His own hands went around to hold Lance’s closer to his body. Their combined warmth radiating soothingly as they slept throughout the rest of the night.

#balan wonderworld #balan #balan wonderworld lance #Lance #nsft #lemon

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cozy-the-overlord · 3 years

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Dances and Daggers

Summary: The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 7: The Gatekeeper

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,044

Chapter Summary: A trip across the Rainbow Bridge seems in order.

Thanks for reading! :)

TW: mentions of child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

if you want to be tagged, just send me an ask! :)

Read it on Ao3!

“It doesn’t mention anything about him leaving at all?”

Teki shook her head. “No, nothing.”

She and the prince were huddled in one of the back tables of the library, flipping through the pages of her father’s journal in search of some kind of clue. Teki had wondered if Loki would even be interested in continuing to help her—her life was such a mess, she didn’t see why anyone would want to willingly jump in—but he seemed just as eager to find her father as she was.

Although, neither of them had any idea as to where to start.

Loki had suggested beginning with the journal, since that was their main lead. “If he wrote in it every day, then he probably mentioned something about leaving, right?” he asked. “That couldn’t have been a decision he took lightly.”

Teki thought so as well, but the more she looked, the more it appeared that her father had done nothing of the sort. When he wasn’t writing ballads, it seemed the only thing he wrote about was her.

Teki and I went into town today to watch the parade. She was ecstatic—especially fascinated by the violinists. She’s been dancing around the room, pretending to play violin all night long. She says that she wants to learn, and I have half a mind to start teaching her. After all, she’s picked up the piano like it was nothing. Such a musical heart—I’m so proud of her.

Seeing her name—her nickname, that is—written in her father’s handwriting took her back to the letter he had left behind, the one that dissolved his marriage and rejected her as his daughter.

My dear Tekla…

That letter had been in the box too, along with several other letters he had exchanged with her mother before they were married. Rereading it for the first time since he had left, Teki was once again struck with the belief that there was something dubious about her father’s message. The whole thing was so stilted, so emotionless. It felt… it felt scripted. As if his hand was only transcribing another’s words.

And he called her Tekla.

Next to her, Loki sat straight up. “Why, we don’t have to look through all this!” he cried. “I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of this before!”

She frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Heimdall!” Loki stood, grinning. “He sees everyone in the universe. We can just ask him where your father is.”

Teki’s heart stuttered. The Gatekeeper stood at the edge of the Bifrost, eyes that protected Asgard from the threats that lurked beyond. Asking him to check for her father seemed… disrespectful. “Are we—are we allowed to do that?”

The prince laughed. “Why wouldn’t we be?” He pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go!”

“I—now?”

“Why not?” He hesitated. “Unless—if you’d prefer, I could just—”

“No.” Teki inhaled. Loki was right. This could be the best way to find her father. It was time she got over her fear of … everything. She took his hand. “Let’s go.”

…

They rode out to the Rainbow Bridge together on Loki’s horse. It was… a bit odd, to be sharing the reins with someone, but Teki didn’t have her own horse and wasn’t keen to wait for the stable hands to pick one out for her. It wouldn’t have even mattered anyways, because they didn’t have any sidesaddles on hand, and Teki knew that in the time it would have taken her to change into slacks, she would have talked herself out of going at all. Instead, she found herself perched awkwardly in the front of Loki’s nightmare black mare, Brynja.

“You—you can still see, right?” she asked as Loki shifted in the saddle behind her.

He hummed in affirmation. “Um—I think—” his hand fluttered stiffly at her waste. “Would it be alright if I—if I held on to you?” Teki twisted around to see his cheeks were bright pink. It reminded her of the night of his Nameday Feast, when she had to ask him to lace her dress up, and her face flushed as well.

Loki coughed. “Just so you don’t fall off,” he added quickly. “Apologies, it’s just that I’ve never ridden like this, and—”

“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted quietly. “You can… hold on to me.” For a moment, Loki didn’t move. Then, very slowly, he brought his arm to rest across her stomach, holding her to his torso. Teki forgot how to breathe.

“Ready?” he whispered, the little puff of breath ticking her hair. She giggled, nodding. With a click of his tongue, Loki spurred the horse forward. Teki was soon grateful for his arm at her waist, because she was certain that without it, she would’ve gone flying when they shot forward like a cannonball.

“Oh!”

She had never ridden across the Bifrost before. Teki could only cling to Brynja’s mane and try not to scream as colors whizzed across her vision, speeding high above the rolling waves of the Asgardian ocean. Loki shouted something, but she couldn’t hear him above the wind roaring in her ears.

By the time they had reached Himinbjorg, she was panting as if she had been the one racing for miles. Loki laughed.

“Have you never galloped before?”

She bristled. “I’ve galloped.” But riding horseback had never been one of Teki’s favorite hobbies, and she felt Loki could tell.

Smiling, he jumped to the ground, helping her slide down as well and offering her his arm. “Let’s go.”

She took it haltingly. “We—we just go in?” she asked. “Don’t we have to… announce ourselves?”

Loki laughed again. “He sees everything! He already knows we’re here.”

“Wait.” Teki froze. “Everything? He sees everything? Even—” Even Osvald?

For a moment, the prince seemed confused, but realization flashed across his face.

“Yes, but Heimdall doesn’t interfere with what he sees, not unless there’s significant threat to Asgard,” he reassured her. Something dark passed across his face. “Not even when he should.”

Teki swallowed. Loki had so far honored his promise to keep what he knew of her family’s dynamic to himself, but he made no secret of the fact that he thought she should tell some higher authority. He was convinced that Osvald could be stopped by someone like his mother. Teki wished she shared his optimism.

Walking into Himinbjorg was like stepping into a whole other world. The spherical walls glowed with an archaic power that seemed to vibrate through her every fiber. The very air seemed to have a different taste, as if flavored by the intricacies of the cosmos. She needed no knowledge of the Bifrost to understand this was sacred ground.

In the middle of the room, a figure stood on the raised platform still as a statue, a golden silhouette cutting through the multicolored stains of the galactic skyline. The curved horns of his helmet glistened in the starlight, completely motionless as Teki and Loki entered.

The prince inhaled. “Good Heimdall,” he said. His voice had taken on a very grandiose tone, and Teki had to suppress the urge to laugh. “We wish to ask a favor—”

Heimdall turned, and the urge died almost instantly. The watcher of the worlds was an imposing form. His helmet cast his face in shadow as he stepped forward, his intricate golden armor echoing the design of the hilt of the giant sword he clutched in his hands. But it was his eyes that sent shivers down her spine. His deep orange irises bored deep into soul, as if he was seeing things about her that she didn’t even know herself. She quickly dropped her eyes to the ground.

When he spoke, it was in a deep baritone that boasted of ancient wisdom. “I know why you’re here.” Even when she wasn’t looking, she felt the weight of his stare. “Lady Tekla. I cannot give you that for which you search.”

“We only wish to know the whereabouts of her father.” Loki interjected. “Steinn—” he looked to Teki questioningly.

“Kjellson,” she whispered. “Steinn Kjellson.” She pulled her gaze from the metal floor, forcing herself to meet his piercing eyes. “Do—do you know where he is?”

He was still looking at her, studying her intently as if she were a piece in an art display. Teki realized suddenly that he had not looked at Loki once since they arrived at Himinbjorg. She squirmed.

“I know of whom you speak,” he said finally. “But it is not my place to speak on the matter.”

“What do you mean?” Loki demanded, frowning. “Is your place not to serve Asgard, and her royal family?” He motioned towards Teki. “She is to be your Queen.”

Heimdall’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re not asking the right question,” he said directly to her.

“I—what?” What right question? Flickers of irritation began to burn at her nerves. “Can’t you see him?” she asked.

Heimdall only stared.

She scowled. “I haven’t seen my father in years!” she snapped. “Can you at least tell me if he’s safe?”

“You’re not asking the right question,” he repeated.

With a huff, she turned to Loki. “This is a waste of time. He’s not helping us.” The prince nodded, glaring at Heimdall.

“It’s time we left,” he agreed. He held her hand as they stormed out of the building together.

Even as Loki helped her back on to Brynja’s back, Teki felt the gatekeeper’s gaze entrapping her in its scope. She turned around to find that Heimdall had not budged an inch from where they left him, orange eyes piercing hers. She balked.

You’re not asking the right question.

But what other question was there to ask? All she wanted to know was where her father had went. What other way could she ask that? Teki glowered as Loki pulled himself into the saddle.

“I’m sorry Teki,” he was saying. “I really thought he could help.”

“You were right,” she mumbled bitterly. “He could help. He just didn’t.”

Loki sighed, urging Brynja forward, but not too fast yet. “We’ll have to try something else,” he mused. “You said your father used to work as a court musician?”

“Yes. He quit when he married my mother.” Teki pulled at her sash. When she was little, she had always imagined what it would be like to be the daughter of a court musician, what it would be like to not have to worry about curtseys or tea time, to spend her days helping her father prepare for his performances. She had always felt he wished he hadn’t had to leave the musical troop, picked up on the longing even though he did his best to mask it.

“It’s a good thing I’m not in the troop anymore,” he had joked wistfully with her once, after she had finished playing one of his piano pieces without sheet music for the first time. “You’d have me right out of a job!”

Back in the present, Loki seemed to be engrossed in some idea. “Do you know any of his fellow players?” he asked.

Teki frowned. “No. By the time I was born he wasn’t involved with them anymore.” She turned around to face the prince. “Why?”

His face was scrunched up in thought. “Well, maybe they know something,” he said. “If they were close enough, they may have some idea as to where he went. We can check the court records, figure out who was with him when he was working.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You know, there might be something there.” The bitterness in her throat from their visit with Heimdall begin to melt away. She smiled shyly at the prince. “Thank you.”

Loki let out an embarrassed chuckle. “For what?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Everything. Helping me.” Her cheeks were burning. Why was she always such a failure when it came to speaking?

But Loki didn’t seem to mind. “Of course.” He leaned forward to wrap his arm around her waist once more. “Are you ready to go?”

She nodded, unable to hold in her squeal as they shot out once more across the Rainbow Bridge.

#dances and daggers #loki x ofc #loki marvel #loki fanfic #dances and daggers chapter 7 #the gatekeeper #cozy writes

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axe-trio-commanders · 3 years

Text

OC Interview: Zori Sunblade

Draw (or use an old drawing, don’t worry!) or take a screen of your character in an interview setting and make them answer the following questions!

INTRODUCTION

Can you introduce yourself?

"That, uh... depends- this isn’t going on public record, right? I mean- not immediately?” [redacted] “Okay, yeah, after my death is... well- no, maybe Seremnis’ death. Or whenever she wants- okay, give it to her after my death and she’ll- yeah. Okay.” Shuffling and creaking of leather. “Zori Sunblade, member of the Sun warband, magister of the priory, pact commander by title, uh... oh- leader of Dragon’s Watch. And uh. Charr. Ranger. Uhm... hi?”

What is your gender identity, orientation and relationship status?

“...Uh... I think...” mumbled “...burn me I hope I remember the meaning of these right, been a while-” regular voice “Uh- she/her... lady friends, so far, and- actually been married for a while.” [She shows of a ring around her left-hand ring finger. Its gem gives off a faint glow.] “Still sort-of figuring out what that means, but I think I’ve got most of it down.”

Where and when were you born?

"...I, uh... hm. Lend me some paper and quill?” [Paper and quill is lent.] “...So it’s... 34, and that was... 25, when I was...” [She nods and taps the pen affirmatively on the paper.] “1306 AE, at, uh... all I remember or have been told is growing up in a fahrar around Rin.”

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

“That depends. I can snipe pretty good with a longbow, but torch and axe are my go-to for close range... sometimes a dagger if I need to be a bit less conspicuous.”

Lastly, are you happy?

“...Well, that uh. That escalated quickly, huh?” laugh “Ah... sometimes. Sometimes... it’s- I guess I don’t clearly remember now if it’s harder than it used to be, but... I’m working on it.”

FAMILY AND FRIENDS

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

“Dragon’s Watch is my family. As is my warband, Aurene... Canach’s in there somewhere, too. It’s... I dunno. Some of them... still look up to me, I guess, after everything- some of them know me to well, some of them... I don’t know. Warband’s... complicated, right now, and I’ll probably always worry about Aurene... the people that know the most want to help, I know they do, it’s just... it’s hard to believe things will get better sometimes.” laugh “Probably not the best thing to hear from the charr you’ve put in charge of saving Tyria for the past nine years, huh?”

Have you ever ran away from home?

“...I... I don’t know. Maybe that’s what I’m doing now- burn me, I... really don’t think I can go back to the legions now, regardless of if things are changing or not. Don’t really think there’s been another... place I’ve ever called home.”

Would you consider marriage or having children?

“I mean- kinda too late to have second thoughts on marriage, huh? Ah, not that I would. I don’t think I’d want to live without her at this point, being honest...” Tapping of claws “...Cubs, though... I don’t know. Not now, definitely. If I’m going to be taking care of cubs, It’s not going to be at a time where I can’t do it myself. Be there for them. Burn me, I’ve had far too many examples of what happens when you don’t.” Pause “...Have sometimes fantasized about a quiet house somewhere in the woods, though. Whenever the disaster’s over.”

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

“...Why would you call them your friends if...? No, if that was even a question. I’ve made it very clear who I hate, and... burn me, I guess... yeah, the only one who isn’t dead is Phlunt. And... Bengar, probably. Not sure if he’s, uh. Stable, right now? Not- I mean I don’t go out and murder whoever annoys me, that’s not- it’s a short list. It’s a very short list. I’m not going to murder someone over, like... burnt toast or something. That sort of thing is reserved for endangering my family.”

Which friend knows everything about you?

“...I- mm... I... some of them know more than others. Definitely, people in my family know more than people outside of it- ...burn me, I... I think, alltogether, if everyone I knew pooled knowledge they’d have everything, but... not any one. It’s... it’s habit, I guess.”

ASKED BY FANS

“Please tell me you’ve filtered these beforehand.”

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

"Okay, good start, uh... I mean, I’ve been through the fahrar, obviously, and I’m also a priory magister- I learned a lot more about the... being literate there, but at this point in my life I’m writing-fluent in New Krytan, old charr pathfinding symbols, ancient orrian... in the process of learning a couple others, too. Can’t hurt.”

The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

Snort “I’m not allowed to die. I mean- burn me, what else am I supposed to take away from the fact that I died- actually went-to-the-mists died, and got told by the messenger of a human god that I, of all people, could go back? Had to, in fact? ...Burn me, I should probably be happy about that, but. Implication’s aren’t great there.”

What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize?

