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lunatictimekeeper · 4 years ago

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Obey Me | Lucifer x Male!Reader

❥ WC: 1494 || ❥ Rating: Explicit || ❥ Genre: Smut || ❥ Fandom: Obey me (Shall we Date?)

❥ Summary: Lucifer was begging.

“Please,” his voice just a vibration on your inner thigh as he mouths the new mark he’d proudly put there. It’s a whimper, a whine, and a moan all in one. You look down at him from your position at the edge of the bed- Lucifer kneeling between your legs. One hand is hooked under your thigh, the other rests on your waist with a loving but greedy grip. With lidded eyes and flushed cheeks, he presses another kiss to your inner thigh, but grazes just the tips of his fangs against the skin. It’s enough to make you give a pleasurable shiver- causes your heartbeat to spike in anticipation.

If you like my writing, considering sending me a ko-fi!

Lucifer was begging.

But he won��t do it. He can’t. So he repeats his plea.

You take your hand off the bed to cup his cheek, causing him to lean desperately into your palm. You smile innocently, but the lust swirling in your eyes betrays any semblance of purity you might’ve feigned. Looking at you from above, Lucifer feels his blood rush lower- tries to swallow the lump in his throat as he looks at you.

You’re beautiful. He wants to make you a mess, and show you how much your being was valued. How precious you were to him. But he waits, not even thinking of his own need or the hard length that’s firmly pressed against the bed frame and his stomach.

Your fingers caress his cheek, but you remain silent, messaging his lip with your thumb. He shivers as your nail grazes his lip, but welcomes the finger into his mouth. You push his tongue down, but he’s stubborn in a way, he wants to taste you, feel you! And yet, before he can make a full loop with his tongue you take your finger away with a soft pop and Lucifer keens.

“Please? Please what, Luci?” You question sweetly, leaning forward just enough to put your lips centimeters apart. Lucifer whines, traces circles on your waist, and breathes your name like the air he needs to live. "Please, let me show you a pleasure only I can give..."

In response to his breathless plea, you blink. And then you take a look at the sculpted god below you. Flushed cheeks and lidded eyes, Lucifer’s air was seemingly constricted with just a look from you. You grin, nothing but animalistic desire as you taunt him. You finally tug the leash around his neck with your other hand, a brief kiss pressed to his lips. "But Luci, I'm quite enjoying myself right here. Such a strong demon, the eldest son, reduced to a whimpering mess because a human lays bare above him? I must say you look good under me."

If you were elated by a needy, wanton Lucifer below you, you took unholy pleasure in the sound that left him, his defeated, teary eyes stare and his frustration. "Aww, how absolutely needy you are, such a good boy," you practically moaned. Lucifer whined again at your silence, your words of praise travelling south, and pawed at your hips in an attempt to get you to come closer. To let him kiss you, touch you, worship you... But a firm tug on the leash stilled any movement from him. How obedient, you thought sadistically. But Lucifer was almost in tears, and though you were lost to your own lust, you wanted to see how far you could take this power trip.

With a slow, measured movement, you stretched out your index finger and glided gently over the head of Lucifer's length. A sharp gasp echoes in the room, a long drawn out moan, and Lucifer's begging make another symphony in your ears. How cute, you muse to yourself, even as Lucifer's form shifts slightly. The metal around the base of his length shines with the glint of your eyes. He whimpers unintelligible mess as you make a round trip with your index finger. And then, with every intention of making him plead, you drift that feather light touch to the leakage at the head and flick. He shudders as the cries leave him, your ministrations to his searing, sensitive flesh causing him to draw blanks. Suddenly, Lucifer grips your thigh- it's bruising, but it isn't intentional and that makes it all the more enjoyable.

"Oh? Something wrong, love?"

"More," He trails quietly, your smirk twisting maliciously. But before the sentence he could dream leaves him, he shifts, the band around the base of his length snaps and clatters out the floor. In his demon form, Lucifer is a sight to behold, nothing but muscle and power. But more than that, he openly radiates the need to please you. Even if he breaks a few rules to do so. He's on his feet in an instant, pulling you up and around as he switches your positions, with you on his lap. You tug at the leash, testing how far gone he is, but in the moment he lurches forward, he presses a hot, feral kiss to your lips. You moan, shifting in his lap until both of your erections are pressed together, forcing Lucifer to shiver and pull you closer. But his orgasm is the last thing on his mind, especially with you bare on his lap.

"No more teasing, let me touch you properly," He mouths against your throat, peppering kisses across your collarbone and choosing where his teeth nipped at the flesh with care. Just the right mix of pain and pleasure, with so much hunger and need that even you could feel it. "So beautiful," He whimpers against your skin, deciding to give his dominance a parting gift. His hands, warm and large, engulf you, and then his teeth are sinking into your neck and you yelp and cling to him, the stimulation a bit too much. You whine, but Lucifer laps reverently at your skin, and apology of sorts. "I'll make a mess of you."

He growls, and it's all you can do to sit still, unbothered in appearance, and not palm yourself. It's so possessive, but more than that, it's hungry and passionate. A growl reserved for you, when Lucifer decides that you are the only ruler who could possibly make him feel all this and more. Taking your hips in his hands, he pulls you chest to chest so that he can easily overpower you with kisses. But his hands are drifting, everywhere and nowhere, hot and then unsatisfyingly cold as they move to their next destination. Lucifer spares no effort in letting you know he worships you, but he also knows that if you tug, he will obey. Because he worships you above all else.

He pauses for just a moment, laying you on your back as he keeps his eyes locked on yours. "Let me treasure you, and only you." He whispers, kissing down to your navel, until he uses his strong arms to open your legs- not that you would have denied him. He's so focused, so determined to please you, so dedicated... the moment the kisses on your inner thigh make it to your length, he's drooling. He hums, nuzzling his face into you in a lewd manner, but even then you can feel the love in it. And then he sucks the tip between his lips, and you can't help the helpless whine that leaves you. Lucifer moans in return, and though he's tried to restrain himself, he comes to the sound of your pleasured moans, hollowing his cheeks even then as he focuses solely on you. His pleasure vibrates against you, and you can't help but whimper his name in unabashed lust and pleasure. Lucifer doubles down, keeps his eyes on your face as much as he can with you down his throat. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. He takes his time bringing you to the end, pulling off with a slick pop to breath, before his hands begin to work you along with his mouth. "Mmm," he hums, teasingly, maybe even tauntingly, before he focuses on your orgasm and begins to suck and circle his tongue around you.

"Lucifer!" You cry, hands flying to tangle in his hair. Your stomach tightens, and you can't warn him fast enough- you get the feeling he doesn't want you too - before you climax hits and Lucifer pulls away slowly, a string of fluid connecting his lips to the head of you length. You blush as you catch your breath, but Lucifer smiles and climbs over you, wrapping around your back as you come down from your high. You open your mouth to speak, but Lucifer moves his finger to your lips to silence you.

"All about you," He huffs, though he is happy that you're worried about him. He pulls you closer, and with that warmth and Lucifer tracing circles on your stomach you both fall asleep. But your smile doesn't fade, and your dreams are consumed by fantasies of Lucifer going all out.

#luwrites #male reader #lucifer obey me #lucifer obey me x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #obey me #i claim no mastery in titles

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aspiringauthorintraining · 4 years ago

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Take Me Out (1/2)

Human beings were the equivalent of bugs to the King of Curses. Every one of them an eyesore and fucking useless. For Sukuna, he needed no reason to kill them- the fact that he simply could was more than enough.

But after coming across you, never had he felt such conviction to kill someone than he did right then. If looks could kill, you would have dropped dead a long time ago.

Luckily for you, Sukuna’s one eye held no power other than glaring metaphorical daggers into your soul currently.

“Have you ever considered appearing on the back of Yuuji’s head?” you asked, desperately trying to hold in a laugh. “You guys could dress-up as Professor Quirrell and Voldemort for Halloween!”

Sukuna’s mouth visibly seethed with rage. People were supposed to fear him, not doubled over on the floor in a laughing fit.

“The minute I regain full control of this brat’s body, I’m taking you out first.” Sukuna spat from the unconscious Yuuji’s cheek.

The threat seemed to elicit the desired effect, the sound of your laughter ceasing.

He became curious about the look on your face. Was it trembling with fear? Or even better, maybe you had fainted from shock at the thought of him coming for you. His satisfied sneer quickly dropped though when you reentered his sight. An unexpected questioning look was in your eyes instead of the fear he had hoped for.

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“…”

The room fell silent again.

You head tilted at his single eye staring blankly at you.

“…Huh?!”

A smile grew on your face at his heavily confused state.

“Your wanting to “take me out” on a date, right?” you repeated his words, giving him a knowing look. “I mean, it’s a bit unconventional way of asking me out, but I’ll accept it since it’s you.”

His mouth gaped open, and the side of the cheek he was on turned a noticeable shade of pink

“W-What is fucking wrong with you, woman?!” he screeched, clearly appalled at your question. “I meant I’m going to kill you first!”

“Oh,” you shrugged. “Well still, don’t take too long. A girl can only wait so much.” Smiling cheekily at him, you ended off the sentence with a wink in his direction.

But before he could offer you some more colorfully worded threats, Yuuji started to regain consciousness.

___

“You there, Sukuna?”

Your finger gently poked the sleeping Yuuji’s cheek continuously, waiting for the King of Curses to grace you with his appearance.

“Anybody home?” you tapped again. “Hello?”

“What do you want, woman?” His mouth and single eye popped up.

“I’m just curious about something.” You took his responding silence as permission to continue. “I know you said you’re going to take me out, but what if I die before you regain your strength?”

The curse scoffed at your question. “Don’t worry, woman. I’ll be the last thing you see before you die.”

At the thought of you trembling beneath him begging him to have mercy on your life, he let out a series of cackles. He could already imagine the feeling of your sticky blood dripping down his hands, the familiar smell of iron invading the air.

“Aww, Sukuna, I didn’t know you were such a romantic.” you cooed, breaking him away from his daydreaming. You raised a finger, gently patting his one eye with a smile. “I’ll be looking forward to our date then.”

He quickly scowled at your words. “What do you not fucking understand about me killing you, woman?!”

The small mouth crunched its teeth in the air, attempting to bit your finger off. Amused, you brought a hand closer to him, wiggling your fingers back and forth, teasingly. Every time he thought he came close to chomping one off, you would pull back at the last second with a giggle. When he eventually let out a growl of frustration, you pushed your pointer finger against his lips, effectively shutting them.

“Where are we going on our date by the way? Will this place have a dress code?”

Sukuna’s one eye bulges in anger, pure fury blazing in it.

“You fucking bitch, I’m going to ki-“

“Yes, yes, that’s fine. You can’t wait to kill me.” You waved off his threat, undeterred by the repeated threat. “You’ve said that a hundred times now already. What I want to know is what I should wear on our first date.”

“It’s not a fucking da-“

“Oh, looks like Yuuji’s waking up from his nap.”

The teenage boy’s eyes slowly blinked open, finally awaking from his afternoon nap.

“Guess we’ll save the conversation for next time then.”

And despite the threatening eyes you were met with, you waved him goodbye with a warm smile. A groan of disgust escaped Sukuna’s lips, before disappearing once again.

___

You had noticed something was off the minute you entered the hallway.

After successfully exorcising your designated half of curses, you searched around the building for your pink-haired kouhai, when suddenly the whole building was shrouded in darkness. The curse energy the domain gave off was too powerful for any of the curses residing in the building or Yuuji to conjure.

There was a slight shift behind you grabbing your attention. But before you could turn around to see what it was, hands suddenly snaked around your waist.

“Since the last time we talked, I’ve been thinking about which way would be the most painful way to kill you.” a voice whispered in your ear, lips curling with glee. “All the scenarios ended the same way- with you crying beneath me, begging me for mercy.

With the free time Sukuna had acquired living inside Yuuji, he had infinite time to think about many things, you being among one of them. And after copious amounts of alone time to think to himself, he had come to the conclusion that he just needed to instill some fear into you. The next you time were paired with the brat in an assignment, he would make sure to have you shaking in terror by the end of it.

“You were thinking about me? That’s so sweet.”

The cruel grin formed on his lips dropped.

“I’m going to kill y- never mind.” He brought a hand up to his forehead, massaging his temples. “Nothing I say is going to get through that fucking head of yours, is it?”

“Mmm, probably not.” you agreed.

Sukuna now realized you were just stupid. You had to be to be talking to him like this.

You heard him let out a frustrated sigh, and when you turned around in his arms, you were met with a confused Yuuji staring back at you.

“Senpai, why are we hugging?”

*(A/N): Sukuna’s hot. Nuff said.

It got too long to put it all in one post so part two coming soon to a tumblr near you. (probs tomorrow lol)

Part 2 here

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna imagine #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #no beta we die like sukuna did hundreds of years ago lol

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local-spoon-does-a-thing · 4 years ago

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Sickness

[(Bayverse) Optimus Prime x Reader]

A/N: Here’s some more Papa Bot fic. Should I make a bonus ending/part about them arriving at the gas station or some shit like that? Also this fic got out of hand and idk how it ended up like this. Hope you enjoy!

“Ugh...hey, Optimus? Can you roll down the window? I need some fresh air.” You mumbled out and leaned your head against the door. For some reason, you felt sick to the core. That’s probably because you were, in fact, sick. Perhaps it was something you ate for dinner yesterday? You did have a rough night trying to sleep. But at this moment, you just wanted to jump out of the moving vehicle, lay on the side of the road, and perish. Your stomach was not agreeing with you at all and begged you to purge out whatever was in it. Once the window was rolled down, you immediately poked your head out and took in a deep breath. Ah, that was much better. But that still didn’t get that sickening feeling out of your stomach. Maybe a nice bottle of water would help cure you. Your hand moved towards where the cup holders would be located and attempted to grab a bottle of water. Though, there was nothing. Looking back, you saw that you didn’t even bring water with you. Oh, right, you’ve forgotten. Earlier when Ratchet had suggested that you bring a couple bottles of water for the trip, you refused and reassured him that you were fine when in reality, you were just too lazy to carry them. In defeat, your hand flopped back down and you poked your head out once more.

Currently, you and the team were traveling to another city in a different state, as it was stated that there were some Decepticon sightings located there. This was going to be your first mission with them and after countless of merciless begging to go with them, they finally agreed to let you travel with them. Ratchet and Ironhide thought that it was a horrible idea, Bumblebee was simply ecstatic that you would get to go with them, and Optimus was just too tired to deal with your tantrums like a tired father. Who would’ve thought that out of all the members of the team, you seemed to be the closest with the Autobot leader himself. Anyone else would’ve thought that you two were polar opposites. You were a simple person that liked to joke a lot and showed some signs of arrogance while Optimus was more on the serious and wise side. Little did anyone know that you two balanced each other out. He kept you grounded to reality while you made sure that he would have fun during his time on Earth. Though your adventures with them have just merely started, you can tell that you’ve made an impact on the team. Everyone seemed more on the bright side, even the grumpy medic. They were happy and that was all you’ve ever wanted. However, your stubbornness and pride proved you not to be the easiest person to handle, like now.

“Hey, Optimus? Is there by any chance that you have some water on you? Not that I need it or anything like that. Buuuut... I might need it later.”

The old ‘Bot let out a heavy sigh and the whole truck rumbled along with him. “Didn’t Ratchet tell you earlier in the morning to bring your bottles of water? We’ve said it repeatedly that this would be a long trip-”

“Okay, okay! I get it, I was just asking in case you did have them. No need to go full on mother-mode.” You cut him off mid-sentence before crossing your arms across your chest and slumping into the seat. Moments passed by and your hands dropped down to your stomach and clutched the fabric that was in the way. Okay, you seriously needed to do something about this. You felt nauseous and each second that passed by was torturous. You wanted to tell Optimus about your condition, but c’mon, this was your first mission! You had a feeling that if you were to tell him about this, the team wouldn’t bring you to anymore future missions. And the main course hasn’t even started yet since you were still traveling to the destination. But was this really worth the trouble? I mean, even outside of these missions, you would still be seeing them.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that, it’s just- I don’t think I’m doing too well. I think I might have the stomach bug or something ‘cause I feel like I’m gonna throw up at any moment.” You half heartedly confessed to him.

At this statement, Optimus had wanted to stop the trip abruptly and check if you were okay. Guess you could say that this was his “mother-mode” or at least close to it. Worried thoughts bubbled into his metal head that he had almost forgotten to respond to you, almost giving you an indication that he was irritated and ignoring you. He would have Ratchet check up on you but then again, he only knew about Cybertronian biology, not human.

“Hang in there, [Y/N]. There’s a gas station approximately three miles from here. We’ll take a rest there and examine you.”

He then went on to accelerate his speed and over the radio, went on to report the other members of the team about your condition. You could hear Bee’s worried buzzing, Ironhide’s sigh, and Ratchet’s grumpy grumbling of “I told you so” that was directed towards you. In response, you rolled your eyes and laid down across the seats, staring at the truck ceiling. The slight bumpiness on the road was somehow a bit soothing, but it wasn’t enough to put you to sleep. What you needed right now was a distraction. And what distraction was better than you annoying your guardian?

“Oppy.” No response.

“Timus.” No response.

“Hey, Boss Bot!” Finally, you got a response. He let out a surprised sound and you can practically hear the gears in his head turn.

“What is it?”

“I need you to distract me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

You were met with silence once again. He was confused with what you wanted. What did you need to be distracted from? You weren’t really doing much other than trying to refrain yourself from puking on him. It didn’t take long for you to notice that he was confused by your request.

“Just...just ask me questions. They can be stupid or not or whatever. I don’t want to focus too much on my nausea.”

“I understand. Very well then. How are your grades in school?”

You groaned and smacked the palms of your hands onto your face. You wanted to answer any other question BUT that one. Okay, so maybe you were lagging a little behind on your subjects than the rest of your classmates, but you could fix it up with a snap of your fingers! Or, that was what you thought. You’ve been so caught up with your alien friends that you didn’t think that school wasn’t as important as saving civilian lives and all that.

“[Y/N]?” His deep voice pulled you away from your thoughts and you slid your hands down your face.

“It’s uh, it’s going...decent.” Wow, way to make yourself sound believable.

“[Y/N]...” Now there was a stern and serious tone in his voice.

“Don’t worry about it! I got it all under control. Go ahead and ask another question that’s not related at all to school.”

Once again, he let out another heavy sigh. He had a feeling that your reasoning for your grades being “decent” as you say, was because of him. He didn’t want to be the reasoning for you failing classes. What kind of guardian does that? Yes, he has the most fun spending time on you and picking up on your witty jokes, but he knew that if it ever came down to it, he would have to step back and let you focus on things that would matter in the long run. Even when it does break him.

“You need to take your school more seriously, please. You know what will happen if your parents were to find out about your grades dropping, correct? We won’t be able to see each other as much anymore. And as much as I want to be with you, I won’t hesitate to take a couple of steps back.”

That...hurt. You didn’t want to be constantly reminded of the consequences, but that wasn’t what hurt you. The fact that he said that he wouldn’t hesitate gave you a wake up call. You sat up from your lying position and looked at his radio with a panicked and disbelief look. You didn’t know what or how to respond to that. He was serious and you knew that. You looked away in shame and clutched your stomach once more. Optimus then moved his rearview mirror towards your face and saw how you looked. It broke his spark and he wanted to comfort you, but decided not to push further on the subject and change it.

“Is there anything you would like to ask that relates to me?”

You perked up at his question and had a surprised look. Honestly, you didn’t expect that at all and you didn’t even consider asking him questions. If you were to, you had wanted to try to avoid the more sensitive topics that related to the war on his planet and such questions like that.

“Hmm, you know how the Matrix-thingy chooses who the next Prime will be or something like that? Well, what were you like before you became a Prime?”

Like you were, he was caught off-guard by the question. It’s been a long while since he had spoken of his previous life. He felt a faint sense of nostalgia as he reflected on his past self. My, how much he has changed over time. Going from having a simple life to being one of the biggest roles in Cybertron history. If he were not in his vehicle form, he would’ve smiled fondly.

“My previous name was Orion Pax. At certain angles, you could say that I was more like Bumblebee: young and free-spirited. I used to work as a data clerk in Cybertron. My life was quite simple and ordinary before I heard of Megatron and came to a realization that I was not satisfied with what I was doing. That...is all I will tell for now.”

“Aww, what?! Come on, you can’t leave me hanging like that! What happened with you and Megatron? Pleaaase!”

“Some other time, tiny girl. Now, it is my turn to ask a question. Do you know what my favorite color is?”

Okay, now you were confused. Why would he go from asking a serious question to suddenly asking about his favorite color. Out of all the things he could’ve asked, he went for that one. Of course, it’s not like you were going to back down from something as simple as that. However, you had to take a moment to think. Did robots have favorite colors? Did they even have time to consider what color was their favorite? You couldn’t figure out what the answer was until suddenly, it hit you!

