#[from shock to killing her in her mind in half a second flat] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brummiereader · 7 months ago

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@emotionalcadaver ...

Bloody hell 😱! Lucy is badass 😈! And absolutely terrifying! Remind me never to get on her bad side, I'd like my head to remain attached to my neck 😳😂.

Why did it not cross my mind that she might imitate Elizabeth to get into the appartement 🤦🏼‍♀️. See? I could never be an assassin 😂.

She had shifted the handbag subtly at an angle when she’d knocked, and when she pulled the trigger of her revolver, the bottom fabric of the handbag was torn away as the bullet exited, propelling forward and into the Italian’s jaw at an upward angle, blasting through his skull and coming to rest somewhere inside his brain. She wasn't wasting anytime, was she?! You have no idea how much I love the fact she used Grace's concealed, killing method 😍! I always thought that was so badass in the show, so for Lucy to do it was the cherry on top.

I have to say, throughout the entirety of this scene, I don't think I stopped to breathe 😩. You had me on the edge of my seat as Lucy sweeped through that place, taking them out one by one 👌.

“The Red Demon? Hah!” the other voice–Alessio, she was assuming–cackled. “Luca said not to worry about her.”

Her brows knitted, an idea suddenly forming. It was a gamble, but if they really were underestimating her… what idiots 🤦🏼‍♀️. I enjoyed the fact they said this because Lucy's little show, was just perfect 👌. I could only wish Tommy would have been there to see her dramatic performance, you just know he'd be rolling his eyes shaking his head 😂.

The bullet tore through one of his eyes and exited through the back of his head, leaving a spray of blood on the floor and wall behind him. She could just shoot him through the chest. But I get the impression that, just like he theatrical performance seconds before, she also likes making an arty bloody, gory mess every where 😂😈!

“Luca made such extravagant claims about how superior your organization’s level of security was…but then again, I’m guessing you weren’t exactly the smartest of the family, were you?” arghh! You just know how much I love it when she toys with her prey 😍! Her snarky remarks at him, we're everything I needed to hear before she gave that fatal cut to the throat, severing his head.

With a sniff, she stepped over Alessio’s body, and went back into the other room, first going to the door, which was still half open. This gave me goosebumps 😬. She's so detached from what she's just done, like it's your average day at the office 😳😂. And the ways she takes out his wife moments later without a thought, only proves even more how deadly she really is.

Now, if her show back at the flat wasn't enough, then her next move, when she dumped those heads on the table in front of everyone in the betting office, surely was!! Oh my god 😳!

Had to mention this little line, because I loved it so much she heaved up the heavy bag and dumped its contents out onto the table in front of him, like a cat proudly presenting its owner with the mouse it had just killed. In my own brain, I could see her purring up against Tommy if everyone wasn't there 😂!

I love how Tommy is not even shocked at the four bloody heads rolling out of a bag in front of him 🤣! I do find it really sweet how his attention went straight to her, and her wellbeing 🥰.

The following scene of tenderness and playful teasing, was just as sweet. I adore how much he loves her, and that his number one priority is her safety. “Oh, I thought about it,” she smiled at that, patting his chest affectionately. “But like I said, it was never an issue of me thinking that you couldn’t handle it…” I'm relieved he said this, because i think it's what she's been needing to hear for a while now. He knows she's capable, more capable than him. But he loves her so much, that he wants her by his side at all times ❤️.

“Think that you’ve gotten things out of your system, now?” this made me giggle so much 😂! You'd definitely think that was enough to do it, but clearly not ��. I love these small playful moments between them. They're a lovely breather away from the heavier parts of their story. And a glimpse into the closeness, and love they share ❤️.

Incredible chapter, hun! I absolutely loved it 😍!

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Lucy sets out to prove her usefulness to the company.

Word Count: 4,122

Notes: Apologies if the action in this chapter isn't written very well. I always struggle with it and feel like it's one of my weakest points as a writer. Warnings for depictions of blood and violence.

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Chapter 12: Red

Her hands squeezed tightly around the handbag clutched in them, the intricate beading sewn into the cloth digging into her palms. The blonde wig covering her hair itched terribly, and her front was particularly warm from the balled up handkerchiefs she had stuffed into her bra to try to better imitate Elizabeth’s significant bust. Her face felt heavy with makeup.

She came to the door of the flat, hand unsteady as she raised it to adjust the wide-brimmed hat on her head so that it more properly hid the top half of her face. From perhaps a distance she could pass as Elizabeth, but if anyone got a good look at her face, the jig would be up. Pulling open the door, she began to climb the stairs, eyes scanning the numbers on each one until she found the one she was looking for.

It had occurred to her that some of the neighbors could be in on hiding the Italians out, but Isiah had said their boys hadn’t spotted anything that indicated that.

Hesitating just before she would be within eyeline of the door, she slipped her hand into her handbag, fingers curling tightly around the gun concealed within, cocking it. She tugged Elizabeth’s coat tighter around herself, took a deep, slow breath to steady herself, and knocked twice on the door.

There was an agonizing moment of nothing. She turned herself half away, as if simply looking idly down the hall, while also tilting her head so the brim of her hat and the blonde locks of the wig hid her face almost entirely from view.

It was always possible that they had some sort of password system established with Elizabeth, but in that case, she could always just break down the door. It may have been worth it to have had a talk with her, but Lucy had been worried about spooking her and having her either skip town or run to the Italians with a warning that they knew about them. From Clara’s account, it sounded like she was in love with one of them. And people in love did stupid things.

From the other side of the door, she heard footsteps, and then the sound of a lock clicking. The door opened just a crack, a dark eye peeking out. When the man saw her blonde hair and Elizabeth’s coat, he pushed the door open wider with a smile.

“Elizabeth, darling, what’re you doing here–?”

It was an old trick that Grace had taught her; the same one she’d used to put a bullet in Campbell’s leg, all those years ago.

The arm that the Italian had braced against the door went limp, allowing it to swing open the remainder of the way. His body moved to fall backways into the entryway, but she caught him by the front of the shirt, letting the handbag fall away, revolver still clutched in one hand. She could hear shouting in Italian from deeper into the apartment.

Adjusting her grip on the first guard’s body, she hauled it up and raced forward, using it as a shield as she burst through the entryway.

The apartment opened up into a living room, decorated with a couch and two big armchairs situated around a rectangular table. To her left, there was a kitchen, and to the right, she could see three doors, one ajar and the room inside dark, although she could just make out a toilet in the corner. The other two seemed to lead to what she was assuming were bedrooms. A hallway cut between those and the bathroom, leading to another room tucked deeper into the apartment.

The second guard was in the living room, half risen out of the armchair he’d been seated in when she came bursting in. She fired at him, but he dove behind the chair, and she missed. Lucy ducked behind the couch, dropping the first guard’s body unceremoniously while her eyes scanned behind her and to the sides, checking the angles where she would be most in danger if an enemy was there.

She yanked off her hat and wig, to avoid either becoming a nuisance or hindering her ability to see, tossing them to the floor. A few bullets struck the couch and the wall behind her as the second guard fired. There was someone yelling in Italian from the room that the hallway led into.

“Who is it!?”

Lucy chanced a peek up over the edge of the couch, and almost immediately had to duck down again to avoid being struck with another barrage of bullets.

“It’s the red-haired bitch! Stay hidden!” the second guard shouted back. Lucy doubted that they realized that she spoke Italian.

“The Red Demon? Hah!” the other voice–Alessio, she was assuming–cackled. “Luca said not to worry about her.”

Her brows knitted, an idea suddenly forming. It was a gamble, but if they really were underestimating her…

“She killed Lorenzo!”

“Just take care of her!”

“What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do!?”

She grabbed the ankle of the first guard, pulling him a little closer to her, then readjusted her position, bouncing slightly on her legs in preparation.

This next time she popped up, she lingered a moment longer, dropping down with a theatrical yelp just as the second guard started firing at her again. Reaching out hastily, she dipped her hand in the first guard’s bloodied head, and then spread the hot, red liquid across her throat, chest, and the underside of her jaw.

She laid down on her back, and made another sound, this time a garling, choking noise.

“Did you get her?” Alessio called from the other room.

“I-I think so,” the second guard said, and she could hear him slowly rising to his feet, footsteps approaching the couch. Her fingers flexed around her gun, raising her free hand to clutch at her throat, as if pressing on a bullet wound. “Stay there until I say it’s safe.”

He came around the couch, gun held in both hands and pointed outwards, but his confidence that she was actually injured made him slow and unprepared. She didn’t even know if he realized that he hadn’t actually hit her before she squeezed the trigger of her revolver. The bullet tore through one of his eyes and exited through the back of his head, leaving a spray of blood on the floor and wall behind him. She had to roll hastily out of the way when his body began to drop, to avoid it landing on her when he crumpled.

With a grunt, she pulled herself to her feet, shucking off Elizabeth’s coat, holding her revolver in both hands while she began to move, slow and quiet, towards the hall where Alessio’s voice had sounded. He was calling the second guard’s name, asking if he had actually killed her or not. She slunk along the wall, listening, ready to drop anyone who stepped out of the door that was only slightly ajar. The hall ended at a dead end, the door in the left wall. That gave her an advantage of being able to hug the wall, rather than try coming at the door directly.

She came to a stop at the edge of the door frame, head cocked and listening. There was the distinct sound of a window sliding open, and then what sounded like rain.

Had it started raining since she’d come in? She hadn’t noticed.

With a quick movement, she turned the corner, gun raised. Alessio was just raising a leg to climb through it, and as she rushed towards him, she put a bullet in his kneecap. The leg buckled, and he went crashing down with a scream. She managed to grab him by the tie before he could fall out the window, tossing him onto the hard floor, slamming the window slut.

Turning back to him, she cocked her head. He was laying on the floor, clutching at his knee and whimpering. Holstering her gun, she walked towards him slowly until she was standing directly over him, then lowered herself until she was straddling his chest, her knees pinning both of his arms to the floor in case he decided to try anything.

“I thought you boys were supposed to be good at this kind of thing,” she said. Alessio bared his teeth and cursed at her in Italian. “Luca made such extravagant claims about how superior your organization’s level of security was…but then again, I’m guessing you weren’t exactly the smartest of the family, were you?”

He spat at her, but she jerked her head back calmly. Reaching into her belt, she pulled out the large hunting knife that she’d been carrying with her since the vendetta started, twirling it once between her fingers.

“Tell me where Luca is.”

He laughed, chest shaking with it. And Lucy could see that, duller than a spoon as he might’ve been, Alessio would not talk. She could do whatever she liked: rip his fingernails out, chop off little bits of him, whip him, or worse…and he wouldn’t say a word.

“You stupid cunt,” he spat at her in Italian. “You’re all going to die.”

Lucy sighed, adjusting the grip on her knife, slowly rising off of him, stepping around so that she was near his head. He kept on laughing.

“You won’t ever find him, do you hear me? Not ever. He’s going to kill you, and then he’s going to kill your lover, and he’s going to make sure that it hurts–”

She cut him off with one great arc from her knife, bringing it down hard on neck. The huge, freshly sharpened blade cut through flesh, then blood, then bone like butter, and with one quick, slight turn of her wrist, she fully removed Alessio’s head from his shoulders.

For a moment, she stood there, staring down at her handiwork, listening to the drops of blood lingering on the blade of her knife drip down onto the floorboards. With a deep breath, she cleaned it off with her handkerchief, then sheathed it back into her belt. She raised both hands to her forehead, rubbing it with the heels of her palms, head tilting up to stare at the ceiling.

Fucking hell.

Could have gone worse. But could have gone better, too. She had really been hoping that Alessio could have led her to Luca.

With a sniff, she stepped over Alessio’s body, and went back into the other room, first going to the door, which was still half open. A few neighbors were poking their heads out of their apartments to investigate all the commotion.

“Stay in your homes,” she told them. “Don’t speak of this to anyone. By order of the Peaky Blinders.”

That had them all shuffling quickly back into their houses, shutting and locking the doors. Lucy stepped back into the apartment, closing the door and locking it behind her.

Next she went to the phone, dialing the line for the betting shop, lighting a cigarette while it rang until Skudboat picked up.

“Skudboat, hi. It’s Lucy.”

“Lucy! Where are you? Tommy’s been getting worried…”

“I’m fine. Tell him I’ll be back soon. Listen, I’m gonna give you an address. I need you to send a clean-up crew.”

“Alright.”

“Got a pen?”

“Yeah.”

She sounded off the address and a few instructions, and then hung up. Rifling through the Italians’ belongings didn’t turn much up that was useful. No matter. The clean-up boys could go through it all more thoroughly later anyway.

She dragged the two guards’ bodies into the bedroom Alessio was in, and scoured the closet until she found a bag big enough for her intentions.

She moved towards the bodies, and pulled out her hunting knife again.

∗ ∗ ∗

She was just stuffing the last of the things she intended to take with her back to the betting shop into the bag when she heard a creak on the floorboards and looked up, and was met with the wide, horrified eyes of Alessio Changretta’s wife.

Shit. With everything else, she’d forgotten that the woman always came home by three in the afternoon.

The woman’s mouth had dropped open, creating a little o, eyes so huge with terror that it was a wonder they didn’t pop out of their skull. Her face was pale as paper, a bag filled with books and knitting supplies still clutched in one hand. For several seconds, she and Lucy just stared at each other. Lucy cocked her head, giving her a look of warning.

“Don’t run.”

The woman’s eyes snapped away from where they’d been focused on the bag Lucy had been filling to her face, and she started to shake like a leaf, lips trembling. Lucy gave her a small shake of her head.

The woman ran from the room.

Lucy let out a frustrated groan, picking up her knife where she’d set it down on the bed.

They could never just make it easy, could they?

Sudden, yet as inevitable as a clap of thunder chasing a bolt of lightning, she took off after the woman.

She would not make the same mistake that John did by leaving loose ends. He had let Audrey Changretta live, and look where they were now: in the middle of a war, and all that was left of John was but a memory and ashes scattered in the wind.

The woman managed to make it almost to the middle of the living room before Lucy caught up to her. And when she did, the woman let out this little sound; not a scream, but a little, terrified cry, and then all noise she could have made was promptly silenced by Lucy’s blade ripping through her throat, blood spurting out all over the expensive gray rug, her cries transformed into nothing but quiet gurgles.

Lucy held her tight, the hand not holding the hunting knife to her throat wrapping firmly around her waist, holding her until she went limp, the weight of her increasing steadily as she died. Lucy listened to the way her breaths rattled wetly in her chest, body shuttering as it tried in vain to fight against the hands of death closing in around it.

When the woman was nothing but a cold weight in her arms, Lucy dragged her backwards and into the bedroom they’d just left.

She finished up what she’d been doing before the woman interrupted her, adding a new, unexpected addition to her bag, and then went into the bathroom to clean the blood and makeup off of her. The cool water felt nice on her face, helping to soothe the shakes that were beginning to shudder through her hands.

The clean-up crew arrived just as she was drying off her face. She let them in, giving a few instructions before picking up her bag, pulling her peaky cap onto her head, and leaving the apartment.

It was still raining, big droplets of water beating down onto her and the cobblestones. It pricked at her already frayed nerves, leaving her jittery. Rain reminded her of bad memories.

Adjusting her grip on the dripping bag, she forced herself forward.

She was almost back to the shop when the rain finally started to ease off.

Of course it’s done raining after I’m almost home and soaked to the bone, she grumbled internally, shooting a glare up towards the sky.

“Lucy.”

She jumped at Charlie Strong’s voice. He was walking in the opposite direction as her, probably on his way back to the yard after being up at the shop.

“Hey, Charlie.”

“We were all wondering where you’d disappeared off to after that big blow up at the meeting.”

She suddenly felt bad for running off with no warning or explanation. “Is Tommy upset?”

“With you? No, just worried. He’s mad as all hell with Linda, though.”

She cringed. “Was it bad?”

“There was a whole lot of yelling between them after you left.”

Guilt twisted in her like a knife. She shouldn’t have left Tommy alone to deal with that all on his own.

“Is Linda still there?” she asked, quietly.

“At the shop? Yeah, she’s working with Polly. They’re all closed up for the day already, just counting the takings, I think.”

A small smile pulled at her lips. “Good,” she gave him a small nod. “I’ll see you later?”

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

With a nod goodbye, she continued on her way towards the shop, pushing wet hair out of her face and fingers flexing around the bag. It was still dripping, and not just with rain water.

She slammed open the doors that led into the shop with a crash, striding in with thunderous footfalls. Polly and Linda were seated at a table, counting out money. Finn was drinking tea by the bar. Arthur was pouring himself a glass of whiskey. They all got quiet when they saw her.

At least they’d already seen all of the patrons for the day. What she was about to do would probably have chased some of them away.

But, well…she did have a point to make.

Ada was seated at a table that was a straight shot from the door Lucy had entered through, pointing to something on the papers clutched in her hands. Tommy was standing over her, one hand on the table and the other on his hip. His head had snapped up at the sound of Lucy’s entrance, eyes widening when he saw her, soaked with rainwater and holding a large, dripping back in one hand.

Lucy strode directly to him, and before he or anyone else could say anything, she heaved up the heavy bag and dumped its contents out onto the table in front of him, like a cat proudly presenting its owner with the mouse it had just killed.

The four heads of her victims fell wetly out of the bag, landing on the table with dead, audible thumps. Blank eyes, ajar mouths, and bloodied stumps where she had severed them from their bodies at the neck stared back at them.

Linda screamed, jumping out of her chair. Ada scrambled away to retch into a nearby wastebasket. Polly stood with a hand clasped over her mouth. Finn had gone a little pale. Arthur was looking at the entire display with a numb, if mildly impressed expression on his face.

Tommy only looked at the heads for a moment, and then his eyes were back on hers, nothing but relief and mild concern in them. Lucy was able to meet his gaze for only a moment before dropping her eyes away, instead shooting a glare of contempt around the office that she fixed pointedly onto Linda for a long moment.

That’s what I do for this company.

Satisfied that she’d gotten the message across, she turned her gaze away from all of them. Still clutching the empty, blood and rainwater soaked bag in one hand, she rounded and went for the stairs, climbing them hastily and ducking into the bedroom she was sharing with Tommy.

Tossing the bag away into the wastebasket, she groaned quietly to herself, rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes. She suddenly very badly wanted a cup of tea or a glass of whiskey, but she couldn’t exactly go back downstairs after such a marvelous display.

Her mind was beginning to catch up with the rest of her. And with that, came an intensity to the trembling in her palms and a heavy exhaustion in her bones. It made her both feel like she needed to move about to dispel the shaky energy inside of her, and lie still and rest for a few thousand years.

“Lucy?”

She jumped when the door was pushed cautiously open, just enough for Tommy to step inside and then close it behind him. He moved to her quickly, hands resting on her arms, looking her up and down, searching for anywhere that she might have been hurt.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I didn’t…I barely even got a scratch. Just a little shaky, now.” A shudder went through her, and his grip on her tightened. “I…” she stuttered, staring at the center of his chest, then forced herself to look up into his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just run off like that…”

“Hey, hey, no, it’s…it’s fine,” he touched her cheek. “I’m just glad you’re alright,” he cracked a small smile, eyes flickering with fond amusement. “I think you made your point down there.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “You think?”

“Mhm. Everyone remembers how terrifying you are.”

She sniffed, and he hugged her. Lucy’s eyes closed in relief at the familiar scent of him surrounding her, his chest warm where her cheek squished against him. Locking her arms around his middle, she hugged him back.

“Terrifying, hm?” she mused, craning her head up to look at him. “Does that include you?”

“Oh, yes,” he drew her in closer with a mischievous, cheeky grin. “You could almost say that I’m scared stiff.”

She almost choked. “That’s…that’s the worst joke you’ve ever made…”

He chuckled and kissed her temple, giving her another squeeze.

“I am sorry,” she added, more seriously after another moment. “Both for going out to deal with Alessio on my own and for leaving you to deal with Linda by yourself. I just…” she trailed off, biting her lip. Tommy raised an eyebrow.

“Wanted to prove that you could do it?” he suggested.

“Maybe? I don’t know. I keep feeling like I could be doing more to help.”

“You help plenty.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m a little useless. She wasn’t wrong, after all,” her voice dropped. “I do just end up following you around a lot of the time.”

His brows pinched, expression changing as if the mere suggestion was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. “You’re not useless.”

She shrugged, lowering her eyes. He touched her chin, tilting it up until she was looking in stern blue eyes.

“You’re not,” he insisted. “I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you. And not just ‘cos I love you.” His expression was hard and unwavering. “You’re important to this company.”

She flattened her palm on his chest, rubbing up and down gratefully. “Thank you,” she whispered. He kissed her forehead, and she leaned into him again. “Skudboat and Charlie both said you were worried…”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I figured Alessio was where you had gone after you didn’t come back right away.”

“You didn’t send Arthur or anyone to come drag me back kicking and screaming?”

“Oh, I thought about it,” she smiled at that, patting his chest affectionately. “But like I said, it was never an issue of me thinking that you couldn’t handle it…” he shrugged, and rested his forehead against hers. “I suppose I just want you with me as much as possible, these days.”

“I’m sorry…”

He rubbed her back, dropping a few kisses onto her shoulder. “It’s alright. You made it back in one piece. That’s all I care about,” he hesitated, and then, in a quieter voice, added, “just…don’t do it again, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed. He kissed her, not an intensely deep kiss, but not exactly what she would call a chaste peck either.

“You did really well. Four Italians dead…and one of them a direct relative of Luca’s at that…he isn’t going to be happy. Even though I’m pretty sure you traumatized Linda a little with that stunt you pulled with the bag of heads.”

“Good. She deserved it.”

He chuckled. “You’re terrible.”

“You were thinking the same thing! Besides, I needed to remind everyone here that I haven’t lost my touch.”

He hid his grin against her neck, lips brushing across the sensitive skin. “Think that you’ve gotten things out of your system, now?”

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow when he pulled back to look at her, smiling roguishly. “Not even a little bit.”

He looked delighted. “You’re unhinged.”

Her hands shifted to rest at the nape of his neck, pulling his face down closer to hers. “You love it.”

“I do,” he concurred, the back of his hand stroking down her cheek before falling to rest on her hip before he dipped his head down to kiss her tenderly. “I really do.”

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urimaginespimp · 4 years ago

Text

A Half-naked Nurse and Wrong Ideas.

Bucky x Reader with fever.

Thank you @daredarling for the “you’ve gotten sick and Bucky takes care of you” idea.

——–

You should’ve known better than to race Sam under a thunderstorm last night. Waking up the next morning, you had a massive headache, your muscles felt sore, and you were shivering.

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Barnes says you’re half an hour late in training.” FRIDAY’s voice spoke, making you groan and bring your comforters above you.

“Tell him to fuck off.” you muffled under the sheets.

Barnes… He has been nothing but a pain in the ass to you. To this day, you don’t know what you’ve done for him to dislike you this much. And as if his snarky comments and glares thrown your way wasn’t enough, Steve actually paired you both for missions and trainings.

If he wasn’t so handsome you would’ve cut him already. If Steve allowed you.

Loud bangs hit your door outside. “Y/L/N you’re already 30 minutes late! That’s 5 laps extra for you!” You could hear the irritation lacing his voice.

Maybe if you ignore him long enough, the pest would go away.

“I know you’re in there!” He followed up after you ignored him.

