#How to Tell if Your Ocean Liner is the Kind That Sinks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eldritchw1tch · 4 years

Text

i don’t want you like a best friend: a tswift-pimms playlist

link

this is the pimms playlist i spent more than a year working on from like, 2018 to the end of 2019! as such, it only contains music up through lover, not anything from folklore or evermore. @permets-2 finally poked me into posting the liner notes, which I gave up on because tumblr formatting was fighting me, so please know i haven’t actually looked at them since 2019 and there might still be missing things? idk.

this playlist is absolutely dedicated to my beloved @faiasakura, who did her own version of an all-tswift pimms playlist completely independently (we actively avoided comparing notes, lol), which can be found here!

i don’t really go here lately but i hope this is of interest to someone!

Prologue

1. Don’t Blame Me (reputation)

for you, I would fall from grace

Just to touch your face

If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

…

Lord save me, my drug is my baby

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

Act 1: The Q

2. Gorgeous (reputation)

a crush

Ocean blue eyes looking in mine

I feel like I might sink and drown and die

…

You're so gorgeous

I can't say anything to your face

'Cause look at your face

And I'm so furious

At you for making me feel this way

But what can I say?

You're gorgeous

3. Treacherous (Red)

something magnetic, pulling them both in

And I'll do anything you say

If you say it with your hands

And I'd be smart to walk away

But you're quicksand

…

Your name has echoed through my mind

And I just think you should, think you should know

That nothing safe is worth the drive

And I will follow you, follow you home

4. Dress (reputation)

a shared and precious secret: love, desperate and messy and everything. But also: the scrutiny, the frenetic anxiety, the fear.

I’m spilling wine in the bathtub

You kiss my face and we're both drunk

Everyone thinks that they know us

But they know nothing about—

All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation

My hands are shaking from holding back from you

5. Tied Together With a Smile (Taylor Swift)

the pressure builds; jack’s anxiety gets worse

Hold on, baby you're losing it

The water's high, you're jumping into it

And letting go, and no one knows

That you cry, but you don't tell anyone

That you might not be the golden one

And you're tied together with a smile

But you're coming undone

6. Long Live (Speak Now)

the glory, the playoffs, the memorial cup: the golden boys of hockey, on top of the world

Long live the walls we crashed through

All the kingdom lights shined just for me and you

I was screaming, long live all the magic we made

And bring on all the pretenders

One day, we will be remembered

…

Hold on, to spinning around

Confetti falls to the ground

May these memories break our fall

7. State of Grace (Red)

the 34 days, inside kent’s euphoria

This is a state of grace

This is the worthwhile fight

Love is a ruthless game

Unless you play it good and right

These are the hands of fate

You’re my Achilles heel

this is the golden age of something good and right and real

8. Cruel Summer (Lover)

(that golden season and its dark underbelly)

So cut the headlights, summer's a knife

I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate (Oh)

And I scream, "For whatever it's worth

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

9. Haunted (Speak Now)

the overdose: kent finds jack on the bathroom floor

Whoa, holding my breath

Won't lose you again

Something's made your eyes go cold

Come on, come on, don't leave me like this

I thought I had you figured out

Something's gone terribly wrong

You're all I wanted

10. I Know Places (1989)

kent in the waiting room, holding on hope

Something happens when everybody finds out

See the vultures circling, dark clouds

Love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out

It could burn out

…

Lights flash and we'll run for the fences

Let them say what they want, we won't hear it

Loose lips sink ships all the damn time

Not this time

Act 2: The Fallout

11. The Story of Us (Speak Now)

kent goes to the draft; jack won’t answer his calls

Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room

And we're not speaking

And I'm dying to know

Is it killing you like it's killing me?

Yeah, and I don't know what to say

Since the twist of fate, when it all broke down

And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now

…

The battle's in your hands now

But I would lay my armor down

If you say you'd rather love than fight

12. Last Kiss (Speak Now)

jack and kent, the same realization from opposite sides

So I'll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is

I don't know how to be something you miss

I never thought we'd have a last kiss

Never imagined we'd end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

13. Death By A Thousand Cuts (Lover)

Starting to live with the devastation and the broken heart

Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts

Flashbacks waking me up

I get drunk, but it's not enough

’Cause the morning comes and you're not my baby

I look through the windows of this love

Even though we boarded them up

Chandelier's still flickering here

’Cause I can't pretend it's okay when it's not

It's death by a thousand cuts

14. If This Was A Movie (Speak Now)

regrets and memories

Last night, I heard my own heart beating

Sounded like footsteps on my stairs

Six months gone and I'm still reaching

Even though I know you're not there

I was playing back a thousand memories, baby

Thinkin' 'bout everything we've been through

Maybe I've been going back too much lately

When time stood still and I had you

15. Cold as You (Taylor Swift)

the grief and pain become anger and bitterness

And when you take, you take the very best of me

So I start a fight cause I need to feel something

And you do what you want cause I'm not what you wanted

…

You put up walls and paint them all a shade of gray

And I stood there loving you and wished them all away

And you come away with a great little story

Of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you

Interlude 1: Jack

16. I Almost Do (Red)

kent doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does (but jack doesn’t either)

I bet you think I either moved on or hate you

‘Cause each time you reach out, there’s no reply

I bet it never, ever occurred to you

That I can’t say hello to you

And risk another goodbye

…

Oh, we made quite a mess, babe

It’s probably better off this way

And I confess, babe

In my dreams, you’re touching my face

And asking me if I want to try again with you

And I almost do

Act 3: Coming of Age in Vegas

17. New Romantics (1989)

vegas; teammates; living in the moment; drinking, dancing, and self-destructing

We're all here, the lights and boys are blinding

We hang back, it's all in the timing

It's poker

He can't see it in my face

But I'm about to play my Ace (ahh)

We need love, but all we want is danger

We team up, then switch sides like a record changer

The rumors are terrible and cruel

But honey, most of them are true

…

Heartbreak is the national anthem

We sing it proudly

We’re too busy dancing (yeah) to get knocked off our feet

Baby, we're the new romantics

The best people in life are free

18. Begin Again (Red)

kent starts to move on

And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid

I think it's strange that you think I'm funny 'cause he never did

I've been spending the last eight months

Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end

But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again

19. The Way I Loved You (Fearless)

all the drinking and dancing and dating still feel empty and hollow; he just wants to feel again; he just wants that love back

I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain

It's 2 AM and I'm cursing your name

I'm so in love that I acted insane

And that's the way I loved you

Breaking down and coming undone

It's a roller coaster kind of rush

And I never knew I could feel that much

And that's the way I loved you

…

He can't see the smile I'm faking

And my heart's not breaking

'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all

And you were wild and crazy

Just so frustrating

Intoxicating, complicated

20. The Lucky One (Red)

kent parson: the loneliest boy, so alone at the top of the world

You had it figured out since you were in school

Everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool

So overnight, you look like a sixties queen

…

And they tell you that you’re lucky, but you’re so confused

'Cause you don’t feel pretty, you just feel used

And all the young things line up to take your place

—

Another name goes up in lights

You wonder if you’ll make it out alive

21. Come In With The Rain (Fearless)

(starting to move on is not the same as letting go)

I’ve watched you so long, screamed your name

I don’t know what else I can say

…

But I’ll leave my window open

'Cause I’m too tired at night to call your name

Just know I’m right here hoping

That you’ll come in with the rain

Act 4: Implosion

22. Out of the Woods (1989)

memories he can’t escape of a love like a car crash

The night we couldn't quite forget

When we decided, we decided

To move the furniture so we could dance

Baby, like we stood a chance

Two paper airplanes flying, flying, flying

And I remember thinking

Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet?

…

You took a Polaroid of us

Then discovered (then discovered)

The rest of the world was black and white

But we were in screaming color

23. Red (Red)

Kent decides to go to epikegster

Loving him is like driving a new Maserati

Down a dead-end street

Faster than the wind, passionate as sin

Ending so suddenly

…

Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes

Tell myself it's time now, gotta let go

But moving on from him is impossible

When I still see it all in my head

In burning red

Loving him was red

24. The Last Time (Red)

didja miss me? (something tentative; something a little bit hopeful on both sides)

Find myself at your door

Just like all those times before

I’m not sure how I got there

All roads they lead me here

I imagine you are home

In your room, all alone

And you open your eyes into mine

And everything feels better

25. The Archer (Lover)

kent tries to extend an olive branch but it’s still covered in thorns

Combat, I'm ready for combat

I say I don't want that, but what if I do?

'Cause cruelty wins in the movies

I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you

…

I've been the archer, I've been the prey

Who could ever leave me, darling

But who could stay?

…

And I cut off my nose just to spite my face

Then I hate my reflection for years and years

26. Bad Blood (1989)

jack’s answer to kent’s wounded lashing out

Oh, it's so sad to

Think about the good times

You and I

…

’Cause baby, now we've got bad blood

You know it used to be mad love

So take a look what you've done

’Cause baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!

27. Breathe (Fearless)

kent, driving away from epikegster

I see your face in my mind as I drive away

'Cause none of us thought it was gonna end that way

People are people and sometimes we change our minds

But it's killing me to see you go after all this time

…

And we know it's never simple, never easy

Never a clean break, no one here to save me

You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand

…

And I can't breathe without you, but I have to

Breathe without you but I have to

28. All Too Well (Red)

despite all the pain, there’s an irresistible nostalgia for what they had all those years ago—for when things were so much simpler

Maybe we got lost in translation

Maybe I asked for too much

But maybe this thing was a masterpiece

'Til you tore it all up

Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well

And you call me up again just to break me like a promise

So casually cruel in the name of being honest

I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here

'Cause I remember it all, all, all

Too well

…

Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it

I'd like to be my old self again

But I'm still trying to find it

Interlude 2: Kent

29. Fifteen (Fearless)

a memory, a reflection

'Cause when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you

You're gonna believe them

And when you're fifteen and your first kiss

Makes your head spin 'round

But in your life you'll do things greater than

Dating the boy on the football team

But I didn't know it at fifteen

…

When all you wanted was to be wanted

Wish you could go back and tell yourself what you know now

Back then I swore I was gonna marry him someday

But I realized some bigger dreams of mine

Act 5: Moving On, Growing Up

30. Clean (1989)

finally learning to be his own person, separate from that shared past

There was nothing left to do (Oh-oh, oh-oh)

When the butterflies turned to

Dust that covered my whole room

So I punched a hole in the roof (Oh-oh, oh-oh)

Let the flood carry away all my pictures of you

…

The water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud

But no one heard a thing

…

Rain came pouring down

When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe

And by morning

Gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean

31. 22 (Red)

friends and freedom, and real joy in that this time around

It feels like a perfect night

To dress up like hipsters

And make fun of our exes, uh-uh, uh-uh

It feels like a perfect night

For breakfast at midnight

To fall in love with strangers, uh-uh, uh-uh

…

Yeah

We're happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time

It's miserable and magical, oh, yeah

Tonight's the night when we forget about the deadlines

It's time, oh-oh

32. So It Goes… (reputation)

[a doomed love can still be a good one]

'Cause we break down a little

But when you get me alone, it's so simple

'Cause baby, I know what you know

We can feel it

…

And all the pieces fall right into place

Getting caught up in a moment

Lipstick on your face

So it goes…

…

I'm yours to keep

And I'm yours to lose

You know I'm not a bad girl, but I

Do bad things with you

So it goes…

33. Dancing With Our Hands Tied (reputation)

[a doomed love can still be a good one]

I, I loved you in secret

First sight, yeah, we love without reason

Oh, twenty-five years old

Oh, how were you to know?

…

Could've spent forever with your hands in my pockets

Picture of your face in an invisible locket

You said there was nothing in the world that could stop it

I had a bad feeling

…

I'd kiss you as the lights went out

Swaying as the room burned down

I'd hold you as the water rushes in

If I could dance with you again

34. Wildest Dreams (1989)

[a doomed love can still be a good one]

He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad, but he does it so well

I can see the end as it begins

My one condition is

…

Say you'll remember me

Standing in a nice dress

Staring at the sunset, babe

Red lips and rosy cheeks

Say you'll see me again

Even if it's just in your

Wildest dreams, ah-aah, haa

34. Shake It Off (1989)

At the top of his game, at the top of his sport, and actually happy at long last

I never miss a beat

I'm lightning on my feet

And that's what they don’t see, mm, mm

…

But I keep cruisin'

Can't stop, won't stop groovin'

It's like I got this music in my mind

Saying it's gonna be alright

…

'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play

And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate

Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

I shake it off, I shake it off

Heartbreakers gonna break, break, break, break, break

And the fakers gonna fake, fake, fake, fake, fake

Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

I shake it off, I shake it off

35. Holy Ground (Red)

Remembering with enough distance and experience to appreciate what was, not ache from it

Spinning like a girl in a brand new dress

We had this big wide city all to ourselves

We blocked the noise with the sound of, "I need you"

And for the first time, I had something to lose

And I guess we fell apart in the usual way

And the story's got dust on every page

But sometimes, I wonder how you think about it now

And I see your face in every crowd

…

'Cause darling, it was good

Never looking down

And right there where we stood

Was holy ground

Act 6: Reunion

36. ME! (Lover)

reconnection, reconciliation, re-appreciation

I know I tend to make it about me

I know you never get just what you see

But I will never bore you, baby

(And there's a lot of lame guys out there)

…

'Cause one of these things is not like the others

Livin' in winter, I am your summer

Baby doll, when it comes to a lover

I promise that you'll never find another like me-e-e

37. This Love (1989)

an unexpected reawakening

Tossing, turning

Struggled through the night with someone new

And I could go on and on, on and on

Lantern, burning

Flickered in my mind, only you

But you were still gone, gone, gone

…

Been losing grip, on sinking ships

You showed up just in time

…

This love is good, this love is bad

This love is alive back from the dead, oh-oh, oh

These hands had to let it go free, and

This love came back to me, oh-oh, oh

38. End Game (reputation) (ft. ed sheeran as jack)

After all this time, there are things they aren’t ever going to let go of again, no matter the trouble they bring

I got a bad boy persona, that's what they like (what they like)

You love it, I love it too 'cause you my type (You my type)

You hold me down, and I protect you with my life

…

I don't wanna touch you, I don't wanna be

Just another ex-love you don’t wanna see

I don’t wanna miss you (I don't wanna miss you)

Like the other girls do

I don’t wanna hurt you, I just wanna be

Drinking on a beach with you all over me

I know what they all say (I know what they all say)

But I ain't tryna play

…

I wanna be your end game (End game)

I wanna be your first string (First string)

I wanna be your A-Team (A-Team)

I wanna be your end game, end game

39. You Are In Love (1989)

something real; something sacred; something to build a life on

You can hear it in the silence (silence), silence (silence), you

You can feel it on the way home (way home), way home (way home), you

You can see it with the lights out (lights out), lights out (lights out)

You are in love, true love

You are in love

…

You kiss on sidewalks

You fight and you talk

One night, he wakes

Strange look on his face

Pauses, then says "You're my best friend"

And you knew what it was, he is in love

40. Change (Fearless)

when the two biggest hockey players of their generation come out of the closet—together—are in love with each other—it changes more lives than just theirs

So we've been outnumbered, raided, and now cornered

It's hard to fight when the fight ain’t fair

We're getting stronger now, finding things they never found

They might be bigger but we're faster and never scared

You can walk away, say we don't need this

But there's something in your eyes says we can beat this

…

'Cause these things will change

Can you feel it now?

These walls that they put up to hold us back will fall down

This revolution, the time will come

For us to finally win

And we'll sing hallelujah, we'll sing hallelujah

Oh, oh

41. Call It What You Want (reputation)

When it stops mattering what anyone else thinks

All my flowers grew back as thorns

Windows boarded up after the storm

He built a fire just to keep me warm

All the drama queens taking swings

All the jokers dressing up as kings

They fade to nothing when I look at him

And I know I make the same mistakes every time

Bridges burn, I never learn

At least I did one thing right

I did one thing right

I'm laughing with my lover, makin' forts under covers

Trust him like a brother

Yeah, you know I did one thing right

Starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night

…

My baby's fit like a daydream

Walking with his head down

I'm the one he's walking to

So call it what you want, yeah

Call it what you want to

42. Lover (Lover)

love

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January

And this is our place, we make the rules

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?

…

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close?

Forever and ever, ah

Take me out, and take me home

You're my, my, my, my lover

43. New Year’s Day (reputation)

love

You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi

I can tell that it's gonna be a long road

I'll be there if you're the toast of the town, babe

Or if you strike out and you're crawling home

…

Don't read the last page

But I stay when it’s hard or it’s wrong or we're making mistakes

I want your midnights

But I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

44. Daylight (Lover)

Building a new life in the daylight

My love was as cruel as the cities I lived in

Everyone looked worse in the light

There are so many lines that I've crossed unforgiven

I'll tell you truth, but never goodbye

…

I once believed love would be (burning red)

But it's golden

Like daylight, like daylight

Like daylight, daylight

…

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you

I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you

I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night

And now I see daylight, I only see daylight

56 notes · View notes

wkemeup · 5 years

Text

The Other Side of the Door

summary: Bucky would do anything to keep you safe. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. Even if it took him to the bottom of the ocean. pairing: Bucky x reader word count: 8.8k warnings: canon level violence, drowning (again? yes) a/n: this was written for a writing challenge for a user who was exposed for plagiarism sooooo.... but anyway..... this is based off the score of Taking a Stand - Henry Jackman (Captain America TWS).

Bucky never wanted to hurt you like this. He never wanted to be the reason for the tears burning on your cheeks or the violent trembling of your hands as you so desperately tried to reach him through the steel lock of the door between you, to change his mind before it was too late.

He didn’t want to do this. It was imperative that you knew that, but you were so furious, so pain-stricken and terrified to see that he didn't have another choice. He’d lost his recklessness, his willingness to throw himself headfirst into flames and bullets the day he met you. He had something to fight for now, something to live for, and he had no desire to throw it away. It was the last thing he wanted, and still, here he was.

Trapped in a cold, empty control room aboard a sinking cruise liner with his hand on the lever holding open the only door to your escape. The handle broke in the fight between him and the dead man currently laying at his feet; the ricochet of a bullet rendering the lever useless without a hand to keep it latched. Everyone else got out in time, but not you. No, you rushed back into the flooding halls, dripping wet with ocean water in search of him.

He was the one to lock the door, trapping himself inside. A barricade between you. A lifetime.

The devastation in your eyes, the betrayal, nearly crumbled his resolve, but he held his ground. He’d break your heart a thousand times over if it meant you survived this. He’d done so much evil in his life, saving yours might be the one decent thing he could do before the water took him under, back to the ice where he belonged.

***

T W O H O U R S E A R L I ER

“I don’t like this,” Sam grumbled into his headset as he gripped tight to the strap above his head, glancing down out the open door of the helicopter to the rocking of the ship below, sitting upon unsettled waves and shockingly forceful gusts of wind.

“You don’t like much of anything, do you?” Bucky shot back. Sam rolled his eyes at him, though the moment he turned back to the ship, Bucky winked at you, smile spreading over his lips.

“There’s a reason I wasn’t in the Navy, Barnes,” Sam frowned. “Don’t like water.”

“Well, don’t get wet,” Steve laughed, clapping Sam on the back and causing him to flinch and grip onto the handle above him tighter.

You held your laugh under your breath, eyeing Natasha as she smirked in amusement from her seat behind you, completely unphased by the crash of the water below. You reached out to Sam, laying a hand on his shoulder encouragingly.

“No one is going in the water, Sam,” you reassured him, nudging Bucky in the side as he was clearly mouthing the opposite and threatening to throw Sam in himself.

Sam pursed his lips, nodding at you in appreciation, before he shot a glare at Bucky.

“You should lay off of him,” you warned quietly, curling up against Bucky’s side as he held onto the beam above with his left arm, securing you to his waist with his right.

Bucky chuckled. “He’s knows I’m messing with him.”

“Well, be careful about it before you two might start another civil war,” you teased.

“We certainly don’t need that again,” Nat commented from her corner, legs crossed and sharpening a knife casually as the helicopter swung with the wind. She winked, tapping Steve with the toe of her boot, only to laugh when he turned around, not having heard either of your comments, causing you both to laugh.

Steve narrowed his eyes, glancing at Bucky for support but only earned a shrug in return.

“Alright team,” Steve said in his ‘captain voice’ as Bucky often referred to it, “we all know what the plan is here. Get the hostages and get the hell out.”

“And the bad guys?” Natasha inquired, the flicker of the reflection on her knife clear as day.

“We’re not taking prisoners,” Steve responded shortly. You all knew what that meant. He turned to Sam. “You’ll go in first, get a good read on the heat signatures. Bucky and I will follow and clear a path for Y/n and Nat to get to the hostages.”

Nat held her hand out and you slapped her palm down against hers, grinning at one another. You always did make an exceptional team.

It was rare Steve assigned you to work directly with Bucky, but neither of you minded that much. It was hard to see him in the field and though you knew he was more than capable of handling himself, it didn’t ease the worry you felt as enemies charged at him with knives and guns with the intent to kill.

Once, when you’d been partnered, he nearly compromised an entire mission after an assailant almost got a knife into your stomach. Thankfully, you swerved away from the blade at the last second and brought him down yourself. Bucky’s intervention wasn’t needed but he’d left his post to help you and he had Steve berating him for weeks for that mistake.

“So, I’m thinking when we get home, maybe I take you to that place out in Queens you like so much,” Bucky said casually, as Sam jumped out the door of the helicopter, wings out and flew down to the ship below.

“The one with the spicy calamari?” you asked excitedly, stomach growling at the thought.

Bucky nodded. “’Course. We have an anniversary coming up, you know.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms tight around his waist as he held you secure against him in the unsteady movement of the helicopter. “Do we now? How long’s it been again, Sergeant?”

“Don’t know,” Bucky shrugged, “could be seconds, weeks, decades. Can’t tell how fast time is moving when I’m with you.”

“Oh my God, will you two saps turn off your coms if you’re going to be that disgusting?” Sam’s voice came through the speaker, following by a gagging sound that had you and Bucky doubling over in laughter. “We all know it’s been three years. Three years of hell!”

“That’s very kind of you, Sammy,” you replied, struggling to contain your laughter. Nat was smiling to herself as she holstered her knife and even Steve was shaking his head, grinning over at Bucky as he waited for the signal from Sam.

“Maybe I’ll turn off the noise dampener in our room tonight and show you what your hell really sounds like,” Bucky shot back, winking at you and dipping down to kiss your lips, his right arm still snaked around your waist and holding you flush against him.

“Someone restrain that man before I personally fly back up there and toss him in the ocean!”

“Sam, focus,” Steve warned, though he was smiling, trying to suppress it with no use.

Sam grunted, though the muffle of the wind on his mic had stilled. He must have landed down on the ship. “We’re clear. Cap, you and the massive pain in my ass can head down.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, reluctantly stepping away from you to line up at the open door with Steve. He turned back over his shoulder.

“See you in a second,” he smirked, leaning over to kiss you again before he jumped out the door, Steve close behind him.

You watched as they blended into the dark of the ocean and the night sky. Natasha came up beside you, trying to get a decent look herself.

“You think they’ll ever learn to use a parachute?” Nat smirked, handing you a backpack to shrug up over your shoulders. You shook your head, laughing.

“Definitely not. They enjoy the adrenaline too much.”

Sam’s voice coughed through the coms, alerting you and Nat to make your jumps. Without a second of hesitation you threw yourself out of the chopper and into the open air. It was cold against your face, but your suit as designed by Tony Stark and he had more than a few alterations to ensure that while the material remained breathable, it also shielded you from the impact of the wind. The churn in your stomach through the freefall was an exhilarating rush.

You released the parachute, looking over to Nat who had just done the same, and began to steer the cords to lead you down to the deck.

From above, you spotted Bucky and Steve fighting in hand to hand with a few watchmen out on the deck while Sam made his rounds in the shadows to ensure your cover was secure. It was nothing they couldn’t handle. You knew Steve would have his back without fail, so you worry for him decreased significantly when they were together.

