#almost drew this but it would have taken ten years

[punkshort]

Back to You

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: The stars never aligned for you and Dave growing up. You never thought you'd see him again once he went to college and joined the C.I.A., but one fateful day brings him back into your life - or more specifically, your husband's life.

Warnings: language, violence, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, heavy on the possessive behavior, jealousy, infidelity, a glimmer of dark!dave but in a obsessive, madly in love kind of way, graphic domestic abuse

WC: 10.8K

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Pain seared across your eyes, over the bridge of your nose and thrummed steadily against the top of your skull. The door was locked and you heard his car peel out of the driveway, but you laid curled up on the bathroom floor, body trembling in fear, still anticipating the sound of his heavy footsteps to clamber back up the stairs.

How the hell did you let it get to that point? How did you allow this to happen?

You had a bad habit of falling back into old memories whenever Mike hit you. You always wondered where you went wrong and what you could have done differently. Now? It felt like there was no escape. Even if you ran away, where would you go? He could find you anywhere. He told you that, once. And if he were just some run of the mill, blue-collar drunk, you wouldn't have believed him.

It was maybe ten years ago when he accidentally left the door to his office in the basement unlocked. You were doing laundry and saw the door was cracked, so you poked your head inside. He had told you before that it was nothing special, that it was just a quiet place for him to focus on work. He said he locked the door because the equipment on loan from his office was expensive and he couldn't risk anything happening to it. But what you saw was... not the type of equipment a man in finance would need.

Weapons were perched on the walls, sparkling clean and ready for use. You couldn't count how many computer monitors were mounted on the back wall, how many hidden cameras were placed around your home. But what drew your attention the most were the monitors that displayed a view from another house. Or, houses, as you would come to learn later.

His desk had high-tech looking equipment, tactical gear, files on men in a foreign language. Ten different cell phones were stashed away in a drawer along with countless fake passports and a whole duffel bag filled with a mix of foreign currency.

Mike was not the man he claimed to be.

And when he caught you snooping in his office, that was the first night he hurt you. Really hurt you.

You met him when you were a teenager, taken by the fact that he was a couple years older and seemingly wiser. Youth and naivety kept you from seeing who he really was. He was rough and possessive, but you thought you liked it. Before you knew it, he had proposed to you and almost fifteen years later, you were stuck in not only a loveless marriage, but a violent marriage.

And you had no way out. No means of escape.

When you finally stopped shaking, you stood to gather some ice for your face, pressing it tenderly against the bruises when the same inevitable thought crossed your mind:

Dave never would have done this.

Dave York. The boy who grew up next door to you. Who you went to school with all through high school. The boy you had a painful crush on for as long as you could remember, but who only saw you as just a good friend. Someone to hang out with over the summer. Someone to tag along with to the movies when he was bored. Someone to ride bikes with all over the neighborhood. Someone who gave you your first kiss after he convinced you to sneak out in the middle of the night but then made you swear not to tell anyone.

You had convinced yourself the kiss had meant nothing to him. Why would it, if he made you promise not to say anything? It broke your heart, but the idea of losing Dave as a friend hurt more, so you kept your mouth shut and pretended it never happened.

And you were okay with it. For a while. When you were eighteen, you met Mike, and for the first time, you had feelings for someone else other than Dave.

You were so excited to introduce them. Your closest friend meeting your first real boyfriend. But, of course, they clashed the moment they were introduced. Like two animals who sniffed each other out, they knew the other was bad news and from then on, things changed.

Mike asked that you didn't see Dave as much. It felt like being torn in two, but Dave was already applying to colleges out of state anyway, and it didn't take long until he was accepted.

Against Mike's wishes, you went to Dave's going away party. Alone. It was that day when Dave pulled you aside and confessed his feelings for you. Told you he was in love with you and begged you to come with him. Said that you had so much potential that you would just be wasting if you stayed home, with Mike. That he could take care of you.

And foolishly, you turned him down. At the time, you had convinced yourself what you had with Mike was real. He didn't try to hide you the way Dave did. He proudly had you on his arm from day one.

So, you made the biggest mistake of your life. You said no. Accused him of being jealous and ran home to Mike.

When Mike found out where you had been, he grabbed you by the throat and pushed you up against the wall. Spit obscenities in your face and told you never to lie to him again.

The next morning, he apologized. Said he had been drinking, that it would never happen again. You believed him, and he didn't do anything for another year. After that, the aggression slowly built up. It started with the verbal abuse, the accusations, and the lies. Then he grew more physical.

There wasn't one particular day when it all changed, it was a slow progression, but stumbling across his private office was certainly a bad day. The physical abuse was always linked with something big. Something big and terrible that you felt you did wrong. Over the years, that changed, too.

And now, present day, anything could set him off.

That particular evening, you had burnt the chicken for dinner, so he backhanded you across the jaw before grabbing you by the back of the neck and slamming your face into the refrigerator.

No, Dave York certainly would never have treated you that way. Your life could have been completely different had you not turned him down.

Little did you know, you would find out exactly how different soon enough.

You stared blankly at your computer, one eye still swollen but hidden pretty damn well under a thick layer of your best concealer. Thank god it was a slow day. Even if you didn't get much sleep the night before, allowing yourself to rest by pretending to work was enough to make you feel a little better.

The double espresso in your latte didn't hurt, either.

You had managed to become an expert at faking being busy at work. Zoning out was your speciality. So much so that you hardly heard the front doors of the bank swing open and shut, and only faintly heard the quiet tap of dress shoes on the tile making their way towards your general direction.

"Excuse me?"

Your body jumped at his voice, startling you out of your daydream. With your heart hammering in your chest, you narrowed your eyes at your computer, hoping to convey the look of someone deep in the middle of a very serious work issue.

"Sorry. Have a seat, I'll be right with you," you said without looking up. If you gave up your fake task too quickly, it would prove you weren't really working, so you opened up a few random files and pretended to jot down some notes, some random numbers and names, before clearing your throat and finally giving the man across from you your full attention.

Your jaw dropped. Heart plummeted to your stomach. Body rigid with shock.

It was him. It was Dave York. After fifteen years and never laying eyes on him, you could still pick him out of lineup. Those deep, brown eyes. Thick, slightly wavy hair. Chiseled jaw and angular nose. He was unmistakable.

"H-hi," you stammered, feeling your face warm instantly at your weak greeting. He just cocked his head at you, confused. Then you grew even more uncomfortable when it became clear he didn't recognize you.

You pointed meekly to your name tag, his eyes following your finger and watching as his face slowly filled with recognition.

What you had hoped would be a warm welcome turned out to only be a tight lipped smile and nod.

"Oh. Didn't realize it was you."

You waved him off and briefly looked back at your screen, unable to stand the embarrassment.

"How have you been, Dave?" you asked, pulling your focus away from your computer and back onto him. "Are you home visiting your family? Oh... it's your father's birthday next week, right?"

Something shifted behind his eyes. Something softer. Like he was taken aback but trying to hide it. Your suspicion was correct when he stumbled over his next words, the confidence and cool demeanor he strolled in with temporarily gone.

"How - you remember that?"

You nodded. "Of course, I do. How could I forget?"

The day Dave's father passed away, it was raining. Not just raining, but down pouring. Streets were flooding and everyone stayed huddled in their homes, safe and dry.

But not you.

When you heard the news, you had rushed to the abandoned tree house by the train tracks two blocks from your home. It was a safe place for you both. Whenever your parents were fighting, Dave would find you there. And when Dave's father got sick, you would find him there, too. You had scrambled up the wooden ladder, sheets of rain pelting your face, cascading down your shoulders and soaking through your thin raincoat. But when you hurried into the treehouse and found him, huddled and shaking in the corner with tears streaking down his cheeks, you forgot all about your discomfort. You rushed to him, pulled him into your arms and let him cry against your chest for an hour without saying a single word. The only noise was the distant rumble of thunder and the steady sound of harsh raindrops pelting the wooden roof.

You were both sixteen at the time.

Dave blinked and cleared his throat, shaking off the sudden warmth that filled his chest.

"No. I'm here on business."

He pulled out his badge from his suit coat and your eyebrows raised in surprise.

"C.I.A?" you said, "Wow. I mean, I thought I had heard something-"

"Need you to look up a couple accounts for me."

You clamped your mouth shut, trying to hide your dejection by looking across the lobby floor, but his icy tone and steely demeanor stung. You couldn't blame him, really, given how things ended the last time you saw each other, but you had held out hope that he had forgiven you at some point in the past fifteen years.

Seemed as though you were wrong.

"Y-yeah, sure. That - I can do that," you said, straightening up in your chair, determined to keep things purely professional, same as him. "What are the names and socials?"

He didn't even pull out a file or notepad, he had them memorized so he could keep his eyes locked on your face, studying you, watching for any glimmer of recognition or surprise when he told you the names.

"James Victor Turner."

You typed away on your keyboard, completely unphased by the name, much to his relief. He rattled off the social security number and waited a moment until you found the right person.

"Do you want me to email the account detail or something? That's usually what the feds have us do," you asked, turning back to him. He let your words hang in the air for a moment, searching your eyes for any sign of deceit. Finally, he nodded and slid his card across your desk.

"Email's on there."

Your gaze jumped from his face to the card, noting immediately his cell number was listed, as well, and suddenly the thought of having his cell phone number filled you with a deep sort of comfort you couldn't explain.

He gave you three other names, and every time he waited for a shift in your brow, a flinch in your cheek, or for your breath to quicken in alarm, but every time you remained completely indifferent and calm. He had learned how to read body and facial tells in the academy. He was very fucking good at it.

These names meant nothing to you.

Thank fuck.

"Is that all?" you asked when you emailed the last file. You thought you hid your hopefulness from your voice, that maybe he would say no, let's get a drink, let's catch up. But instead, he nodded and muttered his thanks. Then leaned to the side to slide his wallet back into his pants.

"You taking care of yourself?" he asked casually as he went to stand. "Husband treating you right?"

Now that got a reaction. Your brows tilted slightly, your gaze shifted away and you swallowed nervously. It was then he felt his blood run cold in his veins.

He was very fucking good at reading body language.

"Yeah," was all you said, then pretended to read something in your email. Dave stalled, heart beginning to thunder in his chest when he noticed. How did he miss it before?

"What happened to your eye?"

Your lips briefly pressed into a thin line before you forced a fake smile.

"I was cleaning over the weekend and something fell from the top shelf of my bathroom. Some luck, huh?"

Your tone was practiced. Disarming. He saw right through it.

"What fell?"

"Huh?" you asked.

"What fell from the shelf?" he repeated, watching as you tried to hide the panic behind your eyes. You were used to people not questioning your rehearsed excuses.

"Um, it - I think it was toothpaste."

"Toothpaste caused a shiner like that?" he pushed. He had places to be. He had to report back in less than ten minutes with his findings. But he couldn't seem to give a shit.

"It was still in the box. The corner caught me just right," you replied smoothly, pleased with your quick thinking. Dave slowly nodded, deciding to drop it and not make your day even worse.

Besides, he knew all he needed to know, anyway.

His hands fidgeted at his sides. His gaze slid around the lobby while he tried to think of something else to say. You watched him curiously.

"My number's on the card-"

"I know," you replied, cutting him off. He met your eye and you gave him a small smile. He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded tightly.

"Don't be afraid to use it."

And before you could react, he was halfway across the lobby. When he disappeared through the doors, you looked back down at his business card. Your finger traced the blue numbers indented into the card stock, the small rectangle somehow acting like a talisman. Settling your nerves, calming you.

Dave York came back to you.

An entire week went by and your thoughts rarely drifted from Dave. Every time the doors opened at work, your head snapped up, hoping to see him again. When you laid in bed at night, your husband sometimes there, sometimes not, you would lay awake staring at the ceiling, thinking of him. Wondering what he was doing, where he was staying.

If he was thinking of you, too.

Friday was your anniversary. Mike had promised to be on his best behavior after feeding you apologies for his bad mood lately. It was always the same, you knew he wasn't actually sorry for what he said and did, but you smiled and forgave him all the same.

He had gotten a reservation at a French restaurant, and even though he knew French cuisine wasn't your favorite, you still tried to appreciate the gesture. You had gotten dressed up to celebrate. You wore a mauve dress with a slit up the leg and thin straps that rested delicately over your shoulders. The bruises from the weekend before had faded. Your hair actually cooperated. You were feeling rather good about yourself.

Until it became clear Mike had picked the restaurant for another reason.

His gaze shifted all over the room whenever he thought you weren't looking. He was waiting for someone, you thought. His fingers tapped mindlessly on the cloth covered table while you sipped your wine and picked at your food, doing your best to finish what he ordered for you, too scared to rock the boat.

"How long's it gonna take for you to eat?" he snapped quietly, so as not to cause a scene. You looked up in surprise, poised to answer, when you froze. Over his right shoulder at the bar sat Dave York, nursing a short glass of amber liquid. And his eyes were pinned directly on you.

Mike must not have liked how you took an extra moment to answer because his arm shot out to grab your wrist, fingertips going white from the pressure he was applying. You hissed, attention refocused on him and his hand, as you tried to squirm out of his grip. In the corner of your eye, you saw Dave stand, but he didn't make a move towards your table.

"I did something nice for you and you can't be bothered to pay me any attention? On our anniversary?" he seethed. You wanted to tell him his attention had been elsewhere the entire night, that you weren't stupid and you knew something else was going on, but you bit your tongue. As usual.

"I-I'm sorry," you stammered, giving your arm one quick yank backwards, pulling away from his grasp. "I'm just not that hungry. My stomach hurts."

"Which is it? Not hungry or your stomach hurts?"

You rubbed your wrist under the table and looked into his eyes. You saw the anger bubbling up, just under the surface, and you knew then and there how the rest of the evening was going to go.

"Both," you shot back with a clipped tone.

His eyes widened and he leaned forward, no doubt about to unleash every horrid threat he could think of under his breath when he spotted something or someone behind you. Whoever he was waiting for all evening finally showed up.

Mike stood from the table and buttoned his suit coat.

"I'll be right back. Just saw an old golfing buddy." Then he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, flexing the digits harshly into your skin, making you wince. "I suggest you finish your food. We're leaving when I get back."

Then he was gone.

Your chest heaved and you took a shaky sip from your glass, looking to calm your nerves. Your eyes darted back towards the bar, but Dave was no where to be seen. Your heart sank. Just as you were resigning yourself to another evening of being on the receiving end of Mike's anger, you felt a gentle brush against your arm.

"Bathroom," Dave muttered as he walked past, heading towards the back of the restaurant.

You didn't even think. You tossed your napkin onto the table, standing up so fast you nearly knocked over your chair to hurry after him. The restrooms were down a short hallway and around a corner. Soft, classical music drifted from the speakers above you, the only other sound besides the click of your heels against the hardwood floors. When you turned the corner, Dave's arm immediately shot out to wrap around your waist, pulling you quickly out of view of the dining room.

He had swiveled you around so your back was against the wall, just past the two doors leading into the restrooms. If anyone exited the bathrooms, they would see Dave's body caging you in, clear as day.

The thought made your pulse thrum steadily in your throat.

"You need to promise me something."

Dave's voice was urgent. Like he was pressed for time.

"Huh?" you asked dreamily, lost for a moment in the warmth rolling from his body and the cloud of his cologne, engulfing you.

He opened his mouth to speak, then annoyance flickered across his face. He yanked out a nearly invisible earpiece, letting it dangle over his collar, and your eyes widened.

"A-are you... working?"

"Promise me," Dave said, grabbing you by the arms and ignoring your question, "that tomorrow night, you won't be home. You need to go out in public. Preferably with friends or family."

"What? Why?" you asked fearfully. You were snapping out of the spell he had managed to put you under. Lust was being replaced with alarm. The hairs on the back of your neck were rising.

"And use a credit card once or twice," he continued, staring deep into your eyes. "Can you do that? Hm?"

Slowly, you found yourself nodding. You had a million questions but you didn't bother to ask - he wasn't going to answer them anyway.

"Good," he breathed, looking visibly relieved. His shoulders relaxed and he let his hands drop from your upper arms to your wrists. His eyes flickered down to where Mike had grabbed you, light blue circles already developing before your very eyes. Dave's jaw twitched. "Good girl," he murmured, dragging his thumb over one of the marks. Your breath stuttered and your knees went weak, the energy between you dissolving back into something else. Something hungrier.

When his eyes met yours again, you could tell he felt it, too.

You were certain you moved at the same time. You pushed off the wall and titled your chin up just as he took a step forward and wrapped his arms around your waist. Your lips met for the first time in almost twenty years and just like that, you felt transported back in time. Anybody could have come down that hall and seen you, including your husband, but in that brief moment, you were safe inside your treehouse again. You were in the arms of the man who had been there since the beginning. Who knew you better than your own husband.

"He won't come home tonight," Dave whispered once he tore himself away. But he didn't go far. His hand had risen to cup your cheek and his forehead pressed gently against yours as he spoke. "Keep yourself safe. Go home, lock the doors, don't leave until tomorrow."

"Okay," you replied shakily, hands coming to lay flat against his chest. You could feel his heart pounding just underneath.

"Tell me what you're going to do tomorrow," he demanded firmly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I'm going to go out with my friends. Somewhere public. And I'll use my credit card."

"Good," he breathed before kissing the tip of your nose. "When it's safe, I'll come get you."

"How?" you asked, gazing up into his dark brown eyes. They looked just as you remembered them. No longer were they cold and distant. Now, they were soft and warm and kind.

"I'll find you."

It was all he managed to say before you had to spring apart, the echo of footsteps tapping down the hall interrupting your moment. He turned away and pulled out his phone, pressing it against his ear as if he were taking a call. You ran your thumb under your lip, hoping to fix any smudges, and forced your feet to move past the other restaurant patron rounding the corner, back into the dining room. Away from Dave.

Even though there was definitely danger swirling somewhere around you, you knew you were safe, because Dave would be watching.

You didn't have many friends. Mike purposely made that difficult for you. But you did manage to have two friends from work who you occasionally went to dinner with or saw a movie together. So that was what you did. The three of you got dinner, where you used your credit card to pay, and then walked around the mall. One of your friends had a wedding coming up, so she dragged you from store to store as she hunted for the perfect dress. At one point towards the end of the night, you bought a tea with your card, claiming you felt a sore throat coming on.

Obsessively, you checked your phone. For what, you weren't exactly sure. Maybe a call from Mike, or something from Dave. You didn't give him your number but you had a feeling he had ways of finding that out for himself. But all evening, your phone remained silent. No texts. No calls. No news alerts. Nothing.

You dragged the night out as long as you could, but eventually your friends wanted to go home.

In the dark parking lot, you waved goodbye before turning in the direction of your parked car. It was almost eleven. That had to be enough time, right? Whatever it was Dave was trying to protect you from had to be over by then.

You fumbled for your keys in the dark, pulling them out of your purse nervously as you approached your car. You were all alone in that corner of the lot, but of course one sleek, black car had chosen to park right next to you.

You tried to keep your breathing steady as you approached, but right when you were a couple feet away from your bumper, the door to the black car swung open, startling you.

"It's me," a familiar, deep voice said. Then Dave stepped out of the car dressed in all black and your shoulders sagged.

"Oh, my god," you breathed, dragging in a ragged breath before leaning against your car. "You scared me."

Then you noticed a strange man unfurl himself from the passenger seat and you stiffened.

"It's alright," Dave assured you, glancing back at the other man for a moment. "This is Kovac. He's gonna drive your car to the hotel."

You furrowed your brow and clutched your keys to your chest.

"Why? Why can't I drive?"

Dave sighed as Kovac casually leaned against the trunk of your car and lit a cigarette.

"Because... I would prefer you drive with me. Just being extra cautious."

You considered it for a moment, looking around the empty parking lot as you shifted your weight from foot to foot until finally you relented and handed over your keys.

"I'll take good care of her," Kovac promised you, stubbing out his cigarette before unlocking your door and sliding into the driver's seat.

Dave rounded the front of his car and opened the passenger door for you. When you passed him, the scent of sweat and gunpowder flooded your senses. You slipped silently into the seat and he gently shut the door.

The hotel Dave took you to was not far away from the mall. You watched in the sideview mirror as Kovac tailed you both in your SUV.

"Don't you have any questions?" Dave finally asked, breaking the silence. You turned to look at him, his breathtaking side profile illuminated by the streetlights.

"I have probably a thousand."

"So... are you going to ask?"

You shook your head. "No. You wouldn't tell me, anyway."

The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement as he safely pulled into the hotel parking lot.

Kovac picked the spot directly next to Dave's car, turning off your SUV and joining the two of you in front of Dave's bumper.

"All set," he said, dropping the keys into Dave's palm.

Dave nodded and gave a subtle tilt of his chin towards another car parked a few spaces down. The headlights turned on and Kovac slipped into the front seat without another word or glance in your direction.

You looked up at the unassuming hotel as Dave led you into the lobby. It was middle of the road, average at best, affordable but not trashy. For some reason, you imagined Dave picking somewhere much swankier.

Dave immediately ushered you past the front desk and towards the rowdy sports bar just off the main entrance. He found a small, open spot against the bar and held out his hand.

"Give me the credit card you used earlier."

Without even questioning it, you handed it over. He bought your favorite drink and two shots of tequila, then handed it back to you. You smirked and pocketed it before taking the glass from him.

"How did you know my favorite drink?"

He shrugged and tossed back one of the shots. "Part of the job."

You took a sip from your glass, trying to hide your smile to no avail.

"I have to admit," you said, glancing around the crowded room. "This isn't the type of hotel I would have expected you to pick."

"No, it's not. But it's the type of hotel you would pick," he countered, fingers wrapping around the second shot of tequila. Your brows knit together in confusion while you watched him toss back the second shot. "C'mon. You don't have to finish that. Let's get you a room."

Your face fell, hoping he would have invited you to stay with him, but you quickly recovered. It had been so long since you had seen each other, and you were married, for fuckssake.

Not that it stopped him from kissing you in the restaurant the night before, but still.

Dave signaled for your card again when the receptionist was booking your room and you quickly handed it over. You rolled your head back and forth, working out the kinks in your neck while you waited. When she slid a piece of paper across the counter for you to sign, you did so as fast as possible. Dave's eyes lingered on your married name when the paper passed in front of him and he pursed his lips.

"Here's your key. Floor seven. Take a left when you get off the elevators and your room is around the bend," the receptionist said cheerily. You nodded your thanks and tucked away your card and receipt while you followed Dave to the elevators.

When you stepped into the car, Dave pressed the button for floor nine. You reached forward to press seven and he stopped you.

"The room's just part of the paper trail."

It took you a moment, but you caught up. Using your credit card at dinner, being with witnesses in a public setting, using your card at the bar and then again at the front desk. He was creating a rock solid alibi for whatever happened that night.

"Oh," you said softly, allowing your hand to drop back against your side.

Then, for the first time, Dave looked uncomfortable.

"Unless, of course, you want -"

"No," you said, cutting him off. "No, I want to be with you."

His eyes lit up but his mouth remained in a straight line.

"Okay, then."

You grinned and leaned next to him against the wall of the elevator, watching the little red numbers on the screen tick up, up, up, until it read nine.

"After you," Dave said, holding open the doors and ushering you out. You gave him a shy smile and stepped forward, then waited for him to lead the way. The entire walk down the hall felt like a fever dream. Your heart was pounding loudly in your ears with each muffled step against the worn out carpet. It was quiet, but when you passed by the other rooms, you could hear televisions playing or people laughing, completely oblivious to whatever it is you were about to do.

Dave tapped his plastic keycard against the sensor, the little light flashing from red to green with a loud click. When you entered his room, it was exactly like you had expected. Suits and shirts hanging carefully in the small, open closet by the bathroom. Suitcase laid out on the floor with his belongings neatly packed inside, not a single item out of place.

He flicked on another light and the lamps next to his king sized bed came to life, casting the deep green comforter and patterned rug in a warm glow.

That moment could have been awkward if you had given yourself a chance to take everything in, but your body moved faster than your mind. You swirled around and looped your arms around Dave's neck, pulling him down to your level, eager to feel the softness of his lips against your own again. And when his mouth crashed hungrily against yours, all of your questions and insecurities drifted away.

It should have felt wrong, being in the arms of a man that wasn't your husband, but not one shred of guilt entered your body. How could it, when his hands on your waist and his tongue slipping past your lips felt so good?

"Tell me you want me," Dave rasped in between feverish kisses. You took a step backwards towards the bed and he eagerly chased after you.

"You know I do," you whispered, head in a fog. His lips had dragged down to your chin, nipping there gently so as to give you a chance to speak. But words were hard to come by whenever you were in his orbit.

His fingers gripped your waist a little harder when he pulled away to look into your eyes.

"I need to hear it."

You slowly blinked up at him, both your chests rising and falling faster than a moment ago.

"I want you."

Dave swallowed and a muscle in his jaw jumped.

"More than him?"

Your knees went weak when you heard the possessive tone in his voice.

"Yes," you told him. He was already pushing you onto the bed, his mouth inches away from colliding with yours when you added, "I've always wanted you more than him."

He groaned into your mouth, a deep rumble you could feel in your own chest when you were trapped between the weight of him and the old mattress. You could taste the tequila on his tongue as he licked into your mouth with an urgency you didn't expect from a man who appeared so put together, and the thought of being the one to unravel him, to make him a little messier, thrilled you.

You whined impatiently when Dave pulled away from the kiss and shuffled back onto his knees.

"Need to see you," he mumbled, shaky fingers already working on the button of your jeans. You eagerly lifted your hips so he could strip them off with a grunt, then tossed your arms above your head when he pushed up the hem of your shirt.