“...That I’m... that there are people who’d miss me. Not- not miss the commander, but... I expected people would- mourn, write songs or whatever once I actually kicked the bucket, but it’s all a bit... hollow, when most of them don’t even know my name- and to some degree, that’s purposeful. They can- they can mourn the role I filled, the stuff I did, that’s fine, that’s not going to destroy them, not going to hurt for more than a... week, maybe. And everyone else- even the closest people- burn me I’m supposed to be dead. Not only was I, but there’s no- there’s no logical reason I’ve survived all this. Gods and Elder dragons have wanted me dead- entire factions, powerful people- I’m not allowed to die by- by fate, or whatever, but nothing else in Tyria wants me here, so I- you expect people to expect it, at least. To be prepared for it. I want them to be, for their own sake, but...” long sigh “...I... tried to get my warband to leave. Now that they knew... where I’ve been. What I’ve been doing, and... it really shouldn’t have been such a shock that they were worried about me. That... that they, and... everyone who knows how bad it’s gotten wants me to get... better. That I even have that option.”

Do you have mental health or physical issues?

quiet “...I don’t think any of us came out of this unscathed.”

What is your current main goal?

“...I think... I think I will just- just focus on getting better, now. I- burn me, it’s going to give me anxiety like nothing else to leave this to anyone, but I’ve- ...guess this is the first I’ll say it outside of closed circles, but I... I think I’m giving up the title of commander. I don’t think- that’s not going to mean I’m not around, I’m... probably not even leaving Dragon’s Watch, but... it’s time to hang the regalia up, at least. Leave the final say to someone else.” Laugh “Definitely not gonna miss the politics. May I never have to see Phlunt’s face again.”

CHOICES

Drink or food?

“...Oh, the hard questions are over now? Er- sort of? ...I mean, you need both to... live, so... Hm. I mean- I’ve had some really good food, Dragon’s Watch has one of the best chefs, but- if you’ve ever had an entire jug of water past the height of the moon, you know exactly my dilemma here.

Cats or dogs?

“This is what we call a ‘false dichotomy’. Both. Duh.”

Early bird or night owl?

“...I, uh. I’m not sure I’ve had a steady sleep schedule, for... five? Years? I guess if you do want to wake me up without either food or news of immediate disaster that needs fixing, I might consider physical harm, so... whichever one that is.”

Optimist or pessimist?

“That depends. On the subject of how good today’s food will be? Optimist. On Phlunt ever caring for anything other than his own pride and wellbeing? Pessimist.”

Sassy or sarcastic?

“...There’s a difference? Everyone I’ve met has both or neither.”

HAVE YOU EVER-

-been caught sneaking out?

“Nope. I was raised Ash, and I was good at it.”

-broke a bone?

“...I... I don’t think I have, actually. Probably got just about every other possible injury, but... not that yet.”

-received flowers?

“...I, uh. Eheh... The, uhm. The first time my, uh- now-wife sent me flowers, I... didn’t know what they were for? And sort of. Ate them.” pause “...They were... definitely not meant to be eaten. They were anonymous- she told me about it later- so I thought someone was trying to poison me until a close friend explained what getting flowers meant.” pause “...Burn me, I have no idea how long she was trying to flirt with me until I managed to catch on.”

-ghosted someone?

“...Have I mentioned the time I burned to death?”

-pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

“...Wait, that’s- that’s a thing? I could have been telling terrible, incomprehensible jokes this whole time and I have no way to even know?! I- ...no, I haven’t, I guess. I just sort of... sit there confused...”

“...That’s the last one? Really? Sort of an awkward way to end it. Well, uh... remember the release protocol we agreed upon. Whole buncha people are gonna be upset if you don’t- most of which know how to hide bodies. Not... not sure why I know so many of that type of people, to be honest with you.”

#zori sunblade #oc interview #icebrood saga spoilers #path of fire spoilers #yes i did do the math on those years. yes i am making this cannon.#yes zori is 28 years old as the current story stands #there's a good reason most of the charr she knows think of her as a cub

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boogiewrites · 3 years

Text

Mae Flowers Ch. 7

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Mae LeBlanc (OFC)

Summary: A modern, magical Alfie Solomons AU. Mae works towards growing her powers and Alfie is there to explain every step. They begin learning more about each other and find a connection that neither truly expected.

Warnings/Tags: Language.Magic/Supernatural. Soul mates.Some domestic fluff, getting to know you stage. Talk of the unknown.

Click on my screenname then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

The sun rose high enough to peek through her curtain. It wakes her by gently kissing her face. Mae greeted the new day with enthusiasm.

Alfie had given her the task of sprouting, growing, and blooming a plant with her powers. She had been a bit cocky, she supposes, after the meditation went so well. But using her own undisciplined powers to do work was entirely different from receiving a gift of knowledge from her light. With Alfie's strong influence, the visions were much stronger than she could’ve formed herself. He’d asked endless questions, just like she would do. But unlike her, he'd had years to find the answers.

She stood in the kitchen, glaring out the bay doors at the sprouted plant on the patio table. She sipped her coffee as the maker gurgled in the background. The house was quiet, save Percy's feet crunching in the litter box.

Alfie had set her a task, and she was days into trying to achieve it. He had vaguely explained that he had some spell work to do that he needed privacy to accomplish. After giggling at the way he pronounced privacy she nodded and he disappeared. He’d still been up every morning, looking a little rough around the edges. She didn’t want to pry but she also thought she might want to know what was going on in her house.

It was almost 10, she’d taken her time and lazed around long enough. She'd showered and eaten while hoping he would appear. But he hadn’t. So her curiosity got the better of her.

She made her way to the wall that held the archway to her sunroom and the door to the guest bedroom. She stood with a furrowed brow and pressed lips. She felt like she might be behaving rudely. She quietly knocks, her hand hovering over the door for some minutes before she talked herself into it. A quiet knock, then a more confident one after no noise from the other side. She pressed her ear to the door and heard nothing, not knowing if she felt relieved or more worried.

“Alfie?” She asked with a crack to her morning voice, not yet warmed up. No response. She tried to focus, head to the door, and see if she could feel anything. She didn’t really know what she was doing though, they hadn’t gotten to that lesson yet.

With no answer she reluctantly reaches for the knob, hand once again waiting to take action. As she clicks it, it sounded like one of the loudest noises she’d ever heard. She makes a space big enough to peep her round face through.

“Alfie?” she spoke softly, voice barely above a whisper into the stillness of the room. She made her way in, turning to see him star fished on the bed. His hair was a mess, hands still covered in what looked like soot, and lips pooched out while he was clearly in a deep sleep.

There were jars sealed with wax all over the dresser, salt around them, and little labels attached with twine to each. She was most curious and began to move towards them before a sudden grunt and sniff catch her attention from the bed. Unknowingly she’d passed the threshold of protection Alfie had cast and it had woken him up from his much-needed rest.

“Mmph Mae? What ya- bloody hell what time is it?” His brow arches high, dad noises followed as he rolled over to reach for his phone. “Oh fuck I’ve slept in.” He mutters and begins the process of moving his tired and half awake limbs to sit up on the bed.

“It’s not a problem, I just didn’t know what you were doing in here. I knocked… by the way. I was worried about you.” She explains hesitantly.

“No need. Just restin' me eyes.”

“Mm hmm.” She hums.

“Don’t appreciate that sarcasm Mae.” He rubs his eyes but she sees the grin behind his soft dark gingery beard.

“I knocked… like I said, twice, and said your name and you just laid there so…”

“You callin' me a liar? Bold of ya.” He kept a deep gruff tone as he yawns and stretches, but she could tell he was joking somehow. She felt comfortable with him in the snippy exchanges.

“Well I ain’t callin' you a truther.” She shrugs and gives a huff of a laugh.

“You’re a funny little flower, Mae.” Her odd response makes him laugh that turns into a cough. They share a pleasant lingering smile before something catches Mae’s attention. A movement under the covers of the bed.

He feels it against his hand and shoots his eyes in the direction Maes wide ones are staring.

“What the-?” He grumbles and jerks back the covers, and much to Maes horror a huge snake is making its way from the bed to the floor and towards the open window. “Fuck me, that wasn’t a dream? Ya sneaky cunt! Get out, ya slag!” He shoves the snake off the bed with a heavy thump while Mae presses herself against the door with too many questions rapid firing in her head. “I was tired from the work and you come all the way out here-?” His hands wave and he stops as if he were interrupted as he pushed the snake out the window. “Work innit?” He snaps and opens the window wider. “Ya ain’t fuckin special love. That’s always been ya problem. If ya never learn you’re gonna be like that forever!” He sticks his face thru the window opening before slamming it shut.

He turned around all huffed and annoyed and now awake.

“Uh… friend of yours?” Mae asks with a broken nervous laugh.

“I’m sorry Mae. She snuck in, I didn’t invite her. She’s never been much for respecting people’s space.”

“Wuh… so it was a friend?” She asks with eyes still looking at the spot where the snake had slithered out even though Alfie is moving around the room now to put the sheets back on the bed in his pajamas, a very rumpled white t-shirt with a v cut and his always present smattering of amulet holding necklaces.

“Well… yes and no. Bit complicated.”

“Like Facebook ‘It’s Complicated or…?”

“Like what?” He stops to plop on the bed and gives her an intimidating stare that suggests she might be behaving like an idiot.

“Y’know the relationship options on Facebook?” She says with an obvious nod. “You do know what Facebook is right?”

“Of course I fuckin know what Facebook is ya cheeky bugger.” he says harshly but huffs a single hard laugh.

She grins at his response and continued on with a lazy lilt to the early afternoon conversation. Her hands moving casually as she talked like the dust that was visible in the sun through the guest, well, Alfie’s room window now. “People can put it’s complicated as a relationship status. Usually, a sign someone’s made some bad decisions at some point.”

“Yeah? Like, fuck a snake?”

She snorts and covers her mouth as she laughs with bright eyes. “I wasn’t gonna say it but-“

“Didn’t have to read ya mind to know that’s what you were thinkin’, mate.” He shakes his head and fussed with his hair for a moment.

“I’ve been told I have a very bad poker face.”

“Terrible.” He says obviously but she felt the warm tone in his voice as he stood and gave her a smile that wasn’t accusing. “But it’s also somethin' you can learn.”

“Another thing to add to the long list of things you’re going to teach me.”

“That it is.” He says with an affirmative nod. “It comes with controlling your emotions. You feel things so strongly because you are unpracticed but we’re workin' in it yeah?” He nods and pats her shoulder.

“We are. I don’t feel as bad as I usually do after a rough day like yesterday.”

“Very good. Since I slept in like a fuckin lazy sod have ya got around to ya studies today?” They both move and carry a conversation into the kitchen as he makes himself some tea.

“Not yet, was being slow because I didn’t want to start until you got up. But then-“ she motions towards the cracked guest room door.

“Ridiculous, innit?” the previous annoyance at his unexpected visitor comes back to show on his face. “Not even my house and she doesn’t know you, yeah? Just invites herself in. Like everything’s bloody normal.”

Mae blinks with curious but very polite eyes as he rests against the counter for a moment, huffing and displacing a fluff of hair hanging onto his forehead. “I’m glad you also don’t think it’s normal. I know things are gonna start changing now, but python booty calls were not something I was prepared to handle.” She pauses her thousand-yard stare shifts to him. Blinking her full lashes over brown, now golden in the noon sun, eyes. “Not to be rude or anything. Just… being honest.” She shrugs, making herself smaller. “Thought it would be best to be… y’know with… all this witchy stuff.”

“First off, not a booty call.” He dismisses with a swipe of an expressive finger. “Secondly, honesty is the best policy. Always…. Unless ya Gotta lie.” He gives a more sly and cheeky smile her way as he takes a sip of tea.

“Are you lying about the snake booty call?”

“Nah, mate.” He gruffs out casually, “Not that I didn’t before she found herself in her current form. A stone-cold bitch of a witch that one. Piss off the wrong witch and ya go 'bout bein a twat and then next thing ya know you’re cursed to take her so-called, and very dramatically said at the time I might add- “true form”. He pauses, his tight but expressive face once again hides behind the tea mug and the fluff of mustache over the rim. “Old flame 'n that. Long, long time ago now.”

“How long is long for you? Since you’re…?”

“I prefer the term immortal to old if that’s what’s ya askin'.”

“I wasn’t but thanks for clarifying.”

“Years before you were even swimmin' in ya gran dads bollocks.”

“That’s the grossest way I’ve ever heard that put. Creative but, still gross.”

“Didn’t mean to be crude at the table, love.” He gives a nod but the polite face has mischievous and playful eyes behind it.

She huffs out a quiet laugh. “Wasn't a complaint.”

“Good to see ya aren’t squeamish. A sense of humor will help ya out in this work. Also nice to know my other half isn’t a stick in the mud.”

“Oh, I’ve been called that before.” She adds quickly and he laughs.

“Eh, don’t seem too bad to me Mae.”

“Well we just started so just give me a bit and I’ll let ya down.”

“Bad attitude like that means one thing.”

“What?”

“You didn’t eat a good breakfast did you?”

“I had-“

“Yeah, those bloody breakfast bar- bullshit things.” He cuts her off. “Ya have to eat real food now, pet. So we’ll be late getting at it today but nothings gonna get accomplished by no human without bein' fueled properly.”

“I don’t usually cook a big breakfast.”

“And ya ain’t gonna start now. I got it.” It’s almost as if her thought of standing to help was nipped from her mind, swearing she might’ve felt a light push to stay in her seat by some invisible force.

"You're not fattening me up to eat me are you? You and that snake?” She asks with a subtle playful smile but accusing eyes.

He lets out a loud sudden amused sound at her suggestion. “Maybe I am. Gonna butter ya up and stuff you in the oven.” He gives her a wink and chuckles to himself at the delightful energy she was putting out today before he turned back to the counter.

She blinks rapidly and finds herself hiding a flush in her cheeks at the seemingly innocent gesture. She retreats back to her normal sitting posture clenching her teeth to fight the smile that would otherwise appear on her face. Being forced to reckon with a handsome man winking at her that she wasn’t repulsed by was something new and she didn’t want to look like a giggling school girl. She was far from being a schoolgirl by being in her thirties but he made that same old energy bubble up inside her.

She clears her throat and tries to gain control of her emotions before they sweep her away. Since he’d been around all sorts of things were becoming quickly overwhelming. Since Alfie's appearance in her life, she’d started having mood swings, vivid intense dreams, and some rather animalistic passing thoughts. Most of them with the focus being on her new roommate. And she wasn’t talking about the unusual amount of reptiles she’d seen the past few days. She could swear the birds chirped louder now. It was as if she was going through some psychic puberty. Every sense and emotion was turned up so drastically it was as if she could feel a static tingling at all times. It didn’t hurt, but it was something she was trying to get a grip on. She was trying to be optimistic but her first round of puberty was something she felt she’d failed miserably at.