By the time you reached the deck, the last of the guards were taken out and lying unconscious on the ground. Bucky reached up and steadied you as you landed and planted your feet to semi-solid ground. Wasting no time, he kissed you again because he simply could, and helped to unclip the buckles of the backpack to free you of the parachute.

“Hey Sammy,” you laughed, glancing over Bucky’s shoulder to find him standing with his arms folded over his chest and his eyes rolled so far back to his head, you wondered if they might get stuck there.

“We’re on a mission. Can you not make out for like, ten minutes?” Sam groaned, waving his hand at you. Though as he was turning to make his way back to his rounds to watch for threats, you spotted a smile on his face. He was all talk and cared a lot more for Bucky that he’d ever admit aloud, and though he said it once to you and swore he would deny it to his grave if it came to it, he was happy you and Bucky found each other. It was just simply more fun to constantly berate the two of you.

“You ready?” Steve called back quietly, preparing himself by the door.

“Coming, pal,” Bucky replied. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and jogged his way over to Steve. He turned back to you and gave a single wink before Steve opened the door and the disappeared behind it.

“So, three years, huh?” Nat smirked, arms folded over her chest as the two of you waited patiently listening to the soft grunts of the boys as they made their way through mercenaries to clear your path.

You shrugged, smile burning in your cheeks. “Yeah, seems that way. Went by fast.”

“Glad he finally learned to accept some good in his life,” Natasha said, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve really made such a difference in his recovery since he’s been out of Hydra’s control and, maybe it’s selfish, but I’m glad we all got you out of the deal, too.”

“Guess we should all thank Sam for calling out sick all those years ago and giving me the opportunity to sneak my way into Bucky’s heart,” you laughed, thinking back to the mission in Kiev where Fury had assigned you to take over Sam’s position alongside Bucky.

He was still quiet and reserved and working on earning the trust of the Shield agents on his team outside of Steve, and your wit and charm and inability to tread lightly while others kept purposeful distance started to crack at the ice on his heart. You trusted him without question and treated him like he was actually a crucial part of the team, and he was, though most of the agents largely ignored him at the time. Steve saw how well you worked together and started insisting you join their ops more often.

Over time, Bucky started to edge of out from behind the wall he constructed around himself and started falling into you. You started to seek one another out in the gym during training, started coming up with excuses to go out for food or to run into one another in briefing rooms.

It evolved to rushing down the hall at two in the morning when his mission came back later than scheduled and crashing into his arms because you couldn’t still the race in your heart until you felt the pulse of his heart beneath your fingertips. It became phone calls in the dead of night and crawling into one another’s beds to fight off the nightmares together. It went from timid touches and stolen glances to kisses in the shadows of the halls and laying bare upon his chest, wrapped under the thin layer of sheets on his bed.

“I cannot believe this is all my fault,” Sam grunted, the breeze of the wind picking up in his mic as he soared overhead.

“Thanks, Wilson,” Bucky chuckled, slightly out of breath. “We’re ready for you, doll. Shouldn’t be too much trouble on your way.”

“Got it, heading in now,” you responded, rolling your eyes at the way Natasha was practically beaming at you. She got too much of a kick out of your relationship with Bucky, and maybe if you weren’t so terrified of how she’d retaliate, you’d start poking holes at her less-than-subtle-more-than-friendship relationship with Steve.

Making your way down the hall, you stepped over a series of unconscious bodies left behind by Bucky and Steve. It certainly wasn’t as though you and Natasha couldn’t have handled the influx of guards yourselves, but sometimes it was nice to let someone else get their hands dirty for a change.

At the end of the hallway sat a single door. Bucky and Steve had already moved further into the ship to work on taking down the rest of the crew to avoid further catastrophe once the hostages were running loose. Tony was supposed to show up sometime in the next few minutes with an escape plan big enough to cart forty terrified passengers to safety. It was the moment between leaving this room and getting to the escape, that worried you. Civilians were... unpredictable.

You signaled for Nat to shoot the lock on the door and it snapped off with in a single bullet. The two of you pushed your way inside only to be with three guards waiting for you, all armed and ready to fire. Expecting resistance, you and Nat charged at the men, tossing aside their weapons they so clearly used as a crutch and overpowered them quickly in hand-to-hand. All three men were on the ground in a matter of minutes.

You panted, glancing up to the room full of hostages huddled together in the corner, all with tape pressed over their mouths and rope securing their hands. You tapped Natasha’s forearm, nodding to the group of people watching the two of you with wide, fearful eyes.

“We’ve got the hostages,” you said quietly into the mic, not waiting for a response before you addressed the crowd. “My name is Agent Y/l/n, this is Agent Romanoff. We’re here with Shield. I need everyone to remain calm and we’ll get you out of here safely, okay?”

Quick nods came in waves through the crowd and you and Nat rushed to start working on the ropes around their wrists. The first woman you met had tears on her cheeks and a child no older than four sitting contently in her lap. Thankfully, he wasn’t gagged and bound the way she was, and he was playing mindlessly with a toy airplane, seemingly unbothered.

It didn’t take long to release the hostages and once you did, Nat started to direct the crowd to the exit. She took up the front and you held the rear, explaining to the stragglers in the back that they needed to stay ahead of you, even though their legs were worn and tired and aching.

“We’re moving out to the deck,” you said into the coms, eyeing the open hallways every time you walked past.

“Guess I made good timing then, kid,” Tony’s voice came through and you could hear the whirring of his suit through the mic. “I’ve got a getaway docked on the side of this monstrosity so get those hostages here as quick as you can before the waves start getting higher.”

“On it, Stark,” you confirmed, smiling ear to ear and checking over your shoulder for company.

Your movements were slower on the way out then coming in, seeing as you had forty people to watch over. You started to wonder where Bucky and Steve had disappeared to, when suddenly you heard a door slamming behind you. You spun around to find a guard charging in your direction and those in the back of the crowd began to scream and push their way to the front.

“Nat! I’ve got--” you dodged a punch from the guard, swinging under his arm to kick at the space between his shoulder blades until he stumbled forward, “-- company back here!”

“Me too!” she shouted back, clearly out of breath and the commotion of the hostages separating the two of made it difficult to hear the coms at all.

You yanked the gun from your holster and attempted to fire at the assailant but he was too fast for that and knocked the weapon from your hand.

“Shit!”

“Y/n! You okay? What's going on?” Bucky’s voice echoed in your ear and you could hear the strain behind it, the panic, and you knew he was struggling to keep his position with hearing your distress through the mics.

You grunted, thrown to the wall in the impact of the hit you sustained. “Nothing I can’t handle, baby.”

Before the man could take another swing, you grabbed the gun draped at his hip, released the safety, and fired two shots at his chest. He dropped to the ground with a heavy thud and you exhaled a breath of relief, wiping the sweat from your brow that turned out to be blood.

“I’m clear back here. Nat?” you called up and she confirmed that she had taken care of her end as well. You turned back to the crowd, hand on a young man’s shoulder and trying to calm a teenage girl who had burst into tears at the sight of blood on your face. “It’s going to be alright. We’ll get you out of here. You just need to--”

A sudden jolt ripped through the ship, shaking the floor like an earthquake as a thunderous echo bounced through the walls. The lights turned out suddenly, replaced by a soft red glow of emergency strips along the linings of the halls. The hostages were screaming. Panic was spreading.

“What the hell just happened?” Steve shouted, his voice breathless and it sounded like he was running.

“Some idiot set off an explosive in the engine room!” Sam replied, frantic. “It’s taking on water fast. Gotta move quickly or we’ll--”

Silence. You tapped on the edge of your com placed security on your ear. You froze dead in your tracks, not able to even hear the soft undertones of the buzz of the coms, and trying to ignore the concerned stares of the hostages as they turned back to you, unsettled by your obvious distress.

“Sam?” you called, but there was no reply. “Nat? Bucky?”

Nothing.

Shit shit shit.

Natasha would know to continue forward. She wasn’t that far ahead, but shouting up to her over the chaos of the hostages would only make things worse. You steadied yourself and with one firm grip on your weapon, and another urging the crowd to continue moving, you tried to ignore the shaking in your legs and the painful twist in your stomach.

You only had one directive. Get the hostages out. Meet on the escape vessel.

You could only hope the rest of the team did the same.

***

Bucky was going to lose his damn mind if he didn’t get off this boat soon. He could barely see a few feet ahead of him and the glowing red light did little to help his perception as he trailed behind Steve, picking off mercenaries like they were fish in a barrel.

They were heading to the control room to try and delay the emergency procedures the ship would automatically begin to route the moment the lowest desk flooded. The doors would start to slam shut in an effort to contain the water, trapping the hostages, along with you and Nat below deck. The fact that the coms had gone out completely didn’t help to ease the panic in his veins.

He was never a big fan of improvising.

The carpets were already starting to soak wet with water under his boot, which meant the floods of water wouldn’t be far behind. Bucky couldn’t think straight, trying to concentration on the center of Steve’s back as they raced through the halls towards the stairs.

By the time they made it to the stairwell, taking three steps at a time as they bounded up to the higher floors, another ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes of silence, of not knowing where you were or if you were out on the loading deck like you were supposed to be, not knowing if the water had already taken you. Bucky’s hands were shaking.

Steve pushed open the door out into the hallway, and suddenly, without warning, the coms came back on.

“What-- hell ar-- we suppo-- to do?” you voice came through in scattered connection, laced with panic, and Bucky could hear the frantic cries of the hostages in the background. You must have slammed your hand against something solid because you hissed at the impact.

“Y/n!?” Bucky called out; a finger pressed tightly to his ear in hopes of hearing you clearer. “Y/n, can you hear me?”

He exchanged a look with Steve, who only nodding in encouragement. They both paused, hoping that the position they were standing in would give a better signal to you.

“Bucky!” you exclaimed, relief aching through his name. “Bucky, the doors shut on us! We’re trapped and we’ve already got water at our knees.”

A jolt swept through his chest and he tried to contain the shaking in his hands as he urged, “okay, okay, baby listen to me. I don’t know how long we’ll have the coms on for, but I’m heading to the control room. I’ll get the doors open but I need you to keep me updated on where the water is.”

“I can do that,” you replied and though Bucky could hear the smile in your voice, he could tell it was forced. Your tone was too tight, too tense. You were scared and it wasn’t something that sat well in Bucky’s chest. It was unlike you.

Bucky tapped Steve on the shoulder, gesturing for him to follow down the hallway leading to the control room and the two of them sprinted as fast as their legs would carry them. It shouldn’t be too far, he told himself, but that didn’t seem to ease his stress when your voice came through not even two minutes later warning him to was up to your hips. Ocean water in the dead of night and you were half submerged and trapped behind locked steel doors. The temperature would take you before you even had a chance to drown.

“It’s cold,” you whispered, teeth chattering, and he wasn’t sure if he was even meant to have heard that but scared him unlike anything else.

“Five minutes, doll. Give me five minutes,” Bucky urged, shooting a terrified look over to Steve with an urgency that ran like ice in his veins. That was, until they came upon an adjoining hallway where dozens of the ship’s mercenaries stood in wait, clenching onto weapons and holding their ground.

Steve froze instantly in his tracks. “Shit.”

One by one the mercenaries started to aim their weapons at the two of them, and Steve shoved Bucky hard in the chest, throwing him out of the line of fire.

“Get to the control room!” he shouted, charging at the closest of the guards he could get his hands on. Yanking a gun from one of the men beside him, Steve shot a single bullet at each of the two men in his path before he moved onto the next. “I’ll take care of them! We need those doors open, now!”

Bucky nodded frantically, not wanting to leave Steve on his own but knowing he had no choice. He rushed down the hall, spotting the control room door and a shaky breath of relief in his chest, even as he heard the echoes of gunfire and hoped it was Steve on the right end of the weapon.

“Bucky,” your voice cried out, and Bucky knew he was losing time.

“I know, I know, I’m almost there,” he replied, shoving his shoulder against the door and thankful it was unlocked. He scrambled up to the control panels, skidding on his boots from the excess water on the tile floor until he located a lever. “Found it.”

Hand gripping onto the latch, he moved to yank it back when suddenly the discharge of a weapon fired and a sharp burn scraped his right arm. Bucky dove back, hissing at the scrape of the bullet as his hand latched onto his arm, holding back the blood as it seeped through his fingers.

“I’ve got company,” Bucky muttered into the coms. “Give me a second.”

“We're running out of seconds, Barnes!” Natasha replied, out of breath, and panic coursed through his veins wondering why it wasn’t you that answered him. “Water’s at our shoulders. We’re swimming in it!”

His eyes shot over to the lever, knowing it would only take a second to lift the hatch but the guard stood in his path; larger than the others with thick Kevlar securing his frame against the raid of bullets and a dozen weapons strapped to his chest. He was twice Bucky’s size with scarring on his face and evidence of previous injuries healed over crudely.

Knowing he had little time to waste, Bucky charged at him, knocking the man to the ground. He tried to reach up for the lever while he pinned the guard to the ground but it slipped from between his fingers as he was yanked back by the straps of his jacket.

Neither you or Nat were coming through the coms anymore as he threw fists and dodged blocks from his opponent. Part of him hoped the signal had died out again but he could vaguely make out Steve’s grunts from his own fight a few halls down and the breeze of Tony’s and Sam’s mics in the wind outside.

The guard fired his weapon several times in Bucky’s direction and he was able to escape all but one of the shots, leaving him with a second hit, this time on his thigh. Bucky yanked the knife from his holster and swung it at the man, panting and exhausted by the time it implanted itself in the man’s neck and he slumped down to the floor in a mess of blood.

Bucky hulled himself back up to the control panel and yanked hard on the lever. Relief surged through him as it pulled back and he could hear the steel doors on his own floor opening.

“Good work, Barnes!”

Bucky felt no relief at Stark’s voice.

“Where’s Y/n?” he replied, breathless.

“Her and Nat must have lost their coms in the water. I can see them beyond the door now,” Tony confirmed.

Bucky nodded, trying to convince himself this was over, it was going to be okay and he’d get the hell out of here soon, but as he released his hand from the lever, it snapped back down to the panel and the doors slammed shut along with it.

“What happened!” Sam shouted. He must be with Tony now.

Bucky shook his head in shock, panicked, only now noticing the fray of the wires left behind in the damage down in his fight with the dead man on the ground beside him. It was preventing the lever from staying open on its own. A startling realization rushed through him and he swallowed back the bile in his throat.

“N-Nothing! I’ve got it,” Bucky replied, thankful your com wasn’t working because you’d be able to detect the lie in his voice, the fear, and he couldn’t have you knowing what he was about to do.

***

Cold didn’t even begin to describe the trembling ache of ice on your skin. The toddler in your arms was crying, clinging onto you with wet hair dampened and sticking to the sides of his face. Rushing over to the edge of the ship where Tony managed to arrange for a SHIELD cargo vessel to load the hostages onto, your legs were numb under you and you nearly stumbled and collapsed if it wasn’t for Tony’s sudden grip on your shoulders.

He took the boy from you, though the child’s hands were gripped anchor tight to your suit and it broke your heart to pry him away. Breaths burning in your chest from the cold, you spun around looking for your team.

Nat was helping hostages onto the boat, winging out her hair in the free moments between holstering terrified passengers aboard. Sam was flying above and taking out stray mercenaries before they even had a chance to cross the deck of the ship and get within range of you. Meanwhile, Tony was shouting orders to the few SHIELD crew members he brought along.

Then suddenly, Steve raced through the open door, blood covering most of his face and with several open cuts and wounds on his suit. He was limping, deep red seeping from a wound on his stomach. He looked like he’d been through hell and you noticed instantly that he was alone.

“Steve!” Nat called, rushing towards him and checking for damage.

“I’m fine,” Steve replied, brushing off the bullets lodged in his body as if they were nothing. He glanced around the open deck before he spotted you, worry filling his eyes. “Where’s Buck?”

You froze, heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t a question he was meant to ask. “He’s not with you?”

Steve shook his head. “N-No, we had to split up. He was supposed to get the doors open and get the hell out. He hasn’t been responding on the coms for the last few minutes.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest and with a single look in Natasha’s direction, your name on her lips in a plea to not do what she knew you were about to, and you sprinted back into the heart of the ship. No hesitation. No concern for the water that awaited you.

You could hear Steve and Tony calling your name, but you had disappeared into the ship’s halls before they had a chance to restrain you to the deck.

***

“What the hell do you mean she ran back inside?!” Bucky shouted, gritting his teeth and wiping away the sweat that had started to fall onto his forehead. Ice water was at his ankles and he was burning hot.

“Oh, so now you respond to me!” Steve snapped, more panic in his voice than anger. “She ran back to get you, you idiot! Where the hell have you been? This ship is on its way under!”

“You don’t-- Steve, you don’t understand,” Bucky shot back, hand shaking. He glanced down to the water at his feet, knowing it would only take a matter of minutes before it was at his waist. “Someone needs to come get her. I can’t-- I’m not leaving, pal.”

There was a pause on the other hand. Bucky’s hand was cramping from how tight he was holding the lever.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve’s voice was small, afraid.

“Doors won't stay open without me,” Bucky replied as flatly as he could. Any trace of emotion in his voice and he would have broken down on the spot. He had to be stone cold or he’d never get through this. “I let go of this lever, the doors shut. Someone had to stay behind.”

“Bucky, you know she’s not going to let you do that.”

Suddenly, the echo of footsteps splashing through the water in the hallway alerted to your closeness and in a panic, he slammed the emergency button on the end of the panel. The door to the control room closed on itself, locking behind several steel clasps.

“She won’t have a choice,” Bucky exhaled, wincing as you rushed up to the door with a relief etched into your smile that burned like lit gasoline in Bucky’s chest. As you tried to get the door open, only to find it lock, your smile quickly faded, brow furrowing, confusion in your features.

“What are you doing? We have to go!” you shouted through the door, shouldering it in an attempt to get it to budge though it would do no good. The door was made of solid steel and you were so incredibly human. Exceptional and skilled beyond most, but still human.

Bucky didn’t know what to say. Was there anything he could say to you to make this any easier? Was there anything that could possibly convince the love of his life to leave him behind?

“Sam,” Bucky choked out, clenching his jaw in an attempt to will the tears away. You hadn’t made the connection yet. You didn’t know what he was about to do. “Sam, I need you to get Y/n out of here.”

“On my way,” Sam replied without hesitation.

You shook your head, still working at the door you’d never be able to open. “Bucky, let’s go! I don’t need Sam to get me out of here if you’ll just come with me!”

“Sweetheart, I’m-- I’m not leaving.”

You froze, movements stilling, though that only lasted a second before you shook it off, switching yourself back into combat mode because Bucky knew you well and you couldn’t stand to hear what he was trying to tell you.

“Shut up,” you argued back, yanking hard on the latch of the door. “Don’t say that. I’ll get you out of there.”

“I’m the one that locked the door.”

The flash of heartbreak, confusion, anger, that ran across your face almost made Bucky’s knees give out.

“What did you say?” you voice was barely a whisper and it stilled echoed throughout his chest.

“This lever is the only thing giving you a way out of here. I let go and you’re trapped. The emergency doors all come down again and you’ll drown.” His voice wasn’t as strong as he needed it to be, not with the way you were looking at him like your whole world was collapsing around you.

“So what? You want me to leave you here?” you snapped and when Bucky didn’t respond, too afraid of the broken cracks in his voice, your eyes widened in shock. “I’m not leaving you here to die! We’ll figure something out, Buck. We always do!”

You pulled out your gun when Bucky only shook his head in response, defeated, and you fired an entire round of bullets into the window of the door. He flinched as it cracked at the glass, but it remained solid as steel.

“Y/n, please, you have to go. You don’t have much time,” Bucky pleaded, growing desperate as the water rose to his shins. He could see you shivering on the other side, already soaked wet from the water you escaped with the hostages. Your lips were turning a shade of blue that set a stone deep in his stomach. Hair was clinging to the side of your face. Your breath was fogging the window and he was losing sight of you.

“Sam, please,” Bucky begged, voice breaking. “Get her out of here.”

“I’m on my way buddy, hold on--”

“Bucky! Don’t do this. Open the door,” you begged, slamming your palms against the glass window, your only connection to him. Your voice was breaking, cracks in the ache of your tone and despite the fractions in the glass, it remained impenetrable.

“Baby, I need you to run,” Bucky urged, shaking his head and willing the tears from his eyes. The water was at his hips. “You can meet Sam out by--”

“I’M NOT LEAVING YOU!” you screamed, tears blurring your vision and burning down the sides of your face, mixing with the ice-cold water dripping from your hair.

He glanced over to a vent in the corner of the room to find water dripping out from the cracks, like a damn about to explode. The room would be flooded in a matter of minutes.

“I love you,” Bucky said suddenly, knowing it might be the last time.

“N-No! Stop, just--- just come with me! We’ll-- We’ll get out in time,” you cried, shoving your shoulder against the door and Bucky was certain you’d find dark blue and purple against your skin by morning.

“We won’t,” he said softly, longing to reach out and hold you. “Let me save you, baby. Please. Let me do this one good thing.”

He’d never seen such fear in your eyes before.

“B-Bucky, please--”

He couldn’t tell if the cracks in your words were from the cold or the lump in your throat, but Bucky could hardly gather enough willpower to look at you. He couldn’t stand to see the tears on your face and the red in your eyes, the devastation, the betrayal. He loved you, more than he’d ever loved himself or anyone else, and he needed to do this. He needed you to be safe, to be alive.

“I love you so much,” he said again, spotting Sam in the distance flying above the water. Relief ached in his chest and he closed his eyes, letting the tears blink from his lashes and fall to the pools of ocean water rising below him. He could hear you crying, hear the pants of your breath and the thud against the door as you so desperately tried to reach him.

You wouldn’t be able to.

“Bucky, d-don't—don't do this,” you begged, scratching at the window. You were losing energy fast, the cold of the water aching in your muscles. Sam touched down into the water behind you and you didn’t even notice. Your eyes were falling heavy.

“I love you. I love you,” Bucky chanted like a prayer as you fell back into Sam’s arms, weak and losing consciousness. He met Sam’s eyes through the window, a startling devastation he wasn’t quite prepared for.

Sam was at as much of a loss as he was. “Buck--”

“Go,” Bucky urged. “Get her out of here. Please. Just go.”

With a single nod, knowing a man’s last wish when he heard it, he kicked off the floor and held you tight to his chest as he flew above the water further down the hallway until you were out of view. Bucky’s hand was cramping on the lever, but he only needed to hold it for a few more seconds. He could hear the wind on Sam’s mic and the crash of rushing water below him.

“We’re out,” Sam reported dejectedly. None of this felt like a victory.

Bucky nodded, releasing the lever and stepping back into the room, sloshing water around his waist. He was shivering.

“Buck,” Steve called out gently, “Bucky you still there?”

Bucky nodded, though he knew Steve couldn’t see that. Everything was numb; his legs, his arm, his brain. It all felt fuzzy.

“Is she safe? Are you--” Bucky clenched his jaw, trying to keep the sob from breaking through him completely, “Are you all okay?”

“We’re-- We’re fine, Buck, but--”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky confessed, eyes focused on the cracks in the walls leaking water down into the pool slowly rising up to his chest. It wouldn’t hold much longer. “Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I lov--”

A rush of water.

Ice on his skin. Then, in his lungs.

Burning. Aching. Fire within his chest.

Darkness.

***

One week later and they still hadn’t found his body. He wasn’t locked in the control room where he had been the last time you saw him, hand clenched on that lever, body shaking from the cold of the water, and tears in his eyes. The divers had come up empty, searching the entire ship without a trace of the man you loved.

You tried not to picture him surrounded by the crashing of violent currents and impossible darkness. You desperately pushed away the image of him sinking into the endless abyss, hair floating around him in a halo, skin pale and blue. You couldn’t stand to think of him so alone.

This was worse, your decided, to lose him in this way; to lose him to a cruel and impossible choice to trade his life for yours. He had always thought he’d die on the end of a bullet in the field, in the line of duty. It was something you accepted for yourself, as well, though you always hoped the two of you would make it long enough to retire and let your age pull you under.