“Wait a minute, that’s a trick question! You’ve never told me what your favorite color was! You can’t fool me!” You accused as you pointed your finger at his radio. A deep chuckle came from the radio as you guessed right.

“Clever girl. Well in that case, I might as well tell what my favorite color is. It’s autumn orange. It gives off a warm feeling along with joy whenever I look at it. Just like whenever I look at you. It reminds me of you.”

Your eyes lit up at his words and your cheeks flushed. That...may or may not be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to you. Plus, it sounded very genuine. A warm feeling swirled your insides and a sincere smile danced across your lips. Who knew that an alien from outer space could be one of the most caring people (er- robot) you knew.

“Whoa, I definitely wasn’t expecting that answer. I didn’t know you had a sappy side.” You lightly joke. “But, thank you. That was really nice of you to say. And you should show your sappy side more often.”

“Heh, I’ll think about it.”

You then raised a hand to your mouth and let out a yawn. Optimus was able to catch it and moved his rear view mirror towards you once more.

“Am I boring you already?” He asked in a fake yet barely noticeable betrayed voice. There was a hint of amusement sprinkled onto there.

And you snapped out of your sleepy trance and sat up straight, all alerted. “Wha- no no no! It was just a yawn! I’m not-”

Your words were cut off when you heard laughter from him. Yeah sure, you’ve heard him chuckle before, but an actual laugh coming from him was quite rare. You laughed along with him until it died down.

“Alright, little one. Go on and get some rest. I’ll wake you up once we get to the gas station.”

You lied down along the seats on your back and closed your eyes. As your drowsiness was pulling you into slumber, you heard the radio turn on as lofi music played on a soft volume. Now this was most definitely making you sleepy. Soon enough, you were knocked out. Optimus silently hoped that they could stay like this for at least a very long time. With the both of you in peace, traveling in the middle of nowhere while relaxing lofi hip hop was playing in the background. Yet another moment that he gets to cherish for as long as he gets to live.

#transformers x reader #transformers #optimus prime x reader #bumblebee #ratchet #ironhide #oneshot #fanfic #i love mr papa bot #bayverse #autobots x reader

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fic-for-fic-sake · 4 years ago

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A Happy Accident

A/N: The other day I found out that Chris Evans may possibly have a sex dungeon? I don’t write real people fics but I knew I HAD to write a Steve Rogers fic about this because I mean...c’mon. Also the text conversation in the fic is indeed a real conversation between my friend and I.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, dom/sub, flogging, being tied up, penetrative sex, honorifics, praise kink

Word Count: 5.4k

You knew there was trouble before you even reached the meeting room, it was like a palpable tension you could sense coming from the conference room. You mentally prepared yourself for whatever was to come as you walked in and took your usual spot next to Natasha.

“Do you have any idea what this is about?” You questioned her, murmuring under your breath since nobody seemed keen to speak above a whisper for the time being.

“Some kind of security breach, we don’t know how bad yet, we have to wait for Stark.” She explained, speaking in clipped tones. She seemed nervous, which was understandable given the circumstances. A security breach could mean a number of things, none of them good. Anything from weapons tech to secret identities could’ve been revealed in the breach.

The tension seemed to come to a head when Tony and Steve walked into the room. Everyone erupted into a flurry of activity, peppering the two men with so many questions it was hard to make out what came from who.

“What was taken?” Someone asked.

“Was it anything serious?” Someone else wondered.

“Do we need to scrap the new suit designs?” You asked, adding your voice to the babble.

“Okay everyone settle down and give Tony some room to think.” Steve urged all of you, forming a one man barrier around Stark. Which you had to admit was rather effective. Once everyone reseated themselves and Steve gave Tony a nod, Tony cleared his throat.

“By now you all have obviously heard that there’s been a security breach. We don’t know who is behind the breach but so far all that was leaked was text conversations of the following Avengers; Wanda, Sam, Bucky, and Y/N.”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You were a target in the security breach. But why? Why you specifically and why just your text conversations? It seemed rather harmless considering everything else they could’ve taken.

“Luckily Wanda doesn’t really text anyone because everyone she knows is here. As far as Sam, Bucky, and Y/N are concerned they only leaked conversations from your work phones, meaning your personal phone security isn’t in question.” Tony reassured you all. Well, it reassured Sam and Bucky at least.

“Um, what do you mean ‘work phone’?” You asked, looking around with a puzzled expression on your face.

“You do have a burner phone for personal use, right?” Nat asked from beside you. Now your heart was located somewhere in your feet.

“I didn’t know I needed one.” You whispered, barely contained horror edging its way into your voice.

“Well, I mean what’s the worst that could be there?” Sam asked, trying to reassure you. Luckily, or unluckily enough, you didn’t have to answer that question because within the coming days they would all find out.

After the meeting you tried to go about your normal routine and ignore the security breach as best as you could. That got considerably harder the following morning, when the hacker released your private conversations with your friends for all the world to see. They went something like this:

Sarah: Do you think Steve Rogers is good in bed?

You: Obviously, dumb question.

Sarah: Do you think he’s kinky though?

You: Oh 100%, no way he doesn’t have a secret sex dungeon or something.

Sarah: Since you’re an Avenger now you should try to find out.

You: HAHAHAHAHA that’s hilarious and something I’ll never do, in reality. But in theory PUT ME IN COACH! I bet he would probably make me sign an NDA and I would totally be down for that.

Sarah: I’ll sign a DNR

You: HAA, I would sign the NDA but also have to tell you what’s happening and then I would make you sign an NDA.

Sarah: Then you’re breaking the NDA??

You: Not if you don’t tell anyone goddamn be cool.

Sarah: It’s the principle of the thing

You: ...I wonder what kind of dom he is

Sarah: Idk if he’s a daddy. He feels like a Sir or Master. I also think he doesn’t have soft limits, only hard limits.

You: as much as I would like to think he’s a pleasure dom I don’t think that’s true

Sarah: I agree

You: Maybe a brat tamer?

Sarah: That feels too tame for him.

You: Okay so then just a no holds bard whipping dom. I would wait all day in his sex dungeon just to lick his boots when he came home. Does that make me depraved? Probably.

Sarah: Possibly, I also think he’d degrade the shit out of you, like kinda pet play shit. I also think he has a spreader bar collection. Aaaand an overstimulation kink.

You: Oh agreed, that and edging. I feel like he would edge you for hours and then leave to go on a mission or something and you’re not allowed to touch yourself and then he comes back hours later and you’re just aching for release. And then only after you’re BEGGING he would let you come.

Sarah: Oof. How much do you wanna bet his dungeon is like a sensory deprivation thing? Think about it, hours upon hours of not having any form of relief, after begging nonstop, no real form of your senses and then BAM normal orgasm but heightened to the absolute max.

You: YEP! I bet he’s like the king of aftercare though, like 1000/10 so sweet. Like Steve Rogers is legit such a nice human being so I assume aftercare is the same.

Sarah: AYO SIR LEMME BE YOUR SUB

You: GOD FORREAL!

Needless to say, you did not leave your room that day. The next day you tried to get away with not leaving your room again but Nat was having none of that.

“Come on Y/N, I promise it’s not that bad, I’ve said much worse.” She assured you as she practically dragged you out of your room and into the elevator.

You buried your head in your hands and let out a frustrated scream. “He’s a coworker, Nat, and I totally objectified him and basically said all the filthy things I wanted him to do to me.”

“And I bet he’s real flattered about it! The man needs a good ego boost every now and then.” She replied with a laugh. To which you responded with another frustrated scream and a kick to the elevator doors as they opened. “I bet he didn’t even read it, I doubt anyone on the team did.” She said, sounding certain in her own thinking. She half convinced you until you walked into the training room and every pair of eyes turned to you, including Steve’s baby blues. Fuck.

“Okay we’re working in a group today people, focusing on enhanced individuals with external powers. Wanda and Y/N against Sam, Bucky, and Steve.” Nat announced, opening the door to the special training facility. So you and Wanda wouldn’t trash too much of Stark’s equipment with your powers.

“Hey Y/N, you been to any good sex dungeouns recently? I’m looking for one.” Sam quipped as you made your way to the starting point. Before you could even think about what you were doing the smell of ozone was ripe in the air and you sent a bolt of lightning hurtling towards Sam who was barely able to dodge it in time.

“Sorry...hand slipped.” You mock apologized, making it clear that you would have another ‘hand slip’ if he didn’t keep his mouth shut. He got the point well enough but the damage was already done. The tension was worse now than when you first found out about the breach, everyone trying not to bring up the elephant in the room.

Nat cleared her throat and started her countdown and then the training began in earnest. After an hour you were all panting and sweating, utterly spent from your session. Steve passed everyone a water bottle and you took it gratefully, chugging the cool liquid in earnest. It was then that another comment was made, this time by Bucky.

“Thanks for the aftercare daddy.” He mocked as he opened his own water bottle. Once again the smell of ozone was in the air but you didn’t have a chance to meet your target before Steve had Bucky pressed against the wall, his forearm digging into the other man’s throat.

“That’s enough.” He growled through his teeth. Everyone was silent for a minute and you almost felt sorry for the deer in the headlights look Bucky was now wearing on his face, almost. A shower of frustrated sparks extinguished all the lights in the room as you stormed from the room, embarrassment trailing after you.

That had been four hours ago and you hadn’t left your room, despite Natasha banging on the other side of your door. You had asked FRIDAY not to open it for anyone unless given your express permission. It seemed even the AI knew what kind of a mess you had landed yourself into, as she was immediately understanding of such a request. You were in the process of ordering a burner phone off of Amazon when there was a knock at your door.

“Nat, I don’t care how many books you offer to buy me, I’m NOT coming out of this room.” You yelled into the empty space of your room.

“Noted, but uh, it’s Steve. Can we talk?” You were at the door before he finished his sentence. You opened it no more than a crack, not courageous enough to do more.

“I don’t wanna talk to you, I’m mortified.” You mumbled, looking down at your feet instead of the imposing figure outside of your door. Steve gently pushed on the door with his hand and you let him open it the rest of the way. He brought gentle fingers to your chin and tilted your head back so you were looking into his eyes.

“There’s nothing to be mortified about, sweetheart. I just wanna talk.” He replied beseechingly. And maybe it was the tone of his voice, or the way he looked at you, but you relented and let him in, closing the door softly behind you.

“Listen, I’m really sorry for what I said. I obviously never thought it would see the light of day but that’s not an excuse and doesn’t make it okay. Fuck, Steve I’m so sorry. I can get reassigned if you want, have SHIELD put me somewhere else.” You rattled off apologies and half baked plans before you felt his hands gently clasp your shoulders and once again you were forced to look up into his eyes which had gone saucer wide.

“Doll what are you talking about? You don’t need to be reassigned, it's not that big of a deal.” He said, in an attempt to comfort you.

“Not a big deal? I practically accused you of having a sex dungeon and being a mega dom.” You blurted out, mortification making your voice rise half an octave.

He let out a soft sigh before he sat down on the edge of your bed, “It’s not like you were completely in the wrong.” He replied, and that’s when your brain short circuited.

“What? You have a sex dungeon?”

“Well, it’s not a dungeon, it's just my bedroom, but yes I do, partake in those types of things you described.” He explained, his voice as even and calm as if he were discussing the weather.

“Oh.” Was all you could really bring yourself to say.

“Oh? That’s all? I have to say you were much more articulate in your texts.” He teased, his voice suddenly becoming deeper and taking on an air of authority that wasn’t there a second ago. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

And again, maybe it was because of his tone or because of the absurdity of the situation you found yourself in but you answered him honestly. “I’m thinking I’m absolutely mortified that my coworker found out how badly I want him to fuck me.”

“What else?” He prompted. You couldn’t breathe properly, he was taking all the air from the room and the intensity in his gaze pinned you to the spot, like an unsuspecting doe finding itself at the barrel of a gun.

“I’m wondering how correct my predictions were. What kind of a dom you are.”

“Would you like to find out?”

“Yes.” You answered before you could think better of it. The second the word left your mouth your eyes went wide at the confession. Because you did want to find out, God did you want to find out what kind of shit Steve Rogers, the golden boy, was into.

“Then we have ourselves a deal. You want to find out what I’m into and I want to show you.”

“Right now?” You asked, breathless. You could feel your core ache at the suggestion, the want plain as day.

He chuckled before he moved to stand before you. “No pretty girl, not yet.” He whispered, bringing his right hand up to cup your cheek and stroke his thumb across the expanse of your lips. “First we have to talk about a few things.”

“Like what?” You questioned, completely enraptured by this man, finding yourself willing to submit to whatever he wanted you to. You were terrified by how much the prospect excited you.

“Like exactly what you want me to do to you. Your texts were very...explicit. But, that may have just been talk. I need to know specifics if this is going to work.” Steve explained, backing you up until you hit your dresser. Without a word he lifted you on top of it and stood between your legs, one of his hands tracing absent minded patterns on your thigh.

It was hard to think with him in such close proximity but you tried to clear your mind because you really wanted this, your mouth went dry at the thought. “I want...I want to be tied up. And I want to be blindfolded. And whipped.” It felt weird to lay your desires out plain before you like this. It made you feel exposed, but it was also oddly empowering.

Steve nodded his head at your requests. “You mentioned something to your friend about edging and orgasm denial, is that something you still wanted to try?”

“Yes, but not, not yet. I’ve never um, I haven’t- I’ve never been kinky with a partner.” You explained to him, feeling an embarrassing heat creeping up your face.

“Hey, no need to be embarrassed, we all start somewhere.” Steve insisted, bringing his hands up to settle on your hips. “Anything else?” After you shook your head he gave you a nod in reassurance. “Okay, I’ll be in touch.” He said as he stepped away from you.

That was three days ago and you hadn’t heard anything from him on the matter since. You had trained with him, went for a run with him, had the usual team meetings and exchanged the usual pleasantries but nothing out of the ordinary. You had even gone far enough in your wandering mind to think that maybe you imagined the whole interaction.

On Friday, you were told that Steve had gone away on a mission and by that point the team was done teasing you about the leaked conversation, already having moved on to the next thing. You had made plans to go out with them that night to a community outreach thing in Manhattan. You had just gotten your jeans on when a piece of paper slid across your floor from the door.

You walked over to it, thinking someone had just dropped their paper, when you saw what was written on the other side of it.

Text an excuse to Stark for the outreach and then come to my room. -SR

Your heartbeat sped up to a gallop as you read the message through two more times, just to be certain. This was it, it was happening. With shaky fingers you texted Tony a flimsy excuse about draft reports you needed to finish before you put your phone back on your desk and calmly made your way to Steve’s room.

You went to knock but found the door slightly ajar. Taking that as your cue you stepped into Steve Rogers room. While it wasn’t the first time you had been here, it was certainly a circumstance that you weren’t used to. Everything seemed...different somehow. The curtains were drawn and the only light came from dim overhead lighting. There was a faint scent of jasmine that you assumed came from a candle or incense burner you couldn’t see somewhere. On the bed, the sheets had been changed to something that looked like silk and resting on top was an eye mask and two long chords of rope. Which seemed innocuous enough, current circumstances notwithstanding.

“Shut the door and lock it please.” A voice commanded from a shadow in the corner of the room. As soon as you locked the door Steve Rogers emerged from the shadows in an all black version of his Captain America suit. You had never seen him in such a suit before and the sight of him in it made your mouth water and your knees buckle. This was really happening.

“I have to admit, when I read your text conversation I was surprised to say the least. I didn’t know how many dirty thoughts resided in that head of yours but you did not disappoint, did you sweetheart?” He questioned as he made his way over to where you stood, rooted to your spot by the door. He gently pressed against your shoulder and you followed his lead, letting him back you against the door, his strong hands landing on either side of your head, arms caging you in. “And then when we spoke, you were /very/ specific in what you wanted and I am nothing if not obliging, you’ll find.” He whispered into your ear and you couldn’t help the small moan that escaped your mouth at the implication behind his words.

“Are you ready to be my good girl? Hmm sweetheart?”

“Yes Steve.” You whispered, your mind not being able to form anything other than those words.

He made a slight tsking sound. “In here, don’t call me Steve. It’s Captain. Got it?”

“Yes Captain.” You replied obediently.

“Good girl, now get undressed for me.” He commanded, stepping back to give you room to complete his task. With nervous fingers you lifted your shirt above your head and undid the clasp on your bra. You watched as Steve’s eyes took in your exposed top half, he licked his lips which made you shiver in turn. Confidence growing by his visible excitement you unbuttoned your jeans and slipped them down your legs along with your panties, until you were gloriously naked before him.

“God, you're so beautiful sweetheart. I’m already getting hard and all you’ve done is get undressed.” He praised you as he palmed himself through his tac pants. “Come here pretty girl.” He insisted as he picked up the blindfold.

You walked over to him and turned around as he secured the blindfold against your eyes and tied it for you. “Now, we’re gonna use a color system, okay? Green means you’re okay to keep going, Yellow means to slow down, and Red means stop. Can you remember that doll?”

“Yes Captain.” You murmured as you adjusted to not being able to see. You tuned into your other senses to rely on what was happening. You felt Steve take your hand and walk you over until you reached the side of the bed. He helped you up before asking you to lay down on your back.

“Okay pretty girl I’m gonna tie you up now.” He told you as you felt both of his hands take your left arm and maneuver it above your head before securing your wrist in place with rope. He pressed a gentle kiss to the spot before repeating the process with your other arm. “How do you feel sweetheart?”

“Good Captain, I feel good.” You told him as your heartbeat kicked up another notch. You felt him take your left leg with gentle fingers and tie your ankle to the baseboard of the bed. You gasped as he secured your right ankle, knowing you were now naked and spread bare before him. You felt the bed dip as he kneeled over you and brought his mouth down to whisper in your ear.

“What’s your color baby?”

“Green.” You replied. Almost immediately you felt his lips press against yours, desperate and hungry for you. You kissed back with a fervor you didn’t know you possessed. It was a strange sensation, kissing someone you couldn’t touch let alone see, but that didn’t make it unpleasant. You felt blissfully detached from your body and the need raced down to your pussy until you had the sudden urge to close your legs and hide your arousal.

Steve chuckled against your mouth as his left hand snaked down to see what you were trying in vain to hide. “So eager for me and we’ve hardly started” He lazily swiped his fingers along your folds to feel the wetness that gathered there. He then brought the same hand up to your breast and worked your juices around your nipple, making you groan at the sheer wantonness of it all. Steve happily swallowed your groan with his mouth, his tongue taking the opportunity to pass your lips.

You fervently kissed him back as his ministrations against your nipple continued. His lips left yours and left a trail of hot kisses down your throat and over to your neglected right nipple. You felt him blow cold air on it and your back bowed against the bed, your arms straining against the restraints. He scraped his teeth against your sensitive bud and you couldn’t help the noises that escaped your mouth.

“Oh fuck, Captain.” You let out as he took your nipple into his mouth. You could feel his left hand leave your nipple and you let out a whine of protest. He only laughed against your skin before you heard the faint opening of a drawer. Your ears picked up the sound of him rummaging around for something but you couldn’t focus too much on that as the rest of your body was alight with fire as he continued to work on your nipple with his mouth. He finally found what he was looking for in the drawer and he released your nipple with a wet popping sound before you felt his weight shift and he removed himself from you.

“You mentioned something about being whipped.” He teased, and you could hear that his own arousal had made his voice hoarse. Your cunt throbbed in response. “Do you know what a flogger is pretty girl?”

“Yes Captain.” You replied from your position on the bed. Your mouth went dry at the mental image you had of Steve in his black tac suit with a flogger in hand. How would he use it on you? Would it hurt? Be pleasant? The anticipation was eating you up in the best of ways.

“Good girl. We’re gonna do some counting. Since this is your first time we won’t do too many, just ten. But you have to count them pretty girl. If you forget, or lose count, we start over. Do you understand?”

Oh fuck. “Yes Captain.” You heard him chuckle from somewhere above you before you heard the whoosh of the flogger and the sensation on your skin. You gasped as the leather straps came down hard against your left nipple. “One.” The second one came down against your right nipple and you found that your pussy clenched around nothing. “Two.”

Numbers three, four, and five were placed on your nipples and your stomach.

“Halfway there pretty girl, you’re doing so well.” Steve’s voice came from somewhere around you. A thin layer of sweat had broken out over your skin and your arousal was through the roof. You found yourself panting in anticipation of the next strike. It came, the leather striking against your dripping center and you let out a gasp as your back arched off of the silk sheets. “Six”

“Oh you liked that one didn’t you sweetheart?” Steve teased.

“Yes Captain.” You replied breathlessly. Number seven came in the same spot and another lewd sound left your mouth as the flogger found its spot. Numbers eight and nine he placed on the sensitive insides of your thighs.

“Last one pretty girl. You’ve taken it so well I’ll let you decide where this last one goes.”

