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soaps-mohawk · 21 days

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Summary: It's time to move on. You're not sure where you're going exactly, but anywhere is better than Texas

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,816 words

Warnings: ANGST, injuries, medical stuff, descriptions of pain and injuries, brief discussion about strangulation, mentions of PTSD and nightmares, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, a very little sprinkle of comfort, language, mentions of medications, still very heavy emotionally

A/N: Not actually a lot of warnings for this one. It's a lot of dialogue and inner monologues. Not a lot happens, just mostly setting the scene for the next chunk of the story. Bring tissues though, the last part of the chapter emotionally wrecked me but also might be the best thing I've ever written.

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It’s warm outside.

Not even the shade from the building can completely shield you from the dome of heat that seems to surround the base. It seeps into the concrete and asphalt that lock it into place, trapping everyone in a bubble that may as well be an oven. It’s always hot in Texas, though. You hate it. You’ve been spoiled by the cold, rainy seasons in England. You’d gladly take that over Texas.

You’d take anything over Texas.

The heat prickles at your skin, your arm starting to get sweaty in the sling. It had been Dr. Keller’s idea to keep your shoulder as still as possible so you don’t continue to cause yourself pain when you move. It still hurts, but at least you won’t instinctively try to use your left arm now.

Despite the warmth, there’s still a chill deep in your bones. The warmth of the pain medicine has worn off and you’ve been left with the perpetual ice that has seemed to coat your insides. Dr. Keller says it's the stress giving you a fever. Every nightmare, every flashback sends your body temperature spiking, your heart beating right out of your chest. You’re not out of the woods yet. It can take a long time to recover from that level of distress and the omega taking over. You almost regret it, but there was no guarantee you would have lived either way at that time. You did what you had to do, and it did work out in the end.

But at what cost?

Dr. Keller’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, staring down at the screen for a moment. “Kyle wants to come by.”

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to see any of them.

“I think you should see him. Even if it’s just for a moment.” She squeezes your hand. “I’ll be right here.”

It’s a predicament. Dr. Keller supports your decision to keep them away, putting some distance between all of you for the time being. Yet, she also says being close to your pack will help your healing. Having your pack around will help your omega settle once again. She needs that safety, that security before she finally lets go completely.

You don’t want to be close to them, but you may not have any other choice.

You sit there in silence, picking at the fabric of your sweatpants as you wait for Kyle’s arrival. Sweat has started to bead on your back, the day only getting warmer and warmer as the sun moves higher in the sky. You want to go back inside, back into the cool air conditioned building. You want to crawl back onto the hospital bed and lay there for the next few hours.

You can’t.

Footsteps approach, but you don’t look up. You know who it is. You don’t want to see him.

“Kyle.” Dr. Keller greets.

“Christine.” He says back. It still throws you off, hearing Dr. Keller's first name. She'll always be Dr. Keller to you. Kyle turns his attention to you, still standing a few steps from the bench you're perched on. “Hi, love.” He says. The affectionate nickname almost makes you wince. You don't look up at him. You don’t want to see his face. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.”

You don't move, don't give an answer. You don't have an answer to give anyway. You shouldn't have to give an answer.

He lowers himself onto the bench, sitting as far away from you as he can. “It’s hot today.” He says, adjusting his hat. Always wearing a hat. Maybe that's why he and Price work so well together.

He stares at you for a long moment but you don't bother moving, your gaze still on your sweatpants. They're starting to get a bit warm, even with your perpetual chill.

“I’m not here to apologize.” He says, breaking the silence. “You’ve probably heard enough apologies to last you a lifetime.” He shakes his head. “Words can’t fix what we did. Nothing can fix what we did, how we left you there. All we can do is give you what you need, try and make you as comfortable as possible.”

Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him. He's not wrong, an apology won't fix what happened. No words will ever be able to fix what they put you through. You're not sure there's anything they could do that would make up for it. An apology still would have been nice, despite the fact you know how guilty he is. Their avoidance of you, their willingness to give you such space in an unknown place just proves how guilty they all are.

That doesn't make things hurt any less.

You slowly turn away from Kyle, angling yourself towards Dr. Keller.

He doesn't say anything further in that regard, taking your movement as an answer to his non-apology. He leans forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re getting ready to leave soon. We’ll be heading somewhere safe, somewhere quiet and secluded. I think you’ll like it.”

Dr. Keller had informed you of that earlier after she went to speak to them. They've decided what to do, what's best for the pack again. You might have protested, except for the fact it meant you were getting to leave Texas. Where exactly they're taking you, you're not sure. You just know it's not Texas.

“I want you to know that we’re here if you need us.” He stares at you for a moment longer before pushing himself up to stand.

If, not when.

Maybe they're finally getting the message.

Dr. Keller stands, touching your right shoulder gently before she steps away with Kyle, speaking quietly with him, but you can still hear every word in the nearly silent space around you.

“In an attempt to remain a neutral, professional party in this situation, I feel it would be appropriate for me to tell you not to beat yourself up too much about this.” Dr. Keller says. “The unprofessional side of me has many words I’d like to say to all of you.” She clears her throat. “That being said, on a positive note I can say you’re all doing the right thing for once, prioritizing your omega and fulfilling her needs, even if her needs require you to leave her alone for now. I know it’s hard, I know every instinct is screaming at you to help her, but just take comfort in knowing you are helping her. You’re doing the best thing you can do for her at this time.” Dr. Keller puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Even if it is tearing you up inside.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He says.

“I’ll see you soon.” She says, patting his arm before she heads back towards your bench.

You turn your head just slightly, not missing the way Gaz lingers for a brief moment before he turns his back on you, walking back down the sidewalk.

It hurts.

You want to cry with every swallow. No matter how much you chew, it doesn’t ease the pain of trying to swallow solid food. Even the worst sore throat you’ve ever had pales in comparison to this pain. Tears burn in your eyes as you eat, unable to refuse this time in favor of choking down some liquid nutrients. Even liquids make your throat ache, but they are easy to chug to get it over with at once.

This feels like torture.

Dr. Keller looks guilty as she spoon-feeds you the soup. Chicken noodle, something simple and easy but still something with some substance. It makes you think back to when you were sick as a child, your mother dutifully feeding you homemade chicken noodle soup until you reached the age you could feed yourself.

You do feel like a child again, unable to even hold the spoon. Well, you could hold it, but it would have come at the expense of some burns from how badly your hand was shaking.

So instead you sit here, being spoon-fed soup you can barely stand eating.

“I know.” She says as a tear finally falls, your inhale shaky from the ache in your throat. “You need something in your system for the sedative. It’s a long flight and you’ll be sick when you wake up if you don’t have anything in your stomach. That’s going to hurt a lot worse than eating now.”

Yeah. You’ve already figured that out.

“Strangulation is a tough thing to survive.” She says, dragging the bottom of the spoon against the edge of the bowl to wipe off any soup that might drip on you. “Then again, so is getting shot, and distressing to the point of your omega taking over.” She holds the spoon up to your lips, and you’re tempted to refuse. “You’ve survived a lot, more than most could. And to look this good after...”

You blink up at her, teary eyed and sickly looking, exhausted and bruised. Your left eye is still almost swollen shut, and your hair is tangled perhaps beyond saving, tied up in a bun at the top of your head. All just reminders of what you survived, all reminders of what happened to you. Of what was allowed to happen to you.

You’re not quite sure when the last time you had a real shower was either.

“I know.” She says, spooning more soup into your mouth. “You might not feel like it, right now.”

“I want a shower.” You say, your voice still hoarse and cracking through your throat. A real shower might solve a lot of problems for you right now. It won’t fix much, but being truly clean would make a lot of things feel better.

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Dr. Keller says.

You give her a look. You don't smell that bad. She should know, she’s the one that cleaned the blood off of you and the one who gave you the sponge bath this morning.

She gives you a look back. “I meant it would be nice to take a real shower. Once we get where we’re going, we can work on the logistics of a shower.”

Right. You can’t exactly stand for a long time on your own, not to mention the problem of only being able to use one arm without bringing blinding pain upon yourself. That’s where the pack would come in handy.

The thought of one of them seeing you vulnerable like that, putting their hands on you right now makes your skin crawl.

A shiver runs down your spine, your body shuddering uncontrollably. You grunt as your shoulder screams in pain, another electric jolt burning straight through your nerves and down through your feet. Fuck. You mouth the word, squeezing your eyes shut. It makes your stomach churn, the soup starting to burn a path back up through your esophagus.

“Breathe for me.” Dr. Keller says, putting a gentle hand on your right shoulder.

In and out. You focus on your breath, the only thing you can do without feeling like you’re going to go insane from the pain. It’s all you can do in this situation. It’s the only thing you can do at all. Breathe. Just keep breathing.

Sometimes you don’t want to.

The pain passes as it always does, leaving behind a subtle ache that will linger until the next flare of pain. It’s a constant, never-ending cycle that you can’t escape from. Weeks, Dr. Keller had said. It can take weeks to heal. You’ll be stuck in this cycle for weeks and weeks. What if it never heals? That is a possibility. It’s always a risk with any injury.

What if the rest of your life is like this?

You’re crying again, hot tears blazing a path down your cheeks. They won’t stop, they never stop. There’s a constant stream down your face, even in your sleep. You’ve woken to find your face and neck damp from the never ceasing flood of tears.

How you can’t wait for the time to come when you have none left.

You’d welcome the numbness at this point, greet it like an old friend and invite it in for tea. Anything over the pain and tears that won’t stop. The depression-fueled numbness that had filled you when Price and Gaz left, then Soap and Ghost would be a welcome relief at this point. Anything would be better than the pain.

You almost wish you were in a coma right now. Then you wouldn’t feel anything at all.

Dr. Keller puts the spoon back into the soup bowl before rolling the table to the side. She puts a hand on your head, gently stroking your hair as you cry. The room is silent aside from your sniffles, Dr. Keller not having to say a single word. The silence is almost a blessing. You’re tired of hearing words, of hearing people speak. There’s nothing anyone can say that will do anything to help you, to comfort you, to make it better.

There’s nothing anyone can do to make it better.

You’re so tired of being like this.

The sedative is kicking in before you even reach the airfield. She can see the way your head is drooping further and further forward in the car, your body jostling without any complaint. It had started kicking in before you even got into the car, as you offered very little resistance when Kyle helped her mauver you into the front seat. She chose Kyle out of everyone to help her in hopes it would be easiest on you. Your claimed alpha’s beta is a good place to start in rebuilding the bonds within the pack, and his calm demeanor certainly helps. He is a caretaker through and through, that beta trait prominent above the others in him. He would have made a good medic, had he gone that route.

Your chin drops to your chest as the car comes to a stop in front of the plane, your body slumping to the side against the door.

“She’s out.” Christine says, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Makes this easier.” Kyle says, getting out of the car.

They maneuver you into the wheelchair, Christine easing your head onto your right shoulder to avoid aggravating the left. The less pain you’re in when you come out of it, the better, though pain will be unavoidable. Kyle pushes the wheelchair up the ramp of the plane, Christine following close behind. She’s glad she gave you the sedative before you left the med center to avoid as much pain as possible. She almost wishes she had given it to you earlier, as getting you into a sweatshirt had been a battle of its own. Though, the longer it stays in your system, the longer you’ll sleep through the flight. The longer you sleep through the flight, the longer they can delay the inevitable emotional storm of being enclosed in a tight space with your pack.

If you’re lucky, you’ll be out of it long enough for them to reach the cottage without incident.

John is waiting near the front of the aircraft, his eyes watching carefully as Kyle helps maneuver you into a seat. Even with the turmoil in the pack bonds, an alpha will always feel protective over their omega. There’s some things that can’t be undone, even in such a fragile state. Some instincts can’t be unlearned, no matter what.

“I gave her a sedative.” Christine explains as she gets you as comfortable as possible in the seat. “It won’t last the whole flight, but it’ll take a while to wear off regardless.”

“Is that more for her or for us?” John asks.

“Both.” Christine says. “Mostly for her. It helps with the pain of moving around, but it will also keep her calm in close quarters like this.”

“Here.” John says, handing her something. It’s a blanket, brand new by the feel of it. “Johnny made a store run this morning. It’s going to get cold in here, so he got the warmest one he could find.”

Christine takes the blanket, the fabric thick and soft in her hands. It’s a touching gesture, speaking volumes of their desire to still care for you despite everything, their willingness to do what they have to, to keep the pack together. “Perfect.” She says, carefully draping it over you and tucking it around you before John gets you secured in the seat.

“It’s going to be a long flight.” John says, taking a step back.

“It is.” Christine says, pulling out her thermometer. She takes your temperature, letting out a hum at the number that pops up on screen. “I need to monitor her temperature.” She explains as John gives her a look. “It’s been spiking when she gets stressed.”

“She's not quite out of it yet, is she?” John asks.

“Not quite.” She says, putting the thermometer back in her bag. “I’ve only seen two omegas successfully come back from that point, and I know the number across the board isn’t very high. It takes a long time for the body and the brain to get back to normal.”

“And on top of everything that happened...”

She stares up at him for a long moment. “She’s very strong. I knew she was a fighter, but to come out the other side even where she is now...” Christine shakes her head. “I didn’t want to say this at the time, but I was expecting the worst. When that call came in about what state she was in...” She bites her lip, holding the emotions back. “Her resilience and fortitude is what kept her alive. That and Simon’s courage to do what needed to be done.”

“I know.” John says, looking past her. “We all owe a lot to him.”

Christine puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re doing what’s best for her. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it goes against every instinct you have, it’s what she needs.”

“That’s all that matters to us right now.” John says, staring down at her hand for a moment. “There’s nothing else we can do, so it’s time we start putting our priorities where they should have been the whole time.”

Christine gives him a small smile. “I’m proud of you for that. It takes a lot to unlearn the things you’ve been told since the beginning.”

The corner of John’s lips twitch before his face falls into the emotionless mask he’s been wearing for the last few days. “It’s about time we get our heads out of our arses.”

“I can’t blame you totally.” She shrugs. “We were all just doing what the initiative was telling us to do. We couldn’t have known. There wasn’t any room to question it.”