Sighing in annoyance, you got up, with the blankets still wrapped around you, and weakly waddled your way to your door, not bothering to open up your curtains. Opening the door, A frowning Bucky was looking down on you. If you weren’t feeling so shitty, you would’ve snickered at his expression.

“Barnes why are you so obsessed with me?” your cracked voice barely managed to finish asking.

He was observing you from head to toe, noting how pale you are, and shivering under a huge comforter despite that your AC was off.

“You’re stupid.” That was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

“Well, you’re not that sma-”

“Will you shut up and go back to bed? You look like you’re about to drop dead any second now.” He interrupted you, his face still stern with no emotion.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back and weakly made your way back over to bed, pausing to groan as you remembered you forgot to close the door.

“If you’re still there, could you please close the door.” it almost pained you to even be so polite to him but you blame it to being sick.

Finally managing to lie back down, you stared up the ceiling when you heard the door finally shut gently. Sighing, you were about to let sleep take over you when something caught the corner of your eye.

Bucky was by the closed door, taking his shirt off over his head. You let out a shriek. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?!”

“You’re sick.” he replied nonchalantly, while kicking off his shoes, leaving him in his sweatpants and socks.

“And taking off your clothes is supposed to make me feel better?!” you were trying to support yourself with your elbow, facing his way. “And I meant that you close the door before leaving.”

“I don’t want to die of heat while taking care of you.” he replied in a duh tone before entering your bathroom to fetch some warm water in a basin.

You were still trying to process what he was getting at when he finally went back out, now basin with steaming water in hand.

“You got a clean towelette I can use?” has asked as he placed the basin on the foot of your bed.

“Yeah, it’s by the third dra- what the hell are you doing again?” you caught yourself as he was opening your drawers. “Because if you’re trying to kill me, doing it while I’m defenseless is just beneath you.”

“Didn’t think your IQ could get any lower but you’re sick so I’ll let this pass.” He rolled his eyes before soaking the cloth on the water. “I’m nursing you. Now lay flat and still so the cloth won’t fall off that forehead of yours.” he instructed, again sounding so casual.

You followed his orders before realizing that this whole ordeal was still very weird. “I’m sorry, I still don’t get why you’re doing this.”

He went by your head and placed the cloth on your forehead, making you sigh at the warmth it brought your chilling form. “Steve will have my head if he finds out I knew you’re sick and let you die.”

You stared at him deadpan.

“And partners are supposed to be taking care of each other.” he muttered, making the side of your mouth twitch.

“If you tell anyone I said that I’ll kill you.” he lightly threatened when he noticed your mouth twitch.

“Fair enough. And I should probably tell you that I’m prone to get mentally confused when I have fevers which is a normal symptom, but just letting you know in case I start saying something nice.” you chuckled.

He went over your mini fridge and opened a bottle of water to drink.

You look at him, noticing that he was starting to sweat a lot from the heat. His skin was glistening making you mentally kick yourself from staring.

“You got underwear?” you found yourself asking, making him choke on his drink.

“What?”

“I-I’m just saying i-if you’re that hot, you can just take off your sweatpants and I won’t mind.”

“You’re saying I’m hot?” he chuckled, having fun twisting your words, making you flush. “Hey, color’s back on your face. Maybe I should get you all flustered more.” he teased further.

“Shut up Barnes, I meant that the room’s too hot for you because the AC is off. You’re sweating like a pig.”

“Save the excuses, Y/N. You won’t mind if I’ll just be in my boxers?” he smirked at you as he took his socks off and started working on untying the strings of his sweats.

“Puh-lease, Barnes, it may come as a shock to you, but I’ve seen enough men in boxers. You’re not that…”

You trailed off what you were going to say when you noticed that this was a different kind of boxers. Why were they so tight?

You thought he meant boxer shorts, not boxer briefs. Dammit.

“I’m not that…?” He asked.

“I forgot. Fever brain.” You shrugged, diverting your eyes away from him. “Anyway, why are you so nice to me? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” He contradicts, placing his hands on his hips.

“Uh, yeah you do.” you paused to let out a cough. “You always make fun of me or provoke me in front of everyone else.”

“And how do I treat you when we’re alone, especially in missions?” he raised his brows at you, expecting that you’ll put two and two together.

“A lot nicer actually.” You muttered.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that the team keeps insisting I have a crush on you.” he scratched the back of his head.

“That’s ridiculous. Why would they even think that?” you chuckled.

“It’s Sam’s fault. He tricked me.”

“What?”

“He was being all hypothetical, saying what if I was only allowed to date someone from the team and who would I choose. And I uh… may have said I’d choose you. And everyone else heard.” He muttered the last part, embarrassed.

It was your turn to smirk at him. “And why me?”

“Stop that. You look like a smirking corpse.” he snapped at you defensively and cleared his throat. “It’s just that you were actually really nice to me when we met. Didn’t feel like you were masking apprehensiveness like everybody did when I first got here.”

“Sounds like you have a crush on me.” you had the courage to tease him, seeing how flustered he got from telling the story.

“This is not how you treat your nurse, Y/N.”

“Yeah, a nurse in his underwear. Very ethical. And I’m not your supervisor, but I think brooding is not advisable.”

“And now as your nurse, I would advise you to quit talking and get some sleep.” he playfully glared at you. “I’ll be by the chair to constantly check on your temperature and replace the cloth on your forehead.”

“I really appreciate what you’re doing, Barnes. I’m starting to think the team’s right.”

“Ma’am flirting with patients and vice versa is frowned upon. Now sleep.”

“Fine.”

——–

While you were finally snoozing for over an hour, gentle knocks were heard on your door.

Standing up from his chair, Bucky quickly made his way over the door to prevent more knocks from disturbing your sleep, forgetting that he was still only in his boxer briefs.

Opening it slowly, he was met with three pairs of wide eyes belonging to Steve, Sam, and Nat.

“Hey you guys, could you keep it down? Y/N is getting some rest.”

“Uhuh… I bet she needs it.” Sam replied slowly, still wide-eyed, noting how Bucky’s slightly sweaty.

“So… when did this happen?” It was Steve’s turn to speak up.

“Oh, just this morning. She was running late and I came here with the intention of punishing her for it but I ended up taking care of her.” He explained in a low voice, still oblivious to how their teammates were getting a totally different idea.

“Woah.” Nat muttered under her breath.

“Yeah, I guess her muscles are all sore because she was moving so weakly, and her voice is all hoarse now when she talks, and -”

“Look we’re happy for you, but TMI, Buck! TMI.” Steve cut him off and the three of them scrambled away from your room, with Sam muttering he didn’t need the unwelcomed visuals, and Nat screaming for Wanda.

Now left alone and confused by the doorway, he was trying to figure out why they reacted that way when it finally clicked.

“Fuck.” he whisper-yelled, knowing that the teasing was about to get worse.

——–

Final Part

Permanent tag list: @lizzarooni

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hvbris · 2 years ago

Text

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 & 𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 @tempportal

A low, mirthless chuckle, just this side of bitter, rips its way out of Five’s throat at the stunned shock and stinging rebuke — if he’s being completely honest with himself, he doesn’t really know what else he expected from her, but he has to admit that he didn’t think she’d clutch at her string of metaphorical pearls over a quick fuck in a hotel room in Cancun. For Christ’s sake, isn’t she from New York? “Did you join a freaking convent while I was gone, or something? Is that why you’re going all Catholic on me all of a sudden?”

(It’s kind of funny — April has never struck him as particularly judgmental or self-righteous, at least not until this exact second, but he supposes he’s been wrong before.)

The laugh that tumbles from his mouth is a genuine one now, mostly because he’s trying to imagine any kind of contact with the Handler where she doesn’t attempt to violently murder him at the end of it, but he’s drawing a total blank because it just doesn’t work like that. “Shut up and let me have this, Becker. Shooting me is the nicest way she’s ever tried to kill me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was falling in love with me.” It’s just a joke, but it tastes bitter in the back of his throat. “Now, wouldn’t that be something?”

But her next question pulls him sharply back to the present, and his mind screeches to a dead halt as he tries like hell to puzzle out what she means in the scattered mess of his drunken mind—oh, right, he said that, he said as soon as this shit is over—

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he says, too quiet, and he knows it’s true, but it burns on the way out of his mouth, anyway, and his chest clenches up like a fist, like he’s been holding his breath for a long time now. “No one ever does.”

Even when he’s got solid, concrete evidence on his side. Even when he’s got physical, verifiable proof clutched in the palm of his hand. Even when he describes it in painfully perfect detail. Even when he lays all his cards out on the table for them, even when he holds absolutely nothing back, even when he looks them straight in the eye and tells them you’re the only one who will believe me, you’re the only one I can trust—

Five squeezes his eyes shut and tells himself the burn in his throat is just one final goodbye from that last tequila shot.

“Didn’t realize my quest to obtain a decent cup of coffee in this backwater was so dangerous that I needed an escort,” he says, dull and flat and dry as bone, before he finally (reluctantly) hauls his limp, ragdoll body off the Beckers’ sofa and stands upright to face her full-on (or, as full-on as he can when he’s at least four inches shorter than her). “You know what? Fine. Come with me. Knock yourself out. I really don’t give a shit anymore, so long as this little excursion gets me enough caffeine to put down a horse.”

Oh, April had heard that before, that she was a prude. A certain lifeguard at the Hawkins pool made a point of reminding her of that! But she didn’t think that she was a prude! She was just... She simply... FIVE WAS 13! 13 year-old were no supposed to hook up with women, let alone women who wanted to kill them.

“I’m not going all catholic on you,” she snapped back, though she was slightly blushing (he had clearly struck a nerve), “it’s just... I mean you’re underage! I’m just worried about you. Idiot.”

It wasn’t the first time April was puzzled by the kind of life Five was leading, and she certainly had a lot of questions about it. But here was the thing, all the snooping around she had tried doing about him had always led nowhere. It was as if he just didn’t exist, and just popped up once in a while. There were no records of a Five Hargreeves anywhere.

“If your hook-up always tried to murder you Hargreeves, I think you should start seeing other people,” she replied, half-joking, half-baffled by the conversation. “Glad she didn’t shoot you to death. Even if you’re a giant pain.”

She had a few theories about Five, like perhaps he was a trained assassin for the CIA or something. It would explain a lot of things, including a women trying to murder him. But every time she asked him what he was doing, or who he really was, he just remained elusive.

This time was no different, though she felt he had left an opening he usually didn’t. Perhaps because he was drunk.

“I’d believe you,” she replied firmly, “look, I’ve seen weird stuff around Hawkins, stuff that made me... rethink a lot of things.” Monsters tended to do that to someone. “Maybe I’m not into shooting people after sex,” she rolled her eyes, “but I’m actually open minded.”

Arms crossed, she waited for Five to drag himself out of the sofa. “I see tequila makes you as charming as ever, “ she quipped when he reluctantly agreed for them to go to the diner together, “alright, let’s go then.”

She unlocked the front door and slid outside, waiting for Five to follow her. The night air was still warm and humid, it was a particularly hot summer at Hawkins this year.

#YES THEY'RE BFF <3 #the fact that April has enough attitude to deal with Five tho #it's why they can be friends lmao #&(Five)#April (daddy's girl learned fast)#(queue)#tempportal

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blzzrdstryr · 4 years ago

Text

Reveries of the Past. Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

Wordcount: 3875

CW: Dissociation, graphic depiction of violence, hallucinations, unhealthy relationship and unhealthy power dynamics.

A.N.: I used a lot of my experience with dissociations in this and if it makes you uncomfortable, I would advice not to read it. I also plan on writing continuation for this, as it’s set before the Rite of Descension. P.s. I am not a native English speaker, so could you notify me if there’s awkward wording.

[Next chapter]

There are plenty of times you find yourself reminiscing about the past and now, your mind slips back to your memories, as you look at the horribly mangled body of the treasure hoarder. The stench of blood stuffs up your nose, it’s sickly sweet metallic odor making your gut clench and nausea rise, as your limbs grow heavier and numb. You don’t feel like you belong in your skin and bones and blood anymore - it’s cold, so cold, yet you don’t feel any of it. You are an outsider, an unwanted intruder in the house that is your body, an indifferent observer looking at the world through the thick glass.

The world around disfigures, shapes and colors changing in the constant whirlwind - they jump and dance around, small becoming large and large shrinking so much it’s barely visible, green shifts to red to blue and to yellow and to million of other colors, and sounds suddenly become muffled, losing their sharpness, but you don’t care about it: the part that is “you” fled to the daydreams of your childhood moments ago, leaving a clinically observing, yet unfeeling being behind.

Adults would describe you as a perfect child: quiet, obedient and dutiful, you were a stark contrast to the other louder and more free spirited kids. You studied hard, cleaned the house, helped with dishes and cooking and never talked back.

I can't upset mom and dad because they work so much. I can't play with other kids because if I do, they will make fun of me, I have to study hard and get good grades, because mom said I will have a good job and become rich and help them.

These particular memories don't feel good to you: they're bleak and boring, yet full of silent shame - they make your throat clog and eyes water, as something burning starts to bloom deep underneath your skin.

Childe stops beating the still alive treasure hoarder, a blood smeared on the cheek and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and turns his head to you.

"Hey, how about lending me a helping hand?", there’s a hunger in his voice you recognize, he wants to teach a lesson to the debtors, then. You walk towards him, feeling your knees get weaker and weaker with each step for some reason. A dagger made of ice shines in your hand with cold light.

"It's no wonder [First] received a vision! My [First] is always so good and smart, there are no children better" the exact words your mother says, as she brags to her friends, showing them the vision you were bestowed with. You left it to her, not caring what will happen to it - despite all the child's wonder you felt before receiving it, the glowing orb doesn’t look so amazing to you now. It feels foreign and ugly, a reminder of what happened seconds before you gained it.

“You know, when I was a child”, he takes the weapon and focuses on the treasure hoarder’s leader again, “we made a special kind of promise”. It’s tip travels to the hoarder’s hand. “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life”

The sweet voice he uses and the fact that you know the nursery rhyme too would make you sick in the stomach the other day, but not now.

You don’t exactly remember how you joined the Fatui - it happened shortly after you gained a vision, when you were still too numb and cold to the outside world after the Event.

Mom will hate me, dad will hate me too. I can’t let them know.

Your parents say that officials just knocked on the front door one day and offered you an entry into the Fatui and a monthly salary, big enough to stop your parents from overworking themselves. You were terrified back then, Fatuis despite being known as a diplomatic organization are still a mystery to the ordinary Shezhnayan and a direct servants to Her will. The thought of disappointing Tsaritsa or letting down Snezhnaya was enough to paralyze you, but seeing the smiles on your parents faces was enough to make you swear to yourself, that you will work there no matter how scary it seems.

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.” The blade stops between phalanges of the little finger: “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend", he presses it, strong enough to detach the limb from the rest of the body in one swift slash. Treasure hoarder starts to cry and scream from the sudden pain, yet quickly chokes on it as Childe hits him in the solar plexus. The crack of bones feels deafening among the sea of muffled sounds.

Training was rigorous to say the least, you came back to your dorm room absolutely exhausted and after you fell on the bed you were practically dead to the world. Turns out, having a vision wasn’t enough to make you a fighter - you needed to know how to climb, swim, run with a weight to lift and wield a weapon. There were other children and teens with you, they eyed your vision with a mix of adoration and envy, you pretended not to catch it in turn.

“The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again”, harbinger forces the victim's jaw apart by squeezing it with one hand, the other rapidly forcing a dagger inside the mouth. Treasure hoarder gasps and mumbles, fat tears forming in his eyes. A part of you expects a sound of parting flesh, but none comes: Tartaglia stands up and removes the blade, leaving a shivering and terrified man laying on the ground.

“Well,” Childe shrugs, as if he didn’t just dismember a person, voice back to his cheery tone : “You didn’t actually make a pinkie promise, so consider it a small mercy”. The treasure hoarder cowers even more, snuggling the injured hand close to the bruised chest. “But if you fail to repay your debt I will oversee that the frost”, he points in your direction, a treasure hoarder’s eyes going wide as he notices your vision, “will actually freeze your lying tongue off”, his voice descends again, back to it’s dangerous half-whisper.

You meet Ajax during the winter, he’s close to you in age and just arrived into Fatui grounds. He boasts and shows off to all of you, and you desperately want to retort something acidic to shut him up and rip off that arrogant bravado, yet say nothing, picturing how the tomorrow training session will have him laying flat on his back, too hurt and too tired to move even a single finger.

He defeats the trainer in less than a minute.

Now, that the treasure hoarder fled, still snuggling disfigured limb, Childe turns attention back to you. “You seem a little bit disinterested here”, his hand on your cheek is so foreign, it’s burning and freezing at the same time, the shock from the unwanted touch almost strong enough to pull you back into reality. He notices your unintentional flinching and unfocused eyes “Ah, you hurt my feelings, [First]! And I thought we already became friends”.

You say nothing, cold and unmoving, blind and deaf to the outside world, his words register a second too late, and there’s no cliche phrase for you to reply with. He looks a bit baffled and deflated for a second, but shrugs it off, just like he did during teen years, when you deliberately ignored all his attempts at catching your attention.

“Huh, even if you are so cold to me, I still forgive you”, he takes your hand, his touch still too overwhelming for you to process and pulls you back to Liyue harbor, your legs barely bending as you walk after him, like an obedient dog trailing it’s master.

“You know [First], I can beat you up so badly, that you will barely walk”, you put feather aside, stopping writing the letter to your parents as you glare at Ajax with barely masked indignation. He grins, satisfied to finally catch your attention after the whole day of pestering you. “I am aware of that” you reply in an absolutely flat tone, holding yourself from pouncing on him and trying to break the teeth out of that smug smile. He beams even wider, as if sensing your not-so-good intentions, revealing even more pearly whites as if taunting you.

“But I won’t, count yourself lucky”. And he leaves, this short interaction filling you with so much rage that you shake, handwritten letters noticeably becoming sharper and faster, your thoughts clouding around the idea of acquating his face with your boots.

Nonetheless, you indeed count yourself fortunate enough, when you see Ajax defeating grown men with bare hands. When you two, the only vision holders among your peers have to spar, he always goes easy on you, prefering to immobilize you rather than beating, making your defeat less painful yet even more humiliating.

Almost at the end of your trail he suddenly stops and says something, but you don't catch it, words turning into separate vowels and then fusing together into one unintelligible gibberish mess. He leans in, close enough for his breath to burn your neck, and he continues to get closer, until his empty eyes look into yours glazed ones. He seems disappointed for a second and backs down, his breathing no longer fanning your skin.

Distantly you think that you somehow angered him and he will slap you for it, and do nothing to dodge the hit - you barely feel pain in this condition anyway, but he doesn’t. The road to the Northland Bank is completed in absolute silence, Childe no longer trying to grab your attention, only when you enter Liyue Harbor does he whisper, that you two must look like a pair with all that hand holding. Judging by the volume and tone of his voice he says it more to himself than to you.

***

You come back to yourself in the safety of your room on the third room of the Northland bank. It feels like a rush of sensation, as everything becomes sharper and clearer again, like you just swam to the surface of water from the very depths of it. An invisible bubble around your head pops in one moment, and the world becomes real again, mind and body connecting for once more.

Eyes and ears focused you take in surroundings: the room is neat and lifelessly empty - just a bed and a working desk with a stack of written but unsent letters, along with a small bookcase near, no figurines, pictures or even plants to decorate living place, as you see no reason to adorn the area you use for sleeping only. Indiscernible wallpapers and a small window close to the middle of the bed finish the picture of austerity.

Once, your memory catches up to you, you can't help groan from the shame and irritation, hiding your face in both hands. Afterwards always feels both like a disgraceful escape and a warm blanket during the stormy night, a duality that you accepted long ago after joining the Fatui and today is no exception. You curse Harbinger when you remember why exactly you had an episode, and get up from the bed you threw yourself on minutes ago. You come to the desk, taking a clean form of a relocation request from the drawer and writing materials.

Filling in the blank feels like commiting a felony to you for some reason - you stop several times when you hear footsteps in the corridor, focusing on the door,ready to hide the half written form and say some lie as an excuse. You don't list the Childe-related reasons, knowing that there's nothing that could make any of the Harbingers face the consequence for their actions, and instead you write completely normal and fake causes: health concerns, family matters and so on. Part of you doubts that this will work and you will have the fortune to get away from a certain harbinger as far as possible. Trying and failing is better than never attempting, you think, quickly writing the paper.

Once you finish it, you almost rush to Ekaterina, praying that you won't run into a certain ginger on the way. Sometime ago you caught Tartaglia checking your letters, for a secrecy he said back then, we can’t let anyone know about the coming operation. Childe then instilled that every sent and received letter should be checked, lest Qixing and other Liyuens learned what Fatui had in plan. It sounded logical and sensible, but the paranoid thought that he enforced this policy just to have a glimpse at your feelings never stopped eating at you. From that day on you sent your family the most basic and vague letters, just stating that you’re in good health and mind, still missing them and Snezhnaya, leaving the ones with more private sentiments in your room.

Her eyes are completely obscured by the mask, but even with that you can’t miss the pointed glare she sends your way - Tartaglia never shied away from showing off, be it his strength, money or his twisted obsession that he calls love. With the amount of time and finances he spends on you and the way he acts like a kicked lovesick puppy in your vicinity, you are pretty sure that at least half of the bank workers see you as a cunning and cruel seducer, so keen and devious in the art of temptation that you managed to lure in Eleventh Harbinger.

As if archons decided to laugh at you, Childe descends from the second floor too, catching the sight of you near the receptionist. He looks unusually somber for a moment, but then he sees you, a smile appearing on his face as he takes the form from Ekaterina's hands. You can just feel how Ekaterina rolls her eyes under the mask, as if muttering complaints about the lovers’ spat and insubordination, having been working with her for some time, enough to have a clue of the inner workings of her mind.

You have to give him that he plays the confusion and regret very persuasively. He asks how he can fix this, says what a valuable team member you are to him and how much you are needed in the Northland bank. You agree to his suggestion - if years of training with Ajax and then work with Childe taught you anything, it is that Ajax is the chaos incarnate and Tartaglia is Ajax’s less tolerable and more unpredictable version, so it’s better not to anger him.

***

In the end he invites you to dine with him at Wanmin restaurant, a place Childe heard from some “xiansheng” as he called them. A bustling Liyue street is open before you two, tall midday sun painting the whole street into bright orange, so unlike the pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya. He orders two Black Back Perch Stews on the chef's recommendations, and hands a bouquet of local flowers in a parody of a normal boyfriend. Any random observer would really see it as a date.

You take the flowers, pretending to pay more attention to them than to a man sitting near you. Tartaglia is an unpredictability wrapped in human skin, there’s no privilege as being lax and carefree near him, as even Tsaritsa has no idea what he will do next.

To your mutual confusion Xiangling presents the meal with two pairs of chopsticks. Utensils feel foreign in your palm, you having no idea how to handle them and Childe, by the looks of it too. Tartaglia specifically asks the chef for spoons, while you observe the other clients, noting how they use theirs. Holding one stick like a pen and then placing the bottom one in a fixed position under the thumb you manage to grasp the fish from the soup, albeit clumsily. You consider it a small win.

The image of a mighty Harbinger struggling in a failing battle with chopsticks would look funny to you, if it wasn’t for the whole "date" you were having. After putting them aside, and seemingly admitting defeat, Childe starts from afar: "You know [First], you changed a lot since I first met you" .