“Hit my pussy again, please, I want it so bad Captain.” You practically pleaded. Under any other circumstances you would’ve been ashamed at how pathetic you sounded but you didn’t care. Steve Rogers was doing depraved things to you and you couldn’t think straight. You just wanted him to keep doing what he was doing, to take all of you, every tiny nook and cranny of your being until he knew your pleasures like the back of his hand.

“Such a needy girl, maybe after the flogger I’ll give you a reward.” He replied, sounding pleased with you, before he placed the tenth and final flog against your aching core. “God you look so sexy like this, blindfolded and tied to my bed, maybe I should leave you here as my own personal fucktoy, would you like that baby?” He asked as he inserted two fingers into your mouth.

You mumbled your response against the digits, your pussy getting wetter at the thought of him using you like that. You were only half kidding when you had texted your friend about it but now, with your arousal so strong, it sounded more and more enticing. Steve removed his fingers from your mouth and brought them down to your sensitive center, rubbing them up and down your slit before inserting them into your slick heat. You gasped at the intrusion and felt your hips buck up in response to being filled.

Your walls fluttered around his fingers as he began to pump them at a leisurely pace. You felt him make his way down your body to nestle himself between your spread legs and then his hot breath was fanning out over your cunt as his fingers continued to fuck you. “You look so good, pretty girl. Spread open for me like my own personal feast. God you’re so wet. I guess you like to be flogged.” He spoke, the filthy words that left his lips making you wetter than you already were. Without warning he brought his tongue to you and kitten licked your clit, sending a shockwave through your system.

He took your clit in his mouth and sucked as he continued to work you with his fingers. You fruitlessly tugged against your restraints and bucked your hips in an attempt to get the friction you so desperately needed.

“God sweetheart you taste better than I imagined.” Steve commented as his tongue lapped up your juices. “I bet I’ll be able to taste you on my tongue for a week.”

“Fuck, Captain, please can I cum?” You begged, tears wetting the inside of your mask from the intensity of your session.

“Come for me baby, let me feel you come on my fingers.” Steve commanded and that was your undoing. The knot that had been building inside of you was finally released and you came loudy around his fingers. You felt him lick you through the aftershocks.

“Talk to me, pretty girl, how are you feeling?” Steve questioned, voice hot once again by your ear. His suit gently pressing against your overstimulated skin. “Give me a color.” He asked, pressing a gentle kiss to your jawline.

“I’m good Captain, still Green.” You responded, coming down from your orgasm.

“Such a good girl for your Captain. You’re doin’ so well pretty girl.” He said as he left the bed. You weren’t sure where he went until you felt his dexterous fingers undoing the ropes on your left leg. “I’m undoing the leg ropes first. And then I’m going to fuck you senseless like I’ve been wanting to do since I saw those damn text messages.” Your spent cunt clenched around nothing, as you eagerly waited for him to undo the other leg restraint. You could hear him undo the many zippers and clasps on his tac suit until the bed dipped and he was once again between your legs.

This time skin met skin as you felt his upper thighs press between yours as he brought himself closer to you still. You felt the tip of his cock slide between your wet folds before slipping inside. The breath was stolen from your lungs at the feel of him sinking into your waiting cunt. A low moan left your mouth as you felt every perfect inch of him spreading you until he bottomed out and his hips nestled perfectly against your own.

You felt his forehead press against your own. “Fuck you feel perfect, you know that pretty girl? My perfect little pussy.” He breathed against your mouth as he let you adjust to him. He retracted himself from you fully before swiftly filling you up again. Any noise you may have made was swallowed as he kissed you with a hunger you didn’t think was possible. What started as a slow rhythm quickly changed until he was snapping into you with a fervor akin to a madman.

Your hips eagerly met his thrusts and soon your combined pants and skin slapping filled the room. Still blindfolded, you felt the moment his hand wrapped around your neck and squeezed just so. That had your walls flutter around him and your hips stuttered.

“Oh you like that don’t you? You like when I choke you huh pretty girl?” He asked eagerly, his voice husky from moaning.

“Yes, fuck, please Captain, fuck me.” You rasped out. You grunted as he brought his other hand down to press your hips into the mattress before he slammed into you at a relentless pace. Eventually, his hand left your throat to play with your bundle of nerves.

“Come on pretty girl. Come for me.” He ordered and you were only too happy to comply. You came hard around him, enough that you saw stars behind the blindfold and Steve let out a string of curses and praises for you as he pulled out of you and you felt his cum paint your stomach.

You had a moment to catch your breath as you heard Steve pad over to what you assumed was the bathroom. He came back and placed a warm washcloth against your skin, cleaning up the combined mess you both made. Then you felt his hands move up to untie the blindfold around your eyes. You squinted into the low light of the room and were shocked to see Steve bare chested and glistening with sweat before you.

“Hi.” You murmured shyly, finding that some of your confidence had left you along with the blindfold. Seeing him like this, because of you, because of what you had done, somehow cemented this moment in reality. There was no turning back now.

“Hi yourself, how do you feel?” He asked as he undid the ropes around your wrists.

“I um wow, I feel great.” You said and realized it was true. In the afterglow of the scene you felt amazing. Sexy and empowered and utterly spent but undeniably amazing.

“You did great.” Steve assured you as he took lotion into his hands and massaged the areas on your wrists and ankles where the ropes had been. He placed a gentle kiss on each palm when he was done and went to get you a glass of water. “Drink all of this.”

You took the glass from his hands and drank deep. Appreciating the cool feeling of the water as it slid down the column of your throat, you didn’t realize how thirsty you had become. You finished the glass and handed it back to Steve, who placed it on one of his bedside tables.

“Good girl.” He praised and you felt yourself blush in response. He noticed. “Do you like being praised, sweetheart?”

“Yes Captain.” You nodded.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He replied as he helped you into one of his shirts and placed you underneath the covers. He rested beside you and wrapped you in his strong arms. “You did so well today for your first time. It wasn’t too much for you was it?”

“No, I really liked it.” You reassured him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead with a promise to discuss it more after you slept some.

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers fanfic #mcu fanfic #avengers fanfic #reader insert

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sevenstarsinning · 4 years ago

Text

Sweat

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6 - Ch. 7 - Ch. 8 - Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11

Chapter 12

The faint sound of birds chirping pulled you from a heavy sleep, forcing you to shy away from the brightness of the sun and turn directly into a broad chest. Your eyes flitted open, curious when Vegeta had returned home and how exactly you got home, but it wasn't Vegeta and you weren't at home.

"Goku?! Fuck." You sat up instantly, recognizing precisely where you were.

"What's wrong?" He sat up with you, immediately on alert.

"What's wrong?! I'm here, that's what's wrong. Why am I in your bed?!" You started to panic.

"You passed out and Kyla said to make sure you got to bed after I dropped her off." He explained.

"She probably meant my bed, Goku. Not yours." You scrambled out of the bed, in full panic at the fact that you'd spent the night with Goku.

"I didn't think Vegeta would like me showing up in your bedroom with you in my arms. Plus, I-I missed having you here." He admitted.

"Goku, I know this hasn't been easy on you, but you can't just-"

"I slept last night. I don't sleep when you're not here." Goku climbed off the bed and stopped you from putting your shoes on, "I don't want you to go."

"Goku, I'm with Vegeta."

"But he doesn't need you like I do. He doesn't want to spend every second with you."

You let out a soft sigh, feeling even more conflicted by the second.

"Goku, I-" Before you could finish your sentence he cupped your face and kissed you.

You pulled back instantly, staring up at him in disbelief, but you couldn't stop yourself. You threw your arms around him and pressed your lips to his again. He pushed you back against the wall, hands gripping your hips as his tongue slipped between your lips. Everything about him was so soft, so sweet and perfect, it was hard not to get wrapped up in him.

"Stay with me. Please?" He begged softly against your lips between kisses.

"I- I can't." You said, feeling like you were breaking his heart all over again.

He stopped kissing you and pressed his forehead to yours, "I know. I just wanted to ask again."

"This was a bad idea. All of it." You admitted.

"I can take you home now if you want?" He stepped back from you.

"That's also a bad idea. We need more time, Goku. I think at least for a while, we should stay apart." As you said the words they almost tore your heart out completely and you could only guess how it felt for him.

"Okay. If that's what you want." He said, barely audible with his head hung low.

The ride home in the cab was heavy, every ounce of your being telling you to go back, to leap into his arms and never leave, but it wasn't that simple. You took a deep breath before you pushed the front door open, almost running straight into the wall of muscle and anger known as Vegeta.

He squeezed past you with nothing but a glare on his face and headed outside.

"Wait, can we talk? I... I'm sorry about not coming home. I started drinking and I ended up passing out," you explained, hopeful he wouldn't ask where you stayed. At least, that's what you thought you wanted until you realized he didn't care enough to ask.

"I'll be home later, we can talk then if you're even here."

"Can't you skip training so we can figure out whatever is going on between us?" You tried to keep calm and not start crying, but the entire fucked up situation was too much to process.

"I'm not training, that ridiculous Bulma woman is making me clean up the mess I made of the gravity chamber last night," he grumbled.

"Wait, what? You're skipping training to help Bulma?" You asked, brow furrowed at how ridiculous the idea was.

"Only so it'll shut her up," he added. The surly prince crossed his arms and let out a heavy sigh.

You knew there was absolutely no reason you should be jealous, or that you even had a right to be, but you couldn't shake the feeling.

"Can I come with you? We can talk on the way."

"No. You'll only slow me down." He shot you down quickly.

"I really want you to stay so we can talk about this stuff." You pushed, needing him to stay.

"Talking got us nowhere last time. I see no point in continuing the process over and over again."

"What other choice do we have, Vegeta? If we don't figure this out... " you trailed off. Neither of you needed to say what you knew was true. Something had to change or the relationship was going to be over before you ever got to fully enjoy it.

"I'll be home later," he said again.

He left without another word. You stood there, feeling empty and alone. You wanted to force him to stay, to hash things out, but honestly, what else was there to say? Your relationship began with him cheating on Kyla and with you fucking his friend.

"How dire is my situation if I'm considering day drinking?" You asked when Kyla answered her phone. Somehow, you had already adjusted to having her in your life as a friend rather than an enemy. Kyla without Vegeta was a drastically different person. Or perhaps you just never saw her as anything more than Vegeta's bitchy girlfriend.

"Well, that depends. If you're drinking right now, I'd say it's pretty fucking dire. At 5pm? Not so much," she answered without missing a beat.

"Damn. That's what I thought." You sighed.

"Dickhead do something?" She asked.

"Kind of, but not really. I spent the night with Goku and-"

"Hold the fuck up. You spent the night where?" She interrupted.

"He didn't take me home last night. We just slept, but we kissed this morning." You wanted to go back to that moment.

"And now Vegeta doesn't want to talk and he's over at Bulma's helping her with something. All of this makes me want to drink." You sighed.

"Fuck, it makes me want to drink." She said.

"I really don't know what to do anymore. I thought I could ignore the feelings for Goku, but they just keep getting stronger."

"If you want to really figure out how you're feeling and what you want, alcohol isn't the best option." Kyla said.

"When did you become the voice of reason here?" You knew she was right.

"When I started letting Yamcha hit it and found out he really is just empty space." She said with full seriousness.

"Apparently we both need a break from the bullshit."

"We've tried that two nights in a row. Both nights we ended up getting trashed with Goku and I'm pretty sure the three of us would've fucked last night on the baseball field if you two weren't hopelessly in love with each other," she said in one breath.

"We're not hopelessly in love." You argued.

"Oh, do you have evidence that you're not?" She shot back.

"Yes, I'm with Vegeta." You said simply.

"You do know that's not really helping your case, right? You can be with someone but still love someone else."

"Okay, well, we aren't hopelessly in love because Goku doesn't understand the concept." You felt like you were grasping at any defense.

"He may not understand the concept, but he understands what he feels, which is complete devotion to you." Kyla said.

"Goddamn it." You sighed.

"We can do this all day but you haven't given me a vaild reason against it. You also haven't mentioned actually being in love with Vegeta either."

"You're relentless, Kyla, goddamn." Your chest heaved and you let out a long, slow breath.

"Yeah, at some point I actually started to care about this shitstorm. Seeing Goku like this really tugs at those annoying heartstrings."

"What if you're right about me and Vegeta? The whole sexual attraction mistaken for feelings thing." You cringed at the mere thought.

"Then you have a choice to make. Stay with him despite knowing there are no real feelings there, or end things as they are before it gets any more complicated."

Everything she was saying was spot on, but you couldn't sift through the feelings without worrying you were wrong or making a mistake.

After your conversation with Kyla you tried to find something else to focus on. You cleaned the house from top to bottom, showered, cooked lunch, and even organized your bookshelf. By the time you finished you'd actively spent your time avoiding the topic of your love life, but the second you sat down, it all came flooding back.

You frantically searched for something else to keep your mind busy, but you came up empty. After collapsing on the couch, you began flipping through the channels on the tv, settling on one of your favorite movies that you'd seen a million times before but still loved. You focused on the movie and the insane chemistry between the two actors, finding yourself getting drawn in to the sex scene as it unfolded. Your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your panties as you felt yourself getting more turned on by the second.

You closed your eyes and thought about the last time you had sex, how rough Vegeta was with you, how he bit you. Soft moans escaped your lips as your fingers circled your clit. Images of Vegeta crawling up your body, eyes hungrily gazing up at you. You rolled your hips against your hand, Vegeta faded and Goku replaced him. His sweet smile never failed to leave you weak. The way he could be rough with you and gentle right after was a balance no else could achieve, at least not in your experience. You were already getting close to coming just from the mental image of Goku on top of you, thrusting into you with the perfect amount of force. It wasn't any special saiyan form, just him. That was all you needed.

You bit your lip to hold back the moan, knowing which name you were close to screaming. It was all so confusing and complex. You focused more on how perfectly Goku fucked you, how quickly he'd learned how to work your body to give you the best orgasms. Your fingers moved faster as you neared your release, short breathy moans escaping your lips along with broken remnants of a name.

"Fuck... Goku..." you whimpered as you finally let go.

"Why did you even bother coming back?" Vegeta asked, ripping you away from the very private moment you were having.

Before your brain could process just how bad your next words were going to sound, you blurted them out. "I don't know."

"Foolish human. You don't know what you want- "

"Fuck off, Vegeta. This isn't one sided and you know it," you snapped.

"Don't assume you know what's going on in my head, woman. I was fine with whatever this is, you've been the one ruining it," he shouted back.

"Whatever this is? It's called a fucking relationship, Vegeta. Or maybe it was just sex for you and I was stupid enough to believe it was something more!"

It hurt to watch your relationship with him deteriorate so quickly, but you didn't cry like you expected. You did start to think it was mostly a physical attraction, but that wasn't something you were ready to admit.

"It is something more, you frustrating woman! I want you around more than anyone else on this pathetic planet," he roared, revealing more of his feelings than you expected.

"Then why weren't you here? Why have I spent the majority of our relationship either alone or with your ex?" You stared back at him, waiting for some explosion of anger.

"You chose to strike up that friendship with Kyla, not me. And you were well aware of how I spent my time but you couldn't be satisfied with that." He said.

You stood up and approached him, "I wasn't satisfied with seeing my boyfriend every now and then and having to beg him to stay home. I need more than that, Vegeta." You hated to admit how much you needed reassurance, affection, but it was the truth.

"I'm not going to be the weak, clingy boyfriend you want. You'd think your new friend would've caught you up on that little detail." He said.

"I don't want clingy, Vegeta, I just want you to be here, at least half the time." You felt like you were begging for basic attention.

"You're the one who pursued me, you wanted this."

"I didn't fucking want this. And I remember you being the one to kiss me first and then fuck me to prove whatever power, dominance thing to Goku."

He made two easy strides towards you, "don't act like you're innocent in any of this. You were jealous of Kyla from the second we started dating and I was no longer looking in your direction."

"Oh I'm far from fucking innocent, I know that." You had been carrying the guilt with you since day one.

"What do you want, woman? Just tell me what you want." He asked.

"I-I don't know anymore. I thought I wanted this, you, but now it just all seems so fucking... fucked. What about you? What do you want?"

"I'm not answering the question for you. You either want to be with me or you don't. It's that simple." He crossed his arms.

"It's not simple though." You shook your head, everything seeming more complex by the second.

"Then I'll make it simple."

In one swift movement, he had your body pressed against his and kissed you like he never did before. You could feel his need, and it threw you off. For a second, you thought it was an accident. But you knew the mighty prince of all Saiyans, if he let that little trace of emotion through, it was because he wanted you to know.

You kissed him back, feeling the ache in your chest growing. You wanted Vegeta, or at least you wanted to want him. Seeing him vulnerable like this was almost too much to take, especially when all it did was make you even more confused. But you continued to kiss him, hoping things would suddenly become clear, that you'd know the answer instantly.

You pulled yourself away abruptly, "I-I don't know. I- this isn't helping. I just need some time to think."

Vegeta's expression quickly turned from a rare softness back into stoic and brooding.

"When you figure out what the hell it is that you want, let me know." He stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

His words echoed through the night, circling your mind as you fixated on them. What did you want? Who did you want? It was a simple question, but there were no simple answers.

You tossed and turned, finally giving up on sleep. You resorted to standing in the living room having fake break up conversations with both of them. That only complicated the process of sorting through your feelings and you were left feeling more confused than you were before. Part of you wanted to work it out with Vegeta. He was willing to show a softer side, something you were desperate for.

Meanwhile, Goku was amazing, affectionate, and he wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable in front of you. There was a third option, your last resort if there was no clear decision. You could distance yourself from both of them. The question was, could you handle the pain of not having either of them?

#vegeta x reader #goku x reader #sweat fic #lynn #supremeleadershitlord

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fandomfixationstation · 4 years ago

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Warning: mention of death of a loved one.

Todays concept is MC gets a call that like their parental figure has died one way or another and this upsets them greatly because one, they aren’t there to help with anything two, the only people there to do anything are their siblings three, they considered said parent a angel or a blessing by god (optional/bonus points if said parents name means angel-) They don’t say anything at first though they seem rather angry and now one can figure out why. then they hide and have a mental breakdown to cry in hopefully but unlikely peace. now I shall write the response headcanons / scenarios or whatever I will do Update: well I didn’t write a scenario / short story bit for all of them because i ran out of energy to do so and then i never went back to it, though if anyone begs or askes nicely I could in theory maybe work something out. this was something self indulgent and was something i wrote to really get me out of a bad headspace. Lucifer

He is the first one to realize something is wrong, especially if they aren’t a very angry person.

probably doesn’t get to ask about what is going on because he is forced to deal with something else and rather quickly

though when people start inquiring where they went after lunch, finding it unlikely that they would randomly choose to skip class or something he makes his goal to find them.

Probably doesn’t take him long to find them after he starts looking. gets it in the first three guesses of where they are hiding.

“why are you hiding here with Cerberus?” Lucifer said with a bit of amusement. he figured he would find them here with his dog. just not curled up and cuddling.

“wouldn’t you like to know” was all they uttered out, having no real energy to argue, or fight. though it was clear they had been crying their eyes out.

“well something is clearly upsetting you, why not talk about it. nobody else is here to listen in” Lucifer offers to lend an ear to listen to their problems. he was also hoping that by doing so he could get to the root of the problem and deal with it. expecting that he was going to have to knock one of his brothers into line again.

“I just received some bad news. that’s all. also, I’ll be otherwise located Friday, so like, don’t worry if I’m not around on Friday, I will be back like Saturday, so there is that” They explain, clearly not wanting to get into the details of the so called bad news.

“otherwise located?” Lucifer inquired as to what the hell they meant by that.

“yeah, um, I will be visiting - visiting the human world for the day.” visiting might not be the word they were looking for but it was the word they went with nonetheless.

“your visiting the human world?” Lucifer was surprised to say the least. especially considering he wasn’t hearing about this till now.

“yeah, i was talking to Diavolo not long ago to make sure it was alright” with a sigh the were back to melting into the side of the dog.

“normally you are excited to visit the human world, what happened” lucifer wanted to get to the root of the misery they were feeling and he wasn’t gonna sweep this under the rug.

“for fuck sakes, you really aren’t gonna leave me alone till I say it huh? my parent fucking died. are you fucking happy, lucifer? Jesus Christ.” doing everything in their power to hold back a second wave of tears as they add on “my blessing of a parent died. can we drop the topic now?” they said clearly not wanting to hear anything come out of lucifer's mouth as they hardly give him the chance to speak.

“ah, I see, my condolences” Lucifer was trying to figure out what to say at the same time he was trying to figure out how to cheer them up or at least make them more comfortable. “do you want some Kleenex? how about some water?” lucifer inquired simply.

“water would be nice.” they let out a sigh.

“im sure your parent was a lovely person. I think it is safe to assume that they’ll end up somewhere where they are safe and happy” Lucifer states simply as he holds a hand out to them to help them to their feet.