His hands kept working, plucking at your underwear and bra, but he couldn't hold himself back from kissing you any longer, his tongue invading your mouth once again. The feel of his kiss grew more and more familiar with each passing second. You felt your bra come loose around your shoulders and middle, so you subtly shimmied underneath him, freeing yourself of the offensive fabric and letting it fall to the floor. His palm was on you in an instant, feeling the weight of your breast in his hand and rolling your nipple between his fingers before his eyes even had a chance to open and drink you in.

"You know how long I've been thinking about this?" he asked when your head tipped back towards the headboard, lungs filling with fresh air. His lips slowly dragged down the column of your throat, tongue flicking out occasionally to taste your skin. "Twenty years," he said, not waiting for you to answer. Your back arched and your fingers raised to get tangled in his hair. Nobody had ever spoken to you or touched you the way he did. It was intoxicating to be an object of his worship and desire. A small voice in the back of your mind wondered how you would be able to go back to your miserable life after that night, how you would be able to go on after experiencing Dave's lavish adoration like he didn't tilt your world on it's axis.

"You ever think about me?" he asked. His voice sounded a little sheepish, like he was trying to hide it, but you picked up on it. You lifted your hips when he slid your underwear down your legs with one hand and you said, "Yes. All the time. Especially-"

You cut yourself off with a bite to your lower lip. Dave's hands, which were in the process of caressing every soft curve of your now bare body, froze. His eyes met yours once again, searching them before he asked, "What?"

You shook your head and tried to pull him in for another kiss, but he resisted. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and his brows furrowed. He didn't like the idea of you holding something back. Not now. Not when he finally had you, after so long. He wanted all of you, the good and the bad.

"Tell me," he urged. He needed to know.

You sighed and averted your gaze. "Especially... on really bad days. Those days I stay up at night, waiting for the pain to go away, and I think about you. How you would never lay a finger on me like that."

His jaw tensed. Anger boiled hot through his veins at the thought of you cowering in your bed or bathroom, in pain and crying and thinking about him.

"Look at me," he said through clenched teeth. You took a deep breath and did what he asked, gazing up at him with watery eyes, trying your best to put on a brave face. "That will never happen again, do you understand? He will never hurt you again. It's over."

You gave him a weak smile and shook your head.

"He won't let me leave. I've tried, believe me, but-"

"You're not listening to me, sweetheart," Dave said, pinching your chin and holding your gaze, trying to do his best to convey his message without implicating you. "You're safe. It's over."

You opened your mouth to argue back and then you paused. You scanned his face and he watched you try to mentally connect the dots. What did that mean? Was Mike arrested?

"Do you understand?" he whispered softly. Slowly, you nodded, and his mouth pulled into a smile. "Good. Now-" Dave unzipped his coat and tossed it on top of your abandoned pile of clothes. He rolled on top of you, caging you in for one quick, heated kiss that took your breath away. When he pulled back, he had a playful look in his eye. It made you smile, your anguish quickly sweeping back into the furthest recesses of your mind. "Let me give you a better reason to think about me."

When he began to move down the bed so he could settle his broad shoulders between your legs, a bolt of anxiety shot through you. You leaned up on your elbows, eyes all wide and nervous, watching as he got comfortable. His hands wrapped firmly but tenderly around your thighs, grip strong so he could fight your instinct to clamp your legs shut.

"W-what are you doing?"

Dave looked up at you with surprise. His eyes flickered between your face and your glistening center, then back again.

"Do you not want me to?"

Your heart was racing so fast, you felt like you were floating. Having a man go down on you was certainly not something you were used to, but if you gave yourself any time at all to think, you would have realized Dave was the type of man willing to give you everything and anything you could ever want or need, including something selfless like that. Something just to make you feel good.

"I-I don't know. It's been a while..." you trailed off, cheeks warming with embarrassment. "It's not exactly something Mi-"

"Stop."

Your mouth snapped shut, wilting under the steely look in his eye.

"Don't say his name," Dave said gently, realizing he might have been a bit too harsh at first. You nodded, understanding, but remained silent. He took a steadying breath and started over. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do. But if being shy is the reason you don't want this, I won't accept that."

He looked up at you from between your legs, gaze heated as he tilted his chin slightly to brush his lips over the inside of your thigh. He maintained eye contact, watching you shudder from the sensation of his five o'clock shadow scraping your sensitive skin.

"What's it gonna be, baby?" he asked before doing the same to your other thigh. You gasped quietly and then swallowed before letting your legs fall open. Dave smirked.

"I want it."

Your voice was soft and meek. He wanted you to feel in control. He wanted you to know just how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger.

"Louder."

You dropped your chin to your chest, lips parted with anticipation as you watched his mouth hover over your mound. You could feel the heat from his exhale fan over you, making your cunt pulse around nothing.

"I want it," you said, voice firm, just as he asked. "I want you to make me feel good, Dave."

One corner of his mouth lifted and his eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Yes, ma'am."

Your eyes instantly rolled to the back of your head when he dragged his tongue through your folds for the first time. Fingers thread through Dave's dark hair as he licked at you again. Over and over and over until your head fell back and you collapsed into the plush pillow.

"Oh - fuck, Dave, that's -" you cut yourself off with a moan, head lolling to the side and eyes sliding shut. It felt too good. He was too good. His warm, strong tongue licked into you messily, flooding your body with rolling waves of pleasure you had never experienced before. Your muscles were limp, pliant and soft under his hands and mouth, allowing him to take and take as much as he wanted.

And he did.

You were helpless against him, helpless against the way he feasted between your legs, entirely at his mercy. Shaky fingers grappled for leverage in his hair but it was half-hearted, at best. Dave had reduced you to a whimpering puddle with every greedy lap of his tongue, and he loved it. He loved how soft you were for him, loved hearing sweet little moans filter past your lips. It was every one of his twenty years worth of wildest fantasies come true, and he couldn't be stopped.

When he pressed your thighs into your chest, tilting your hips to give him even better access to your cunt, you gasped his name. The sound made his cock throb painfully, still trapped behind too many layers of clothes. He rut his hips pathetically against the mattress, seeking just a sliver of relief as he continued to lick and kiss and bite at your folds. The roof could have been ripped off the building and he wouldn't have stopped. He was determined to memorize and map out every inch of you, draw out every possible sound and swallow every drop of your arousal. He wanted to smell you on him for days. He wanted his jaw to ache. Every time he closed his eyes, he wanted to see you writhing around in ecstasy underneath him.

He felt insane. Never in his life had he felt so wild and careless, but decades of being denied the only thing he ever truly wanted made him a madman.

"Dave," you moaned, back arching and collapsing repeatedly off the mattress. He peered up at you, tongue still swirling steadily over your clit, lips still suckling and teeth grazing your delicate skin in the same delicious pattern, not sacrificing an ounce of your pleasure when he dragged his focus to your scrunched up face.

Your eyes, wild and dark, found his. His name fell from your lips like a song as you watched his mouth eat at you with skilled precision. The sight of him like that between your legs, all wrecked and crazed and hungry, was the final push you needed.

Your orgasm forced you upright, sitting with your legs bent and spread. You could see Dave so much clearer that way, watching every purse of his lips and flick of his tongue as he guided you through it. One of your hands raked through his hair, holding him against you so you could grind against his mouth while the other supported your weight somewhere behind you.

With one last drawn out moan, your head tipped back and your eyes slipped shut. Your mouth hung open, pulling in deep gulps of air. A shudder ran through your body and your arm began to shake. Dave was still dutifully cleaning up the mess between your legs, but his licks were softer, gentler, as he worked.

"Oh, my god," you breathed, collapsing back into the bed. Your heart was racing in your chest, skin coated in a thin layer of sweat and your mind was blissfully blank. It wasn't until Dave withdrew himself from between your legs that you opened your eyes. The loss of his body heat made you shiver, and suddenly you felt painfully exposed. You weakly pulled at the bedspread, looking to cover yourself up, when he stopped you.

"Don't."

Your hand instantly released the comforter and you rolled your head to look at him. He had been removing his shirt when you were busy trying to cover yourself up. Your breath quickened and you forgot all about your earlier shyness when you drank in his bare upper half for the first time. Your mouth went dry and jaw went slack at the sight of his muscular, wide shoulders and chest, leading down to a soft but toned stomach. Dave smirked, flinging his belt off before working on the zipper of his pants.

You were out of your element. On one hand you could count how many times Mike made you come in the past fifteen years. You were bone tired and legs still shaky from the way Dave had torn you apart just minutes earlier, unsure if you had it in you to go again. But when he dropped his pants and boxers, revealing his thick, rock hard erection, you felt a second wave of energy hit.

"Shit," you whispered, scrambling to your knees on the bed. Dave's dark eyes skated up and down your naked body, cock twitching when he saw the wetness between your legs glisten as you shifted down the bed on your knees, towards him.

Your soft palms dragged down the sharp planes of his chest, your eyes wide and reverent, studying every inch of his skin. He held his breath, tight muscles twitching under your delicate touch. He flexed his hands at his sides, eyes boring into you, giving you all the time you needed to take him in.

"You've grown up, Dave York."

He chuckled, releasing a nervous breath. It was growing increasingly difficult not to touch you.

"A lot's changed since the treehouse," he murmured. Your eyes flickered up to his, hands still drifting slowly down his stomach.

"You remember."

He brought one hand up to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, your fingers stalling right above where he wanted you the most. Your fingertips grazed the coarse hairs there and he thought he might die if you didn't touch him soon.

"Of course I remember."

You closed what little distance remained, capturing his lower lip between your own. You could taste your release on his mouth, surprising yourself when you weren't repulsed by the flavor. You had a feeling it had something to do with the man it was connected to. The idea of Dave smelling like you awakened some primal urge deep inside, like you craved to mark him somehow.

You slid your hand down the rest of the way, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. He pulled in a sharp breath against your lips, then groaned when your wrist slowly started to work him, up and down.

Dave cursed under his breath when your thumb swept across his slit, collecting the sticky bead of wetness pooling there. He kissed you deeper, tongue swirling frantically inside your mouth, his hips jolting forward, chasing your touch.

"I want you," he murmured, voice a little strained. He gripped the side of your face so tightly, like he was afraid to let you go. You bloomed with pride when you heard his breath stutter and you grinned before dropping your mouth to taste the skin covering his pulse point. It fluttered wildly under your tongue, the rhythm giving away his true feelings in that moment. He more than wanted you. He needed you.

"You have me," you said, lips trailing down his throat. "I'm all yours."

Desperate hands grabbed at your hip and the back of your head, laying you down flat under him with your lips still latched to his neck and your fist still pumping his cock. Once he settled between your legs, it was as if you moved as one: your hand paused, lining him up at your entrance, and a moment later he grabbed that same wrist, pinning it above your head at the exact same time he buried himself inside you with one deep thrust.

"Oh!" you cried out, the sudden stretch stealing your breath. Your head dropped back, abandoning the mark you left on his throat. It was hard to think, hard to speak, hard to do anything except focus on the way he opened you up, carving a spot for himself inside of you.

"It's okay, I got you," he gasped. It was the first time you realized he was just as much of a wreck as you. His mouth hung open, face buried in the crook of your shoulder, struggling to catch his breath. He still held your arm firmly above your head, pressing your wrist into the plush comforter. After a minute, once you both managed to clear your heads, his grip loosened. But instead of letting you go, he slid his palm up to press into yours, fingers lacing together lovingly when you tilted your chin and slotted your lips together once again.

The weight of him on top of you was stifling, the wide stretch of your hips to accommodate his broad torso already pulling your muscles, but it felt so good. With your free hand, you carded your fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss by slipping your tongue past his lips. There was nowhere else you'd rather be than pinned under Dave York's hulking frame, cocooned and protected by his strong body. You wanted him to possess you in every way imaginable, tangle and weave himself through every fiber of your being.

When he started to move, he was so much gentler than you imagined him to be. He took his time, feeding you his cock inch by inch, slowly dragging his hips back just to push back inside at the same excruciating pace. Your fingers squeezed around his with each thrust, tongues still tangled together, sharing soft sighs and gasps each time he moved.

"Good?" he whispered, breaking away and pressing your foreheads together. Your skin was growing dewy, sweat forming where your bodies touched.

"Yeah," you whispered back. His eyelids fluttered when you rocked your hips up to meet his. "You won't break me, you know," you teased. He grinned but still maintained the same pace, making you gasp when he shifted and brushed against a sensitive spot no one had ever reached before.

"I know. Just - don't want to rush it. Been thinking about this for too damn long." He nibbled playfully at your chin before finally releasing the hand above your head. He cupped the back of your thigh, lifting your leg so it hooked over his lower back, burying himself even further inside your tight cunt. You moaned his name, brows knitting together and face flushing with arousal and maybe a little bit of embarrassment when you whined in his ear, "So deep. You're so fucking deep."

There were times in the past twenty years where Dave thought he might be deranged. The way he could never let you go, never get you out of his mind, bordered on obsessive. Time didn't dampen it, like he thought it would. Distance, either. Not a single day passed where you didn't cross his mind and he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. When your husband's name crossed his desk, his next target, with your name next to it posed as a question, he didn't sleep for three days. Panic seized his entire body, morning and night. If you were guilty, if you were privy to anything your husband did - or, god forbid - assisted him with any of his dealings, he knew he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger. Yet he still came back home, because he couldn't pass up the opportunity to see you again. The relief he felt when he confirmed you were clueless, that you were pushed into the darkness by your husband's cruel hand, was unmatched. It might have been the only good deed that bastard ever did for you.

And then the obsession grew ten-fold. Because he knew finally, when his work was done, he would get to have you.

Mania took hold of his mind. The question did he ever fuck you like this? Did he ever make you feel this good? This loved? sat on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to know. He wanted to hear you say he was the best you'd ever had. But he didn't, because that fucking asshole's name had no place in that room. He didn't want to invite him into the sacred place where Dave was buried deep inside you, showing you all the ways he loved you without saying the words.

"You like it like this, baby?" he asked instead. "You like it nice and slow?"

"Yes," you whimpered. Your fingers tugged harshly at his hair when he brushed against that spot again and it made him groan. "Fuck - whatever you're doing, keep doing it," you said, mouthing at his cheek. Your lips burned from the sharp hairs that were already beginning to grow back across his jaw. He rolled his hips again, pulling another broken moan from the back of your throat, slowly fanning the flames of the warmth blooming in your belly. He could feel you pulsing around his cock, pulling him in as your orgasm began to steadily build. He cupped one of your breasts, clamping his mouth around your nipple, allowing his teeth to gently graze the sensitive skin, all in an effort to heighten your pleasure. Based on the way your back arched and you cried out his name, it sounded like he was pretty damn successful.

"You feel so good," he panted, breath coming quick and short. He could feel himself slipping. "So good. So beautiful - fuck," he said with a groan. Your fingers found his shoulder, nails digging into his skin.

It was so hot. Your hair was sticking to the back of your neck. You could feel drops of sweat sliding down the sides of your head. Dave was fucking everywhere. His entire body caged you in, his mouth alternated licking and sucking at your breasts, cock buried further than any man ever had. His hand held your ass, pulling you tight against him, helping you rock your hips in rhythm with his.

And then you felt it. Something deep inside, a pressure that climbed up the base of your spine that had you going rigid and you gasped.

"Oh, my god, Dave - I'm... I'm gonna-"

"Give it to me," he growled, mouth abandoning your sore breasts so he could see you. He wanted to watch. He needed to see the look on your face when you came again. He fantasized about what you'd look like coming on his cock for so long and he was finally going to witness it.

"Right there," you whined, then tipped your head back with a loud moan. He ground his hips against your clit, a grunt rumbling from the back of his throat when your soft cunt clenched down around him.

His dark eyes fixed on yours, feeling his own orgasm creeping up when you screamed out his name and fell apart. He locked his jaw, fighting it, determined to wait until your release swept through you. Your nails dug into his skin, legs pulling tight around his waist. You cried out until your voice cracked and his cock swelled inside you at the sound.

Your release coated his hips and the thick patch of hair that continued to rub against your clit. He looked down, jaw going slack at the wetness that smeared across you both, then moaned your name when your cunt squeezed him again. His head snapped up in surprise to find another orgasm rolling through you.

"Oh, shit," he chuckled, mesmerized. You writhed weakly underneath him, chest heaving with your eyes closed and mouth hung open in a silent moan, too tired and spent to find your voice. You were so soft and warm and fucking soaked, he couldn't hold back any longer.

He scooped you off the bed and into his lap, pressing you against his chest, burying his face in your neck and groaning your name into your skin. His body stilled, breathing a deep sigh of relief when his cock throbbed, spilling thick ropes of his seed deep within your walls.

Dave held you close, each of you panting desperately for air. A shiver ran down his spine and another burst of spend flooded your used cunt. He felt dizzy and out of control, the force of his orgasm taking him by surprise. But he should have known it would have been that good with you.

Your lips brushed lazily against his collarbone, a whisper of his name in-between kisses and he closed his eyes. A wave of peace washed over him: he had everything he could ever want. At last, he could rest.

"We should clean up," he murmured into your hair. You made a whine of protest and he smiled. "You made a mess, sweetheart. We'll be quick, I promise."

If you were embarrassed, you didn't show it. You tilted your chin up, head resting against his shoulder and tired eyes finding his.

"My biggest regret in life was not going with you that night."

Dave wrapped his arms around you tighter, emotion swelling in his chest. I love you, I never stopped loving you.

"I should've fought harder for you. Should've made you mine that night we kissed."

You gave him a sad smile and traced his bottom lip with your fingertip. "Guess we made up for it today, huh?"

"Oh, I plan on making it up to you for a long time," he said, hissing when he flexed his hips and slid out of your warm clutch.

He led you to the shower, let you lean against the wall while he gently cleaned you up. He shampooed your hair with the little bottle that was left next to the sink, thick fingers carefully scrubbing your scalp. You moaned and tipped your head back against his chest, closing your eyes while the warm water cascaded down over both your shoulders.

When his hand fell to clean between your legs, he pressed one finger inside. You tensed and made a little sound, wiggling in his arms as he shushed you. He kissed the shell of your ear and whispered, keep all that in there for me, okay?

"I'm on birth control," you said, wincing when he withdrew his finger.

"So?" was all he said. Then you understood. He wanted to claim you, the same way you wanted to mark him. It made your face flood with warmth.

That night, Dave took care of you. He got you fed and he made sure you weren't in any pain or discomfort. He fluffed your pillows, dried your hair with a towel, and rubbed your sore hips after he slipped into bed beside you.

When you drifted off to sleep, with Dave's strong, protective arm draped over your middle, you dreamt of a boy with dark brown eyes who promised to take you away from all your pain, to save you and care for you until your last breath.

Sunlight beamed through a crack in the shades, landing right over your eyes and stirring you out of the deepest sleep you ever had. It was no wonder, because when you opened your eyes and took in your surroundings, you found yourself still tangled up with Dave. His arms wrapped around you, his face buried in your neck. Your leg wedged between his own. The thought of having to move whatsoever was cruel, but you had to use the bathroom. Somehow, you slowly managed to extract yourself from Dave's hold with not so much as a change in his breathing pattern.

After you used the bathroom, you hurried back to bed, snatching your phone from the table along the way. You slotted yourself beside him and instinctually, his arms reached over to envelope you once again. It was pure bliss.

You tapped your phone to check the time and your face fell.

38 missed calls. Countless text messages from family members.

Your heart lurched into your throat and with shaky hands, you opened the notifications. There were several voicemails but you chose to call your mother in law first, as she was the one who was responsible for half of the calls.

"Oh Jesus Christ, finally!" you heard her sob when she picked up the phone. You swallowed and sat up in bed, Dave's arms dropping to your waist.

"H-hey, what's going on? Is everything-"

"Didn't you hear my voicemails?" she shrieked. You winced and heard some other voices in the background telling her to calm down.

"No, I just woke up and saw - just tell me what's going on," you said, voice shaking. Dave began to stir next to you.

"He's dead!" she cried, then began to wail nonsense while your vision narrowed and your ears began to ring.

"Hey, honey, it's Ricky," your father in law's voice said from the other end.

"Who's d-dead? W-what is she talking about?"

Dave propped himself up on his elbow, blinking away the sleep from his eyes so he could watch you.

"Mikey's dead, honey. I'm - I'm so sorry," you heard him sniffle and continue to tell you something about a car accident but you couldn't retain any of the details. Dave sat up in bed next to you and pressed a kiss against your shoulder, but you continued to stare blankly at the wall.

"Where are you? Are you home?" he finally asked, shaking you out of your stupor.

"Tell them where you are," Dave's voice whispered so only you could hear. You looked over at him now, panic etched across your face only to find his remained perfectly calm.

"I-I'm at the Hyatt," you stammered. Dave nodded his approval and gave your shoulder another kiss.

"The - what? Why?"

"Tell them you had too much to drink with your friends and you didn't feel safe driving."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and took a deep breath.

"I was out with friends and I had one too many at the hotel bar," you began, licking your lips nervously, "I got a room, I didn't want to drive."

"Good girl."

You listened to your father in law drone on for another five minutes about the police stopping by later and how you really should be there, and you nodded numbly, unable to say much else.

When you hung up, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins and your heart thumping loudly in your chest, you slowly turned to Dave.

He looked at you expectantly, waiting for the inevitable question. But as he stared into your eyes, he watched the fear melt into acceptance, and then calmness blended into what he was ultimately waiting for, what you deserved to feel after years of abuse - relief.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his own heart rate spiking. He saved you. He did what he had to do and saved you, but he still worried you harbored some old feelings for Mike. He braced for revulsion. A look of horror.

"I'm thinking... I want pancakes for breakfast," you said with a small smile.

Dave thought he might collapse from relief. He took your hand and brought it up to his mouth, brushing his lips over your knuckles and making your smile widen.

"Pancakes it is."

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[joelmillergirl]

Fearing The Phenomena

Word count: 1,505

Warnings: sex, unprotected p in v, good ol’ creampie, passionate sex, riding the cowboy during a storm, softer Joel.

Author’s Note: Wrote this during a storm⛈️

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

When you were younger, before the outbreak, you loved storms. Your smaller, chubbier face smushed up against the window, counting the droplets of water that raced down the glass. You’d sit outside with your parents, watching the darker shades of clouds roll in, the wind steadily picking up before the thunder and lightning began.

Your favourite sound in the world was the sound of the storm raging above you as you were in bed, almost your whole body snuggled underneath your blankets, having the privilege of cuddling your endless amount of stuffed animals if it ever got too much.

After the outbreak you were left alone, having to adjust to the more violent and lonely world after being surrounded by people you loved for so long. You could still remember the first stormy season after the outbreak, the sounds and emotions coming back to you in flashes every now and then.

You were just twenty, limited survival knowledge and incapable of being alone for too long, you were amazed you had survived as long as you had. There was no one around, not where you were, the closest QZ was a state away, and you did not trust your sense of direction. You’d found yourself an old small house, it smelt faintly of mould, but it was in the middle of nowhere, you felt safe staying there for the night at least.

You had expected the rain, but not what followed along. That was the first time you’d ever been scared by a storm, the combination of the deafening thunder cracks, the howling of wind, and most importantly the fact that it was just you, shook you. You hadn’t slept at all that night, praying to anyone, anything that would listen, praying that it would end soon.

A couple years later after countless trials and tribulations with QZ’s, and other groups of people, you finally stumbled across Jackson, a small, growing town on its way to having electricity. The first two weeks of being a part of the community felt unreal, years worth of paranoia and anxiety had not vanished overnight. You slept with your knife in hand, you would have opted for sleeping with your gun but residents were only allowed such weapons on patrol.

Then, Joel came along. Your relationship had taken a while to develop, there wasn’t any rush, but sometimes you wished he’d just pull his head in and look at things clearer. He was weary of being with you, always going on about his past, how evil he was, how he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. He eventually came around, setting a fair few rules for the new dynamic that hadn’t lasted very long.

He’d been with you through a lot, understanding the deepest parts of you, parts you didn’t understand yourself, and vice versa. When a particularly rough patch of stormy weather flew over town, you finally caved and told him of your irrational new fear, being met with understanding and care from Joel. He stayed in bed with you until the loudest rumbles of thunder passed, kissing you on the head before getting out of bed to help the other townspeople clear up the debris.

It was a dark evening, thick clouds enveloped the sky, every now and then there was some light rainfall, but the worst of it was expected to come later that night. By ten, the rain had started to plummet down, the windows in yours and Joel’s house rattled slightly with the heavy wind, each time sending a wave of worry through your head.

You were sitting on the couch, blankets and pillows surrounding you and a warm body behind you. Joel’s arms were loosely wrapped around you, his head resting against the couch whilst yours rested on his chest. He drew little shapes onto your arms, wrapping you a little tighter to him when the thunder and lightning started to pick up.

By midnight, the storm was at its worst, loud cracks of thunder and bright flashes of lightning occurred at every opportunity, each one seemingly louder and more aggressive than the last. “Shh.” Joel hummed against your throat, resting his nose in the crook of your neck.

“I can’t.” You whisper back, your skin burning despite the cool temperature rushing in through the cracks of the windowpanes and doors. You were pressed up against Joel tightly, sitting between his legs, like always, protecting you.

“What do you need?” He asked softly, moving to the side slightly to see your face. You frown, leaning your head back further into his chest to look at him, his brown eyes boring into yours.

You think for a moment. “Need you, Joel. All of it.” His expression softened slightly, sending you one last glance of worry before he nodded.

“Okay, baby.” He muttered, moving further down into the couch, leaning his torso and head down. With his assistance, you turned in between his legs, now facing him you move to straddle him.