“I wish we would have figured it out sooner.” He sighs.

“Things might have been worse if the truth did come out sooner. If you started digging into the initiative too soon, Shepherd might have gotten antsy and taken more drastic measures to stop the truth from coming out entirely.” She glances down at you. “I think this was all inevitable.” She turns her gaze back to John. “What happened, happened. None of us can change that. All we can do is keep moving forward with what we have right now.”

He stares at her for a long moment. “The more time passes, the more I’ve come to realize why Kate chose you for this position.”

The corner of her lips turns up in a smile. “Well, I am rather good at my job, which, among other things, involves advocating on behalf of omegas.”

John huffs. “Wish we would have listened sooner.”

“You can’t change the past.” She repeats, looking down at you again. “But you can change the future.”

You woke from your sedation about four hours from Helston.

Well, ’woke’ might have been too strong of a word for it. Your eyes opened, but you were still hazy, movements sluggish and entirely unaware of the world around you. You floated between sleep and awareness for an hour before finally gaining consciousness completely. Awareness took quite a while to return, though. Not until they were moving you to the car from the plane.

Even still you’re groggy, slumped against the door in the back seat of the car. You blink slowly, eyes unfocused as you stare out the window at the blur of green passing by.

“How is she?” John asks from the driver's seat, glancing up at the rearview mirror.

“Cow.” You say, blinking slowly as the car passes a field of cows.

“Still out of it.” Christine answers from the back seat where she's sitting next to you. Your response might have been enough to answer that. “Better than being in pain, though.”

“How long will it take for her to get out of it?” Kyle asks.

“Hopefully she’ll be more lucid by the time we get there, but it could take a few hours for it to completely wear off.” Christine says, wiping a bit of drool from your chin. “Probably not a bad thing. This is a big change, and with everything that’s happened, it’s going to take some time to settle in.”

“Things are going to be rough.” Kyle says.

“Yes.” She agrees. “Being enclosed in a small space with the people you want to see the least in the world isn’t an ideal situation. It’ll be an adjustment for everyone. I trust all of your abilities to adapt, though. Just don't go in expecting things to be the way they were.”

John's hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. Kyle cracks his window open, prepared for the thickening of John's scent in the air. Christine knows she hit a nerve, but it needed to be said. Even if you were open to forgiveness right now, even if they had chosen to go after you right away, things still wouldn't be the same. Things won't ever be the same. It is their fault deep at the root of it. Those cameras were put up because of them, you were taken because of them. You were chosen for the “initiative” because of them, because Kate thought you'd fit in well with them. Their decisions shaped your life, and will continue to shape your life.

Can you ever come to forgive them? Christine likes to think so. She has the hope that they can put in the work and regain your trust and earn eventual forgiveness. She knows you'll allow them to try once the initial hurt and emotions begin to fade, once the two of you put in enough work to start processing the trauma around the events that happened. It will take time. Probably a long time.

She'll be there every step of the way.

“Ashley did some shopping for us, picked up some stuff to get us until we can get into town.” Kyle says, looking at his phone.

“Good.” John says, his shoulders starting to relax. “Should wait a couple days before going. Get settled in.”

“She's still working on cleaning up. Probably still be there when we get there.” Kyle says, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“That's fine. We’ll probably have to utilize her a bit.”

“Doubt she'll complain.” Kyle says, looking out the window. “Be thrilled to have something to do besides work.”

You let out a quiet groan, shifting against the door. “Hurts.”

“I know, honey.” Christine says, carefully adjusting your left arm. “I’ll give you more pain meds once we get to the cottage.”

“We’ll be there in half an hour.” John says, glancing up at the rearview mirror again before turning his eyes back to the road.

The half hour seems to take the longest as you continue to become more and more lucid and aware. The pain sets in first, your brain picking up on those signals before anything else. John’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel as you begin to whine and whimper around every bend in the road and turn he has to make, every jostle of the car. Every instinct in his body tells him to pull over and comfort you, but he can’t. It’s more important to get to the cottage, and there’s no guarantee you’d even let him. It might make things worse.

The last thing you need right now is for things to get worse.

Christine breathes a sigh of relief as they pull up to the cottage, glad she can finally get you somewhere more comfortable. You’ve been in far too many uncomfortable positions today, moved around too much. She would have liked to keep you in Texas a couple more days, but she knew as soon as you were able to travel, the better. The sooner they could get off the grid, the better.

The sooner they could get out of Texas, the better.

Kyle is getting the wheelchair out of the trunk when Johnny and Simon pull up, not having been far behind. They likely took a turn around the back roads to ensure no one was following and to keep things from looking too suspicious.

Christine keeps you from slumping out of the car as she carefully opens the door on your side. You’re more awake than you were, blinking up at her with almost startlingly aware eyes.

“Crutch.” You pout when she pulls the wheelchair closer.

She gives you a look. “Honey I'm not sure you could even stand right now.” You may be more aware, but that doesn’t mean your body is working as it should.

You let out a defiant noise as you attempt to get your legs out of the car, trying to hide your grunts of pain and discomfort.

She's tempted to stand there and let you try, but she knows all hell will break loose if she lets you fall. She's not willing to take that risk, not to mention it will cause you more pain to get you up off the ground.

“Come on,” She says, stopping you before you can get your feet under you. “Nice and slow.”

You let out a quiet growl of indignation but you allow her to help you, your legs trembling as she eases you up. Kyle is there with the wheelchair, getting it as close to you as possible so she can sit you down quickly.

“Ow.” You breathe, eyes pinched closed as you breathe through the pain.

“I know.” She says, patting your good shoulder lightly. She's glad she put you in the sweatshirt before you left Texas. It's chilly outside, chillier than it was further inland a few days ago.

It's hard to believe it's only been a few days since you were taken. Barely even a week. So much happened in such a short period of time. It feels like it’s been weeks since everything started, but then again, it had been weeks since John and Kyle first left. It had been weeks since you had been around your whole pack together by the time you were taken. The deep depression you sunk into before the events of the last week had been draining you slowly for weeks before this. It had started before John and Kyle were deployed, back to that day when you revealed the cameras and the secret you had been hiding from them.

How long you’ve gone in such turmoil.

How far you still have to go.

The path up to the door is rocky and uneven, the wheelchair jostling as she pushes it up towards the door. She can picture your face, the way it has to be screwed up in pain. You're silent though, holding it all in. She almost wishes you weren't being silent about it.

The door is already open, light shining from inside as she approaches. Kyle is in the house already, having gone ahead to greet his sister. John is right behind the two of you as Christine turns to wheel you up the steps into the house. His eyes are on you, focused and ready should you fall.

Christine would never let you fall, and from the way your hand is gripping the arm of the chair for dear life, you probably couldn't anyway.

She wheels you through the entryway, the inside warmer thanks to a fire that's burning. It's a nice cottage, far nicer than she had been expecting judging from the outside.

Johnny lets out a low whistle as he enters behind John, looking around. “Yer parents own this?”

“It was given to our mum by our grandparents. They did some...renovations before they passed it on.” Kyle says.

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says.

It looks new inside. New wood floors, freshly painted walls. The furniture looks like she would expect to find in an English seaside cottage, though. Kyle’s parents went to France for summer vacation instead of utilizing the cottage, and none of his siblings had wanted to use it, he told them. It looks almost perfect, like it came right out of a home renovation show. Kyle’s sister must have worked some sort of magic to get it this clean.

It is a very nice cottage. It’s small, the door opening right to the main area. There’s two couches and a chair in the middle of the room around a coffee table. To the left of the couches is a fireplace, the fire already lit and crackling. It looks original, likely having been untouched in the renovations. There’s a door to the left of the fireplace closer to the main entryway. A bedroom maybe? To the right of the front door are two doors, one on the far wall and one facing the front door.

The stairs are in the middle of the house, leading up to the second floor where there’s likely more bedrooms. On the far side of the main area is the dining area and beyond that is a sliding glass door. Around the corner on the far side of the stairs is likely the kitchen. She can see the fridge from where she’s standing. It’s new. Very new. Makes her wonder just how long ago it had been renovated.

“Everyone, this is my sister Ashley.” Kyle says, introducing the other woman in the room.

“Hello,” she says, giving everyone a wave and a dazzling smile.

She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, her medium box braids pulled up into a bun on top of her head. They look a lot alike, her and Kyle. Tall and slender and stunning. They have the same smile and the same soft brown eyes. She's wearing scent blockers, but Christine can imagine her having a soft scent like lavender or something fresh like mint.

“There's two rooms down here, and two upstairs.” Kyle says. “The main bedroom is through there.” He points towards a door to their left. “I figure we'll give that to our omega. The bathroom in there has a walk-in shower.”

“Perfect.” Christine says. That will make getting you in and out of the shower easier at least, and you won’t have to go far to use the bathroom.

“You should take the other room down here.” John says, looking at Christine. “So you can be close in case of an emergency.”

And so you don't have to be too close to them, so you won’t feel like they’re hovering.

He doesn't have to say that part out loud.

“I put new sheets on all the beds.” Ashley says. “I also picked up everything Kyle sent on the list. Food, some clothes, some other necessities.”

You let out a quiet groan, Christine patting your head gently. You have to be exhausted and sore after the day. She should give you another dose of pain medicine like she said she would. You’re going to need it tonight.

“Let's get you laying down for a bit.” She says, wheeling you towards the door.

Kyle opens it for her, revealing a spacious room with a big window looking out towards the sea. You're going to spend a lot of time in front of that window, she thinks. The bed is in the middle of the room, and there’s two chairs facing the window. She’s almost tempted to sit you in one of the chairs, but laying down will be more comfortable for you right now.

You're still too out of it now to care much as she wheels you to the double bed. With Kyle's help they get you horizontal, Christine draping the blanket at the end of the bed over you. It’s not very soft, but it will do for now. She’ll have to get the guys to pick up some soft blankets for you when they go to town. She has a whole list of things starting in her head she needs them to pick up.

She leans your crutch against the end of the bed just in case you might need it for an emergency. She hopes you’ll yell first, but you always have been stubborn. Being mostly bed-bound has only made that worse.

“I’m going to go look through the things Ashley picked up.” She says, patting your leg gently. “Get some rest.”

Christine leaves the door open a crack as she exits, wanting to give you a little privacy as you nap, or at least she hopes you’ll nap. It’s going to be a rough adjustment, and you’re going to need as much rest as you can get.

“I’m assuming you’re Christine.” Ashley says, walking up to her.

“I am.” She says, giving Ashley a smile.

She can’t help but get lost in Ashley’s soft gaze for a moment. The Garrick siblings seem to share the same magnetic energy. There’s something almost ethereal about them. She could easily imagine them with glowing halos and angel wings. It’s almost like she’s being blessed with the opportunity to look upon her. She could spend an hour staring at Ashley’s face and not grow tired of looking at her.

“I picked up the items Kyle said you needed.” She says, motioning to the bags on the coffee table, pulling Christine out of her daze. “I couldn’t find the exact nutrient powder you asked for, so I got one that was as close as I could find.”

Christine glances through the bags. She was thorough, getting at least two of everything.

“I got warmer clothes for her too, since it can get chilly out here this time of year. Just some simple things for now until you guys get into town.” Ashley says. “I did some research too and I read that omegas like comforting things so I picked up some extra blankets and pillows” Ashley says, motioning to a couple bags sitting on the couch. “I also picked up this,” She pulls a stuffed dog from one of the bags, holding it up. “It was the softest one I could find. I thought it might help.”

A small smile forms on Christine’s face, her heart fluttering in her chest from the sweet, thoughtful gesture. Ashley doesn’t even know you, nor did she know exactly what happened to you, and yet she went so far as to pick up some comfort items for you. You have nothing right now, only the borrowed clothes on your back. All of your belongings are still on base, all of the things that you had built to make your perfect nest. Would you want any of them still? Or have they been tainted by the events of the last few weeks?

That Ashley thought to do this has warmth flooding Christine’s body. You can have some comfort now without having to wait for their trip to town. She almost feels the urge to cry. She wants to hug Ashley, thank her over and over for her kindness. Ashley has no idea how much her small act of kindness means, how much it's going to mean.

A smile forms on Christine’s face as she stares at the stuffed dog. “It’s perfect.”

You can hear it.

In the distance, the quiet roar reaches your ears as you’re dragged from the sweet arms of sleep. It must be a dream, or perhaps the sedative is still clinging to your mind, making you imagine things.

No.

You’d know that sound anywhere.

The effort to push yourself up to sit is a momentous one, every cell in your body protesting after a day of being moved and jostled. The last thing you want is to move right now, but you have to.

The pain meds have done little to help.

The crutch at the end of your bed must be a thousand miles away as you sit there and stare at it. The ache in your body only increases as you become more and more aware of the pain, almost as if it can tell what it is your mind is planning.

The door is cracked open, letting in a slit of light from outside. It’s dark in the room, the curtains pulled over the window. It’s a blessing compared to the bright yellow light outside the door. You welcome the darkness as your head begins to throb. You could call for assistance. You’d get more help than you needed. More help than you want.

No.

You need to do this.

The effort it takes to get standing nearly sends you back onto the bed. The pain nearly blinds you as your feet touch the floor, your body leaning against the side of the mattress out of desperation. If you fall, you’ll never be alone again. You can’t afford that. You don’t want that.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

The breaths out of your nose are short and sharp as you reach for the crutch, fingers trembling in the effort to fight the pain threatening to blind you. You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm as your fingers finally wrap around the cool metal. The rubber bottom drags across the floor as you tug it over to you, holding it against your chest for a moment.

Breathe. That’s what you need to do. Breathe.

In and out.

Nice and slow.

The pain is only a memory. The pain is nothing. The memories forming at the edges of your mind will take over and wipe out the pain and the misery. You just have to be sure. You just have to be certain.

You push yourself upright using the crutch, tucking it under your arm. You should go back to bed. You should rest.

No.

You need to know.

You need to be certain.

The first step you take nearly makes you sick.