“I have no doubts about it. so you don’t need to tell me twice. it just. . . hurts” They says rather quietly. Accepting lucifer’s hand and pulling themself to their feet.

”go take a seat in my office, no one will bother you in there. I’ll join you soon enough with your glass of water.” Mammon

This man probably thinks he did something wrong, spends half the day trying to figure out what he did

if its not that he is trying to figure out who pissed them off and who he should be yelling at.

he hates to admit it but he doesn’t like seeing them angry or upset.

is probably gonna be first to realize that they slipped of to somewhere and start trying to find them right away.

after checking a few other areas, Mammon finally considers they might have just gone home to hide. knocking on their door and slowly opening it mammon calls out into the room “Oi, human are you in here?”.

“Go away Mammon” they were heard but very muffled as they had encased themselves in several blankets, clearly sounding like they were crying. unless they choose to eat gravel or something.

“what’s got you so bumbed out?” Mammon said fully entering the room now know that they were in the room and completely ignoring their request to go away.

“I said go away, I don’t want to talk about it” They said pulling the pillow to their head in hopes to block out more of the world. so that they didn’t have to look up and face the fact they were a hot mess. so mammon didn’t have to see them like this.

“no! the great mammon isn’t leaving till you say what's bothering you! that way I can fix it for you!” Mammon declared boldly. goofy grin on his face hoping that his optimism would help cheer them up.

“you can’t fix this. you cant bring back the dead. well unless you use necromancy, but. that's never worked out” They had let out a dry laugh for saying all of this. but now they were holding back tears trying to not cry their heart out for a second time.

“oh human...” Mammon was at a loss of words, though to be fair he didn’t get the time to form a full sentence.

“I’ll never get them back. they were practically an angel” they sniffled, trying to not sob. “my parent died mammon. what the fuck am I going to do?” they didn’t really expect an answer from mammon.

“Listen here, the great mammon will deal with all the technical talk, and will make sure you can go to the human world long enough for you to do what you need to. but till then and maybe after, I’ll be here for you.” mammon explained simply.

after letting out a chocked sob they reached out a hand and grabbed onto mammon's arm. “thank you” they sobbed out. mammon just sat there and patted the blanket pile gently trying to give as much comfort as he could.

“do you want a hug?”

“please-”

Leviathan

since he hides away and does online classes (Correct me if im wrong) he might not even realize something is going on

unless he messages them and doesn’t get a response.

will ask if the others have seen them and like will try to figure out where they were last seen.

eventually puzzles together that something is wrong and he should look for them

Satan

He although wrathful himself, isn’t able to see through the anger and might be a little annoyed about them for being so.

though he does understand that there is probably a reason for them being upset. he’ll do his best to figure out what caused them to act this way.

he’s stubborn and straight forward, he’ll probably be direct and ask what is wrong and wont leave till he gets an answer.

or he might occasionally bring it up and keep getting updates with how their doing kind of thing.

doesn’t really have to seek for them when they hide away because he watched them slip away and got worried and followed them

Asmodeus

he is very quick to realize something more is going on, something more than meets the eye.

probably doesn’t directly do anything at first other than same some sugar coated words in hopes it cheers them up.

when that doesn’t work, he gets very worried and tries to convince them to do somethings to ‘take your mind off of things’

knows exactly where to look to find them. first try!

Beelzebub

one of two ways, he either doesn’t notice anything for the first little bit, or he has a strange feeling nagging him that something is wrong and he tries to figure out what.

once its clear that they’ve disappeared he is quick to start looking, might take a while to find them because he is gonna check everywhere to find them.

bear hugs no questions asked, will try to comfort to the best of his abilities.

will ask them what they want to do after a while to see what he can do to make them feel better

Belphegor

tbh honest probably knows something is up right away.

with either avoid it entirely or bluntly ask what is wrong

if he doesn’t get a direct answer or is shooed away he doesn’t have the energy to push for the truth, might be a bit annoyed.

once he hears that they have gone missing it probably wont take him long to find them.

will sit down next to them and be like ‘now will you tell me what is wrong?’

Solomon

since he doesn’t have the same amount of time with them he may not notice at first. or he does notice ASAP because holy shit what happened why are they so mad.

might try to inquire what is wrong and like use his natural charm to try to cheer them up.

when he hears they are lost or missing ect. he uses magic to find them as quickly as possible.

will do a bunch of considerably silly and goofy things trying to get them to smile or laugh before trying to get them to talk about whats bothering them

Simeon

doesn’t take him long to figure out something is wrong, just one look and he knows

but other wise, he’ll simply ask if you want to talk about it. when bluntly rejected he’ll leave them alone

they go missing during the day? maybe it was worse than he first realized, he’ll go looking for them.

will find them within the hour, maybe a half hour if he’s lucky.

mans will try to comfort them any way he can.

_____________________________________________________________ sorry, for not doing Diavolo, luke and barbatos, i just didn’t really have the time to do them nor could i figure out how to do ones for them so like aihogdsifh sorry. but i do hope you enjoy this post nonetheless.

#OBEY ME #Obey Me Levi #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me lucifer #Obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me headcanons #obey me headcannons #obey me scenarios

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lochsides · 4 years ago

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Yellow Metal - cathartic Review

Here’s something I did not expect to be reviewing this week but when Zayn drops a 24 minute rap track, you fall in line. I had to listen to it a couple times through before I could even begin to make sense of my thoughts because my brain sort of malfunctioned. I have never been prouder to be a Zayn fan. He’s such a nuanced songwriter and there is so much to unpack here.

I think this is the most unfiltered version of Zayn that we have ever been exposed to (and possibly will ever be). I am grateful that he said his piece in this because it needed to be said. As a brown woman, I felt so seen by this and I cannot explain what that means to me. Thank you Z, for your unvarnished truth in addressing racism and various forms of discrimination.

I’m doing a short lyrical analysis below the cut, but the TLDR is that this is a fantastic piece of art that deserves to be heard.

I wish he had released this as an EP because that would be easier to review than a single 24 minute song, structurally speaking. So instead, I have picked out some key lyrics, going from top to bottom, that really spoke to me and decided to study the song that way. His lyricism is hard-hitting in this track. It is beyond anything he has ever released before.

“The planet bleeds, the damaged trees. It’s never leaving until we ascend so fuck the fence.” — I have not seen this lyric being talked about in the fandom, because the lyrics that follow this steal the show, rightly so, but I wanted to give this line a moment because it’s important too. To me, this lyric speaks to where Zayn is at with his relationship with the physical world. He’s out on the farm (about which he even goes to say “tell you what I like, farm life and the tractor”) and I believe he’s happy in his space and he feels connected to nature (also see River Road). So it is a poignant and slightly jaded, but valid perspective that he shares on climate change. It’s never leaving until we ascend. The damage human beings have done to the planet won’t be undone until there are no humans left to do damage. It’s a single sentence that says so much about the depth of the climate crisis. I’m doing my PhD on urban air quality so this is something I care really deeply about and I resonated with.

“And until they stop killing colour, it’s fuck the feds.” — Yeah, agreed Zayn. The systemic racism that he calls out here is echoed throughout the song, in equal parts anger and boldness. I love that he isn’t glossing over it with metaphors, which he could easily do and it would be beautiful in a totally different way, but this makes it harder for racists to overlook. There is so much power in calling it like it is.

“Never lose me to fentanyl, scared when I take a Benadryl, keeping it green in general.” — It frustrates me to no end to see Zayn painted as this drug-addicted lazy musician that doesn’t care about his work, because we know how untrue that is. This narrative is tired and simply boring too, and I won’t get into the racist connotations of it when you consider it against his white colleagues who smoke as much as him but that isn’t one of their defining traits in the media.

“I’m racking up excuses while I’m slacking off on work … it was hard work that got me heard” — I love the juxtaposition in this verse. The public/media perception on his career is that Zayn doesn’t put in effort or that he doesn’t want it. This obviously stems from his leaving the band. It goes back to what I was saying before about narrative, when in reality, as Zayn has said on various occasions, he fights to make his own choices. And that doesn’t have to look the way everyone else expects it to (“I beg you, don’t include me. I might write it on my shirt”), he has his own struggles that have helped forge his path, but it is his path that he paved, himself. He works hard to be heard. He has to. It reminds me of something my parents used to tell me when I was younger about being immigrants: you have to work 10 times harder for the same opportunities just because of the colour of your skin or your name on the cv. It’s a harsh truth to grow up with but it was my reality, as it is for most POC.

“This life doesn’t give you no armour, a lot of myself can harm you. I swear on what’s good, that I’m here ‘til they take me. I pray that I’m wrinkled, at least over 80…” — There is something about the simplicity of these lyrics are the messaging that I love. He isn’t trying too hard to sound poetic but he still manages it perfectly.

“All I've been achieving, clocking miles in this region, moving like a legion. Promise that I made to myself, an allegiance. Do you still believe I’m a fool for ever leaving? Staring at the ceiling, can never put a cap on achieving. I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving. // I’ve had about enough of being my own enemy. It’s time I grew up, a long way from 17. Always went against the grain, struggles in my life. Got some things to say when I stand up on the mike.” — This is the only 1D-related lyric I’ll make reference to because this song is about so much more than that. That said though, we cannot overlook Zayn’s experiences in the band because that is part of his story. The tongue-in-cheek of “I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving” is hilarious to me. The line about not wanting to be his own enemy anymore and growing up from 17 reminds me of that quote Taylor (Swift) mentioned in Miss Americana about celebrities getting stuck at the age they got famous. I think this verse is similar to that. None of them ever wanted to be in the band and I don’t care what anyone says, Zayn leaving and proving success outside the band gave the rest of them the courage to follow their own solo careers. Sure there was drama surrounding the split but he did it for himself, to tell his stories the way he is now. Whatever else you have to say about him, you cannot deny his authenticity.

“I ain’t dropping this for fame, I need this time, like therapy, it’s just to keep me sane.” — I think this line tells us 2 things, the first being that this song was not leaked. Z knew what he was doing and his twitter likes tell us as much. He didn’t release it for any sort of attention, otherwise it would be widely available on streaming platforms and for purchase. Which leads to my second point, he released this song to get everything he talks about on the track off his chest. Its referenced in other lyrics too, like “now you see where I come from, the world don’t.” This was for whoever cared to listen, not the world. It’s inaccessible for a reason. I love that he threw those lyrics in. It makes the song feel more like a private conversation or listening to a friend rant. It creates a different form of intimacy between himself and his fans.

“Lessons that I’ve learned, I’ve tried teaching to myself. What I’ve learnt from certain people is that they’re better than myself. So I surround myself with real ones, and you feel the plastic melt.” — This one is for anyone that buys into conspiracy theories surrounding Zayn’s personal life. He surrounds himself with real people, real friendships, real connections. I have never bought into the bullshit that he has zero autonomy over his personal life. I love the use of plastic melting as a metaphor for ridding his life of fakeness.

“Feeling trapped. This industry is a cage.” — Zayn is obviously not the first person to say it. Many artists talk about how suffocating the industry is ( which he further comments on in the sung portion: “I don’t wanna be, I don’t wanna be, a part of this, no, I don’t wanna be, I don’t wanna be, a part of this”). Fame is such a wild and unnatural concept and the exploitation and politics of the music industry only feed further into it. The industry being a cage makes me think of zoos and how celebrities are animals on display, when they should be free in the wild. I also really like the musical interlude following this part.

“Nobody’s speaking the truth, I’m offended by the State. Look at the state of the news, I’ve decided the argument, reciting my views.” — Zayn toes the line between keeping to himself and speaking out on important issues, sometimes not very well. I am his biggest cheerleader, but I’m not up his ass. There have been many occasions where he could’ve done better. But I cannot fault him for being offended by the State because same, Z, same. I love that he took this song as an opportunity to real speak out, no punches pulled.

“See I’ve been facing the racists from back when I were a kiddie. Born up in 93’. Living in Bradford City, they kicked me out of the school. Said they had a problem with me hitting the kids that would call me p***, still sit in the classroom, chilling. I’m angry now that I’m older cause I see they treat us different. Got me thinking I’m the problem ‘cause they never dealt with these issues.” — See what I meant about no punches pulled. He said that! He said it like that too. There is so much in this verse that I relate to, it hits a little too deep. I grew up as a brown in predominantly white communities where the colour of my skin was the reason I was outcasted. We know when that’s happening, clear as day. The lyric “got me thinking that I’m the problem cause they never dealt with these issues” says it all. I have many racial traumas that I’m dealing with as an adult because the adults around me when I was a child didn’t deal with racism in the classroom. They do treat us different!

“20 years later, I’m still in the same boat. Tryna treat me like my grandpa, say I came up off the boat. Came to tell you what I stand for. Man I think you’re shit, a joke. How can I be civil when they got me by the throat? // Pushing my feelings down, you ain’t got it like them. ‘Boy your skin is so light.’ Ok motherfucker, take my name up on a flight. Try to convince immigration that your bloodline’s half white.” — Zayn talking his shit is my new favourite art form. How can I be civil when they got me by the throat? Something that I will always be enraged by is that POC are expected to de-escalate situations of racism. We have to push our feelings down, as Zayn says in the verse, because the institution is against us. All of the institutions are against us. The fact that he takes it a step farther to say that his name makes him a target for racism, even though he is half-white just nails his point home. Also, can we please quit the whole ‘Zayn is white-passing’ bullshit. He alludes to it again later in the song (“asian in my face, but still my race you can’t define”). Its not a compliment to erase someone identity in favour of white-washing them.

“My name ain’t on the list unless they label it ethnic.” — Oh, the amount of times we have heard that age old (v. racist) saying ‘{celebrity of colour} is the new [insert white celebrity here]’ as if POC aren’t allowed to succeed in their own right. It is wild to me that Zayn has to deal with this given his level of success.

“Start to understand why they think that I’m threatening. I move in certain ways, couldn’t slow me with ketamine.” — There is a subtle nod to racism (and Islamaphobia) in this line, because of course the brown man is a threat, but I like the way Z turns it around. I also like the rhyme scheme.

“Raised on the benefit for whose benefit? They’ll never learn shit, man, if the shoe fits.” — Okay I might be reaching here, but this is just my interpretation. We all know the benefit system in the UK sucks. Being raised on benefit implies a lack of money growing up, but the benefits aren’t really all that beneficial to the families that rely upon them.

“Dealing with the hurt, they should know cause they don’t deserve it, it hit deep cause I hit the nerve.” — Well, okay then, just call me out. It’s fine. I seriously feel like he’s talking to me directly with this line. I imagine a lot of us do. Its one of those lyrics that are a bit too honest but that why we love them.

“Cathartic, I’m an artist. Trying to put my heart in” // “Freedom fighter, Yellow Metal is my name.” — So do we have an alternate persona for Zayn now? Alright, I’m down. I think these two lines are tied together, because both are mentioned in the song title. (I think of the song as cathartic, by Yellow Metal, aka Zayn, or Yellow Metal as the name of the EP if this was officially released). The lyrics that accompany both title lyrics, along with the subject matter of the song as a whole, suggest that his heart is in standing up against injustices. I said it earlier, this is the most unvarnished version of Z that we have ever been exposed to. Almost like the complete picture to the puzzle pieces we’ve been putting together over the years.

“They’re tryna kill us with disease.” — Why did this line scream out ‘COVID-19 outbreaks in developing countries’ to me? Again, I might be reaching, but there is a disparity between how COVID is treated amongst minorities, along with many other diseases, and not to mention rich, primarily white countries hoarding vaccine supplies while places like India (and my beautiful Bangladesh and I’m sure Pakistan too) suffer needlessly.

“Started something sick and on my mind is what’s next. Just became a dad so now I’m taking all the cheques. Better know I’m staying and paying like it’s debt. Imma get it done, if it’s taking all my breath, sweat, and down I ain’t messing around ’til I’m the best.” — I think this lyric shows off Zayn’s sentimental side more than it does his ambitious side, because we know he’s in this for the long haul. Others may doubt that but his fans never have. But hearing him talk openly about being a father on a song is something else. It’s like Khai added this whole other layer of meaning and purpose to his life and it’s beautiful to watch. I’ve been here since the X-Factor auditions guys!! It makes me so emotional to witness him like this.

“Aint many of me around, p***, I’m just different. Certain stages to this level aint here because fame is to the devil, fuck a label, imma do this from the ghetto.” — God, we’ve been waiting for a fuck the label moment in this house, haven’t we? I won’t get into my theories on his label or his team, but none of us deny the fact that they should be doing more for him than they are. He has the potential to be the biggest thing with the right team and promo because he has a built-in fan base that would go the mile for him. Obviously, there’s also his aversion to promo to contend with and that’s his decision. Even without it, he could shatter every ceiling. Another thing I want to mention about this verse is the nod to the complete lack of South Asian representation in contemporary Western media.

“Don’t know what’s worse: the way that you live your life or the way that you write a verse.” — I’m just putting this in here because it made giggle. Also going to take this space to say how much I love his energy in this song. He knows he’s the shit, as he should!

“Can’t be louder … so free Gaza on my banner.” // “They’re hating on Palestine ways.” — I love that Zayn has always supported this movement, years ago, before being ‘woke’ was a thing. But now, he has a daughter that has Palestinian heritage and I’m sure that makes this hit that much deeper for him, personally. The apartheid in Palestine is heart-wrenching. It’s so strange to me to watch it happen, because I never thought I would witness something like this happening in 2021, yet here we are.

“Like vipers, I see the sly ones, the snake that’s called Biden, none of them abiding what they might put in writing. We should be used to it by now, say whatever for the vote and then just choose another route. Say they’d never kill another unless that brother’s skin is brown. I’m just telling you the facts, if you can’t take it, the truth naked, to bare bones and my thoughts lately, spitting politics.” — This verse is straight up savage and I am living for it! I find it hilarious that he called Biden a snake. This verse addresses the truth about politics, that even electing a left-wing leader doesn’t fix the system.

“I’m Tony Stark, still embarking on a dream” // “Gone green like Bruce Banner” // “He taught me like Ra’s Al Ghul. Felt like living in Gotham, the people were rotten.” — And to tie it all off, I wanted to take a goofy moment to mention all the superhero lyrics Z added in this song, really showing his personality because I’m such a nerd when it comes to this stuff and it makes me wish that we were friends so I could annoy him to death about it.

#reviews #zayn #yellow metal #cathartic #zayn malik

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cosmic-conundrums · 4 years ago

Text

Someone is singing on the Castleway. Now, this would typically be considered a fairly ordinary occurrence, if not for the fact that the singing is rarely being done by the corpses.

Passing through all four central kingdoms as it does, the Castleway is used for a multitude of purposes, not least among them the punishment of traitors and criminals. The lesser ones, generally. Those of import are most often dealt with personally by those they have wronged, and often with a certain flair and originality befitting their crimes. But for most, the Castleway is where they face their retribution, though it is sometimes considered more than they deserve.

The road itself is a patchwork of hard-packed dirt, cobbled stone, and tough wooden slats, depending on where you stand. As borders and rulers have changed, so too has the Castleway, going through countless damages and repairs until it is unrecognizable from the wide earthy trail it was in the early days. It is still wide, of course, wide enough to fit three full-size wagons side by side. And it is busy. The people flow like fish through a river, on carts and horses, in groups and as one; shouting, talking, laughing. Trading amongst themselves, breaking off old relationships and forging new ones, gathering fame and fortune and everything in between, all in the course of one journey. One can learn more about the world from following the Castleway than from any storyteller or newscarrier in the realm, it is said.

None of this is entirely relevant to this particular tale, however, or at least not quite so relevant as the stakes.

The stakes, referred to as ‘the Judge’s fingers’ by the general populace, line the Castleway on the left side. Heavy wooden stakes, as big around as trees, taller than even the most towering of persons, driven into the ground, each through a small wooden platform. They are spaced out irregularly along the path, so it is nigh impossible to guess how close one’s proximity will be to the next (nigh impossible only when considering the factor of luck. Remove that and it is simply impossible to guess).

These Judge’s fingers are where the aforementioned traitors and criminals face their retribution. To be sentenced to the Castleway is to be sentenced to either a slow, excruciating demise or a merciful release, on the whims of the Judge Eternal and Final. It is to be cruelly and brutally abandoned, to have the strings cut on your control over your fate. It is to be tied to a stake by the side of the road, and left there; handed over to the gods and the elements. Most die after only a couple of days. Brought down by starvation, storms, fires, the savagery of beasts or humanity. There are endless forms of death waiting on the Castleway. It is simply a matter of which one gets to you first.

There are not always occupants of the fingers, but it is often safe to assume that there will be one or two watching you as you pass by, eyes bright with anger or dark with despair. Some will shout, some will beg, some will cry. Some will say nothing. Most are already too dead to make a sound. This one, however, is singing.

It’s an unfamiliar song, the tune high and haunting, the voice sweet and rough, like crystallized honey. And it is ruining Ridley’s day.

