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naffeclipse · 2 months ago

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Forget-me-not

Reader x Sun and Moon

Commission Info

Thank you for @robinette-green for the lovely request! I adored writing this and making the boys so sweet to the reader! The reader is a clockwork animatronic who's trapped in an abandoned circus, and Sun and Moon step foot onto the forgotten ground and find someone in need of their help.

———

You watch another golden glow creep into oblivion upon the abandoned carnival and its sad, lonely inhabitants. The sun withdraws soundlessly like a stranger passing by. The Freak Show sign slumps, depressed. The once golden and galloping horses in the carousel have rusted into cruel, dark hues and no longer stamp or throw their wild manes back while children ride their once beautiful, gleaming saddles. The big tent—it hasn’t been big in years. It lies in sore tatters, wet from yesterday’s rainstorm with poles sticking up high and stringing along broken bulbs of once bright, yellow lights illuminating the darkness, promising fun to the humans who stepped onto the fairgrounds.

You hate the darkness. You hate it more than being bolted down in place and left to host a game of ring toss no one has played in years. Your right arm is still extended in invitation over the green and brown bottles. The carnival owner couldn’t even allow you both of your arms, pinning your stance into place with bolts and leaving only your left hand to occasionally wave and flutter to catch the attendee’s eyes.

After all the trouble he went to steal you away from your creator, you thought he would at least have taken you with him when the bright, colorful lights and happy, bouncing music came to a halt.

The soft words of your creator ring distantly, like a voice calling out through fog. You are—were his most beautiful creation. He whispered the words to you while he painted your lips red and bid you to take a look in the mirror.

You agreed. You were so, so pretty.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t know what you look like anymore. You don’t want to look upon how rusted your clockwork inner workings have become. Your once pale and milky porcelain skin might be gray and slushy as the dirt along the pathways guests took, and that is not something you wish to know. There’s no doubt your red lips and silky red hair have been forsaken to the elements. You fear you are ruined.

You are now worthy of abandonment.

In the darkness, you truly are forgotten. A hitch within your clockwork chassis catches and grinds before continuing, but the scraping pain remains.

Your attention is drawn back to the front entrance, a good distance away from you. Half crumbled with support beats cutting over the access in an ‘X’ shape, like a warning to not trespass this decrepit lot, shadows slink over the splintered and rotted wood. Long, lanky umbras move with a silence that is so strange and careful.

You squint your eyes. The urge to tilt your head slightly to peer better at the disturbance is cut short by the bolt in your neck, refusing to let your head tilt save from a slight side to side to give an enthralling smile.

You shouldn’t get too excited. It’s likely mere animals. A pair of raccoons or a stray dog who has lost its owner. Once, you watched a doe deer step softly through the wretched ruins, big wet eyes turning to you for one moment before the blurt of your automated voice lines jumped from your throat and sent the creature bounding away.

Nothing is yours here, not even the moment of daydreaming of you prancing out of this forsaken carnival like a doe deer. Free.

The shadows mingle into the dusky darkness. The blue-gray twilight reveals figures, and your mechanical heart chokes.

Two personages creep along the path winding from the entranceway. The same path leading directly towards the ring toss game; towards you. One dons a thick hood and cape, dark blue like midnight. The other’s head is sharper and unconcealed. A crown of jutting points frame the figure’s disk-like face, and a thick deep brown shawl gathers at his throat and falls down his chest and arms.

As they pass into a silvery slant of budding starlight, metal glints on the crowned one’s face and the other hooded person’s hands spray out while scanning the darkness for threats, silver digits curling and uncurling.

Two automatons. Like you. But not.

A whirl in your servos thrums a loud, exhausted sound, and you stiffen—as much as you can while bolted in place.

What could two automatons want with an abandoned circus? You were never familiar with the world outside of your creator’s home before you were smuggled out against your will by the circus owner, but at the circus, you learned much.

You learned of scavengers and automatons gaining their rights. You always wonder if that’s partly the reason you were left here to rot too—are you too human now to own but robotic enough to be neglected?

They could spy on you in the darkness and decide to strip you for parts. Your clockwork clanks heavily within you like a clapper within a bell, beating against your brass heart. Can they hear it? You have to stop. Be quiet.

The two automatons prowl forward. Their optics and audio processors strain not unlike hounds searching for a fox. What do they prey upon? The crowned one gestures towards the carousel, the ride well within distance to your ring toss game, and you must clench your jaw tightly to keep from whimpering. The hooded one dips his head but keeps moving forward. Your gears crank in jarring motions, jolting and jerking while you hope they take the parts they desire from the circus and leave.

The hooded one continues down the path. Your chassis tightens, and your fingers tremble in place while you keep your eyes averted, held above the automaton’s head but keeping him in the unfocused corners of your optics.

Please. Please, don’t. Your bottom lip quivers.

“Step right up and toss a ring to win a prize!” The words blurt from your mouth and startle all the ruins and everyone within.

Two pairs of glowing eyes fall upon you. Straightening and alerted, the shrouded automatons stare into your fluttering eyelids as you attempt to beg them to leave you alone. A spark burns in your throat. Your voice lines refuse to give.

One stops and reaches silver and blue digits up and lowers the hood slowly. A face gazes at you, scarlet eyes glowing in the darkness with a face like a crescent moon. A blue nightcap, slightly frayed and worn, and decorated in yellow stars, covers his circular faceplate.

The other steps closer with a curious tilt of the sharp points framing the automation’s head, and enters the last of the blue-gray darkness before night completely takes over. A yellow face, grinning with round cheeks, observes you. Pale optics beam.

“Hello, friend,” he speaks, voice bouncing low but with intrigue. “Why don’t you come on out? It’s alright, don’t be afraid.”

Your optics dart side to side. Helplessness settles over you, pinned in place by rusty, dark shame.

“Do you need help?” The one with the pale yellow sun rays steps closer, his eyes narrowing in the slightest. “Are you stuck?”

The moon-face automaton slips closer. The glow of his gaze sweeps over the game you’re bolted in front of, and he fixates on your right arm stiffly held out in invitation as your fingers curl and clench. You glance down at him, wondering if your eyes plead in the way your mouth cannot.

Biting your bottom lip does not prevent another voice line from bursting forth, and inwardly, you crumple.

“Try your hand! One ring around the neck of a bottle wins a prize!”

“Not stuck,” the lunar automaton turns to his accomplice. His cloak shifts like shadows under the arc of the moon. “Trapped.”

“Oh, you poor thing! Here, let us help.” The sunny one steps forward, his hands raised as if to pacify a wild creature. “And, if I may be so bold, your voice box sounds like it’s not your own.”

You wish to nod but only succeed in cranking your head halfway to the right, as if in a gesture towards your hapless situation.

You wonder if they can see the ugly, rusty bolts pinning your body in place, holding you shackled to the ring toss game. They must, for the lunar face man slips closer, stooping down by your feet behind the barrier as he inspects the heavy metal securing you in place. The solar gentleman energetically leaps over the barrier and stops right beside you, hand on his hips. His shawl drapes darkly around him but his grin is bright like a new dawn.

You don’t dare hope. The niceness will fall away like a curtain to reveal the snarling, roaring beast behind it. They will strip you for parts or worse, mock you, revel in your helplessness, and slip back through the night, leaving you with only the daydream of a rescue.

Facing the sunny one, you hold your metaphorical breath as he pauses. He stares deeply into your optics. You stare back into the foggy gray irises he possesses, like a cool, misty fog gathering in the night only to be touched by the sun’s first rays of light.

“Your eyes are beautiful—the same color as forget-me-nots.” The sunny automaton smiles.

Your servos slow to a calm hum.

“Come on,” he says and carefully reaches for your neck to begin unscrewing the bolt stuck in your throat, “You won’t be left to rust here anymore, starlight.”

Your insides melt, touched by their generosity.

Below, at your feet, the dark blue and silver automaton begins to unscrew the bolts holding your feet down. Rust scrapes away and a harsh squeak of metal echoes. You grunt, jostled but, strangely, you hold to hope like a feathered, tiny thing in your hands, hoping to watch it fly again.

“We can fix your voice box,” the lunar one speaks in a slight rasp you find endearing. His gaze remains focused on setting you free. “We have a shop. We repair things sometimes.”

“That’s right,” the solar one chimes in, “We scavenge as well. Don’t worry, we’ve repaired a few automatons or two. You can trust us.”

When he pries the bolt from your neck, you can dip your head in acknowledgment. A strange sensation burns through your wires, heating you from the inside out. Emotion. You wish you could ask for their names.

“You look very delicate.” The one at your feet finally frees one of your porcelain slippers with a slow, cautious tug. “We’ll be gentle.”

He tilts his head upwards and flashes a grin. You find yourself warming in the face. Is he being a tease or does he not know how he sounds? By the mischievous glint in your eyes, you fear he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You try to pry your lips apart to find the right words, but all that leaves you is “Enjoy lots of fun! For a small price, of course!”

The automaton of yellow and gray hues glances briefly at you, tilting his heading in confusion while he begins to loosen the bolt stabbed into your right elbow. Holding his gaze, you speak with your eyes, almost pleading.

What are your names?

A spark of understanding answers in his pale optics, and he gasps.

“Moon, where are our manners? I’m so sorry, starlight! My name is Sun, and this is Moon.”

You dip your head again, bobbing up and down in excitement. You know their names. You haven’t learned anything new about anyone in so long…

When they free you from the ring toss game, you can hardly believe how the muddy path now leads you to the outside of the circus as Sun holds you gently in his grasp, how their strides are sure-footed and smooth, and how they look at you with concern.

You vow silently to speak their names the moment your voice is free too.

You haven’t seen anything outside of the carnival in so long, you’ve almost forgotten the sight of dark, shiny paved streets and the lone lamp posts that light the way. Gray and dreary buildings line the streets. One, however, is cheerfully plastered in wooden stars painted bright yellow, and the door is a soft, sky blue with white fluffy clouds along the very top.

Sun and Moon take turns carrying you. Their hands are careful, cradling you close against their cloak and shawl while murmuring that it’s alright. You’re safe. They’ll get you fixed up in no time. Moon cradles you in his arms now as Sun unlocks the door, and holds it open so you can be carried over the threshold.

For an odd reason, it triggers your faceplate to heat up more than the colored rouge on the porcelain should allow.

Through the door, the interior of the workshop is set with tools ranging from smallest to biggest, shelves containing boxes marked, and small containers with different, shiny nuts and bolts. There are even some small containers with shiny, bronze gears. You haven’t seen a spotless floor in so long. There were always leaves and mud staining the path serpentining through the carnival.

A table, coppery under a work lamp, awaits.

“I’m setting you here,” Moon murmurs close to your audio processor before he lays you softly down with a gentle click of your frame against the metal.

“I worry about how long you were left there.” Sun loses the shawl and locates a brown leather apron. Tools line the pockets as he swiftly ties it behind his back. His eyes are creased though he still smiles reassuringly. “By the amount of rust, I would guess years. For your sake, I hope I’m wrong.”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. What comes out instead is a showy voice declaring “Whoever can ring three bottles wins the ultimate prize!”

A whirl in your servos practically screams out your embarrassment. You lower your gaze. The stiffness in your joints is almost as unbearable as the voice lines the circus owner forced upon you.

“Shush,” Moon says, his cloak falling away as he snags an apron similar to Sun’s off of a hook. “Wait for a moment, pretty thing, then you may have your words back.”

“That’s right,” Sun nods and shifts to stand close beside you. He grows still for a moment, his bright disposition falling behind a somber cloud. “We’re very lucky to have found you.”

You smile—not the forced, showy smile that has been plastered on your face while you lie in the ruins, but a true smile for the ones who rescued you.

Moon moves to the other side of the table. His hands, now gloved in black leather, hesitate.

“We will open you up now.” The automaton turns flush along the spindle support of his neck. “Is that alright? It’s the only way we can fix your voice box.”

Sun leans forward, his smile still cheery while he modestly averts his eyes, “As well any other damage done from being exposed and negligent for… however long you were out there.”

You never thought the solar automaton could be shy, and yet.

You nod your head as it rests on the table. You feel safe, so much more so than when you were bolted in place. The circus owner did not ask you what you wanted then.

Moon and Sun move in tandem. It’s strange and beautiful, how effortlessly they weave their fingers to begin work. Sun unlocks your chassis and Moon gently lifts it open. You throw your gaze to the ceiling. You don’t want to know. You know they will find it horrible and awful, but you don’t want to see it and have it seared into your mind.

“You’re beautiful,” Moon utters.

You blink, as breathless as a machine can become.

“Your clockwork—is very beautiful,” a slight stumble from his raspy voice seals your fate. You say nothing. You press your lips together and wonder if you might overheat right here and now.

“You are pretty,” Sun continues effortlessly, though there’s a slight trill to his voice that may give away his nervousness or bashfulness, you can’t decide. “Clockwork automatons are rare.”

The circus owner made mention of that.

You close your eyes as Sun and Moon narrate their every movement. Hands held down by your sides, you only occasionally shift or softly buzz as they clean and fix your voice box nestled within the bottom of your throat. They are so gentle. You never knew hands could be so kind, even if they are rummaging through your inner workings.

Could they possibly let you stay?

The absurd thought enters your processor and you almost immediately shove it into a box and bury it deep into cold, black soil.

“You’re doing so good.” Sun grins as he looks down into your chassis. “There. That should do it. Moon?”

“I’m done.”

Slowly, carefully, as if finishing a sacred rite, the two close up your chassis and tighten it back into place. You haven’t opened your eyes yet. A part of you wonders if you’ll only look out into the ruins of the circus again, and find this was all one blissful moment of a daydream.

“Can you say something, starlight?” Sun’s voice washes over you.

“It’s alright if you’re not ready,” Moon answers in a low sound of comfort.

It falls past your lips before you realize you are not ready, but you so terribly want to speak anyway.

“Thank you.” Your eyes flash open, and you gape—the echo. Your soft, demure tones no longer strained into shouting and calling attention.

It’s you.

Your hand touches your lips, and a sound between a laugh and a sob emerges from your voice box.

“Thank you! Thank you!” You look between the two of them, overwhelmed. With the overhead lamp now touching their features as they sit back, grinning, you get to admire their handsome features.

You two are very striking.

“Oh, my,” Sun chuckles, bleeding red in the cheeks, “Thank you!”

“You’re very sweet,” Moon murmurs, touching his nightcap with a slight bashfulness.

And you realize you spoke your thoughts out loud. You called them striking.

“Oh,�� you begin to burn.

“It’s alright,” Moon says swiftly, interrupting your apology. “We would like to know what your plans are after this. Now that you’re free.”