It’s like watching a baby deer walk for the first time, knees wobbling, feet shaking. You lean heavily on the crutch, your determination the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the floor in a heap. That might almost hurt worse than forcing yourself to stand upright.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

Inch by inch you move across the floor, silently grateful for the socks on your feet. They allow you to slide across the hardwood, but they also pose a threat. Slide too far and you’ll lose your feet.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

The determination and your desire for certainty is what keeps you sliding inch by inch across the floor towards that strip of blinding light in front of you. It’s hovering before you, threatening you. How do you know there’s not one of them standing guard, waiting for you to try and leave? You can’t know. You don’t have a clue what’s waiting on the other side of that door. It could be nothing. It could be your entire pack.

Breathe.

In and out.

You take a moment at the door, resting your aching feet. Your body is throbbing from the effort to keep yourself upright, the sedative still numbing your brain and your movements. It’s like treading through honey, everything twice as hard as it should be. You can walk. You’ve done it before. You did it in the medical center.

You can do it here.

You use the crutch to push the door open more, your free arm still tucked in a sling to keep you from moving it. Reaching for it with that arm would have put you on the floor, would have caused more pain than you needed, would have made you fall.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

Breathe.

The light burns. Explosions of yellows and whites erupt behind your eyelids as you screw them tight against the sudden onslaught. The sun is in the room, shining its rays directly into your sensitive eyes. Your stomach churns, your fingers tightening around the crutch so tight your knuckles begin to ache. The oppressive light makes you want to recede back into the darkness of the room behind you like a vampire shying away from the light of day.

No.

You won’t be defeated by the harsh artificial lighting. You need to know.

You need to be certain.

The others are moving around. You can hear voices around the corner, voices upstairs with thudding footsteps. The air is thick with a mesh of scents, cleaning chemicals, and the burn of scent blocker. Your nose wrinkles at the sudden onslaught against your senses, your sedated brain making it all seem so much worse.

You need to know.

The hardwood floors continue and you use them to your advantage as you shuffle your way across the main area. The fire crackles as you pass, the popping of a log making you startle. Your feet slide again, your body pushing up against the crutch to hold yourself steady.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

Your target is dead ahead, a mile away but so close you can almost taste it. Just past the dining table and straight on till morning.

Despite your snail’s pace, no one seems to notice you shuffling your way across the house. It should make you upset, the fact that none of them notice you moving around, but instead it makes you glad. They’d try to stop you if they noticed you, turn you around and shuffle you back to bed. Or worse, they’d carry you.

How easily you could slip away, though.

Well...in theory.

Perhaps that’s why they ‘re not paying you any mind. How far could you really go in your current state?

Why would you want to stray from the only safe space you have?

The world outside is more dangerous with the state you’re in. Not just because of your injuries and your status, but also because you know Shepherd is still out there, and for all you know Graves is as well.

He could be waiting right outside the door.

No.

They’d know.

They’d protect you.

They failed.

You push past the fear in favor of certainty as you push forward, passing the dining table in your slow crawl towards the sliding glass door.

It poses an entirely new threat as you stand before it, staring out the darkened glass. You have to get it open. Getting it open takes strength and you’re down to one hand that’s trying to keep you upright.

You have to know.

You have to be certain.

You lean your weight on the crutch, ignoring the way it digs into your armpit as you reach for the handle. You click the lock, wrapping your fingers around the plastic before pulling. Your body screams with pain as you tug, the door sliding in the track as slowly as you had moved across the small living area. It’s almost as if it's mocking you.

It’s open only as wide as you need to crutch your way through, doing your best not to knock your left shoulder against the frame.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

Breathe.

You can smell it.

The salty sea air invades your senses, slipping up through your nose and straight into your brain. Memories come flooding back of childhood vacations back when things were simpler. Back when nothing mattered but the sand and the water and avoiding getting chased by your brothers carrying the piece of seaweed they found.

Polkadot bathing suits, bright red to be seen easily. Toes in the water, sand everywhere. The nap in the silent car home.

How simple life was back then. How easy life was.

Your heart aches for those days again. The days when you could exist without a care in the world, trusting your pack would keep you safe, trusting your family would care for you. Your mind yearns for that sense of safety and security again.

The world is grey as you hobble across the porch, the grey seeming to go on forever. You missed it, the chill in the air, the gloomy grey overhead. How you yearned for the gloom of England while stuck in the heat of Texas.

Anything is better than Texas.

Your forward shuffle pauses at the edge of the deck, your eyes looking out into the grey. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare out into the distance, the ache in your chest intensifying. It blocks out the pain in your body, numbing you to everything else as you stand there, legs trembling from the effort of going the short distance from your room to the end of the porch.

You can see it.

Emotions swirl inside of you like a hurricane as you stare out where the grey water meets the grey sky in the line of the horizon. Those emotions threaten to choke you as you stand there trembling at the edge of the porch. There’s a breeze, a cold one that bites through the fabric of your sweatshirt and into the skin below, but you don’t care.

You can’t care.

Your legs shake from the exertion, the neverending exhaustion that’s settled deep into your bones. It’s not just a physical exhaustion, but a mental one as well. It’s been a long week.

Only a week.

So much has happened in a week.

You want to sit. You want to sink down onto the porch and rest.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

There’s a pain in your chest as your breath catches in your throat. The emotions are whirling, tightening around your chest, squeezing your lungs until they feel like they might pop.

Breathe.

In and out.

You needed certainty. You needed to know.

You can hear it. You can smell it. You can see it.

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare out at the sea.

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse

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flowersforbucky · 3 months

Text

down bad

bucky barnes x reader

author's note: i couldn't stop thinking about bucky being able to use his metal hand as a vibrator and therefore this was born.

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (female receiving), fingering, bucky being used as a human vibrator, multiple orgasms, language, consumption of alcohol, reader is afab, no use of y/n, slightly possessive bucky, 18+ only

word count: 3.9k

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Natasha mutters through a mouth full of popcorn. “Tyler from the statistics department? Are we talking about the same Tyler from statistics?”

“Nat, for the fourth time, yes. Tyler from statistics. The only Tyler from statistics that I know.” You reach for the bottle of Moscato that the two of you are sharing, pouring yourself some more wine.

“Nuh-uh,” Natasha shakes her head. “I don't believe you. There's no way he could be that bad.” She takes a sip from her own glass of wine. “He's too gorgeous,” she shrugs, turning to face you on the couch. The romantic comedy you had picked out for your bi-monthly movie night plays forgotten in the background.

“Trust me,” you sigh. “I was just as shocked as you are. But I swear on my life, he stuck his tongue in my ear. In my fucking ear, but wouldn't go down on me.” You can tell by the look on her face that Nat is trying her hardest not to laugh.

“He said his dick game is ‘too good to need to eat a girl out’.” You shake your head, cringing at the memory. “Which is also what he said when I merely suggested that he use my vibrator on me instead. He looked like I had kicked his dog.”

“Well?” she asks, a pained expression across her features. “Was it? Too good?”

“I didn't stay to find out,” you admit. “I faked a work emergency and dipped.” A laugh breaks through her pursed lips.

“I'm sorry–” she says, although her face says otherwise. “I shouldn't laugh. You just have the worst luck with men. Isn't that the third failed hook-up in what? Six months?”

“Don't fucking remind me,” you groan, throwing your head back on the couch and staring up at the living room ceiling. “I think I've lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to me by another person again.”

Nat opens her mouth to speak, but quickly closes it when you both notice voices approaching from the hallway.

Sam and Bucky enter the room a moment later, both dressed uncharacteristically nice. You suddenly feel the desire to conceal yourself with the fleece throw blanket laying across your lap. You and Nat usually plan your movie nights for when the tower is relatively empty, so you're just wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a tank top. Bare-faced and hair unstyled, the fact that Bucky's gaze is locked on you as the two of them approach where you and Nat are lounging doesn't help. He's not smiling - but there's a look on his face that you don't quite understand. The ghost of a smirk on his lips and a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

It's a look that makes you nervous - in addition to already feeling flutters in the pit of your stomach at how fucking good he looks.

“Hey, boys,” Nat greets them cheerily. “Where are the two of you going so dolled up?”

“There's a new nightclub in Brooklyn that a group of SHIELD trainees are going to tonight,” Sam answers. “They invited us and we've got nothing better to do. Figured we'd go check it out, get a few drinks. You ladies want to tag along? Or are you too busy watching - what is this, 10 Things I Hate About You?” He gestures towards the screen.

“Couldn't hurt to get out of the house for a while tonight, right?” Nat looks at you for confirmation, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Who knows, you might even meet someone,” she adds, nudging you with her elbow.

Bucky lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough, which he tries to play off as the latter. You narrow your eyes at him before glancing back to Natasha.

“For sure,” you agree, trying to ignore Bucky's bizarre behavior. “Couldn't hurt. You guys go on, we'll get ready and head there soon. Text us the name of the club?” You direct the last part to Sam in particular.

“You got it,” Sam says as he pulls his cell phone from his coat pocket. He turns to leave when both your and Nat’s phones chime with the club information. “Let's go man, our Uber's here,” he directs at Bucky.

“See you both soon,” he says before turning to follow Sam, though his gaze is still only on one of you.

“I'm gonna go throw on some make-up, curl my hair, and hope I can find something somewhat cute to–” Nat starts as soon as Bucky and Sam have turned back down the hallway.

“Was he acting kind of odd?” you interrupt her in a hushed tone.

“Barnes? Always. I've stopped reading into it too much.”

“Some spy you are,” you mumble. “Meet me back here when you're ready.”

— — — — —

One hour later, you're applying some last minute mascara and lip gloss in the backseat of an Uber on your way to downtown Brooklyn. Natasha sits beside you, ranting about an assignment that Fury has tasked her with and you swear you're trying your hardest to absorb everything she's saying - but your mind keeps going back to the way Bucky was looking at you just an hour ago.

What was with that little smirk? That curious glimmer in his eyes? Had he overheard your conversation with Nat? Had he developed the ability to read minds and knew you were thinking about how fucking hot he looked? Or was that thought simply written all over your face?

You knew you couldn't deny it. Bucky does look exceptionally attractive in his black suit, with his perfectly tousled hair - but you had found him to be ridiculously good looking since you'd first met him. Even in casual, everyday clothes, even in gym shorts and drenched in sweat, even covered in blood after particularly brutal miss–

“You girls have a great evening,” your Uber driver interrupts your train of thought as he comes to a stop in front of your destination.

You really need to get fucking laid. You definitely shouldn't be having these kinds of thoughts about Bucky. He's your coworker, your teammate, your training partner on many occasions, your friend…

Natasha thanks him and hands him a generous cash tip before climbing out of the car right after you.

“Thanks,” you tell her. “I'll buy our drinks.”

“Don't worry about me,” she tells you with a sly grin as you both flash the bouncer your IDs and enter the club. Despite the night still being relatively young, it's already bustling inside.

“You just focus on meeting people, mingling, maybe hitting it off with a super hot guy and taking him back to your place for some mind-blowing–”

“Super hot guy? Are you talking about me?” Sam’s voice interrupts Nat. You both turn around to see him and Bucky walking towards you, drinks in hand.

There's a roguish smile on Bucky's face as his eyes skim up and down your figure.

“You both look wonderful,” he compliments, but once again, his stare is focused only on you. If Natasha notices, she says nothing.

To be fair, you were impressed with how well you managed to put yourself together with such little notice. You found a black, backless mini dress crammed in the back of your closet that you had forgotten all about after snagging it on clearance forever ago. The form-fitting material hugs you in all the right ways, and paired with your favorite pair of strappy black heels, you're feeling infinitely more confident than you were when Bucky saw you just an hour prior.

“Thanks!” You chirp quickly, averting your gaze from him to take in your surroundings. To your left, the dance floor is lively, though not too overcrowded for your liking. To your right, there's a bar surrounded by tables filled with groups of people conversing - you vaguely recognize a couple of SHIELD agents huddled around one. The entire room is illuminated by the faint blue-green glow of the mood lighting, and the bass of the music vibrates through the floorboards.

Sam and Bucky excuse themselves to go say hey to the group of agents that had invited them, while Nat all but drags you over to the bar. You order a double shot of whiskey and throw it back as quickly as you can.

“I see what you mean now,” Nat whispers to you after downing her shot of tequila. “About Barnes,” she clarifies. “He's been eye-fucking you since we walked through the door.”

If you hadn't already swallowed your liquor, you would have spewed it all over her.

“He has not been eye-fucking me, Nat,” you say in an almost scolding tone.

“I'm just saying,” she throws her hands up. “There’s no way he could possibly be any worse than the last few guys you've gone for. I think you should go for it,” she shrugs.

“It's not that I don't think he'd be good,” you say defensively, forcing yourself to look away from where he and Sam are socializing with the small group of SHIELD agents a few tables away. “I just don't want things to be weird afterwards. We work together nearly every day, and we have a bunch of mutual friends–”

“Suit yourself,” she cuts you off in a tone of voice that very much says if you say so. “Now, are you going to dance with me or not?” She adds as she begins tugging you towards the ever-busying dance floor.

You spend the next half hour dancing with Nat before she's swept away by some black-haired doctor looking type. Good for her, you think as you watch them converse intimately at a small booth on the other side of the room.

Thanks to the liquid courage that runs through your veins, you're okay with the fact that Bucky stands just twenty feet away from you, watching you as you dance among the thick crowd of people.

You've made eye contact with him a few times now - on accident or on purpose, you're not sure at this point. But each time, your eyes lingers on his for a moment longer than the last.

You're mentally daring him to come here, to make a move, to do something other than stand to the sidelines of whatever conversation Sam and the others are engaged in.

The slightest bit of pressure on your waist snaps you back to the now congested dance floor.

You look up to find that the hand on your waist belongs to a tall man with shoulder length, sandy blonde hair. He's conventionally attractive enough, though not who you were hoping would come grab you on the dance floor.

“I'm Shawn,” he introduces himself, loudly enough for you to hear him over the roaring music. You tell him your name, pushing aside the pang of disappointment in your chest.

“Do you want to go somewhere a bit quieter to talk, maybe? Let me buy you a drin–”

“There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you,” a voice booms from behind you.

Shawn immediately retracts his hand from your waist, backing up a few inches as Bucky comes into view beside you.

