#turning someone's face into a set of small blades never gets old

[canisalbus]

If you ask me, the best thing about characters with long snouts is that once they actually open their mouths properly, their entire head just sort of splits in two. Grotesquely.

#own art #own characters #CanisAlbus #art #artists on tumblr #Machete #anthro #sighthound #dogs #canine #animals #sketches #wip #it's worth suffering through those awkward front facing shots just to get the occasional crocodile maw effect #turning someone's face into a set of small blades never gets old

[s1ater]

nightmares in an empty house.

pairings. finnick odair x fem!reader

summary. after winning the games, you feel yourself going insane in victors village till a certain someone helps you cope

warnings. swearing, sexual themes

ricky rocks. this idea has been in my head for along time and i didn’t really do any of it justice 😕😭

the room smelt of bleach and cinnamon.

your hair was tied in a knot as you scoped out the entree way, dropping your luggage and belongings to the floor with the fall of your shoulders that were still tense and full of pressure in silent agony.

scoping, a lie. you hadn’t paid enough attention to consider your wandering eyes scoping. you were only trying your best to swallow whole of the situation you were presented in.. but it was like trying to swallow a whole jar of peanut butter at once; rather difficult.

you sighed, laying the palm of your cold, clammy hand upon your hot sweaty forehead, squinting at the rather bright kitchen, concealed by the dark entry way. with no lights on and no windows (aside from the small ones built into the door) you were left to the dark, allowing it to swallow you whole. and you allowed it, finally facing the fact and becoming content that you were finally and utterly alone.

you hadn’t been fully aware of it until now.

before, you used to be fully present within the close gathered district four, active and full of energy as you worked your ass off to make ends meet in order to stay afloat. you had made friends, acquaintances, and kissed more than you could count and only for it all to go down the drain.

you were secluded now. kept away from your old but happy nature, leaving you for the new one to take over without your own control. your new nature. that’s what it was. capitol parties, other victors, new acquaintances but never any friends because you could no longer see yourself get close with anyone. dresses, nice clothes, good food, riches, everything one could dream of was now open for grabs, all just for you. but you wanted none of it.

you traveled away from your luggage and out into the kitchen where you were hit with a flood of natural light seeping in through a wall of large windows all next to each other and giving you a view to your backyard of blue. 

you swallowed thickly out of overwhelm before you heard the rather obvious sound of your front door opening. the cue coming from the rust old hinges that made you jump quickly, reaching for the knife you had tucked in the back pocket of your jeans. 

you were frightful, that being the reason you had raised your knife so quickly to the person who entered into your kitchen without invitation, but the light soon revealed the face of finnick who was quick to throw his hands up in surrender once upon realization you had a dagger pointed in his direction. 

“woah there, cowgirl,” you sighed, slightly rolling your eyes before dropping the blade down with the relaxation of your shoulders, cursing under your breath to his slight smile, “I see you’re settling in well.” 

you scoffed, smiling in despair as you laid your hand on your forehead, just wanting to pass on right there. he could feel it; your hurt and your pain. it was something he was familiar with. so, so familiar that his own past distress begun to resonate within his chest. he hated it.

“i just wanted to leave this for you,” he coughed, trying to drag away from the awful silence that had consumed the two of you faster than he would have liked. he shifted on his feet, leaning toward the small island that was placed in the middle of your kitchen; setting down a white lily. “a house warming gift.”

he tried his best to give you a bright smile, but a thin lipped one came out instead; filled with sympathy. it made you frown harder. you hate sympathy smiles, especially finnicks and that seemed to be the only thing you’ve been getting from him lately.

“try to get some sleep tonight,” he pressed a soft kiss against the side of your head before turning around and withdrawing.

°•

he came back the next day.

you wanted to punch him due to him walking in out of nowhere and throwing your bedroom curtains open, allowing the bright sunlight to eat at the darkness and consume all corners of your bedroom.

“you okay?”

“i’m fine, i just…” you paused, pressing your lips together, trying to rid of the burning sensation that begun to pull at your eyes; tears. “i need you to um, go.”

his eyes lightly gazed over you from where he stood by the window, his face slightly hard and stern, thinking. the sight of you practically drowning in your sheets and pillows made you look innocent and sad.

“you need to get out of bed, sweetheart,” he took a seat on your plush mattress, his hand resting on your legs through the comforter. “let some fresh air in, you need it.”

“finn, please just leave me alone,” you pressed the palm of your hand to your head, rubbing your forehead. “i just want to lay here.”

“that’s not going to do anything good.”

“yeah, and how would you know,” you sniffed, clutching yourself—feeling so cold in your bones and soul, like your whole anatomy was being soaked in ice water. nothing felt right, you couldn’t think straight.

finnick’s tongue pushed into the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to get annoyed, “i think i would know a little bit about surviving.”

you didn’t say anything. he thought about just walking and leaving you to your sleep, but he felt his chest tighten, knowing that he would have wanted someone there for him after his first games.

he got up from the bed, rounding over and leaning from the other side of the bed to where you laid. you finally saw his face and you wanted to immediately look away, a feeling of guilt and solum hitting your chest hard.

his hand grasped the back of your neck while his head dipped close toward yours, immerse you with his scent and warmth, “i know i’m probably the last person you want to see, but i’m here to help you. i promise.”

his warmth.

“help me sleep then,” you mumbled, not really thinking as your hand loosely grabbing onto his bicep and attempting to pull him closer despite the clear hesitation and resistance he held.

it felt wrong, and he didn’t want to violate a boundary, but with your hand still on his bicep, slowly falling to his hand, you were making things hard.

and he gave in, laying in your bed, right next to you.

°•

“you sure this is okay?”

oh how you didn’t know how this happened; finnick’s body pressed against yours in the foyer with nothing but good intentions that were just sinful.

“yes,” you pressed further into him, reaching for his lips with your own, hoping to drown everything else out, “just kiss me.”

he was hesitant, his eyes searching yours eagerly but he found nothing. your eyes were cold with sad outlines, making you look absent. he laid his rough palm against the side of your cheek, slowly easing his warmth onto you. he knew exactly what you felt, how lonely you were in your very own body and how desperate you were just for someone… someone’s touch and control just so you wouldn’t have to think for yourself.

your eyes fluttered shut and you once again attempt to lean in for a kiss. this time he kissed back, and it seemed like in hindsight, he needed you, not you needing him.

he wanted to make you feel better. wanted your mind to travel elsewhere oppose to where he knew it was exactly right at that moment. he felt it was his responsibility to bring you back stable, even if that required doing something far from right.

you needed help, he wanted to be that help. unfortunately, he was the wrong kind of assistance you actually needed.

his lips cluttered your face, pressing soft kisses that made your stomach twist and turn with what felt like bliss. your head dropped against the back of the wall, small exhales filling the air till you were practically whimpering with his mouth on your neck, his hands grasping every bit of you that he could.

“finn, i need you,” your fingers laced within his hair while you openly spoke without another thought, “please.”

and it was all he needed.

even if he couldn’t take away the nightmares, he could try to take your pain away for just a second.

navigation.

#finnick odair head cannon #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick x annie #finnick #finnick x reader #finnick odair #finnick imagine #the hunger games imagine #hunger games imagine #hunger games #the hunger games #thg imagine #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #katniss and peeta #sam claflin #oswald mosley #peaky blinders #mockingjay #haymitch abernathy

[lilacsbeeswax]

"Me Too."

Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader - Fluff

(aged up bc events happen in POA, but I wanted the punching thing, so...)

MASTERLIST

"Oh, would you look at that! Two little mudbloods and their dirty little boyfriends!" The arrogant voice of Draco Malfoy called out from before us. "Enjoying the day, Potter?"

"I was before you got here, what do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked, still lazily toying with the snitch in his hand, resting upon the oak tree that was giving us much needed shade.

"I saw you should look at me when you talk to me, Potter. Have a bit of respect for your superiors." He stops for a brief moment, but just not long enough for Harry to get in any words. "That execution yesterday was quite fun, bloody bird deserved it for all it did for me. Had to stay the night in the hospital wing I did! But, I got my revenge via a sharp metal blade slicing through its nasty little neck. My father said-" Draco's little victory speech stopped dead in it's tracks when Hermione jumped up and stuck her wand on his neck.

"Go on, keep talking, Malfoy." She said.

Draco whimpered his face contorting into one of fear. She let go and began to walk back to us after a beat of his fear. "Knew she wouldn't do anything. Stupid mudblood's too much of a bitch to go against me! Surprised she didn't call over her stupid little girlfriend!"

At that she turned right back around and she punched Draco Malfoy right across his stupid face. He immediately grabbed his face, looked as if he was going to say something else, though better of it, and ran away like a little baby.

She finally did it, she took all those years of teasing and anger and she snapped. I've never been prouder of her and I've never had felt this way before either. Something about her punching him made my insides feel like they flipped around. The blood rushed around my body at the mear sight of it and I couldn't figure out why.

"That felt good." Hermione said, shaking her now red hand.

"Not good, bloody brilliant." Ron replied, thoroughly impressed.

"Nice job," I said after an awkward beat, putting a hand on her shoulder. Harry and I locked eyes, he raised his brows at me as if knowing something I didn't.

"It won't be as nice when they send Snape after you." Harry commented, leading our group towards the common room.

"I say it's worth it. Malfoy finally got what deserved on a silver platter. Thanks to Hermione that is." I said, smiling at Hermione. I couldn't help but notice the pink blush that had spread across her cheeks.

"The things he was saying about Buckbeak were just awful! Malfoy is the reason he was set for execution in the first place, I've never seen someone brag about getting an innocent creature murdered before!" She ranted, stomping up the stairs.

"At least we know that Buckbeak is alive," Ron offered. "He's safe with Sirius now."

"That's not the point, Ron. It's the fact that Malfoy thinks Buckbeak is dead, yet is still bragging about being the cause. That's like if I stabbed you right now and bragged about it, but you were still breathing." I said, before mumbling out the password to the common room.

"That's a crazy comparison, Y/n." Harry replied with a laugh. "Besides, I don't think that Ron could survive a stabbing, he can't even survive not eating for a half hour."

"Hey! That's not true! My record is 36 minutes!" Ron said, defensively while taking an obnoxious bite of a chocolate bar.

"Six minutes is not going to help your argument, Ronald." Hermione sighed, setting down her bag and sitting almost too close to me on the old, red love seat. Our group fell into a comfortable conversation, but I just sat listening to the small crackles of the fireplace. The common room was completely empty besides us, everyone including the teachers had been outside enjoying the rare sunny day.

We were so close, I could smell Hermione's perfume. It was vanilla and some kind of floral I couldn't quite put my finger on. The warmth of her body encapsulated mine and my heart fluttered. As before mentioned, I'd never felt this way. Hermione made me feel like the universe is falling and all there is left is us. Being close to her feels like a rare summers day, a gentle graze of a butterfly's wing.

She confused the hell out of me. Harry nor Ron made me feel like this, Ginny and Luna didn't either. Something about Hermione was totally and completely different. I thought sometimes that I could be in love with her, but I was never sure. 'How could that be?' I would ask myself. 'We're best friends, nothing more.' But, sometimes it sure felt like something more.

I'm not sure how long I had spaced out, but by the time I was back both Harry and Ron had disappeared (not that I was complaining). Hermione was still sat next to me, but when I looked over she was starring right at me, her eyes slowly scanned my face.

"What?" I giggled, looking back at her.

She grinned and her face heat up. "I don't know..." She drifted her words off and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. "You're just... so pretty it hurts."

At her words, my stomach bottomed out. My heart felt like it was about to exploded in my chest. "Really?" I stuttered out, my throat felt like it was collapsing and I noticed just how close we were.

"Really." She breathed out.

"Can I try something?" I asked, my heart pumping impossibly faster.

"Yes."

Next thing I knew we were kissing. Her soft lips pressed against mine and it felt like heaven. Every nerve in my body seemed to vibrate as I placed a hand on her jaw to pull her closer. I didn't want to pull away, if I could've stayed there forever I would've. Unfortunately, air is necessary for human survival so I pulled away.

"Wow." She said.

I gulped, my saliva felt as thick as concrete. "I don't know about you, but I really liked that experiment."

"Me too." We sat and smiled at each other.

After a beat of staring I finally said, "I think I'm a lesbian."

"Me too." She said, her voice slightly wavering. I couldn't help but laugh.

"This explains a lot."

"It does, now that I think about it I've wanted to do that for years." She laughed, moving to hold her hand in mine.

Finally, it was my turn to say, "Me too."

MASTERLIST

#fluff #harry potter fanfiction #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger #hermione granger x you #hermione x reader #wlw #wlw fiction

[puhpandas]

Carbon Fiber Hilt

(3,551 words) warnings: mentions of death, mind control, spiraling, panic attacks, knives, blood, trauma. the usual kinda

Gregory, while over at Tony's house, is asked to cut the vegetables for dinner. He never really was able to get over the feeling of the hilt of a knife in his hand.

Gregory hasn't picked up a knife since that night. He hasnt had any reason to. Vanessa has also avoided being even near one like the plague.

He hadn't had a reason to for a long time. A year and a half, actually. Maybe just a bit less than that. Knives were scarce in a house full of people terrified of them, and they were never needed when Vanessa would find meals to make that distinctively did not require one to prepare.

But time has passed. A lot of it has. And Gregory should have known he wouldn't have been able hide from one forever.

Its not the first time Gregorys been to Tony's house. It's small and old, and it shows in the asymmetrical-ness and appearance, but it's not a dump. It's very well kept and lived in, and its evident; theres flowers in the front yard and a birdhouse and a little rainbow pinwheel. Theres windchimes that Gregory can always hear from inside on particularly windy days and the place is made almost entirely out of old wood. It's just old.

Gregory never understood why Tony is so embarrased to take him here. His Mom and Grandma are really nice. His Grandma has wisdom to share and a glint in her eye, and she has crows feet all across her eyes that show off how much she smiles. Tony's Mom isnt much different. She also smiles, but it's more optimism and less joy. Theres bags under her eyes that show how shes struggled but a shine in her eye that tells that she isnt unhappy. Gregory thinks he sees that in Vanessa a lot.

Its comfortable at Tony's house, in a way that Gregory's apartment he shares with Vanessa and Freddy isnt. He loves his home, but theres a distinctness between the landlord white paint and gray cabinets in his house and the rich, homey wood of Tonys.

Gregory feels comfortable there. He thinks that Tony's family catches onto the same thing one day where they ask him if he wants to help with dinner.

"Mom." Tony grits out incredulously after she asks the question, her head peeking through the arch leading to the kitchen. "Greg shouldn't have to do that, remember?"

"Its okay, Tony." Gregory smiles easily, and any contempt he'd felt on his behalf seems to melt away when Tony catches his eye. "I don't mind helping."

That's how he ends up in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder with Tony (he tries not to be too hyper aware of that) and his Grandma, stood in front of the counter.

"Perfect timing." Tony's Grandma grins at Gregory. "I needed someone to cut the vegetables anyway."

She then gestures to the counter, and the implications don't click in Gregory's head until far too late. He turns to look at the counter, and there, by the cutting board, is a-- knife.

Its blade is a clean, silver-ish white, and the hilt a black with the telltale three dots in the handle.

Before, he could hear the simmering of meat and smell the delicious aroma of whatever food Tony's family is cooking up. As soon as he lays eyes on the blade, it all washes away.

He knows he goes rigid against Tony's shoulder. The fabric of his T-Shirt rubs uncomfortably against his arm, and flashes and memories of a brown fursuit enter his mind without permission.

It's almost comical, how much it looks like the one he had--

"Greg?" Tony's voice rips him out of it, and it's only now Gregory realizes he was spiraling. The sound of cooking food and the sight of the yellow countertops, and Tony's worried face enter his vision.

He sets a hand on his arm, and all Gregory can do is stare with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He's suddenly aware of the hammering in his heart, and that's the only thing that reminds him to breathe.

He breathes in slowly, not wanting to attract attention from Tony's family. Tony looks at him, and Gregory recognizes the concern in his eyes. It would be far from the first time Gregory has spiraled in front of Tony; hes done it unprompted countless times before. Tony is sometimes even a trigger himself.

Gregory catches Tony's gaze and Gregory can tell he's searching for what's wrong. Gregory shakes his head, trying to clear away the fog, and he returns the hand on Tony's arm, trying to smile. He doesnt know if it works or not.

"Its okay." He tells Tony. "I'm okay. I swear."

The entire time, he keeps his gaze carefully away from the knife still sitting untouched by the cutting board. Thankfully, Tony's family doesnt comment on how he hasnt started yet. Gregory exhales shakily when he can see the glint of the blade in the corner of his eye, but he stubbornly pushes it down, keeping his eyes on Tony.

"I-- I swear." He repeats, but it's way less certain than he wants it to be.

Thankfully, though, Tony let's it go. He just nods, turning to whatever it is his family asked him to do. Gregory doesnt look away immediately, and he can feel Tony glancing at him from the corner of his eye with worry. A watchful gaze.

He can see the silver shining in his peripherals. He knows it's there, and yet, despite how much he stubbornly hates how much it can send him shaking like a leaf, he cant force himself to look at it.

That's okay, he tells himself. Sometimes you arent ready to see things head on. Sometimes, when he and Tony sleepover at eachothers places, either of them can wake up from a nightmare and not be able to even see the other. Those nights, Gregory will just hold his hand to let him know hes there, and Tony will do the same for him.

That's what he needs to do. Touch is a way to dip your toe into the water, right? Gregory may not be ready to see a knife yet, but maybe he can still do what Tony's family wants him to without crumpling in on himself.

He can still feel Tony's intense look on him. He hasnt shifted his gaze away from the random spot on the counter this whole time. His shoulders shake, but he pushes past it, ignoring how he can only inch towards the handle instead of grabbing it. The simmering of the food on his left consumes his senses. It sounds like static.

His hand inches closer, and Gregory curses inwardly at how his hand trembles. It's just a knife. It's just a knife. Everybody can use a knife. It's just for the vegetables.

It's only because hes focused on his inner thoughts does his hand not retract away like it had been burned when it gets close. Hes unaware, blissfully for a moment, as his hand grows closer.

The handle of the knife (carbon fiber. he shouldn't know that.) only brushes against his fingertips.

It happens suddenly. In the split second his fingers touched the material, he felt the ridges in the material, the rough texture of the hilt. He felt electricity shoot up his arm so bad it hurt. He felt the way his shoulder jerked when his hand retreated so quickly you would think the knife bit at him. It might as well have.

The sudden movement of his arm drawing back and the burning touch of the knife's hilt makes him spiral. Hes all too aware of the burn in his shoulder blade and all he can think about is plunging the knife deep into something. Swinging with all his might with the intent to kill. The blade digging into something soft. Flesh.

His vision darkens around the edges. Somebody is talking to him-- Tony, he can recognize. He cant see him, because his eyes have gone dark. His arms are glued to his sides. The darkness creeps around the edge of his vision, like shadowy tendrils, and immediately, panic grips his insides.

Hes back. Hes taking back over. The shadow always meant he was being put under. No. No. He doesnt want to. He wants to go home he never wanted to do this. He never wanted to be so painfully aware of what it was like to live in shadows. In darkness. Underground where prying eyes could never see.

Gregory thinks there are hands touching his shoulders and his arms. His eyes are wide; he can feel the skin stretching. Hes aware of burning eyes enough with how much he tries to scrub the shadows away and this is no different.

His feet move, but he isnt aware of making them. The darkness is still here, and he doesnt know where hes going. Who's touching him. Hes back. hes back hes back hes back he has my body hes never going to let me out hes going to kill everyone--

All hes aware of is how it feels like hes back. He doesnt acknowledge a door closing, or how the floor transitions into hard wood to carpet, or how his breathing stutters and stalls like a car failing to start.

He's back there, and all he can feel is the hopelessness and incapability of being trapped. Locked away tight. Unable to fight back. Doubled down on because hes the favorite the favorite the wizards most favored apprentice--

"Greg?" Hands push at his shoulders, and Gregory feels the wall touch his back and his body slide down the wall. His shirt rides up his back, and all he can feel is the wet, sweaty fursuit riding on his skin. Rubbing it raw with plush and blistering when it gets sticky with blood. "Greg, can you hear me?"

He shakes his head, over and over, deliriously. He cant revel in the fact that he can control himself when he swears the voice is calling out to him. Can you hear me? You dont know me, but I know you. I can tell we're going to be great partners.

"Gregory, please--" The voice begs. Gregory pauses. The voice never begged. It only commanded. Directed. Instructed. "You cant breathe! You gotta listen to me. Hear my voice! Its Tony. Okay?"

The fog encompassing his mind (hes back hes back) lifts ever so slightly, enough for him to think. The fact that he can think at all propels him to push, and it's like it all comes rushing back. A kitchen. A knife. A house.

"You arent being controlled. He isnt back, okay? I know that's what you're thinking and its not true. Your brain is playing tricks on you again." The voice reaches him, and Gregory latches onto the familiarity of it, the tone and the richness but roughness of it making it through. "Trust me. Please."

Gregory never wanted to trust the voice. He never wanted to. He never did. But it had always been too late before.

