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hellishjoel · 1 year ago

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blue collar man

4.1k / joel miller x f!reader

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Summary: Your boyfriend Joel is up to his ears busy with his contracting business. Tired and sore, he comes home to learn you’ve made the rest of the night all about him.

Warnings/Information/Heads-Up: Fluff, mentions of sex (but no actual sex), mentioned age difference, fluffy fluff fluff because blue collar man Joel Miller deserves it! He’s running a biz-ness!

A/N: based on this lovely request! I hope I could bring your request to life, I breezed through it so fast because I love him, he’s baby.

“Thank you for today.” He murmured into the pillow. You barely hear it, but even if you didn’t, you feel it in the way he holds your hand and keeps your arm settled around him. “Thank you for everything you do, Joel.” You whispered back, your forehead on the top slope of his back as you take in the smell of his body wash combined with the lotion, his body falling slumped in your protective hold.

Joel had found a lot of success with Miller Contracting over the summer months. Business was booming and his early mornings until late nights were dedicated to working on multiple projects to get things done on time for his clients. Joel worked on referrals mostly, so when he finished a client’s remodeled hill country home in late winter, the client had raved over Joel’s professionalism and hard work to their friends and now he had a list of upcoming projects.

Truthfully, you didn’t know much about contractors until you started dating Joel. You quickly began to understand the vastness of his duties. One day he could be working on home renovation projects where he was doing demolition like removing the walls or floors, electrical and plumbing work, flooring installation, even down to the last coat of paint.

Other opportunities were commercial like on a small office building downtown where he did site preparation, set the foundation, worked on the beams and columns, all the way up to finishing the roof. Whatever he couldn’t do himself that was a bit more specialized, he hired subcontractors to work on like heating, ventilation, and air conditioning.

What he hated the most was landscaping projects. He’d have to do the design layout of a large backyard garden and plant trees and flowers or work on seeding grass if it was a particularly hot Texas summer. Then he would add irrigation systems like sprinklers, pathways for people to walk on, pergolas for outdoor hosting, finishing it off with pretty and unique outdoor light fixtures. God forbid the client wanted a pond.

“Do you know how annoying koi fish are? They just… stare at ya while you’re tryin’ to work.”

You had grown to love the handy man that Joel was. Before you were moved in to his place, your shitty little apartment needed so much love that your asshole landlord never took the time to come and fix. But Joel would. That was his form of romance. He didn’t bring you flowers or chocolates on the first dates. Joel was replacing your leaky shower head and tightening your jiggly door knobs. He also managed to match the paint color on your walls so he could cover up the scrapes he made after he railed you into your mattress so hard that the frame made a few chips.

You were so happy to see his business getting the high recognition it deserved, however, Joel was taking quite the beating from it. You could tell by the way he slinked back into the house at the end of the night, his frame hunched over and walking with a slight limp.

He was sore, muscles aching and knees screaming at him. His joints were swollen by the end of the day and his sweaty, sticky skin ached for a refreshing shower.

The hardest part was always trying to shut off his mind when he got home. He was already thinking about the next day. What didn’t get done on time, what shipments of supplies were expected, how the delays would set the project back. He needed a break.

“Can’t take time off right now, baby. I’ve got deadlines to meet.”

There was this one specific project that was giving him hell. He called it the Astor because it was on Astor street. Every night this week he had come home beyond late because of the problems with the Astor. First it was that the project was exceeding the client’s budget, so they were giving him grief about that. Then it was labor shortage stuff, not being able to get people out there which then in turn caused timeline delays. With the client out of the country most of the time, Joel was receiving little to no communication from the owner. He was fighting permit and regulatory issues with the city, every day it was something new that caused a headache behind his eyes.

His dedication was admirable, but you knew that him being so physically and mentally clouded wasn’t good for him or for Miller Contracting.

You didn’t know shit about contracting, but you did know Joel.

You had texted him earlier in the day to drop whatever he was working on no later than 5 o’clock in the evening. You never did that, never told him to leave work early. But the last thing he wanted was for him to come home and have you upset with him. That was worse than any project issue.

Tonight would be about Joel. Anything you could do to make the stress melt away, you would try.

Joel pushed open the front door once home, a heavy sigh leaving him as he closed the door back in place and set his lunch box and keys down on the entry table.

“Joel?” Your voice echoed from the kitchen.

“Hi, baby.” His voice was low from the lack of energy.

Joel slowly moved down on one knee, a heavy breath exiting through clench teeth as his kneecaps throbbed while he untied one boot, then the other. They were covered in dust even down to the creases, steel toe covers making his feet sore.

“Hey, how was your day?” You asked as you grabbed a dish towel to wipe your hands with before tossing it on the counter, greeting him halfway as he made his way through the living room.

You were up on your tippy toes for a kiss, not wanting him to have to bend over and exert himself. He hated when you treated him like an old man, but with this job, you always teased him that it was coming sooner rather than later.

He kept his hands to himself, knowing they were a bit greasy and sweaty. His overgrown beard hairs tickled your face as you peppered him with a few extra kisses, one of his eyebrows playfully raising.

“Was fine. Did you see what I texted you?” He asked as he looked down at you, watching as your fingers grabbed the hem of his shirt, helping lift it off his head.

“Mhm. The HVAC guys didn’t show up until noon even though you scheduled them for nine in the morning. Did you see I texted you back? Five hours ago.” Your teasing tone made him crack a smile.

Joel was bad at texting. Typical guy thing, typical older guy thing. He said he wouldn’t even have a phone if it wasn’t for work and if Sarah didn’t insist on how texting was the new way of communication. Even though you texted him ten minutes after his initial one, his phone was already back in his pocket and he had long forgotten about your conversation as he returned to his work day.

His response came out in a chortle, a heavy breath through his nose since he was too tired to chuckle.

“Sorry, baby. Just wanted to complain, I guess.” He said as he watched you fiddle with his Miller Contracting shirt that had a worn in hole by the neckline. He went to reach for it, wanting to toss it into the dirty clothes bin, but you were quick to hold it to your chest.

“I’ve got it.” You said as you went to give him a soft kiss to the open plane of his chest, smiling at the salt and pepper chest hair he was sporting. It looked so good on him. You walked off to the bedroom and did it yourself, grabbing him a fresh shirt for the rest of the evening, a pair of boxers, and his worn dark plaid pajama pants he liked.

Joel’s curiosity had gotten the better of him. A heavenly smell was drawing him into the kitchen, his eyes lighting up at the sight before him. You had green beans in a frying pan and a gravy softly bubbling in a sauce pan. Then in a skillet was the most perfect looking chicken fried steak, the coating coming to the perfect crisp. He pulled the oven handle open just an inch to see golden biscuits rising.

“I put clean clothes on the counter in the bathroom, go shower, handsome.” You said before returning to the kitchen, frowning as he found his dinner before you had a chance to plate it.

“Joel.” You playfully scolded, pinching at his hip. “You’re ruining your own surprise.” You teased as you shooed him out of the kitchen, hearing an audible grumble in his stomach. It made you sport a proud grin. It was his favorite meal, said it reminded him of his mom’s cooking growing up with Tommy.

“I’m making mashed potatoes, too.” You said as you drained the water the potatoes were soaking in, putting them in a new bowl and getting out some milk and butter.

“You’re makin’ me hungry.” He hummed with a small, tired smile as his hands came up loosely on your hips.

His hands on you instantly made you grin, gently shaking your head at him as his head came to rest by your own.

“You’re distractin’ me.” His low voice carrying the weight of his day.

“No, you’re distracting me.” You made clear as your elbow playfully dug into the core of his stomach.

“Go shower, please. You smell like drywall dust… and paint.”

He rolled his eyes with his smile still lingering.

“Yeah, okay. Thank you.” He said as his lips dropped down to place a sweet kiss of sincerity at the base of your neck, a shiver rolling up you as you let out a huff and returned your focus to your five-star meal.

You heard the water hit against the shower wall and his small radio crackled to life, finalizing the last touches to Joel’s favorite dinner.

Joel came back to the living room in the clothes you had set out for him, his hair slicked back wet from his shower. God, he looked so good.

“Here.” You handed him his plate, seeing his lips part in excitement. His stomach let out an audible rumble. He probably didn’t have a spare minute to eat his lunch today, poor thing.

The two of you settled on the couch, Joel expecting you to turn on one of your shows since a new episode came out today.

“Do you uhm.. Maybe wanna watch one of those movies where they’re flying the jet planes? You said you wanted to show me it a while ago.” You offered, glancing over to see him already inhaling his food with the fork scraping across the plate to not let a single bit of gravy escape him. But your offer made him pause.

“You wanna watch Top Gun? You hate Tom Cruise.”

“Well, yeah, he seems kind of like a douchebag, but it’s okay.” His eyes narrowed on you as he thought about your offer but ultimately shook his head, shrugged, and kept eating.

“‘t’s fine, you can put somethin’ on.” He said as he stabbed a green bean, smeared some mashed potatoes on it before putting it past his lips.

You took a deep breath and issued him the remote control.

“You pick something tonight, honey. It’s your night.”

That caught Joel’s attention. His head whipped a little to fast towards you, his thick eyebrows furling at the concept.

“‘t’s not my night. It’s a Thursday.”

The look you gave him set him straight.

“Okay, okay.. It’s my night.” He declared in playful defense, taking in a deep breath through his nose and opted for some old Western show he liked. You didn’t care much for it, but Joel did.

Once you two finished dinner, plates stacked on the coffee table and discarded, your head was on his shoudler and your hand ran slow, soothing circles over his chest. You could feel him breathing deeply, relaxing with you.

You asked him questions about the main characters, showing genuine interest. Even going as far as to add a dramatic gasp when a shot was fired from a cowboy’s revolver which made him let out a hearty laugh.

“You’re so full of it.”

He was talking with a huge grin, you could hear it in how he spoke, and it warmed your heart.

Towards the end of your night, your hands were in yellow dish gloves as you washed your plates from dinner, sliding the clean ones between the dividers of your drying rack.

Joel slipped his strong arms low around your waist, his burly shoulders pressing into your own as you nearly toppled over with his presence

“Thanks for dinner tonight. Hit the spot.” He said as he kissed your cheek then on a spot where your jawline met your neck, right by your ear. His beard hairs tickled. You could feel that they were freshly trimmed now, he probably felt a lot better.

“Night’s not over yet.” You hummed, a playful smile on your lips that he was quick to take notice of.

“Oh?” His voice dropped an octave, rolling your eyes a bit as you dug your elbow into his stomach for the second time tonight to put some space between you.

“Okay, cowboy. Relax. How about you go to the bedroom and take your shirt off. I’ll be there in a sec.” Your choice of words were still leading him in a different direction, you almost felt bad. But it was funny watching him get worked up.

After finishing the dishes and blowing out the eucalyptus scented candles, you peaked into your bedroom. Joel was still cautiously removing his shirt, moving slow as to not disturb his aching muscles. You hated seeing him come home every night like this, as if his body had just been in a fight and taken a brutal beating.

Joel undid the clasp of his watch, the band and watch face dirty and making digging a bruise into his wrist, but it told the time. He felt better after his shower, having made it a steamy one to relax the stinging in his upper neck and shoulders as well as his lower back.

His belly was good and full, happy to have something homemade rather than a quick pizza in the oven or just a cold bottle of beer before bed.

You were taking care of him tonight. Not that you didn’t every other night. He was actually giving you the time to take proper care of him. It felt off at first, taking on all the attention he usually reserved for you after long days. But maybe it’s what he needed.

His head turned as he felt a warm pair of arms circle just above his plaid pajama pants, your soft fingers undoing the knot he had tied in the front of them.

“I would’a taken my pants off for ya if you’d just ask.” His tone taunting, stepping out of the soft material before spinning in your arms and attempting to scoop you into him.

“Lay back, goofball.” You said with that gleaming smile of yours. Made his stomach twist. Whatever you had planned, you obviously wanted the lead on.

He did as instructed, happily falling into the comfort of the mattress with ease.

“Close your eyes, please.” Your voice was sweet like honey. He’d follow it into the shadows, into hell, more likely into heaven since it’s where Joel thought you belonged.

He could already fall asleep, though it was no later than eight. He felt the bed dip first at his legs, your body shifting up to sit by his hip. His hand naturally felt out for you, his warm palm holding you at the curve of your lower back.

When Joel was given the okay to open his eyes again, he was surprised to see a few candles lit around the room, the golden glow adding a bit of ambiance.

He watched as you squirted a few pumps of a lotion in your hands, circling it up in your palms to make it a little warm before you started to lather it into his calves.

The sensation made his breath hitch. You were giving him a massage? He sat up on his elbows and watched the white-ish cream get all wrapped up in his dark leg hair.

“Darlin’-”

“Shh.”

He tightened his lips, feeling a bit futile all of a sudden. There was a pause before he spoke again.

“Don’t have to do this for me.” He insisted, his eyes on yours, but you were focused on adding subtle pressure to his calf muscles.

“Know I don’t have to. I want to. Lay back down.”

You wanted to. You wanted to take time out of your evening and bathe him in attention. You had cooked one of his favorite meals, and to perfection he might add. You also let him watch a show he wanted to watch, something he knew you didn’t have a taste for. But you were intrigued anyway, to show you cared.

He was so comfortable and at ease, the problems of today didn’t seem to matter much anymore when you were here to greet him so lovingly.

Your fingers kneaded gently into his skin, Joel’s eyes dipping closed as he began to sink deeper into the mattress. Of course he couldn’t just do nothing. He had his warm palm splayed on your back where the shirt you were wearing was riding up a little bit. You smiled at the gesture. No matter how much effort you tried to dedicate to Joel, he was still showing his care even when he was dead exhausted.

You worked the lotion up into his thighs, the slight tug on his hairs making his face crinkle a little. You dared not to get too high, again, not to give him the wrong idea of where the massage was heading. It was okay to be just attentive to his needs for tonight. You could relax him in other more sensual ways another time. He needed something a little deeper.

You leaned down and peppered sweet kisses up his torso and over those salt and pepper chest hairs you admire so much, stopping just at his lips with a small smile.

“So handsome.” You praised in a whisper, kissing him with a grin on your lips.

He hummed softly and moved his hand to gently cup the back of your head, keeping your kind presence in his proximity just a moment longer.

“I’m getting too old for you.” He whispered back in a teasing tone, making you bubble up a laugh in your shared space.

“You’ve always been too old for me.” Your thumb gently glided over his chin and admired a small white patch just at the base where his neck sloped down. “But I’ve never minded. Because you’re a good man. A hard working, blue collar man. It’s very sexy.” You teased with a smile, happy to see one blossom on his lips as well.

“Thanks for treatin’ me so good tonight. This week’s been…” he let the sentence die before shaking his head.

“I know, Joel.” You said with a small nod before pressing a gentle kiss on his lips again before sitting up straight.

“Wanna roll over and I’ll do your shoulders?”

He let out a breathless laugh as he looked up at you. “Please.” Like you had to ask.

He wasn’t used to this sort of treatment, but boy, maybe he should start asking for it.

Joel moved to lay on his belly, letting out a short groan in the process that made your chest flutter.

You let out a short huff before you straddled his back, topping yourself right on his butt after getting a short groan from Joel for being on his tailbone.

More lotion was squirted into your hands before you started to apply it across the landscape of his back.

“We should do a skincare night.” You said, feeling his body shudder at the cold lotion.

“Uh what?” Joel’s voice muffled against the comforter, his head to one side so he could see you just out of his peripheral.

“You know what skincare is, you see me do it every night.”

“I don’t know what the he-ll you’re talkin’ ‘bout.” He said, his words stuttering as you pushed particularly harder in his lower back. Jeez, it was knot after knot under your fingertips.

“Ugh, Joel!” You whined as your motions paused.

Joel had a habit of doing this. Declaring he had no idea what it was that you were talking about, making you tirelessly explain for several minutes, before he goes ‘Oh, why didn’t you just say that? I know what that is.” It made you roll your eyes each and every time.

“You’re handsome, but you don’t listen.” You hummed out before cupping your hands at his shoulders and doing circles with good pressure, your upper body weight being put into his stern muscles.

“All I heard you say is that I’m handsome.” He moaned into the sheets, a blush creeping on your cheeks at his comment, but also his heavenly moan.

“It’s.. where you apply skincare to your face. You know, using a cleanser, applying an exfoliator, moisturizer..”

This was when Joel started muffling random nonsense into the sheets and you playfully pushed into his crying shoulders harder until he let out another long groan of discomfort.

“Okay, okay, I know what you’re talkin’ about. Skincare. I don’t need it.”

You tutted, shaking your head as you held in a laugh.

“Everyone needs it. Every. One.” You said as you leaned down and kissed the back of his head where his curls were starting to form.

“Especially you, Joel! Your pores are so big, you’ve got dust and dirt getting all in there. And it’s been so hot outside, your skin’s drying up. Gotta take care of your skin baby.”

“Why? So I’ll look young agian?” He teased as he reached a hand back and squeezed your hip as well as he could from his position.

“Because it’s good for you. Makes me feel good after a really long day.”

You could feel his eyes on you, a throat hum leaving his lips. “Thought I made you feel good after a really long day.”

A huff left your lips as you were back to doing circles into his shoulder with your thumbs. “Shut up.”

The last of the lotion had sunk into his skin, the massage hopefully healing more than just his dry skin.

Night’s like this with Joel were rare, but exceptionally special. He had energy to talk to you about everything under the sun, something you didn’t expect to transpire with your age difference at first. You discussed your mutual plans for the weekend, a barbeque at Tommy’s house. Joel was insisting on you wearing your new bikini, green to match his beautiful eyes. He could be such a horn dog.

He wanted to stay up as long as he could, but the long day he endured couldn’t help but put weight on his eyelids. His words turned to mumbles, his arms snaking around your waist in his silent gesture to fall asleep with you.

You shook your head with a small, tired smile, your hands planting themselves on his forearms to put a stop to his motions.

“Turn around.” You whispered, the notion making his tired eyes pop open with a “huh?” leaving his parted lips.

“You heard me, old man. Turn around.” You said as your hand roamed over his warm hip.

Joel assumed you didn’t want to cuddle tonight, maybe he was too warm for your taste despite the fan running above the both of you.

Joel’s chest tightened as he felt your warm body return right behind him, a bashful grin on his face.

“Are you tryna big spoon me?” His southern accent was dripping heavier than usual with the tiredness stringed in it.

The question erupted a giggle from you, Joel feeling you kiss over his taut shoulder blade.

“I don’t know how well I can big spoon you.. You’re so long.” Your arm tightened around Joel’s waist anway, his big hand finding yours as your fingers interlocked. He felt grateful in this moment, albeit a bit shy about the position. He was used to being the big spoon, it was different for him to be on the receiving end. But it was warm and settling, he couldn’t deny that.

“So I’m uh.. I’m like the ladle to your big spoon?” Joel asked. He could feel your grin on his back, your legs tangling with his own.

“Yes… you’re the ladle, but even the ladle needs a big spoon.” Joel’s blinks slowed until his eyes were closed, heavy with sleep.

“Thank you for today.” He murmured into the pillow. You barely hear it, but even if you didn’t, you feel it in the way he holds your hand and keeps your arm settled around him.

“Thank you for everything you do, Joel.” You whispered back, your forehead on the top slope of his back as you take in the smell of his body wash combined with the lotion, his body falling slumped in your protective hold.

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 6 months ago

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 43

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 4.4K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The Townhouse was enveloped in a tranquil stillness. Seated at the elegant dining room table, you were surrounded by scattered papers and blueprints of grandiose city plans. Maps of once-glorious buildings, now fallen into decay, lay alongside deeds, titles, and contract agreements waiting to be scrutinized. Despite the overwhelming workload that would keep you occupied well into the evening, the peacefulness was a comforting companion. You had been sitting for so long that your hips now protested with a persistent ache, and the ice in your tea had long since melted, diluting the bright golden liquid into a murky brown. Frustrated, you leaned back in your chair and ran a hand through your hair, causing your meticulously drawn notes and diagrams on the map to scatter and fall to the floor. None of it seemed to make sense - there simply wasn't enough space in any of the buildings on your list to accommodate all the families in need of housing. With a resigned sigh, you closed your eyes and reclined against the intricately carved wooden back of the chair, feeling the strain on your neck begin to ease.

The creaky metal of the mail slot clanged open, its rusty hinges protesting. Letters cascaded down onto the foyer carpet with a soft thud, and then the slot shut again with a metallic clang. Your head tilted to the side. From your vantage point in the dining room, you could see through the open door to the hallway, where an array of papers lay scattered on the floor. You stretched your arms high above your head, feeling your spine crackle as you arched left and right in an effort to loosen your stiffening joints. With a push against the table, you rose up and twisted your neck, trying to release any remaining tension. As you made your way towards the hallway, your bare feet sunk into the soft, plush rugs that lined the floors of the Townhouse. Leaning down, you picked up the pile of mail and began to sift through it. Letter after letter addressed to you from various Pleasure Maker’s applying for support and accommodation. Each one elicited a mixture of both excitement and trepidation.