“Must not have been looking too hard, I've been right here this whole time,” you jab back with a smug smile.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to–” Shawn says as he starts to back away.

“No worries, bud,” Bucky says in an overly friendly voice as he moves to stand in front of you, blocking you from Shawn's view entirely.

“Took you long enough,” you tell Bucky once the man is out of ear shot, once again beginning to sway to the music. “Get bored of listening to Sam hype himself up to the newbies?”

He takes a step closer, angling himself behind you. The crowd of people surrounding you edges you closer to him - your bare back brushing against the cool satin fabric of his suit.

“Maybe,” his chest vibrates against your skin when he speaks. He places his hands on either side of your hips - eliciting goosebumps across your skin in a way that no one else has in a long, long time.

“Or maybe I just wanted to save you from wasting your time on another guy who can't make you come.”

Your movements come to an abrupt pause as his words hit you.

He had fucking overheard your conversation with Natasha.

At a loss for words, you turn to face him. There's a shit-eating grin spread across his face. He thinks this is hilarious and it's obvious.

“Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to eavesdrop?”

“Is it really eavesdropping if I have superhuman hearing?” He takes a step closer to you, closing what little distance was separating you. The peaks of your breasts brush against his chest.

“So what happens now that you've saved me from another unsatisfactory hook-up?” You challenge, staring up at him in the neon blue lighting.

You can smell hints of cedarwood and sage from his cologne in your close proximity. It's so delicious that it's dizzying.

“Let me take you somewhere more private than this dance floor and I'll show you.”

“You seem to have a lot of confidence in your ability to give me a better experience,” you say, leaning forward so that your face is just inches from his.

He responds by placing his flesh hand on the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. The tips of his fingers continue to dance down the skin of your exposed spine. His vibranium hand comes to cradle your jaw, his metal thumb tracing your bottom lip.

His mouth forms a dark smirk - and then you feel it. It starts soft and subtle and then gradually increases in intensity.

His fucking thumb is vibrating against your lip.

If you hadn't been standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor at a nightclub in downtown Brooklyn, you would have taken that thumb into your mouth and sucked on it right then and there.

“What do you say?” he asks, now tugging on your bottom lip with the pulsing digit. “Are you going to let me take you to the first empty room I can find in this place and make you come?”

“I say show me the way.”

He removes his hand from your face and turns you in the direction of the back of the club. He guides you through the throng of dancers, keeping his hands placed firmly on either side of your waist from behind. His vibranium fingers still hum softly, reminding you of what he says is to come.

Directly past the dance floor, there's a hallway blocked off by a rope with a sign that reads employees only. Taking a quick look around, you see that all of the patrons surrounding you and Bucky are paying you no mind. Bucky unhooks the flimsy rope and the two of you slip down the hallway.

He jiggles the handles of several doors that all turn out to be locked. Not wanting to waste any time or draw any attention to yourselves with picking locks, you continue down the dark corridor until the heavy music from the heart of the club fades to a muted roar.

The very last door opens without a hitch.

Thanks to the pale orange glow of a table lamp on a desk in the corner of the room, you can see that you're in a makeshift office/supply room - a couple of filing cabinets, cleaning supplies, extra glassware, and some sound equipment strewn haphazardly throughout the limited space.

Bucky clicks the lock into place as soon as he closes the door behind him.

You're going to turn around him and tell him that he doesn't have to do this - that as badly as you want this, you don't want to ruin your friendship, that as badly as you want him, he doesn't have anything to prove to you - but his lips are already on yours as soon as you start to open your mouth.

He doesn't take his lips off of yours as he guides you backwards to the rickety wooden desk. The backs of your thighs hit the table and Bucky effortlessly lifts you to sit on the edge, giving him the perfect angle to deepen the kiss - with his tongue exploring your mouth, you're unable to stop yourself from groaning into the kiss.

You fist your fingers into his hair, tugging just hard enough so that he hisses into your mouth. His own hands trail from the sides of your stomach and down your thighs, until he reaches the tail of your dress. You instinctively part your legs for him, as much as the restrictive fabric will allow, and his vibranium hand shoots between your thighs.

He teases you, dragging his index finger along the cloth of your panties that you know you're close to soaking through already. Just as the tip of his finger pauses above your clit, his finger begins emitting the softest vibration.

You break the kiss, breathless as you throw your head back at the sensation. Bucky takes it as an opportunity to attach his lips to the pulse point of your throat, nipping your flesh with his teeth followed by a wet kiss.

He continues with the ministrations through your panties until you're rutting against his hand, needing more. He tugs your underwear to the side and increases the intensity of the vibration before nudging his middle finger past your entrance.

You have to hold onto his shoulders to steady yourself - despite the fact that you're sitting, your body feels like jelly beneath his touch. He adds in his index finger with ease before cupping your pussy in his palm - the heel of his hand pulsating against your clit.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you cry against his mouth.

“You're so fucking wet for me, you know that?” He coos, thrusting both of his fingers against the spongy-flesh of your walls.

You can feel the vibrations of his hand all the way from your belly to your toes.

You begin grinding your hips to meet the movement of his fingers, fucking yourself against his hand. There's a familiar knot forming in your lower belly as he curls his fingers inside you -

“I want you to think about me and how good I'm making you feel every time you think about letting some fuckin’ nobody touch you,” he says in a low voice next to your ear. “I want you to think about riding my fingers until you come all over my hand.”

His words send you over the edge and you do exactly that - your pussy clenching around his fingers as you ride them through your orgasm. While you're still coming down from the high of your climax, Bucky pulls his metal fingers out of you and brings them to your lips, inserting his index finger in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the slick metal as he brings the vibrations to a halt and then slowly pulls the finger from your mouth.

He picks you up off the edge of the desk and plants you back on the ground - your legs still shaking from how hard you had come.

“Turn around and lean over the desk,” he instructs you, soft but authoritative.

You don't know if it's because of the way he's looking at you or because of how good he's already made you feel, but in that moment, you would've done anything he asked of you.

You bend over the desk, supporting yourself by leaning on your forearms. You peak back over your shoulder to look at Bucky - he hikes your dress up, baring your ass to him.

He lets out an audible groan before he has even pulled your panties down to your ankles.

He kneels on the ground behind you, his face inches away from your cunt. He uses both his flesh and metal hands to spread you open for him, and then his tongue is licking up your center from behind.

God, you hope no one tries to come into this room. The door may be locked but the sounds that someone would hear if they even walked up to the door…

Bucky knows just how to make you writhe above him. He's soft when he's kissing up your folds and unsparing when he's sucking your clit between his lips. His hands hold your ass in a firm grasp that teeters between pleasure and pain.

You grind back against his face and he moans so deeply that you feel the vibration of it up your core. Your eyes roll back into your head as you clutch the sides of the desk to better support yourself.

His enthusiasm alone has you spiraling towards a second climax embarrassingly fast.

“You know,” he murmurs against your sensitive pussy. “When I overheard you say that someone had refused to go down on you, I couldn't believe it. What a fuckin idiot to pass this up.” He gives your ass cheek a firm slap with his flesh hand before diving his face between your legs once more.

It's just seconds before you feel the telltale pressure growing in your lower belly once more. You go limp against the table, Bucky placing his hands on the backs of your thighs to help keep you upright as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

You continue to lay against the desk as you regain control of your breathing. Bucky stands up, tugging your panties up your legs and back around your waist as he does. He then shimmies your dress back down into place so that you're once again looking club-appropriate.

When you turn around to face him, he's wiping your slick from his lower face on the sleeve of his suit, once again displaying a shit-eating grin.

“What was it you said?” He asks in mocking contemplation. “You had lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to you by another person again?”

“I think you've made your point. You're fantastic at eating pussy and you're a walking human-sex toy.” You roll your eyes at him and start to walk towards the door, but he grabs your wrist in his metal hand, stopping you.

He pulls you back to him and brings his flesh hand to cradle your jawline. He stares at you in a heavy, uncertain silence for a split second before bringing his lips to yours.

It's a kiss that's a bit more hesitant, and a lot less rushed than the one before. You taste yourself all over him, warm and salty. He takes his time getting lost in your mouth - you savor every second and it still comes to and end all too once.

“Couldn't help myself,” he smiles softly when he pulls away. “Just had to kiss you one last time.”

You can't help the way your heart skips a beat when he says the word last.

You clear your throat. “We should probably go find Sam and Natasha,” you say, giving him a small smile in return. “I'm sure they're both wondering where the hell we are.”

You spend the rest of the evening attempting to mingle with friends, but there's one thought that torments you for the remaining duration of the night - just a few hours ago, you doubted that you'd ever have a satisfactory hook-up ever again.

Now, you had to wonder if anyone else could ever make you feel as good as Bucky did.

♡♡♡♡♡

i left this kind of open-ended soooo leave it to your own interpretation what happens next for them 🤭

as always comments/reblogs are infinitely appreciated. thanks for reading!

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #my writing #flowersforbucky

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luv4fushi · 8 months

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thinking about arguing with husband!gojo. it’s funny because he’s the strongest sorcerer alive with several other, more wicked enemies harboring one sided hate for him, yet he’s anxiously glancing at you every now and then as you hiss at him. you’re the only one who can make him doubt his strength.

he usually finds you cute when you’re mad, but right now he doesn’t really appreciate the way your face is scrunched up and how you’re yelling at him.

it’s not his fault. he thinks you’re being so dramatic.

“you’re laughing at me,” you deadpan. “why do you never take things i say seriously?”

“because i honestly don’t think it’s that serious,” he fires back, and your eyes narrow. oh, fuck.

arguing with your husband is never fun. it’s probably because the both of you are stubborn; you’re stubborn because you’re simply right all the time, and satoru’s stubborn because if you’re not right, then he is.

you pause for just a second, but it’s enough to sprout a moment of extreme tension between you and your husband.

“right,” you scoff after you inhale sharply. “you just don’t care, do you?”

“don’t fucking say that,” satoru snaps. “i do care. that’s why i’m here.”

it takes everything in you to not shoot him another death glare. “so i should be thankful for the bare minimum?”

satoru blinks. he would’ve flinched, but he refuses to let you have that sort of power over him. “i’m not giving the bare minimum.”

“yes you are,” you argue back, voice straining as you swallow a lump of anger down the back of your throat.

the both of you are still. it feels like an eternity passes before the anger in you wanes. you’re exhausted and this fight with satoru is surely going to make the both of you upset enough to not talk for the rest of the night.

“i’m sorry that i’m not good enough,” satoru says, breaking the silence. you’ve never heard his voice so small, so pathetic—he’s never, ever shown you this side of him, and you’re starting to feel that dreading pit of guilt tug at your gut.

“that’s not what i meant,” you force yourself to say, sighing.

“but that’s what you’re thinking,” satoru mumbles. he avoids looking at your face.

“no it’s not,” you deny. “it’s never been about that.”

satoru gives you a wary look. “then what is it about? because i’ve done everything i can.”

“everything? really?” you sneer. “do you even love me anymore?”

silence. satoru swears he can hear your heart break.

“baby, don’t say that,” he groans, “c’mon, we were ten points away from three stars. that’s a single plate—one you didn’t turn in because you somehow forgot how to dash!”

you whip around to glower at satoru, your face twisting into an offended expression. “you set the kitchen on fire! how could i do something like serving a dish if the kitchen is on fire?!”

“baby, it’s the same button that it always has been this entire game!” he whines. “and you set the kitchen on fire! you keep forgetting to take the rice off the stove!”

you sigh exasperatedly, crossing your arms to act like some sort of shield between you and satoru’s (truthful) words.

“but you don’t chop up your stupid fish!” you protest. “so i end up doing five things at once!”

satoru opens his mouth to speak, but he knows you’re in the right. he opts to click his tongue instead.

“and every time i asked for help,” you add, frowning, “you just kept bringing out more of the dumbass cucumbers! we don’t have counter space for that!!!”

“that’s for prep to maximize our sushi making! throw it on the floor!”

“are you kidding me? that’s so unsanitary!”

“it’s a game!”

you’re both panting by the end of the fight. you’re biting down on your inner cheek and satoru is scratching the nape of his neck awkwardly.

“… sorry,” he mumbles. “i won’t bring out cucumbers anymore. and i’m also sorry for being mean about you not knowing how to dash.”

“good,” you huff. “‘cause i was seriously not gonna play anymore.”

“and…?” he prods, nudging you in your ribs. you can tell what he wants just by the sound of his voice.

“and i’m sorry for getting mad at you even though you’re doing you’re best at carrying me in this game…” you murmur, rolling your eyes.

satoru’s face brightens and he places a wet kiss on your cheek. “you’re forgiven.”

“love you, dummy.”

“love you too, baby.”

“no more cucumbers unless the ticket calls for them,” you remind him pointedly.

“yes, chef!”

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader

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corkinavoid · 3 months

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DPxDC Multiverse Police (pt. 2)

"You said you're going to ask questions, then can we ask questions?" Superman really tries to be polite here because, first, he was raised by Kents and, second, Jazz and the whole interdimensional police thing looks non-hostile. At least now.

The redhead nods, "Sure, ask away, I'll answer everything I can." Then, she notices Batman reaching to touch the green shield and makes a soft, warning noise, "Ah, sorry, please don't touch it. I can show how it works later, but it's not meant to keep you out. It's to keep everything else in."

Batman reluctantly puts his head down and turns to her.

"Elaborate."

The sci-fi ship in the air makes a loud hissing sound, like compressed air being released, and the bottom part of it slides open. Jazz nods in the direction of the now open ship.

"You know what they say, it's better to see it once than to hear it ten times."

There are three humanoid figures standing in there. All of them are mostly monochrome, black and white clothes, starkling white hair. They look like one adult and two children, but it's one of the kids who raises his hands to his mouth and yells so loud everyone in three miles radius is able to hear him:

"Step away from the shield, please, shit's about to get real!"

None of the heroes move, but Jazz does take a few steps away. Wonder Woman, after a moment of hesitation, follows her example.

A mechanical voice comes from the ship itself, "Countdown to the breach. Five... Four..."