“Free,” you whisper back. You clutch at your chest, over your clockwork heart, and marvel. “I…”

You have your voice back. Use it.

“I—if I may be so bold, may I ask to stay with you both? I won’t be a burden. I won’t stay longer than you will allow, and I—”

Sun sighs, dramatic and cheerful, as he finds your hand to hold it.

“I thought you would never ask, starlight!”

Moon’s hand slips under your anxious fingers. His nod echoes his solar counterpart’s enthusiasm. You turn your head between both of them, your lips parting in awe.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Sun. Moon. Thank you.”

#naff's writing commissions #some cute scavengers find you and rescue you from an abandoned circus wdyd?#loved writing this <3 #naff writing

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sophvilla · 6 months ago

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Make it Good

°°°°°°°°°Enha Series°°°°°°°°

Part 1

Pairing: Bf! Lee! Heeseung x Gf! Fem!reader

Synopsis: After you stormed out the apartment made Heeseung realize his mistake as he runs after you, asking for forgiveness from his Idiotic actions towards you.

Warning: Soft fluff, Heeseung Realising his mistake and asking for readers forgiveness, reader gets called Baby, my love etc, Heeseung begs on his knees on the streets for the reader to forgive him, Happy ending.

LEE HEESEUNG | 이희승

Heeseung watched as You stormed out of the apartment, tears streaming down her face. As soon as the door slammed shut, his words echoed in his mind, and he realized the gravity of what he had said.

His heart sank, and a wave of regret washed over him. "What have I done?" he thought, running a hand through his hair anxiously.

Without a moment's hesitation, Heeseung grabbed his coat and bolted out the door and ran after you. "Baby Wait!"

As he spotted your retreating figure walking down the street, he quickened his pace. He shouted after you, hoping to catch your attention.

You turned around and saw him coming towards you as His face is full of guilt and worry, but you keep expression guarded, hurt still evident in your tear filled eyes.

Heeseung reached you, panting slightly from the effort of running. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said earlier. I was just frustrated, but that doesn't excuse my harsh words."

"Please baby, I swear I didn't mean any of those words at all, and I'm an asshole for that .... please please just forgive me" he said, eyes frantic at the thought of you not being there.

He knelt down in front of you on the streets, continuing "Take your time but still baby I can't bear the thought of me losing you, I'm a jerk, an absolute jerk for saying those words to you my angel but please just forgive me" Bambi eyes looking up at you.

You listened, expression softening a bit but still holding back your emotions at the bay, wiping away your tears as you ask him to stand up, as there's people watching you at this point, as he stood infront of you, you inhale sharply as you gauge at his words, seeing if there's sincerity behind his words.

Heeseung took a deep breath, "I realize now how much you care for me, and I appreciate it. I was just so focused on the upcoming comeback that I didn't see how my actions were affecting not only me but you too."

To which you nodded, He reached for her hand, her heart fluttering at his touch. "I promise I'll take care of my health better, and I'll make sure to not take my frustration out on you, you didn't deserve those words I said, my love"

A small smile tugged at the corners of Your lips. "I'm glad you understand," you replied, voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung holds his arm out for you, asking your permission to pull you in his embrace as you nodded slowly before he pulled you into a hug, burying his face into your shoulder. "I really am sorry," he repeated, holding you tightly like you're gonna disappear any second.

You wrapped your arms around him, feeling the weight of his apology. "I forgive you," you murmured, a small sigh of relief escaping from his lips, his lips find your forehead as he kisses your crown of your head tenderly as you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace.

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petcr3 · 8 months ago

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don't shed no tears | bradley bradshaw x reader

summary: you have a terrible day. bradley has a plan.

word count: 845

warnings: bradley calls the reader my girl, this one is very short lol!

You almost hold it together.

Really, you almost do.

But your work day seemed determined never to end. Each time you thought you’d gotten on top of what you needed to do, there was a new fire to put out. It was as if everything that could have gone wrong did, and just about everyone you encountered during your day was in a foul mood.

Even so, you had pushed through frustration after frustration, and finally made it home. It’s your day off tomorrow and you get to spend the rest of your night with your boyfriend. Things are looking up.

Any other day, you would have laughed it off. But when you finally let yourself plop down on the couch that’s flush with your living room wall and bang your head, the dam just breaks.

The sound of a particularly forceful “motherfucker!” sends Bradley bolting downstairs, and when he sees you crouched forward, your face in your hands, he’s on his knees in front of you in seconds.

“Honey? What happened, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you say miserably.

“You don’t sound fine.” You don’t respond for a moment. The rough pad of his thumb wipes a wayward tear from your cheek. “You’re crying, hun.”

“I’m fine,” you repeat, voice wavering, “I just hit my head.”

“You hit your head?” You want to curl up and wither away. This is so embarrassing. It’s only the worry in his voice that makes you look up.

“Not hard. I just clonked it when I sat down. I’m… I had a really bad day. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he says softly, “don’t apologize. Not your fault you had a bad day. C’mere.” Bradley leans forward, still kneeling in front of you, and wraps you in his arms. You sag into his embrace, and tears begin to darken the fabric of his sweatshirt.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks. A little sob works its way out of your chest.

“Not–– not really.” You feel Bradley’s mustache before his lips as he turns to press a kiss to your temple.

“That’s okay,” he coos, “It’s okay.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then: “I have an idea.”

You aren’t particularly pleased when he gets up, but you don’t have it in you to complain. His footfalls are quiet on the carpet as he pads over to the record player and starts fiddling around.

“What are you doing?” you hazard after a moment.

“I can’t tell you,” he says. “Just hang on a second–– this is gonna be romantic as shit.” You let out a little giggle through your tears, and he grins over his shoulder at you. Leave it to Bradley to make you laugh when all you want to do is crawl into a hole and never come out.

A little flash of blue catches your eye as he finds whatever album he’s been searching for, but you don’t get a good enough look to suss out what it is. Finally, he drops the needle, and you hear the opening notes of No Woman No Cry. The organ plays softly, and you sniffle as a fresh wave of tears hits you. Bradley holds out his hand.

“Dance with me?” You wipe your eyes and nod, shuffling into his arms. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and draws you in, settling you against his chest with a hand at the nape of your neck. Relief floods through you at the warmth of his touch, the slow and comforting beat of the music, the sway of your bodies.

“I love you,” you mumble into his chest.

“I love you too, baby. I’m sorry you had a bad day.”

“It’s much better now.” That makes him smile. The rest of the song plays out to comfortable silence as you rock back and forth together. It’s a longer cut–– the live version Bradley is playing is a little more than seven minutes–– and eventually, you find that you’re cried out. As the song ends and the crowd on the recording begins to cheer, you tilt your chin up to look at him.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Hey, anything to see my girl smile.” And you do, tilting your head down bashfully.

As the cheers fade, the next song on the record begins to play and the plucky guitar of Could You Be Loved fills the room. Unable to help himself, Bradley begins to bob along with the rhythm. He withdraws a little from the embrace and takes your hands, bouncing your arms back and forth. You feign a pout, but it’s useless. As usual, Bradley Bradshaw is sunshine, fending off the gathering clouds until all you can see is him. You relent and begin to match his movements and he breaks into a beautiful, enormous grin.

As you dance late into the night, you remember that this is what it’s all about. That no matter how awful your day is, you have someone to come home to that knows, without fail, how to lift you up.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun maverick imagine #tgm imagine #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x you

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pellucid-constellations · 1 year ago

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angstober (3)

Prompt: "But I love you"

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

A/n: This takes place at the beginning of civil war :) ANGST!! I love angstober <3