As you sorted through the stack of letters, one caught your eye with its pristine appearance. The envelope gleamed in the light, adorned with a single golden maple leaf wax stamp in the corner. Your name was elegantly written in thin, flowing handwriting. Intrigued, you furrowed your brow as you gathered the other letters in your arm and reached for this one. Sliding a finger under the flap, you carefully pulled out the contents written on delicate paper with the same thin pen.

My esteemed daughter,

I extend my well wishes to you, though I pen this letter with a perhaps unpleasant request. It has been brought to my attention by Caelum, a distinguished male of the Night Court, that you and he are mated. Your impeccable taste has not gone unnoticed and I would like to congratulate you on finding yourself mated to someone of such strength and charm. It is expected that your union with Caelum will produce many wonderful heirs for our Court.

However, it seems that there has been a misunderstanding, leading you to purposely avoid his presence. While I trust that this is simply an oversight on your part, I must insist that you return to your rightful place at the Autumn Court immediately. Not only does Caelum grieve over your absence, but as your father and nobility within the court, I cannot tolerate any deviation from the path set by the Mother for our people.

Nevertheless, I hold no ill will towards you for any perceived misstep, and I am committed to rectifying the situation. I am aware that your upbringing has not been within the walls of the Court, but being young and undeniably influenced by your past experiences, I cannot hold you entirely accountable for your actions. However, it is now time to rectify this mistake.

Do keep me informed of your plans, though they should involve returning to fulfill your duties as an heir to our esteemed court and future mother of heirs. Your compliance in this matter is non-negotiable.

Awaiting your swift return,

Your Father, Philip Vanserra

Your hands shook uncontrollably as you read and reread the letter, your heartbeat quickening with each passing moment. Your blood boiled with anger and fear as you struggled to calm your trembling lips. How could Caelum know about Philip? Had you been too careless lately in keeping your walls against Caelum up? What other details did he know? The thought sent shivers down your spine. And now, Caelum was using it against you in a twisted attempt to lure you back home. You felt bile rise in your throat at the mere idea of it. There was no way you would fulfill his request, but even worse, there was no telling what lengths Philip would go to in order to make you comply. You frantically checked the clock, knowing that Azriel would be home soon. But the thought of being alone with your racing thoughts for even a few more hours made you want to scream.

You were practically tripping over yourself as you descended the steps of the Townhouse in haste. Your feet hitting the pathway to the street with a resounding thus. The letter was clutched so tightly in your hand that your knuckles turned white. Each step heavier than the last, your footsteps echoed through Velaris as you made your way to the edge of the city. The vibrant shops and colorful buildings blurred past as you raced towards the River House. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of your chest as you ran down the pathway and up the grand stairs of the manor. Your fists pounded on the door with such force that they stung and throbbed, but you barely registered the pain. You waited, hands shaking uncontrollably as your throat constricted with each passing second. Every breath was a struggle, like you were drowning on land. Sweat dripped down your back, making your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin. You couldn't stop fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot as you tried to find some semblance of calm amidst the chaos inside you. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs and you were about to pass out, yet at the same time, an overwhelming urge to run away gnawed at your insides. Your stomach churned with a mix of nausea and fear, threatening to make you sick right then and there. Tears welled up in your eyes, burning hot against your skin as they threatened to spill over at any moment. You needed someone else to know about this, anyone, before it suffocated you entirely.

As the heavy door swung open, Elain's kind face came into view, a tea towel thrown over her shoulder and an apron tied around her waist. The immediate smile on her lips twisted into concern as she took in your disheveled appearance. "Y/N," she gasped, her eyes widening with worry, "What's going on? What's happened?"

You tried to speak, but the words became jumbled and incoherent as sobs shook your body. Elain stepped closer, her hands reaching out to steady you. "Just breathe," she cooed softly, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

But you couldn't slow down. Every part of you was trembling and shaking as you struggled to get the words out. Tears streamed down your face, hot and wet against your cheeks.

Elain continued to hold your gaze, searching for answers in your frantic eyes. "Honey, I can't understand you," she said gently, placing a hand on your arm. "Please just take a breath."

Elain's eyes flickered towards the letter in your hand before returning to yours. "Y/N," she whispered gently, "Sit down." With her hand still resting on your arm, she guided you down to the floor, her long dress pooling around her knees as she knelt beside you. Your body hit the ground with a thud as you fell to your knees in front of her, tears pouring down your cheeks as you begged and pleaded for some sort of relief or answer.

Elain pressed her forehead against yours, trying to soothe you with her calming presence. She wrapped her hand around the back of your head, gently stroking your hair as she took deep, exaggerated breaths. You struggled to match her rhythm at first, but slowly, your breathing began to synchronize with hers, and your heart rate started to slow.

“Good.” She whispered. “Just keep breathing.” You felt your body heave up and down in synch with your breaths as you opened your eyes, looking into Elain’s gentle gaze. “Good job.” You stayed like that for a moment, protected in Elain’s arms and gentle embrace as she pulled you in for a hug. “Just calm down.” She leaned back, brushing year hair that was hot and wet away from your face. “Let’s go inside.” She whispered, smiling lightly. You nodded, whimpering slightly as she helped you to your feet.

As you crossed through the entrance into the foyer of the River House you realized suddenly that in your haste to get there you hadn’t put shoes on. You looked down to see your feet, reddened and raw, bleeding slightly as Elain urged you forwards. You paused, stammering slightly, “I’m so sorry, I’m-”

Elain looked down at your feet and then back to your face, “Don’t worry about that.” She cooed. “It will wash out. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You felt terrible, each step leaving splatters of blood behind you as you continued down the hall to the sitting room. “Feyre!” Elain called out. “Feyre, come here!” She called again.

“Just a second!” Feyre’s voice echoed out from the upstairs balcony.

“Now.” Elain called back, rather firmly.

Elain led you into the sitting room, her arm still linked in yours supporting your body as she sat you on the velvet couch. As you almost collapsed down into it, still breathing shakily, Elain dropped to the floor in front of you, pulling the towel from her shoulder and wrapping it around your bleeding feet. “Just keep breathing.” Elain reminded you as you tried to take a few more breaths.

Feyre rounded the corner into the sitting room, “Elain what did you-” but she stopped as soon as she saw her sister sitting on front of you and your own distressed face. “What’s going on?” Feyre asked, taking a few steps into the room.

Elain turned to her sister only giving her a swift command to bring warm water, towels and bandages. Feyre turned on her heel, her footsteps retreated as Elain turned back to you, smiling softly, “Let’s get these cleaned up first and then we can talk.” She whispered. You nodded as Feyre returned, a bowl of steaming water, a heap of towels and two rolls of gauze. She dropped to her sisters side and the two began working in tandem, taking the rags, dipping them into the water and wiping your wounded feet. Each rag coming away almost blackened with dirt and blood. The two continued until the rags pulled away only slightly pink before wrapping them in the bandages. Feyre brought an ottoman in from the adjoining library, propping your feet up onto it as you winced slightly.

Elain stood, wiping her hands on her apron as Feyre turned to look at her sister. “What’s going on?” She asked looking between the two of your. Elain looked at you, assessing if you were in a state to answer, her eyes glancing to the piece of parchment still clenched in your hands.

You tried to steady your breathing more as you swallowed. Finally it seemed you were able to get words out, “I got a letter.” You started, “From Philip.”

Feyre’s expression darkened, her attention now fully on the letter.

“He knows about Caelum.” You managed to choke out, feeling fear rising in your throat once again.

Feyre stood reaching a hand out. “Can I see the it?” She asked tenderly.

You nodded, holding an unsteady hand out as you released the paper to her. Your fingers ached and you realized you’d gripped it so tightly your nails had dug into your palms and made them bleed. Feyre took the blood splattered document as Elain brought a rag down to your palm, rinsing it gingerly. Feyre opened the letter eyes racing over it with an emotionless facade. When she finished she looked up to you and asked, “Does anyone else know about this?”

You shook your head no, and Elain’s worried gaze shifted between you and her sister. Without hesitation Feyre declared, “I’m going to get Rhys here.” She then turned to Elain and added, “And I’m going to take Nyx to the studio for now, just to get him out of the house. Can you stay here with Y/N?”

Elain offered to take Nyx herself but Feyre shook her head. "No, I'll winnow him there. It'll be faster." She turned to call out for Nyx and called over her shoulder she would get Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel, and that Elain should call Lucien to come down as soon as possible. While her own voice remained calm and collected you could sense the urgency with which she spoke and you worked hard to keep from completely falling apart again.

Elain took a seat on the couch next to you, having still not read the letter, she hadn’t a clue what all of this was about, but her concern was more focused on how you were doing than on the circumstances that brought you there. “Can I get you anything?” She asked quietly, “Water? Tea? Something to eat?”

You shook your head, unable to even think about eating or drinking in this moment.

You didn’t hear Azriel enter the house as much as felt it, like a storm coming across calm waters. You heard the door open with a slam, as though it had fallen from it’s hinges and the entire house seemed to shy away from the force that had entered. You heard Rhysand calling out Azriel’s name, attempting to calm him down, but as the heavy, purposeful footsteps came down the hall, and Azriel turned into the room, you knew there would be no calming the rage behind his eyes. Azriel’s shadows whispered around him as though his own anger was causing them to be frantic and disrupted as he crossed the room to you, his eyes heavy with concern. Azriel immediately stopped by your side, dropping down into a crouch to your feet, still propped up on the ottoman as he inspected the bandages. “What happened?” He asked, his voice breaking with emotion.

Elain answered before you could, “She walked here without shoes.” Azriel’s eyes flicked to Elain who immediately followed with, “But she’s alright.”

Azriel’s attention returned to you, his scarred hands running gently up and down your shins as he looks at you with pain mirrored in his own eyes. “Why would you do that, my love?” He asks softly.

You croak out a response, admitting that in your frantic state, you didn’t even bother putting on shoes before rushing here.

From behind him, Rhysand entered into the room with Lucien, the two speaking in hushed tones with one another as Lucien held the letter in his hand. His russet eyes that looked strikingly of his brothers met yours and were already whispering apologies to you, but you broke your stare with him as soon as Nesta pushed past behind him, followed by Cassian and Feyre. You watched as Feyre’s eyes met Rhysands and they exchanged unspoken words, both of their faces trying their best to hide the concern bubbling underneath.

It’s clear that Cassian and Azriel were both pulled from a War Camp somewhere, both their boots and armor are covered in a thick coating of dried mud and there is grime settled on both of their faces, but it seemed that they had dropped everything and immediately come here. Elain rose from the couch, crossing to Lucien who she immediately slid into, his shoulder wrapping around her arm as she hugged his side. Nesta immediately took Elain’s place next to you, her hand meeting yours and giving you a reassuring squeeze as she kept her eyes on Rhysand. Cassian joined Rhysand and Lucien who continued to whisper to one another. Azriel only kept his eyes on you, his hands continuing their slow patterns up and down your skin as though he was worried if his touch left, you might disappear. He only broke his focus on you when Rhysand cleared his throat, settling into the sitting chair opposite of yours, leaning forwards on his forearms. A silence falls heavy into the sitting room as Rhysand and you meet eyes. His stare isn’t reassuring and that alone is enough to make that fear that courses through your veins peak again.

You can feel the tension in the air as you finally gather the courage to speak up, your voice trembling with unease. "What does this mean?" you demanded, eyes locked on Rhysand.

His gaze shifts slightly, his breaths coming in controlled puffs. "It means that Philip is trying to control you, to manipulate you into living in the Autumn Court," he replies, his tone filled with a hint of warning.

"Well I won't do it," you declare, your voice laced with conviction and defiance.

Rhysand's expression remains steady, but you can sense the underlying frustration in his voice. "I know," he says, "but Philip knowing about your bond with Caelum changes things."

"Why does it matter what he knows?" you snap back, anger bubbling within you. "He has no right to dictate my life or force me to go back to Caelum."

"Unfortunately," Rhysand continues, "the Autumn Court is known for its traditionalist ways. I'm not surprised by Philip's request."

Your mind reels at this revelation, confusion and fear mixing together in a potent cocktail of emotions. "Surprising or not, I’m not going back with him.”

But his response only adds to the growing turmoil inside you. "It's not that simple," he says gravely.

"Fuck if it's not," you retort angrily and Rhysand pauses considering his next works carefully.

Lucien's voice cuts through the tense silence, his words dripping with bitterness and resentment. "Listen," he interjects, all eyes turning to him now. "My brother is a master manipulator, always looking out for his own gain. And trust me when I say he never makes a request that doesn't benefit himself in some way."

"I don't give a shit," you snap back, your frustration and anger boiling over. "I won't do anything he tells me to."

"Y/N, you need to understand that we cannot trust Philip's motives. We must tread carefully and gather all information before making a decision," Rhysand warns, his eyes flashing with concern.

You shoot back, anger simmering in your voice. "I don't care what he wants or why. I will not go back to that place."

"That is not the desired outcome for any of us," he stresses. "But we cannot simply reject him without knowing the full extent of his intentions or if he has any other plans."

Nesta interjects, her tone sharp and urgent. "So we just sit around and wait for another letter? Or worse?"

"I believe it would be wise to wait and see if we can figure out more about what’s going on under the surface.” Rhysand replies, his answer calculating and cold.

"I refuse to be a pawn in someone else's game," you spout, venom lacing your words.

Rhysand fixes you with an intense gaze. "As a daughter of the Autumn Court High family, you are already a pawn whether you like it or not."

"I have no interest in claiming the throne," you protest.

Lucien adds, "But as an extension of the High Lord, you could offer potential heirs for the next ruler after Eris."

Your throat tightens and vomit rises as you think about that possibility.

"How did Caelum even know to reach out to Philip?" Cassian questions, arms crossed against his chest.

"It's possible that the wall that Y/N has against him isn’t as solid as we may have thought, allowing Caelum glimpses into her thoughts," Feyre suggests grimly.

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest, heavy with guilt and regret. Despite the walls you’ve built up and the lessons from Rhysand, you couldn’t keep them safe. All because you let yourself be happy for a moment. You vow to punish yourself later for your weakness, but seeing Azriel’s concerned gaze on you only adds to your inner turmoil. How can you face him when you've failed to protect those you love?

Rhysand's voice cuts through the tense silence like a knife, "We stay silent for now. We reach out to Eris and bring him into the fold, making sure he knows the truth about his brother's actions. And if necessary, we will meet with him to strategize. This issue affects all of us and I refuse to keep anyone in the dark, especially when it concerns Philip." His words hang heavy in the air as he continues, "And I think it would be best for you to distance yourself from us for the time being."

Your eyes widen in shock and confusion as you protest, "What?!" But Nesta's outraged shout echoes your own sentiment.

Rhysand's hand shoots up with ferocity, silencing the two of you before you can protest. "You will stay away until we have a solid plan in place," he commands, his eyes fierce and determined. "Caelum has found a way past your defenses and is using you to gather information for Philip. We cannot risk your safety or ours by keeping you near us."

Azriel's jaw clenches in anger as he grips your leg tighter. "She's supposed to be isolated?" he growls, his gaze burning into Rhysand.

"She won’t be cast out," Rhys answers quickly. "She can stay at the Town House while we figure out what to do."

Azriel's voice rises in protest. "You promised her she wouldn't be kept in the dark anymore."

"It's not about fairness right now," Rhysand counters. "It's about protecting our family and Y/N from harm. And Azriel, as my spymaster, I would hope you could see past your own wants when it comes to the safety of all of us."

As much as you long to be near Azriel, your focus wanes when you're with him. If it means keeping him safe by staying apart, then you are willing to make that sacrifice.

"I won't make Azriel leave the Town House," you interject firmly.

His gaze snaps back to yours, confusion etched on his face at your lack of protest. But you stand your ground. "I can stay at one of the housing units," you suggest. “I understand the risk that me being around poses.”

"No," Azriel responds immediately, shaking his head. "I won't have you hiding from us."

“I cannot bear to see anyone else suffer because of me, Azriel,” you choke out through trembling lips, trying desperately to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over. You refuse to cry, not now, not in front of him. “Even if it means being alone, I will make that sacrifice.” Your heart breaks at the pained look in Azriel's eyes, but you turn away and face Rhysand, determined to stay strong. “I can leave this afternoon.”

Rhysand nods solemnly at you. “Only until we can find a solution or ensure your walls are impenetrable. Until then, I will come visit you and work on strengthening your defenses, finding any weaknesses.”

The room falls into a suffocating silence. Nesta's hand tightens in yours, her tears cascading down her cheeks like the glittering jewels of a shattered crown. Her chest rises and falls with each shaky breath, her body trembling with grief. You can feel the weight of her pain as if it were your own. As you sit with your family, trying to push back the looming questions of how long you will be away and how much of Nesta's pregnancy you may miss, a sense of guilt gnaws at your gut. You know that inside, Nesta is mourning the loss of your steadying presence through this whole ordeal. Lucien refuses to meet your gaze, his shoulders slumped as though he bears the weight of his family's actions.

And then there is Azriel... the sweet, broken male who holds your heart in his hands. His once composed expression now shattered, his hazel eyes a storm of emotion as he begs for you to stay, to fight for your love. But you know deep down that this sacrifice is necessary. You've already lost too many loved ones and the thought of losing him, the one who has held you through all the nightmares and pieced together your shattered soul, is unbearable.

You can feel his fingers trembling against yours, silently pleading for you to look at him. The warmth of his skin sends a rush of memories flooding through you - the late nights spent wrapped in each other's arms, the whispered promises of forever, the shared laughter and tears. But you can't bring yourself to do it, knowing that one glance into those hazel eyes will break your resolve. You refuse to let the tears fall, to show any weakness.

But for now, keeping him away means keeping him safe. And even though it feels like your heart is being torn apart with every step that separates you from him, you are willing to endure the searing pain of losing him for a moment in order to protect him from a lifetime without his love and presence by your side. You will stay away from him, feeling the weight of his absence like a physical ache in your chest, all in the hopes that the delicate babe you see in your dreams, with eyes just like his and tiny wings that flutter with promise, may someday be born into a world where they can thrive and grow strong. You will stay away so that the declaration of your love to one another will not simply fade into a distant memory, but will be nourished and allowed to flourish. You will stay away, making sacrifices for the sake of living, not just surviving, as Azriel has pleaded with you before. You will live, clinging desperately to the hope that one day, when the time is right, you can finally be reunited with the one who holds your heart in his hands.

Readers: Hah. Hah. Hah. *clears throat* sorry about that one.

@sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @rhysandorian @loglady00 @caninne @weepingwerewolfparadise @that-one-bibliophole @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @caroline-books @slytherintaco @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx

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darcydarlingdabbles · 27 days ago

Text

The Static Between Us~

RadioApple + Static 🍃Voyerism 🍃Omega!Alastor /Alpha!Lucifer

🍃Explicit🍃Vox Cucking ~ 4.8k

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! Thanks for 160 follows, 2.5k likes on Tumblr...and holy shit 27k reads on Ao3!!! Have some crack/smut to celebrate with me XD

🍃🍃🍃

The sleek drone hummed almost imperceptibly as Vox guided it through Hell's smog-choked skies.

His screen flickered with anticipation, cyan teeth bared in a grin as the newly remodeled Hazbin Hotel came into view.

"Let's see what you're up to, old pal," Vox purred, his clawed fingers dancing across the controls.

The drone glided silently over the hotel's new rooftop gardens, a stark contrast of lush greenery against Hell's desolate landscape.

Vox's pupils contracted as he spotted his targets.

Alastor and Lucifer were strolling among the foliage.

Alastor's crimson hair gleamed in the hellish light, his ever-present smile a mask of amusement as he kept his hands folded neatly at the small of his back.

Beside him, Lucifer's smaller frame radiated power—as much as it echoed frustration with every gesture of his blackened hands. .

“What do we have here?" Vox mused, zooming in on the pair. "A lover's quarrel?"

He strained to hear their conversation, cursing the limitations of even his most advanced technology. He reached for a dial, tunning away.

"Just wait," Vox muttered, his screen crackling. "One of these days, I'll catch you slipping, Alastor. And when I do…" He trailed off, lost in visions of finally besting his rival.

Alastor's body language spoke volumes, however—the tilt of his antlers, the sharp gestures of his gloved hands. Classic Radio Demon needling.

"I'm telling you, the color scheme is fine!" Lucifer's shrill voice carried through the audio feed. "The pink would be perfectly fine if you weren’t always covering it in blood splatters!"

Alastor's static-laced chuckle grated on Vox's nerves.

"My dear, I believe you're overthinking this. The sinners won't care about aesthetics when they're being tortured."

“Alastor,” Lucifer huffed, rubbing at his temples with the long fingers of his right hand. “They’re not being tormented, they’re being redeemed.”

“I fail to see the distinction.” The Radio Demon said brightly.

Alastor’s permanent grin was etched onto his face as always, but his usually relaxed posture was now tense. His ears flicking constantly with irritation.

Next to him, Lucifer's normally suave demeanor was replaced with an obvious groan of frustration.

They were a pressure cooker about to pop.

As he watched, a pang of something uncomfortably close to jealousy twisted in Vox's gut. He pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on the potential for chaos unfolding before him.