With no body, you had nothing to bury. A funeral felt pointless and you didn’t think you could stand to see the protesters outside the gates of Arlington. There would always be those on the fringe who would never accept Bucky as he was, who would only ever see him as what Hydra made him to be. He had learned to deal with it, often took it as he penance, but it was never something you got over. It hurt deep in your chest and the idea of those people ruining your final goodbye was unthinkable.

So, you didn’t give them the chance.

You sat in a black dress, legs folded under you, upon the grass overlooking the lake in the back of the compound. It was a quiet place, one Bucky often found himself in. He used to find peace in the water, watching the subtle ripples at the slightest disruption to the surface, the clear endless tranquility, the reflection of the trees above. You weren’t sure you could find beauty in it anymore. Not knowing that it was water that filled his lungs and suffocated him until his body gave out.

Steve arranged for the team to gather and just talk; a memorial of sorts amongst only those who truly knew him. You stayed silent the whole time, clinging onto Sam’s hand and staring off into the space between Natasha’s and Tony’s shoulders. You couldn’t focus on much of anything, couldn’t listen to their stories or the way Steve tried to hold back the sob etching through his chest.

Amongst the memories, you could only picture Bucky on the other side of that damn door. The look in his eyes as he watched you, knowing you’d never reach him in time. The shake in his hand and the tears on his cheeks. The defiance in his voice and the rush of heat and fire in your veins at the realization of what he was trying to do.

You hated him.

You loved him.

But everything burned in your chest and all you knew was he wasn’t here with you.

“Y/n?” a voice called behind you, urgency in tone. Sam.

You closed your eyes, though you didn’t move a muscle. You weren’t sure you could face anymore of your friends today. You couldn’t take another ‘are you alright’ or ‘can I get you anything’ because the answer was always ‘no’ and ‘Bucky.’ They weren’t answers anyone wanted to hear.

“Y/n,” Sam called again, relief upon his voice. He must have spotted you. You could hear him jogging towards you, slightly out of breath. He must have been looking for a while.

“There you are,” he exhaled, reaching down to grab you hand and tug you to your feet, but you remained still. “Come on, kiddo, you need to come with me right now.”

You shook your head. “Just let me be alone, Sammy.”

“You don’t understand,” Sam urged and when you looked up at him, he was smiling wide, with teeth. It was almost unsettling as he was still in his black suit from the makeshift memorial earlier that day. “Y/n, just follow me.”

You clenched your jaw. “Sam, please. I can’t--”

“They found him.”

You heart ached. It burned and broke. Was this better? To have a body to bury? You weren’t sure anymore. Tears slipped past your eyes before you could stop them and you brushed them aside. Sam kneels down beside you, but he was still smiling. You wanted to punch it off his face.

“I don’t-- I don’t think I can see him like that,” you muttered out, envisioning discolored skin, sunken lids, blue lips. It wouldn’t be Bucky, not anymore.

Sam exhaled, relief and joy in his voice you couldn’t understand. “Y/n, you’re not hearing me. They found him. He survived.”

“What?”

You couldn’t have possibly heard him right, breaths coming in fast and shallow, heart pounding, and Sam was smiling so wide it nearly stretched to his ears. He nodded, tugging on your hand again and your whole body was so light with shock, he pulled you to your feet easily.

As Sam led you back into the compound, keeping a steady hold with an arm draped around your waist because your legs were like Jell-O under you, he told you that Bucky was found by a fishing vessel not long after the ship sank. The men had pulled him aboard, administered CPR and brought him to a hospital off the coast of Portugal where he’d been recovering for the last week.

No one knows how he was able to get out of the control room or through any of the locked doors, but he had burn marks on his face so Tony believed another explosive went off right before Bucky’s coms cut out, flooding in water at a rapid pace but also opening a gaping hole in the side of the ship. The current must have pulled him out, sending his body to the surface long after your team disappeared.

He’d apparently been trying to get ahold of you, of the team, since he’d woken up but without a secure line and only able to access the Shield inquiry phone number, no one would patch him through, believing him to be a fraud as they were all certain he had died. He jumped on a plane over to the States the very second he was cleared by the doctors.

Sam pushed open the doors to the med bay with you still in his arms. Agents parted like the sea for you with every step, all eyes scanning you for a reaction they wouldn’t find. You were too numb for that. Nothing felt real and you wouldn’t believe Sam’s story until you saw him with you own eyes.

Leading you a room at the end of the hallway, you spotted Steve, Natasha, and Tony through the open windows of the room, huddled around the bed. Steve was sitting on the edge of the cot, laughing, while Nat stood just over his shoulders, hands running along his back. Tony was pacing, clearly lost in thought.

“Sam, wait,” you said suddenly, planting your feet before you could enter the room. Sam paused, turning to look at you with nothing but a gentle kindness in his eyes. “You’re sure? You’re absolutely sure he’s alive?”

“Go see for yourself,” Sam smiled softly, giving you a slight push into the room.

You stumbled in, arms folded around your waist and trying to ground yourself with handfuls of the black fabric of your dress. Steve stood up instantly upon seeing you, retreating back to the edge of the wall as he gently pulled Nat along with him. Then, Tony looked up, a brief moment of clarity amongst the dozens of equations running through his mind, offered you a smile and moved to the corner by Sam.

Sure enough, sitting at the center of the bed with one leg tucked under him, the other swung over the edge, was Bucky. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the burn marks Sam had told you about, discolored and slowly healing thanks to the serum in his veins. He wore a light grey t-shirt supplied by Shield, exposing the reflection of his left arm, and sweatpants from his room. He looked like he just rolled of out bed and so incredibly normal, as if you hadn’t just spent the last week grieving and crying and in agony over him.

A smile lifted the corners of his lips as he started to stand, taking a step closer to you, but you stepped back away from him, holding a hand up.

He froze, concern etching in his features as he shot a glance over at Steve who couldn’t offer him any help.

“Baby?”

“Can I get a minute?” you asked quietly, looking over at Sam from the corner of your eye and he ushered for everyone to leave the room, giving you space to be alone with Bucky. The moment the door closed behind them and you were left alone, you surged forward, shoving Bucky’s hard in the chest.

“You self-sacrificing asshole! What the hell is the matter with you!?” you shouted, throwing another hit in his direction that he took with ease. He held his ground, trying to grab onto your hands before you really did some damage, but gave you the release you needed. “How could you do that to me?!”

“Y/n,” Bucky started, and the sound of his voice alone broke the damn in your chest, sobs shaking their way through you as tears burned down your cheeks.

“I thought you were dead! Do you have any idea what that did to me!?” you cried, your closed fisted hits to his chest losing energy quickly. “This-- This is a fucking funeral dress, Bucky! B-But we didn’t have a body so— so—”

“I know, baby, I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered, pulling you into his arms and without the will to fight back, you fell against him with ease. He still smelled the same, though you weren’t sure how that was even possible. He was warm under your touch and you could hear his heart beating behind his chest.

“D-Don’t ever do that to me again,” you exhaled, gripping tight around his waist and you sighed against his lips as they pressed to the crown of your head.

“You know I can’t promise that,” he confessed and you squeezed him tighter, knowing he was right. “I’d choose your life over mine. Every time.”

“Well,” you sniffled, pressing your face tight to his chest so you could clearly hear the thumping of his heart under your ear, “try really hard to not be in a situation where you have to, okay?”

Bucky chuckled at that, the soft vibrations of his chest like heaven against you. He kissed your forehead, hands running in soothing motions down your back.

“Done,” he agreed, tracing patterns on the zipper of your dress. A few moments of content silence passed before he said, “I missed our anniversary, didn’t I?”

You nodded, unwilling to tell him that you’d spent the day holed up in his room, hiding behind the sheets of his blankets and crying for hours on end.

“You still want that spicy calamari?” Bucky asked sweetly, a slight laugh in his voice. “I’m sure I can convince Stark to get them to do takeout for us. I might have some extra leeway for a while after the whole self-sacrifice-coming-back-from-the-dead thing.”

You pulled back, swatting at his chest with tears in your eyes. “That’s not funny,” you whined, though you were laughing. “But, yes.”

Bucky grinned and you almost forgot about the burns on his skin and the ice water that had filled his lungs. He was warm and soft under your touch and his hands were running in patterns along you back.

“Thought we could spend the next day just eating food and watching movies,” he said, gazing down at you with the kind of radiance in his eyes that made your stomach swoon, “but without clothes, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” you laughed, pressing up to kiss him against his lips, the image of them cold and blue gone from your mind, because he was here. He was warm and alive, and in your arms, and you’ll fight him until your dying breath if he pulled something like this again.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #marvel #bucky barnes x female reader #eliza’s 15k challenge

2K notes · View notes

ellewritesathing · 4 years

Text

Ten Things VII

Summary: If there’s one thing you have to know about Harvey Kinkle, it’s that he rarely thinks things through. So when he meets (and falls for) Sabrina Spellman on his first day of Baxter High and finds out that she can’t date anyone until her tempestuous sister does, it seems like the obvious solution is to get someone to date her so he can go out with Sabrina. A not so obvious choice for the challenge is Caliban, but, hey, it’s not like Harvey thought that far.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 7

Word-count: 3k+

A/N: before you read, i would just like to say, from the bottom of my heart, yikes 💕

For the most part, you rejected cultural, social, and gender norms - being raised by Zelda and growing up with Ambrose had pretty much insured your rebellious streak - but there was a part of you that had always wanted to go to prom.

It was cheesy and lame, and a huge part of you still hated school dances thanks to Nick, but there was always a small, tiny part of you that craved the experience. You wanted to buy a tacky dress that you’d never wear again, dance with a high school sweetheart that would feature in all your stories, and just - for one night - be like everyone else.

Now that you were sitting in the parking lot in a tacky dress you'd never wear again and staring at your reflection in the rearview mirror while you waited for your high school sweetheart, you were starting to have your doubts.

Sure, Sabrina had helped you pick out a dress, Ambrose had done your makeup, and Hilda had twisted your hair into a style that made it seem far less unruly than it usually was, but that didn't change who you were underneath it all. You looked as close to perfect as you’d ever been on the surface, but underneath you just weren't sure if people like you got to be like everyone else.

“Hey.” Sabrina reached over and touched your arm lightly. She looked as perfect as she always did, somehow more so with the annoyingly kind smile on her face. People like Sabrina were built to go to prom. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied with a smile. You twisted the bracelet that was just too big for your wrist. “Just wondering how Ambrose is coping with the tragic loss of his prom date.”

Sabrina laughed, leaning back in her chair and tilting her head up to the roof. “I’m sure he’ll find some way to go on.”

You gave her another smile and then the car fell into a familiar silence. It was slightly different than usual though. Ordinarily, it was because neither of you had anything to say; tonight, it was because you had too much to say. Anticipation and nervousness hung in the air.

You looked up from your bracelet to find Sabrina watching Nick go into the school. With a sigh, you asked, “Did he ever tell you that we dated?”

“What? No way!” Sabrina spun around to see if you were joking. Her surprise crushed any nervousness in the car. Her wide eyes narrowed as she took you in. “But you hate him.”

“I didn’t always. I mean, he was so totally dreamy and, like, did you know he does modeling on the weekends?” Laughing off your impersonation of Sabrina’s cronies, you shook your head and picked at the details on your dress. “He was different back then. I was still figuring things out. We just kind of … made sense at the time.”

“What happened?” Sabrina asked, concern taking over in the absence of surprise and suspicion.

“Homecoming. He didn’t really respect that I wanted to take things slowly,” you said evenly. “It ended in this huge fight and he threatened to tell people we slept together anyway. I told him if he ever did that, I’d tell everyone that he made me wear his mother’s clothes first and that those swimsuit photos were, uh, very heavily edited.”

Sabrina laughed and leaned back in her chair again. “Wow, you and Nick …” She let out a long breath and shook her head. Then she frowned and shuddered. “Gross.”

It was your turn to laugh and sink into your chair. You grabbed hold of Sabrina’s hand and looked over at her. “Yeah, it is pretty gross.”

The two of you were quiet again and anxiety filled up the space between you. Neither of you had ever been in this position before. Neither of you had ever been speechless before.

“Are you nervous?” Sabrina asked quietly. It felt like the slightest noise would shatter the air you breathed.

“A little,” you confessed. Light from one of the lamposts filtered through the windshield and hit your intertwined hands. It was hard to believe, when the two of you sat like this, that you hated one another six months ago. “I really like him, Brina.”

“Me too.”

“I keep feeling like I’m gonna mess it all up somehow.”

“Me too.”

You turned your head to look at her, maybe to tell her that she was crazy if she thought she could mess anything up or maybe to tell her to say something longer than two words, but you didn't get the chance to say anything or confess any more secrets.

Caliban and Harvey knocked on yours and Sabrina’s windows with three quick blows and the two of you sprang apart. You cursed them out with some very descriptive and lengthy profanities, but unlocked the doors for them anyway.

Instead of yelling, Sabrina laughed, stumbled out, and wrapped Harvey in a clumsy hug.

While you were marveling at how easy it was for her to be, Caliban opened your door. He hung in the frame, the smell of ocean-scented shampoo and reckless ambition filled your lungs and washed away your anxieties. “You look lovely,” he said with a quiet smile.

How you responded would define your night. Could you be like everyone else for a night or were you simply not built for that kind of easy lightness?

Deciding to leave the anger in the car for the night, you gave him a playful smile and tugged on the edges of his jacket. “You’re not so bad yourself, Sparky.”

Before Caliban had the chance to respond, you smoothed your hand along his jacket and settled your fingers lightly on his neck. Your other hand held onto his shirt as you pressed a kiss to his lips.

"I should get dressed up more often," Caliban murmured when you pulled away. You gave him another smile and he stepped back and held a hand out to help you out of the car.

The two of you made your way into the school without a single witty one-liner escaping either of your lips.

---

Harvey had heard of people who got quiet when they were nervous and about how, even when they felt like they were going to explode, they appeared cool and calm to the untrained eye. Unfortunately, he realized he would never be one of them.

From the moment he and Caliban surprised the two of you in the parking lot and Sabrina nearly toppled him over with that hug, he had been unable to keep his mouth shut for more than thirty seconds.

It wasn’t like he wanted to make Sabrina’s ears bleed with bad jokes and unclever observations about the dance around them, or ramble on about his history assignment and how Theo finally worked up the courage to ask Robin to be his date. If he had it his way, he would be as charming and cavalier as Caliban was when he was with you.

But he wasn’t. Harvey was anxious to every eye, trained or not.

Sabrina, thankfully, seemed to find it cute. She’d kiss him whenever he needed a distraction and even managed to convince him to dance. Granted, he would have done anything to make her smile but still. It’s not like he was any good at it.

Harvey would step on her feet at times and go left when he was meant to go right, but Sabrina didn’t mind. She’d laugh and lead him in the direction. She was perfect.

If all dances were like this, then Harvey was starting to think they might not be so bad, anxiety be damned.

Looking over at you and Caliban, he figured you guys were thinking something similar. Caliban had given you his jacket and the two of you were holding onto one another and dancing in place. It was a very sweet scene, made funnier by the fact that Harvey knew the two of you were probably scheming something terrible instead of whispering ‘sweet nothings’ (as Ambrose called it).

---

"You can't tell me you don't know any dances," Caliban said, an amused smile on his lips. "I've met your aunts and I don't believe they wouldn't teach you at least one formal dance."

"I know one," you said. Before he had the chance to ask which, you rushed to add, "But it's not really something you can break out at a school dance without looking like an asshole," you told him.

Caliban laughed and shook his head at you. "I hate to break it to you, love, but everyone here already thinks we're assholes. So, just tell me what it is so we can stop swaying in place."

Begrudgingly, you dropped your gaze and mumbled something into Caliban's chest.

"Sorry, what was that?" Caliban asked.

You sighed and looked up at him. He could have sworn that you almost looked nervous. "Ambrose taught me to lindy hop before he figured out that Sabrina was a much more agreeable partner," you said.

"The lindy hop," Caliban repeated. As he said it, an image of you and Amrose swirling around the living room with all the furniture shoved up against the walls popped into his head. It was sweet. "We could try it, if you want."

"It's been years," you said quickly. "I- I don't even know if I still remember how to do it!"

Caliban knew that arguing would get him nowhere, so he let go of one of your hands and twirled you out instead. When you spun back into him, muscle memory had the two of you bouncing around and stepping in sync in no time.

Soon, you were laughing and twirling and looking as carefree as Caliban had ever seen you. And then the first punch was thrown.

---

Before all hell had broken loose, Harvey had spent his time talking nonstop and keeping an eye on you guys as well as watching over Nick. He’d been moping for most of the night, just drinking from a flask while some girls tried to flirt with him, but Harvey knew better than to underestimate him. Nick could be a loose cannon.

Although he stayed away for most of the night, Nick eventually got rowdy and staggered over. His speech wasn’t slurred but alcohol tinged every word.

He pointed a very accusatory finger at Sabrina. “You’re supposed to be here with me,” Nick snarled.

“I’m not supposed to do anything,” Sabrina said. “Nick, you should leave.”

“What? Am I ruining your perfect night?” Nick looked over at Harvey. He wasn't sober enough to glare, so it was a sloppy, angry look. “You screwing the new kid now?”

Harvey let go of Sabrina to take a step closer to Nick. “You are way, out of line, man. Just get out of here before I kick your ass.”

“Oh, please. Save the knight in shining armor crap for someone who gives a shit.”

Some other words were said, but they all led up to the same thing: Harvey punching Nick just above his jaw.

---

Though Harvey had a pretty decent left hook, Nicholas appeared to be a bit of scrapper, sloppy as he was. Caliban didn’t have the chance to say anything before you’d torn yourself away from him. Not a single beat was skipped before the two of you went to break up the fight.

You’d pulled Harvey back at the same time that Caliban pulled Nick back by his wrist and pinned it behind his back. Caliban gave you his best smile - the two of you made a good team.

“Oh, of course, you came to the rescue,” Nick spat, craning his neck to scowl at Caliban. “Caliban. What kind of name is that anyway? Actually, I don’t care. I want my money back.”

Your hold on Harvey faltered. Both he and Sabrina were frozen next to you, and Caliban just knew you'd pieced it together. “Your money?” you asked.

“Awww, didn’t anyone tell you kitty cat?” Nick asked. He laughed as Caliban twisted his arm to make him shut up. “Your boy here is on my payroll. He only asked you out because my buddy Ben Franklin asked.”

Something inside you clicked, anger replacing the momentary shock, and Caliban knew there was no going back. You pushed Harvey away from you and scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

“It’s not what you think,” Caliban rushed out.

“Actually, it’s exactly what I think. Isn’t it, Nick? You wanted to go out with my sister and paid him to get me out of the way?” you asked. Your voice was shaking even though you were remarkably composed, but Caliban knew the rage that must have been under your skin. He’d never meant to hurt you but it was too late for that now.

“Exactly,” Nick said.

You shook your head and stormed past them, knocking your shoulder into Caliban’s on your way out. Sabrina called out to you but you ignored her cries, Nick’s laughter, and everyone else.

As much as Caliban wanted to punch Nick’s face in, he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t go after you. He shoved Nick down to the ground and raced after you.

---

You’d been angry before. Anger was when Sabrina borrowed your favorite shirt and ruined it, or when Billy said something ignorant and/or offensive. That's how you knew that this wasn’t anger. This was a blind fury mixed with hurt and betrayal, accompanied by some very stubborn tears.

Your first instinct had been to hide in the bathroom and clean yourself up, but you ran the risk of someone finding you if you did that. So, instead, you made a b-line for your car. Harvey would take Sabrina home, and you were too pissed at both of them to care if he didn't, anyway. All you needed was to leave before you blew up.

But Caliban wasn’t making your escape easy for you. He rushed after you and grabbed your hand just as you got to the sidewalk that led to the parking lot. “Look, I can explain-”

“No!” You spun around and pushed him away from you. He looked hurt and confused but he had no right to be. He used you. He knew how you felt and he used you anyway. “I told you to tell me,” you said, hitting his chest weakly and struggling not to cry at the sight of him. Your voice shook. “I fucking told you and you just-”

“I couldn’t tell you!” Caliban’s voice wasn’t shaking but it definitely wasn’t his usual cool tone. “I couldn’t, okay? I had feelings for you long before Nicholas was in the picture and-”

“I don’t care! You lied to me, Caliban,” you said. You couldn’t yell at him anymore; it hurt too much. “I trusted you and you lied to me.”

Caliban couldn’t yell either. His voice was raw and shaking when he spoke again, but he reached out and touched your face gently before he tried. He wiped away one of your tears with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

“I hate you,” you lied, voice trembling.

“I know.” Caliban's voice was quiet as he pulled his hand away. He hadn't looked away from you once. “I should go check on Harvey.”

“Then leave.”

Caliban gave you a solemn nod and turned to head back inside. The doors swung shut behind him and you started crying. Ugly, broken, and embarrassing sobs. When your hands went up to your face, you felt Caliban’s jacket brush your skin and your anger flared back up again.

You ripped your hands away and tore the jacket off, throwing it to the ground as hard as you could. Something clinking inside caught your attention. Warily, you bent down and felt for whatever it was, eventually pulling out his car keys.

You got to your feet and pointed the keys towards the parking lot. Somewhere in the distance, his car beeped and a terrible, impulsive idea started forming.

---

There were a lot of things Sabrina could put up with, but Nick Scratch was not one of them. She picked him up off the floor after Caliban threw him down and then she punched him in the gut. It was a lot more painful than they made it look in the movies, but man, did it feel good.

“That’s for breaking my sister’s heart,” she told him matter-of-factly. He was still in the process of recovering when she hit him again and burst a vein in his nose. “That’s for Harvey.” She kneed him in the one spot she knew he definitely didn’t want to be kneed. “And that’s for me.”

Ignoring Nick's broken wails, Sabrina stormed out of the dance. She blew past Caliban and a dozen confused freshmen, and went to look for you. Your car was still in the lot but she couldn’t see you anywhere. She tried calling multiple times but there was never any answer.

She’d just about given up when Harvey showed up, but then you picked up before he could say anything.

“Oh, my god. Are you okay?” Sabrina rushed out, clutching Harvey’s hand.

If there was one thing you hated, it was dumb questions. Your annoyance was evident when you snapped, “I’m just peachy.”

“Where are you?” Sabrina asked.

“Can you pick me up on the other side of the mines?” you asked. “Give me half an hour first.”

“Anything you need,” Sabrina said. “I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you, too.”

Sabrina held onto the phone even after you’d hung up. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of what you were going through. Because of her. Taking a deep breath, she let go of Harvey’s hand. “I need to go.”

Harvey’s face was full of concern. “Can I come with you?”

“No. I need to talk to my sister,” she said. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I had fun before …”

Before she crushed you.

Part 8

Tagged: @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e @miss--moose @marrypuffsstuff @harryscarolinaa @igorsbby @foji2000 @hxlalokidottir @artaxerxesthegreat @thxmagic @strawberriesandknives @xealia @hotmessindisguise @acciomaximoff @reheated-coffee @shelby-x @perseny-blog @millie-753 @luneerius @shizzybarnaclee @lettherebelovex @throughparisallthroughrome @ietss @thebookwormlife @mechanicalanimalz @mariamermaid @nqbmf @caliban-is-my-girl @shephard17895 @andie-kathleen @clockworks-world-to-fandoms @luquincy @marina468 @olivia-west-allen @drrramaaaqweeen @roxytheimmortal @blondeeee-e

#ten things #Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #caos #Caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader

73 notes · View notes

livingmybestfakelife · 4 years

Text

The Favorite -1 of ?-

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Black Reader

Summary: Tommy and his fellow English men and women prepare for the arrival of an African noble

It’s been a while since you’ve been on a ship, ever since the sinking of the Titanic your parents have been hesitant about you traveling to places that you couldn’t get to by train or automobile. If there was a time where you absolutely had to travel overseas then the crown would make sure that the families royal ocean liner was up to par, plus enough lifeboats just in case the unfortunate were to happen.

The last time you were on the HMS Natukunda was in 1927, three years later and here you are back on giant ship, ready to take you and your parents to the United Kingdom, you have been there once, but you were only two years old at the time and obviously had no memory of it.