You can also read my angstober drabbles here and here (if you wanna)!!

~~~

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

God, how things were supposed to be different.

Bucky rummaged through a backpack he’d thrown in the corner of your apartment sometime last month. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now, you were left wondering just how many items he’d strewn about his life, a randomized placement of his belongings all ready for him if he needed to bolt.

Would he take you, too? Were you not something he considered his?

“Bucky, talk to me. What’s going on?” you tried. You’d already asked that same question in three different ways. After he’d barged through your door with his hoodie drawn up to his chin and his hat low on his forehead, you’d bombarded him with questions. He hadn’t answered any of them.

And he was wearing gloves. He hadn’t worn gloves around you in a long time.

“I can’t tell you. Can’t stay here.”

You were grateful for a response this time, at least. You tracked him with your gaze as he zipped up his backpack and moved through your kitchen, removing pots and pans from your cabinet in a loud, clattering motion. He reached his arm in until his elbow disappeared within the wooden doors and then pulled it back out, a gun now firm in his grip.

“When did you put that in there?” you startled, uncrossing your arms from your chest. You were still in your pajamas. Bucky had gone to get breakfast and left you in bed. And now he was leaving.

“A while ago,” he responded, the words barely forming on his lips.

He was moving again before you could truly voice your bafflement, shrugging the bag over his shoulders and readjusting the straps. Panic surged through your chest and up your throat. He really was leaving. You knew he’d been running from something when you met all those months ago, but there had been nothing wrong when he left this morning. You made him feel safe. He wanted to stay with you. He’d told you that himself.

You reached out a hand and he jolted at the contact, gaze shooting up to meet yours. Your eyes flickered between his own, desperation clear in your expression as you pleaded with him. “Don’t leave. Tell me what’s happened.”

Your hand burned on his shoulder but you couldn’t remove it.

He looked almost as ruined as you did, but there was something else behind his eyes. Determination, maybe? Resolve?

“I can’t.”

It was the shortness that ultimately broke you. You heaved out a pained breath as your waterline filled, letting your hand drop. Your arm swung uselessly down to your side and you bit into your lip as your eyelashes gathered moisture.

Bucky’s stoic demeanor fractured, a tiny sliver showing you the man you’d come to know. The one you’d carved out from cold, hard stone. It had taken you weeks to get him to smile, even longer to get him to finally kiss you. When he spent the night for the first time, he was too stiff to hold you. But that was all different now. He was different now.

He had told you he wanted to stay. That he wanted to keep you safe.

You saw that part of Bucky as his lips twisted into an uncomfortable grimace, his arms reaching out to haul you into his chest.

“C’mere,” he grunted out, chin resting on the crown of your head. “C’mere, honey, I’m sorry.”

You cried into his chest, hiccuping as you asked, “Why are you leaving? I can come with you. I want to help you.”

He shushed you, running gloved hands along the back of your head. “Can’t, baby. Where I’m headed isn’t safe. I’ve been real lucky for a while but that luck’s run out.”

“Bucky, you can’t—”

“I’m not good for you here. I need to keep you safe and I can’t do that while I’m being selfish. I’d give anything to bring you with me, but I won’t put you in danger.”

You pressed your nose into his chest, willing the feel of him into your memory. You could hardly breathe like this, but that didn’t matter. When he left, when he was really and truly gone, you probably wouldn’t be able to breathe at all.

Your hardwood floor creaked beneath your feet as Bucky stepped closer and burrowed you further into his body, his lips pressing hard against your forehead. You hated this apartment—this tiny, cloistered space in Romania. It would only serve as a reminder of him once he was gone.

Maybe you would move.

But would he be able to find you, once it was safe? Would he come looking?

The thought made your chest constrict. What if he never came back?

Bucky pulled back from you, taking your face into his palms. His face scrunched up in displeasure at the tears still glistening on your cheeks, and he tried to remedy them with the pad of his thumb. They kept coming, even when you’d stopped crying.

“I have to go. Longer I stay here, the more danger you’re in.”

Your next words fell from your lips without hesitation, tears thick in your tone as you stressed, “But I love you.”

Bucky froze, mouth parting. You’d said it with so much sadness, so much heaviness in the words he’d been aching to hear for so long. You hadn’t said them yet because you didn’t want to scare him off.

But he was leaving now. There was nothing to lose.

The kiss he pressed to your lips was hard and rushed and a breath left his nose with so much tension a low groan accompanied the action. His fingers were gripping your jaw and desperately trembling. His feet were slotted between yours and you tugged at his jacket to bring him closer, closer, closer.

“That’s why I have to leave,” Bucky huffed out against your lips, eyes closed. He couldn’t watch as he left you. “I’m gonna find you again. Even if it’s in another life.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes #angstober 2023 #day 18

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dilatorywriting · 2 years ago

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Heroes vs. Villains : Diasomnia

Gender Neutral Reader x Diasomnia vs. Prince Stefan Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Diasomnia Version

ie. Wherein Malleus invites you along to Briar Valley's Festival of Roses and Sebek drives you to near insanity. Thankfully (?) getting lost in the chaos means you meet another wayward soul.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

“I don’t think Sebek likes me very much,” you sighed.

“Oh?” Malleus blinked, clearly a bit thrown by the sudden accusation. “What would make you think that?”

Your glare swiveled pointedly to a sharp bolt of green just barely poking out from behind one of the many dilapidated pillars. Sebek’s yellow eyes slowly rose up with the rest of him, and the half-fae glowered at you like a pissy tomcat.

Malleus’s brilliant, neon, gaze slowly tracked yours, and when it met with his Knight’s startled gaping, his brow furrowed in annoyance. His irritated scowl was always a bit hard to read. Was he being pouty? Murderous? Both? Hell if you knew.

“I see,” he sighed after a moment, long suffering.

You just hummed in grumpy agreement as Sebek tried to duck back down behind the debris.

You and Malleus had clicked from the get-go. Perhaps it was because he’d never really had a friend before, and you were far too stupid and naïve about the rules of this new world to understand anything about the implications behind that. The Fae Prince was easy company—he was smart, with a dry, oblivious sort of humor that could leave you in stitches. His ensuing confusion about why you were laughing was always a surefire way to get you laughing harder. You enjoyed his company immensely, and you liked to think that he enjoyed yours enough in turn that perhaps your fleeting humanity had left at least a teensy impression on his near-immortal soul. Or, you know, whatever. At the very least, you were a semi willing student for his nightly architecture lectures, and you knew that at least put you in better standing than, say, Leona.

So when you received a personal summons to the Briar Valley’s Festival of Roses—hand delivered by the Crown Prince himself—you were over the moon.

“You seemed interested in our customs,” Malleus had explained. “And seeing as I invaded your home over the Halloween festivities, it only seems right that this time I extend you the invitation into mine.”

You agreed enthusiastically, because hell-fucking-yes you wanted to see all the mystical, magical, mumbo-jumbo that this world had to offer. Sure, you were trapped here for an indefinite amount of time, but you would be damned if you let the only cool part of any of that miserable uncertainty go to waste.

“Is there anything I should know?” you asked, fighting the urge to bop around the carriage like a toddler on a sugar high. Because that’s how you were travelling. In an honest-to-goodness horse drawn carriage. (Or, well, magic drawn or something.) “So that I don’t embarrass any of you or anything, I mean.”

Lilia was smirking over at you with a kind of fond amusement that you assumed meant he’d picked up on your rabid excitement from a mile away. Your vibrating was probably shaking his seat. Occasionally his wine-red irises would flick to Malleus, and that smirk would curl into something sharper, something mischievous.

“Humans aren’t too common to see,” Malleus said, with the same, odd sort of tension about him that had rocketed through his too-tall frame the moment you’d climbed into the seat beside him. “But they are not entirely unfamiliar either. You should be treated fairly.”

Your horned friend had been strangely silent throughout most of this journey. The weirdest part was that he seemed absolutely determined to stare out the window—head turned at a sharp angle, his hands clasped neatly in his lap and shoulders pulled so stiff and straight that he could have been one of the gargoyles that he so loved. And for someone who usually made far too much eye contact, the lack of acknowledgement was a bit unnerving.

“You’ll be more than fine as you are,” Lilia translated, the points of his fangs peeking out from behind his grin. “And I can promise you that any guest of Malleus’s will be welcomed with open arms.”

Malleus continued his resolute stare down with the glass and Lilia snickered into his palm. Sebek made a strangled noise from his seat across from you. He hadn’t been particularly vocal thus far about his disapproval of your inclusion (you doubted Sebek had it in him to openly question any decision of Malleus’s), but the look of complete and utter dismay twisting his face was telling enough.

You leaned in and prodded Malleus gently in the side.

“I won’t be, like, executed or something if someone hears me call you ‘Tsunotarou,’ will I?”

Sebek squawked and there was a sudden strike of lightning just outside the carriage window that rattled the entire coach with an echoing boom.

“No,” Malleus said emphatically, his lime-green glower zeroing in on you for the first time since this entire venture began. “No one will touch you, no matter what indiscretions they may think to assume you guilty of.”

“But, young master!—” Sebek started to argue. “The impropriety of—” he spluttered. “To even think thatyou could be addressed as—as that is—"

“No,” Malleus repeated, nearly a growl, and another bolt of bright static lit the window. The electricity seemed to linger in the air long after the flash had faded, like a little, rippling, current running the edge of its teeth along your skin. “And this will be the last it is discussed.”

The terrible, quiet, tension that followed was broken by a snuffling snore as Silver shifted, his head flopping from where it’d been pressed against the wooden paneling to instead land with a heavy thwump against Lilia’s shoulder.

“How… How did he sleep through all that?” you asked in awe.

Lilia sighed, affectionate, and reached out to ruffle a clawed hand through Silver’s hair. “He’s so special~”

You knew that Malleus was royalty and blablabla, but you hadn’t really anticipated all the things that came with that. The castle? Yes. Totally made sense. The entire entourage of servants that appeared to whisk away your bags? Also rational. Sorta cool, and definitely made you feel a bit too much like a celebrity, even if you understood the need for such protocol.

Malleus also immediately being whisked away?

Now that… That you hadn’t really considered.

“I’ll meet back with you as soon as I can,” he promised. Lilia and Silver had already vanished down a separate winding hallway, and the prospect of being left all alone in this gargantuan foyer was just short of terrifying. “There are some final preparations for the Festival that I am required to oversee personally.” And then there was another moment where Malleus resolutely refused to meet your gaze, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say it was almost like he was being coy. But it passed quickly enough and instead he cast a pointed glare towards his subordinate. “Sebek can show you around in the meantime. He’s a more than capable guard.”

You looked at Sebek and Sebek looked at you.

Uh-oh.

“How long will that take?” you asked, hoping it didn’t sound as whiny as it felt. But, like, come on. This was basically the human equivalent of your friend inviting you to come visit for the holidays and then immediately dumping you with their weird aunt and the dog that never really learned not to pee on the carpet.

“Only until the evening,” he assured, like it wasn’t just barely past ten in the morning—like eight-plus whole ass hours was really no time at all. And to be fair, for him it probably really wasn’t. But for you and your very mortal panic, it immediately felt like you were facing down eternity. You didn’t know what your face was doing, but whatever it was, it made Malleus’s brow scrunch up in concern. “Will that be alright?”

“Of course,” you lied, like a good guest. “You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

He smiled that small, slanted, smile of his that always looked just a touch too sharp at the corners. And then he was gone, and it was just you and Sebek.

“So,” you tried. “Do you know what any of that was about?”

“LORD MALLEUS’S PRINCELY RESPONSIBILITIES ARE NONE OF YOUR CONCERN, HUMAN!” Sebek barked, crossing his arms sternly across his chest. “IF THE YOUNG MASTER DID NOT SEE FIT TO INFORM YOU, THEN I SEE NO REASON WHY I SHOULD EITHER!”

You groaned and valiantly fought the urge to drop your head into your hands.

“Don’t touch that, human!”

“How dare you—you’re going to embarrass the young master!”

“Human! Don’t you dare!”

“Human!”

“HUMAN!”

You were going insane. You couldn’t blink without Sebek snarling at you about impropriety, and the fact that your very presence in this castle was a failing of tradition itself. You tried to ask about the Festival and were immediately shut down. You inquired politely if there was anything you could do to help, only to be told firmly that silly little humans weren’t good for anything and to keep your nose out of it. You asked to use the bathroom and your stupid, mortal, bladder was cursed within an inch of its life.

“It would have been easier not to bring you at all,” Sebek grumbled for the thousandth time as he grouchily led you through rows of decorative stalls.

“I am aware,” you grit out, grinding your molars.

“I still can’t understand it,” he rambled. “No matter how many times Master Lilia explains it to me, you—this—it defies all logic!”

“Friendship isn’t always logical,” you bit back, firm. Because that is what you were, right? Friends? And then, because you were angry and wanted to hit him where it hurt— “You know, if Malleus is so willing to sully himself by keeping someone as lowly and stupid as me as his friend, maybe that’s a sign that the other company he’s forced to keep is less than ideal.”

Sebek puffed up like a rooster in a cock fight and turned on you with a snarl.

“How dare you presume to call yourself the Young Master’s friend!” The corners of his lips curled down over jagged canines. “At best you’re a pet—something that’ll long outlast its welcome before you eventually wither away and die.”

Annnnd you had officially reached your allocated tolerance of Anti-Human-Bullshit for the day.

So when Sebek was caught up in another one of his longwinded tirades, you slipped into the gap between two of the Festival stalls and out the other side. The silence was immediate and like a balm against your sore hide.

There was something about Sebek that made you think he didn’t really mean all those things he spouted. Occasionally there was a kind of disquiet in his yellow gaze, especially when he ranted angrily about the shortcomings of his very human father. The green-haired fae was far from subtle, and you had a feeling that all his huffing and puffing was probably to hide something… else. Something more uncertain and small that he downright refused to address. Because humans were weak, and short-lived, and chaotic. And he would have to face that sooner or later. With Silver. With his own parent. And hating that humanity was no doubt easier than loving and losing it.

That being said, his prickly behavior still made you want to punt his head like a spiky, green, football. So.

You wandered around aimlessly through the intricate maze of market stalls and booths. Despite the perpetually grey cloud cover, everyone here was so cheerful. And Lilia was right—no one seemed to give two shits about your very human eyes, and face, and stature. It was really nice. You spent so long strolling through the rows that you barely even noticed when the sky began to darken and the crowds thinned as you approached the outskirts. There was an ominous roll of thunder in the distance, but you didn’t think too much of it. The clouds looked ready to open up any second. It was probably just a bit of rain.

There was a little, makeshift, dirt pit at the edge of the stalls, and you observed it curiously. It was ringed with colorful, triangular, flags, and the inner crater was lined with archery targets and wooden sparring dummies. It reminded you a bit of those competition fields in Renaissance Fairs.

However, so enraptured by these painted planks were you that you wound up crashing headfirst into a wall of crimson, and immediately plummeted towards the ground. But then a strong arm was around your waist, twirling you back to your feet. And boy was it a twirl—like you were being swung around into an entire waltz. It left your head spinning worse than if whoever-it-was had just let you faceplant into the dirt.

“Wow, ow. Your head is way harder than it looks. Ouch. My poor ribs.”