On 'three,' all three of the monochrome figures step out from the ship. But, before any of the heroes have time to worry, they all float in the air, undeterred by gravity, and the ship door closes behind them.

The countdown reaches 'one'. And in the next moment, it looks like the hell breaks loose.

Countless giant vines shoot out from the portal up, reaching for the ship. True to what the red hoverboarder said, they are very much toothy, every vine splitting in two and attempting to bite the ship like some twisted idea of scissors.

None of them reach it.

The oldest of three kids claps his hands, and a wall of raging fire descends on the vines, throwing them off. In the next moment, the trio falls apart, flying through the lovecraftian mess of carnivorous plants with practiced ease, the younger ones using what looks like icicles and little storms.

"Who are they?" Batman asks Jazz, following the youngest one's - the only girl among the three - movements as she creates a strong gust of wind with a wave of her hand. None of the vines or attacks get past the shield, though.

"My siblings," the girl answers, pointing her hand at the oldest one, "That's Dan. He's the most violent. One time, he destroyed our original world, but that timeline doesn't exist anymore." She then points to the girl, "That's Dani, the youngest. She rarely joins the crew lately. And she is actually a clone, but at this point, most of us have been cloned once or twice, so it's not a big deal anymore." She then points her finger to the last one, a boy that flies past them quicker than a lightning, freezing everything he touches, "And this is Danny. He is the most powerful one. Technically, he could have just ended the fight with one Wail, but kids like to have fun. Also, they don't get to show off their elemental powers a lot, so they are mostly being dramatic for you."

She says all this so easily, just like a matter of fact, and it is at this moment that the members of JL realize the sheer power of whoever these people are. When she casually told them she bested Superman, it could have been written as a coincidence, a joke. But this?

Dan growls as one of the vines scratches his shoulder. He bleeds green, but it's only for a second before both the wound and the suit knit themselves back together. This is not just a simple accelerated healing, it almost looks like a miracle.

"Oi, brats, I'm done with show off, get out of the way!" He yells at the other two, and Danny and Dani quickly follow the order, flying closer to him and behind his back.

"Cover your ears," Jazz tells the heroes around her, and puts her helmet back on, as Dan takes a deep breath and screams.

It hurts even those who follow Jazz's advice. Batman feels like his eardrums are about to be shattered for the lack of better word. But the vines like the sonic attack even less - most of them subdue and pull back inside the portal, and the rest is dissipating like they are being burned from the inside out.

And then, just like it began, the scream - the wail - stops. The silence feels deafening after the end of it, but slowly, the sounds return, and the JL watches Danny flying down to the center of the portal. He puts his hands on the surface of it, and for a long moment, nothing happens.

And then the Pit starts closing up.

Or, no, it is Danny who absorbs it, the green flowing up through his hands, his veins that start glowing the same green. His eyes become the same toxic color, with no whites and no irises, just glowing green all over, and his hair shimmers like stars.

A few minutes later, the portal is gone, like it never even existed, and Danny plants his feet on the ground and stretches, like one would do after a good rest.

"Oof, that was nice!" He turns to the other two, who are still up in the air, "Do you want some?"

Dan flips him off before going back to the ship, but Dani floats down to him and extends her hands out.

"Sure. I like getting it from you better than from the portal itself anyway. Gives it a sparkling taste, like Sprite," she chuckles. Danny takes her hands in his, and the green glow slowly makes its way through their joined palms, now flowing through the girl’s body.

"What are they?" Flash whispers, horrified, but Jazz hears it nonetheless and turns her head to him, taking her helmet off once again.

"That is not a very appropriate question," she chastises and smiles at their faces, "But it's okay, I get it. They are ghosts. Or ectoplasmic entities, or halfas, or highly liminal beings. Or, if you want a very simplified version, they are dead kids who are enjoying their afterlife a little too much."

"Dead?" Batman zeros on the word, snapping his eyes at the girl. She smiles, and for the first time, it doesn't look human. Her teeth are too sharp, her grin too wide, and her eyes are suddenly not just teal, but neon bright and glowing, with vertical irises.

"Most of us are dead in one way or another. And I do not mean it in a metaphorical sense."

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

What I'm thinking is they have a whole system going on. Amity Park generally resides in the Realms, but from time to time, they decide they want to go on a vacation, as a whole town, and they pop into existence on one of the Earths. They don't really care for the universe or dimension they end up in, as long as it is more or less peaceful (as in, no active wars going on right where they pop up), has sunlight and nice weather.

The GIW is taking care of legal things - imagine US government reaction when a whole ass town just boom, starts existing in a place where nothing existed before? So GIW does all the paperwork and discussions. Also, they are doing their basic research on the dimension they end up in, for science purposes.

I'm thinking Vlad is still a mayor of Amity. And sometimes, when a particular dimension is rather annoying, he straight up possesses the authorities because he hates official talks and couldn't care less for morals if he tried for a week. The GIW scolds him, but don't really say no. It's not a good solution to the problem, but hey, it works.

Meanwhile, Fentons are doing ectoplasmic research. They scan the dimension for troubles, basically, looking for natural portals and ghosts causing ruckus. Jazz is almost always the one who does the talking to the heroes native to the dimension - she is the one who has the most patience and social skills. Jack is in charge of transportation and Maddie is the head of biological, ecto-biological and other species research. Tucker is the tech specialist, of course - he is the sole reason why Amity has wi-fi wherever they go. Val and her father are, kind of, protectors? Security? But for the whole town, yeah. They do have GIW agents as subordinates.

Dani is not always living in Amity, she travels the Realms most of the time, but she joins when something interesting happens. Dan is, like, on an eternal probation period, GIW and Fentons keep an eye on him, but he is one of the heavy hitters for when shit goes down.

Danny is living his best life, he is mainly the protector spirit of Amity, but he also gets to protect all the dimensions from ghosts! He helps anyone and everyone - one day he is working with Val on defenses for their main ship they use to travel inside dimensions, and the next day he is joining Maddie in her studies of new species found.

Oh, I forgot Sam. She is probably the one responsible for the magic stuff - mostly everyone else focuses on scientific aspects, but she is the one to research on occult things.

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#danny phantom #dc x dp #dpxdc #batman #flash #giw #good!giw #good fenton parents #jazz fenton #valerie gray #dan phantom #danielle phantom #sam manson #justice league #I'm having f u n with this au now #they are a better team than jl and tgey take great pride in shoving the fact in their faces #cork writes #cork prompts

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marvelfanfics1 · 7 months

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omg omg idk if u take requests if u are can you do a winter soldier x little reader? maybe like bucky somehow gets into the winter soldier mode and is scary towards everyone else but the reader (like he goes soft for the reader)😭

Code: Winter

Pairing: daddy!Bucky x little!reader

Warnings: age regression, soft!Winter Soldier, mentions of guns, angst?, some fluff

⭒𖥸⭒

You whined when your nap got interrupted by the blarring alarm and constant repeating words 'code winter'.

Holding your hands over your ears you turned on your other side, expecting your daddy to lay beside you reading a book but frowned when you found his side of the bed empty.

Grabbing your stuffie you got up from your comfortable bed, making your way to the door and opening it slightly, peeking your head out.

You saw several agents and trainees running past your room, all seeming rather panicked and your little mind can't grasp the thought of there being a reason, or someone, for them being so scared, instead your curiosity got the best of you and you decided to go and look for yourself.

Meanwhile in the common area Steve was trying to console Bucky with Sam and Natasha behind him, aiming their weapons at him.

"Buck, come on, you know us-" Steve placed his shield down, trying to show he's no threat to the soldier.

"Steve! Look out!" Natasha shouted all three of them throw themselves to the side when the couch was being thrown their way.

Just as the soldier started approaching them he got send back by a repulsor shot from Tony who flied in just in time, in his iron man suit.

"That was a 2 thousand dollar couch, Terminator."

The soldier now grabbed the gun he had tucked in the waistband of his pants, aiming it at Tony when a small voice had them all turning their heads.

"Daddy...?" Your bottom lip trembling you held your stuffie close to your chest, not understanding why he was being mean to your aunt and uncles. "What you doin'?"

The soldier slowly made his way towards you, aiming his his gun straight at Steve when he took a step forward.

While walking to you the voice in his head he kept pushing away became even louder than before.

Do. Not. Hurt. Her. I dare you.

When he stood before you he tilted his head at the tear that was rolling down your cheek, his metal hand reaching up to wipe it away gently. In the deepest of his mind he knows you're no threat to him and picked you up with his metal arm placing you on his hip, his other hand still aiming the gun at the others to keep them at a good distance while walking out of the room.

The others all let out a sigh, still not at ease knowing the freaking Winter Soldier has you with him with no supervision.

"What are we gonna do now? If we step one foot in their room we'll have a bullet in our head." Sam said crossing his arms.

"He won't hurt her." Steve assured them.

"And how do you know that?" Tony laughed at him.

"I just know, alright. As much as the Winter Soldier wanted to, he couldn't. Bucky would never let that happen, even in this state."

"You better be right, Capsicle." Tony pointed a finger at him.

Back in your room, you were sitting on his lap, trying to analyze his expressions but there were none. Cold and dull eyes where staring at you, not the bright blue ones that you got used to and loved so much.

"You not daddy?" You asked, nervously playing with a lose seam of your stuffie.

When he shook his head you frowned a little. It confused you how he can be the Bucky you've known for years now but also doesn't at the same time. It's like talking to a clone, a much more colder one at that but still you can't help but feel safe in his arms.

The soldier doesn't like to see you upset, some inner part of him feels the need to comfort you in any way possible.

"Call me papa." He said with a russian accent and your face lit up at that, glad you didn't lost your caregiver completely.

You nod with a small smile, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, your interrupted nap now catching up with you.

"Love you, papa." You mumbled, yawning before finally closing your eyes again.

The soldier hummed in response, his metal hand rubbing subconsciously on your back and feeling your body relaxing against his.

⭒𖥸⭒

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

For Bucky:

@almostcontentcreator

Crossed out are the ones I somehow can't tag!!

#little!reader #little reader #daddy!bucky barnes x little!reader #daddy!bucky barnes #daddy!bucky x little!reader #daddy!bucky #daddy bucky barnes x little reader #daddy bucky #daddy bucky barnes #daddy bucky x little reader #winter soldier x little reader #winter soldier x little!reader

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clockwayswrites · 6 months

Text

By the Scruff (Start?)

“I didn’t—” the man cut himself off with a carefully measured breath and pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it had to hurt. “Jasmine, I didn’t kidnap you, I’m saving you!”

“Oh so you’re that type of fucked up freak, got it,” Jazz growled.

The way she bared her teeth reminded Danny of a feral dog. He’d never seen her like this. She tucked him further back behind her again, shielding him from the strange man.

“I am not—” Another careful breath. “I am not that type of freak. I am being sincere here, Jasmine. Your parents hurt me also—”

“Our parents love us!”

“Your parents let your brother die!” the man screamed.

Jazz stumbled back a step into Danny.

Danny who felt like he would throw up.

Jazz wasn’t supposed to know.

Jazz wasn’t ever supposed to know. He was supposed to take this secret to his—

Well, no, he didn’t get a grave, did he. He died and he didn’t get a grave. Danny clamped a hand over his mouth.

The hysterical giggle slipped through anyways.

“Danny?” Jazz asked. Her voice had dropped the growl. She wasn’t the feral animal anymore, she was addressing one.

Danny couldn’t meet her eyes. She’d know if he looked at her.

“They let him die, Jasmine,” the man said, voice a bitter whisper, “just like they let me die, alone and without them. Their inventions killed both of us. They killed both of us.”

“Danny?” Jazz tried again.

Danny shook his head, hand still clamped over his mouth. He thought if he moved his hand he would throw up. If he moved his hand he would answer her.

“I went to Amity Park to— to see them. To show them what they had left to wither away. To show them— it doesn’t matter anymore. When I saw that Daniel— when I saw that they had done the same thing to their own son… well, what was the point?” the man asked. He sounded so broken under the perfectly enunciated words; perfectly trained like a prize pet. “I had to get you both out of there, Jasmine, before they hurt you too or before… or before they discovered what Daniel was and ripped him apart… molecule by molecule.”

“Danny?”

Danny couldn’t—

“Oh, little badger, I am so sorry.”

Danny sobbed.

He had died, and he didn’t even get a grave.

#dp x dc #?#or just dp?#idk #bad parents jack and maddie fenton #by the scruff

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rabbitblackx · 1 year

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Hi! 💕 would you be able to do jaosna, brahms and michael reactions that the reader when they raise their hand or make some sudden movement, the reader thinks that they want to hit her?

Slashers make Reader flinch

Includes: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees and Brahms Heelshire

Michael Myers💖

Michael came home one Halloween night, hands drenched with blood. He was menacing as ever, standing there still in the dark

“Hi, Michael.” You called out quietly

The only reply you received was his heavy breathing from behind the mask, followed by the floor whining under his boots. He seemed a bit riled up from his killing spree, the faintest glint of delightful rage in his black eye

Michael was beginning to get too close. Just as you were to back into the wall, his fist came up to rest against your head. You immediately flinched, a small squeal of fear leaving your lips

Michael was not expecting you to flinch like that. It wasn’t like he was gonna hurt you. This made him mad. You cracked your eyes open and hesitatingly looked up at him in the dark. A look of almost betrayal twinkled in his eye before he turned his back

“Michael?”