Alfie could feel her energy shifting and remained quiet. He had been both confused and impressed with her attempts to control all this new energy herself. He didn’t know why she didn’t ask about it but knew she was a scrappy little thing, forgo the occasional breakdown. Which he thought she had earned.

“MROW?” Percy jolts up from his warm bed in the sunroom, his morning sun spot starting to shift. He trots into the kitchen, the shifting of energy from his master drawing him from the bed.

He was a welcome distraction for her and both the men in the room, both he and Alfie felt ease as soon as Percy was in Mae’s lap and focusing her attention.

“Good little lad you’ve got there,” Alfie says, looking over his shoulder at the cat purring and grooming its owner.

“When he wants to be he’s very sweet.” Mae let’s put a sigh and cuddles him closer, feeling the tension in her body dissipate as she rubbing her face into the fur of the large white fluffy boy with his pink toe beans and nose.

“You know… I have a Percy.”

“You have a cat?”

“No, love. Percy is your familiar. I have one right now as well.”

She blinks in thought for a moment. “My familiar?” She asks, directed at the cat who was staring up at her with bright green eyes.

“A companion. A kindred spirit. He’s a little soul that is meant to help yours.”

She stares into the cat's eyes. “He just showed up one day. Like he already lived here.”

“Because he was called to you. Your power must’ve been blossoming at the time.”

“So you’re my familiar huh? If you’re supposed to help, why do you sleep on my clean laundry?”

Alfie let out an amused chuckle.

“Mrrm.” Percy responds and flicks his tail.

“I’d like to know how sleeping all day is supposed to help me out.” Mae gives him a big smile and scratches his chest. “Sassy little butthead.”

He purrs in response and rubs against her chest.

“Is your familiar a cat?” Mae asks while fussing over the affectionate cat in her arms.

“Oh no. Charles is nothing of the sort. A cat wouldn’t suit me would it?”

“A big fluffy ginger cat might.”

“Offensive language.” Alfie protests and Mae chuckles to herself.

“What is he then?”

“I’ll have you meet him sometime soon. Best to let him introduce himself instead of me.”

“Is he an animal?”

“He is. Familiars tend to be.”

“Can they be other things?”

“Sometimes a human. But rarely. Some have been Fae. Some like to stay in specter form if their counterpart is gifted in communicating with that plane.”

“So like spirit guides?”

“Good comparison, yes.” Alfie nods as he continues moving about the kitchen. “There are many forms any single soul can take, you see..” he began an impromptu lecture which he had done on occasion for the sake of educating her. He kept talking, as she found he had the tendency to do if the mood struck him. For now, he stuck to lessons about her, the baby steps any born and raised witch would know without even realizing. He didn’t want the sweet thing to seem like she lacked common sense when it came time to mingle with others like them. So he tried to begin with what to do to be able to perform at your best. He spoke of fuel and food, energy creation and destruction, and how it works with people like them. Or well, her, he was different from her biologically. But that was a lesson for another day.

—————————-

Alfie checks on Mae once again, a little lump sat in the grass in her back garden with those golden eyes focused on her task. He hadn’t really known how fast or slow the process would go, and the fact that she had made any progress at all made him happy for her. She sat with her hands pushed against her face, elbows on her knees as she sat with crossed legs in the grass in front of the plant. Her button nose was wrinkled, thick dark brows made her look more severe than usual. A stray loose curl would flop in the wind on occasion, but besides that, she was being very still. The fruit-bearing trees planted along the high fence line now had different symbols in new shiny paint. Mae had learned about protection and she was taking it very seriously. The glitter paint, her choice, sparkled in the light along with the various windchimes and suncatchers she had hanging all over the garden. You could always hear at least a small ting of metal against metal outside, it was something Alfie grew accustomed to quickly and found it rather pleasant now. All her new decor made space seem even more full of life with the rapid onset of spring. Not to mention Mae’s growing powers were causing the flora all around her home to begin to flourish early.

Alfie was writing labels, carefully packaging the spells he’d made to send out. He was enjoying a quiet afternoon. The weather was pleasant and the clink of chimes with the lazy breaths of wind outside was a calming melody. He was musing about how nice it was to finally feel some true calm for the first time in his afterlife. This is why the sudden shrill scream of Mae made him almost drop a spell jar in surprise. He would’ve never let his guard down enough to get caught off guard like that before he’d met Mae. He’d never stopped to consider if being with his other soul half might make him soft. But it was swept away from his cares when he saw the bundle of sunshine that was Mae. He could see the joyous yellow rays emanating from her small feminine form. Her hair bouncier and her cheeks flushed as she screamed his name in the middle of jumping up and down with excitement.

“Alfie! LOOK!” She squeals and stomps her feet, her hands with the chipped yellow polish point towards a now fully bloomed plant on the ground.

“WHAY!” He throws his arms up in celebration! “Mozel tov boobah!” He claps and approaches her. Much to his surprise she fillings herself towards him in an impactful hug. As soon as her delightfully soft cheek pressed bare against the fuzzy section of his chest his shirt allowed, their breaths caught in tandem. His hand on the back of her fluffy hair, one arm keeping her steady in her back. There was an ebb and flow that much resembled (to those gifted enough to see such a thing) an aftershock that shot through them on contact and was sent back into the world around them.

It felt almost as if she was in the middle of a giant speaker in the back of some fuck boy's car. Or those old 5ive gum commercials. The second feels drawn out and heavy as that pulse connects them and is loaded into their systems. something neither had felt in such a pure form before they felt a split moment of euphoria. A total lack of worry and anxiety, total zen.

They both exhale with synced breath and everything shifts back to its former self. Mae looks up at Alfie with an expression of what the hell was that and he blinks down at her and tells her that for the first time in a long time. He didn’t exactly have the answer.

Mae licks her lips and looks at his chest, her nose set above puckered lips showing the wheels turning behind her eyes. That were a very vivid -damn near glowing actually- golden. They were large and often wet and they reminded Alfie of a frog on occasion. Especially when she wore her little round glasses. He considers this a compliment as he is quite fond of frogs.

“That was..” she takes a deep breath and clears her throat, “...you know those little sand...zen gardens with the stick and you-?” She draws a swirl on his back where her hands stay.

“Yeah. With the wee Buddha’s?”

“I feel like what one of those is supposed to make you feel.”

“Felt much like I’d gone up and slapped the Buddha and he hit me arse back on my end.”

“Didn’t it feel… good? Though?” Her face shows her uncertainty as it always does.

“Ya bloody right it did.” He lets out a warm laugh that reassures her.

“What is..?” She hugs him again. The same grip as before but it doesn’t happen. She squeezes. Waits. Alfie looks around after her third attempt and considers intervening.

“‘Ere.” Alfie says. Moving her hand to mirror his, slightly outstretched towards each other. “Can you see that?” He asks quietly as if he might scare something away.

“I don’t… I feel something though. I think…”

“Trust your intuition, Mae. It’s where the answers are.”

She follows his advice, taking a deep breath and a slow exhale and clearing her mind and really looking at the space between their hands.

“Do you feel anything?” He asks after a moment, seeing her face shift.

“Yes.” A much more confident response.

“Good girl. What is it?”

“It’s..almost like electricity.”

He keeps quiet as he sees it differently. It fascinates him.

“Like the Ghostbusters ray guns.” She answers seriously then laughs. “Except it isn’t really a color exactly it’s, it’s sort of yellow.”

“I see yellow as well.” He nods.

“Now concentrate. Look at the… rays and what they feel like.”

“Oh! They’re happy.” She answers quickly and cheerfully.

“What happens when I-?” He asks and touches their fingertips together.

She smiles and laughs, “It's like you’re touching the surface of a lake.

“It’s a reflection.” He nods. “Now watch.” He begins to move it away and it’s as if a string is being pulled, the flow is taffy and it becomes thinner the farther away he gets. Her power is less loud, less clear the farther he is.

“It’s reacting to you.”

“It’s us. Welcome to stage one of your awakening. You can now see energy.”

“Did this happen because of the flower?” her head tilts like a curious baby animal.

“Flower?”

“Oh! Shit! I forgot! The flower! Alfie look!” She grabs his wrist and proudly shows off the fully blossomed Lily.

“Brilliant work, love.” He touches it and it’s strong and very alive. “Look at this little lass. Gorgeous.” He pets the plants leaves affectionately. “Lovely innit.” He leans towards Mae. “Takes after her muva.” He teases.

“I don’t see anything around it.” She says waving her hand near it.

“You won’t see everything at once. Be grateful for that because you’d go as mad as the first mantis shrimp.” He snorts at his own joke.

“The what?” She asks and shakes her head. “Alfie stop talking about mudbugs and explain.”

“You’re growing Mae darling! It’s all very good. Don’t worry. If there was cause for worry I would tell you, yeah? You’re learning to wield your powers and activating new ones. Natural innit?”

“So this is just my power growing?” She asks referring to the wobbly bit of energy as she moved closer to his body.

“I believe it is our souls. They want to be close. The closer the more vivid it is, see?” He touches his nose to hers and shows the tiny jolt of electricity that appears where their skin touches.

“It’s like static electricity. But it doesn’t hurt.”

“Nah, love they’re happy. They want to be close, little monkeys. They haven’t seen each other for so long. They get a bit excited.” He chuckles and rubs her arms reassuringly. He left a warm and good feeling behind in his wake. “Your powers are growing. You’re doing so well. In fact, I believe you are much deserved a few celebratory festivities, love.” He speaks quietly as he remains close to her.

“Like donuts?” She asks with a perky inflection.

“Could be but I was thinkin' more you should get yourself done up. Celebrate yourself. We can go out and I suppose eat since that seems to be where your mind is.”

“Done up? Like go out and eat together? A date?” There’s a mild flash of horror in her eyes.

“If that term scares you so then no. I am simply your friend-“

“Soul mate” she corrects.

“...soul mate who believes you should do things to celebrate this growth. Hard work earns hard play and you Mae darling have been working your bum off. You deserve it. Stop selling yourself short.”

“You being able to read me is good and all but it also really gets on my nerves. You get too real too fast on me like I’m just supposed to be okay with you plainly saying my obvious shortcomings.”

“It’s called growth. It’s what we’re here for.”

“When am I going to make you start growing?”

“Already have.” He states fast.

“I have?”

“Course! I don’t know if you could tell but I have not historically been known to be a very… coddling man. I have been alone and seen and done violence with my darkness… but being around you, your soul, it makes me feel like I’m young again at times. Your...spunky little personality- which is a great relief I must add- paired with the positive attitude and earnest approach has made me address how I approach things.”

“You like my personality?” her eyes look a bit sad but more intrigued.

“That’s what you took from that?” He chuckles.

“It’s a really nice compliment.” She quickly feels tears burn in her eyes.

“Oh bless your cotton socks.” Alfie laughs and pulls her in for a hug. “You little bugger.” He rubs her back as she gives him a tentative hug back. “You are kind and honest and curious. The world needs more like you. Your emotions are a gift. I do not see them as the burden you do. Most humans go through life feeling so very little. Did you know? It is a blessing to feel so strongly.”

“You’re so nice.” She sniffles and he once again laughs and kisses her head. “C’mon love. Let’s have a cuppa and we’ll get dresed up eh?”

“And then we go get food.” She sniffles.

“Yes, darling Mae then when go get food.” He lets out a deep chesty laugh as he escorts her back towards the house.

@jaegeeeeer @brianaisasongbird @hardygal69 @emerald-bijou @captstefanbrandt @coolgh0st @tinastarkandco @xstylishmileage @s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s @peakys-mystic

#Alfie Solomons #alfie solomons au #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fan fiction #alfie solomons fic

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kessielrg · 3 years

Text

[KH+DA] A Life Forgotten

Summary: Inspired by @chibi-mushroom‘s Dragon Age AU for the Kingdom Hearts series, focused solely on Anora. [can be read standalone without knowledge of Dragon Age or Kingdom Hearts][oneshot]

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,215

If you like the story, please reblog!

---

“Jump, Razzie!”

The little girl, no more than 5 or 6 years old, hesitated for a moment. Her short, raspberry red hair was gently tussled by the wind that passed by the top of the cliff. Her cousin, Kieran, waited for her at the base of the cliff with his arms outstretched. The smile on his face illustrated that this was nothing more than a game- like they were playing in a parlor with the girl about to jump off the table. But the distance was far greater than that. Quite a ways down, actually.

This was where most of her memories started. This cliff, her cousin patiently waiting for her, and her tiny heart beating in her chest like it wanted to come out. The memory was so old that it usually felt like a dream instead. She tried hard to hold on to it; it was all she had left of a life she never knew.

She took a few steps back, then started to run at full force before jumping off the cliff. She couldn't keep her eyes open as she fell. The wind stung if she tried. But there was a peace as she fell; it felt like the world was slowing just for her as she made her free fall. No one but her cousin could see that she was actually slowing her descent through an unconscious act of magic. To the outside observer, Anora Guinevere Ravishta was flying.

Even when her arms started to wrap around Kieran, it felt like she was trying to hug him, not holding on to him for dear life after making a fate-defying fall. Her sense of weightlessness immediately left when she had wrapped her entire little body around her cousin. She allowed her eyes to flutter open and was instantly greeted with her cousin's beaming smile.

“You did it Razzie!” Kieran happily cheered, doing a little jig as he held her. Anora was sent into a flurry of giggles from the movement. Her cousin's laughter mixed with her own as he slowly ceased dancing to press their foreheads together. What stopped this memorable moment between the cousins was the sound of someone clearing their throat not far from them. The duo turned their attention to a Templar.

This Templar wore an armor that would very soon be very familiar to Anora. The top portion of the Templar regalia as much like that of a regular knight, the symbol of their organization taking a prominent stance on the breastplate. The lower half was more like a blood red robe that stopped a bit ways from the ground. On the Templar's head was a square-like helmet that did not give any indication of what this person looked like under. Anora shrunk a little. She had yet to know the wrath of the Templar Order, but even now she felt intimidated by their armor.

“The young girl's father is here to see her.” the Templar told the two in a gravely voice.

For a small, subtle, moment, Kieran held Anora bit tighter.

“Tell him we'll be there soon.” he affirmed, regardless. The Templar nodded and went back to the main camp to pass the word along.

Kieran waited for the Templar to be out of eye range before setting Anora down. Hand in hand, the two walked back to the main encampment. Anora had decided quite early on that the Avvar were a weird set of people. They were a nomadic bunch, never quite staying in the same place for very long, and their houses were more teepees and tents than brick and mortar. Anora was more fascinated with the augur. The augur was a special mage that frequently talked to the spirits from the Fade- or, as the Avvar called it, the Land of Dreams. The augur talked to the spirits from the Fade, to whom the Avvar refeered as gods, and in trade the spirits watched over the Avvar people.