Vox's screen flickered with desire and disdain as he manipulated the drone's camera, panning slowly down Alastor's lithe form.

Even fully clothed from neck to wrist to ankle, the Radio Demon's silhouette was maddeningly seductive. The crimson pinstripe suit hugged Alastor's slim waist, flaring slightly at his hips before tapering down long legs.

Hiding the soft curves of an omega’s body beneath sharp angles and layers of fine fabric.

"Damn you," Vox muttered, his teeth gritting in frustration. "Why do you have to look so good?"

He zoomed in, capturing the subtle sway of Alastor's hips as he walked.

The Radio Demon's backside was pert, perfectly small in his mind. He imagined gripping those hips, claiming that body, making the omega writhe—until his circuits buzzed with want.

The TV demon's fingers twitched and Vox refocused on the conversation unfolding before him.

"And the plumbing is atrocious," Alastor's voice crackled through the feed. "Really, sire, one would think the King of Hell could conjure better pipes."

Lucifer's face tinged gold with a flush. "Don't push me, Alastor. You’ve treading on thin ice."

Vox leaned closer. What was that supposed to mean?

“Treading?” Alastor's grin widened. "My dear, I’ve been tap-dancing on it." He leaned down to the angel’s level. “You’ve simply failed to crack, yet.”

"Last warning," Lucifer growled. "Red light. Quit while you’re behind."

Red light? What kind of threat was that?

On screen, Alastor's ear twitched, his head tilting in a coquettish manner that Vox had never seen before.

There was something in Lucifer's posture, a coiled tension that spoke of barely restrained power.

Alastor's laugh rang out, sharp and challenging. "Make me, your majesty.”

“You asked for it!”

Lucifer's hands shot out, grasping Alastor by the lapels of his precious coat and slamming him against the gnarled trunk of a nearby tree. The impact sent a shower of crimson leaves cascading around them.

"Oh my," Alastor purred, his voice crackling with static. "How terrifying, I’m simply shaking in my boots."

Vox's screen glimmered with excitement, his grin stretching wider than should be possible on his digital face. "Come on, old man," he urged. "Put that pompous asshole in his place."

Lucifer's grip tightened, his knuckles like ash against the deep red of Alastor's coat. "You never know when to stop pushing, do you?" the fallen angel growled, his face inches from Alastor's perpetual, petulant smile.

"Where would be the fun in that?" the omega replied, his tone light and teasing despite his precarious position. "Besides, I do so enjoy seeing your feathers all…ruffled."

Vox's brow furrowed in confusion. He had expected Alastor to fight back, to summon his shadows or at least attempt to break free.

Instead, the Radio Demon seemed almost…relieved?

As he was being tossed around by the devil himself.

On the screen, Lucifer leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that Vox had to strain to hear. "Are you sure you're prepared for the consequences, Bambi?"

Alastor's eyes glinted with mischief, his grin widening impossibly. "Oh, I'm counting on them."

Lucifer yanked Alastor down by his lapels, crushing their lips together in a fierce kiss. The action was so sudden and shocking that Vox's digital eyes widening in disbelief.

"What the actual hell?" the TV demon sputtered, his voice glitching as he processed the scene before him.

The kiss was rough, brutal, and anything but loving. Lucifer's hand snaked up to grip Alastor's hair, tugging it sharply as he deepened the kiss. For a moment, the omega seemed to melt into it, his usual rigid posture softening.

But then, just as quickly, Alastor's hands flew up to Lucifer's chest, shoving hard against the angel.

It was like pushing against a stone wall—Lucifer didn't budge an inch, but he did pull back, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Is that all?" Alastor taunted, his voice husky and slightly breathless. "I expected more from the mighty King."

Lucifer's eyes flashed lethally, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Oh, you want more?"

The angel gripped Alastor's shoulders and forced him down. Until the Radio Demon's knees hit the ground with a dull thud.

Vox's excitement intensified, a thrill running through his circuits. "Now that's more like it," he chuckled darkly. "Look at the high and mighty Radio Demon now, on his knees where he belongs."

He watched the devil grab for the demon’s hands in one of his. Lucifer's grip tightened on Alastor's wrists, pinning them roughly against the gnarled bark of the tree.

The fallen angel leaned in, capturing Alastor's lips in another searing kiss. Alastor's eyes widened momentarily before fluttering shut, a soft hum emanating from his throat.

Vox's screen flared in disbelief.

"Since when do you put up with so much mouth to mouth?" he muttered, his voice tinged.

With one hand still restraining Alastor's arms, Lucifer's other hand deftly popped open the buttons of the demon’s shirt collar. "Such a needy little omega," Lucifer purred, his breath hot against Alastor's ear.

"Needy? Al? " Vox scoffed, rolling his digital eyes. “As if.”

Lucifer's lips curled into a smirk. "If you need attention so badly, Bambi, you could just ask."

Alastor's permanent grin widened, an impish glint in his eyes.

"Now where," he drawled, "would be the fun in that?"

Lucifer's hand shot up, gripping one of the Radio Demon’s antlers and yanking his head back. The deer let out a startled gasp, exposing the pallid column of his throat.

Lucifer's gaze fixed on the spot where Alastor's mating gland lay hidden beneath his skin.

"Is he going to…?" Vox leaned forward, his circuits humming with anticipation, half-expecting Lucifer to tear into Alastor's throat for his insolence.

Lucifer's mouth descended on Alastor's exposed neck, lips latching onto the sensitive mating gland.

Vox watched intently, still expecting gore, when suddenly Alastor's ears drooped and a sound escaped him that the TV demon had never heard before—a deep, throaty sigh.

"What the hell?" Vox muttered.

Alastor's eyes fluttered closed, his usual sharp grin melting into an expression of blissful surrender. Another moan vibrated through the air, sending a jolt of surprise through Vox's circuits.

Vox's digital jaw dropped.

He had never, in all their encounters, heard Alastor make a sound like that.

Nights spent tangled in silk sheets, Alastor's lithe body beneath him, cool and unresponsive. The Radio Demon's smile fixed in place, eyes half-lidded with boredom rather than interest. Vox had always assumed Alastor was simply cold, uninterested in physical intimacy beyond using it as a tool for manipulation.

But this... this was different. Alastor's usual rigid control was crumbling, his body arching into Lucifer's touch.

Another moan escaped him, lower this time, almost a purr.

"Since when do you make noises like that, you smug bastard?" Vox muttered, his voice glitching.

He zoomed in closer, drinking in every detail.

Alastor's chest heaved with each ragged breath, a flush creeping up his neck to stain his greyish cheeks. His ears, usually perked and alert, were drooped in capitulation.

And his eyes…Vox had never seen them so dark, pupils blown wide with unmistakable desire.

Lucifer's hand slid lower, teasing at the waistband of Alastor's trousers. The Radio Demon's hips bucked forward, seeking more contact.

A whimper—an actual fucking whimper—fell from Alastor's lips.

Vox's circuits buzzed with arousal and indignation. He remembered countless nights of trying to coax even the slightest reaction from Alastor.

The Radio Demon had always lay there, occasionally offering a sarcastic quip or rolling his eyes.

At best, he'd been a pillow princess. At worst, a corpse in bed.

Vox's gaze snapped back to the screen, drawn by another breathy sound from Alastor. He cursed under his breath, realizing he'd missed a crucial moment while lost in his own thoughts.

"Thank Satan for recording," he muttered, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. Wincing when he realized he was thanking one of the men on the screen.

Vox shook the idea off.

The Radio Demon’s usual sharp tongue seemed to have deserted him, replaced by breathy gasps and needy whines. When Lucifer nipped at his collarbone, Alastor threw his head back with a keening cry that sent shockwaves through Vox's system.

It was so fucking over the top that—the tv demon seized on the realization with both clawed hand hands.

Alastor…had to be acting. Overacting.

He was the manipulative little dandy from Vox’s bed—it must be Lucifer’s ego that needed all this porn star shit.

"You little minx," Vox snarled. "You were holding out on me all this time?"

He watched, transfixed, as Lucifer's hand dipped lower, disappearing between Alastor's legs.

The Radio Demon's reaction was immediate and intense. His back arched off the tree. His antlers scraped against the bark, leaving gouges in the wood.

Lucifer had Alastor pinned against the tree, the Radio Demon's coat and shirt pulled open to reveal a torso marred with a myriad of scars.

Vox's receivers flickered, desire and resentment coursing through him at the sight.

"Not as untouchable as you pretended to be," Vox sneered, watching Lucifer's hand disappear beneath the waistband of Alastor's slacks.

Vox scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Good luck with that, sire. Our prudish deer boy never—"

His words died in his throat as Alastor's head fell back against the tree, a low, staticky moan escaping him.

Vox's circuits nearly short-circuited at the sight.

"He always smacked my hand away if I even tried to get him off!"

Realization dawned on Vox as he watched the way the devil’s wrist moved. He wasn’t stroking at the omega’s cock—he was shoving those fingers inside Alastor.

"Good luck getting him wet, old man," Vox scoffed, his voice laced with bitterness. "Our dear Radio Demon's about as responsive as a dead battery."

Alastor's voice, dripping with disdain, echoed in his mind. "Such an unpleasant chore. But if it'll shut you up for five minutes…”

"Just another performance to stroke a more powerful ego, eh, Alastor?” Vox's grip tightened on the control panel.

The deer demon always seemed to prefer the fighting over the fucking—before and after.

On the screen, Lucifer slowly withdrew his hand from between Alastor's legs.

Vox leaned forward, anticipating the look of bored arrogance on the Radio Demon's face.

Only to see the glisten of omega slick on the fallen angel’s fingers.

Alastor's ears flattened against his head, a rare display of embarrassment that sent a jolt through Vox's system. He watched, transfixed, as Lucifer brought those fingers to his mouth, cleaning them with slow, deliberate swipes of his forked tongue.

Alastor's voice crackled through the drone's speakers, impatient and breathy. "Enough teasing, you insufferable alpha. Hurry up and fuck me already."

Vox's screen quivered violently, a chaotic swirl of jealousy, anger, and a perverse fascination he couldn't ever shake when it came to Alastor.

"Hurry up and get it over with," he mimicked in a mocking tone. "At least that’s familiar."

Lucifer's hands moved to Alastor's trousers, fingers deftly working at the fastenings.

In a sudden flourish, the fallen angel's magnificent white wings unfurled, their span impressive even through the drone's limited view. The feathers, tipped with crimson, created a shimmering curtain around the couple.

"Oh, come on!" Vox groaned to the sky at being denied his peep show.

To his surprise—and Lucifer's—Alastor's voice rang out, clear and commanding despite its underlying breathiness.

"Put those away, would you?" Alastor purred, his grin sharp and hungry. "I want to get my legs around you properly, darling."

Vox's screen crackled with static, his own shocked expression reflected back at him. Since when did Alastor ask for anything in bed?

Lucifer hesitated, confusion evident in the tilt of his head. "But I thought you'd prefer some privacy, my wicked little doe."

Alastor's laugh was dark and rich, sending an involuntary shiver down Vox's non-existent spine. "Privacy? In Hell? How delightfully naïve."

His clawed hands traced down Lucifer's chest. "Now, be a good alpha and do as you're told."

“You’re gonna pay for that one, too, Bambi.” Lucifer's eyes glowed as his own horns extending from his disheveled blonde hair.

“With interest, Darling.” Alastor purred, his voice a static-laced croon.

With a bemused smile, Lucifer complied, his wings folding back and disappearing from view.

Vox found himself leaning even closer to his monitors, arousal and bitter envy coursing through his circuitry.

The rough bark of the ancient tree scraped against Alastor's back, his shirt just hanging off his shoulders, as Lucifer pressed him firmly against its trunk. The radio demon's fingers dug into the wood, leaving deep gouges as his long legs parted, wrapping around Lucifer's smaller frame.

His hooves brushed the ground, but the archangel's supernatural strength kept him effortlessly pinned.

A sharp gasp escaped Alastor as Lucifer snapped his hips forward—the alpha obviously burying his cock inside the omega.

The warbly moan that followed sent ripples of interference across Vox's screens.

"Fuck," Alastor managed, his smile taking on a strained quality. "I suppose that's one way to compensate for your stature."

Lucifer stilled immediately, his brow furrowing. "Are you alright, Al? We can stop if—"

Alastor's laugh crackled through the air. "Don't you dare, you infuriating cherub. I was merely making an observation."

Vox seethed silently, the barbed compliment stinging more than he cared to admit. He'd never elicited such…enthusiasm from the Radio Demon.

"An observation, hmm?" Lucifer's voice was low, dangerous. "Perhaps I should give you more to pay attention to."

Alastor's grin widened impossibly, his head tilting at an unnatural angle as he met Lucifer's blazing gaze.

To Vox's utter astonishment, a sound unlike any he'd ever heard from the Radio Demon escaped those sharp-toothed jaws—a cloying, submissive omega croon.

"Alpha," Alastor purred, his voice dripping with honeyed venom. "Don't keep me waiting. Show me what that divine strength can do."

Lucifer's eyes narrowed, a wicked grin spreading across his angelic features. "As you wish."

With a growl that shook the very foundations of Hell, Lucifer began to move.

The ancient tree groaned in protest as he slammed Alastor against it, setting a brutal, punishing pace that had the Radio Demon gasping and clawing at the bark.

Vox writhed in his control room. His screen flickered wildly as he watched, certain that at any moment Alastor would start his usual routine—taunting, teasing, urging the alpha to hurry up and finish.

But the cutting remarks never came.

Alastor remained uncharacteristically hushed, not silent, save for the tuneless gasps and moans that escaped him with each thrust.

"This can't be real," Vox muttered, his voice tinged with static. "He's faking it. He has to be."

Vox's screen crackled with incredulity as he devoured Alastor's reactions.

The Radio Demon's perpetual smirk had vanished, replaced by open-mouthed gasps of pleasure.

Each thrust from Lucifer was met with unbridled enthusiasm, Alastor's lithe body bowing to meet the smaller alpha's powerful movements.

"Inconceivable," Vox hissed, his digital eyes narrowing. "Since when does the great Radio Demon submit and simper like a common whore?"

But the evidence was undeniable.

Alastor's crimson eyes were half-lidded, his antlers scraping against the tree bark as he threw his head back in abandon.

Lucifer's hand snaked between their bodies, his fingers curling around Alastor’s hard prick.

Vox leaned forward, a cruel chuckle escaping him. "Good luck with that, old man. The prude never wants to—"

His words died as Alastor not only allowed Lucifer's touch but seemed to revel in it. The omega's arms draped around Lucifer's shoulders, pulling him closer.

"That's it, darling," Alastor purred, his voice rough with need. "Don't stop."

Vox's screen flashed violently.

Alastor's composure crumbled entirely, his usual theatrical flair replaced by raw, primal need. His claws dug into Lucifer's back, slicing the fabric of the vest the devil wore.

"Alpha," Alastor implored, his voice crackling with static.

Lucifer growled, a sound that sent shivers through both Alastor and the watching Vox.

He captured Alastor's lips in a bruising kiss, hips snapping. Blood red leaves began falling from the tree with every tremble.

Vox's screen wavered erratically, mirroring his inner turmoil.

"This can't be real," he muttered. "It's another one of his tricks. It has to be."

As Lucifer and Alastor's coupling intensified, the air around them crackled with demonic energy.

The fallen leaves at their feet began to smolder, wisps of smoke curling upward.

Alastor's usual composure shattered completely, his carefully cultivated image crumbling under the onslaught.

"Alpha, please."

Lucifer's eyes glowed with hellfire as he growled, "Such a needy little doe. Is this what you wanted all along?"

He punctuated his words with particularly brutal thrusts, each one drawing a keening whine from the Radio Demon. Alastor's legs tightened around Lucifer's waist, trembling down to his red hooves.

Alastor's ears flattened against his head, a whimper escaping him.

"Alpha, please," he chanted, the words dripping with submission. "My alpha."

Lucifer captured Alastor's lips in a searing kiss, swallowing the Radio Demon's moans.

His hand moved faster on Alastor's cock, thumb swiping over the sensitive head with each stroke. Alastor's hips bucked wildly, caught between the dual sensations of Lucifer's hand and his relentless cock.

The tree behind them groaned, its trunk beginning to splinter under the force of their fucking. Cracks spread through the bark, mirroring the fractures in Alastor's usual mask of control.

His radio dials eyes spun wildly, tuning in and out of different frequencies as pleasure overwhelmed his senses.

"Lucifer," Alastor gasped, his voice breaking.

"Come for me, Bambi," Lucifer commanded, his voice resonating with unearthly power. "Show me how good I make you feel."

With a final, brutal thrust, Lucifer buried himself to the hilt inside Alastor.

The Radio Demon threw his head back as a cry of pure, unadulterated pleasure tore from his throat.

Lucifer stilled against him, grabbing the splintered tree trunk as his hips stuttered and finally stilled.

Vox's screen dimmed, a hollow ache spreading through him.

In all their time together, he had never seen Alastor so…content to surrender. And so satisfied with having done so.

They clung to each other, riding out the waves of pleasure.

Vox watched, transfixed, as Lucifer peppered Alastor's face with gentle kisses.

Soft laughter broke the silence, the tangled lovers falling to the soft grass and leaves at the base of the tree, arms still wrapped around each other.

Alastor's smile, for once, reached his eyes. “You will not hear the end of it if you ruined my coat.”

"You're incorrigible," Lucifer murmured, nuzzling the omega’s cheek.

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

The omega shifted, a small frown crossing his features.

"Well, this is a predicament," he mused, his radio-static voice tinged with amusement.

Lucifer chuckled, his golden hair falling across his forehead, until the Radio Demon’s hands started to right it.

“Hope you don’t need to be anywhere else, Bambi.” The angel chuckled, settling Alastor more comfortably into his lap. “Cause we’re gonna be stuck for a while.”

The realization hit Vox like a surge of electricity.

Alastor had allowed Lucifer to knot him.

The same Alastor who had always used his shadow powers to escape being tied down to Vox.

Resentment, hot and searing, mingled with a deep-seated anger that made his screen crackle—a painful truth began to crystallize.

"He never…not once…" Vox muttered, his voice distorting.

Alastor's fingers intertwined with Lucifer's. His gaze drifted to a fallen magnolia blossom near his hooved feet. With an elegant motion, he plucked it from the ground, his perpetual grin fixed in place, even as the delicate petals withered and browned at his touch.

Melancholy just flashed over that smile, but both alphas caught it.

Lucifer's eyes softened, sliding his other hand into Alastor's.

A warm, golden glow emanated from their joined fingers, enveloping the wilted flower.

Alastor watched, fascinated, as life surged back into the blossom.

Its petals unfurled, pristine and luminous, more vibrant than before.

"How curious," he mused, his radio-tinged voice barely above a whisper. "Your touch brings life, while mine—"

"Dont," Lucifer interrupted gently, tucking the rejuvenated flower into the lapel of Alastor’s coat. "We balance each out."

A genuine smile, softer than his usual manic grin, tugged at Alastor's lips. "I suppose we do, don't we?"

Suddenly, Alastor's head snapped towards the stealthy drone, his radio-dial eyes locking onto the camera.

His lips didn’t move, but that unmistakable voice crackled through the speakers around Vox.

"Enjoying the show, old friend?"

Vox sputtered. "How did you—"

On the screens, Alastor’s grin sharpened, turning wicked as his pupils began to spin.

Vox's face blue-screened with panic.

The air crackled with electromagnetic energy as Alastor's power surged.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you? It's rude to spy."

Vox's meticulously crafted surveillance network disintegrated in an instant, leaving only snow and static in its wake.

"No, no, no!" he snarled, his voice distorting with digital feedback. His fingers flew across the console, desperately trying to salvage the feed. "You smug, Bambi, bastard!"

The screens before him erupted in a cacophony of pixelated chaos.

The footage was gone, corrupted, irretrievable for blackmail. Or Vox’s private collection.

He slammed his fists on the console. "Damn you, Alastor!" His scream reverberated off the metal walls.

Back in the garden, Alastor's smirk widened, a mix of triumph and mischief dancing in his eyes. He savored the moment of Vox's frustration cast across the radio waves.

Then, the omega nestled closer to Lucifer.

His ex could have a tantalizing little show, but the afterglow…that was just for his alpha, and himself.

Alastor turned his attention back to Lucifer, a contented sigh escaping him as he settled more comfortably in the fallen angel's lap.

The knot tying them together pulsed gently, sending pleasant aftershocks through both their bodies.

"Now then," Alastor purred, his voice a low, staticky rumble. "Where were we?"

Lucifer's arms tightened around the Radio Demon, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Alastor's head. His fingers threaded through the soft red hair, careful to avoid the sensitive bases of Alastor's antlers.

"Right about here, I believe," Lucifer murmured, drawing Alastor into a slow, languid kiss.

Gone was the fire of before, replaced by sweetness and affection.

Alastor's lips parted with a soft sigh, allowing Lucifer's forked tongue to slip inside. The fallen angel tasted of brimstone and honey, an intoxicating combination that had Alastor melting further into his embrace.

When they finally broke apart, a dazed smile playing on Alastor’s lips.