You peel off your jumper, revealing your sleep singlet underneath, not bothering to remove your shorts as they were flimsy sleeping ones, easy to pull aside. From beneath you, Joel lifted his hips up slightly, taking you with it, to pull himself out of his sweatpants. He was hard, not completely yet as you lowered yourself onto the length of him, holding your shorts aside with one hand as you slowly ground yourself up and down the length of his cock.

It didn't take long for Joel to fully harden, nor for you to become drenched in your own arousal. Another loud crack of thunder temporarily broke through your calm state. “Shh,” Joel whispered, shaking his head at you, “Focus.”

With a small smile and a nod, you shift your attention back to him, lifting yourself up slightly. Joel took himself in his hand, rubbing himself a few times before brushing the head of his cock against your clit, catching your slick on him as a lube of some sort before he moved lower down to your entrance.

You took him in slowly, making sure to take in every inch, savouring the intimate moment further. His large hands rested on your body, one remaining on your hip and the other around your leg, holding you firmly against him. After a few moments of getting used to his size, you gently start to rock yourself, lifting up a few inches then sinking back down, a mixture of your arousal and his’ coating around the base of him.

“Feel’s good.” You whisper, turning your gentle bounces into small grinds, his trimmed pubic hair brushing against your clit every time. His hands moved up your body, kneading at the skin on your sides before moving up to palm your tits, grabbing them both before they made their way back down your body, his fingers settling at your clit.

He applied pressure, slowly circling his fingers. “Good.” He whispered back, looking up at you softly. Small moans escaped from your mouth, your legs wrapped tightly around his sides. Eventually, he moved his hands back to your hips, aiding you to start bouncing back on his cock. He brought more force to these bounces, but it was still a far cry from the usual rougher sex you’d usually have.

Your ass slapped down onto his thighs, causing a satisfying sound to join your increasingly louder moans and Joel’s heavier grunts. “‘M gonna cum.” You muster up, leaning your head back in ecstasy. He started to bounce you faster, all his noises ceased as he got closer to his own orgasm, but he was focused on yours first.

He started moving his hips, meeting your bounces halfway, a step up from the slow pace you’d originally set. One of his hands remained on your hips whilst the other moved back up to your breasts, almost frantically pushing the fabric of your singlet up, eyeing off your now bare chest. He gently rolled your nipples between his fingers, the stimulation sent you over the edge, your legs wobbled and weakened, your eyes shut close, and your pussy tightened around him, aiding him to his release.

He came inside you, pulling you by the backs of your thighs as deep onto him as he could, his mouth ajar and eyes still watching yours, his hips slowing down with every thrust. When you lifted yourself up, his cum dribbled out of you, falling onto his softening cock and down your thigh. The storm had just started to fade out, wind grew weaker and rain grew lighter, creating a more soothing and relaxing atmosphere now that you were comfortable and sleepy.

Joel cleaned you up beforehand, made sure everything was okay outside by looking out the window, then joined you in bed, pressing his warm body against the back of yours. And with the soft patter of rain now on your window, and the steady breathing against your neck, you thought you could eventually start to soften up to the scarier storms.

[theorphicangel]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 | 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

wc: 1.8k

tags: heian era!sukuna, true form! sukuna, reader is a villager and wears a kimono, gn!reader, mentions of cannibalism (brief), eventual fluff, strangers to lovers??, threat of death, reader has a sense of humor, reader risks life for a peach (real),

synopsis: stumbling in a random field, the gods have granted you the luxury of discovering a rare peach tree and it's all yours for the takings. at least that's what you're mistaken to think before you're confronted by the king of curses himself. coming close to death, you're forbidden to ever return.

it's just a shame you're incapable of listening to rules.

part 2 | part 3 | bonus scene coming soon!

Part one: A commandment.

The sweltering heat was getting to you.

Your kimono sticks to your skin causing nothing but discomfort as you continue to aimlessly wander in the field. At your ankles, tall blades of grass tickle at your skin with every step. You were wasting time as per usual; slacking off from your work with the excuse that you needed some fresh air. 

Originally, you planned to disappear for five minutes. But five minutes soon turned into ten and then twenty and before you knew it two hours had passed when you found yourself standing in a random field on the outer edge of your village. 

What you wanted to derive from your walk was discovering a new species of flowers. Specifically for Miko, a little girl in your village. She wasn’t much older than five years but you’ve recently been taking her under your wing whilst her parents carry out work within the village. 

Taking a wrong turn on your path you ended up wandering onto an open field where an array of flowers greeted you. Unfortunately, the sea of dandelions, daisies and bluebells were not new to your eyes. Letting out a sigh of disappointment you made to turn back, returning empty handed before your eyes landed on something in the distance.

A peach tree.

Small and lone, it was almost easy to miss to the naked eye – merely mistaking it to be a regular tree as  the shades of  greenery seamlessly blend in together. But shades of scarlet orange seemed to catch your attention and with curiosity filling you up by the second, an impulse drew you closer towards your target. 

The rays of the sun beamed happily at you as you make your way, the material of your attire once again proving unfit for the current summer weather. Fortunately, by the time you reached the tree the heavy leaves and cool grass provided respite from the severe wave of heat.

Observing the tree, it leans over you with a slight slant where a plethora of ripe peaches hang from the branches. They vary in sizes and colors: some a little more scarlet than others, some greater in size and some naturally misshapen but nonetheless it has your mouth watering at the mere sight.

Peaches were considered to be a luxury within your village where only those who were wealthy could afford them through trading from other nearby villages and towns. No one in your hometown had the time nor the money to consider growing peaches naturally, the seeds often hard to obtain.

But now this luxury was a mere arm stretch away. They hang loosely above your head, cruelly taunting you. 

It wouldn’t hurt to take one, would it? Looking around, you see no one around for miles. Just a vast space of greenery and mother nature as your witness. Based on your observation you conclude that the tree doesn’t necessarily belong to anyone, it stands alone and unattended. The peaches seemed to be more than ready for harvest. If someone did own the tree then surely the peaches would have been picked by now. 

A plump peach sits perfectly in your eyesight – ripe and juicy and scarlet orange. It practically tempts you to reach out and take it. After walking for over an hour, it’s no surprise that your hunger has taken the best of you and a mere rumble from your stomach confirms it all. 

Still hesitant, your fingertips reach out. Your movements are slow and cautious in fear that someone would catch you in the act. In a blink, the peach is plucked from the branch with a small green leaf attached to the stem. 

With the ripe fruit finally in your palm, all fear and hesitation leaves your body as swift as a breeze. As soon as your lips wrap around the succulent a sweet yet tangy flavor hits your tongue, addictive from the very first bite.

 It’s rare to find peaches within the village. A true luxury for those who can afford it when it’s in season. The last time you recall indulging in this treat was during your childhood yet it was harvested too early, made clear by the  bitter sour taste which  eventually threw you off the summer fruit ever since.

But this was pure nectar. Sweet and tender, you can’t help but let the juices run down the sides of your mouth. With sudden hunger,  you devour the fruit in mere minutes leaving nothing but the stone behind. You wipe your mouth diligently, getting rid of all traces of evidence. 

But you weren’t satisfied.

A few branches upwards, you spot a peach of a similar size. The perfect shade of orange and red combined. Just a mere glance was enough to get your mouth watering again, your thirst unquenched. 

Reaching, you resort to standing on your tippy toes to pull the peach away from its native home. With confidence, you bite down as soon as you obtain your treasure where the identical taste of pure nectar makes its home on your tastebuds once again.

Almost half finished, you make a mental note to return to this very tree and bring a basket, perhaps you could take some for the whole—

“Are you aware that you are currently trespassing on my grounds?”

A voice came out of nowhere. Rough and low and obtaining a certain sharpness in tone that  your entire body freezes. Like a crashing wave, your blood turns cold. The grip on your peach now loosened causing the summer fruit to fall to the grass with a light thud.

Following, you drop to your knees and bow your head.

You don’t have to see the figure to know who exactly the voice belongs to. His aura is enough.

Menacing and murderous it makes your heart stop momentarily, your lungs stop providing you oxygen and all heat leaves your body, leaving your blood to run cold. Your heartbeat thumps so loudly in your ear that you don’t even hear the words which leave your lips.

“My Lord.”

You had never personally come across the king of curses in your lifetime but the rumors and stories spread within the village were enough to keep you away from the estate. Stories of murder, violence and even cannibalism had reached your ears. No one in the village dared to step foot near the estate unless absolutely necessary. For example, trade or to make an offering.

“I asked you a question. I advise you to not make me repeat myself.”

“Y-yes my Lord.” You cringed heavily at your stutter, unable to get your throat to clear up from the sudden fright of his presence. “I made a mistake, my Lord, I was not aware I was trespassing.”

“Well, you are aware now.”

“Yes.” your voice shook. “And you have my deepest and most sincere apologies. It won’t happen again.” You swallow thickly, letting a pause carry through the sweltering summer heat. “Please spare me my life, your Lord.”

“What was that?”

“Spare me my life, your Lord, I beg of you.”

He was exactly what the rumors described. A tall, massive figure towering over you. Tinted pink hair sticks to his forehead, a cause of the summer heat. There’s nothing but pure muscle gazing at you through the black drape loosely thrown over his shoulders. Black tattoos decorate his body, designed to perfect symmetry. It would be impossible to ignore the four arms which crossed over his broad chest or the four eyes which peer down at you in pure disgust.  He was on a different level to you, completely different. 

He was a monster.

“I didn’t give you permission to look at me.”

You duck your head with inexplicable speed.

Sweat drips down your nose, trailing to the top of your lips. Your hands are glued to the soil and blades of grass tickle at your nostrils. Your fingertips dig into the soil searching for some sort of security. Traces of brown mud enter your fingernails as you tense, waiting for the first moment of pain. 

He was going to kill you. 

He was going to kill you all because you took the wrong path. 

You were going to die because of your mindless wandering and lack of awareness that you were heading in the direction of Lord Sukuna’s estate. You were going to die because you decided to slack off from your work and not return when needed.  You were going to die all because you were curious about a peach tree and grew greedy. You should’ve been satisfied after eating your first yet instead you stayed long enough to be sentenced to death.

You were going to die and it was all your fault. Bile rises up your throat at the thought, goosebumps running across your arms. You squeeze your eyes shut as silence passes often interrupted by the rustle of greenery surrounding you.

A minute soon passes and then another before you gulp heavily. 

Was he going to kill you or not?  

You beg for him to get it over and done with, hoping for your death to be quick and painless. You offer up a silent prayer for your family. Thankfully he didn’t ask you to state your family meaning that they would be safe. 

As long as the king of curses  didn’t hurt them or anyone in the village, you’d be glad to die.

Still crouched over, you await the moment. 

But it never comes. 

Instead, what happens yet seems completely out of the ordinary.

“You may rise.”

What?

Did you hear correctly? No, no, no– you must have misheard. You must have.

“I won’t repeat myself.” Sukuna announces gruffly. 

Holy shit.

Shaking, you manage to make it to your feet maintaining your balance. The front of your kimono is stained with brown dirt but that worry is barely at the forefront of your mind. Instead, you wonder why on earth you weren’t killed.

 No words are able to leave your lips, your throat clogged up. Sukuna merely glances at you with disinterest, his stance unchanged. 

Finally, after a minute, your lips seem able to work and you get your words out.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?”

He glances at you as if he had forgotten you were standing right there in front of him. That’s how insignificant you were.

“I don’t waste my energy on pathetic little nuisances like you.” His voice is loud and thick with dislike for you. His voice drops a few octaves before announcing a threat. 

“If I find you on my estate once again without my permission I won’t hesitate to take the life you so rightfully begged to keep, understood?”

A breath hitches in your throat. 

“I understand, my Lord, thank you.” You bow your head once more to show the utmost respect.

A silence creeps in and suddenly all of nature disappears. A witness to your trial with near death, the leaves on the peach tree fail to rustle and the once chirping birds submit to an eerie silence. Goosebumps rise over your skin once more, your body still cold from Sukuna’s deadly aura. The heat you were once complaining of is now a distant memory.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to disperse off my property. Ten–”

You’ve never taken off faster in your entire life.

reblogs and comments are much appreciated. thank you for reading!!

lmk if you would like to be tagged for part 2!!

[castiwls]

enchanted .ᐟ

Paring; sam x reader

Prompt; 'I'll spend forever wondering if you knew. I was enchanted to meet you'

Requested; @4catsinacult

Notes; the adhd is bad rn but I'm trying to get back into writing (its a slow process sadly)

also requests are open again!

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

The last time you’d seen Sam Winchester you were 15. You’d been knee-deep in your own self-proclaimed ‘awkward phase’ that you’d spent the whole two weeks hiding from both him and his brother. 

However, you’d quickly found out that the younger Winchester was more than determined to befriend you before your time together was up. You’d been nothing short of a blushing, stuttering mess the first time he’d cornered you outside your dad’s motel room. He’d been quick to invite you to a diner with him and his brother claiming that he needed ‘company from someone who didn’t hit on anything that breathes’

Safe to say you’d been smitten almost immediately. Even at 15, you’d known that Sam Winchester was very possibly the guy of your dreams. He’d been…different to all the other boys your age, he’d rather talk about whatever book had been in your bag when you’d met at the diner over thinking of how long it would take to convince you to make out - a situation you were annoyingly more than used to. 

You’d spent those few weeks in your own little bubble almost. You’d finally found someone who had taken a genuine interest in you yet all that wonder had been over shadowed by the fact that these feelings were teenage feelings. 

You’d simply put your feelings down to heightened teenage emotions and you’d pushed down the hurt upon leaving the two once the hunt had been over.

8 Years later Sam Winchester was but a distant memory. You’d briefly heard through contacts that both were still alive and in the businesses (something which filled you with more relief than you'd ever admit) yet physically they were nothing but two ghosts of your past.

You’d never imagined the next time you’d come face to face with him would be over a dead body. The morge was only small - barely big enough for the two of you alongside the long table meaning that you had no choice but to stand uncomfortably close.

Sam, it seemed had only grown into his looks over the last ten years and you could only pray that the warmth that pooled in your stomach had not also become visible on your cheeks. 

“So…” You mused watching him inspect the body. “It’s been a while?”

Sam hummed looking up, a small smile pulling at his lips. His own heart had almost beat out of his chest when you’d appeared in the doorway and the sound of your voice after all this time only elevated it more. “Yeah.” He nodded mentally cursing himself as you both fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence. 

‘Yeah?’ You were finally in the same room as him after almost a decade and the only thing he could say was ‘yeah’. Talking to girls had never really been an issue yet suddenly coming face to face with you made him feel like an awkward 15-year-old again who could barely get out two words to a girl before turning bright red.

“I’m sorry about your dad.” You broke the silence, tapping your pen against the pad in your hand. Sam looked back up, placing his hands on the table. “Thanks.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, letting out a quiet breath. 

You both lapsed into quiet as he continued to look over the body while you noted anything of importance. “How did you find out about…” He gestured to the body as he binned his gloves. “Oh…your brother actually.” A frown tugs at your lips as you recall the phone call you’d received earlier in the day. “Said he was sick and didn’t want the case to go undelt with.” 

Sam’s eyebrows drew together for a moment as he thought. “Dean called you?” A frown pulled at his lips. Why would the dean have called you to help? He could well and truly handle this on his own….oh. 

A quiet groan left him as he pressed a hand to his head. Dean barely listened to him most of the time and the one time he does it's about a girl he had a crush on ten years ago. 

“You okay?” Concern flashed in your eyes as you followed him to the door. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine just…Dean being Dean.” He shook his head sending you a smile as he held the door.

“I’m guessing he’s not changed much, judging by that groan.” You teased lightly as you both passed the reception desk. Sam laughed. “No. No, he’s not changed at all, just about as mature as a 19-year-old still.”

A laugh left your own lips as you reached your car, leaning against it you turned to Sam. A quiet noise left you as you realised just now how close he suddenly was. You held up your notebook. “I…i can send you all the notes.” You mumbled, praying your cheeks weren’t currently burning up.

Sam nodded looking over your shoulder for a moment. “Yeah…yeah, that would be great.” You were so close, if he just shifted ever so slightly his chest would press against yours. 

He’d dreamt of being this close to you when you were both teenagers, but no dream could replace how it actually felt to have you less than an arm's reach away. Yet he still had absolutely no idea how you felt.

Throughout those two weeks you’d never once openly showed any sort of attraction - something which had given him more than one sleepless night. 

Even now, ten years later those feelings seemed to return, leaving him light-headed and struggling not to trip over his own words. 

Yet you seemed completely unbothered.

“We…we could go over them together?” You suggested after a moment. “If Dean’s sick i doubt you're gonna get any peace.” You took a breath waiting almost anxiously as he seemed to think it over.

Time seemed to stretch and you were just about to make an excuse to leave when he nodded. “Sure. I’d like that”

—

Three hours later you found yourself spread out over the covers of the motel's bed. A notebook was placed beside you as you slowly scrolled through an article on your laptop. 

Sam had taken residence on the small table, his own papers were strewn out across the surface. “You know it's funny, the last time I saw you, you were doing the same thing.” You smiled leaning your chin on your fist. 

‘It’s cute’ You thought to yourself as he chewed on a pen for a moment. He suddenly looked up, his eyes wide. “Did-” He pulled the pen from his mouth. “Did you say something?” His cheeks flushed slightly as he placed the pen down. You’d been quiet for so long he’d honestly forgotten that you were in the room. 

“I was just saying how it's funny the last time I saw you, you were doing the exact same thing.” You gestured to the table with your free hand. Sam hummed. “Well, when I was 15 I was doing school work, now I'm…” He looked down at the paper, raising an eyebrow. “Trying to find out if vampires are currently hunting.” He laughed slightly - the situation still being slightly insane even if you were both more than used to it.

You nodded, a comfortable silence covering the room as you both simply stared for a moment. Biting down on your lip you cleared your throat. “It's sweet.” The words leave your lips before you can process it and almost immediately you feel your cheeks heat. “It’s… it's sweet that you still enjoy it.” You stumbled over your words praying to whatever was above that the floor would just open up then and there.

Sam watched, his heart seeming to grow as you buried your face into your hands, your feet falling flat on the bed behind you. “I don’t know why I said that.” Your voice was muffled as you spoke.

Sam felt a smile grow as he closed his laptop - the sight of you flustered slightly too endearing. “No. No, it's fine.” He stood moving to sit beside you on the bed. You peaked up from your arms. 

You stifled slightly as his palm landed on your back, rubbing small circles. “I don’t think i’ve actually ever had anyone call me sweet so thats a new one.” He mused, his tone light. 

You laughed quietly, almost melting into the bed as his hand continued to move. “It’s late. You wanna go get food?” Sam asked after a moment, his own heart still beating faster because you were letting him touch you like this. Hell, you’d just openly complimented him he truly felt as if he was on cloud nine.

“Yea. Yea, food is good.” You nodded shifting to sit up. You stood, still feeling the flush from your earlier blip. You moved - intending to go check just how red you’d become in the bathroom when a hand wrapped around your wrist.

His hand circled your wrist, the skin heating as he gently pulled you to stand between his legs. Sam’s smile had only grown softer as he looked you over for a minute. “If it makes you feel any better, I have definitely said worse in front of girls.” He reassured, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. 

He really had not changed, if you squinted you could almost see the same boy you’d met 10 years ago. 

“You were always so hard to read.” His voice was quiet as he spoke, his eyes dancing over your face. “Even when we were kids I…I could never figure out if you felt anything but…” His eyes lingered on your lips for a moment.

“You thought I was hard to read?” You cut him off. You thought that you’d been pretty open (much to your disdain) about your huge crush on him when you’d been a teen. You’d spent those two weeks doing everything in your power to appear normal yet you'd still lay in bed kicking yourself after each day.

“Sam, I thought you were hard to read.” 

He chuckled shaking his head. “Truthfully, those two weeks were torture. I wanted you to like me so bad.” He admitted quietly looking away. He wanted you to be more than just like him. He always had and the way you’d acted after calling him ‘sweet’ almost gave him hope.

“Of course I liked you.” Your hand guided his gaze back to your own. “I’ve always liked you, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t” Your finger traced his cheek for a moment.

His eyes finally met yours and the room seemed to melt away until it was just you both left. His hand never left your wrist as he tugged you slightly closer, your knees hitting the bed. 

“Can I kiss you?” He mumbled, lips parting as his free hand pushed your hair back. 

“Please.”

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Azkaban Prison - Sirius Black X Female Reader

Title: Azkaban Prison

Sirius Black X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Rita Skeeter (Mentioned), Harry (Mentioned), James (Mentioned), Lily (Mentioned), Pince (Mentioned), Voldy (Mentioned), and Reader's parents (Mentioned)

Requested by: Anon!

WC: 1,903

Warnings: Azkaban, sarcastic Reader, Auror Reader, very brief mention to drinking/partying, crying, sort of sad, set during the second book/movie, nicknames, banter, teasing, flirting, slight angst, and fluff

"Dropping off another one, Miss L/N?"

You gave the man at the security desk a stiff nod and an equally stiff smile, "Yep! I just don’t know where they keep coming from." You answered sarcastically as the witch you brought in was taken to her cell.

The man, whose name tag spelled out 'Stanley Parloose,' only grumpily nodded before he gestured for your wand. "Wand, please."

"Alright, don't get your trousers in a twist," You grumbled, taking out your wand and handing it to the man, who then sat it on the Wand Weigher.

"Is that all you are here to do?" Stanley asked, looking up at you, past the rims of his thickly-framed glasses; his bright blue eyes almost judging you as you rocked on the balls of your feet.

Looking off, you pretended to think about your answer before giving the man a grin, "I don't know... You wouldn't allow me to go up a couple of floors, would you?" You asked, raising an eyebrow as the man sighed heavily.

"You're the middle-tier Auror, Miss L/N. What do you think the answer is?" Stanley asked boredly, resting his head in his hand as he looked up at you.

You pouted slightly, crossing your arms over your chest, "I think the answer is no, but it's worth a shot every time." You muttered as the man snorted, looking down at his paperwork.

"Correct again, Miss L/N," Stanley teased, smirking as you scoffed.

"I could have you fired, Mr. Parloose." You snapped, watching as the man's smirk grew.

"You may work for the Ministry, Miss L/N," Stanley sang, laughing when you huffed, "But, you know that your name is not on the list. I can not permit you to travel up there for you are-"

"I'm not someone with strong ties or anything. Yeah, I know. It's bollocks." You tilted your head as you stared down at the man, "But... You know... I think I can have Rita Skeeter interview you some time..." You trailed off, watching as the man's eyes widened slightly before he cleared his throat.

"Rita Skeeter? You know her?" He asked, trying to hide the fact that he was very intrigued by the idea of an interview by the witch.

You smiled, knowing that you won this battle, "Of course, I do! She's a very dear friend of mine. We are like this." You emphasized, crossing your fingers together to show how close you were to the - annoying - woman. "I'm sure she'd love to do an exclusive interview with the security guard of the most formidable wizard prison, who also allows me access to the floor I'm not supposed to be on." You told him, his eyes widened even more as you stepped forward to lean lightly on his desk, pretending to examine your nails.

"You're bluffing..."

"Am I?" You countered, staring down at the man, gaze unwavering, "You know... She once told me that she had a thing for brunettes. And that she may or may not be single." You drew the fishing line, and Stanley took the lure.

"Fine. You can go up there for no more than ten minutes. No more, no less." He told you, pointing his quill at you with a less-than-threatening glare.

You grinned, smiling bright, "Thanks, Stanny." You sang, pushing off the desk and turning on your heel.

"Hey! Don't call me that!" You heard the man yell as he glared at you.

"Whatever you say, Stanny-boy!" You yelled back.

You quickly made your way up and up the tower of Azkaban, your mind elsewhere as you thought about your boyfriend. It had been years since you had last seen him, eleven years to be exact.

You remembered the last night you saw Sirius Black. You had just watched your two best friends, James and Lily tie the knot. You partied, drank, ate, and danced with Sirius and your friends. You didn't remember much after that, just you and Sirius flooing home, and crashing on the couch together. That morning, you got ready to visit your family for the month, packing your bags, eating breakfast with Sirius, and kissing each other goodbye before you flooed to your family home. What you didn't know was that that was the last kiss you and Sirius would share.

Oh, how you wished that you were there when they took him away. But you knew that there would be nothing you could do. That was why you became an Auror in the first place, rising in the ranks slowly to finally reach the point that you could see him again - albeit sort of illegally.

It was dark, and you stumbled slightly as you found his cell. Peaking through the small window in the metal door, you felt the air in your lungs escape you, and you cursed under your breath. Sirius sat in the corner of the room, legs up against his chest, arms wrapped around him, the sunlight shining down upon him from the thin window.

"Sirius..." You muttered, just enough that his head lifted at the sound of your voice, eyes rapidly flickering around the room - as if he had really gone insane, imagining your voice - before he found the small portion of your face peeking out from the window on the door.

"Y/N?" His voice was hoarse from lack of use, and you swallowed back the lump forming in your throat at the sight of him. You nodded your head, pushing up to rest your forehead on the metal door. You didn't say anything, afraid if you did, you would cry. You heard and watched him move, the scraping of his skin and his prison clothing against the wall as he pushed himself to his feet. His hand reached out for you, just brushing against your cheek before he almost flinched back in fear that it was all a dream, that you weren't real. "Y/N," He repeated, voice louder this time as if he was making sure that you were really there.

"It's me, Sirius." You responded softly, looking at him through the window, seeing his eyes staring right into yours. “I’m here.” You frowned deeply upon seeing how thin and frail he looked, "My poor baby, what have they done to you..?

"How are you here?" He asked, ignoring your question, staring at you with those gray eyes that you missed so much.

Licking your bottom lip, you gave him a small, nervous smile, "I'm an Auror... And I may or may not have bribed the security guard to let me up here." You admitted sheepishly, feeling your heart race in your chest as his lips twitched slightly at your confession.