He knows he would never want to trust the voice, but he finds that here, he does. He would never view the voice positively. The tightness in his chest and the darkness encompassing him ebb ever so slightly, and he peers through the cracks, like looking at the light at the end of a dark tunnel.

Tony he realizes. And with that comes the floodgates. Tony. Tony wouldnt be here if Gregory hadn't broke free last year. Gregory wouldn't be here if he hadn't broke free last Spring.

He pushes, and the black edging his vision let's up enough for him to see. He's in Tony's room, he can tell that much, and he can see that Tony himself is on his knees on the carpet in front of him, even through the fog, Gregory can see the panic and the worry on Tony's face.

"T--" His breath stutters. "Tony."

It's like seeing underwater, but Gregory can see the way Tony sags in relief at that. "Yeah, Greg. Its me." His voice reaches his ears, and Gregory revels in it. He revels that it reminds him of all those times he listened to Tony's voice to remind himself he's still here. That they both are. "You're at home, with me. Okay? You got freaked out over something but you're fine now. You can start coming back down to earth."

Despite himself, and the way his fingers still tingle and burn from where the handle of the knife burned him, he chuckles. "Says you."

Tony laughs as well, and Gregory feels the smile stretch on his face instinctively at the sound. It's like throwing him a rope, the beautiful sound, and he grabs ahold of it with both hands. "So you're probably feeling better now."

The final bits of blurriness ebb from his vision, and hes able to see clearly. He takes a moment, taking in Tony and the yellows and greens of his room and his green jacket and his blue eyes and his smile.

His body aches. His shoulders burn from how they're hunched, and Gregory's just able to stop himself from spiraling again at how familiar it is. How his muscles would scream when he would be in control, but he'd never stop. Never rest. Never stop swinging until the task was done. The inherit lack of feeling pain is one of the most blaring memories Gregory has that makes him so certain whatever had him was more inhuman than he could ever imagine.

He loosens his muscles, and Tony stays silent, just watching him with concerned eyes. Gregorys hand still burns; it feels like sparks flew when he'd touched the handle of the knife and now he has the burns to prove it. It twitches, and Gregory grips at Tony's carpet to try to scratch the feeling away. It doesnt work.

Tony notices. He always does. It doesnt help that it was with his left hand. Tony's eyes soften, wide and worried, and Gregory let's himself stare back as he catches his breath and tries to focus on anything that isnt the tingling in his fingertips.

He's only mostly aware when Tony shifts positions to his left side. He presses himself flush against Gregorys shoulder, like at the counter, but before Gregory can think about touching the knife again Tony is grabbing his left hand.

"I'm sorry." He says. "I should have said something about the knife. Or stopped you. This could have been avoided if I hadn't just watched--"

"No." Gregory cuts him off, voice raspy and breathless. "Its not your fault. I should have known it was a bad idea. Its just been so long that I..." He trails off. It really isnt Tony's fault, too. Gregory knows what it's like to just watch.

"Its been a year and a half, Greg." Tony points out. "I think... I think anybody would understand if you never wanted to even see a knife again after what happened to you."

Gregory nods, and despite how much he hates it, he finds himself agreeing. "I never wanted to." He says. He shuts his eyes tight and focuses on Tony's hand in his instead of the burning in his fingertips. "I didnt want to. I tried to fight back but it only made-- I only--"

Tony shushes him, squeezing his hand and pressing their shoulders closer. He uses his fingers to fidget with the tips of Gregory's, and it washes some of the prickling away to make room for Tony's warmth. "I know, Greg."

"He made me pick one." Gregory whispers, voice shaking. "I had to choose which one to kill them all with. The one in the kitchen looked just like the one I--"

"He's gone, Gregory." Tony reminds him. "You broke free."

Gregory shakes his head, his throat still feeling dry. "No." He whispers. "I never-- I never got freed. Not like how I helped Vanessa." That fear, that long suffering paralyzing uncertainty that keeps him second guessing if anything is real comes back full force, and his breath hitches. He eyes Tony's face, and their hands, trying to ground himself before he spirals. "What if--"

"He wont." Tony tells him, and theres a certain assertiveness that forces some part of Gregory to believe him. To turn away from the shadows dancing across the walls of his mind. "And if he does, we'll save you. We won't let him hurt you or anyone else."

Gregory revels in the reassurance, knowing that he's said the same thing to Vanessa multiple times. If Gregory has been able to believe it for her, maybe theres some hope for him as well. He breaths out a shaky puff of air, and he doesnt realize his eyes are unfocusing again until Tony squeezes his hand.

"I wont let him hurt you." Tony says, and theres some sort of edge to his voice that makes Gregory glance up at his face. Theres a shadow under his brow and a darkness to his eyes, but Gregory knows the anger is not directed at him. Not when Tony meets his eyes and they soften immediately. "You broke free for me all that time ago. Just so he wouldnt hurt me. I'll be there to ground you, or-- or to save you instead of the other way around."

Despite himself, Gregory's able to crack a smile at that, small as it is. He glances down at their hands, and feels the pressure. It's not cold like the handle of a knife, nor uncomfortably hot hot hot from the sweltering insides of the suit he had been trapped in. His hands do not twitch under plush and fabric; they curl around Tony's fingers, and the pressure is comforting. Welcome.

"My knight in shining armor." Gregory says quietly. Its something Vanessa would joke about when they'd talk about it and the games would be brought up. A little knight and the lost princess.

Gregory doesnt think apprentices have knights. Maybe that's what he had intended all along. No chance of getting out. No chavelry in silver armor to ride up and save you. Just the apprentice and the wizard.

Tony's fingers twitch themselves, and they shift to squeeze tighter around Gregory's own, entertwining like steel chainmail. My knight in shining armor he thinks. Maybe knights dont need a princess to be heroes.

Its warm; theres only the soft light of Tony's bedroom lamp on his desk with scattered notes and his own drawings carefully stacked around the edge, and Gregory can still hear the faint clattering of dishware across the house. The sky outside the window is a deep blue, and theres no purple to be found.

Tony's hand sends prickles up Gregorys own, but it's not like the rubbing of skin against plush fabric. It's not unwelcome. It's like fireworks dancing across his skin, electricity buzzing across his fingertips and his knuckles.

Gregory heaves out a final breath, and all the tightness in his chest leaves with it. Gregory can see how Tony smiles at him in-between the steadily dissipating darkness, and Gregory hangs onto it. It's a smile like one hes never seen before. Soft, crinkled at the eyes and filled with nothing but fondness.

Nothing like his smile. Nothing like the frozen grin when Gregory'd do a job well done. The grin that'd stick onto his face even when Gregory refused to--

"I think I'm ready to go back now." Gregory says, his voice clear now and unmuddled to his ears. It's only now that he realizes that he's still leaning against Tony against the door of his room, and their hands are still entertwined. His fingers are tingling, and it's only now that they twitch, but for a completely different reason. The shoulder that's pressed up against Tony's is warm and Gregory is painfully aware of it.

Not in a bad way. Gregory knows what it's like to be warm in a bad way. This is comforting in the way only Tony is. Even Vanessa and Freddy feel different than this.

Tony hums next to him, and doesnt move to get up at all. "My Mom will come get us when dinners done." He says, and his hand grips tighter and his shoulder presses closer. His neck twists to look over at him, and Gregory has to fight to not look away when he turns his face the same direction and they meet eyes.

Theres a brief, stuttering moment where they dont move at all. Dont breathe. But then Gregory is letting his forehead tip into Tony's shoulder and lie there.

"Okay." Is all he says. And that's it. Tony leans his head on Gregory's hair, and Gregory has to hide his smile at how he can hear Tony's heartbeat from the proximity and it's going a hundred miles an hour.

Gregory shuts his eyes at some point, and the darkness does not creep around the edges and pull him under. He's safe right now. Tony is here, and Tony would not be here if Gregory wasn't.

Tony squeezes his hand in between his chatting once, then twice, and any shadows that try to reach the window of his mind retreat. He's only aware of the smell of food wafting under the door, Tony's voice rambling on about something, and the warmth of Tony's hand in his.

ao3 link

#FINALLY WROTE BECKORY WE ARE SO BACK #my fics #pandas writes #beckory #gregory #tony #ggy #oneshot #au #blood warning #knife warning

[lavenderdreams22]

And if You Loved Me? - Azriel x Reader

Requests: Can you do a really slowburn enemies to lovers fic with Azriel bc every one I have seen is one second they want to kill each other and the next they are making out and it annoys me sm -@hollyismentallyillhelp

A/N: I have such a soft spot for Azriel, it's not even funny. It took me forever to write this, and I am so so bad at editing. Hopefully this is slow burn enough.

Warnings: Cursing, Azriel is mean in the beginning, mentions of war, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, suggestive themes.

“We’re going to need someone to come with us, someone who can help heal the warriors as they are injured.” Rhysand stated, his voice firm as he addressed us all in turn. “Feyre knows the basics of healing magic, but it would be helpful to us all to have someone alongside her.” 

“I’m sure we can spare a person or two.” Madja said, eyeing me from the corner of her eye. 

I knew this was coming the moment we had been summoned, and had been preparing myself the entire trip over. I clasped my hands together to hide their shaking and cleared my throat. Rhysand and Feyre’s attention snapped to me and I offered them both warm smiles.

“I’m available if the need arises.” My voice was low, afraid that if I spoke any louder that my voice would betray my fear, if my scent wasn’t doing just that already. “With my knowledge of healing Illyrian wings, it may be beneficial to have me around.”

“I think that’s a lovely idea, Y/N.” Feyre offered me a small smile before turning her attention to Rhysand. “What do you think?” 

“I agree with you, Feyre, darling.” With a nod from the High Lord, it seemed that we had reached an agreement without much back and forth. That is, until Azriel stepped forward, and I resisted the urge to jump out of my skin. He really had a way of sneaking up on you, but his particular set of skills were probably necessary as SpyMaster.

“Isn’t there someone else that we could hire instead? Maybe someone with more than just the gift of healing?” Azriel asked through clenched teeth.

“What? You want to bring the healer onto the battlefield with us, brother?” Cassian asked, an eyebrow quirked up.

“Not necessarily, but I wouldn't write it off just yet. Someone else might be more useful to us.” Azriel offered, trying to avoid my gaze. I rolled my eyes lightly and Cassian covered his laugh with a cough.

Azriel and I had never gotten along, so this outburst wasn’t entirely unusual.

“I’m more than proficient with a blade, Shadow Singer.” I said, forcing my voice into a calm monotone. 

“For some reason, I highly doubt that.” He finally turned his gaze to me, and I sucked in a deep breath to steady myself. The darkness that resided behind his eyes swirled as his shadows gathered around him, attempting to make him look bigger. 

“Relax, Azriel.” I forced a grin, “I’m not going to get in your way. I only want to help make sure as many of you live as possible. If only so I can continue to annoy you with my existence.”

I stood, pushing my chair across the floor. Azriel seemed to be at a loss for words, only offering me a stone faced glare in return as I turned on my heel to leave the townhouse. Hushed whispers followed me out into the hallway. I could still hear the three Illyrians and Madja debating as I pushed through the door of the townhouse, and out into the streets of Velaris. 

*****

“We want her help.” Rhys said, looking to Cassian for help. “Madja is too old to spend her days on a battlefield.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear you say that.” Azriel stated, watching the fire that was burning in the hearth. 

“Regardless.” Cassian took a deep, anchoring breath, “We need her. It could be a matter of life and death.”

“War is always a matter of life and death.” Azriel mumbled.

 “Do you want to be the one to look one of our men in the eye and tell them that their wings could have been saved, if only you had swallowed your pride?” Cassian snapped. 

Azriel only shrugged in response. The three of them knew that Azriel would do what he needed to, tolerate whomever, to keep his people as safe as possible. 

“What is your problem with her, anyway?” Rhys asked, leaning back in his chair, attempting to look nonchalant. 

“I don’t have a problem with her.” He answered too quickly. The High Lord and General shot each other a knowing look. 

“Then why are you always so cruel to her?” Cassian asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “She��s sweet, smart and beautiful. What’s not to like?”

Rhys seemed to mull that over, giving the other two Illyrians a thoughtful nod. “Is that the issue?” 

“What?” Azriel asked.

“You’re cruel because you like her.” Cassian nodded, verifying his own theories.

Azriel stared at them both, but all he said was: “No.” 

Rhys and Cassian shrugged, but shot each other a grin as Azriel stalked out of the room, surely headed to the House of Wind for the night. 

*****

“C’mon, Y/N. Come to dinner. It’ll give you a chance to wear that dress you bought last Solstice.” Mor pleaded, her bottom lip jutted out.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” I asked, pulling my own bottom lip between my teeth. 

“Azriel will be on his best behavior.” Mor grinned, pulling me into my bedroom and shoving me down on the edge of the bed. “Let me help you get ready!” 

“I never said yes!” I replied, but she was already sneaking into my closet in search of the navy blue gown that I had bought.

“How should we do your hair? I’m thinking down.” She poked her head out of the closet to gauge my reaction. 

“Down would be fine.” I nodded absentmindedly. 

“Perfect.” She disappeared into the closet once again, and there were rummaging noises as she searched.

I stood, making my way to my vanity and sat on the stool, staring at myself in the mirror. I really didn't want to deal with Azriel today. He always had a way of putting me in the worst of moods, and as I eyed the jewelry that littered the surface of the vanity, I let out a low groan. There was absolutely no way that this could go well.

Mor worked her magic in just under twenty minutes, and as I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t deny that I looked beautiful. She was grinning behind me, admiring her handiwork.

“Wow.” She said, letting her eyes scan over my features. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thanks for noticing.” I turned to face her and playfully rolled my eyes. “It isn’t like we’ve known each other for a century or anything.” 

“Oh, shut up. You know you always look beautiful.” She took hold of her skirts, holding her hand out to me so that we could winnow to the townhouse.

“Rhys!” Mor called, sauntering in without knocking. “Where’s Cass?”

“Right here.” He called from the sitting room as I closed the door behind me. “Rhys, Feyre and Amren are already up there.”

He rounded the corner into the entryway and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me. The intensity of his stare had a blush rising to my cheeks as I grinned at him.

“Beautiful, isn’t she? I must’ve told her that a dozen times tonight.” Mor grinned, “Wipe the drool off your chin, and let’s go.”

“You look…” Cassian said, struggling to find the words as he let his eyes scan over me.

“Absolutely ravishing? Stunning? Drop-dead gorgeous?” Mor supplied, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Yeah, that.” He shot me a crooked grin, offering me his elbow. “Ready for the ride?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to flying.” I giggled, slipping my arm through his. 

“Just don’t look down.” He whispered, as if it were the best kept secret in the world. 

Mor reappeared before I had realized that she was gone, Azriel in tow. If he thought anything in particular of my appearance, he let nothing show on his face. 

Turning to Cassian, I said, “Let’s go before I change my mind.” 

“No harm in changing your mind.” Azriel murmured. 

I pretended I didn’t hear him as Cassian led me into the yard, hooking an arm behind my back and the other behind my knees. He winked at me before shooting into the sky. I screamed, and his laugh could surely be heard all the way to the Spring Court.

*****

Dinner had gone on without a hitch. There was minimal fighting from anyone. We were all sitting on various, overstuffed furniture, wine glasses in hand as Rhys was telling a story that I couldn’t manage to focus on. The room was sweltering. I glared at Cassian who had sat between Mor and I even though there had been barely enough room for him. I was sure I had him to blame for the warmth. 

I set my wine glass on the stone floor and stood, fanning myself when Cassian shot me a confused glance. He only nodded before turning his attention back to the High Lord. I walked to the glass doors, hoping the breeze would cool me off. As I stepped on the patio, I glanced back at my friends. They were all smiling and happy, and I felt a warmth tug at my heart.

“What’re you doing out here?” Azriel asked, and I jumped, nearly toppling over in the process. 

“Damn it, Azriel. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on people that you’re not spying on?” I shouted, a hand over my heart as if that would calm it.

He didn’t answer, just turned back to face the lights of the city. 

“I know what to expect by now, but I’m always surprised by how beautiful it is from up here at night.” I said, standing along the railing, but a few paces away from him in case he decided to toss me over.

“I came out here for some peace and quiet.” He snapped.

“And I came out here to cool off. Give me a minute, and I’ll leave you to your brooding.” I bit back, rolling my eyes. 

“I’m not brooding.” He tightened his grip on the railing, his knuckles turning white. 

“Sure you’re not.” I shook my head. “We don’t need to talk. Like you said, peace and quiet.” 

He huffed, leaning more of his weight on the railing. 

“Y/N?” Cassian called into the darkness before he spotted us. “You alright?” 

“Yeah, Cass. I’m good.” I smiled at him over my shoulder and he glanced between me and Azriel before he crossed the patio to us.

“We’re all about to head out. Are you staying here, or did you want to be taken home?” He asked, bumping my shoulder with his.

“I can winnow home.” I bumped his shoulder back, grinning at him.

“You know you can’t winnow into or out of here.” He cocked his head to the side. “Unless you plan on leaping over the railing.” 

I gave him a wicked grin, and he shook his head. 

“What? It’s only several hundred feet, right? What’s the worst that could happen?” I chuckled.

“You could ruin that wonderful dress.” Cassian took a step back to admire me again and I rolled my eyes.

“You’re shameless, Cassian.”

“Could you two get a room?” Azriel said through gritted teeth. 

“No, I think we prefer the open air. Don’t we?” I looked at Cassian who was already laughing.

“Yeah, more freeing.” Cassian threw an arm around me, pulling me into his side. “We’re just playing, brother. No need to get jealous.”

“Jealous?” I scoffed, pushing away from Cassian. “He would probably keep his fingers crossed that I forgot how to winnow if I did jump.”

Azriel eyed me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he grinned. He took two steps toward me until his face was only inches from mine.

“If I wanted you dead, it would already be done.” His voice held a malice that I had never heard him use, and I shuddered as his breath fanned over my face. “Don’t ever assume that you know what I want.”

As quickly as it happened, he stepped back and stalked back into the house to join the others, his shadows following quickly after him.

I stood there stunned as Cassian glared after his brother. He turned to me, his eyes shining with anger and something I couldn’t place. 

“Don’t apologize for him, Cassian.” I shrugged, “I’m used to it.” 

*****

“What is the purpose of this mission, again?” I asked, standing beside Azriel.

He was wearing his Leathers, and I avoided looking too closely at the mass of muscle that was on display through the tight fabric. If he wasn’t such a colossal pain in the ass, he would be attractive. The thought alone had me shaking my head in an attempt to snap myself out of my thoughts. 

“There is a young Illyrian boy whose wings have been injured in the Windhaven camp. Their healers are otherwise preoccupied, so the parents asked that I send Madja.” Rhys said, “So, I’m sending you two.” 

“And why does Azriel have to be the one to take me?” I asked, clenching my hands into fists.

“Cassian is busy.” Rhys shrugged. “I promised Feyre that she and I would spend the day together.”

There was no further explanation, and with a glance at Feyre, who was staring at the ceiling as if something very interesting was suddenly residing there, I let my shoulders slump. This was going to be a very long trip.

“Let’s get this over with.” Azriel growled, making his way out into the front yard. 

I followed and he opened his arms to me. It would have felt intimate, being this close to a male, if it weren’t for the look of disgust on his features. I let myself feel offended for a moment,  knowing that he was a master of hiding his emotions. He was purposely letting me know that he didn’t like the idea of having to hold onto me.

He pulled me tight to his chest, one strong arm wrapping around my middle, as he bent at the knees and unfurled his wings. I closed my eyes, and with one strong flap, the ground dropped out from under my feet. I tried to keep Cassian’s advice running like a mantra inside my head. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.

“Could you stop digging your nails into my hand, please?” He asked after a few moments, his voice gruff in my ear.

I loosened my grip on him and finally opened my eyes. I betrayed myself with a quick glance down and confirmed that I had, indeed, been digging my nails into him. There were eight perfect crescents mauling his already scarred flesh. I bit my lip, and smoothed a finger over them in a silent apology.

“How long is this trip supposed to take?” I asked.

“A few hours.” He replied. 

“Are we flying the whole time, or do we get breaks?” I tried to twist so that I could look at him, but his grip only tightened.

“Don’t squirm or I’ll drop you.” 

“Sorry.” I replied, forcing my body to go still. 

“Don’t go rigid, either. I need you to relax.” He said.

“Do we get breaks?” I asked again as I forced my body to relax like he had asked.

“If you need a break, we can take one.” He sighed.

“Don’t you get tired?” 

“I could fly to the continent and back in one go.” He sounded smug.

“Show off.” I rolled my eyes. “What’s the furthest you’ve ever flown?” 

“You do ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” He snapped, his grip tightening again.

“Sor-” I started to apologize again, but he cut me off.

“Stop apologizing.” He growled.

“Fine.” I said, my voice small. 

It was ridiculous to be upset, but here I was: hundreds of feet in the air, swallowing a lump in my throat because someone who didn’t like me, and had no choice but to spend the next day and a half with me, was being cruel. I wasn’t sure what I had expected. The tears started to fall without permission, and I swiped at my eyes quickly, hoping that he wouldn’t notice. 