Lucifer chuckled, pressing a series of feather-light kisses along the demon’s jaw.

"You're beautiful like this," Lucifer murmured against Alastor's skin. "

A faint blush colored Alastor's cheeks. "Flattery will get you everywhere, darling," he quipped, but there was no real bite to his words.

A faint buzzing filled the air as the drone, now useless, plummeted from the sky. It crashed behind the hotel with a satisfying crunch.

Lucifer, still knotted deeply inside Alastor, jerked around. "What was that?"

Alastor's grin never faltered. "Oh, nothing to worry about, darling," he purred, his voice a silky blend of amusement and innocence. "Just another one of those pesky flying cameras being zapped by your magnificent barrier."

Alastor shifted slightly on the fallen angel’s lap, drawing Lucifer’s attention back to him.

The garden around them was a vibrant tapestry of hellish flora, the air thick with the heady scent of sulfur and sweet blossoms. Alastor's ears twitched, picking up the faint rustle of leaves and distant screams of the damned.

"Now then," Alastor purred, his voice carrying the crackle of radio static, "I believe it's time for a little…privacy, don't you think?" His crimson eyes glinted with mischief as he gazed at Lucifer. "You can bring out those magnificent wings of yours, darling."

Lucifer's lips curled into a smirk, a mixture of amusement and affection dancing in his eyes.

"Oh? And here I thought you enjoyed putting on a show, scandolizing the plants and all."

Despite his teasing words, he unfurled his six majestic archangel wings, their pearlescent feathers catching the eerie light of Hell.

Then, they were wrapping around them both in a cocoon of soft white feathers. The air grew warmer, filled with the scent of alpha contentment and omega bliss.

“Now, why would I ever want to share you?” Alastor hummed, cupping Lucifer’s face close to him.

As the wings enveloped them both, creating a cocoon of ethereal beauty, Alastor felt a rare moment of true contentment wash over him.

The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them in this intimate sanctuary.

Lucifer's voice, low and rich, broke the silence. "You know, Alastor, if you're needing attention, you can simply ask for it. No need for all this…taunting and provoking."

Alastor chuckled, the sound a mix of static and genuine mirth.

"Oh, but my dear Lucifer," he responded, his grin widening impossibly, "where would be the fun in that?"

That was the thrill of their little game, the push and pull that made their relationship so deliciously unpredictable.

"Besides," Alastor thought to himself, tracing a finger along Lucifer's jawline, "half the enjoyment is in the chase, isn't it?"

Alastor shifted, a mischievous glint in his radio-dial eyes. He rolled his hips experimentally, relishing the sensation of Lucifer's knot still buried deep inside his ass. An unmelodic moan escaped his lips, mixing with the ambient sounds of the garden.

Lucifer's hand shot out, gripping Alastor's hip where fawn spots adorned his skin.

"Easy there," he warned, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. "If you're aiming for another round in our room, you might want to pace yourself."

The Radio Demon's permanent grin widened. "Why would I take it easy on someone with infernal stamina?" he purred, leaning in close. "After all, aren't you the one who boasted about your…endurance?"

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. “ I thought you might be, done, for the night."

"Oh, mon cher," Alastor chuckled, his voice dipping into a lower register. "I just needed to break the seal, so to speak." He closed the distance between them, capturing Lucifer's lips in a searing kiss. As they parted, Alastor's expression softened ever so slightly. " When we return to our room…well, I might be persuaded to show a sweeter side."

Lucifer's eyes widened a fraction, recognizing the rarity of Alastor's offer.

The Radio Demon leaned in, his breath ghosting over Lucifer's ear as he whispered, "That side of me is just for you, after all."

#If Darcy writes it #Vox gets cucked #radioapple #radioapplestatic #radioapplemedia #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alpha lucifer #omega!alastor #alastor hazbin #hazbin smut

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feeling-pushy · 6 months ago

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Snowed In

Thank you to my anonymous commissioner for this commission! I had a great time writing this and this was a wonderful first commission!

~1k, fpreg, home birth, stuck at home, fluff, nsfw

Mika stood by the window of her cozy cabin home, one hand resting on her swollen belly. Her shoulder-length black hair fell around her face in gentle waves, and her eyes were fixed on the thick blanket of snow that covered the landscape. The world outside was a pristine, white expanse, the trees weighed down with fresh snow, and the sky a heavy, pale grey, much like her eyes. The storm had raged all night, and now, as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, the snowfall showed no sign of letting up.

She took a deep breath, feeling as the tight cramp across her abdomen finally let go. Mika had been in labor since the previous night, and the contractions were growing more intense, this last one had almost lasted a minute and the time between them were narrowing quickly. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, trying to steady her breathing.

"Well, little one.’ she murmured softly, her breath fogging up the cold glass, ‘it looks like we're not going anywhere today. The snow's too thick, and it's still falling hard. We're just going to have to wait it out here."

Another contraction gripped her, and she winced, closing her eyes for a moment. "I know, I know.’ she half grunted, ‘You're eager to come out, aren't you? But just hang in there a bit longer. We'll manage, somehow."

She glanced around the cabin, taking in the warm, inviting interior. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a soft glow over the room. Everything was ready: the emergency birthing supplies were laid out, and the phone was within reach, though she knew the likelihood of anyone being able to get through the snowstorm was slim.

As the contraction hit it’s peek and squeezed down on her like a vice, Mika held onto the window frame, her knuckles turning white. She gritted her teeth, determined to stay calm and focused. "Almost there, baby. Almost there."

Two hours had passed, and Mika found herself in a different corner of the cabin, leaning over the back of the couch. Feeling the soft fabric of the upholstery under her fingers, felt oddly comforting, and she found squatting there the most bearable position as her contractions intensified. Each wave of pain was sharper, more insistent, lasting over a minute, with the intervals between them growing shorter and shorter.

She gripped the back of the couch tightly, her breathing labored. "We're getting closer, baby." she hissed through clenched teeth. "Just a little more, come on."

As another contraction hits her, Mika squatted down and rocked her hips, which she took a moment to appreciate how much they filled out during her pregnancy, her hips widening in preparation for the baby, even her breasts had grown a bit fuller. All this granted a softness to her now, that she couldn’t help but love.

Suddenly she gasps. Fluid splashes on the towels between her feet and doesn't stop dripping after. The realization hit her like a wave. "Oh, it's time." she panted, a mix of excitement and fear coursing through her. "You're really coming now, aren't you?"

Even now, the urge to push began to bloom from between her legs. She adjusted her position slightly, widening her legs more, bracing herself against the couch. "Okay, baby." she said, her voice trembling but resolute. "Let's do this. I'm ready. We're ready."

Mika's breaths came in ragged gasps as the primal urge to push took over her body. Bracing herself against the back of the couch, she bore down with each contraction, feeling the immense pressure build as her baby began to move down.

Between pushes, she stood briefly, shifting her feet to alleviate the strain on her legs, a temporary relief that helped her gather strength. But soon the next wave hit and Mika would squat back down, gripping the couch for support, pushing with all her might, and feeling the intense pressure as her baby moved lower. "Come on, baby. Come on." she panted, sweat dripping down her forehead.

As she bore down again, the pressure intensified. She felt a new stretching and burning as her baby's head began to press against her folds. She cried out, a mix of pain and exhilaration.

Mika's body trembled with effort as she bore down once more. Each push brought her baby closer, a small teardrop shape of the head beginning to emerge. Her breaths came in quick, shallow gasps, and she fought to stay focused against the burning and the pressure.

With trembling fingers, she reached down, her heart pounding. She felt the small bit of her baby's head, the soft, downy hair under her fingertips. The sensation filled her with a renewed surge of energy. "I can feel you." she whispered, a mix of awe and determination in her voice. "You're so close, baby."

The next contraction hit, and Mika pushed harder than ever before. She felt the teardrop shape of the head growing, widening as her baby moved further down. The opening became about a quarter wide, the pressure intense but invigorating. Mika could feel her baby's head moving forward with each push, inch by inch.

She gripped the back of the couch, her knuckles white, and gave a heaving push. The opening widened further, and she could feel her baby's head pushing through. Soon that quarter shape turned into a full, rounded crown.

Mika cried out, the sensation was both excruciating and exhilarating, a mix of pain and joy that she could hardly describe. She could feel the top of her baby's head, stretching out her lips in that tight crown and it filled her with an indescribable joy. "Almost here.’ she gasped, her voice shaking and tears filling her eyes, ‘You're almost here."

Mika took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of strength she had left. The next contraction hit, and she heaved, legs trembling, feeling her baby's head emerge and not stopping until she birthed the head fully. Mika let out a sob of joy and exhaustion, she was so close.

Mika took a minute to gather herself, taking a few slow, steady breaths. Then, with renewed determination, she pushed again, feeling the shoulders begin to move. The effort was immense, but she could sense the end was near.

With one last, powerful push, Mika felt her baby's shoulders slip free, followed quickly by the rest of the tiny body. Instinctively she quickly reached down, catching the tiny body and lifting her newborn up to her chest.

Holding her baby for the first time, Mika felt a rush of love and wonder. The tiny, wriggling body was warm against her skin, the little face scrunched up in a cry. She cradled her baby close, tears of happiness streaming down her face.

" Hey, baby. Hi." she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "My beautiful baby, you're finally here."

In the warmth of their little cabin, amidst the falling snow outside, Mika held her newborn close. The pain, the effort, and the uncertainty melted away, leaving only the profound joy of a new beginning.

#preg kink #birth kink #birth story #labor kink #birth #labor #in labor #fic commissions #writing commissions #commissions #pushing #pregnant #fpreg #giving birth #labor and delivery

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apoemaday · 1 year ago

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Agoraphobia

by Linda Pastan

"Yesterday the bird of night did sit, Even at noon-day, upon the marketplace, Hooting and shrieking." —William Shakespeare

Imagine waking to a scene of snow so new not even memories of other snow can mar its silken surface. What other innocence is quite like this, and who can blame me for refusing to violate such whiteness with the booted cruelty of tracks?

Though I cannot leave this house, I have memorized the view from every window— 23 framed landscapes, containing each nuance of weather and light. And I know the measure of every room, not as a prisoner pacing a cell but as the embryo knows the walls of the womb, free to swim as its body tells it, to nudge the softly fleshed walls, dreading only the moment of contraction when it will be forced into the gaudy world.

Sometimes I travel as far as the last stone of the path, but every step, as in the children's story, pricks that tender place on the bottom of the foot, and like an ebbing tide with all the obsession of the moon behind it, I am dragged back.

I have noticed in windy fall how leaves are torn from the trees, each leaf waving goodbye to the oak or the poplar that housed it; how the moon, pinned to the very center of the window, is like a moth wanting only to break in. What I mean is this house follows all the laws of lintel and ridgepole, obeys the commandments of broom and of needle, custom and grace. It is not fear that holds me here but passion and the uncrossable moat of moonlight outside the bolted doors.

#poetry #linda pastan #agoraphobia

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Text

Camping

summary: the wilderness favors James over you, but it does have some redeeming qualities

cw: mentions of blood, minor injury

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words

Camping hadn’t sounded like such a bad idea last weekend, when James had suggested it. You aren’t a naturally outdoorsy person, but you loved the idea of getting him all to yourself for a couple of days, and what could be more romantic than frolicking through the forest together, the soft light of a campfire, and sleeping under the stars?

Frolicking, you think sardonically, slapping your cheek in yet another attempt to nail the mosquito that has been trailing you for the past hour, slowly sucking you dry. You could not possibly have been more naive in your imaginings of what camping would entail. Your legs hurt, your supposedly practical shoes are starting to chafe on your ankles, and you’re unsure if the back of your neck is itching from bug bites (completely undeterred by the bug spray you’d applied at the car, by the way) or your ceaseless sweating. You feel tired, and sticky, and sore.

“Oh, look!” James calls from a few paces ahead of you. “There’s a river up here.”

You try not to resent him in times like this, but there’s something seriously unjust about how easily your boyfriend has taken to the wilderness. You suppose it simply boils down to one fact: James loves the world, and it loves him right back. A light sheen of sweat has him glistening in the sunlight, his muscled legs effortlessly navigating the landscape, and the breeze has tousled his curls just so as to make hair stylists worldwide mad with envy. He even seems to be getting a tan, whereas you’re strapped into what he calls your “sexy hat”—a beige, floppy thing with vents and a chin fastening—to avoid a sunburn.

You push ahead on shaky legs until you’re beside James, looking at what appears to you to be more of a creek, or a stream maybe, than a river.

“Nice,” you say, smiling with all the enthusiasm you can muster. “Wanna go for a swim?”

“Uh, absolutely,” James says, and you suspect he was only waiting for you to ask so it’d be your idea. He sets off for the water, discarding his backpack a few feet away and all but diving in. You follow more warily, not loving the idea of a fish or some other mysterious river dweller brushing up against you, but the prospect of cool, flowing water washing the dirt and sweat from your legs has you stepping out of your shoes and wading in.

James grasps your hands to keep you from stumbling as you approach him in the middle of the stream. The water here comes up almost to the hems of your shorts, and you’re considering tossing your clothes to the shore if it means you can experience this icy relief all over your body.

“This is fun, yeah?” James grins, and your heart contracts guiltily as you realize you may not have been as covert with your dissatisfaction as you’d thought. It’s not James’ fault the outdoors doesn’t treat you as kindly as it seems to treat him, and you have no intention of ruining what should be a perfect trip for him.

“Yeah, it is.” You return his smile, bracing your hands on his shoulders and standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

He returns your efforts with gusto, pressing his mouth to yours so ardently you have to take a tiny step back to keep your balance, and a sharp pain goes through your heel.

You gasp, almost biting James’ lip as you rear back.

“What?” he asks, instantly concerned, and you grip his shoulders tightly, hopping around awkwardly on one foot.

“I don’t know.” Your foot stings, the water ripping at it even as you do your best to keep it motionless. “I think I stepped on something.”

James curses. “You aren’t wearing water shoes?”

“I don’t own water shoes,” you cry.

“Okay, sorry,” he says, both of you speaking more sharply than you’d prefer. “Alright, let’s get out.” He picks you up with strong arms under your knees and shoulders, and you can easily blame it on the pain if you swoon a bit as he carries you to the rocky shore, setting you down gingerly.

You curl your wounded foot close to you, a puddle of watery red already forming on the rock beneath you. There’s a piece of glass stuck in the skin of your heel, soft and already slightly wrinkled from the water, and it’s panic more than hurt that has invisible fingers closing in a suffocating grip around your throat.

“You’re okay,” James says, watching you with his own barely-leashed panic swimming in his eyes. “Can I have a look?”

You nod, letting him take your ankle cautiously and bring your tender foot onto his lap. You make a small sound of protest at the blood you’re getting on his shorts, but he shushes you, gripping the protruding piece of glass between his fingernails.

“I’m gonna take it out, okay? Then we can clean it.” He looks at you for approval, and all you can do is nod again before he’s removed the intruder from your heel and your blood is flowing even faster. You hiss at the pain and in mourning for the stain that will certainly never come out of James’ poor shorts. “Aw, I’m sorry, angel,” James coos, grabbing antiseptic spray you had no idea he’d brought from his backpack. He makes short work of cleaning and covering your wound, and even kisses your gross, river-scented foot when he’s done, though the comically small band-aid covering the cut really puts things into perspective for you.

You’re doing your best to rally the gung-ho attitude you’ll need to get through the rest of this trip when James says, “I know it’s early, but you probably won’t be able to walk much on that for a little while. Want to go ahead and set up camp at that clearing we passed earlier?” and frankly, the idea of this ordeal being over with for the night is too good to pass up.

“Sure,” you say, trying to feign some reluctance, and he kisses you on the forehead before hauling you up.

You’re grateful for James’ selfless character (and his sturdy frame) as he lets you lean some of your weight on him, in addition to the not-insignificant weight of his backpack, while you limp the fifteen minutes to the clearing. He takes the tent from his pack as soon as he’s set everything down, unrolling it and placing the first stake at a corner.

“Here,” you crawl over, taking the mallet from him. “I can do that.”

James gives you a look like you’ve sprouted a second head. “No,” he says, taking the mallet back from you and starting to hammer in the stake himself, “you’re hurt.”

You can’t help it; you laugh. “Jamie, a cut in my foot hardly keeps me from using my arms.”

He only shakes his head at you. “You just rest, sweetheart. I’ve got it.”

You consider protesting further, but he seems serious, and eventually you simply shrug, scooting into a patch of shade to watch him work. If your boyfriend wants to do all the hard work, far be it for you to prevent him.

And as the evening goes on, James actually does insist on doing everything for you. He sets up the tent, builds the fire, heats your dinner, and even fashions a little cushion for you to sit on out of a spare blanket. You argue that you’re not all of a sudden made of glass when he won’t let you roast your own marshmallow, but James won’t hear it, and soon you’re lying on the cool ground, using your blanket cushion to pillow your head and looking at the stars.

“We can start back to the car as soon as we wake up tomorrow,” James says over the chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs, his head just a few inches from yours. “I’m sure you want to be in your own bed.”

“What?” You push up onto your elbow, looking down at him in disbelief. “No, I’ll be okay to walk tomorrow.” You’re fairly sure you were okay to walk today. “Don’t cut the trip short on my account.”

James only looks at you glumly. “Sweetheart, you weren’t having any fun today. You were miserable, and then you got hurt.” His brows scrunch like even the memory is agonizing for him. “I don’t want to make it worse by having you walk on it all day tomorrow.”

You’re officially the worst girlfriend in the world. James had been looking forward to this all week, and as soon as you’d gotten here, you’d made no secret of how little you were enjoying yourself. “James, I’ll be fine,” you promise. “I was being a wimp today, and now I know what to do to make it easier for myself.” More bug spray, to start with. You sigh, laying your head on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to spoil your good time. Let me try again tomorrow, okay?”

“You’re sure?” You can’t see James’ face, but there’s no mistaking the hope in his voice.

“Positive. You’re so sweet for offering to go home, though.” You tilt your head up until your lips find his, the kiss short and sweet. “Thank you.”

“Don’t want my girl to have a bad time,” James says, sitting up and pulling you with him so he can kiss you more fully. He casts a forlorn look at your foot. “My poor, injured girl.”

You grin, bringing your unscathed leg around to straddle his lap. “Not so injured I can’t do anything,” you remind him.

James’ eyebrows rise, his lips slowly curving upward. “Oh, yeah?” he croons, pulling you closer by your waist. “I mean, if you’re sure, sweetheart. But the sexy hat is going to have to stay on."

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fluff #james potter oneshot #james potter scenario #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter x you #james potter blurb #james potter x y/n #marauders era #the marauders #hp marauders #marauders

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drjholtzmann · 13 days ago

Text

Hob’s eyes follow the curving, liquid grain of the wood. It reminds him of lava, folding over itself and cooling, making layers upon layers of warping lines collapsing into each other, a mass spilling outwards as it grows, melting into the landscape.

He glances to his right just as the shadow draws near. Somehow he had seen it weaving between other passersby. Morpheus steps up beside him, hands in his coat pockets in the searing sunlight.

“It’s nice,” Hob looks from his friend back to the tree. “I know I’m not the oldest thing in the world but, still. Sometimes it’s nice to be around things that are older than me. Especially something living. Feels…normal.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Mm, old as the universe, are you.” Hob teases, tilting his head as he takes in the dappled shade falling on the trunk.

There is a distant roll of thunder muffled by heavy clouds. A laugh that is clamped down in the back of Morpheus’s throat. “Several.”

“Yeah, you look it.” Hob buys in, rolling his eyes and swaying an elbow towards Morpheus’s side without making contact. “They say it’s four thousand years old,” he says, finally turning to face him.

Morpheus shouldn’t look so comfortable in the sun, he thinks. Not because of his heavy coat, double-breasted and fully buttoned. But because he looks like an alpine flower. A delicate, sharp pointed edelweiss, built for thin air, meant to be bathed in blue snow-tinted light. He is, in many ways, quite literally a creature of night. Yet here he stands, swathed in the heavy gold Mediterranean light like a stone sculpture, like he belongs there. Like he’s always been there.

He is looking at the olive tree, as if trying to read something within the bark of it.

“I believe I once came by here, with my son. I confess I did not think to commit the place to memory in any fine detail. There was, perhaps, a sapling there.”

“Son.” Hob repeats, a weak echo, as he watches the stoic profile of his friend. He thinks he sees his eyelashes twitch. Hob takes a deep, and hopefully silent, breath. Forces it into his stomach, down to his toes. He looks back to the olive tree, following Morpheus’s unerring gaze, as he asks, “So, how old's he now?”

And truly you would think after six centuries Hob would have developed anything approaching a frontal lobe, but apparently not. He bites his tongue as the words fill the air between them, wishing he could reach out and snatch them back.

The sun itself seems to dim. “He is not.” Morpheus intones. His chin raises slightly, but Hob doesn’t dare look over.

Hob's stomach is hollow and leaden. “It doesn’t, uh,” his hands flex at his sides hopelessly. "It doesn’t ever really go away, does it?”

“No. No, it doesn’t.”

Hob isn’t sure if the contraction is intentional. The words sound like they stick in Morpheus' throat.