The Templars were not easily a welcomed (or even a familiar) party among the Avvar. Many of the Templars from this side of the mountain came from Ferelden. A feud between the Avvar and Fereldens was a long and bloodied one- the reminder of which came from one passing look at the glorified soldiers. Kieran and Anora were Ferelden as well, but there was a small exception to them that caused either indifference or quiet scorn. Kieran was a student from the University of Orlais, sent to train into becoming an ambassador of sorts for the Avvar people. The Orlesians were more welcome than the Fereldens, due to the former providing trade and goods that the Avvar could not make otherwise. Had Kieran not be the kind, easy going young man he was, the Avvar would have denied him the moment the empress requested him.

Anora had never quite been sure when the Templars arrived at the Avvar encampment. Despite all the talk then, there were only four of them. She would not understand until later how much danger a single Templar could carry, or what the Avvar did to train their kind's mages. She would not know that Kieran had tried to delay the Templars from finding her by having her with him. She never even realized that the Templar in charge had been her own father. Perhaps, in another time, Kieran would have been successful in keeping her with the Avvar. Maybe she would have become the augur's apprentice. But in this one, she was made prisoner.

Her father, like the other Templars, was dressed in the standard regalia. She would never know his face, but his voice was a lot like Kieran's.

“It is time to stop running,” he said, more to Kieran than the both of them, “Anora is being sent to the Circle.”

“I won't let you do that.” Kieran opposed. “She'll be safe here with the Avvar. You have no right to take care of her anymore.”

“She will go where I say.” Anora's father demanded in return. His stance was neutral, almost unnervingly so, as his voice rose to thunderous levels. “She is a mage, she is Ferelden, she must go to the Circle as per the Chantry's laws!”

Kieran was visibly shaking.

“Anora, go to our tent.” her told the little girl, his tone riddled with a harshness not intended for her. “Unco and I need to talk in private.”

If Anora had known then that this would be the last time she'd see her cousin for almost two decades, she would have put up more of a resistance. But, in this very moment, she looked from Kieran to the Templar before giving a small nod and doing as she was told. They both listened for the sounds of her tiny footfalls to fade before giving each other deadly glares.

“You're not taking her.” Kieran said first. “The Avvar have one of the better methods of letting mages begin their talents, and it doesn't involve keeping her held captive.”

“No child of mine will become an abomination to 'begin her talents.' It's a bloody miracle that we have no control over stamping out all of these undocumented mages. Anora is Ferelden, ergo we must-”

“It doesn't matter whether Anora is Ferelden or not!” Kieran thundered, stamping a foot to the ground and clenching his hand into a tight fist. “She's family! You can't abandon family to rot in some fancy named prison cell!”

Anora's father was silent for a long time. The air electrifying around the two men as both were too stubborn to agree on the other's solution.

“What would a boy like you know about family?” Anora's father then slowly asked. Hatred dripping from his voice with every chilling syllable.

“Apparently more than you! How could you even think about abandoning your own dau-”

Kieran never got to finish because his uncle had been so enraged that he slapped him. The young man immediately staggered backward, nursing his cheek as the wound throbbed. The Templar stepped closer, taking the young man by the scruff of his collar to demand eye contact.

“You understand little of the sacrifices it takes to be in my position.”

“But you always have a choice.” Kieran spat. “Don't you?”

Once more, a silence came between the two before the Templar set Kieran down. No other words were exchanged between the two as the Templar left. Neither of them even needed to say where he was going. It took Kieran a moment to process this, and when he did he let out an anguished yell as he started to charge after the Templar. He didn't get far because the augur had appeared directly in his path.

“Let her go.” the augur said to him in a soft, comforting, tone.

A spell had not being cast, but in that moment everything in Kieran paused. He looked at the augur with bitterness and equal exhaustion. With the traditional mask the augur wore that covered all but their mouth, it was hard to gauge just what expression the augur was giving the young man.

“Excuse me?” was all he could say. He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, thankfully the augur gave a nod of silent apology.

“The old gods that protect our hold have spoken, young one. Her destiny lies at the Circle.”

For a moment, Kieran was too stunned to respond. When he did talk, his voice wavered; “You… you talked to your spirits about her, when we're not even…?”

“The gods protect our hold because we give them gifts and offering, not because they have a fated loyalty to us.” the augur explained. “We give them what they ask, and in return they show us their wisdom. It has been this way for millennia and it will be that way for the next millennia.”

Hearing this, Kieran was even more at conflict. “Ser, in all respects, I think you fail to understand how differently magic is treated outside of the Avvar. If Anora goes to the Circle, then she may never get out. She may even forget that I'm...”

But the augur silenced him with only a gentle hand on Kieran's shoulder.

“The gods gave me a message for you- one of assurance. They said, 'kin has betrayed her, but love will protect her.' Trust the gods, young one, they know more than we could ever fathom.”

Kieran didn't know when he started crying. He knew his legs gave out before trying to hold onto the augur for dear life. The augur was patient, allowing the young man to let out his frustrations, fears, and sadness out. Only fate could guide Anora now.

. . .

They never even got to say goodbye.

The Templars left the Avvar clan within the hour. When Anora had come to realize that she would never return to her cousin, she cried a lot too. The Templars were not as understanding as the augur had been- telling her that she had to shut up. One Templar even slapped her, which only made things worse. By the time the company arrived at Kinloch Hold, Anora's face had become stained with tears. No Templar pretended to be kind as they moved her inside.

If she had noticed things a bit more clearly then, she would have realized that one of the four Templars never entered the hold. He had remained behind, contemplating the wisdom of his young nephew, while also wondering how he was request a change of station.

As Anora was brought into the hold, forced into several corridors she would come to recognize like the back of her hand, the company went past two new Templars and a girl just a year older than Anora herself. The other girl, sporting blue hair with matching eyes, suddenly stopped in her tracks to gap in awe at the new girl. One of the Templars noticed the blue haired girl's surprise, then took a look at the Templars. In seeing Anora, the Templar seemed to understand why the blue haired girl could not stop staring.

“It seems you may be meeting a new friend, Aqua.” the Templar said to the girl with a grin.

“I doubt it, Campbell.” the other Templar huffed. “She was among the Avvar when she was reported. May already be an abomination. I heard that after they collect her phylactery, she'll be sent to First Enchanter Mickey right away.”

“If her being an abomination is such a concern, shouldn't she see the First Enchanter now instead of later?” Campbell questioned with a raise of his eyebrow. Aqua looked up at the Templar with a curious tilt of her head.

“Why would she be an abomination?” the young girl asked- her voice sounding even more curious than what her expression was.

Both Campbell and the other Templar looked down on her in such a way, Aqua shrunk a little in her spot. It was Campbell who bent down to give her head a little pat.

“Keep to your studies, Aqua,” he assured her, “You'll find out on your own eventually.”

The seven year old still curiously looked at him before a wide smile stretched across her face. “Right.” she agreed with a confident nod.

But, still… just who was that girl?

#kingdom hearts #dragon age #kingdom hearts oc #kh oc #kh fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #kh fan fic #fan fic #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fan fiction #avvar #templar #mage #separation #found family #standalone #oneshot

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 4 years

Text

Would you believe me if I told you my story {19}

Chapter summary: Freed from your room you meet up with Steve for the first time planning and scheduling how your training will go.

Pairing: Avengers x reader (will change over time)

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 19/?

Word count; 3.274

Warnings; nothing major, perhaps combat for those who’s picky about warnings

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

SERIES MASTERLIST

It wasn’t the most comfortable, but the size was right so it had to do. The Captain, or most likely whoever gave the sparring suit to him, made a good job picking it out in that aspect. While you only had wanted to look in the mirror to see the suit, you couldn’t deny you took a quick look over your face. You didn’t look tired, at least not more than I usually do. You thought that the tight ponytail or at least the hair against your scalp which was almost slicked to perfection, made you look a bit less… lifeless.

When you walked out of the changing room you couldn’t keep yourself from trying to adjust the suit.

”Bad fit?” The question made you stop fiddling with the suit and look up.

”Not particularly, just not comfortable”, the Captain hadn’t moved far away from the spot you left him in, however now he was closer to the middle of the sparring matt.

”Not everything is always comfortable”, he chided as you walked closer, taking place opposite him.

”I didn't mean as in I want something as soft as a cloud, I mean as in I feel like I can’t move as I want”, you bit back, body beginning to tense up, mostly by what surrounded you and not the conversation.

You didn't get an answer, only a raise of one of his eyebrows. Neither It seemed like you would get a further answer as he took a step towards you. By instinct you took one back, making him let out a gentle sigh.

”We ain’t going to spar today. We’ll probably just go over things”, his answer made you frown Why wouldn’t we spar, isn’t that mostly what their training consist of anyways? He saw your obvious confusion and opted to explain why. ”Fury instructed me that we would be taking up your training once settled in…”

”I was there Captain, I remember what he said. Although I wouldn't deem the situation right now as settled in”, you huffed out the response, effectively interrupting him. He didn’t complain about it, instead, he just shrugged and continued.

”We’ll try to go over what you remember and don’t from your earlier training and then plan something after that”

”Although I got training, it was a few years ago, so I think the only thing which will hurt by starting from the beginning is when I occasionally remember something from muscle memory”, you didn’t expect him to laugh at what you said, nevertheless he did.

”Interesting that you think you would be able to surprise me with that”

”I have already done it once”, the smirk which began forming on his lips also spread to yours.

”And that’s exactly why I just presume everything, until you prove me otherwise”, a chuckle passed your lips and was the end to your conversation before he started it on the right track again.

You hadn’t believed that you only would stand and talk with the Captain during the time you thought you would train. Even though you wanted to call the time you had with him comfortable, that wasn’t the word you would use. The same caution you would’ve held towards him while sparring, as much did you have while talking. You didn't say much during the time, only let him know what he needed to form your training.

You noticed even more things about him at the same time. He was as cautious around you as he’d been the first few times, the only difference was that he wasn’t as formal, something which made the difference harder to notice.

It went slowly but after planning and him suggesting a schedule which you had no other reason than to approve off, you began the physical part of the training. You knew by now that this wasn’t a process which would go raging forward, but when the Captain went trough how you properly would stand and even angle your body, you had it.

”Captain, we’re five days into training and three of those has been planning it. I think yesterdays basic walkthrough is enough knowledge about how I should stand”, you broke the defensive stance he had instructed you through and instead crossed your arms while giving him a judgemental stare.

”We agreed on taking it from the beginning”, he stated matter of factly. You rolled your eyes while letting out a sigh.

”I didn't think you were this stuck in the past, Captain”, he furrowed his brows towards you at your statement, something which you had come to realise was a combination of irritation and confusion. ”You know you don’t need to be stuck to what we said. If you notice something, you’re able to change it up”, you stated, pretty sure he only went over the basics thanks to you saying that it would be wise. He looked at you for a moment, studying you as you tap your finger irritably against your arm.

”Than I’ll do”, he didn’t directly confirm that you’d been right, but you took it as a sign. He moved a bit further away from you, still standing closer to the centre of the matt than the sides of it. ”You're able to move yourself the right way”

”Somehow I needed to have done it to avoid the whole team”, you shrugged which he this time didn’t react any bigger too.

”Yes, although I noticed that you had your flaws while doing so”, he both confirmed and rejected what you said and you lifted an eyebrow.

”And I presume you already taken into counting that I couldn’t use my full abilities?”

”I already guessed so when in the actual fight. It isn’t usual for someone to break in here and not use their full set of abilities to disarm us. When you did neither, I guessed there was something else going on”, he stated it as if reading off a script, but you knew it was only his eye for detail in combat which made it possible.

”If you’re so in tune then Captain, what are my flaws?”

”Even though you don’t let much information show through your face and body in combat, some choices and action do”, he began and you raised a curious brow to what he said. ”To begin with, I don’t see past your strength because it's obvious you possess that, but when you go against bigger opponents in just hand to hand combat you often take the step back. You give your opponent the advantage to steer your next move, even though you perhaps control of the overall situation, something which is dangerous if you're against skilled fighters”, you nodded to what he said and the affirmation made him continue. ”If you remember against Sam, you didn’t keep enough distance between the two of you and this let him steer you. Even if he’s more skilled in aerial-ground combined fight, he isn’t worse in one of the two. When he closed in on you he automatically minimised the potential outcome of actions you could choose from", you thought back to the situation with Wilson. When the Captain pointed out your wrongdoings, you understood that you could’ve avoided the quite hurried exit from that situation.

”But I have to point out that not everything you did was wrong. What you did against Thor and me was good examples of a wider arrange of choices you get when in control", he continued when he saw you coming back from your backtracking thoughts.

”I feel like they were the only options, if I didn’t want to run into two brick walls”, he chuckled, but continued explaining shortly afterwards.

”Perhaps, but using not only speed but also a bigger person build against them, is what you find in any lecture of combat for those who are smaller in the situation. Against Thor you used the speed, something you're able to outdo him on within close proximity. While for me you used both the element of surprise and my own body against me”, you couldn’t help but smirk when he mentioned the situation with him. You needed to say you were quite proud of it.

”I see what you mean Captain”, you said and he nodded before continuing himself.

”Good. The second thing is when you’re levelled with your opponent, take Nat for example. You aren’t far from each other physically, this makes the only difference experience. As she allegedly has more in these sort of combats, she will have the upper hand. Here you need to be patient, you’ll need to see what she’s able to do. Keep your distance and don’t initiate things directly, nevertheless, this is things you generally should do on all occasions. As hand to hand combats doesn’t really make a lot of deadly damage, it will mostly become a play of who has more stamina and clear enough head to execute it the best”, he ended. If you had gone one or two more nights without sleeping, his words would’ve just gone in and out, but at this moment you nodded your head, knowing what he meant.

You looked at him while he shifted his stance, from upright to more closed.

”In normal cases, we begin with opponents close to our own size”, he said and you readied yourself while he continued, feeling your pulse quickening. ”What we’re going to do isn’t sparring, instead you’ll try to do the things I said you needed to work on. Study, have patience, keep the distance and try not to be locked in situations”, he nodded to you, asking silently if you were ready. You only gave him a curt nod before he began walking towards you.

After five minutes you understood why he said you needed patience, he did close to nothing besides near you at points. It felt much more to a staring contest than combat training. You’ve noticed, however, that for him this wasn’t useless. His eyes were always moving, studying different things each time, something which you didn’t do any less off. You noticed he put most of his weight on the front of his foot, so he quickly could both lunge and take a swift step forwards or if defending himself, taking one back.

Something else you took notice of and watched quite frequently, was his eyes tracking. All the time he’d lunged towards you, it had been after watching specific places on your body. It begun with your feet, hips arms then eyes everything in one swift sweep, the same exact one he did now.