“Your highness, his and her greatness will not be attending the trip with you, they asked me to give you a copy of the schedule for you once you arrive in London”

Your personal secretary hands you a folder that you quickly skim through, one of the lines you noticed was with a meeting with some of the the local MP’s. You hold back rolling your eyes and close the folder, you never cared too much about politics and did your very best to stay away from it. Every member of the family that was of age had a responsibility to the crown, either you had to join the countries armed forces, attend university or had some kind of job working for the country, which most likely delt with something political.

“Can’t I just have tea with a member of the royal family?”

He chuckles before shaking his head, Abel felt bad about putting this all on you but it was his duty, he tried often to get your grandfather to change your schedule but his word was nothing to compare to ones of the King of Delhana. When he read over his copy of the list he let out a heavy sigh, this was going to be a hell of a trip, but at least the ship had all the best amenities to keep them entertained, it still didn’t calm your irritation, you would spend days trying to be cordial with the people who were still upset at the fact that their ancestors were unsuccessful in the colonization of your country and also that you were an independent nation, rich in oil, diamonds and other valuable resources, you dreaded the fact that one day you might become queen, and hoped for your grandfather and father to have a long lives, no way do you want to be under that kind of pressure.

Meanwhile all the way overseas in London, the MP’s were discussing the upcoming visit of Delhanan royalty. When Tommy arrived to work all he saw was people rushing around the giant office building, before he could get to his office he was able to catch one of the lower level workers to see what the commotion was about.

“Didn’t you hear sir? Princess YN of Delhana is coming to London”

He was trying to think of how your name was familiar to him, he had heard about Delhana, it was a country in North Africa, known for it’s generational wealth and supposed hoarding of jewels and oil, it was also popular for it’s coffee and tea, not to mention the women were gorgeous, many of Tommy’s old war buddies who took jobs over seas told him about how many goddesses they saw when they were stationed there. Once he made it to his office he’d gotten straight to work, the news of the visitor quickly left his mind, a few hours later there was a knock on his door and one of the last people he wanted to see entered.

“Mr. Shelby, nice day this morning isn’t it?”

He had that silly stupid smirk on his face that he absolutely loathed, he didn’t have time for any of his shit today.

“How may I help you Gregory?”

He could tell that he didn’t like the less formal greeting in return but decided to let it go, there were bigger things he could could argue with him over, less petty ones.

“Oh nothing in particular, just came by to ask if you heard about a certain visitor coming to our dear country”

“Yes, I heard, a Princess if I’m not mistaken”

“Princess YN, she’s second in line to the Delhanan throne and is...just too beautiful for her own good”

“I’m sure she’s a looker”

“She can make a blind man see and a dead one come back to life, if only I were a rich African so that I can have a chance with her”

“Don’t forget fifty years younger”

“That too, still the women in that family have their men in the palm of their hands, her cousin, Princess Iman, is married to a man who hand made the tiara that she wore on their wedding day, the jewels in it came from the mine that his family owns”

“That’s very interesting”

Greogry opened the newspaper that he had in his hand then tossed it over to him on his desk. Tommy looked at him for a moment before picking it up and looked at the page that he turned to.

“Princess YN?”

“No, that’s Iman”

“Princess wears three inch earrings, gold veil, scarlet skirt, red jacket”

“These people are sitting on a gold mine I’m telling you, and if this visit goes well the prime minister is confident that they’ll share their resources with us more often and ease up on all the rules and restrictions”

“Yeah, we’ll see, so everyone is going out of their way to impress her?”

“Well of course, she’s going to be a guest at Buckingham palace to have a dinner and she is to be staying at Fairweather Manor”

“Fairweather manor, only the best for Her royal Highness”

“Indeed...well, I’ll let you get back to work, and don’t forget, we have a meeting after lunch to discuss Delhanan customaries”

“Right”

Once he finally left Tommy put the paper down and leaned back into his seat, if she’s as beautiful and important as he says then he couldn’t wait to meet what the fuss was about.

———————-

“Your highness, what would you like for dinner? The usual I’m guessing.”

“Yes Abel the usual”

“Tsebhi with chapati coming right up”

He bows his head before closing your bedroom door, honestly you weren’t all that hungry, but you knew your mother would be less than pleased at you skipping a meal, you could feel her glare right now at even the thought of it, you stood up with a sigh and walked over to a portrait of one of your great great aunties, the painting looked as though it was staring into your soul, but it gave you some comfort, hopefully the feeling would last during your trip, if the English people were as unbearable as your Babu says then you would need all the blessings that was prayed over you before leaving.

“Keep me in your prayers dear Auntie, and bless you”

You curtsy to her portrait before going back to your dinning table.

#tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders #black reader

81 notes · View notes

curly-bangtan · 5 years

Text

Heatwave Drabble #1: That Night in Mykonos

[Heatwave // Godless] [Drabble Masterlist]

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: That one not-so-forgotten filthy drunken night in Mykonos that you and Taehyung never speak about again. For good reason.

Genre: drabble, smut

Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t do it), beach sex, oral (m/f), taehyung’s tongue technology, dom!Tae, daddy kink, exhibitionism kink, facial (lol oop), cumplay, spanking, degradation if you count slapping your face with his dick, may make you fall in love with this couple even more soz

Word count: 6k (why am i incapable of making even a drabble short and quick?)

A/N: As per highly requested… :) If you’ve randomly stumbled upon this, definitely read Heatwave first to understand the plot.

The gentle washing of the waves sings a lullaby to your ears. You have always loved the sound of the ocean, so serene, yet holding so much power. Wiggling your toes, you watch the minute grains of sand trickle off your feet like a waterfall. Nonchalant, you take a swig of cider, its fruity acidity burning a bittersweet trail down your throat.

‘Man, I fucking love Mykonos.’ Taehyung slurs beside you, tipsy from his fourth bottle of beer he’s clutching like a trophy.

‘Thank you again for bringing me here, Taehyung.’

The two of you are sat on a towel by the beach, watching the moon paint its own reflection in the water. Sky crystal clear, as it is every single night here in Greece, the constellations hanging over your heads set a tranquil tone to the last evening of your trip.

‘Hey, what did I say? Stop thanking me. Now you have to finish your drink.’ Playfully, he flicks the tip of your nose in reprimand.

Grinning, you roll your eyes but follow his stupid rule. Not that you can’t hold your liquor, but this is your seventh drink, and you’re starting to feel it pulsating up to your head.

‘No, but you were right.’ Words tumble out of his pretty lips that you can’t help but admire. ‘It was a good call not to go out tonight. If we actually went hard at VOID, our flight tomorrow would be hell.’ He is referring to the club you have been religiously visiting almost every night this week. ‘This is much better. Nice and chill.’

With a mighty sigh, he falls onto his back, head hitting the edge of the towel, narrowly missing sand invasion in his hair. Rolling your empty bottle away, you join beside him.

‘This has to be the weirdest but also best holiday of my life.’ You ruminate. The stars are shining particularly bright tonight, you wonder if they know it’s your last night here and want to bid farewell.

The chesty chuckle Taehyung lets out reverberates into you. ‘Definitely the weirdest.’ He turns his head to face you. ‘I can’t believe I’m in Mykonos with this random chick I met in the club, who offered to rent me her place, so I guess she’s now my roommate, when this whole trip was planned to be a surprise for my girlfriend who had been cheating on me for months.’

Taehyung is especially chatty and vivacious when drunk, you’ve noticed from the past few days. Normally he’s laid back, spaced out even. But give him some booze, and all his emotions and thoughts cartwheel out of him. Though you’re only beginning to know him, he’s immensely interesting, you can tell he holds so many layers to him that requires inquisition over time.

‘Wow, random chick from the club? Bitch, you ripped out my hair.’ You laugh and smack at his chest, hand lingering for a little too long.

Wait, chest smack? Why are you using your classic move on him?

You’re a flirt, you can’t help it. The cider’s doing its thing, you guess.

‘Man, I’m so sorry about that, you have no idea how awful I felt.’ He inches closer to you until his head is rested upon your shoulder. Right, he’s also especially touchy when drunk. Anyone who walks past right now could mistaken you as close friends, when in reality, you’ve known each other no more than a month.

To be completely fair, you have spent everyday of this said month together since that club night, helping him move in and unpack, and now travelling together. You guess you’re kind of friends now.

‘These past few weeks have been so crazy. I was just trying to have a good night out when a wild Kim Taehyung appeared and somersaulted into my life. And now we’re lying by the Mediterrenean sea together, tanned and drunk.’ His hair is tickling your neck so you push it away. Your fingers brush against his forehead and he hums at the contact.

‘But hey, on a serious note, hand on heart,’ Taehyung gazes up at you, ‘I’m so glad I got to do this with you. You are one of the coolest people I know, and I wouldn’t have wanted to come here with anyone else. Not like I have anyone else right now… My ex can go fuck herself, or fuck Jimin. I have a bigger dick anyway.’

You sit up, choking on your laughter. Out of the blue, he’ll always hit you with these one-liners that are absolutely pure gold. ‘Okay, Mr. I’ve-Fucked-Nine-Girls-This-Week.’

Pride beaming from his smile, he tugs you back down beside him. ‘Hey, I was in a relationship for three years, I need this. Miss I-Had-A-Threesome-With-Two-Guys-On-Our-First-Night.’

The two of you splutter your drunken giggles. The two guys were Italian, come on, how could you have passed up on the opportunity?

Despite the time of evening, the breezes that gust pass are humid. The temperature is perfect, actually, no sun blazing down to melt you into puddles. You’re probably too drunk to appreciate this moment but one day you’ll look back at this night cherishingly, you hope.

‘You’re right. I’m glad I came with you, Taehyung.’ It’s your turn to look at him. ‘I’ll get such an earful from Lotta when I get back but it’s all worth it. I can’t believe we got away with half of the things that we did!’

‘I know right?’ His arm feels particularly warm against you. It may be the alcohol working its magic but his voice sounds so deep and mellow tonight, like dark chocolate dissolving in your mouth. ‘The way they upgraded our room to a premium when we pretended to be a couple on our honeymoon.’

The memory is fuzzy but fond in your inebriated mind. ‘You’re welcome. I’m a master bullshitter.’

‘We even got that couple’s spa treatment and free wine and dine night.’

To be completely honest, it wasn’t difficult pretending to be loved up newly-weds. A lot of that affection you were displaying towards Taehyung wasn’t fake; he’s this perfect specimen of a man, gorgeous face, toned body, captivating personality, quirky humour - anyone’s dream boyfriend, really. You’ve tried to tone your attraction to him down, you can’t be lusting over your new roommate after all. Things would get too messy. But it was just for fun anyway, there’s no harm in a few pretend embraces and neck kisses to get those couple’s perks.

You’re just friends.

Though a part of you envies the nine girls he’s slept with this holiday, because you’ve seen the outline of his bulge in his swim trunks and Holy Shit… But as much as you like to fuck around, there’s a clear line that separates roommates and guys you bang. Those are two mutually exclusive groups of people in your life, the Venn Diagram does not intersect.

‘Hey, you wanna go for one last swim?’ You’re pulled from your thoughts by Taehyung’s suggestion.

It’s a bad idea, swimming this late at night, having downed a few bottles. But when has your inner conscience ever stopped you from doing what you want?

‘’Course.’ He is already removing his shirt as he stands, and you can all but ogle at the muscle of his moonlit back as you reply.

Following his action, you turn away from him and peel off your shorts that have stuck to your skin from sitting for so long. Are you perhaps trying to tempt him with the view of your bent over ass? Hmm, possibly… He does pay an awful lot of attention to your rear every time you wear these shorts... Carelessly flinging your top onto the rest of your things, you spy him staring at you in your periphery, hands stuffed into his shorts pockets. You adjust the pad of your bikini top, perhaps more dramatic than you needed to.

A smirk plays at your mouth. Why are you trying to get his attention?

Feet sinking into the soft sand, you pad after him towards the calm beckoning water. Your head is feeling hazy from the ciders, and when you spot the lazy smile he’s wearing, you know it’s hitting him too. Gazing up at the moon, you realise you feel blue. Not blue in a sad melancholic sense. But blue as in cool, relaxed, heart-at-peace blue; you’re going for one last night swim in the most beautiful country with your handsome new roommate, blue. A hint of romantic lyricism. Maybe.

‘I’m really gonna mis- Taehyung!’ You screech into the quiet night when he all of a sudden picks you up and carries you bridal-style into the sea.

And tosses you into the water.

Arms flailing midair, you’re catapulted into the waves like a pebble. The cold hits your curled spine first, harsh and shocking. Then it detonates within you, a volcano of ice numbing all your senses and aching your bones.

When you find your bearings and gasp up for air, you see him, ocean up to his knees, head whipped back in laughter, clutching his tensing core, eyes pinched into crescents as the most warming sound leaves his mouth.

‘You piece of shit!’ You lunge for him, but your limbs feel heavy in the water, restricting the power of your attack that he dodges so effortlessly.

But you don’t give up so easily. Tide washing you towards him, you launch yourself again, saltine droplets splattering all over his face. Resigning, Taehyung lets you drag him by the hand away from the shore, waddling clumsily against the stubborn current that’s determined to push you back to the beach.

‘Dick and balls, it’s freezing.’ He heaves.

‘Wuss. You’re not the one who got dunked.’ The chill is licking at your skin, seeping into your hair that splays out in floating silk tendrils. You’ve stopped walking on the sand now, instead spreading onto your front and allowing your swimming arms and paddling legs to move you.

Water up to his chest, you see the goosebumps rise on his blue-bronze unsullied skin, star-freckled sea reflecting wavering diamond silhouettes onto his chiseled front. Following the defined protrusion of his salient collarbones, then the sleek inward curve of his neck, your gaze arrives at his face. His strong brow never fails to strike you; tongue loitering out between his folded lips; brown tufts of salt-kissed, breeze-licked hair a mess but a masterpiece still. Eyes painted with a warm summer glimmer, sapphire and still, he observes you from where he stands.

The fluttering in your heart is now indistinguishable from your shivering due to the wet cold.

‘Come on, let’s swim out a bit further.’ He nods to the open ocean, refusing to spare you from his pinning stare.

Body heavy from the alcohol, the cold and simply your lethargism, you dive below the surface. With your water-blurred vision, you swim after his slow walking legs, bubbles you release tickling your face. You grapple onto his ankle, hear his muffled yelp and stifle a mischievous giggle.

Launching off the sand bed, you lurch up to the surface, inhaling sharply at your first breath of air. You push your hair back to see Taehyung regard you with a mystical expression.

‘It’s too deep here,’ you whine, ‘I can’t touch the floor.’ Not particularly athletic, treading water in order to stay afloat is wearing you down.

‘Hold on to me then, midget.’ He chuckles and holds out his hand which you quickly grab onto. With the stability he provides, you pull yourself up his arm like a buoy line and perch your elbow on his shoulder.

Which draws you unexpectedly close to his face. Nose mere inches from his chin. You smell his familiar honey musk.

Unfazed by your proximity, his arm circles behind you before landing one your waist, the warmth of his touch blooming like flowers on your skin. Why does his hand feel so nice on you? Why can’t you stop staring at him?

‘Better?’ Vibrations of his throat hum into your core.

‘Thanks.’ Your poise on his shoulder is sliding so you snake your arm around his neck, hoisting your body up against his. The contact snaps a cord inside you, sensation of him tingling everywhere you touch.

‘You’re such a little princess.’ He rolls his eyes theatrically in feign mockery, but his smirk betrays his mirth.

‘Shut up, you love it.’ This playful banter weighs heavy in your chest, constricting it, winding it. Because if it were anybody else, it would be flirting... Or maybe you are flirting with him right now. You’re not sure anymore.

A droplet of water is trickling along the edge of his jaw, your focus is transfixed at its smooth descent to his chin. Your bodies are bobbing with the calm waves, up, down, up, down. Then your eyes lock and-

Fuck.

You want him.

You really fucking want him.

Right now.

Right here.

Taehyung’s glare sears a mark in you, and it’s burning like the flames of hell all the way down to your sex. With the side of his finger, he doesn’t need to so much as touch you to tip your head up his way because that’s how willing you are. One tilt, that’s all it takes to kiss him right now. His fingers are sinking into your tender waist, and immediately you wonder how they must feel inside you.

‘I do love it.’ He slides his cheek against yours and traces the bridge of your nose with the tip of his.

And then.

You taste the sea on his lips, salt and cold. It feels like diving into the ocean, plunging into the deep blue and simply allowing your body to be swept away. His kiss is greedy, hungry, willing you to submit to him and follow his lead. And in your intoxicated state, you do so.

Legs wrapping around his torso in the water, his hands caress up your thighs to your ass, digging into your plump flesh with an ardour that releases a damp arousal from your slit. Your own fingers grope down his chest and toy with his hair, scratching and tugging. When he nibbles on your bottom lip and you know that you’re done for. You melt like putty in his control, meeting his tongue with a soft obedience you don’t normally exert.

‘Taehyung.’ You gasp into his mouth.

‘I’m all yours tonight, baby.’ is all he says before diving back into you. Those words sends the possessive animal in your mind wild with satisfaction. Because yes, he better fucking be all yours tonight.

Kissing Taehyung feels different. Perhaps it’s because of the build up of tension you have been harbouring these past few days. Or maybe it’s the thrill of knowing that you shouldn’t be doing this, the thrill of doing the forbidden. Or rather, it’s the way he wields his dominance over you so ferally and fervently, like he’s been waiting for as long as you have to do this.

Kissing Taehyung is teeth and tongue.

Kissing Taehyung is salt and the midnight breeze.

Kissing Taehyung is blue. The kind of blue you see only in the hottest of flames.

When you feel his stiff length poke underneath you, your cunt is set ablaze with desire. Desire to sink down onto him this instant and have him pound into you amidst the ocean until you both feel faint. Desire for him to break you in half with all his might, make your eyes water with from the pleasure he stabs into you.

Slowly he begins to walk you back to the shore, gripping your legs around his waist as you lock your arms around his neck. Lips never leaving each other longer than a second to breathe.

His ravenous mouth travels down to your breasts, and he doesn’t hesitate to devour them from your bathing suit, suckling angry red marks down your cleavage and around your nipples. Though clothed, the prominence of his cock burrows between your wide open entrance, rubbing against your bikini-clad clit and making you thrust your hips further into him.

Feverish from his touch, you don’t realise you’re on land until he gently falls onto his knees and carefully places you on the towels below him. Too drunk to even care if anyone else is on the beach, not that there was before you got in the water, you pull him by the neck onto you.

As he kisses a torching trail down your wet body, your mind is somewhere else, in a heaven that worships Taehyung. Hands kneading your exposed breasts, the wisp of his breath tingles down your navel, tying a knot in your core. With his teeth, he obscenely tugs loose the string that ties your bikini bottom together. The fabric falls loose lifelessly, revealing your soaking cunt, shimmering with want for him.

‘So wet.’ He muses as he kisses your pelvic bone, finger stroking up your slick to gather the liquid of your arousal. Then he prods his finger into your mouth, your tongue compliantly lapping up your own taste, salty from the sea. ‘Who made you this wet?’

‘You.’ You’re practically pleading as he sucks viciously at your inner thigh, so close to your weeping pussy.

‘I want you to call me daddy.’

You stiffen under him. Daddy. He wants you to call him daddy. Oh, but of course Taehyung has a daddy kink. It’s so ridiculously characteristic now that he has revealed it, that if you aren’t drunk, you would be rolling your eyes and laughing.

‘Fine, daddy.’ There’s an undertone of travesty to your reply. Whether he notices, he doesn’t show as he kisses closer and closer to your slit.

At the first contact of his lips to your clit, your hips buckle upwards and fingers fly to entangle his hair. Sucking harshly on your sensitive bud, all you’re capable of is squirming and writhing underneath him like a possessed body. The sensation of his mouth sucking on your succulence sends a shot of ecstasy down your quaking legs. Your head feels dizzy.

‘Fuck!’ You whine.

‘You like that, baby?’ When he looks up at you, wet smirk on his lips breathing hot air into your cunt, a coil winds in your stomach.

‘Yes, daddy.’ Your grip on his hair tightens.

Then he’s gorging you like a feast, tongue fluttering on your swollen bundle of nerves, your kryptonite, teeth scraping along your folds seductively. After several licks of your entrance, he pushes not one, but two digits into your cunt. They ease in, lubricated by your moist walls that welcome the pressure of his intrusion into you like the open sea. He draws wide circles inside you, and it feels like your innards are being stirred to perfection by a metal rod. In the meantime, his assault on your clit does not falter, rhythmically hitting his tongue against you, allowing the vibrations of his humming to penetrate your core.

Looking down, this is simply the most beautiful sight you’ve ever witnessed. Taehyung, eyes glimpsing up at you hungrily, face buried nose-deep in your pussy, hands gripping under your thighs that are rested on his shoulders, all the while the moon shines its ethereal glow onto you and the iridescent ocean in the background plays a symphony harmonious to your moans and his filthy slurps.

Suddenly, an explosion of pleasure arrives at your clit. ‘Oh, fuck yes!’ You screech, throat raw from the pure elation that washes over you. The throbbing in your cunt releases at his continuous friction, pulsating so wildly you think you will burst. His fingers pump out your high as he sucks one last time, long and hard, on your beating clit. ‘Ah… Oh my god… Taehyung…’

Finally he emerges from between your legs to breathe. You watch as your fluid dribble down his chin lewdly, your thumb swipes to catch the wetness.

‘How was that?’ Untangling his arms from your legs, he walks up on his elbows to meet your lips in a tender kiss.

‘Mind-blowing.’ You utter against his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head for dramatic effect. ‘Let’s continue back in our room.’ Quickly you do up your bikini, impatient for more.

Without needing another word, Taehyung sweeps you into his arms, gathers all your belongings and hastily carries you back to your hotel located just a minute away from the beach. Although, it takes much longer than a minute for you to arrive seeing as multiple detours are made along the way, fondling behind a tree, kissing in the elevator and missing your floor.

And when you’re finally in the confines of your room, he pins you to the closed door, not even bothering to switch on the lights, lips latched onto your magnetising neck. Your wrists trapped in his grip against the hard wood, you ache to touch him as his teeth find your earlobe. Nipping at your soft round flesh, a pleasant shock is sent down your spine at the twinge of pain.

‘Daddy…’ You sigh.

He pulls away to stare into your beseeching eyes. ‘What do you want daddy to do to you?’ His voice is a low grumble of dominance, digging its talons into your brain.

‘I want… I want you to fuck me until I cry.’ In the dark of the room, your attention flickers to the moonlit terrace outside. ‘Right on that balcony over there.’

Something in his obsidian eyes ignite at your suggestion. Zealous with lust, he brings you through the glass door that opens to the fresh night. ‘You want me to fuck you right here, baby? For everyone to see?’

Danger lurking one kiss away, you sense the precarious position his sanity is at. So you reach down and grab his hard member over his shorts, and tip his mind to a carnal frenzy.

‘Yes please, daddy.’ The name is the last straw for him. His breath hitches as you tug down his pants and allow his enormous cock to spring free.

Spinning you around roughly, he bends you over onto the rail of the balcony and strips off your swimsuit in one deft gesture. From here, you have an unobstructed view of the coast, lined by bustling bars and closing restaurants. The neighbouring terraces are a metre away, if anyone walks out now, they would horrifically witness Taehyung’s gargantuan length about to drill into you from behind.

Your heart is pounding in excitement of the risk as well as the anticipation of his cock. Not being able to see him, he can thrust into you any moment now, he must be revelling in such control he holds.

Then you feel it, his large round tip pressing against your entrance curiously. Your legs shake expectantly while fresh arousal leaks out of you, mixing with his precum he’s pressing into you. ‘Beg one more time for me.’

Taehyung and his motherfucking ego.

‘Please, daddy.’ Allowing the words to drag out on your tongue, you twist your neck to look at him with wide pleading eyes. He looks like a king, towering over you with this much assertion, relishing in the power he holds above you in this very moment.

‘Good girl.’

Hands holding your hips in place, he slams his tremendous member into your gaping cunt in one forceful plunge. You can’t help but cry out at the sheer stretch of your walls he’s spanning. Holy fuck, he’s so big he makes it feels like your first time.