He never thought something like that would bother him. You had been with Michael long enough. Did you still not trust him? After all the self restraint, all the control and gentleness he forced on himself. And you still acted like he was a monster

Michael walked away as calmly as he could. He didn’t want to be around you anymore, but he also wanted to prove his point… that he would never hurt you

Jason Voorhees💖

Jason came home in a bad mood. You didn’t know whether it was because someone got away, or that they were putting up a fight… he was just mad

Jason dumped his bloody machete by the door and brushed right past you, completely ignoring your presence. You turned to watch him storm towards your bedroom. He was probably gonna go to bed and lock you out. He had done that before

“Jason, are you okay?” You asked softly

Jason paused there by the door, and your heart stopped. He stood still for a moment, before turning and walking straight toward you. You watched on wide eyed for a moment, but then flinched back in fear when he got too close

“Please don’t hurt me, Jason. I’m sorry.” You squeaked from behind your hands

Jason’s broad shoulders suddenly slumped. That made him sad. You were scared he was gonna hurt you? Of course he wouldn’t

He watched helplessly as you cowered, before you fearfully peeked up at him. You flinched again as Jason slowly brought his hand up to touch your cheek. He let it linger there, fingers gently brushing against your hair

Before you could say another word, Jason slipped his hand away and turned his back. You brought your own up to touch the same spot as he stormed back out of your cabin

Brahms Heelshire💖

You got back from the village a little later than you told Brahms today. You knew you were gonna be in big rouble because of it

You shut the front doors as quietly as you could, but you knew he was aware of your presence. Just as you were planning what to tell him, you turned away from the doors to find him looming in the shadows

“Brahms,” you smiled nervously

Brahms did not reply. His breathing was heavy behind his mask and he slowly approached you. You held your own breath as he got real close, looming over you menacingly. You were about to apologise, but was startled when he raised his hand

You yelped, throwing yourself against the front doors and shielding your face. Brahms watched in shock. All he was trying to do was put his hand on your shoulder. It stung a little that you flinched away from him like that

You peeked up at Brahms standing before you, his hand still slightly raised as a sad look washed over his eyes. “Brahms, I’m sorry. I thought you were gonna hurt me.” You frowned

Brahms’ shoulders slumped, and he sadly shook his head. Tears pricked your eyes at his broken reaction, and you suddenly felt terrible. You apologised again, throwing your arms around him and resting your head on his chest

Brahms wrapped his own around you in a tight hug. He frowned under his mask as he nuzzled against your hair

#slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slashers #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight #michael myers x reader #michael myers #halloween #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #friday the 13th #brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #the boy #the boy 2016 #rab.reads

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delicatedarknight · 9 months

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Bruce: what makes you good for my son?

Kon: what is there that I lack? I'm perfect for your son

Jason: I would say he lacks common sense

Dick[sighing]: describe why you love Tim?

Kon: he is a huge coffee addict, the Robin costume looks ugly but I guess those are the things that make him look hella attractive not to mention he has a great as-

Bruce, Damian, Jason & Dick [ready with their weapons on Kon's neck]: be careful how you finish that sentence

Kon[flying out of the window]: HE GOT A GREAT ASS

[An hour later]

Metropolis reporter: today's breaking news Batman and the Robins are chasing after Superboy while throwing profanities. Oh wait we see Red Hood let's ask him about the situation

Reporter: Red Hood what brings you all to the metropolis today?

Red Hood: oh it's just a family outing to promote tourism to Gotham not like we are trying to make Superboy disappear from the face of the earth and bury him somewhere. Now now where did our Superboy kid run off to now?

Reporter:

[In Kent house hold]

Kon: Dad...you know I love you soo much right?

Clark[sighing]: what did you do this time?

Kon: Dad you gotta protect me they are coming for me

Clark: they who?

Kon: the bat fa-

[Window breaking and batfam entering]

Kon[already using Clark as human shield]: they are here dad

Bruce: Clark stay out of this

Clark[confused]: what did he do for the whole bat family to chase after him

Damian: ask him yourself

Clark: so what did you do?

Kon[shyly grinning]: I complimented Tim's ass..

Clark: I mean I see where you are coming from..I mean Bruce also has a great ass..but that's not the point now.

Dick: guess it's time to end the whole Superman bloodline

Jason: deviation in the plan now it's both dad-son duo

Clark: Can I say something before I die?

Bruce[with kryptonite]: you may speak

Clark: Bruce I always wanted to tell you something, you look really beautiful, and last Thursday, you looked amazing in those black undies.

[Collective batfam screaming and fighting]

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transmascsteveharrington · 1 year

Text

Steve grows up thinking that love can be earned. That it has to be earned. That if he is quiet and polite, invisible most of the time and puts on his too-tight white button-downs without making a fuss, his mother will call him good and while she won't say it directly, Steve takes her approval for love.

His father is harder to please, for a while it's winning sport trophies and talking about taking out pretty girls. But as time goes on, Steve learns that disappointment is far quicker and far more willing given than love. Love can also be taken away like a toy from a naughty child.

Despite trying his best to keep earning his parents' love it keeps slipping away from him more and more often, like smoke through delicate fingers. Steve doesn't know what he is doing wrong, just assumes that he isn't good, that he doesn't deserve their love. It never occurs to him that they simply might be incapable of it, hollow, cold, harsh caves that echo where their hearts should beat.

So Steve tries to get it elsewhere. Tommy and Carol's love is easier to earn. Drive them places, pay for their food, get them booze and let them throw parties at his pool. Be mean and arrogant, laugh at jokes that make him feel sick to his stomach and do it all with a smile. Keep them happy and they'll keep loving him. He never quite figures out how he earned Nancy's love and it makes him antsy. Not knowing how to ensure that she'll keep loving him. He only realizes once they break up that the reason he never knew how to make her keep loving him was that she never loved him in the first place.

The kids are easy: be a human shield for them, beat monsters with a baseball bat, get tortured by Russians for them. If danger isn't around the corner it's driving them to the arcade, paying for their food, letting them hang out in the cold, desolate house that once they are gone echos just as much as the caves in his parents' chests. It's not that different from how he kept Tommy and Carol loving him. Only that it feels different, better. Steve doesn't have to force smiles, still recognizes the person in the mirror when he hangs out with the kids. He has fun too, would still do all these things if it didn't earn him the kids' love.

It's nice. Almost. If it wasn't for the constant fear that one day he'll say the wrong thing, bring them the wrong snack and all of that love will go poof.

Robin just like Nancy, Steve can't figure out. And it's fucking terrifying because he doesn't think he's ever loved a friend hell not just a friend, anyone, the way he has loved her. There are days he wants to crawl into her skin and make a home hoping it'll be enough to make her stay. Though a home never made his parents stay either. He knows the day he is going to lose her love, he will completely fall apart.

Eddie, Steve is slowly figuring out. Or at least he thinks he is. It's hard to tell with Eddie sometimes. On one hand, it's easy, Steve knows how to please partners in a relationship, knows how to be a good boyfriend. And Eddie clearly seems to enjoy the way Steve keeps trying to earn his love. On the other hand being a good boyfriend had already once not been enough.

It all comes down to it when Eddie and Steve end up in a stupid fight. Steve can't even remember what it started or who started it, all he knows that when Eddie says, "I need a smoke," and moves towards the door, panic closes around Steve's throat like a hand and squeezes tightly. If Eddie goes out of the door, if he leaves, he might not come back. It's been over six months since Steve last saw his parents.

"I'm sorry," he yells, tears already spilling over the corners of his eyes, running down his cheeks and pooling at his chin. He reaches for Eddie's wrist and Eddie instantly stops.

"I'm sorry, don't leave please! I'll make up for it, I promise. I'll be good. Perfect. Let me earn it again! Please!"

Eddie looks startled by Steve's outburst. He tucks his cigarette back into his pocket and pulls Steve into his arms.

"What? I'm not leaving! Steve," he says and cups Steve's wet face. Steve can't stop trembling. "What do you mean 'earn it again'?"

"Your love," Steve sniffs and buries his face in the crook of Eddie's neck, hoping, praying that it wasn't the wrong move. He knows he can be too clingy and he knows he can't afford to lose more of Eddie's love.

"My love? Baby," Eddie tightens his arms around Steve, "I'm not gonna stop loving you just because we're fighting. I love you even when I'm mad at you."

It draws a whole new wave of tears out of Steve and he does feel a bit like drowning. "And you don't have to earn my love, it's not fucking conditional," Eddie continues and presses a couple of soft kisses to Steve's hair.

"All my love is freely given. Not because you cook me dinner or let me pick movies or offer to blow me all the time. But because I love you, just you Steve. You don't even have to do anything. Just be yourself."

Eddie is crying now too, horrified that Steve went through his life in constant fear of love being taken away from him. Having to constantly bend and twist himself until he was broken just to earn crumbs of affection. It's a first step, one I love you doesn't undo years of trauma and fixes everything in an instant.

But Eddie vows he'll do everything he can to convince Steve that he is loved, so, so, so loved without having to grovel and beg for it. Without having to always be good and perfect.

And Robin and the kids make the same vow, heartbroken when they find out how scared Steve has been of losing them, how he thought they only kept him around in case of danger and because he had money.

It takes a while, but eventually, Steve starts to believe them. And if he ever has doubts or forgets everyone in his life is quick to remind him just how loved he is. Free of charge and indefinitely.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #steve harrington fic #stranger things s4 #my writing

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cressidagrey · 1 month

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Looked to the Sky - Chapter 5

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings:

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, KITTENS!, Accidental Forest Burning?, Non graphic murder, Azriel is an idiot, Azriel's Mom is not having his idiocy and spends 3/4 of this chapter berating him (while being kinda a little bit unfair) and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Master.

Later! Azriel cut his shadows off sharply. He was somewhat busy right now.

It was harsh enough that the shadows actually shut up for once, which was startling in itself. But for the moment he didn’t think about it. Too busy with killing the leader of that Illyrian warband that had been destroying townships and temples left and right.

It was a clean kill, fast and accurate, and Azriel didn’t blink as he watched the male’s body drop at his feet.

The adrenaline was coursing through his veins, as he slowly took in a deep shaky breath, his hands clenching around the knife handle.

Then he turned to the cleanup. The other warband members were still in the camp where they had made a temporary base. Quick, clean and efficient. That’s how they were taught to operate. It’s why Azriel was so damn good at these types of missions.

At least two hours later, it was suddenly Rhys that was yanking at their mental connection, mental claws striking against his shields.

Azriel swore as he felt Rhys’s talons strike against his mental shields. What’s wrong? he demanded immediately. Something must have been wrong, otherwise Rhys would have been more careful with his abilities.

Amren cornered Eira, and Rhys spat out in answer.

WHAT?! he demanded in answer. His shadows immediately started writhing agitatedly behind him, as panic and alarm shot through his veins.

Amren had done that? Even after Rhys had warned her off?

Azriel should have fucking seen it coming. When Amren didn’t agree with her methods…she had her own.

How bad? Azriel asked tonelessly. How had Eira reacted? What had Amren said?

The mental silence stretched for a moment before he felt Rhys’s presence return, the High Lord’s voice now filled with fury. As we have no idea where Eira is right now...bad. She must have winnowed in her panic to get away from Amren.

Fuck.

Azriel was up on his feet in an instant, even as he felt his shadows swirl agitatedly around him. That…he needed to find her. He needed….

He could just imagine what Amren must have told Eira…Amren who had never learned how to soften her word and who he didn’t trust as far as he could throw her. A sinking feeling was already beginning to form in Azriel’s stomach.

Eira could have winnowed anywhere in Prythian. She could be in enemy territory right this second. He didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if Autumn Court got their hands on her, if…

She must be utterly terrified. And the thought of Eira…scared….

Panic and worry flared through his veins, as his shadows writhed even more furiously behind him. He needed to find her, find her and make sure she was safe, safe and sound and away from anything that might make her feel scared. He would not let anything hurt her. Not now, not now when he had just gotten her.

She's in Illyria, his shadows snapped. Which we would have told you if you didn't tell us to shut up, Master!

Godsdamnit.

Azriel cursed, running a hand through his dark hair. Of course, she was in Illyria. Of all the places…Illyria.

Azriel? Rhys questioned.

The shadows know where she is, he responded sharply. I get her.

Good. There was now a sharpness to Rhys’s voice, even through the mental link. Azriel could almost hear the order that remained unsaid. Get her and bring her home.

And Azriel? Whatever you need to do to make sure she’s safe, Rhys said sharply.

She will be. There was a silent promise in his voice. Azriel would ensure it. He would not let anything or anyone hurt her.

Do not let Amren anywhere near me, Azriel said evenly, his voice promising cold death. If they did, he was going to rip her apart from limb to limb.

Agreed. We will take care of it. Rhys’s voice was as cold as Azriel’s, and the Illyrian could practically feel the anger radiating through the mental connection.

And then he let the shadows take him, let him take him wherever his mate was…

They threw him right through the wards that protected Rosehall.

Somehow that was the most shocking thing of it all.

The wind in lower Illyria was cold, the trees silent and still in the darkness. She hit a few trees with lightning, his shadows supplied quietly. Scorched them. No fire though.

That was not what he had wanted to hear. No fire, that was a small comfort. But the lightning? The fact that she had used her magic? It did not bode well.

We led her to your mother. She took care of her, his shadows assured him quietly.

That was a small comfort, but a comfort nevertheless. His mother was good at soothing, and that seemed to be exactly what his mate had needed. Especially after the panic that she must have been in. The fact that it had been triggered by Amren was an entirely different issue. Azriel would deal with that later.

Eira first. Eira was his first priority.

The entire Hamlet seemed to be sleeping, the only sounds coming from the surrounding forest. Azriel crept in as quietly as he could, trying not to rouse the villagers. He made his way to his mother’s home, his shadows still writhing restlessly around him as they searched for Eira.

He didn’t bother to knock. Azriel just went up to the door and quietly pushed it open.

"Azriel." He froze. His mother was sitting in the living room, knitting. She fixed him with a look out of hazel eyes, and for just a moment he felt about 5 years old again. She looked towards the couch with a pointed look and he followed it.

There she was. Eira. Curled up on the couch underneath a thick woollen blanket, asleep.

He could nearly taste the relief.

"Don't wake her," his mother said, her voice quiet and fierce. "We'll talk in the kitchen."

Azriel nodded silently, his eyes still on the female lying on the couch.

She looked tired, exhausted. The paleness of her skin was nearly translucent in the dim lighting, making her look like porcelain. She had curled up on the couch, a woollen blanket thrown over her, hiding most of her body. And she looked so damn small. So breakable.

It took all of his willpower not to rush to his mate, to pull her into his arms and comfort her.

Azriel had to forcibly pull his gaze away from her. Instead, he turned his eyes to his mother and the pointed, steely look she sent his way. He nodded stiffly, before making his way silently into the kitchen.