Just when you noticed this, he lunged, further and more explosive then he’d done before. When he came in closer than before you heard his voice repeated itself in your head ”keep distance”. You kept a few good feet between you, but it was when he started aiming punches, which you could read wasn’t full force, you started to have a bit of trouble. With every punch he made you take a step back, steps which he quickly caught you in as his almost were twice the length. What should I do, what should I do? ”Don’t be locked” His voice rang once again in your head and you started to understand that you necessarily didn’t need to only back away.

You threw a quick glance while dodging one of his blows, noticing that he still had most of his weight at the front of his feet. This gave you an idea.

You waited until he threw a punch with his odd arm and his whole body angled with it. While you dived under it, instead of backwards like you have done before, you noticed he caught on to you. Quickly he tried to retract his arm which now was above you but you made that hard for him as you gripped his wrist and pulled it backwards. With the elevated speed of him going the opposite direction as you, he stumbles forwards and you shot up behind him.

Your adrenaline pumped as The Captain quickly regain his posture and turned to you again. He lunged directly, now not only with punches. He didn’t full-on karate kick you, but he began using his legs in a way to take away your balance. You felt your pulse quickening and you became hyper-aware of your surroundings. Feeling presence to your left, you needed to go against every instinct of yours to not throw a quick glance that way. You waited for a punch or two until the Captain didn’t throw them with such speed anymore and you chanced a glance. You registered the big frame of Thor. It was somehow weird seeing him as you hadn’t run into anyone on the team beside the Captain since the meeting. However, you hadn’t much time pondering about it as you felt your leg being taken out. It was swift enough that only instinct saved you some grace.

You had just the right amount of time to turn your head and grab the side of the Captains neck, the momentum of you falling and your unpredicted move made him fall rights besides you. You hit the matt with a big thud, while the Captain just about caught himself with his hands, a smacking sound following.

You panted where you laid on the floor. That went just about how good I thought it would. You raised yourself to a sitting position while huffing out your breath.

Because the Captain wasn’t moving hurriedly, you understood that the session was over and breathed out a sigh of relief.

”Not bad”, his voice surprised you. Looking up you saw him stand before you, a sweat drop trickling down the side of his temple, unlike the pool collecting on your forehead and neck. He reached out his hand for you to take, but you stood up by yourself instead. ”Not bad at all”, he continued and you saw him retract his hand.

”Well, I would say it wasn’t a complete failure”, you couldn’t contain a smile.

”And if I also could give a word of affirmation, I would deem you the victorious, Lady Y/N”, Thor’s voice surprised you as it sounded closer than what you’d seen him be. Looking to where it came from you saw him walking towards you, also he with a grin plastered on his face. ”Anyone that can outdo Captain America two times should be seen as the winner”, his smile radiated something which you almost felt didn’t match him as big as he was. What broke the moment however was when he lowered his hand to pat your shoulder. You hadn’t any form of thought beside jerking away from the gesture, something which the god furrowed his brows too. Even though he did this, he didn’t ask about it.

”You know very well Thor that isn’t true”, the Captain tried deflecting the comment and at the same time he looked at Thor you saw something pass his eyes.

”I am very well aware of the truth because I had fought you myself”, the god laughed and the Captain in front of you just shook his head.

”However, I had a matter to talk with you about Steven, but it can wait if needed”, Thor continued and you felt that you grew even more wary and cautious around the two men.

”We seemed to be done anyways, so you can talk. See you tomorrow Captain”, you were just about to turn around, go get your things, leave and have a shower but the voice of the Captain stopped you from even doing one of the things.

”We were done but I wanted to suggest we talk through things, we can meet up in the common room afterwards?” You hastily nodded to him, quickly hurrying out of the room to let them talk.

The men watched your hurried exit from the room, not turning to one another until you were out of sight.

”So what…” Steve couldn’t get any further in his question before Thor, who glanced a second time towards the entrance, interrupted him.

”She is a good fighter”

”She does know a lot”, Steve mindfully stated, copying the stance Thor had taken, arms crossed but relaxed.

”I think you could praise her more than that Steven”, the taller man began, while meaningfully looking down at the other. ”Even though she is not the most skilled, it takes a lot to stand up against all of us and also take you down on her fourth day of training”, he stated and while Steve agreed, he noticed the last thing Thor said.

”You knew we trained”

”I did indeed”, he nodded and seeing the questionable look the Captain gave him, he explained further. ”I were on my way to practice but noticed that when I came here the two of you had already started. I did not want to intrude so I watched instead”, he nodded his head up towards the glassed-in area high above their heads. The stairs you’d noticed going up on the right once walking in were those to the viewing area. It looked like a small common room, but instead of a view to the outside, the mirrored windows showed the training centre. Steve had wondered if he would have the first days of preparing your training sessions up there but thought as he had given this as an option for you to get out of your room, the centre itself would be more freeing.

”So Thor, what was it you wanted to discuss?” Steve asked, trying to concentrate on the original conversation Thor came to have.

”Fitting enough, it is about Lady Y/N”, Thor hummed in response, choosing his next words carefully before continuing. ”I recall what you said after meeting her, that we should try to get her accustomed to the team and therefore also us. However, she has been here a week soon enough and I am aware that she almost has not been seen around the tower, perhaps no elsewhere than training with you”, Thor pointed it out and then it went up for Steve. The only times he saw you were indeed when training and since only three days ago also afterwards, mostly eating something, but times outside of that glimpses of you were spare. While he initiated most of your meetings, as he had been assigned your guardian, he understood that the others wasn't so inclined in doing so. You didn't only need his help with training, but also socialising with the others. Something he forgotten about.

”You’re right, I haven’t thought about it so much”, he had an excuse he told himself, whatever problem between you and Bucky being that. However, he knew that just because your relationship with Bucky would take time, he didn't need to put off introducing anyone else also.

”I assumed that, therefore I wanted to speak to you about the matter”, Steve had begun walking from their point on the matt, Thor following a step behind, noticing the Captain being in deep thought.

”As you heard I’m going to meet her in a little while, presuming that you want to start integrating her into the team, by perhaps knowing a bit more about her yourself, I wonder if you want to come along?” Steve had walked to the place he’d set down his things earlier, picking up his water bottle and tossing his hoodie over his shoulder, before turning around and looking at Thor for his answer. He was met by a smile and while he hadn’t even gotten a verbal answer he understood it.

”If I may, I certainly will”

Forever taglist: @flowerchild1216 @haven-in-writing @krystallynx @lancsnerd @thejamesoldier

Series taglist: @colie87 @ohhhmyloki @leenat23

#steve x reader #steve x reader training #thor x reader #thor x reader training #steve rogers fanfiction #thor fanfiction #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #captain america #Thor Odinson #the god of thunder #avengers fanfiction #marvels avengers #Avengers #avengers series #avengers x reader #steve series #thor series

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pinnithin-writes · 3 years

Text

I Realized. Then I Couldn’t Stop Realizing.

Chapter 8: Pleck

Depending on where he looked, it was going to be over before it even began.

After their initial disorganized start to AJ’s sixth birthday, the rest of the festivities had gone quite well for the CLINT. He had enjoyed his trip to the zoo, rolling excitedly between exhibits with his palms gleefully pressed against the glass like, well, like a six year old.

That was what Dar had told Pleck, anyway. He himself had missed most of the zoo trip on account of that bizarre vehicle train and his subsequent run in with Derf. He sat alone at the scroll-strewn table, watching AJ open his gifts from afar while he knotted and unknotted his own thoughts.

Feeling like an idiot wasn’t new to Pleck, but in this moment he felt particularly stupid. All he had just discovered about the Stuff and the Allwheat gnawed at him. Was this something every Zima already knew about, and he had just been floundering by himself in the Space, none the wiser? His eye fell to the paper tangle in front of him. None of his scrolls hinted at the existence of the religion’s other half - at least, as far as he could tell. Perhaps he just needed to give the texts another pass with this new lens.

He wanted to dismiss Derf’s words as nonsense. The old man never really had his shit together, but their latest encounter told Pleck that his mentor was really starting to lose it. It felt appropriate that the two of them had dressed up as clowns earlier. They were just a couple of clowns following a clown religion on a clown mission in a clown galaxy. It all was starting to feel like a big cosmic joke to Pleck.

As he washed the makeup off his face a few hours prior, however, he was compelled to consider the facts. Derf had never been wrong before. As outlandish and hare-brained the man’s guidance was, it was still mired in truths and half-truths. He had been right about Pleck’s destiny. He had been right about the Space. He had been right about the Emperor. Why wouldn’t his crazy old mentor be right about the Stuff?

Pleck watched Horsehat babbling to their father distractedly as he considered this. It was good, as always, to have Nermut aboard the ship. No matter what was going on between the crew’s manager and their captain, it never got in the way of Horsehat being a happy, well loved sentient. Dar’s child was a good kid, and Nermut was doing his best to be a good dad. Seeing the gleeful smile the two of them mirrored at each other made warmth swell in Pleck’s chest.

He loved this chaotic, disjointed little family of misfits. He would love them every single day of his short tellurian life. He would do anything he could to keep them safe and happy.

A monumental task, considering the screaming black sun bearing down on them all. Derf had casually mentioned Pleck sacrificing himself to the being before he so unhelpfully went and died on him again and, well, it ate at Pleck. This was a notion that was all at once ridiculous and terrifying to him. To willingly face an entity that was chewing through planets like so much hard candy? It was undeniable suicide.

But he couldn’t ignore the horrible truth that had haunted him for the past six months. The Allwheat was his fault. Hi s fault. Pleck’s. He was the one who had singlehandedly jucked over the galaxy. It only made sense that he should be the one to un-juck it.

He found his eye lingering on the frame of his best friend across the room. C-53 was patiently explaining his birthday gift to AJ - a handheld educational spelling game set - while the clone fiddled with powering the device on. Working with C-53 to silence the voice in his head had given Pleck a newfound sense of hope in these past few days. The droid’s gentle, reasonable tone grounded and reassured him when he felt his sanity was going to snap like brittle thread.

Pleck had begun to fantasize about the future, an impossible treat he allowed himself in the privacy of his mind. He entertained an idealized, romantic version of their reality, where Nermut and Dar made amends, Bargie was satisfied with her career, and nobody’s life was endangered by an evil, galaxy-wide threat. And who knows, maybe he could have finally told C-53 how he felt about him. Maybe the droid would have even returned his feelings. Maybe they could have been something.

It was a fantastical dream, rose-colored and improbable. But the hope at least had been his, and it had kept him afloat, for however short a time. Now, Pleck could feel that hope being crushed around him as he stared his newfound destiny in its ugly, screaming face.

Pleck suddenly felt very sick and sad. His wants were simple, but so far out of reach. He shouldn’t be guilt-ridden over desiring happiness. Happiness should just be an intrinsic part of living and working with the people he loved. This was unfair, so infuriatingly unfair. To want something so basic and to feel he didn’t deserve it.

Throat tight, eye burning, Pleck scraped his chair back from the table and strode quickly out of the room. He didn’t need to start crying in the middle of AJ’s party. That would bring down the mood for everyone.

��Pleck!” Dar’s voice called at his retreating back. “You okay, bud?”

Pleck managed a weak, “yeah, I’m just-” before choking on his words. He fled, taking his insurmountable failures with him.

---

That night, when things had quieted down, the Allwheat’s voice started picking at Pleck’s mind like a scab, driving him out of his quarters in search of solace. Locating C-53 was starting to feel natural to him now. He padded silently through Bargie’s darkened hallways and sought out his soft, familiar blinking lights.

The droid was in the common area, as was his tendency, resting in a low power state. Pleck habitually collected one of the cushions off of the couch, placed it on the floor next to C-53’s frame, and settled down onto it. He leaned wearily against his friend for support. Still more comfortable than his phone booth of a room, he mused.

It was dark in the common area, the air thick with a resting silence that Pleck didn’t dare break. He sat with his ear pressed against C-53’s side, listening to the machinery dutifully working away within, even in dormancy. He focused on the gentle sound instead of the Allwheat’s taunting remarks until its terrible voice faded into the background of his mind.

Pleck was just beginning to doze when he heard the resonant sound of C-53 booting up to consciousness. He blinked sleepily as the droid powered on, oriented himself, and noticed the tellurian curled up beside him on the floor.

“Oh, how long have you been there?” C-53 asked, vocal modulator lagging in his delayed wakefulness.

Pleck shrugged in a halfhearted way. “A while.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Pleck responded reflexively. “Things are just… y’know,” he trailed off lamely.

C-53’s head angled toward him. “I’m afraid I don’t know, actually. You seemed more shaken than normal today.”

The fact that he possessed a “normal” amount of shaken would make Pleck laugh if he didn’t feel so shitty. He reached to trace his knuckles across the surface of C-53’s arm, where it loomed protectively over his head. He knew the droid couldn’t feel it. This was just a nice, private thing he did for himself.

“I mean, I did just watch Old Derf die for the fourth time in a row,” Pleck explained into the empty silence. It wasn’t exactly what was bothering him, but of the many ways his mentor had kicked the bucket, this was probably the weirdest.

“Okay, yeah, I guess that was a little unnerving to witness,” C-53 admitted.

Pleck went on. “Did you know he talks to me too, sometimes? Like, sure, I’d rather hear from him than the Allwheat, but my brain isn’t free real estate, y’know?”

C-53 gave an affirmative, “Mmm. I can understand that.” There was a faint clicking sound from his processor before he continued. “I felt that way when the Federated Alliance installed their protocol on me against my will.”

Peck paused, connecting the dots. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it that way,” he responded quietly.

“It’s hard when you don’t know where the thoughts in your mind are coming from.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, but the words washed over Pleck and engulfed him. He felt deeply, intimately known. It chilled him as much as it excited him. Pleck sat there, next to his best friend, caught in the dangerous knowledge of being understood and yet completely certain that he was safe. He wanted to freeze time right there, to keep that moment to himself forever.

But time didn’t wait, and neither did destiny. His breath hitched in his throat.

C-53 didn’t miss the sound he made. “What’s really bothering you?” he asked.

Gradually, Pleck took out the bundle of thoughts he had been turning over in his head and showed them to the droid. He made sure to keep the part about entering the Allwheat to himself, but he laid out everything he’d learned about the Stuff, his frustrations with Derf, and how his destiny was far from over. C-53 took it all without judgment as the tellurian poured himself out messily between them.

When he was done, he sagged heavily against the droid’s frame. He was so tired. He just wanted one good night’s sleep.

C-53 was silent for a time, but Pleck could hear the uptick in his processing power as he thought things over. “Does this mean you’re going to have to spend six months training alone again?” he asked finally.

“I…” Pleck hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t want to, but...”