You raise an eyebrow at the starter, it's vague and innocent enough, but experience tells you that he will or at least try to stir the conversation into your relationship with him again. Straightening a bit and finally turning your eyes to him, you pause for a second, picking the least offensive reply you can muster - there’s a swarm of insults buzzing at the tip of your tongue prepared just for him, growing and sprouting since your pubescent years.

“Yes, I got taller”, he laughs it off, like you said some funny joke, his giggles not stopping for some time. "No, I mean as a person. Remember how you used to glare at me for joking? And now you act so unfazed ”

Joking. Is this what he calls it? Shivers creep up your spine when your memory oh so conveniently conjures the images of the aftermath of his jokes.

“Your jokes weren’t funny to anyone but you”. Breathe, you think, there’s no need to anger him. There are pictures of broken bones and bruised bodies and a cacophony of somebody else’s pained screams flashing and rattling in your head, Adults never did anything. Why would they? They had a golden boy Ajax, why would they help the others when they had him? Why would they help you? Bitterness and anger you thought you swallowed long ago rise up to the surface again, and you decide to bite down on the stew - Tartaglia always found a way to turn your words against you and hurt you, no need to give him more weapons now.

“I changed a lot too. I know I was insufferable as a teen”, he must have taken your silence as a free pass to continue whatever nonsense he’s sprouting, “I am sorry”.

The last three words catch you off guard, a piece of fish almost stuck in the throat from the jolt. Ajax takes you by surprise once again, for him to finally acknowledge and apologize for all the pain he caused and years he tormented you?

You blink and look at him intently, his facial expression changing into an unusually somber one. It seems authentic enough.

“Let’s start from the scratch?

You contemplate unsure what to say.

Was he lying?

Looking back, you in a sense are luckier than most of Childe's victims, witnessing his youth, familiarizing and distinguishing the tells of him lying and scheming, observing the way he bloomed into the manipulator he is today firsthand. You see a familiarity in his face and voice, something that helps you from falling to his charms. There's also the added fact that you were and still are an involuntary witness to the way how carnal and bloodthirsty usually friendly Ajax can become.

When did you catch his attention?

You remember his smile when he first approached you, less teeth and more sincerity that is thereafter,a hand outstretched to you. It happens on the next day after his arrival, almost as cold and unpleasant as the previous one. You brush the limb away like a noisy fly, secretly angry at his arrogant attitude and how effortlessly he endured training. His smiling doesn’t stop, yet you feel a sudden change in the air around you.

Would your fate be different if you took his hand?

You can't forget how your mind disconnected from your body for the second time. It was Ajax again vying for your attention akin to a spoiled child, and like one he threw a tantrum when you refused to give him any. The poor recruit you were talking with was hospitalized the same day, as you helplessly watched the carnage before you. You didn't fight, you didn’t flee, you just froze, like a scared animal, paralyzed by fear, yet somehow too detached from feelings. That day was bizarre: once you felt reality, it was solid and undeniable and then you didn't. The realness of the current diffused, slipped through the fingers like sand, leaving nothing but unreliable and delusive reveries behind.

Will he let you go?

“People do change and I see that you changed too. I don’t think of you as a teen you were” you carefully pick the words, Tartaglia visibly blooms, thinking that his apology worked, yet your next words snuff out his triumph: “but my memories stay the same. I don’t think we can start from scratch”

You bite the tongue, the second part still coming out too harsh for your liking. The moment of sincerity is interrupted, you see him, changing the masks, unsure what to do. It seems for the first time it was you who caught him off guard. You guess which one of the two standard facades he will decide to show to you, having spent years by his side to observe him masterfully wielding both, the friendly one with a vacant smile that never reaches his dead, dead eyes or the calculating one, distant and devoid of humanity?

In the end he uses none, a hurt still evident, dripping in his tone, face and moves - is it another mask you never got to see or is it real? - “So that is your answer”, he leans in closer, dull cerulean eyes looking right into yours.

You hold his stare, nodding, instead of saying anything and he hums, sitting back and wearing the cold mask, reserved for his enemies: “Just wanted to remind you that I am the Harbinger and you are just a position higher than an ordinary agent”. Despite seeing it so many times, it’s the first time he directs it at you and you have to suppress the shiver. The unsaid threat hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

You two are no longer solemn [First] and annoying Ajax, who trails your steps behind like a puppy, no, you are a special agent [Last] and Eleventh Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, to whom you are personally assigned by Tsaritsa herself. Even possessing vision and delusion yourself you can’t match Childe’s power, and your loss would be easy to overlook if your harbinger wished for it. Honestly speaking, there are a lot of things he could do to you without anyone questioning it, the Harbingers being the second most powerful figures in the organization, right after Tsaritsa herself. You heard the stories of Krupp and other assistants who got missing under Il Dottore, you heard of horrible accidents happening to the people Scaramouche dislikes, you heard about the injuries Signora inflicts on the unfortunate recruits when she is in foul mood, yet you never thought that Tartaglia will abuse his power in the same way.

“Don’t worry” he seems to have taken mercy on you, “I won’t use my position like that, it’s cheating and I like to play the fair game”, despite the seemingly reassuring words , you don’t let yourself relax, knowing him for years.

“Don’t think I will back down though, I am not the type to give up”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #yandere tartaglia #Yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #Yandere #Childe #Tartaglia #Dialogues are hard #My brain is melting #It's 4 am where I live #Reader will have a crush on Zhongli in ch 2 #my writing

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boxesandrings · 4 years ago

Note

I it’s me again I love your stuff. A idea I had inspired a fanart Shane reacting to F!farmer telling him she’s pregnant

( I’m just curious where that would go )

(Hi I promise this is much happier than what the description sounds like!! I think considering Shane’s mental health history life changing news like this isn’t something he’d brush past with no second thought, having a kid is kinda scary to everyone! Promise it’s mostly fluff but wanted to tag anything that could be triggering for others xoxo)

Title: A Father!

Rating: T (mostly for language, but Shane's earlier heart events are mentioned briefly)

Summary: The Farmer shares some exciting news with Shane! He's immediately over the moon, but quickly becomes overwhelmed.

CW: Mentions of pregnancy, Shane's early heart-events, a panic attack(?)

Characters: Shane, F!Farmer, Marnie, Evelyn, Pierre (pretty much all are mentioned)

Words: 3816

Shane took off his boots before entering the cabin, grimacing as he bent to do so. Marnie had needed help repairing some things at the ranch today, and he had spent most of it in a crouch. His thighs were punishing him for it now, sore with every step. Maybe he’d take a bath tonight, let his muscles soak in the warm water and try to relax a bit. Maybe his wife would take one with him.

He waddled into the house, his legs tight and called out. “I’m home! You in?”

The Farmer was often out late, working in the fields or with the animals, or sometimes off mining or fishing at the lake by Robin’s. It had been lonely at first, an empty house was something he’d never experienced, but he had found ways to preoccupy himself. After a month, he and his then girlfriend had a chat, the Farmer promising to be home by 7 every night, or calling and letting him know if something had unexpectedly come up otherwise holding her late.

“In the kitchen!” Shane smiled, making his way toward the room. It was barely 5, a sign for a good night. The sound of music grew louder and the smell of bacon wafted toward him. In the kitchen, he found his wife flipping pancakes but minding another pan on the back burner. She turned when she heard him get closer, waving her spatula before focusing back on the food. Shane walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her, kissed her cheek and rested his head on her shoulder.

“I thought it was my night to cook?” The pair switched who cooked every night, and Shane was certain it was his night. Or had he missed yesterday?

“Hello to you too.” The Farmer twisted her head around the best she could and puckered her lips, which Shane quickly kissed. “It was, but I just wanted to cook tonight. Go sit! I just finished up.” Shane squeezed his wife once more, but made his way over to the table. He groaned as he lowered himself into the chair.

The Farmer tilted her head as she carried a stack of pancakes for the table, watching as Shane rubbed his legs.

“Long day?” Shane nodded.

“Marnie called this morning and said that some pipes in the barn needed repairing, but neglected to mention that it was literally almost every single pipe in the barns, all the ones that carry water to the dispensers.” The Farmer set down the plate of bacon on the table, then slid into Shane’s lap, her arms around his neck.

“Oh, that’s rough.” Shane nodded, tilting his head forward into hers.

“They’re all so low to the ground, I essentially was in a squat all day. My thighs are killing me.” The Farmer nodded, her head moving his. She kissed his temple and stood up.

“I think I have some of that muscle cream lotion stuff that helps with the soreness. I’ll find it after dinner.” She made her way to her own chair, sitting down. “Not all bad though, squats are pretty good for the booty.” She smiled as she picked up a piece of bacon and winked.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Shane shook his head, but smiled as he used his fork to slide a pancake onto his own plate. Yoba, was he hungry. “How was your day?”

The Farmer bit her lip, smiling. “Oh, you know. Same old.” Shane looked up, cautiously eyeing his wife. She was biting her lip, trying to hide an obvious smile and kept looking up at Shane as she made her plate. Shane squinted.

“I feel like you really want me to ask what else happened.” His wife nodded, slightly shimmying in her chair.

“I heard some real good gossip.” Shane couldn’t help but laugh after she said it. His wife looked so pleased with herself, like she could barely handle keeping her excitement inside. She grinned incredibly wide, biting her tongue. Shane picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.

“Oh, what is it?” He raised his eyebrows a few times, making his wife laugh. After she had calmed herself for a second, she leaned forward, as if the knowledge itself were moving her.

“Someone we know is pregnant.” Shane dropped his fork and coughed. Now that was some good gossip. In a town as small as Pelican Town, secrets among residents were incredibly hard to keep, and something as big as that would have spread easily within a day to the entire population. How had he not heard yet?

“Who?” The Farmer leaned back in her chair, biting her thumbnail.

“Guess.” Shane ran his teeth over his tongue as he mentally went through each of the town’s residents.

“Jodie and Kent? I feel like they could have another, the gap would be the same from Sam to Vincent to this one.” The Farmer watched Shane, her face giving away nothing. Finally, she shook her head, the same shit-eating grin on her face. Shane thought hard.

“It can’t be Demetrius and Robin, he practically yelled from the mountain top when he had his vasectomy. I don’t think Pierre and Caroline even like each other anymore…” He watched his wife’s face.

“Keep guessing.” Shane threw his hands up, but continued to smile.

“You’re gonna make me keep guessing?”

“Come on! You’re getting closer.” Shane sighed.

“Let's see… Maru and Penny are together, so I don’t think they could… Sam is, and no offence to the guy, but the biggest virgin I’ve ever met…Harvey… no.” He looked down at the table, scratching his chin. “Sebastian and Abby could be… Alex and Haley, but I’m not sure if they’re broken up right now.”

He looked up toward his wife, but her face gave away no hints. “I mean, Elliot sleeps with practically every tourist, so statistically speaking…” Shane shook his head, his eyes wide, and his wife snorted. “I don’t know? Emily isn’t with anyone, Leah isn’t, but I might not know.”

Eyes wide, he looked back up at his wife. “It couldn’t physically… Marnie couldn’t…” The Farmer’s face finally broke, a similar look of horror on her own face.

“Oh Yoba no, don’t even—” She made a face, shaking her head. “She’s too old, and not to be mean but I think if your aunt was having a baby with Mayor Lewis?” She shook her head again, faster. “You’d find me in here retching.”

Shane leaned back in his chair and dragged his hand over the bottom half of his face, thinking. The devilish smile slowly creeped it’s way back onto his wife’s face as she watched him. Finally, he sighed.

“Who is it?” The Farmer suddenly stood up and ran to one of the cabinets, pulling out a sandwich bag. She sat back in her seat, and slid the bag across the table to Shane. He picked up the bag and realized there were three white, long sticks in the bag, each one with two pink lines on one end. He dropped the bag.

“Oh, gross, where were these?” He looked up at his wife, expecting the same grin, but was confused to see that it had fallen, a look almost like annoyance on her face.

“Good god, Shane, did you— do you think I’m going around picking up random pregnancy tests?” He paused, his mouth dropping.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. She didn’t find them, she took them. That’s why he hadn’t heard the gossip already, she was the only one that knew.

He jumped to his feet, forgetting the soreness in his legs. His hands covered his mouth, open in shock as he looked at his wife. She nodded at him, the smile returned to her face, hints of tears glistening in her eyes. He turned from the pregnancy tests on the table, pointing at them, to covering his mouth again and looking back at his wife.

She continued to nod, crying definitively now but still smiling. The pair had been married for almost two years, and while they hadn’t made a point of deciding to actively try for a baby, they certainly had been playing it fast and loose. Four months into the marriage they decided that what would happen would happen and stopped using any birth control, the Farmer throwing out any pills she had left. Lately, the couple had stopped even pretending they worried about the possibility of getting pregnant, and Shane had felt that a ‘we should start actively trying’ conversation was weeks away, rather than months or years.

Finally, Shane spoke. “Are… you’re…” The Farmer nodded, sniffling and smiling.

“Yeah, yeah!” Her voice was breathy, joyfully crying through the words.” Shane covered his mouth again and felt his own tears beginning to pop up in the corner of his eyes.

“I— I need you to say it.” The Farmer laughed.

“I’m pregnant.” Shane ran at his wife, scooping her up in his arms, pressing his lips firmly onto hers. She laughed as she kissed him back, her arms wrapped tightly around them as they stood in the kitchen, her tears against his face, or maybe they were his own?

They stood, holding each other, smiling and laughing and kissing, until Shane quite literally swept his wife off her feet, fireman carrying her into the bedroom while she laughed in his arms. He set her down on the bed and wrapped his arms around her, practically attaching himself to her as he kissed her face as she pretended to struggle beneath him, giggling the whole time.

He laid on his stomach next to her, his face turned towards her on the pillow. She watched him back, still laying flat on the bed.

“You’re pregnant.” The Farmer smiled and nodded.

“I’m pregnant.” Shane smiled, scanning his wife’s face.

“We’re having a baby.” She scooched her face closer, kissing the tip of his nose.

“We’re having a baby.” The two gazed at each other, minds racing with nothing and everything at once. Shane lifted himself up and moved closer to his wife, his face only inches away from hers, sliding one arm under her head and placing the other hand on her stomach. Shane bit his lip.

“When do we want to tell my family?” The Farmer sighed and looked up toward the ceiling.

“I don’t know. I want to tell them, but so much can happen in the first few months…” She trailed off, running her tongue over her top teeth. “Maybe in a month or two? Once the pregnancy is past that first little hurdle.” Shane kissed her cheek.

“I get it. Marnie tells Lewis, Lewis tells everyone.” He sighed now. “I mean, you’re only 30, I don’t think you’re high risk or anything.” His wife shook her head and smiled at him.

“No, it’ll be perfect.” She slid a hand over the one he had on top of her stomach. “I know it. Just in the small chance, I don’t want everyone knowing.” She looked back toward the ceiling. “Also, I don’t want all the attention right away. It’s such a small, small town. Something like this will rock the pelican town people to their cores.” She laughed, Shane joining in beside her. “But I promise, when we do tell people, Marnie will be the first to know.” Shane nodded.

“We’ll let her tell everyone else. Makes it easy.” The Farmer snorted.

“Yeah.” She drew circles on his hand with her thumb. “I mean, I guess we have to tell Harvey, for obvious reasons, but I don’t think he can legally tell others.” Shane laughed again, and pulled his hand out from under his wife’s, moving it up from her stomach to her chin. He pulled her face toward his, kissing her softly.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispered, his nose touching hers. The Farmer smiled, and kissed him again.

“We’re having a baby.”

*****************************************************************

Shane couldn’t sleep, far too excited by the day’s news. No matter how long he kept his eyes closed, or tried to count deep breaths, Shane was restless. His wife had fallen asleep over an hour ago and was curled into a little ball by his side, her head on top of one of his arms.

They were having a baby. Yes, it had been something he and his wife had talked about for a while, one day wanting children, but now it was actually happening. He turned his head to look at the Farmer, drooling on his arm, and smiled. They weren’t kids anymore, Shane well into his thirties, and his wife just into them, but it still felt so strange and new and exciting for them to be parents now.

Shane bolted upright, his stomach immediately twisting. The Farmer groaned on the bed next to him, violently awoken by the sudden removal of his arm. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and propped herself up, squinting in the dark.

“Did I sleep through the alarm again?” She yawned. Shane hopped out of the bed, bee-lining to the bathroom. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna be sick.” Shane slammed the door behind him, ignoring his wife’s further questions. He barely had made it to the toilet when he felt it deep within him, the nausea making its way out into the bowl. He didn’t hear his wife come into the room, only felt her hand on his back as he continued to retch. Finally, he laid his head against the bowl, breathing heavily.

“Shane?” He could hear his wife behind him start to speak but pause, unsure of what to say or ask, her mouth just kind of opening and shutting. She laid her head against his back and sighed. “Do you want some water?”

“I’m going to be a dad.” The Farmer chuckled behind him.

“Yeah. I think we covered that a bit earlier.” She lifted her head and resumed rubbing his back. “I’m excited too.” Shane sighed.

“I’m gonna fuck this kid up.” His voice cracked, and he watched as a tear fell from his face. The Farmer paused.

“What?” Shane pulled his arms up onto the bowl, wrapping them around his head.

“I’m a massive fuck-up, and I’m going to fuck up this baby too.” His shoulders shook, an attempt to hold back his tears. “I could barely take care of myself, how am I—” Shane’s voice broke. The Farmer let out a tense breath behind him, and began to rub his back again.

“Shane, no! Don’t say that.” He lifted his head up, and turned to look at his wife.

“I am. I mean, I was worthless. All I did was drink, I hated myself, and for fucks sake, I tried—” Shane paused as he noticed his wife’s lower lip start to tremble and sighed. “I could barely hold myself together until you got here, what, five years ago?” He bit his lip, the tears coming out faster now. “I’m doing good now, but what happens if it all falls apart again?” His voice cracked again, and Shane didn’t bother to hold back a sob.

The Farmer tried her best to pull Shane into her, them both sitting on the floor, but Shane just sat there numb. He wanted to have this life with his wife, a family together, but how could he be a dad? Why did she even want him?

“Shane, please.” He looked over to the Farmer, who was crying, her arms around him. He’d made her cry, husband of the year material! “I think you’re just… you did this when the dog died, too. It’s a lot of information coming in at once, big information. But it’s okay!” Her hands slid down his shoulder, taking his hands in her own. “We’re doing this together.”

Shane let out an indignant snort. “I can’t even handle the announcement, what happens when the baby comes?” His head was spinning. She deserved better. He loved her.

“Shane! You’re okay, it’s okay. We’re in it together, we have each other.” She squeezed his hands, scooting closer to him. “You’re going to be great, okay? You’re not a fuck-up. We all have rough patches, you just didn’t have the support system you needed. Please.” She kissed his temple, but Shane stared straight ahead, toward the wall. He wished he could shrink into a tiny ball.

“I can’t… I can’t mess this up too.” The Farmer pulled his head down to her shoulder, her hands carefully working their way through his hair.

“You’re not going to mess this up, babe. I think you’re just panicking.” She held him close, continuing to quietly stroke his head. “I’m nervous too, but I know I have you.” He loved her, but when she shifted away beneath him, the panic filled his chest again. “I’m going to go grab your anxiety meds. I don’t think you took them at dinner, they might help.” She fully slid out away from him, Shane’s heart beginning to race. The Farmer stood up and stretched out her back. “Now that I think of it, I don’t think either of us even ate.”

Shane felt sick to his stomach, and barely made his way back to the toilet bowl before throwing up again. The Farmer crouched next to him, her hand on his back. Shane could practically feel the concerned look burning into the back of his head.

“Even if I don’t mess up, I’m just passing a damn cocktail of mental illness along.” He sat back on the floor, and used his hand to try and rub away the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. The Farmer above him sighed and sat back down, and wrapped an arm back around his shoulder.

“Babe, don’t—” Shane choked and leaned forward, wrapping his arms over his head.

“It doesn’t even stand a chance, I’ve just fucked it up from the beginning!” He could feel himself hyperventilating, what did his therapist tell him to do? “It’s gonna hate me, I’ve already ruined everything—”

“Shane!” The Farmer’s face in front of his snapped him out of the almost trance he was in, the distraction what his body needed to get in at least one deep breath. She had tears on her cheeks, but her voice gave away no sadness. “Stop it! Calm down!”

Shane leaned forward into her, practically up on his knees now to wrap his arms around her, holding her tight as he cried. She rocked her body, quietly shooshing as she held him, pressing kisses into the top of his head as she did.

“You’re not going to fuck this up,” she said after Shane’s breathing became more regular. “I mean, we’re going to make mistakes. Both of us! A lot. But we’re going to be new parents, it happens.” He nodded, squeezing his eyes tight. “You’re not going to spiral— I mean, now, yes— but it’s not going to get bad like it was ever again, okay? You have me, your therapist, Marnie, we’re all here for you.”

“I love you.” His words were muffled, his face still pressed into her chest. He felt a rumble, a small chuckle above him.

“I love you too. Also, you’re not the only one afraid of passing on bad shit. I mean, my mom is medicated for depression, and I have ADHD.” Shane raised his head, his face even with hers.

“Yeah, I guess.” The Farmer smiled, and reached on her hands up to cup Shane’s face, wiping away a tear with her thumb.

“Yeah, dummy.” Shane smiled and kissed his wife, before pulling back and biting his lip.

“I’m— I’m so excited, I really am.” His eyes met hers briefly, before he looked away again. “I want this with you, truly, I—” The Farmer leaned forward and kissed her husband again.

“I know, Shane. I get it.” They held each other on the floor, their foreheads pressed together. Shane tried to calm himself, breathing in time with his wife. “We’re in it together, alright? We’ve got it.” Shane nodded.

“I know, I’m sorry.” The Farmer smiled.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be a big change.” She chuckled to herself. “We’ve got nine months, I’m sure this won’t be the last freak out. That either of us have.” The Farmer stood up, and offered a hand to Shane, smiling. “Good luck to you when I have to start buying maternity clothes.” Shane grinned and took her hand.

“What? You’re cooking up a baby in there, you’re gonna grow.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and wrapped his arm around her.

“Oh, I know that now,” the Farmer said, leading the two of them back into their bedroom. “But I’m sure hormone-y me will have to reckon with that later.”

Shane snorted as the Farmer sat down on the bed, and pulled Shane down into her. He kissed her forehead and climbed over, pulling the covers up on his side of the bed. She snuggled back into him, her head resting on his shoulder, but Shane could feel her squirming.

“You feeling better?” Her voice was quiet. Shane nodded, and wrapped his arm around her head.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Her arm snaked its way over his chest, reaching up to hold the side of his head. “You’re gonna be great.”

Shane smiled, and moved his head to kiss the palm against his cheek. “You too.”

****************************************************************

It took Marnie two weeks to figure it out. Something about the way the Farmer was moving, she had told Shane, was different, and trapped him in her kitchen until he confessed. Marnie was over the moon, and promised not to tell anyone, but Shane ran home and told the Farmer straight away. His wife had bit her lip but shook her head, smiling. “If anyone was going to piece it together, it’d be her.”

In Marnie’s defense, it was almost a week before Evelyn congratulated the pair at the general store. Shane watched as Pierre blushed and ducked behind a shelf, but the Farmer thanked her and moved past, reaching for a bag of flour on the top shelf.