Azriel was met with a sharp frown from her, as he walked into the kitchen.

His shadows were still writhing agitatedly behind him, while Esmeray’s dark eyes studied him in silence.

If only he could figure out what that look meant. Her eyes scanned his form, as if silently checking if he were hurt, before she let out a small sigh and gestured for him to sit.

"Is there a particular reason why you didn't tell me that you found your mate?" his mother asked him, crossing her arms.

Azriel’s eyes instantly flicked back to the open door to the living room, making sure Eira was still asleep, before he returned his eyes to his mother, meeting her intense gaze with his own.

He had to hold back a flinch. She was angry.

“Because it just happened,” Azriel finally said, his voice as calm and flat as he could manage.

"It happened two weeks ago, according to your mate," his mother said drily. "Your mate, who I didn't know was your actual mate, and who some of my first words to were how sad it was that her twin sister wasn't mated to you!" she hissed.

Azriel winced at her words, silently cursing himself.

He really should have written his mother another letter. Or even gone to visit her. But he had been so busy with trying to wrap his own head around it that he had just…not thought about it.

And he had also been quite sure that his mother would have thoughts about him being mated to the twin sister of the female he had waxed poetically to her about.

How was he supposed to respond? Should he apologize for not telling her? For the fact that she had to find out from Eira? But judging by the sharp glare from his mother, any argument he made would be useless. Instead, he slumped into his chair.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “I…I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Esmeray’s eyes narrowed, studying her son with a look that told him she was not happy with that answer.

“I would have thought that something as important as you having found your mate would be one of the first things to come out of your mouth,” she said coldly. “Instead, I find out two weeks later, and not from you.”

He grimaced.

"I find out from your mate after she stumbles into my living room, looking like she just came from Hel and back! After she accidentally winnowed! And killed some trees with lightning of all things! And then, THEN she cries all over my kitchen table because she has been in love with my SON she even became fae, while she was still human but he preferred her twin sister over her. Her twin sister who is apparently a Seer has been manipulating her visions from becoming true. And then the mating bond snapped for you and instead of begging your mate on your knees for forgiveness, all she brings out is that you want to TRY!" Every word his mother said was like a sharp blow to the stomach. Azriel just stared at her, his eyes wide, as he took in the information.

His mind was spinning, as he silently took in her words and the implications of them. Eira…Eira had been in love with him before she was even Fae?

“She was…she said that she was in love with me?” he brought out in a whisper.

"That's what you concentrate on?" his mother snapped.

Azriel snapped his mouth shut, flinching at the note of cold anger in her voice.

“No…no it’s not,” he said quickly, his hands clenching around the fabric of his pants. “It’s just-“

He didn’t know what to say. His mind was still spinning, trying to take in the fact Eira had been in love with him before the Cauldron…before…

"It's just?" his mother asked him, her voice icy.

Azriel floundered his thoughts and emotions in a spin.

“I…I just…” he swallowed nervously, his mind grasping desperately for the right words to say. “I didn’t know she…”

How was he supposed to say that he had somehow preferred Elain over Eira? That he hadn’t even seen the fact that his mate was in love with him before she became Fae?

His shadows writhed agitatedly behind him, their agitation only increasing at his distress. Esmeray, who was sitting across from him, was also watching him like a hawk. The intense look in her eyes made it clear how very close he was treading to her wrath.

“You didn’t notice?” she repeated, her eyebrows raising as she spoke. “That your own mate loved you? Are you blind?” she spat out. Azriel flinched, his hands clenching into tight fists.

“I didn’t…I never saw…”

He had really been that blind, hadn’t he? All this time he had never noticed. Not once. He had been so focused on Elain, blind to the fact Eira had been right there all along.

"That girl...that girl adores you," his mother hissed quietly. "Your shadows dote on her and she lets them touch her without even flinching once, Azriel. You can consider yourself lucky that she is even willing to give you the time of the day anymore. She had every right to ignore you for preferring her twin sister of her!"

Azriel winced again, as a silent pang of guilt shot through his heart.

He knew she was right, damn it. He knew he had absolutely no right to ask her to even give him the time of day, not after he so easily had chosen Elain over her.

“I don’t deserve her,” he whispered, his voice quiet.

"No, you don't. Not with how you have been behaving," his mother shot back. "Do you even like her or are you only courting her because she's your mate?"

Azriel flinched hard at her words.

It was like a blow to the stomach, and a dagger to the heart. Gods. Did his own mother think he was so….so callous, so heartless that he was only with Eira because she was his mate?

"I do," he said quickly, the words practically tumbling out. "I do like her."

He was terrified by the fact that his own mother even thought he would be so cruel as to be with someone he didn't care about, just because of the bond.

"Gods, I do like her, mother," Azriel repeated again, his voice firmer this time. "I…..I know I have not been treating her the way I should, and I...I know I don't deserve her. But I like her, mother. I like her and I want to be with her."

Esmeray studied her son, her eyes cold, before she let out a loud sigh and sat back in her seat.

“Good,” she said quietly, her eyes still fixated on him. “Then, what are you going to do about it? Because she deserves better, Azriel. She deserves everything, which is far more than you have given her so far.”

His mother's eyes roamed over his face, studying him like a hawk. Azriel could practically feel the weight of her gaze on his skin.

Finally, after a moment of quiet tension, Esmeray's lips flattened into a thin line, making it clear she was still displeased. "Have you told the poor girl that you actually want to be with her? That you don't just want to be with her because of the fact that she is your mate or because of whatever vision that sister of her was trying to keep from becoming true?!”

Azriel’s heart sank, the weight of her words pressing down on him.

No, he thought, his heart twisting at the thought. Gods, he had…..he had done nothing, absolutely nothing to convince her of the fact that he actually liked her.

He looked up at his mother, his eyes weary. "No," he said quietly, "I haven’t. When the mating bond snapped...she got hurt a day later...an attempt on the life of Rhys' son...she...she threw herself into a dagger so that Nyx wouldn't be hurt," Azriel recounted, the words sticking in his throat. "Rhys tried to take the pain from her...he accidentally got thrown into her memories. And we all..realised that we had been treating Eira abhorrently," Azriel said quietly. "And then we realised what Elain had been doing, what Elain had been keeping from us."

But the knowledge that Elain had attempted to sabotage her own sister's fate, that she had been manipulating Eira's visions...Azriel went silent, his throat tightening.

"...She...It was a vision she had...of Eira and me and...and of our children," he choked out.

His children with Eira. A future that could have been, if things had been different.

His light-haired, winged little girl, ran about and dug in the dirt.

How he wanted that. How he wanted to see them, see Eira and their little ones, surrounded by their family and friends…

Esmeray's eyes were wide, watching her son as realization dawned in her eyes. Azriel could feel her studying him as if trying to gauge his reaction.

He just stared down at the table, his eyes fixed on the smooth surface, the images of Eira and their children of his own flashing before his eyes.

Children. There would be children.

He would have a family with Eira.

And that Elain had tried to take that from them…it made him so utterly furious.

"When Eira was awake...I went to her and I apologised. I told her that Elain may was the pretty one but she was the kind one and that I knew that she would protect our children fiercely," Azriel said quietly. His hands clenched around the edge of the table, as he forced himself to continue. "And...and then I asked if she would let me court her. The human way, to show her that I meant it."

"You told your mate, hours of off being stabbed, that her twin sister was the pretty one?" his mother hissed.

Azriel winced again, his head hanging down.

He was going to be the biggest fool in Prythian, he was sure.

Gods, even saying it now, it sounded like the stupidest thing he could have said. Of course, it had been the wrong thing to say. Why in the world had he told his mate, who had just risked her life, that her sister was the pretty one?

His mother’s voice was cold. “Why in the name of the Mother did you think that was the right thing to say to your mate? That her twin sister, the one who has been manipulating her own vision, tried to keep your children from you, is the prettyone?"

Azriel flinched at the icy words.

He knew his words had been the wrong ones. He knew that he had said the worst thing he could have said at that moment. But in that moment, all he could think of was that he had always been so blinded by Elain. Blinded by her beauty. Blinded by a pretty face and a veneer and had never seen what lay behind it��

And then there was Eira. Just as beautiful but in a different way. Elain was immediately…blinding. Eira…she snuck up on him. Eira was beautiful but quiet. A quiet sort of realisation, like the moon rising at night, until everything was bathed in her light.

And still…Still, he had said those words out loud. To his mate.

"I am shocked that she even agreed to let you court her after that," his mother said with a snort. "She ought to have hit you atop the head and told you to come back to her when you were willing to actually compliment her. Besides, that's the bestyou could come up with, son?! Her twin is pretty but your mate is kind and would protect your children fiercely? Of all the characteristics, all the abilities she has, that's what you land on?!"

Azriel winced again, clenching his jaw so hard it hurt, as his mother's words rang out in the small room. She was right. Of all the things he could’ve chosen to say, all the things that he could have pointed out, he had gone with that?

Azriel slumped down in his chair. Gods, what had he been thinking?

Esmeray watched her son for another moment, her eyes roaming over his defeated form before she let out a quiet huff. “You really are a fool, aren’t you, my son?" she said, her voice softer than before. "A total and utter fool."

Azriel closed his eyes, hanging his head down.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I am a total fool who does not deserve my mate and probably won’t until I have grovelled enough and apologized a hundred times.”

His mother let out a low hum, her eyes still fixed on him. “You certainly do not," she said darkly. “But if the girl is willing to give you a chance, even after you have acted like an imbecile of a male…you best make sure you try your hardest. And start grovelling now.”

"I am sorry, " he apologised.

His mother snorted. "You don't owe me an apology. Unless you count it for not writing to me and telling me what exactly is going on in your life," His mother said drily. "I am not angry, just disappointed."

Azriel’s stomach churned at my mother’s words.

That was even worse. Azriel flinched, looking up and meeting her icy gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again, quieter this time. “I am sorry that I have disappointed you, mother. I am sorry that I have not written.”

His mother’s eyes softened slightly at his words. “You’re my son. And I love you and am proud of you and what you have become. But I won’t have you acting like a total fool, not when that poor girl has had such a terrible life,” she said, her voice gentler than before. “You will not hurt her. You will prove to her that you want her for her, and not only because she is your mate. Is that clear?”

Azriel nodded, his throat tight.

“It’s clear,” he said quietly.

The shame and guilt twisted in his stomach, but he forced it down. He had been an idiot. A fool and an idiot, in denying not only what his heart truly desired, but also in the way he had acted towards Eira.

He wanted- Gods, he wanted her. And he wanted to prove it. Wanted to be a better male and a better mate. Wanted to earn her trust, her affection, her love.

His mother watched him for a moment, seeming to search his face, before she nodded, satisfied.

“Good. You better not keep me in the dark about your life, my son. And you better treat that girl properly from now on,” she said, her voice still stern before the soft, gentle look returned to her eyes. “And I want to see her. You bring her to dinner with you the next time you come, and I will judge for myself that you are treating her properly.”

The corners of Azriel’s mouth twitched, almost in a smile. “I will,” he promised, a little easier now. “I will bring her the next time I come.”

And he would bring her. He would bring her and his mother would see that he was trying to court Eira properly. He would prove to his mother, to his friends and even to Eira herself, that he didn’t want to be with her just because of the bond. That he wanted her. Wanted her for her.

"Now, what exactly does a human courtship even entail?" his mother asked him. “I imagine it’s not like the Illyrian way.

No, it really wasn’t. The Illyrian way was bloody, and violent and involved more than one display of strength.

Maybe that would have been easier for him, Azriel thought weakly. He would gladly go hunt a hundred rabbits and have the fur fashioned into a cloak…Somehow that was easier than the Human way.

“Well…it’s traditionally the male who does the majority of the courting,” he said after a moment of pause. “He…ah…he spends time with the female, takes her out on dates to different places to get to know her, brings her gifts… that sort of thing.”

His mother’s eyes were fixed on him, studying him like a hawk. "How many times have you done that?" she asked, her voice dry. "Spent time with her, taken her out to the human way of dates, brought her gifts?"

"For the very first gift, I gave her a harp," Azriel said softly. "We had lunch together once or twice. Then I brought her flowers when we went to the symphony."

“A harp and some lunch and flowers,” his mother repeated quietly. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve done so far, to woo your mate?”

Azriel felt his face flush again, under her disapproving gaze.

“…yes,” he admitted, his head dropping down slightly.

"It's a start, I suppose," his mother said drily. “A very poor one,” she muttered under her breath.

Azriel’s cheeks flushed once again in shame, at yet another jab from his mother.

"How did you come up with a harp of all things in the first place?" his mother asked him.

"Nesta told me she used to play. Then her family fell on hard times and they had to sell it," Azriel explained.

"And you bought her a replacement harp," his mother said, a slight note of incredulity in her voice. "You didn't think that might, I don't know, bring bad memories to the surface? Remind her of the poverty she had to endure?"

He opened his mouth to respond and then froze. No. No, he hadn't even thought about that. Not once.

"She liked it," he said, slightly defensive. She had liked it...right? She had kissed his cheek, she had thanked him, she had told him that that was the most thoughtful gift anybody had ever given her.

His mother let out a small, disapproving huff.

“Of course she liked it,” she muttered. “Any gift from you she would have liked!”

At his mother’s words, Azriel’s heart sank.

Of course, Eira had liked the harp. He had given it to her, after all. He was her mate. And she was kind, to the point that she probably would have thought whatever he gave her was the greatest gift in the world.

He was being a fool again. He had given her a gift that had brought up terrible memories of her past, without ever thinking of the consequences.

“And how did you even have a lunch with her?” his mother asked, shaking him out of his thoughts. “Did you...did you go into the city to dine with her at some restaurant?”

His cheeks flamed again, his head dropping lower at his mother’s questions.

“No,” he muttered. “We had lunch at the River House with everybody else.”

He could feel his mother’s disapproval without her even saying anything. He didn't even need to look at her face to know the disappointment that would be on it at his answer.

“You ate lunch with her in front of the entire Inner Circle,” his mother stated, her words blunt. “And you thought that counted as a date?”