All you feel at first is an incredible cinching of your core, the ache of him impaling his rigid shaft through the resisting pressure of your vagina. God, is he fucking massive. He seems to know it as well because he gives you a second to adjust to his size, palm scaling smoothly up the hill of your back to gather your hair in his hand like a rein. Then he is pummelling into you, hips slapping against your bottom, ringing such vulgar sounds in your ears. His cock, hard as if carved from marble, piercing through the pain and moulding a thing of sweet sweet pleasure inside you. You grip the rail so tight its edge gouges marks into your skin, your head hung low between your tense arms.

‘Fu-u-u-uckk-k-k-’ He fucks those syllables out of you one by one. At this angle, his cock is curving up the wrong way into you, jabbing at pockets that normally aren’t reached.

A part of your soul is no longer with you, propelled elsewhere by his ceaseless merciless attack on your cunt. Then comes the sting of his palm when he spanks a searing hot mark into your ass cheek. The sharp pain is refreshing alongside the dull ache behind the euphoric throb he is penetrating into you.

‘This fucking ass of yours, baby. Been driving me nuts in those shorts all week.’ Another slap echoes in your ears, and you welcome it by curving your back more to tip your tush higher for him.

‘Daddy, you fuck me so good.’ Playing along with this narrative he’s into, you egg him on further, stroking his ego as your walls are stroking his dick. Because, damn, he is fucking you so good. Pounding into you with such vigour and violence that your folds are beginning to sting.

You’ve reached a point now where you’re no longer intoxicated by alcohol, but more the addictive fumes of him.

Moans that fall from his lips tingle at your clit, which you start to play with to add to your stimulation. Another smack on your ass, this time so surprising that you scream out. ‘Yes, be loud for me. Let everyone hear how good I make you feel.’ He coaxes.

Taehyung begins to slow, which you know is a sign that he’s close but doesn’t want to blow his load yet. He bends over you, your hair still tied around his wrist, and nips at the shell of your ear. You’ve never known your ear to be such an erogenous zone, for when his tongue flickers at your inner shell, a shudder convulses through you. Leaving slobbery kisses down the curve of your shoulder, he slowly pulls out of you.

‘Finish on the bed?’ As Taehyung embraces you from behind, his strong arm comes under your cold lonely breasts that perk up at his attention, his dripping wet cock sitting between your red ass cheeks. The hum of his deep rasp on your neck sends your head lolling back onto his sweat-dotted chest.

‘Sure.’ What leaves you is a mere huff, you can’t even conjure your voice.

His lips seal yours as he walks you back into the room, leaving the glass door open for the night breeze to grace you. Amidst the savage sex, you treasure such a soft, delicate moment on your tongue, delighting in the way the tips of his fingers trace up your side. When his hand slithers up to your face, you melt into the warm flesh of his palm, mouth opening up for him to unfurl into.

Then the back of your knees hit the bed, and you know it’s about to begin again. Without breaking the union of your lips, you clamber onto the sheets with his frame hovering over you. Grappling on his neck, you drag Taehyung atop you as your head sinks down onto the plush of the pillow.

He sucks on your plump bottom lip one last time before pulling away. Fluid still profusely oozing out of the slit of his tip, telltale of his concupiscence, he perches between your legs. ‘How do you want it, baby?’ His tone endearing, yet eyes deadly dangerous.

Impatient for him to fill you to the brim again, you lift your both legs up for him to grab and place onto his shoulders. ‘Like this please, daddy.’

That’s all you have to say for him to grunt okay and push deep into you, knees digging into the mattress like lampposts. In this position, his cock reaches your cervix without hindrance, his swollen head slamming into your end every thrust he gives. It’s a different type of ache this time, more acutely targeted at the one sensitive spot inside you. As he continues you thrust into you, bollocks swinging at your ass, a build up of sensitivity gathers at your core.

You feel it approaching, that imminent contortion of your cunt, looming over you, on the brink of toppling your senses.

‘Keep going.’ You whimper, the filthy feeling of his prick hammering so fast into you enough to bring tears to your eyes. You try to keep them open, watch his tongue poke out in concentration as he watches your body quiver under his. But the intensity of his fucking is truly too overwhelming that a single droplet leaks out and flow down your temple.

‘I’m so close.’ Taehyung heaves, pecking the bone of your ankle. Something ruptures within him, his sanity, humanity, and suddenly with an even more arduous determination he drives into your walls like a crazed beast. Sole purpose now to reach the climax awaiting him, he spreads your legs open wide before him and rabidly plunges his twitching prick.

And for the second and third time this night, your orgasm hits you, one immediately followed by the other. ‘Taehyung, I’m-’ You’re a crying thrashing body beneath him, the ecstatic pleasure obliterating your mind into ruins as your cunt erupts. The string of profanities that leave you sound incoherent to your own hearing.

You won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow, you’re sure of it.

Taehyung watches you break on his cock, walls tightening impossibly around him, until only a husk of your being remains.

‘Holy shit, I’m gonna come.’ Frantic with excitement, his hips move sloppily. ‘Where should I come?’

‘All over my face? In my mouth?’ Cupping your breast, you gaze up at him with salacious eyes.

‘Oh my fuck- Yes.’

Yanking himself out, a string of your own release threaded at his tip, he slides himself up the bed until his knees are on either side of your head. Pornographically he slaps his hot length on your cheek several times as you roll out your tongue for him. ‘You like that? You like my dick on your face?’

‘Hmmm.’ You engulf his seeping tip in your ready mouth while he jerks himself off with a teenage boy’s zest, his knuckles hitting at the underside of your chin.

Eager to coax his orgasm, you lick fervently at his sensitive head, right on the patch of skin around his slit that drives every man insane.

‘Oh fuck! Baby-’

Abruptly, he withdraws his cock from your mouth. Not after two strokes, he is shooting hot white spurts of his seed onto your face, your eyes shutting just in time to avoid being fired at. Some of his fluid lands in your mouth, brewing bitterly on your awaiting tongue. Eyes squeezed shut, his cock pulses involuntarily in his hand as he lurches his high to an end.

‘You look so fucking good with my cum all over your face.’ Taehyung stares at his piece of work, splattered across your cheeks, on your forehead, and unfortunately for you, in your hair. Feral demeanour dimming, he leans down and gently smears his ejaculation all over your skin before nudging it into your mouth.

Like his good little baby you are, you swallow it like it’s your milk.

‘Mm…’ Throat hoarse from all the moaning, you suck his taste off his thumb.

Exhaustion dawns over the both of you when the adrenaline drains from your blood. Ache straining between your thighs, you waddle over to the bathroom quickly before him cum dries into a crusty nightmare.

Your sex-ridden, hair-dishevelled, hickey-speckled reflection greets you in the mirror. Realisation of your actions sink into your heart along with the sour taste of guilt.

What the fuck have you done?

You just had the wildest sex with Taehyung, your new roommate.

Taehyung, your new roommate.

Taking a deep breath in and out, you try to form back the logic shattered by his brutal fucking. Why do you have to be the way that you are? Just why are you so incapable of controlling your nymphomania?

‘You okay?’ Taehyung’s bass booms from the bedroom, startling you from your turmoil.

You gave into your temptations. You fucked up.

But this isn’t unsalvageable, you two can recover from it. After all, it’s not like you have been lifelong best friends, you’ve only just met each other, still stepping into deeper stages of your friendship day by day. As long as you don’t let this happen again, stop seeing him in a sexual light, you two should be fine.

Yes, you’ll be fine.

Drying your washed face with a towel, your answer is muffled. ‘Yep, all good.’

When you roam back to the room, you see him sprawled out like a Greek God, still shirtless but now wearing sweatpants that outlines his bulge all too well, bed sheets bunched to the side to aerate his sweat-dampened body. His eyes crawl over your naked form with a thirst that has you willing to drop to your knees and suck him off again. Spoilt in the attention he’s doling you, you climb beside him perhaps too seductively than you should.

Stop. You shouldn’t.

Taehyung doesn’t waste a second to pull you into his chest and smother you with slow, passionate kisses. Such contradiction to his rough handling of you sheer minutes ago. His tongue feels heavier, nicer as it rolls along yours, maybe because you’re now sober, senses no longer dulled by alcohol.

It’s a difficulty to retract from his romantic poet of a mouth whose sole purpose is to entice you into its warm embrace. But you do. ‘Hey… We really shouldn’t have…’ You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence because you care too much for his feelings to hurt him.

But then the cool nonchalance in his pupils relieve you of your fear. ‘Yeah… Probably not the smartest move.’

His fingers toy fondly with your hair, twirling it like a velvet ribbon. Eyes wide with his boyish innocence, you wonder if this is the same person who was just slapping his dick on your cheek and made you call him daddy. This trip was meant to allow you to understand him better, yet you remain stuck, perhaps more than before, in his enigma.

And you wonder how his girlfriend could ever have sought after anyone else Taehyung is… Well he has just done that…

‘It doesn’t change anything, right? We’re still friends?’ You want to roll out of his clasp yet his arms feel so soft and smooth and perfect to fall asleep in.

‘Of course, Y/N’ From the earnesty in his tone, you know you can trust his word.

To resume your previous playful dynamic, you pinch his nose between your knuckles. ‘Then let go of me, friends don’t cuddle.’

‘Friends do cuddle.’ He frowns, shocked as if you’ve just slapped him across the face with a whole cabbage of kimchi.

‘Uh… No they don’t.’ Repulsed by such affection, you try to wiggle away but he locks his arms around your torso like a vice.

‘I don’t know what kind of friends you’ve had, but you’re stuck with me now and in Taehyung-land: Friends. Cuddle.’ Blowing raspberries on your ticklish neck, he lets you squirm like a fish in attempt to escape his coddling, chest rumbling into your back with laughter. Your squeals of help turn into giggles. Raspberries turn into kisses.

You freeze. ‘Oi, friends don’t kiss friends’ necks.’

‘Come on, we just had sex, let me just kiss you a bit more.’ Watching him pout so babily, your heart squeezes. Fuck. Why is your heart squeezing?

But you kiss his jutted lips, still. Savouring his taste that you know you won’t have the chance to delight in again. ‘Fine, but if you try to kiss me tomorrow, I’ll kick your nuts.’

Taehyung takes that as a green light to use you as a snuggle toy for the rest of the night, mouth gallivanting the ocean that is your skin.

07/09/18

@shookpreme @taetaeobsessed @tangledsparkles @nonexistentfucks @evilkookie @nbiased95 @shimtatae @taehyungmakesmeoof @itscalledgayhoney @tahaing @deliciouslydisturbed365 @expensive-bangtan-girl @jwlmnbt @herakimkim @dnyad @kaepjjang365 @angelswrld @expensive-bangtan-girl @icyi-sky @gingerpeachtae @taexxxiiaa @spring2787 @monixreal

2K notes · View notes

hamlets-ghost-zaddy · 5 years

Text

what kind of man?

Joe Toye x Reader

Summary: Assigned as a war correspondent to the European Theater, a string of fluff piece assignments makes apparent you’re a novelty to sell newspapers. You yearn for an interview with someone who will tell you the truth--something real--and you find honesty in a man with a missing leg and a battered copy of War and Peace.

You knew, when Ed McCormick—the human interest editor—slid an Atlantic ocean liner ticket across your (frankly, overflowing) desk along with the declaration of ‘congrats, kiddo, you’re a war reporter,’ there had to be a hitch. The New York Times doesn’t send female war correspondents across the Atlantic Ocean and catapulting into a war zone on a whim—because they think you’ve got gumption, or a certain spark, or felt like taking a chance. You aren’t exactly Martha Gellhorn or Marguerite Higgins—but then again, the Times doesn’t have a Gellhorn or a Higgins.

And now, you’re in an Army hospital in Paris, confronting once again what exactly that hitch is: you’re the novelty ‘girl writer.’ It’s all the rage.

“How long will he make us wait?” you ask, glaring down at your watch face as if you could bully the minute hand to stop moving. To stop showing this Dr. Carl fucking Wainwright, the latest in a long like of interviews for fluff pieces, has kept you and Fred, your photography, waiting for almost forty-five minutes.

“As long as they feel like,” he says, as he lights a cigarette. He uses it as a lecturer’s wand to indicate the ward, populated by wounded and recovering GIs, the smoke leaving a trail. “We’re pretty low on the priority list, kid.”

You lift your eyes to the ceiling, knowing Fred knew as well as you did that wasn’t the whole truth. In the month and a half you’ve been in Paris, the interview appointments you’ve had with doctors, colonels, pilots, naval captains have been consistently well away from the frontlines, the start time delayed or postponed, often cut short when they do begin, all the answers you gather as sweet and vapid as candy floss. No one wants to show the war as it always is, worrying what will happen if their honesty appears on the front page or that the pretty little war correspondent isn’t the one to write about it. “They know I’m not chump change.”

“Nah,” Fred replies. You cock an eyebrow at him as he sucks on his cigarette, wondering if he’s about to compliment you. You had been sure Fred didn’t know how to string one nice—or attempted nice—word after another. He puffs smoke out in a great cloud. “It’s because you’re a girl. They know you’re here to add bit of emotion and feminine touch to this disgusting fucking war.” His words hold no bite, only a crackling frankness, and they land all the harder across your cheek. “You slap your name onto some fluff pieces about the great noble sacrifice of our heroic, home-grown, American boys, and fuck, that’ll sell more papers than my pictures will.”

You bite your lower lip to keep from spitting out something you might regret; it’s not like you didn’t know it, in some dark recess of your conscious.

The girl writer, you think, snorting and crossing your arms over your chest. You squint out of the hospital ward’s window, the early autumn afternoon overcast, the gray clouds swallowing the gray steel of the Eiffel Tower. You didn’t need Fred to tell you what you already knew. Yet, sent something sharp and metallic cut into your chest, settling just below your throat. But, you try to bolster yourself, You still got an opportunity. Martha, Marguerite: they started somewhere, too. All it took was an opportunity seized tight in a clenched, white-knuckled fist.

“I just wish I could get a real chance to write something more than fluff,” you say more to the Eiffel Tower than Fred. “I bet I could sell more than an extra paper here or there. I need something I could really sink my teeth into—something real. What the war is like really.”

Smoke curls out of Fred’s mouth. He’s squinting at you, but he’s always squinting at something. It’s why he avoided the draft—his eyesight making him near blind, his refusal to wear glasses making him near stupid—but you’ve come to rely on its consistency. Good old squinting, surly Fred, who saw the world clearer through narrowed eyes than an optometrist could ever help with. He says, “You want some coffee to wash down what you’re sinking your teeth in to?”

“Coffee?” you repeat.

“Sure.” He shrugs toward the closed door of Dr. Wainwright’s office. “Doc’s kept us waiting long enough, I figure we can drink some of his coffee.”

“Ah,” you say. “Well, no, but thank you.”

Fred shrugs. “If he decides to stick his nose out, have someone kind find me.” He doesn’t stick around for an answer, one hand on his camera, hung around his neck, as he trots from the ward. He sends you a wink before he vanishes into the hall.

Sighing, wishing you didn’t have the brand of ‘the girl writer’ seared onto your forehead—what would it be like if you could waltz off to coffee without worrying how’d it look like, what your boss might think, what it might do to your reputation? Pretty damn relaxing, you think, drifting between two cots, the men in either asleep, and lean a hip against the window. Would Martha or Marguerite let themselves be walked over by this Doctor Wainwright? Or yesterday’s Lieutenant Aryes? Or last week’s Captain Sobel?

he Parisian cityscape offers no answers.

“Hey, lady,” a raspy voice calls. Another: “Lady?” Pause, and finally, short and swift and sharp: “Window girl!”

Breath catches in your throat. Jerking away from the window, you find a soldier two cots away fixing you with a frown. His dark eyes are somehow more disapproving than the downward quirk of his mouth. A book is opened on his stomach. “You’re blocking my reading light,” he says after a beat, you blinking at him.

“Oh, uh,” you reply, intelligently, taking a mincing step away from window only to bump into a cot’s table laden with water and medicines. It takes a quick hand to steady the rattling glasses, and your breath catches as the cot’s occupant grumbles in his sleep—threatening to wake—only to turn onto his side and snore once. Loudly. You exhale. Thank fuck. What kind of person wakes an injured soldier?

“That was elegant,” the dark-eyed man observes dryly.

Moving away from the window and side table, you can’t help your eyes narrowing. “My deepest thanks for that compliment, solider; I’m sure it was entirely sincere.” You feel a whoosh and a plunge in your chest the moment the words are from your mouth because what the fuck? What kind of person says that to an injured soldier? You want to grab the words from the air and stuff them back into your mouth.

But the raspy solider, he, well, he grins?

The disapproval in his eyes has flicked off, a light of interest kindling, and those eyes are sweeping over you, considering. Goosebumps raze your skin, your cheeks flushing, with the prickling heat of his eyes on you and—“You some kind of reporter?”

Crossing your arms, you reply, “I’m not ‘some kind of reporter;’ I am a reporter. A war correspondent. For the New York Times.”

“Oh yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow as if asking if he should be impressed. The heat still burns in his eyes. He’s enjoying this, you realize. “What was all that about sinking your teeth into something real then? Doesn’t seem like you’re a war correspondent for the Times.”

“I am a real—” you being to protest hotly, but under your glare, his lips twitch precariously close to a smile and you bite off your words. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” Your tone is flat.

His smile grows. “Nah, not you in particular, more anything that makes being in a fucking hospital a little less boring.” You expect him to stutter to an awkward halt, to apologize for swearing in front of you—a lady—but he doesn’t. You can’t help mirroring his smile. “I mean, look, I’m reading for Christ’s sake! I never read.” He waves to the book still on his stomach, and you move a few steps closer to read the title and the English major, shut away in your heart since you graduated from Brown three years ago, sings.

“War and Peace?” you say. “That’s appropriate.”

He wrinkles his nose faintly. “I guess, but I’d rather fucking eat it then read another word. It’s horrible! Boring and unrealistic, I mean, seriously, are you telling me that this Andre fella isn’t going to kiss the living-fucking-daylights out of that Natasha broad before he goes off to war? Fucking war? Or that Pierre ain’t going to kiss her? Jesus.”

You consider pointing out, though apparently horrible, he is awfully invested in the romantic entanglements of the main characters. Instead, you settle on, “What would you change to make it more realistic?”

He shrugs, shifting in his bed. You’re not sure if it’s because you’ve drifted to stand over him, or if no one has asked his opinions on literature before, but you pull up a nearby chair to at least alieve one issue. He stares at you for another moment, jaw working, trying to decide something, before settling on: “Well, I can’t really say what’s unrealistic or not about the fucking Napoleonic war, but if you’re wanting a book about war and peace now, I’d tell you to write more—like, a fuck ton more—about soldiers being scared out of their goddamn minds. I am, uh, was a paratrooper until…” he nods toward his legs—well, no, not legs. You realize, blinking and hiding your surprise poorly, where one leg shoulder be, the sheets are deflated. Amputated, he’s destined to relay on one leg and a crutch for the rest of his life, all in service of his country.

Your stomach clenches painfully. You release a silent, steady breath, focusing doggedly as he gathers his thoughts and continues: “I had jumped out of a plane five times just for the right to call myself a paratrooper, right? But, on D-Day, when that plane was flying through a fucking Fourth of July fireworks show as the Germans were firing over us? I might as well have never jumped once. I stood there, waiting and waiting, for the red light and then the green light to turn on thinking, any second, a German anti-aircraft shell would send us up in a great fireball.” He pauses. To the battered novel, he says softly, “I’ve never been so scared.”

Balling your fingers into fists, hidden in the cloth folds of your lap, you restrain yourself from leaning forward to take his hand. He doesn’t need your sympathy, and you don’t have empathy—you could never understand the hell he’s seen. So instead, you ask: “What about the peace?”

He doesn’t reply immediately, his dark eyes dragging reluctantly away from you, as if fighting a magnetized pull, and to his book. Movements slow, as if forgetting the fingers beating a lazy rhythm onto the book’s cover belonged to him, his eyes grow distant. You watch him fall into his memory—allow in memories of terror, his comrades, the firefights, death—and you’ve seen eyes untethered from reality (hell, you’ve seen amputated legs before) but seeing this man, this soldier who talked about literary characters kissing and seasoned his speech with ‘fuck’ like a cooking spice, it meant more. Landed heavier in chest, packed a punch that left you winded around a clenching throat.

I don’t even know his name, you think.

“I think that’s my big problem with it,” he begins slowly, nodding again to the book. “‘War and Peace.” He snorts. Then repeats, low to taste the words in his mouth: “War and peace. Implying that the two can coexist. There isn’t peace, there hasn’t been since ’41 when we got dragged into this fucking war. War murders peace; when you aren’t getting shot out, you’re thinking you might get shot at, or dreaming about being shot at, or your buddy’s shot. You’re constantly wound tight, waiting in the time in between, because there’s no peace. It’s just a lapse in hell so Death can trick you again, and worse this time around.” He says ‘death’ with a capitalization, as if it’s a proper noun, a close friend, someone he’s dined with multiple evenings in a row. A grin spreads on his mouth. “Guess I gave you what you wanted, huh? How’d you trick me into doing that?”

“What?” you ask, blinking. You forgot the origin of the conversation

“You said you wanted to write about the real war.”

“Oh, I do, but…” your voice fades in thought.

“But?”

“But, I won’t use what you told me.”

His dark brows furrow, mouth turning into a downward slash. “What? Why? Do you want something more glorious or heroic, because, lady, I thought you said real—”

“I won’t use it because,” you say over him, holding a finger up to silence him. He presses his lips into an annoyed line, but he swallows his words. “Because of two reasons. One: I haven’t asked permission. May I quote you in a story?”

Jutting his chin out mulishly, he shrugs and you see in him the little, obstinate boy he used to be. You briefly wonder what hell he gave his mother (you briefly wonder why you suddenly feel a fervent hope to know about his childhood, his mother, his family, his life). “Sure, yeah, why not,” he says. “What’s the second reason, then?”

“I don’t know your name.”

“Oh.” In his raspy voice, the word is almost a musical note. “Joe Toye. I’m with the Airborne, the 101st.”

You tilt you head, unable to keep from smiling at the simplicity of it—Joe Toye—and how his name came in the same breath with his division; a division that warmed his breath, squared his shoulders, and puffed his chest. He’s proud to be a—it takes a moment for your mind to come up with it—a Screamin’ Eagle, or maybe prouder to be associated with the men who also wore the Eagle. Still smiling, you offer your name, adding, “I’m with the New York Times.”

He doesn’t give the usual lines you’ve heard from men—‘pretty name for a pretty girl,’ ‘nice name, but can I call you mine?’—instead saying, “Good to meet you, uh, formally. And thanks for listening.”

A crooked grin twists your lips up. “Listening is literally my job.”

“Take the compliment, would you, woman?” he asks, laugh barking and brief, the noise scattering goosebumps onto your arms as it zips over your skin, only to burrow and live in your memories. When he quiets, when the blush on your face threatens to permanently stain, he props himself up further, dog-earring War and Peace and putting it aside. To his fingers, stitching and unstitching themselves on his lap, he says, “Nah, I mean it. It’s been awhile since anyone has taken the time to listen to me just, you know, say shit.”

“Well, you’ve got a lot of interesting shit to say,” you say, mildly and trying your best not to let your voice quiver. You want to inject the swirling tide of emotions boiling in your chest into your words, to make him understand just how much you feel your words—instinctively feel his worth, his importance—but what kind of person does that? What kind of person acts all emotional at a guy she literally just met? A silly girl, your brain supplies, unhelpfully.

But you know you failed because Joe’s looking at you all strange—all quirked eyebrows, mouth parting into a surprised ‘o,’ and his eyes seeming to flicker—and you snap your mouth shut. The blush, you’re sure, will redden you as a badge to what a colossal, idiotic, overly-emotional girl you are and forever will be.

What would Marguerite or Martha do? you ask yourself.

“Miss?” a voice says then, interrupting your internal spiral. “Miss—uh, Miss…?”

“Y/n,” Joe says, a question pitching your name up. “I think he’s talking to you?”