"Oh, Y/N," He said, moving the tips of his fingers against your cheek, a soft chuckle leaving him as you leaned into his touch as much as you could from the window's small opening. "How come you haven't seen me before?" He asked, his thumb stroking your skin as your eyes fell shut.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, feeling tears burn behind your eyes as you looked back at him. "Stanley, the security guard, is surprisingly hard to crack. If I had known that he had a huge crush on Rita Skeeter, I would've used that instead." You admitted, shrugging slightly as a small, breathy laugh left Sirius.

"It's been so long, my love," He muttered, "I haven't seen you in close to a decade." He murmured, a soft look appearing on his features as he took in every detail of you that he could make out from the terrible lighting.

"It has..." You agreed, "I missed you. A lot." You told him truthfully, giving him a watery smile as he looked at you with such sorrow and adoration it made you weak in the knees. "But, we will get you out of here, and I will take you far away from this place." You told him, your eyes flickering around his cell before they returned back to his face. "I just need time... I- I can get you out, I just need-"

"Shhh..." He hushed you softly, stroking his dirty thumb over your bottom lip, but you didn’t care, "It's okay, Y/N. You don't have to explain yourself to me. I know how the Ministry works. They've done a lot of wrong by me... But you... You will make it right again. You're too good for this world."

You couldn't help the tears that flowed down your cheeks as he spoke, his voice deep and soothing, "I love you, Siri." You whispered, watching as he smiled at you, and it was like the stars in the night sky.

"I love you too, my little treasure," Sirius said, voice soft and rough with emotion.

Blinking rapidly, tears burned the back of your eyes as you cleared your throat lightly, "Are you alright?" You asked, before huffing, shaking your head slightly, "That's a silly question. You don't have to answer that." You laughed slightly as you wiped away your tears, "Is there anything I can bring you next time? I think I can get Stanley to let me up here again... I can bring food maybe or-"

"You..." He responded, interrupting you, smiling when you blinked up at him in confusion, "You're all I need, Y/N... You and your little smile that melts me into a puddle every time I see it. Your soft hair that always smells like summer."

"Sirius," You sighed out, your smile growing uncontrollably at his words, "Became a poet, have you?"

"The thought of you has kept me sane," Sirius muttered, glancing around his cell quickly before looking back at you, "How's Harry?" He then asked, swiftly changing the topic.

"Little Harry?" You asked, "He's doing as good as he can, being the Boy Who Lived and all."

"Is he doing alright at Hogwarts?"

"He is. I try to visit Hogwarts as much as I can to check up on him. I gave him that picture of James and Lily for his twelfth birthday." You told him, "He's a lot like you, really. James too. He gets into so much trouble. Aside from the trouble You-Know-Who causes." You bit your lip briefly, narrowing your eyes playfully, "And that's funny coming from you. It took a lot of convincing to get you to even do your homework."

Sirius laughed, and it was a beautiful sound, and you would be lying if you said you didn't want to hear it more often. "You got me there… You’d never see me in that library. Pince hated me."

Your smile dwindled slightly, looking down at your Muggle watch, "I have to go... Stanley only gave me ten minutes." You whispered, biting the inside of your cheek, feeling like the worst person in the world for leaving.

"I understand. You do what you have to, treasure." He told you, though his eyes were begging and pleading for you to stay.

"I'll try and come back and see you. I promise." You muttered, reaching your hand up to touch his, your fingers just brushing against his own as he gave you a nod.

"I'll be waiting for you." He replied, and you could feel your heart in your throat as you smiled at him, taking one last look before you left him to go back to the floor you were not supposed to be on.

---

Main Masterlist | Harry Potter Masterlist

[probably-writing-x]

Distanced

Summary: can u write an imagine with reader and drew starkey being at the beginning of the dating stage (met through friends and even though they both really like each other they haven’t revealed their love face to face) so during a party reader saw drew talking with a few actress, influencers, LA girls and she gets jealous and insecure so she starts distancing herself to him thinking that she doesn’t deserve him and she’s too ugly for him but she doesn’t explain herself and drew thinks that he had done something bad and after weeks decide to have a discussion annnnd they both revealed their feelings.

Warnings: Discussions of body image issues, alcohol use, I think that might be everything?

Author’s Note: Sorry this is so long - I started writing and kept going. It’s been a busy few days so I haven’t been writing as much but hopefully I’ll be back to it now :)

———

The thing about being in the celebrity world was that, eventually, everyone was connected. Whether it was a friend of a friend who worked with another guy on a film ten years ago, or it was a neighbour’s neighbour - everyone eventually got to someone else. That’s how you’d met the majority of the people that you considered friends in the industry. You’d released your first album three years ago but it still felt like you were taking your first steps in being ‘famous’. Thankfully, you’d met some good people - Kelsea had become like a sister to you and she’d taken you under her wing instantly. Since she’d started dating Chase, too, she’d been introducing you to more and more people - notably, Drew. She knew that you two would hit it off when she introduced you at a party and you clicked almost instantly, spending the entire night talking in a booth away from the crowd. Since then, he texted you everyday, he’d become the guy you rang when you were walking home or in a taxi on your own, the one you texted to say a quick ‘home safe’. He sent you stupid videos he found online, and facetimed you to listen to him run his lines, or when he needed help with what to wear to an event. Drew was just… nice, you know?

“Okay, sorry, I’m back,” His face pops back into the frame of the facetime call as he sits back down on the couch and picks up his phone from where it was sat pointing up towards the ceiling, “My food arrived.”

“What did you order?” You ask, propping your phone up against the coffee machine on your counter so that you could open your own bag of takeout food.

“I went for chinese food,” He grins, pulling out the boxes of takeout.

“Me too,” You laugh, “But the good place was closed so I had to order from the kind of shitty one.”

“You hate the kind of shitty one, you’re going to eat the chicken and say that it’s a bit dry and that your rice doesn’t have enough flavor, and then you’re going to complain that your takeout night was ruined.”

You narrow your eyes at him through the screen, “That happened one time! How do you even remember that?”

Drew chuckles and sets his phone down so that he can eat, leaning it against the lamp beside his couch so that he’s still visible in the frame, “I remember things (Y/L/N).”

“Okay, which film did you choose?”

“Oh, I picked a terrible one, you’re going to love it. And I think if we try a few times we’ll be able to get the timing perfect this time.”

~~~

“Okay so what are we actually going to tonight?” You ask Kelsea, laying back against the cushions on her bed as she potters around the room, deciding on her outfit.

“It’s a party, I don’t know anything more than that,” She laughs, “It’s meant to be good though, it seems like everyone in LA is going.”

“I don’t like these things, they’re so stressful,” You grumble, pulling the hood of your hoodie up over your head.

“Well maybe if you started getting ready you’d feel more up for it a-“

She’s cut off by the sound of a key in the door, followed by two familiar voices laughing as they walk in. The pair round the corner and you’re met with the sight of Chase and Drew coming into the apartment.

“Hey honey,” Chase grins when he sees Kelsea, going over to kiss her quickly, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Hey (Y/N),” Drew wiggles his brows, slipping off his shoes and flopping down onto the bed next to you, he looks at you and puckers his lips exaggeratively.

“Grow up,” You roll your eyes, turning around so you can rest your head against his chest sideways, your legs dangling off the side of the bed as he stretches down the length of the mattress.

“(Y/N) I need you to talk some sense into Drew here,” Chase encourages, “He doesn’t want to come tonight.”

“I mean, I’m not up for it yet either,” You shrug, “I need like a shot or two and then I’ll be more in the mood to party.”

“Shots, okay, we can do shots,” Chase nods, “How about you two can start getting ready, and we’ll make dinner, and we’ll get some drinks. Sound good?”

“I didn’t agree to make dinner,” Drew points out, “Frankly I can’t think of anything worse.”

You reach a hand back to poke at his ribs and he flinches back from you, locking an arm around your neck and shoulders to trap you against him. He uses his other arm to tickle at your sides until you’re writhing underneath his touch.

“Drew!” You squeal, fighting to get away from him, your legs flailing.

Chase and Kelsea look at each other with a knowing expression, like they were watching the start of a film they already knew the ending to - a sort of inevitability that it seemed impossible to avoid.

~~~

You spend the next hour or two getting ready with Kelsea, changing your outfit three times before settling on one - a black crop top with spaghetti straps and a pair of wide leg black pants, heels underneath that were practically hidden by the excess length of the trousers.

“You guys ready to go? The uber’s here!” Chase calls out, knocking a couple of times on the door of the bedroom before poking it open just an inch or two before opening it fully, “Alright, good to go?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go,” Kelsea nods, smoothing her hands over her dress.

When she goes over to him, he wraps an arm around her and tells her she looks beautiful, kissing her shoulder. You follow behind and see Drew waiting for you as the other two leave just ahead.

“Well don’t you scrub up well,” He grins, reaching out his elbow for you to link an arm with his, still taller than you even with your heels on.

“Not so bad yourself, Starkey,” You laugh, holding your hand around his bent arm to help you walk with him.

“Okay, so, how long do we have to stay at this thing tonight?” Drew asks, stepping forward and reaching out a hand for you to take as you’re about to descend the stairs.

“Come on, it’ll be fine, at least we know a few people that will be there,” You point out, “Can’t be that bad.”

“You’ll be regretting saying that later, I promise,” He shakes his head, waving his hand a little more in front of you, “Come on, hurry up.”

He’s wearing a dark green button up shirt and black carpenter jeans, baggy around his legs. It seems to darken the features of his face, defining the freckles around his nose and cheeks, lessening the normal brightness in his eyes. His hair is growing out now from him shaving it for Outer Banks and you’re sure it gives him an innocence beyond what anyone else saw. You loved it most when it was messy, a hundred directions on his head, a sort of carelessness to it.

“Are you coming or what?”

It’s Chase that calls up from the bottom of the stairwell. And you realise for all of the time you’d been staring at Drew, admiring him, he’d been staring at you too.

~~~

The party is already busy when you arrive and there’s people queuing up outside to try to get in. Drew links arms with you as you get out of the car, like he’s constantly scared you’re on the brink of falling whenever you’re in heels. It’s in a club, already littered with tens too many bodies, and music that pounds from the walls, chatter drowned out by the noise.

“Let’s go get us some drinks,” Drew says into your ear and he moves his hand from your arm to press on the small of your back, guiding you in front of him as if he would shield you from the growing crowd behind.

You slip through non-existent gaps in the crowd until you eventually break through to the bar, waiting in the queue with Drew behind you. His hand falls to your waist, his body towering over you from behind and his eyes seemingly on full alert for everything and everyone around you.

“A tequila sprite and a rum and coke please,” You call over the bar to the server who nods at you with a smile, taking two glasses to prepare the drinks.

Drew shifts into the space beside you and leans his forearms on the bar, “Are you trying to get me-“

“Hey!” It’s a voice from beside him that interjects, a girl.

She’s about your age, you think, with makeup that you’re certain you couldn’t match even with the best products. She must be a model, and her outfit is like something straight from a runway. You’re suddenly aware of how itchy your top feels around your chest, and how your trousers don’t seem to be sitting in the right place on your waist anymore. But you ignore it, turning back to the bartender as he pours in the rest of your drink.

“Have we met before?” She asks to Drew, her hand falling to his upper arm.

He looks at her with a frown, “No, no, I don’t think so. I guess I would remember if we did.”

“Well, yours is a face I definitely wouldn’t forget,” She smiles in return, “Who did you come with tonight?”

“Just a few friends,” He returns.

You pause with the drinks glasses in your hand, suddenly hyperaware of how the condensation seems to scratch with the cold against your palms. A few friends. He wasn’t wrong. You and him were just friends, right?

“Well, maybe if your friends don’t mind you could come and dance with me,” The girl smiles, her hand not yet moving from his arm.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll see you around.”

With that, she disappears and Drew turns back in your direction, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Oh, um, here,” You clear your throat, stretching out an arm to give him his drink.

He takes it from you and smiles, taking a sip, “Alright, should we go find the other two?”

You nod and follow behind him in the crowd, he stretches an open hand back as if offering for you to take it but you pause before doing so. It was still undecided in your mind if that was a good thing or a bad thing that he’d been so completely nonchalant. Like that had just happened and it didn’t mean anything. Did it not mean anything because he wasn’t trying to flirt back? Or did it not mean anything because he didn’t think you should care if he was flirting?

After a second too long without your hold, Drew turns back to look for you, eyes flicking between you and his empty hand as if reminding you that he needed to know you were there. You place your hand in his palm and let his fingers wrap around you, not making any move to hold his hand back, just yet.

You meet up with Kelsea and Chase and end up on the dancefloor. Your drink is finished by now and so is another and another, and at some point you’d all done two rounds of shots. Drew is dancing beside you, his arm bumping yours as he moves, trying to make you laugh with every exaggerated dance, or every effort to shout the lyrics of every song he recognised.

At some point, a group of girls are dancing beside you and one of them reaches out to tap Drew on the shoulder. He turns around one another of the girls reaches a hand out for him to take, spinning herself around and starting to dance with him. Chase nudges you and points in that direction as if you hadn’t seen it in the first place, watching as Drew gets engulfed by the group, dancing with them as they laugh at his moves. Kelsea glances in your direction and her brows drop as if concerned, as if worried for your reaction. You force yourself to smile at her and tear your eyes away from Drew, taking a long sip of your drink.

This was silly. You couldn’t keep thinking about this. But the more you thought about not thinking it, the more you thought about it. And you found yourself looking to the group of girls more and more often. They were all in different dresses, and you were sure you recognised their faces from the TikToks that could come up on your for you page of ‘get ready with me’ videos or ‘get dressed with me to go to…’ videos, another two of them you’ve seen at a fashion week before. They’re gorgeous. Their makeup still looks pristine even after hours of being in this hot club. And you’re suddenly aware of how yours is starting to feel more obvious on your face, how your foundation probably doesn’t look as good as it did when you left. How the curl of your lashes has probably dropped by now, your lipgloss non existent. You’re thinking of everything.

When you look back again, Drew’s leaning down to the height of one of the girls so that she can speak into his ear. He laughs at something she’s said and pulls away slightly, his eyes catching yours as his gaze flicks away from her. He smiles but you find yourself looking away before you can think to smile back, feeling slightly less comfortable amongst the party of unknown people.

~~~

You’d stayed at Kelsea’s that night, sleeping in her spare room, and you’re up before she is, a cup of coffee in hand as you’re sat on her balcony.

“Hey, honey,” Her voice cuts in as you’re halfway through your cup of coffee, “How long have you been up?”

“Not long, the pot’s still full if you want some,” You smile, tucking your feet underneath you on the chair.

“I’ll grab some in a minute,” Kelsea responds, sitting down on the other chair, “So, how are you doing after last night?”

You look at her and ponder giving a dismissive response but her face is too genuine to try and lie to, “I- I don’t know how to feel.”

“Okay, well I’m just going to start this by saying you’re allowed to feel upset, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know if I am though Kels, like me and Drew are just friends - why would I think that I have any place to feel any type of way about him and girls from clubs, you know?” You shake your head, taking a sip of your coffee to stop your bottom lip from trembling, “I just… me and him… I’ve never seen him with girls like that, so I didn’t know what to think.”

Kelsea nods, knowing to let you speak before she says her piece.

“I know we’re friends, and that’s fine. But I just saw those girls and I saw the way they were with him and they looked so… and they had this like confidence and they just…” You take in a shaky breath, “I’m not them. I’m not going to be them.”

“Oh honey!” Kelsea comes off from her chair and crouches in front of you, her hands on your knees, “(Y/N) you don’t need to be them. Drew doesn’t want you to be them. Do you know that? I see the way he is with you, the way he talks about you, that’s not the way you talk about someone if you’re just friends. Those girls, the club, last night, they were coming up to him, he wanted to be with you. I know he did.”

You want to believe her. But even the mention of his name forces the thoughts of last night back into your head, cycling through them like snapshot images, each one a little clearer and stinging just a little more.

“I’ll be okay,” You reach one of your hands down to squeeze Kelsea’s, “It was just one night. It’s okay.”

She furrows her brows and rubs her thumb over your knee, “Alright, I’m going to go and wake Chase up before he’s late for his press stuff.”

Kelsea disappears back inside and you sip down the rest of your coffee, drawing your legs up to your chest and trying to breathe out the tightness between your lungs, blinking away the blur of tears from your eyes.

~~~

It’s a day later when you realise you can only go so long avoiding Drew - perhaps less time than you’d originally thought that it would take. He had texted you a bunch yesterday, originally a good morning text, then turning into a couple of videos he thought were funny, ending the video string with one about when ‘the one person you speak to doesn’t reply’. By the night, he sent you one message saying that he was starting to get worried now that you hadn’t replied, and that he just wanted to check if you were okay. Today, he had called you in the morning and then followed up from his other text saying he was probably just being stupid but he wanted to make sure you were good. You reply with a simple;

Just been busy, got studio sessions coming up. Speak soon

You debate sending a heart at the end but delete it before pressing send. He reads it straight away and responds;

Fuck me I’m just glad you’re alive, felt weird going more than a day without speaking to you!! Hope your studio sessions go well, superstar <;3

You like the message and lock your phone, the same tightness settling on your chest as you’d had at the club, as you’d had yesterday morning. Your breath turns shaky again and you try to ignore it.

The next few days go relatively the same - Drew texts you in the morning, sends you something that reminds you of him or tells you to listen to a song that he’s found. You reply a few hours later with a short response or just react to the message, not wanting conversations to carry on like they normally do.

Another couple of days in, he calls you as you’re leaving the gym and you wait for it to go to voicemail, listening to it as soon as the notification comes through.

“Hey, superstar. I wasn’t sure if I’d get through to you, but I’m guessing you’re busy, um, just calling to say… well, I don’t know what I’m calling to say. Just that I miss you, I mean it’s only been a few days but… I don’t know. Feels weird not talking to you, so call me when you get the chance, let’s make plans or something. Alright, I’ll leave you to… well, I don’t know what you’re doing, which is weird, it feels like I always know what’s going on with you… um … whatever, call me back, or don’t if you don’t want to, I don’t know I-“

It cuts off after that and you’re just met with the monotone voice of your voicemail asking if you want to repeat the message. You listen to it once, twice again, finding comfort in the sound of his voice for those digital seconds.

Your finger hovers over his contact as you think of calling him back but you shift it to the text button instead.

hey! sorry i didn’t get to my phone in time - just been busy with the new album so the days are just going too fast. not sure when i’ll be free, i’m sorry

He reads it instantly and the elipsis bubble appears to say he is typing, disappearing and then reappearing a couple of times.

i told you not to forget me when you were famous (y/l/n). I miss you!!!!

You bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying at the words, reluctant to try to come up with any response that would feel fitting.

speak soon !!

~~~

It’s another week later when Kelsea invites you over for dinner, one of those sort of ‘no isn’t an option’ invites. You turn up with a bottle of wine and she wraps you in a bear hug when she sees you, a hand on your shoulder before she lets you come into the apartment.

“What’s going on?” You frown, looking at the slightly panicked expression on her face.

“Okay, don’t be mad,” She winces, “But Chase didn’t realise you were coming tonight and Drew’s here before they go out for dinner with the cast. He’s been asking about you.”

You shrug your shoulders, shake your head, “No, it’s okay, don’t worry. We’re friends, it’s fine.”

She furrows her brows a little, “Are you sure?”

“Of course!” You force a smile that you’re certain is believable enough and she must believe you, leading the way into the kitchen where there’s already a dinner cooking on the stove.

“Hey (Y/N)!” Chase gets up as you walk in, hugging you quickly.

You hug him back and, over his shoulder, spot the sight of Drew standing from his chair at the kitchen island.

“Hey stranger!” He raises his brows, “Where’ve you been?”

“Just a busy couple of weeks,” You nod, tightening your grip around the bottle of wine, “Been a bit M.I.A I guess.”

“Yeah, just a little,” He smiles softly, his eyes seeming to yearn for a little piece of you to come back to him, “Well it’s good to see you.”

You clear your throat, “You too.”

You try not to notice the way he watches you as you cross the kitchen, taking your jacket off and finding a bottle opener in the drawer to open the wine. You avoid eye contact when he watches your move to grab a glass from the shelf, pouring a portion of the liquid into the glass and swirling it around.

When you take a seat at the island, it’s the one furthest away from him. And when his eyes find yours then, it’s like they’re full of worry for his defeat - like this had just confirmed every thought that had been going through his head for the past week and a half. You, once again, find yourself trying to ignore the tightness in your chest, the way it restricts your breath as if he’s pulled it into him. Your eyes turn away from him as soon as you can force yourself to.

You’re just leaving Kelsea’s that night when you see the call come through. You’re almost a full bottle of wine in and it’s late as you’re descending the elevator to get to your Uber.

Your phone buzzes and your lowered inhibitions are the only reason you answer.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N),” His voice sounds slightly breathless on the other end of the phone, “You answered.”

“What’s happening Rafe?”

“Um…” He clears his throat and it crackles down the phone line, “Chase just said that Kelsea texted saying you were heading home. I figured you’d be getting a taxi.”

“I am,” You return, “I’m going down to it now.”

“I always call you when you’re getting a taxi.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “No, you don’t need to-“

“I always do (Y/N). We’ve known each other for seven months, and I always call when you’re in the taxi, why wouldn’t I?”

“Have you been drinking, Drew?”

“Have you?”

Both of you are silent.

“Is that the only reason you answered?” He asks and you’re sure you can hear a shake in the words.

You don’t respond.

“What’s going on, (Y/N)?” There’s definitely a shake now, somewhere close to a tremble, “Why does it feel like I’m losing you?”

“You’re not losing me I’ve just been b-“

“Don’t say you’ve been busy,” He quips, “You’re always busy, but you always make time. This isn’t that, this is different.”

You’re silent.

“Answer me (Y/N),” He doesn’t raise his voice, but the tension in his words seems heightened, harsher.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

“I’m free now,” He responds, “I’ll be at yours in half an hour.”

It might be the remaining buzz of alcohol in your system, or the sight of your taxi driver turning into the road, your way home, to Drew, but you don’t think twice when you say;

“Okay.”

~~~

A painfully slow thirty minutes later, Drew buzzes your front door to come up to your flat. He lets himself in and you’re sat waiting as if counting the seconds of him ascending in the elevator. You’ve drank a bottle of water by now and the wait has seemed to sober you up quicker than usual. And then there’s a knock at your apartment door and you’re sure your heart stops as you open it.

He’s wearing a shirt that’s unbuttoned at the top, wrinkled around the bottom from where it had been tucked in but wasn’t anymore. He looks disheveled as if he’d rushed to get here before the minutes caught up with him, or perhaps before you changed your mind.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” He breathes out, “You look beautiful.”

You were wearing a baggy t-shirt that hung around your thighs, a pair of gym shorts underneath, your hair pulled back from your face in a bun with strands seeming to fall out on their own accord, no makeup on your face but your cheeks rosy from the wine in your system.

“Do you want to come in?”

He steps through your front door and you step past him to close it. Drew doesn’t make any effort to move further and neither do you. He’s just stood in your hallway looking at you and you’re stood with your back a few feet from the front door, somewhat feeling isolated now you knew he wasn’t leaving.

“What’s going on (Y/N)?” His shoulders drop as if he just needed to get the words off of his chest, a relief slipping over his features to finally say the words to your face.

“I-“ You take in a deep breath, “I just feel like things are weird between us.”

“They’re weird, yeah,” He scoffs, “They’re weird because you’ve been avoiding me.”

Drew laughs then and you find yourself letting out a little laugh too, the two of you gripping onto the pieces of normality that still remained.

“Did something happen at that party? Because I’ve been wracking my brain and that’s the last night I can remember where it felt like things were normal. And since then I’ve barely seen you. Did something happen? Did I do something? Did I say something?”

You shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself as if you’re cowering away from the idea of having to admit to anything.

“(Y/N)…”

“I hated it-“ You stop yourself, letting your thoughts gather, “We were at that party and I hated it. These girls were flocking to you and flirting with you and chatting to you and all I could think about was how much I hated it. Which is stupid because I have no reason to feel like that but I couldn’t help it and then I hated that I felt like that because I-“

“(Y/N), breathe,” Drew steps towards you, his hand reaching out and lacing with yours.

The contact seems to ground you, his eyes burning into your skin but somehow seeming to calm the raging fire of your nerves.

“I know I have no reason to be jealous, I know that, but I just,” You shake your head, “I was jealous.”

“You were jealous,” Drew returns, the corners of his mouth upturning with the slightest glimpse of brightness on his features.

“It’s stupid because I know we’re just friends and I know that I don’t want to lose that and-“

“You were jealous,” He’s really fighting back a smile now, but it seems to fight harder against him as his lips stretch into a grin.

You look up at him then, your eyes locking with his, you’re sure you forget how to breathe for just a second.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” His brows furrow for a second but he doesn’t seem to lose the joy on his face.

“I just-“ You look down again, “I didn’t want things to be weird between us, or for you to lie and say that you felt the same way.”

Drew moves his free hand up and presses a thumb underneath your chin, his index finger bending around the front to push your chin upwards, guiding your eyes towards him, guiding you back to him. His eyes are sincere, flicking between either of yours.

“It wouldn’t be a lie.”

You open your mouth and close it again, words catching on your tongue as you’re sure your whole body is going to freeze in this exact spot. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing - to stay in this moment.

“But maybe next time you’re feeling jealous, just tell me. Does that sound good to you?” He dips his head just slightly, his fingers not moving from around your chin.

You laugh lightly and nod your head, “That sounds good.”

He chuckles and moves his hand around to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing over the skin, “And those girls? They’re not you.”

You feel your cheeks heat under his touch, his gaze, his words, “Not me?”

Drew shakes his head, “I don’t think anyone could come close,” He hums, dropping his head closer to you until his lips are just an inch from you, breath hot over your features.

In just a second, his lips press to yours, softly as if savouring the feeling of the first time. His hand moves from yours to instead drop to your hip, guiding you backwards until your back is flush against the door. With the contact, he deepens his kiss against your lips, his fingers slipping back into your hair.

When he pulls away, you’re both a little breathless against each other.

“God I’ve waited so long to do that,” He mumbles, pressing his forehead against yours, a smile crawling onto his lips.

“Next time please don’t wait so long,” You laugh, your arms moving to link your hands behind his neck.

“I don’t plan on it,” Drew smirks, dipping his head once again to kiss you, more sure of himself than before.

And, then, you’re sure. You’d stay locked in this moment if you could.

[starfall-spirit]

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Ancient Myths Retold Masterlist

Event Masterlist

Summary: Lost at sea for the last ten years, Lucien Vanserra, Heir to Day has been presumed dead by all but one. Clinging to that thread of gold and loyal until and beyond death, Elain knows every one of the gossiping fools and suitors cursing her doorstep are wrong. Even still, feeling their bond grow frailer each morning has taken it's toll.

Each night she can't help but fear that bond will at last be cleaved, and the wolves will close in for their prize—her hand in marriage.