It is incredibly bothersome to have your entire life’s purpose usurped by a corpse that refuses to die or shut its mouth. Alright, Ridley supposes, that’s a bit dramatic. But drama, as well, is a piece of what he was born to do, and at this particular moment he is having a disastrous time attempting to do it. The song on the breeze has a nasty habit of throwing him off his own melody, and every attempt to drown it out is met with new fervor from the singer. It’s frustrating as all hell, and Ridley has yet to see the face of his foe, which only stokes his ire further. He keeps his eyes on the fingers, scanning the expressions of those both alive and dead, watching their lips to see if they move. He wants to look upon the one who is ruining his day… and perhaps punch them. He hasn’t quite decided yet.

He’s nearly given up on trying to locate the singer and decided to push on and ignore the irksome voice, when he sees them. He can’t quite see the figure’s mouth moving from his vantage point a ways down the road from them, but he knows it’s them upon first sight. It can be no one else.

The figure stands tall and proud, despite being tied to a stake and the fact that they appear to be no more than five and a half feet of height. Unlike the others, they hold their head high, not a hint of defeat shown. As he gets closer, it becomes clear to Ridley that the figure is smiling as they sing, a soft, smirking grin, as if they know something everyone else does not.

Up close, Ridley can make out the words on the sign nailed into the post above the singer’s head. The letters are a slash of sanguine paint on dark wood, but they are easy enough to interpret: This man is sentenced to the Judge for heresy and refusal to submit to arrest.

The heretic himself is slight of build, with the type of lean muscle that comes from working with a weapon. His features are sharp yet fine, as though delicately cut from a rough stone; pointed chin, high cheekbones, distinctly sloped nose. There is a pale smattering of freckles across said nose and cheekbones, standing out prominently in the brilliant sunlight. His eyes glitter silver with humor and defiance, the expression turning their swampy grey color to radiance. His lashes are unusually long and dark, giving those eyes a captivation that is difficult to look away from. His hair, an auburn reminiscent of leaves in the falling season, falls just to his shoulder in the slightest of waves. He is dressed in the simple white shirt and leather breeches granted to prisoners, but he manages to make them look like the garb of a prince.

He continues to sing as Ridley watches, despite how he must have noticed the other standing there. He doesn't give any indication, however. Ridley folds his arms and glares, a challenge waiting to be met. The singer's eyes flick to him briefly, and he lifts an eyebrow in… invitation, it almost seems like. Well, Ridley’s not about to let that opportunity go.

With a flourish, the bard twirls around and deposits himself on the wooden platform at the base of the stake. He makes himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other with pointed elegance. He flicks his eyes up to the heretic and attempts a scowl, and is met with absolutely nothing in return. So it’s going to be like that, is it? I see. Well, two can play at that game.

Two, as it turns out, cannot play at that game. The heretic continues to sing, and the song continues to distract Ridley in all his attempts to drown it out. To be honest, the bard isn’t exactly sure what he had intended to do here. He has a habit of making decisions like this, taking action without even considering what action to take.

The song never seems to end, the verses carrying on and on until Ridley nearly becomes convinced that it’s the only song he will ever hear again. No matter how intently he listens, he cannot for the life of him figure out the language. The words flow like a river, the vowels rolling like waves and the consonants crashing on the shore. It fits beautifully with the singer’s voice, Ridley has to admit, the slightly rough tone adding an unexpectedly welcome contrast to the smooth melody. The tune is just begging for a harmony.

Damn my nature, Ridley thinks as he begins to hum, testing the notes until he finds the ones that fit, turning the heretic’s song into a duet. He can’t follow along with the words, but the rest of it is easy enough to pick up. He sings loudly, lifting his voice up to carry along the Castleway. He’s always had a powerful voice, it’s one of the qualities that determined his prowess as a bard from a young age. There had been people listening to the heretic’s song from the start, but once Ridley joins in, more and more heads turn as they pass on the road, and some even stop to listen. Mostly families, dragged over to the side of the road by young children captivated by the music. Some merchants stop by, nodding gently along to the tune before moving along on their path. A group of soldiers for hire scowl at them as they pass, and Ridley scowls back. He’s never much liked soldiers. There’s another bard that stops as well, and performs an elegant dance for the heretic, bowing at the end before skipping away, humming the tune as she does so. And there’s an oddly pale figure, with strange colorless eyes and silvery hair despite its apparent youth, who stays longer than the rest, standing before the platform with its head cocked to one side, a mysterious glimmer in its eyes. The heretic ignores it, but Ridley stares right back at the figure, taking in its expensive clothing and well-groomed facade. It met his eyes with a cool, amused gaze, as unbreakable as stone. Now, Ridley may have a strong voice and a stronger will, but he folds under that gaze. He lowers his eyes as the figure smirks and walks away, strolling as though it has all the time in the world.

Not long after that, the song ends. The heretic’s voice trails off into the wind, and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back against the rough wood of the stake he is tied to. He appears… peaceful, content. It’s not an expression one would expect to see on the face of someone condemned to death, but then again it has already become clear that this someone is not much like the others.

“Thank you,” the singer says as Ridley is preparing to rise to his feet and leave, feeling silly and a bit embarrassed over what he has just done. Ridley startles. “For what?”

The heretic opens his eyes and smiles. “You made it beautiful.”

He’s talking about the song, Ridley realizes. “It was beautiful before,” he says in response. “Without me.”

“Not nearly as much,” the heretic points out. Ridley finds himself blushing faintly, proud of himself. “Well, you know, it comes with being the most famous bard and storyteller on this side of the four kingdoms.”

“Famous?” the heretic quirks an eyebrow. “Are you really?”

Ridley shrugs. “Probably. More famous than you, I’d bet.”

“Well, that would be because I am infamous, my small singing friend.”

Ridley has to bite down on his lip until he draws blood to keep himself from bursting out indignantly at being referred to as small. “I suppose that makes sense, you being a heretic and all.”

The heretic cocks his head, the light catching on a set of tiny ragged scars just around the edges of his mouth, mostly faded. “Is that what they call me? Heretic?”

“It’s not a very pretty name,” Ridley agrees. The heretic grins, the pale scars stretching. “I prefer Faraday,” he says.

“Now that is a pretty name,” Ridley bends over and plucks a pristine white daisy from the patch growing around his feet. “Faraday. Day. Daisy. Faradaisy. Can I call you Daisy?”

Without waiting for an answer, the bard plucks a few more of the flowers and begins weaving them into a crown. “So, Daisy, if you are not a heretic, what then are you?”

Faraday hmms in thought, tilting his head back against the wooden stake once again. “I am someone who believes,” he says, softly yet firmly.

“Is that not what we all are, at heart?” Ridley points out. He isn’t looking, but he can hear the heretic’s laughter. “I suppose you would call me a prophet, then,” Faraday confesses.

A prophet. Interesting. “I find that prophets and heretics are often the same, depending on who you ask.”

That laugh again, a shockingly harsh sound. “You speak true. Unusual for a storyteller, in my experience.”

“Many stories are true,” Ridley bites back, defensive.

“Many are not,” Faraday returns. Ridley huffs, defeated. He turns back to his daisy crown, but the silence quickly begins to bother him.

“You know, you’re in surprisingly good spirits for someone sentenced to death,” he says, forcing himself to remember the situation the other is in. Don’t get attached, Riddles. But if Faraday hears the bitterness in his tone, he doesn’t show it.

“Oh, I’m not going to die,” the prophet replies, confident as a king. Ridley whirls around to frown at him, doubtful. Faraday smiles brightly, tilting his head away from Ridley so the hair falls back from his throat, revealing another scar, this one thick and fairly recent, judging by the clear visibility of the stitches holding the flesh together.

“I have been sentenced to death too many times to count,” he explains softly, his rough honeyed voice falling uncharacteristically flat. “And not once has it killed me. Why should this be any different?”

“Gods,” Ridley chokes out, openly staring. He’s never seen a scar like that. He’s never seen a wound like that. He hadn’t thought anyone could survive something like that, let alone come out of it walking and talking and singing, for Executioner’s sake. “What did you do?”

“To make the world want my head on a platter?” Faraday sighs. “Well, that’s quite simple. I killed their gods.”

I killed their gods. I killed their gods. I killed their gods.

“Well,” Ridley says simply, sounding a few shades more hysterical than he had intended, “that would do it.”

Faraday nods, a slight acknowledging dip of the head, and turns his face to the horizon, his eyes sparkling in the light of the setting sun. “They are dead,” he says again, more to himself than to anyone else. “Whether they fell by my hand or another’s, I cannot say. But I know. I have stood upon their graves. I know.”

Ridley studies him, attempting to work through the puzzle that is Faraday the condemned. The prophet is sincere, that fact is as clear as day. Insane, but sincere. I am someone who believes, he had said. Someone who believes… Someone who believes.

It would be better if I left him here to die, Ridley thinks to himself. It would be the best thing to do. To most, it would be the only thing to do. But Ridley is someone who believes as well. Believes in hearing the full tale, in seeing it through to the end no matter how many tavern patrons or bored lords are screaming at him to quit the racket. There’s a song here. I can feel it.

Faraday startles when Ridley begins sawing at his bonds with his small dagger. “What are you doing?”

“You have a story,” Ridley babbles, justifying his actions to himself as much as to Faraday. “There’s something- I think there’s a story here. Something good. Something to make a legacy out of. I’m not- It can’t end here. I don’t think it’s supposed to.”

Faraday watches him, a slow, genuinely delighted smile crossing his scarred lips. “I never thought anyone would tell my story,” he says, and the soft surprise in his voice awakens a twinge of pity in Ridley. “I don’t see why not, it’s bound to be an adventure. I’ve always wanted to go on an adventure, you know?”

The ropes fall away in a slithery heap, landing in a puddle at Faraday’s feet. The prophet steps away from the stake, stretching his arms wide and throwing his coppery head back so the light shines full in his face. Now that his hands are free, the thick bands of scar tissue around each wrist are clearly visible, indicating countless bindings and chainings. He looks like a saint, standing there scarred, dressed in the simplest of clothing, long hair lifting in the wind. He looks like a king. He looks like a mistake waiting to be made.

When he has finished soaking up the last of the sunlight, Faraday bends to collect the crown of daisies Ridley had made. He places it on his head as reverently as he would a crown. “It suits you,” Ridley tells him. Faraday smiles, but it quickly falls as he glimpses the sign hung over his stake.

“They called me a man,” he mutters. “I do not like being called a man.”

“I understand that,” Ridley sighs. “I’m not always a man either.”

Faraday lingers on the sign a moment more, before turning on a heel, as fluid as a dancer, and strides off down the Castleway. He picks up his earlier song again, belting it loud to the heavens and the core of the earth. Ridley shakes his head as he follows, wondering what in the name of the Judge, Jury, and Executioner he has just gotten himself into.

At least it will be an adventure.

#I WROTE. WORDS #A FIRST DRAFT OF A CHAPTER OF ME EPIC FANTASY NOVEL #there are parts of it i don't like and i've rewritten them hundreds of times but can't get it any better than this. oh well :/#but i wanted to introduce y'all to faraday >:}#writing #my writing #novel #fantasy #fantasy novel tag #elia faraday #tristain ridley #ocs #my ocs #original characters #original writing

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themidnight-ghost · 4 years ago

Text

If we had 5 more minutes

Kate Fleming moves in with Jo Davidson under witness protection. Feelings are discovered, they get a dog, host Jo's first (proper) Christmas, and Kate finally realises what it's like to truly love someone.

“You can live the life you should have lived. Be free to be the person that you really are.”

“Where do you plan on going next?” Steve took another sip of his beer; god knows what was going on in his friend’s mind. Kate Fleming had been confused ever since she met the infamous Jo Davidson, and after the conversation they just had, he knew Kate would be crazy to let her go.

“Home, probably.”

Steve could hear the uncertainty in Kate’s voice, and he placed a reassuring hand atop of hers, “If you want her, go get her, mate.”

“I’m afraid.” Kate ducked her head, “I know she has witness protection, but something tells me it won’t be enough. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Follow your heart. If I deserve a shot, so do you.” He gestured to the harsh autumn air drifting through the slit in the doorway. Kate felt like it was calling her. She knew exactly where she wanted to go and who she needed to see, “I’ll text you.”

Steve Arnott smiled as he watched his best friend grab her jacket and flag down a taxi, “I know you will.”

By the time Kate arrived at Jo’s safe house, it was already 3 am. She felt terrible leaving the woman alone after everything that had happened, but who could really blame her. After knocking on the door 6 times, doubt started to rise in the DI’s chest. What if Jo had forgotten about her? What if she was asleep? What if something terrible had happened?

Fleming knocked again, this time with more urgency.

“Jo? It’s me, Kate. Can you open the door?” After no answer, Kate started becoming illogical. She was never a rational person, often acting on impulse and facing the consequences. It never even occurred to her that Jo could’ve been in the shower. Kate automatically presumed the worst and started looking for a way to scale the building.

Using her detective skills, Kate located a web of ivy stretching up the side of the house. She tugged on it gently at first, then with a little more force before pulling herself up, gasping slightly as a branch gave way but continued to climb, unaware of the approaching figure.

“I didn’t know you have a double life.” A tired Scottish accent echoed through their street, and Kate almost lost her footing, “You look like you’re about to rob me.”

Thankful that the darkness hid her reddening cheeks, Kate began to make her way down to the former DCI who wore matching sweatpants and sweatshirt.

“Then again, I wouldn’t expect anything less from the woman who saved my life.” Jo twiddled her fingers as Kate approached, not wanting to cross a line.

“It was nothing, don’t worry about it.”

It wasn’t nothing.

Kate still remembered when Steve pulled over the van, how she froze after seeing Jo in such a dangerous position. The DI wanted to say something when they switched places, caress her hand as a sign of good luck, kiss her goodbye or reassure her that everything would be okay. Instead, she waited in silence as Jo was taken away from her yet again.

Unable to take the stillness, Kate spoke again, “How are you feeling?”

“I can’t sleep,” Jo admitted with a sad smile, “I’m constantly locking my doors, checking behind me and closing curtains. I want it to end, Kate.”

The DI wasn’t ready for such an honest confession, but she presumed it was because Jo had nothing left to lose - everything she had was now lost or a lie.

Kate automatically stepped forward, “It will end. The Gaffer’s picked out a place for you, somewhere in the country but still close to this place. You’ll be under witness protection. It’s like I said: you can live the life you should’ve lived.”

“Alone?” Jo’s accent was unusually weak. Alone was the harsh reality Jo didn’t want to admit true. She wanted nothing more but for Kate to come with her and live out a life together free of AC-12 and the OCG, but both women knew that wouldn’t be possible. Kate had a son and her job. Besides, Jo wasn’t worth loving.

Kate Fleming felt the same way. Every instinct in the DI’s body was begging to run to the smaller woman and hold her tightly in her arms, never letting go. It wouldn’t be practical. No one was supposed to know about Jo’s location, not even Hastings.

“I’m sorry, Kate. Forget it; I’m the last person you’d want to be stuck with.”

Jo clearly still felt guilty about leading Kate to her death, but all of that was in the past. Kate didn’t care, and driving off into the night regardless of previous events was the best decision Kate had ever made.

“Jo, wait.” The DI instinctively grabbed the smaller woman’s wrist, stopping her from leaving, “Hear me out. I’ve never considered myself as anything other than straight, but that’s changed.”

Jo liked how Kate’s hand felt, securely wrapped around her wrist and never letting go. It felt safe like nothing can hurt her anymore.

“Christ, I’ve never been good at wording things or forming sentences, but I’ve never felt this way before, and I feel like a child.”

It only just occurred to Jo that this could be a confession.

“You’re so perfect. And even with everything you have going on, you’re still perfect even if you don’t think it now. And in the un-weirdest way possible, I want to follow you.” gentle drops of rain fell from the sky, “I want to follow you to the country, to England, to France, to wherever. Just so I can be with you. And I feel guilty that it took me this long to tell you because if something, anything happened in that prison, I don’t know what I’d do.”

At first, Jo thought this was a sick joke set up by AC-12 to get revenge, but the only thing in Kate’s eyes was honesty.

“You mean that?” The former DCI mentally cursed at her answer.

Taking both of Jo’s hands, Kate pulled her close.

“Of course I mean that. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” Something clicked, “I’m going to do everything I can to go home with you.”

And for the first time in ages, Joanne Davidson smiled. Too absorbed in the DI’s presence to consider anything else, she hesitantly cupped Kate’s face, pressing their foreheads together in the rain.

“Come home with me, Kate.”

☁️ ------------------- ☁️

Even though Kate doubted witness protection, she’d pulled a couple of strings that allowed her to move in with Jo. Initially, Kate had used Jo’s history with the OCG to convince AC-12 to let her move in, but as more truths became unearthed, Kate outed herself to Carmichael and was given the nod of approval.

It wasn’t the way Kate wanted it to go, but it still worked, and the DI wasn’t complaining. She still kept her job, her best friend, all whilst getting to live with the woman she... loved? Kate was still wavering about that word.

“I didn’t think it would be this big,” Jo spoke over the radio as the pair pulled into the driveway of a rural cottage.

Kate smirked, “Only the best for the best.”

Matching Kate’s humorous tone, Jo pointed to the ivy snaking up the trellis.

“Just in case you feel like climbing into the house again.”

“I was worried, yeah?” Kate gently nudged the smaller woman in the passenger seat, “Besides, I didn’t feel like waiting around all night.”

“Thank you, Kate.” Jo took the DI’s hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, “For everything.”

“You really need to stop thanking me for everything. Give yourself some credit, Jo.”

“Let’s not go there just yet.” Jo unlocked the car door, becoming Kate to follow.

The DI knew Joanne still had problems with her role in their relationship. She believed that everything she did was selfish and wrong, refusing to see the good aspects like when they got drinks together or walked back to Kate’s drunk and free. Free from AC-12 and the worries of life outside and inside of work. When they walked hand-in-hand, looking at the moon whilst convincing themselves this was a totally platonic thing. Jo was yet to know that she helped Kate discover who she truly was and where she belonged.

Unlocking the little red door, Jo’s mind started to buzz. What colour would the walls be? Where would the kitchen go? Is the wall big enough for a tapestry?

“It’s a tad… plain,” Kate commented.

“That’s the point!” Jo enthusiastically hugged the DI, “We get to choose how to live. For once, we are in control.”

Witnessing Jo so excited made Kate’s heart flutter. Consumed by euphoria, Kate picked up her lover and spun her around in their new living room, their laughter bouncing off the walls and filling the space.

The pair ended by facing each other, breathing heavily through bubbles of laughter.

“What colour should the kitchen be?”

“Green,” Jo tucked a strand of hair behind Kate’s ear, “With a gold tint.”

Kate smiled at Jo’s newfound confidence, “Sound good, boss. Ever thought of getting a dog?”

“Please, Kate,” Jo became solemn, “You don’t need to call me boss anymore.”

Kate took her hand, “But, I thought that was our thing? If you want me to stop, I will.”

Jo inhaled deeply. There are certain things she didn’t want to address, especially after the moment they just experienced. That being said, Joanne Davidson knew the key to any healthy relationship was communication.

“Can we just start again?” Jo fiddled with her fingers, something she always did when anxious, “I don’t want to remember what I put you through or the pain you faced because of my mistakes.”

“I’m sorry, Jo, but I don’t want to start again.” Kate touched the older woman’s shoulder, “Those experiences, they make us who we are; it’s why we’re so close. The universal experience we share with AC-12 and the OCG: it’s us, and I don’t want to forget that.”

Witnessing the walls of Jo’s mental castle crumbling, Kate continued.

“You made mistakes, we all do. It’s what makes us human. We learn from them, adapt, overcome, and that isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Even if forgetting was possible, we can’t pick and choose to get rid of the bad and keep the good. You must find good in the experience. To me, that good is you, Jo.”

Jo buried her head into the crook of Kate’s neck, “I don’t deserve you.”

“I could say the same.”

The pair stayed like that for what seemed like hours. Jo cried it out into Kate’s chest, gripping her shirt as the DI whispered honest words of comfort.

☁️ ------------------- ☁️

After adjusting to their new life, the couple decided to take that exciting yet predictable step and get a dog. It was something Kate Fleming had wanted to do for a long time, and Jo was in no place to stop her. The agreement was that if Jo designed the house, Kate could design the dog… or something as such.

After rolling down the windows, taking many wrong turns and singing Taylor Swift at the top of their lungs, the couple eventually reached the pet shelter.

They held hands as they walked through the kennels.

“What are you looking for, Kate?”

The DI hesitated, spoilt for choice, “Something with personality and spirit.”

“Sounds like a tough one-”

“Christ, what the hell is that!” Kate abruptly pulled away, running over to one of the kennels, “It’s some sort of hairless rat.”