You immediately moved to apologize, but were caught off guard by a pair of softly rounded ears peeking out from beneath mused, brown, hair. Another human. Like you. You blinked a few times, not entirely sure why the idea of another mortal gallivanting around the Festival was so surprising. You fought what would no doubt look like an insanely creepy urge to lean closer and get a better look at his face, just to make sure—to check if his canines were blunted, if his pupils were round and soft rather than narrow slashes of black. There was another low rumbling of thunder, closer this time. It was followed by a sharp crack of lightning that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“Sorry about that,” you finally managed to eke out, vision still a bit swirly.

“It’s alright. It didn’t actually hurt that badly,” your victim chuckled, cordial, and set you back on your feet. It was a very lovely chuckle—deep and warm, like melting, dark, chocolate. “Are you alright? You look a little dazed.”

“I think so—” you began, before accidentally putting a bit too much weight onto your left ankle. It twinged painfully and you winced. Immediately that hand was back at your shoulder, keeping you balanced. “Or maybe not.”

“I guess my head is still harder than yours after all,” Mister Brunette mused to himself.

“I don’t think your head twisted my ankle,” you mumbled, confused.

He tossed his head back with a laugh, and you couldn’t help but notice that he had very lovely cheekbones. Not as sharp as Malleus’s maybe, but still perfectly proportioned to the rest of his very well-cut face.

“What are you doing all the way out here? Are you lost too?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you hummed, glancing around at the semi-familiar layout. You couldn’t really tell if you recognized the little stalls because you’d seen them before, or if it was just because they were standard make and all looked more or less the same. “…Probably.”

“We can be allies in idiocy then,” he snorted pleasantly, and reached out with his other hand to double up on helping you better maintain the balance that you so clearly did not possess.

“Does this new ally have a name?” you asked, still a bit dizzy.

“Stefan,” he grinned—all white teeth and charisma. “After my great-great-great—” He paused for a moment, as if considering, “great-great-grandfather.”

He laughed merrily at whatever disgruntled face you were pulling.

“Yeah. I guess it is all a bit pretentious,” he sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But that’s just the way it is back home—for my family, at the very least. Lots of tradition this, and lineage that.”

“Oh?” you hummed. “Sounds stifling.”

“It is! I mean, it’s practically the 14th century now,” he laughed, and you genuinely could not tell if he was being serious. “I’m always telling my father it’s time to get with the times, you know?”

For a moment, you were reminded so strongly of Malleus and his general dissociation with the modern world that it was almost startling.

“And you?”

“Me?” you blinked.

He laughed. “Your name? If you don’t mind me inquiring, of course.”

You gave it freely. Lilia had cautioned you once upon a time about something-something-power-in-a-name, but Lilia wasn’t here right now. And it’s not like you were anyone special enough that your name could mean much of anything to begin with. Maybe, if they were lucky enough, someone could use it as an incantation to summon a hungry racoon from the sewers.

Stefan repeated it merrily, with the same inflection one may use when telling a fantastical tale to friends in a tavern. No ravenous racoons spawned from the trees when he said it, so you assumed the whole ‘power’ thing was probably safe.

Another flash of emerald lit the sky—this strike was larger, louder. Like dozens of branches unfurling from a rotting tree, or clawed fingers digging their way through the clouds. The roar of thunder that followed almost seemed to shake the ground. Stefan frowned up at the black clouds.

“It was already starting to get late anyways, but the weather is really starting to turn, huh?” he hummed and tapped at his chin, pensive. “And I can’t just leave you all the way out here—especially knowing that you’ve got a bum ankle. Hmm…” More tapping. And then his hazel eyes lit up like firebugs. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

“A horse?” you repeated, confused.

“Helios,” he smiled, bright as the sun. “He’s my best friend. And, well, also my trusty steed. He’s just over in the contestant’s stables. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind giving you a lift.”

Riding back into the heart of the Festival on horseback sounded like something that would absolutely give Sebek at least two separate heart attacks. But before you could voice your skepticism, Stefan was rushing off—his crimson cape swirling behind him in the wind.

“I’ll be right back!”

You slouched against a pillar with a sigh, shifting as much of your weight off your ankle as you could manage. You wondered if Malleus had finished his Pre-Festival duties. You wondered if Sebek had realized you’d disappeared yet. Surely even he wasn’t that oblivious. You wondered if he was panicked at all—if not for you, then for his Lord’s inevitable wrath at the misplacement of a favored ‘pet.’

“Well, well. There you are, little one.”

You jolted in surprise and immediately curled back into yourself with a pained hiss. Goddamned ankle—

“Lilia,” you gaped. “Jesus fucking—don’t dothat.”

The Fae shot you a wicked grin from his place floating overhead, angled just-so so that it looked like he was dangling upside-down from the wooden signage across the top of an empty stall. But you knew better. He was bouncing around on his magic and his magic alone.

“How did you end up all the way out here?” Lilia hummed, slipping from his ‘perch’ to land gracefully at your side. His wine-red eyes roved over you from head to toe. It felt like you were being filleted. “And you’ve gone and hurt yourself on top of everything. Goodness,” he sighed, bone-deep and weary. “I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to deal with another one of Malleus’s tantrums this evening. And yet, here you are. Being so careless.” Another sigh, nearly a groan. “What am I going to do with you, hmm?”

“It’s not like it was my fault!” you spluttered, even though it had definitely been your fault.

Lilia gave you a look.

“Either way,” he continued, voice lilted in that indulgent way that reminded you far too much of a parent trying and failing to discipline a wayward child, “let’s get you back before he blows the entire market away.”

Then, Stefan called your name and the fond expression on Lilia’s face immediately flattened into something so pointedly blank it was almost unsettling. Your new friend came trotting forward, a lovely and large silver dun horse at his side. Helios, you assumed. The gigantic beast caught sight of Lilia and slid to a standstill, rearing up with a panicked whinny as he backpedaled. Stefan twisted his hands into the reins and ran a hand along the horse’s neck—shushing and placating the startled animal. After a moment, Stefan managed to calm Helios enough to keep him from bolting, and he turned on Lilia with wide eyes.

“Lord Vanrouge,” Stefan said, angling his head in what you assumed was deference. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.”

“Nor I you,” Lilia hummed, that impassive expression remaining firmly in place. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Prince Stefan? We were informed that you and your family wouldn’t be arriving until the day after next.” A pause. The silence felt louder than anything Lilia had said up to that point. “If at all.”

“Prince?” you choked, turning on the brunette with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Whoops?” Stefan shrugged, looking sheepish. “And I—well… I just wanted to get a look at everything. Beforehand.”

“Of course,” Lilia droned. “Either way. You’ll have to excuse us.” The Fae slide one hand beneath your knees and the other around the small of your back, and hauled you into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. “We have a pressing appointment to keep.”

With that, the world seemed to tilt on its axis as the environment melted together like splotches of watercolor paint all running together at the bottom of a page. You’d never been teleported before. You’d seen Malleus and Lilia pop in and out of existence plenty of times, but being dragged through the fabric of time and space alongside him was jarring, and the journey left you feeling nauseous and loopy all over again.

It took you a moment to realize that the universe had stopped spinning, and that the plush material beneath your palms felt an awful lot like the duvet on the bed in your guestroom. You opened your eyes slowly, cautiously, to see Lilia had placed you neatly by your pillows and had already moved away to start fretting over your swollen ankle instead.

“I never thought I would have to lecture you on the dangers of talking to strangers,” he tutted, though it wasn’t entirely playful.

“I didn’t know he was a Prince,” you complained, wincing when he prodded clinically at your stinging flesh. “I just thought he was, I don’t know, some guy.” You fought and failed the urge to fidget—fingers nervously meshing together in your lap. “…I didn’t cause an international incident or anything, did I…?” You had no idea how any of this royalty stuff worked. But you could put two-and-two together well enough to understand that the personal guest of one crowned prince mowing down a different prince was probably not looked upon very highly.

Lilia leaned forward to pat your head, some of his usual mischief working its way back into his expression.

“Not to worry, Prefect,” he smiled. “I doubt any wars have been declared over your transgressions.”

There was another roar of thunder and the castle itself seemed to tremble. The bay windows lining the wall opposite you were lit entirely in a sharp flash of lime green. Once the wicked brightness of the lightning had faded into something less blinding, you could make out dozens of hairline cracks racing up the glass panes.

Lilia sighed, looking for the first time like someone who was very acutely feeling the weariness of his hundreds upon hundreds of lifespans. “Well, not yet, at least.”

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #My Writing #Heroes vs. Villains #twisted wonderland OCs #twst ocs #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Silver twst #Sebek Zigvolt #Lilia Vanrouge #Diasomnia x Reader #Malleus x Yuu #Heroes vs Villains Diasomnia Part 1

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lucygxybaird · 3 months ago

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warning: caliente cowboy content

your first time (ever) with billy

You had been so shy to tell Billy that you were a virgin. Although Billy is your first everything — your first date, your first kiss, your first proper relationship— you know that isn’t the case for him. Sometimes, the thought of him with other woman makes your heart ache, just a little; it’s beneath you, and you know that, but you can’t help it.

It isn’t jealousy, so much as…as a longing to have him all to yourself. Your time with Billy is so precious; both of you are achingly aware, like two tightrope walkers balanced precariously in midair, that Billy can be taken away at any moment.

You fully believe he’s doing the right thing, fighting against Riley and Murphy, against Jesse and his infernal gang. And you’re proud of him. But it means he draws danger down on himself as surely as a lightning rod will draw down a blazing bolt from the sky.

Which, in turn, means that every day — every moment — with Billy is like a gift, eked out from a world which has shown time and time again that it did not care about the two of you. But you don’t care if anyone else in the world gives a damn about you, as long as you have Billy.

So — not jealousy, but a febrile, futile wish to hoard as much time with him as you could, even if you have to reach into the past to do so. As selfish as it is, you have no compunctions with the thought of clawing his memory away from others, women you don’t even know, just so you don’t miss a thing.

You remember the way you blushed, hiding your face against his chest, as you admitted that you had never…been with a man like that. His chuckle reverberated against your cheek, his arms still snug around you. Your hair had fallen forward like a veil, and you made no move to brush it away; but he did. His fingers gently tucked a sheaf of strands behind your ear, craning his neck to try to catch a glimpse of your expression.

“Baby, it’s not anythin’ to be embarrassed over.” He’d pressed his lips against the crown of your head. “You just gotta tell me what you’re ready for. I don’t wanna push you.” Another soft kiss against your hair. “I want you to feel safe with me.”

You had lifted your head then, peeking up at him, and you were rewarded with his smile. “I do feel safe with you, Billy.”

“Good.” Another kiss. “You promise you’ll tell me if we get too close to somethin’ you don’t comfortable doin’.”

You’d promised, and he’d kissed you, over and over again until you were supple underneath his hands, molding yourself against him. After that, you kept your word, putting your hands against his chest to gently press him back, or turning your head so that his kiss landed on your cheek instead of your mouth. He never once intimidated, by so much as a sigh or a downward twitch of his mouth, that he was disappointed — let alone angry — that you wanted to stop. Instead, he would just lay back against the pillow, drawing you against his chest and holding you there.

He would stroke your hair, or run the heel of his hand up and down the length of your spine, and the two of you would just talk. About nothing, about everything. If you hadn’t already been head over heels in love with him by then, those soft, meandering conversations would have pulled you under completely.

You aren’t sure what makes tonight different. Maybe it’s because it’s the first cool night after the merciless, broiling heat of summer, where the air feels like a gentle caress, and you can smell the comforting scent of woodsmoke on the breeze. Billy has built a fire and laid out your dinner on a blanket in front of the hearth, and now the two of you are nestled together on the flannel, your bodies twined together. You look up at him and realize it’s not the beautiful night, or the romantic dinner, but just the fact that you love him so fiercely and can’t get enough of him.

You want him to know that.

“Billy,” you murmur against his lips. You finger one of the buttons at his collar, slipping it open. “I…I want you. Tonight. Now.” You look up at him, undoing another one of his buttons. “Please…”

He freezes for a moment, as if unsure he’s heard you right. Pulling back just a little, propping himself up on an elbow, Billy frames your face between his hands. “Are you sure? I need you to be sure. Don’t just say yes cause you think it’s what I want.”

You draw your fingertips over the angle of his cheek, although your gaze falls on his lips. Those impossibly plush, soft lips. “I’m sure.”

He looks at you for a moment more, as if measuring the strength of your certainty. And then he stands up and draws you to your feet, pulling you flush against him. “Listen,” he murmurs. “If you wanna stop, you tell me, okay? No matter what we’re doin’. Just say the word, and we’ll stop.”

You nod. “I’ll tell you,” you say, because it seems like he’s waiting for confirmation right from your mouth. “I swear.”

His hands find your waist as he leans down to kiss you again, this time even hungrier than before. And you thought you knew the passion in his kiss. You had no idea. He must have been holding back, tamping down his own desire just to make sure you were comfortable. His kisses have always made you burn in the most delicious way, but now — it’s like comparing a candle to a wildfire.

You wind your arms around his neck, fitting your body against his. It’s almost physically painful, like tearing a bandage away, to pull back just enough to keep working on the buttons of his shirt. Your hands go to the bare skin of his chest, and he lets out a soft sigh against your mouth, the sound of someone returning home after a long journey. A sound of relief and an intense happiness that’s as keen as a knife’s edge.

Your fingertips brush over his ribs, and you’re surprised when he huffs out a laugh. “That tickles,” he mutters. Of course, you do it again. He giggles, the sound deep and husky, but undeniably a giggle for all that. You smile as you reach up to slide his shirt off his shoulders. He lets it fall to the floor before he reaches up to grasp the shoulders of your dress.

“Can I?” His expression is earnest, his eyes beseeching, and you know he’ll only keep going if you give your assent. So you nod, keeping your gaze on his, and his palms gently caress your shoulders as he slides the dress off, exposing your from the waist up. He waits, looking at you; when you nod again, he reaches down and pulls the material around your waist down. The dress pools at your feet.

“Let me look at you,” he pleads. “I just wanna look at you for a minute.”

“You can,” you say.

Only then do his eyes leave your face. You can almost feel his gaze as if it’s a physical caress, brushing your breasts, your waist, your hips. He lingers between your legs, his lower lip catching between his teeth. He’s looking at you as if he’s fighting the urge to drop to his knees, the pose of a man worshipping at the feet of a goddess.

“C’mere,” he says, his voice rougher than before, rumbling deep from his chest. He takes your hand and leads you to the bed. He wraps his arms around you, drawing you against him and kissing you hungrily; the sensation of your bare skin against his sends such a strong sensation surging through you that you gasp softly against his lips. “Billy…God, I want you—”

“I’m right here,” he promises you, lifting his head to look you in the eye again. “You’ve got me, honey, I promise. You have all of me.”

You lay down against the pillows, fighting the urge just to part your thighs in invitation. He must read something in your expression, because he grins at you, and you grin back, a nervous giggle bubbling over your lips. He moves over you, holding himself up; he kisses your lips again, feathering kisses over your jaw, down your neck.

Billy trails kisses down your body, starting at your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste the hollow at the base of your throat. His hands brace themselves against your hips, and his grip tightens as his mouth ghosts over your breasts; you feel his breath shudder against your skin, and you think you can see a quick thrust of his hips as he grinds against the bed. “Billy…”

He looks up at you from underneath his impossibly dark lashes, a question in his eyes.

“More,” you breathe. “Please…”