~~~~~

AN: Happy Elucien Week! May I introduce my Odyssey AU this fine morning? Quotes above each chapter are lyrics from EPIC: The Musical, because honestly, that's what inspired this fic.

@elucienweekofficial Day 1: Fated

Though I never thought that it would come to this

Just know I'll be here buying you time

~Penelope, The Challenge

Chapter I: Buying You Time

The sun was high overhead when Elain sensed her younger sister and brother-in-law approaching. She had thought it would take her a long while to warm to the new High Lord of Night, but the clear adoration he held for her sister was proof enough for her that there was a good male behind the rumors circulating the seven courts.

“Elain!” Feyre called over the wind, shielding the infant in her arms from the worst of the early autumn chill. Elain was well guarded herself in a long-sleeved gown of rose pink, the breathable skirt just thick enough to ensure she stayed comfortable outdoors for any period of time.

“Feyre, I was beginning to wonder,” she murmured, careful of the child between them as her sister drew her into a loose embrace. Pulling back, she smiled. “It seems I’m not the only one suited to motherhood. You’re glowing.”

Feyre beamed, dropping her eyes to the dark-haired boy sleeping in her arms. “This is Nyx. I suppose I have to take the blame for our delay. I was nervous to travel with him so early.” She shook her head, as if her protective instincts were something outlandish.

“Shall we step into the house?” Elain offered. “I can call for refreshments while we catch up.”

The pair nodded, Rhys’ arm once again settling around Feyre’s waist, tucking her into his side and pressing a kiss to her brow. They were disgustingly happy, and Elain was thrilled to see her sister had found love. But that didn’t mean she could shut out the envy that had begun roiling inside of her. Wretched as it made her, she couldn’t wait for Rhysand to excuse himself, be it for business or leisure.

Rather than watch him help Feyre settle into the couch with the baby, Elain busied herself by calling for a tea service. Still, she couldn’t shut out the soft words exchanged between them—endearments and flirtation.

For a moment she let herself remember—embraced the phantom touch at her waist, the heat of her own mate at her back as she watched a summer sunrise from their balcony the morning after they accepted the bond. If she tried hard enough, she could almost pretend the woodsy scent in the room was something a little warmer, sweet as an autumn harvest.

Elain swallowed hard, steadying her trembling hands. She could not afford to lose herself in such a fantasy. Not with company present, and certainly not with the bond between them weakening day by day.

Shaking off the negative energy, she returned to her guests. “Have the nights been terrible? It took months for Kadeem to get his nights and days on track.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call them easy,” Feyre admitted. “But I’m sure that a few years from now we’ll be reminiscing through rose-colored glasses.”

Rhys shot his mate an incredulous look. Clearly the new father was not so optimistic about the newborn phase becoming a fond memory. “You’ll grow to miss those moments—the bonding only found in the dead of night. I know I do,” she confessed without thinking.

There was a tense pause, the three of them trying to navigate the dangerous waters they were approaching. “Would you like to hold him?” Feyre offered, her voice hesitant as if she didn’t know if the suggestion would make things better or worse.

Elain nodded, admittedly nervous about holding her nephew for the first time. He was as gorgeous as both his parents, sweet faced with those brilliant blue eyes staring up at her now that he’d finished his nap. It was dangerous, being so prone to baby fever when her mate was gods knew where, apparently unable to winnow or send word home.

“Why don’t you ladies enjoy your talk,” Rhys said at the same moment as the tea service arrived. “I’ll return in a few hours.” Pressing another kiss to Feyre’s forehead, he stood from the sofa, approaching Elain just long enough to run a hand over the ink-black fuzz his son had inherited from him. The nights may be draining, but it was obvious that Rhys was a family man above all else. It made her all the more pleased for her sister.

The door clicked shut softly and the girls were left with only each other, the soft clinking of spoons against porcelain the sole sound between them. “Will you tell me about him? Your life before he set sail?”

“Feyre—”

“You can’t keep sitting with this, Elain. I would never dream of suggesting you move on from him, having my own bond, but you have to see that bottling this up isn’t healthy.”

Unwilling to snap at her sister, she took a deep breath, letting the words wash over her. Feyre wasn’t wrong, when she thought it through. Nothing could be done at this point to reach out to Lucien and his crew, but letting herself crumble day by day wouldn’t help her or her son, either.

Sighing heavily, she set her tea down. “As you know, we met at the Solstice ball.”

~~~~~

~Twelve Years Ago~

The Summer Solstice ball Nostrus hosted was rumored to be extravagant, but Elain hadn’t quite grasped the intensity of the celebration until she was staring it in the face— it being an overzealous lord with a tendency to step on his dance partner’s toes, that is. She winced, nearly stumbling through the next turn. “Lady Elain, my apologies. I’m not myself tonight, and your beauty does little to help my focus.”

“It’s alright,” she soothed him, refraining from cringing at the poor attempt at flattery. He was hardly the first, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. “But I did promise to mingle with others tonight as well.”

“As these things go. Very well.” She breathed a sigh of relief when the clumsy male finally left her on her own. Perhaps she could have a moment of peace at last. Despite her mother’s lectures and thinly veiled threats, the dessert table had been calling to her for hours, the ganache-coated treats a taunt left in the open.

”I won’t tattle if you sneak over for a plate.”

Elain froze as the new voice washed over her, rich and deep enough she could imagine it in the lull of a story or song. A warmth bloomed, not just a flush of embarrassment, caught eyeing the sweets nearby, but a kindling within her. The foreign thing only grew as a calloused hand slipped into her own, curling loosely before raising her hand to his lips. “Lady Elain, isn’t it?”

She nodded, mind barely processing his question as she worked to suppress the bundle of nerves building in her throat, tightening her diaphragm. “I—” She softly cleared her throat, trying to summon the mask she wore to court since her introduction to society. “That’s right. I don’t believe we’ve met in any official capacity, Lord…”

“Lucien Vanserra.” His slight smirk told her her shock at that must have shown. She should have recognized the Heir of Day the moment he entered the room. “But you can just call me Lucien. Now, will you honor me with a dance, my lady?”

She gave a slow nod, letting him lead her out to the floor, pointedly ignoring the familiar glint of ambition she knew she’d find in her mother’s eyes. A prince and future High Lord had drawn her into a waltz she could execute in her sleep. In her parents eyes a proposal wasn’t so much a matter of if, but when. And if that soul-deep kindling was what she thought it was, swelling with every measure that passed, her parents’ wish would be granted.

“So you know, Lucien, my mother and father will imagine this dance is a step towards courtship. My older sister and I have reached marriageable ages, and now, well, my debut is months behind me.”

He hummed, cocking his head slightly, eyes narrowing when his attention flew over her shoulder. “And what are your desires when it comes to courtship?”

Her laugh was lacking in sincerity, but he made no comment. “Don’t you know, Lucien? We ladies of station don’t have the luxury of indulgence and desire. I haven’t dared to dream since I was a child. Such is life.”

He frowned, shifting into a second dance with ease. “I’d like to change that, my lady.”

The title was becoming awkward, seeing as he had granted her his given name, but she said nothing of it. “Is that a proposition?”

That smirk returned, the curl of it as sly as a fox. “Would you like it to be one?”

That fluttering of nerves returned. “You can call me Elain, you know.”

And that seemed to be answer enough.

~~~~~

Taglist: @corcracrow // @goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiyawhitethorn // @vulpes-fennec // @headcanonheadcase // @aldbooks // @panicatthenightcourt // @jennity-blogs // @thelovelymadone

It's been ages since I assessed my Elucien taglist, so if you want to be added or removed, don't be afraid to comment.

[iinsertblognamee]

cure to a scary flight

summary ― sam doesn't like flying, you get seated next to her

pairing ― sam kerr x reader

warning/s ― fluff

based off this request

She was scared. She was always scared at this part. Plane trips were something she never got used to no matter how frequent they came. Sam’s fear of flying was as real as it was intense. She had tried every sleeping pill, every distraction, every ‘tip and trick’ that was meant to help but nothing seemed to work. 

Seats were taken, Sam taking the aisle seat, like usual. You had been dealt the ‘unlucky’ straw. Seated next to Sam, although you weren’t sure who they were trying to torture more, you or her. 

It was no secret you had a big fat crush on Sam, from the moment you had met her during a training session a few years back. Everyone on the team was aware of your pathetic crush except Miss Sam Kerr herself. 

To give yourself credit, you had dropped many many hints before, and all seemed to have fallen through. 

You pulled out your headphones, as you got yourself comfortable. The flight wasn’t too long, but long enough that you were determined to catch those extra hours of sleep you had lost getting up and ready for the flight. 

“You doing okay there Kerr?” 

Her hands were gripping on the armrest, her knuckles white. She gives a small hum, her head giving a sharp nod. 

The plane ride was going to be bad enough, and now she had to sit just centimetres away from you, the one person she couldn’t control herself around. There was something about you, something she couldn’t quite catch that drew her to you. Your laughter, your smile - whatever it was, it caused Sam to be a complete idiot around you. Embarrassing herself left, right and centre. 

“Not a fan of flights?” 

Stating the obvious, you almost curse yourself. It wasn’t a secret Sam hated flying - it was one of the first things you had learnt about her in a team-building activity. 

“You could say that” 

“They say that these are safer than cars now, you know?” You offered casually, looking through the movie selection, you could see from the side, Sam’s head titling in your direction. 

Sam felt her lips tug up a little, a small shake to her head. Y/N always had this thing about her, you were the perfect distraction, your enthusiasm contagious. 

The doors were closing soon enough, Sam’s hand gripping onto yours. You gave her a gentle squeeze. 

“We’ve got this Sammy, just a couple of hours and we’ll be in paradise. Portugal will make up for it” 

Lift-off was the worst. Sam squinched up her eyes and tightened her grip on your hand. Sam also told herself that if she could get through the first ten minutes then she would be okay. 

You could see Sam’s body tense up, the sound of the engine keeping her on edge. Your steady voice filled Sam’s ears during take-off. 

“Look, Sam, look…as we get higher, the problems seem smaller. Your fear seems smaller. Let it all go. See for yourself.” You gave her a small nudge, as her eyes flickered open. She catches her breath as she takes a look out the window past you, the sunset capturing her attention. As beautiful as the sunset was, your attention didn’t stray from Sam’s face. The small smile on your face as you watch her take in the sight. 

You could feel her body relax against you, although her hand stayed firm with yours. It wasn’t long before Sam had gotten comfortable, filling the once-tense atmosphere with laughter, movies and silly tales. You had even managed to win against Sam at a game of chess from the in-flight entertainment. 

The easy-going flow was making you both confident. The simple touches are now a constant. The flirty comments came over tenfold. Your personal space is non-existent, wanting, no. Needing to be closer to Sam. You caught her on multiple times watching your lips, although you know she’s caught you doing the exact same thing. 

The flight attendance broke our bubble, explaining we were getting ready to land and to make sure we had our seatbelts on. You could tell Sam was getting nervous again, her hand gripping yours once again, although this time instead of keeping her eye trained on the window she kept it on you. 

“You’re very pretty” she breathes out, almost as if she was in pain. A small blush appears on your cheeks at the confession. 

“You’re very pretty” you comment back, a shy smile on your lips. A silence engulfs us, the sounds of the engine filling the air once again. You keep a firm grip on Sam’s hand, a constant for her, rubbing your thumb to provide comfort. 

“I don’t know why it’s taken a plane ride for me to ask you this, but do you think you would want to go out on a date with me sometime?” Her eyes hold hope, and you swear your heart beats just that little bit faster. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that for years Kerr” 

Safe to say, this was Sam’s favourite flight yet.

[ataleofcrowns]

Bonus Lore: Crowns of Old, Part III

[ Part I | Part II ]

Back with another lore drop from the Patreon!! This time we'll be looking at the Eighth, Ninth and Tenth Crowns ���

The Eighth Crown: Bargiran of Great Mercy

When speaking of Crowns that are of more humble backgrounds, Crown Bargiran is the one that comes to mind first. Due to the plague that swept through Arsur during the reign of Crown Lorîcan, Bargiran lost both her parents and was orphaned at a young age. Her older sister did her best to take care of them both, but she was only barely an adult herself, and they struggled greatly. Many nights were spent sleeping on the streets and begging for scraps of food.

It was Bargiran's great fortune that they were found, yet it was even greater fortune to Arsur. Bargiran had an uncanny talent in healing magic. Many of her days as an orphan was spent helping at a public health clinic in exchange for food, where she quickly discovered her talent for magic, and especially her talent for healing and alchemy.

Shortly after, Crown Lorîcan received her vision, which showed her Bargiran. At this point, Lorîcan had already imprisoned her previous Sorcerer months before. As the plague continued to sweep through the lands, unabated, she knew that she was running out of time to find her successor. There was a real risk that Bargiran could die before Lorîcan could find her, in which case there could be an unprecedented crisis in Arsur.

No one knew what would happen should the successor die before they could officially receive the Blessing of the spirits during their coronation. Some scholars worried that it would bring the line of Crowns to an end. As such, no resource was spared to find Bargiran. Thankfully, she was found before disaster could strike.

Unfortunately, Lorîcan's tutelage was extremely short-lived. Only weeks after finding her successor, she would show signs of being infected herself, and within days she passed away. Bargiran became the Crown at the young age of sixteen--the youngest a Crown has ever taken the throne--and made it her sole purpose to put an end to the plague. Either by finding a cure, or by curbing it as much as possible.

It was upon her coronation that she chose the name Bargiran for herself, meaning "one whose burden is heavy". She knew it would be an incredibly difficult task. It would take ten years before Bargiran, together with expert healers from all over Arsur and even beyond, would find a cure. The need for it became even more dire for Bargiran personally when her sister fell ill.

Bargiran worked herself to exhaustion, famously fainting during a court meeting and falling off the stairs of the throne room, nearly breaking her neck were it not for her Royal Protector. Eventually, her efforts bore fruit, and after a long, devastating decade, Bargiran found a cure at the young age of twenty-six years old.

However, it was a great tragedy that she could not find the cure in time to save her sister. People far and wide considered Bargiran to be one of the greatest Crowns in history, likening her to a savior, yet Bargiran never forgave herself for not being able to cure her sister in time. While she helped Arsur heal from its wounds, Bargiran would never be able to heal herself.

The Ninth Crown: Beloved Dila

Dila became the Crown during a time of relative peace; there were no wars to be fought, and Arsur had finally reached a point of stability. Dila’s reign was best known for the flourishing of arts and culture within the Empire. In fact, it was during her/their reign that pleasure houses grew into the influence they now possess.

Crown Dila was known for being a beauty without compare. It wasn’t solely their looks, but also their innate charm that drew people to them; rather, her charm enhanced her appearance into something of almost mythical proportions. A few historians have encountered accounts that say that Crown Dila’s magic itself was the cause, that she possessed a peculiar aura that wasn’t quite elemental in nature, but rather one that enchanted onlookers. These accounts were not verified, however, and officially Crown Dila’s magic is listed to have been an Earth affinity.

Centuries later, poets still compose verses referring to Crown Dila, describing rosewater flowing from their darkly coiled tresses, or the light of the moon held in the night of her eyes. There is even a famous story written of Crown Dila’s encounter with the peri queen, where it is said Dila charmed even Queen Nis and was granted a blessing by her that would ensure a long, peaceful reign.

During their lifetime, Dila had the most lovers out of any Crown to date. Their royal concubines numbered into the two dozen at their largest recorded size, though Dila formally courted only four people during their reign; all four became Jewels of the Crown as well. Dila was very free with her affections, but also selective in who she romanced, even casually. 

Their royal concubines were almost all artists, of various kinds. Painters, sculptors, dancers, singers, musicians, poets, writers and storytellers, even weavers of cloth and carpets—Dila greatly admired and loved all kinds of artistic expression. 

Being a royal concubine usually meant to be committed to the Crown, but Dila went against convention and allowed their concubines to court whomever they wished. Many of Dila’s concubines were artists who worked for pleasure houses, and thanks to gaining Dila’s favor, their pleasure houses rose in status as well.

The Tenth Crown: Love-blind Jiyan

Jiyan was known for her/his/their love for life. It was undoubtedly the influence of their mentor, Crown Dila, who was famous for guiding Arsur into an age where the arts would flourish. This continued under Jiyan's reign, as he was equally fond of all the best things life had to offer. Perhaps to an excess.

While Jiyan was a very capable Crown, especially good at navigating difficult diplomatic relations, they were also a very passionate person who tended to have an impulsive streak. Early in her reign this was brushed off, as everyone assumed Jiyan would mature into her role. He was only crowned at the age of twenty, after all, and would gain wisdom with time and experience.

Unfortunately, no one could anticipate the disaster that Jiyan's impulses would drag Arsur into.

It started as an innocent flirtation. Jiyan noticed the provincial army commander of Zerat during one of their court meetings. The commander in question, Asin, reported to the Crown regarding conflicts with some rebellious nobles within the province.

Jiyan was immediately taken with him. Commander Asin was of equal age to Jiyan, very accomplished at only twenty-eight years of age, and also said by some to have an appearance that was quite pleasing to the eye. Jiyan would find excuses to talk to him while he stayed at the palace, and Asin--very flattered the Crown would give him any attention at all--indulged her quite readily.

Soon, Asin found himself seeking out Jiyan as often as Jiyan would visit him. With the Royal Palace being in Zeratun, where Jiyan preferred to stay, it was very easy for the two to see each other whenever they wanted. Before either of them realized it, what had started as playful banter quickly spiraled out of control over the next few weeks.

It became a whispered rumor among the servants that the Crown had started to invite Zerat's army commander to his chambers. Jiyan's Sorcerer and Royal Protector already knew, of course, but they didn't think it necessary to intervene. The Imperial Court, however, had other thoughts.

They confronted Jiyan on her relationship with Asin during a court meeting. While some were clearly taking advantage of the rumors to weaken Jiyan's position, others had sincere reservations about whether it was a good idea to take a subordinate in charge of a sizable portion of the military as a lover. Zerat's army was the largest and strongest out of all the provinces, eclipsing even the Imperial Army at the time.

Jiyan dismissed their concerns, and the matter was closed, albeit not settled. While Jiyan and Asin's relationship had started out well, over time, they started to argue more and more. Not about their relationship, but about military matters. It soured their romance, both having part of the blame. Asin started voicing opinions on the Imperial Army which was far beyond his station, and Jiyan started belittling Asin's opinions on matters he did have expertise in.

The last straw came when Jiyan ordered Asin to round up the rebellious nobles and officially imprison them. Asin knew it would inflame the situation, but he was also incensed to be condescended to yet again, for a moment forgetting his rank. His outright refusal infuriated Jiyan who, in another moment of impulsiveness, stripped Asin of his rank.

To Asin, it felt like betrayal of the worst kind. He was disgraced, humiliated. To the servants and guards who witnessed the huge blow-up between the two, it came as little surprise when a few weeks later, reports came in that Zerat's provincial army had joined the ranks of the rebels and had begun an uprising in earnest.

Jiyan was struck with shame and regret, at many things. How he had treated Asin, and even having begun a relationship with Asin to begin with. The civil war that followed was a bloody one, though it was confined to Zerat and put down within the year.

The Crown was not present for any of the battles, or for Asin's eventual capture and execution. She never spoke of him again, and it was understood that one should never mention his name in Jiyan's presence.

The civil war that was waged during their reign became known as the War of Lovers.

[ambrossart]

Post Prom - Part II

⏪ part one

summary: after leaving prom, you and eddie go to the hideout to reminisce and listen to music. one thing leads to another, and you end up going back to his trailer.

pairing: eddie munson x dwm!reader word count: 7,167 warnings: language, new relationship, underage drinking, reminiscing about the past, pent-up feelings finally being expressed, very slightly NSFW, mostly just a lot of making out, plus a little dry humping, nothing too explicit, some suggestive language, talk of sex but no actual depictions of sex, eddie being adorable, eddie being romantic

This short story is the epilogue to Dancing with Myself. For proper context, I highly suggest you read that before reading this.

Eddie had to fiddle with the lock a few times before the front door would open.

While he jiggled his keys and cursed under his breath, you stood on the step below with your stomach all knotted up like macramé, watching the tiny moths flutter beneath the gleam of the porchlight. This wasn’t your first time standing here. You had been here before, almost six years ago, when you came and started banging on Eddie’s door at ten o’clock in the morning, yelling for him to get his stubborn ass outside. The memory made you giggle. You had been so nervous back then. Shit, you were nervous now… just a different kind, you supposed.

A soft creak drew your attention back to the front door. Eddie pulled it open with a triumphant smile and held it for you.

“Well,” he said, “this is it…”

And right before you went inside, you saw Eddie suck in a shallow breath. He was nervous, nervous about letting you see inside his house—his private, most intimate place—completely unprepared. You felt honored and grateful to know he trusted you that much.

Smiling, you brushed past him and walked through the front door. As soon as you did, you were overcome with this overwhelming and indescribable warmth that spread through your whole body. It felt less like you were entering Eddie’s house and more like you were entering his world. After years of standing outside it, only ever getting as close as the front porch, you had finally been allowed inside. It was hard not to get a little emotional about it.

“Sorry about the mess,” Eddie said, but honestly, you didn’t even notice it. Your feet moved on their own and carried you deeper inside, into the living room. There, you found a dark brown sofa chair sitting in the far right corner and a light brown loveseat resting against a draped window. A bit worn, both of them, but still in good shape. Pushed against the opposite wall was a small television, a writing desk with a built-in shelf, and a roll-out folding bed, where you imagined Eddie’s uncle resting after a long night’s work. It was a charming room, well-lit and cozy, full of all these random little knickknacks that you could have spent hours browsing through. There were hats hanging on the walls, dozens of them, and long wooden shelves lined with nothing but souvenir mugs, more than you could even begin to count.

“You know, your uncle could open a gift shop with all this stuff.”

Eddie was watching you from the front door, a faint smile on his face. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, he’s quite the collector.”

You nodded absentmindedly and proceeded into the kitchen, humming as you ran your hand along a small dining table set for two, with mismatched chairs.

Eddie gave you a bemused look and said, “What are you doing?”

“Just looking around,” you answered with a shrug. “Why? Do you not want me to?”

“Uhh, no,” Eddie said, a little taken aback. “Go crazy.”

So with his permission, you did. You fingered through some of the clutter on the counter, cracked open a few cabinets and drawers, snuck a little peek into the fridge—just a quick one to sate your curiosity, perfectly harmless. And as you did this, you imagined Eddie growing up here: making breakfast for himself before school, doing his homework at the counter, eating dinner with his uncle at the dining table. Did he use the upholstered chair or the simpler metal one leaning against the pantry? You couldn’t quite decide.

Then you moseyed down the hallway, looking at this and that. You pushed open the door, switched on the light to see into the bathroom… and stopped dead in your tracks when you reached the bedroom at the end of the hall.

Your stomach flipped twice, end over end. Yeah, you didn’t dare step foot in Eddie’s room. Instead, you spun around and went scurrying back the way you came, feeling much less adventurous than before.

As you shyly approached, Eddie said, “Well, did you enjoy your little tour?”

“I did,” you said while you played with the tip of your pinky. “Yeah, I really like your house.”

“Well, good,” Eddie said with a crooked, bashful smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

And then you both fell silent, listening to the low hum of a lightbulb that wasn’t quite screwed on tight enough. You stood with your back pressed against a metal storage rack. Across from you, Eddie was still by the front door, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. He had his left hand on the backrest of one of the dining chairs, and his nails kept scratching against the upholstery as he slowly curled and uncurled his fingers. His silver-plated rings winked at you every time they caught the light. After a while, it was starting to drive you crazy.

Those damn rings, you thought, they’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.

Eddie’s voice made you jump.

“I’m gonna grab a beer,” he said. “Do you, uh, want one?”

“Sure,” you said.

After all, a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt, could it?

Eddie grabbed two cans of beer from the fridge, opened one, and handed it to you. “Thanks,” you said, and then he went into the living room and made himself comfortable on the sofa.

No, on the loveseat.

Eddie threw his feet up on the coffee table, cracked open his beer and took a few slow sips. Upon lowering his drink, he turned toward you and made a beckoning motion with just the tip of his finger.

This one simple gesture set your nerves on fire! You made it only a few steps into the living room before you backpedaled into the counter and huddled against it like a coward. It dawned on you now, actually now, that you and Eddie were finally, truly, alone. Yeah, this wasn’t two kids whispering downstairs in a basement or two high school students flirting in a public restroom on prom night. This was you and Eddie.