Jo tried her best not to laugh at her girlfriend’s antics, “Kate, you can’t just say that. You’ll hurt its feelings!”

The DI kneeled over in a fit of laughter as the hairless rat-dog chirped towards them, and this time it was Jo’s turn to laugh at the little dog as it spun sporadically in circles.

“Look at the tufts of hair poking from its chin!” Kate mocked before focusing her attention elsewhere, “What have you seen?”

Jo wordlessly pointed to the kennel housing a golden labrador. His eyes were kind and gentle, and he greeted them with a waggy tail. Both women crouched by the glass, Kate resting a hand on Jo’s shoulder for support as the former DCI pressed the palm of her hand against the kennel bars. The dog was cautious at first but started licking Jo’s palm delicately.

“He reminds me of myself,” Jo murmured, and Kate wanted her to continue. The DI never expected Jo to relate to a dog. A hawk maybe but never a dog, “In prison, I mean.”

“He reminds me more of Steve; look at his mug.” The quip Kate made to lighten the mood worked, and soon the couple had signed the papers and were driving back home to Taylor Swift, Steve the dog accompanying them in the back seat.

Jo’s first rule was that Steve wasn’t allowed on the bed. The second was that he couldn’t chew anything of value in the house. Unfortunately for Jo, Steve and Kate ignored both of them.

It started when Kate heard Steve crying in his bed, so she naturally felt sorry for the animal and brought him upstairs to sleep with the couple. All was going well until Steve the dog slotted himself between the pair, separating them for the entire night.

“Come on, mate,” Kate whispered as she pulled the dog back, “I’ve spent enough time without her already.”

After about 10 minutes of trying to move the labrador, Joanne Davidson’s tired voice muffled into the pillow: “I told you the dog shouldn’t be allowed on the bed, Kate.” The DI knew Jo was smirking from how she said her name and decided to get her own back. She refused to spend any more nights without Jo wrapped in her arms.

Climbing past Steve the dog and over the blankets, Kate adjusted herself in the darkness, so she was lying comfortably on Jo’s back. Rolling her eyes, Jo shuffled upwards, letting the DI snake her hands around her waist and cushion her head in Jo’s neck. Jo seriously considered letting Steve sleep on the bed every night.

☁️ ------------------- ☁️

With no recent actions from the OCG, AC-12 gave Kate the go-ahead to release details of her and Jo’s location to 2 people maximum. It wasn’t a debate. Fleming approved Steve and Ted in a heartbeat, making sure they knew the pans for Christmas eve.

Jo Davidson had never spent Christmas with someone before, never mind someone she loved. Even with Freida, Jo had been alone, never fully able to relax or enjoy the rainbow lights and festive music, but as she sat snuggled in front of the wood burner with Kate, she was entirely able to absorb the atmosphere:

Their Christmas tree in the corner, Steve the dog chewing a candy cane, stockings over the fireplace, the unfinished gingerbread house on the kitchen counter, Christmas music outlining the walls and being curled up in the arms of the love of her life as she breathed gently on her neck whilst reading a book.

“I know you’re unsure about the L-word….” Jo trailed off, once again twiddling her fingers.

Kate kissed her cheek, “Lesbian?”

The former DCI wanted to be as honest as possible, “You know what word I mean, Kate. And I know it scares you.” A beat, “You are in no position to say it back, but I need to tell you that I love you, Kate.”

Kate reassuringly rubbed Jo’s side.

“You love me?”

At that moment, Jo felt a wave of embarrassment overtake her. She felt like a child in a playground handing their crush a dandelion. The former DCI tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded shyly.

“You mean a lot to me, Jo,” Kate admitted with a smile. She had been brainstorming how to say the L-word without actually having to say it, “More than most people and you need to know, you’re the most important person in my life.”

Content with the answer, Jo snuggled into her lover’s side, drifting away to the sound of carol singers and church bells.

Forgetting to send Steve and Ted a text not to ring the bell, she was thankful to see them (mainly Steve) making ‘lovey dovey’ faces through the window. Kate rolled her eyes at her friends’ antics, cautiously prying herself away from the smaller woman and opening the door, pressing a finger to her lips.

“We didn’t mean to wake you,” Ted said sincerely, placing the bag of Christmas presents on the table.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Kate admitted, “It was mainly Jo anyway, her nightmares are on and off, and last night wasn’t the greatest. But you-” She turned to Steve,

“Finally got the girl I see?” Her best friend greeted her with a witty remark and a hug.

Ted peered into the couple’s living room where Jo slept to admire their tree.

“No star?” He questioned.

Kate assessed Steve’s Christmas eve takeaway, “Jo said her mum had a tradition where they put the star up on Christmas day. I figured we’d keep it alive.”

“You should go wake her, mate. God knows how she’ll react to someone in her house. Nevermind us of all people.” Steve mentioned, not wanting to make a bad impression.

“Just don’t break anything.” Kate quipped.

Steve the dog and Steve the person got along surprisingly well, and when not being interviewed about the OCG, Jo and Ted actually had a lot in common. All four shared Steve’s Christmas eve takeaway whilst watching ‘Love Actually’ and, much to Kate’s dismay, started on her trifle during ‘A Muppets Christmas Carol’. The night ended with an excitable game of charades in which Steve and Jo had to act out Scooby and Shaggy - Steve gave Jo a piggyback around the cottage, both adults screaming with glee as they paraded around.

To be honest, Jo didn’t have high hopes of keeping a relationship with Ted and Steve, especially after Operation lighthouse. It was unfortunate because Kate cared so much about them, and despite not knowing them, it automatically made Jo care about them too.

Christmas day passed too quickly. They started by opening presents. Kate got Ted a ‘Worlds Best Dad’ mug, and Steve bought him a customised top saying: ‘Not H’.

As well as last night’s takeaway, Steve bought Kate a sign he stole from AC-12 whilst drunk (don’t ask how he didn’t get caught) and an Alexa. Kate went for a more classy option: a framed photo of them wasted at a karaoke bar.

Finally, it was Jo’s turn. Due to Kate’s last-minute planning, the former DCI had no chance to buy Ted or Steve anything, but they didn’t mind; they hadn’t formed enough of a bond yet. However, Kate insisted she presented her present first. The DI could hear her heart thumping in her ears as she handed Jo the small jewellery box containing 2 necklaces, each with a personalised pendant: a small silver gun, the other a golden car. Jo admired them with adoration; every detail had been etched into the metal, even the make of Steve’s getaway vehicle.

“A matching set?”

“To remind us of how far we’ve come.”

Jo wasn’t sure how her present could top Kate’s but proceeded with the gift-giving. It was a weighted blanket, a set of bond touch bracelets for when Kate went back to work and a cute little photo book personalised with added newspaper clippings, annotations, dates and locations relating to their relationship.

Jo’s act of love deeply touched Kate’s heart. A series of small yet meaningful presents was definitely her speed, and Kate couldn’t stop herself from flicking through the photobook and admiring all the small details like her favourite colour, preferred flowers and location coordinates which Jo had marked in.

“It’s adorable. Thank you, Jo.”

Jo simply nodded as she sat in Kate’s lap, fiddling with the silver gun around her neck. Kate Fleming had the car, of course.

Unable to move after the Christmas dinner, the group spent the rest of Christmas relishing each others company. Jo and Kate started by carelessly putting up the star, the former DCI needing a lift from her girlfriend to reach the top of the tree. Human Steve was with dog Steve, Ted had a cuppa and a newspaper, commenting on various political events, occasionally uttering a ‘mother of god’ making Kate, who was now squashed under Jo Davidson, chuckle.

That was the first Christmas where Jo had properly smiled.

☁️ ------------------- ☁️

Kate Fleming had been married once, and it was a disaster. Let’s just say she wasn’t ready for it. She had too many regrets, doubts and problems in her own head. That marriage put her off love for a while. Not only that, but the universal experience of being heartbroken was enough to make her want to stay single forever. That was the plan until Joanne Davidson arrived. Jo Davidson helped Kate discover who she was and become comfortable with her sexuality. The woman who helped her embrace the demons, who humbled her whilst building her up and never tore her down.

The DI was on the fence about her feelings until she almost lost Jo at the shootout with Ryan Pilkinton. On that night was when Kate decided to take Jo and run, the city wasn’t safe, and the pair wanted out. Unfortunately, the plan didn’t work.

That’s why Kate was standing by the door, ring in pocket, dog lead in hand, ready to propose to the woman she loved.

“Ready to go?” Greeted the Scottish accent she loved so dearly.

“I’m the one waiting for you, boss.” Jo lovingly ruffled the DI’s hair as she stepped out of their cottage, taking a freeing breath of air; she grinned when Steve bounded behind her and Kate linked their arms.

It was autumn again. The couple proceeded to the nearby hill path, through the arching oak trees, across the wooden bridge kate thought how nice it was to see Jo free from all those layers she used to wear at work. The former DCI swished her legs through the sea of leaves, and Kate did the same, both women snickering like toddlers when they flew up in her face.

Kate knew Jo would want something intimate and private rather than exotic and loud, so she planned to propose at the top of the hill which overlooked the city. Kate had timed the walk perfectly so the sun would set, and she could properly see the golden tones reflecting on her lover’s face.

Finally reaching the top of the hill, Kate admired how perfect Davidson looked as she gazed contently at the sunset, contrasting against the flushed sky. Steve the dog sniffing around for squirrels Kate realised they had the perfect family.

“Jo?” Kate looked calm, but inside, she was terrified of rejection, “Forgive me for not saying this earlier; I just didn’t know how to word it.”

Aware that she had Jo’s full attention, she swallowed the nonexistent doubt and continued.

“I love you. I love how sweet you are with kids. I love how you get sleepy when it rains. I love how you fiddle with your fingers when nervous. I love how you’re obsessed with skittles but only the yellow ones. I love how you turn your head into my hand when I play with your hair. I love how insanely ticklish you are. I love how you adore being the little spoon, even if you won’t admit it for anything. I love how you drive so. So carefully when someone else is in the car. I love how you can’t pass a field of cows without saying ‘cows’. I love how you hug every dog you see. I love how you scrunch up your nose when you feel like you’re going to sneeze.”

Kate knelt down on one knee.

“I love your fear of fireworks. I love how cuddly you are when you’re tired. I love all of that and everything else too, and I could keep going all day with listing all the millions of things that make you Jo. I love you, Joanne Davidson, and I am always going to love you.”

She pulled the box from her pocket, presenting it to her lover.

“Joanne Davidson, will you marry me?”

Jo looked starstruck, but after what seemed like hours, she shook her head. Kate went numb, her face fell, and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The DI didn’t even feel Jo take the box from her hands’ nevermind see Jo taking a knee.

“You seem to be giving all the speeches lately.”

The Scottish accent pulled kate out of her daze, and the taller woman tenderly gasped at the sight of Jo Davidson, down on one knee and offering her a ring.

“I don’t think you realise the impact you’ve had on my life, Kate. You saved me. Not just from the OCG but from myself, and I don’t know how to ever thank you for that. Through the time we’ve known each other, you’ve been my knight in shining armour. You stormed the tower-like Flynn Ryder when Rapunzel needed help, risked your job just to get us out of the city. You intercepted the transport vehicle, and without you, I wouldn’t be here today.”

Jo couldn’t contain her grin as she witnessed Kate's reaction.

“The only time is smile is when I’m with you, Kate. I can be myself around you, and I’ve never been more thankful to have someone in my life. When we first arrived, you told me that we shouldn’t start again because our story makes us who we are. I’m ashamed it took me so long to realise this. We’re here today because we made choices we can’t change, and even though it’s broken me and built me back up, there’s no one else I’d rather go on this journey with. You, me and Steve, of course.”

Kate felt like she was on top of the world and the following sentence was everything she wanted to hear and more.

“Please, Kate Fleming. Will you marry me?”

Obviously, Kate said yes.

☁️ that ending honestly makes me feel sick so I wrote my own. I'm glad Jo found happiness - she deserved it. but we all know it should've been with Kate. thank you for reading bestie x 😔 ☁️

#flemson #joanne davidson #jo davidson #kate fleming #katherine fleming #jo x kate #jo davidson x kate fleming #line of duty #line of duty season 6 #alternate ending #line of duty flemson #flemson ending #line of duty alternate ending #kelly macdonald #vicky mcclure #ted hastings #steve arnott #bbc

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seizethecarpe · 4 years ago

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Know By Hart || Solo

Timing: Current Summary: No matter how practiced he was, Dave had never been good with grief. Triggers: Somehow… none. Contains grief. Author note: Before you read this, I want us all to remember that I’m completely innocent please file your complaints to the local mime ungulate

In 2004, José De Nueves had walked into Dave’s life. He’d had an easy smile and slightly glassy eyes. It had taken a rusalka, a Swedish fortune teller, and three drinks for José to hold up his hair and reveal in true depth the feathery scars that framed his face. He grinned with two teeth missing as he’d explained the tendril like creatures he’d hunted for one night. “Made me the perfect soldier,” He’d said with a laugh as he downed his whiskey glass. “I don’t give a fuck about anything.”

When Dave had followed his scent to a crypt a year later, he’d found a spawn chewing on José’s drained neck, a stark reminder of how the smallest mistakes could make even the routine hunt a death sentence. He’d wondered that night if José had even cared as they’d ripped his guts out in front of them, felt anything at all as they’d dragged it out of him until his intestines had torn all over the cemetery lawn. Or if he’d screamed and begged for his family anyway, right at the end, his soul returning to life only when it was too little, too late.

Unsure which fate was worse, Dave’d raised a glass in the man’s memory, and chose to forget.

——-

In ‘11, there had been Jasmine. Her honey warm skin highlighted the feathery scar that tucked under her jaw. Her bar, her spare room and her bed had all been Dave’s home for a little. But she’d always been clear that when push came to shove, he wasn’t her priority, he wasn’t human enough to risk her life for. All the same, they’d talked for hours under the thick cover of clouds as they waded up mountains to find the monstrous beast contaminating the local springs, they’d talked through her thick cigarette smoke, outside the fading wooden sign of her bar. They had talked more than Dave had spoken to anyone in years. She bared his soul, little by little, and in turn one day she told him about the nest nearby that she sent her friends too when they had lost one thing too many. Dave had listened intently, harder than he’d listened to anything, until the glass in his hand had shattered.

Not too long, she’d warned. You could lose too much of yourself too fast, and end up more ghost than man. The next day Dave had hiked five miles, peering into the edge of a dried out lake, and saw the silvery creatures there, languidly floating through the air with a dozen tentacles. Dave thought of José, all light gone from behind his eyes, and Jasmine whose grief sometimes sounded wrong, like an untrained actor on the stage. Dave turned and left, hungry tendrils chasing after him fir half a mile.

Two years later, Jasmine had insisted she was retired at forty two, but there hadn’t been another slayer for a hundred miles, so she had come when he’d called anyway. Some cruel unnatural winds had extinguished their fires, and when the aipaloovik wrapped its arms around her and pulled her underwater, Dave made just one attempt to get her free before he told himself there was nothing he could do.

The white polyps she’d told him about haunted his thoughts longer than she did. A quiet, gentle what if.

——-

Last year, Dave had met a boy wearing a grin like armour and who considered his enhanced healing another weapon in his arsenal. Dave had saved him from drowning, the kid had saved his life with the penance for the murder of Winn Woods. And then the saving had happened again, over and over, until it became as routine as the wise cracks and eye rolls.

He loved you. It rattled around in his head. When he’d seen the words on his phone in what had obviously been a final goodbye, Dave hadn’t let them ring any more true than the promise that they’d go fishing with beers. Now, the caster’s voice was stuck in his head, sneaking up on him when he was elbow deep in the bowels of his van’s engine, as he garroted a fish to eat in his human form, when he covered his body with slime to slide into his seal pelt. Sixty feet of ocean above him and he still wasn’t safe from Nell Vural’s voice. Thanks for that, Adam.

It was worst in the mundane moments, like folding laundry, because his mind churned while his hands were busy. See, Dave found it easiest to associate with hunters because he always knew they were destined to die. Everyone agreed there were things no one talked about because there was the deep undercurrent of knowing that Dave probably broke most of their codes, but as long as they didn’t know, it could go ignored. It was an emotional barrier that suited everyone just fine. Until now, apparently.

Dave smoothed his fingers over the edge of a shirt that had seen better days, folding it down as tight as he could before putting it away in a drawer that clipped into the wall of his van. His van was a mess, fishing gear scattered across the floor, seaweed drying on a bucket he hadn’t cleaned out, photos hanging skew on the wall. He wasn’t ever perfectly neat because how humans took care to keep their possessions perfectly in line was alien to him (the sea was never tidy), but he damn well knew he could do better than this.

Humans considered it a sign of intimacy to show someone their living spaces. Dave couldn’t remember the last time he’d let anyone in here that he wasn’t giving a ride elsewhere. Adam hadn’t known him, not really. Hadn’t seen the emptiness in Dave’s heart, that the fire that kept him going ran on fumes. Who the hell was he to speak of love, when Dave hadn’t let him deeper than his second skin? That there was so little left in Dave worth loving.

He looked down at the shirt he was folding, the collar pressed down skewed and the sides lined up at angles, and realised at some point he’d picked up the wonkyphoto from the wall, and the cracked, bloody compass Nell had given him that Dave had put on his bedside table and not looked at again. In the photo, three toothy sharp smiles were yellowed with age, teenage boys tussling in the sand. The photographer’s shadow stretched across the sand beside them, and even twenty five years later he could see the impatience behind the boys’ expressions at the doting woman behind the camera. The brass of the compass offered no such warmth, and filled the interior of the van with the scent of the last blood Adam had ever spilled. He flicked it open, and saw it pointing south west again. How could he forget, his home wasn’t a house but an underwater grave.

Fucking ironic, that each grief pointed so sharply to the other, blurring the lines of his most defining pain. Dave didn’t know how long he stared between one and the other before he returned to folding his shirts, and putting them away. He hung the photo back on the wall, and carefully put the compass away along with the rest of his fishing gear, tucked into fabric so that the scrapes it had taken in Adam’s final moments would be its last. When he was done with the laundry, Dave’s mind was set.

His grief had always been a call to action.

--------

In the hours of hiking since Dave had set out, White Crest becoming a distant blip on the horizon, Dave hadn’t changed his mind. More doubts should have crept in, but they hadn’t once, his mind clear of thought and feeling already. Just one step past the other, past the purple heather fields and overflooded lily pad ponds, under canopies drooping with pine needles and summer chirping birds.

White tiny flecks began floating past his face through the trees, which slowly grew as he walked deeper into the heather moors. White floating tendrils extended out, brushing against his clothes and hair. The deeper he walked into the cloud, the more the air felt like water, as if the trees had become kelp forests and he was swimming through clouds of chrinoids. The only thing that made the masses of them different than a mist was that Dave could not feel his way through it. They pulsed around him like Jellyfish, glowing under the setting sun.

In the densest part of the mist, he turned instead to an ethereal white creature at his side, as large as an old TV. Its mass of white tentacles fluttered against Dave’s skin curiously. Shame prickled in his veins, flinching away from those delicate touches. The sick, sinking feeling that this was wrong finally set in, worse than most vices that people leant on for their grief. If Adam could see him- but Adam couldn’t. He wasn’t a single damn person’s role model, and didn’t owe anyone his grief. Not even for a good man whose connection to him had been skin deep and yet reached him to his core. Dave swallowed, and turned back to the town for the first time since he’d made this choice, but all he saw was the clouds of white as he weighed the same thing as so many others had before him.

Grief had always been a call to action. He stepped a little closer, and didn’t flinch as the tendrils brushed against the side of his face, then latched on.

The tendrils were as gentle as a kiss. He’d expected it to be like the time he’d gotten tangled up in an octopus, suckers bruising his skins for days, but if he hadn’t felt the white static encroaching on his mind, this wouldn’t have been unpleasant at all. Tendrils which hadn’t attached traced over the planes of his face, lulling his eyes closed. Peace spread from those pinpricks deeper into his mind, and he could see the appeal of staying here for eternity. Let them clear him out, until there was nothing left except his mission.

Dave sighed quietly as he felt himself become lesser. He pulled away, and the tentacles let him, and Dave couldn’t even feel the absence of whatever they had taken. That was good, feeling the loss would have been too close to more grieving. The flickering tendrils of the hartvlinders trailed after him as he hurried away, through the clouds of gentle creatures until he burst out into the dying of the sunlight.

Dave tested a memory like he might tongue at a broken tooth. Deep in a swamp with the rotting corpse of a giant fish clogging up his nose. Dave gave a countdown before lowering Adam into the cleanest water they could find, working quickly to wash off the last of the acid gunk. Adam had been weak kneed and badly burned after his adventure in the monster’s stomach, but he had shut his eyes dutifully and held his breath as Dave washed the worst of the acid out of his hair with exceeding care. As soon as he was out of the water, he’d cracked a joke filled with post hunt exuberance, one after the other while they waited for their stamina to return, until holding back his grin made his cheeks hurt. They hurt again now, hot tear tracks prickling his face. Dave sagged against a tree, and then down onto his knees. Something was gone, he was sure, but not this. The hartvlinder hadn’t been so goddamn kind as to take away his newest, sharpest grief. Or even what he’d really wanted gone: the regret of words left unsaid, the guilt of outliving another kid, the shame of envying a good man for a life where he’d completed his mission and saved everyone.