“You know, that was a pretty good run, all things considered.” Shane nodded, agreeing with his wife.

“I mean, that has to be a record! What, five? Six days?” The Farmer laughed, and hoisted the last grocery bag up into the truck. She caught Shane’s gaze, and tilted her head.

“What?” Shane realized he had been staring at her, a dopey look on his face. He smiled, face turning pink.

“Oh, nothing!” He hopped up into the truck, his wife following suit beside him. He looked at her again. “I’m gonna be a dad.” She smiled now, rolling her eyes.

“You’re gonna be a dad!” Shane laughed, and started the truck. The two chatted excitedly the whole way back, discussing the future addition to both their home and family.

#sdv shane #sdv fanfic #stardew farmer #stardew shane #shane stardew valley #sdv requests #requests #fanfic request #requests open #shane x farmer #sdv fic #sdv marriage

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years ago

Text

Of Nights So Hollow, Of Legends So Great

Night Culture AU!Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: Angst, Uh..Scary? I guess?

Author's Note: This is based on the wonderful @bunnvoid Night Culture AU and I felt compelled to write this at midnight because I couldn't stop thinking about it. Bunn, I hope I did your ideas justice! Honestly, I keep going back and forth between the drawings to make sure! I had fun writing it! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It was said that at the heart of every legend there was a grain of truth. Legends are just pieces of history fabricated beyond wildest belief, built upon by centuries of retelling, each story sewing a new thread into the tapestry from whence it came. But that’s all that legends are. Threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable.

***

The old castle was a legend. Perhaps not the castle itself, but what supposedly resided inside. Supernatural creatures that skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out fresh blood in the night. That was one form of the legend, if you believed it. The other form was that of creatures who skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out evil and destroying it where it plagued innocence.

The chateau lied in the midst of the Devilwood Wilds, just outside the City of Old Gotham. Even during the days when the sun would peek through the gray clouds, it appeared gloomy, blackened stone walls, charred shingles and shutters. The giant Devilwood and Shadow trees prevented sight of the doors of the castle; only the top could be seen, to get the real view, one would’ve had to go into the forest. There was another legend: the horrors of the Wilds.

Whispers on the school-grounds told of a creature, big and terrifying that could be summoned with ritual stones and fresh bat blood; those that summon the beast are never seen again. The adults were less convinced of the idea, though they still forbid their children from reaching even the edges of the forested area. Whilst they believed those that went in were never heard from again, it wasn’t from a creature eating them, but a lack of guidance. Starvation. Wild animals. The freezing fog that made your breath turn to frost.

Timothy remembers hearing those whispers when he passed the old schoolhouse. His mother and father didn’t let him interact with the common children, instead his lessons were taught by private tutors from the wealthiest lands, paid for with the Drake treasure of gold and gemstones.

What more so Timothy remembered was the inhuman being that appeared in his father’s manor, striking down his mother with a slash of black magic, his father following. He remembers the way his father’s eyes rolled back in his skull, fear spreading through his body as he hid in the corner of the room, whimpering and crying. And he most certainly remembered the cold hand of the demon sliding between his shoulder blades before it dug into his skin, piercing his flesh, laughing as he cried out in pain as pricks spread out along his back and down his arms.

Warmth bled down his back as black feathers pushed from his skin and Timothy panted as his fingernails grew in length, sharpening as they darkened. He remembered scrambling to his feet, darting away from the creature as he ran. Forgetting the corpses of his family and staff around him, throwing the door open, bursting into the night, and sprinting down the street, leaving a trail of bloody, black feathers in the direction of the Devilwood Wilds.

***

The first night was the least remembered but the darkest. Violent and corrupting nightmares slithering inside his head as he tossed and turned along the frigid ground in a feverish deathlike state, the wings at his back only growing in size.

The second night was less nightmare-ridden, but much more painful. Timothy had pierced a wing on a stray Devilwood tree, the syrup like poison only infecting the wound. He was hungry and cold. Exhausted and scared. He tried to remember all the books he read as a child of the knights facing the elements for a week in order to ascend knighthood; he couldn’t seem to recall a thing.

The third night seemed to be his last. He lay huddled up against a raised Shadow tree root, the ebony wood providing stability for his wounded wing. Timothy sniffled, dragging his knees to his chest as he lay his chin on his arms, ignoring the grumbling of his stomach as it ate itself in hunger.

A tree branch creaked above him, and he craned his neck up, eyes widening when he saw the glowing eyes of the masked creature. The legends were right. The creature’s head twisted sideways, reminding Timothy of an owl, then the other way, like it was observing him. It made a noise and he scrambled to the floor of the forest, curling his injured wing above his head and over his body to protect himself.

THUNK!

Timothy whimpered, ready to be torn to shreds, but when no vicious claws or snapping teeth came at him, he carefully peered between his open wing. There lie a satchel, as long as his forearm and as wide as his middle was. He looked up towards the tree branch to where the creature had sat, but there was nothing there anymore; he glanced around, it wasn’t in sight.

He blinked and shuffled towards the satchel, untying the drawstrings with fumbling clawed hands. Inside lay a pair of thick wool socks, a small blanket, and another small bag. Timothy pulled it from the satchel and opened it; half a loaf of bread and a chunk of meat the size of his hand were stowed inside.

Timothy forewent the etiquette he was taught as a child, giving into his ravenous desire as he devoured the meat. It was tender and juicy, the glaze a mixture of honey and cinnamon.

A memory flowed to his mind, the dinner after the rising of the first star, his family and staff all surrounding the dining table, a divine feast laid before them. The smiling faces of his mother and father stilled his hunger and he placed the food back in the satchel, uncurling the wool blanket. Timothy lay underneath the raised Shadow tree roots, one wing curled around him, and he fell into a restless sleep with tears frozen on his cheeks.

***

When he awoke the next morning, his wing was no longer torn and infected. A new feather had appeared where the wound had been. Timothy wanted to learn to fly. He’d owned a bird once. A Ruby Firebird, with long, crimson-colored feathers and big ruby eyes. It had been his only real friend and he’d watched it a lot. It couldn’t be that hard.

He stretched his wings out, unable to fight the urge to touch them with a single black claw. It tingled. Timothy blinked and beat them, unsure. He beat them again, this time a little harder, keeping at it until with each beat he was able to blow the long grass flat against the ground. A giddy smile came across his lips when the tips of his toes grazed the ground.

What he had not counted on was how tired he was going to get after only a few brief minutes of trying. His wings felt sore. Timothy would try again tomorrow to rise above the tall grass.

***

The creature would appear at odd times during the night and Timothy had stopped feeling the cold fear in his gut when it did. It never came near him; it just watched with the cocked head, back and forth, then would drop the satchel again and disappear. Sometimes there were scribbles inside. He didn’t know what they meant; but he knew the language. Thaatisgani. An old language his writing teacher had shown him one day. A language long died out amongst the common and even the elite folk.

Timothy wanted to know what it meant. He wanted to know what the creature was. His determination drew him to the front of the castle during the night of the harshest season storm. Lighting crackled across the sky, the thunder rolled along the clouds and the rain came down in torrents. He was freezing and soaked to the bone and the weight of his wings had him crawling up the steps, collapsing at the door.

He weakly raised a clawed hand, one nail scratching the black glazed door and he descended into darkness.

***

His mother liked to wear scented oils. They smelled of Queen’s Briar and Golden Belladonna. Before he was older, she used to let Timothy sit beside her when she would apply them to her wrist and ears. She would smile at him and tell him stories of far away lands.

Warmth spread across his eyes, and he rolled over in what he thought was his dream, only to roll onto the ground, landing awkwardly on his wings. Timothy whined and unfolded himself off the ground, rubbing his eyes, only to see the creature a hair’s breadth away from his face.

Timothy choked on his fear and scrambled away, only for the creature to grab his shoulder.

“Stay.”

He halted, looking back at it. “You speak the common tongue?”

The creature stared at him. “You are Timothy Drake. Son of Earl Drake.”

“I am,” Timothy responded, then looked at his hands. “But my family is…is dead.”

“Killed by a slithering demon from the Farstead realm.”

Tears prickled Timothy’s vision. “It killed my parents and cursed me.” He looked at the creature. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re cursed to believe what you think you are.” The creature waved a glowing hand and Timothy blinked in shock as the wings disappeared and his hands turned to normal. “It’s merely an illusion. You’ve only been tainted with cursed magic.”

It was much too complicated for Timothy to pull apart now. “Can I be healed?”

The creature blinked its glowing obs. “Cursed magic cannot be healed…but it can be trained.” They leaned forward, getting in his face. “I can teach you to control and transform.”

“You’re not going to eat me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“…Yes.”

“You hesitated just a bit right there.”

A bottle rolled out from the corner of the room and the creature sighed, turning its head to it. “Richard. Jason. Come here.”

Two young boys, not that much older than Timothy appeared from behind a corner, guilty looks on their faces as though they’d been caught eavesdropping.

The creature nodded to Timothy. “Take him upstairs. He is dirty and tired.”

The tallest one, Jason, crossed his arms over his chest. “Just like that, Bruce? You’re going to take the witch boy in?”

“Pot-kettle,” Richard coughed, smiling when Jason elbowed him.

The creature, now known as Bruce, sighed. “Take the boy. He is tired.”

Jason and Richard obeyed, each hauling Timothy up under the armpits, leading him to a dimly lit staircase.

“Are you two going to eat me?”

“Yes,” Jason replied without hesitation.

“Jason!” Richard barked. “Stop.” He looked down at Timothy. “We’re not going to eat you Timothy…we’re going to help you. And that includes having a warm bed to sleep in and hot food to eat.”

Tears once again gathered in Timothy’s eyes, and he lowered his head as he sniffled. For once since that night, he felt safe.

These were the legends that prowled the city streets. They were supposed to be vicious and dark, evil and bloodthirsty, not ribbing and warm.

But then again, what are legends, but threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable?

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 4 years ago

Note

Second request, the boys are out hunting and see a odd young woman stumbling along the beach. They watch as she starts talking to this boy, soon, his eyes get glossy and he follows her as they disappear beneath the water, this pattern repeats for a week. Finally, they decide to go and properly get to know her... this girl from the water turns out to be more than they bargained for.

Bait and Catch (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Mermaid Reader)

Warnings: blood/gore/implied violence, near death experiences, pining over someone you definitely shouldn't pine over

Word Count: 1.8k

When the boys saw what was happening on their beach, they didn't know what to do. They hung in the air like clothes left up to dry, watching the scene play out in front of them. They'd been hunting, hunting the exact boy that you had approached. They figured he'd lead them towards some beach party, given his type, but when he stopped to help you as you stumbled along the beach they paused. Waited.

The wind whistled in their ears and the waves crashed below them. They couldn't make out any of the words that were spoken, but they saw as stillness went up the boys spine. Like someone had strapped a ruler to his back.

They watched as you lead him to the water, and they couldn't see what happened when both of you disappeared under it's depths. The only thing they could see was the red bubbling to the surface.

Now, this was an issue. They watched you for a week, and every night it was the same. They'd passed ideas back and forth. Paul suggested,

"Ghost, maybe?" But David doubted it. You could be. You only came out at certain times and you certainly lead people to their dooms. Yet, none of them had ever heard of a ghost being tied to a beach. You seemed odd, supernatural, but solid. Not quite spectral, even if they thought you had a sort of glow or glimmer to you. It had been a few days before any of them dared to utter the word.

"Mermaid." Dwayne finally said as they watched you guide another helpless victim towards the water. It wasn't a question, and none of the boys tried to argue with him. Not even David.

Mermaids were a problem, even for vampires. They didn't understand the concept of territory, and not even a vampire was immune to their glamor. To their song. And they didn't understand the concept of cleaning up after themselves either.

David and the others had to pick up what they could when it washed on the beach, but it was difficult when they didn't know where you lurked beneath. When he saw news of a hand being found on the shore, David knew this wasn't an issue they could skirt around any longer. You were sloppy, and the boys had managed a perfect balance in their little town. They killed enough to keep the statistic high enough that the public wouldn't be surprised when someone went missing, but they never left anything for them to find. The point was missing, not dead. And bodies meant dead. Dead drew hunters.

David had thrown the newspaper into the trash, and flicked his cigarette in there along with it. They needed to solve this problem, and they needed to do it tonight.

They knew when you hunted, and they knew where. And, just like always, Paul would be their bait. If he was nervous, he didn't show it. In fact, he spent most of the time before asking if his hair looked alright, before Marko finally hit him and told him,

"Shut up, man. This is serious." He said, but Paul scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"I am being serious. Mermaids are supposed to be total babes, man. And I wanna see if she's friendly." The way the wolfish grin spread over his face, the boys knew exactly what he intended by that. Dwayne rolled his eyes and Marko gave him another punch in the shoulder, but David only nodded his head towards the beach. It was time.

The boys had escaped back up towards the skies, hiding in the dark cover of the sky and watching the platinum blonde as he attempted to look natural as he walked across the dunes. Whether his performance was convincing or not, you climbed out of the salty sea and approached. You took the bait.

The boys watched as he chatted you up in his usual fashion. The pair of you were walking along the beach, and Dwayne frowned at how close he was letting you take him towards the water. The pair of you were only less than a foot away from where the tide touched. David sunk down closer to see if he could eavesdrop on your conversation, wondering where Paul had taken this. He was just out of hearing range when you sung three notes. That was all it took, and they watched as the blonde straightened. How his lazy, slumped shoulders were gone in a second, how the smile slipped off his face. How his eyes seemed even more hazed than usual. In that second, the boys fell out of the sky like puppets who had their strings cut.

You were quick, just like usual, and the boys watched as Paul started to take off his shoes. He was going to get in the water, and Marko and David grabbed him just before he could get the first shoe off. To their surprise, he thrashed the second their hands tried to stop him.

***

You'd gasped, surprised by the sight, and, out of instinct, you shrank back into the water. You were up to your knees, watching carefully as the boys fought to keep the blonde away from certain doom. You watched as the boys faces changed and distorted, how the boy you'd planned on eatings face did the same.

Sharp lines, yellow eyes, large fangs. Vampires. You had half a mind to dive under the second you put it together, but none of them lunged towards you. If anything, they seemed preoccupied with their friend. The farthest extent they'd gone to threatening you was the hiss the bleach blonde sent towards you, but he was quick to try to brace the blondes shoulders and hold him back. You weren't surprised by his persistence, and you had to dodge his shoe when he attempted to kick one of the boys. The smallest of the boys exclaimed,

"Jesus, Paul!" And Paul, the one you'd planned on eating, didn't intend on calming or to go down quietly.

"Let me- Let me go! She needs me! I need to be with her! I need to- I want to go-" He yelled, and one of his friends attempted to cover his mouth. In an instant, the smell of blood filled the air and the brunette retreated as he clutched his hand.

"Fuck! You-" But he cut himself off, shaking his hand as it healed right in front of you. Paul shook the smallest of the blondes off him, but the platinum grabbed him before he could slip past. He held him from behind, holding his arms behind him as the blonde toed the edge of the water. The others launched forward, helping the bleached blonde drag him away from the waters edge.

"Paul, calm down!" The blonde shouted, and even you could hear the suggestion behind it. But it was no use. The only one that could stop a mermaids call was the mermaid in question, and you saw as ocean blue eyes flicked to you. He seemed to know this as well, and, while it seemed to pain him, he didn't hesitate to ask, "Help us!" And you let the struggle go on for another moment as you thought about it. You looked at the four of them, weighing your options. You could sing again and kill them all. Or you could let him go, and let them do whatever they obviously planned on doing that night. But, as you looked at each of their earnest faces, your eyes fell on the blonde you'd hypnotized. He had tears in his eyes now, and his voice was weak as he begged.

"Let me go, let me go, let me go," It was an insistent mantra, and you didn't know who he was saying it to anymore. He was twisting in their hold, but their grip looked painful. Even for a creature of the night. For the first time in a long time, you felt your heart ache. You felt a bead of sympathy. And, it only took a small hum for the spell to be broken.

You watched as the boys fell back into a pile on the sand from the sudden give of their fellow vampire, and, before they could regroup, you dove into the water.

***

The boys laid in the sand, completely shell shocked. All of Paul and part of Marko had fallen onto David, with one of Paul's legs sprawled on the blonde. They all sat for a moment, processing what had happened and their own stupidity before David was pushing the lanky, blonde vampire off of him.

"Get the fuck off of me." He snapped, and Paul still seemed dazed as he was pushed into Marko instead. Marko didn't seem to care, and simply panted as he laid flat against the sand. David pushed himself up to stand, wiping the sand off of him as his eyes searched the murky, dark waters for any of sign of you. But you were gone. As if you'd never been there at all. Dwayne pushed himself up onto one arm, before leaning across to deliver a heavy punch to Paul's shoulder. That seemed to fully snap him out of it, and he whined an,

"Ow," As he rubbed his shoulder. "What the fuck, man?" He asked, and Dwayne sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees as he said,

"That's for nearly getting yourself killed. And for biting me. Next time, think with your head. Not your dick." He said, shaking his own head as he looked away and examined where the blonde had bit him. The wound was gone, but the pain was fresh in his mind. He held his own hand, pressing where the bite had been.

"Dumbass." Marko said as he reached up to ruffle the taller blondes hair. Paul shifted, letting the back of his head rest on his chest. Marko didn't say a word after that. He was just relieved that they'd gotten him in time, and he was almost impressed with how much of a fight he'd put up.

"She's gone. We should head back in case she changes her mind." David said, but none of the boys had moved by the time he turned around. They were still catching their breath, even if they didn't need to. Finally, after a moment, Paul tapped his fingers against his chest and asked,

"...you think she liked me?" And the boys didn't know if it was the lingering effects of her song, or if Paul was just a dumbass with a death wish. Maybe both. Either way, David didn't grace him with a response, and briefly thought that the wrong person had caught the wrong thing.

As he looked back out at the ocean, he tried to convince himself that replaying the look he'd seen on her face over and over didn't mean anything.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys marko #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #marko the lost boys #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #mermaid reader

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spacedikut · 5 years ago

Text

my all ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: “hey could i do a fic request for an x spencer? could u maybe do something with really touchstarved spencer (bc germaphobia) and him being at first too awkward to go n cuddle and then as he gains more confidence he gets much more touchy and huggy and stuff? and reader being shocked by how cuddly he is? plzplzplz? its totally ok if u dont write it but just wanted to send in the request!” 2689 words

a/n: i hope i did this justice! i love spencer reid!!!!!!!!!

masterlist

Spencer first realised how much he loves your touch after a case where he put himself directly in danger.

You ran up, flung your arms around him and pulled him against you so tightly he felt winded.

He was shocked, stunned, and everything in between, but the most important thing is that he hugged back. It felt natural, the right thing to do, and his arms felt so snug and perfect around you his heart stuttered.

You pulled back, noticed his expression, and winced despite his reciprocation, “Sorry. I just. You could’ve died, you moron. You scared me.”

All he did was give you a breathless smile and with a squeeze of his shoulders you let go, allowing him to get checked by a medic.

Spencer struggled to sleep on the jet home, plagued by the thoughts of you - you with your arms around him, how much he enjoyed how it felt.

It felt… wrong to like it as much as he did. Like, in theory, enjoying your physical touch went against his moral code – as a germaphobe, the thought of having to come into contact with anyone in any way makes him want to vomit. But, with you?

You smelt so good, even after running for God knows how long. You were so soft, yet so firm, so warm and welcoming and dear God Spencer has never wanted to touch every inch of someone so bad in his life.

The case was a rough one, so Garcia was waiting for you all with loving eyes and a pitiful smile, arms wide open for whoever may need it. Spencer instantly decides no thanks, but you swoop in and cuddle up to Garcia within seconds of seeing her.

You even place a series of kisses against her cheek, and Spencer is transported back to your hug.

If he was more like Garcia, open to any form of love as long as it’s love, would you have kissed him like that?

His pulse quickens, palms get sweaty and he has to clear his throat to bring himself back to Earth.

He can’t afford to think like that.

But your lips…

No. Paperwork? Let’s do that and not think about a colleague’s lips.

+++

You’re furious.

You told Spencer to wait for backup, to not do anything stupid or irrational and definitely do NOT go in there alone, genius!

And what did he do?

He didn’t wait for backup, did something very stupid and irrational, and definitely went in alone.

And now he’s dealing with a hefty concussion and flurry of other injuries; cuts, scratches, and bruises alike all dotted over him like he’s a connect-the-dots drawing.

The second he wakes up, you’re gonna kill him.

For the time being, you’ll gently thread your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp, and watch his chest rise and fall to ensure he’s alive and breathing.

“Mmm,” A groan, “That feels nice.”

His eyes flutter open. You lean towards the table next to him, pick up the bottle of water and the jello cup, and offer him both.

“Thanks,” He says, hoarsely.

You sit back in your chair. Spencer doesn’t take his eyes off you once. Not when he drinks the whole bottle of water, or when he cracks open the jello and inhales it with one slurp.

Your brows furrow.

“You’re banned from work until you’re fully healed.”

“I’m suspended?!” He guffaws.

“No,” You shake your head, “I’m personally telling you you’re not welcome back until you’re okay.”

“I’m okay now.”

“Do a backflip, genius.”

Spencer giggles, “I can’t do that in peak physical condition, Y/N.”

“Sounds like a cop out to me. So, again, you’re banned from work until you’re fully healed.”

He considers fighting back, but then he remembers what you were doing when he woke up, what he felt when he woke up.

He was confused and, you know, in pain, but there was this tender and soft, repetitive touch that immediately eased him. His subconscious knew it was you, in all your glory and sweetness, that had stayed with him for however long, looking after him even when he wasn’t conscious to know it.

So he just keeps staring at you, spoonful of jello in his mouth.

+++

When you get to Spencer’s place, he looks around like it’s his first time seeing it – awe and wonder painted on his face.

Everything he’s doing, everything he’s going through, you’re putting it all down to his concussion.

On the way here, he told you the whole history of car air fresheners after taking a good five seconds to get a good sniff of the cherry blossom scent you have.

“Let’s get you settled in, huh?” You say quietly, guiding Spencer to his bedroom. He walks a little like a mummy, kinda stumpy and heavy, and he flops on the bed.

You give a lopsided grin as you watch him. He’s mumbling incoherently, shuffling up to the top of his bed to fall flat on his back.

He moans.

“Alright, alright,” You placate, “Let me go… gather some things.”

You don’t know Spencer’s place all that well, so it takes you a while to find even the simplest things like a glass, a flannel, a snack. You get lost in snooping around, trying not to profile him, and the one thing you deduct is his apartment is so him. So Spencer, so lovely and comforting and a little odd.

You can’t get enough.

There’s a weak call from his bedroom: “Y/N?”

“Coming!”

He hasn’t moved an inch from where you left him. He looks so pitiful, bruised eyes and a cut right through his lip, and you almost coo at him.

“I’m not a good cook, so I thought we could order some food later.” You hand him the water and gesture for him to drink. “In the meantime, you need to rest. Mind if I borrow a book while I keep you company?”

You turn to leave, but Spencer’s voice makes you pause.

“Could you play with my hair again?”

A part of you wants to say no, like this is some overly intimate thing he’s asking, but then you remind yourself that he’s injured, which has reverted him to acting like a sleepy child.

“Please?” He looks at you with glassy eyes and he looks adorable, “Only for a little while.”