The time he had spent mastering the Space had been lonely but necessary, and he still regretted leaving his crewmates to flounder on their own in Holowood while he practiced swinging a stick around. Dar had done alright, but the rest of them had suffered in his absence. He wasn’t sure he could voluntarily do that to them again.

“Well, I don’t want you to, either,” C-53 said.

“You don’t?”

“No.” he responded. “I don’t like it when you disappear. Things just aren’t the same without you.”

Guilt flooded Pleck’s heart. “I’m going to disappear eventually,” he muttered, then immediately regretted it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” C-53 asked as his fan kicked on.

“I mean like-” Pleck attempted to backpedal, but he ended up gushing out more words like an open wound. “Like I’m not gonna be around forever. You and Bargie are essentially immortal, Dar will live decades longer than I will-”

“Pleck-”

“And who knows how long a CLINT’s lifespan is. I’ve got what, sixty, seventy years if I’m lucky? I’m just not gonna be a part of your lives that much longer, okay?”

The astonishment in C-53’s voice was unmistakable. “Pleck, where is this coming from?” he asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t-” He choked on his words again, hot tears threatening to spill down his cheek. “I gotta go.”

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring C-53’s protests. He had to get out of here. This was all too much for him, to sort through what parts of himself to keep and what to give.

“Pleck, talk to me,” the droid’s voice echoed down the hall after him. “What did Derf say to you?”

He squeezed himself into his room and shut the door, crouching down to hug his knees against his chest. He should never have let C-53 see this side of him, let him get this close. Pleck couldn’t compartmentalize his feelings all neat and orderly like the droid could, and it was foolish to think he could share so much of himself while keeping certain parts hidden from him. He was tellurian, organic and messy, and all of C-53’s hard work to put Pleck back together was going to be wasted when the Allwheat ate him for breakfast.

Pleck held himself and cried silently. Hoping had been a mistake. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

Chapter 7 <-----> Chapter 9

#ink #fanfiction #mission to zyxx #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work

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basicsofislam · 5 years

Text

ISLAM 101: ALMS AND CHARITY: VIRTUES OF ZAKAT: Part 18

HOW IS ZAKAT PAID?: Part 3

PAYMENT BEFORE THE DEADLINE

The payment of zakat during Ramadan does not prevent it from being offered before this deadline. Also, there is no harm in offering zakat which is due between two Ramadans during the previous (first of these two) Ramadan. It is well renowned that Abbas, the uncle of the Prophet (upon whom be peace), had asked the Prophet whether it would be appropriate to give zakat before its due date, to which he has given an affirmative response, attested to by personal verification of the Prophet through the chain of Umar: “We received the due zakat of Abbas last year.” Thus, the gist of it all is that a person, without wasting time, must perform his obligations before the cut-off dates. All in all, there is no problem in paying zakat beforehand during the preceding Ramadan, for this is far preferable than being under the debt of zakat.

AVOIDING OVERDUE PAYMENTS

Irrespective of the circumstances, a person compelled with zakat by Islam should immediately fulfill this obligation. As for those with reasonable excuses, such as suffering financial strife, they have been excused in any case.

The Almighty has placed numerous cautions in His Book advising debtors to reimburse their debts without delay or otherwise face dire consequences. For instance,

And spend of that which We have provided you before death befalls any of you and he should say: “Reprieve me, my Lord, a while, that I may give charity and be among the righteous.” (Munafiqun 63:10)

Spend a part of what We have given you before that day arrives when there shall be neither trading, friendship or intercession. (Baqara 2:254)

In fact, the Qur’anic words, “Pay the due thereof upon the harvest day,” have been understood as a command by a considerable number of scholars, whereby palpable benefits derive from giving zakat promptly, as soon as crops and fruits are harvested.

On the other hand, sudden and unexpected death may mean that a person will be commencing the afterlife in debt, as it is impossible for man to predict the place and time of his end. For that reason, it is crucial to constantly be aware of this reality. The Messenger of God refused to perform the funeral salat of a Companion until another Companion had agreed to pay his debt, as discussed earlier. This debt in question only pertained to personal rights, whereas the debt of unpaid zakat is even more serious in that it concerns both personal rights and the ultimate right of God; therefore, the latter burden is indisputably heavier. In emphasizing the importance of this responsibility, and in trying to thwart people from taking it on the lighter side, the Messenger of God instructed in the following way a Companion who wished to ascertain the most valuable charity: “It is the sadaqa you present while you are full of health, greedy towards riches, living with the fear of poverty, and desiring wealth. Don’t you ever postpone this to your last breath, wherein you will say, ‘This is his and that is hers.’ But that would be worthless, as, at any rate, your wealth has already become theirs!” In a similar Qudsi hadith, the Almighty after illustrating the conceited nature of man, reprimands him: “You collect and then withhold, saying you will give at the moment of death. But isn’t that a little too late?”

WHAT ARE THE IMPLICATIONS OF DECEITFUL BEHAVIOR DURING PAYMENT OF ZAKAT?

No matter which action a person pursues, it will never escape the invincible, all-encompassing knowledge of God. In Qur’anic terms, though it may be the weight of a grain of mustard seed hidden in a rock or in the heavens or in the earth, in no way will it be beyond God’s omniscience. Being the Creator of everything, He certainly knows all things committed by a human, concealed or unconcealed. After gaining full comprehension of this reality, it is unthinkable for a believer to even attempt to transgress the limits and instructions regarding the payment of zakat. For the others who are weak at heart, spellbound by the world’s spurious luxuries, and who may resort to cheating their way out of zakat, the Messenger of God (upon whom be peace) addressed a simple but stern warning, as dictated to Abu Bakr and narrated by Anas ibn Malik: “Individual property cannot be separated in order to break free from the duty of zakat.”

For all intents and purposes, then, those fostering the anticipation that they might be able to break free from the duty of zakat are hopelessly trying to flee from an obligation decreed by God, simultaneously displaying a deceitful and swindling demeanor which is totally unacceptable for a Muslim to endorse. Irrespective of what the action may be, everything is being recorded, as we speak, to be exposed on a day when all secrets will be revealed. Fleeing from such a duty, when a true Muslim should actually be searching for ways to donate more than the bare minimum, can only be explained by a weakness of iman (faith in God), and such a feeble iman is bound to cause grave impairments over time.

CAN PROPERTY GIVEN AS ZAKAT BE BOUGHT BACK?

Speaking in terms of trade, although there may be no problem in buying a charity item back, insofar as zakat is concerned, it is rather inappropriate. The most famous narration involving this scenario is that of Umar’s, who had once given charity in the way of God, only to soon see it being up for sale at the market. Carrying the intention to repurchase that item, he went and asked the Prophet (upon whom be peace) whether it would be appropriate or not. The Prophet’s response was, “Do not revert to your sadaqa!” In another version, the Prophet says, “Do not repurchase it, even if it could be sold to you for one dirhem, as reverting to sadaqa is like reverting to something you vomited.” Bearing in mind both the fundamental trade principles of Islam and the above hadith, the scholars have concluded that although such a trade is financially valid, it is ultimately attached to a large degree of inappropriateness and therefore discouraged. It is clear that, in this case, the verdict is influenced more by a socio-psychological incentive than a strictly jurisprudential one.

IS THERE A WORLDLY PUNISHMENT FOR UNSETTLED ZAKAT?

Being a financial obligation and a matter of concern for the entire community, zakat has necessitated the installment of many incentives and deterring precautions against the evasion of payment—and appropriately so. Caliph Abu Bakr’s explicit declaration to wage war against the deniers of zakat, and the scholars’ agreement on the seizure of half the wealth of a withholder of zakat, can be considered as clear examples. As for the repercussions in the afterlife, we can only know what the Qur’an and Sunna permit, and due to our insufficiency in being able to entirely apprehend its nature, we leave the details with the Almighty and His Messenger. Simply put, acts of worship are constructed on faith, for which reason it is unthinkable for a true believer to abscond from duties pertaining to his/her servanthood. Nevertheless Islam, in allowing no vulnerabilities in the matter of zakat, and in preparing for weaknesses of faith, has prescribed certain laws to address the diverse attitudes exhibited by those whose own beliefs have not reached a level sufficient for appropriate self-monitoring on this important matter.

Eluding the duty of servanthood, Islam maintains, is all but equivalent to transgressing the borders of the religion itself. As zakat is an imperative social requirement incumbent on Muslim individuals, neglecting this worship cannot be passed over lightly, and Islam cannot remain indifferent to those who avoid zakat, and quite plausibly, will take firm precautions. To impose a fitting punishment, the scholars have agreed upon seizing half the property of a person resisting zakat out of avarice, as verified by the hadith conveyed by Muadh ibn Jabal, wherein the Messenger of God had announced, “Whoever gives zakat accepting a divine reward will receive just that; and whoever refuses, we will confiscate half his property as penalization. This is one of the definite verdicts of God. As for Muhammad’s family, they have no share (i.e. they are ineligible to receive zakat).”

WHAT IS THE PUNISHMENT FOR UNSETTLED ZAKAT IN THE HEREAFTER?

The mysteries of the Heavens, impossible for a human to know, are only known to the Creator. The afterlife, as far as knowledge attained through human’s endeavors is concerned, is also a mystery. God, however, Who is the Ultimate Knower of all mysteries, has provided us countless information concerning the afterlife, including the destiny of those who resist the payment of zakat. The following verses depict the ominous situations they are destined to face:

Those who hoard up gold and silver and do not spend it in the way of God, give tidings unto them of a painful punishment. (Tawba 9:34)

That which they hoard will be their collar on the Day of Resurrection. (Al Imran 3:180)

Moreover, Sunna, the other half of revelation, contains additional reports in relation to this. The Messenger of God, as reported by Abu Hurayra and Jabir, said, “For those who deny the Right of God, as well as owning camels, cattle or sheep, their stock will return to them in the afterlife, more in numbers and larger than ever. The person will be seated in a straight and wide place wherein the animals, of which none have broken horns or are hornless, will begin to trample him. After the first round comes to an end, it will start again, and this process will continue until the verdict closes on all creatures. Again, if a person financially eligible for zakat refuses, then his wealth, in the Hereafter, will embody the appearance of a snake, bold from excessive poison. The man will flee, only to find that each time the snake is relentlessly breathing down his neck; and it will be exclaimed to him, ‘This is your wealth which you were so stingy over!’ Finally, realizing there is no chance of escaping, the man will helplessly insert his hand into the snake’s mouth, whereby the snake will commence torturing him by gnawing like a camel chewing crop.”

In another hadith, on the account of Abu Hurayra, the Prophet of Islam warned, “Gold and silver of which their rights (zakat) have not been presented will be brought on the Day of Judgment in the form of steel pillars, which will then be scorched and employed to brand their owners.”

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ener-chi · 5 years

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This is going to be a long personal post, so if that’s not your thing, feel free to scroll past it.

I was born and raised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, aka The Mormon Church. My entire family, and my entire extended family, on all sides, are also mormon. For almost the entirety of my youth, i was completely absorbed into this religion, and it actually meant a lot to me. I was always a smart kid, and i loved to delve into the scriptures and learn about the history of the church, and to participate in the church meetings and classes.

By the time that i had reached high school, i was very knowledgeable about almost every aspect of the church. It was also a big part of my life and my identity, and i held many leadership positions in the church, as well as actively tried to reach out to others to try and convert them; I was very involved.

This all changed when i was 15. It’s a bit of a long story, but in one of my history classes a single thought struck doubt into my mind about the church and about the validity of God. This led me to a very long month spiral of constant analysis and questioning and research and confusion, about both the Mormon church as well as God himself. At the end i decided to do a test of faith, and for a week straight i lived the most holy way i could, casting aside everything non-church related and basically engulfed myself in a week of scripture study and prayer, praying to God for an answer about himself and the church. At the end of the week, i still hadn’t received an answer. The memory is still so clear, me on my knees, praying, begging, for an answer, and no answer came... and then the realization dawning on me that maybe i was praying to nothing, maybe... God just, doesn’t exist.

This completely shattered me. My entire life, my entire identity, up to this point, was based in my faith and in the church. And in a moment, it was all gone. I laid on the floor, my mind spinning as my entire being was just nullified. And then i was hit with the insignificance of my existence, and i was face to face with the nothingness beyond death. And in that moment, i had to decide whether it was worth it to eke out a meaningless existence or not.

Of course, i decided that i might as well live. But from there, i had to completely rebuild my entire view of the world, of my morality, of myself, of everything. And it was absolutely horrible. I went through a very tough time as i tried to figure things out in a suddenly strange and unfamiliar world. I won’t dig any further into this now, as this isn’t the point of the story (and also my beliefs have radically changed since then anyways).

On top of trying to rebuild my world, there was the problem of church. I didn’t believe in the Mormon faith anymore, let alone God, so what was the point of going? But, i realized, i actually didn’t have a choice. I had to keep it a secret; i wasn’t sure exactly how my family would react, but i knew that it wasn’t going to be good.

And i was right. I was able to struggle through church for a few weeks, but my parents read through some of my texts and confronted me about it. I came clean, and i told them, and i begged them not to let me go to church anymore; it was painful. And they told me no; they were going to force me to go to church every Sunday, as well as all of the church activities during the week. They also expressed their anger and extreme disappointment; my father called me an error. My mother refused to look at me. My siblings didn’t speak to me, and neither did any of my prior Mormon friends. My already rough existence was plunged further into hell.

Fast-forwarding here, my relationship with my family was completely ruined. They shunned me, and i hated them for forcing me to go to church, which was hell for the 3 years that they did. It was a very hard time in my life, and i was convinced that after i went to college, i would never speak to them again. But i gradually phased out going to church, and from there, things immediately began to improve. I went to college, and my relationship with my mom had gotten better, and i could tell that she had kind of come to accept my change in beliefs. My father had softened a bit, but he was still distant and i could tell that he still expected me to come back to the church. Fast-forwarding to today, my relationship with my parents is actually excellent, we have a wonderful bond, and i think we were able to form a relationship despite our differences in beliefs.

So why do i share this story? It’s all context for what has been happening the past couple of weeks for me. So since that all happened a couple of years ago, i’ve actually basically completely healed from the whole thing, from being forced to go to church, to the dejection from my family, everything; i don't harbor any bad feelings towards anyone.

But what’s interesting is that like 2 weeks ago, i noticed that old memories of my days in the church and from those times started to cross my mind, and pretty frequently at that. Also, i work at a doctors’ office, and when i pull up a patient, it shows their religion, and i started seeing more and more patients that were Mormon, much more than normal. AND THEN on top of that, about 4 days ago i started getting emails from Mormons in the local ward, and i found out that my father had transferred my records out here, presumably to get them in contact with me in hopes of them reconverting me. I guess my father really never fully accepted my change after all.