In response, he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, sucking as his tongue flicks against the sensitive bud. You moan softly, encouragingly, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair. The other reaches up to grip the pillow behind your head. You’re already aching, yearning to touch yourself, but you want him and only him. Even your own fingers would break the spell.

He moves to your other breast, and when you whimper, you see his hips rock again. Billy kisses each rib where they press against your taut, feverish skin, and when he reaches your waist, his hands move down to your thighs. His fingers dig into the flesh, massaging, thumbs brushing over your inner thigh. The thought of him touching you there has your back arching, the ache only building. You think soon it will be unbearable.

“I wanna put my mouth on you, baby,” he says, his voice low, throaty. “I wanna make you feel good.” He nips gently at your hipbone. “Can I?”

“Yes,” you say, without hesitation, which makes him grin. “Yes, Billy, please…”

He smooths his hands under you, gripping your ass and lifting you up to his mouth as he settles between your legs. Billy keeps his eyes on yours as his tongue sweeps over your slit, and you cry out, your head falling back. He starts up a rhythm, tongue lapping at your core, sucking, kissing, and then—

“Oh, God—”

His nose brushes that bundle of nerves you’ve shyly explored with your own fingertips before, as his tongue delves into you. Your mouth falls open and your eyes scrunch shut, and you grip his hair tightly, hardly aware of the way your hips are bucking frantically. “Fuck! Oh, God — oh, Billy — Billy, Billy, Billy…”

He moans against you, which only intensifies the almost agonizing pleasure surging through your veins. You open your eyes, looking down to watch him devour you. He keeps grinding against the bed, fitful thrusts, before he stops himself, as if he’s trying to keep control but he can’t hold onto it. “Oh, Billy — I — I’m — oh — ”

You can’t speak anymore. The only sounds falling from your mouth are desperate, raw cries, and everything is building, building, building, until —

A wordless scream tears itself from your throat as you reach your peak, an animalistic cry that trails into desperate whimpers, almost sobs, as you come down. He keeps swiping his tongue against you, as if he’s drinking in your peak, and you keep rocking your hips to meet his tongue. Finally, he lifts his head, and you fall limp against the bed.

“Fuck, honey, you taste so goddamn good,” he groans. The evidence gleams on his lips, his chin, even his cheeks. He moves over you again, leaning down to kiss you greedily. You barely have the strength to wrap your arms around him, but you do, holding him as tightly as you can.

When you feel his fingers brush against your inner thighs, you give a soft moan. He meets your eyes again. “Can I touch you? I gotta get you ready for me.”

You whimper softly. “Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, oh, Billy…I want you inside me so badly…”

With a soft groan of his own, he drops his head to your shoulder, tucking his face against the crook of your neck. “You have no idea,” he breathes, “how bad I want you. Shit…”

His fingers stroke your folds, thumb moving in gentle circles over your clit, barely applying pressure. But it still doesn’t take long for you to start whining, gasping against his lips. He kisses you over and over again, almost in rhythm with his touch, and then you feel him brush against your entrance.

“Baby?” he whispers, and when you nod, he slowly, slowly, presses a finger in.

It burns, but his lips moving against yours and his thumb working against your clit help to relax you. “More,” you breathe, and he adds a second finger, beginning to move them in and out. You moan as the stretch becomes less of a surprise and more of a pleasure, and you feel yourself clenching around his fingers, your body acting independently of you.

“Billy,” you gasp out. “Billy — I need…I need more…”

He groans, immediately starting to move his fingers faster. Harder. You cry out, head pressing back into the pillow. “Yes! Oh, yes, yes, like that, just — oh, Billy, just like that — don’t stop, please, don’t stop, don’t stop…”

Your only answer is another groan. When your gaze flashes to his face, you think his beauty alone might be enough to drive you over the edge. His cheeks are flushed, his blue eyes burning, his lips swollen and deliciously pink from your kiss. You reach up one hand for him and pull him down, the gesture almost rough, certainly possessive, and you kiss him again as if you would pour all the passion filling you up right back into him.

“Oh, God — ” It’s building up again, the throbbing ache in your core, and all you can think about is having his length buried inside you. You can feel it against you every now and then as he moves over you, a hard ridge pressing against his pants. God, you can only guess at how big it is; the very idea makes you rock your hips down on his fingers.

“I’m gonna come,” you mutter. “Billy — Billy — fuck — oh, I’m gonna — ”

He nips at your earlobe, sucking against the skin. “Come for me, baby,” he whispers. “I love you. I love making you feel good, I love you, I love you so much…”

His pace intensifies, and your back arches, your legs trembling. His thumb presses harder against your clit, still moving in circles, and you let out a helpless half-sob, half-moan as your second orgasm hits you like a thunderclap. All you can think of is wrapping your legs around Billy’s waist, digging your fingernails into his shoulders, marking him up, writing on his skin in a language that only the two of you can understand.

Billy carefully pulls his fingers from you, and as you watch, he lifts his hand to his mouth and licks his fingers greedily, like a starving man will like a plate free of crumbs. This time, your thighs do part, and you whine helplessly. You never imagined you’d be like this, wanton and needy, barely aware of yourself as anyone or anything more than Billy’s lover. It’s like desire and pleasure — and love, God knows — have merged into a great ocean, and the waves have closed over your head. But you don’t mind sinking into it.

He groans at the taste of you, and then moves back, getting to his feet. You watch with ravenous eyes as he undoes his pants, shucking them in a moment; you swear to God, your mouth waters at the sight of him. He is big — and he’s so hard for you, his length laying flat against his stomach.

“Shit,” he breathes, looking down at you. “Baby, I — I need to be inside you so fuckin’ bad, please, tell me I can…”

As if he really needs to ask by this point. But you love that he asks, anyway. You reach for him. “Please, Billy…”

He moves on top of you again, urging one of your legs up over his hip. Without prompting, you wrap the other around his waist, lifting your hips to him. “Ready?” he murmurs, and you nod, so desperate for him that you might actually begin to weep if he’s not inside you in a moment.

And then —

Oh.

Your lips part in a silent moan. The head of his cock presses inside you, and then he stops, watching your face. You nod, and he presses in a little more — slowly, slowly, pausing every now and then, always waiting for you to signal your assent somehow before giving you more of him. When he’s pressed in to the hilt, you grasp at his shoulders, writhing a little beneath him. “Billy, fuck me,” you whisper in his ear, and you’re rewarded with an immediate thrust.

He presses his cheek against yours as he starts to move — again, slowly at first, a gentle, exploring motion of his hips. You gasp out, encouraging, pleading, tugging at his hair with one hand and raking your nails down his back with the other. Billy grunts softly with each snap of his hips, an animalistic sound, rich with pleasure, with possessiveness. It’s like he’s saying mine — mine — mine — with each rough, deep noise. You rock against him, your cries intensifying as your body becomes used to him, and the only thing you feel is a pleasure so intense you find your eyes stinging.

“Harder,” you beg. “Faster. Fuck me.”

The groan he lets out rumbles up deep from his very core, and he obeys you instantly. He takes one of your hands, and then the other, pinning them above your head as his hips slam into you, over and over. His cries get louder and so do yours. You’re so close, and as yet another orgasm races toward you, you whimper in his ear: “Billy, Billy, I wanna ride you.”

He whimpers, and rolls the two of you over, settling you on top of him. “Baby,” he breathes, looking up at you as if you’re made of starlight and lace, something beautiful and delicate, and more importantly, all his. “Fuck — like this, like this — ”

His hands on your hips guide you in a rocking motion, and it isn’t long before you find the rhythm yourself. Billy’s eyes shut tightly, his brow furrowing, his mouth falling open. He braces his feet against the bed and rocks up into you. “That’s it, baby, just like that — fuck — you’re so fuckin’ perfect — ”

You want to warn him again, tell him you’re about to come, but the only sound you can make is a desperate moan, repeated with each movement. You brace yourself against his chest, working your hips on his length, feeling every inch of him so deliciously deep. In another moment, you’re coming hard, your thighs shaking as your throat goes raw from crying out. Billy keeps rocking up into you, both of you gasping, and then he rolls you onto your back again.

You go to cling to him, not wanting him to leave, but he pulls out and strokes himself once, twice, before he’s coming all over your stomach -- up to your chest — with a cry of your name. “I’m — I’m sorry, baby,” he blurts out. “I didn’t…if I’d…”

“I know,” you manage, despite still struggling to catch your breath. You smile sleepily as he digs a rag from the bedside table and cleans you off, before pulling you into his arms, burying his face against your hair.

“Did I…did I hurt you?” he murmurs, his tone soft and shy.

“No,” you assure him.

You snuggle closer. There is an ache between your legs now, but you find it easy to push to the back of your mind. More important is the contentment washing over you, loosening your muscles, making you melt against Billy’s chest as you wrap an arm around his waist. Not that you ever wondered, but now you know for sure Billy is the one you’ve been waiting for all your life. Your first, your only, your everything.

You lift your head and smile at him. Relief washes over his features as he smiles back. “I love you,” you tell him, and he reaches up, brushing a strand behind your ear.

“I love you, too, darlin’.”

#billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #william h bonney fanfiction #william h bonney x reader #tom blyth

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silverskye13 · 8 months ago

Note

wait silver if renbob visits hels has he met the red king? and if so are they disastrous or iconic together

"Deliiiiivery! :D" Renbob calls in a sing-song voice, holding a stack of boxes in his arms. "RK, where you at my brother?"

He stands in the empty loading dock at the back of the Colosseum, smiling expectantly at the vacant bay. He likes hels. It's warm, and the people are interesting. It could stand to be a little more colorful, but not all pretty places are colorful. Like the beach for example! It's mostly just yellow and blue and hot, and it's still pretty.

(That's perfect actually! Hels makes him think of the beach: hot and monocolor, but somehow still interesting once you get past all the sand. Hah! Imagine a beach in hels! It'd be like a sauna, all steam and rocks.)

"RK I know you can hear me," Renbob calls again. "I can't hold these boxes all day! Well I can, but I will get bored you know?"

There is a grumbling, growling sound that comes from everywhere, but mostly the back of his head. It starts as several whispered and snarled words, and slowly coalesces into a string of coherent thought, "I don't answer to the name RK here, lad."

"My bad, must've gotten you mixed up with someone," Renbob chuckles. "Do you want your delivery?"

"Loading bay?"

"They won't let me park the van anywhere else, my brother. Oh! Please bring your favorite sword, if you don't mind? :)"

There is a cacophony of barks and growls as Red's presence slips out of the back of Renbob's mind. He wonders if Red knows that's the sound his thoughts make: an angry pack of wolves. They aren't kind wolves. They whisper a lot of unkind things when they trail after Red's thoughts. He wonders if that's why Red is always so nice to people: he's keeping the wolves from the door, so to speak.

Red strides into the loading bay, one hand on the wall as a guide until it ends in the open room. He steps confidently even when the wall is gone. The iron crown, sunk down low over his eyes, either doesn't hinder his sight, or he's memorized enough of the Colosseum that it doesn't bother him anymore.

"What sound do my thoughts make :O ?" Renbob asks. Red, who'd been walking a little too far to the left of him, twitches his big, wolf-like ears and realigns his path, meeting Renbob where he stands in front of his camper van.

"What sound do ye... Thoughts make?"

"Yeah, do they make like, sound? I always figured you'd hear a pleasant background of guitar and ukulele music."

Red tilted his in an expression that probably meant he was raising his eyebrows. It was hard to tell with the crown in the way. "Ye thoughts sound like yer voice. Though there do be a slight... Birdsong type noise."

"Is it chillaxin?"

"Aye sure."

"Groovy! :D" Renbob laughed. "I'll take it then! And like, you can take these."

He passes the stack of boxes to Red, who struggles a bit with their weight.

"What all have ye brought for me lad?" Red grunts, giving up on holding them all and setting them down. "All I asked for were some of those hot chips, and ye lemon squares."

"Oh it's just some bits and bobs, mostly," Renbob hums brightly, counting on his fingers. "There's a shulker of emerald and lapis (you said you were looking for a new color to go with all the red? :V those are opposite on the color wheel might be a good place to start! :) ), a shulker of flowers for dyes (all labeled. Are you color blind? I can't remember. Anyway I labeled the dye colors they make ^_^), three boxes of lemon squares (for you and your hand and a box for your Colosseum buddies! I'm sure they'd love some :D), two bags of spicy chippies, and I got you two bolts of fabric (your cloak is getting so torn up :( you've gotta take better care of your stuff brother!). Oh, and there's a few diamonds in there I nicked from Ren. (He won't miss 'em I promise ;) )."

Red tilted his head to the side, "How...? In the world...?"

"Hmm? :)"

"How do ye make...? With your voice...? Ye know what, it be unimportant," Red chuckled, a growling noise that fractured on the edges, a hint of the wolf-thoughts that leaked into real life. "Alas lad, I did not know ye would bring so much, else I would have had payment ready for such finery."

"Oh perish the thought, RK!" Renbob grinned, waving a dismissive hand. "You know you don't have to pay me!"

"Er... Red."

"That's what I said. :3"

"I see, ye be jesting?"

"Jest so!"

"Ah," Red smirked and leaned against the tower of boxes. "Ye said ye visited Ren. How fares our little brother?"

"He's older than both of us Red!"

"Aye, but he also be shorter than both of us."

Renbob laughed, bright and hearty, and for a moment, sunshine flickered in the Colosseum. Flowers bloomed around Renbob's feet. "Right you are, brother! Though I think he might be taller than me if I took my platforms off."

"Aye, but I see no universe where ye be making that particular wardrobe choice."

"I dunno. I was thinking about going to the beach after this. Do you guys have beaches in hels?"

"Aye, if you fancy soul sand by the lava lake."

"Oh man, I haven't taken a good lava bath in awhile!"

"Ye do love those an uncanny amount."

"It's exfoliating!"

"Makes me smell like burning hair."

"Well, to like, really enjoy it you have to get past the-- wait! You asked me a question?"

"Our little brother."

"Right! Ren's doing well! Gave him a ride over to his new season with his boyfriend."

Red, who had found one of the boxes of lemon squares during the conversation, coughed out a bite of lemon. "Begging your pardon?"

"You know, those go down a lot better with milk. I think hels dries them out a little. :("

"Ren has a boyfriend?!"

"Oh! Yeah, mister Docm77," Renbob beamed. "I don't think they've made it like, Facebook official yet, but they sure were making a lot of plans together for next season!"

Red sighed out a breath of relief, holding a hand to his chest. "Ye be jesting again."

"Mostly. :)"

"Well, when this great Book of Faces writes their names side by side, ye let me know."

"Certainly!" Renbob crossed his arms behind his back. "Oh, hey, before I go, like, could I ask you a huge favor?"

"Aye, lad?"

"I need a sword. Gonna be hopping to some dangerous orbits soon I think, and like, I'm real peace love and plants and all, so I can't make my own. But I can accept a gift, if you catch my drift?"

"Ah, suddenly all the gifts make sense," Red hums. He reaches down to his sword belt and unbuckles it, passing it off to Renbob, sword, scabbard and all. "Must ye take my most precious one?"

"You know how I work, Red. Only gifts given with love," Renbob grinned. It was a little sharper than it needed to be. Red couldn't see all the teeth. But it was nice to smile wide sometimes. "I do really appreciate it, my brother."

"Of course." Red smiled back, also showing a few too many teeth. Renbob felt a swelling of fondness for Ren's helsmet.

(It really was nice to be with kin sometimes, the people you could really be yourself with. Red didn't think he was unsettling, or fae-like. Red didn't go making a big deal about how widely he smiled, or how much he changed when his whims stretched him around. Red didn't begrudge the odd little pacts and rules he had to follow.)

"Well I'll like, catch you on the flipside brother!" Renbob said cheerfully. "Don't die while I'm gone, ya dig? :)"

"Don't go being any stranger," Red returned, picking up a box to carry back to his rooms. He would need help carrying them all.

#rns asks #anonymous #renbob #the red king #rendog #interdimensional renbob gives me real that one smiley blorbo from TMA vibes #Michael??? my cultural osmosis of TMA is limited #anyway him and the smiling guy from Welcome to Nightvale. you know the one #renbob is wholesome hes just also a little eldritch a little fae #being all the hopes and dreams of a theater kid that travels through time and space will do that to you #also if you squint theres some dog at the door references #rns ficlet

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gosmigenergy · 1 year ago

Text

KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Fifteen

( Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader )

BOOT WORSHIP / SPANKING / LACTATION/BREASTFEEDING

Summary: After wanting to spank you for months, Frankie finally shares his desire.

Day Fifteen of @absurdthirst's Kinktober list.

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Language, spanking, hair pulling, Dom!Frankie turns Soft!Frankie, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), no use of Y/N

Word Count: 2k

If he’s ever given the opportunity, Frankie’s hand will meet your ass and you give him too many opportunities to count. He thought you would have realised by now that he was an ass man but apparently not.

He pats you on the butt while you wait for your coffee, holding onto the counter top, bleary eyed. When the boys are over and you climb over their splayed legs to take a seat, he has a playful swat. He grabs handfuls upon handfuls of you when things heat up between the pair of you.

And it’s not that you haven’t notice, you just haven’t said anything, the notion has always felt somewhat loving.

There was one time however where he wasn’t so gentle.

You were on your hands and knees, searching for something under your bed. He clocked you, ass up in those ridiculously short pyjama bottoms and the temptation was too strong. You weren’t even aware he was in the room until the heavy handed smack. The force sent you forward, the shock causing you to hit your head on the slats.

“Francisco!”

That’s when he learned you only called him by his full name when you were pissed. He’d already bolted from the room when you managed to worm your way from under the bed. You rubbed your butt.

Sure it hurt but fuck, did it turn you on.

There was always an anticipation in you when his hand came to your ass, yet a slap like that never happened again.

“You missed a good fight,” he let you go in the house first.

“You all keep telling me that but I can’t watch him get beat up like that.”

The scrapping, the kicks and the punches were fine at first but the more time you spent with Benny, the more it hurt to watch him in the cage. Instead you waited outside or in the locker room for everything to be over.

Frankie plucks off his cap, throwing it aside with his jacket.

“He’s a big boy,” he cups your cheeks, “he can handle it.”

“I know. I just don’t like seeing him get hurt.”

He let you wrap your arms around him where you press your ear against his chest and listen to his heart beat. He kisses the crown of your head.

You yawn.

“Tired, querida?”

“No, just in need of a pick me up,” you stretch, walking away from him. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Want a late night snack?”

“I’m ok, thanks babe.”

You’d started to get into the habit of calling them all babe, he still wasn’t used to it.

After your shower, you gravitate towards his wardrobe, flicking through his shirts to choose which one to wear. You always went for the softest, the one that had clung onto his sandalwood scent even though he’d washed it hundreds of times before.

He’d just thrown the last piece of a grilled cheese sandwich into his mouth and was sucking the grease from his thick fingers when you join him. He looks you up and down, taking his finger out with a pop as he puts the empty plate on the table.

“So you’re the one who keeps stealing my favourite shirt.”

It was obviously you.

You pout, “Don’t you think it looks better on me?”

He watched as you smoothed the fabric over your figure, purposefully showing glimpses of the bare skin hidden underneath. You turn around just so you can lift the hemline enough for him to see the curve of your ass, no knickers in sight.

He leans back, arms blocking his chest.

“Of course it does.”

His eyes focus back on the television.

Playing with the cuffs in your fingers, you tentatively join him on the couch, knees to your chest.

“Are you mad with me?”

He looks at your doe eyes.

“A little…”

Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“All I want to do is throw you over my leg and spank you but you don’t want that.”

Your heart skips a beat, the thought of it pooling in your belly and spreading between your thighs.

“When did I say that?”

“You didn’t,” he took his hand away from his face. “When I smacked you on the ass a couple of months back, you weren’t pleased.”

You take his other hand, “Frankie, that was just bad timing.”

“It was? You seemed angry.”

“It was the shock and the head bump. If I’m honest, I’ve kinda been waiting for you to do it again.”

His mouth was hanging open, brows knotted, “Really?”

You hum, nodding, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

“Huh.”

He stops talking, his mind working to formulate his next move.

The expectancy was tortuous, the passing seconds making you squirm then suddenly, everything went fast.

Frankie grabbed you firmly around the waist and hauled your body off the cushions. Intuitively, you went limp and allowed him to position you on his legs, your stomach pressing into bone. The shirt had already ridden up, the chill wafting onto your warm pussy and once you’ve caught your breath, you lift your head to look at him.

He stares at you hungrily.

His broad palm rubs gently, getting you used to the feel of his hand on your ass though you were pretty used to it being there. He waited for you to settle before he slaps you a few times but you barely flinch.

“You can go harder.”

He starts rubbing again.

“This is just the prep,” he gives some more slaps before groping, sinking his nails into the meat of your ass. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You scoff, “I thought that was the point?”

“Put it this way, I want you to be able to sit tomorrow.”

That you could agree with.

There’s a couple of final swats before he soothes you one last time. You swallow as you hear him take a deep breath, his hand no longer on the flaring skin of your ass. Closing your eyes, the impact comes fast and you yelp in response.

“You alright?”

His hand relaxed.

You nod enthusiastically, rearranging your position a little to get your ass up higher. He smirked at your eagerness, his other hand running up your spine and he watches the shiver take your whole body.

Then he gives another, then another over and over.

You happily take every welt, the heaviness rippling through your ass and your juices begin to flow. Each slap is met with a honeyed moan, your toes beginning to curl as your desire rushes through you.

Frankie is relishing in it.

How dutiful you are, taking it as hard as he’s giving.

As he continues, your nails claw into his jeans as you try to steady against the brunt, your head lulling as your head fills with nothing but him. The air as it’s puffed from his nostrils, his eyes observing every minuscule response and making the hair at the back of you neck stand on end, his cock growing and hardening into the side of your chest.

His next smack hits different.

It stings, the prickle spreading across your ass cheeks.

“Fuck,” you say through gritted teeth.

He does it again and you gasp, your chest shuddering as you breath.

“You good?”

You nod but he doesn’t see it.

Instead, his free hand trails towards your neck, fingers locking into a fistful of your hair. He pulls your head back and you feel the strain in your neck, you mewl.

“Querida?”

“Yeah,” you say breathily. “I’m good.”

You look to him out of the corner of your eye, heavy lids. He has to smile at how you appear, cheeks flushed, bottom lip swollen from your own teeth, drunk off his dominance.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

You hum.

He slaps your ass and watches your facial features go slack.

Carrying on his thrashing, he can see how your legs splay, how your pussy glistens, twitching as the ache travels. He knows you’re enjoying this yet your ass is beginning to disagree. It’s scorching under his touch, handprints blending into the same raised mark that spreads the width of your ass cheeks.

Your scalp was tingling as his fingers still pulled, the sensation flooding your back. It dispersed, vibrating through your limbs until you were vibrating.

The next spank hurt, your senses overwhelmed and then the next.

“Stop.”

He raises his hand but doesn’t swing.

“Stop,” you tap his leg, “stop, please.”

His hand loosens on your head and you turn to jelly, legs buckling as you fall onto your knees, forehead pressed to the outside of his leg. He lets you catch your breath, stroking your hair delicately.

You took your time, your presence coming back to the room, to him.

When you look up at him, he’s already gazing down out you, straight lipped but soft behind his brown eyes.

“Thank you.”

He chuckles, “You might not be thanking me later.”

You smile, knowing that that wasn’t going to happen.

Helping you up off the floor, he lays you out across the couch and tucks himself in behind you. He props up on an elbow, his other hand, running up and down your side in a soothing manner. You could go to sleep, if it wasn’t for a raging boner.

“What are you going to do about that?”

“Ignore it,” he grumbles.

“It’s pretty hard to ignore.”

“That sounds like a bad pun.”

“It wasn’t meant to.”

You work a hand behind your back, cupping his bulge through his jeans.

He groans, eyelids fluttering shut as he felt your fingers pull at the zipper. You coil a hand through the opening and knead his length, a spot already present on his underwear.

“Fuck me, Frankie.”

It’s what he needed to hear.

Opening his eyes, his hand fights to undo his belt and unfasten his button. He frees his cock from his briefs before hooking your leg over his, spreading you wide. Shuffling, he lines himself up, taking his cock in his fingers and pushing through your folds. He slowly rolls his hips and fills you to the hilt.

You sigh.

He slides back with ease, your juices helping him glide through your walls. He takes his time, thrusting you at a languished pace. Two of his fingers dance across your navel before pressing on your clit, your head falling back and he delivers kisses underneath your jaw.

Your hands come to the back of his head and you kiss him squarely in the lips, nudging your chin for entry. His tongue slips into yours before you get chance, stealing the moan that escaped you. Your tongues twist and curl together, chasing the taste of each other.

He circles your clit in rhythm to his thrusts, the bundle of nerves pulsating to your inner walls that clench around his length.

You chase his lips when he takes them away but your easily distracted when he snaps his hips a fraction harder. You cry and he only smiles, eyes dark with heavy lids. He drops his hand from his head and works it under your neck, hand slipping underneath his shirt to your breast. Your head falls back as he squeezes your breast and clit in unison.

You cry, eye screwing shut and you feel his breath hot by your ear.

He shushes you, holds you while your body convulses in orgasm, his t-shirt bundling in your hand.

Your cunt contracts around his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he says gruffly, working against your walls.

With your tightness, he was far from finding release himself. A couple more deep thrusts and he felt his balls recede as he pumped into you, filling you with every last drop of his seed.

Sinking into the couch, his body loosens.

You scramble to unbutton the shirt and throw it open to feel the cooler air hit your skin, your stomach rising and falling as you catch your breath. The pair of you lay there, lost for words, unable to move in the afterglow.

After a while, he nudges his nose into the crook of your neck.

“Love you, querida.”

“Love you too.”

Frankie kissed your shoulder, his hand skimming your body before coming to rest on your ass.

#kinktober 2023 #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #kinktober

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disgraceful-writings · 7 months ago

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Meant To Be

Chapter 6

Y/n and Aegon were born on the same day, with velvet eyes and white crowns. Y/n is sent to Oldtown by their mother to keep her pure. What happens when she doesn't return so? How will her twin react?

Y/n was laid in a field of wildflowers. The wind dancing through the tall grass and flowers. The sun kissing her cheeks. Suddenly, a tightness overtook her throat. She began clawing at her throat in an attempt to relieve the pressure, but it seemed in vain. When her vision went black, she rose in her bed, sweat dripping from her hairline. She gasped and looked around her room for reassurance. When she realized she was in her room back at the Keep, she relaxed a bit. Still, she decided to request some wine be sent to her room and put her housecoat on to speak to the guards. However, when she opened the door, Xavier was waiting for her. She screamed and stumbled backwards, crashing into the table. He lunged at her and his hand encircled her throat. “You will never escape me”, he whispered in her ear.

The princess bolted upright to find a maid trying to shake her awake, “Your grace, are you alright?” Y/n pushed her hands away and tried to adjust her eyes to the morning sun. “How long was I asleep”, the princess asked, while the maid wiped her forehead with a cool cloth. “You slept through dinner and the night, your grace. Your mother asked we let you rest.” Y/n nodded and stood up to be washed of the sweat and dressed by the maids. Afterward, still shaken from her dreams, the princess visited her mother’s chambers. “Y/n, how are you, my love?” Alicent raised both arms to her elder daughter. Y/n sunk into her mother’s hold, “y/n? You look white as a ghost.”

“Mother…I-”, y/n was interrupted by a guard entering the room. “Your grace”, he bowed, “the maester has asked for you in the king’s chambers.” She nodded and looked to her daughter, caressed her cheek, “We will speak later, dear.” Alicent kissed y/n’s forehead and stood to follow the guard to Viserys’s chambers. Y/n watched her walk out of the room and sighed. Will he haunt her forever? She knows she is safe, her uncle made sure of his death, and now she is with her family. Her mother wouldn’t let anything happen while she is within her grasp. She decided to go to the Sept, maybe the gods will bring a sense of calm to her.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid”, Aegon gradually shouted in his chambers, kicking a candle stand over, then falling onto his bed face first. Why did he have to open his mouth? It isn’t like anyone was asking him to say those things, especially y/n. Y/n…he doesn’t deserve her. She’s too perfect and proper for him. He should just put an heir in her and stick to the whores of flea bottom. That’s all he’s good at. He looked over to the drawer that held his peasant clothes. Not that he needed them, with the white hair and all, and the whores always welcomed their favorite cock…at least the coin that had come with it. He rose from the bed and changed into them. Before climbing out of his window, he secured a pouch of coins to his belt. Tonight, he was going to do as he pleased.

The prince made his way to flea bottom, specifically one of the more curious whorehouses. After fucking two women, he laid on his back with them cuddled up to his sides, feeding him and keeping his goblet full. He was curious of the woman on display, nude, and inserting the handle of a blade into herself. She was loud and fake, but that didn’t stop his mind wondering how y/n was in bed. “Shall I suck your cock, my prince”, one of the girls asked. He grabbed her by the throat and kissed her deeply, when departed, he whispered, “I’ll put a prince’s bastard in you.” At this she climbed onto his lap, lined him up, and sunk herself onto him. She let out a fake moan like the other girl had been doing, and Aegon huffed, putting his hands on her waist to quicken her pace. When she let out another exaggerated moan, he picked her up off of him and shoved her to the floor, where he stuffed his cock down her throat.

“Now I don’t have to hear you”, Aegon grunted out, the sounds of her choking being music to his ears. When he finished, he pushed her off of him, collected his clothes, dropped a bag of coins, and left the whorehouse into the morning sun. “Always happy to house our favorite prince for the night”, the madam said as he walked out. He walked towards the Keep, however, he felt the need to go to the Sept. He had never cared for the gods, why would they be calling him of all people? At the last turn, he decided to go to the Sept. The room was dark and musty smelling. People shuffled around like they couldn’t make noise for fear the gods would strike them where they stand. Then he saw her, y/n was on her knees, praying to the gods. What would she need to pray to the gods for?

Then he noticed the tear stains on her cheeks and the quiet sobs threatening to leave her mouth as she whispered her prayer.

Y/n heard someone walking in her direction and suddenly turned to them. Aegon. What is he doing here?

“Y/n”, Aegon looked puzzled, “are you alright?”

Y/n hadn’t noticed she was crying until he changed her thoughts. She turned back to the candles and said, “yes. I just felt the power of the gods come over me.” She wiped her tears with the backs of her hands.

“I don’t believe you.” She looked scared and small to him. He decided to sit beside her with his back to the table holding all the candles. She looked into his eyes, but stayed quiet. His hand reached to wipe her cheek of a fresh tear, and she fell into him, sobbing. He just held her, not knowing what to do for her.

When she had calmed a bit, she pushed herself off of him, “Sorry, I-.” She couldn’t finish her sentence, or she would cry again. She stood and started walking back to the keep. Aegon quickly rose and caught up to her quickly. Holding onto her arms, out of breath from getting up so quickly, “Y/n, what’s wrong?” She opened her mouth, however, no words could exit. She just stared into his eyes. Could she trust him? With her mind intact currently, she decided to get a proper look at him. He smells of wine and sex, he just came from flea bottom. Maybe he is as cruel and sick as the people say. “Prince Aegon, Princess Y/n, your mother has requested your presence”, the guard who had come with y/n said after receiving word from another.

Taglist : @watercolorskyy, @xitsemm, @d3nny,

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mira-likes · 3 months ago

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The revelations episode with Xiao En hits hard even when you KNOW that it's coming and what he's going to say. And in the years since I'd first watched the show, I'd forgotten some details!

There's an evil under the Divine Temple?? That, if unleashed, is going to destroy the world?