“Are you crying?”

“No.” Yes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” No.

“Sounds like you’re crying.” He stated.

“I’m not.” I was. 

“Whatever.” 

We were quiet for the next half hour as I watched the trees fly by, blurred by the tears that were still collecting in my eyes. The cold air was starting to nip at my face, and with a swift movement from Azriel, a shield went up around us. I wasn’t sure what it was about the gesture that had me laughing, but I threw my head back onto his shoulder and laughed.

“What is wrong with you?” He asked.

“You hate me.” I said through my giggles. “And I hate you.”

“Alright.” He said, sparing me a quick glance. His eyes were shining with confusion, and I was sure I was in quite the state. Laughing near hysterically with puffy eyes and a red nose. The tears hadn’t even dried completely on my cheeks.

“Yet, here we are. You’ve put up a shield so that I don’t freeze to death.” 

“They’d have my head if I brought back your corpse. I’ve been tasked to protect you.” He stated, “And I was cold, too.” He finished, but the excuse fell flat.

“Tasked with my protection, huh?” I asked, and he eyed me warily.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing… Don’t.” He warned, clearly remembering our conversation on the patio at the house of wind.

“Wasn’t going to try anything. As much as you think I’m a burden, I wouldn’t make your job harder intentionally.”  

He nodded, his jaw clenching. 

A few more moments of silence passed before I sighed. “So, are you going to tell me the furthest you’ve flown, or should I start guessing?” 

He groaned, and I grinned at him. He looked at me from the corner of his eye, and even though he tried to resist it, I saw the smile pull up the corners of his mouth.

*****

“He’s right through here.” Devlon said, leading us into one of the tents. “You’re sure she can handle this type of healing?” 

“We wouldn’t have asked her to help if she wasn’t.” Azriel bit back, struggling to keep his cool already. We hadn’t been inside this camp for more than five minutes. 

I touched his arm, hopefully calming him and not riling him up more. He glanced down at my hand, and then looked into my eyes. 

“Will you grab a bucket of water and any clean towels you can find?” He nodded, and I shrugged out of my jacket.

The young boy was mangled. Most of the membrane from his wings was torn and his breathing was labored. 

“Is anything other than his wings broken? A rib, maybe?” I asked, turning my attention to Devlon.

“Several ribs from the fall.” He nodded, “You knew that just from looking at him?”

“Like Azriel said, I know what I’m doing.” I turned my attention back to the boy. “Can you hear me?” 

He only nodded in response.

“This is going to hurt, but I’ll take away as much of the pain as I can, okay?” I said, my voice soft.

Another nod. The ribs could wait, but the integrity of the wings… That needed to be fixed now. I motioned for Devlon to help me maneuver him onto his stomach so that I could spread out the wings. The boy let out a weak sound at the movement, and I struggled to hold him as steady as I could as he clung to me.

“Where do you want the water?” Azriel asked, and even though he snuck back in, I didn’t jump at his sudden appearance.

“Over here.” I motioned beside me, “Can you wet one of the towels and keep it on his neck? We need to make sure he doesn’t catch a fever.”

He nodded, moving to sit next to me as I began my work on the wings.

Six hours later, and the boy was completely put back together. He would need to rest for a few days so that his body could finish the healing process, but after that, he would be as good as new. Devlon’s face was one of shock as he examined the nearly flawless wing.

“How in the hell did you…?” He trailed off.

“Like I said earlier, we wouldn’t have asked her to help if she didn’t know what she was doing.” Azriel stood, helping me to my feet. 

“She must have a lot of practice between the three of you.” Devlon said.

I only nodded, pushing past him and out into the open air. I watched as the earth began to sway beneath me, suddenly very dizzy.

“Show us where we will be sleeping?” Azriel asked, but it sounded more like a demand. 

Devlon only gestured to the house. “We had it vacated pending your arrival. Of course, we assumed it was Rhysand that would be accompanying the girl.”

“Azriel.” I said, my voice hoarse.

His eyes snapped to mine, assessing me and pulling me into his arms in one quick motion. He crossed the camp quickly, kicking the door open to our home for the night. The house was small and old, but it was nice. The warmth from a fire long extinguished lingered, and I sighed into Azriel’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“‘M okay. Just tired. Jobs like that take it out of me sometimes.” I mumbled as I pushed against his chest. “I can walk from here.” 

“No, we’re almost there.” He whispered.

He set me softly in the bed, pulling my shoes off of my body and covering me with the blanket. I blinked at him a few times before I let my eyes fall closed.

“Azriel?” My voice was quiet, barely audible, but he answered me anyway.

“Yeah?”

“I still hate you.” I said, snuggling further into the pillow.

“The feelings are still mutual.” He said, but I could hear the smile in his voice. 

With a smile and a yawn, I let myself drift off into a dreamless sleep.

*****

The floor felt like it was vibrating from the music and the dancing, but Azriel did his best to ignore it as Mor and Cassian pulled him and Amren through the crowd. People eyed him as he passed, and he fought the urge to turn heel and run out of there.

He hated going out, but as he laid his eyes on the table, on Y/N sitting there, he suddenly felt a bit better about having come. 

“How does she always look so pretty?” Mor shouted into his ear in an attempt to be heard over the music. “I bet she leaves with someone tonight. Lucky girl.”

Azriel pretended he didn't hear her, averting his gaze and training it on the crowd instead. Mor had been making comments like that to him more and more often lately, and he did his best not to overthink why he didn’t feel hurt or jealous by them anymore.

“See, I knew she wouldn’t be alone for long!” Mor yelled again. 

That got his attention. His eyes snapped to her as a male approached her. He was leaning close to her face, and she was laughing at something he said. He offered her a hand, and she took it, waving quickly to Cassian, not having seen the others in her haste to get onto the dancefloor, and disappearing into the crowd. At least, she disappeared to everyone else. Azriel’s shadows had started to pick her out of a crowd, and no matter how many times he told them to knock it off, they didn’t listen. 

He watched her as she danced. She looked free and happy as she threw her hair around and moved along to the beat of the music. The male had his hands all over her, and Azriel tried and failed not to ball his hands into fists as she threw her head back onto his shoulder and laughed. He wished the image of her doing that to him only weeks ago on their trip to Windhaven wasn’t the thought that popped into his mind. He wished that he had made her laugh for a real reason then, instead of having made her cry first.

“What are you having?” Cassian asked, leaning into him and successfully obstructing the view he had of her.

“Whatever you’re having.” Azriel answered with a quick look at his brother.

Cassian only nodded before moving towards the bar to get whatever it was that Azriel had just asked for.

She was right where he had last seen her, but she was facing the other male now. Her arms wrapped around his neck, the technicolor lights illuminating her in ways he found himself marking to memory. The males hands rested on her hips, his fingers digging into the satin fabric of her short dress. She leaned closer to him, and he could tell that she was gazing at him through her lashes the way she often did with Cassian. Azriel waited for him to kiss her, but she only whispered in his ear, pulling him deeper into the crowd. 

He lost his view of her, but his shadows weaved into the crowd, against his wishes, to find her. He attempted to reel them back in, but they resisted. 

“Az, you alright?” Mor asked, “You look like you’re about to kill someone.”

Azriel pretended not to notice the glimmer in Mor’s eyes. He tried to ignore the knowing look he was getting from Amren, and he especially tried to ignore the grin Cassian shot him as he set his drink in front of him.

“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine.” He said, unclenching his jaw. He tapped his hands on the table before grabbing his drink and taking two large gulps out of it. 

“Right.” Was all she said. “Well, hurry and drink. I want to dance.” 

Amren smiled before downing what was left in her glass. Azriel hadn’t even seen her leave the table to go to the bar. How long had he been staring at her? Cassian did the same, and when they all turned to stare at him, Azriel followed suit.

*****

A sharp knock at my door sounded through my apartment. I looked over at the male that I had brought home from the bar. Maybe if I ignored the knocking, they would leave.

“Y/N! I know you’re in there. Let us in!” Mor shouted through the door.

I groaned, removing the strangers arms from around my body. I pulled his t-shirt on and made my way to the door. 

“Y/N!” Mor shouted again.

“Give me a minute, I’m coming.” I mumbled, and she giggled from the other side of the door.

When I opened it, I was met with the distinct smell of alcohol and the expectant gazes of Cassian and Mor. They had obviously just left the bar, and before I could protest, they shoved past me and made themselves at home in my living room. 

“So, how did it go with that male you brought home?” Mor asked, shooting me a wink.

“He’s still in bed, so please keep your voice down.” I rolled my eyes. “What are you two even doing here?”

“We came on behalf of Azriel.” Cassian hiccuped, flailing as he almost fell off of the arm of the chair that he had perched himself on. 

“What the hell does Azriel want?” I raised my eyebrows, resisting a laugh at Cassian as he swayed.

“Well, he doesn’t actually know we’re here on his behalf.” Mor said, “Get rid of the bar fly, we need to talk.” She gestured into the bedroom.

“He’s sleeping, and I’m wearing his shirt.” I let out a sigh. 

“Give me the shirt.” Mor said, standing. “Cassian, be a good boy and close your eyes.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, but closed his eyes anyway. 

I pulled the top over my head, thanking myself for remembering to slip my underwear back on, and covered myself with a throw pillow. Mor took it into the bedroom. I couldn’t hear what was said, but in only moments, the male that had been fast asleep was running through the living room and sneaking through the front door.

“It’s like he didn’t even see us.” Cassian laughed. 

I turned to look at him, my face going hot. “Mor! Please bring me a shirt, Cassian… Close your damn eyes.” 

He huffed, but closed his eyes once again as a cropped sweater flew through the air and into my hands. It wasn’t going to cover my underwear, but it would have to do until I could get them to leave.

“Alright, you’re safe, Cass.” Mor grinned at him. “Okay, now… Where were we?”

“Azriel.” I provided, taking a seat on the couch and setting the pillow in my lap.

“Ah!” Mor snapped her fingers, “Right. Well, how do you feel about him?” 

“He hates me and I’m not his biggest fan. Why?” I asked, skepticism lacing each word.

“Well, I have reason to believe he doesn’t hate you.” Mor giggled, and Cassian nodded earnestly.

“What would give you that impression?” I crossed my arms. “Must have been all of our pleasant conversations and loving glances at each other.” 

“You didn’t see the way he watched you tonight.” Cassian shrugged. “I’ve only seen him look like that at two people that way in our entire friendship. Myself and Mor.” 

“You’re both drunk. Why don’t you ask him when you’re sober.” I said. “C’mon. You can stay in the guest room.” 

“Both of us?” Cassian asked, “What about your bed?”

“Oh, sure! Mor, would you like to sleep in my room?” I grinned at him.

He groaned and I let out a laugh. 

“It would be my honor, Y/N.” Mor stood and held her hand out to me. “Go to bed, Cass.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” He saluted her before stumbling into the spare bedroom, cursing to himself as he went.

Mor and I got comfortable, and I let my head spin with the accusations that the two had been tossing around. There was absolutely no way that Azriel had feelings for me. We hated each other, didn’t we?

*****

Azriel sat across from Rhysand, watching him as he read through a sheet of paper on his desk with his arms crossed. The pounding in his head, though less than it had been when he had woken up on a couch in the house of wind, was lingering nonetheless.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Rhys said as he signed whatever he had been reading.

“How did you know? With Feyre?” Azriel’s voice was nothing short of tentative, and Rhys’s eyes widened just enough to show his surprise. 

“You think you’ve found your mate?” There was no hiding the excitement in the high lord's voice.

“That’s not what I said. I meant.. How did you know that you liked her?” He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, our love story is a bit unconventional.” Rhys looked off into the distance, his eyes taking on a glassy look that he reserved specifically for Feyre. “Probably when she threw that bone at Amarantha under the mountain, but I feel like I had loved her for years before that.” 

“Okay.” Azriel seemed to mull that answer over in his head.

“Who’s the lucky female?” Rhys asked, resting his head on his hands.

“No one.” Azriel couldn’t help the blush that sprung to his cheeks. “Forget I said anything.” 

*****

I made my way toward the townhouse slowly, enjoying the feeling of the sun on my face. The skies were blue, not a cloud in sight, and I stopped for a moment to appreciate the bustle of the rainbow. There were painters in the streets, transposing the beauty that was Velaris onto their canvases.

I lifted my hand to wave when I felt the shift. I glanced over my shoulder, towards the sea, and was met with a cloud of black across the horizon. My mouth dropped open, and then I heard the screams. Whatever it was was breaking through some kind of red barrier that had been put up, coming too quickly to be fought off the way that they needed to be for everyone to survive. I turned to shout to those in the streets to find cover, but when I turned they were all already moving. 

I glanced back towards my home, back towards Madja’s shop, and without a second thought, I broke out into a sprint. If I could get there before the shield was broken, I could protect Madja. The city would need her when this was over… My friends would need her. 

Another glance towards the sea and my mouth went dry. What in the hell were those things? They weren’t Illyrians. They were too large to be birds. The sun glinted off their teeth, and my blood ran cold. Stopping in my tracks, I looked around for something, anything to use as a weapon. 

“Y/N!” Someone shouted from the sky. 

I looked up to find Azriel above me, moving to land. 

“What are you doing? Go!” I waved him in the direction of the fight.

“You need to get to safety.” He landed with a thud and spun in circles, scanning the area.

“I won’t be hiding.” I gritted out. “I know you don’t believe me, but I am good with a blade. I can help.” 

He examined me for a moment, his face stoic, before passing me the sword he had in his hands before pulling an identical one from the sheath on his back.

“Do me a favor and keep yourself alive.” He turned to face the oncoming horde of monsters. 

“You do the same, Azriel.” I smiled at him.

He glanced at me over his shoulder, scanning my face. I committed the way he looked to memory, hoping that this wasn’t the last time that I saw him alive. With a curt nod, he was shooting back into the skies. I watched him for only a moment before I took a deep breath and continued down the street. 

The monsters had broken through now, and I found comfort in the weight of the blade as they swooped down, grabbing faerie after faerie, letting them hurtle to the ground with a sickening crunch.

I raised the sword and widened my stance, just as I had been taught, and I fought the bile rising in my throat as they started to come for me. This was not how I was going to die.

*****

Azriel knocked Attor after Attor out of the sky, but they just kept coming. Cassian was flying through their ranks, as well, trying to thin the herd. A quick glance down confirmed his worries. There were soldiers on the ground, too. Hybern soldiers were ripping through innocent people. His people. And Y/N was down there somewhere. She was fighting, too. That thought alone steeled Azriel’s nerve, and with one last glance in the direction he had left her, he let himself loose on the Attor once again. 

*****

My bloody blade became heavier each time I swung it, but it was sharp and final. It only took one hit for it to sever flesh and bone. I was covered in blood, and I was sure that I would never get the smell of it out of my senses. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” A gravelly voice sounded from behind me.

I whirled around, pointing my blade at the heart of one of the flying beasts. 

“Well, aren’t you a beautiful little thing?” It grinned at me. “I would love to destroy you.”

I resisted the urge to gag, the smell of its breath reaching me from several steps away. I took a step back, baring my teeth at it.

“Don’t run, you’ll ruin my fun.” He took several steps forward, his footfalls splattering blood over the destroyed cobblestone. 

“Get back.” I warned, taking another step back.

“I won’t hurt you, not yet.” It was snarling now. 

“I said, get back.” I swung the blade in front of me, hoping that would be enough to deter the beast. Another step back, and an arm wrapped around my middle.

I let out a scream as the sword was wrenched from my hands and tossed to the side. The beast let out a terrible, ugly laugh as I struggled against my captor. 

“Take her and get out of here.” The voice behind me said, pushing me to the ground as the beast took a step forward and collected me in its arms.

With a disgusting, rotting grin, he lept into the air.

“Let me go.” I grunted out as I struggled in its grasp.

“Why would I do that?” It chuckled. 

My arm was pressed against the dagger I had tucked away in my belt, and I started struggling again. With a few more violent jerks, the dagger was loose and in my hand. 

“What are you going to do with me?” I asked, trying to pull my arm loose. If I could only get the blade close enough, I could stun it and maybe it would drop me.

“Torture, my dear.” It laughed and I was once again met with the rotting smell of its breath. 

I pulled my arm loose just as I heard the beating of wings in the distance.

Cassian was there, he was so close. If I screamed, he would hear me. He had to. In one swift motion, I plunged the dagger into the beast's back and kicked myself back from its body. 

“CASSIAN!” I shouted, and I saw his head whip in my direction as he was attacked by two more of the monsters. He turned back to them, trying to fight them off so that he could get to me, but it was no use. He wouldn’t get to me in time.

I cursed under my breath and closed my eyes, willing my body to winnow anywhere. I had been winnowing for most of my life, so why was it so hard at this moment? I opened one eye to see how much distance I had left. I would definitely die from this height.

I squeezed my eyes closed once more, holding my breath and trying again, picturing the townhouse’s front lawn, picturing Cassian and Mor. Picturing Feyre, Amren and Rhys. Picturing Azriel. Remembering the words that he had said to me.

“Do me a favor and keep yourself alive.” He had said. 

Sorry, Az. That’s one promise that I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep. I thought, trying to force my body to winnow. 

The ground was rising up, readying itself to swallow me whole as I struggled. 

A strangled growl roared out in the distance, and I opened my eyes to see Azriel shooting towards me, his wings tucked into his body. He was fast, but gravity was proving to be faster. 

Maybe 100 feet remained between me and death, and I reached my hand out for him. He gritted his teeth in response, reaching both hands out to me. There were only 10 feet between us now, but there had to only be 50 feet between me and the cobblestone. 

Azriel’s fingers brushed mine, sneaking up to my wrist. His hand closed around it, pulling my body to his as he unfurled his wings and slowed himself. We were too close to the ground, though. We weren’t going to make it. 

I wanted to tell him to save himself, but, as if he could see the words on my tongue, he shook his head furiously. A few more moments and we would both be dead, so I took this moment to look at him, to really look at him. His hazel eyes and sharp features were so beautiful, and I knew at that moment, if this was the last thing I saw before I died, I would be happy. 

Something snapped into place inside me, then. He must have felt it, too, because his eyes widened a fraction before he was able to flap his wings and we were airborne again. I glanced down, gasping at how close the ground really was.

Turning my attention back to Azriel, he was watching me closely. “You’re an idiot.” I snapped.

“Excuse me?” He was looking at me as if I had three heads. “I just saved your life.”

“You could have died!” I hit his chest with my fists. He didn’t so much as flinch. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You would have died if I didn’t. Cassian called out through Rhys’ mind.” He replied, and I blinked at him.

“Cassian called for you?” The tears were welling up in my eyes now, and I cursed myself for crying.

“He called for help, I came as quickly as I could.” He landed near the townhouse, setting me gently on my feet. In the distance, Rhys’ darkness was spreading through the city. 

“You came for me?” I asked. The tears were falling freely now.

“Yes.” He said, now towering over me. 

“Why?” My voice caught in my throat.

“Maybe I don’t hate you.” He said, searching my eyes. 

I could feel him tug at the newly formed bond, and a gasp slipped through my lips. He smiled at me, warm and soft.

“And if you loved me?” I asked, pushing myself onto my tip toes.

He didn’t answer, but the words were swimming in his eyes as his shadows swirled around me. He glanced down at my lips once before he leaned in to close the distance. He pressed his lips to mine as the darkness closed in around us. 

Just as quickly as it had come, the darkness was gone, and he pulled away from me. The warmth from his lips lingered, and I resisted the urge to run my fingers over them, to see if the tingling was a tangible thing.

“And if I loved you?” He asked, finally breaking the silence.

It was my turn to tug on the bond, offering him a small smile as I did so. “If you loved me, Azriel, I would consider myself the luckiest female in all of Prynthian. Maybe even the world. Because, regardless of how we ended up here… I would tell you that I love you, too.”

He grinned at me then, and the smile lit his face up in a way that I had never seen, and I reached up, letting a finger trace over his features. He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. And even though the war was still looming over us, I felt at peace in his arms.

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #acowar #azriel spymaster #acomaf

[sassenach77yle]

Here, Dr. Randall.” Joe leaned over and carefully placed the skull in my hands. “Tell me whether this lady was in good health, while I check her legs.” “Me? I’m not a forensic scientist.” Still, I glanced automatically down. It was either an old specimen, or had been weathered extensively; the bone was smooth, with a gloss that fresh specimens never had, stained and discolored by the leaching of pigments from the earth. “Oh, all right.” I turned the skull slowly in my hands, watching the bones, naming them each in my mind as I saw them. The smooth arch of the parietals, fused to the declivity of the temporal, with the small ridge where the jaw muscle originated, the jutting projection that meshed itself with the maxillary into the graceful curve of the squamosal arch. She had had lovely cheekbones, high and broad. The upper jaw had most of its teeth—straight and white. Deep eyes. The scooped bone at the back of the orbits was dark with shadow; even by tilting the skull to the side, I couldn’t get light to illuminate the whole cavity. The skull felt light in my hands, the bone fragile. I stroked her brow and my hand ran upward, and down behind the occiput, my fingers seeking the dark hole at the base, the foremen magnum, where all the messages of the nervous system pass to and from the busy brain. Then I held it close against my stomach, eyes closed, and felt the shifting sadness, filling the cavity of the skull like running water. And an odd faint sense—of surprise?