Anyways, all of this was happening, and i knew that it must mean something. I don’t believe in coincidences, at all; literally everything happens for a reason, so I was just kind of watching all of this Mormon stuff recur into my memories and into my life, just waiting to see what the universe was trying to do.

And then - yesterday, it happened. I was scrolling through tumblr, and an ad for QuitMormon came across my dash. It is very difficult to leave the Mormon church. It is a very long process that has to be done in person, and they make it long on purpose to give them time to try and change your mind and reconvert you. But this ad for QuitMormon, which was the first time i had heard of it, advertises free legal services from ex-mormons to get out of the Mormon church without all of that in-person hassle, and it has really good reviews and testimonials.

So i saw this ad, and i just laughed. I laughed really, really hard. This is what the Universe has been building up to for the past 2 weeks. I’ve struggled for a long time, and i’ve been continuing to be harassed by the Mormons for a while, and all of the sudden, i have my out; if i wanted to, i could withdraw my records and be officially done with it.

I didn’t do it. I’ve completely healed from my traumatic past from the church. Do i still get calls and visits from the church? Yes. Is it annoying? A little bit, yeah, and i wouldn’t mind putting an end to it. But this isn’t about me; it’s about my father.

As annoyed as i was initially when i found out that he had transferred my records here, i recognize that it’s actually him showing that he cares about me. He still thinks about me, and looking out for my eternal salvation is his way of showing that he still is looking out for my best interests, even if i don’t agree with his beliefs.

I’ve completely accepted my differences with my parents, and i’m not exactly sure where my mother stands with it, but i’m pretty sure she’s accepted it as well. But my father... my father still has a very long time to go before he accepts that i am on my own path. If i were to officially leave the Mormon church, it would make it more difficult for him to accept this, as well as probably drive a little bit of a wedge between us. So even though i am given the opportunity to leave, and even though i will still have to deal with the occasional harassment, i will decline.

It is still blowing my mind, though, that the universe set all of this up. Like the amount of synchronicities that lined up was enormous, and i watched as it built up and up, just wondering where it was going, and i wasn’t expecting the final destination. It was one hell of a test, but i smile knowing that i passed it.

This is the second time that the universe has put such a large synchronicity in my life, and it’s just... so crazy to me. Like it is just such a huge affirmation for the path that i’m on, and it really helps me rest easy knowing that the universe really does have my back; and for that, i am eternally grateful.

If you read this far, wow! Thank you for reading! I’m writing this mainly for me, so that i can look back on it and record it in my journal, but i hope that you also gain something from it.

Blessings!

#mine #about me #journal #7.11.19 #synchronicities #mormonism #mormons

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mythicamagic · 6 years

Text

Swimming in Silk - Chapter 6

Training in front of her, engaging her in conversation and now lending her his clothes…Kagome is starting to suspect that Sesshoumaru is trying to gain her attention.

Sesskag - Romance, Humour and some drama

Rated M - As always you can read this story on Ao3, fanfiction.net or Dokuga

Chapter One - here Chapter Three - here Chapter Five - here

Chapter Two - here Chapter Four - here Chapter Seven - here

Warning: Smut

Meeting Magnolias ~

Nothing but deep, dark, lush green forests stretched for miles.

The trees had gradually become denser after they'd touched down, Sesshoumaru insisting they walk the rest of the way. Kagome hadn't argued, having noticed Ah-Un struggling to swerve around the tight spaces between the thick trunks. She remained on the dragons back, feeling the beast shift it's weight with soft pads of it's claws on the forest floor. The branches stretching overhead seemed interwoven with one another, connecting one tree to the next and blocking out the sun. The bushes the group passed seemed almost brittle in comparison, reaching up for far off sunlight, starved.

"Oh, I sense another one about twelve meters to our left. Alright, guess who."

Sesshoumaru kept his eyes forward, walking up front, "the demonic energy is very light. It is obviously some sort of low level snake demon."

They'd resorted to playing 'guess who' when they'd realised the journey would take longer than first thought. Though it wasn't anything like the board game, Kagome found herself grinning. Unfortunately she was a little rusty with identifying the species, "uh, I'm pretty sure you're right. That's another point for you!"

"Hn...your turn," he muttered, slight amusement colouring his tone. A few minutes passed until he found another source of youki, "there is a presence under the surface of that river to our right. Identify it."

Kagome concentrated, blocking out the sturdy presence of Ah-Un's youki and trying her best to ignore Sesshoumaru's static, heavy energy, which proved harder.

"It's...difficult to grasp, kind of wriggly. It flows against the current of the water," she mumbled, trying to place it.

Sesshoumaru made a noise of affirmation, which she'd come to learn meant he was encouraging her.

"Playful too though, quick. Reminds me of Shippo...uh, a water fox?" She smiled weakly as he shot her a look over his shoulder. "Fine. A worm? No, it's too energetic. Oh! Oh! Is it an otter demon?"

"Hn."

A fist pumped in the air, "yes!"

They continue this way for awhile, Sesshoumaru walking at a measured pace that was neither fast nor slow, yet his presence seemed to command the very trees to part for him. Kagome's eyes traced the strong lines of of his back, watching the breeze tease at the ends of his hair. She felt as though his shoulders were a little tense. He'd been almost eager to let her distract him, a far away look in his eyes. She therefore hadn't pressed for information about this Bokusenō person.

"So um...when I was kidnapped by your mom, she did this thing where she exhaled smoke and made it into pictures from her memory."

"Hn."

"I was just wondering if one day, in the future, do you think you could do that? For...Inuyasha?"

He paused, glancing at her as his lips thinned. Her hands curled into Ah-Un's coarse mane. "It's just that- he's never seen or met your father. So I thought maybe this is the closest he's going to get. I know it might feel too intimate though so-"

"Perhaps," he answered quietly, and it was more than she'd expected, honestly. "One day," he added quietly, continuing on.

A familiar warmth blossomed in her heart, and she smiled slightly.

"Kagome."

She jolted, feeling caught, "y-yes?"

"What is that presence...the one straight ahead?"

Blocking out Ah-Un again, a frown knitted her brow. It felt large, and old. Very old. Energy ebbed and flowed, stretching out under the ground like tendrils, no...roots.

"A tree youkai," she murmured, voice hushing as it felt as though she were somewhere important, like a museum or shrine. Sesshoumaru came to a stop at the edge of a clearing, facing an incredibly large Magnolia tree.

Ah-Un padded out of the undergrowth and stopped beside him, lowering down to let Kagome slide off his hide. She held onto his shoulder to steady her, injured foot gingerly touching the ground.

Everything lay completely silent, and Kagome swallowed her breath to try and quiet it. Then, the leaves began to sway, as though moved by a phantom wind. The branches shook and stretched, groaning.

Kagome glanced up at Sesshoumaru, bewildered. He kept his gaze on the tree.

"Welcome back, son of Inu no Taishō."

She jumped as a deep gravelly voice emanated from the tree. To her surprise, a face began to take shape on the trunk- the bark rearranging itself to form half lidded eyes, a narrow, thin nose and a barely there mouth. The face appeared both stoic and tired, as though frozen with old age.

Kagome leaned toward Sesshoumaru slightly, lowering her voice, "so your best friend is a tree?"

"I did not say he was my friend."

"Mhm, sure," she mumbled, freezing when the tree turned it's heavy gaze onto her. She swallowed, bowing her head, "it's very nice to meet you, sir."

Wizened eyes squeezed into happy half crescents, the wrinkled bark deepening, "the sentiment is returned... miko," he seemed thoughtful, attention shifting to Sesshoumaru.

"She is my intended," the Daiyoukai stated in clear tones.

The branches shook with the deep rumble of a laugh that escaped the tree. "I see," he uttered, not seeming surprised, which Kagome found curious. Perhaps nothing shocked the tree anymore. "Is there something you have come to ask, Sesshoumaru?"

The lack of a title didn't seem to phase Sesshoumaru, and Kagome hid a smile, thinking that it was more because of their familiarity that they'd forgone it, not disrespect.

"You know what I seek."

Bokusenō's face shifted slightly. "Hm, yes I suppose so..." he trailed off, leaves rustling. Kagome glanced between the two, feeling out of the loop and about to ask, when the tree continued. "Like your father before you, you're here for some of my boughs, in order to carve them into sheaths for swords? Can't say I blame you, hanyou blood can be unstable, so your pups will need them-"

"No," Sesshoumaru cut in flatly, glancing at Kagome when he sensed embarrassment and...was that happiness?- enter her scent.

The tree didn't have the grace to look apologetic. "Oh, so it is that other business. Hm...making her your mate isn't impossible, I've heard of it before. Though miko and youkai pairs are rare."

The gold of Sesshoumaru's eyes flashed, and his shoulders relaxed slightly.

"However..." the tree went on, and Kagome started to suspect the tree just took a long time to finish his sentences. "What you want specifically...it cannot be done, I'm afraid."

"What are you talking about?" She finally piped up, glancing from the tree demon to Sesshoumaru, whose muscles appeared to have stiffened again.

"Your intended wants to bind your lifespan to him through mating, extending it," Bokusenō sighed, the line's around his mouth tightening. "Alas, it is the more complicated route you may have to take, Lord of the Western Lands."

But Kagome wasn't listening anymore. The words 'extend' and 'lifespan' had become the only thing pounding in her head. Worry welled up in her stomach, followed by humiliation. Why? Why hadn't she even thought about it? About Sesshoumaru's near immortality and her mortality. What...what have I been doing all this time?

She cast her mind back, thinking about all their little touches, the silk clothes, magic eight balls, dragons and hairpins. Trying so hard to grit her teeth and show the demons at the stronghold she could stand by his side. But she hadn't thought of her hair turning grey from the passage of time or leaving Sesshoumaru a widower.

We talked about children, and the demon court, even about Inuyasha and Kikyo, but not once did we address old age. I'm so stupid. Was I just ignoring it this whole time? I'm so-

Static energy dimly caught her attention as youki brushed around her, stroking her hair back from her neck. Kagome looked up at the blurry white form beside her, and quickly blinked away her tears. Sesshoumaru's face came into view, standing closer as his hand curled around her elbow.

"Have you been...worrying about that? All this time, on your own?" She asked, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.

His fingers gripped slightly tighter on her arm, before gentling as he exhaled, shifting his attention to the tree. "We'll discuss it later-"

"Can't we discuss it now?" Kagome cut in, emotions gripping her tight.

His silence felt heavy, and she quickly grasped his hand on her elbow. Mercifully she felt his thumb stroke her knuckles. "Bokusenō is not active for too long a time. He will sleep for many days after a conversion. We must ask more while we can."

She bit the inside of her cheek, but nodded. "Alright..."

"You mentioned a more complicated route." Sesshoumaru muttered, dropping his hand from hers as intentness touched his face.

Kagome eased away from Ah-Un when the tree paused to think, as though his vast knowledge was difficult to filter though. She sat down on one of his tree limbs that curled out from the trunk and down into the earth. "There is a way, though it might be useless to you both right now," he rumbled, voice grave. "She can have her lifespan extended to new heights, but it would come from an elixir, not a mating."

Kagome watched as the Daiyoukai's face shuttered. "...This one remembers talk of elixirs."

"Then you know how slim the success of it is-"

"That's enough! Please stop talking like I'm not here! Just explain it to me," Kagome burst, hands tightening into fists as she glared at the tree, who recovered from her outburst quite quickly.

"I apologise, little one. We speak of an elixir that comes from my kind. Youkai tree sap. The process is long, but I am slowly regressing back into being a normal tree, losing my sentience. The very moment the last of my youki is about to vanish, you must cut into my boughs and claim the sap."

Her previous annoyance vanished, overtaken by concern. "W-what? That's awful. It's practically profiting off your pain and using you..."

"My lucidity will be gone. I would merely be pleased to have served my House. It is the same to me as offering the wood to make the sheaths for Tessaiga and the Tenseiga."

"That's so...I don't even know where to begin."

"Do not feel gratitude or relief just yet," the tree continued, breath becoming a little thin as his eyelids droop. "It will take many years...three centuries perhaps, for me to regress."

A coldness settled over Kagome's shoulders. Sesshoumaru's gaze turned to her, and somehow she knew they were thinking the same thing.

"The Bone Eater's Well will send Kagome into her time. Her origin is around five centuries into the future," Sesshoumaru uttered quietly.

"Now wait a minute-" she snapped, getting to her feet and hissing as her ankle screamed with agony. But she wasn't heeding it anymore. Kagome trudged forward, fuelled by adrenaline. Her finger poked Sesshoumaru in the chest, "you're talking like this has already been decided."

"Are we to ignore this piece of information then?" His face was devoid of emotion.

"D-did you know this was going to happen?"

"No. I merely accepted it as a possible outcome after looking into a few ways to extend your life."

It felt as though she'd been plunged into an icy river and held under, grasping for air. Everything felt as though it were happening too fast. Kagome snatched her crutches off the ties attached to Ah-Un's middle, sliding her arms into them.

"Kagome-" his velvet voice had turned hard.

"Sorry, Bokusenō. It was nice to meet you, I just wish it were under better circumstances." Kagome threw over her shoulder, starting to hobble out of the clearing. She needed to be alone.

The ancient tree watched the girl force herself away, his half lidded eyes getting heavier. "It appears we may have upset her," he observed.

"...Hn," Sesshoumaru turned back to him, claws twitching at his sides. "You are certain you have never heard tell of another way?"

"No. Though by now, Sesshoumaru, I am sure you are more the authority on the subject than I. My roots spread far. I have heard you sought out many ancients before coming here. Including that silly flea, heh...you must have been desperate."

The tree's eyes sealed shut, but the pup's silence felt telling. A smile touched the rough bark, "you've been set on this girl for a while. If you can weather the storm...I am certain your bond can stand the test of time and...the pain of separation."

A strong breeze that carries flecks of rain water on it brushed Sesshoumaru's face. He watched as the wise tree disappeared- his features returning back into the trunk as he fell back into sleep.

The raindrops became more frequent, until the heaven's opened and a heavy downpour lashed at Kagome's hair and clothes. She had to pause in her hobbling to mind the soaked black locks away from her face, shivering.

She could feel Sesshoumaru's presence somewhere behind her, padding softly.

"Where's Ah-Un?" She asked quietly.

"I sent him home, we won't be needing him."

Kagome could read between the lines easily enough. She was angry, but Sesshoumaru would not be allowing her to retreat and distance herself from him. She hated that he'd made the choice for her.

Whirling to face him, Kagome gripped the handles of her crutches tightly, heedless of the rain. "Why didn't you talk to me about this sooner? You can't seriously be considering sending me back through the well."

"If it is necessary, then yes."

The strength left her voice for a moment, "...necessary?"

The gold of his eyes had frozen over, but they were the only glow anchoring her to the present. "I will not lose you."