You say nothing, sliding into bed next to him. He scoots over a little to make more room for you, curling into you before your back hits the bed entirely. One hand rests above the covers, naturally placed on his arm, thumb smoothing him back and forth. The other, the one wrapped around his head, cards through his lightly tangled hair, all warm and loving.

He falls asleep instantly and, not long after, you fall asleep, too.

You both dream of eachother and wake up blushing.

+++

Spencer’s back in work within four days. You’re working a new case the second you arrive.

There’s been a shift in your dynamic and everyone’s noticed it. No one questions it, however, because they’re all aware you looked after him while he was away, and they witnessed how worried you were when you found him, but they can’t help but ogle and whisper.

They might be federal agents, but gossip is gossip and they love it.

You’ve noticed it, too, obviously. JJ tried to tease you about it, after Spencer bought you your favourite coffee and morning muffin on the way to the precinct, but you shut her down (and yourself from thinking about it too much) by reminding her you spent several days caring for him. He’s repaying you, even though you’ve told him he doesn’t need to.

Ever heard of transference, JJ?

A shiver runs through you as you look into the interrogation room. It’s not because of the suspect, though, it’s because the AC has been turned up – a tactic Hotch promises will be worth it despite your chattering teeth.

Something’s wrapped around you, suddenly, light but cosy and adds some heat to you that you need.

It’s a cardigan. Grey, much too big for you, the sleeves falling way beyond your arms and length reaching your mid-thigh. There’s a little red heart with eyes stitched on the left breast.

It’s Spencer’s.

“You’re shivering,” Spencer chastises, seemingly appearing from nowhere, “You know, when we shiver, it’s our bodies doing the opposite of sweating – it tightens the skin and shakes the muscles, a process that conserves and generates heat. We shiver to get warm. Do you not have a coat?”

“Alright, dad,” You tease, “It’s in the conference room. I wasn’t prepared for Hotch to make the unsub an icicle.”

Spencer breathes a laugh, moving closer to reach an arm around you. His other hand presses against your bicep, his grip sturdy as he vigorously rubs up and down your arms to generate heat.

Whoa.

It certainly works. You feel hot, suddenly, but not because of the cardigan or whatever the hell he’s doing, because Spencer has voluntarily touched you and is standing so close you feel like you’re on fire from the inside out. You’re sure your heart skips a beat and you stare at him in bewilderment.

He shrugs, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, “My mom used to do that for me when I was young and got cold. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

You give a shy smile, “Yeah, I appreciate it a lot, Spence. Thanks.”

When Hotch leaves the interrogation room, he half-halts when he sees you in Spencer’s cardigan. It’s the perfect Hotch reaction, combined with the rise of an eyebrow as he walks past you to reconvene with the team.

You don’t take it off when you all walk back to the conference room, and Spencer doesn’t ask for it back.

Everyone notices. A lot of eye contact is made with many questions silently asked.

You and Spencer pretend not to notice.

+++

There’s a knock on your door at precisely 10:12pm. You check because your first instinct is if I’m about to get robbed, I’m making sure the timestamps are correct.

It’s not a robber. It’s Spencer – frazzled, wrapped up all nice and warm like a pretty present, Spencer Reid.

His nose is slightly red from the biting cold outside.

Leaning against your doorframe, you say, “Hey there,”

“Hi,” He waves.

You stare for a couple of seconds, then remember the polite thing to do is invite him in: “Come in, come in! Do you want some tea? You look cold.”

“Coffee would be great, thank you.”

You move to your kitchen, not very far from your front door, but Spencer stays put and awkwardly glances around your place. He loves it, he decides. Very you.

You notice he hasn’t moved, “Make yourself comfortable, Spence. My cat is somewhere if you want to say hi.”

He slowly moves to your couch, removing his coat, scarf and satchel as he does it. Two drinks in hand, you join him and fling your fluffy sock-clad feet onto your coffee table.

“So what can I help you with?” You ask.

Spencer takes a sip of his burning drink, “What makes you think I want something?”

“Why else would you be here? You wanna watch Grey’s Anatomy with me?”

Spencer laughs lightly. You’re right. He’s here for a reason that isn’t to watch TV that he loves to correct with you.

He’s quiet, then, and does that thing where his tongue flicks out to lightly wet his lips in nervousness.

“Something’s been going on.” He starts, ambiguously, “And it’s left me asking a lot of questions.”

Your brows furrow. It’s not like Spencer to be cryptic like this.

“Did it mean anything?” He asks, finally, turning to look at you. “Any of it?”

“Did what mean anything?”

“The.. the playing with the hair, the over-all gentleness, the cuddling.”

Your shoulders tighten up and you hope he doesn’t notice.

He does.

“Spence,” You give a fake laugh, “You were hurt and I was comforting you. Looking after you. You know, like a friend does.”

“No one else did as much as you.”

“You wanted comfort, and I’m more than happy to provide that, Spence. Everyone else was busy.”

“You took time off for me.”

You don’t have an answer for that.

You’re trying to keep the conversation light and breezy to not show your true feelings. You’re not ready for that kind of conversation, but he’s right. You used your vacation days to stay with him and care for him.. and you know you didn’t do it platonically.

“You’re my friend, Spence,” You say, voice soft.

“That’s it? That’s all it was?” He doesn’t sound angry, or hurt, maybe peeved. He won’t look you in the eyes, though.

“What else would it be?”

Spencer scoffs.

He moves away from you, hands running through his hair in exasperation when he lets out a breath.

“We cuddled, Y/N. I haven’t done that with anyone in-in years! The last person was my mother when I was ten years old!”

“That’s supposed to mean something?!”

“I-I don’t know,” He sounds exhausted, as if the complications of his emotions are taking way too much energy out of him, “But I really liked it. And I really like you.”

You look at him, then, and he’s staring back. He looks… hopeful.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

You swallow deeply.

“I tried to show you with the uh, the cardigan thing,” He scratches the back of his neck, a laugh to mock himself leaving him, “But I’ve never been good with that stuff.”

He moves closer, shifting to face you, eyes remaining locked with yours.

“Say something.” He whispers.

“I-I-“ You stutter, “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I’ve spent the last week thinking about it non-stop.”

“Really?” You laugh in disbelief.

“Yeah!” He gives a small smile, “I-uh.. wrote to my mom about you, too. She told me that if I’m this caught up on you, you must be special. Which you are, by the way.”

“I’m special?” You grin teasingly.

“Very special.”

There’s a moment where you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he shyly asks, “Do you feel the same?”

You bite your lip. “I do. Really, I do. I’m just.. a little apprehensive, I guess.”

“Of what?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Nothing is stupid when it comes to you.”

God, he’s so infuriatingly sweet. You wish you could kiss him all over.

You might be able to, if all this goes well.

“I don’t want things to be weird if we don’t work out.” You admit, adding a shrug to appear casual. It’s not like you’ve worried about this since you realised you liked him.

Spencer tilts his head at you, “You’re already thinking about a breakup when we haven’t even gone on a first date?”

You giggle, which he returns with a smile, “I mean- I like you, Spence, and have for a while. I’ve thought about all outcomes.”

“All?”

You roll your eyes as he gives you a look, “Yes, all. I’d want us to work out but.. what if we don’t?”

He places a now warmed up hand on yours, “Well, we won’t know unless we try, right?” His hold tightens, “I’m willing to give it my all if you are.”

You look from your hands to his face, and decide yes, if there’s one risk you want to take in your life, it’s a risk that could possibly result in you spending the rest of your life with your favourite person on this planet.

So you nod.

“I’ll give you my all, and then some.”

He grins, “That’s quite the promise.”

You don’t reply, instead swinging your legs over his lap and leaning into his side to cuddle up to him. He reciprocates like it’s second nature, hand slipping from yours to wrap around your waist and tug you closer.

“Wanna watch Star Trek as a mini first date?” You look up at him through your eyelashes.

You really are perfect for me, Spencer thinks.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #mine #thank u to everyone who has sent a request i promise ive seen it #i kinda hate how the confession is written but im tired n feeling d*pressed and anxious #so take it pls

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anna1306 · 3 years ago

Text

7/13

I have been writing in English for almost a year, and I haven't written anything for MCU, one of my favourite fandoms? I am shocked with myself

Stay forever

Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Sometimes Sam wondered how he got in this situation.

Of course he wanted to be the hero. He went to serve his country in military, then - help others who couldn't come back to peaceful life. He became Falcon to help Captain America in saving people. And he finally took the shield to become someone more. There was no question in how he got here.

There was hard situation with his family. Sarah and the boys needed attention, time, help, especially after these 5 years. And even if this contradicted with his job as a hero, he still could find time for them, running back and forth between his duties and family. No question again.

But he still got one. One big question that was standing near the stove. This question was frying something, wearing only underwear. Sam's head was pounding from yesterday drinks and he didn't want to know why he was covered in bruises and hickeys, though he had quite a distinct idea.

"If I turn around and see a sour face, I would throw toast at you." Barnes warned and Sam coughed from the suddenness of it. He went to sit at the table, still watching Bucky cook something in his small kitchen.

"Then you better not look in the mirror." The joke was half-minded, Sam almost didn't think on it. He was still surprised about what was going on, even if yesterday he fully consent to it. Barnes scoffed.

"You liked my face yesterday." He answered not even a second later. Sam wasn't sure if he liked silent, more reserved Barnes, or this one.

"I know what you are doing. It's your evil plan to burn down my kitchen." Sam tiredly answered, watching Bucky pouring coffee into his cup. Shit, how did he manage to pick the right one from the first try.

"If I wanted to kill you, Sammy..." Bucky put a mug in front of Wilson and smiled almost menacingly. "I would have fucked you to death yesterday." Sam choked on air, as Barnes turned back to the stove, almost not caring about what he had just said.

They always had this friends/rivals relationships. Well, after the Winter Soldier incident. Those days they were enemies. But they had never stepped over the line. Sam thought he loves women, Bucky... Was in his own head.

Wilson couldn't imagine that one simple evening of drinks in the bar and then at home could result in... Whatever it was yesterday.

"You liked it, don't be grumpy." Bucky put the plates on the table. "You have your thoughts written all over your face." He scoffed, returning with the toasts. Sam wanted to say something, but stopped, noticing what Bucky was doing.

"Dude, what the hell?" He pointed at Barnes' hand. He just... Took sizzling toasts from the pan and put them on plates. With fingers.

"What?" He shrugged. "I couldn't find spatula." Bucky sat at the table and looked at Sam with a smirk. "Eat. I know you have a free day today and I don't plan on letting you out of this flat, you gonna need some energy."

Alright, the world was doomed with this one.

***

Sam could deal with the fact that they slept with Bucky from time to time. The fact that almost hundred years old person knew how to make ideal pancakes and addicting bacon and eggs. The fact Barnes always knew his tastes and was bringing two coffees to the briefing or knowing what ice cream he had in stock in his fridge. But this...

"I envy you." Sarah managed to say this after ten minutes of laughter. Sam looked at her almost offended. "No boyfriend of mine ever gave me a bouquet like this."

Sam was still looking at this big monstrosity that was delivered to Sarah's house with a note "From B to S". Roses, lilies, other flowers, unidentified by Sam, all red and white, it seemed like there were hundreds of them.

"Maybe it's yours." Sam tried to get rid of it. What the hell, he didn't even had a vase at the flat, what was Barnes thinking?! Hell, why his first thought was about the vase?!

"Nonono, it's not a broken jar of jam you could blame me for and we are not kids. And supersoldier from forties doesn't pine after me. It's your ass he's after." Sarah still snickered, taking the bouquet with an 'oof'. Sam hurried over to help her.

He didn't say anything in response to her teasing. Didn't say anything while she cut the wrapping and started to sort the flowers into several vases she had. They wouldn't fit all of the flowers, but at least some would be saved. He didn't say anything at all, doing everything mechanically.

"Earth to Sam!" Sarah snapped her fingers right at his face, making him shiver "You are all up in your head, tell me what is going on."

"I... Don't know what you are talking about." Wilson tried to concentrate on the scissors in his hands, but his sister had none of it. She put her hand on top of his and sighed.

"I had never. And I mean never got something like this. And I had never seen you in a state like this also. So spill it, Sam." She almost ordered. Sam looked away, but sighed. She wouldn't get off his back, he knew his sister that much.

"I don't know what is going on. I mean, we slept together, which is... Surprising as it is. But that's it. This is just so..."

"Unexpected?" Sarah asked, and Sam nodded. The woman sighed, putting away everything and going to the coffee machine. Couple of minutes they spent in their own thoughts and silence.

"Let's start from the beginning. You are friends and colleagues, right?" Sarah started. Sam nodded, looking at the cup with hot coffee. "Did you notice something before your first... You know?"

"No... Normal day, normal Barnes. I mean as far as you can call him normal." Sam answered quietly.

"Mhm... And after you started your... Rodeos?" Sarah didn't look teasing, she was probably uncomfortable to discuss relationships with her brother, but... He had been only with women. And Sarah knew a thing or two about men, so Sam didn't ask further or questioned her motives.

"He brings me coffee. Cook for me sometimes and it's not awful." Sam tried to remember something big and meaningful, but couldn't bring up anything in his mind.

"Alright, little quiz. Did he give you his umbrella at any moment?" Nod. "Did he sit in the corner of some cafe you go to for a snack?"

"Yeah, but he is vet. Really old vet with PTSD and years of pain behind him." Sam remembered other vets he used to work with. Bucky could join one of these groups... Maybe he would even find someone his age.

"Alright, that's out of the question, got it. Did he... Go out of his way to fetch you something or buy something."

"No." Sam scoffed and thought for a moment under a watchful eyes of Sarah. "I mean I didn't force him to leave the flat to bring me food when I was sick..."

"But he did it, right? He worries for you at missions, he always closes windows, so you won't get sick, he never really get angry with you, only when it's really something serious or you could get injured. He pays attention to you and your words, even if he doesn't agree with it and listens to you overall. Am I right?"

"Yes... Yes, but..." Sam didn't understand the point of conversation, but his sister didn't let him finish.

"He is deep in love with you." Sarah ended her speech. "You started with adult things and now he is trying to get every other aspect. Men. You always think you are subtle, when we see everything." She scoffed. "You are lucky he is getting romantic."

"But... He would say something!"

"Bucky? Who is traumatized for life and who you called 'emotionless racoon'?" Sarah asked. Sam thought for a moment and lowered his head in defeat.

From one point of view it was good. Sam knew Bucky, Bucky knew him. They trusted each other on missions and beyond that. Romantic relationship was one of logical possible outcomes. But still... It was Sam's first relationship in a long time. Plus the first one relationship with a guy ever.

"Give it some time. And talk to him, god damn it, not just sleep with him!" Sarah pushed him into the shoulder, making Sam jokingly gasp. He would think about it later. Much later.

***

"You look creepy."

"Eat your pasta, it will get cold." Barnes didn't even wait a second before answer. Sam rolled his eyes, taking his fork. Bucky did look very strange in the comfy cute cafe, but he acted very natural. More natural than nervous Sam.

"Is this a date?" He finally managed to ask, shoving a fork with spaghetti in his mouth, glancing from time to time at Barnes. The latter stopped eating, looking at Sam questioningly.

"You ask stupid questions. No, it's Zemo release party." Sam scoffed at bad joke. "Of course it's a date."

"I just... I am surprised that you know basic rules of dating." Sam tried to hide his confusion under sarcasm as well. Bucky shrugged, taking his glass with wine.

"You thought I'm good only in fucking?" He asked nonchalantly. Sam coughed from surprise. He should have been used to this, but serious tone of Bucky and his neutral face... "Look, I really don't understand your confusion and everything. It's funny, but not in a long run. Mind telling me?"

Sam sighed, shoving another fork with spaghetti in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. It wasn't that Barnes wasn't lovely. He was attentive, he listened well and had a great memory on dates and everything else, but... He was a guy. He was Bucky Barnes, Steve's best friend. He had been Winter Soldier, who tried to kill him. Yes, he was good in bed, but something more than 'fun' with the man like him...

"I just don't understand. I thought it was just a fling. Just couple of... Nights and that's all. Were you like this in forties?" Sam asked Barnes. He thought for a moment, sipping on a wine.

"With guys? No, don't exactly remember dates. Only like go for a coffee if I had money. Or better, to some cheap bar. You know, where no one would see that you sit uncomfortably close." He placed the glass back on the table. "It's not forties anymore. It's 21st century where no one would care if I were to take you to the bathroom and..."

"I think that they would care about, you are messy." Sam stopped Barnes before his thoughts could lose concentration again. He was serious only on missions and even that was questionable too. Right now Bucky was sitting across him, smirking satisfied and ready to drop some more dirty details if needed.

"Shame. But if you asked about my love to guys, yes. I have been like this my whole life. Have you seen Steve? Commandos grew a bit gay side just by looking at him." He joked again, now putting a hand on top of Sam's hand. "But I am serious about you. I am a bit... Slow after all that happened. So we started off the last base, but that doesn't mean that I don't see you like constant partner. Or are we allowed to call each other boyfriends now?" He looked a bit puzzled, but Wilson knew better than to trust this sly pretender.

"I think yes... I have never been with guys. And before you put some dirty joke out there - I mean romantically. Physically we tried everything, I think." Sam sighed in surprise and blushed, when Barnes took his hand and kissed his fingers.

"It's not very different from any other dating you had." He answered, letting go of his hand. "Eat faster, I want to try something else with you. Physically."

He would die with Barnes' stamina...

***

Sleeping with Barnes was interesting thing. It was hot, it was hard, it was good. And it wasn't only about sex. Bucky was like koala, hugging him in his slumber, not letting Wilson go from his hands. And if Sam was to wake up first in the morning, if he managed to get out of bed, Barnes was woken up immediately and very very grumpy about it.

This time though Sam wasn't awakened from tight hug or hands getting where they shouldn't be. This time he was awakened from squirming and whines coming from beside him.

It took him couple minutes to understand what was going on. Barnes, who usually held him close in his arms, now was clutching the mattress and breathing hard.

Sam knew that after everything that Bucky had went through, there should be enough nightmares for the next twenty years. But he had never witnessed Barnes in a state like this. Wilson moved in bed, turning the lights on, and turned back to face Bucky. He put hand on his warm shoulder. Shit, it felt like he was burning.

"Barnes... Barnes!" He didn't react, his shaking only worsened. "James!" Sam shook him stronger. Reaction was fast and for a moment Wilson even got scared. In a split second Bucky got him on his back, with metal arm tightening its grip around his throat and mad eyes, looking at his face in the slight darkness of the room.

Nearly a minute was spent in tensed silence, Sam was laying on his back, watching Bucky carefully and afraid to even move a muscle as to not trigger him more, while Barnes slowly came to his senses. He released Wilson's throat and breathed out hoarsely, moving away from Sam.

"I... I didn't mean to... Sorry." Bucky said quietly and quickly. He was ready to flee at any moment. But Sam didn't let that happen. He grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, making him lay down again. It was Bucky's time to be hugged tightly and held in warm hands.

"Don't pull away." Sam sighed, holding unusual stiff Bucky. "It's okay. Everyone has nightmares."

"It's not everyone's nightmares, Sam... It's..."

"Your memory. I know." Wilson interrupted him. Always strong, witty and stoic Bucky sounded broken, quiet and almost scared. "But it doesn't mean that it's your fault."

"You don't know what I saw."

"No, I don't. And if you don't want to tell me, I won't ask. But it isn't your fault that you had to do all of this back then. And it isn't your fault that you tried to choke me. I can be very irritating, I know." He snickered, trying to joke. But Bucky definitely wasn't in the mood. He touched skin on Sam's neck with shivering fingers.

"I could have killed you..." He whispered.

"But you didn't do it. You stopped." Sam was caressing his hair, listening to his breath, which was slowly getting calmer. "I am very much alive."

Bucky finally hugged him back. His grip tightened in a mere second, and he pressed himself in Sam as hard as he could. Wilson didn't even grumble about that. He needed it. They both needed it. Even if he acted calm, he nearly had been choked to death, of course he needed some form of comfort at least.

It took five minutes for Bucky to breath calmer. He slowly was relaxing and that was definitely good. He let Sam comfort him and hold him, he trusted him in his most vulnerable moment. Wilson count that as huge win.

"I wish we could stay like this forever." Bucky mumbled in Sam's neck. The latter snickered and looked at Barnes. His heart clenched with pain. How much pain he had in himself... And he finally trusted not anyone, but him... No, they would definitely be okay.

"Well... I can't promise you forever, you are heavy after all. But for this night I can do this. Maybe couple of times later." He said quietly, but now his joke was answered with quiet giggle.

"I love the sound of that." Bucky sounded more sleepy with every second. Sam only smiled, looking down at Barnes, getting lost in his thoughts.

Barnes was powerful and fierce. Always ready to come up with some snarky remark or dirty joke. Ready to just grab Sam and do what he wanted with him. Serious on missions and easy at home.

This contrast was surprising. Bucky was like a scared child. Ready to fight or flight on the spot. There was fear in his eyes, panic and wish to disappear. And the amount of guilt in his tone was purely heartbreaking.

Sam carefully looked at Barnes, making sure that he was asleep, and kissed his forehead. It was still strange for him to care for this sarcastic war machine, but he could get used to it. And if he could save him in the process from all of his nightmares, well... He was a hero after all.

#marvel #mcu #the falcon and the winter soldier #tftws #falcon #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winter soldier #winterfalcon #sam x bucky

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theepisceswriter · 4 years ago

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Jealous!Reader with AOT characters pt.2 (Porco, Bertholdt, Pieck, Zeke)

A/N: y’all really liked the first one I made here, so here’s a pt.2 with different characters

TW: none really apply, sort of suggestive for Zeke, Modern AU, GN!reader

PORCO GALLIARD

I am a firm believer that in a modern AU, Porco and Reiner would be the type of people to go to sport restaurants like Hooters, Buffalo Wild Wings, or Twin Peaks. They give me that macho man type of vibe. Of course though, Porco would make you tag along with him almost every time he went. He feels that it’s a very nice way for the two of you to bond. Which honestly it is.

You have a deep sense of security within yourself and enough trust in Porco to not be bothered by the waitresses there, as you should, knowing that it’s only their job to be enticing like that. Hell, you even enjoy it when the waitresses would flirt with you sometimes or you’d get the really pretty ones who look like they’re straight off of a magazine. Not to mention that you visit places like this often, so most of them know you and know that you and Porco are in a relationship together.

They all respect your boundaries and don’t try to push at them at all.....until this one waitress comes around. You can quite obviously tell that her flirting is different from the “trained” flirting that the other girls often do. She lingers at your table a little longer than she should be trying to talk to Porco to the point where other waitresses have to tell her to go check on other tables and she’s disregarding you completely, asking Porco questions that should be aimed at you and being very rude in general.

Porco is hardly paying her any mind, too focused on the game to really pay attention to what’s going on, but any piece of attention he gives to her she latches on too it. But still, you remain cordial and calm on the inside. Not wanting to come off as one of those significant others and cause a scene that doesn’t need to be caused. If someone looked at you for too long they might notice an eye twitch or two coming from you.

Really it’s Porco’s hand holding underneath the table that’s keeping you sane and reminding you of how secure your position in your relationship is. You almost calm down entirely, but of course the waitress has to come back and try desperately to get his attention again. At one point he zones out into the game and to try and get his attention she attempts to tap him on his shoulder.