“It is beautiful,” he says, addressing the tree. As if finally having seen enough to pass judgement.

“It still produces fruit,” is all Hob can think to say.

“A wonder.”

“Sounds exhausting, personally. Amazing though, right? Thousands of years and it’s still providing food for people.”

Morpheus looks at him.

Hob meets his eyes. “I know it sounds like I’m trying to make some kind of metaphor here, but honestly, I just really like the tree. I swear.”

Morpheus swallows, his Adam’s apple a sharp thing in his throat, struggling against the motion. But some of the tension eases. And he smiles. An impossibly small thing. Fond and drifting somewhere between the corner of his eyes and the curve of his cheek. “Wonders never cease.”

“Tell me you haven’t ever been moved by the beauty of a tree, then mock me. In the meantime – what say you to finding some little hole in the wall that will serve us some truly ancient vino? I mean something that tastes like dirt and blood.” He looks at Morpheus’s unimpressed expression and shrugs, “You know, in a good way.”

There is a breath of silence between them, in which Morpheus does not retreat, and Hob takes heart that this means he has not overstepped, yet. Maybe one day there will be time for them to talk more about this. Maybe it'll take hundreds of years. But in the meantime there is good wine waiting for them somewhere around the corner.

[ao3]

#dreamling #yes but no #dreamling fanfic #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my fic #i really love olive trees you guys

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hermitcraftheadcanons · 8 months ago

Note

Wels is a knight who was recently granted land and a title. Naturally, that means he needs to build a castle/residence for himself, but he doesn't have to do it all on his own. So he contracts a landscaper (False) for the shoreline, an interior decorator (Scar), for the ceiling of his storage, and a floor planner (Grian), for the overall layout. He goes into business with two of the local mailmen (Tango and Etho) and has them manage the Redstone and glass shops respectively for some passive income. He has also taken up a solo business venture of brick and netherbrick.

Wels' pov this season has HEAVY relations to his usual medieval themes, this time in more than build style. I'm sure that something can be done with his Minister of Light title as well.

#hermitcraft #welsknight #mod mleem

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doumadono · 1 year ago

Note

sinful sunday!

what about izuku and intimacy? 👀 be as creative as you want :)

Warnings: aged-up Izuku

SINFUL SUNDAY

Izuku Midoriya always found solace in the warmth of his girlfriend's embrace. The city lights glittered like distant stars as they retreated to the privacy of his apartment, the air heavy with the scent of adventure and anticipation.

Izuku's fingertips traced the delicate curves of her face, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection they shared. His emerald eyes, usually brimming with determination, softened with a mix of love and vulnerability. Their journey had been fraught with challenges, yet in the quiet moments, the world outside ceased to exist.

She smiled, an understanding sparkle in her eyes. The soft hum of the city below provided a distant backdrop to the symphony of their shared breaths.

As they moved further into the room, Izuku's gaze lingered on the hero costume strewn across a chair — a reminder of the responsibilities awaiting him.

Tonight, however, his focus shifted to the intimacy they both craved.

Their lips met in a tender dance, an unspoken language of desire and trust. The weight of their experiences melted away, leaving only the present moment. Izuku's hands, calloused from countless training sessions, explored the contours of her figure with a delicate reverence.

His hands discovered the zipper of her dress, nestled on the back, and she sensually pivoted, allowing him to gradually unzip it. The desire for her boyfriend surged within her; she longed to savor every fleeting moment with him that evening before he immersed himself in work the next day.

He eased the zipper down at a leisurely pace, planting kisses along the exposed trail of her spine, eliciting delightful shivers that spread all over her body. In a languid descent, the dress glided down her body, pooling at her ankles.

The air crackled with a palpable tension, a fusion of passion and tenderness. Izuku's hands, once accustomed to grappling with villains, found a new purpose in tracing the lines of her skin.

As she leaned against his clothed chest, Izuku's hands tenderly traced the contours of her form. Starting with a gentle cupping of her breasts still embraced by the bra, his touch gradually descended along her abdomen and hips. One hand ventured lower, delicately exploring the mound beneath her silky panties, eliciting a soft moan of his name from his girlfriend.

Time seemed to stretch and contract, a dance of stolen moments that defied the constraints of their hectic lives.

The dim glow of the city outside painted the room in a soft radiance.

She turned within the circle of his arms, fingers deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt with a deliberate pace. The fabric yielded to her touch, unveiling his well-sculpted torso as she guided the shirt down his arms, allowing it to cascade to the floor.

Their shared breaths echoed in the quietude, a testament to the uncharted territory they were navigating together.

As they lay on the bed entwined, the remnants of heroism and duty felt like distant echoes. A struggle for dominance unfolded between them, a dynamic that shifted swiftly. One moment, she had Izuku pinned down, and in the next, the tables turned as he asserted control, pinning her down with equal intensity.

Izuku Midoriya's fingertips traversed the landscape of her skin, a journey filled with both curiosity and devotion.

Their lips, now acquainted with the tender language of longing, engaged in a dance that spoke of passion and familiarity. Izuku's hands, guided by an instinct, navigated the contours of her body with an artful precision.

As clothing became an afterthought, the room echoed with the symphony of shared breaths and whispered confessions.

He allowed her to straddle him, and before he comprehended what was happening, he found his member descending into the warmth of her pussy. Arching his head backward, he nestled it against the pillows, emitting a low growl as his hands gently cradled her hips.

She moved atop him with deliberate slowness, her hands tenderly gliding over his well-defined chest. In the midst of their intimate connection, she murmured words of affection, her breathy declarations of love intertwining with the rhythm of their shared passion.

Their bodies moved in a synchronized rhythm, a dance of intimacy that mirrored the ebb and flow of their shared experiences. Izuku's heartbeat, usually a drumroll of determination on the battlefield, now echoed the slower, more deliberate tempo of this intimate encounter.

She gradually escalated her rhythm, each undulation of her hips accompanied by increasingly labored breaths.

Izuku's gaze fixated on the mesmerizing dance of her breasts with every roll of her hips, compelling him to extend a hand and tenderly cup one, marveling at how it nestled perfectly in his palm, as if crafted exclusively for him. He gasped for breath, sensing the impending release that sent a chill through his veins while, paradoxically, a fiery sensation threatened to erupt within his chest. His love for her surged profoundly, and these intimate moments served as a testament to the most profound connection he had ever forged with anyone.

He subtly thrust his hips a few times, and soon, they both reached their climaxes — an intensity that left them breathless, both panting heavily in the aftermath.

She rested atop his chest, and he enveloped her in his robust arms, keeping her close and still. Their connection remained intimate, his member still nestled within her soaked pussy.

Time lost its grip as they surrendered to the exquisite vulnerability of the moment.

In the aftermath, as they lay wrapped in the afterglow, the city lights continued their silent vigil. The hero costume, forgotten in the corner, served as a reminder that duty would inevitably call Midoriya back. But for now, in the sacred aftermath of their shared intimacy, Izuku and his girlfriend reveled in the unspoken language of love — a language that flourished in the intimate spaces between heartbeats.

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whencyclopedia · 8 months ago

Photo

Claude Monet

Claude Monet (1840-1926) was a French impressionist painter who transformed modern art with his emphasis on light brushstrokes, bright colours, and uncluttered nature. Famed for his landscapes and series of paintings that captured the same view in different momentary atmospheric conditions, Monet is heralded as one of the greatest and most influential artists of all time.

Early Life

Oscar-Claude Monet was born in Paris on 14 November 1840. The job of Monet's father, Claude-Adolphe, is not known except that it was a humble one and that the family often struggled financially. In 1845, the Monets moved to Le Havre on the northern coast of France where Claude-Adolphe worked in his brother-in-law's thriving wholesale grocery business. Oscar-Claude's favourite subject at school was art, and, fascinated by the boats in the busy harbour, he often sketched them. From 15, he made money by selling caricatures, some of which were displayed in a local shop window each Sunday, which became a minor local attraction. Monet's aunt, Marie-Jeanne Lecadre, was an amateur painter and she encouraged Oscar-Claude, introducing him to the artist Amand Gautier (1825-1894).

Another artistic influence was the landscape painter Eugène Boudin (1824-1898) and the pair went painting together en plein air (outdoors), as opposed to the traditional method of painting in the studio. Still only 17, Monet produced his first outdoor painting, View from Rouelles, in 1858. Monet later described the experience:

Boudin put up his easel and set to work…for me it was like the rending of a veil; I understood; I grasped what painting could be…my destiny as a painter opened up before me. If I have indeed become a painter; I owe it to Eugène Boudin…Gradually my eyes were opened and I understood nature.

(Hodge, 15)

In April 1859, Monet gathered together his savings from his caricatures sales and went to study art in Paris. He enrolled in the unconventional Académie Suisse and started to make friends with artists like Camille Pissarro (1830-1903) and Paul Cézanne (1839-1906). More caricatures helped eke out his savings.

In June 1861, Monet's studies were rudely interrupted by conscription into the French army. Joining the African Light Cavalry, he was shipped off to Algeria. The bright colours of North Africa left a lasting impression on the young artist, who continued to sketch when he could. Then, after contracting typhoid in 1862, Monet was invalided back home. Six months later, Aunt Marie-Jeanne bought her nephew out of the army. Now 22, he dropped the Oscar from his name and began to paint again. It was at Le Havre that Monet met the Dutch artist Johan Barthold Jongkind (1819-1891), whose work he already admired for its broad and bold brushstrokes and which captured effects of the weather on seascapes. As Monet noted, Jongkind "became from this moment, my true master; and it is to him that I owe the final development of my painter's eye" (Hodge, 19).

#History #Art #ArtHistory #Artist #WHE #[#]

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perfectsunlight · 1 year ago

Text

(𝟕𝟎) - 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: none

𝐩𝐚��𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

5 YEARS LATER

the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the shore echoed in your ears as you walked through the sand, the cool breeze ruffling your hair and sending a shiver of delight down your spine. jimin's hand was in yours, her fingers interlocked with yours, and the sensation of her touch was both comforting and electrifying. the two of you strolled along the shoreline, the wet sand beneath your feet leaving a trail of footprints as you ventured further into the embrace of the tranquil beach.

the sun hung low in the sky, casting an orange glow that painted everything in ethereal shades. the world around you seemed to be in a state of suspended beauty, each moment existing in perfect harmony with the next. the rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves provided a soothing soundtrack, a melody that synchronized with the steady rhythm of your heartbeats.

as you walked, memories of your past flooded your mind. this beach held a special place in your heart, as it was the same location where you and your lover had attended the lantern festival years ago. the magic of that night was the catalyst to the journey of your renewed relationship.

you glanced at jimin, her profile illuminated by the daylight. her smile was a radiant reflection of the happiness you both felt, a silent acknowledgment of the journey you had undertaken together. the years had been kind, bringing success and fulfillment to both of your groups. aespa and le sserafim had become pillars of the industry, leaving their mark on the fourth generation of idols and opening the door for the fifth generation.

your thoughts wandered to the present moment, your upcoming contract renewal looming on the horizon. aespa had recently made the decision to renew their contract for another four years, a choice that signified their commitment to their journey as a group. the music industry was evolving, and the decision was a reflection of the changing landscape and the group's aspirations for the future.

with a squeeze of jimin's hand, you found comfort in her presence. the path ahead was filled with uncertainty, but the bond you shared gave you strength and reassurance. the future was a canvas waiting to be painted, a story waiting to be written, and you were determined to face it together.

"did you miss this place?" jimin's voice broke the silence, her tone a mixture of nostalgia and fondness. "i know i did."

you nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "i did. i think i’ll always miss it here.”

jimin's eyes met yours, and in that moment, it was as if time stood still. the love and understanding that passed between you was palpable, a testament to the journey you had shared, the challenges you had overcome, and the dreams you had pursued.

as you continued your leisurely walk along the shoreline, the sun's warm embrace cast a golden halo around you both, painting the world in hues of amber and rose. the gentle lapping of the waves against the sand provided a soothing rhythm, a backdrop to the symphony of emotions that swirled between you. every step you took felt like a dance, a choreography of heartbeats and whispered promises.

jimin's gaze held a certain intensity, a fire that burned with a passion you had grown to cherish. the way she looked at you spoke volumes, a language of love that transcended words. her fingers tightened around yours, and you could feel the energy that pulsed through her, a magnetic force drawing you closer.

as the two of you came to a stop, the sun's golden rays seemed to converge around you, casting a spotlight on the moment that was about to unfold. the world around you seemed to just melt into the both of you as you bathed in the light of dusk.

you walked a little closer to the water, not letting go of jimin’s hand as she stood behind you a few steps. the water rushed up to your ankles, a soothing sensation paired with the sand between your toes. behind you, you heard the raven haired girl taking a deep breath.

her voice, when it came, was a gentle caress intertwined with the ambience of the nature around you two. "you know," she began, and you could hear the smile on her lips, "this place holds a lot of memories for us."

a soft smile played on your lips as you nodded, your heart swelling with a mixture of anticipation and wonder. "it really does. we should bring our members here sometime. they’d love it.”

every year, on the date of your anniversary, you and your girlfriend made the trip down to busan. it was a little tradition you did, and each time you were here together, you made even more memories.

jimin's thumb caressed the top of your hand, her touch sending a cascade of warmth through your being. her gaze remained on you. you couldn’t see it, but the idol swore you shone brighter than the sun on the horizon.

your eyes were glued to the scenery in front of you. the evening tide created a symphony of sounds as the waves continued to meet the shore. mentally you took a photo of the view. a few seagulls flew overhead and the salt air reminded you that you were present in this moment.

something in the sand caught your eye as you leaned down to pick up a seashell you found underneath your foot. it was small and teal, holding intricate swirls and lines. “hey look at this…”

the rest of the words died in your throat as you turned around and saw your girlfriend on one knee.

with one hand still holding yours, jimin rested the other on the top of her knee. the waves still met skin, and jimin didn’t care that her jeans were getting wet right now. all she cared about was you.

all she would ever care about would be you.

“this place does hold a lot of memories for us,” the dark haired girl repeated slowly, grazing her thumb across the top of your hand once more. “but i want to make one more.”

jimin's voice was a soft melody that seemed to weave itself into the very fabric of the evening, her words carrying a weight that transcended time and space. her eyes bore into yours, a profound intensity that held your gaze captive, the world around you fading into insignificance as you stood on the precipice of a moment that would forever shape your destiny.

"i've only seen daylight since the moment i met you," she confessed, her voice steady yet filled with a depth of emotion that resonated within your heart. "i’d been sleeping so long in a 20 year dark night. but now i only see daylight."

her words held a gravity that left you breathless, each syllable etching itself into your soul. you felt a lump forming in your throat, emotions swirling like a tempest within you, and the seashell in your hand felt like a precious artifact, a symbol of the memories you had shared and the moments yet to come.

your lover’s midnight gaze remained locked with yours, unwavering and intense. "i once believed love would be black and white," she continued, her voice soft yet resolute. “but it’s golden. you've painted my world with shades of color that i never thought possible.”

a tear escaped your eye, tracing a glistening path down your cheek as her words enveloped you in an embrace of emotions. the sun had descended lower, casting an ethereal glow around you, as if nature itself was bearing witness to this profound declaration of love.

"i don't want to look at anything else now that i saw you," jimin's voice held a mixture of vulnerability and determination, a plea that echoed through the very depths of your soul. "you are my sun, my muse, and my anchor. everything i do is for you.”

she took a deep breath, her gaze never leaving yours, her hand still resting on her knee, the waves continuing their tender caress against her skin. “and i want it to always be that way. i want everything about me, to always be about you.”

the world seemed to hold its breath, every element of nature converging to amplify this moment.

"you know," her voice trembled slightly, a testament to the intensity of her emotions, "i bought you this on the day you left all those years ago. we’ve come a long way since then, but there’s one thing that i know hasn’t changed.”

time seemed to stand still, the universe holding its collective breath as the weight of her question hung in the air. your heart thudded loudly in your chest, the seashell in your hand becoming a talisman of your fate.

you gazed into her eyes, seeing the vulnerability and devotion that radiated from her, feeling the bond that had grown between you over the years. the tears in your eyes shimmered like stars, reflecting the love that had brought you to this moment.

jimin’s own tears glistened along her waterline as wind blew through her hair. she could feel her pulse in her ears as she slowly opened the velvet box with her free hand. there in all its glory, was the golden band with the single diamond. it was still just as beautiful as it was on the day your lover had first seen it.

the same could be said for you. no, it actually couldn't. because you were even more beautiful with each passing day.

at the sight of the ring, your tears spilled over even more. you felt your heart swell, the sensation almost overwhelming as the gravity of her words settled over you like a warm embrace. the evening sun painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, casting an otherworldly glow around the two of you, as if the very universe was conspiring to create a canvas for your love.

the air was charged with anticipation, each moment stretched to its fullest as you both stood on the precipice of forever. jimin's hand trembled slightly, a mixture of nerves and raw emotion, as she slowly opened the velvet box with her free hand. the ring glistened in the fading sunlight, seeming to capture the very essence of your love.

her tears mirrored your own, shimmering like stars in the twilight sky. the emotions in the air were palpable, a testament to the depth of the connection that had grown between you over the years. time seemed to fold in on itself, every moment you had shared leading you to this culmination, this exquisite declaration of your love and commitment.

"choi y/n," her voice quivered, the final thread that held you both on the edge of destiny, "will you marry me?"

the question hung in the air like a delicate note, a melody that resonated in your heart and soul. and in that suspended moment, you felt the weight of your answer, the gravity of your decision, and the boundless love that had brought you to this juncture.

"yes," you whispered, your voice echoing through the universe, carrying with it a lifetime of dreams and desires. "yes, a thousand times yes."

a radiant smile lit up on the older girl’s face, her eyes glistening with tears of joy as she slipped the ring onto your finger. the sun sank lower, casting a warm, golden glow over the beach, as if nature itself was applauding your union.

and then, as if guided by an invisible force, the two of you moved as one, drawn by an irresistible magnetic pull. in a whirlwind of emotion, laughter, and sheer exhilaration, your lips met in a passionate, tender kiss. the world seemed to dissolve around you, leaving only the sensations of each other's touch, the taste of salt on your lips, and the symphony of the waves as your backdrop.

with a joyous laugh that bubbled up from the depths of your beings, you stumbled backward, your bodies entwined as you fell into the inviting embrace of the ocean. the cool water enveloped you both, completely soaking the both of you.

“i love you.” jimin shouted over the waves crashing over you two. you couldn’t help but laugh even more as she brushed a few wet strands of hair out of your face. the water clung to your clothes, making them heavy but somehow enhancing the weightlessness you both felt in each other's arms. as you laid on top of your now fiancé, you couldn’t help but smile.

and as you smiled, yu jimin could only mirror you. it was always going to be like this. everything about her was always going to be about you.

she wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would you.

this was the beginning of a new chapter of a love story that had been written in the stars and now continued to unfold in the embrace of the sea.

because everything turned out okay in the end. to be honest, jimin had married you in her head back when you were just trainees. if only she could go back and tell her 16 year old self that the two of you made it.

the stars had aligned, the sun and the moon had danced for days, the ocean and the air both caressing each other for hundreds of days straight to witness this moment in time.

as jimin’s lips met yours once again, still laying on top of her on the sand in the water, you couldn’t help but remember what you had told yourself all those years ago on this very same beach.

ironically, it also answered the question you had been asking yourself for years. but either way deep down, you had always known the truth.

you could never forget about yu jimin. and yu jimin could never forget about you.

“i love you, too.”

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝.

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 >:) 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢'𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐦𝐟𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝?? 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫. :) 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥.

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ ┊ ☪︎⋆ ⊹ ┊ . ˚ ✧

you and jimin met as trainees before she debuted, and you two never felt more in love. however, once she breaks up with you before her debut, you completely leave SM entertainment under the notion of needing a fresh start. you eventually debuted a few years later in le sserafim, where you met huh yunjin and have slowly started developing feelings for the idol. much to karina's dismay, she hates to see you have moved on, but deep in your own heart, you still can't help but feel as if maybe she has forgotten about you.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @captivq , @wonyoluvr , @yunalvrrr , @spritin , @babycubchae , @vnschldd , @sserafimez , @chaersly , @rosiehrs , @baldd , @bwljules , @jenaissantesworld , @jennasluma , @dream-chasers-things , @lcv3lies , @elyds , @archerheejin , @vnschldd , @skisk1 , @cfvgbhndun-new-blog , @silantryoo , @phamminji , @bzeus28 , @writingficsblog , @strangegirlcode , @uzumakioden , @noiacha , @sserabey , @archerheejin , @pindoris , @yourstrulytrissmerigold , @jisooftme , @yacii , @ddrummie , @justalittledissociation

[ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ]

#smau #kpop #kpop smau #aespa #lesserafim #yunjin x reader #aespa x reader #lesserafim x reader #huh yunjin #karina x reader #yu jimin #yu jimin x reader #about you #perfectsunlight

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natriae · 1 year ago

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Chapter 1: Stahp callin' me Miya

next>

Masterlist

warnings: profanity & complaining

"No Miya you cannot for the love of god post that you wanna ride Sakusa's dick on tiktok,"

"why not i'd be funny,"

Funny enough, leaving the MSBY gymnasium was the hardest part about your job. It should be the easiest, but all the boys think you clocking out means now is the time to ask you questions. In particular a setter manages to do this everyday. You always catch him running out of the locker room door with wet hair and his gym bag hugged tightly to his chest as he chases after you. Half the time his questions don't even have to do with your job. Questions he should be asking the manager or coach.