Dave would have to learn to wear it until it became another ropey scar on his heart, another line on his death-weighted net.

#para #solo #wickedswriting #adam

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himitsu-luna · 4 years ago

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Nct 127 - Creatures series

File #2 - Johnny, the werewolf

Warnings: werewolf attack, mentions of wounds

Genre: fantasy/ supernatural/ angst/ fluff

Pairing: Johnny x reader

Nct 127 - Creatures series masterlist

---

The story

Johnny is part of the Suh family, one of the most renowned clan of creatures hunters.

The night before his 15th birthday, he was attacked by a werewolf, that was seeking revenge for the fellows he had lost for Johnny’s family.

Johnny got bitten, but he was quickly medicated, so the werewolf venon didn’t spread all over his organism.

However, it was not enough to completely neutralize the cursed effects of the incident.

He does turn into a werewolf at full moon nights, but he doesn’t lose his senses entirely. He doesn't have the wrath and thirst of blood that the commom werewolves have.

His werewolf form presents itself as a giant muscular human shaped creature, covered in dark brown hair, with big canines showing up through a long snout, in addition to his pointy ears and silver big sparkly eyes, that still carries the warmth of Johnny's soul.

When everything happened, his family immediately hid him from the world and subject him to an intense preparation, so he could learn how to control his powers and be introduced to the society again.

The powers

His five senses are sharp,even when he is in his human form. His vision, sense of smell and hearing are beyond our comprehension.

He also developed a sixth sense, and can feel danger from miles away.

He is capable of understanding and communicating with some animals, like wolves and dogs.

He is super agile, fast and strong

He has regenerative powers. If he is given enough time to recover, he can heal the deepest wounds by himself.

The only things that affect him are pure silver and ultrasonic waves settled in a certain frequency.

°°°

— Report - Incident number 1

Being the only child and only heir of a respected family of creatures hunters was not easy. You had to deal with the high expectations of your clan since you were not even aware of your own existence. And one thing made everything worse: Johnny Suh. Johnny was the heir of another powerful clan. Your families were not exactly enemies, but they had this unspoken competition between them, that ended up uncousciously impregnated in your mind. You always felt the need to be better than Johnny. You were the same age, but you were born with a fragile body, and Johnny's healthy and perfect condition lit on you a feeling of envy you really hated and felt ashamed of. And the guy was talented, you couldn't deny it. You always had to make the double of effort to get the same result as him. However, the trait that irritated you the most on him was his kindness. You two grew up together, and he always considered you as his precious friend. He never let you down, he never ever once doubted you.

"Can you stop being so nice? I don't deserve it." - you thought while watching him on his way back home, waving for you after another day playing and practicing together. This was the last memory you have of him. You never saw him again. His family said he suddenly had to go somewhere to complete his training. He had left you behind. As always, all you could visualize was his back. "Where are you, you jerk? You said you would always be with me... Liar..." - you said to yourself, mad and desperatly holding your tears, at that full moon night you should be celebrating his 15th anniversary together.

---

You are 21 now. You look at the mirror and you almost can't recognize yourself. There you are. That little weak and fragile child has become strong. One of the best hunters out there. There you are. Ready to assume your position as the leader of the clan. There you are. Entering the salon, everyone cheering for you and greeting you as their master. There he is. That familiar face, that familiar smile, that familiar eyes looking at you proudly. There you are, your mind bluring your surroundings so you could focus just on him, and making your lips open to let escape that one name you were willing to say again for so long "...Johnny??"

°°°

— Report - Incident number two

Your first hunt as the leader of the clan. The bright full moon lights your path, guiding you into the dense forest. You are excited, and your dilated pupils are making your eyes look pitch black. You are used to hunt, but today is a special day. He is here. He is going to see how much you've grown. You finally... Finally he will truly acknowledge you. And you... You will finally be able to walk beside him. Johnny. Your beloved Johnny.

---

You barely had any opportunity to talk to him during the day. Sneaking through dozens of arms trying to congratulate you, you reached the tall man that had been staring at you with affectionate eyes, just to give him a big hug, to make sure he was not an illusion - "I missed you too, Y/N", he said with a much deep and low voice you remembered him to have, while wrapping his arms around you. You had no time to answer him, as you felt your father strongly pulling you away from Johnny's embrace. You didn't notice your father's curious and suspicious glance at Johnny. You didn't noticed Johnny's sad eyes. You just murmured "See you later?", and before you could hear the reply, you were again among the happy festive people.

Still with his eyes locked on you, Johnny whispered - "See you later."

---

You hear a loud howl. The werewolf that has been hauting the village is near, you can feel it. "Johnny..." . You lose your focus for a second. "Y/N , concentrate!!", you say to yourself, surprised by your fool thoughts in such an important moment. The sound of big steps crushing the dry leaves behind you put you instantly in alert. All you see is a giant shadow jumping in your direction, with its sharp claws glittering with the moonlight. You skillfully project your body to the ground while back flipping, escaping from the beast, but losing your silver dagger in the process. "Shit!" - you think, covering your face with your arms, as the creature again attacks you. You get shocked when you hear a painful yelp, followed by a deep silence. You slowly let your arms down, to visualize the inanimate body of the werewolf you were hunting, laying on the ground. You then listen to a crackle right behind you, and turning around as fast as you can, you see yourself in front of the most imposing werewolf you've ever seen. The fear dominates your body. You know you would never be able to fight that creature. But as soon as you meet its eyes, you freeze. You know. You just know. Again, that name escapes your mouth – "Johnny?". And by the sound of this word, the majestic being runs away from you, leaving behind your astonished figure.

---

– "Johnny!! JOHNNY!! TALK TO ME!" - you are begging in front of his house, slamming the door with all your strenght. Johnny quickly appears, taking you by the hand and pulling you away from his family territory. "Please Y/N, it's not the time! I... I ... I can explain..I.." , Johnny starts to speak, looking desperate, but you interrupt him – " You!!! I was about to get that werewolf!! I could get It on my own!!" . Johnny could not be more stunned by your totally unexpected sentence. –"What?? This is all you have to say? You.. you are not afraid of me? I'm a Monster! You lost your mind?" . These words and the hopeless gleam in Johnny's eyes make your heart ache more than it already is. You soften your voice, as you say, cupping his perfect face with your hands : - "Johnny, what if someone saw you? You need to be careful, please. And how could I be afraid of you, when you look so fragile right now, in front of me? Please, would you let me take care of you? I can! Now I can! I've spent years of my life trying to reach you. I'll protect you! I know I must be crazy, but staying away from you again would drive me insane for sure. So now, please, just shush and let me be by your side, ok?" Johnny then lets his stiff body relax again. "Oh, so you knew it all along.. And you... you were waiting for me. I see now. Don't worry, I'm here to stay, Y/N. I missed you so much" . Your faces slowly get closer and closer, until your lips meet and melt into a sweet kiss, sealing your forbidden vows to each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

°•- taglist - @starrdustville

°•- Nct 127 - Creatures series masterlist

-;-;-;

#nct 127 #nct drabbles #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct headcanons #nct blurbs #nct johnny #johnny suh #johnny #johnny x reader #nct x reader #werewolf #supernatural creatures #queue #nct reactions

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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

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La Belle Dame Sans Merci

Fandom: The Case Study of Vanitas (Mochizuki Jun)

Pairing: Noé/Vanitas

Tags: #vanitas pines for noé, #implied/referenced past rape/non-con, #implied/referenced past childe abuse, #blood and unjury, #angst and feels, #forehead kisses

Words: 3.7k

Summary: Vanitas can’t sleep so he does the only other thing he’s good at besides curing vampires from the curse: harass Noé. It escalates royally and doesn’t end good. No one is surprised.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

Moonlight casts slim, silver lines on Noé’s face.

Sitting on the windowsill, Vanitas can see the slow and steady rise of Noé’s chest, a constant rhythm speaking of life. How he has survived until today is still a wonder to Vanitas. Only a few feet separate him from the sleeping, defenceless body—a body he knows all too well capable of pulling tense like a bowstring when ready to strike; an animal equipped with lethal tools to hunt and destroy. But Noé is a paradox of black and white, a pacifist at heart that opens up too easily, too quick. Why else would he be interested in someone like Vanitas?

Their conversation at the top of the bell tower is still ringing all too clear in his head, a memory he’d rather strip from his mind and drop in the deepest part of a vicious, dark sea. Noé is dangerous, because unbeknown to himself, he has worked a strange magic on Vanitas, pulling at invisible chains curling around his neck however Noé pleases. If Vanitas didn’t know better, he’d call it Fate, but she has abandoned him long ago to suddenly return like a sullen lover and beg him for companionship.

“Louis,” Noé murmurs, drawing back Vanitas’s attention, and no, he isn’t jealous, not in the slightest. He just wants to reach inside Noé’s mouth and rip that name out of him. He hates that even though Noé is easy to read like an open book, it turns out its pages are filled with enigmas Vanitas is unable to solve.

A little huff escapes him as he slides down the windowsill, his feet landing eerily quiet on the floor. Watching Noé snore undisturbed, he’s quite sure he’s met what must be the worst vampire of his kind. What else explains his utter lack of awareness of danger? Vanitas imagines slipping right next to him and sliding a dagger across his throat or put the barrel right above his heart, pulling the trigger.

He’s so easy, Vanitas thinks, barely holding back a scoff. In so many ways.

Noé shifts, and Vanitas stops, only noticing then he’s already crossed the room and has almost reached Noé’s bedside. And that’s another thing he can’t stand about Noé: He makes Vanitas do things impulsively, barely spending another thought if what he’s about to do is beneficial or utterly disastrous—no matter that, in most cases he is already moving, already talking, and it’s so aggravating that 80 percent of what he’s saying in a sentence starts or ends with Noé’s name on his lips. Like a blessing, like a prayer. Vanitas doesn’t pray, not anymore. He’s stopped long ago, and no God, Saint or Martyr’s promise of benediction would be enough for a reward to make him resume.

So they punish him, and surely Noé is just another part of what they hold in store for him. Another explanation isn’t possible, because why of all nights in which he has visited Noé, this time he wakes up, his warning only a little hum before Vanitas is met with a sleepy face and white hair adorably ruffled.

No, not adorable, he tells himself. Terrible. Annoying.

“Vanitas?” Noé’s voice is rough on the edges and thick with sleep. “You can’t sleep?”

Vanitas feels challenged to say, “No, watching people sleep is one of my many exotic hobbies!” but he’s tired and sort of really desperate for some form of rest, so defeated, he admits, “No, I can’t.”

Noé considers him with more regard, and Vanitas wonders what he thinks, watching him stand in his room, barefoot and with deep shadows under his eyes. Just the previous day, he'd commented that Vanitas wasn’t looking well at all, and he'd asked if they should rest for a while. Vanitas had pressed on even harder, refusing Noé another good look at his battered form.

The silence stretches before them like a lazy beast, unmoving but still ready to pounce any second. Eventually, Noé offers with a carefully even voice, “Do you want to know what always helped me falling asleep when I was a child?”

Vanitas scoffs. “No, I really don’t.”

“Good,” Noé says, either not noticing or ignoring Vanitas rolling his eyes. “Whenever I couldn’t fall asleep, I’d go to Domi’s room and climb into her bed. Knowing someone was beside me helped, and I can sleep much better with someone warm next to me.”

“My, do I look like a ten year old boy, barely able to fend for myself that I need to share my bed with someone?” Vanitas cocks his head to the side, squinting at Noé from under his black lashes. “And who would want to lie next to a rough sleeper like you, ending up as a body pillow for your serving!”

Noé arches a slim, white eyebrow and lifts his blanket. Vanitas stares at him for a moment, then moves towards him like a moth to the flame and crawls under the sheets, settling right next to the other boy. “What a splendid idea!” no one says, because it isn’t.

Noé is a furnace beside him. Whatever space Vanitas tries to bring between them, he immediately bridges, pressing his arm against Vanitas’s.

“Dominique is going to kill me if she hears about this,” he murmurs into the darkness, ignoring how Noé’s calf feels against his bare ankle. “If you so much as mention it to her, I will haunt you down and slay you.”

Noé hums as he turns around to face him, snuggling into the blanket. Vanitas tries to lie as still as possible. He imagines he is a rock at the bottom of a vast sea where he’s been for hundreds of years and will remain for another hundreds of years. It works until he feels Noé’s warm breath ghost over his cheek and in his imagination, Vanitas sees the rock carried away with the water current.

“She won’t bother,” Noé says. “Like I said, we used to do that all the time as kids. Me, Domi and—” The sudden silence feels like the air sucked out of the room so no sound can travel. Vanitas can feel his shoulders tense, his breath caught somewhere on the way from his lungs to his mouth.

Don’t say Louis, don’t say Louis, he thinks.

“And Louis,” Noé finishes quietly, another breath on Vanitas’s skin.

“Then we must be talking about a different Dominique,” Vanitas says, not indulging at all in the boy that’s written in blood on Noé’s tongue and hands. “But then again, you are her favourite thing, and she would do anything for you. Do me one favour, would you? Don’t invite me to your wedding.”

Noé makes a strange, curious sound, and draws his knees up to his chest. Vanitas tries to accommodate by moving further towards the edge but half of his body is already hanging off, barely covered by the blanket. He shivers and turns to his side, now facing Noé and notices too late what a terrible idea that is with only a few inches separating their faces. His eyes shift from Noé’s ears to his cheekbones and focus on where his lashes throw dark shadows on his skin.

“Wedding?” Noé blinks up at him. “Me and Domi? What makes you think that we would marry?”

“What makes you think you won’t?”

“Dominique is like a sister to me.” Noé hums another little, low note, leaning his head forward. Vanitas leans back. “No, she is the sister I always wished for. I love her as family.”

“Why, go and break her heart like that.” Vanitas sighs, faking a concerned huff. Either the soft fabric just under the tip of his fingers is his own coat or Noé’s pyjama, and he doesn’t dare moving to find out. “Or maybe you’re actually naive enough to believe she feels the same way.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” He can practically hear the other boy frowning. “I’m certain she too loves me as a brother. And should she ever decide to marry, I’ll surely be sad, but it doesn’t matter as long as she’s happy. I just know she’ll be a beautiful bride.”

Vanitas rolls his eyes, unable to believe such gullibility and there’s nothing he wants to do more than claw his way into Noé’s heart and see what makes him tick like that, what mechanics work to produce such a strange specimen like him. But before he can give back a snark remark, Noé suddenly asks, “What about you?”

“Oh, I would make a lovely bride, thank you for asking.”

“No, I mean marriage,” Noé says after a poorly restrained chuckle. “Are you considering to marry Jeanne?”

Vanitas’s mouth forms a little ‘o’ before he barks out a laugh. “What in Heaven’s sake makes you think that?” he says, pressing one hand against his forehead because surely whatever Noé comes up with now will give him the headache that’s asserted itself within him since their first encounter.

Noé is quiet for a moment, then whispers, “Because you love her.”

Vanitas stops laughing. The headache doesn’t come, it’s dulled by the strange tone in Noé’s voice, one he fails to identify. It’s like grabbing mist, the whitish mystery clearly visible but slipping through his fingers.

“That is a very strong assumption,” he starts slowly, hearing the edge in his own voice. “But tell me, Noé, do you see me as someone who is capable of loving?” Noé’s breath hitches, his answer clear to Vanitas before even spoken, so quickly, and with a voice dark and hard, like late-winter ice, he adds, “A vampire of all things?”

Noé’s breath hitches again, this time sounding like a knife stabbed into his side. It does something funny to Vanitas, makes his heart jump a little out of tact, and he feels a smile slowly forming his lips into a crooked line. His hand sneaks up from under the blanket and reaches to grab a white lock, playing a contrast of black and white between his gloved fingers.

“I don’t love, Noé,” he whispers, pushing his cheek into the pillow that smells of Noé. “Not you, not Jeanne. Not humans, and certainly not vampires. I only consume those of value to my cause.” Like you. Like Jeanne and that boy she holds so dear.

Noé seems to understand, but he doesn’t pull away from Vanitas’s touch, which speaks volumes of whatever this connection between them is. No, he slightly turns his head, nuzzling into Vanitas’s hand, and with a shudder Vanitas realises how vulnerable the inside of his wrist is just inches away from Noé’s mouth and those hidden teeth that can easily rip apart his skin.

In this short moment he begs to whatever deities currently punishing him that he would bite him. Because then everything would easily fall into place, and he could kill Noé without second thought; without remorse.

Silver lines return to Noé’s face, and Vanitas blinks up at the window, at the narrow slit showing the moon emerging behind thick clouds, making Noé look like a piece torn out of the night sky: silver and black.

“Ah, but it seems there is someone else who adores you,” he says, his voice rising to a playful, ironic tint. He nods his chin towards the moon, and Noé turns around and away from Vanitas’s hand, blinking into the soft light. Just for a split second, his fingers twitch—toward Noé’s throat, his cheek, his lips?—but he already pulls it back under the blanket, still feeling exactly where Noé has touched him even through the thick fabric of his glove.

“La lune?” Noé turns back to Vanitas, brows drawn together.

“Yes, the very one. But I don’t recommend giving into it. You can only go so far on a roof after all before you reach the end.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know the story? About the man falling in love with the moon. He climbed up to a roof to reach her, but well. I think you can imagine the end of that.”

“It sounds like the moon is a harsh mistress,” Noé says slowly, surprising Vanitas in joining his antics, even following his train of thought. “La belle dame sans merci,” he whispers. “Then you two aren’t so different.”

Vanitas raises an eyebrow. “Beg your pardon?”

“Just as distant,” he says, shifting away from Vanitas for the first time. Good, Vanitas should think. Stay away from me. But instead he goes rigid and demands, Don’t go. “Just as out of reach.”

“Thank you, I try to keep things interesting,” Vanitas says, his voice hollow.

Noé surprises him (there it is again, being surprised when Vanitas has sworn that he’ll never underestimate another person ever again) by giving a soft chuckle. “But that makes me want to get closer to you even more, Vanitas.”

His mouth goes dry. His brain tries to follow up with whatever might rebuilt the wall between them, brick by brick, but instead his mind betrays him and takes over his mouth, babbling, “Did you know Alain Chartier wrote the poem about the merciless belle dame? It’s a little tacky to my taste, but then again, I wouldn’t beg anyone for their adoration. It’s a silly concept, the dialogue between the Lover and the Lady, I mean why would anyone ride out to enjoy a party, only to languish at the feet of—”

Noé groans. He stops the onslaught of words by slapping a hand on Vanitas’s mouth. The sudden silence stretches into uncomfortable territory until Vanitas can’t bear it anymore. He stares at Noé out from the corner of his eyes, and parts his lips to drag his tongue over Noé’s fingers. Noé flinches, and looks back at him with wide eyes. What usually did the trick to gross people out (Dante for example was fairly familiar with this concept and never failed to meet Vanitas’s expectations to draw away quickly) doesn’t work on Noé. He remains transfixed on Vanitas’s face as if all secrets of the universe display on his features, and Vanitas starts to questions his action. Suddenly, Noé shifts. He props himself on one elbow and leans over him, casting a long shadow over his upper body.

Just then, Vanitas realises what a dangerous situation he’s in. Up until this moment, he thought Noé to be shy, but that isn’t right at all. Noé is quiet resolve, and steadfast loyalty, he is the very silence ready to pounce and turn peace into havoc. It’s evident in how he watches Vanitas behind half closed eyes, those ruby mirrors considering him with an unreadable expression. His heart picks up, and before he can ascertain if this is a game he can win, he answers with sultry eyes himself, and mouths “Kiss me” against Noé’s skin.

It’s just out of curiosity, he tells himself. He wants to rile Noé up a little, see how far he can go and where he draws the line. Maybe Noé won’t do a thing and play the blushing maiden Vanitas imagines him to be. They both know it’s a dare Noé will lose because he respects Vanitas’s boundaries too much, and that little victory satisfies him already enough to smile into Noé’s hand triumphantly.

Noé considers him with a blank expression before his eyes slowly drift to his hand where it’s still secured over Vanitas’s mouth. Something changes in his eyes, they grow soft, and Vanitas immediately regrets what he’s done because he can’t bear the warmth in them, the unspoken promise of whatever Noé is willing to give him. He thinks about squirming out of the boy's touch, but he’s started moving his hand already, settling on Vanitas’s eyes. His heart stops. Rotten memories claw at the edge of his mind, hungry hyenas demanding blood and misery that this kind of darkness brings. Before he can lash out and push Noé away, soft moon light illuminates the darkness behind his closed eyes again, and he takes a deep, shaky breath, only now noticing that he’s stopped breathing. His eyes snap open, locking with Noé’s as he brushes black bangs out of Vanitas’s face. The moon shines a halo around Noé when he leans down and kisses his forehead.