Strong on the attempt because you grabbed her wrist before she could even brush her fingers against his shirt and gave her a stern “Aht! Aht! That is not going to be happening tonight and definitely not in front of me.”

And Porco, this menace to society, finally speaks up like, “I was wondering when you were finally going to say something. I was getting afraid that I didn’t mean anything to you anymore.” He would’ve eventually intervened himself though if she was actually successful in touching him.

The waitress gets the hint for the rest of the night, but just incase she doesn’t he holds you close to his side with his arm draped over your shoulders.

BERTHOLDT HOOVER

Despite his soft spoken nature and personality that sometimes falls on the shy part of the spectrum, Bertholdt is actually an easy person to come up to and start a conversation with. Of course, you have to be the one to start the conversation, but after that it’s like he can’t shut up, likes he’s compelled to answer back to everything and keep a conversation going.

It’s a trait of his that you’ve come to love, but also come to hate on days when you’re out in public with him and can just see the twinkle in a girl’s eyes when she’s getting ready to come over to him to flirt. It’s usually in awkward situations too like when you’re out shopping and he’s standing off to the side because he has no business looking at what you’re shopping for, so the fact that he’s kind of alienated from you and doesn’t know how to respond to flirting all that well in the first place really has him in an awkward chokehold.

He’ll get asked for his number and instead of saying flat out no, because he doesn’t want to be harsh, he struggles to let words out at all as he tries to think of what to say. And people really prey on his shyness and don’t even give him the chance to respond before they’re forcing themselves on him more, handing their phone out to him just waiting to input a number.

Imagine the shock and anger on your face when you turn around from your shopping happy ready to show Bertholdt what you got and instead you see a girl trying to get his number! You’re over there in an instant, legs carrying you as fast as they can and a scold on your face as you go over there and the first thing you do is push that phone as far away from him as you can.

“I know my BOYFRIEND and something tells me that he is not interested in the direction this conversation is going with you whatsoever, so I suggest you leave him alone before I make you 😤” The girl leaves like immediately after that.

Bert is just behind you the whole time with a ☺️ look on his face like “Yes, that is indeed my significant other!” Which is so funny because he’s like 6’3 and towering over you, but you’re the feisty one!

He does feel kinda guilty for not cutting off the interaction before it got that far, so he wraps his arms around you and nuzzle his face into your neck all like, “I’m sorry baby 🥺🥺 you know I don’t like anyone else but you 🥺🥺 I was trying to tell them no thank you but it wouldn’t come out 🥺🥺”

You couldn’t stay mad at him even if you wanted to, that’s all it takes for you to forget about it altogether.

PIECK FINGER

It’s almost impossible to see someone as fine looking as Pieck and not shoot your shot. If I saw Pieck out in public the first thing I would do is shoot my shot.

It happens allll the time whenever you two go out. Out at the mall shopping for clothes? Someone’s going to come up to you two and try to hit on Pieck. At the club minding each other’s business and trying to have a good time? Some guy is going to come over and try to ruin that for you too.

At first it was like a bragging rights thing for you. Everyone noticed your hot girlfriend was hot but you were the one who went home to her everyday and not them, but at some point it switched from a bragging right to down right annoying. It’s like you can’t leave her alone for more than a couple of seconds because here comes someone breathing down her neck being a weirdo!

Poor Pieck doesn’t even know what’s going on half of the time because she be baked out of her mind, thinking about nothing but how some ruffles and ice cream can really hit right now. So she’s just going along with the conversation like “mhm, yeah ☺️” every ten seconds hoping that they’d get the hint that she’s not thinking about them at all and to leave her alone. But, of course, they don’t.

Her body language becomes stressed out and agitated, not knowing what to do because you’re in the gas station buying snacks for the two of you while she’s far away at the gas pumps doing her best to get an ending with this weirdo where they don’t kidnap her.

Luckily, just on time you exit out the gas station and even before you get any closer to Pieck you’re already pissed off at the fact that someone is probably hitting on her, but after you see her do that awkward little shuffle with her feet signifying that she’s uncomfortable? You’re over there in a heartbeat.

See, maybe you would’ve been a bit nicer if her body language didn’t tell you that they had been pestering her for a while despite how everything about her screamed ‘not interested.’

So what do you do? You take the bottle of sprite you bought and bop them on the head with it. Head empty no thoughts just ‘protect my stoner girlfriend.’

Pieck is so messy too, she’s in the background like “Ohhhhh shit *giggle* fight! Fight! Fight!” You were ready to rumble too, but if you were so ready to hit them in the head with a sprite bottle the other person definitely didn’t want to know what else you were confident with doing. So they recuperated from their sprite bottle hit and went running to their car.

This was a proud girlfriend moment for Pieck the whole drive home. She could not stop talking about how much of a badass you were and how she loved that you would do anything for her.

ZEKE JAEGER

I wrote soft Zeke already, so now it’s time for me to give y’all the menace Zeke y’all have been waiting for.

Zeke is the type of significant other who’s big on teasing and messing with his partner is general. There’s something about seeing them all flustered after he does something to embarrass them, like fake propose to them in public or something, that really cracks him up. That being said, he’s not opposed to flirting with someone in front of you to get you riled up and see your reaction.

Let’s set the scene; He drags you to Sam Ash with him, because we’ve all just collectively decided that modern day Zeke is a music pretentious asshole, to go get something for his guitar or at least that’s what you assume he was complaining about. You weren’t even listening, just excited to go and mess with the drums and guitars there. It’s the first thing you do once you get there and Zeke sees this as his opportunity to finally mess with you.

He goes over to the drum set display you’re playing on and calls over and employee with “inquiries” about the set you’re playing on. He pretends to ask a few genuine questions at first but eventually he’s able to get the conversation to shift to something a little more personal. Which isn’t terrible, but once he starts throwing out lines like “Oh you like (said band)? I’ve always found myself gravitating towards people who like them. They’re always the most attractive people, I’ve found 😏.” Is when you start getting agitated.

You’re just trying to play We Will Rock You on the drums and here he goes killing your vibe immensely. And it’s hard to ignore when they’re standing right on the side of you. Not to mention how the employee is eating all of this up, blushing and all. It’s at the first mention of numbers being exchanged that you’ve decided you’ve had enough. Without a word to Zeke you get up and storm out of the store.

Was this a dick move on his end? Absolutely, but you’re a couple who’s relationship is filled with debating and bickering, bickering especially, so part of him thought you would play along with his little game and be like “Whatever. I don’t care.” But instead, you were genuinely upset. You didn’t even know where you were going but you were going somewhere. And that somewhere was the outside of the Sam Ash store because you realized you really didn’t have a choice.

Sorry guys, but I have to switch over to soft Zeke now.

He comes running after you, “y/n! Y/n it was a joke!” But that just makes you even more mad and oops, a year drops down your face and he feels terrible.

Kisses all over your face, words of assurance spilling out his lips, and a tight ass beat hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m such a dick I know. I didn’t mean to make you this upset though.” He would get down on his knees if he had to!

I guess you can forgive him just this once, but only on the terms that you get Sub!Zeke tonight and get to act as a pillow princess/prince cause he has a lot of making up to do.

#sorry if there are any typos i was kinda rushing #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #porco galliard x reader #bertholdt hoover x reader #pieck finger x reader #zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #aot imagines

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nurseofren · 4 years ago

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Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 30 (NSFW)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read chapter twenty-nine (NSFW-lite)

Title: Not a Fascination

Words: 14.1k (Um... don't look at me lmfao)

Summary: The other side of tragedy.

Warnings: vaginal fisting, needles, inappropriate use of medical equipment

ST Rambles: Here to drop this absolute MONSTROSITY of a 14.1k word chapter. But boy howdy was this thing a long time coming. Thigh riding, fisting, vein kink -- OH MY. To be honest, this thing was not supposed to be what it is, but I went with it and like how it turned out and how it will help the story along.

I take my NCLEX on July 7th and start my orientation on the 19th. Life is crazy y'all. Enjoy this.

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER // @elmidol

Bloodied faces, jagged flesh, the smell of iron scorching your nose, screams scraping against your ears and never ending, never faltering no matter how much you did.

All these things, these horrid thoughts, crowded your mind, and all you could do was keep running, keep tumbling through the unfamiliar halls of this place and hope you could get to him in time. Get to Kylo in time.

Because how many chances could the galaxy or the stars or the gods offer you? It felt like you’d used those chances up, maxed them out between Robbie and Snoke and Starkiller.

But you could not think like that, or at least you didn’t want to. It was useless, none of those gut-wrenching thoughts could help you or Kylo, and all of them just made you want to crumple to the floor and give up.

If he wasn’t okay, if he was dying…

The thought made you stumble forward, your fingers clamping onto a doorframe as you made another tight turn into the next hallway that looked like all the previous. You shot past couplets of workers, their shocked gasps dwindling behind as you raced away from them to wherever your watch was leading you.

CB-7070 raced just behind you, and maybe it appeared as if you were being chased by security, but you couldn’t care less, not as you felt the phantom flood of crimson slither along your leg, its ghost a cold, wicked reminder of how bad things could be again. The stormtrooper didn’t stop you, though, and you wondered briefly if she had been alerted to Kylo’s emergency as well. But it was a fleeting thought, and all you could think of was getting to him and being with him and not letting him go ever again.

Your heart burned in your chest and your legs flew faster than you ever knew they could, fast like your sprint toward the Command Shuttle when the planet was exploding alongside your life. This was all too familiar, too chaotic. You couldn’t do this again.

You wouldn’t.

The next turn you hurdled past, you promised yourself that you would do everything you could to ensure Kylo would never be helpless like he had been ever again. Trial be damned, license be damned, Snoke be damned! None of it mattered. Nothing mattered. Nothing but him, nothing mattered except him. It was always him.

It would always be him.

The tiny red blip of your radar display became centered, and you looked up just before you met a badge-protected door face first. Before you could process the thought completely, your hand flung to the badge hanging from your collar and slammed it into the scanner on the wall. The door hissed open and you catapulted into whatever room you’d been led to.

And then you connected with a hard wall of heat and muscle. Kylo.

Breath heaved from your lungs as your hands skimmed along his front, assessing for damage and wounds, searching for the sinister slip of blood beneath the tips of your fingers. You were only vaguely aware of the questions fumbling from your trembling lips, your ears ringing and head pounding as your hands took one of his clothed arms and smoothed along its strong length, wandering until they found nothing of concern and shifting to the opposite.

After finding his front and upper half free from injury, you went to spin to his back, but a hand caught your hip – a warm, firm hand that broke through the cloud of panic that’d swallowed you – and kept you from moving. You urged away from it, but it remained and kept you steady, and when you tried a third time, it grasped a little tighter, and you found your way back to the present.

Breath wheezed out of you and you looked up. Kylo was peering down at you, unmasked. It was there again, that odd, unreadable expression from the Command Shuttle that day, the one that looked like awe, but now it was laced with something more. The way he looked at you… Kylo seemed stunned, but there was this strength to it, like he hadn’t been expecting your worry, but that he liked it.

“Kylo,” you whimpered, your fingers reaching up to skim his face, the pad of your left ring finger etching along the black-and-red scar that struck through his face.

His Jaw tightened and your eyes fled to his, the weight of his molten amber gaze making you shiver. Something wet and hot slipped over your top lip, and only then did you realize you’d begun to cry.

“Kylo,” you mouthed, and then you rested your forehead against the broad width of his chest, your hands slipping from his face and reaching around his waist so you could pull him to you.

He seemed to relax slightly with you tight against him, but he was still rigid.

“Leave us,” Kylo stated simply, and your blood ran cold while your face heated.

In your panicked state, you forgot that CB-7070 had followed after you. She’d kept up with you through the halls and was now standing in the same room where you’d just caressed the Commander of the First Order’s face and hugged him. The room where you were still hugging him.

“Commander Ren, I am to remain with your provider during her time away from the Consulate,” CB-7070 said, an uneasiness clear even in her altered voice. “To leave her would go against my assignment.”

“Your assignment is with the General, is it not?” Kylo demanded, the hand on your hip flexing but never releasing.

There was a tense pause, and you heard the stormtrooper at your back shuffle uncomfortably, undoubtedly under the intense glare your master was shooting her right now.

“She is my provider, after all. Report to the General that you left her with me.” His heart was steady and unwavering in his chest, and you knew you should pull away from him, but you were too caught up in the reassurance of his strong form to do so.

Another moment of silence passed, you felt the steady gawk of CB-7070’s face centered on you, and you went to finally let go of Kylo. But he had other plans. Instead of letting you go, Kylo took the hand that wasn’t clasped to your hip and let it trail up your spine, dragging it along your back until it cupped the base of your skull and shifted your head so your cheek lay flat against his chest.

“Tell your general he can come to me if he has an issue with my order. I’ll be interested to hear his… perspective on the matter, if he feels so compelled.”

The lethal confidence that Kylo spoke with seeped into your bones. And though you couldn’t see his face, you heard the slight snarl he’d ended his words with.

A second passed, you took a breath, and the heat of Kylo’s gloved hand atop your nape sent a scalding shiver down your spine. Movement sounded at your back, and you could almost feel CB-7070’s surrender in the way the remaining rigidity left Kylo altogether.

The stormtrooper cleared her throat. “I will report as you’ve advised, Commander Ren.” Out of the corner of your eye, CB-7070 shifted toward you. “Officer,” she said in resignation, wariness tingeing her tone.

You couldn’t look at her. The only thing meeting her mask-hidden eyes would do is solidify that you had an odd, extremely inappropriate relationship with Kylo Ren. Between the trial, the shitty shift, and whatever Kylo called you here for, the last thing you needed was Hux up your ass. Or, further up your ass than he already was.

So you only nodded against Kylo’s chest, attempting to speak but knowing your words would be rasped by how thick your throat had become.

Boots sounded on the tile floor, then a rush of hydraulics, and finally the room settled around you. It was quiet, the only sound that of Kylo’s rhythmic, unfaltering heart and your own pulse finally slowing in your ears. He still held you to him – hand on hip and head – and for however long he did, whether it was minutes or hours, you felt the chaos of Starkiller’s downfall flood away. Kylo held you and you held onto him, and the planet at your feet kept still and steady, so you allowed a second a peace, clinging to every rise and fall of the chest that tided beneath your cheek.

Had you ever held Kylo Ren before? The thought struck through you, and you tightened your hold just a measure more, and you felt your body sigh against his.

Kylo had held you before, held tight your sob-wracked body on that all-too-recent day that seemed to have changed so much. Seemed to have changed everything, really.

“I thought something happened,” you murmured. “I thought you were hurt again like… like last time. And that I’d find you and you wouldn’t…” You swallowed, the grim thought choking you. “And you wouldn’t wake up this time.”

The hand on your hip smoothed over to the small of your back, the breath of his heavy sigh cooling the crown of your head. “I’m not that easy to kill,” Kylo said, blunt yet gentle.

You ran your hands up his back, surreptitiously searching for damage. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” you mumbled.

A gust of amusement left him, and he teasingly said, “I think a lot of people would disagree with that statement.”

He was… joking? “Nothing physically wrong, then. So why are you here, Kylo?”

He hummed, and the feel of his vibrating chest against your ear was chilling. The hand that rested on the back of your neck toyed with the stray hair there, and just as soon as your eyes lulled shut did they fling back open.

The Force returned with unyielding, unforgiving strength. It laved and pushed and whirled through your cunt, and you shuddered against Kylo and he held you to him, trapped you against him while you yipped and squealed and bit back wanton moans.

“I can’t just come see you?” Kylo rumbled, and you could hear the smirk he now wore. “It has been such a long, boring day, what with you ordering me against training for the foreseeable future, so I thought I’d pay a visit to my little nurse.” He sighed a low chuckle. “Thought I’d see how memorable your first day has been.”

Your hands bunched in the material of his outer tunic, your jaw slack and brow pinched, but through the thick pleasure you found yourself annoyed and… angry.

You were angry with him.

He came here with the intent to toy with you, just as he’d done during your entire shift. The same toying – albeit, much more vehement now – that caused you to be publicly reprimanded and shamed not even an hour ago. It made you feel so worthless, so unimportant that he hadn’t considered that you wouldn’t want to do this with him right now. Even worse was the fact you thought he was hurt or so much worse when your watch had alerted.

It felt like he didn’t care how these shifts would affect your trial. It felt like he hadn’t given a second thought to summoning you here, like he didn’t consider that you’d lose your mind at the thought of something worse happening to him as the events of Starkiller occurred not even two weeks ago.

“Kylo,” you warned, but it came out on a lusting breath. “Kylo, stop.”

“Is that another one of your orders you seem to be so keen on today? In that case…”

The Force shifted, and while it kept a masterful pattern on your clit, you now felt it move inside you, pushing into you just as his thick, heavy cock would. But the Force grew, it stretched you and you felt it deep, deepinside. A pitiful wheeze jolted from your lungs, and when your knees quivered, Kylo only pressed you harder into his massive, broad body, the Force filling you with relentless strokes.

“Kylo, stop it. Stop it, now,” you panted, your voice rising a pitch when you felt the frays of pleasure tickle along your nerves. You didn’t want to cum, not for him, not right now when he’d made you so livid.

“You should be begging me to let you cum, not for me to stop” he hummed, a note of uncertainty present in his tone. “Why are you fighting me on this?”

“Because I don’t want to do this with you!”

The exclamation ripped through your throat, your nails nearly shredding through his thick tunic, and as you prepared to be drowned in the ecstasy of orgasm, the Force left you. It all stopped, and all you knew in that moment was that you were relieved he listened to you. Relieved he stopped and recognized that this wasn’t an empty plea born from a pleasure high. Recognized you were serious.

As you calmed, still holding tight to him, you felt the absence of his touch, and the room went completely still around you. It didn’t even seem like Kylo was breathing, or he was and it was disconcertingly quiet and insidious.

You took your hands from him and stepped away, seeing you were in a nondescript assessment room, a simple exam table in its center and a set of windows peering out toward the bay. The sun was slowly sinking toward the water now, casting the cabinet-lined walls with rich orange and purple hues. Only now did you realize the lights weren’t on, the panic you’d entered the room with quick to steal your attention from such details.

As you took another step back, wiping your face with the backs of your hands, you turned your focus back to Kylo. You were mad at him. He didn’t get to throw a fit right now. You did.

But before you could start, Kylo spoke, his voice deathly and haunted as he did. “Then who do you want to do this with?”

“What are you talking about, Kylo?”

“You said you didn’t want to do this with me. That implies there is another who you would rather be doing this with.” His face was forged in impenetrable steel, and yours was warped with exasperated confusion.

“Yeah, I don’t want to do this with you. Fuck, no I don’t want to fuck you right now. I don’t want to be fucked by you right now.”

He was entirely off base, and it sent a wave of quiet outrage through you that he couldn’t see why you were so angry with him.

He ground his teeth together, so hard it seemed likely he would crack a molar. The scarred side of his face hitched in a snarl when he whispered, “The physician, right? That would make the most sense. You wanted to fuck him before.”

“Hey!” you barked, stomping a pace toward him, utterly dumbfounded by how he was missing the point. “You don’t get to call me a slut. You know what? You don’t get to be mad right now. You don’t get to imply that I want to fuck anyone other than you just because your fragile ego can’t take that I don’t want to fuck you right now, that I don’t want you to touch me right now because…”

Thoughts were somehow coming too quickly and leaving too soon as you floundered in front of him. When you didn’t speak, when your hands grasped for the words that you couldn’t find, your eyes settled on the rigid flow of his breathing. And then lower to the fists at his sides, flexing and unflexing as the room settled into silence.

“You don’t get to be mad,” you said, and it was a quiet murmur from your lips but the room around you boomed as they left you. “You don’t get to be mad right now because I…” And it took a final moment, one where his eyes lit at the threat of more silence, but you finally understood what you were feeling. “You don’t get to be mad right now because I am more than your fuck toy.”

“Of course you are—,”

“No!” you interrupted, flinging a hand just inches from his chest. “You talk so much about how I need you and how I need to trust you first, but how can I when you won’t respect… me?”

Kylo’s nostrils flared, and you saw the heave of breath that left him, but he kept quiet. So you continued. “You don’t respect me. Or maybe you do and you just suck at showing it. Because you called me here, you alerted me that there was something wrong and I thought you were dead, alright? I thought you were hurt and that you were bleeding out and that if I didn’t get to you in time that you were going to die and that it would be my fault.”

“I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong,” he said, voice laden with visceral restraint.

“And that’s the whole problem, don’t you see?” You bored one last stabbing glare into his eyes, and then rage clutched at your chest. A whiny, tired roar tore through your throat. “I’m such a joke. I… I can’t do anything. I’ve lost so much time and opportunity being assigned to you that I never learned how to do anything right! And you don’t care! You don’t care that I’m working under a preceptor who graduated the same month I did. You don’t care that I’m here, working unpaid shifts so I can prove to the Board that even if I’m unfit for practice, I am still worthy of life.”

Breath burned your throat, but it never seemed to fill your lungs. Kylo glared at you, a cold, flat expression dulling his features. You didn’t care. He needed to hear this. You needed to say it.

“I sprinted here from the Infirmary, and all I could think about was that I couldn’t lose you. That I wouldn’t live in a world where I wasn’t with you.” His brow narrowed at that, but you couldn’t stop. “And when I got here and you were okay, I felt like I could breathe again. But then you start with your Force-fucking bullshit and made me realize that you will never take me seriously. None of this will ever matter to you – not the fact that I won’t ever practice again, not the fact that you caused me to miss an IV, not the fact that that got me humiliated in front of a whole floor of staff who will forever know me as Kylo Ren’s Provider, the girl with the red embroidery and the too-short uniform.”

You hadn’t noticed, but your hand had gone to trace the embroidery you’d just mentioned, and when you flung your hand away, you saw a flicker of something unfamiliar in Kylo’s eyes.

A bitter, cold laugh croaked out of you. “Do you know who I’m working under? Does the name Calliope Silvren sound familiar to you?” You eyed him, and when he didn’t speak, you nearly barked at him, “Do you know who she is, Kylo?”

“No,” he said, and it sounded like the truth, but it didn’t matter to you if it was or not.

“Calliope Silvren is everything I was supposed to be. She’s everything I’m not, and… and she’s the one you are supposed to be fucking!”

“What are you talking about?” He ended the question with a tense cut of your name.

“Because I was your little fascination, right?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the thought as your vision blurred with tears. “I was nothing more than a game to you, and she was the one who was supposed to be assigned to you.” Gulps of breath hiccupped in your throat. “She wouldn’t have gotten herself into this situation!” The heels of your hands dug into your eyes, and you realized you were trembling. “Calliope fucking Silvren wouldn’t have taken the blood from that fridge, and she wouldn’t have fucked her Commander! Calliope fucking Silvren wouldn’t have named a stormtrooper and she wouldn’t have gotten raped and she wouldn’t have killed anyone!”

Something hard and cold cracked across your knees, and your hands fell out in front of you. The floor. Your legs had given out and you were sobbing uncontrollably on the sterile, frigid floor.

With a stuttering chest, you hugged your knees and cried into them. “I was never supposed to be here, none of this was supposed to happen. I was supposed to graduate and work in the Stormtrooper Hub and live a boring, mundane life.” Crushing pain flooded your chest, and your next words were nastier than you meant them to be. “A boring, mundane life where I fucked the physician until the day I died.” You looked up at him, then, and he was only a blurry outline of black and orange and purple. “Because that’s what I am to you, right? Just some slut who fucks all the men in her life.”