"But you are losing me!" She burst, hitting her crutch down in frustration. "Sesshoumaru it's Five hundred years! Five hundred. W-was the concept of less than a hundred together not enough? Was me ageing so repulsive to you that you couldn't stand it-"

A terrible snarl deafened her for a moment as red bled into the gold of his eyes. "Do not," he bared his fangs.

Kagome reeled, and silently dropped that thought. Even angered, in her heart she knew he wasn't like that.

"Oh I will, buddy!" She snapped anyway, growling herself. Her temper spiked. "This is just a symptom of a larger problem! You were playing God again and decided without me that we were doing this. Well what was the point of anything! Why did I try so hard to be accepted by your court, why did I bust up my ankle- why did I let myself fall for you, if we're just going to have everything we built together be ripped away!" She cried.

Silence answered her, only broken by the rain pouring down. She breathed heavily, shivering as she looked down.

"And you...how can you swear yourself to me and expect to be monogamous so long apart?"

Thunder cracked above their heads, mingling with the snarl that echoed in the woods. Suddenly he was close, too close as he bore down on her. Sometimes she forgot how intimidating he could be- the red of his eyes glowing bright as his lips peeled back to reveal sharp fangs.

Kagome yelped when he moved- teeth latching onto the shell of her ear and biting down. "Never question this one's commitment again," he said, deathly quiet into her her. Her eyes widened, and heat coloured her cheeks, feeling as though she'd been reprimanded.

"...This one will never share the memory of my father with Inuyasha," he then uttered, voice cold and flat, just like it used to be when they were strangers.

Kagome blinked the raindrops out of her lashes as she eased back, remembering the smoke. "Why?" She shuddered.

"He did this. This distrust inside you that I despise is from his hand," Sesshoumaru growled.

The fight left her then as she remembered his words. "There is doubt in your heart...put there by the Hanyou."

"Don't blame Inuyasha for my shortcomings. I told you, didn't I? Humans aren't perfect. We worry even when we're promised things by people we trust...people we love." She grit out, trying to hold back her tears as her ear stung against the cold bite of the rain.

It hurt. Everything hurt again. Without her temper, Kagome felt raw, vulnerable. It frightened her. She didn't want to leave her home. The feudal era felt like the place she belonged and yet...

His eyes dimmed, and the anger leaked out of the Daiyoukai, leaving him as tired and worn as she.

The image of him standing alone at her graveside came to mind.

Kagome shuddered, breaking first as she reached for him, hissing softly when she shifted, ankle flaring. Because it didn't matter if she felt angry, confused or hurt- a part of her sought his touch for comfort, and Kagome felt she always would. Sesshoumaru eased closer, until his cheek brushed her open palm. Her heart twisted, and her thumb moved, stroking a stripe ardently. His breath fanned over her skin, and she moved closer, resting her forehead against his chest.

The miko looked small like that, resting against him. His eyes caught the way her shoulders trembled, and Sesshoumaru soon scooped her up, collecting a white orb around them while speeding through the forest.

Unfortunately the stronghold was still too far off to reach without soaking Kagome to the bone, so he took a few turns and landed in the entrance to a cave.

Setting Kagome down, Sesshoumaru began to coat his body in youki, warming his clothes to try and dry them.

"C-could I get in on some of that?" Kagome asked quietly, shivering and holding her arms, balancing tenuously on her crutches. Sesshoumaru hummed, removing his armour and setting it down. Kagome glanced behind them into the depths of the cave, noticing furs further in arranged on the floor. "Wait, someone else might be using this cave."

"This is one of mine," Sesshoumaru muttered, loosening the silk tie around his waist to take off the outer layer of his clothing. Kagome blinked and glanced away tiredly, focusing on the furs.

"Oh, okay. Do you just have a bunch of caves dotted around everywhere?"

"Hn. In case they're needed. Strip." He said in an even tone.

Her face whipped back, aghast. "W-what?!"

Red and white silk landed over her head, and Kagome wrestled with it, pulling it off her face to blink at him. Sesshoumaru was already turning away to face the front of the cave, watching the heavy rainfall. "Use that to change into. Humans get sick from the cold. Your clothes are no help to you right now."

Kagome stared at him in surprise, feeling the dryness of the silk and swallowing. Her heart thudded in her ears even as it felt like a heavy weight in her chest.

Keeping the silk over her head like a hood to keep her modesty, she wrestled with her shorts, trying to pop the button while balancing on the crutches. With a grunt, she managed to undo it, but the water logged material held fast to her thighs. Tugging, she only managed to wrestle the jean shorts down a few inches, before feeling her ankle throb. Kagome hissed and leaned against the side of the cave, discarding one crutch. It landed with a clatter on the floor.

"Are you alright?" A quiet, velvety voice asked, almost drowned out by the rain. Kagome felt her cheeks warm as she instead tugged her jumper over her head using one hand.

"F-fine," she murmured, voice a tad too out of breath for her liking. Her gaze moved from her crutch to stare at his back. His shoulders were broad. His waterfall of silver hair plastered to his neck as he collected the strands over his shoulder and rung them out, watching water drip down. The white hanjuban under-layer of fabric seemed to be in the process of drying, some spots clinging to his body and appearing see-though.

His figure was strong and still, like a pillar protecting her from the elements outside. He always...seemed set on keeping her safe, even without words. Kagome shivered in her still wet clothes and managed to tug her jumper and shirt off, dropping them to the floor. The cold air made goosebumps rise on her exposed skin, and she hesitated with her bra.

Focusing on her still annoying shorts, she bit her lip and tugged the white silk over her chest self-consciously. "Se-sesshoumaru?"

"Hn?"

"Maybe I'm not so fine. Could you help me take off my shorts? My ankle is being annoying." She mumbled, willing herself to spontaneously combust her face felt that red. What annoyed her most was that she was not supposed be feeling that way.

Kagome intently focused on her shoes, before a shadow fell over her. His boots come into view, and she started as he crouched. "W-what are you doing?"

His brow rose, eyes far too unreadable. "Assisting," his long fingers wrap around her uninjured ankle, sliding up to part the silk held tight around her. Kagome's hands began to shake, gripping the silk tighter as his claws lightly scraped her flushed wet skin. She jumped when his nails hooked under her shorts, slowly tugging them down. His breath fanned over her trembling knee- face much too close to her sex. If he just raised his head he'd see her blue panties- could probably smell the thing that had her inner thighs squeezing together. Her lower abdomen twisted and pulsed.

He slid his hand up her injured calf and prompted her to lift it, helping her step out of her shorts. Kagome chanced a look down, feeling his breath fan quick against her flushed skin.

Honeyed golden eyes stare, hooded- mouth slightly parted as he quietly tried to control his breathing. The markings on his cheeks had become bolder. A hint of a fang peeked out at her. Kagome's face felt even warmer, cheeks positively burning. She wet her lips, opening her mouth to speak- only for him to stand.

Sesshoumaru quickly turned away, padding back to the cave entrance. He rested a clawed hand on the rock wall, nails digging in as he took long, sharp inhales of the crisp outside air.

Kagome pressed a hand to her thundering heart, dazedly looking down and carefully stepping out of the discarded shorts on the floor. The silk of his clothes felt far too intimate over her wet underwear. It was different from when she'd worn it over her bating suit, or even in the hot-springs.

Swallowing, Kagome exhaled, breath shuddering. The ache in her stomach tightened sweetly as she took a step, and then another. Balancing on her single crutch- her hand found his sleeve.

Sesshoumaru's shoulders stiffened. Kagome tugged at the material, grip tight. The quick sound of his panting matched the rhythm of her heart, and when he slowly turned, she finally saw the red haze of his eyes. He stared down at her mutely, and she took a breath to calm herself, feeling a little overwhelmed by his rapt attention. Her hand abandoned his sleeve to curl around his hand- lifting it from his side.

Her cheeks blazed as her eyes remained locked with his, bringing his hand inside the parting of the silk, until his palm touched her bare waist. Sesshoumaru watched her chest rise and fall, exposed skin appearing almost luminous. Kagome stepped back slowly, keeping hold of his hand. He followed, reaching out to curl his free hand into her hair, drawing closer until their noses touched.

He swallowed her breath the moment his mouth landed on hers, forcing her back now.

Kagome squeaked against his lips, but slid her hands up onto his shoulders, feeling the damp of his clothes mingle with the heat of his body underneath. She jumped when something clatters to the floor loudly, echoing inside the cave- dimly noticing her fallen crutch. A sinfully delicious clawed hand slides down her waist to her ass, cupping the curve of it, before gripping her under her thighs and lifting her suddenly against him.

"Mfh! Oh, hi." She smiled against his lips, not anticipating the movement or how tall she suddenly felt.

"This is entirely your fault," he grumbled, voice thick with arousal.

"H-hey. Don't blame me! You're the one who did that breathing trick on my leg. And I'm still mad about earlier by the way."

"Then why...?" He seemed to be referring to their positions.

Her lips press against a striped cheek in an almost chaste way, "I just...need you close right now. Is that alright?"

Sesshoumaru hums, hot breath searing her neck as he planted kisses against her skin, making her head fall back slightly. Her good leg wrapped around his waist, bringing their hips together and causing a low noise to escape from his throat. Kagome stilled as she felt something hard against her inner thigh, and bit her lip.

When her muscles shifted forward, and the hardness rubbed between her legs- his hands clamped on her thighs, claws digging in slightly. They both hissed, breaths intermingling.

"There is nothing innocent about you," he gritted out in a rush. "Did you think I wouldn't notice Mother taking you aside before we left? No wonder you're so eager now," he teased.

"Oh and you're Mr. Chastity? The contraceptive tea was gross by the way, very bitter." Kagome smiled, before jolting and mewling in his arms as he rocked against her, settling down onto the furs. Black hair spilled out around her in disarray as his lips crash to her neck, working their way down her chest. Her back arched, mouth opening as her breath hitched.

"Se-Sesshoumaru..."

He soon ripped away he panties and parted her folds with his tongue, groaning as he tasted the slick sex. It didn't take him long to find her clit with his mouth, scraping the bundle of nerves with his fangs as his fingers delved in, exploring her carefully while his claws brush inside her. Kagome writhed and bucked, gasping. It didn't frighten her that their movements were hurried and slightly rough. She needed the distraction, the heat, his touch. The time for soft caresses could come later.

He removed his slick fingers from inside her, large hands coming up to pin down squirming hips. Kagome growled and gripped his shoulders, yelping when he nipped her hip. "J-jerk!"

His face buried in her sex as his motions grew more vigorous - mouth and tongue exploring her insides, while his nose pressed against her clit, the pressure providing more than enough stimulation.

Kagome cried out, pushing herself against his face. She already felt so damn close, nails clawing for purchase in the damp furs beneath her. Just as the pressure tightened in her lower abdomen- he sucked roughly on her sex, and Kagome gasped out as she released.

Panting softly, she stared up at the cave ceiling, slowly collecting herself as she felt cold again without his touch.

Sesshoumaru was preoccupied with his own clothes, shedding his hanjuban and throwing mokomoko off, before working on his hakama. Kagome's hands slowly reached up to hook around his sash, loosening it further and tugging him closer impatiently.

His growl rumbled in her ear as his body surged forwards, pinning her against the furs once again, long fingers hooking under her thigh. "This one knows you are not untouched. I can smell it," the jealousy was there, dripping in his voice.

Kagome wrapped her arms around his neck, drinking in the exquisite feel of his lithe body against hers. "No...b-but we didn't, uh- finish," she admitted smally. It had all come to a halt in that dark room, after another woman's name had fallen from Inuyasha's lips. Kagome frowned up at him. "Don't give me that look, if you don't want to know, don't ask- ah!"

His hips rutted forward. Kagome's eyes flew wide as his growl rumbled in her ear.

His cock pressed hot against her core, the friction against her sensitive sex tantalising as some of him eased inside. What little coherency she retained was bent making sure her nails were digging hard, into Sesshoumaru's back.

He then slid the rest his cock into her in one swift, powerful movement, snarling. Their voices strained into the air, swallowed in the silence of the cave. Sesshoumaru sheathed himself almost entirely within her, thick cock pulsing deep as he filled her completely. Her legs settled around his waist tentatively, before Kagome gave a nod, squeezing her eyes shut. His hips soon ground against hers as she trembled against his figure, legs tightening around his hips as the discomfort of his intrusion started to ease.

Sesshoumaru panted somewhere above her, his abdomen tightening as he thrust in harsh, swift bucks of his hips

The miko's eyes peeled open, trying to move against him and keep up, but all she could do was hold on. She let her head fall back, exposing her neck to Sesshoumaru's hungry mouth without really understanding what it meant, letting him latch onto her skin with his teeth. Painful bites and harsh sucking made her purr with delight, hand threading through Sesshoumaru's hair in an attempt to pull him closer, so desperate to touch him, feel in him a primal way that resembled a flame spreading through her chest that gave her a rush of adrenaline. The demon in her arms complied, pressing his lips to hers.

Moans spilled from her mouth into his, teeth knocking- biting into lips- pain only serving to heighten pleasure. His thrusts grew in speed, his cock hitting places within her that made her toes curl with ecstasy.

Kagome's cries of pleasure echoed in the cave, reaching a crescendo as Sesshoumaru's pace grew faster, hips grinding against hers in an effort to bury himself within her entirely. Bruising pain shot through her hips as they were crushed under his, pressing her body hard into the furs. Kagome cried out, making a fist in his silver strands as her other arm wound around his neck, head falling to rest on his shoulder.

"Kagome," his voice hissed, sounding strange and foreign, a deep timbre of sound.

The furore in that voice drove her over the edge- and sent her teeth digging into Sesshoumaru's neck, somewhere she knew would be above the collar of his clothes; everyone would see and know that she were his, and he was hers. Her reiki sparked onto his skin to ensure this just as she released.

Sesshoumaru snarled- the white hot pain and pleasure causing his mind to go blank with instinct as his fangs buried themselves into her shoulder. Youki poured into the wound, racing into her bloodstream and latching hold. He finished inside her- a snarl mingling with a groan as he braced himself over her, claws ripping into the furs.

Their harsh breathing soon died into soft panting, and Sesshoumaru blinked the haze from his eyes, slowly easing down beside her. Kagome curled into his side, shuddering even as his arms wrapped around her.

"...When do you think the rain will stop?" She murmured, looking out at the cave opening.

His lips brush the ear tinged with bite marks. "I cannot tell, why?"

Harrowed blue eyes fall shut, "I kind of hope it never ends...then we could just stay here."

Sesshoumaru's gaze stays upon the mortal woman clinging to him, even after she falls into sleep. His attention then shifts to the outside world, where the raindrops started to cease.

#sesskag #Sesskag fanfiction #Sesshoumaru #kagome higurashi #inuyasha fanfiction

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