Exiting the large building the two of you are met with the beautiful, natural landscape of osaka. The parking lot with huge trees shading your cars, and small lights in the ground not to ruin the scenery. They even managed to make sure the garden full of flowers in the front was managed daily. The landscape would be so relaxing if there wasn't a loud blonde haired setter talking your ear off.

You'd think he'd be trying to get with you with how determined he is to be by your side on your way out, but those thoughts leave as soon as he opens his mouth.

Questions fly out of: 'can ya check out this pimple on my ass' or 'would it ruin mah image if i posted a twerking video'. If anyone heard your conversions they'd think you two are just close friends, but you only met him a few months ago and never see him outside of your job.

Atsumu was just a carefree young man without a filter, and as much as you hated him annoying you on your way out, you were grateful. You were grateful that you had someone walk you to your car in the afternoon or at night even if he wasn't purposefully doing it.

Like right now, while he rants about what a good idea it would be to post his hot-takes on his teammates he subconsciously opens your car door for you, and waits for you to roll your window down before shutting it.

"I'm just sayin' I don't think there will be as much backlash as ya think," the thick accent rolls off his tongue as he ducks his large body down to be face to face with you.

"Okay, yeah when you're getting death threats from Sakusa's fan's I won't be there to help you."

At your retort he scrunches his stupidly cute face up and fires back, "yah, ya will. It's yer job," he finished by giving you his best matter of fact face and waited for you to respond. You think that's why he enjoys toying with you so much, because he knows you will fight his own fire with more fire, but you also hate when he's right--like right now.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before continuing, "Please Miya just give me one weekend where I don't need to clean up your mess off the clock,"

"When have ya ever hadda do that,"

"Last weekend when you got in a fist fight at a bar," you snapped back.

"Hey! That guy was makin' a lady uncomfortable," he reasons.

"Yes, Miya it was sweet of you, but not for MSBY when headlines of 'MSBY Setter caught in Bar Brawl' hit the first page," Working with the boys as their publicist was hard to say the least. It's like babysitting, but without the money for dinner. Constantly making sure the boys don't fight, swear, or even post stupid tiktoks. You have to review their posts before they post it, and think of any possible way they could receive backlash for it, but the best part of it all was seeing the terrible photos of the boys-like the picture of Atsumu being punched in the face- or getting calls from their mom's because their son won't pick up.

"okay I promise…under one condition," dear god, "stahp callin' me Miya! I have a twin it's confusing!"

Exaggerating you stick you head out of the car window and glace around before ultimately turning back to the man and saying, "I've never met him so 'till I do it's Miya,"

At that you roll up your window as Atsumu gives you a look of disbelief. You signed a very specific contract. You cannot under any circumstances get close to the boys, so to save yourself from wanting more you will stick to their last names.

Taglist: OPEN!

@thisbicc @lovley212

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #atsumu miya #atsumu imagine #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu #atsumu fic #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #hq atsumu #hq #hq headcanons #atsumu miya x reader #haikyu #haikyū!!

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ussgallifrey · 7 months ago

Text

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 24

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, dialogue taken directly from Avengers: Age of Ultron, descriptions of injuries, language, momentary jealousy, people talking through their issues like actual adults; references to the Eternals, the difficulties of immortality, and the Lavender Scare; Steve Rogers actively choking on his feelings.

✦ Word Count: 9.5k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Cinematic Soundtrack: Here

[Master List]

As they fly over the smoldering ruins of Midtown Manhattan, the city disappears behind them, giving way to towering trees and swaths of gray interstate. Small towns dot the landscape as the jet soars through the clouds, darting between the rose-tinged stratus and cumulus rows. Eventually, all you can see through the windows are the towering Hemlocks and blooming Maple trees of the Green Mountain National Forest.

You haven’t moved from your position beside Tony.

The physical sensation of imaginary eyes on your back keeps you from moving, let alone glancing away from the passing view. Was it cowardly? Perhaps.

But to see a look of disappointment on their faces; on Steve’s face, that would be the worst possible scenario. So, you guard yourself in the only way you can by focusing your attention on the coordinates you are nearing in on.

At least you knew that Sam and Maria were safe. Clint had been in contact with them when you arrived on the jet. They had managed to run to the roof when Rumlow’s gun jammed, allowing them to borrow an older model quadjet and escape. Hill was set to remain in the city, coordinating with search and rescue efforts as well as keeping an eye on the Legion situation while the Stark Foundation dealt with the aftermath of your collective failures.

“Uh, we’re one hundred percent on this, yeah?” Tony questions, dropping his voice to a lower register to keep the others from overhearing.

You glance down at the radar and then back out at the ascending tree-covered hill in the distance.

“Yes.”

“It’s just that, well, I’d like to keep this intact - ”

“Tony,” you force his gaze, “The coordinates are correct.”

He holds up his hands as if to say it’s your funeral. But just before you’re set to land, he pulls the autopilot offline and takes hold of the gears.

“Okay, seriously though.”

You give him a sigh, knowing why he was entirely apprehensive.

Below the quinjet, a few hundred feet down, was a continuous forest. Thick-trunked trees lined so tightly together that the canopy kept the ground itself from being viewed from above. There was nowhere to land, not a clearing in sight. And yet…

Slowly, you ease your hands over his.

“I’m friends with a very nice inventor and a very talented illusionist,” and before you can explain yourself any further, you push the throttle forward.

The billionaire gapes at you, seconds away from calling out for you to stop before the jet passes through a shimmering blue barrier.

You pass over the controls once again, allowing Tony to land the jet -

“Just over there, if you don’t mind.”

He’s wide-eyed, but otherwise silent, as he maneuvers the quinjet through the open field surrounding the imposing white Victorian-style house. You can feel someone’s presence behind you, but your eyes remain glued to the land in front of you.

As the wheels settle into the soft ground and the engines cut out, Tony drops his hands into his lap and turns his chair toward you, blinking owlishly up at you.

“So, you have a number for this inventor friend, or - ”

“Sorry,” you smile. “He doesn’t take personal contracts anymore.”

He gives a light whistle as he moves to stand at last.

“And when you said off-grid, you really mean - ”

“Land-line and solar. Paper records only. Can’t even find the information online.”

“Right,” he claps his hands together before he raises his voice for the rest of the team to hear, “‘Kay, anyone with a phone! Power it off, we’re keeping a low profile - don’t wreck it for us.”

At last, you turn to look at the others. You’re somehow surprised and not surprised at all to see Steve standing there beside you, staring down at you with an indescribable look in his eyes.

One by one, the rest of the team turns off their phones; Clint, Natasha, and Tony, of course; before the ramp drops down into the dew-kissed clover. Thor stalks off first, ready to be as far away from the rest of you as possible. The archer guides the redhead out, followed by Tony who offers a hand to Dr. Banner. Leaving just you and the supersoldier alone in the cockpit.

There’s that look again, resting in his too-dull eyes as he gazes down at your face.

“Come on,” you implore, gently pushing past him. “They’re waiting on me.”

“You’re bleeding. You know that right?”

Pausing just a step away from him, you glance down. Taking in your armor at last, you finally notice the crimson stains weighing down your white dress, the slow-dripping liquid that’s covered your left leg. With a sort of distant fascination, you take in the damage before lifting your gaze.

“I’m fine.”

“Athena.”

“I heal faster than you, Rogers. Didn’t even feel it. Now, come on.”

The supersoldier gulps down whatever words he was working himself up to say and instead silently follows after you, swiping up his go-bag from the bench as you descend down the ramp.

The late afternoon sun casts its golden light upon you all, leaving your skin with a sickly sticky feeling as you avoid the stares of your teammates. Tony’s straining his eyes against the sunlight just to look at the sky over the house, as if expecting to see the illusion at play from down here.

As if Sprite and Phastos would make a creation that obvious.

Past the old hand-hewn fences of a disused animal pen and the patches of wild violets, you make your way up the creaking wooden steps of the porch. The paint has long since chipped away, leaving flakes of the original gray-toned wood underneath the layers of white varnish.

“Uhm,” you finally chance a glance back at the others who have slowly followed after you. “Home sweet home,” you say as you push your shoulder into the unlocked door.

Stepping to the side, you allow the others entry. One by one they file into the old house’s central hallway. They carefully side-step the piles of books and manuscripts, while Clint unhelpfully flicks a light switch on and off with no results. Their movement alone unsettles the dust that drapes itself over every surface, their hands pull away from the walls and the cabinet only to wipe the gray mess from their fingertips.

“So, this is…” Tony draws out the question as he looks around at the strange configuration he’s standing in.

“My mortal residence, yes.”

He gives an unsure nod as if admiring the work of an elementary-aged artist and you suddenly feel even more uncomfortable at the notion of having any of them stepping foot in this place.

“Uhm, I need to go power on the generator. Top two floors have guest rooms; take your pick, nowhere’s off limits. Water should be good to run, it’s well-based. Just… make yourselves at home?”

Pressing past the tight line of people, you make for the front door. Grateful to have proper fresh air gracing your lungs as you break free. You can hear the low chatter of their voices as you disappear, probably questioning how they were supposed to make themselves even remotely comfortable in such a mess.

Releasing a breath riddled with tension, you round the side of the house where the generator box lies, covered with a simple blue tarp. In the distance, on the edge of the property where the grass grows tall and the deer like to graze, Thor stands in reflection.

With no hammer and no cloak, the dressed-down God appears to all the world as a moment of divine solitude. One you have no interest in disturbing.

It takes three tugs to get the generator powered up, and it groans and chugs as the mechanical engine kicks back to life. You can see lights turning on through the dusty window panes. But as you stand there, in the place in between two worlds, you find yourself unable to move.

Inside, the others await their host. Their likely bottled-up hatred and distrust toward your actions and decisions today remains. And across the yard, there stands your fellow immortal with his own list of accusations to throw at you.

Never before, in all your years of existence, have you felt such a massive urge to just… run away.

To disappear, in a flash, back to Olympus where you can hide out with your cowardice. Who were you, Goddess of many things? Today, surely, you were the Goddess of failures.

So, you press away from the house and move instead to rest your forearms against the wooden fence. At least, for a few moments more, this could be your own place of solace.

The breeze ripples across the long grass, picking up the hem of your linen dress. The warm earth bares with it its own unique scent that helps guide you back to your senses. And, as you gaze down at the silver pendant still dangling from your neck, you take it into your hand.

Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to unclasp the latch, you just stare at the simple facing. Two raised vines twist along the outer shell before coming together at the top, where a single drop of flame shines downward.

You're snatched from your thoughts by the deep coo of Pallas as he soars down to the fence, landing just beside your right elbow.

“Sensed I was in trouble, did you?” you hum as your hand gently drifts up to his head. While your fingers graze over his soft downy feathers, you continue, “I’ve made a real mess of it. Should have listened to the All-Father long ago. Meddling in human affairs only leads to trouble.”

His approach is quiet, but not nearly soft enough to avoid your ears.

You turn to watch him, striding through the clover, haloed by the sun’s golden rays, as Steve nears your side. He’s stripped the upper half of his uniform away, residing in a simple gray t-shirt and his combat pants and boots. He lets out a long sigh as he moves to rest his arms against the fence on the other side of Pallas.

“You keep finding me,” you chide, eyes daring to meet his gaze.

He gives a slight shake of his head, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Well, you’re hard to miss. Immortal owl and all.”

The bubble of a laugh bursts past your lips before you can even hope to stop it. Your fingers accidentally brush over each other as he lays a careful hand on Pallas’ back. You pull away, inspecting your nailbeds with a sudden fascination.

“I just…” he trails off for a moment as if waiting for you to meet his gaze. And when you do at last turn your head to look up at him, you find the blue of his eyes to be nearly obscured by the bright light of the overhead sun.

“I didn’t want you to be alone right now.”

You let out a scoff, “I think you’re the only one.”

An arched brow meets your words.

With a shaky sigh, you explain yourself, “I’m the reason the tower is destroyed, why Manhattan is on red alert. I let the mutant in, and Rumlow, and I didn’t stop either of them. Or the Legion bot. Hell, Steve, I let them get away with the Abomination without even a spare thought.”

“I thought Sam and Maria were there with you.”

“They were, obviously,” you push off from the fence, moving to pace the calve-high grass. “But it is my responsibility. My job. What honest use am I right now if I can’t even see a threat when it’s standing three feet away from me?”

At that, you turn, holding your arms out in an exaggerated motion as the anger; the bitter taste of guilt and defeat, coats your tongue. When you’re met with his silence, you pull your arms inward, absently rubbing at your bare skin as you look away from his judging eyes.

“I mean, just look at us.”

You stare at Thor, still standing at the edge of the property line.

“Two Gods reduced to this,” you glance over at the supersoldier. “I don’t even have a plan for you; for Tony. I can’t tell you where Ultron is or what he’s planning to do now that we’re out of sight.”

“And the rest of us,” you continue, “I mean! You and Barton seem to be the only ones stable enough to do anything right now. Tony hides it well enough behind his jokes and his sarcasm, but - ”

“I’m not.”

You blink, words fizzling out in your throat before you can voice them.

“What?” comes the strangled sound from your lips.

Steve heaves a sigh before he too pushes away from the fence and walks over toward you. His hands are balled into fists at his sides and he’s the one avoiding your gaze now.

“I’m not okay. Not after…” he clears his throat. “I saw hell down there today. My own personal hell.”

“Steve - ”

“No,” he holds up a quick hand. “It’s just… I don’t think any one of us is hanging on by much more than a thread right now. Even if we have to be.”

His hand, a warm and gentle weight against the uncertain world currently spinning around you, slides itself against your palm. He squeezes his fingers against yours and you find your feet becoming more grounded to the Earth and your head clearing up as you gaze into his shining blue irises.

“But… I think we can be… alright.”

A soft smile eases its way onto your face for the first time in hours as you look up at the man before you.

“You’re right, probably. Like always.”

“Hey,” his fingers wrap around yours even tighter now. “Don’t blow too much smoke, I don’t have the ego for it.”

While his eyes are fixed upon your face, you find yourself being pulled into a sudden tight embrace. You welcome the pressure, the feeling of security that drapes itself over your body as solace is found in Steve Rogers. His hands settle on the dip of your spine as you find your own arms circling his solid torso.

“Fine then,” you say, voice muffled against his shirt. “If we’re going to even dream of fixing this, I need to talk to Thor.”

At that, he gently pulls you back. A pinched brow meets your eyes and all you can do is shrug.

“I promise this place will still be standing by the time I’ve finished.”

He tilts his head lower, his gaze looking even more severe. You swat at his side.

“At ease, Captain. I know that my performance today speaks of the contrary, but I promise that I do in fact know how to be diplomatic when the time calls for it.”

So, despite Steve’s concerns, you still find yourself crossing the pasture to speak to the God of Thunder. You know that the supersoldier remains on watch, right beside Pallas, in case anything goes awry. But there’s a renewed force to your step as your desire to right the wrongs of the day pushes you forward.

“I think it wise that we refrain from speaking,” he calls over his shoulder before you even make it five feet away from him.

“Where would the fun in that be?” you question as you continue forward.

He turns, and already you can see the desire to fight gleaming in his eyes like a dancing flame.

Instead, you stand beside him, overlooking the valley of the forest laid out before you. The silence sits for a moment longer before you allow the words to come to pass.

“We are not our fathers.”

You can feel the turn of his head as he looks down at you.

“We do not need to abide by the role they set for us. We can, I think, make amends when the time calls for it.”

At this, you turn to face him fully. While his muscles ripple and tense with the memory of where you had just been standing a near hour ago, ready to rip one another to pieces like the times before, you notice the flicker of something else in his crystalline eyes.

“So, in this case, God of Thunder… I’m sorry.”

He sniffs, crossing his arms.

“We are better than mindless fights. Today, many lives could have been lost due to our desire to see battle. The ones we claim to love, those that we desire to protect, their very lives could have been forfeit thanks to our choices.”

His arms drop and a startling look takes place on his usually stoic face.

“I will not deny…” he begins, “That I may have been… brash in my actions. Though I do not regret them.”

“Of course,” you nod, allowing the words to pass.

While you certainly didn’t agree with the sentiment, it would do nothing to further the conversation if you spoke that opinion.

“Now,” your tone lowers as you get to the heart of the true issue. “I believe that I was not the source of your anger today. Nor, do I think it was Ultron.”

He scoffs, looking away from you, “You speak out of turn.”

“I say only what is obvious.”

Settling a hand upon his large forearm, you force the God to look at you. His guilt-ridden eyes eventually dare to meet your gaze.

“What horrors did you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Now who speaks in lies?”

With a heaving sigh, Thor takes a step away from you. His boots kick through the billowing long grass as he reaches his next few words.

“I had a vision; of things to come,” he turns back toward you, his face open with a strange vulnerability. “I fear I will not find my answers here.”

“Where will you then?”

He scuffs his boot against the dirt, looking away as he answers you, “The Well of Wyrd.” Based on your incredulous expression, he elaborates, “I must seek out the waters where the Norn reside. They will give me the answers that I seek.”

“Fates,” your surmise.

“But better,” he immediately replies, unable to stop himself from comparing your pantheons.

A smile cracks at the corner of your lips as you cross your arms.

“Could your vision not be induced with the aid of some… say, mythical plants? I have several on hand.”

“Now that,” he points, voice raising to something nearly akin to glee. “That does surprise me.”

“I do hate to be too predictable,” comes the familiar phrase.

His smile begins to wane and you realize what is about to happen as the moment itself quickly approaches.

“How long will you be then?”

“You know I can not answer that. The Norn can be… difficult.”

“Well,” you sigh, chancing a look back at Steve. He’s still there by the fence, a furrowed expression on his face. “I can only wish you safe travels then, can’t I?”

“Since ripping one another apart is off the table for the time being,” he agrees with a jovial laugh.

Mjolnir comes soaring across the field, landing in his hand.

“Then yes, My Lady. My time here is done.”

Your gaze hardens, “You will return once you have the answers you seek, though. Won’t you?”

“Ah,” he guffaws. “To be predictable, would be tiring.”

You take a step back, and then another, giving yourself just enough space as Thor lifts his hammer into the air and soars upward in a sudden gust of wind that sends your hair and dress billowing backward.

He disappears over the horizon, cresting the forest’s canopy, before he vanishes from your line of sight.

You remain there for just a moment further before you turn to make your way back to the house. Steve is already jogging across the field to meet you halfway.

“What happened?” he questions, looking from you to the sky.

“He has business to attend to. Answers to seek that he will not find if he stays here.”

His features deepen into a severe frown, “More important than what’s going on right now?”

You give a shrug. Steve might be an understanding man, but the realm of Gods and visions would never be fully understood by a mortal.

“Apparently,” is all you can say in return.

While he doesn’t seem to like the answer you have for him, he nods and walks alongside you through the clover and overgrown grass.

“This is Vermont, right?” he asks after a beat of silence.

“Yeah. Athens, Vermont.”

He stops and you have to turn back to wait for him as he blinks, then laughs.

“You’re kidding me.”

A smile tugs at your lips, “Little on the nose, I know.”

“Very.”

“Hey, the price of land was good in the 40s. I couldn’t complain back then.”

You resume walking, Pallas ruffles his feathers as you approach. Steve nudges your shoulder with his upper arm and you can’t help but turn your head to look up at him.

“How much?”

“How much did it cost, you mean?”

He nods, a slightly boyish smile on his lips as he says, “Yeah.”

It takes a second, as you round the side of the house and near the covered porch, to remember the exact estimate, but it does come to you.

“Think it was… about five dollars for the land itself, thirty in clearing costs, and around fourteen hundred in building and masonry costs. So… $1700, give or take?”

Steve stares at you before his eyes slowly lift, taking in the three-story house, before they drop back down to your face.

“In the 40s?”

“The 1840s.”

He blinks.

You push his shoulder, walking away as you laugh, “Come on, Rogers. You honestly should know better by now.”

From behind, you can hear him making a little humming yeah, yeah I should before he follows after you, up the steps of the porch and back into the house.

While the others have at least moved from the hallway, the sound of your approach has garnered the attention of the billionaire, who sticks his head out of the archway left of the stairs. He leans against the wooden frame, crossing his arms, as he watches the two of you.

“Well, that’s nice. Glad you two can find some humor in the situation.”

Your smile falls from your face in an instant at the abrupt coolness of his words.

“Come on, Tony,” Steve sighs, trying to ease his way past you as if to stand as a human shield in front of you.

“No, no. By all means, laugh away. It’s not like we’re at our lowest point. In fact, let’s break out the good glasses and pop a bottle of bubbly,” he trails off, striding back into the main living room.

Seated on one of the cleared-off sofas, sits Bruce, with a large blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. The sound of Tony’s voice seems to cause an immediate agitation as the doctor clutches his head in his hand.