“Someone killed her,” I said. “She didn’t want to die.”

I opened my eyes to find Horace Thompson staring at me, his own eyes wide in his round, pale face. I handed him the skull, very gingerly. “Where did you find her?” I asked. Mr. Thompson exchanged glances with Joe, then looked back at me, both eyebrows still high.

“She’s from a cave in the Caribbean,” he said. “There were a lot of artifacts with her. We think she’s maybe between a hundred-fifty and two hundred years old.”

“She’s what?” Joe was grinning broadly, enjoying his joke. “Our friend Mr. Thompson here is from the anthropology department at Harvard,” he said. “His friend Wicklow knows me; asked me would I have a look at this skeleton, to tell them what I could about it.” “The nerve of you!” I said indignantly. “I thought she was some unidentified body the coroner’s office dragged in.” “Well, she’s unidentified,” Joe pointed out. “And certainly liable to stay that way.”[...]

“Oh, de headbone connected to de…neckbone,” Joe sang softly, laying out the vertebrae along the edge of the desk. His stubby fingers darted skillfully among the bones, nudging them into alignment. “De neckbone connected to de…backbone…” “Don’t pay any attention to him,” I told Horace. “You’ll just encourage him.” “Now hear…de word…of de Lawd!” he finished triumphantly. “Jesus Christ, L. J., you’re somethin’ else! Look here.” Horace Thompson and I bent obediently over the line of spiky vertebral bones. The wide body of the axis had a deep gouge; the posterior zygapophysis had broken clean off, and the fracture plane went completely through the centrum of the bone. “A broken neck?” Thompson asked, peering interestedly. “Yeah, but more than that, I think.” Joe’s finger moved over the line of the fracture plane.

“See here? The bone’s not just cracked, it’s gone right there. Somebody tried to cut this lady’s head clean off. With a dull blade,” he concluded with relish.

Horace Thompson was looking at me queerly. “How did you know she’d been killed, Dr. Randall?” he asked. I could feel the blood rising in my face. “I don’t know,” I said. “I—she—felt like it, that’s all.” “Really?” He blinked a few times, but didn’t press me further. “How odd.” “She does it all the time,” Joe informed him, squinting at the femur he was measuring with a pair of calipers. “Mostly on live people, though. Best diagnostician I ever saw.” He set down the calipers and picked up a small plastic ruler. “A cave, you said?” “We think it was a…er, secret slave burial,” Mr. Thompson explained, blushing, and I suddenly realized why he had seemed so abashed when he realized which of us was the Dr. Abernathy he had been sent to see. Joe shot him a sudden sharp glance, but then bent back to his work. He kept humming “Dem Dry Bones” faintly to himself as he measured the pelvic inlet, then went back to the legs, this time concentrating on the tibia. Finally he straightened up, shaking his head. “Not a slave,” he said. Horace blinked. “But she must have been,” he said. “The things we found with her…a clear African influence…” “No,” Joe said flatly. He tapped the long femur, where it rested on his desk. His fingernail clicked on the dry bone. “She wasn’t black.” “You can tell that? From bones?” Horace Thompson was visibly agitated. “But I thought—that paper by Jensen, I mean—theories about racial physical differences—largely exploded—” He blushed scarlet, unable to finish. “Oh, they’re there,” said Joe, very dryly indeed. “If you want to think blacks and whites are equal under the skin, be my guest, but it ain’t scientifically so.” He turned and pulled a book from the shelf behind him. Tables of Skeletal Variance, the title read. “Take a look at this,” Joe invited. “You can see the differences in a lot of bones, but especially in the leg bones. Blacks have a completely different femur-to-tibia ratio than whites do. And that lady”—he pointed to the skeleton on his desk—“was white. Caucasian. No question about it.”

Cap 20 diagnosis ~VOYAGER

#outlander #outlanderedit #the frasers #outlander series #outlander starz #outlander fanart #outlander books #claire fraser #dr claire randall #claire beauchamp #caitrionabalfe #outlander season 3 #outlander 3x05

[ely--sia]

01: amor vincit omnia

amor vincit omnia - love conquers all; miguel o'hara x reader fantasy au in which miguel is a powerful, famed knight of the queen, and you are but a lowly commoner he rescues out of the blue... and you are met with his gaze for the first time.

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

you are petrified. your legs refuse to work, and even if they did not, where would you go? blood paints your fingertips and the edges of your ragged and torn dress. you hold your breath in fear that if you breathe too loudly, too fast, you will be found. you do not know whose blood stains your skin, whose hands you had held as they were torn away from you. tears stream down your face. your fate would end in this torn-down, old house, inside this dusty closet. your nails dug into your palms, drawing blood from their crescent moon indents. 

outside, they are shouting. then, you smell burning. you hear the crackle of fire. you imagine it setting the slowly-darkening sky ablaze. once, fire meant festival. fire meant being embraced in your father’s arms as you both watched the sky light up. but your father is long-gone, and as you had once consumed the beauty of the flame, the flame would now consume you. you tense up as you hear thuds of heavy footsteps that enter this house. you can smell the smoke getting closer to you. your breathing quickens. you fear you have breathed too quick, too loud as the steps suddenly come to a halt. you can tell they are in front of you, waiting for more. suddenly, the door of the closet is ripped open. it breaks off of the hinges with a sickening crack. 

you look up, and there is a large man. he is tall and muscular, each of his arms as thick as a tree trunk. he wears a dark armor. and you cannot deny that he is handsome in every sense of the word. his jaw is set and his cheekbones are sharp, as if they would be able to cut boulders. you meet his eyes. they are furrowed and a red-brown. they meet yours and your heart beats faster. you are so afraid that your breathing halts. his eyes search yours, and yours search his. you can almost feel him through just his gaze. there is a hint of regret and second-thoughts within it. you find comfort in this. he is as human as you are. you would die by the hands of someone who saw you, who truly thought and re-thought the act of killing you. and in this moment, it brings you comfort. fear drains from your body as you begin to accept it all. your lips twitch into a small smile. if it was him, then it would be okay, you think. let his blade be swift and strong. you never break his gaze. he grows more worried, and, seemingly, more and more stressed. it is okay, you try to convey. he breaks the gaze first. his brows furrow and his eyes close as he turns away. you almost reach out, almost wrap his hand around his blade and lift it to your neck, reassuring him that it was fine. 

he turns back to you and stares for a few seconds. in those seconds time stops and your breath stops with it. then, he reaches out a reluctant hand. you stare at it as if you had never seen a hand before. it is foreign to you. fear almost fills you again in such an unexpected situation. you look back up at him, making sure that this was real, that you were not misinterpreting anything. he rubs the bridge of his nose and breathes out an annoyed sigh. 

“take it,” he demands gruffly. his voice is tired and reluctant, but his hand never wavers. you like the sound of his voice, you think to yourself. 

it almosts makes you laugh. if it was any other situation, you would have laughed, no doubts at all. but right now, your heart beats with uncertainty as you place your hand in his, soft ones against his roughness. his hands are big and calloused. there is beauty in hands like these. it portrays honesty, loyalty, and a devotion that is hard to find. he scoffs and moves his hands to your wrist, pulling you up roughly. he pulls you outside quickly, and you can hardly keep up. throughout the village, you can see the foreign soldiers beginning to set everything on fire. your eyes widen as you see bodies along the streets. you pray that the people had left before they were met with such a cruel fate. you swear to the heavens that you will make it out alive and free. their stories, existence, and lives would live forever through you. you continue to be pulled away until you are met by a large, black steed on the outskirts of the village. you are shaking from a molotov cocktail of emotions: fear, relief, anger, anguish, and hope. 

“thank you,” you whisper. you cannot focus on anything. you fear that if you speak louder, then you would burst into tears. would the spited dead rise from the ground and bring you down with them, angered that you had made it out alive? 

miguel wordlessly wraps a cloak around you, covering your face. 

“do not speak to anyone,” he says, and you listen. you make yourself hidden as he leaves to go back to the center of it all. 

in what feels like seconds, the sun sets and a blaze lights the night sky. the stars are drowned by the loud burning of the flame. 

you sit down on the wet dirt, leaning against the tree as the steed next to you reared back, afraid of the fire. a sharp, acrid smell fills your nose. 

your entire life is in flames. 

for just one more time, you remember your father. you try to pretend that you are with him again, and that you are little once more. you try to pretend that fire still means festival. you try to pretend that his arms are wrapped around you again, and that if you turned your head back, you would be able to see his smiling face and the world reflected in his eyes. 

but the night is cold around you. and when you turn your head back, you are met with the cold, black eyes of the knight’s steed. 

-

-

-

-

a/n: part one!1!!! they meet and then he rescues her isnt that so romantic ^3^ please it gets better trust me!!!!!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099

[dc418writes]

•|Legends Never Die|•

✨Pairing✨: dark!Curtis Everettxblack!reader

Summary🪄: Curiosity doesn’t kill cats. It kills the nosey

⚠️: 18+ NO MINORS, chasing, mention of blood, abduction, minor bondage, allusions to basement wife, language, noncon touching

A/N🎤: Hey guys! So this is my little twist on the infamous Headless Horseman tale and I hope you guys like it☺️💕!

*DISCLAIMER!: although visual was made by me, I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest*

Everyone you interviewed in the small town warned you about going down that dirt road. How those who dared pass through that wooden tunnel were never to be seen again.

But you didn’t listen. Instead letting your need for the truth overshadow your caution.

Once you heard about the mysterious figure looming in the woods and read all the accounts from those young and old, your piqued interest wouldn’t rest. You needed to see for yourself if this horseman really existed or if it was just a boogeyman of sorts with stories being passed down from generation to generation.

Dead grass and autumn leaves crunch under your sneakers as you journey further into the wooded area. The cool air prickling your nose and cheeks while buzzards squawk overhead circling with their wings spread wide.

That should’ve been your sign to turn back, but your legs carry you until you’re meeting a withered cabin. Smoke rising from its chimney into the gloomy sky.

“H-Hello!?,” you call out, but there’s nothing. Whoever lived here clearly wanted to be alone being the only cabin out in this stretch of woods that you could see.

“I don’t mean any harm! Just wanted to ask some questions,” you ask as you reach the front door.

You knock twice, but again you don’t hear anything. Can just see a peek of the lone, vintage couch and coffee table resting on top of the decorative rug in the living room through the crack in the curtains shielding the windows.

The floorboards creak under each step you take - no matter how careful - wandering along the wrap around porch while your eyes focus on the woods with every crack of a twig and swish of leaves.

Meaning you weren’t paying attention when you tripped over the metal bucket; knocking it over as you stumbled forward.

A reddish-brown tinted rag rolling out along with a small amount of water tinted the same color pooling around your feet is the final straw feeling your stomach begin to sink and anxiety slowly rise.

Something deep inside tells you to hide when you hear the whinny of a horse along with its trotting hooves approaching from somewhere in the forest. It’s the fastest you’ve moved since your high school gym days setting your eyes on a decent sized shed a few feet away.

Luckily it’s latch is open allowing you to quickly slip inside just as whoever approaches the property. Crouched by the small, smudged window, you can see the black stallion being led by a person in all black themselves from their thick coat to their leather gloves and down to the boots on their feet.

A pumpkin mask with detailed carving covering their face.

It looks like it was made from the gourd itself. But most surprising - and fear inducing - a hatchet on their hip. Its blade stained with someone or something’s crimson blood that steadily drips to the ground.

“What’d I get myself into?,” you think watching as the tall figure rounds the house before stopping upon noticing the knocked over bucket and rag. Clearly now on alert that somebody was there how his head turns left and right.

Your heart rate increases as he appears to be coming towards the shed. (More than likely to put away his horse as you now notice the bags of feed by your feet.)

It’ll be impossible to run out the same way you came, so you hurry towards the back crouching behind a barrel near the corner. Your knees pressed into your chest to make yourself as small as possible just as the double doors open and both step inside.

Hands covering your mouth, you can hear them tying their horse away before filling its container with food and beginning to brush along its mane and the short hairs on its body.

A skid of a breeze across your face nearly startles you - thinking whoever arrived found you - until you see the plastic flap of the doggy door gently moving back and forth. It seems big enough that you could fit through, but you won’t know for sure unless you try.

So you patiently wait until you hear the double doors open again and the thud of boots becoming quieter with each step, signaling that you were finally alone and able to move again.

Carefully your arm goes through first then your head, but your opposite shoulder only bumps into the wall unable to pass. Shifting your body, you try again hoping someway you can make it through but your efforts are futile.

Just giving you enough of a distraction that you don’t feel the presence of someone behind you until it’s too late. Roughly grabbing your ankles and yanking you back as you scream.

You thrash kicking and swinging trying to get away, successfully hitting his crotch deep enough to have him groaning as he keels over on his hands and knees.

“Bitch,” he grits out as you scramble to get your footing to run out the shed. The horse whinnying and stirring about due to the new commotion.

Bursting out the doors, you keep running without any direction just setting your sights forward while trying to dodge limbs and trees along your path.

At the galloping not too far behind you, your heartbeat increases hoping there’s another house somewhere in these woods you can ask for help.

As your chest heaves and throat gradually becomes dryer from the air constantly rushing through, it seems you two are the only ones out this far leaving only one end in sight for you.

The stallion’s galloping grows closer and louder - as if it’d never get tired - while you feel exhaustion overtaking the adrenaline that once controlled your body.

You make the grave mistake of peeking over your shoulder trying to gauge just how close your hunter is not realizing your path was soon ending. Flying forward, your body tumbles down a dirt hill until you’re roughly thudding to a stop.

However, rather than hitting the cold ground you’re horrified to find a decaying body with its eyes wide and staring right at you. Some flies buzzing from them to you as if thinking you could be their next snack.

A deafening scream rips through your chest as you try to scurry away, echoing off the surrounding trees until something hitting against your head makes everything go dark.

-

Opening your eyes, you first notice the dark, wooden beams of the unfamiliar ceiling. Definitely older from their weathered appearance as one seemed to be a good hit away from breaking in two.

You try to move, but your arms and legs are bound to the semi-firm mattress below you with expertly knotted ropes you know you’d never get out of. It left you spread wide and fearful to what your captors next plan would be.

“You’ve done a lot of research.” The deep voice startles you, instinctively making you turn towards the corner to find the person chasing you earlier. They’re still in all black with the orange mask attached to their face as they look through your notebook of interviews and printed articles.

Had they been there watching you the whole time you were out?

“Have to say, I’m flattered,” they lowly chuckle closing the book and haphazardly tossing it on the ground. You see just how tall this person is when they stand and their head is only inches away from the beams above. It fills your stomach with nausea and dread how they slowly approach the bed reaching their finger out to teasingly trace from the post by your foot to your ankle.

“I-I’m sorry,” you cry with fresh tears dripping out the corner of your eye and down to the mattress below. A line of black left in its path from your mascara and liner.

Carefully removing their mask, the face underneath is surprisingly handsome. Near crystalline like blue eyes shielded by long lashes and a sharp jaw covered by an almond colored beard, you could honestly find yourself falling for the man in front of you if you met under normal circumstances.

His fingertips slowly trace higher - from your ankle to your calf and finally the inside of your knee - making your squirm and tears fall heavier while you plead, “Don’t.”

“Looks like you found your horseman kitten,” he smirks. “Too bad you’re little story won’t ever get published. Especially not with you tied up down here until I’m done.”

#curtis everett #curtis everett x woc!reader #curtis everett x black!reader #curtis everett au #curtis everett x reader #snowpiercer #chris evans #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x woc!reader

[phoenixcatch7]

Lights burn long

Hey guys! I don’t normally do this but I wrote a little one shot to get me back into writing, and since it’s so short I thought I’d share it ^^. Little domestic hateno fluff piece.

The light of the setting sun often struggled to reach the house across the bridge, tucked at the foot of Heartbreak Pond as it was. Candles were lit a half hour early, an hour in winter. Link liked to find the more expensive scented ones, sold in little shops in the towns across Hyrule. They added a pleasant smell to the twining smoke as it filled the house, casting flickering glows on the clay walls, turning them the colour of the sunset the furniture never saw.

Zelda liked lighting them, a soothing task, and she did them that night as Link gathered the dishes from a late meal, the clink of the cutlery in time with the soft snap whumph of wicks.

He piled them in the sink, jiggling the flame blade they used to heat their water until it glimmered a hot amber. Taking a handful of lye shavings from the pot behind the tub, he sprinkled it evenly into the water and stirred it slowly with a cloth, watching as suds began to trail behind his hand.

The creaking of floorboards took Zelda upstairs, lighting the last two on the desk and at their bedside, to extinguish last as they went to sleep once the moon peaked over the mountains.

As the house filled with light, Link pulled out the first plate, running the cloth over it in slow circles. The hot soapy water warmed his fingers, turning them pink.

Zelda returned, hiding a small yawn in her hand. She leant against Link for a brief moment, her hair swaying into his cheek until she rocked back.

“Sleepy?” he asked, tilting his head to see her squeeze her eyes shut. She hummed, soft and long. “See, that's what happens when you stay up late in your research, you're tired the next day. Get an early night tonight.”

In lieu of a response, she leaned into the counter, swatting at him like a idle cat until he stepped aside, keeping his hands in the sink. Throwing open the cupboard underneath with a creak, she patted around until a towel appeared, white and blue dotted and a present from Paige down at the dye shop as an unexpected house-warming gift.

“Let's get this done first,” she said. “I'd love to get to sleep without having to smell old food.”

“You sleep whether I track bokoblin guts into the house,” Link informed her, and got swatted with the towel for his troubles.

“Unlike a certain someone I could mention, I didn't get enough sleep for a century, so I like it when I get to do it without troubles,” Zelda said primly, taking the spoon he handed her and scrubbing it dry.

“That's not at all what you said last night.” This time, the towel was slightly wet, and left his ear faintly damp.

“Well you should know better than to pry me from my research, Link, really.”

“Mhm,” he agreed without sincerity, swirling his rag in the steaming water to fish out any last cutlery, and realising all the forks had sunk to the bottom. For a long moment, the home was filled with the swish of water and the clink of metal as they cleaned. The sharp smell of the lye stirred about their heads and mixed with the beechwood of the candles as the wax started to melt.

Through the windows, the last rays of sunlight started to fade, smothered by the clouds as temperatures began to drop outside. Inside, the flame blade rippled and sparked in its metal shelf, warming the house from within.

Zelda was yawning hard as she dried the last piece, hard enough that she paused her wiping to screw her face up with the size of it, tears springing to the corners of her eyes. Link took it and the towel from her, stepping into her space to put it on the rack.

“Get to bed,” he chided softly. “You had a long day.”

“Yesterday,” Zelda complained, but conceded, surrendering to his gentle chivvying and heading up the stairs. The top of her blonde head moved around over the railing as he finished the nightly preparations, getting undressed and untying her hair for sleep. He heard the gentle woosh of the candle on the desk being blown out, and then the rustle of her kicking her way under the covers.

He gathered the papers strewn over the table, a couple on the floor, shuffled them into a pile for Zelda to exclaim over his ruining her sorting in the morning, folded the blanket and hung it over the armchair back, kicked the leaves that had wandered in towards the door.

He had a few hours until he was tired, still used to being up all hours of the day and night, and so ran a finger over the well worn shelf in the side table they'd filled with books until he found an omnibus of birds and insects, and settled in the chair as he pleased, kicking both legs over one arm and leaning into the crook of the other.

The candles burned long and sweet, the sky outside fading from purple to a rich blue, and as the moon peeked its round head over the spring of wisdom Link found his head beginning to bob on his neck, the owls on the page beginning to flutter their wings and fly from the paper, singing their distant songs in his listening ears.

He closed the book, leaning over to slide it back on the shelf, and slid to his feet with a delicious, languid stretch. Each candle on his slow circuit of the house blew out one by one, the deadbolt on the door slid into place, the flame blade checked to confirm its dimming to a cool grey. Each step on the stairs felt like hiking a snow covered mountain, and he rested his hand on the railing as he climbed up, hiding his own yawns.

Zelda was already long asleep when he reached her, hair a golden halo in the last glowing candle, face lax in dreams.

Link shucked his clothes one by one, pulling on his worn lobster shirt and a pair of shorts. He sat on the edge of the bed as he undid his hair, running his fingers through until it fell loose again, and tied it back in a simple ponytail to keep it out of their mouths during the night.

He climbed into bed beside her, tugging the duvet free and slipping under. With a silent breath, the last candle cast the house across the bridge into deep darkness, and Link was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

#zelda #link #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #loz #tloz #loz botw #loz totk #fic #one shot #fluff #I was very sleeby and warm writing this and I tried to channel that XD #loz fic #post botw #post totk too? Idk if you want #zelink #i don't consider it zelink but you can if you want #enjoy #domestic fluff

[dalishthunder]

Throw a Dart at the Map (p1)

Pairing: Nebarra/LDB (Gender Neutral Reader) Rating: Mature Words: 1131 Additional Info: Pining... Fluff and pining, Takes place after "Honor and Glory", Takes place during the Island Quest

During the Great War, there had always been a twinge of sadness when the battle ended. Whether the skirmish was won or lost, there were dead to count and name. Letters to write... and no time to mourn.