Like, there are already SO MANY things s3 has to address--I'm guessing Fan Xian has to deal with both the Second Prince and the Crown Prince once and for all, plus the emperor, since none of them are fit to rule; but do we also need to deal with whatever is under the temple?? That feels like a lot.

(But at the same time, this rewatch of s1 has convinced me the show must have some kind of a sci-fi-related resolution, which I don't personally love, because I'm invested in the pseudohistorical imperial drama instead. And the sci fi mysteries do delight me, but only as long as they don't take over. So if they end up taking over at the end, I won't be best pleased.)

Also, the con Chen Pingping ran on Xiao En is just so exquisitely cruel. And he kept on it for YEARS.

(And in this episode we haven't even got to Fan Xian's realisation about who Xiao En's real grandson is.)

Which, again: another point towards the "Chen Pingping hates the emperor and will take revenge on him at the end" theory, because this episode too emphasises how Chen Pingping can nurse a grudge and hate someone quietly for years, and always, always settle the score.

Anyway, Fan Xian is actually illegitimate! A flashback moment in s2 had Xiao En's line about how Ye Qingmei had married into the Qing royal family, but in s1 he actually backtracks to, they weren't officially married but did all the things that married couples do. I knew I kept thinking he was the emperor's illegitimate kid for a reason...

And Fan Xian's face. Fan Xian has a great many faces! This actor is so good at facial expressions and subtle shifts that play out on his features! And that moment of revelation really, visibly hits him like a hammer.

And it strikes like a bolt from the clear sky, too. He NEVER thought anything was off about his birth. He knew his mother was this great individual revered by many, and he obviously knew he was an illegitimate kid, but he never doubted whose illegitimate kid he was. He'd grown up with it! He knew it like an immutable truth! And then, after Xiao En first tries to convince him they're related (which Fan Xian knows for sure to be wrong), he then casually drops this bomb on him, and Fan Xian--

I genuinely think he's never the same after. Like, I'm curious to see where it goes on my rewatch, but I think this is the great shift for him; the moment where things converge and hit home and trap him in this web of connections he didn't know he had and hadn't suspected others of hiding from him.

#joy of life #joy of life spoilers #yes i am having feelings on my rewatch. why do you ask

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beansnsoup · 2 years ago

Note

Luigi with S/O who is a princess that was forced to have an alliance with Bowser and no one wants to trust her but Luigi does see that she’s good

Love this sm 😭

☆

"I don't think you're evil, I think you're great."

Summary: As long as you can remember, you've had to have an alliance with Bowser against your will, of course. No one ever wanted to take your side until he came along.

Relationship: Platonic, some romance implied

Warnings: bullying???, fluff, tiny angst, fem reader, lmk if there is anything else

*Also, this is kind going off the plot of a movie, but just a tad, I'm changing it around a bit for the request, also Mario and Luigi already live in Mushroom Kingdom as this takes place.

You couldn't even walk around a different kingdom without people eyeing you down. This is why you hated going to different places for royal meetings, especially when it was about the man that you had to comply with.

Ever since you were crowned you were told that you were to have an alliance with the relentless Bowser, you had zero say in the matter.

So, when you were sent the letter that Princess Peach needed help and an army you knew instantly what it was about, and you couldn't just not go, that would make you look worse.

The guards hesitantly let you into the castle, watching you intently until you turned the corner to the meeting room. The room was full of toads and other kingdoms rulers, it went silent after you walked in.

'Wonderful.'

You walked to the corner of the crowd and looked down, fidgeting with you dress, praying for Peach to start talking.

Like it was a miracle, all eyes were averted from you as she started to talk, she went on about how Bowser was going to soon take over Mushroom Kingdom. You started to feel squeamish, you knew that you would also be blamed for this, anything Bowser would did would also be backlash on you.

You wanted to walk out of there, but that would be too petty and self-centered, then you would really be blamed for the action occurring.

You tilted your head up to listen to what Peach had to say until you heard whispers coming from behind you.

"Why did she even come? It's not like she can do anything to help."

"Not that she wants to help."

Those whispers turned into hushed giggles, you began to look down again until the doors burst open, causing you to bolt your head up.

Luigi and Mario, Mushroom Kingdoms heroes, ran through the entrance,

"Sorry we're late Princess! We got caught up with business." Mario explained, Peach nodded and smiled, signaling him to stand anywhere to listen to her plan.

You locked eyes with the taller brother, his face went a light shade of red as he waved, you sent a small wave back, not enough to bring attention to yourself.

You bring your attention back to the princess, scared for the whispers to start back up.

Peach wrapped up her plan, catching you before you could leave, Luigi and Mario stuck behind, waiting for her to get done with whatever she was about to do with you.

"You know you don't have to come to these." She started.

"I know, but I want to find ways I can help as well, even if there isn't much I can offer."

She sighed, "I appreciate it, I truly do, but think of what affect that would have on the kingdom."

You knew she wasn't talking about the kingdom; you knew she was talking about herself.

"Oh." Is all you could muster out, you couldn't let out a thank you or a sorry, you turned away and walked out.

It's not like this was your fault, you had nothing to do with what Bowser decided to do. As you walked out of the kingdom you got more stares than you did when you were walking in, it's like they all witnessed the conversation you just had with the princess.

When you had reached the tunnel that led to your home felt a presence behind you, you look back and find a wheezing Luigi. He's so out of breath you have to give him a minute to catch his breath.

"I've....been.... chasing...you...for.... 20....minutes."

You had a surprised look on your face, "Really? What for?"

He was finally able to catch his breath, "I lost you in the crowd, I wanted to walk you out, but the princess had to talk to Mario and I."

You smiled at this, "Were you coming to tell me that I'm no longer welcome at Mushroom Kingdom?"

He shook his head violently, "Of course not! I'd love for you to come back, it's really a wonderful place."

"Not when everyone around thinks your Bowsers evil side kick."

"I don't think you're evil, I think you're great."

You both went silent, you decided to finally break the tension, "Nobody has ever talked about me in that way before."

He gasped, "Really? Not even your own people?"

"They're not too keen on being in a forced alliance with Bowser either."

Your face faded out. He could tell you were overthinking, so he wanted to get your mind clear from Bowsers' treacherous ways.

"Would you like to sit with me and watch the sunset?" He asked, you looked up into his eyes, smiled, and then nodded.

He led you over to the grass patch next to the tunnel and you both sat down, he then grabbed your hand while still viewing the skies, you sighed and laid your head on his shoulder,

"Thank you."

I loved writing this!!

#luigi super mario #luigi #luigi nintendo #luigi x reader #super luigi #mario and luigi #super mario bros

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slippinninque · 1 month ago

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🏃🏾‍♀️Nosey🔎

You end up in some business that's not exactly yours...

Jatemme Manning x blackfem reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of violence and some torture (not to reader) soft!dark!Jatemme, long fic

-----

There were times where the job could get messy.

Vision blurring at the edges and pain shooting down your side, you continued through the alleys. The siren’s call and rushing cars filled the air, you could hear the gunshots as your tails met each other.

Lungs burning and legs screaming, you hoped the worst for both of them.

You went next to the double dumpster of a vegan spot and slid into sitting down. Your head swam with the growing pain, you knew you had to keep moving but you couldn’t keep bleeding.

‘Love's is gonna kill me.’ You couldn't help the little laugh that slipped, knowing the man was going to go nuclear.

Right now, all you could was try to fix your shoulder.

You ripped off your bloody shirt and tore a strip around the slash in your side. The other, you wrapped as best as possible around the left shoulder where there could be a bullet still lodged in there.

Groaning and re-shouldering the pack, you zipped up your hoodie all the way and tossed up the hood. After a moment to guess where you were beyond Funky Fresh Vegan Bistro, you pushed towards the mouth of the ally.

In the backpack were a handful of USB drives that held some pretty compelling information about a few families in the underground and high-crust.

All of it set to be given to the police in the the work of a mole. Multiple moles, a syndicate across turfs. Proof and promises for smaller sentences, complacent public figures, receipts for cleaned money, audio files—oh, they had it all.

Now you had it. Though not much time came with it now that half the city was looking for you. Still, it was well worth the nasty fall you took in getting the hell out of dodge.

You just had to get to your turf. A neutral space, either one of the bars or pawnshops owned by your cousins maybe?

A bullet ricocheted from the metal post of the fence, startling you and causing you to bolt.

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

Four men naked and taped to their chairs. Every sound uttered that wasn't information cost a tooth. With that sort of currency, Jatemme had to get creative after a while.

They were pleading and leaking from all over but Jatemme wouldn’t let any of them die until one of them finally told him what he needed to hear.

Asthma knew this special mood was from a very specific source. Namely one the exact size of a foxy little smooth talker that's been missing for nearly 24 hours.

Jatemme didn’t look at Asthma as he rounded to this table of tools, picking up a potato peeler as he spoke.

“Did you find her?”

“She ran into one of our laundromats. Eddy and Chris was there to meet her after a tip about her running from the Opps spread through Southwest. They said they're taking her to see Doc.”

Jatemme stood slowly and fixed a dark gaze onto his captives,

“Was she hurt?”

“Banged up good but heard Doc say she had worse.” Asthma didn’t come closer, didn’t move away from the door. Whoever those men were--they probably didn't have long left.

“She had something with her you might want to see, though. Eddy came through to drop it off."

When Jatemme looked over at him, Asthma wordlessly held up a well-worn Crown Royal bag.

….

You felt like you were ran over by a pack of trucks. Or suplexed by a Silverback gorilla—but you were also satisfied.

You stole enough leverage to keep the skies clear for years.

“I have to say, you’ve been doing pretty good. There was a time I’d see you every week.” Doc returned with fresh bandages. You began sitting up and he hurried to get you to lay back down.

“With the way you used to chew my ass out, I've been taking my chances with the lil' sewing kit at home.”

“Explains all these wobbly-ass scars then.”

You snorted, pain jolting with your amusement, “Yo, not too much on me! I learned from watching you, old man!”

It was Doc’s turn to laugh as he peeled away the stained bandage on on side. The puncture was pretty deep and the healing was going to be a bitch, but you were lucky enough it didn't reach anything vital.

“I won’t recommend falling onto a fence head, it’s not as quirky as the TV makes it seem.”

"Girl, what the hell are you watchin'?"

You rambled on and tried to ignore the way the pain killers churned in your empty stomach as you wated for them to kick in. While you knew Doc was being as careful as he could, you still winced.

It's actually been a while since the last time you had stitches.

“Little more and then you can sleep it off, champ.” Doc grunted as he emptied a syringe into you, “Rusty metals are a bitch after all."

“And how…”

Your eyes closed. Took deep breaths and soon enough, the room stopped spinning and Doc was putting a fresh bandage onto the worst of it. He's been stitching you up since you got into the streets, you've slept on his cot more nights than you can count.

Wasn't long before the absence of adrenaline invited the presence of reality.

Jamal finding out you went snooping without permission--that you could sort of handle. Jamal would be more than appeased by the blackmail and leverage you dug up.

If Jatemme saw how badly you fucked yourself up over a ‘side quest’, then that...would be worse.

“Say, Doc, when can I—uh--get on out of here?”

Doc looked at you as if you spoke to him in Klingon, “Leave? Girl, give the good shit time to kick in, at least! 'Sides, you’re going to be here at least until morning. That ankle of yours alone—woah, wait!”

You were already dizzy from the sudden movement of you sitting up, but you had to get home. You didn't want Jatemme to see you as you were, it was too bad--too soon.

If you could make it home, you could buy some more time for the worst of it to go away. You stood from the bed with a yelp, unsteady but trying to move away Doc’s worried hands.

“Suddenly, Doc, I feel a while ‘lot better. So much, so much better. Think I’m gonna finish healing up at home, y’know?”

“Is this about Manning? Sorry kid, but the cat’s out the bag—he knows.”

"Aw shit," You groaned, arms going around your stomach as it thundered. The pain rocketed down your side, Doc hissed something as he reached out to steady you.

“I-I still wanna go home. I'll be more comfortable there..."

"C'mon now, kid--

"Shouldn't you be invested in the quality of my healing? I'd be waaay more comfortable there, old man..."

“Hear me out, let me get you as patched up as a can to last—yeah?”

"I'm fine...”

“I think you should listen to doctor’s orders.”

You went still. Doc made a relived noise prodded you towards the cot, you went stiffly. He helped to lay you and you gave a great, big sigh as you finally faced the figure blocking the doorway.

“Heeey there, Love...”

Jatemme came and took Doc’s seat when he stood at the sight of him in the doorway. Jatemme unpinned his stare from you and looked to the older man.

“Tell me what we’re looking at, Doc.”

You swallowed as the list was rattled off in alphabetical order. Bruising, gunshot wound to the left shoulder, multiple lacerations, and a rolled ankle.

Jatemme stared at him, eyes endless and still. You picked at the loose thread of the cot's scratchy blanket when Jatemme finally dismissed Doc to turn his eyes on you.

The silence was thick enough for you to eventually wince beneath it. Jatemme sighed, deep and heavy as he stood. You looked up at him in time for him to catch your chin as he came to sit closer to you on the cot.

Jatemme pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, then another. You felt like your could implode, or maybe pass out.

He pulled back enough for your noses to touch, “I heard you almost got killed..."

Your giggle was a bit intense, nervous and excited as always when he was near. Jatemme’s smile was small as he pointed his finger directly in the center of your forehead.

“Do you know what I'd do? If I missed you?"

Not for the first time--you wondered just how far Jatemme would be willing to go.

“Hm...probably want to give me one of these?" You darted forward a stole a kiss, “Or maybe one of these...?”

You tried to get another kiss but Jatemme moved back at the last moment, catching your head between his palms. All traces of humor gone in his face as your ears struggled to pick up is next words.

"Tell me what happened. Now."

So you did. You didn't work for Jatemme, you didn't work for anyone, but you were meddling in his shit. The least you could do is tell the truth.

Jatemme had relaxed his hold on you by the end of the story. His hands went from your head to one resting on your thigh and the other in his pocket.

“I told you to leave it be. I was gonna press Gavin to see who the connect was.”

“Wasn't no 'leave it be', I'm telling you. Gavin was gonna go tonight, as soon as he left from here with his tail.”

You put your hand over his, thumbing over all of his knuckles.

“If I would have left it there? I swear we would have been booked by noon tomorrow, Love. "

Jatemme stared. While he took in whatever he needed, you took in the pleasure of his handsomeness and the slow numbness that was taking over from whatever the hell Doc gave you.

“Don’t be a danger to yourself.” Jatemme said quietly after a while, “I will put you up somewhere if something like this happens again."

"All I hear is that you liiike me, you wanna kiiisss me..."

"You playin' too much. Don't think I won't, brat.”

You didn’t doubt it. Jatemme could make a lot of things happen, you've seen it firsthand. The only problem is that it didnt' scare you. It caused quite the opposite effect.

If Jatemme wanted to hoard you all to himself--it was in the public best interest to let him do as he wanted, right?

"I know, Love, I know."

Jatemme leaned in slow and you were eager to meet him. He kissed slow and soft, pinching your cheek before pulling away. Jatemme stood to ease you back into the pillows, grabbing the throw blanket that Doc kept.

“Chill here for now. I’m going to make a call and then we're going to head out.”

You nodded and suddenly felt so tired. The worst of it was over now, even if Jatemme was plotting on a lesson when you were in better shape. It was a good save, no one could take that from you.

With that thought, you dropped off into a mildly-comfortable doze as you waited for the pain meds to take over.

Jatemme lingered until you fell asleep. The bunching in your brow smoothed out and your breaths were deeper, not as if you sucked on pain every inhale.

Your hair was a mess of braids and he saw a the bandage above your brow was already stained red. You slept like you didn't fall a few stories onto a iron fence and weren't the source of Jatemme's headache.