It’s perfect.

Vanitas hates it.

He doesn’t move.

Noé’s lips are surprisingly soft. So is his smell, a faint fragrance of sandalwood with the sharp tint of clove and something coppery hidden under the layers, and there’s nothing better to describe it than home. The realisation cuts him in a sharp, painful flash, one that robs him of the air he’s only just now regained. Noé is careful that no other part of their bodies is touching, and it’s the last act of kindness that pushes something in him into a bottomless, black hole.

His fingers splay on Noé’s chest as he pushes him away, staring up into a slightly flushed face. The blushing maiden. Despite everything, it makes Vanitas smile.

“You live dangerous, my friend,” he murmurs, playing with a shirt button close to Noé’s collarbones. “But I will condone it this once. It seems I forgot one gets burned when playing with fire.”

Noé leans back, one hand beside Vanitas’s head carrying his weight, contemplating. Vanitas already knows whatever he’s going to say, it won’t be good.

“I never thought of you as someone who would yield to anything,” Noé says eventually. “Not even fire.” And quieter, he adds, “Ignis aurom probat.” Fire tests gold.

A shudder ripples through Vanitas’s body, stealing his control and causing him to laugh involuntarily because he doesn’t see himself as pure as gold, and Noé is so much more than a simple fire. Noé is a searing blaze, devastating cities and forests and leaving ashes of their self, allowing them to rebuild and regrow and turn away from an unwanted past. Vanitas would gladly sell his soul for such an opportunity, but he’s shackled by the shadow of a little boy half his height with a sweet voice and eyes the fairest blue even the sky envies.

“You’re quite the charmer, but you do know what they say about gold, don’t you?”

Noé hesitates, shifting a little, and even Vanitas with the little imagination that he has, can quite clearly picture how the muscles must shift beneath Noé’s dark skin on his back. He closes his eyes and breathes through his mouth. “Gold gives to the ugliest thing a certain charming air, For that without it were else a miserable affair.”

Noé pales. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shhh.” Vanitas smiles a smile Lucifer must have worn just seconds before God banished him from Heaven. His eyes don’t leave Noé for a second when he lifts a finger and presses it against Noé’s lips.

“I know, you didn’t mean to.” He rolls his eyes, voice in a mocking tone imitating what Noé was going to say because he’s easily predictable. “And you would never hurt me. But that makes us different. Because I will gladly hurt you if you let me.” He follows the soft curve of Noé’s lower lip with the tip of his finger until he reaches the corner of his mouth. There he curls his finger inside and pulls one side into a crooked smile. A sharp tooth grazes his skin, not quiet enough to break it, but a shiver travels down his back nonetheless.

Noé pulls Vanitas’s hand away from his face, looking down at him like he’s a strange animal he’s never seen before. A dull sadness settles over his eyes, but it’s too quick for Vanitas to really acknowledge.

“Not gold then,” Noé concludes with resolution in his voice. “But quicksilver.” And with that, he places Vanitas’s hand carefully back on his chest, and retreats to his side of the bed, laying down so Vanitas is faced with his broad back, his body completely turned towards the moon.

Vanitas blinks, stretching out one hand to follow the curve of Noé’s spine in the air with a finger, imagining what it would feel like to curl against this strong body and hold onto something what won’t break under his touch. He stays like that until he hears calm, deep breathing. Only then he lifts that same finger that’s been inside Noé’s mouth to his lips and sucks slowly until his mind talks him into believing it’s actually Noé he tastes.

I don’t love, he repeats over and over in his head until his eyes fall close and he drifts into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning starts just like Vanitas has always feared a morning sleeping beside another body would go. Waking up slowly to a woman’s voice in the far distance, he’s still walking on this slim line between sleeping and waking, a coma really, when his conscience registers a heavy arm around his waist and warm breath in his neck. His body locks up into one painful, tense muscle; all desperate instinct and frightened awareness because No, I don’t want Doctor to touch me, and he starts frantically scrabbling for the dagger below his pillow only to find nothing. Vanitas feels punched back to when he’s eleven and caged under Moreau’s heavy, naked body, a choked whimper like a wounded animal leaving his mouth. The arm moves, allowing the tiniest leeway. Vanitas doesn’t think. He swings his arm as hard as he can and hears the satisfying crack of a bone breaking. The man beside him gives a surprised shout, and Vanitas jumps to his feet, ready to break more than bones as the door crashes open at the same time, a woman storming inside.

“Noé?” Dominique cries, taking in how he's bent forward on the bed, holding his face. It doesn’t stop the blood dripping all over the white sheets, and Vanitas grows cold when her sharp eyes land on him, a furious hate boiling inside them. “What have you done, human?” she hisses, reaching Noé’s hunched form within few steps.

Vanitas is lost for words, a quite frequent reaction whenever he’s in Noé’s proximity. But it isn’t like anything he’ll say can excuse or save him from Dominique’s wrath, so he just stands there, dumbfounded, and watches her valuate the graveness of Noé’s broken nose, wondering if the man who’s fallen off the roof in the pursuit of his love lost as much blood as Noé right now and if that was worthwhile, or if he’d have rather poisoned himself with quicksilver.

Not that it matters.

Both end in a painful, slow death.

I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci Thee hath in thrall!’

[John Keats]

#philliamwrites #ap3 #fanfiction #the case study of vanitas #vanitas no carte #vannoe #vanitas #noe

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lettrespromises · 5 years ago

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╰┄───➤ LettresPromises informs you : you have one notification. ❜

╰┄───➤ Letter object : The heart speaks freely on birthdays.

╰─➤ Trafalgar D. Water Law sent you a letter, would you like to read it? ❜

Letter object : ❝Law dreads his birthday, another regular day on the calendar according to him— but this year, you’re here with him, and you teach him that the hearts speaks freely on birthdays.❞

Author’s letter : ❝dear reader,

law lives rent free in my head and he will keep on doing so for the rest of his life, as he should!! happy late birthday to my favorite character in one piece, he deserves all the love in the world. sealed with a kiss, nikki.❞

Genre : Fluff. Warnings : Cursing. Word count : 1.6K

It was a miracle in itself that you had managed to convince Law to grant himself a bit of slumber, but don’t miracles belong to the world of fiction? Judging by how Law had woken up at the glorious hour of six in the morning to finish the work languishing on his desk and answer the hushed demands of his pen calling his name and begging to be used to spill more ink on his documents... Miracles indeed belonged to the world of fiction. He was, in a way, both the literal epitome and oxymoron of a doctor— the amount of healthy hours of slumber in his body was close to none, the amount of anxiety coursing through his veins was brushing the limits of sanity. He wrote the prescriptions as a doctor for his crew, but never did he once bother to take the own medical advice he gave to his subordinates… Ah! Acerbic poetry.

The harsh grip of his fingertips, which had already turnt white, over the edge of the mattress was a physical testimony that he was letting the guilt coloring his deeds a spectrum of all the colors associated to self-denial. Law couldn’t gather the strength to lay his silver orbs upon your frame, after all, he was blinded by culpability.

He knew that, he knew because this thought kept haunting his mind and kept taunting him. Each time his lids shut close, he could picture the outline of your face and the plea in your eyes. Then, when silence settled in his earbuds until it became deafening, Law swore he could hear you say « Please, Law, tomorrow’s your birthday— I know you’ve forgotten about it, but I haven’t. So please take care of yourself, just this one time, for me, please? » And the nuances of care embedded in your every word. And just like that you filled all of his senses, yes, all of them— even the touch.

« Don’t tell me you’re already up at this ungodly hour, Law. » your words crashed against the skin of his back in a whisper.

He was tormented, hesitating whether or not he should respond.

« I know, I know you don’t care much about your birthday. But just take this day to yourself, make it an exception. » your arms snaked around Law’s waist to metaphorically use his back as a human pillow, slumber enveloping your movements. « C’mon, doctor, you should know about slumber and everything. » you said, a yawn breaking suddenly the rhythm of your sentence.

It seemed like each one of your lingering touches couldn’t make things more soothing to him, and thus he gave in to the sweet temptations and promises orchestrated by the pacifying sound of your voice. « It looks like you have won this time, Y/N-ya. » this time only, his gaze landed on your half-asleep form and he secretly cursed himself for not having given in to his temptations earlier on.

He untied the grasp you held around his waist with the delicateness worthy of the touch of an angel, Law turnt around, every so slowly not to disrupt your journey to Morpheus’ arms and cradled your cranium filled with tonight’s dreams and set it on your pillow. Of course, your pillow was only a temporary placement, you slept much better on his chest anyway, when the rhythm of his heartbeat would synchronize with yours. Ever so naturally, and eagerness influencing his movements, Law shifted in your shared bed to lay by your side. Once he was settled under the warmth emanating off of your blanket, he allowed himself to grant your silent wish and place your head above his chest whilst the tips of his genetically given thin digits brushed the strands of hair caressing your forehead. He was bound to join Morpheus’ arms soon too, but not without voicing a confession first :

« You always seem to find a way to win, don’t you, doll? I might have to be stricter on you, I can’t have that stain my reputation as the captain. » Law hushed a snicker threatening to pierce the defense of his mouth and bowed his lips into a grin instead, « but who am I to refuse your love when it’s all I crave? Tell me, Y/N-ya, because I can’t seem to find the answer. » he kissed these words into your skin, just a way to imprint these words with the crimson color of his sentimental ink.

Law shut his lids close, and took the same path as yours to join you within the hold of Morpheus, your perfume accompanied him on his journey which never made him feel alone.

And what a surprise it was when he saw that your body was missing from your shared bed once he had woken up, or rather, once his body had absorbed a tolerable amount of slumber. The absence of your lingering smell in the air, the lack of the familiar warmth emanating from your body (and although Law despised how warm you could get at nights, he did miss this), where were you? His facial features bent under the panic, his orbs scanned the room for a hint of your presence somewhere on the submarine, somewhere, anywhere.

The crave to find you fueled his deeds and the urgency to find you was surely more important than putting a shirt on, he couldn’t, he had to— Law blamed this on having overslept, surely, if he had woken up earlier (and before you), these stirring thoughts would have never crossed his mind, not even once, and even hearing you drown his ear with complains would have been a much sweeter feeling than the burning sensation of his heartbeats adopting the pattern of a crescendo.

And thus the quest began— Law looked in his office but failed to see your frame, the bathroom, perhaps? Another defeat. Somehow, the mechanic room? Wrong guess.—

« Ahh, fuck! How was I supposed to know this was still going to be burning hot? It burns like hell! » Now, now, how Law was not supposed to hear your plea of pain? Thoughts took control over his body and he wasted no time going to the source of the sounds, and, of course, you were in the kitchen. It seemed like such an evident answer, and he cursed himself yet again for not having thought of this earlier.

And there you were, in all your glory, blowing air on your reddened thumb, already guessing that you were bound to consider this burn as a medal. He couldn’t help but allow his lips to bow into a grin which shone by its genuineness : « I think I heard someone in distress, what a shame, where’s the doctor? » Law trailed off as he was reducing the space between the two of you, and soon enough— your martyr of a finger was held like the finest of china between the expertise of Law’s digits, a martyr which was soon soothed by a kiss planted by the man himself, « Oh, correct. I believe I’m the doctor here. So… Are you feeling any better? » He wondered, the smirk on his face emphasized the loving mockery lacing his words.

« Did I really deserve to burn my finger after having baked this birthday cake for you? Talk about unthankful karma! Maybe I shouldn’t have baked you this cake in the first place. » You suggested, adopting the same faux mockery tone Law had previously been using.

« You stand correct, Y/N-ya, you should have stayed in bed with me. » He begun, planting a peck on your forehead, an old habit which never faded away, « but did I really deserve someone like you in my life? I believe my karma is pretty wonderful, if I dare to say. » he mocked, but genuine adoration underlined his words, a tone only you could catch. « Will you join me in bed? It gives us an excuse to let the cake cool down for a bit, don’t you think? »

« Mhm, sounds like a plan to me, I just have one thing left to do before that. » You said, already grinning at the shenanigans taking form in your head, begging to become reality.

« What’s th- Hmph! » And there, in this very instant, your thoughts had become reality. Your lips crashed on his as your forelimbs circled his neck to invite him to deepen the kiss. And, once more, who was Law to refuse such thing coming from you? His own tattooed arms found shelter on your hips until vacuity throned between your two bodies, and thus began the marriage of your lips pushing one against the other in an union of sentiments which exploded in a myriad of smaller pecks delivered all over the flesh of his face.

« Happy birthday, Law! I love you so, so very much even if you’re grumpy all the time and never smile, you’re still handsome! » You said, a peck interrupted each part of your sentence.

And just like that, the melody of Law’s half-hushed laughter connected with your eardrums, just enough for you to hear, as per usual. Law allowed his forearms to settle on your shoulders whilst his cranium was placed upon yours, giving him a perfect platform to secretly voice his silenced thoughts : « I love you too, Y/N-ya, more than you will ever know. » It was a voiced confession, it was secret, just enough for you to hear, as always.

#law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #trafalgar law #law trafalgar x reader #law one piece #one piece

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shadowheartwife · 4 years ago

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Frozen 3: Melt (ACT 1: SCENES 7-9)

Scene 7

Elsa enters the castle courtyard and sees Anna, who is speaking to Mattias, his soldiers, as well as Kristoff, Sven, and Olaf. Anna seems to sense Elsa's presence because she turns to her with a huge smile.

“Elsa!” Anna rushes over to her sister, embracing her, as Kristoff, Sven, Olaf, and members of the castle trot up behind them.

“Elsaaaa!” Olaf body slams her in excitement. “Game night isn’t until next week! Why are you so early?” Obviously the snowman doesn't understand what's going on, or just hasn't been paying attention.

“I’m so glad you’re here but… how? How did you know?” Kristoff asks.

“Ahtohallan. I was in the glacier when... I suppose I felt that I needed to come. I can’t explain it, but it was like I was being pulled here.”

“Elsa, there’s something you need to know.” Anna grasps her sister’s hands. “Our dear friend Prince Hans -”

“Is here. I know. I saw him watching me.” Elsa doesn’t sound concerned. Confused, yes, but almost wistful.

Anna stammers. “Well, we’ve called the council, they’re gathering now. Hans reports that the Southern Isles are mounting an attack, planning to take the kingdom. I don’t know whether or not to listen to him after… literally everything he has ever done.”

“Lying to you? Faking his love for you? Leaving you to die? Attempting to decapitate Elsa? Having bad sideburns?” Olaf and Kristoff take turns roasting him.

Anna and Elsa are still holding each other, looking unamused. “Minus the sideburns, I don’t think that’s a technical crime,” Elsa jokes.

“Oh I think it is. A crime of fashion.” Olaf insists, little stick hands on his hips.

“So, how do we determine whether or not he’s telling the truth?” Anna asks as they walk through the palace to consult with the council, in the same room that Hans had sentenced Elsa to death in.

“Hans was there…” Elsa reveals.

“Hans was where? A pile of horse manure, among his own kind?” Kristoff scoffs.

Elsa waves Kristoff's quip away, focused. “No, he was in my dream… vision… memory... in Ahtohallan.”

Anna stops abruptly outside the council chamber. “What do you think that means?”

“All I know is that I sensed desperation. Not a greedy desperation… lonely.” Anna and Kristoff exchange glances. The three humans enter the room, Olaf and Sven outside the door. Olaf takes off his carrot nose and holds it to his ear, like he’s listening with it.

“Thank you for gathering so quickly,” Anna began as they all bowed to her. Mattias is there along with a couple of high-ranking soldiers. Anna takes a seat at the head of the table, Kristoff on her left and Elsa to her right.

“Do any of you have any intel on the Southern Isles as of late? Any small details that could point to hostility?”

There’s a long silence until one man stands. “My cousin is a blacksmith there, and we write to each other often. She said she’s been working to the point of exhaustion. They’ve upped their orders, though she didn’t specify on what. It was a short letter, which is unlike her. She’s working to the bone.”

“That’s something to consider, but not enough information,” Mattias declares.

“All I know is that you are in danger, Anna,” Elsa says softly.

“We do have an attempted murderer in the palace, so that’s to be expected,” Kristoff adds, clenching his jaw and holding Anna's hand.

“Do you trust me?” Elsa asks. Anna pauses for a moment, and takes a deep breath.

“Even when I don’t understand you, even when you make me angry… yes, I still trust you, Elsa.”

“Then let me talk to him. I’ll try to access his memories somehow…”

“Don’t you need water for that? Water is what holds memories, right?” Anna asks.

“Could you use his sweat like water?” Asks Mattias. Elsa and Anna grimace. “Sorry, just brainstorming.”

“We could make him, I don’t know, CRY, and use his tears,” Kristoff says.

“Tempting,” Anna admits.

“- but I don’t think that will be necessary,” Elsa says knowingly.

Scene 8

Hans sings a gut-wrenching, heartfelt song about growing up just a spare. Unwanted, unloved, willing to do anything to earn a place in his family, how his last chance was in marrying Anna or Elsa and becoming King. After that failure, he has no family. The song is very 2008/2009 emo. Like Brenden Urie would sing the heck out of it. There are tears running down his face when he finishes, and guards arrive outside his door.

Elsa enters the room, closes the door. She doesn’t speak, neither does he.

She doesn’t need guards. She calmly creates handcuffs of ice around Hans’ wrists and freezes his feet so he can’t run. He looks at her with fear and awe.

Scene 9

“Hans.” It’s all she says at first, before sitting next to him on the bed.

“Elsa, I would apologize but I realize that would be useless. So instead I beg that you listen to me.”

“Tell me why I should.” She crosses her arms and raises a brow.

“Because my brothers want to rule Arendelle, and I hate them. They made me into the person that I am.”

Elsa appears deep in thought. “So it’s their fault that you tried to kill Anna and me? It’s their fault you lied to my sister about loving her?” Elsa asks these questions calmly but firmly.

“No. That was all me. I acted at their behest but… it was all me. So now let me rectify it. If you don’t believe I’m doing this out of good will, that’s fine, it’s understandable. So believe me that I’m here to warn you of my brothers’ attack because I would love nothing more than to see them fail.”

Elsa considered for a moment.

“I believe you." Another pause. "I saw your memories.”

“You - you saw my what?” Hans shifts away, eyes wide. “You take up witchcraft in addition to your ice magic?”

Elsa half laughs. “No. My powers are more than I can explain right now. Believe me not because I’m trying to get a rise out of you, but because I… I felt the same pain once.”

“What pain?” Hans asks defensively.

“Loneliness. That feeling that it’s just you, in the middle of a blizzard that never ends, but at the same time a stillness, a silence, that blocks out all else.”

Hans looks at her, fascinated and sad.

“What… what did you see?” Elsa looks at his face and sees the streaks from his tears.

“May I?” she asks, reaching out.

“I’m your prisoner, so…yes?”

She touches his cheek and closes her eyes, he closes his, and a jolt seems to go through them both. When they open their eyes there is a frozen form of little Hans, around 6 years of age, reaching up to a gruff, well-dressed man.

“That’s… my father,” Hans whispers in amazement. He goes stiff. You can hear their voices echoing through the memory.

“Father, why won’t they talk to me? Why won’t they look at me? They act like I don’t exist!”

“That’s because you shouldn't, Hans! You’re a spare among spares. I’ve told you this. You weren’t supposed to be here. Yet here you are. Your mother gave her life to give you yours. You’re not even mine. You’re not truly a prince. Unless you earn our respect, you will never be one…”

A flurry of ice and snow shifts and we see a slightly older Hans, around age 12, working at the stables with Sitron as a foal. “Three, two, one!” His brothers sneak up behind him and push him into a cart of manure. Sitron whinnies angrily and tries to bite a couple of the brothers. “Whoa, pony boy, watch your pet, here!” They leave and Hans is still covered in crap, but Sitron comes over to nuzzle him.

Once more it shifts, and a figure of Hans as we saw him in the first movie stands before his brothers.

“It’s a small kingdom, but if you make it yours, you will be a king, and our brother. That’s what you want, yes?”

“What do you need me to do?”

“You’ve got it easy. All you have to do is marry one of the princesses. Elsa, preferably, but if you have to play the long game, the younger sister Anna will do. Now don’t let us down. You leave for the coronation in a week. Prepare yourself.”

Everything then whooshes away, the memories recede. Elsa and Hans sit in silence for a moment. Hans can’t look at her.

“Hans. Your brothers are attacking.” She believed him, felt his pain, and knew he wasn’t lying. “When are they going to arrive?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

#frozen 3: melt #frozen #prince hans #elsa #disney

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