After Nebarra had begun mercenary work, that had shifted to a disappointment that his bloodlust could not be fully sated. The battle ended before he'd barely wet his blade.

And now... it was more relief. Relief and the wanting to see that furiosity and passion on your face longer. More often. It was odd to think that he'd been traveling with you for over a year now. But he wasn't about to ask you to bed just to see your expressions or passion between battles. You certainly didn't feel that way about him anyway. You were Skyrim's darling. The most eligible person in the entire province and even other parts of Tamriel....

Oh, Old Soldier...

He looked over to where you stood at the bow, cold sea air whipping all around, wreathed in the glow of the auroras above. There was something so wild and serene about it... about you.

It was the first time he'd gotten to be alone with you in probably close to a month. He wasn't even quite sure why you'd volunteered to come out here with him just to make a bit of coin.

Probably needed a break from all the pomp and circumstance.

Before he knew it, he'd made it to your side, leaning against the railing, shoulder bumping against yours as the waves rocked the ship.

You gave him a smile, eyes tired, haunting in the soft green glow, before leaning against him.

"You know..." He started after a long, long while, "We can go anywhere we want to now...."

A laugh bubbled from your throat like champagne, "We? You mean you're not sick of me yet?"

"Never said that." He almost wished you could see his grin. "But as far as traveling companions go, I supposed I could do worse. And someone needs to make sure you don't get yourself killed doing something irrationally stupid."

"That someone is Xelzaz.... For both of us."

"He does have a better head on his shoulders than most, I'll give him that."

You chuckled, and after a moment, you asked, "Where would you like to go?"

Home.

"Somewhere warm."

He wasn't quite sure if it was a good idea to bring you to the Isles. The Thalmor had started to show... interest in your activities, and bringing you into the den of serpents as it were would be unwise. No matter how certain he was that you would get along well with his brother. His parents....

Gods what a dumb turn of thought. You could absolutely not meet his parents.

Ever.

How much wine had he had already?

Not enough.

You straightened up, turning around so your back was against the railing and you could look at him. Your smile was intoxicating. "Alright. I'm down for that. I'm kind of interested in seeing the Sea of Pearl. Maybe Topal Bay?"

"Ohohoho, look who's been brushing up on geography. And here I thought I'd be able to mock you forever for being a dullard."

You gave him a halfhearted shove. "Sorry, been too busy saving the whole world to know every world detail up to your standard."

"Excuses don't look good on you, my dear Dragonborn."

You rolled your eyes. "So, it's settled then?"

"That you'd a dullard?"

"No!" You smacked him on the shoulder, and he just snickered. "That after everything's over we're setting sail for the Sea of Pearl."

His heart skipped a beat. "Yeah, it's settled. Once this whole mess has been dealt with, we're going south and getting some good wine. Something full-bodied. Actually, have you ever tried metheglin?"

You shook your head.

"We'll have to get some when we head south."

"What's it taste like?"

"It's a honey liquor. I haven't had any in ages.... There was a small town near where I grew up that made the best lemon infused metheglin. Last time I had it was the night before I was shipped off. Let me tell you the hangover while I was signing away my life to The Dominion was probably the worst one I've ever had." He let out a breathy chuckle. "I thought I was going to vomit over the poor hag's shoes." You laughed again, "You'll have to show me sometime."

"Maybe after the Sea of Pearl and Topal Bay."

"I'm holding you to it."

"I said maybe."

"Too late, you've already gotten my hopes up, Nebbadiah." Your smile was infectious, and as he realized the way he'd been leaning in, he was very, very glad for his helmet. He was sure kissing you was one of the dumbest ideas that had ever cursed his mind.

"Bad idea...."

"Oh..." Your smile faltered. "Yeah... sorry, that was a silly idea. The Thalmor don't really like me... no need to stir the pot even more by going into the heart of The Dominion...."

"On my oath, I will protect you if we ever do. Besides, if I'm going to retire on Auridon and buy a vineyard, the Thalmor had best get used to you or have a blade shoved through their gut."

It was difficult to make out in the dim green light, but he was pretty sure your cheeks flushed... or perhaps it was wishful thinking. And then you headbutted his shoulder. "What's the point of retiring if we can't relax."

We.

Yes, he was very glad for his helmet.

"Hmmm... I suppose we could settle for southern Cyrodil instead if we really have to." He drawled.

We.

Your forehead was still pressed into his armor. He was afraid if he moved, the mood would shatter; That nebulous future together fade on the wind....

"I think I want to travel a lot more before I retire."

"We've still got plenty of time left." After all, you were supposed to be the avatar of Talos or some such nonesense that the nords had made up. And as much as he liked to complain, Nebarra wasn't even technically middle aged.

"We've still gotta get Xelzaz to Highrock.... And figure out what happened to Lucifer."

He rolled his eyes, of course you'd have to bring them up while he was trying to live in some stupid little fantasy. He looked out over the horizon, spotting a small island. Someplace to dock for the night and potentially hide the boat until he needed it again.

Because as much as he'd like to believe the wine, and talk about sailing away or settling down together, he needed to live in the real world. So, reluctantly he pulled away.

"Yes, well, like I said, plenty of time."

#nebarra #nebarra skyrim #skyrim #custom voiced followers #thunderous applesauce #odt #I know I'm writing a lot for him #I am sorry.... It will happen again #Throw a dart at the map

[1001gallery]

pandora. chap. 3 - ヒーロー

chap. 2 | masterlist | chap. 4

a/n - chapters in Japanese mean that their titles are more important/give too much away, you can find each translation at the end

Obaa's daily routine began when she got the will to get out of bed, knowing well her body would not fall asleep anytime soon, she would hobble down the hall to the living room where the sliding oak doors would be opened to allow the cool dawn air to flow through the home as the old woman settled on the couch. Waiting and listening for the world to wake around her.

It wouldn't be too long before the tell-tale signs of you waking up were heard. The creaking of the boards, followed closely by the shuffling of feet, was your grandmother's signal to make her way to the kitchen to begin making breakfast. Only this time, as she placed a pan on the stove, the shuffling that would make its way to the couch hastened. Obaa watched as your disheveled appearance came around the corner,

"Can I help?"

She never had seen your eyes look so awake until that morning. "You do not touch the pan or stove." A light sparkled in your eyes as you turned and dragged a chair over to the counter. She wonders if this would be the beginning of a new routine.

A small change and a helping hand seemed to spark something in you. Not only did you begin helping with cooking but also around the house, the grass needed watering? You were there, "I know how to, Obaa-san."

The days' worth of dishes not cleaned? "I got it, Obaa-san!"

There was a shortage of ingredients? "I know a shortcut to the store, Obaa-san."

You spent your days outside exploring more than the time you spent inside. It wasn't a bad thing, your grandmother thought, only that you seemed to always come home as if you just finished a 9-to-5 job. Face smushed against the coffee table. Obaa could hardly get more than a sentence from you yet on the better days when you would come home with twigs in your hair, dirt covering your clothes, and scraped up skin. You would inhale like your final breath and retell the stories of your day -

You know the beach park, um- it starts with a T and everyone litters there- but someone threw out what they shouldn't have and lost their wallet. I said it was in the bushes, they didn't follow me. I found it! But they were already down the street! So I ran! I ran to them, and I didn't feel tired!

Or, pray she has enough patience, you would stand outside and wait for a towel soaked to the bone -

A dog! It was cute and shivering in a ditch. She thought I was a bad guy and ran, but I'm fast! I had to find her home, which she helped me with but it was confusing sometimes. That's why I'm home late, sorry.

Each time, Obaa made sure to give you an earful as she threw you in the bathtub, "Goodness, child. You can't go wondering aimlessly around getting yourself into trouble." And each time you would look down, hands gliding through the water as a small smile graced your lips. "I know, Obaa-san."

The day would end and start once more with you carrying the chair to the counter, ready to take on another adventure. Obaa would stand by the door watching as your young legs carried you down the lawn and into the maze of neighborhood streets. Wishing for your safe return.

That's why, when she heard the stomping of your feet and slamming of the door, she knew there was something wrong. You entered the living room through the kitchen, not sparing a glance at the woman on the couch, and yanked open the sliding door. The thump of you sitting enough to get your grandmother to move from her relaxed position.

Your back was small as you huddled into yourself. Sitting in the middle of the veranda was something she thought she would never see again. The space felt empty and out of place.

An ounce of fear tightened her throat, her hand gripping the door frame. As the light of the setting sun dimmed and a breeze rippled through the blades of grass. Your back hunching and shoulders jumped as you began to cough.

In a blink, the grass settled, and the warm evening light burst into the calm of night. If she were a simple person, the thought of imagining the light dimming would have passed her mind, but she was a woman of the Ln bloodline. Nothing in this life was more beautiful and haunting than what the eyes of the Ln family saw.

"Heroes are actors, aren't they." The woman only continued to look at your back, your coughing had died down but you continued to hide in yourself, arms hugging your knees to the best of your ability, "I'm sorry, Obaa-san." You were crying.

"I'm so sorry." You weren't talking to her anymore, voice cracking, sobbing, "I won't hurt anyone again, I promise! I'm so sorry!" The strength she had disappeared, her knees hitting the ground as she held herself up from her grip on the door frame. Her cheeks wet from her own tears, the view of you still clear. You holding on to the talisman, forehead pressed against the marbles, body shaking from the hiccups and wailing.

It's okay. Your grandmother thought, it's okay. This is what you needed. Ever since the day she opened the door and saw you stood on the front steps, eyes hollow, lips cracked and dried, you never once shed a tear. To caught up in her own grief, the quirk she had polished and perfected grew inside her until she could no longer hold back and yelled at you to leave the home. Never again did your grandmother want you to witness such a thing again. She didn't promise herself that when she ran away from home, she didn't promise herself that when she first felt life inside of her growing.

What she promised was a life where the disgusted and distrustful eyes didn't hurt anymore. A life found dancing in the rain. A life where you fall asleep warm and wake up dry.

Her arms found their way around your child's body and held on with the strength of love and protection. Cry, child. Cry. Let it out and grow to be a better person than me. Let it out and grow to be happy.

Guilt was something a child first learns, it was the feeling when you're laughing at what you had done but saw your parent's eyes crumble as they tell you to be careful next time. In the end, the child learns a lesson.

Guilt for you was the reason you breathed. Your first breath in life was a howl of grief. Someone who had been there said you hadn't cried like a baby, you cried because you knew you hurt someone. Only when a voice spoke in your ear and cradled you, did the sorrowful cries stop. You don't remember who told you or who spoke into your ear. All you know is that the grief has been the reason that your heart kept beating since.

Yet when you felt your grandmother's arms around you, when you felt the love and protection, something clicked. And a fog you never noticed started to fade and replacing it was a feeling you could only describe as when you first looked out at the ocean - in awe - both afraid and wondering how it would feel to touch it, if the waves would hurt and carry you away.

But you couldn't touch it, not yet. Not when the pins and needles grew with the feeling, hands pinching and cutting your back. Voices starting to form in wordless whispering, only a breeze in your ear than gone. The feeling that had led you to the body - No.

No, Yn. Focus.

Marbles click together, hurtling right and left as your body continues up the trail of the hill. Focus, you told yourself. No more, like you promised to Obaa. You weren't going to let your mind walk for you anymore. Focus on the twigs under your hands as you climb your way to the top, to the birds that fly between tree branches and chirp away.

Ever since you started your new routine of cooking with Obaa, you had also spent most of your time outside. Walking around the streets of the neighborhoods, finding out that though they feel and look like mazes, most of them connect to Tatooin Station - the most famous ward in Musutafu - weaving through the alleys and backstreets that were home to unknown bakeries and stalls.

Through the alleys and sidewalks is how you found yourself climbing the hill beside your house one day. Conversations of a hero school that sat on a hill always seemed to be a popular talk among the crowds and children in their uniforms. You told yourself that whatever was atop your hill would be better than a school for pretenders.

You thought right, as your body takes the final steps and reaches the peak, the trees along the edges of the clearing leave sight for the forests and houses along the coast before the ocean takes a hold and reaches as far as the eye could see. It was at this point that your young mind realized how small you truly are. That the city was too big to take into view with just this hill, that not even the famous school could be seen. It was perfect in your eyes as they looked down to the parts of neighborhoods you could see, wondering if Izuku is down there somewhere, hoping he was happy. That he was okay because you knew his bully was.

Walking and exploring the city wasn't just for your grandmother to have time alone, it was also to maybe get a glimpse of the green-haired boy but no matter the time or days you spent, one day turned to a week, which turned into a month until July began and you caught the blonde spiked hair as he hiked the trail you had grown fond of. You had promptly hid behind a tree as he made his way to the top, hoping that another pair of footsteps would follow, but nothing sounded behind him.

The only sounds were of the birds and trees, his own footfalls blending into the beautiful sounds of nature. His face wasn't scrunched up, his lips weren't scolding. His eyes weren't afraid or mean. They just were. You couldn't find the word for it, he was just there. No yelling. No tiny explosions in his hands. Just a boy hiking a trail.

The memory was still confusing and made your head spin. He was a bully, wasn't he? But how could someone that calls another use look so.. relaxed, like not a thing could disturb them? Does Izuku look like that? Can he be without a care in the world just as his bully?

You sent a prayer on the wind that wherever he may be that Izuku could be happy. That he's surrounded by the people who love him and protect him. That if it can be in this large world, you would be able to meet again.

The day you had feared finally came. Listening as the two older women talked, their hands busy with packaging the fruit to take home. Obaa held the bag as Mrs. Hachimachi stuffed the produce in the bag, not caring if it overflowed.

"Came up to me, says someones hurt. Always been a quiet one, knew something must be wrong," Obaa points to the bananas, Mrs. Hachimachi's hands don't waver. "The darling brought me over and I sees a man passed out, went to check on him. Shook him a little, you know."

"Don't touch him! Never heard her yell like that before, never been yelled at before." The last bag of fruit is placed into the wagon as the two women straighten from bending over, Mrs. Hachimachi places her hands on her hips as she smiles, "That man had lost consciousness on his feet. Nothing stopped him from falling flat on his face, broke his jaw. Sprained muscles all throughout here," She stretches her neck sideways, her hand sweeping up and down the side of her throat to her shoulder.

"No one saw him. No one would've. I'll tell you what a hero had been there, you know. Not one sign of that man after the ambulance arrived, I tell ya." Your eyes are downcast, hands keeping the handle of the wagon straight, "Yn's a decent one. Only 6-years-old and she can already sniff out danger. A hero for sure, that one."

Something snags in your mind but is gone before you realize, the hand caressing your head all but takes your attention. Obaa was proud.

The wheels of the wagon crunch along the pebbles of the sidewalk as you enter a Hyaku-en shop, stopping by to get more stationery for yourself and your grandmother. You walk throughout the store, placing paper and pencils in the wagon that you see yourself would use when you pass an aisle. Green in the corner of your eye.

You stop and see Izuku's mother staring at something on one of the shelves before placing it in her basket. You walk over to her, bowing as she notices you approach. She seemed more upset than when you had met.

Glancing in the basket, your heart grows cold seeing the candle shaped as a 6. "Hello. Yn was it?" You nod and move around her as she is about to call you but leaves you be as Obaa comes down the aisle and exchanges greetings with Mrs. Midoriya.

As for you, you search the shelves looking for the perfect gift for Izuku. Maybe a toy? Or a card? What does Izuku like?

Just then, something catches your eye. The red spine and green body with accents of blue. It was perfect.

Slipping it into the wagon, none of the two notice as they continue to talk. Mrs. Midoriya's eyes fly towards you before looking into her basket. She wants to say something.

"Have a good evening, Mrs. Ln, Yn." She bows and leaves heading to the cashier, you and Obaa lining up at the other. Just as the notebook is scanned, you grab it and head to the green haired woman starting to walk to the exit.

Jogging to be level as you call out for her to wait, presenting the book to her - two handed - has she turns around, eyes taking time to disgust the scene before her.

"For Izuku." The green eyes begin to water, Obaa is beside you once more.

"Izuku is a good child. Yn is new in town and has been wanting to know your son better."

"Would-" She hiccups and covers her mouth, apologizing. "Would you like to wish Izuku a happy birthday?" A glance to your grandmother was all the answer you needed as you turn back to Mrs. Midoriya and give her a resolute nod, she laughs.

"Around 6:30, maybe. izuku would be happy with the wishes." She grips Obaa's hands, bringing them to her chest, "Thank you."

You couldn't finish your dinner, too busy looking at the clock every second, watching as the time grew closer. Springing to your feet as you pack fruit for dessert and making sure that the notebook is still as perfect as you saw it.

Obaa made sure to keep a mentally strong leash on you. Reminding your racing mind that you would get lost in your excitement, you would run back to her side every time.

When you get to the apartment, it isn't like before, no storm, no darkness. Only the warm air of summer as you enter the cooled down building.

Arriving at the apartment door, your fingers start to fidget around the basket of fruit. What if he didn't want you here? What if he had his friends over and you were just too desperate to have a friend?

But Obaa is already knocking on the door to back out, as seconds later a click fills the hallway and Izuku is standing at the doorway. The hair is as green and fluffy as it was before.

You both stare at each other, and all you can do is thrust the basket towards the green-eyed boy in hopes he knows what you mean.

He does, of course he does as tears begin running down his cheeks, arms trying to wipe and catch them before they fall. Another step of footsteps is heard moving towards the door, and his mother is behind her son, soothing his hair as she opens the door wider, allowing you and your grandmother to enter.

"お邪魔します" Ojama shimasu - Sorry for intruding on you. Thank you for inviting us in. Whatever translation, it holds the gratitude of the speaker to the invitation of entering another's home, another's safe space.

You just hope you can convey it better than just some words. So you're there when he blows out the candles, wishing him a blessed future when his eyes begin to dim. You're there for the first slice of cake as he presents it to you only for you two to fight on who gets it first, Obaa tisking and telling you to take it with gratitude. You do with a shy smile, locking with Izuku's eyes as he smiles back.

You're there when Izuku starts to cry as he holds the notebook in his hands, seeing the significance it was to him but never truly understanding the depth.

You're there when Mrs. Midoriya asks if you'd like to have a playdate with Izuku. He stands beside his mother, a blush on his cheeks as he tugs on his shirt, beaming when you nod your head. A wave of heat dizzying your brain as the two Midoriya's wish you a safe trip home, knowing full well you get to see Izuku again.

That you had a friend.

ヒーロー - hero

chap. 2 | masterlist | chap. 4

#bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #mha x reader #mha x y/n #ashido x reader #ashido mina x reader #mina ashido x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki x reader #jirou x reader #jirou kyoka x reader #kyoka jirou x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x reader #uraraka x reader #uraraka ochaco x reader #ochaco uraraka x reader #yaoyorozu x reader #yaoyorozu momo x reader #momo yaoyorozu x reader

[brendathedoodler]

The scene in the comic where Legend takes ahold of Twilight’s shadow crystal goes pretty different in the adventure swap au, especially considering it’s Legend’s shadow crystal in the first place.

~~~~~

To be quite frank, Warriors regret coming over here at all. Was this how Sky felt all the time? Confused, bewildered, and completely and utterly done with whatever new insanity decided to grace them?

“Why couldn’t you put some clothes on before shouting for me?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. Proxi chimed something he didn’t quite catch from her place by his shoulder, though he was reasonably sure she was agreeing with him.

Resting just in front of him, submerged from the shoulders down in a small freshwater pond the group had been using to bathe, was Legend. He was pressed up against the edge, the water deep enough to thankfully prevent anyone from seeing him unclothed (though really, Warriors was fairly certain Legend was more concerned with anyone seeing his arm than he was with anyone seeing him naked).

Color had been steadily rising in the teen’s face ever since Warriors first showed up, and now his cheeks matched his pink hair.

“Shut up!”

Very eloquent, Warriors thought with no small amount of sarcasm.

“This is an emergency!” Legend shouted, waving his normal arm around for emphasis. All that accomplished was flinging a few lingering soap suds around.

Warriors hummed, entirely unconcerned with it. “And what sort of ‘emergency’ came from…” he trailed off. “This,” he added, gesturing vaguely to the situation Legend seemed to have found himself in.

All that earned him was a loud groan, which trailed off into those inhuman clicks that Legend was so fond of making.

“Look, okay, Loft turned into a bird-“

What.

“-the old man is currently trying to fight him-“

What.

“-and somebody stole my clothes!”

What.

Warriors stared at Legend for a few long seconds. Long enough for Proxi to burst into a fit of laughter at the entire situation.

Rather than chide her for it (he knew it would do absolutely nothing), he simply grabbed her and tucked her into the folds of his scarf (much to her displeasure).

“I’ll handle the bird thing,” Warriors said firmly. “Which way did they go?”

Legend pointed and gave a vague description of the direction they’d been heading, and Warriors was heading off before he’d even finished explaining. Already a thousand scenarios were running through his mind, though his most pressing concern handling Time’s infamous dislike of birds and ensuring he didn’t maim their transformed companion.

“Hey- wait! You’ll need the master sword!” Legend insisted as Wars left the clearing. That should be simple enough, seeing as the blade damn well never left Wild’s side.

Warriors began to run as Legend shouted something about getting him some clothes. He’d leave that particular problem to someone else.