You scraped at your wet, burning eyes and a sob hitched in your throat. Kylo looked down at you, and you could feel the violent emotion that lived in his blackened eyes. But he said nothing, and when the silence pressed into you, the thought that came to mind was too loud to keep inside.

But that riotous thought came out on the meager dying breath of a whisper. “If your biggest concern right now is that I want to fuck Mason, then I have… I have deluded myself into believing that you care for me. That you ever cared for me.” The truth of it burned your tongue, and your chest ached for the death of the future you’d come running for.

Kylo didn’t look away from you for a long moment, and though he remained guarded, you saw something tense in his eyes. It wasn’t anger but sorrow. Sorrow and fear hidden behind a cracked mask. But then the notch in his throat moved and he turned away.

Anticipating his departure, you shut your eyes and braced yourself for the hydraulic hiss. Memories of the past few months flooded your mind’s eye, and you questioned if all this time it had been one-sided and imagined. The idea tore through you, and your chest hollowed when you thought of all the times you’d considered so dear could have only been ploys so he could control you, so he’d have access to his little fascination whenever he wanted.

The storm of thoughts overwhelmed you, but when you heard a drawer-release in the distance, muffled by the blood pounding through your skull, you lifted your head and opened your eyes to find Kylo hadn’t left. He was looking at you from across the room, his face haunted with a stabbing emotion you couldn’t quite place. His hands, glove-free now, held something, and when you caught view of it Kylo started toward you.

He didn’t stop until he stood just a stride in front of you, and when you stared up at him you saw his jaw was set, yet anger remained absent from him, still that sorrowful fear, but now it was softer, yielding. He took a silent breath, his shoulders rising evenly, and then you gasped and jolted upright as he folded himself to the floor before you and sat.

You gulped, gawking at him, noting he held an… IV starter kit?

“What are you doing?” you asked, taking in how awkward his massive form looked as he sat with his legs open and his knees slightly bent.

He said nothing, dropping the IV kit to the floor between his legs and proceeding to unclasp and shrug off the top layers of his uniform. He watched his hands while doing so, allowing you to observe him without the weight of his eyes pressing into you. He kept his eyes away until his chest was bare and you saw his biceps flex and flow as he placed the last of his clothing to the side.

Kylo picked up the sealed kit with one hand and your own in his other. He clasped the kit into your palm and pinned you with his gaze. “You are not a fascination,” he stated, clarity ringing in his voice.

He dropped your hand, only after squeezing it between his own, and then gripped the sides of your thighs and pulled you between his spread legs. You swallowed, heart thumping hard when he positioned your face just a breath from his.

He never looked away from you, and you couldn’t take your eyes from his, so when he next spoke you felt each powerful word kiss your cheeks and sink into your soul. “You are the light that has shown me my way.”

All at once, your heart stopped. Words refused to form. The harsh knit of his brow softened, and he lifted his forearm to rest on his flexed knee. With an unsteady, almost nervous emotion, he said, “You have not deluded yourself,” your name was a faint yearn off his tongue. “I care for you.”

He held his palm open and up, and the tips of his fingers played with the tab of the kit still resting in your hand, slight tremors coursing through your fingers. “Make this even. Use this,” he nudged the plastic container again, “and right the wrong I caused.”

It took a moment for your mouth to catch up with your brain, and when you finally spoke, your voice was small and weak. “I don’t know what you think will be proven by me placing an IV in your arm.”

“Just do it,” he urged, “because this won’t work unless you trust me, and-,”

“I can’t trust you if you don’t tell me what “this” is, Kylo,” you said, and it was louder than you’d meant for it to be. But you peeled open the kit and scooted back from Kylo so you could begin prodding at his arm for a good vein.

As you looked, finding bountiful fat, bouncy, obvious veins poking just under his skin, you felt him watching you. He pumped his hand a few times, and the sight of his veins and muscles swirling and popping dizzied you for a moment, a steady pulse now throbbing between your thighs. When your fingers danced down one particular vein, the one you’d admired while he slept this morning, you pressed against its spongey prominence and trailed it all the way down to his wrist.

“Your veins are literal artwork,” you sighed, but you hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

There was a fragment of amusement in Kylo’s brow, but he brushed over your compliment like you wished he would. “If I tell you what “this” is, “this” won’t work.”

“Then I guess I won’t trust you,” you said, sassy and defiant.

“Mm, that won’t work for either of us,” he rumbled, and you wanted to slap him for his sly tone.

You flicked his vein and reached for the kit, but there were no gloves, and you needed a saline flush. And an alcohol wipe. “You know, it’s a bad look when you come ill-prepared for any procedure,” you said, looking at him before standing and searching for your supplies, “it makes you look like you have no idea what you’re doing.” Once you had what you needed, you gave him a pointed stare as you walked back to him, looking down at him as you said, “It creates a lack of trust between patient and provider.”

There was that whispered amusement in his brow again, the same in the set of his mouth. “What happens if the provider doesn’t trust the patient?”

“Then the patient gets a dose of Ativan and goes to sleep so the provider can do her job effectively.” You knelt within the cradle of his hips again and repositioned his arm so you had better access to it. Using the cleanser provided in the kit, you scrubbed his arm, a bit more forcefully than you needed to, but it wouldn’t hurt him. And if it did… so be it.

You could feel the humor he found in your feisty comments. It irked you. You continued, staring him dead in the eye while you snapped the rubber tourniquet above his elbow. “Or if the chemical restraint isn’t appropriate, there’s always good old-fashioned mechanical ones.”

“Is that what you want to do to me, nurse?” Kylo purred, and even though it was infuriating that he was leaning into your anger, the tone of his voice made your legs quiver. “You want to tie me up and have your way with me?” Kylo hummed and it went straight to your center. “Seems like I’d have to trust my provider for that to occur.”

“You have no reason not to trust your provider,” you said blandly, priming the extension tubing with saline.

“And what do blatant lies do to your all-important patient-provider relationship?”

That stopped you. And what squeezed something deep in your heart were the hard eyes you found when looking back to him. You swallowed a gasp, your throat bobbing harshly. “What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying.” There was a cautious chill to his tone, like he fully believed what he was alluding to.

It wilted your insides. “You think I lie to you? You think I’ve lied to you?”

“You have. Many times. You’re lying to me even now.” Without taking his eyes from yours, Kylo nudged the open IV kit. “Continue. You’re getting to my favorite part.”

“I’m not going to continue. I can’t. Not after you tell me you… tell me you think I’m lying to you.”

“Continue and I’ll explain.” He was all too casual for what he was saying, and the half-grin he gave you was more alarming than comforting. “A compromise.”

A deep breath did nothing to fill your lungs, but you gave him a small nod and turned back to his arm. The tourniquet had been on for a while, and you’d rather not bruise your pride further from a blown vein so you released the knot.

“I’m letting those veins rest for a few minutes.” You swallowed, tugging at your bottom lip with your teeth. “Explain, I guess.”

Again, he didn’t look angry with you, and you didn’t know what to think of the firm calmness he was exhibiting. But he tightened his jaw for a moment and began.

“To start, the first night you were assigned to me. You weren’t there. And I’m sure you remember the outcome of that.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as you remembered him pulling your head back as water rocketed down your throat, burning your lungs. A shiver slid down your back. “I apologized for that. And it technically wasn’t a lie, as I explained that same night. Your ship got back early.”

“And then the time you stumbled in drunk in the middle of the night.” He went on as if you hadn’t said anything, and you swore there was a faint fond smile tugging at his lips.

“I apologized for both of those occurrences. And, in my defense, you hadn’t shown up for curfew until the night I got home late. You were never there, not when I got home and not when I left for the medbay. I didn’t see you for a week.”

“But I saw you,” he said, and it struck you silent. “My training with Snoke was unpredictable, but I always found myself… checking to see if you were there. It was always in the early hours of the morning when I got back, so you were sleeping.” He swallowed hard before he spoke again, like he didn’t want to admit whatever it was. “I liked seeing you so peaceful. You were never peaceful around me.”

You stared at him in awe, the tourniquet limp in your hand, and no words dared come to mind as he continued.

“So when you weren’t there the night I’d finally made it home before midnight, something in me… I realized that you’d started to mean something more to me. More than the fascination I thought you were.” His eyes were practically burning now, and your heart squeezed tight in your chest. “And then I carried you to your bed and saw you’d kept my cape from the previous week. And I knew if I allowed myself to let you keep it, that I’d be permitting whatever I felt then to give into that more. So I took the cape, and I decided that would be the end of it.” His throat bobbed. “I wanted that to be the end of it.”

Truthfully, your head was swimming in all he was saying. You didn’t know how to deal with it, and you found yourself staring at the floor, thinking back to that night a few months back, thinking about how you’d wanted him to stay. And now it was more haunting, knowing that he’d felt similar to you then, and you’d just accused him of never caring for you.

Kylo’s large hand came into view and tugged gently on the limp tourniquet threaded through your fingers. “My veins have rested long enough. Continue.”

The weight of his eyes was back and it took a moment to take yours away and focus back on his arm. Sitting between his legs was… nice, but it would be awkward angling a needle from this position. So you fixed yourself to straddle his thigh, sitting back on your heels and resting his hand palm-up on your thigh.

“Comfortable?” Kylo asked, and you heard his slight grin in the word.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, extremely aware of the heat of his leg pressing against your sex, against the pair of briefs you took from him this morning.

“I thought you wanted me to explain?”

You sucked your teeth and snapped the tourniquet in place in the same second. A low chuckle rumbled from Kylo, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks, so confused by his casual demeanor.

Gliding a gloved finger along your chosen vein, you whispered, “Continue,” before activating the cleansing sponge and scrubbing along his arm vigorously.

His nails brushed along your inner thigh and you swallowed a gasp, but when you grabbed the needle, he spoke up. “When we got back to Starkiller, and you chose to stay in the medbay after seeing what that stormtrooper had done.” Kylo broke off, deep, seething anger simmering along the mention of Robbie. “The next morning I found you’d slept there, completely open to harm from anyone who wanted to cause it—”

“Those doors are coded to badge access. I was fine.”

“So was your residence, but he found a way, didn’t he?” The harshness of his tone stole your focus, and you found his set jaw and knew that harshness wasn’t for you, but for the one he spoke of. “You weren’t safe and when I found you’d slept there that night, I was…”

Kylo looked at you with hard eyes, and you thought you knew what he wanted to say – or what he couldn’t say, really. “You were… concerned?”

“No,” he said, “I was enraged.” He swallowed. “Not with you, or that stormtrooper. With myself.”

The intensity of his gaze was too much, so you looked down and turned the bevel of the needle upward and began to angle it against his skin. “Why,” you whispered, voice a mere rasp.

“Because I should have killed him the moment we landed back on Starkiller.”

The words boomed through the small room, the rich violet of the sinking sun curling around the chilled tone of Kylo’s voice. A halo of fire lit his folded frame from behind, and you thought it matched that which now lived in the molten amber of his eyes. You realized in that moment that Kylo blamed himself for Robbie, and he’d just told you a truth he’d known for a long time.

You went to speak, but his other hand came to the one you grasped the needle with and pressed so the metal tip advanced beneath his skin. A curse fell from your agape mouth when his touch left and you saw blood return, advancing the IV catheter quickly and watching as crimson threatened to spill out. You released the tourniquet and fumbled with the extension tubing, securing it and flushing the vein with saline, something of pride and relief spreading through your chest as you met no resistance.

The next steps went by quickly – clamping the tubing, placing the transparent dressing over top, securing with extra tape, and slipping off your gloves – but you felt Kylo’s eyes on you the whole time. He was patient, and he shifted his leg and made you wince as it hit just the right spot, so when you finished gathering your trash and looked up again, you didn’t expect to find him with an expression of such… fondness. Still tense, but strong and unyielding, reverent almost.

“What he did to… to me, it is not your fault, Kylo.” You clasped your hand over his that rested on your thigh.

“It’s not your fault,” Kylo corrected, and you knew he meant it. He squeezed your hand and pulled you nearer, his leg pressing into that bundle of nerves and making you shiver. “And maybe it’s not mine either, but that doesn’t change the fact that I wanted to kill him.”

“Why does that matter?”

He took a long pause and sighed, searching your eyes and looking at your lips when he said, “I shouldn’t have cared that he hurt you, or that he took you out in the first place. I shouldn’t have cared that you didn’t consider that I would have kept you safe, or that I would have wanted you with me that night and not alone on a freezing exam table.” He swallowed. “And I should never have cared so much that you went to McCarty the next night, even when you’d agreed to come to me.”

You licked your lips, unsure when you said, “I was scared that the Board would see me on surveillance. You knew that.”

“Yes,” he said and huffed out something that resembled a tired laugh. “I knew that and yet I still wanted you with me. Because I am selfish and consider you something of an invaluable piece of me.”

A piece of him, you thought, dizzied by the outpouring of truth he was allowing. You skated your thumb along the veins of his hand, heart racing as the sun continued to set behind him. In a whisper, you asked, “But why should you have never cared about… those things? I… I like that you cared about them.”

He leaned into you after a slow second, and his forehead met yours. His breath warmed your face before he said, “I should never have cared about them because it meant that I cared about you. That I care about you.” He said, and when you gasped you felt him shudder. “I care about you, and that makes you a pawn in games you aren’t even aware of. And that isn’t your choice. It is wholly unfair to you for me to make you a target for my enemies.”

“I think I know at least one of the games I’m a pawn in,” you said, voice so shaky you could barely recognize it. He stilled, and you took one hand from his and grasped the back of his neck, threading your fingers through his sun-emblazoned hair. “And Kylo, what if it is my choice?”

“Then I am every bit the monster people know me to be.” Kylo said it more to himself, and you wondered why he sounded so haunted in that moment.

“You’re not a monster, Kylo. At least, you aren’t my monster.”

“No, you killed him.”

“Yes,” you swallowed, and you couldn’t help the hesitance that crept into your voice. “I did.”

Kylo lifted his head from yours then, and you knew he wanted you to keep your eyes on his as he said, “I say that because it’s true and you shouldn’t feel shame for doing so. I told you I wanted to kill him, but I didn’t know how satisfying it would be to hear you say you’d done it yourself.”

“You’re proud that I killed him?”

“I am proud that you did not hesitate.” He swallowed, eyes haunted once more. “I am proud that you recognized your enemy, and you knew what it would take to beat him.”

You didn’t say a word, but you nodded, sliding your hand from his nape to his chest. You searched his eyes as he looked down to where his hand was, and you felt his fingertips find the raised, off-color skin of the initials he’d branded you with. He knit his brow just slightly, and you moved your hand to cup his scarred cheek. He spent several more seconds gazing at the scar he’d given you, but his gaze found yours soon enough.

“I’ll tell you something that I shouldn’t like.” His eyes narrowed a small measure. With the pad of your thumb running along the curve of his healing scar, the black-and-white stitching still there but lesser, you admired him for a long, quiet moment. He continued to trace along your scar, and his leg shifted again, your breath catching before you could stop it.

“You told me you like my scars already.”

A slight smile tilted your lips to the side, but you spoke with little amusement when you whispered, “I like my scar, too.”

Kylo went utterly still, and then he slid his hand up so his heated palm closed over the raised letters on your thigh. “When I did this, I didn’t know…”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” you murmured, and your heart sank to your gut as memories of that horrid day flooded back, images of Snoke’s mangled existence, echoes of Mason’s pained screams ringing through your commlink.

“I could have known.” Again there was no anger in his tone, but something aching, regretful almost.

You brushed a few stray curls back from his face and smoothed a thumb along his temple. “Snoke would have killed Mason. He was monitoring your thoughts that entire day. I had no choice. I told you this yesterday.”

“And as I told you earlier, I am selfish.” He shrugged his shoulders slightly at the same moment you felt his thumb swipe the inside of your thigh. “You could have told me, right after you’d met with him. That’s why you weren’t home when I returned, wasn’t it?” You nodded and he went on. “I should have known something was wrong the second you got back to the Finalizer residence.”

“No you shouldn’t have. That’s the point—”

“No, the point is that you don’t trust me.”

“No, the point is that I couldn’t tell you or imply anything was wrong because Mason—”

“I do not care about McCarty,” Kylo nearly barked, but it was a reined in response by the way his voice lowered at the end. “I don’t care about anyone apart from you, and no matter how duty-bound you felt to protect your friend, you should have come to me.”

“And what would you have done but gotten him killed and risked my life in the process?”

“I will never risk your life,” Kylo seethed, his hand clamping over the scar he’d made. “But that’s the one thing you’re willing to gamble away at any sign of trouble for others, isn’t it?”

“What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, I’m only speaking the truth when I say that you are so focused on trying to save everyone around you, that you fail to see how often you jeopardize yourself.” His nostrils flared, but the grip on your thigh lightened, and you didn’t feel threatened by him at all. “I have to be selfish because you will always be recklessly selfless.”

“And is that such a bad thing? I’ve saved two people, three if you count yourself, while being oh so recklessly selfless.”

Kylo’s face fell into incredulity. “And you now have the sweet promise of three more weeks with a pulse. And the added bonus of a chancefor more, but with the swift revocation of your license for however long you live afterward.”

The truth stung, but not quite so much as it did coming from him. “So, what? I should stop helping people?”

“I will never ask that of you,” he stated. “But I do ask that you not get yourself killed in the process.”

“Like you said, it’s probably too late for that.”

He looked at you hard and long, chewing his tongue. His eyes narrowed and he swallowed, staring at you with a thousand thoughts whirling in his gaze. He cleared his throat and fixed his features so he was no longer studying you so much as he was admiring you. Sultry eyes landed on your lips, and the hand over your thigh tightened, his other coming to mirror over your remaining thigh. He reared his leg upward and you yelped as the sudden friction settled into your clit, your torso slamming into the hard muscle of his chest so your arms were flung around his neck.

Kylo shifted you over his thigh, inching you up and back over the hard, thick muscles. His head turned so you felt his nose trace over the shell of your ear, his lips catching your ear lobe for a moment before you sighed from the pleasure of his movements.

He let you breathe for a moment, your fingers dipping into the curl of hair at his nape, his warm breath heating your neck. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Not entirely,” he rumbled, his thigh inching up another measure, his hands pulling, grinding you against him. A small, contented moan fled your lips when another rush of heat coiled in your belly. “But if I were, I’d say I’m doing a good job of it.”

Your hips shifted of their own volition, a seethe rushed past your teeth, and you felt the day’s torture rush up all at once. Hours and hours of being led and teased with the Force, withstanding Kylo’s earlier intentions to catapult you into ecstasy. Being so close to him now, the heat of his bare chest sinking through the material of your uniform, your thighs straddled against the muscles he’d trained over years and years – you felt yourself giving into his touch.

And maybe it was because of everything he’d just told you, but you felt… better about allowing him to pleasure you now. There was less of an overarching sense that you were nothing but a toy for him. The idea of giving into him now, letting yourself go and enjoying the feel of his massive form under you, it felt good. It felt different from before, and even though you still had questions, mostly pertaining to why he was here in the first place, you knew you wouldn’t deny yourself or him any longer.

As you held onto him, he rocked you back and forth along the length of his thigh, rubbing you just right, keeping a sweet pace and listening as you let out tiny gasps from each synchronized roll of your hips.

“I was angry that I’d allowed myself to feel so much,” he breathed onto your neck as he kept his pace with your hips. “I couldn’t stand the thought that I meant nothing to you, that I was nothing to you.” You felt the flicker of orgasm as your body began to tense, his words an urging caress. “So I marked you as my own, and I watched you bear the pain of it in near silence. I wanted you to react, to scream at me with the shattering rage I knew in that moment. But you didn’t. You were so quiet and still…”

Your arms were going limp around his neck, so you slumped into him. Kylo curled his head further so his lips were pressed against your ear, his voice no louder than the breath of a whisper. “I thought about how just hours before, I’d felt your tears stream down my back, and I couldn’t shake the thought that you’d betrayed me so thoroughly for so long. I was so angry, I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t think of what it meant that you were silent while I cut into you with every ill-intent I felt in that moment. I was blinded by your betrayal, but also my own, because I knew better than to allow myself to get so involved with someone, because I was bested by a weakness that never should have existed. The weakness I created.”

Tendrils of release crept up your chest and you rode the edge of pleasure as your breath panted against his skin and he ground you harder into him. His teeth pulled at your ear lobe and shivers quaked outward along your neck and spine, his touch and words a separate charge toward pleasure.

“You don’t have weaknesses, Kylo,” you panted, barely recognizing your voice. “You are not weak.”

“No, I am not,” he breathed, kissing the hinge of your jaw, “but you are a weakness of mine, a piece of me, and a target because of it.” You whimpered against him as your body sprinted toward sweet release, losing grip on that last fraying string of sanity when Kylo said, his voice ragged and raw, “And I am selfish enough to ask that you trust me. Trust that I will never risk you even though I am a risk to you, because you are an extension of me, and I will defend you as I would my very own flesh and blood.”

In that moment, you felt more than the sexual bliss of orgasm, sinking deeply into the rasped words he’d given life from his tongue, but were born from his heart. His heart that beat so steadily when you lay against it, the heart you’d ran toward so often, even when you hadn’t realized it. Euphoria pulsed through your body as every word and breath he’d just gifted raced around your mind, leaving you to settle into him as you returned to the present.

“Be selfish,” you murmured, breathing heavily. “I will trust you. I do trust you.”

The strength of his arms tight against your back, pulling you into him, was as shocking as it was calming. He was holding onto you, not just holding you, but keeping you to him as tightly and surely as he could.

Through closed eyes you knew the sun would soon be hidden from the sky and taken over by night, but you didn’t care that time was passing. Because as your breath fell into step with Kylo’s own, time might as well have stopped existing.

“Why are you seeing McCarty tomorrow?”

Although the words were quiet, even as he spoke directly against your ear, their sudden presence spread like ice water over your heated skin. It’s not that he spoke with any harsh emotion, just that it shocked the silence you’d been nestled into. The room settled as you took a few more silent moments, but then it occurred to you that you’d never told him that.

“How do you know that I’m seeing him tomorrow?”

Neither of you moved, and you even toyed with a black curl as he said, “I told you I didn’t need to be near you anymore to… sense you.” He sighed, and it melted along the length of your spine. “I heard you at breakfast this morning. Talking to Hux’s provider.”

Swallowing, you braced your hands on his shoulders so you could peel away from him. He didn’t go easily, not tightening his hold but not letting you go either. The palms of your hands pressed gently into the warm skin of his chest, and soon your eyes found his in the faltering light of day. With a kiss of deep purple still hazing through the room, you searched his gaze with your own, and you wondered if the conversation you’d shared with Talia had anything to do with why he was here.

But there was more to that conversation than your plans to see Mason, and you needed to know how much he’d heard. “How does this… sensingthing work? It’s the Force, right?”

Kylo nodded, his hands resting on the curve of your hips. “It’s developed over time. The first time it was like I could hear you speaking right against my ear, but it was like the connection was weak. I could hear you, but it was unclear.”

Slight heat nipped at your cheeks. “It was the morning after I stayed with you on Starkiller, right?” The morning you’d rode your fingers like they were Kylo’s as you wore the briefs he’d put out for you.