Together.

Alone.

Oh fuck, you thought as a shiver ran up your spine. You brought the aluminum can to your lips and took the biggest gulp of your life.

Now Eddie was getting up and walking toward you. He sank down beside you with his beer in his hand and said in a hushed voice, “Why are you hiding?”

“Why are you whispering?” you said, and Eddie’s face scrunched up adorably, like he didn’t have a clue.

“I dunno,” he answered in his normal voice. Then he took a long, long drink and wiped his wet lips with the knuckle of his thumb. “Seriously, though, why are you hiding from me?”

You opened your mouth, closed it, and turned away. “You make me really nervous.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Really? Well, that’s… interesting.”

You looked over your shoulder and saw his lips curl into a proud grin.

“Oh, don’t get all smug now!” you said, giving him a little shove.

“I’m not, I’m not. It’s just…” His face softened with a gentle smile. “It’s a good feeling, knowing I make you nervous.”

Eddie’s words made you blush. You set your beer aside and burrowed deep into Wayne’s jacket. “I’m not used to you being like this.”

“Like what?”

“All… confident and flirty. I dunno, I guess I’m just used to you running away from me all the time.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed. “I never ran away from you.”

“Really?” you said with a teasing smirk. “‘Cause I can think of at least four separate occasions where you saw me and immediately took off in the opposite direction.”

“Well, that’s… because I was scared of you.”

You bent your head and started to giggle. Eddie watched you out of the corner of his eye, struggling to hold in a laugh of his own.

“You finally admit it.”

“I finally admit it…”

Eddie put down his beer and smiled at you. Then his eyes took on a strange glint, as if inflamed by some mysterious spark of emotion. Without speaking, he rolled his weight onto his right arm and swung his body over yours, pinning you up against the counter.

His deep brown eyes bore into yours as he said, “Luckily, I’m not fourteen anymore.”

Your lips parted with an inaudible gasp. No, you definitely aren’t, you thought, and drew away from him a little. This was too much. The house was too quiet; Eddie was too close; and you… you were silently chanting the Lord’s Prayer in hopes of banishing the evil spirit that was currently possessing your thoughts.

Your eyes closed as Eddie’s nose grazed your cheek.

“Hey,” he whispered, “can I tell you a secret?”

You nodded vaguely, unable to speak. When you opened your eyes, Eddie was hovering over you and staring at your face with a soft, almost sleepy gaze.

“You make me nervous, too,” he said. “Pretty much on a daily basis.”

“Really?” Your nose wrinkled in disbelief. “You don’t seem nervous.”

“You don’t think so?” he said. “C’mere.”

He took your hand and held it to his chest. His heart thundered desperately against your palm.

In a flustered voice, you said, “Okay, if this is a move, it’s a good one.”

Eddie’s chest shook as he laughed. “Well, good,” he said. “I’ll make sure to use it on the next girl I invite over.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Shut up,” you said, but you didn’t raise your hand to smack him like you normally would. Instead, you closed your eyes and let your hand melt into him, feeling his heat, feeling his heartbeat, riding each wave of his ragged breath. Was this what it always felt like? When Eddie saw you in the hallway, in the cafeteria, in class, did his heart ache for you just like this? It almost seemed impossible, didn’t it? Before tonight, this would’ve been nothing more than a fantasy, but now… right now… it felt too real to be anything but true.

You laid your head on Eddie’s chest, felt his heart jog and then settle back into a steady rhythm: slower than before but still beating strong. Then you felt his arms wrap around you and pull you tighter against him. You nuzzled your head into his chin. He pressed his lips to your hairline and sighed against your skin.

“I really missed you,” he said.

After that, time seemed to stop. You raised your head off Eddie’s chest and smiled at him. He kissed you softly on the lips and drew back with smoldering eyes. You touched your hand to his face, gently brushing your fingers over his bottom lip, and he leaned in and kissed you again, taking the last six years of yearning and heartache and igniting them into passion. His grip on your waist tightened. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck and pulled him closer. You kissed slowly, deeply, and then he grabbed your hips and lifted you onto the counter.

Items scattered and shifted. Somewhere behind you, a cup fell with a hollow clink. You broke the kiss, laughing, and craned your head to see where it landed. Eddie hooked his hand around your jaw and pulled you back, kissing you again and again until

Brrring! Brrring!

the phone rang.

The sound blared through the silent house like a fire alarm. You and Eddie broke away and stared at each other, breathless and bewildered. Then you buried your face in the crook of his neck and crumbled into giggles.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eddie said, looking up with a wide, defeated smile. He cupped your face and pressed one more kiss to your lips, and as he pulled away, he whispered in a slow, forceful voice: “Don’t move.”

He went to the ringing phone and lifted the handset off the wall.

“Yeah?” he said while rubbing his forehead.

“Hey, man!” It was Gareth, calling at almost two in the morning. “I thought you’d be home by now…” Lips smacked and popcorn crunched. In the background, an old sci-fi movie was playing. “So, how’d it go, dude?”

“Uhh, good.” Eddie glanced back at you and a smile came to his face. “Really good.”

He turned around, looked for a seat, and sat down on top of the kitchen table. Meanwhile, you had climbed down from the counter and were now carefully rearranging the ruffled layers of your taffeta skirt, making sure they lay neatly against your thigh. A guttural sound emerged from Eddie’s throat as he watched you. He closed his eyes and cursed his friend’s timing.

“No shit,” said Gareth in disbelief. “You actually got Chrissy to dance with you?”

“Uhh… no,” Eddie said. “You were right, man, that was a terrible idea.”

A terrible and wonderful idea. It brought him straight to you.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, buddy,” Gareth said. “How’re you doing?”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m, uhh…” You caught his eye and gave him a sweet smile that he couldn’t help but return. “I’m better than ever, man.”

“Is that Gareth?” you asked.

Eddie nodded, rolled his eyes, and said, “Uh-huh…” while his friend’s voice faded into the background.

He watched you fidget in sheer boredom for a while: tracing random patterns on the counter with your finger, flicking the lampshade and making it spin, picking up a pair of pliers, fiddling with them for a second, and putting them back down. Then you leaned forward and laid your chin on your palm, giving him a coy, impatient little pout that awakened something primal within him. The handset slipped out of his hand, pulled the coiled cord taut, and clattered to the floor. Eddie picked it up and clumsily brought it back to his ear.

“Hey, I gotta go, man.”

“Huh?” Gareth said. “What do you mean, you—Wait, are you with someone right now?”

Eddie didn’t answer. He was on his feet and moving.

“I’ll, uhh, talk to you later, buddy.”

“No, wait! Eddie! Eddie!”

“Don’t call me back,” Eddie said. He pulled the handset away from his ear and

“Edd—”

hung it on the base with a click.

During all this, you were snickering with your hand over your mouth. Eddie stepped away from the phone and—suddenly, it was ringing again! Your laughter grew into muffled snorts. Eddie picked up the phone and growled: “Fuck off!” then slammed it back down. And when it rang a third time (because, of course, it had to ring a third time), he grabbed the cable and yanked it right out of the socket.

“What if there’s an emergency?” you said, giggling, as Eddie came toward you.

“I… don’t care,” he muttered dazedly, and he scooped your face into his hands and kissed you.

This was not a chaste, gentleman’s kiss. This was a lover’s kiss, full of heat and passion, desperation and desire. You closed your eyes and parted your lips as Eddie trailed kisses down your chin and along your jaw. His calloused hands, strong but tender, traced down your neck and tugged on the collar of Wayne’s jacket, pulling it over your shoulders, down your arms, and letting it fall to the floor. “Watch the jacket,” you said, and a sharp gasp escaped you. The contrast between the warmth of Eddie’s hands and the coldness of his rings made you shiver as he caressed your bare arms, slowly, gently. He kissed his way up to your mouth, cupped the side of your face, and slipped his tongue between your lips. You curled your hand into his shirt and let out a soft moan.

But then he drew back with a wince.

“Hey, I didn’t plan this or anything. You know that, right?”

Eddie’s dark eyes passed over your face, searching for any signs of doubt. “I mean… I didn’t bring you here to uhh, y’know, try to get in your pants.”

Your grip on his shirt loosened. “Oh,” you said, and looked at the floor with an embarrassed smile. “Well, that’s a little disappointing…”

(because you were definitely trying to get in his)

As those words left your lips, the air between you became thick with tension. You timidly ran your hand down Eddie’s chest, a faint blush rising to your face, and his eyes grew wide as realization washed over him.

“Oh shit,” Eddie said. He gulped deeply, combed his hand nervously through his hair, and spoke in a heated, trembling voice: “Umm… are you sure?”

You pulled him in by his shirt and kissed him. As you broke away, your eyes were calm and unwavering.

“I’m sure.”

The world seemed dreamlike as your body sank into Eddie’s mattress. His fingers interlaced with yours as he slowly crawled you backwards toward the wall, his chest above yours, knees astride your legs while he pressed soft, tender kisses to your greedy lips. He pushed down on your chest gently and the mattress came up to meet you: your elbows fell one after the other and your head landed gently on the pillow. Eddie’s scent lingered in the fabric, a mixture of sweat, soap, cologne, and cigarette smoke. You breathed it in deeply and shivered.

All the while, his hands never left yours. They rubbed against your palms, slid between your fingers, and pushed your hands deeper into the mattress. Your eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he kissed down your neck and along your chest, the moisture of his mouth lingering everywhere his lips touched. The sensation overwhelmed you. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths as you stared around Eddie’s bedroom with half-lidded eyes, taking in everything—the posters on the walls, the clothes strewn about the floor, all the clutter on his desk, dresser, and nightstand: beer cans, guitar cables, cassette tapes, empty packs of cigarettes. Next to the desk was an acoustic guitar with a message painted on the body. You had to sit up and squint your eyes in order to read it.

“This machine slays dragons?” You threw your head back against the pillow and giggled. “Wow, Munson, just when I thought you couldn’t get any nerdier…”

Your laughter broke into stifled gasps as Eddie caught your skin between his teeth. He nibbled gently on your collarbone and ran his tongue up your neck, then trailed lazy kisses from the edge of your jaw to the corner of your mouth, stopping there as he leaned back onto his left elbow.

While playing with your fingers, he said with a cheeky little smile, “Sorry, were you saying something just now?”

“Uhh, no,” you said, feeling breathless and dizzy. “I, umm…”

Eddie lowered himself back down until his mouth was hovering over yours, close but not quite touching.

“You forgot?” he said in a low voice.

Your head bobbed slightly as you stared at his lips, desperately craving the contact that was currently out of reach. You moved up to kiss him and he pulled away, a smile dragging up the side of his face.

A frustrated huff blew through your nose. “Please,” you said, and immediately snapped your mouth shut.

Shit, you thought. That one was gonna cost you.

Eddie’s eyes brightened with surprised delight. “Uh, what was that? Did I just hear you say please?”

“No,” you said as a shameful heat engulfed your face.

“Oh, I think I did,” he said, chuckling. “Uh-oh, now I have to make you say it again.”

“I’m not saying it again.”

“Yeah, well, I kinda need you to say it again, so…”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth lifted into a tantalizing smirk as he parted your lips with his thumb, drawing a whimper from deep in your throat.

“Please,” you whispered, and a switch went off in his head.

All of a sudden, Eddie’s eyes darkened with a naked, carnal lust that made your core clench and quiver with need. You arched your back as he lowered himself back down to you, and when he reached your lips, he kissed you with a hungry motion that left your whole body crying out for more. You dug your hands into his back, pressed yourself tighter against him. He ground his hips into yours and sucked gently on your neck, leaving faint marks all over your skin. Your breath hitched as you felt his hardening length through the fabric of his jeans. He moaned against you and moved back to your face, kissing your mouth, your chin, your cheek, and he whispered huskily into your ear, “Are you a virgin?”

The question hit you like a sobering slap.

“Maybe,” you said. “So what?”

“Hey, you don’t have to get defensive. I’m just asking, okay? It’s important that I know.”

“Okay, well… now you know.” You recoiled from him and turned your head to the side, staring at the heap of clothes on his floor. A lump formed in your throat as thoughts churned in your head. You swallowed hard and said in a small voice, “I take it you’re pretty experienced.”

Eddie gave you a funny look. “Well, I’m not that experienced. Mostly, I just watch a lot of porn.”

A giggle burst out of you, making your chest feel fluttery and light. When you turned back, you were welcomed by Eddie’s warm, comforting stare. He kissed your lips softly and a smile illuminated your face.

“So Corroded Coffin doesn’t have any groupies?”

“Not unless you count Gareth’s mom… which I do.”

You two broke into laughter. Eddie took your hand, pressed a few kisses to your knuckles, and leaned down to kiss you. As you parted, a question slithered its way into your mind:

“Hey, can you really tie a cherry stem with your tongue?”

Eddie arched his eyebrow. “Have you been thinking about that all night?”

“No, not all night,” you said with a sheepish smile. “So can you?”

Eddie snickered, his warm breath fanning your face. “No,” he said. “No, I was just trying to make you blush.”

“Oh,” you said, and felt your face get hot again. Well, you could’ve fooled me.

The previous urgency of his desire was replaced with caring deliberation. His hands gently caressed your waist, your hips, your thighs, tracing around every curve until he had each one of them memorized. You felt short of breath as he lowered his head and started kissing your breasts through the fabric of your dress. A whimper rose in your throat and you withered helplessly against him. You dragged your foot up his left pant leg, ran your hand up his right arm, feeling his hair between your fingers, drawing over his tattoos, pushing up his sleeve to squeeze the hard muscle of his bicep. He kissed the tops of your breasts, your chest, the side of your neck, and felt your hand on his face, beckoning him.

You both shared a moan when your bodies reconnected. Soft breaths filled the room as your hunger for one another grew, your hips moving together in a slow, passionate rhythm. Eddie panted against your lips, stared deeply into your eyes, and when his hand slid between your thighs, you pulled away and said through the static of your thoughts,

“Umm, Eddie? I don’t mean to kill the mood or anything, but umm… do you have a condom?”

The resulting silence was deafening. Eddie’s lips grazed your cheek and he drew back with a muddled expression, his mouth open, eyes slowly blinking, blinking, blinking.

You shrank away from him and grimaced. “It’s just, umm… you know, getting pregnant on prom night wasn’t quite the cliche I had in mind.”

You forced out a laugh and it instantly died in your throat. Great, you thought. Turns out, you hadn’t killed the mood at all. No, what you did was far more sadistic and cruel. Instead of taking it out in one clean shot, you missed all its vital organs and now you had to watch it limp away and die a slow, agonizing death. Way to go, sharpshooter.

Eddie shook his head and, finally, the haze in his eyes cleared.

“Uhh… right, shit,” he said, “just, umm… hold on.”

He climbed to his feet, pulled out his wallet, and froze as soon as he peeked into the fold.

“Shit,” he said under his breath.

You pressed your lips together and nodded. “You don’t have one, do you?”

“No,” Eddie said quickly, with a little tremor of panic in his voice. “No, I do… just, uhh…”

He went to his dresser and started going through all the drawers: pulling them open, rifling through them for a minute, then slamming them closed. Then he went to his desk and did the same thing. With every slam, your cringe deepened. It was like watching a massacre in slow motion. You had shot and missed, and now Eddie was savagely beating the mood to death with a rock. Just put the poor thing out of its misery already!

“Eddie,” you said.

He pushed his palm toward you. “Don’t… Don’t go anywhere,” he said in a distracted voice, and he spun around and stumbled out of the bedroom.

“Where would I even go?” you said, baffled. Then you slapped your hand to your forehead and cursed yourself for saying anything at all. Of all the times to listen to your gut, you chose now—now, when you were this close to living out all your horny teenage fantasies with the man of your dreams. What happened to the angel and the devil on your shoulder? Should you? Shouldn’t you? The funny little back-and-forth? You figured there would’ve been at least a little bit of that, but nope! The stop sign went up and you slammed your foot on the brake right in the middle of a four-way intersection: crash, smash, KABOOM!

“Goddammit.”

You sighed, rolled onto your side, and started shuffling through the comics you found beside Eddie’s bed.

“Hey, you have Creepshow!” You plucked it out of the pile and opened it to the first short story. “Have you seen the movie? Oh my god, Munson, that last one with the cockroaches… boy, did that mess me up for a while. I freaked out every time I had to turn on the light in the kitchen. And I have a pretty strong nerve when it comes to horror. Michael Myers, Leatherface, Freddy Krueger, zombies, monsters, blood, gore, stabbing—I watched Cannibal Holocaust, for God’s sake! But fucking bugs? Yeah, I draw the line there. It’s like that movie, The Fly, that scene with the spiderweb… Nope, I turned my TV off so quick. I still haven’t finished that movie. I’ll probably watch the remake when it comes out, though, ‘cause… well, I do love Jeff Goldblum.”

You figured Eddie wasn’t listening and, honestly, you didn’t care because your silly babbling was the only thing saving you from the discomfort of this incredibly awkward situation. Without it, you would have spontaneously combusted out of pure shame. Eddie, meanwhile, was fumbling around helplessly in the kitchen: slamming cabinets, opening drawers, cracking open the…

fridge?

You looked up in bewildered amusement, then casually flipped to the next page. “I don’t think you’re gonna find any condoms in the fridge, Munson.”

“Yeah, well, there weren’t any in the oven, so…”

The fridge closed with a quiet thud. A moment later, Eddie appeared in the doorway with a hopeless expression on his face.

“You’ve completely lost it, haven’t you?”

“I’m the Sahara,” you said, and Eddie winced at your brutal choice of metaphor.

“You’re the Sahara, huh?” He pounded his fist on the doorframe a couple times, then hung his head and chuckled miserably to himself. “Great, just great.”

He slumped down by your feet and sat doubled over with his elbows on his knees. The seconds dragged on like hours as you two sat on opposite ends of the bed, not saying a word to each other. You kept flipping through the comic, but you didn’t read any of it, not a single word. You thought you had ruined the whole night.

You sucked in a quiet breath and—

“Sorry,” Eddie said, making you jerk your head up in surprise. As you looked at him now, he seemed strikingly timid, like the fourteen-year-old boy who could barely hold your gaze. “Guess I should’ve been better prepared before I, umm…”

His shoulders bounced with light, easy laughter.

“What’s so funny?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said while fiddling with the ring on his right hand. “It’s just, uhh… y’know, I’ve thought of this moment for a long time, a long time, and now that I finally got you here…” A peaceful smile touched his face. “It’s just funny how it all worked out.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Eddie sat up and turned toward you. “We don’t have to rush this,” he said. “In fact, it’s probably better that we don’t.”

“Yeah,” you said. Then, with a shy dip of your head: “Except now you’ve got me a little curious.”

“Hm? About what?”

“Well… you said you’ve thought about it…”

Eddie grunted low in his throat, a guilty, guttural sound.

“Uh-huh,” you said, snickering. “So… how was I?”

“You were, uhh…” He ground his jaw in thought for a minute, then closed his eyes and said with a deeply satisfied sigh, “Sensational.”

That sent you over the edge! You fell over, chortling hysterically until your stomach started cramping and you just couldn’t take it anymore. While drying your eyes, you said, “Sensational, huh? Well, there’s a bar I’ll never reach.”

“Yeah, I’m not too worried,” Eddie said.

The conviction in his voice threw your heart into a panic. You turned away, pressed your burning face into the cool pages of Eddie’s comic book, and pretended to go back to reading. That’s when you felt the bed dip as Eddie stretched out beside you, lying on his stomach with his elbows supporting him.

“So you’ve been snooping, huh?” He gestured toward the comic with his chin. “What’d you find that’s so interesting?”

“Creepshow.” You turned to the next page. “Hey, why do you have this, anyway? I thought you didn’t like horror.”

“Yeah, well… apparently, I’m Halloween-themed.”

Your breath hitched in mid-sentence. You lifted your eyes off the page and met Eddie’s affectionate stare.

“I still don’t get what that means, by the way.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” you said, and let out a quiet laugh. “I thought I knew when I said it, but now that I think about it, it doesn’t really make that much sense, does it?”

You gave Eddie small smile and went back to reading. He lay next to you for a bit longer, observing the subtle changes in your focused expression. Then he suddenly got up and started rummaging through his desk drawers again. The familiar slamming sound made you giggle.

“Okay, the condom fairy doesn’t exist, Munson. No matter how many times you open that drawer, a box of condoms won’t magically appear.”

“Oh, I’ve already given up on that dream,” Eddie said. He crossed the room, dropped to his knees, and started digging through all the junk under his bed.

Now you were getting a little curious yourself. You climbed to your knees, put your hands on the edge of the mattress, and peered down at him.

“I’m not interested in your porn collection, either.”

Eddie popped his head up and smiled at you. “This isn’t where I keep my porn,” he said, and tossed you a flirty little wink. Then he went back under the bed and—“Holy shit!”—dragged out a black three-ring binder.

Your jaw dropped as soon as you saw it. “Wait, is that…?”

You gasped excitedly and made a “gimme” motion with your hands. When Eddie couldn’t meet your demands fast enough, you snatched the binder off the floor and sat down with it in the middle of the bed. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Fuck, man,” Eddie said while scratching the back of his head, “I haven’t seen that thing in years.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you said, and swept some of the dust off the cover.

The binder looked exactly the same as you remembered, right down to the black-and-white Black Sabbath sticker with the giant rip in the corner. You opened it up and started flipping through it like it was a fully illustrated, limited-edition novel from your favorite fantasy author. It had everything: character sheets, ability guides, spell lists, equipment and inventory tables, maps, drawings, detailed notes from every session, and all these little extra reference pages to help describe his character’s attacks, actions, and movements, because Eddie wanted to sound so cool during combat. You couldn’t stop smiling as you went through it. It was like a little time capsule.

“It’s so weird,” Eddie said in a quiet, captivated voice.

You looked up and saw him sitting directly across from you, staring not at the binder but at you.

“What’s weird?” you asked.

“I dunno, it’s just… sometimes when I look at you, I get these little flashes of back then. It’s kinda freaky, actually, like déjà vu or something.” Eddie’s face flushed a light pink, seeming to catch him by surprise. He immediately shook the thought away. “Uhh, sorry. Go ahead and keep snooping.”

Your eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, then went back to the page. You turned to the next section and said, “Oh my god, here it is! The Shrieking Queen’s Catacombs, Scottie’s infamous campaign. How many pages are there of you just complaining about me, Munson? Let’s count, shall we? Uhh, one, two, three…”

You flipped to the next page and a loose paper slid out.

“What’s this?” you said, and casually looked it over. “Well, this looks like a very poorly rendered dungeon map.” Laughing, you examined it closer. “The Labyrinth of Neverending Nightmares. Ohhhh, how spooky… Wait, this doesn’t look like one of Scottie’s, though. No, his are like ten levels deep and full of all these annoying traps that someone always gets caught in, and by ‘someone’ I mean you, Munson. Then I have to get you out because for some reason you can’t roll higher than a fucking two…”

You giggled at the memory, then showed Eddie the paper and said, “Okay, I give up. What is this?”

“It’s mine,” Eddie said with a modest smile, making your face fall in astonishment. “Yeah, that’s my dungeon. Or at least one of them, anyway. I thought I chose one of the better-drawn maps, but obviously not…”

Your eyes were wide as you listened to him. When you finally blinked, they became wet and blurry.

“Wait, what? You wrote a campaign? How come you never told me?”

“I was working up to it,” Eddie said. “I had it in my backpack for like two weeks ‘cause I kept chickening out. And by the time I finally gathered up enough courage to do it, well…”

“I killed you.”

“Yeah…”

The words echoed in your mind like a curse. You buried your face in your hands and cried out in anguish: “Oh my god, I’m a monster!”

“Well, you’re a really pretty monster,” Eddie said with a light-hearted chuckle, but you didn’t laugh like he thought you would. Instead, you sat hunched over with your hands covering your face, sniffling back tears. He reached for you and gave your shoulder a shake. “Hey, come on, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry. I’ve already seen you cry way too much tonight, and I really don’t like it.”

He leaned over and brought his lips close to your ear.

“Hey,” he said softly, “it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters to me,” you said, and raised your chin to look at him. The compassion in his eyes almost made you burst into tears again. You didn’t deserve it. “Four years, Eddie. That’s a really long time. I can’t help but think of all the things we missed out on, and now…”

Now they were all piling onto your chest like bricks. The weight of it was enough to crush you. You lowered your head and felt your eyes well up with guilt and grief.

“But we didn’t miss out on anything.” Eddie gently took your face into his hands, dried your tears with his thumbs. “We’re still gonna do everything. I’m gonna take you on a date, a real date ‘cause I don’t think this one technically counts. And I’m gonna meet your parents, which I’m already kinda dreading, if I’m being totally honest. And we’re gonna, y’know, cut class and go make out in my van. That’ll be really fun. Yeah, I’m actually really looking forward to that one. And then, uhh, let’s see… we’re gonna have our first fight in like three weeks, so I better start preparing for that now ‘cause I just know you’re gonna fight dirty. Yeah, you’re definitely gonna hit me below the belt a couple times. But that’s okay ‘cause the make-up sex will be fantastic—y’know, once we actually have condoms. I’ll buy some tomorrow. A big box.”

You snorted under your breath. “I think a regular box is fine.”

“No, just… trust me,” Eddie said. “We need a big box.”

You blinked at him for a second, dumbstruck and speechless, your cheeks all aflame. Then your head slipped out of his hands as your whole body collapsed into giggles.

With a shadow of a smirk, Eddie said, “You think I’m joking right now, but I’m not. I’m buying the biggest box they have.”

“Please, stop,” you said, barely able to breathe.