Tony remains oblivious to his discomfort, however, as he gently smacks his shoulder, “Come on, pal. We’re celebrating our unanimous defeat.”

“Knock it off,” Steve commands, tone low as he fixes his hands on his belt.

“Or, what? You wanna go a round like Blondie and 007? Speaking of, where is Break Point?”

“Gone,” you intone, meeting his dark eyes with a challenge.

His features drop for all of a microsecond before he forces an obnoxious smirk, “Fantastic. You know, this day is really shaping up to be one for the record books.”

“I think,” you start, pushing yourself past the two men to stand beside Banner, “We could all use a break away from each other. And then, when we’ve decided to focus our attention on the actual problem, maybe we can regroup.”

“You know what I think,” Tony starts to say, but Steve pushes a hand against the billionaire’s chest, effectively guiding him across the room.

“She’s right and you know it.”

“Well, just because she’s the Goddess of Wisdom doesn’t mean she’s been actually knowledgable in that struggle today - ”

You force your attention away from the verbal sparring match, kneeling down beside Bruce instead.

“Hey,” you offer, voice lowered for his benefit.

Slow-blinking eyes meet your gaze from behind a shell of sweat-drenched hair as Bruce peers up at you.

“I’m not a startled animal.”

With a slight quirk of your lips, you reply, “I never said you were. But I can’t imagine that that - ” you spare a look over your shoulder where Tony and Steve are still going at it, “ - is helping the situation. Is there… anything I can do?”

He lets the question mull over for a moment before he moves to sit up.

“Actually, do you have somewhere more… uh, not… you know… isolated?”

Your heart drops, but you nod all the same.

“I might have somewhere more secluded if that’s what you need.”

Bruce nods, “Please.”

You offer the doctor your arm, which he takes with a very careful grasp of his fingers before you haul him up and usher him out of the room. The argument pauses for only a moment as the two men watch you exit.

While you hated the idea that Bruce felt he needed this, you understood that his situation was beyond your personal comprehension. At the Tower, before you even arrived, he had a whole system in place to deal with the aftermath of his transformations. But today had been unprecedented. So, with a weariness in your chest, you guide him out of the house toward the old barn at the edge of the cleared property.

Steve stares at the archway for a moment longer, having missed your entire conversation with Bruce. Even Tony seems a little surprised by your sudden exit as the fight drops from his shoulders and he begins to pace around the room.

He can hear the muffled words you’re speaking to Bruce now, all the way from outside, but he certainly can’t make them out.

“Really has a thing for Bollywood movies.”

The supersoldier turns only to find Tony kneeling down next to a cabinet overflowing with VHS tapes and a small stack of DVDs. He’s holding one in his hand, scrutinizing the cover image before he grabs another, and then another.

Steve looks away, out of respect.

You may have invited them into your home, your home away from Olympus, but that didn’t entitle them to look through your things.

“Hah, would you look at that,” the billionaire grins.

In his hand, he’s holding up a white piece of stationery with a triumphant look on his face. The paper itself has yellowed some around the edges, but the careful penmanship is still fully eligible.

“Aww, to my biggest fan, Minnie - Minnie? Enjoy this free copy on behalf of your favorite actor. All my love, Sri Kingo.”

“Tony, come on.”

“What?” he blinks, pulling the note away from Steve and clutching it to his chest like a rare treasure. “Tell me you’re not the tiniest bit curious. I mean - ” he stands up, holding his hands out toward the room, “How often do we get any kind of insight into this girl’s life? Mythology books aside. Which, did you know she was supposedly birthed from the head of her own father?”

“That’s enough.”

Something entirely dangerous flashes in his eyes as he snaps the words.

Tony tilts his head.

“Man, Romanoff said you had it bad, Cap. But I gotta say, this is quite the look for you. Anyway,” before Steve can even form a retort, Tony’s already smacking his shoulder and walking away. “Better claim a room before all the good ones are gone. Which does beg the question… why so many guest rooms? Little Miss Solo Artist doesn’t strike me as the kind to make friends along the way.”

Steve looks down at the maroon carpet, “None of us are, not really.”

The billionaire’s features sort of drop for a second, before he forces the act of nonchalance back into place.

“Won’t hear me admitting that any time soon,” he says, swiping down to gather his go-bag before he backs out of the room.

With him gone, Steve finally takes the time to look around the living space. It was like a strange amalgamation of time periods all stuffed into one room. It looked far more lived in than the temple back on Olympus ever had. Here there were no halls of marble or columns of gold. Everything was not neat and kept perfectly clean. What a strange dichotomy for the literal goddess who walked among men.

Leaving the room as he found it, Steve returns to the hallway where his own bag lies in a heap. Shouldering the duffle bag, he heads up the stairs. On the second floor, the hall splits off in two directions. He can hear water running somewhere on the right and muffled voices to the left. Looking toward the second set of stairs, Steve ascends to the final floor which holds only silence for him when he steps off.

Under his feet, the floorboards creak. In the sliver of sunlight peaking in through the windows, dust particles dance in haloed rays.

He finds a series of doors, all cracked open, and just chooses one along the right-hand side of the hall.

The room is musty but otherwise tidy. A canopy bed resides in the center of the room with a set of dressers occupying the rest of the space. He drops the bag down on the lilac-colored bedspread before taking a seat on the edge of the bed to begin pulling the rest of his uniform off.

As he yanks his boots free, he glances around at the scarcely decorated bedroom.

A very faint rose-patterned wallpaper covers the majority of the walls. There’s a standing mirror in the corner just opposite of where he’s sitting. And two windows; one overlooking the back of the property and the other overlooking the pasture and pen.

When he stands to begin pulling his pants free, he notices a figure walking across the yard. He nears the window and watches as you walk away from the wooden barn, chancing a look over your shoulder as you go.

A frown forms on his face when he looks back at the barn, realizing, after a beat, what’s happened.

Pulling away from the window sill, he tugs off the pants to his uniform and quickly digs out the spare set of jeans he has stowed away in his bag. For good measure, he switches out his socks as well.

After zipping the duffle closed, he carefully sets it down beside the standing dresser. That’s when his attention falls to two simple wooden frames residing on the lace runner on top of the set of drawers.

He can’t help it as he picks up the one directly in front of him.

He’s transfixed, staring down into your sepia-toned eyes as you look toward the camera.

Dressed in an elegant shirtwaist dress, your arm is carefully resting on the back of the chair where a man is sitting. He’s handsome, with tight-coiled hair and a bright grin as he gazes up at the camera too.

There’s a white flower, pressed and preserved, in between the portrait and glass frame.

Steve tries to set it down just as he found it, his fingers carefully rearrange the lace runner as he takes a step away. The other framed picture is that of a watercolored beach, with the word Caloundra in puffy yellow words above the painted skyline. But his eyes drift back to the portrait.

You look happy.

And while it was foolish of him to presume that your attachment to the human race had only been a recent occurrence, he knew how implausible that was. You even said it yourself, you had been working at SHIELD since Peggy was director. The house was from the 19th century. Clearly, you had people and acquaintances outside of this strange group of superhumans.

So, why does it tug at something in his chest with such a painful grasp when he sees you in this picture?

He wasn’t the first. Maybe that was it. The fact that he wasn’t the only man in human history to have wanted more of your time, to get to know you in such a deep fashion.

“Hey.”

Steve startles back, looking up with widened eyes as you gently push the door of his room open.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to - ” You gesture vaguely at him. “I just wanted to see if you were settled in okay.”

“Yeah, I mean. Yeah, I’m good.”

You give him a little nod as your lips form a slight pout. You’ve changed clothes since he last saw you and he’s grateful to note that any signs of dried blood have since been cleaned away. Steve stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

“Okay, well, I was just doing the rounds. I’m working myself up to talk to Tony.”

“Maybe give it a few minutes?” he proposes, raising his brows in a playful gesture.

Your body seems to sag then as you offer him a tired smile, “Probably for the best, yeah.”

You waltz into the room then before you drop down on the edge of the bed. The exact spot he had been sitting in just moments prior.

“Cronus,” you sigh, shaking your head as you rest your feet on the bed frame, kicking up the frilly bed skirt. “I feel like I’m wading through deep water right now. Like I can barely keep my head up long enough to take in everything around me.”

Well, damn. As if Steve hadn’t experienced that very same thing just hours ago. He bites his tongue instead of unleashing all of that upon you. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he could put that vision into words yet.

“I think I know the feeling,” he says instead as he moves around the bedpost, taking a seat beside you next to the pillows.

The silence permeates the room for a moment too long as you gaze at the wall opposite you. Steve can see the reflected image you both make in the standing mirror. How close he’s sitting to you, how near your right knee is to his left. How small you appear.

“I have no idea what we’re going to do next,” you admit with a choked sound to your voice as you manage to get the words out.

Steve rests his hand upon yours, imploring you to meet his gaze.

You do, in an instant.

“We’ll figure that out together.”

He squeezes your fingers tightly for assurance.

“God, even outside of the motivational speeches it seems like you always know what to say,” you laugh with a slight hiccup.

Your fingers wrap around his and squeeze back.

“With you,” he starts. “Words seem to come a little easier to me.”

“I’m not going to ghostwrite your speeches, you know.”

You release his hand just to shove your arm into his side, laughing as you pull away.

He cracks a smile in return, “Would never dream of it.”

Steve finds you to be simply beautiful like this. With your hair in its natural form, free of your helm and armor. Wearing casual clothes and looking at him with such a warm expression he nearly wants to speak the words that have been caught up in his throat these past few months.

But then his treacherous eyes drift over to that picture frame once again as he mentally notes the differences between the woman sitting next to him, right here and now, and the woman smiling for a camera.

Your smile wanes as you follow his gaze.

“Oh,” you say with a lingering sort of melancholy.

Before he can do anything of use to regain your attention, you’re pulling away from the bed to nab the portrait. You drop down beside him once again as you carefully dust off the frame with your thumb.

“I don’t usually do pictures. Anything that could be put into public. Well, I didn’t use to,” you give a little laugh, but your eyes are still locked on the picture. “Now it’s just candid moments caught by reporters and everyone has a camera phone these days.”

He can’t stop himself from asking, “So, what made you change your mind for this?”

Your gaze lifts for just a moment, just so you can share a look before you return your attention to the portrait - to the man seated in front of you.

“Ralph was more convincing than even Tony. We met at the premiere of Singin’ in the Rain at Radio City Music Hall, March 1952. It was my first week back in the States after being in Europe since… well, for quite a long stay.”

Steve immediately understands what words you’ve excluded. You told him you had been in Warsaw for the reconstruction process. God only knows where else you spent your time in the post-war years.

“Anyway! This guy in line kept trying to strike up a conversation and, Cronus… he was funny. I can’t even tell you what happened in the movie outside of the giant ‘Good Morning’ dance scene. We almost got kicked out for all the gabbing we were doing.”

A strange laugh slips from your lips and Steve can see the exact moment when your emotions take hold.

“He was… he was a really good guy. He was CIA actually, set to become the youngest head of his department from what he told me. Spring of ‘54, he came banging on my door at two in the morning - I lived in Tribeca back then - well. It was the age of McCarthy and Roy Cohn and… he was set to be investigated, but someone at the office tipped him off.”

You give a shrug, “I brought him here, helped him get his papers around and the next morning he was gone. Next thing I know, seven years pass and one day I get a postcard - ” you nod your head at the watercolor beach scene on the dresser, “ - filling me in on the last few years of his life. Got himself a partner, Gary. Became your typical boring officer pusher.”

“I never…” you cough. “We never saw each other again. I mean, he tried. Definitely wanted to. But this,” you gesture vaguely at your body. “I don’t change. And nearly a decade goes by and I look the same? He was persistent though, every few years he’d ask where I was, tell me where he was, ask if we could meet up again. I always had an excuse though. Never could bring myself to tell him the truth.”

Your eyes meet his and Steve can see the palpable sorrow residing in your solem irises.

“That’s the problem, you know. Walking in eternity,” you gaze down at the picture for just a moment longer before you rise up and return the frame to its rightful resting place. You offer him a sad smile as you say, “I get to watch my friends go on and age and, one day, die. I might seem isolationist with my whole refusal to do teams thing,” you laugh. “But I promise you, that’s not the real reason. It just hurts too much.”

Before you can shrug your shoulders, or change the topic, Steve rises from the edge of the bed. He’s staring right down into your eyes with an intensity he can physically feel pounding in his chest as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into the tightest of hugs.

“Oof, okay. It’s - Steve, it’s okay, really,” you murmur into his chest.

He squeezes you even tighter as he buries his face into your shoulder.

God, what right did he have to feel jealous, for even just the briefest of moments, when the truth of your hidden grief had just been a simple story away? How had it never once occurred to him what your fate was? To have decades and centuries and millennia pass you by, watching the ones around you grow and fade into obscurity.

“I’m sorry.”

He can feel you pull back slightly, but his arms are secured around your waist so you don’t get very far.

“For what?”

Steve lifts his head just so he can see your face properly.

“For everything, I suppose.”

Your lips quirk up into a small smile.

“I don’t think you need to apologize for anything like that, Rogers. You’re too good of a friend.”

Something halts in his chest, for just a beat of his heart, before it restarts once again. There were so many things he wanted to tell you, to reveal to you. But now was certainly not the time. So, he gives you another squeeze before he fully releases you from the embrace.

“Yeah, I could say the same about you too, you know?” he quips.

Even though his arms are no longer around you, you remain exactly where you stand.

“As much as I miss the anonymity of my past cover. And as mad as I was at Nick and, well, Thor actually, for breaking my cover. It’s nice, sometimes, to know that I don’t have to hide my true identity from you; the team, I mean.”

“But,” you add with a pointed finger. “I’m still not thrilled about the knock-off toys.”

Steve chuckles, tucking his hands back into his pockets, “Try having your face on collectible trading cards. And comics, and lunch pails. And, well, pretty much anything you can imagine.”

Your smile breaks free as you look up at him, “Well, if it hasn’t already been done I’m sure Tony will trademark it soon enough. Ooh, speaking of which - ” you look toward the door, “I should probably…”

“Yeah,” he says with a sad smile.

You make it a few steps away, hand on the door before you turn back to him.

“And Steve? Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

With a parting smile, you disappear into the hallway and down the stairs. Steve wants to smack himself as soon as you’re out of sight.

Thor has not returned by nightfall. Not that you were expecting him to, but the others do seem concerned by it. At least Bruce felt comfortable enough to wander back into the house before the stars came out, possibly lured by the smell of food simmering on the stove.

The pickings were slim, considering you hadn’t been to the house in almost a year now. But your pantry had been well-stocked with canned items just for an occasion like this. It was a simple stew, but it would be filling.

Steve’s been hovering close, ever since the encounter with Tony earlier that afternoon. So, you don’t fault the supersoldier when he offers to help out with the meal prepping. At least it was giving you both something to do while you tried to lull over the thought of what next currently circulating through everyone's heads.

Clint and Natasha wander down just before the food is served, both of them appearing rested and clear-headed.

“Smells good,” the redhead comments as she slips past you to grab a bowl for herself.

“I can only hope it tastes half as good as it smells,” you offer in return as you finish ladling up another bowl for Clint.

“I mean, I could kill for a pizza right about now. But I’m not gonna say no to free food,” the archer smirks as he moves to join Bruce and Natasha at the table.

It’s only when the six of you are seated at the table in the kitchen, either inhaling your food like starved animals or too distraught to do much more than push the stew around with your spoons, that Tony begins the dreaded conversation.

“Alright, let’s get it out,” he sighs, pushing away his barely touched dinner. “What’re we gonna do about this?”

“Do we?” Bruce questions, carefully looking up from his bowl. “I mean, do we need to do anything about it? Outside of the scepter, I mean.”

“And the Abomination?” you question.

“The what?” his eyes widen.

Oh, shit.

“No one told you,” you realize.

“Uh, yeah. That would have been… what happened there?”

“Yeah, actually,” Tony interjects, turning an accusatory tone toward you.

You stare down at your food for a moment before you push it into the center of the table, resting your arms upon the wooden surface as you gather your strength.

“Blonsky was spotted in London just after you left. Sam and I went in to deal with him. Legion drones came in and subdued him, which made us think, and assume, that they must have been sent in by Stark - ”

“Which, why the hell would I do that?” he questions with an incredulous voice.

“I made an incorrect assessment,” you fix your gaze upon the billionaire. “We set up a transfer with the acting commander and that was that. But… obviously, we were played. By Ultron.”

“Obviously,” Tony clucks.

Steve drops his spoon, making it clatter against the bowl as he glares at Tony. The billionaire quirks his lips but otherwise keeps his mouth shut.

“Back at the tower, we encountered the male mutant who was working with Rumlow.”

You can feel the supersoldier’s attention on your face, but you choose to ignore it, just in favor of getting the rest of the story out.

“A rogue bot came in, freed the rest, and from there the tower was in chaos leading to its collapse.”

“You saw the other mutant?” Natasha questions around a mouthful of food. With a nod from you, she continues her train of thought, “So, they’re both working with Ultron.”

“Maria assumed they were being promised something from him. Security, protection. I’m not sure.”

“You know,” Clint starts. “For the supposed global peacekeeper he says he is, he’s dealing with a lot of unsavory people. I mean,” he begins ticking off his fingers. “We got Strucker, and an ex-HYDRA member, and two mutants, and maybe… what was his name?”

“The Abomination.”

“Yeah, him too,” he nods. “I mean, either this guy’s wiring is a little screwball or I’m missing something here.”

“But,” Steve clears his throat. “He did gain control over the situation in London, right? And those drones were actively assisting with the injured in the city.”

“Okay, so what’s his deal then? He’s helpful when he wants to be and evil when he doesn’t?” Bruce questions, tone increasing.

Tony taps his fingers against the table for several hectic beats, “Or, Katniss is right. We’re missing something. Something bigger. I mean - ” he quickly stands from his seat, just so he can begin pacing the length of the kitchen floor. “I’m a big bad robot. I want world peace and I think the guys that have been handling it are doing a crap job.”

“He did say he wants to eliminate us,” Natasha adds.

The billionaire hums, “So, he needs to get us out of the picture. That’s why he goes to Strucker - ”

“To get the information on Klaue and the vibranium,” Steve nods, seeing the picture opening up before him.

“But once he has that information, he doesn’t really need Strucker around,” you begin. “Unless… you need him to do something else for you? I mean, he still has the scepter at this point. But what would he need vibranium for exactly?”

“And where do the terror twins and the other two fit into this?” Clint wonders aloud.

There’s a beat of silence as everyone seems to contemplate the different scenarios.

“A distraction,” you realize. “You’re fighting one battle on one continent, I’m dealing with another on a separate continent. Before we can even regroup - ”

“There goes our meeting point,” Tony finishes.

Bruce huffs, “That’s great and all. Still doesn’t explain why the drones are actually helping people though.”

“Well, if his endgame is just to get rid of us but still remain an actual peacekeeper,” Steve ponders. “He’s got to have his hands in different pools, right?”

“And, uh, back to that global peacekeeper thing,” Bruce interrupts, pushing back in his chair to give himself a little more space from the rest of you. “Why is no one else saying it? He’s right.”

There’s a shattering silence that drapes itself over the dinner as you all stare at the doctor with varying forms of confusion and incredulousness on your faces.

“What?” he questions, a little too loudly. “I mean, he was right. You remember his little spiel at the tower, I’m… the Hulk… it’s a time bomb. You guys look at him and see an ally, but just look at Johannesburg right now.”

“Bruce,” Natasha begins to say, “That wasn’t - ”

“But it was me. All of that was me. And you!” He looks up at Tony. “You already had a failsafe made, just in case. I mean, thank God! Right? But do you have one for all of us, or am I just the special case?”

Tony, disturbingly enough, looks sheepish and nearly guilty when you turn your attention to him. Your eyes narrow at his sudden silence.

Wow. He did have something set for the rest of you.

“Man,” Clint snorts. “Are you actually siding with the thing that tried to kill us today? Cause, not a great take, gonna be honest.”

“Okay. Rage monster; one. Two destructive gods from another realm; there’s two. An assassin, a spy - ”

“Do you honestly want to finish that thought?” Clint’s attitude has fully changed as he now moves to push away from his chair.

“I mean, tell me I’m wrong here! Was today not just a sign of how fucked we are as a team? Raids on empty bases are one thing, man. But when shit is actually on the line, are we even close to being a cohesive force? Cause I don’t think we are!”

“This isn’t helping anything right now,” Steve placates.

Bruce sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“All I’m trying to get at is… what if this guy takes it from here for us? We… hang up the gloves and step away from it. Just… go back to being real people.”

Your eyes immediately land on Steve.

Was that not a conversation you two had shared right after the Battle of New York? The possibility of him ever returning to a normal existence? The man seated next to you would never be able to hang up the shield, to put that part of himself away and be a normal man. No, just like yourself, there was too much fight left in him to ever dream of that scenario.

“Yeah,” Tony grins. “That’s not happening.”

“Well, maybe I’d just like to be able to walk away from this,” Bruce finally admits.