~~~~~

It was well known that Time didn’t like birds. It was on the same level of infamy as Legend’s complete and utter hatred of carrots, though at least Time refrained from going on long tirades about the subject of his distain.

He was willing to set aside this perfectly reasonable bias for only a few things: his wife, his best friend, his siblings, and his kids.

It was that last one that had convinced him to stop his very reasonable attempts to fight what he’d assumed to be some sort of enemy. Granted, the kid in question wasn’t related to him by blood, but this adventure certainly made him feel like he’d become a father of eight overnight. Said kid had also run off, leaving him alone with the bird he’d just been trying to fight minutes before.

“I’m still not convinced,” he told the bird, earning an indignant squawk in reply.

It was an impressively large thing. Not nearly as massive as the Helmaroc King, but still large enough that Time was sure he could sit on the creature’s back and it could fly without issue. Unruly blue feathers stuck out in ways Time was certain they weren’t supposed to, and there were several bald spots and pin feathers sticking out to give it an even more disheveled appearance. If it weren’t for the very clearly intelligent behavior he’d witnessed from it and Wind’s insistence he stop, Time was certain he’d still be swinging his sword at it.

That didn’t mean he believed it when it tried to tell him it was Wild. The clawed name in the dirt was impressive, yes, and so was the only vaguely recognizable lettering from Wild’s era. He was willing to hear it out, but not entirely willing to just believe whatever it tried to tell him.

The bird hopped all over the spot of dirt it had clawed the single word in, stamping it down until it could write again. Time shifted where he sat on a particularly flat rock, waiting patiently for the bird’s uncoordinated claws to deliver its next message.

Footsteps nearby caught his attention immediately. Time stood quickly, hand flicking to the hilt of his sword as he scanned the treeline for any sign of who might be there.

A familiar Hylian emerged, and Time’s hand fell away from his weapon as soon as he processed the familiar dusty blue of Warriors’ scarf.

“Good to see you haven’t skewered Hylia’s chosen hero,” were the first words out of Warriors’ mouth, giving Time pause.

The bird chirped happily and hobbled over to the wastelander, stopping just short of making contact with him. It was Warriors who bridged the gap, placing a hand on the bird—on Wild’s—feathered head.

Before Time could think of anything adequate to say (was there really anything he could say in response to discovering he’d tried to fight his own teammate?), Warriors continued.

“Crypt explained. Sort of, he at least explained that Loft got turned into a bird,” he said, glancing over at Time. “Surprised you aren’t still trying to fight him.”

“You can thank Addie for that,” was all Time had to say on the matter. His and Wind’s views on birds tended to clash from time to time, though it was usually played up as a joke between the two. Not today, apparently, as Time was fairly certain he’d have an impressive bruise on his shin after the young veteran had taken his attack on the bird personally.

Time was certainly thankful for it now. He’d have to get him something to show for it—once he made it up to Wild for this whole incident.

“I would hope Cryptid knows how to fix this,” Time commented.

“All I heard was something about the master sword,” Warriors answered. “I’m guessing you don’t have it on you?” he directed at Wild, who simply shook his head in response.

Time raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t come with you?” he asked. Legend generally preferred to know exactly what was going on at any given time; leaving this situation to play out without any sort of intervention was out of character for him.

“He was bathing,” Warriors answered. “Apparently something took his clothes.”

Wild let out a huff that might’ve been some sort of laugh, while Time just hummed in reply. “In that case, we better find that master sword.”

Warriors barked out a laugh, all too willing to leave their pink haired companion to his own troubles. “Cloud should still be at camp. He should have his own master sword at the very least, if not both of yours,” he said, and Wild only let out a chirp of agreement as the trio set out.

~~~~~

Part of Twilight’s daily tasks involved organizing his bag, something that wouldn’t be necessary if it weren’t for a particular meddling minish always shoving random crap in there as and when she pleased.

He glanced over to the fire pit in the center of camp, where said minish woman warmed her tiny paws. It didn’t fool Twilight in the slightest. Small as they may be, those paws were capable of causing immense mischief. He’d seen it firsthand, even helped on some occasions.

His eyes trailed away from Midna to the others of the group. Only Sky and Four remained at camp, the others having gone out to do who knows what. As worrying as it was, none of them had been gone for long, and most of them had gone with at least one person. So far it was Hyrule he was most concerned for. He already had plans to sneak away in wolf form and herd him back to the group, probably with anyone else he found on the way.

He’d save that for after he finished organizing his bag. He turned to it, pulling out small bottles of random herbs and plants he didn’t recognize. Four and Sky’s conversation about woodcarving and blacksmithing made for a nice background noise as he sorted the random items Midna had acquired over the course of the day.

Herbs, mushrooms, a few stray rupees, several seashells, a few neat rocks, all normal things Midna tended to snatch. The next thing he pulled out was neither normal nor pleasant. It was, in fact, a dirty sock.

Twilight made a face as he pulled it out, setting it aside. He took a deep breath (through his mouth, since the sock’s smell was none too pleasant) and prepared himself for whatever other nonsense Midna had shoved into his bag. There was absolutely no way she’d just pick up some random sock. There had to be more.

He was unfortunately right. The next thing he pulled out was a rather familiar red tunic. It took him a moment to place it, but as soon as he connected the dots his head swiveled over to where Midna sat by the fire. She grinned over at him with a sort of glee that told him all he needed to know.

Twilight’s eyes flicked over to his two companions, and once he was sure they weren’t paying attention to him, he narrowed his eyes at Midna. Chiding her for messing with people was much harder with his teammates around, but his glare said everything he couldn’t speak aloud. Her grin just widened in response.

Fine. If she wasn’t going to help, he’d just bring the clothes back to Legend himself. He set them aside, folding each article of clothing in a small stack. Just as he opened his mouth to ask the other two where the hero in question was, a few of his teammates entered the clearing.

Alongside them was a massive, ugly bird. That certainly gave him pause, and it caught the attention of Sky and Four.

“Um… Is this Wolfie 2?” Sky asked, a bit unsure of what exactly was going on. Twilight almost felt offended by the comparison.

Warriors just chuckled in response. “It’s Loft, actually. I don’t know how it happened, but Cryptid said the master sword would help.”

Sky’s first instinct was to reach for the blade strapped to his back, though he paused and instead reached for the sword resting just beside him. Wild’s own master sword was usually placed in Sky’s trust if he, for whatever reason, didn’t have it on his person.

Sky offered the hilt of the blade to Wild, who took it awkwardly in his beak. With a flash of light that Twilight had to shield his eyes from, the huge scruffy bird shifted into the chosen hero they’d all come to know.

Wild’s hair was a horrific mess. Strands clumped together as though trying to emulate feathers, and the colorful ribbons framing his face were hardly visible in the sorry excuse for a braid they were tied in. Twilight had to suppress a wince at the idea of taking his usual ponytail down. It resembled a rat’s nest more than it resembled hair, and Twilight was already reaching for his bag to find the detangler he kept in there for his horse. It worked great on Epona, so he was sure it would work well on Wild’s magically-induced mess of tangles.

“Hey, Soul.”

The sound of his nickname made him perk up, and he glanced over at Wild. “Yes?”

“Are those Cryptid’s clothes?” he asked, glancing down at the folded garments in Twilight’s lap. There was something in Wild’s tone that made him narrow his eyes.

“…Yes?” he answered, trying to figure out what exactly Wild was getting at.

Warriors laughed aloud at his response. “I can’t believe it! Soul was the one who stole the fish boy’s clothes!”

Twilight froze in place, eyes going wide as they focused on the minish currently laughing at his misfortune. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Midna had set it all up on purpose.

Legend would never let him hear the end of it.

~~~~~

“What do you mean you don’t have a song for that!?”

Hyrule sputtered. “That’s a pretty specific request!” he defended, trying to convince himself that not having a specific song that could turn a bird into a Hylian wasn’t weird. It would probably be weirder if he did have one!

Wind seemed incredibly displeased with it. “But you have a song for everything!” he insisted. “You had a song specifically for flower allergies! Flowergies!”

Now probably wasn’t the best time to try and convince Wind that ‘flowergies’ was not a real word. “You have magical items for everything, why don’t you have an item to turn him back?” came Hyrule’s retort.

Wind was about to continue voicing his disagreement, paused, and then finally muttered, “touché.”

Hyrule wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he assumed it meant he’d won this argument. “Maybe it’s some sort of mask?” he suggested, beginning to head back in the direction of camp. “If it’s a mask that turned him into a bird, I’m certain I can fix it.”

“Oh so you have a song that’ll stop a transformation mask from transforming people, but not a song that’ll fix Loft from being a bird?” Wind asked, still seeming to take it personally that Hyrule didn’t have a song for every possible situation. “Why do you even have a song like that?”

Hyrule sighed. “It was relevant on my adventure.”

Wind’s face scrunched up as it so often did when he got an answer he didn’t like. His expression shifted quickly to one of realization. “Hey, wait, if you used transformation masks, is that why your eyes are so-“

“We’re here!” Hyrule announced, jogging over to camp. Knowing a deflection when he saw one, Wind decided not to press him for any details.

He grinned as he saw Wild in his normal Hylian form. “Hey! You’re not a bird anymore!” he said, a grin coming to his face.

“Nope, you can thank Fi for that,” Wild replied, gently patting the sheath of his beloved master sword.

“What exactly happened?” Hyrule asked, sitting down next to Time and Sky.

Wild grinned and eagerly launched into a chaotic tale of the evening’s events, starting from when he’d picked up Legend’s strange shadowy pendant, to Time trying to fight him, then to the discovery that Twilight had apparently yoinked Legend’s clothes while he was bathing.

Wind laughed along with Wild’s storytelling, and when Twilight himself walked back into camp soaking wet from head to toe, he laughed twice as hard.

#linked universe #lu adventure swap au #lu legend #lu warriors #lu wild #lu time #lu twilight #lu wind #lu midna #brenda’s writing

[justmightyshadows]

You Should Be Here With me

This is an angsty, smutty comforting story about Jaheira and Isobel before everyone arrives at Last Light. Two women who have known the loss of their lover give each other comfort that only they know how.

It is definitely NSFW!

The shadows pressed in on the Harpers as they made their way through the cursed land in search of refuge. They were battered and bruised many trembling against the ever crushing shadow but they marched on - urged to move forward by Jaheira toward a small speck of light that was visible, just barely, in the distance.

Soon, they came to a bridge leading to an old inn. Jaheira signaled for them to follow her and in the courtyard had them set up large bonfires to fight back the shadows. She produced a small frog familiar and then prepared herself to go inside, strapping her blade to her back and holding a torch aloft.

“If my familiar fades, come in after me. Otherwise stay out here until I return. No matter how long it takes, no matter what you hear.” She opened the front door of the building and inspected inside. It had been abandoned for awhile and was overall extremely dusty but she could see where bottles and chairs had been moved from the area around the bar quite recently. She took the stairs to the west up to the second floor, following dainty footprints in the dust and then crept along the hallway to a door where a thick ethereal light seeped out from under the threshold.

She opened it cautiously scanning the room before sliding inside. It embraced her with a warm and inviting feeling- the light shaking away the darkness that had clung to her. From the entrance she saw a woman looking up to the sky on the balcony, preoccupied with some sort of ritual. That was not what she had expected - here in the never ending darkness she had expected a monster or a god - this one seemed to be neither. Keeping her steps light, she approached her with blade drawn and brought it to rest against the unknown women’s throat.

“It seems I’ve found a witch in the night. How fitting.” Jaheira sneered. She pulled back harshly and dragged the woman into the room in case she had allies near who could see them.

“More like you found a cleric trying to fight against the darkness.” The woman’s voice was annoyed and she didn’t bother to look up, as if she was resigned to her fate.

“A cleric?” She scanned the woman’s clothing and the crescent circle she had drawn on the balcony. “A Selunite? There aren’t many of you left in this area.” Jaheira loosened her grip and turned the woman around to get a better look at her face. She had been crying, her eyes and nose were puffy and red and her makeup had smeared excessively. There was an acrid smell to her as if she had been covered in death but through all of that she was beautiful. There was a radiance to her that was more than just the moonlight, the softness of her skin told of a life free of strife and yet her demeanor gave the opposite picture.

“How perceptive. Now tell me why you are here so that we can get to the part where you leave.” The woman’s attitude made Jaheira smile, it was nice to meet someone who had a bit of fight in them. She told the woman about how the Harper’s were here to stop a man she fought once, Ketheric Thorm.

“I thought him dead but he is very much alive it seems. We look to make a base here and rally our forces before we put an end to him.” The cleric sat wide eyed and at the mention of Ketheric began to become teary eyed, looking as if at any moment she would cry again.

“Ketheric… then we are hoping for the same thing. My Goddess brought me here to protect those who stood against him. I see now that is you.” She leaned closer as if she were inspecting Jaheira, for what, Jaheira wasn’t sure. Her smile was mischievous, alluring and she was a bit of a flirt it seemed. She made sure not to back away as the cleric moved closer to her, she was not afraid of her advances - just curious.

This is the wrong time to think of such things, Jaheira thought. However, something about the way the moon reflected itself out of the mirror aroused her, she couldn’t explain the feeling but was sure something about the light was causing her to be susceptible.

The woman seemed to like what she saw in Jaheira as well, moving closer still until their hands were almost touching.

“An ally then. Does my new ally have a name?” Jaheira said the tips of her fingers reaching out against the floor towards the stranger.

“Isobel.”

Isobel. Pledged to God. Fitting name for a cleric. She wondered if she had chosen the name herself after completing her training or if she were a devotee made just for Selune. She seemed to have quite a way with connecting with her, probably from birth. Gods often claimed children before they could even talk as their own, this had to be the case here.

“Lovely. Well, Isobel. We can set up here and do our best to keep the shadows at bay with fire - it seems you have some magic to stop it from penetrating this room. The Harper’s will need to rotate shifts through it if they are to survive out here for many days.” Jaheira said shifting back just a bit and trying to get her bearings, her mind was actively thinking of undressing the cleric now and she was sure that her Goddess was to blame.

“No one is coming into this room - it is my sanctuary.” Isobel responded with a sour voice, cutting the built up tension in its tracks.

“So what exactly do you suggest then?” Came an exasperated voice - or was it relief?

“I can give you a blessing to travel through almost all of the shadow land.” Isobel replied keeping her sentences short as she adjusted her hair.

“And while we are here? We will live but we will not be strong enough to fight without light, without rest.” Jaheira felt as if she were talking to someone who did not understand armies and then remembered that is exactly who she was talking to. She sighed deeply and sat up straight stretching her neck from side to side. It was tiring to talk through logistics and she had been battling for days. Her eyes came to rest on the woman again, who rose and retrieved wine and glasses, coming to sit nearer to her on the floor - their shoulders touching as she settled.

She opened the bottle of wine and poured them both a glass, her hand shook a bit so Jaheira reached out to steady it, eventually taking the bottle from her and pouring the second glass herself.

“I’m working on it, but my Goddess’ blessing, her power it comes from…well…pleasure. Right now as you can see I have little happiness and far less pleasure.” She was still a bit shaken up as she drank back some wine to calm her nerves.

What would she have to be nervous about, Jaheira thought, unless she were trying to proposition me. Ah, there was an idea. I’m not sure if this is me or the moonlight talking now, could the idea be planted or my own?

“Meaning you could protect more of the area if you had pleasure. I see you have a hand, nay two - are you telling me you can’t handle this? People could die, while you idle about!” Jaheira was joking but it seemed her audience did not find it at all funny.

“Pleasure is just a portion, devotion, passion. Do I need to spell it out?”

Yes, Isobel. Spell it out. Say exactly what you’d like me to do to you. Jaheira thought with a toothy grin but thought better than to antagonize the cleric who would be saving her ass soon.

“No. I understand. There are many who could give you what you seek.” She couldn’t resist teasing a bit - having her spell out her desire even more.

“I don’t want the many. Only the exceptional will do to touch me.” Isobel responded her voice losing any of the wavering it had before and her hands steady as one came to rest on Jaheira’s thigh.

“We have very few who I would call exceptional.” She was enjoying the back and forth too much to stop. It was needed to arouse her fully anyway. Might as well start with a bit of head start. She took Isobel’s hand and slowly removed the glove, admiring the soft flesh underneath.

“Then how about the one who leads them all, that is you is it not?” Isobel must have been enjoying the banter as well. She removed the glove from her other hand and placed it on Jaheira’s other thigh so that they were eye-to-eye with each other.

“Aye, that makes me the least exceptional I’m sure.” Maybe she meant that last thing - you simply have to live the longest to become High Harper. She was very good at living - staying alive in the face of danger that was the only skill she had. It was a bitter truth that she washed down with well-aged wine. She was the last one standing.

“I doubt it. You led them here, you found me, you fought Ketheric before and you are happy to fight him again. Is that not exceptional? I find it to be so - glorious even.” Isobel looked serious again. She needed this man gone and Jaheira was the way to do it. Jaheira was a tool for her to achieve, peace, revenge? That was still clouded to her but in a way it didn’t matter, they were aligned where it seemed to be most important.

Jaheira was not upset at the thought of pleasing such a beautiful woman but found the woman’s Goddess a small hurdle. She would already be overlooking the woman’s sadness, her own sadness and now the thought of an ever watching being made the idea of this tryst plummet in sexiness at every step. There had to be a remedy for that if she was going to continue.

“We should do this because we want to, not because anyone, Goddess or not demands it.” She said to the cleric, holding the palm of her hand to the woman’s face. It shone in response - when was the last time she had been touched? Hell, even spoken to. No, there was a sadness in here that she knew too well, of loss. She could not heal her but she could, for tonight provide comfort, release.

“Who said I didn’t want to? You’re putting things in my mouth.” Isobel retorted pouting at the comment.

Jaheira choked a bit on her wine. “Just words for now.”

The comment sent a blush running across Isobel’s face and she responded with a bit of desperation. “Speak clearly Jaheira, this is your chance. Do you want my help?”

Jaheira rose up to rest on her knees and planted a kiss on the woman’s lips moving slowly to rest on her neck, her tongue lightly trailing to the joining with her shoulder “Aye. For more selfish reasons than I would like to admit.”

Sleeping with the moon goddess’ cleric would be just another thing to add to her list of adventures and surely it would be near the top. The bards would not be able to sing the praises of this but she would make sure it was a moment she could look back fondly over.

Isobel’s hands were a bit clumsy as they pulled the strings and ties that kept Jaheira’s clothing on, in contrast Jaheira had her undressed in almost no time. She had been planning it since their conversation had started. She helped Isobel to finish her task with her undergarments and soon they were bare before each other. The cleric was as she had expected, supple and curvy, the rise of her hips like waves of the ocean and she meant to drown in her. She threw blankets onto the floor and lowered the woman onto them propping her head up with an adorned pillow. She curled her body upward, arching her back slightly and pulled Jaheira forward into her chest. “Come closer.” She whispered softly, her hands weaving into Jaheira’s hair warming her scalp with the pressure. Her breath was quick as Jaheira kissed her chest, pressing her face into the space between her breasts. Her hand pushing Isobel’s leg up to allow her thigh to grind against her clit as they embraced. Jaheira looked up at her briefly, watching her eyes follow her as she trailed her tongue down the plushness of her body and come to rest between her legs.

Devotion.

Passion.

Pleasure.

She would have it all, Jaheira thought. Letting her tongue slide forward and cup her clit gently, teasing it on all sides before she warmed it with her mouth, sucking at it as the cleric’s body arched and fell in response. She slid her tongue down to taste the wet slick and her face brightened from delight

“MMM, Isobel you taste -” She started without thinking

“Don’t. Please.” She begged - one hand moving over her face covered in red embarrassment and the other moved itself behind Jaheira’s head forcing it back down. Jaheira leaned into her making sure to keep her tongue occupied on its work while her mind mulled over her plea - maybe it was something someone else once said to her. She ran her fingers over the clerics thighs, making sure to be less gentle than before - to be different from any lover she had and was rewarded with a soft moan.

“Here?” She said in a low voice that vibrated against the cleric’s lips. She slid in two fingers pressing up against her bundle of nerves and she heard a faint - soft - yes.

Isobel rode the arc of her fingers, bucking her hips up as she tried to settle into the sensation.

“Don’t run, Isobel. Enjoy it.” Jaheira said into her, coming up for air just long enough to instruct before she dived into her again. Her free hand trailed up and around Isobel’s thighs holding her in place the other beckoning inside of her - she twisted her fingers gently sending the cleric into a puddle of moans and blessings as she yanked hard on Jaheira’s hair. The ecstasy was accentuated by her tensing muscles, sweat covered and glistening in the moonlight. She pressed her legs together, finally falling into it completely, clamping Jaheira’s head between them to the woman’s delight and then after some time relaxed.

Jaheira coaxed her up and walked her to the bed, pushing against her shoulder until she was bent over it. She could feel the nervousness on her body, she went to the tips of her toes while Jaheira massaged her ass and then slowly, while rubbing her chest against every inch of Isobel’s skin, fell to her knees behind her.