You turn and, from the name patched onto his lab coat, find yourself blinking at the elusive Wainwright. He’s a thin man, wiry and wrinkled and tired, and he blinks expectantly at you from behind round glasses. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Miss, but I’m ready to interview now.”

“Oh, um,” you say, standing, and running nervous fingers over your hair and hoping the fluffing you put it through before you left the hotel—over two hours ago now—hasn’t completely deflated. “Wonderful, great, I’ll just…” But your words catch in your throat because you do something you shouldn’t have: you glance down at Joe and he’s—

He’s grinning at you just as he did when you sassed him, an eye-tooth dominated smirk, creasing his eyes as if every inch of his face wants to be involved. You empty your lungs in a long breath. Joe Toye. Joe Toye curses even though you’re a female, he looks at you with bright interest and tells you what’s real. He doesn’t shy from the fear and exhaustion that every other person you’ve spoken with tries to keep out of the newspapers—or protected and secreted away from the pretty little war correspondent.

“Actually,” you begin, knowing when Fred eventually returns, he’ll redefine hell for you, “I just needed to speak with you to see if interviewing this soldier here was okay.”

“Oh, uh,” Wainwright says. He adjusts his glasses, though they sat just fine on his nose, eyes darting between you and Joe. “If he’s agreed, then yes, of course.”

You nod, smiling your most charming. “Thank you, sir. Awfully kind of you.”

“Sure,” Wainwright replies, already drifting away to tend to other demands on his hospital ward.

Watching him go, you cling to the few seconds of an excuse before you have to look at Joe and judge his reaction.

Joe doesn’t wait for you to look at him. Voice quiet, he asks, “Why did you do that?”

“Because,” you say, tearing your eyes from Wainwright’s back and to Joe. Joe, who’s eyebrows are pinched and who’s eyes flickering again. “Because you have more interesting shit to say.”

A week later, an article appears in the Times, “A Screaming Eagle Talks: An Interview with an Elite American solider.” You receive a clipping of it along with a letter asking if you want his autograph. It’s the fifth letter you and Joe exchange. You send them to each other—at first across France, then across the Atlantic when he returns Stateside—but you stop counting at eighty-four letters (the war’s over and you get to hear, instead of read, all the interesting shit by then. Of course, Joe insists he’s only got something interesting to say if you’re writing it).

#band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers fic #hbo war #joe toye #joe toye imagine #one shot for yall #happy belated joe day #my writing

75 notes · View notes

allthefilmsiveseenforfree · 6 years

Text

Aquaman

My first film of 2019 and oh boy is it a doozy. Here’s the thing - I know it's gonna be bad when people keep telling me, "I can't wait for your review for this one." That does not inspire confidence in quality filmmaking because, I think we can all agree, the reviews are most beloved when I am being a petty bitch. So it’s time for 2018′s last big tentpole superhero adventure, DC’s solo Aquaman movie, starring Human Sex God Jason Momoa and Amber Heard doing shockingly bad Little Mermaid cosplay. See, Momoa plays Arthur Curry, the son of the queen of Atlantis and a mere mortal lighthouse keeper, so he has the heritage and the birthright to take the throne of Atlantis from his scheming brother (Patrick Wilson) and unite the land and the sea, if he wants to that is (he doesn’t.) There’s a lot going on here that could be wildly entertaining if handled right, so the real question is does this movie, ahem, sink or swim? Well...

It’s a tangled mess of yes and no, but honestly the problems DC has making a movie of the caliber we KNOW superhero movies are capable of sinks this whole ship. Call the Heartbreakers, cause I’m about to get Tom Petty up in this bitch.

Our story begins with a voiceover about the hero’s parents because that’s always a good sign. The Queen of Atlantis, Atlanna (Nicole Kidman) washes up on shore and enjoys some light Stockholm Syndrome with Tom, a lighthouse keeper in Maine (Temuera Morrison), leading to the birth of Arthur Curry, aka our main Aqua type Dude (Jason Momoa). Some Atlantisians - Atlantians? That just sounds like they’re from Atlanta. Some sea people come to forcibly take Nicole Kidman home after at least 2 years, like wow are these people bad at tracking their queen, but then suddenly they just know where she is? And she’s like “I have to go back, they will always find me” um well not for at least 2 years they won’t, ma’am. Anyway so she heads back into the sea and Tom is left to raise baby Arthur alone until he’s probably 8 or 9 and then the sea people’s vizier (Willem Defoe) comes to land and starts training Arthur how to do sea people stuff because he’s heir to the throne. But it’s pretty clear Nicole Kidman is no longer in Atlantis and he’s not allowed to see her...and everyone’s really mad at her for having a “half-breed” son with a land-dweller. So why is Willem Defoe here training him like a half-melted wax figurine of Mr. Miyagi? HANDWAVEY DISTRACTION so anyway, now Arthur’s all grown up doing Aquaman shit but like on the DL, cause he doesn’t want to be all obvious about it. His forced love interest Mera (Amber Heard) comes to Maine to tell him that his half-brother King Orm is planning a huge war against the land-dwellers in order to become Ocean Master and the only way to stop him is to find this Sacred Trident and take his rightful place as king. Honestly a bunch of other shit happens too but if you’re as hung up as I am on the Ocean Master thing, I think we can all agree we have enough info to proceed.

Some thoughts and also questions because this movie demands questions:

As I’m sure you can guess, the script is just....it’s just so bad. Within the first 15 minutes, we got to hear the following exchange - Nicole Kidman, crying and marveling at the wetness on her face: "Our tears are always taken by the sea." Tom: "Not here. Here we feel them." This is meant to be a scene in which a woman is leaving the love of her life and her infant child, presumably forever. And we got sea tears.

The gravity with which the phrases "ocean master" and "sacred trident" are spoken is just something I was not emotionally prepared to deal with. This makes it sound like I can’t handle Maguffins in comic book movies which I absolutely can! But it helps if they at least sound otherworldly or mysterious. Ocean Master sounds like a game of I Spy you made up at SeaWorld to get your little nephew Caydlen to stop trying to crawl into the touch tank.

Every location is SOMEWHERE IN THE ____ SEA. I understand that the ocean is vast and contains multitudes. But you can’t be any more specific than that? You can’t be any more specific than that ten times?

I like how, at one point, there is scientist on cable news talking about the existence of Atlantis, and he is being depicted as SO crazy that the audience is meant to think he's ridiculous when we literally know he's telling the truth. The conspiracy theories he’s touting are the exact thing that is going on in the movie, but he comes across as a fool because...we’re....meant to feel foolish? For believing in Atlantis? Does no one work in marketing at DC or Warner Brothers? I’m legitimately asking whose choice this was.

This is all coming across as very negative, so let’s focus on some good. 1) Jason Momoa. The man is basically a human god, so the casting is excellent - he’s funny, he’s disarming, he’s cool, he’s the bad boy you wanna take home to mom. He plays the part excellently and even manages to make some of the world’s clunkiest dialogue sound kind of ok.

2) Some sequences really, really work - the trench sequence was a particular fave, and I think speaks mostly to director James Wan’s horror movie street cred. It was visually rich, atmospheric, and terrifying.

That’s pretty much it for the positives.

Why the fuck is Dolph Lundgren here?

I don’t think I mentioned this above, but more movies need to have viziers.

There’s a literal octopus playing the drums during a fight to the death like the filmmakers expected us NOT to immediately mentally sing “Under the Sea”?? During the first climactic battle between our hero and his main nemesis??? Like what tone is this even going for? Is it supposed to be silly? It takes itself too seriously. Is it supposed to be a 60s era Saturday morning cartoon? There’s too much “the land-dwellers are poisoning our oceans and killing our people so we need to start a holy war” for that. Is it supposed to be a wayward manchild finds his raison d’etre origin story? Did you read the thing about the octopus.

And what the fuck is going on with this soundtrack. The crunchy NUH-NUH-NUHHH guitar chord every time Momoa tosses off a horrible one-liner in his first scene. The techno-battle music that’s aping the far superior Daft Punk soundtrack to Tron: Legacy during a high-speed foot chase in fucking SICILY. And then Pitbull shows up to perform the audio equivalent of a used condom found in the back of a 2003 Hummer, a bafflingly ill-conceived cover of Toto’s “Africa.” Do you know how bad a song has to be for it to be the worst cover of “Africa” in a year where WEEZER covered “Africa”???

I literally don’t even have time to get into the out-of-nowhere secondary villain, Black Manta, who could have had potential if he weren’t playing his scenes like he’s in a 1988 Steven Seagal movie. I’m all for “this is kinda stupid but I’m still having fun” movies. I genuinely enjoyed last year’s The Predator and The Hurricane Heist! But the only person who seems to be having any fun here is Momoa, and even then it’s amidst a bloated, overstuffed mess of a script. I’m not going to say I had a bad time watching this movie, but I certainly don’t think it’s for the reasons any of the filmmakers were intending.

#119in2019 #aquaman #aquaman review #jason momoa #amber heard #willem dafoe #patrick wilson #nicole kidman #temuera morrison #dolph lundgren #james wan #movie reviews #film reviews

40 notes · View notes

theseeker469-blog · 6 years

Text

Sharing my experience as a Seeker 469

I want to share my experience as a 9w1 4w5 6w5 sx sp. (Warning: personal shit. Also, probably spelling mistakes in this as I wrote this late at night and my brain don’t work good, neither do my eyes.) 9 I'm very easy going and peaceful. I do have a back bone, it just takes more for it to kick in. An example that stands out to me is in a computer class I took, we were working on a coding our own games, we had worked on them for months and we were going to have people visit our class to test them. It was the day we had the visiters and my friend offered to help me code the start screen as I hadn't bothered to make one so accepted the offer. A few minutes later she turns to me with a worried look saying she broke my game and she doesn't know how to fix it. She looked at me like I was about to explode and for a moment I thought I might to, but then I was was like,"that's okay, it was accident, lets just focus on fixing it." (I'm paraphrasing here) I think the biggest problem for me as 9 sx is how I react in relationships, or rather how I don't react, I'm not even a person. What I mean by that is I have a tendency to merge with the other person, I sink into the relationship, become complacent and lose myself in the relationship. It's difficult to have a clear and critical mind and to deal with problems as they present themselves in a relationship as I become avoidant. I'm trying to keep an eye out for this and figure out ways to avoid it for future relationships. Also, llllaaaaaazzzzzziiiiiiinnnnneeeessssss. I think I've said enough. As for how I became a 9, I think it was influenced a lot by a few events when I was young. I have a very small family, just me and my mum, I also had a few people outside of my family I was very close too. One of them was a carer at my local day care called David, he was like a dad to me, my happiest memory was one of him. But when I was about 6 he left to become a policemen. When I was 6 my best friend and one of my only two other friends moved away. My mum was very close with another single mother called Kathy, she was like an Aunt to me. I spent a lot of time with her and her kids. One day my mum and Kathy got in a huge arguement and never spoke again. My mum raised me by herself, she was constantly stress, she did not have the energy to pay attention to me so she treated e like an annoyance and took her frastrutions out on me. After these events I felt very abandoned, alone and left behind. I didn't want be a bother or cause trouble in fear I wouldn't be tolerated or that I would be abandoned. (Sorry this sounds sad, I'm fine now) 1 Wing I'm very self critical. I feel really bad about being lazy, emotional or anxious and I care a lot about being moral and principled. I've heard that the 9w1 can be very religious or spiritual, this is definitely not the case for me. I'm an athiest and ahumanist. The most spiritual thing about me is the poster I have on my wall that says, "Nature will kill you and make new things from you, " and my love of nature. 4 Onto the 4. 4, oh 4. I remember back when I was 14 and going throught my emo phrase. thought, between the 9 and the 6 in my tritype I was a very chill and well behaved emo. I just wore eye liner and listened to Bullet For My Valentnie. I have the distinct memory from when I was 8. I was sitting outside the classroom eating my lunch and looking around. Everyone I looked at smart, talented, funny, good, they were something, but what was I? Then I looked up at the sky, it was empty and blue, it loked so peaceful and clear. Up there there's no one to be compared to, just vast openness. I was a shy kid, I was having trouble at home, I wwas being bullied at school and I was falling behind in class. I felt like a weirdo and a reject and that became part of my identity. (Please don't feel bad for me, I'm fine now. I have great friends, I'm doing well in school and I'm happy) I think I've come to a point were I'm not so worried about being bland. Even if my identity over lap with others, that's fine, that's not a crime and humans are limited. I'm just focussed on growth. All that emotional depth is great channelled into art, poetry and making use of my desire to be unique can be useful. 5 wing I think this makes my already shy and self conscious tritype even more withdrawn. I fear being dull and useless, boring and incompetent. I love knowledge and understanding. one time in a science class back in high school we were doing an experiment, I think it was testing what chemicals were in a mystery solution. The instruction were very strangely worded and many people were having trouble figuring them out. The teacher came over to try and explain it to me, but I became increasing more confused and I ended up messing up my group's experient. I felt so bad and embarassed, I just desparately wanted to understand this simple experiment. My face flushed red and I started to cry. I was fine in after a few minutes with a few pats on the back and passience from my group and teacher, they were very kind and in the end I finally understood! 6 Finally the 6 and all my anxiety, yay! Although I haven't been diagnosed I have been in therapy for social anxiety, I also may have general anxiety, but that's just speculation. You maybe aware of the fight or flight response, well there's actually 5 responses, fight, flight, freeze, friend or flop. I'm more of a flight, freeze or flop kinda person. Although, I'm normally relaxed UNTIL I'M NOT. I once had a panic attack on a faress wheal and I'm scared I'm going to get sick but I'll be too nervous and uncertain to call an ambulence and I'll die. Sounds fun. What even is the purpore of being a 6? Oh, you couldn't trust people as a kid so now you have perminant issues? Cool. I'm very loyal. I take a while to warm up to people, but once we're close I'll probably be the one diggin your grave or releasing your ashes off a cliff over the ocean. I've known one of my closest friends since I was 2 and I've known most of my closest friends since I was 6 or 7. I turn to authority when in trouble. I was bullied as a kid(big surprise) and I told a teacher this kid picked on me. Eventually the teacher got sick of it and and suspended him. He never talked to me again, yay! THEY MAY CALL ME A DOBBER BUT I SHOWED THEM THE POWER OF TELLING AN ADULT O-O I doubt myself a lot. A good example of this is my little freak out my art earlier this year. I'm studying art in college and about half way through the year I was feeling so utterly overwhelmed with uncertainty as I haven't been getting any feed back from my teacher. All these doubts seeped into my mind. One night I just went home and cried because I was so stressed, I felt like I had no idead what I was doing. The next week I finally got some reallt good feedback and my teacher told me she hadn't said anything because she didn't have any problems with my work. I was so relieves. It's not that I need someone to validate me, give me attention or praise me, it's just that i don't know what the hell I'm doing and I need some kind of indicater I'm going in the right direction. This is why I like math. It's either wrong or right, there's no uncertainty. 5 Wing (Pretty much apply what I wrote for 4w5 here) I JUST WANT TO UNDERSTAND. 9w1 4w5 6w5 sx sp Okayyyyyy, so overall I'm peaceful, loyal, shy and soft. At times I'm plagued by uncertainty, anxiety, laziness and self-consciousness. I want to get along, learn, create and live by my principles. Also, please don't leave me. Jk, Idk you, thanks for reading, bye.<3

(Also, songs. Because why not?)

9 Obnessed - Are You Down

4 Bully - Trying

6 Liza Anne - Panic Attack

#469 tritype #tritype 469 #enneagram 4 #enneagram 6 #enneagram 9 #enneagram tritype #enneagram #tritype #type 6 #type 4 #type 9 #9 sx #9w1 #1w9 #4w5 #4w3 #6w5 #6w7 #4 #6 #9

50 notes · View notes

zombierunfiction · 7 years

Text

Season 2 Mission 14: You're Rocking The Boat

Charlotte couldn't believe her eyes. Sara was alive! She smiled brightly as she ran over past the now broken pieces of deck and tackled Sara onto the deck making the blonde grunt laughing. "Sara... Oh god Sara you're alive...." Charlotte cried softly hugging her tight.

"Holy Mary, mother of God - Runner Eight... Wait, am I hallucinating through stress? Janine, do I need a slap?" Sam asked.

"I'm quite willing to deliver one if you'd like me to, Mr Yao." Janine stated.

"Uh, no. That's um, very generous of you." Sam hesitated.

"I'm a very kind person." Janine said with a smirk.

"But Runner Eight! Is that... is that really you, Runner Eight? We thought you were dead!" Sam said happily.

"She can't hear you. No headset." Janine stated.

Sara gently hugged Charlotte tight before getting up slowly. "Nice to see I was missed. I suppose you all thought I was dead."

"Yeah, just a bit." Simon stated.

"Yeah. because you know, that's what usually happens when you get bitten by a zombie. And run away, saying you've been bitten by a zombie." Jody explained.

"I didn't think you were dead." Charlotte said wiping her eyes of the tears of happiness.

Sara chuckled punching Charlotte's shoulder. "That's my girl. Always keep the faith. It's a long story. I'll tell you when we're not in imminent fear of our lives, okay?"

"Good point." Simon said.

"Fair enough." Jody agreed.

"Before that, we've got some people to save. Come on, up these stairs!" Sara said leading them through the door where they let out the zombies. Soon they came across some zombies that hadn't followed the others out. Charlotte and Sara took them out easily. "That's the last of the zoms for now. Let's get these doors open." Charlotte and Simon slams their shoulders into the door before stumbling in. "We'll have to move quickly. The bridge should be down this corridor."

"Should be?" Jody questioned. "You mean, you didn't come from the bridge?"

"No, no, no, not just now. But it was me who told the captain to put in that shout out for you, Char. I couldn't tell him to mention my name. You'd think it was a trick, because you all thought I was dead." Sara said looking at Charlotte. "I knew you were trustworthy, Char. And I hoped you wouldn't be able to resist a mystery."

Charlotte chuckles then looks around. "What... what happened on this ship?"

"Yeah. It hasn't been sailing around like this since the apocalypse, has it? A ghost ship full of zoms..." Jody said softly.

Sara laughed softly. "Still spooky as ever Jody. Glad to see you haven't changed. Now, they had a good thing going here for a while. About three hundred people on a massive cruise liner, crew and captain still alive. Some of the passengers - those who had heard enough about what was happening on land not to want to get to their familiar or friends - they threw their lot in together. Sailed the seas, zom-free."

"So, that's why it looks so, kind of, military? all those locked containers on deck, all the doors numbered with those codes..." Jody said.

"Yeah, yeah. They run a tight ship here. Kept their supplies in good order. Stopped off in ports to gather more-" Sara started before Simon held up his hand.

"Oh, don't tell me. I've heard this tune before. One person gets bitten, doesn't tell anyone else -" Then Jody lept into the statements.

"-enclosed space-"

"-nowhere to run to-" Simon continued.

"-dark corridors with the sea battering against them, trying to barricade the enterences but knowing it's impossible to defeat the undead rising up around you-" Jody said seeming to get more sinister as she spoke.

"Yeah, that's enought thinking about it for you, Jody." Charlotte said. "You'll give yourself nightmares."

"Come on! There are a few survivors holed up in here." Sara said knocking at the door. "Captain the zombies are gone." She called as the door opened letting them in quickly.

"Sara Smith! We thought you were dead." The man wearing the captain's uniform said quickly locking up the door. The sound of people talking and a baby crying is heard as Charlotte looks at everyone. They were scared, hungry, and in shock.

"You're not the only one." Simon said softly.

"I got lucky. Come on, we've got to get out. Charlotte, you carry the baby." Sara said as Charlotte stepped over to the young mother who gently handed Charlotte the baby. She gently pat the baby boy's back to sooths it gently. "Now, Char, you know what to do. Off this ship as fast as you can." Sara said as she opened the door fast. "Go!" Charlotte took off down the stairs quickly holding the boy tight. She could hear the footsteps of the others hot on her heels as they head for the rope bridge.

"It is, though, isn't it? It is actual, real Runner Eight, totally alive and stuff?" Sam said laughing softly. "Oh Raijit's going to be pretty pissed off after he carved that memorial statue out of soap. Janine's had to leave for a bit - maybe she's gone to tell him. Runner Eight... Runner Eight! Lucky we didn't give her designation to anyone else in the meantime."

"Sam? Just a quick thing. We're about to climb up onto the cliffs. Are there any, you know zombies around that might try and eat us?" Jody question as they all started to climb on the rope bridge back onto the cliff.

"Oh, I um... oh yeah, no. Just checking my cameras for you now. Nope, all looks clear. You seem to have got all the survivors out." Sam said as everyone cheered as Charlotte gently bounced the baby looking for the mother.

"My baby!" The woman said running over to her. "We can't thank you enough!" She said as Charlotte handed her the baby.

"No problem." She said walking over to Sara as the Aurora captain walked over.

"Sara, Jody here was telling me you saved their lives. We never made a better decision than pulling you out of the ocean." He said happily.

"Out of the..." Jody questioned for a moment before he continued.

"We've got all the living out now, but well, you should know we had quite a cargo with us. Electronic components, medicine, weapons, canned and dried food. The Aurora's got a hole punched in her the size of a car where we hit rocks before I could get to the bridge, and the tide's coming in, but that'd be the way in, if you want to try and rescue some cargo."

"Wading around in a sinking ship in the dark? Don't you know Titantic's my favorite movie?" Simon said sarcasticly as he walked over.

"I'll try and find some Celine Dion for you." Sam said.

"No please... I don't want to be like Margret Atwood." Charlotte said as Sam chuckled softly. Soon the four of them were down on the beach on the bottom of the ship. "The hole is under the tide. We will have to swim in."

Sara nods as they wade into the water and dive below the water into the hole. They broke the surface gasping as Sara climbed onto the stairs holding her hand out to Jody helpping her up. Jody and Sara helpped Simon onto the stairs as Charlotte swam over. Sara and Jody reached down grabbing both of her arms lifting her out.

"God was that cold." Jody said shivering.

Simon shivers as well before speaking. "Okay, climbing up through a giant hole in the boat that's rapidly filling with water. I like an air of danger. Now guys, I know that this is what they always say in horror movies, but I think we should all spl-"

"Don't say it." Jody said quickly.

"I think it's sort of against the jinx if you say that that's what they always say in horror movies." Simon countered.

"No, it intensifies it!" Jody cried. "Haven't you seen Scream, or Cabin in the Woods, or any post-modern horror movie?"

"You know, I did think -" Simon started before Charlotte holds up her hand.

"We should split up. It's the best strategy." Charlotte said.

"Simon and Jody, you go towards the forward compartments. That's where we all slept, and the meds and food are there. Lots of antibiotics, sterile dressings. Char, you and me will go down into the hold via the back stairwell, there, to get the weapons. It should be mostly zom-free." Sara said pointing to a door at the top of the stairs.

"Mostly..." Jody said softly.

"Charlotte's seen it all. Come on, Char. If we don't stay ahead of the tide, we'll be trapped in this ship with a horde of zombies. Quicker we're in, quicker we're home. Run!" Sara said fast as they headed their assigned ways.

Once through the door Charlotte and Sara headed down the stairs as fast as they could seeing the water rushing in starting to fill the section. "This place is filling fast and it's as dark as balls in here."

Sara snorted suddenly. "Dark as balls? Have you been hanging out with Simon more often. Your jokes are suffering."

Charlotte laughed softly. "Well someone was busy living on a cruise ship instead of being back at Abel."

Sara reached into her pocket and putted off the top of a flare as it lights up the room. "That's better. We can see by my flare now. Atleast we're running another mission together, you and me." They get to the bottom of the stairs finding that the water was up to their thighs. "Just keep up the steady pace. I know it's hard, with the water up past your knees. We'll be there soon."

A sudden loud shriek echos through the ship making both of them turn fast. "What in the hell was that?" Charlotte questions.

"Sounds like some people are still turning gray down here, I think." Sara said.

"It didn't sound like a zombie." Sam said softly.

"Things sound different echoing through water..." Sara explains as they continue through the water.

"You... sure it's just zombies?" Charlotte asked.