“I’m just saying, I’m gonna be fully prepared next time… assuming there is a next time, anyway.”

You lifted your head and smiled at him, your face glowing in the aftermath of your laughter. “There will definitely be a next time,” you said. Then you placed a feather-light kiss on his lips, drew back, and he pulled you in for another, deeper kiss, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw.

“So, is it scary?” you asked afterwards.

“Is what scary?”

“The campaign you wrote, is it really scary?”

“I made it extra scary just for you.”

“Wow,” you said with an awestruck grin, “an extra scary campaign just for me? Well, now we have to play it… Can we?”

In a tender voice, Eddie said, “You’re the only one I’d ever play it with,” and you felt your eyes tear up again.

Choking them back, you returned your attention to the binder and discovered something that made your heart swell with indescribable joy.

“Hey… this looks familiar.”

It was the character sheet you had made for him. He had kept it, after all.

“I tried to fix it,” Eddie said while you carefully brushed your fingers over the softened wrinkles in the paper. There was a giant iron burn in the middle.

“How hot was the iron?” you asked.

“Oh, it was scorching,” Eddie said. “Yeah, it’s a miracle I didn’t burn the house down.”

Your laughter rang together effortlessly. For a second, it was like you two were back in middle school, giggling and goofing off in Scottie’s basement while everyone else stared at you and wondered what was so damn funny. It was a surreal feeling, being together like this again. In fact, it felt a little like

Déjà vu… Yeah, that is weird.

You touched the burn mark gently. “I thought you threw this away.”

Eddie furrowed his brow and shook his head, as if the thought had never even occurred to him.

Then, after a brief period of silence, he said, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Do you still have your journal?”

The question brought a smile to your face. “You know I do.”

Eddie nodded and put his hand over his mouth, concealing an ever-growing smile of his own. With his lips pressed against his knuckles, he said, “Okay, so… how many pages was I really in? I’ve always been curious.”

You went quiet for a minute, trying to count the pages, but you soon realized it was pointless. Even if you counted them a thousand times, the answer would always be the same.

“Not nearly enough,” you said, and Eddie’s eyes lit up with amazement.

“That’s… a really good answer,” he said, surrendering an embarrassed laugh. “Shit, okay… yeah, I think I need a second to recover from that one.”

He turned away and tried to regain his composure while you sat and watched, resisting the urge to tease him. Outside, a car was pulling up in front of the house across the road, its headlights flashing through the cracks in Eddie’s blinds. The sound of the engine made you both pause and reflect.

“I should probably take you home,” Eddie said.

“Yeah,” you said, “but then again, it is very late.”

“It is very late.”

“And you’re probably tired.”

“I am incredibly tired.”

“Plus, you’ve been drinking.”

“You’re right, I have been drinking… So have you.”

“Mhm,” you said, and felt your heart quicken with a surge of anxiety and excitement. “So, for both our sakes, I think the safest thing would be for me to just stay here tonight.”

You hid your eyes as you said this, worried you might’ve overstepped and crossed some invisible line, but then you heard Eddie let out a quiet, contented sigh and you felt silly for worrying at all.

“Okay,” he said, smiling to himself.

He went to his closet, pulled out two shirts and presented them to you. “All right, pick one: Slayer or Megadeth. Choose wisely ‘cause this decision could very well determine the future of our relationship.”

You pressed your lips together and thought hard about it for a while.

“Megadeth.”

“Good choice,” Eddie said, and tossed it to you. Then he gave you a pair of his boxers, blushing a little as he did. “Umm, I’ll be outside waiting on the porch, so uhh… just knock on the window when you’re done, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you said, giving him a timid smile.

The air felt lighter, crisper as Eddie stepped onto the porch and sank into his uncle’s chair, a chair he had sat in over a hundred times: in the morning before school, at night while he watched his uncle leave for work, when he needed to think, when he couldn’t sleep, when he was simply bored and didn’t have anything better to do. Now here he was sitting in this beat-up old chair again, this time waiting for you.

Instinctively, Eddie reached for his cigarettes and realized he wasn’t wearing his jacket. Normally, this would make him grunt in frustration, but tonight he just threw his head back and sighed happily into the cool night air.

This was a good night, he thought, probably the best night of his life.

Then he heard your gentle tap, tap, tap on the window, stood up, and went back inside.

⏩️ bonus scene

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DWM MASTERPOST

FANFICTION MASTERLIST

[blueraineshadows]

I would like to request a fic of f*MC, who is an unspeakable, and Sebastian Sallow, who is an auror, as husband and wife. They were on an intense mission together and they almost died. The moment they apparate home they still feel the intensity of what happened and they immediately start kissing each other and end up having “end of the world” type sex.

I hope you like te request and I can’t wait what you do with it!

Thank you for this Ask 💜 I hope this alright 👍

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC 🔥🌶 NSFW - violence and smut

Years of practise meant that Sebastian was one with the shadows, moving quickly and quietly, eyes alert and wand ready. He paused, eyes adjusting in the dark as he peered around a pillar of ancient stone. A fire pit danced in the darkness and the shadows of moving figures bent crazily across the stone wall.

Dressed all in black, the collar of his Auror coat pulled up to his chin, Sebastian waited, his ears pricking up at the sound of low voices. The men guarding the entrance had been nothing but foot soldiers, the muscle, and Sebastian had taken them down easily enough. Now, he was near the inner chamber of this research den, and the wizards here had hearts blacker than coal.

He turned his gaze to the far side of the room, a faint shimmer catching his eye. He watched as it warped in an out, moving carefully towards the corridor where he was hidden. When it came to a pause beside him, ducking behind the opposite pillar, the shimmer flickered into a solid shape.

Also dressed in black, her hair pulled back from her face revealing the mouth watering curve of her jaw, was MC. Despite the situation, he could not help but take a beat to appreciate the woman beside him. She had been at his side since they were 15, and he couldn't imagine her not being there now. Impossible.

Her eyes moved to him, fire pit flames glittering in their shadowed depths. He caught the flash of her smile and it still had the power to make his stomach flutter. He raised a questioning eyebrow to her, his wife, his partner, his everything.

She nodded. Her inspection of the north passage had been a success. The relic was here, which meant that the wizards the Auror office were hunting would most likely be here too. Good. He was ready for a fight.

They took out the first two quietly, the bodies slumping to the floor, but then the real fun began. Spells seared through the dimly lit room, the sparks dancing around the shadows of flickering flames. Husband and wife duelled as if in a dance, their movements fluid and a complement to each other's bodies.

Room clear, they took the north passage and ran with light steps, crouching near the entrance to the relic atrium. Sebastian's blood was up, his breath fast and shallow. MC was coiled like a spring, but she was more patient, monitoring the situation. That relic was her main interest here, not the fight. As an Unspeakable, research was paramount, and that relic had been on her most wanted list for months. They could not afford to fuck this up.

So, when Sebastian ran in, wand poised and spells flying. MC had to grit her teeth at her husband's recklessness. Some things never changed.

The head of operations here was a tall, smartly dressed man, well spoken, and Wanted in ten countries. To deliver him to the Ministry would be a career highlight. To see him floating midair and bound with chains was very satisfying. Sebastian stood admiring his work as MC took down the last of his lackeys.

Their captured prize began to chuckle, a dark, rumbling sound that drew Sebastian's brows together in irritation. MC approached the relic, careful, intrigued. Sebastian glanced between his prisoner and his wife, realisation setting in almost a beat too late.

He reached out a hand towards her, a shout on his lips, as a ear shattering crack split the air. MC was blown back away from the relic with a blinding flash of light. She didn't even make a sound as her body flew up and back, her arms flailing out.

Fear like never before seized Sebastian, and all the while, the prisoner cackled in manic laughter. Sebastian moved fast, a flick of his wand shot his spell out, capturing MC and slowing her down, but not enough to stop her hitting the far wall. She slid down to the floor, slumping there, unmoving.

Prisoner forgotten, he ran to her, sliding to his knees before scooping her up, checking her vital signs. With his hands pressed to her throat to check for a pulse, a searing pain sliced across his back. He turned, pain screaming through him.

His prisoner had snapped his chains and had his wand poised. Sebastian narrowed his eyes. Revenge would be sweet when it came, but for now, he had other priorities. Scooping up MC, he drew on the last of his strength and Apparated them both out of there.

....*....

The first pale fingers of dawn were creeping across the sky when MC finally opened her eyes. She winced, muscles stiff, and glanced around the familiar bedroom. Beside her on the bed were the remains of healing Potions, cloths stained with blood and what looked like Dittany paste. She sat up, blinking drowsily, and then stilled.

Sebastian was sitting on the chair at the dressing table, his body slumped forward, arms dangling loosely at his sides. She couldn't see his face, it was turned away from her, but his back made her gape in horror.

His flesh was sliced as though ravaged by claws, the skin puckered up into thick red wounds, the blood trails dark against his paleness. She scrambled across the bed, her feet hitting the floor with a thud, a dizzy spell sent her staggering, but she stumbled towards him anyway. Gripping his shoulder, she shook him, hard. "Sebastian!"

Nothing. Panic made her throat tight. "Fuck, fuck, no," she rasped. She saw more evidence of attempts to heal and felt tears sting her eyes. He had tried to help himself, and no doubt had tried to help her first, it was him all over. She moved around him, hands on his head to look at his face. He was grey, his lips even paler. "Sebastian, wake up, it's me. Please!"

Her fingers fumbled as she found Wiggenweld, and tipped it down his throat. Nothing. She tried other potions, the salve and a basic healing charm. Still the wounds refused to close. The limp, pale look of him made fear snap at her insides, but she wasn't going to give up. Not on him. Never.

She took her wand, and dug deep, fighting her own dizzying trembles to draw on her Ancient Magic. She slowly sealed the wounds on his back, the flickering blue and white tendrils knitting his flesh. Then she pulled him from the chair, laying him as gently as she could manage on the floor, before placing her palms on his chest.

"Please," she begged. Her cheeks were damp with tears she hadn't even noticed. "Don't you dare fucking leave me."

She closed her eyes and channeled the magic through her palms. The glow of her magic warmed his chilly flesh, the swirls like delicate smoke strands coiling intricately around her hands before seeping into him. In her mind she let memories flood outwards, swirling moments of laughter, soft touches, the feel of his lips, the day he asked her to be his wife. She imagined their clasped hands, their bodies entwined in rumpled sheets, the energy and magnetism of fighting by his side.

"Come back to me," she whispered. "Sebastian, come back."

With a cry of relief, she felt his chest heave beneath her hands. His lips sucked in a breath and his eyes opened wide. He looked up at her, gasping. "What happened?" He croaked.

....*....

They sat at the kitchen table nursing cups of tea, the remains of breakfast on the table around them. They had eaten in silence, both of them shaken and processing. The fear of what might have been hovering behind their shoulders with cold teeth, refusing to let them forget.

MC pulled her cardigan closer around her, fighting a shiver. She felt his gaze and looked up. There was colour in his cheeks now. He looked like her Sebastian. "What?" She whispered.

"I thought you were dead," he said. The words seemed to catch in his throat and he had to look down.

She swallowed. The words hit her hard. She remembered how he had looked when she had found him. There were no words to describe the hollow, black hole of fear and loss that had threatened to swallow her at that sight.

"We fucked up," she said. She put her palms to her forehead and leant on the table. "We lost the relic, we lost him, and we nearly lost our lives. What the fuck happened?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked.

MC looked at him, her fear was still there, mocking her and she smothered it with anger. She shoved her chair back from the table and stood, turning to begin pacing their little kitchen. "Why do you always have to be so reckless? You went storming into that room, as per usual, and then everything was fucked up."

"So, this is all my fault?" He gaped. He made a fist against the table top. "If you weren't so obsessed with that fucking relic, maybe you would have taken the time to notice the charms placed around it!"

"It's a bit rich to be preaching to me about obsessing over relics," she snapped back. She pushed a hand through her hair. "You can be such a hypocrite sometimes."

He shot out of his chair and made a grab for her. His hand gripped her arm and he definitely had his strength back. "You're really going to go there?"

MC looked up at him, stared into those eyes that she knew so well. Eyes that had nearly closed on her forever. Her anger evaporated, and all that was left was her fear and her pain. She shook her head. "I thought I had lost you," she gasped. Tears sprang up into her eyes. "You were fucking dead, Sebastian! I had to bring you back, because...because none of it is worth it if you're gone. None of it."

His throat worked as he stared back at her, his grip on her arm tightened.

"Don't make me ever see you like that again," she said. "I can't..."

His arms swallowed her up and crushed her against his chest. She clung to him as though he would vanish if she ever let go. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised, firmly. "Not without you."

His mouth pressed kisses into her hair, over her forehead and down to her ear. She lifted her face to him and he claimed her mouth, his kiss a demand and a promise. She gripped his shirt, tugging at the material, pulling at the buttons desperately until they gave way. They pinged free, spinning across the room to clatter across the floor. She needed to feel his skin, his warmth. Feel him alive under her hands.

His hunger for her burned as fiercely, he rid her of her cardigan and blouse, hands seeking out her soft curves. He lifted her, perching her on the edge of the table, cups and plates shoved messily out of the way. Cutlery clattered to the floor.

His mouth tortured the skin of her neck, sucking the soft skin into blooming bruises, proof that her heart beat for him, she was alive. There was nothing gentle about their movements, it was a primal need to join, an instinct. Her legs wrapped around him, possessive, needy and his fingers sought out her searing heat.

MC's head dipped back, a low moan drawn from her lips as he stroked and teased, shifting to press his arousal against her ready folds. She braced her arms against the table behind her, back arched, giving him a glorious view of her breasts. He swirled a tongue over one hardened peak and thrust deeply into her.

Sebastian had fucked his wife many times, but this time there was something deeper, a rawness to it that shook him to the core. His fingers dug into her hips, gripping her as he thrust harder and faster, watching her breasts bounce with his relentless rhythm. The sounds that tore from her lips drove him wild, the sheen of sweat forming on her chest made him want to press the flat of his tongue against it and drown in her scent.

The table shuddered beneath them, the legs scraping against the floor, dishes rattled and still he pressed. She reached out a hand, pressing the palm to his chest, her cheeks were flooded with beautiful colour. She looked alive, beautiful.

The tone of her cries shifted, he could see the flush of warmth spreading across her skin, the subtle tightening around his cock. He rolled his hips, hitting that little sweet spot, his lips parted as he watched her come undone, a string of saliva hanging from his lip.

He looked down at his cock sliding into her, the slick pulsing to coat him with shiny wetness. With a deep groan of release he buried himself inside her heat, his cock pulsing almost painfully, his breath a hot gasp through his lips.

MC sat up, her arms circling his neck, pulling him closer. He buried his face into her hair, savouring the sound of her breathing, the warmth of her embrace and the rapid beat of her precious heart.

Losing her would be the end of his world, and knowing that she felt the same was more precious, more sacred, than any relic or career-making arrest.

[takingchences]

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐

A young agent for the Hero Commission offers a hand to a scarred boy on the street, unaware that one act of kindness would come back to haunt her years later. After all, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

Pairing: Yandere!Dabi x fem!oc ( feat. Hawks )

Warnings: mature language, implied smut (Hawks), drugging, kidnapping, stalking, voyeurism, dacryphilia

Why are the crazy ones so hot?? 😩

series masterlist + my masterlist

Fuck. I'm never drinking again.

Kazuha groaned groggily, her head feeling ten times heavier than normal as she tried to lift it. Her vision was blurry, her senses dull and muted. Her body screamed with each subtle movement. A metallic sound rattled in her ear when she tried to move her hands, which immediately sobered her up. The cold bite of metal on the sensitive skin of her wrists made her heart rate spike.

She was handcuffed.

What the fuck?

The last thing she remembers before waking up was talking with Keigo on the phone. His patrol was almost over and he'd asked to meet up for drinks. She'd changed and gone to their favorite bar... that's it. She draws a complete blank for everything else after that.

Keigo will be looking for me. She couldn't feel the familiar tickle of his feather against her clavicle, but she wouldn't allow herself to panic. He'd given her the necklace after a particularly difficult mission with a joke about always wanting to be close to her heart. It was one of the things she loved most about the winged man. He'd seen the toll her job had taken on her and he'd jumped into action to lift her spirits. Keigo is her own personal hero. He saves her from herself on a daily basis.

If the feather is somewhere nearby, he'll find it. I just have to buy some time until he gets here.

"Sleeping Beauty is finally up, huh? And here I thought I'd have to kiss you awake." A deep, amused voice echoed through the room she was in. Her eyes darted around the dim room, looking for whoever just spoke. From what she could tell, she seemed to be in some sort of abandoned warehouse. It was mostly empty space with the exception of a few large crates up against the walls.

"The hell is this?" She jerked her arms, testing the strength of the chains. Her years of training had prepared her for situations like these, but the way her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton was making it difficult to focus. "Who are you?"

Footsteps filled the room coming from her left. She whipped her head in that direction, her eyes straining to pick him out of the shadows. "Just a precaution, princess." The man stated. "Until I can trust you to behave."

"Behave?" She scoffed in disbelief. "I'm not a fucking dog, asshole."

She thrashed her arms and legs—which were also chained—the veins in her neck visible as she fought the restraints. The chains were looped around metal rods that were drilled into the cement floor. Her body was lying on a mattress in the center of the four rods, forcing her body into a starfish position. There was little slack in the chains, allowing her limbs limited movement. Come on, she grunted, her jaw clenched as she tried to force her hand through the small cuff. She hardly felt the pain anymore, having had to deal with countless broken bones and dislocations for years under the Commission. Some of which had come from training scenarios just like this, where the objective was to escape and subdue her captor.

Except this time, the danger was real and she had no idea where she was or how she got here. Not to mention, her captor didn't sound remotely familiar. Why was he doing this? What did he want with her?

"No," he drew out the word, following it with a dark chuckle. "But I could make you my bitch."

"You're the one hiding," she tried to coax him out of the darkness. The closer he got to her, the greater her advantage would be. Her quirk would do all the work, she just needed to help it along. "I'd say you're the bitch in this situation."

The stranger chuckled again.

Slowly, his footsteps drew closer until black combat boots stepped into the beam of moonlight peeking through the boarded up windows ten feet above their heads. He revealed himself inch by inch until she could see all of him standing casually with his hands in his pockets. He wore a tattered, knee-length navy overcoat with large silver cuffs on each sleeve. Underneath was a white shirt and dark blue pants. His hair was black and spiky, a startling contrast to his turquoise irises. She noticed silver helix piercings on both of his ears, as well as a triple nostril piercing.

But what stood out the most to Kazuha was the man's skin. Purple patches of leathery skin covered his lower face, under eyes, neck, and forearms. The gnarled flesh was secured to the healthy skin with surgical staples. His scarred appearance unnerved her, but she couldn't risk taking her eyes off of him now that he was in view.

"Like what you see, doll?" She honestly didn't know how to respond to that, so she kept her mouth shut. The stranger took another step towards her. "You know, you're a hard girl to find."

"You've been looking for me?" Her eyes followed his figure as he paced in a slow around her. He hummed in agreement. "Why?" His boot scuffed against the cement as he came to a sudden stop by her head. He loomed over her, his crystal blue eyes almost glowing.

"You don't remember me?"

Kazuha raked her brain for answers, but nothing came to mind. She definitely would've remembered this guy if they'd met before. His face was pretty unforgettable. Which means she must've crossed paths with him before he received such devastating scars. They weren't fresh wounds, either. Think, think, think.

He must've picked up on her confusion. "What a pity," he tutted in disappointment, shaking his head. He walked until he was at her side and crouched down. "Because I remember you very well... Kazuha."

She stiffened.

No one—absolutely no one—outside of the Hero Commission knew her real name. She hadn't used that name in years. She was told to forget her life before joining, and that included everything that made her her own person. She was given the name Hebi, and was expected to answer to that name only. Keigo was the only person who still called her that. Speaking of...

Where the hell are you, Keigo?

She stared up at him in shock. "How did you-?"

Cerulean eyes burned into maroon as a long, pale finger hovered above her cheek, as if he was debating whether or not to stroke it. "I'm hurt you've forgotten me so easily, doll face." His voice was almost a whisper as he brushed the back of his finger against her skin. The stranger leaned down until their heads were mere millimeters apart. His was breath hit her cheek and smelled strongly of cigarettes and whiskey. "Because I've been dreaming of this moment for fucking years," he purred in her ear.

It took every ounce of willpower in the agent to not laugh manically in this man's face. He'd just damed himself without even knowing. Soon, he'd fall victim to her quirk and there was nothing he could do to stop it...

Whiskey. Her eyes widened. It was fuzzy, but she did remember a tall figure approaching her at the bar as she sat and waited for her date. The man, wearing a mask on the lower half of his face, had ordered a whiskey for himself, and another of whatever she was having. Kazuha had politely refused the drink at first, but gradually accepted the man's offer over the next few minutes of conversation. He was charming, laidback, and openly flirtatious. Keigo had been running late and the stranger was easy on the eyes (from what she could see, anyway.)

"You were there... at the bar."

He booped her nose with a smug smirk. "See? I knew you hadn't forgotten about me."

"But that doesn't explain these." She shook her hands, the chains clanking. The man himself had admitted just moments ago that he'd been plotting this for years. Plural. Why?

"Because you're mine... though lately you haven't acted like it. A brat like you needs a reminder of just who she belongs to." What the fuck is this guy on? She said just as much to him. The black-clad man rose to his feet slowly, his tattered coat swinging behind him on a gentle breeze. "Don't deny it. I saw you with him, Kazuha."

"With who?!" She jerked against the restraints once more. "What the fuck are you talking about!"

"That damn bird," he said in a calm, almost-bored tone. But the fire in his eyes spoke volumes. Whoever this guy is, he wasn't to be taken lightly. And right now, he was pissed. "For years, I've had a front row seat as he touched you, fucked you, cared for you. I heard another man's name on your lips as he pleasured you, made you scream. I watched you fall apart for another, when all this time, you were supposed to be with me."

Kazuha's heart was nearly beating out of her chest now. This perverted asshole just admitted to watching her—stalking her—for years. What else had he seen? What all had he heard? How many intimate moments had he intruded on? What other secrets of her's had he learned through observing her from afar?

"I. Don't. Know. You." She growled through clenched teeth. He loomed over her, his eyes near glowing in the dim light.

"'Will you let me be yours?' Those were your fucking words, sweetheart. Remember?"

That boy, she realized. The boy she'd found in the rain all those years ago. He'd been covered in burns, though they weren't as severe as this man's. In a moment of weakness, she'd introduced herself as Kazuha. The first and last time since she'd developed her quirk that she hadn't felt like a monster.

"That day... in the rain," she exhaled shakily. She'd never been able to get the boy's name. He was pretty tight lipped about that, his past, and how he'd ended up in that alley to begin with. She'd known better than to press a trauma victim for answers, no matter how curious she may have been. The stranger tilted his head in mock curiosity, lifting a brow in a go on fashion. He looked cocky though, satisfied. "That was you?" His smirk from before was now a full-blown grin.

"Bingo."

Kazuha observed the man carefully, looking for any signs of illness. His breathing was fine, not the wet, labored gasps she's used to. He wasn't sweating or coughing, and there were no tremors in his movements. Why is my quirk taking so long?

The blue-eyed man gazed down at her with the same curiosity, his lips still curled in that devilish grin. He tilted his head again, licking his lips. "You seem frustrated," he noted, crouching down to rest his elbows on his knees. "Are things not going to plan?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?" He drew the word out with condescension. "You're not waiting for that birdbrain to barge in and steal you away from me?"

Yes, you psycho. "No."

He hummed, nodding his head. "Then you're probably wondering why your quirk hasn't effected me yet." Right again, freak.

"I don't have a quirk."

The man laughed. "Oh, princess." He shook his head. "Did you really think I wouldn't do my research? That I wouldn't take precautions against your quirk?" His pale hand reached out and tapped something on her neck. She hadn't noticed it before, having assumed it was the choker she'd worn to the bar. But around her neck was a thin metal cuff. "This," he leaned forward, "is a quirk-canceling device."

No, she panicked internally. No, no, no, no, no.

"As for your hero," he chuckled huskily. "Well, he won't be a problem." His finger slid down the space between her collarbones, where Keigo's gift used to tickle her. "I destroyed his little feather before we left the bar. We're safe here."

Kazuha went still, all the fight from before suddenly leached from her body. "He's not coming," she breathed, her voice small and melancholy.

"No, doll," the man sighed, running a burnt hand through her dark, silky curls. "It's just us now."

Her amaranth eyes, which he always remembered as sad, could only be described as devastated now. They shimmered with unshed tears, and the man felt his control slipping. The most beautiful things were always the most deadly, and his Kazuha was no different. Finally, after ten long years, they were reunited. He could touch her, feel her, taste her the way he always wanted to, and nothing could stand in the way of his desires any longer. Not now, when she is so close.

A single, silvery tear slipped down her cheek, and her captor couldn't resist any longer.

Kazuha gasped as a warm, wet tongue darted out and followed the trail of her tear up her face. The scarred man released a low moan, dipping his head to rest against her temple as he groaned. "You taste even better than I'd imagined," he whispered in his low, deep voice. His large hand palmed her breast. Kazuha bit her lip, clenching her eyes shut as his touch wandered. "I wonder what the rest of you tastes like."

His dreaded weight that she'd felt pressing in on her more on more suddenly disappeared. She opened her eyes, meeting his heated stare. He held himself above her, his breathing labored. The way he looked at her, with hunger and awe, made her feel important, powerful. Maybe she could use his obsession to her advantage.

She raised a cuffed hand, hovering beside his scarred cheek hesitantly. "What's your name?"