“What are you doing back there?” She asked letting her head rest on the sheets and holding tight with her hands in preparation.

“Remember - I said I had my own selfish reasons for wanting this.” Jaheira smiled and took her hands to part the cheeks in front of her pressing her face into the warm divide and allowed her tongue to flick over her hole. Isobel jumped, a sound leaving her lips that went from yelp to more of a purr. She let her feet settle to the ground and ease back into Jaheira’s mouth.

This was what she had wanted, a dirty moment to let off some steam with a beautiful woman. She hadn’t been sure the ‘princess’ would play nice and get into this position, but she had proved adaptable. Jaheira flicked her tongue over the hole again before teasing it, pressing her tongue into it until it gave way to her. Isobel gasped and groaned, she could hear the cleric clenching her fists into the sheets. Her muffled moans said she was face down as Jaheira worked into her ass. Her chin was beginning to drip from Isobel’s wetness, reminding her to not forget about it. She eased her thumb gently into the cleric’s ass as she continued to lick and suck her sensitive hole. With her other hand she released the soft cheek and plunged 3 fingers into her wet entrance.

“AAAAHhh.” Her exhale ended in a soft moan of pleasure as Jaheira worked her to her limits. The clerics ass was free to bounce and press against Jaheira’s face, leaving her breathless but happy in her position.

She turned her wrist and made a motion toward her spot and Isobel must have lifted her head in ecstasy, her voice louder than before, echoing off the walls of the room pouring into Jaheira’s ears, her ass tensed around the druid’s face. She relaxed, whispering small praises and blessings into the air and let herself slump back into Jaheira’s arms and down to the wooden floor.

Isobel curled into her chest and Jaheira knew it was not her embrace she sought, the feeling of being held comforted her sure but the arms would never feel quite right. When Khalid died she had kept her bed empty for years but eventually she had held another and been held by another and even now it was sweet but not sublime. It dripped into the cup but never filled it. She shook off the bit of the past that clung to her and hoped that Isobel would be able to do so as well, with time.

She did not sleep, instead when Isobel had drifted off and she could see the light pulsing further through the lands she lifted her into the bed and tucked her beneath the sheets. She placed a small flute near her in case of danger with a note of when to use it. She dressed herself and went to tell the Harper’s where and how to set up their defenses. They were lucky to be shielded on one side by water but would need to fortify the bridge and begin patrols. Her station was at the bottom of the stairs across from where Isobel slept - ready to come to her aid if need be. They would be close now, not lovers but two who could understand loss and what it means to move beyond it.

When Isobel woke she groped at the edge of her arms hoping to feel soft feathers around her and instead was met with woolen sheets. Her one night stand had evaporated from her side but had the decency to place her within the comforts of the bed. Being without Aylin weighed on her but she felt the warmth of passion on her and in her and through that maybe she could know some peace. The moonlight shone on her and she felt bare again, her mind drifting to the druid’s face how she had given her pleasure and even if only for one night, it was good to know she could feel anything at all.

#bg3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #ao3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3ficfeb #bg3 isobel #isobel thorm #isobel #moon lesbians #femslash #bg3 jaheira #jaheira #last light inn

[maple-the-awesome]

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 18

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 3,462

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: FIGHT OR FLIGHT

Clearly, Steve has never been on a family road trip before; a fact that you had become painfully aware of (literally) while squished in the backstreet of the tiniest getaway car ever 'borrowed'.

"I think we're all adults here," he assured, but he's awfully quiet now as he has been for the last thirty minutes. Only once did he meet your silent glare in the rearview mirror as you both suffered another round of bickering between Sam and Bucky. All adults? Well, he thought wrong.

Naturally, you're very happy for a chance to finally stretch your legs and breathe your own air while Steve meets with the rest of your little makeshift team of fugitives. Aside from Clint who you give a mock salute to as a greeting, you don't know the others personally, although you assume the girl must be the famous Wanda Maximoff Natasha's mentioned from time to time. As for the overly excited Captain America fan, you don't know who he's supposed to be, not that you won't likely find out later.

"There's still time to turn back," Bucky warns quietly, crossing his arms over the car roof.

You're leaning against it next to him, "Nope, you're stuck with me, Barnes. Wherever you go, I go."

He doesn't appear too disappointed, replying merely with a nod, yet his anxiety's clearly there. Whether it's because you guys could lose out there or the idea that all these people will be risking themselves for his sake, you're not sure, however you set a hand over his gently, something that's become your wordless language of comfort; he has no complaints.

A German voice echoes through the car lot, gaining everyone's attention including Steve's. He looks around uneasily which isn't surprising; even he must be worried regarding how this might play out, "Alright, that's our cue to get moving. Suit up."

As everyone begins passing out uniforms, you suddenly groan and rest your head against the car dramatically much to Bucky's concern, "What's wrong?"

"...It's only just now occurred to me that I've been wearing pajamas this entire time...I'm gonna be fighting, like, half the Avengers in my pajamas - and they're not even cool ones!" You whine, your face burning with embarrassment (and slight jealousy). It's amazing what goes unnoticed when you've been repeatedly attacked both physically and mentally throughout the last forty eight hours.

"Yeaaah, as much as I'd love to see you roundhouse kick someone with flannel pants on, Steve asked that I bring you a little something different," although your misery is apparently very amusing to watch, Clint takes pity upon you despite his smirk and grabs a stack of clothes from the back of his van.

This outfit certainly surpasses any expectation you had which only anticipated something simple and more dignified than pajamas. It consists of a black, long-sleeved jumpsuit with silver seams made from a flexible yet durable material completed with slim shoes built in. Set on top of the stack is a pair of fingerless gloves, a utility belt, and a small handle without any blade, however when Clint picks it up and turns one of the dials, a baton stick appears with a glow of blue electricity around it.

"Figured it was about time you got your own suit. No more fighting in formal work clothes or pajamas," Steve comments. When you look at him, you catch sight of the gentler glimmer hidden behind his amused smile. Bouncing on your heels, you happily thank both him and Clint before hurrying around the car to change.

"Alright, listen up everyone. The original plan was to take a chopper, but since Stark hasn't wasted any time getting here, we'll have to switch things up a bit. He likely has eyes all over the tarmac, so I'll be going out there on my own. When he confronts me, I'll keep him distracted for as long as possible. That'll hopefully give us time to see who else is here and gain an idea as to what his game plan must be. It'll also give us time to find out how he arrived since I refuse to believe Stark would take public air.

"The Quinjet is likely hidden around here somewhere. Sam, I want you to scout it out using Red Wing. Sneak inside the airport, taking cover there with Bucky and (Y/n) while you search. Wanda and Clint will keep an eye on the situation from the parking deck while Scott will cover me from nearby. Remain unnoticed until Sam locates the Quinjet. That's when we'll make a move for it."

Pinning down the Quinjet's location was the easy part, however getting to it would be far more challenging especially considering the party Tony's gathered.

Based on what you had overheard through the comms, Rhodey and Natasha have picked Tony's side along with the company of two newcomers, one being the same cat-guy who attacked Bucky back at the apartments. Earlier, Steve told you that his name's T'Challa and that his father was a causality in the UN bombing which explains that kitty's determination in stopping Bucky. You unfortunately have no information on the last person until hearing a thud against the airport windows.

Sam, Bucky, and you had already been running to hanger five when the person dressed in a red and blue spandex suit starts crawling across the glass after your trio. Before much can be said as a reaction, they push off then use their momentum to shatter through the window, ultimately kicking Sam across the hall; he only had time to brace himself for the impact.

Bucky spins around, blocking you while throwing a punch at Sam's attacker, however his fist is easily caught midair by the kid - yes, kid, judging on the youthful tone of his voice.

"Woah, you have a metal arm? That's so awesome, dude!"

Having someone easily stop the full force of a super soldier's punch takes Bucky off guard, leaving him dumbfounded for a pause which is long enough for Sam to recover. On his feet, he quickly charges at the boy - who seems to be spider themed provided the tiny spider design on his chest and web patterns of his suit - then lifts him into the air away from the two of you.

"Ugh, I can't believe Tony brought a child to a fight. The hell was he thinking!" You complain aloud, chasing after Sam and spider-boy with Bucky remaining close by your side.

They tussle with each other near the ceiling of the building, spider-boy eventually getting away, although that doesn't stop the fight as he pursues Sam by swinging on webs and weaving through the rafters. Meanwhile, Bucky and you aren't too far behind.

Even with the new weapon provided to you by Clint, there's nothing you can personally do to help given this fight's height, but the same doesn't apply to Bucky. Ripping an advertisement sign from the ground, he tosses it towards spider-boy, only hesitating afterwards when you give a shout of disapproval, yet the sign had already left his hands by that point. Fortunately, spider-boy turns around at just the right moment, leaping out of the way before he can be hit.

"Bucky!"

"What?!"

"He's a child-!"

"-Hey buddy, I think you lost this!" Your complaint is cut short when Bucky grabs your shoulders and pulls you against him behind a pillar. He leans over you, keeping you close as the sign is sent flying back towards the two of you with enough force to cut through the pillar mere inches away from Bucky's head.

Looking back at the damage, you shallow whatever concern you once had over the kid, deciding to worry less about morals right now and more about not being killed yourselves. Thus, when spider-boy's distracted by Sam, Bucky and you move to find cover elsewhere behind an information stall that isn't sliced in half.

As you both keep an eye on things from there and await an opening to help Sam, a web is shot at his gear, causing him to crash into a phone market below. Stumbling to his feet, he tries to engage again, however more webs are shot at his hands, sticking him down to the railing behind.

When the boy swings towards Sam with legs drawn forward in preparation to kick him, Bucky runs forward, attempting to shield Sam, not that it does too much good. Both men get kicked off the edge together, landing on ground-level where spider-boy then webs them to the floor.

You curse to yourself at this, crouching along the many chairs and stalls to quietly yet swiftly make your way to the paused elevators. You're thankful that, by the time you get down to them, Sam has used Red Wing to grab spider-boy and toss him out the window which will hopefully buy you guys time to at least get out of this cramped building.

"You guys okay?"

"I'll be better when I get this stuff off of me," Sam grumbles, unable to even sit up on his own due to both of his arms being practically glued together, "I don't even want to know what it is!"

Looking over the sticky substance with a scrunched nose, you realize there's no way it can simply be pulled off given its strength, "...Hold on, I have an idea."

Taking your baton, you mess with the dials a bit to get the exact setting you desire. At first, the same electric current from before appears with a sharp buzz causing Sam to jerk away and shake his head rapidly, "Oh no - No way! Do not electrocute me! If you're gonna run an experiment, test it on Bucky first!"

"Hey!"

"Just - Hold. Still. You won't get electrocuted-" Turning the dial all the way, the baton stick disappears, but leaves the blue current which pulls together with a blow of air, transforming into a blue flame. It surprises even you, being much too strong until you turn a second dial that brings the torch down, "-You'll get burned, but that's only the worst case scenario and if you move!"

Needless to say, your words bring Sam little comfort. Bucky, on the other hand, is very amused until it's his turn.

Racing onto the tarmac, it doesn't take long to spot the rest of your team. Everyone’s heading in the same direction with a concerning lack of any tails, however it doesn’t take long to find them. Seconds after making it out into the open, a golden ray burns through the cement, cutting off your paths.

The newcomer is yet another Avenger you haven’t met yet. If you had to guess, you'd say he must be Vision, your sort-of-grandnephew going off of what you've been told, but that's a looong headache of a story you're happy you weren't involved with judging on Natasha's account.

"Captain Rogers, I know you believe you're in the right here, however for the collective good, you must surrender now," the rest of the Avengers stand behind Vison, coming together as a barrier between you and the Quinjet.

"What's your call, Cap?"

"We fight," there's no hesitation in his voice nor feet as he begins marching forward despite this roadblock. The rest of you, while showing some concern, follow his lead.

Your pace starts out as a jog then slowly picks up speed until a full sprint towards Stark’s team, your speed mirrored by them as they, too, show no signs of backing down, fully intending to meet you head on which is precisely what they end up doing.

As expected, it's immediate chaos filled with flying fists, blasts, magic, and arrows; a whole collection of superhero powers coming together not to fight a crazed villain, but each other. It's an uncomfortable thought regardless of how many of these people are total strangers to you. If they're here helping Tony, they must be good at heart, after all, it's unfortunately your side that's made up of criminals.

You take some sort of solace in putting your arm up to block a kick to your face which seemed too lazy to actually carry any malice. It might not be appropriate provided the timing, yet you take zero shame in giving a friendly nod to the leg’s owner, “Hey Nat.”

"Hey," she swings her leg down, throwing a punch your way instead. She’s going easy on you - as easy as a black widow can go, anyways, since the force of her punch still burns against your palm when you catch it. She has to keep you on your toes, doesn’t she?

“I like the suit. Is it new?”

"First time wearing it!" You announce proudly, standing back while gesturing down your body. You punctuate your sentence by throwing a punch her way.

She dodges with ease. Grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards herself roughly, she pins your arm under hers, "Looks good."

"Thanks," she then tries to flip you, but you maneuver against her too quickly, grabbing hold of both her forearms to keep her at a distance. You both keep your grips on each other's arms, smirking the other down until Natasha suddenly pushes you back. A flash of light hits a few feet away, not close enough to be a danger to either of you, just to get your attention.

"Mind if I cut in?" Clint saunters over, nodding his head to the other side of the tarmac, "I think Barnes could use a new partner himself.”

Following his gaze, you realize he's right. T'Challa has Bucky alone, the two engaged in a close fist fight. Thus, you leave Natasha to Clint, rushing to grab your baton and reach Bucky's side. By the time you get there, T'Challa has him knocked down and pinned against a stack of crates.

His focus is taken, preventing him from noticing you until you swing the electrified baton square into his back. It’s plenty strong, resulting in his knees buckling and body freezing in place as he deals with the buzzing pain. Bucky then sweeps his legs out from under him, throwing him to the ground.

"You good?" You have to ask even if Bucky’s already on his feet ushering you away from the dangerous feline.

He gives quick assurance to his well being, the two of you disappearing behind equipment before anyone can attack either of you again. It's from there that you scan the makeshift battlefield, checking to see if anyone needs help, which seems to be the case for everyone really. Each fighter is occupied, running or zipping across the tarmac with someone always on their tail. No progress has been made towards the Quinjet; you’re still just as far as when Vison first appeared.

"We can't keep fighting them forever. That guy's probably in Siberia by now," Bucky points out, not that you need the extra stress.

Steve takes cover behind some equipment opposite to you two, "I'll cover you while you get to the jet-"

"-Steve, I don't think that's possible," you're quick to argue, "There’s too many eyes in the sky right now and they’re all looking for Bucky. Even if you go out there to fight some more, Tony’s not going to be fooled so easily. If it’s not him, then someone else will just blow past you to get to Bucky; you can’t keep them all at bay.”

"Look Cap, I think we have to face the fact that not all of us are going to get out here," Sam's voice echoes over your ear piece.

"If we're gonna win this, then some of us are going to have to lose it," Clint adds.

"If anyone’s getting on that jet, it at least has to be you and Bucky - (Y/n), too, if you think you can stick together that long."

“...The problem is, even with those who will stay behind as cover, we’re too equally matched to beat these guys. Slipping past isn’t reliable unless we can give Tony a concrete reason to turn his head," you cut in, catching Steve's eyes. He’s clearly not overjoyed about this condition, but not everything can end perfectly especially in a battle, "Right now, this fight alone isn't doing that. We need something bigger - a distraction none of them can't simply turn away from."

"I’ve got something bigger, but I can't hold it for long,” Scott offers, “On my signal, run like hell and if I end up tearing myself in half...Well, don't come back for me."

"How's that going to help us...? He’s going to tear himself in half?" Bucky whispers, but Steve brushes him off.

"You're sure about this, Scott?"

"Yeah, I do it all the time - Okay, once - in a lab...then I passed out...but don't worry! I've got this!"

"Where'd you find this guy again?" You ask, not receiving an answer. Maybe you wouldn't have liked it anyways.

Continuing to keep an eye out on the battlefield, you search for Scott's 'signal' which you assumed would be a shouted call or explosion knowing how Avengers usually work. 'Something bigger' only done in a lab before passing out…? Not a lot to go off of there.

Even if using more of your imagination, you certainly weren't expecting Scott to suddenly appear out of thin air nearly the size of one of the airplanes parked around. He grabs Rhodey mid-flight and tosses him across the airport which provides enough of a distraction (and a clear enough signal) for Steve, Bucky, and you to start running towards the Quinjet.

Trusting that Scott and others can cause enough mayhem to keep Tony’s team at bay, you ignore much of the crashing behind yourselves with eyes glued forward. Steve leads the way, easily forgetting that not everyone following him is a super soldier, although Bucky takes some more consideration for you, only running a foot or two ahead while looking back every few seconds to ensure you don't get separated.

You're almost there when a beam is sent flying past, hitting the tower above the hanger which sends it crashing down in a cloud of dust. For a handful of seconds, the debris pauses with the help of Wanda's red magic keeping it up, allowing you all just enough time to roll inside the hanger before the tower finally crashes down behind.

It seems like you're at last in the green, the tower’s destruction appearing to have successfully blocked anyone else from getting over too quickly, however not everyone missed your plan until now.

Standing between you three and the Quinjet is Natasha who steps forward with a tired sigh, "You're not gonna stop, are you?"

"You know I can't," Steve answers, his voice sympathetic at the least.

Natasha then glances at you. You don't say anything, but you don't need to since your eyes do enough pleading as does the image of you standing beside Bucky. Your stance does waiver when put up against one of your closest friends, yet it’s clear that you have no intentions of abandoning him even for her.

Natasha had always been your friend, but your bond had grown much stronger once she became the only person you’ve ever trusted with Hollie. After listening to your stories and woes for the last two years, she’s come to understand the inner turmoil you suffer from, often in silence.

As crazy as it had been to accept back then, she now realizes the true extent of challenges encountered by someone with their past life’s memories. She knows it hasn’t been easy for you - far from it - and she knows how much joy it’s brought you being able to be with Bucky again. He had been tragedy ripped away from you in the past without any form of goodbye; as someone who knows all too well what that feels like from their own personal experience, Natasha can’t blame you for holding onto him so tightly even if it divides you from your other friends and family.

Shaking her head slightly, she returns her gaze to Steve, raising her arm in his direction, "...I'm going to regret this."

You inhale, preparing for the heartache that would come with a loss, however Natasha doesn't shoot a taser at Steve. Instead, it goes past him, hitting a different target: T'Challa who had just made his way over the debris, prepared to lunge before Natasha's betrayal which stops him in his tracks.

"Go."

Steve and Bucky take this chance without hesitation, rushing to get on the Quinjet, yet you stay temporarily, long enough to show your relief through an airy voice, "I'm really racking up my debt to you, Nat."

"And I still plan to cash in on it some day," she winks, returning your genuine smile before you hurry after the boys. You have a long flight to make, after all.

NEXT CHAPTER➡️

⬅️PREVIOUS CHAPTER

#bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes #winter soldier #falcon and winter soldier #winter solider x reader #natasha romanoff #tony stark #steve rogers #sam wilson #captain america #captain america cw #captain america civil war #marvel x reader #marvel #x reader #reader insert

[kaiandthestrangespaghetti]

Wasteland, Baby (Part 04/?)

Part 01 is here, Part 02 is here Part 03 is here

Pairing: Miami Man x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings: Violence, hurt/comfort, a tinge of angst, oral sex (female receiving), feelings.

Summary: After a violent confrontation you and Cam (Miami) set out again on the trail of Miel’s kidnapper, a man named Elijah.

A/N: Yearning yesss…

You’ve never tasted anything so good. You pull the ring tab back on the top of the can, bringing it up to your lips to gulp down thick peach syrup.

Miami - Cam, sits down on the threadbare sofa inside the old mobile home with his knees spread and picks the fruit delicately out of the can, savouring it. He watches you with that little half smile. Syrup spills onto your dress as you grab the slices out, barely chewing. It’s been so long since you ate fruit.

“You gonna make yourself sick.” Cam utters lowly, but he doesn’t seem that bothered. In fact he seems to enjoy watching you.

You eat the whole thing and let the can roll onto the floor with a clatter. Already you can feel the sugar rush. Your mouth is sticky and you slump against the wall, sucking your fingers. At first you do it purely to get every last drop of syrup but then you notice his gaze fix on your mouth. You pause with your index finger between your lips and that wicked smile is on your face again. Your tongue lingers a little too long, circling as you stare back at him.

He sets the can down and stands, and in a second he’s in front of you. His broad chest boxing you in against the wall. He takes your jaw in his sticky fingers to turn your face up to his. When his mouth meets yours his tongue presses deep and hot, still holding you. Your eyes roll as the lack of air starts to kick in but he finally pulls away, you both taste like peaches.

His stubble is starting to grow in, without much thought you reach up to stroke the rough side of his face. His wicked smile grows just a little, tongue darting out as he considers what to do with you. After a moment he sighs, swallowing.