“That was a great morning for both of us, I think.”

“I like how easy you’re being right now,” you whispered, and you weren’t sure if you meant to say that aloud.

“I can be hard if you want me to. I am, actually. Very.” A smirk lit his face and he led one of your hands down to the hard press of his prominent erection along the fly of his pants.

“I’m sure we’ll get to that later,” you said, glancing a thumb along his length before placing your hand back on his chest.

“If you’re sure,” he mumbled, and he leaned in to brush his lips against the base of your neck. He pulled away and looked at you, a finger now tracing the length of the “K” etched into your thigh. “Now, though, if I want, I can hear you however far away you are, and it’s like you’re standing next to me.” He cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes, their focus landing on your lips when he said, “I think due to the strengthening of the connection…”

His heart skipped under your palm. It startled you so much you had to stop yourself from flinching. His heart skipped… for me. “Our connection is… stronger now?”

He swallowed, his heart steadied, and he murmured into the dying light, “I want it to be stronger.”

“Why? If you can hear me clearly, why would it need to be strengthened?”

Kylo lifted a hand so it smoothed over one side of your face and found its way to the nape of your neck. “I can hear your words, what you say out loud and to others. But not your thoughts. Never your thoughts.” His expression was far away for a moment, his thumb pressing idle circles along the length of your throat. “Sometimes, though, I feel what you feel. Only recently.”

“What I feel?”

“Strong emotions, mostly.” Kylo continued to stare over your shoulder, and something dark and dangerous settled in his jaw when he paused. “The first time I could recognize it for what it was – recognize it was you– was just before Starkiller fell. It was right after I’d been struck. I remember blinking up, blinking blood out of my eye as I was flat on my back willing myself to get up, and through the pain of my injuries came this surge of…” His nose scrunched, and his lip lifted into something of a snarl. “It felt like I was on fire. Not my face or my side. But like the Force was burning through my whole body. And then I heard you, like you were screaming right next to me, and you were screaming at someone to get off of you.”

Kylo paused, his chest entirely still, like breathing was hard where his mind had taken him. His hand dropped from your nape and absently curled around your wrist, toying with the band of your watch. The pad of your thumb drew slowly along his sternum, and you watched the warm amber of his irises drown in a stark, frigid black.

“And then I wasn’t burning. I felt my own injuries again, and I was no longer trying to move. I was laid out on my back, Starkiller crumbling all around me, and the only thought I had was that…” Kylo shuddered, the hand around your wrist stilled, and his jaw hardened to steel. “I thought you were dead. And I didn’t know why, but that thought stalled me. I should never have cared for you, but especially not then, not when I thought you’d betrayed me.”

Kylo looked at you then, the very last remnants of the sun a muted halo behind him, and whatever breath remaining in your lungs fled under his searing gaze. “I sent a signal to your watch, but that burning didn’t come back.” He swallowed. “You were dead, and I couldn’t… I wouldn’t move. I knew I had to, but all I did was fall into the absence of that burning. The absence of you.”

Once more you thought of how Kylo had looked at you in the dark of the Command Shuttle, remembered how you thought it was wonder or shock. With an ember of breath you croaked, “You thought I was dead.” Such a redundant statement, but you said it and you felt the haunt of that awed expression die away. “You thought I was dead, but then…”

“Then you were there, and I thought I had died.” Kylo slid his hand up your palm and clasped his fingers around yours, squeezing tight and pressing it to the middle of his chest. Just above his heart. “But then I heard your voice again, but it was different. You weren’t in my head, but you were with me. I tried to reach out to you, but I couldn’t. I warred in my mind until I realized you were there, but I wasn’t.”

“The coma.” Kylo had tried to reach out to your voice. You’d thought he hated you then, that he wouldn’t want to be violated by the one who had wounded him so deeply. He told you he’d heard you days ago, but knowing he wantedyou there, even if he never said otherwise – it struck through to your soul.

“I could just barely feel your hands. I heard everything you said and it was agony. To be there, listening to you blame yourself, hearing the guilt and pain in your voice – and not be able to do anything? It felt like I was burning from the inside out.”

Before you could process it, a hand was behind your nape and your mouth was against his. It wasn’t a violent kiss, no thrashing tongues or frantic lips; rather, it was a kiss full of dead regrets and roiling anguish. Kylo claimed your mouth in a slow, steady pace set by a war between pain and need. It was a kiss of mourning and grief.

His lips left yours but only enough so when you breathed, yours would glance off of them. He panted and swallowed, and the hand keeping yours to his chest spread your fingers so you could feel the deep, steady thump of his heart beneath them.

“But that moment, it was me burning, not you. Just before you left, when I felt your lips on mine and pleaded with my body to finally come back to me, your presence was like a salve. It found me through the darkness, and it calmed me, quieted the flames roaring in my mind, and it steadied me.”

As close as he was, he found your eyes, and you felt them sink deeply into your own. “You couldn’t have given me more,” he kissed your name to your lips, “because when I woke up, when I found my body and felt the braids, it was all real to me. You were real to me.” Kylo paused, breathed, and his heart skipped beneath your hand. “You couldn’t have given me more. You were alive. There will never be anything more than that.” He kissed you again, and this time it was hungry, ravenous as he stole your breath and claimed your mouth. “It was everything. It is everything.”

Words were thick in your throat, heavy in your mind, but the whole of what came from your parted lips, between the soft pants of breath that fell from them as he continued to nod his own full mouth into yours, were sighs and gasps of contentedness. In his arms, right now, after all was said and all was done, you thought for a moment that should you have died, you would have gone happily.

It was a feat to pull away from him, but you did, and you watched as the purple and orange of the sun wasted away behind him. “I am seeing Mason tomorrow because he’s letting me grab some clothes for the trial. And he’s been weird since Starkiller. And weirder since getting to Canto Bight. I know you don’t like him much, but he’s important to me, and I need to talk to him.” Kylo’s lashes lowered after his heavy gaze pulled away from you, the hand on your nape going back to trace the scar on your thigh. “Is that why you really came here? Because you overheard me this morning talking about visiting him?”

For a moment he remained quiet, the faintest touch of his fourth finger kissing your skin, but he looked up to you and found your eyes. “I’m here because you were still concerned with the Board, and even Hux, and knew if that was true, that it would also be true that you hadn’t listened to me. That you still didn’t trust me.”

“Kylo—”

“I should never have expected you to trust me so blindly, not after I’ve given you countless reasons not to.” He swallowed then, something of an apology knitting his brows together. “But for your own safety, you cannot know everything—”

“About the elusive “this” you keep referencing?”

“Yes,” he said, and his voice was clear and adamant. “By whatever means, you will survive this trial. Trust in that.”

“Okay,” you said, and you meant it. He’d said a lot today. It was enough. For now, at least. “But may I propose something that maybe you haven’t thought of?”

With a deep, cleansing breath, you took both his hands and dropped them in your lap, dismounting his leg and once more settling in the cradle of his thighs, propped on your knees as you met him with an unfaltering stare. “I will trust you, but you have to trust me back.” You trailed a finger over the secured IV you’d placed. “Trust me with more than your body. Trust me… wholly.”

Kylo seemed off-put by the thought of that, and he studied you for long, seemingly eternal minutes; he looked conflicted, like he was weighing every outcome of what that meant. When you thought he wouldn’t answer, he cleared his throat and said, “I’ve done that before.”

He had, you knew that, but you needed to say something before he decided he wouldn’t do so again. “And the only reason you stopped was because Snoke weaponized me, used me to get to you so he can have you in his arsenal, at his expense whenever he wants. You are more than that, Kylo. More than his or anyone’s to use. Do not let him win. Not again. Not anymore.”

His jaw steeled as each of your hard words met their mark with deadly precision. And when he spoke next, his tongue was a blade, his tone a sharp, unyielding promise. “He’s already lost. He just doesn’t know yet.”

“So it’s settled. I trust you, you trust me.”

There was hesitance, but he gave a single, curt nod. His brows knit for a moment and then his features seemed to soften. “I can get you clothes. Although, I do prefer you without them.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, but you knew what he was doing, and as endearing as it was, you wouldn’t yield to him on this. “I’m seeing Mason tomorrow, and no amount of dirty words or pretty clothes will change my mind.” You notched a brow. “You’ll just have to trust me, I guess.”

“Already abusing your power,” he purred, and he pulled you into him so your legs opened and splayed over his hips and behind him. “Don’t make me regret this decision.” His tongue traced along your carotid, followed by the plush press of his lips. “At least, not so soon.”

He pushed a hand into your hair and turned your neck to the side, sucking the tender skin until he surely left a mark. His teeth skated along the hinge of your jaw, his lips trailing up your chin until his skillful tongue pushed past the seam of your mouth. It found yours and led you into a breathtaking whirl of sensation. You moaned into him, loving his weighted breath, feeling his cock harden beneath, growing as you rolled your hips into him.

He hummed, slipping his tongue away and sucking your bottom lip, your hands leading into his thick, midnight locks as the room settled in the darkness of night. He nudged his nose into you and teased your lips again, chuckling as you leaned into his efforts and chased his toying mouth.

“Tell me one more thing,” he hummed, and his tone was decadent and rich, a pulse of heat lighting between your legs.

“Anything, Kylo,” you sighed, finally catching his mouth and biting his bottom lip.

“Were you going to mention that your friend is pregnant with the General’s illegitimate kid, or were you hoping I didn’t catch onto that part of your talk this morning?”

Well. If anything was going to kill the mood, that was it.

“You know,” you sighed, bracing yourself on his shoulders and pulling out of his embrace, “as much as I dislike General Hux, mentioning him doesn’t count as dirty talk.”

Kylo chuckled deep in his chest, and his mouth was twisted in a lopsided smirk. He insisted again, not a fowl note in his voice, “Were you going to tell me?”

“It wasn’t my news to tell.” You shoved his shoulder. “And it’s not yours either, understand?”

“Really? I was looking forward to congratulating him and sharing a few cigars with the father-to-be.” You shoved him again and he laughed, appearing so young as he put his hand atop yours and traced his thumb over the back of your hand. “I don’t plan on telling him. And I don’t care if your friend—”

“You are allowed to call her Talia. You’re also allowed to call him Mason, if you didn’t know.”

“I’m not very fond of being on a first-name basis with someone I don’t plan on ever knowing. As for the physician,” his brow ticked as you frowned at the title he used so often, “I just don’t like him.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I don’t care if Harper”—you smiled at the compromise—“tells him or not. I’d actually find it quite funny if she kept it from him until the very last second. He could use a good kick in the pants.”

“So, you really won’t tell him, then?” You pushed a lock of hair back from his temple with your free hand.

He sighed exaggeratedly, and the next thing you knew, you were in the air and being lifted to sit on the edge of the exam table, Kylo’s hands resting on the tops of your thighs. “No, I won’t tell the General of his bastard lovechild. Or maybe I will,” he raised a teasing brow, “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, leading the flat of your hand up the rigid muscles of his chest.

“Really,” he breathed in answer, dipping his head and laving his tongue past your lips, stroking it against your own as his hands caught the hem of your uniform and pulled it from the length of your body.

Your hands lifted for him, and soon you were bare – bare to the cool room, bare to the city that sprawled behind you. Bare to him. The only remaining article was his black briefs. His mouth was on your neck, kissing and biting and sucking along your pulse. Large, bold hands slid down the curved lines of your sides, thumbs petting over your belly. Kylo leaned down to your chest, kissing into the tender flesh, mouthing at the swell of your breast until he pulled a nipple into his mouth and tongued over it, around it, until your head fell back and a long, throaty groan left you.

“I need to taste you,” he breathed, taking his mouth from your breast only for a moment.

A needy hand found the back of his neck, and you pulled him closer as you arched into his mouth, into the heat of his tongue trailing to take your other nipple between his plump, scorching lips. He looked up at you, heated amber seeping into your eyes as you saw his mouth move and felt his tongue draw on the tip of your breast.

Kylo smirked when you shuddered against him, and then his hands left you. There was a metallic squeak, and he popped your breast from his mouth. When you looked down at him next, his eyes were full of mischief and a tantalizing glint that made your heart drop.

Kylo had pulled out a set of stirrups that had been locked beneath the table. And by that damn glint in his eye, you knew his every intention. You knew, too, by that very same glint, you wouldn’t need convincing.

“Trust me?” he asked, and the devil lived in the smirk that spread across his face.

“I probably shouldn’t.”

“Much too late for that.”

Kylo leaned forward like a predator readying to strike. First his mouth found yours, kissing you deeply, his hands cupping the back of your neck. Then, he kissed down to your breasts, tonguing a nipple, looking up at you when he bit down. A rumble rolled in the depths of his chest. Large hands smoothed over the curves of your silhouette, gripped your thighs and led you toward the edge of the table.

He stopped for a moment, his chin skimming your soft belly, his gaze a vice grip on your own. And when he had you positioned as he wanted, his thumbs curled into the briefs’ waistline and he pulled them out from under you. Kylo stopped once he uncovered your sex; keeping his eyes on yours, a tether of pure lust between you, he dipped his head and dragged his nose over your mound. His inhale was self-indulgent, slow and torturous, his eyes slipping back before his lids shut, the smell of you seemingly a drug of the highest potency.

Kylo groaned, inhaling a second time, the fog of his exhale flourishing over your tender, slick flesh. He slipped the briefs free from your legs, holding your ankles in one massive, binding hand.

“As much as I enjoy you wearing what’s mine,” he hummed, a hand under each ankle now, and leaned down to join his nose to the supple skin of your inner thigh, dragging ever closer to the pulse now aching to be attended to, “I admit taking it off you is much more satisfying.” His lips pressed into the sensitive flesh, his hot exhale whispering along the top of you slit. “Ask me why that is.”

Heat was enveloping your body, and your breasts heaved as breath came in short, harsh pants, but when you went to speak, Kylo’s tongue distracted you. Just before the question left your lips, he sucked the skin of your inner thigh and bit down. And as you moaned at the heady sensation – that wondrous pleasure pain – his arm encircled the leg already attended to and blindly placed it into the hard cradle of the stirrup. When it was secure, his hand slinked up the length of your body, grasping your breast while he kissed and sucked and nipped at your left thigh.

“Why,” you breathed out, unsure if you said anything, head spinning impossibly.

“Because,” Kylo crooned, muffled against the tissue he mouthed at, “the clothes are mine, but so are you. And I am undone at the sight of what is mine bared and sprawled for my taking.”

Soft, pretty moans slipped from you when he repeated the process of placing your leg in the second stirrup, his words a sweet poison in your thrumming veins. Once you were settled, and after he’d kissed his way up your calf, he stood between your raised legs – the sight of his purely masculine form laving your nerves with anticipation and lust – and watched, perhaps too intently, as he pushed your legs apart until you were sure you’d split in two.

In the light of fresh dusk, the notch in his throat bobbed, the weight of his gaze settled on the sight of your dripping, desperate cunt. Kylo’s tongue dipped into sight momentarily, glinting when it unthinkingly swept over his bottom lip. His eyes remained steady, the flat of his palms lighting sparks along your inner legs, and you watched as he brushed two long fingers down your folds, parting your sex and slipping through the wetness that was welled there.

Finally, his gaze lifted, the scalding, rich amber of his irises melting into you when the thick tips of his fingers prodded your entrance. Kylo watched you, enthralled, as those fingers sunk into you, deeply, wholly, filling you until you writhed around them.

Eager hips lifted from the table, leveraging the stirrups, guiding him that much deeper. He granted your silent wish, grasping one hip and pulling you forward, leading his fingers back and forth, curling them upward and pressing that oh-so-decadent spot in a paced, torturous pattern. You met him with each thrust, slowly rolling your hips, raising your hands to touch and mold your breasts.

A strong thumb found residence over the aching body of your clit, your answering moan unapologetic and entirely too loud. He rolled his hand over and inside you, stroking and filling you so masterfully that you quickly felt the first stirrings of orgasm.

Right when you were poised to cum, you felt it, felt a third finger push into your cunt, the sensation indulgent and overwhelming. It’s like his hand was lodged so full and far in your body that you could feel him in your throat. Kylo continued stroking your nerve as your hands clutched the edges of the exam table, your back arched and head flung back. The room was filled with sounds of sex, the smell of it too, and it all built on what you knew would be a world-shattering release.

“I feel so full, Kylo,” you moaned.

Before he answered, heat crowded your torso, and the brand of his lips burned the line of your breastbone, the hand that filled you never stalling. “You can take more, though.” His nose nudged the base of your breast, his teeth glancing off of the tender tissue. “You can, and you will.”

He didn’t know what he was saying, because there was no way—

“Oh, fuck,” you mewled, throaty and deep, when you felt a fourth finger fill your brimming cunt. “Kylo, there’s… oh, I can feel you… everywhere. You’re everywhere.”

It was no lie, the flow of his four thick, long fingers deep inside your soaked pussy engulfed every nerve you had, and the way his thumb continued to stroke your clit made it so you felt like your soul would float from your body.

But then that thumb left, Kylo moved down the length of your abdomen, kissing and claiming, until you felt his tongue draw against that bundle of nerves. The hand that grasped your hip anchored your writhing body to the table, but the press of his fingers suddenly deepened. Then, just as suddenly, occurring in the very same breath, you felt his thumb join those other four fingers.

A guttural, animal cry born from the deepest depths of your lungs filled the room and shattered against the night-peering transparisteel. His whole hand, fisted and tight, moved against you, filled you unthinkably, and snapped the last coil of sanity that bound your body and soul. His mouth sucked your clit, his tongue striking you with tight, paced licks.

It was all too much, he was too much – his hand, his mouth – your body bowing from the table, legs shaking and sweaty. Every sensation drenched your skin, every shared word blared through your mind, and ecstasy rushed you with a force that rivaled that which precipitated the fall of Starkiller.

Luminous, you were a nebula at the mercy of a black hole. Though you knew the deep pull of him left you broken and breathless, you found yourself surrendering to it, and it called to you just the same. He blazed with darkness while you drowned him with light; in this moment, neither of you could tell where one ended and the other began.

Slowly, the world around you reentered your thoughts. The sound of heavy, breathless pants spilled from your parted lips. A branding heat covered your front, and your hand had at some point come to tangle into Kylo’s hair, scratching the back of his head in idle patterns. There was a slight ache coming from the now vacant space of where he’d just had his hand, but it was pleasant in a way. You opened your eyes, and you couldn’t help your gasp.

The stars were out tonight. They looked so different from when you were in space, far away yet crowding every inch of the evening sky. Clusters twinkled on one end, groups seemingly traveling together. Every so often, as you spent minutes on your back admiring the night’s speckled beauty, a hazy cloud would drift in and out of view. Some were a dusky orange, others a lush violet that cast such complementary shadow over the backdrop of the star-brimming sky.

“The stars are out,” you murmured, melting into the feel of his weight covering you.

Kylo didn’t say anything, but you felt the soft press of his lips dip into your belly. Then lower, and lower. His actions carried no sexual intent, and you soon learned why.

A certain reverence lived in the hand that brushed over the scar etched into your left thigh. Kylo’s thumb swept over the raised, healed lines of his initials, circling the area over and over again. Soon, the warm breath of his exhales grazed the exposed skin, and you gasped when you felt the familiar touch of his lips.

He kissed the flesh there, a kiss of longing, a kiss full of silent… apology? No, not apology. Not sorrow or remorse. It was a kiss of gratitude, and you thought you could hear the soft murmurings of words too quiet to comprehend just as he pressed his lips again to those two precise etchings that would live on you forever.

You lifted your left leg from the stirrup and led it down his back, hooking it around his hips before leading the other in the same path. He looked at you then, and you leaned up and cupped his jaw in your hands before pulling him up and kissing him softly. He held your waist and lowered his head as you moved your mouth against his.

When your hands led down the pane of his abdomen, you broke away from him and held his eyes in your own. Even with so little light, there was something bright about them now, like the smoking embers of a long-burned fire. The scar that cut through his features was healing, you regarded, and you made a mental note to have a physician remove the black-and-white stitching that remained nestled across his cheek.

His eyes narrowed for a second, but he turned away before you could question it. Kylo took your discarded clothes from the floor and helped you redress. His touch was achingly gentle, such a contrast to what you knew he could do to people with the strength imbedded in his soul. Soon the hooks of your bra were met and the light caress of his briefs returned to your hips. You held your arms up as he slid your uniform over your head and onto your waiting body.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Kylo nodded and began gathering his clothes. You slid from the exam table and slipped your shoes on, wandering to the wall of windows and peering out over the city. It was truly magnificent, especially now that it surrounded you with all the life of night buzzing down below. It carried this silent threat that it could swallow you whole if you allowed it.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you spotted what Quynnland had been staring at so intently. It was closer now, and you could see that it was a large, hollow structure. It was a racing track, like you’d thought, but it was enormous. There was movement inside of it, but even squinting you couldn’t quite catch any detail of what was going on.

Warm hands met your shoulders, and you knew he wore his gloves now. “Why are you staring at the fathier track?”

“Fathiers?” you wondered aloud, leaning into him and clasping a hand over one of his.

“Racing creatures that serve as entertainment to the corrupt wealth that live in this city. Impressive beings, really.” He leaned down and his lips caressed the shell of your ear. “What’s interested you with them?”

“I had a patient today. He told me his brother is there. His kid brother.” You swallowed, offput by the memory of how helpless Quynnland had sounded, had appeared as he told you this. “He asked me to get him away from there.”

Kylo tensed behind you, and a long push of breath fogged the side of your neck. “Always trying to save everyone.”

“I won’t get myself killed. I promise.” You sighed, running your hand down the length of his arm. “Did you take that IV out? You should have let me help.”

“I’m healing, not incapacitated.” Kylo took a step back from you and you turned, seeing him waiting for you at the door. “We should get back to the Consulate. I’m sure your shadow has given her report by now.” A half-smirk pulled his mouth up.

“Why does it look like you think that’s a good thing?” You walked over to him and he activated the door, the two of you stepping out and meandering through unfamiliar halls.

“If he suspects that there is something going on between you and I, Hux would likely use that information when he testifies next week. But, to claim you had inappropriate relations with me would force him to publicly acknowledge that all similar relations between any provider and their assignment are inherently inappropriate…”

Kylo pulled open a door and let you pass, the two of you walking toward a transport docking bay stationed at the top of the medical structure. When you stood in front of a familiar transport, he stopped next to you and you watched as the entrance descended to let you in.

Kylo stepped forward, his boots heavy on the ramp, and he turned and looked at you with features gilded in prideful victory. “As much as Armitage Hux dislikes you and hates me, he is an intelligent man. He would never make himself appear so weak by publicly contradicting himself by shaming you for fucking your assignment when he is actively doing the same with his provider.”

He spoke so powerfully, it was like the night around you had quieted to hear him. You took a breath, all the air having seeped from your lungs under the weight of his adamant eyes. “And you’re sure of that?”

Kylo held out a gloved hand, offered it to you before he said, his voice the deepest caress, “Do you trust me?”

In that moment, with the night cloaking you from the city, with the words he’d earlier spoken echoing around your mind, and the touch he’d painted your body with that was altogether yearning and claiming at once, you knew you did. Wholly and completely, and perhaps too much, you trusted him.

So you took his hand, and you looked up at him with the same strength that lived in his eyes, and said, without a single doubt in your mind, or your heart, “Yes, Kylo. I trust you.”

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