He heard what Doc said about your ankle and thought about the talk he still had to have with Jamal. It was too late in the evening to even consider the bodies still in his workshop.

‘Gave us plenty of work, didn't you?' He thought, looking at the blood beneath your nails. Pulling out his phone and then your bag of snatched evidence, he texted his brother.

Then sent a follow up asking for him to bring a bottle.

-------

✨ending notes✨: this one was rattling around my brain for the longest and have definitely been taking up space in my drafts! I think this is a bit different for me 🤔 I'm looking to make a more chaotic reader and I think she may do well with Jatemme! 🤣Thank you so much for reading! Tell me what you think! 💜✨💕

💕taglist💞: @megamindsecretlair @blowmymbackout @thadelightfulone @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sageispunk

@kindofaintrovert @satoruya @harmshake @miyuhpapayuh @ms-angiealsina

@cocochannelmoi @hunnishive @last-lost-one @yasminsqueendom @flydotty

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#Jatemme Manning #Jatemme Manning x blackfemreader #Jatemme Manning x BlackFemReader #Jatemme Manning x Black!Fem!Reader #Jatemme Manning x black!fem!reader #Jatemme Manning Widows #Widows #Widows film #Widows film fic

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shift-shaping · 4 months ago

Text

where did your hips go

enaste finally reaches her clan.

rating: t

pairing: solavellan

previous fics | 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

By the time Enaste finally saw the first wolf statues, she was starving. She should have arrived much earlier, but after an intense round of screaming slurs at her, one of her captives had started losing blood at an alarming rate and she'd needed to stop to heal him. And gag him. Turns out dragging two half-dead men on a couple of tired horses took much longer than she would have liked. She'd brought a few pieces of jerky with her, but it wasn't much and she'd eaten them hours ago.

The smell of fish cooking over a fire nearly sent her into a frenzy. Klein, the man she hadn't felt the need to gag, groaned hungrily. She saw the sails of her clan's aravels peeking up from the trees.

Moments later, three hunters emerged and ran to help her. The sight of them made her heart ache, but it was a happy ache, the kind of ache that comes from missing someone so much for so long. They greeted her, hugged her, told her how happy they were to see her. One of them started trying to catch her up on happenings in the clan, but was interrupted by Klein's groaning.

Only then did the hunters really take in Enaste's hostages. Cole had apparently disappeared again, leaving Enaste to look especially impressive with two captives and two horses behind her.

"Wow, no wonder you took so long to get here," said the youngest of the hunters, a freckled girl named Aridhel. "Are those the mercenaries we've been dealing with?"

Enaste nodded. Her voice rasped. "Some of them, yes. They have information, but they're in rough shape and need healing first."

More members of her clan came out of the trees to greet Enaste as the hunters led the horses into camp. A few of the children escaped their carer's hold and bolted to her, hugging her and yelling about recent events and asking her questions so quickly she couldn't respond. Enaste laughed and knelt down to their level, taking care to greet every one by name.

She knew them, by face and name and voice, because she had seen them before anyone else in this world; nearly every child in the clan, all but the very oldest and very youngest, Enaste had delivered herself. One particularly excited boy grabbed her hand and bounced up and down. "'Naste, 'Naste!" He said quickly, and she laughed as she turned to him.

"Yes, Inar? You're very impatient today."

"I'm four! I just had my name day!"

"That you did! You've gotten very big. How was it?"

He smiled at her compliment and slowed in his bouncing. "It was so fun! Lahalaan made crab cakes and sweet cheese on toast!"

Another child, a smaller girl named Nellasa, started to pull on Enaste's other hand. "Inaarr stop talking. 'Naste just got here!"

Enaste turned to the girl, smirking. "What? Didn't you like the crab cakes too, Nella?"

"I guess," she drew the word out and pulled Enaste's hand harder, unbalancing her and making her laugh. "But come on! You have to see what I made with Elder Shora!"

"You used too many colors!" Inar replied, annoyed at her interruption.

"Elder Shora said there's no such thing!"

Enaste felt footsteps behind her. "Children, please, let your First at least come into camp." She would recognize that voice anywhere --confident, steady, wizened with age but still deep and strong.

Enaste stood carefully, and turned to face her Keeper. Her breath caught in her chest. Keeper Deshanna was as beautiful as ever, her long white hair plaited into crisp, oiled braids decorated with trinkets and adorned with silver halla horns that graced her head like a crown.

"It is so good to see you, da'len."

Enaste bowed, eyes closed, momentarily too overwhelmed to speak. When she straightened, her Keeper pulled her into a warm, loving embrace. She smelled like the herbs they burned to keep away mosquitoes, and the campfires they lit for warmth at night, and the oils worked into her hair to keep the strands in place. She was shorter than Enaste by several inches, so Enaste had to be wary of the horns on her head.

They stepped apart, and Deshanna kept her hands on Enaste's arms. Her vallaslin was extensive and vibrant, kept fresh from a new application just two years before. It was a more advanced version of Enaste's own --where the mark of Mythal covered only Enaste's forehead, on her Keeper it extended across her cheeks and through her lips, cutting a long line towards her chest.

"You are thin," Deshanna observed, and Enaste laughed nervously. "You need some real food, none of that shemlin dogfeed. Come. We have fresh trout and oysters."

Enaste's mouth watered; she was momentarily so hungry she lost her train of thought, but still managed to thank her Keeper profusely.

Keeper Deshanna looked over Enaste's shoulder, towards the horses. She narrowed her eyes, then nodded slowly. "These are some of the mercenaries that have been harassing us, aren't they?"

Enaste sighed. "Yes. I encountered a group of them earlier and managed to take these two captive."

"Were you hurt?" Deshanna asked, and without hesitating, ignoring the pain in her throat and the aches in her back, Enaste shook her head.

"They were not expecting a mage."

"I see," Deshanna looked skeptical, but did not press the issue. She didn't need to know what happened. Enaste was fine, regardless, as long as she didn't think about it too much.

"Aridhel, Hauen, Eirie," Deshanna announced, and at her voice all three hunters stood at attention. "Get more help from the older hunters, and put the men in the storage tent on the north side of camp. Keep them tied down, but tell Elder Le'an to watch over them. Whatever information they have, we want it."

Enaste watched the three hunters hurriedly follow their new orders. The children started pulling on Enaste again, especially Nellasa, and Enaste picked her up instead of letting herself be dragged down the hill.

"Where are Hallin and Harea?" Enaste asked, careful not to step on a stray child as they walked down the slope into camp.

"Hallin is hunting, but Harea is around somewhere. I believe she is doing some leatherwork."

Enaste smirked. "She never does stop working."

Keeper Deshanna sighed. "I wish she would. She needs more rest." She looked at Enaste dryly. "Though I'm sure she would get more if your brother would stop fussing over her."

Enaste's smirk turned into a wider smile: she knew her brother, and that was very much in-character for him. "He won't leave her alone?"

"No!" Deshanna replied, exasperated. "I had to order him to leave for this hunt, and it took far more convincing than it should have."

"It's been so long," Enaste said. Nellasa had started playing with her scarf. Enaste gently took her hands away from it so she wouldn't pull it off, and the girl laid her head on Enaste's shoulder. "He's worried for her, and the child."

"I know. But if he keeps hovering around her he's not going to have a bonded or a child because Harea will have killed him."

The camp was set up long and narrow, so from this entrance they could only see a few tents, an aravel, and her clan mates buzzing around them. A woman named Miolvun, beating the dust out of a rug, froze as soon as she saw them and ran off. "Harea!" She yelled in the distance, and Enaste grinned.

Keeper Deshanna returned her smile and led her towards an aravel where hardered leather lay across the decks. A bag of tools and thread for embroidering said leather hung over the side. Miolvun barely had time to warn the heavily pregnant woman sitting against the aravel before she saw Enaste herself.

"Creators!" Harea yelled. "Oh, fenhedis--" Harea hissed before tossing whatever she was working on into the darkness of the aravel. "Help me up," she ordered the other woman, who quickly gave Harea her arm.

Enaste gently put Nellasa down as her friend approached. Harea was a beautiful woman: her hair was the same shade of black that Enaste's was, but her skin was a darker, richer tan, and the blue in her vallaslin --meant to honor June-- made her brown eyes stand out even more than they would have otherwise.

"Oh, how could you leave me, you monster?" Harea asked, putting her hands on Enaste's face. She was tall, too, one of the tallest elves in the clan, and looked down slightly at Enaste. "In my time of need? It's like you don't even care."

Keeper Deshanna sighed. "She was kidnapped, da'len."

Harea shot her an annoyed look. "She could have escaped."

Enaste laughed and put her hand on Harea's wrist. "I did escape. I'm here now, aren't I?"

Harea pursed her lips. She suddenly squished Enaste's face, earning a surprised yelp. "You should have been here earlier. Your brother has been an absolute nuisance, and you're the only one he listens to."

"Abelas. I really did try," Enaste said through squished cheeks.

Harea let Enaste's face go and sighed. "It's fine. I know you were busy being... Some kind of shemlin goddess...?"

Enaste rolled her eyes. "I'll tell you later."

"Yes, you should eat first," Harea frowned, looking down at Enaste's body. "Where did your hips go?"

"Enough, da'len," Keeper Deshanna soothed. Before she could go on, a voice called out to Enaste.

"Maker's breath! There you are!" It was Jester, the agent Leliana had sent along to assist her. A human woman was just behind them, followed by Blackwall, and further behind, Solas. Her gaze lingered on him, warmth blooming in her chest just from seeing him. He smiled at her when he caught her eye, and she smiled back. It was embarrassing.

"And hey, what's up with your voice?" Harea asked, frowning. "You sound like you have a cold."

"Ah, well, I think I do," Enaste lied, and Harea started asking Deshanna about various remedies.

"Inquisitor," Jester said, their thick brows knit in concern. "We were so worried for you. What a relief to see you alright."

"What caused the delay?" Solas asked, and, frustratingly, she found herself excited by his voice. Had she missed him? It had been scarcely twelve hours.

She turned towards where the hunters had taken her captives. "I ran into a few of our mercenaries friends. Took two of them hostage, and two horses."

Solas's brows raised. "Impressive work." His praise made her heart skip. Then he frowned. "Are you feeling alright? Your voice sounds strange."

"That's what I said!" Harea exclaimed, crossing her arms. "You need elfroot, and honey."

"I need to eat, lethallan," Enaste said, finally speaking up for her aching stomach. She looked at her Keeper. "You said there was trout?"

Deshanna smiled, nodded, and looked to the gathered Inquisition representatives. "Your friends have already had some, but there should be plenty. Come, let us eat."

Soon she was sitting in the grass, eating grilled trout and mushrooms and oysters and herbs. Save for when Roshan cooked at Skyhold, it was the best thing she'd eaten in months. She ate so fast Harea teased her and told her to slow down, and her friend was right because she felt a little sick afterwards. But it hardly mattered. She lay back against a tree and closed her eyes and listened to the surreal intermingling voices of her family and new friends in the comfort of her clan's camp. She met Lady Guinevere Volant, who explained the situation in Wycome as she understood it, and Keeper Deshanna went over the situation with the bandits.

The plague the Keeper mentioned was, obviously, not in reference to the clan itself but the city of Wycome. Some disease was tearing through the upper quarters, killing humans but suspiciously --almost pointedly-- avoiding elves. When Enaste explained that the mercenaries had apparently been paid for by the Duke of Wycome, the full picture came into focus: something was killing the humans of Wycome, and the elves were being blamed for it. Despite obviously not being connected, Clan Lavellan was made a scapegoat. They were lucky the mercenaries were so incompetent.

"They may come here to try and avenge their comrades," Blackwall warned, and Enaste nodded.

"We'll be ready for them. We can speak with the hostages I took and get more information about what to expect, but after my encounter with them I don't think there are many left in fighting shape." She nodded to Deshanna. "We can handle what's left."

"Good," the Keeper said. She looked at Lady Volant, grey brows furrowed. "What of the elves in the alienage? If we are being harassed, I find it hard to imagine they are safe."

Lady Volant nodded slowly. "Tensions seem higher than usual. One of my informants in the alienage has expressed concern, and many of the elves are especially worried. I am uncertain of more than that, however." She looked to Enaste. "I had hoped we could introduce you to the Duke, that we might gain information that way, but if he's paying for these mercenaries to harass your clan, I doubt he'll tell you much."

Keeper Deshanna nodded. "But you could go, Lady Volant, and see if he will give you a tour of the city as a representative of the Inquisition. Then you would be able to assess the reality of this plague for yourself."

"Should you have protection?" Enaste asked.

"Not typically, though..."

Enaste looked to Blackwall, who nodded. "Blackwall can accompany you."

Keeper Deshanna hesitated. "Is it the norm for a tour of the city to require an armed guard?" She looked at Blackwall kindly. "With all due respect, having such a visible guard will raise suspicions. The Duke will know we do not trust him."

"None taken, my lady," Blackwall responded.

"Still, it is not a bad idea." She looked at Jester, who was silent thus far. "If we send one of our warriors or hunters the Duke will know we have some involvement. You are without vallaslin; if you accompany the ambassador as a servant, it will draw less attention."

Jester considered this, running their hand along their chin. "That might be fine. If we visit the alienage, however, they may recognize me. Some of the Duke's own servants may as well."

Enaste frowned, thinking. She cleared her throat and nodded to Solas. "You could accompany Lady Volant."

He smiled slightly, and no one objected immediately, so Enaste went on. "You wear no vallaslin, you are unknown to the alienage and the various elven servants, and should something go wrong, you can protect Lady Volant." She shrugged. "It's not a bad idea."

"They won't be able to tell you're a mage?" Blackwall asked, and Solas shook his head.

"Likely not. Even if they had a mage of their own, it is difficult to be certain."

"You don't hate the idea," Enaste observed. "You will be treated like a servant."

"I can pretend to be humble, for one afternoon," he joked, and Enaste snorted.

Keeper Deshanna nodded slowly. "This feels like the right compromise." She raised an eyebrow at Solas. "You are rather large for an elven servant, though."

"No one looks at elves that hard, Keeper," Harea replied, and the Keeper sighed her agreement.

"Tomorrow, then?" Enaste asked, and Lady Volant nodded.

"I will travel back to Wycome today, and send a messenger to inform the Duke that I will be taking him up on his offer of a tour. He will be disappointed in your absence, Inquisitor, but he should understand how much of diplomacy is done via proxy."

"Shall I go with you?" Solas asked, and Lady Volant nodded.

"I could send a messenger to the clan in the morning, but it would be easier if you simply stayed in Wycome."

That made perfect sense, and Enaste did not object. Still, for some reason knowing he would not get to spend the night with her people was disappointing. It was her own fault for volunteering him, and maybe it was for the best. She knew he was uncomfortable around the Dalish, even among her clan, and maybe introducing him to her people in small pieces would be easier.

Thus it was settled. Solas would go with Lady Volant back to Wycome that evening, and everyone else would remain in the camp. Lunch lingered a while longer, and Harea half-forced Enaste to drink honeyed tea for her throat despite how full she felt. Other clan members came and went, greeting Enaste and marveling at her entourage. Roshan ate with them for a while as well before he went off to nitpick something about the oysters.

As the sun drifted past midday, Keeper Deshanna instructed one of the hunters from earlier, Aridhel, to show the Inquisition where they'd be staying. The clan had set up several tents for them, modest in construction but outfitted with warm furs inside that would be plenty of cushion to sleep on. Enaste returned to the small, private section of the aravel she'd shared with Deshanna for the better part of the last ten years. It had been kept clean, and free of dust. Were she not burdened by the warmth in her hand and the pain in her throat, it would be easy to imagine she'd never really left.

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#solavellan #solas #dragon age #enaste lavellan #glimpses #enaste is loved and cared for very much by people who are unfortunately very far away from her when she's in skyhold #also enaste is like 'solas they're probably going to treat you badly are you sure you're ok with this'#and he's just 'no i love being underestimated so much you are putting me in my natural environment this is enrichment for me'#you must allow your trickster god to pretend to be someone who is easily overlooked at least once a month #otherwise they will be understimulated

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