With a knowing sigh, you offer him a gentle look. While you understood where the doctor was coming from with this line of thinking, you definitely could not agree. And you voice as much.

“AI, in itself, is unstable. Even the best-made artificial intelligence will never be superior to a human brain. The way an actual living person is able to connect ideas and things together will never be achieved by a technological form. I mean… look no further than Project Insight.”

At your words, Steve’s face is drawn with instant understanding.

“HYDRA may be different than Ultron, but who and what gets to decide what is or is not a threat? What if one day it decides half the planet is deemed a risk?” The supersoldier questions. “He can just make that call? I mean… we might not be the best suited, or even the most cohesive. But I trust that, in our hands, we will make the right judgment call.”

“Not sure if I could say the same about the T-800,” Clint drawls, glancing at Bruce.

“Okay, still doesn’t answer the main question though,” Tony sighs, rubbing his forehead with a tired hand. “What the hell are we gonna do about him?”

“Well,” Natasha starts. “First things first; we gotta stick together.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “No more splitting up, jumping on separate missions. He’s intelligent and he wants to use our basic instincts to have us go running at the first sign of trouble.”

“Oh, so we’re just going to ignore danger now?” Bruce questions.

You fix him with a look, “That’s not what I mean.”

Steve’s hand settles over your left wrist.

“All I mean by that,” you restart. “Is that we need to focus on the big threat, not the tiny ones. We need to figure out where Ultron - the one with the vibranium and the scepter - is currently. And then we need to figure out how exactly we’re going to take him down.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “Look, he took us down to buy himself more time. With us out of the way and his image turning favor with the public…”

Right, there was that entire side of the situation as well. One you had been aware of, but had been doing your best to ignore. Between the articles about an extravagant party from the Daily Bugle to the reports of drones saving London from a monstrous attack, the true nature of Ultron had never been shown to the general public. And distaste for you and the team had been steadily rising in the aftermath.

“And we still have to assume that he’s trying to access more than just vibranium,” Steve mulls. “Hill said he was trying to go after weapons factories and launch codes.”

“But he hasn’t gotten them?” Natasha questions with an arched brow.

Tony scoffs, “I cracked the Pentagon’s firewall in high school, on a dare.”

Steve fixes the billionaire with a look.

“So, what’s stopping him then?” Clint ponders.

You all sit on that thought for a moment longer.

“Well, something or someone has to be doing something. If he wanted that information, he’d have it in an instant unless something was circumventing him.”

Tony clicks his tongue, “I should probably call someone about that, actually.”

He gestures at the hallway where your rotary phone resides and you ultimately nod your head. You watch him disappear around the corner before the conversation at the table picks back up.

“I’m a robot,” Clint starts. “I want a team of superheroes dead. I have an alien scepter that can make anyone do my bidding, but I also want vibranium.” He rocks back in his chair, pillowing his head with his arms as he stares up at the ceiling. “Why do I need the vibranium?”

“Strongest metal on Earth” you add, chancing a glance at Steve.

The supersoldier hums in reply, clearly stewing over that same line of thinking.

Bruce sighs, pushing away from the table to take his empty bowl to the sink, “Whatever way you slice it, he’s looking for a way to end us. He thinks he’s better than us and that whatever we do, he can do it in an entirely superior way.”

“And he has a robotic army at his disposal,” Natasha adds, kicking her boots up onto Tony’s vacated seat.

The questions simmer for a moment, then two, before Steve raps his knuckles against the table.

“Did you guys notice, when we faced him on the ship, that he was harder to take down than at the tower?”

The redhead nods, “He’d had repairs done too.”

“Yeah, he was way more metal than the last version,” Clint snorts, resting his hand on the back of Natasha’s chair.

You blink, finally seeing the picture coming together from a handful of mismatched puzzle pieces.

“So, you’re saying the bot you faced had been… upgraded?”

Your eyes meet Steve’s as he offers you a nod.

“I’m a superior intelligence,” you say, standing from your chair. “I see what humans and gods and other creatures are doing to try and protect the world, but I know how to do it better.”

You begin pacing as the thoughts blur together into a single line of musical notes, all ringing crystal clear in your head. You follow after the melody.

“But I can’t do it in my current form. I need… I need vibranium. It’s strong, it can go blow to blow with their best. But… I’m still not physically at a point where I can take them down. I need… I need…”

The word slips free from your thoughts before you can speak it.

And as you turn to the others, hoping they’ve caught on to your line of thinking, you find three curious faces looking back at you. But Bruce… Bruce is staring at the framed creatures near the kitchen window.

The perfectly displayed Libythea cinyras, the Xerces blue, the delicate Urania sloanus. Now extinct butterflies that you had managed to find and preserve so very long, long ago.

The doctor’s wide eyes meet your knowing face.

“He needs to evolve.”

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#steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel fan fic #series: shameless wonder #my fic

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ghostwise · 3 months ago

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Matacuervos, ch. 6 - The friend at midnight 3.3k words - cw: death, canon-typical violence, discussion of childhood trauma, slavery, and child abuse Zevran reels from a revelation about his past. Things do not go according to plan. The night ends with an unexpected visit. Read update on AO3 - Read from ch. 1 on AO3

It was in the Brecilian Forest where Zevran first told Hamal about his parents.

All of it. The whole sordid story. The dead whore mom with her Dalish gloves. The unfaithful father. A childhood of lice, abuse, and malnourishment at the hands of the Crows. But the telling felt right somehow, there in those groves where Clan Sabrae had brought up young Mahariel.

If Hamal’s own troubled past was in that frigid landscape, Zevran’s legacy of sorrow could come and intertwine with it. Perhaps both would find some measure of comfort then.

And so the pines caught up every secret in their needles. The story sank into the damp and mossy earth.

Zevran had not thought of his past since, and he didn’t plan to start now.

The payment that undid your father.

Over the course of an hour, Gloria Amilcar betrayed every single thing she knew about El milagro’s business with the Crows, including the contract that had led to Zevran’s orphaning. It turned out that his mother needn’t have been a widow. His father had been, contrary to what he’d always believed, a good man.

Or had he?

More than likely the words were just a ploy the woman was using to throw Zevran off his guard. That wasn’t hard to believe; it had worked so well, after all, as he worried and plucked at her story over and over again in his mind.

The payment that undid your father.

Had his past all been a lie?

It made no difference. He shut his eyes and pushed the question away.

Sra. Amilcar sat at her desk all the while. It was not just about his parents; with a dagger at her throat, Zevran had cajoled a wealth of information from her, including Crow contracts dating back thirty years, not to mention plenty of material he could use as blackmail against powerful men throughout the country, if the need ever arose.

She looked up at Zevran, her eyes wide.

“So now I’ve told you everything I know. You won’t kill me?”

“I haven’t decided.” Zevran aimed a half-hearted glare at her. “Do as I’ve asked, then we’ll see.”

She nodded grimly and got up.

It was late, and the brothel sang with activity. Sra. Amilcar’s absence had not been noticed, for the hosts were busy collecting payment and escorting guests up to dingy rooms. Bawdy lyrics resonated as she and Zevran exited down the hall, past all the revelry. The back door was through the washroom, which was cramped, hot, and muggy even with the windows open.

The light that spilled out onto the street was golden, but the air outside was all silver, and clouds had rolled in from the east.

Zevran marched the woman towards the apartments. An uncharacteristic silence struck him as they approached. The lively voices from before were gone. Where was everyone?

“Stay here,” he said, slowing to a stop. “Don’t move. If you run, I will catch you within ten paces.”

Warning issued, he crept forward, scanning the nearby alley. There were several sets of footprints in the dirt, leading away from the apartment. An uneasy feeling gripped him. But before he could investigate, the door to the apartment opened to a darkness from which a slight figure stepped out.

“Help!” Gloria shouted, and she stumbled forward as if pulled in by the sight of that figure. “Nadia! Help me! He aims to kill me!”

Zevran whirled around. Sra. Amilcar’s voice cut off in a muffled scream, as Hamal had snuck up beside her, and clamped his hand over her mouth, silencing her.

“Now, now,” Zevran scolded. “I thought we had an understanding.”

Nadia made no move to reach for Sra. Amilcar, nor did she run for help. Instead she regarded the older woman with a loaded gaze, her eyes carrying something deeper than betrayal.

“Is it true, Gloria?” she asked softly.

Zevran looked at her.

Just a hundred yards away, El milagro stood apart, humble and self-contained, floating in a world where pain and sorrow could be vanquished—albeit, temporarily, and for a set price. But here, in the moonless night, Gloria Amilcar stood face to face with every sin she’d ever committed against her fellows in exchange for a comfortable wage.

“How many?” Nadia asked. “How long?”

It was too much. Amilcar went limp in Hamal’s arms.

“Shit! Did I suffocate her?”

“She’s just fainted. Perhaps she finally felt something for the children she’s delivered to their deaths over the years,” Zevran said without any sympathy. More importantly, he was surprised by Nadia; by both her unexpected appearance and her help.

“Bring her inside,” Nadia said in Antivan. “We’re not on a busy street exactly, but we are hardly away from prying eyes.”

Zevran raised a brow, looking at Hamal for some guidance.

“Long story, but I had to tell her the truth,” Hamal explained hurriedly. “Took a bit of luck and a fucking complicated game of charades, but I think I explained the situation. She made sure the children were safe. They’re not here, Zevran,” he added, as he carried Sra. Amilcar into the building. “Nadia took them away. She will be contacting the guard.”

Zevran blinked. That had not been the plan.

“Then I can only be thankful,” he said in Antivan. “To you both.”

What a mess this all was. As they entered the building, Zevran wished he could confer with Hamal in private; tell him what he had learned, plan what they should do next. He had hoped to compel Sra. Amilcar into luring the slaver into an ambush. That was becoming more difficult by the minute.

As for the apartment, it still smelled familiar, like dust and mold and absence, like the black spot in the corner of the room, which had grown in size since he’d lived here as a boy. Zevran cast a quick glance around, noting the toys strewn on the floor, and a pile of books on the table, with titles like El gato con botas and El flautista de Hamelin. The windows hosted a pair of floral curtains.

Hamal laid Sra. Amilcar on the floor, resting her head on one of the soft plush toys.

“My husband tells me you orchestrated an evacuation,” Zevran said, turning to face Nadia. He gave a curt nod, feeling strangely awkward and unlike himself. “Thank you. We… could not have done it on our own. However, I cannot help but wonder… my husband is a stranger to you. Yet, you agreed to help so readily. Why?”

“It must seem odd,” Nadia admitted. “But I suppose… it’s because I remembered the day you went away, Zevran.”

“Me?”

She paused to give him a proper look, curious and lingering. “Yes. It never sat right with me, you know. Even though we were told the orphaned children were going somewhere better—it never sat right with me! Children should not be sent off without a goodbye or a kind word! And knowing what I know now…” She sighed. “Adelmar was heartbroken. We found out you and the others were gone only when we came to read to you the next day. So what if you were orphans? You were—in a small way, you still are—ours.”

“Ah,” Zevran said, struck by the idea that he had ever been anyone’s.

“Do you remember Adelmar?” Nadia asked.

Zevran thought about it. Nadia and Adelmar had been so kind to him and to the others—of course he remembered. Their visits were one of the few good things he experienced in those years. It hadn’t all been cruel.

“Of course I remember her,” Zevran answered. “I remember you, too.”

“That’s why I helped. Because we loved you. And you love him.” She looked at Hamal with certainty. “So we’ve never met. But we’re still kin. Of a sort.”

Such sweetness seemed out of place here. Zevran glanced up at the molded corner of the ceiling.

“I’m glad,” he said softly. “Because someone is going to knock at that door any minute now. And I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything!” Nadia said earnestly.

“I need you to leave.”

She hesitated. Zevran could see her deliberate over her situation, before speaking.

“I know what I am getting into,” she said carefully. “I know we are talking about slavers here. You think me naive? In my line of work? Violence and abuse are no strangers to me. I face danger often. And forgive me, but this very much involves me. It involved me even before I knew what was happening, right under our noses.”

“Crows,” Gloria croaked out, half-conscious, from her spot on the floor.

“Gag her,” Zevran snapped at the interruption, and Hamal pulled off one of his gloves to do so—but Sra. Amilcar spat the words as quickly as she could with all her meek strength.

“He’s a Crow, Nadia! I will not help them! He’s the dangerous one-!”

And now came a litmus test Zevran knew well. Though he wished he didn’t.

In the past, revealing his status as a Crow had been an occasional risk he dealt with by killing a person or buying their silence. Now it was a half-truth that could only hurt an already delicate situation. His shoulders tensed, and Hamal exchanged a frantic look with him—he’d do whatever he was told, this Zevran knew. But he really hoped they would not have to restrain Nadia too.

“Is that true?” Nadia asked.

Zevran looked at her evenly. “We haven’t lied to you.”

Nadia’s eyes darted low, then back to him, but each look was tenuous, as if she was struggling to keep him in her view. As if she were reconsidering all those words about kin and memories.

“You are a Crow?” she asked again.

“No! Not anymore, I swear it! And the less you know, the better, believe me.” Zevran urged her further, “But it is all the more reason you must leave! Forget you saw us! Tell no one!”

Nadia shut her eyes.

All too quickly, their time was up. Three heavy knocks sounded at the door.

“Please,” Zevran whispered. “Run. Hide upstairs. Do anything else. You took the children to safety, you’ve already done your part.”

Zevran grit his teeth. At this rate, he would lose his chance.

“Fuck it,” Nadia said at last with a sigh. “I believe you, Zevran. But I will not leave, and you haven’t the time to argue. Let me help! At the very least we owe each other that!”

Fuck it was right.

Despite his best efforts here Zevran was again, helpless against the whims of fate. It wasn’t what he’d planned. But he was flexible.

He wore a placid smile as he stepped through the door to meet the man.

“Good evening, serah. You were expected.”

It was a Crow talent to read your target as quickly as possible in just a few seconds. A cursory glance told Zevran a lot already. The man at the door hesitated. He didn’t answer right away, so it was likely had had been expecting to meet Sra. Amilcar, which meant he was already on the defensive. And he was dressed in comfortable, common clothing, covered with a shawl, so it was likely he was armed.

There was no mistaking it. This was the man who’d taken him and the other children, all those years ago.

Older and greyer, but it was him.

And he didn’t recognize Zevran.

“Good evening,” the man returned, and he eyed Zevran briefly before glancing away. “I’ve a meeting with the lady of the house.”

“She is otherwise disposed,” Zevran said warmly, knowing very well that in that moment Hamal had restrained her, and was bringing her upstairs. He would be at one of the upstairs windows in probably two minutes’ time. A lot could happen in two minutes. “I will be helping you tonight. Won’t you come in?”

“I only meet with her,” the man said, painting the words with an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry to hear she’s not available. Perhaps it’s best I come back another day. You her secretary or something?”

“That’s right,” Zevran said. “I am Amrit, her secretary. Surely she informed you of my recent hiring? She is ill, and she apologizes, but I assure you there is no need to reschedule. I am more than capable of managing our business, despite appearances. Won’t you come in?”

The man regarded him, unconvinced, but not threatened yet.

“I really do regret hearing of her illness,” he said at last. “Have her send word when she is better. I will return then.” He turned and began walking back towards the carriage.

“But our agreement!” Zevran hurried after him in the unguarded fashion of an angry man who had very little understanding of his circumstance. “Please! Sr. Rossi will have my head!”

“That so?” The man grunted, pausing at the front of the carriage. “Not my business. Anyway, I’m not walking back the deal. Just waiting to talk to the lady in charge. You understand. Delicate business, this is.”

“What does it matter who you deal with, so long as you get what you need?”

“I suppose you want me to hand all that money straight to your hands, elf?” He gave a dry chuckle. “But do not worry! If what you say is true, then we’ll talk again soon.” He paused and gave him what was no doubt meant to be a lecherous smile. “Maybe we could talk alone then, you and I. Being as you are such an enterprising young man we could work out an agreement of our own. What do you say?”

The suggestion did not escape Zevran, and he nearly bristled; once he would have leaned into it, using it to manipulate his target, but it was all too crass in these circumstances.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “that won’t work for me.”

It was time for a more direct approach. Not willing to let his target escape, Zevran drew his dagger and aimed a kick at the back of the man’s knee, knocking him down. The man fell against the carriage and steadied himself against one of the wheels. Regaining his balance and drawing a shortsword from beneath his shawl, he stepped towards him.

“You little elven whore!” he spat.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Zevran returned, easily parrying a strike from the man’s blade. He had the advantage as far as his eyesight was concerned; every small detail of his enemy was clear as day to him. But he had no idea what Hamal or Nadia were up to. Only that Hamal would be upstairs any moment now, and Nadia, Maker willing, was flanking their position to get to the carriage unnoticed.

It was clear that the man was familiar with his weapon, but not often called upon to use it. Each strike was just ever so slightly unpracticed. He tried again and again to land a blow upon Zevran, without success, and as he was an older man, having been in this cruel business for over thirty years, he tired quickly.

After trying and failing to disarm Zevran, he made a sudden dash onto the carriage, and took the reins into his hands. But Nadia had done her part with shocking efficiency; they hung from his grip uselessly, and he looked at Zevran with wide-eyed fury.

“You’re dead, Amrit. I’ll gut you quick!”

“Try!”

“Don’t touch him!” Nadia hissed.

The rest of the pieces fell into place. Nadia appeared from the opposite side of the carriage, having climbed up to ambush the man after cutting the horse’s reins. She grabbed her enemy with surprising efficacy—clearly she knew how to incapacitate a violent man—and as Zevran disarmed him, she pinned his arms from behind, and pressed a borrowed dagger against his throat.

The man stood stock still, glaring up at Zevran.

The scuffle had been short, but not effortless. Zevran’s wrists ached from the strength he’d needed to deflect each attack. He climbed up onto the carriage in order to regard the man more closely.

Here was the beast who’d stolen so many of Rialto’s children, who had been selling them for decades, to the Crows and who knows what else.

“Clever. What now?” the man asked. “You cut my throat and rob me?”

“Ah-ah,” Zevran said. “Not so easy, I’m afraid.”

The man spat at him. Saliva landed on his cheek, and though Nadia tightened her hold on the dagger, Zevran retorted with a calm smile.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said, grabbing the cut reins so as to bind his hands together. “We have much to discuss.”

He hadn’t taken him for a mage.

A blast of energy exuded from the man, briefly occluding Zevran’s senses; in that moment he couldn’t see, speak, or hear, and he certainly couldn’t move or react.

He’d experienced something similar before, in Ferelden, only that time it had been Morrigan unleashing her magic upon their enemies, stunning them. Maker, he missed having a mage on his side.

The mage leapt off the carriage, pushing Nadia off and onto the ground on the way. He’d incapacitated his own horse in the attempt to escape, so he made a run for it, boots striking the cobblestones in a relentless pace.

Zevran came to his senses with a throbbing headache. He let out a shout as he saw the man already far down the street, headed towards the brothel.

“Hey!”

Nadia whimpered from where she had fallen. Hamal must have made it to the window, for an arrow zipped overhead with a characteristic whistle. Zevran did not doubt Hamal’s aim; he was a gifted archer, but that was the problem. The arrow struck with enough force to knock the man off his feet. Zevran cursed.

It gave him a feeling that the whole situation was unraveling. An ugly pit grew in his stomach—fear of retribution, perhaps an old response from growing up in the Crows—and worse still, as Zevran ran after the man, another figure rounded the corner, limping along with her cane.

“Amrit?” Rocio asked, seeing him.

Where had she come from? She must have followed them, Zevran realized. In fact, she must have had hurried all the way across Rialto to get here. She had come, not knowing how fate had worked its mysteries in order to bring them all here: Zevran, Hamal, Rocio, Nadia, Gloria, and this loathsome man at the center of the web. But Rocio was so much like him, after all, so how could Zevran truly be surprised?

Her eyes traveled to the injured slaver, now at her feet. Her expression shifted to one of horrified recognition.

“It’s you.”

“Get away from him, Rocio!”

“I remember you,” Rocio said. “Do you remember me?”

The man looked up at her, bleeding. He didn’t have a chance to answer before she swung her cane in a shining arc, and struck him on his skull. The man cried out in pain.

Zevran urged his stunned body to carry him closer to the scene.

Rocio had stumbled onto the ground, thrown off balance by the ferocity of her own attack. She struck the slaver again and again with her cane. The blood pooling around him did not deter her in the slightest.

Zevran had underestimated her. He’d left a crucial clue, by omission, tipping her off to the exact location where he suspected the next group of children would be taken from.

“Bastard!” Rocio cried. She seemed to only grow angrier with each blow. “Son of a bitch! You will never—take another one—again!”

Finally, Zevran knelt before her, watching his chance of getting answers vanish. But he could hardly be upset about it.

Somehow in the gleaming moonlight, the sight of Rocio’s vengeance was too stark and beautiful. A well deserved victory, and a catharsis that brought tears to Zevran’s burning eyes.

#rinnywrites #dragon age #dao #zevran arainai #zevran x warden #mahariel #oc: hamal mahariel #finally updating after turning much of my energy to other things these past couple of months :)

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