“C’mon. We pack what we can.” He lifts a bag and walks out onto the dust, leaving sticky fingerprints on your face. You don’t mind.

Outside, the grim reminder of the two men who had been sent to apprehend you asserts itself; both lying dead in the dust. Even with your head buzzing from the sugar you start to wonder at the plan. You skip to catch up and grab Cam’s arm. He turns.

Your eyes go from the men on the floor, to the makeshift ambush spot and you give a gesture of loss. You’re right; the one with the gun had said they had Miel, but you don’t know where. Cam lets the bag dangle on his fingers, he’s getting good at reading you. Whenever he speaks his voice is a low resonance that goes right through you.

“Comfort is a town, ‘bout ninety miles that way-” he points east. “They have water, people. Elijah is not with them, he’s outside. But still, two days drive. We move.” He walks to the bike and straps the provisions on the back. You don’t feel especially clear on the plan, but it’s all either of you have for the moment.

With a strange, cool sensation you become aware once again of the dead man’s revolver tucked in your makeshift blade holster. Still five shots in it. Cam had checked it and returned it to your possession, he seems to trust you with it. But still. You’d shot someone today. It was self-defence, but that didn’t lessen it. Quite deliberately you avoid looking at the body as you climb on the back of the bike behind Cam. The arcs and lines of the tattoos across his shoulders becoming soothing and familiar by now. You can’t help but touch your nose to his muscled back where the two flamingos kiss beneath the holster strap.

There was a small can of gasoline well hidden under one of the makeshift houses, enough to get you a little further, but not the whole way. The buzz of the bike engine and your cheek against Cam’s back makes even this journey seem dreamlike, even though you don’t know what you’re going into. You allow yourself to dwell in the rush of air, the smells of him, the motion.

-

You lose track of time until the sun is low in the sky, and you feel the bike start to slow. Leaning around Cam’s arm you see the ruin of a farmhouse. Not old, but recently burned down. The bike skids to a halt a little way off. Cam kicks down the side stand and his fingers loose the cleaver from its holster, climbing off the bike.

The gun is in your hand and you trail him like a shadow with your finger on the trigger.

There’s almost nothing left of the house, but on the west side Cam finds a pair of doors for a storm cellar and throws them open, quickly ducking out of the way, blade poised. You breathe shallow breaths. There’s no sound. Cam bites his lip, turns the blade handle in his hand and jumps down the concrete steps three at a time, you hear him land at the bottom, heart pounding in your throat where you stand above ground. Silence. He re-emerges into the light at the bottom of the stairs.

“We stay here tonight.” He utters, the cleaver clipping back into place.

-

While Cam conceals the bike by the side of the house you explore the little cellar. It’s a small space, maybe twelve feet across. Old blankets and rugs scattered on the floor, the remains of packaged food and some bottled water, a few burned down candles. The air is dry, and it smells like earth. Someone had been staying here. But whoever they were they were long gone.

You pick up the rugs and shake them out, the same with the heavy wool blankets, sitting down to pull one around your shoulders.

Cam bolts the cellar doors from the inside with a piece of old timber shoved through the handles and you both find yourself in almost complete darkness. The rustle of a bag. A match striking, Cam holds the flame to one of the low candles and you see the fire dance in his eyes before he blows the match out. He examines the remains of the bottled water, sniffing first then lifting to his lips to taste. When he’s satisfied, he hands it to you.

Your fingers close momentarily around his as you take the plastic bottle and down half of it. Now that you’re sitting swaddled on the floor you realise that you’re exhausted.

Even in the dark, he notices. He squats down in front of you. Arms resting on his knees, the hunch of his shoulders cast in silhouette from the candlelight behind him. He lays the back of his hand gently against your forehead like he’s checking for a fever and then carefully lifts your bandaged stump to check for bleeding. You set the water down.

“Hurts?” He asks in a low voice, and you can see the outline of the rough stubble on his cheek in the dark, his voice is a base tone. In the dark he seems even bigger somehow, but not frightening.

You shrug dismissively. It does, but that’s not the problem.

“Tired.” You whisper. He nods. “Rest, I’ll keep watch.” He goes to stand but your hand lands on his forearm and he pauses. Only then do you notice the little spiralbound notebook tucked in the back pocket of his pants, you reach back and remove it carefully. He lets you, but you’re sure you see a flicker of shyness on his face as you take it. He purses his lips and watches as you turn over the cover. 

In the gloom you see drawings, dozens of them. Portraits, animals, intricate patterns, Miel. About two thirds through you come to the last image. It takes you a second to make out what it is. A woman in a ragged looking skater dress. Laid asleep on her side, her long hair spilling over the pillow. She’s missing her left arm.

The expression that comes to your face feels strange; you haven’t felt happy like that for a long time, there’s something almost innocent about it. You laugh shyly and Cam is smiling – even when he narrows his eyes in faux annoyance and takes the book back from you, pushing it back into his pocket.

“Sleep.” He admonishes softly and stands from where he squats in front of you, moving to check that the doors are well bolted. The rugs don’t offer much comfort, but you’re so exhausted sleep isn’t difficult, it blankets around you while you’re still watching Cam secure the doors.

Even half asleep you’re aware of small sounds around you, eyes opening briefly to see Cam going through the remains of the supplies. The temperature drops and the basement cools. His body presses in large behind you, pulling the blankets over you both and you push back instinctively. In the half haze of sleep his arm tightly circles your waist, his breath warm on the back of your neck. You could almost fall asleep again, the sense of security in his presence making even this old basement in the middle of nowhere feel like home – but it’s that exact instinct that makes you moan and turn, finding his lips in the dark. The candle long burned out. The kiss is slow at first, his hand on the back of your neck, and then feverish. You’re so exhausted but burning with want.

“Shhh.” He lulls, like that first night and you whine, your hand weakly slipping down to grasp his thick cock through the fabric of his pants. He hums with pleasure, his large hand cupping around yours where you stroke him. He stops a moment in consideration.

“On your back.” A purr in your ear and you comply, feeling him peel your underwear away, leaving your already wet sex vulnerable to the cool air. You wait with painful anticipation for the sounds of him unbuttoning his pants but they don’t come. Instead, his arm relinquishes your waist, and he slips down your body. His broad palms slide beneath your ass and lift you easily, thumbs spreading your cunt wide. When his breath hits your wet folds you gasp.

“Shhh.” He lulls again. “Let me, princesa.” Those last words are nearly a plea, you can hear the desperate want in the two simple syllables, even his sarcastic pet name for you sounds soft and genuine. Reaching down you rub gently behind his ear, where the number is tattooed and his stubbled cheek presses momentarily into your soft palm.

He exhales hard, he’s slow at first; his tongue traces up and down the slit of your cunt, gripping your ass and holding you in place. You don’t need to move a muscle. He laps up every drop like sweet dew and his lips find the crest of your sex, his tongue rubbing insistent strokes over and over. His nose nudges your clit when he plunges his tongue into you, shuddering like a man dying of thirst finding fresh water in the desert. Harder, deeper. Your wetness soaks his face and moustache.

The line between sex and being actually devoured has always been a flux with Cam, Miami. But this feels different. His hunger for you is beyond sustenance or survival and you wish you could see his face in the dark. You settle for reaching down to rub your own fingers over your swollen nub, brushing lightly as his tongue fucks you. Your eyes are rolling, your body stiffens. A strange tension grips you and he feels it, letting you back down onto the rug to lean up close to your ear.

“No?” He asks. At first you don’t have a simple answer. You want it but it’s so much.

“I’ve never… never…” You breathe but feel ridiculous. His soft laugh is a breeze on your ear and even though you can’t see him in the dark you know his smile when he turns your face toward him.

“You never been eaten, sweet thing?”

Despite everything you blush, shaking your head. His nose brushes your cheek.

“Don’ worry, I know how.” The double meaning of that statement makes you groan in that deliciously fucked up way and his hands are on your ass cheeks again, pulling you open slowly but thoroughly. Cool air touches parts of you where you’ve never felt it, not like this. You surrender as he pumps his tongue into you.

Wet sounds fill the basement. You are silent, your mouth dropped open, eyes shut. But Cam is not; a light hum of pleasure becomes a growl you can feel in the core of your being and he pulls you wider, wanting more, more. His right hand releases your hip and his thumb is on your clit, rubbing short firm strokes that make your legs wrap tight around his shoulders.

Now your hands grasp desperately in the back of his hair, pulling his short ponytail loose. You’re barely breathing. Cam’s left thumb slides easily into your cunt, his fingers still cupping your ass, pulling you down and open as his tongue fills you.

The sound that comes from you is a quivering cry and every muscle clenches as you come, shaking, gripping him hard with your legs. He’s trying to devour your orgasm, drinking you relentlessly until you go limp, gasping and wet with sweat.

The smell of your own sex on his face is potent when he leans close to you again and it draws you in, you kiss him voraciously. The boundary between the two of you dissolving into nothing, his thick fingers tight in the hair on the nape of your neck.

Cam pulls back, his gaze striking you despite the blackness of the basement.

The moment hangs between you, both still breathing hard and you know he wants to say something.

You want to say something… but you just think about the little drawing pad tucked in his back pocket. The way he smells. The way the insanity and brutality of the desert makes more sense than the rest of your life.

There is the soft sound of his lips parting;

“I…”

The screeching crash of wood splintering fills the small space. The cellar doors collapse open.

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction #miami man #miami man x reader #miami man x y/n #jason momoa fanfic #jason momoa fanfiction #jason momoa smut

[zeydaan-isabella]

Zeydaan joins the Fight!

Story by Metroid711 - Zeydaan gets a mysterious letter in the mail. Opening it they find themselves flung into a whole new reality. They've been chosen to join the ranks of Smash. And their first opponent, Samus Aran herself. Zeydaan will need to use all their talents of transformation to seize a victory.

Zeydaan would be relaxing at home. They had a pretty uneventful weekend all things considered. After their last adventure in a dimension of witches and titans, they figured they could use some time to relax. However, this would change the moment they went to open their mailbox for anything sent to them that day. And to their surprise there was one single letter. It was about the average size of an envelope, although the color of the paper was a bit more orange than it usually was. But what got their attention most of all was the big wax red seal in the middle of it. They would close the mailbox and take it inside, turning it over. No written address or stamp. The only significance to state where it was from was the design of the seal. On closer examination they recognized just what it meant; it was the spherical design with a set of cross-like lines through it. Or otherwise known as the Smash Brothers symbol. Now Zey was aware of this crossover world of different dimensions, given they’ve met several of the characters in the past and even become a few of them. However, they had never been given an invite directly this way. They figured, bottoms up, and broke the seal, opening the envelope. There was a bright flash of light, squinting their eyes as they felt their body grow light as air. Falling through what felt like a column of light, until they would feel their paws reach solid ground. As the light cleared from their vision, they would be met with something truly magnificent. They were standing on an upper viewing platform for a massive, rounded arena. It was packed to the brim with cheering crowd members, many of which were minor characters. The middle of the arena was a large green field, with two individuals duking it out with all their might. That of which being the easily recognizable Mario and Kirby. But before they could do or say anything, they felt a tap on their shoulder from behind. They would end up turning around, and a grin spread across their muzzle as they instantly recognized the familiar face. The woman standing in front of the fae-wolf was none other than the Welsh cat-blade from the dimension of Alrest, Nia. The sassy silver-haired cat shortie would place her hands on her hips sassily with that usual smirk she had. “I see ye got my letter, wolfy~” Zey would rub the back of their head with a chuckle, happy to see an old friend like her. Not only a friend, but someone Zey had turned into often in the past in many situations. She would gesture to follow, and Zey would oblige. As she was leading them in the back areas of the arena, where most of the worker characters would keep the whole show running. “So, I didn’t invite ye for no reason, I need yer help.” She would flick their tail a small tad as she would lead Zey to the main waiting room, close to the fighting arena entrances. “So Samus o’er on th’ other side needs a competitor due tuh’ Ridley takin’ a sick day.” Zey was aware of both, Ridley more specifically, but the thought of the big, enormous menacing bio-dinosaur having to call in sick was a funny one. Zey would listen to her continue to explain, the crowd was particularly excited for a rival fight. But even if Ridley couldn’t come out, an unheard-of combatant like them would make for good entertainment. “Use some o’ yer powers! Lead the crowd on an’ give Samus a good ol’ run for er’ money~” Zey would nod, taking a bit of a deep breath in preparation. As Nia gave them another pat on the back, with them going to take a seat as they waited. Eventually, after almost 30 minutes, a Koopa Troopa would step out with a clipboard and ref’s outfit. “Ridley’s replacement! Yer up!” Zey would stand, nervous, but also a little excited they’d get to take part in one of the most fantastic competitions in the multiverse. Nia would snicker as they would walk towards the door, “Break a leg! Ye got this!” she’d say in jest. They would take steps out onto the large green arena as the crowd would erupt into cheering, a large screen above them showing a close-up camera shot of Zey. The fae-wolf would end up waving to the crowd, if not a little embarrassed. And on the opposite end, in all her shining orange suited glory would be Samus Aran … the Samus Aran Zey was so well familiar with, who the crowd would cheer louder unsurprisingly. Zey would have thought up a couple good forms for fighting while they had been waiting. The first one they felt would be a crowd pleaser, while also maybe catching Samus off guard as the announcer counted down. 3… two … one…Fight! And instantly Samus began to charge up her beam attack, her metal boots thumping against the ground. It would be important to mention that ever since Zey got here, their powers felt more … flexible. Like they felt the expanse and interchanging abilities being more heightened than usual. Although Zey would run towards her, as they would focus on their abilities and swipe upwards, knocking the cannon upwards. Samus would kick them back, only to realize they were holding a tennis racquet in their paws. Paws however, that were now smoothing and swelling into thick white gloves with more manly and lanky fingers. Samus was a little jarred for a moment, as the thick and soft clothing material was rapidly converting up their arms. It was a deep purple, and as it replaced their fur and skin of their arms, they would get longer and lankier. Their elbows bent a little easier and they felt physically stronger, their chest flattening and stretching as they grew taller. He had a bit of an odd figure so this was a bit difficult for them, but Zey could do it. Black overalls rapidly replacing their chest with round gold buttons on each side, with them slung over their longer, furless shoulders. They felt the black overalls stretch and thicken their legs as they got rapidly taller. That odd lankiness bent at the knees, with their feet paws curling and fusing into sleazy orange shoes. The backs of their gloves would have backwards Ls, ones a lot of people in the crowd would be familiar with as they gasped. And Zey felt the oddest parts of the changes eating up their face as they ran forward, feeling male as their fur was being swallowed by scratchy human skin. They felt their chin jut and swell out, cracking their jaw as it reshaped to be more defined and a brutish sort of look. The skin stretches their jaw, and particularly their mouth out over their face. Teeth gnashing and flattening together to form more human shapes. As their black, messy hair would slick back into a light brown pompadour of sorts. Their furless ears would stretch out the sides of their head. The end of their flat nose would feel nasally as it swelled out like a balloon, curling out and turning pink as their eyes flattened and grew out across their now furless, itchy skin covered face. Thick, gaudy eyebrows curled over their eyes as they keeled in to look skeevier. And with a plop of a purple hat bearing the same logo as their gloves, or rather his gloves, Zey had turned into a perfect copy of Waluigi. He was surprised to find had way more physical strength than he expected as he shot at Samus. Never had the crowd seen someone capable of transforming in such a way other than Kirby, but even his changes were minor. Samus would dodge and knock the kicks and tennis racquet-based attacks, on the defensive. This was until she would charge forward and slam into his chest, knocking him backwards. She was adapting to his moves, surprisingly. As he chucked the racquet at her to bonk off the visor of her mask, he would quickly focus on another character. And two words came into the big lanky man’s mind as he would hold out his glove, a green crystal forming in it. “Chaos…Control!” And for a few moments, time slowed down. But it was enough time for him to quickly reshape his body, his lanky arms and legs were rapidly shrinking as his gloved hands grew even larger. Golden rings forming as bracelets around his wrists with his clothing material melting away to reveal perfectly smooth black fur taking over his arms and legs. His orange shoes would swell and grow more complex, curving up into Air shoe designs. A mix of black, white, with red edges and golden rings around his ankles. His rear would have a small spiked black tail prodding out, with his shortening chest fluffing out into a small tuft of white fur amongst the black. He felt the abilities of time and space filling his being as he clenched his fists. Especially as he felt his odd, shaped head start to take an even odder metamorphosis. His mouth and jaw pulled forward and thickened with new sensations. His lower jaw and cheeks had taken an orangish cream color, and his once long pink nose would compress into a small and round black one. His short brown hair would explode out in luxurious and glossy thickness as it would clump together and solidify. It would rapidly darken and thicken, flaring out like a starfish, as red streaks formed in the black as the fur had compiled into perfectly styled quills. Their eyes would also grow and stretch, becoming more cartoonish with deep red eyes. They looked far more serious and less goofy than Waluigi did, or once again he did. As his new ears formed, time would return to normal, and Shadow the Hedgehog had been the next form Zey took. He would charge forward, knowledge of martial arts and speed filling his veins. He would warp around the bounty hunter as she kicked and fired in his direction, clearly getting overwhelmed. He would knock a kick into her visor and smack her back, only for her to stop, waiting for him to make a move. And when he went in for a strike, she would grapple him with a beam and fling him up, slamming him against the ground with a pained crack. He would grunt and leap back. He would hold out the chaos emerald he had used temporarily … and crushed it. He figured he might as well fall back on what he was good at. As his form was encased in light, the crystal would go to attach to his chest as his fur was shed like water or a coat. His outline got slimmer, with soft womanly skin and a nice figure. As his large hairdo would shorten into a smaller do, the shed fur would compress over his body into a tight and cozy outfit. It was a yellow jumpsuit of sorts, or a sweater, with large armor-like boots covering his legs. His smaller hands now enveloped in gloves still as tassels flared out his neck as a scarf. He felt his muzzle shrink into a human face, with small fangs and a cute, yet feisty demeanor. Although he wasn’t the best explanation, more she, as the light dismissed, it was revealed Zey was now Nia. Or rather her original design as she would form the rounded blades in her gloved hands. Samus would lay fire to her, only for her to dodge and swipe them around, much more agile. The audience was at the edge of their seats, silent and completely invested in this intense match as if she would clash with Samus. They both would hold their ground, trying to push each other back to gain ground. Zey knew this body and wasn’t letting up. Before going to duck down and kick Samus’ legs out from under her, only for the Bounty hunter to spin and do a backwards kick upwards to strike Zey in the chin. It felt like with every hit Zey was more in danger of being knocked back off the arena. It was like their own personal gravity was getting weaker with every hit, but so was Samus. Zey figured now it was best to fight fire with fire, or rather fire with space dinosaur. In an ironic fashion, Zey would smirk, her sharp teeth showing before they would rapidly begin to sharpen and stretch out. Across their body, their limbs would crack, snap, and extend. Their fingers would tear through their gloves, revealing sharp purple claws. Ones that would dig into her cute face as she tore it off like paper. And bursting out would be an enormous purple scaly muzzle, filled with sharp fangs as they tugged and gripped the Nia shell and tore it in half to be free of it rather quickly. This would catch Samus the most off guard as an enormous sharp tail shot out jammed into her chest. Zey felt this primal, familiar feeling in their chest. Their bony and enormous torso would grow out larger, with big flared out wings shaking off any remaining bits of the Nia body. And staring through bright yellow eyes would be Zey in the form of the space pirate Ridley, the one who couldn’t make it today. This got the crowd very excited as he would flap his wings and slam his feet down at Samus. This was the first character who was on the main Smash roster, so it was exciting, letting loose bursts of flame from his maw and followed up with further tail stabs and slashes and swipes from his wicked claws. Samus was getting hard to keep up, taking hit after hit until she found herself knocked to the edge, charging up one large final blue beam attack. But just before any of them could attack, a flash would appear in the air, and the rainbow Smash Ball would float around. This was it, the game ending opportunity. Both fighters leapt up towards it, Samus firing off her charged blast, but Zey would manage to fly up quickly and slam the tops of their wings into the ball of energy. And all at once they felt the rainbow strength fill them, landing in front of Samus. And before she could have any chance to retaliate, he would grab her, flinging her up into the sky as he shot up after her. She would be knocked into space, slamming into the side of her ship as it flew past. This was well recognized as Ridley’s Final Smash, and Zey felt fantastic pulling it off as he charged his breath attack. And with one powerful screech, he would let it rip, blasting through Samus and erupting the ship into a fiery blaze. Both would end up falling back into the Arena, with Zey landing … and the defeated Samus landing near. And just like that the crowd would erupt into roaring cheers. Chanting Zey’s name over and over in the process. As the dinosaur would look around, they would compress and shrink back into their cute and furry self. They would wave to the crowd, the largest grin on their face. It wouldn’t take long for Samus to be lifted up by a mechanical platform, one that would glow and heal her injuries as she stood up, soon letting her down. Zey would hold out their hand to her, and she would look up and gently take it, standing up and shaking back. “You did well, I look forward to seeing what you can do in the future.” She would remark, which made Zey feel a sense of pride fill their chest. And as the bounty hunter strutted off, Zey would take one more look at the crowd, and they felt fantastic.

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