"To be honest, I haven't been down this far before. They kept the lower doors locked from the start. I don't know what's happening down there, and I don't want to know. We just have to get out now, Char." Sara said quickly as another shriek echos through the ship.

"That... yeah. Five, get out as quickly as you can. something... it sounds like something happened down here." Sam said.

"So how did you even end up on this ship, Sara?" Charlotte asked.

"I'd been floating for five days. Got chased by a pack of a hundred zoms on a dockside. Managed to get a small boat moving, went out to sea. Great idea, except it was low on fuel, and once that was gone, no way to get back inland. Drifted further and further out to sea. I was damned lucky the Aurora picked me up a while ago. Less lucky the last time they went to shore to hunt and pick food, someone must have got bitten. Well, you know how fast that spreads." Sara explained.

"Yeah... but were they letting people down here before then?" Charlotte asked.

The sound of groaning was heard behind them making both of them turn fast. "Damn! We've picked up four zoms. Come on char, keep going!" Sara said as they continued to try and run through the water.

"You know, I'm suddenly quite grateful for ordinary zoms." Charlotte said as Sara looks back.

"Been seeing a lot of those fast ones?" Sara questioned.

"Increaseingly. They seem to have a boner for me aparently." Charlotte said making Sara snort chuckling.

"Good to know our runs won't be boring." she responded as she looked around. "I know they stored weapons and ammo just through this hatch, and I can tell you-" Sara starts as they opened the hatch as a suddenly wave of water with an odd smell washed over them. "I'm extinguishing the flare, using a battery torch." Sara said putting out the flare quickly as she reaches into the water pulling out a battery torch pointing it ahead of them.

"That's a lot of guns for a small crew." Charlotte said looking at the guns on the walls of the ship. "Why would a cruise liner have all those weapons?"

"They were lucky, I think. Teamed up with some Navy people early on. Okay, Char. I'll put these hand guns and clips into your pack." Sara said as Charlotte handed her the pack. "You take those rifles. come on we've got to get moving. Come on!"

Charlotte started grabbing all of the rifles she could grab as Sam speaks up. "What's the hurry? four slow zoms behind you, tide won't be in for another half hour yet."

"You can't smell what we can smell. There's not just water leaking through this compartment - it's fuel!" Charlotte said quickly. "The flare would have ignited it and if we're not careful and quick we will go up like a roman candle."

"Oh that's not good." Sam said slowly.

"Come on!" Sara said as they got to a set of stairs and ran up it quickly. "There, see it!" She pointed to a side wall that had a tank with a large hole punctured into it from a beam above them.

"Must have been smashed when you dropped the life boats. Let's go!" Charlotte said as they ran up the several flights of stairs.

"Probably should be shooting at anything about now. Even those zoms approaching from that deck." Sara said fast as they continued to run up the stairs.

"I've warned Four and Three. They're off the ship with a haul of electronics and meds." Sam laughed softly. "Doc Myers is pretty excited. Now, get off that thing as quickly as you can, Char. It's getting dark, though. Mind your step, and mind those zoms!"

"It's ok, Sam. We're nearly there. Okay, okay, come on!" Sara said as a zombie slammed out of another deck just missing Charlotte. Charlotte cried out and raced up after Sara.

"Fuck! That zom nearly got me!" Charlotte shouted.

They pushed up several pieces of broken ship and made it onto the main deck. They raced along the holes in the deck avoiding them as the captain was waiting on the otherside of the rope bridge. "Sara! This way, over here!" He said as Sara ran over the bridge followed by Charlotte.

Simon came up behind them and cut the rope quickly to keep the zoms from joining them on the cliff side. Charlotte panted heavily laying the rifles on the grass breathing slowly. "Wow. That is a lot of guns." Jody said.

"We brought what we could. James, uh, the Abel Township runners here were asking... why was it that no one was allowed down belowdecks, even before the outbreak?" Sara asked looking at the captain.

"Well, we, uh..." He paused. "... before the outbreak?"

"Yeah. When I came aboard? Whenyou picked me up from the ocean? Even then, no one was allowed down to the very lowest decks." Sara said.

The captain thinks for a moment. "It was for safety. Some of the ventilation stopped working, no one could fix it. Dangerous build-up of gases."

Charlotte looks over at him oddly. There was no build up of gases save for the fuel that was leaking into the room. "Dangerous build-up of screaming gases." Sam said softly into her headset.

"And now the tide's going to come and carry that ship away with all those lost souls inside it, sailing forever on that voyage of the damned!" Jody said dramaticly.

Charlotte blinked looking over at Jody. "Wait, have you been reading Edgar Allen Poe again?"

"Hmm... Maybe we could get someone to come back in the morning, thought, if it's still there. Take a look." Sam said softly.

"That's not the way I want my vessel to end. Hand me that flare." The captain said holding his hand out to Sara. Sara handed him the flare confused as he lights it then tosses it into one of the holes.

Charlotte stood up quickly. "What are you-"

Suddenly an explosion comes from the ship as a plomp of fire and smoke errupt from the ship coming out of the several holes in the vessel making everyone shield their eyes. The fire felt hot as Charlotte slowly uncovered her eyes seeing the ship now on fire.

"Wow..." Jody breathed.

"There goes the Aurora." Simon said as he watched the ship burning.

"Why were they storing flammable fuel on deck?" Sam questioned.

Sara sighed as she turned to Charlotte. "Now we'll never know what was happening in the lower decks."

"Uh, yeah. I suppose we can bring the survivors in, for food and shelter. I mean, I suppose that's what we should do." Sam said.

"Tide will carry her out to sea, like a Viking Funeral for all the lost souls that were on her." The captain said as Charlotte looked at him slowly. She picked up the rifles and steps away from the group.

"Sam... what ever happened there that needed a lot of guns and ended in screaming will be buried at the bottom of the ocean. I suggest we might encourage the survivors to move on after a few days." Charlotte whispered softly.

"Sounds like a good thought. Bring them in." Sam said as she looked at Simon and Jody who she knew heard her. They nodded in agreement as they started to lead them back towards Abel.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

< 49 >

Season 1 Beginning

Season 2 Beginning

#zombie #zombies run #zombie run #ZombieRun #zombiesrun #run #runner 5 #runner five #runner5 #runnerfive #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic

4 notes · View notes

inkstainedfanfics · 7 years

Text

Have You Ever Seen a Heart Shatter

Request: can you write an imagine with newt scamander where the reader compares herself so much to tina??? angst angst angst please!! your writing is astounding btw ❤️❤️

Word Count: 2,156

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Part 2

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in

“Tina Goldstein, resident goddess.” You mutter as you storm through the front door and down the long staircase rife with splinters and creaky spots. Not to mention the unkind tenants that live on the third and fourth floors. Their shouts follow you down as your boots crash against the steps.

Tina this, Tina that, Tina the infallible. You skip three steps when you jump down onto the landing and yank open the front door. Tina can do no wrong, even when she’s unemployed and obsessive.

The wind slams into your side, trying to knock you off-balance. You shiver but stride forward, no real destination in mind other than to be far away from her. No one had even looked up when you shoved your chair back from the kitchen table, too busy hanging on every word of some story about capturing some man that used a spell in front of some muggle to care about you. They love Tina’s stories about her adventures.

It’s not like you’re exactly employed. You’d met Newt on a research trip years before. The chemistry between the two of you had been obvious to everyone and it hadn’t taken long for the two of you to pair up for the study. Soon enough, Newt asked you to help him observe some mooncalves under the starry sky and, after some laughing and held hands, a new relationship began. The two of you agreed to work together and alternate research trips. This trip to release Frank was one of Newt’s ideas, meaning that you’re really nothing more than a magizoologist’s assistant.

Still, it’s more fascinating than just running after people and bringing them into MACUSA, right? You meet some of the rarest beasts on your journeys. Tina does nothing but arrest people and memorize the ridiculous laws on magic that Americans put into place. Every auror has stories just as mesmerizing as Tina’s, though the others disagree. Even Newt seems to think they’re interesting enough to warrant ignoring you.

You scowl and wrap your arms around yourself as you continue forward. If Newt wants to spend all of his time with some other girl with perfect hair let him.

Newt would rather be with Tina.

Your anger seeps into the gusts of wind, and a deep grief replaces it.

You and Newt had worked with women on other cases. It’s never been a problem, and you trust Newt. You know he would never willingly cheat on you or try to fall out of love with you, but you do know that feelings can change in a heartbeat. And that is what worries you: Tina is different. She’s beautiful with those big, sad eyes and her never frizzy hair. You can’t compare with such a natural loveliness.

Then there’s her job. God, you do have to admit it’s fascinating. Aurors have some of the best stories behind their scars. Yours tend to just be about waiting too long to feed a creature or upsetting it with a bath.

A long sigh trails out of your mouth. She’s smart, too, and has a sense of humor that coaxes a smile out of Newt with every joke. You used to be the only one able to do that when Newt was having a difficult day. The weight in your chest sinks lower. He would be fine without you. All this time, you’d thought both of you needed each other. Now, with Tina in the picture, you realize it’s one-sided.

Your pants and tucked-in shirt do little to protect you from the icy wind blowing off the harbor water. You rub your arms and look around, uncertain how you ended up here. A few people stand near the docks, bags stacked at their feet, watching the ships bob up and down in the high waves. One lone boat—a passenger liner—floats toward the spectators. Grey clouds climb over one another in the sky, reaching higher and higher until you realize you can’t see their tips.

A storm. Great.

You scan the area behind you, searching for some familiar shop but find none.

The grief nestles further in your chest when you realize you’re completely and utterly lost. Little as you want to see Tina right now, you decide to apparate back to her apartment. At least there you can curl up next to Newt while he’s still yours. If you can get him away from Tina for a few moments.

The wind whistles and you swear you hear your name on it. It reminds you of the stories you used to tell your little sister at night when the shrieking wind outside left her shaking in her bed.

It’s just the ocean calling for you, Rosa. She wants you to visit again. She misses your smile.

The stories would calm her crying and leave her snoring in your arms as you stared out the window at the dancing tree branches, wondering where life would lead you.

You smile despite the situation. It’s been a while since you’ve seen Rosa. She’s a journalist, so she’s constantly busy perfecting stories or traveling to cover events, and whenever she’s free, you’re busy traveling to save an injured creature or study a rare beast. Maybe when this all ends, you can ask Newt to visit her with you. If he wants to leave New York at all.

The alley is just in front of you when the first drop of rain splatters against the bricks. You rush forward and into the slight cover it offers.

You don’t even notice the woman until her hoarse voice echoes through the alley. “Who are you?” She melts from the shadows behind you, head tilted, cigarette stub drooping from the corner of her mouth.

“I’m sorry, I must be lost. I was just looking for my friend.”

She lifts an eyebrow and drops the cigarette. “I haven’t seen anyone pass by since the storm started crawling its sorry ass over here.”

“Oh.” You stare at the ground. “I must have gotten the address wrong.”

“Maybe I could help direct you. I know the backways of this shithole city better than anyone.” She slides forward, straightening. “Of course, it comes with a price.” She stands only an inch or two taller than you, but scars mar her face and she eyes you like a wolf.

“No, that’s okay. Thank you, though.” You nod your head at her, eyes wide. “I’ll just be going.”

“Awe, come on. I’m interested to meet the friend that sent you this way.”

Your entire body trembles at her approaching stalk. “Please just let me go.”

“I’m not holding you captive, sweetie.”

The final word sends you reaching for your wand.

“Do you really want to fight?” She purrs, but she reaches for her back pocket, too.

“Leave her alone.” The quiet voice interrupts whatever else the girl had opened her mouth to say.

She breaks your stare and looks at the alley’s entrance. She smiles at your savior, but you can see her sizing up the voice’s owner. “Is this the friend? Wow, sweetie, you should have told me he’s so cute.”

Newt’s face holds nothing but pure hate as he glares at the woman. You’ve never seen him look at anyone like that. There’s always been at least a speck of Newt’s kindness hidden somewhere in the hard lines of his face when you’re in danger. This time, there’s nothing. Not even when he glances at you.

“I told you to leave her alone.”

“Another wizard, huh?” Her laugh turns into a snarl as Newt raises his wand. “I’ve seen too many of you around here. You know how many people want us kind dead? You’re going to get us caught and killed.”

“Leave her alone.” His quiet voice punctuates every word. The threat lingers in the cool air. Newt stands straight, not even flinching as a clap of thunder roars through the air around him.

The stranger glares at you but turns and dashes away without another word, disappearing into the maze of buildings further within the city.

You swallow when you face Newt. He strides forward and yanks you against his chest. You hear his rushing heartbeat for only a moment before he pushes you away and glances over you.

“Are you hurt?” The kindness still hasn’t returned.

“No.” You trip on the word, though, terror still choking you.

Despite your answer, he looks you over, taking in every old scar and cut, searching for any new ones. Once he’s positive that you weren’t injured in the confrontation, he steps back, shaking his head.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was trying to get back to Tina’s.”

“By cutting through streets you don’t know?”

His tone stings. “I was going to apparate.”

“Why did you leave without so much as a word earlier? I tried to follow you through the streets, but you were going too fast. You’re lucky I saw you just before you walked in here.”

So he was the one that called your name.

You drop his gaze. “I needed some air.”

“You should have told me where you were going.” His wand still hangs at his side, ready to be raised if any more threats appear.

“You were busy.”

“I was just speaking with Tina.”

“Exactly.” You bristle at his tone, his anger with you. He goes out all the time without you.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means what it means.”

“What is your problem?”

Your lower lip quakes. “My problem is that you’re out there traveling the city every day falling love with some other woman that isn’t me.”

The hard lines in Newt’s face soften some but not enough. “I’m not falling in love with anyone. I have work to do. You understand that.”

“You always have work to do. So do I. The difference is that I make time for you. I don’t give up and fall in love with some auror that’s funnier and more handsome than you.” Rain sneaks through the gap between the two rooftops of the buildings that form the alleyway and soaks through your shirt and shoes.

Newt frowns, frustrated. “There’s nothing between her and I. Our relationship is strictly platonic.”

“Really? Because that’s not what I heard her saying to Jacob last night. In fact, she thinks she has a shot with you, Newt. She thinks something may happen between the two of you once I’m out of the picture.”

An odd expression crosses Newt’s face, replacing the hard lines with something close to curiosity. Your heart shatters.

The wind nearly sweeps away your three whispered words. “I knew it.”

Newt focuses on your face again. “There is nothing going on between Tina and I, nor will there ever be anything. I love you. Not her.” He reaches for your hands but you pull them away.

You shake your head as the tears in your eyes streak down your already wet face. “You paused. You paused when I told you what she said.”

“Not because I’m interested in her.” He reaches for you again.

“No, Newt, don’t. Just admit you want her and not me.”

Newt runs a hand through his drenched hair, pulling apart the curls you loved oh so much, frustration returning. “Stop being ridiculous for a second and listen to me.”

“Maybe I should go.”

The two of you are soaked to the bone in rain and tired. That still doesn’t lessen the pain of Newt’s next words.

“If you don’t trust me, you may as well.”

You know the pain shows on your face, and on the way you curl inward, and on the way you turn from Newt. You know he sees it as easily as you see the instant regret painted in every plane of his face as soon as his sentence leaves his mouth. You two know each other too well to hide anything.

You know he didn’t mean what he said. That he only said it because of a rush of adrenaline and a lack of sleep, having been up all night working on his manuscript. You know that you should take those facts into account, that they should matter.

But this is it. You can feel it in your bones.

It’s time to go.

Newt notices the shift in your demeanor. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I’m sorry, Newt.”

“I promise, there’s nothing there.”

“I love you so much.” You take a step back.

“Listen to me. I’ll speak with her, okay? I’ll tell her she’s wrong. I’ll tell her I’m never leaving you. Please come back with me. I’ll make you a cup of tea, and we’ll talk about this. I’ll listen.”

“Please.” Your voice breaks. You curse your shaking hands, curse New York, curse Tina for making you walk away from the one person you never expected to leave. “Please don’t follow me.”

Without waiting for Newt’s reply, you apparate, leaving Newt’s shout behind.

#newt scamander #newt Scamander x reader #newt Scamander imagine #newt Scamander one shot #newt Scamander angst #newt x reader #newt Scamander imagines #fbawtft #angst #I hope this is painful enough for everyone that loves angst out there #and anon I hope this is what you wanted!#requested

2K notes · View notes

anavoliselenu · 7 years

Text

Relase me chapter 15

He strokes my cheek, and I smile. “We both got out,” I say, forcing myself away from melancholy. “And now we’re both free to explore other options.”

His expression turns devious as his hand creeps down. “Let me show you what I want to explore.”

I gasp as he slides his fingers inside me.

“Too sore?”

I am, but I don’t want to admit it. “No,” I whisper.

“I’m very glad to hear it.” He lays me back, then eases his body on top of mine. His weight feels delicious, the pressure safe. Like he’s holding me close and protecting me. His mouth brushes mine in a flurry of soft kisses that start at my lips and then trail down my neck before he eases back up to press a kiss to my ear. “I thought we’d try something new,” he says. “Or, rather, something old.”

“Old?”

“Plain, old-fashioned missionary position. Spread your legs, baby,” he says, then groans in satisfaction when I do. The wide head of his cock presses against me, but he doesn’t enter. Instead he moves just slightly, teasing us both.

My breath comes in fluttering gasps, and just as I’m about to break down and beg, he thrusts inside me. I gasp, arching back, grimacing from both pain and pleasure.

“I think someone broke the rules,” he murmurs as he finds his rhythm and eases in and out of me. “I think you lied when you said you weren’t sore.”

I grin up at him, mischievous. “Maybe I did. Maybe it was worth it.”

“I’ll go nice and easy,” he says, and he does, moving so slow and deep that it’s almost like torture as the crescendo builds, higher and higher until I finally explode in his arms, limp and open to him. His orgasm follows quickly, and he clutches me, slamming hard into me, then collapsing against me.

“There’s something to be said for traditional,” I murmur, and beside me, Justin laughs.

For a few minutes, we just lay in the dark listening to the ocean. Then Justin takes my hand. “Let’s get cleaned up and eat.”

I’m not about to argue with either of those, so I slide back into the robe and follow the stunning view of a naked Justin past the fireplace to the rest of the third floor. It’s also been finished out, and there’s a tricked-out, restaurant-sized kitchen—“just a small one for parties”—a still unfurnished bedroom, and the most amazing bathroom I’ve ever seen. It’s at least twice the size of Jamie’s condo. The ceiling is over thirteen feet high, and it’s made entirely of glass. Right now, it’s a dark void, but if Justin were to turn off the lights, I imagine that the stars would twinkle above us.

One wall is lined with a granite countertop that has two huge sinks. On either side of each is a vanity area. An electric razor is at the far sink. Along with a toothbrush and a bottle of aftershave. On the closer sink, there is another toothbrush, still in plastic. There’s also a small box. Curious, I open it, and find foundation, powder, and a variety of eye shadows and liners, all in my favorite colors.

“How did you know to get all of this?”

“I’m a man of many resources,” he says.

I frown. Why didn’t he just ask me what brand and colors I wore? I’m feeling a bit under a microscope, with nothing quite my own. It’s the way my mother always made me feel, but Justin is not Elizabeth Fairchild, and I’m afraid that I’m overreacting.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I don’t quite manage a smile.

“Your makeup preferences and shoe size are in the Macy’s gift registry,” he says gently.

“Oh.” I shake my head, feeling like a fool. “I forgot. I did that for last year’s birthday.” I take a deep breath and look him in the eye. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

I run my finger over the cool countertop. “I can’t believe how amazing this floor is. The house isn’t even finished yet.”

“I made sure to complete the areas that mattered for this week.”

“Oh. When did you do that?”

“After you agreed. It’s remarkable how fast things can be accomplished when the price is right.”

“You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I didn’t want to bring you to a construction site.” He reaches out his hand and I take it. He leads me to the back of the bathroom, past the shower with at least a dozen showerheads and a tub the size of a swimming pool.

There’s only one closet, but it’s huge. We step inside and I see that it’s been divided down the middle with something that resembles a kitchen island, but has bureau-style drawers on either side. There’s a remote control on top of the island. He picks it up and presses a button. I hear water start to run in the tub.

The right side has a few white shirts, some jeans, some slacks, and something in a garment bag. A tux, I presume. On the whole, it’s pretty thin. In contrast, the left side of the closet is packed full. Robes. Dresses. Skirts. Blouses. And shoes. Hundreds of shoes. “Mine again?” I ask, raising a brow.

“I think you’ll find it all fits.”

“You know, shopping is part of the fun.”

“And I’ve already promised you a spree. In the meantime, you have plenty to choose from.”

I roll my eyes. “What’s in the island? Underwear?”

“No.” His mouth twitches. “I thought we were clear that underwear isn’t needed.”

“But when I’m home—I mean, I’m going to have job interviews this week, I hope.”

“No underwear,” he repeats. “Not this week. Not unless I specifically tell you to.”

I consider arguing, but I don’t. It would be for form only. The truth is, the idea excites me. Being naked beneath my dress. Knowing that it’s because it pleases Justin. Thinking of him every time a breeze caresses my sex.

“Bra?” I ask.

He eyes the curve of my breasts under the red robe. “No,” he says, and my nipples peak with arousal. He notices, and I see the answering excitement in his eyes.

“People will be able to tell,” I say.

“Let them,” he says. “Come on.” I follow him to the tub. “Too hot?” he asks.

I dip my hand in. It’s hot, but not unbearable. “Not even close.”

“Really?” He looks intrigued, and turns down the cold water tap until it is only a trickle.

“Is that bubble bath?” I ask, pointing to a built-in dispenser. “Go ahead.”

I press the button, and a floral-scented gel squirts into the water right beneath the tap. Bubbles immediately form. “Now that’s a bath,” I say, laughing. “Can I get in?”

“Of course.”

I drop the robe and climb in. Already conveniently nude, Justin follows. He eases his back against the side and then settles me in between his legs. I feel his cock, soft now, against my rear. I shimmy a little, and it twitches.

“Tease,” he murmurs. He squirts some liquid soap into his hands and begins to bathe me, caressing my arms with suds, then my breasts, then dipping down to stroke between my thighs. I close my eyes and lean back, feeling him get hard against me, feeling my body opening for him again. I just had him—and now I really am a little sore—but I still want. Dear God, how I want.

His fingers tease me, gently making circles around my clit, making me squirm. “I’m not going to fuck you again,” he whispers. “And I’m not going to make you come.”

I shift position, silently protesting.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “Anticipation. It’s a good thing.”

“You’re mean,” I say.

“Baby, you ain’t seen nothing.” He grips me at the waist and eases me around, so that I’m kneeling on his lap in the tub. Considering he’s just told me he’s not going to fuck me, it’s one hell of an interesting position since the length of his cock is hard between us. I slip my hand down and stroke him. Soft, teasing. He feels like velvet on steel, and I want him inside me. Boldly, desperately, I want him. “You’re not going to fuck me,” I say softly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you.”

As I ease my hips up, I see the look of heated surprise on his face.

“Oh, no,” he warns.

“Oh, yes,” I say, positioning his cock beneath me, then lowering myself onto him, fast and hard. I clutch his shoulders, arch my head back, and ride him.

“Jesus, Selena.” His voice is a desperate groan and he grabs my hips, taking over the work of pistoning us together. I’m learning his body, and I can see how fast he’s building. I move harder, faster, pushing him along. “Oh, Christ, I’m going to come.”

He explodes inside me, then pulls me close as he breathes hard, his entire body going limp. “That was … unexpected,” he says. “And pretty damned amazing,” he adds, making me feel hot and sexy and powerful.

He strokes my cheek. “You didn’t use a condom.”

I look away, weirdly shy. “I assumed you were clean. You are, right?”

“I am,” he says. “But that’s not the only issue.”

“I’m on the pill,” I admit. I don’t tell him that it’s more for cramps than for birth control.

“Good,” he says. “In fact, that’s excellent.”

I ease off him, and curl up beside him in the rapidly cooling water. He holds me close, then shifts our position and stands, reaching to pull me up. I let him help me out and dry me off with the kind of thick towel I’ve only seen in spas. Then he holds the robe for me and ties the sash around my waist. He dries himself off next and pulls on a simple cotton robe. “Come,” he says, then leads me to the bed.