The man moved his head to lay his cheek against her palm. The sensation was odd, part of his skin warm and soft while the other half was a leather-like texture. She tried to disguise her disgust as fear and apprehension, which she also felt.

"They call me Dabi," he answered, pressing her hand further against him with his own. His metal rings and medical staples were a cool contrast to his skin. He was hot to the touch, like a human furnace.

Dabi. She knew that name. He was a villain, and a powerful one at that. He'd murdered a number of people in cold blood, his victims reduced to ash all around the city. Even the Commission believed that his fire quirk rivaled that of Endeavor.

Will that be me? She wondered. Will I be another casualty of his? Another missing persons case to be solved?

She knew Keigo wouldn't give up, that he would do whatever it takes to find her. So she couldn't give up, either. She would get out of this situation by any means necessary... quirk or no quirk.

"Dabi," she forced out his name through gritted teeth. If she wanted to stay alive, she'd have to play along with his games. Feed into his delusions.

"Good girl." He purred in his low voice, leaning down until there was no space left between them. "And this time," he nipped at her bottom lip hungrily. "I'll make sure you never forget who you belong to."

[kinda-thoughtless-critic]

Recruitment at Sunset

(jealous) Jean x Reader

It was a pleasantly warm evening at the survey corps headquarters, fading amber sun rays shone through open windows and avian chitter echoed from the leafy tops of trees outside. A relatively newly appointed Section Commander was at his desk shuffling some documents around. Many a parchment was discarded at a near automated speed, the applicant’s name was scanned and nine times out of ten dummped on a stack towering at the desk’s edge. Another, much smaller pile sat patiently in front of the young soldier.

His long fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as tired eyes forced themselves to squint at less than impressive chicken scratch. A calloused thumb pad sank into the paper, creating creases like that of those framing his features, and he sighed, wishing the setting sun would pause and prolong the day a little longer. 

It was then the warm oak door to his office opened with a slight creak of its old hinges, and that wish disappeared through the widening gap. Too quick did bright eyes meet his, curved to the softest gaze, the sheet of paper cropping off a smile. Jean jerked upright at your entrance, only having seconds to swiftly sweep the larger paper pile into the metal bin below and place the one he’d been scanning on the one in front.

You cocked an eyebrow as you drew closer to his desk, the door closing slowly behind.

“These are the applications for your new squad,” he said nonchalantly, handing you a flimsy stack of papers.

You skimmed through the applicants, flipping through the limited number of pages. Impressed by their statements, but disappointed with the lack of choice, after the 5th you stopped. “They’re all female”

“Yeah, that seems to be the case,” he responded, resting his elbows on the desk, light brown eyes piercing in the subdued light, “the top four ones are the people I think you should pick. Bridgette and Lina placed 10th and 8th in their Training Corps a few years back, Winnie was a well respected Garrison soldier and I think it will be good to have one of the new recruits like Piper join your squad and learn the ropes.”

Your smile returned as he pitched his suggestions, noting the stray hairs falling from their carefully combed positions to brush the tips of his nose and cheekbones. “You’ve thought about this a lot haven’t you?” 

Jean smiled, softer lines replacing rigid ones, and his expression relaxed. “I’m your superior now; it’s my job.”

“Except on this occasion it isn’t, Commander Hange gave me the okay to choose my own members,” you smirked, “not for my Section Commander to do it for me.”

Jean sat back a bit, running a hand through disheveled locks, “I saved you time. It would’ve taken ages for you to decide on the right ones, so I thought I’d help you out.”

“This doesn’t seem like much.” You flapped the documents for extra effect, then glanced sidelong at the recently filled bin beside his desk. “Unless I am to count the ones you threw away just a moment ago.”

He followed your eyes down and promptly folded his arms. “Those aren’t important.”

“In your opinion perhaps, but not to me,” you said, stalking over to them and fishing them out. Jean frowned, displeasure evident in the reappearing creases gathering around knitted brows as you flipped through them. “So here are all my male applicants.”

“The ones I picked out for you were better suited,” Jean insisted.

You almost laughed. “You sure? Because one of these guys, Isaac Milton, was a Squad Captain in the Garrison.”

“He was stationed at Yarckel,” he countered, “He’s never seen a titan.” 

“We’re not really fighting titans anymore. At least, not like before.”

“True, but he’s got little battle experience compared to the veterans I’ve picked, and won’t be as sharp as the new trainees. We don’t know exactly what we’ll be up against. Y/n, I don’t want you getting yourself killed protecting him.”

You sighed, clutching the stack close to your chest. “I’ll need his leadership experience- plus he was in the top 20 after graduating.”

“Leadership experience like choosing which barrel to sit on while you drink away the shift playing cards?” His words were sarcastic but his tone nothing short of sincere, this combined with the intent gaze he fixed you getting up and walking round made for a dangerous combination. He took back the stack with without resistance. “Hange and Levi are giving you a squad because they know what you can do. You’re more than capable of leading them.” He let the pile land with a thump on the desk and rested a hand on it, leaning his tall frame towards you. Attentive. “Have faith in yourself.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his immediacy, amber rays highlighting the precise curve of his smile, sheer softness in this gaze. The musky scent of imported cologne played annoyingly with your senses, threatening to distract your thoughts. 

With a huff, you gently shoved his shoulder. “I’m fully capable of your promotion.”

He let out a soft chuckle, allowing his body to sway slightly with the impact. “Alright, then maybe you’ll get the next position that comes up.”

Shaking your head, as if you could brush off the natural half smile clinging to your cheek, you reached around his arm to pick up the lighter stack. Both of you knew he wouldn’t stop you if you really wanted to choose differently, but you were never going to. His judgement was more than reliable, had saved your life multiple times, for the longest time you never questioned trusting it. That said, you weren’t going to make it easy for him. “Is there a reason the only ones you approved were female?”

Jean took his hand off the tall paper pile, subtly hiding it from view as his lower back leaned against the desk. “Nope. They’re the best here.” 

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fine,” you reached up to jiggle his bearded chin. He allowed it, for a moment, before playfully batting your hand away. Turning on a heel you made your way to the door, “I’ll go with these four, so they better not disappoint, Horseface,” finally calling out as you left, “Actually to be on the safe sight, keep those ones on file for me...”

A heavy sigh juxtaposed your friendly wave goodbye, followed by a quiet grumble seeing your fleeting figure, taking away what little light had been left with it.

~~~

Thanks for reading!

Masterlist

Burden of Duty (Jean x Reader angst) 

[aurumacadicus]

My friends this is almost 3K so unfortunately I have to put it under a cut. It's gonna hurt! <3

--

Steve felt sick to his stomach as he stood in the crumbling doorway of his family’s castle. He hadn’t been back to BrookLynn even after his armies had rooted out Hydra—too anxious he’d relive the pain and terror of that night almost twenty years ago, when Hydra had busted in the doors during a ball, where all of the higher-ranking gentry were attending. Well planned over years, he’d realized later—Hydra had wanted to wipe out the royal family and anyone who could take over in one fell swoop. He still dreamed about the screams of people being cut down as he turned to run up to his mother’s room, his father’s roar of rage as he drew sword and delved into the fray. Still remembered the look on his mother’s face as she realized she couldn’t protect him, them, Natasha tiny and curled up in bed with her.

Still had Tony’s face seared into his memory when it twisted from terrified to determined as he took charge, told Bucky to blockade the door to buy them time as Steve helped his mother put a dressing gown on over her nightdress, running his hands over the walls until he found something that went ‘click,’ and then tugged open a secret door and said, “This way! Out the servants’ corridor!”

Tony had been by his side for years, supporting him, and Steve realized now, staring into the dark remains of his former home, he’d never once returned the favor. Steve had lost Bucky, his father, and his kingdom, but he’d still had his mother, Natasha, and Tony. Tony had come away with nothing—his parents gone, his home taken over by Hydra, his money tied up by his uncle’s nefarious deeds. Tony had only had Steve, and Steve had been too hollowed out to help him. Had instead thrown him out and told him not to come back, even though he’d known he was wrong. Had only realized it when he’d looked for him after embracing Bucky and seen Tony had left in the excitement.

Steve swallowed thickly against the bile crawling up his throat. He should have known Tony would come here. Even with Hydra gone, they’d tainted the Stark family home. Steve might have eventually freed up his funds, but Tony still hated to touch the money his uncle had previously stolen. Everyone that Tony would have relied on for help was back in Paris, and Steve had driven a wedge between them from Tony’s point of view. Natasha and Bruce would have helped him. But Steve realized, heart falling to his toes, that Tony would never have asked anyway. He’d been ten when the castle had fallen, had taken the reins of their escape, had been the one to take care of everyone after they limped into Paris, broken and afraid. Tony probably couldn’t even remember a time when he was allowed to hurt and be taken care of by someone else.

Steve stepped into the castle, remembering what Natasha had said when she’d realized she couldn’t stop him from chasing Tony down. Tony hadn’t been protecting himself. Had been drunk when she’d finally stumbled across him. Not actively trying to get himself killed, she’d explained, but not caring if he died. He’d made a hovel for himself in the ballroom. He didn’t want to have to navigate stairs after coming back from drinking himself under the bar. It was nothing but a cot under a blanket tacked up for privacy. Apparently, it wasn’t uncommon for people to seek shelter there before moving on. Tony was just the only long-term resident.

Steve found the blanket exactly where Natasha had said. He pulled up the corner, terrified of what he might see, but there was hope rising in his chest, too. He was here now. He could make amends, tell Tony he had been wrong, convince him to come home.

Tony was there, curled up on his cot, covered in one thin wool blanket that looked like it had been left behind in one of the castle’s linen closets as people looted the better ones. He stepped closer, reaching out to grab his shoulder, maybe shake him awake, then remembered that Natasha had also told him that Tony was skittish, now, reacted to unexpected touch with alarm and, sometimes, fear. He drew his hand back, trying hard not to think about why that was, if it was his fault for their last argument coming to blows. Instead, he stepped closer, letting the blanket fall behind him. It was moth-eaten enough that it let in enough dappled light to see, and he carefully took a seat next to Tony, just to observe him for a moment.

Tony looked different, Steve thought, tilting his head. He hadn’t had the beard when he’d left, preferring to go clean-shaven. It suited him. His hair was longer too, and Steve wondered if that was a choice Tony had made or if he just preferred to spend money on booze instead of a barber. His beard was trimmed nicely, but he could have been doing that himself instead of paying someone. Tony had always been meticulous about his appearance back in Paris. It was kind of nice to see him relaxed in one aspect, even if it did make Steve feel like an asshole for thinking it.

It took a while for Tony to wake up, but Steve waited patiently. He took the time to think over all the times Tony had taken care of him, of everyone, and then sulked off to be alone with his own problems. Tony had always been following him, always had his hands out in an offer to help, always had a sympathetic ear. Steve didn’t know any of Tony’s problems, not real ones that would have required help or support from his friends. Tony hadn’t really had other relationships beyond summer romances or winter flings. He’d… thrown himself into being Steve’s right hand, he realized, heart in his throat. Tony hadn’t had any true romance in his life because he made himself available to Steve’s beck and call.

Steve had been such a fool. He’d been so sure that Tony would always be beside him that he’d taken him for granted. And then he’d yelled at him, almost come to blows with him, and told Tony to leave even when he hadn’t meant it. It was poor thanks for all the care that Tony had given him, and Tony had still seen fit to give him space even after he’d found the real Bucky, when it would have been so easy for him to come and gloat.

Although maybe this was something he simply couldn’t swallow past the guilt to gloat about, Steve thought, frowning, and reached out to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. He still remembered vividly the sour lump that had formed in his throat when he’d read that first letter from Tony saying he’d found Bucky, and then paid for someone clearly not Bucky to stand before him. Natasha had said that Tony intended to do the same thing with Bucky, unaware that he’d found the real thing. ‘He’d planned for Bucky to be the last,’ Natasha had said, as if that made it better. Tony wouldn’t have come back after, and he’d have lost both of them.

‘When he let go of me on the train, he thought I’d died,’ Bucky said quietly before he left. ‘I think he’s got to reconcile the fact that he advised against looking for me with the fact that you were right, and I was alive. I don’t blame him, of course, and if the situations were reversed, I might think he was dead too, but… he’s always had a weak spot when it comes to your happiness, Steve.’ And Steve hated that he was right. That Tony blamed himself for Bucky’s death, and now blamed himself for not looking hard enough for him. That Steve had failed Tony and Bucky, somehow, in different ways.

Tony let out a sad sound, pained almost, and Steve recognized it from when Sarah had trusted them to do a wine tasting at one of their country’s loyal vineyards and immediately gotten so drunk that they could barely stand. A hangover. He remembered how his heartbeat had pulsed painfully behind his left eye, how Tony had covered his head with a pillow even though the room was already dark. He wondered if Tony had gotten any better at dealing with the pain since then. He reached out to brush the hair from Tony’s forehead.

Tony smacked his hand away immediately, eyes flying open, shoving himself off the opposite side of the cot and rolling to his feet. Steve gaped at him, stunned, hand falling back to his side. He studiously did not think about what would have taught Tony to have that sort of response to someone touching him while he wasn’t quite awake.

“…St. Steve?” Tony mumbled, squinting at him. He lifted a shaking hand to cover his confused frown, looking away from him. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. Steve’s in Paris. I’m hallucinating again.”

Steve stood up straight, stepping out from under the blanket so Tony could see him properly. “I’m not. I’m right here, Tony.”

Tony chewed on his bottom lip. He didn’t look like he believed him. “No,” he finally decided. “You would never… You have Bucky. There’s no… reason for you to come.”

“I came to bring you home,” Steve told him, trying carefully to press closer, but to his dismay, Tony matched each of his steps with one of his own, keeping the distance between them.

“No,” Tony said again, shaking his head. His eyes were beginning to clear. “No, I don’t. Have one? You sent me away.”

Steve started moving the side, trying to circle him, get Tony trapped between him and the wall. “I did,” he said, instead of telling him how sorry he was, how he’d never meant it. He had sent Tony away. There was nothing he could say to take it back. All he could do was try to make up for it. “It was wrong of me, so I’ve come to bring you home.”

Tony was still shaking his head. “No. No. This is—you’re not real. You wouldn’t come for me. Not after all I’ve done.”

He’d circled Tony around so that his back was to the wall. Steve began advancing on him again, already gearing up to lunge at him if he tried to run away. “Tony, it’s… it’s not fine, obviously, but we… we can work through it. We can be happy together.”

“You were never happy with me,” Tony said quietly, and his lip trembled for a moment before he sucked in a wet breath. “I’m—this isn’t. Must’ve had something bad,” he muttered, lifting his hands to press his palms to his eyes. “Didn’t let the liquor ferment enough maybe. Or—that stew. Under-cooked meat or something. I. This isn’t real. I’m having a nightmare. This isn’t true.”

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat. “It’s not a dream, Tony.”

“I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone,” Tony said, voice cracking, and his shoulders finally hit the wall.

Steve lunged in immediately, hands flying up to bar him between them, so he couldn’t run away. “I’m here, Tony. I’ve come to take you home.”

Tony pulled his hands away from his face, brows furrowing together as he stared up at him—in disbelief, maybe, or confusion? His mouth worked uselessly, no words coming out, before finally his eyes cleared, as if he’d still been half asleep as he’d spoken and had suddenly just become lucid. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Steve blinked, stunned, and almost let Tony brush past him. But this was not going to go Tony’s way, he decided, resolve turning to steel, and he grabbed Tony’s bicep before he could pass out of his reach. “You absolutely are. You’re coming back to Paris. We’re going home.”

Tony twisted to scowl at him, offended. “You’re not the fucking boss of me! You can’t make me do anything I don’t w—are you arresting me?! I don’t see any fucking guards, idiot!”

“I don’t need anyone else to make you do anything,” Steve answered firmly. Tony tugged at his grip, trying to smack his hand off, and Steve tugged him closer, turning to cage him in against the wall again. “Either you’re going back to Paris with me, or I’m staying here with you.”

“You can’t stay here! There are still Hydra spies around here!” Tony exclaimed, outraged, and reached out to grab his shoulders. “You were stupid to come here alone in the first place—”

“Okay,” Steve answered calmly, finally releasing Tony’s arm so he could grab his wrists and pin them above his head.

“Wait, what are yo—” Tony began, squirming, as Steve got both his wrists in one hand. He tried to kick out, but he hadn’t taken physically training as seriously as Steve, too focused on reading and scheming to make sure Hydra could never get a foothold in Paris. Steve avoided the kick easily, instead pressing his thigh between Tony’s, not letting him get leverage for another. “Steve, stop, will you just—”

“Well, you said I can’t stay here with you,” Steve said, reaching up to grab his tie and loosen it from his throat. He whipped it out flat, then reached up, circling Tony’s wrists with the fabric. “And I only gave you one other option.”

“I’m not going back to Paris with you!” Tony howled, then yelped when Steve ignored him, instead bending to toss him over his shoulder and begin carrying him from the castle.

Steve wouldn’t be swayed. “Well, you are, and I’ll keep you there if I have to keep you tied up and on my lap the entire time.”

“If you wanted to fuck me you didn’t have to kidnap me,” Tony purred, reaching down Steve’s back to grab his ass with one of his bound hands. “I’m easy. We could have done it on my cot.”

“You’re not seducing me out of taking you to Paris,” Steve deadpanned. It might have worked, before… everything. But then, everything had happened, and he wanted Tony near to him more than he wanted to finally have him in bed.

Tony, predictably, responded with rage, kicking wildly as he snarled, “Then fucking put me down you dick! You kicked me out, not the other way around, Steve, and—”

“I’m correcting that mistake,” Steve replied simply. “And you seem to be drawing a lot of attention to us for someone who doesn’t want Hydra spies to know I’m—”

“You’re the one who caused this, not me,” Tony snapped, trying to crane his neck to glare at his face. “And! When the fuck did you get so strong, what the hell—”

“Started working out in earnest after you left because I had nothing else to fill my time,” Steve said, ducking through the hole he’d come in through. It was a quick three miles to the train station. He had already bribed the station agents and porters to look the other way as he, quite literally, kidnapped another man. It was just getting there with Tony struggling that would prove to be most difficult.

“Fucking put me down, Steve!” Tony roared, and, when Steve noticed people turning to look at the commotion, he simply raised one hand and brought the flat of it back down on Tony’s ass, smacking him so loud that the people who hadn’t turned to look before were now staring as well in affront.

“Stop being difficult,” Steve told him firmly. “I told you. We’re going home.”

Tony, mercifully, was too stunned to do more than gibber at him, brain apparently devoid of any scathing remarks. Steve glanced up at him and couldn’t help a smirk when he saw that Tony’s cheeks had flooded crimson, eyes wide, mouth gaping. He turned his gaze back on the path in front of him. He was keeping in mind what Natasha had said, that intimacy made people uncomfortable. If he made everyone think it was just a lovers’ quarrel, they’d turn their gazes away in embarrassment. That Tony was apparently just as flustered was a helpful plus.

Tony started shouting at him for being a deviant and a pervert halfway through the walk, kicking and screaming again, and it really only sold it as a domestic dispute. No one stepped in to help him. Steve would have been concerned, except he’d planned this. Pretend they were close enough, that this was normal, and people would think it was normal for them. It had been, once upon a time, if without the fondling. Before the fight.

Before Steve had ruined everything.

[theweirdgoodbyes]

Last Line Challenge

Thanks for the tag @ventresses!

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you like)

——this is a snippet from my fake dating au for luztoye week that is nowhere near done but has taken me hostage——

“I gotta,” Joe takes a small sip of his coffee, shivering as the cold liquid hits his tongue. He prefers hot, but it’s not like this guy knows that and he’s not gonna complain about a free drink, “hmm, I gotta know what this is about before I commit to anything. ‘Cause as of right now, I think you’re over the hill and far away.”

George throws back his head and laughs like it’s the funniest shit he’s ever heard, a loud, genuine thing that has Joe biting his lip to keep from smiling. He looks back at Joe, smile still glued to his face as his chuckles subside.

“You’re not wrong, pal. So, uh,” George sniffs, quickly wiping at his nose with the back of his hand before pointing at Joe with both index fingers, “let’s start with a little background. I’m one of ten kids, ranking in at number six but by far the best looking.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joe mutters, shaking his head. Although he never liked being an only child and always longed for a sibling or two, he couldn’t imagine having nine. George just grins, those fingers wagging in unison.

“Catholics love two things: Mother Mary and fucking without a condom. Anyway, all my siblings are married or engaged and my mother’s been on my ass for years about settling down. ‘Georgie’,” George says in a falsetto so realistic Joe has to blink once, twice, before it registers that the words came out of the man’s mouth, “‘I’m worried you’re gonna die alone. Why won’t you give me grand babies?’ Woman’s already got sixteen, mind you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I know. Anyway, at Christmas I got so damn fed up with her pestering I finally came out, not like she didn’t already know. ‘Ma, I’m gay’. I think that’s the end of it and she’ll leave me alone.” George slams his palms down on the table, forcing Joe to reach out and grab his coffee before it tips over from the impact. “Nope! Now she’s pestering me about when I’m gonna get a boyfriend. And she’s got my sisters texting me about it, those turncoats. So, Easter rolls around, and she’s so far up my ass I could just about shit her out. ‘Georgie’,” he says in that falsetto again, “‘God loves the gays. But you gotta get married to make it right’. So I started a little lie. Said I was seeing somebody. Picked the most common name out there and said his name is Joe, y’know, Joe Shmo who likes to blow. He’s a good Catholic boy like myself, he doesn’t live around here, and that’s the end of it.”

“But it’s not the end of it,” Joe says slowly, unsure if he wants to know more. If he was feeling more sane, or wasn’t about to get one hell of a fucking fine for not paying off the ticket in time, he would have grabbed his crutches and been out the door by now. But there was something about George that was almost hypnotic, making the world around him fade into a blur, only able to focus on this stupid yet charming man before him. Joe takes another gulp of his coffee for strength, hardly registering the cold temperature anymore.

“It sure as shit ain’t. This woman, my God, she’ll never be satisfied. She wants pictures. She wants details. She wants to meet him. You know what the problem is? Guy doesn’t fucking exist.” George takes a sip of his own coffee, iced like Joe’s and double the size, impish brown eyes glinting with something Joe isn’t sure he wants to understand, “Until now.”

Tagging @lamialamia @bast0gne @antigonenikk and anyone else who wants to do it heehee

[getvalentined]

50 random ask game: 16, 19, 41 for Veld please!

[For the Random Character Asks game.]

16. Deepest darkest secret they won’t even admit to themselves?

When Veld found Vincent in Nibelheim toward the end of 2006, he had to leave before he could get any answers—he didn't have the time, Felicia's life was hanging by a thread, and Veld had to use that limited time wisely.

Veld and Vincent worked together for years, lived together for years, Veld knows he could have coaxed him into communicating, could have coaxed him into leaving if he'd just hung around for a few hours. A day at the most. Veld knows Vincent, and this wouldn't have been the first time he slowly drew him out of a dark place and helped unpack what was going on in his head. He just needed a day. But if he'd taken that day, Felicia almost certainly wouldn't have made it. The amount of time lost in traveling, finding what it took to save her, meant that every minute mattered by then.

So Veld left. He made that decision. He promised he'd come back, but he never did; he was too badly injured, by the time he recovered enough to travel, Meteor was bearing down on the planet. Veld never went back to Nibelheim.

Toward the end of 2010, Veld caught sight of Vincent at WRO HQ. Their eyes met, Vincent froze, Veld stared—confused and alarmed and off-balance. He knew by then that Vincent had left Nibelheim, Tseng told him about it after Meteorfall, but why was he here? Last Veld heard, Vincent was haunting the Forgotten Capital, not interacting with people, and Veld had plans to go find him eventually, to coax him out of whatever dark place in which he'd cloistered himself away this time—

Vincent broke eye contact, turned away, and left without a word. And for just a moment, Veld wished more than anything that he'd stayed in Nibelheim for that single integral day. He pushed the thought aside, shoved the feeling down, and refused to acknowledge it again.

19. Vices/bad habits?

Veld has so many of these, man. He drinks, he smokes, he runs himself ragged, he burns the candle at both ends into his sixties. He's been through hell and lost everything three times: his partner-in-everything, lost because he couldn't be honest; his wife and daughter, lost because he wasn't careful enough; the department that was the only family he had left, lost because he saw a chance to save a loved one he thought long dead if he'd just give up on everything and everyone else, and he took it. He's very bad at taking care of himself, and the only reason he hasn't drunk himself into the grave by 2010 is because there are still people that need him alive, and his sense of responsibility toward those people is more powerful than his desperation for relief from the pain.

In the postcanon universe where he and Vincent eventually reconcile in some capacity, most of these rougher habits are eventually soothed away. Vincent is going to be here forever, and Veld does his damnedest to be there with him for as long as possible. The damage is, of course, already done, and going sober is super difficult, but it gives him a few years with Vincent where he's himself all the time, and that's worth everything.

But even that is just proof that Veld's worst habit never goes away—he can't take care of himself for his own sake, only for someone else's.

41. If they could have lunch with anyone in the world (living or dead, from any fictional universe or the real world), who would it be?

There are a lot of people Veld would like to meet up with again, for a lot of different reasons.

Prior to December of 2006, the answer would have been Vincent, no question. After he knows Vincent is still alive, that becomes a much scarier prospect due to the fact that it's actually possible and he already fumbled it within like ten minutes of finding him, so strike that.

Postcanon, it depends on how he's feeling, what he's thinking about. His wife, to explain, to say goodbye; Professor Gast, to punch his lights out for everything he did and allowed others to do; Lucrecia, to ask what the hell she was thinking and whether there's any way to undo what she did; Sephiroth, to apologize for not stepping in when he had the chance.