He opens a trunk and pulls out two pillows and a light comforter, which he spreads over the sheets. He holds the sheet open in an obvious invitation, so I start to slide in. “Take the robe off,” he says, and I do, untying the sash and then letting the soft material fall off my shoulders to pool at my feet.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he says, after he’s tucked me in. “I’ll be right back.”

I roll over and look out at the ocean. The windows are still open, and the cool night air is blowing in, but it’s warm under the comforter. The sky is black, and the ambient light is minimal enough that I can actually see the stars twinkling above.

After a moment, I feel the mattress shift as Justin sits beside me. He has a tray with wine, cheese, and grapes. I grin and ease myself up to a sitting position, the pillow propped against the cool metal of the bedframe.

“Open your mouth,” he says, then feeds me a grape when I comply. “You’re beautiful, Selena,” he says. “Do you believe me?”

“When you say it, I do.”

My legs are under the covers, but he rests his hand on them. “How long?”

I don’t pretend to misunderstand. “I was sixteen when I started,” I say. “My sister got married and moved out. And Mother kicked the pageant stuff into overdrive. It sounds petty, I know, but Ashley was the only person who kept me centered. Without her around, I got so frustrated I’d take the crowns out of the trophy case and bend them. Not so much that Mother noticed. Just enough so that they weren’t perfect anymore.” I shrug. “I guess I graduated from crowns to my own skin.”

“Why cutting?”

“I don’t really know. It’s a compulsion; it just felt like that was what I needed. Either cut or float off into some black hell. I felt so disconnected, like my life didn’t belong to me. The pain gave me an anchor. Now, I think it was something my mother couldn’t touch. Then, I just knew it helped. It’s hard to explain.” I shrug. I want him to understand, but I don’t really understand myself, and I don’t like talking about it.

“I get it,” he says.

I look at him, wondering if he’s just being polite, but I see genuine comprehension in his face.

“Sixteen,” he says thoughtfully. “But when I saw you compete at eighteen, there were no scars.”

“My hips,” I say. “I kept all the cuts on my hips at first. Easy enough to hide, even in a pageant dressing room.”

“What changed?” He’s holding my hand, gently stroking my fingers.

“Ashley,” I admit. “When I was eighteen, she committed suicide. Her husband had left her—my mother had been appalled. Said Ashley must have done something to drive him away. I guess Ashley thought so, too, because her suicide note said she was a failure.” I swallow, appreciating the way he’s squeezing my hand in support. “That was the first time I realized how much I hated my mother. But I still didn’t have the courage to tell her to fuck the pageants. So I sliced up my thighs.” My smile is ironic. “That’s a lot harder to hide.”

“Did she get you help?”

“No. First she went on and on about how I screwed up her plans and embarrassed her. Then she told me I was a selfish bitch because I was throwing away all that prize money and scholarships and probably even a husband.”

Justin says nothing, but I can see the burn of temper in his eyes and the tightness across his body. He’s holding in an explosion, and the fact that his wrath is on my behalf gives me the strength to continue.

“She told me I destroyed all her hard work, and she didn’t know why she’d spent years bothering with a ridiculous little fool like me. She said I’d ruined my body and my future. I guess part of me believed her, because even once I was in Austin at school, I still cut.”

He hands me a glass of wine, and I take it gratefully. “I was scared and alone and overwhelmed. But I did see a counselor, and things started to get better and finally I stopped.” I take a sip. “My mother has money,” I admit. “Nothing like you have, but she inherited the family oil business when my grandfather passed away, along with a pretty hefty bank account.” I don’t mention that Mother’s ineptitude drove the company into the ground and she ended up selling it. Now she’s living on what’s in the bank, and the fortune is shrinking every year because she hasn’t got a clue how to manage it and refuses to hire an advisor. That’s one of the reasons I’m determined to learn how to run a business before I actually have a business to run.

“Anyway, Mother cut me off financially after I declared my majors. Science wasn’t what she wanted for her little girl. But that was the best thing for me, because suddenly I didn’t have her looking over my shoulder. I didn’t have to be perfect. I didn’t quit immediately, but it started to get better, and after a while I didn’t need to cut anymore.”

My words have been pouring out of me. It’s more than I’ve ever told anyone. Even Jamie and Ollie only learned the truth in small doses. But it feels good to get it out, even though the price is the growing ferocity I see in his eyes.

Still, I haven’t told him everything.…

He puts our glasses on a table by the bed and moves the tray with the food out of the way. Then he pulls me into his arms, so that my head is resting on his shoulder. Slowly, his fingers trail up and down my arm. “I understand, baby. I promise you, I understand.”

I squeeze my eyes tight. I believe him.

“But what aren’t you telling me?”

I blink at him. “I—how do you know that?”

“The way you ran from me,” he says simply.

I ease out of his embrace and roll over on my side.

He presses his palm to my shoulder. I close my eyes.

“What if I say ‘sunset’?” My voice is a whisper.

His fingers tighten, then relax. “If you need to.” He reaches over me and takes my hand, then twines his fingers with mine. “Or you can just hold tight.”

I don’t know where to begin, so I start with the easiest. “I never slept with Ollie,” I say. “Not the way you understood me, anyway.”

He is silent, and so I continue, telling my story to the night sky and to Justin. “It was about a week after Ashley’s birthday, a few years after the suicide. I’d mostly stopped cutting, but sometimes—well, sometimes I needed it. But I was getting better. Ollie knew. And Jamie. And they were helping me.”

“What happened?”

“I got drunk. I mean wasted drunk. My mom had called and given me some head trip. I missed Ashley something fierce. And I was dating this guy. Kurt. We’d been going out for months, and it had taken me a while, but we started sleeping together, and he would tell me how he didn’t mind the scars, that I was beautiful, that it was about me, not my scars or my tits or any of that stuff. Just me and him and our connection. And I believed him and, honestly, the sex was good. We had fun together.”

I suck in a deep breath to give me courage to continue. “But this night, we both got wasted. Honestly, I don’t even know how he managed to get an erection. But he did, and we did, and afterward he looked at my legs and he”—my voice breaks with the memory—“he told me I was lucky I had a pretty face and such a sweet pussy because I was one totally screwed-up bitch, and my scars made him want to puke.”

I take deep breaths, keeping my eyes on the sky and my fingers tight in Justin’s hand. Even now, the memory makes me feel sick. I’d trusted Kurt, and he’d completely ripped me apart.

“I went to Ollie,” I continue. “He knew about my scars and he was my friend and I knew he was attracted to me. And I tried to seduce him.”

“He wouldn’t sleep with you,” Justin says.

“He wouldn’t fuck me,” I clarify. “But he took off my jeans and he told me that for some of those scars he remembered what I’d been through, and he told me that he thought I was strong. That he didn’t want me cutting anymore. That I was better than my mother and I needed to forget assholes like Kurt and finish school and get the hell out of Texas. Then he held me until I fell asleep.”

I manage a watery smile. “I thought he got me through it. Guess I still have some issues to work through, huh?”

I’ve put a light note in my voice, but Justin doesn’t respond to it.

“Justin?” I roll over to look at him, then immediately sit up. He looks angry, like he’s barely holding in his fury. I take his hand. “He’s ancient history.”

“He will be if I ever meet the fucker. What’s his last name?”

I hesitate. Considering Justin owns half the universe, I think better of saying it. “No. It’s all in the past. I’m over it,” I lie.

He eyes me but I look back blandly. “What about the other men you’ve slept with?”

I frown, surprised by the question. “There haven’t been any others. Just my first when I was sixteen—some prep school idiot my mom fixed me up with. And then Kurt.” I shrug. “It’s okay, though. I mean, I dated and fooled around, but mostly I’ve been focused on school. I haven’t been sitting in an ivory tower wondering why no one’s unlocking my chastity belt. And I own a really nice vibrator.”

The last makes him burst out laughing. “Do you?”

I can’t believe I said that. I consider lying and telling him it was a joke, but instead I just nod.

“Well, maybe someday you can show it to me.” His hand slides over my bare ass, and I have to admit that his suggestion sounds pretty tempting, though I’m not sure I’d have the nerve. Then again, where Justin is concerned, I seem to be able to find the nerve for a lot of unexpected things.

“And after Kurt?” Justin asks. “Did you cut anymore?”

“No. There were a few times I really wanted to, but no.”

“The garage?”

I remember the figure of a man as I searched for my keys. “That was you?”

“I was worried about the way you left.”

“I was scared of what you’d think. You were … I wanted you, but you were about to see them, and—”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I know, baby. Did you cut yourself?”

“I thought about it,” I admit. “I even jammed my keys into my flesh. But did I cut?” I shake my head. “No. I didn’t.”

“And you won’t.” His voice is hard, earnest. He presses his palms to my cheeks, cupping my face. “You asked if I’ll hurt you,” he says. “There are a lot of things I do—things I want to do with you. And if there’s pain, it’s only to bring more pleasure. Okay?”

I nod.

“I won’t draw blood. That’s not my thing. But even if it was, I wouldn’t do it with you. Do you understand that?”

I swallow and nod. I’m slightly embarrassed—this is starting to feel like a counseling session. But at the same time, his words and his concern are making me feel cherished. Like I’m more than just the girl in his bed for the week.

“Do you still need the pain?” he asks.

“I didn’t think so,” I say. “But then in the car—I wanted it, but I fought it.”

“If you need it, you tell me.” His voice is hard. Urgent. “Do you understand?”

I nod and curl up close to him and let him stroke my hair. Because I also hear what he doesn’t say. That if I need to feel grounded—if I need the pain to feel centered and real and here—then Justin is the one who’ll stand at my center. Whatever I need, he’ll give.

I shiver a bit. I’ve never been so exposed to another person, not even Ollie, not even Jamie. And I’ve never felt more taken care of.

“And what about you, Justin?” I finally ask. “What do you need?”

He looks at me, and for a moment, I think he’s going to tell me the secrets he’s kept buried deep inside. That he’s going to give me a clue as to what really makes Justin Stark tick. Considering how much I opened up, it only seems fair. But then his expression shifts and I see only a playful spark in his eye.

“You,” he says, and then he closes his mouth over mine.

“Blondie, I swear you are on fire today.” Blaine grins at me as I stand in the red robe with the morning light creeping in through the open windows. “So you think you’re good? We can take it slow again if you need to.”

“I’m good. Thanks. Justin told you why I freaked?” I’d asked Justin to explain to Blaine that my meltdown yesterday didn’t have to do with posing as much as it had to do with what Blaine would be painting.

“He did, and I’ll tell you exactly what I told him—except for the fact that your scars mean you’ve been hurting, I am one-hundred-percent cool with having them in the painting. Some models, especially the professional ones, it’s like painting air-brushed people. Give me something raw any day. Honest, Selena. I’ll do you right.”

“I believe you.” I shift a little, and rest one hand on the foot of the bed, my palm cupping the ball at the top of the bedpost. With my other hand, I reach for the drapes. “Something like this, maybe?”

“I’m not sure,” Justin says from beside me. His hands close over my waist and he shifts me toward the window. “Maybe if we set up a fan outside? Really get the drapes billowing?”

“You’ll need to put back the two you took down,” I say with a smirk.

“Huh?” Blaine says, and Justin laughs.

“What do you think?” Justin directs the question toward Blaine and sidesteps my comment about the drapes.

“You’re the boss.”

“And you’re the artist.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow and smirks at me. “That’s a first. According to Evelyn, our benefactor doesn’t take direction from anybody.”

“I’m not taking direction,” Justin says. “I’m asking your opinion. I didn’t say I would accept it.”

Blaine studies me, circles me, and finally moves me a few inches to the left. Then back to the right. Then slightly at an angle.

He stands back, his chin in his hand, and looks at Justin, who moves me a few inches forward. Then shifts me to a slightly different angle.

“Boys!” I’m beginning to feel like the paid chattel I am.

“Actually, that looks good,” Blaine says. “Stay there. I think I’m having a moment of brilliance.”

I try hard not to move, while at the same time looking sideways at him.

“How do you feel about a reflection?” Blaine asks Justin, then brushes past me before Justin can respond. “I swear, this is going to be amazing.” He pulls out one of the window panels, leaving the wall mostly open except for one pane of glass in front of me. “You see? I’m right, aren’t I?”

He moves back toward the humongous canvas he’s propped up against a table. He shifts a bit as if looking for something, then points. “There. Her reflection on the glass, the breeze, and the woman herself facing out. It will be stunning.”

“Her face?” Justin asks.

“Hidden. Probably looking down. And the reflection will be muted. Nothing graphic. Trust me. It will look exceptional.”

“I like it,” Justin says. “Selena?”

I force myself not to turn to face him, in case that messes up the composition. “I have a say?” I ask playfully. “I thought you bought me lock, stock, and barrel.”

“Stocks are tempting,” he growls, moving into my line of sight. He glares at Blaine. “Yes. I want the reflection. I want as much of her as I can get. I haven’t had enough this morning.”

My cheeks flame because that’s a rather private joke. We’d been in the shower when Blaine had pounded on the front door. And not just getting clean. I’d been about to follow up my breakfast of fruit and cheese with a delicious serving of Justin. But Blaine’s arrival put a damper on that—and I’m afraid it left Justin a little grumpy.

I smile sweetly again. “By the way, isn’t it Tuesday? Aren’t you supposed to be out of town?” I remember Carl saying that the original meeting was bumped to Saturday because Justin would be away on business at the time of the originally scheduled slot.

He looks at me blankly, and then his face clears. “No,” he says. “I have no plans outside of the office today.”

“Oh.” It takes me a second, but I figure out what he’d done. He wanted to see me sooner rather than later, and he’d lied to Carl to make that happen.

“Somebody broke a rule,” I say. “No lying.”

His grin is pure evil. “I never said the rule applied to me.”

Blaine laughs, and so do I. But some small part of me can’t help but cringe. I never said the rule applied to me.

I know he’s teasing, but at the same time, I’m certain he means it. The rule doesn’t apply to him. Has Justin been lying to me? Maybe not maliciously, but simply because he can? Because sometimes it’s easier?

I think about the questions he’s avoided, the times he’s shifted our conversations. Is he just being a guy? Silent and unsharing? Is he simply inscrutable?

Or is he hiding something?

I recall what else Evelyn said. About how after Justin’s rough youth she couldn’t blame him for being closed off. For being a little damaged.

I think about the Justin who’s held me and kissed me and laughed with me and teased me. I’ve seen a lighter side of Justin Stark. A side that most people don’t know. But have I yet to see the dark?

“Yo. Blondie!”

Blaine’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s motioning for me to move again. I do, and then finally—finally—settle into what Blaine deems the perfect pose.

Justin slides in to press a kiss to my forehead. “Tonight,” he says. “I have meetings all day, but I’ll text you with the details. Edward’s ready to take you home whenever you’re done.”

“I could keep her here all day,” Blaine says. “She’s a fabulous subject.”

“All day?” I squeak. I’ve been posing for no time at all, and my muscles are already stiff.

“I said I could,” Blaine clarifies. “I think Mr. Big Shot Businessman will fire me if I tire you out or keep you too long.”

“I certainly will,” Justin says. He lowers his voice. “I have plans for her.” His voice curls around me, running through me, sending blood pulsing to all sorts of interesting places.

acing:0px'8��&�/

0 notes

readbookywooks · 8 years

Text

As Master Wishes

THREE SECONDS before the arrival of J. B. Hobson's letter, I no more dreamed of chasing the unicorn than of trying for the Northwest Passage. Three seconds after reading this letter from the honorable Secretary of the Navy, I understood at last that my true vocation, my sole purpose in life, was to hunt down this disturbing monster and rid the world of it. Even so, I had just returned from an arduous journey, exhausted and badly needing a rest. I wanted nothing more than to see my country again, my friends, my modest quarters by the Botanical Gardens, my dearly beloved collections! But now nothing could hold me back. I forgot everything else, and without another thought of exhaustion, friends, or collections, I accepted the American government's offer. "Besides," I mused, "all roads lead home to Europe, and our unicorn may be gracious enough to take me toward the coast of France! That fine animal may even let itself be captured in European seas - as a personal favor to me - and I'll bring back to the Museum of Natural History at least half a meter of its ivory lance!" But in the meantime I would have to look for this narwhale in the northern Pacific Ocean; which meant returning to France by way of the Antipodes. "Conseil!" I called in an impatient voice. Conseil was my manservant. A devoted lad who went with me on all my journeys; a gallant Flemish boy whom I genuinely liked and who returned the compliment; a born stoic, punctilious on principle, habitually hardworking, rarely startled by life's surprises, very skillful with his hands, efficient in his every duty, and despite his having a name that means "counsel," never giving advice-not even the unsolicited kind! From rubbing shoulders with scientists in our little universe by the Botanical Gardens, the boy had come to know a thing or two. In Conseil I had a seasoned specialist in biological classification, an enthusiast who could run with acrobatic agility up and down the whole ladder of branches, groups, classes, subclasses, orders, families, genera, subgenera, species, and varieties. But there his science came to a halt. Classifying was everything to him, so he knew nothing else. Well versed in the theory of classification, he was poorly versed in its practical application, and I doubt that he could tell a sperm whale from a baleen whale! And yet, what a fine, gallant lad! For the past ten years, Conseil had gone with me wherever science beckoned. Not once did he comment on the length or the hardships of a journey. Never did he object to buckling up his suitcase for any country whatever, China or the Congo, no matter how far off it was. He went here, there, and everywhere in perfect contentment. Moreover, he enjoyed excellent health that defied all ailments, owned solid muscles, but hadn't a nerve in him, not a sign of nerves-the mental type, I mean. The lad was thirty years old, and his age to that of his employer was as fifteen is to twenty. Please forgive me for this underhanded way of admitting I had turned forty. But Conseil had one flaw. He was a fanatic on formality, and he only addressed me in the third person - to the point where it got tiresome. "Conseil!" I repeated, while feverishly beginning my preparations for departure. To be sure, I had confidence in this devoted lad. Ordinarily, I never asked whether or not it suited him to go with me on my journeys; but this time an expedition was at issue that could drag on indefinitely, a hazardous undertaking whose purpose was to hunt an animal that could sink a frigate as easily as a walnut shell! There was good reason to stop and think, even for the world's most emotionless man. What would Conseil say? "Conseil!" I called a third time. Conseil appeared. "Did master summon me?" he said, entering. "Yes, my boy. Get my things ready, get yours ready. We're departing in two hours." "As master wishes," Conseil replied serenely. "We haven't a moment to lose. Pack as much into my trunk as you can, my traveling kit, my suits, shirts, and socks, don't bother counting, just squeeze it all in - and hurry!" "What about master's collections?" Conseil ventured to observe. "We'll deal with them later." "What! The archaeotherium, hyracotherium, oreodonts, cheiropotamus, and master's other fossil skeletons?" "The hotel will keep them for us." "What about master's live babirusa?" "They'll feed it during our absence. Anyhow, we'll leave instructions to ship the whole menagerie to France." "Then we aren't returning to Paris?" Conseil asked. "Yes, we are . . . certainly . . . ," I replied evasively, "but after we make a detour." "Whatever detour master wishes." "Oh, it's nothing really! A route slightly less direct, that's all. We're leaving on the Abraham Lincoln." "As master thinks best," Conseil replied placidly. "You see, my friend, it's an issue of the monster, the notorious narwhale. We're going to rid the seas of it! The author of a two-volume work, in quarto, on The Mysteries of the Great Ocean Depths has no excuse for not setting sail with Commander Farragut. It's a glorious mission but also a dangerous one! We don't know where it will take us! These beasts can be quite unpredictable! But we're going just the same! We have a commander who's game for anything!" "What master does, I'll do," Conseil replied. "But think it over, because I don't want to hide anything from you. This is one of those voyages from which people don't always come back!" "As master wishes." A quarter of an hour later, our trunks were ready. Conseil did them in a flash, and I was sure the lad hadn't missed a thing, because he classified shirts and suits as expertly as birds and mammals. The hotel elevator dropped us off in the main vestibule on the mezzanine. I went down a short stair leading to the ground floor. I settled my bill at that huge counter that was always under siege by a considerable crowd. I left instructions for shipping my containers of stuffed animals and dried plants to Paris, France. I opened a line of credit sufficient to cover the babirusa and, Conseil at my heels, I jumped into a carriage. For a fare of twenty francs, the vehicle went down Broadway to Union Square, took Fourth Ave. to its junction with Bowery St., turned into Katrin St. and halted at Pier 34. There the Katrin ferry transferred men, horses, and carriage to Brooklyn, that great New York annex located on the left bank of the East River, and in a few minutes we arrived at the wharf next to which the Abraham Lincoln was vomiting torrents of black smoke from its two funnels. Our baggage was immediately carried to the deck of the frigate. I rushed aboard. I asked for Commander Farragut. One of the sailors led me to the afterdeck, where I stood in the presence of a smart-looking officer who extended his hand to me. "Professor Pierre Aronnax?" he said to me. "The same," I replied. "Commander Farragut?" "In person. Welcome aboard, professor. Your cabin is waiting for you." I bowed, and letting the commander attend to getting under way, I was taken to the cabin that had been set aside for me. The Abraham Lincoln had been perfectly chosen and fitted out for its new assignment. It was a high-speed frigate furnished with superheating equipment that allowed the tension of its steam to build to seven atmospheres. Under this pressure the Abraham Lincoln reached an average speed of 18.3 miles per hour, a considerable speed but still not enough to cope with our gigantic cetacean. The frigate's interior accommodations complemented its nautical virtues. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was located in the stern and opened into the officers' mess. "We'll be quite comfortable here," I told Conseil. "With all due respect to master," Conseil replied, "as comfortable as a hermit crab inside the shell of a whelk." I left Conseil to the proper stowing of our luggage and climbed on deck to watch the preparations for getting under way. Just then Commander Farragut was giving orders to cast off the last moorings holding the Abraham Lincoln to its Brooklyn pier. And so if I'd been delayed by a quarter of an hour or even less, the frigate would have gone without me, and I would have missed out on this unearthly, extraordinary, and inconceivable expedition, whose true story might well meet with some skepticism. But Commander Farragut didn't want to waste a single day, or even a single hour, in making for those seas where the animal had just been sighted. He summoned his engineer. "Are we up to pressure?" he asked the man. "Aye, sir," the engineer replied. "Go ahead, then!" Commander Farragut called. At this order, which was relayed to the engine by means of a compressed-air device, the mechanics activated the start-up wheel. Steam rushed whistling into the gaping valves. Long horizontal pistons groaned and pushed the tie rods of the drive shaft. The blades of the propeller churned the waves with increasing speed, and the Abraham Lincoln moved out majestically amid a spectator-laden escort of some 100 ferries and tenders.* *Author's Note: Tenders are small steamboats that assist the big liners. The wharves of Brooklyn, and every part of New York bordering the East River, were crowded with curiosity seekers. Departing from 500,000 throats, three cheers burst forth in succession. Thousands of handkerchiefs were waving above these tightly packed masses, hailing the Abraham Lincoln until it reached the waters of the Hudson River, at the tip of the long peninsula that forms New York City. The frigate then went along the New Jersey coast - the wonderful right bank of this river, all loaded down with country homes-and passed by the forts to salutes from their biggest cannons. The Abraham Lincoln replied by three times lowering and hoisting the American flag, whose thirty-nine stars gleamed from the gaff of the mizzen sail; then, changing speed to take the buoy-marked channel that curved into the inner bay formed by the spit of Sandy Hook, it hugged this sand-covered strip of land where thousands of spectators acclaimed us one more time. The escort of boats and tenders still followed the frigate and only left us when we came abreast of the lightship, whose two signal lights mark the entrance of the narrows to Upper New York Bay. Three o'clock then sounded. The harbor pilot went down into his dinghy and rejoined a little schooner waiting for him to leeward. The furnaces were stoked; the propeller churned the waves more swiftly; the frigate skirted the flat, yellow coast of Long Island; and at eight o'clock in the evening, after the lights of Fire Island had vanished into the northwest, we ran at full steam onto the dark waters of the Atlantic.

#20000Leagues

0 notes