Her question made Azriel wince, because when she said it out loud like that...it sounded so obvious. "We did go to the symphony with Cassian and Nesta," he defended himself.

His mother let out a sceptical huff.

“Because there is nothing more romantic than sitting around in silence for 3 hours!” his mother snapped. “Have you ever had a proper conversation with her, Azriel?! What are her hobbies?" his mother asked with a sigh. "Can you even tell me that?"

"She's a seamstress, like you," he answered quietly. "She takes commissions from the alterations tailor in Velaris to make some money, and she makes dresses for her sisters. She also likes to bake and cook and she gardens for vegetables.”

"Are that her actual hobbies, or just the chores she prefers to do?" his mother asked him drily. Azriel winced at his mother's words, because...gods, were those Eira's actual hobbies, or just the chores she preferred to do?

His mind reeled at the thought. He knew she took commissions, and he knew she cooked and gardened, but was that what she preferred to do? Or was it simply just chores? Chores that he had never thought to ask to learn if those were what she truly enjoyed?

Was it just what she had done at the cottage? And then continued in the Night Court for lack of other options?

That—gods, that possibility chilled Azriel to the bone and made him feel so ashamed. Had he never even bothered to ask her what she liked to do, aside from what she had done to help her family?

His mother let out another small huff, reading his expression. "You never asked her, did you? You never even bothered to ask if those were her hobbies, or if those were just things she had done out of necessity?”

"She embroiders the things she makes. That's not out of necessity, right?" he asked weakly.

His mother studied his face for a moment, her expression stern as though she was seeing right through him before she finally sighed.

“No, I suppose not,” she conceded after a little while. “And do you know what her favourite colour is?”

Azriel froze at his mother’s unexpected question.

Her...her favourite colour? He was stunned into silence, the realization that he didn’t even know as simple a thing as Eira’s favourite colour suddenly hitting him like a punch to the gut.

“You don’t know her favourite colour, do you?” his mother said, her voice flat. It was more of a statement than a question.

Azriel winced, his silence an answer.

Gods, what kind of mate was he? He hadn’t even bothered to ask any simple questions, like what her hobbies were, or what her favourite colour was. Even something as basic as what her favourite food was, or her favourite time of day, or her favourite place in all of Velaris…he had never bothered to ask her any of those simple, basic questions. He had only assumed.

"You don’t know your own mate’s favourite colour. You don't know what her actual hobbies are. You just know what she did to help her family when she was human. And you took her to the symphony without asking her if she even liked that sort of thing, without even asking her when you are supposed to talk to her and spend time with her and get to know her,” his mother said, her words biting. “Are you even trying to court her?"

The words struck Azriel like a dagger to the heart.

He had truly botched the entire thing, hadn’t he? He had botched every single part of courting her. He hadn’t asked her any questions at all. Not her favourite colour, or her favourite food, or her favourite time of day, or her favourite damn colour. He had taken her to the symphony, to a place she might not even have even liked, had assumed that she would just be fine and would still like it, and he hadn’t even thought of asking if there was anywhere better to take her.

“That was the most pathetic attempt at trying to woo your mate,” his mother said in a low grumble. “That wasn’t attempting to court her. That was you assuming what she might like, rather than asking her what she would actually be interested in doing. And you never even bothered to ask her if she actually enjoyed the times you spent together!”

Azriel closed his eyes as the words stung.

That...that was all true, wasn’t it? He had never thought to ask her a thing. He had just assumed, assumed, assumed, without ever making the attempt to check with her to see if she enjoyed herself or not.

He was an idiot. A stupid, careless, thoughtless idiot.

"You'll do better," his mother demanded.

Azriel nodded, his head hanging down.

He would. He had to. Or he wouldn’t be worthy of being her mate.

He was going to ask her everything about herself. Everything he didn’t even know. He would ask her what her hobbies were, and what her favourite colour was, and what her favourite food was…

He would ask, and he would get to know Eira.

Azriel. Feyre's mental touch and he let her in without a second thought. How is my sister?

Azriel's eyes closed as he felt Feyre’s presence in his mind, and he almost winced at her words.

She...is well enough. She is resting right now.

The silence that followed the mental communication stretched for only a moment, but to Azriel, it felt like an eternity of waiting, as Feyre pondered his words.

Amren...Amren said...some things to her... Feyre’s words came again, her voice laced with anxious worry even in his mind.

Azriel’s jaw clenched.

Damn it. Of course, Amren had said something to Eira. And of course whatever Amren had said...whatever things she had said…had hurt Eira.

Where did you find her?

My mother's house. The shadows brought here there

She’s at your mother’s house...? Feyre’s question came after a moment, her tone even more surprised and bewildered than it had been before.

We are coming, Rhys said softly into his mind.

His mother stared at him for a moment. "Rhys and Feyre are on their way," Azriel said quietly.

Azriel intercepted them at the door, keeping his voice quiet. Feyre was looking extremely anxious and Rhys’ face was taut with worry.

“Thank the Mother you’ve found her,” Feyre said first, rushing over to him, her eyes already darting around, looking for any sight of Eira.

They found her, still unmoving on the couch. Deep asleep.

Azriel could see both Rhys’s and Feyre’s shoulders visibly relax when they saw that Eira was asleep. But Azriel could tell from his high lord and lady’s eyes that they were both still worried.

“Is she…?” Feyre asked quietly, looking up at him with a worried frown. “Is she alright?”

Azriel stared down at Eira’s sleeping form, his chest aching at the sight.

"She's magically exhausted," his mother said calmly. "Rhysand."

The sound of his mother’s voice drew Rhys’s attention, and the High Lord raised his eyes to glance at her, a small smile on his face

"Esmeray," he responded, leaning down to hug her.

Azriel watched silently as his mother and the High Lord embraced each other, while Feyre continued to look between the two of them and Eira.

"You came quickly," his mother said to Rhys, pulling away from his embrace to look him in the eye.

"Of course," Rhys said quietly. "You wouldn’t be telling us our sister is here and expect us to take our time getting here, would you?"

“You know very well that I wouldn’t,” his mother said, her tone dry. “Now come. And don’t you two look at her like that. She is not harmed, nor wounded. She’s simply exhausted.”

"She was just hurt weeks ago," Feyre said quietly. "Badly hurt. She's still supposed to take it easy."

Azriel felt his muscles tense at Feyre’s words. The reminder…Azriel’s hands curled into fists as he remembered seeing Eira bleeding, bleeding profusely from the wound in her side. At seeing her grey skin…her laboured breathing…

You look...murderous, Rhys said into his mind

Murderous was too weak of a word, considering that Azriel wanted to personally hunt down and kill the fae that had dared to harm his mate again. He wanted to be murderous.

Ma had words with me. I fucked up, he admitted.

Rhys was studying him, his eyes sharp like he was reading every emotion in his head. But Azriel could see the slight sympathy in his gaze.

I’ll bet, Rhys said with a sigh. Your mother is brutal at times when she needs to be.

Brutal was an accurate word to use. Azriel had certainly felt the full brunt of his mother’s wrath. Still, he deserved it. He deserved every word she had said. And he would do better.

"Eira?" Feyre said suddenly, kneeling at her sister's side and Azriel's head snapped up to find her move slightly, a whimper coming from her lips.

Azriel held his breath as he watched Eira. Even exhausted as she was, she still looked so fragile, so soft. He wanted to go to her. He wanted to hold her, to reassure her that she was safe, to brush her long curls away from her face. But he kept still.

Feyre let out a soft gasp, reaching out to hold her sister’s shoulder, her touch gentle, as Eira’s head turned to the side, her eyes opening slightly.

"Eira," Feyre repeated quietly, gently squeezing her sister’s shoulder. "Can you sit up?"

Azriel watched as Eira slowly opened her eyes the rest of the way, her brows furrowing as she struggled to focus her eyes in the dim light.

"Fey..." she began weakly, her voice cracking as she struggled to sit up."I am sorry, Feyre," she whispered, wetting her bloodless lips.

Azriel’s heart ached as Eira struggled to sit up, and his hands fisted at his sides as he watched Feyre put a hand on Eira’s back to give her some support.

"No, you are not apologizing for anything," Feyre said firmly, shaking her head as Eira continued to struggle to move. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I didn't help you. I should have helped you. You were the youngest," Eira disagreed, her voice so weak. "I am sorry."

Azriel’s heart broke at Eira’s weak words, and his chest ached as though he wasn’t able to breathe.

Feyre’s hand continued to support her sister as Eira struggled to speak, until finally, Feyre spoke up before her sister could say anything else.

“You did nothing wrong, Eira,” Feyre insisted, her voice firm. “You did help. Yes, I hunted, but you cooked the meat. You did the laundry. You planted potatoes and carrots and sold whatever you canned and had left over. You made sure we had clothing to wear. You helped, Eira," she promised her.

But Eira’s eyes were still wide and miserable, filled with guilt and shame.

“It wasn’t enough,” Eira whispered. “I wasn’t enough.”

“You were enough,” Feyre promised her. “You did enough. You did the best you could. You did nothing wrong.”

"I don't want to be a weapon."

Azriel’s throat closed at Eira’s words, and Feyre’s eyes squeezed shut, her entire body going stiff even as she held back a sob.

“You are not a weapon,” Feyre said fiercely as she held her sister close. “You are not a weapon, do you hear me?”

"You will never need to be," Rhys said softly, placing a hand on Eira's hair. "It's alright. We won't make you be a weapon or a soldier or anything you don't want to be."

"All you ever have to be is our sister," Feyre continued in a slightly choked voice, stroking her sister's hair. "That is all you have to be. You do not have to fight or defend or be a warrior or anything like that. You don't. I promise you that you don't."

“Let's get you home," she said softly. "Let's go home, Eira."

Feyre began to pull Eira up from the couch, and Azriel moved instantly to offer support, going to Eira’s other side to help Feyre pull her older sister to her feet.

Her grey eyes blinked, seemingly suddenly realising that he was there. "Azriel," she whispered.

Azriel’s heart raced as Eira finally turned to look properly at him, and his heart twisted at the sight. She was pale. So pale. And she looked so fragile and exhausted, her eyes hollow. But it was her voice that nearly broke his heart — the way she had said his name. So softly. So quietly.

A demanding meow broke that moment, a white kitten clinging to Eira's legs.

Azriel’s jaw slackened briefly in surprise, as did Feyre, as they both looked down to see the little white kitten clinging to Eira’s legs.

From behind him, Azriel could hear Rhys’s stifled laughter.

His mother laughed out loud, clearly amused as she leant down to scoop up the wayward kitten. "It seems like she got quite attached to you," his mother said quietly. "You should let Azriel bring you back soon to play with her."

Eira’s grey eyes widened as his mother told her that — though whether it was from surprise or exhaustion, Azriel couldn’t tell.

“I…I would like that,” she said softly, her voice rough, and her words lit up something in Azriel’s chest. Something…warm.

Azriel’s mother gave Eira a long look, her head tilting.

“You are welcome. It is my honour and pleasure to get to know the young woman that my son has taken as a mate,” she said softly.

He was saved from having to respond by a shudder working through Eira's body.

Azriel’s eyes darted back down to Eira as he felt the shudder that went through her and he frowned in worry, his arm around her shoulders instinctively pulling her closer to him.

She was cold, he could feel it even through her clothes, her entire body like ice as she shivered in his arms.

"We should get going," Rhys said apologetically. "Thank you, Esmeray."

"You should come visit more often," Esmeray said drily. "And remind my son of actually keeping up with his correspondence for once."

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #the prophecy #Looked to the sky

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moonselune · 2 months

Note

I know you did this with the female companions but can you please write the male Companions helping Tav putting on a shirt after them recovering from shielding their lover from a fireball

Also I love how you write Wyll, sometimes it’s hard to find Wyll fics, and I really appreciate you writing him <3

yes yes yes yes

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The smell of charred wood and burnt cloth still lingered in the air as Gale fussed over you, his worry evident in every gesture. You winced as you tried to lift your arms, the burns from the fireball making the movement painful. Gale, ever the doting wizard, was having none of it.

“You shouldn’t be moving at all,” he insisted, his voice tinged with both concern and frustration. “I can’t believe you threw yourself in front of that fireball for me. What were you thinking?”

You offered a weak smile, trying to downplay the severity of your injuries. “I’m fine, Gale. Really. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Gale’s brow furrowed as he examined your burns, his fingers gently brushing against your skin. “Not as bad as it looks? You have second-degree burns! You should be resting, not trying to put on a shirt.”

He retrieved a clean shirt from his pack, carefully unfolding it. “Alright, let’s get this on you,” he said, his tone softening. “But you need to let me do all the work.”

You nodded, grateful for his help. Gale moved with meticulous care, slipping the shirt over your head and guiding your arms through the sleeves. His shirt was a looser fit and smelled like him, sandalwood and jasmine. Every touch was gentle, his fingers avoiding the worst of the burns. Despite his over-the-top concern, you couldn’t help but feel touched by his dedication.

“Thank you, Gale,” you said softly, meeting his worried gaze. “I appreciate you looking after me.”

He sighed, a mixture of relief and lingering worry in his eyes. “You’re welcome. Just promise me you’ll be more careful next time.”

“I promise,” you replied, offering him a reassuring smile. “But you know I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Gale shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible,” he said, his tone affectionate. “But I suppose that’s why I care about you so much.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Astarion’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he helped you sit up, his usual playful demeanor tempered by genuine concern. The burns from the fireball still stung, but his touch was careful, avoiding the worst of the injuries.

“You really are something, you know that?” Astarion said, his tone a mix of admiration and frustration. “Throwing yourself in front of a fireball for me. What were you thinking?”

You managed a weak chuckle, wincing as you moved. “I was thinking I couldn’t let you get hurt,” you replied. “You’re too important to me.”

Astarion’s expression softened, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “You’re too important to me, too,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “Now, let’s get you dressed before I start to feel guilty all over again. Guilt is not a good look on me.”

He retrieved a shirt from his belongings, his usual teasing smirk returning. “Though, I must say, I do enjoy seeing you like this, my love” he said, his tone playful. “All needy, and dependent, perhaps I should ‘help’ you more often.”

Despite the pain, you couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re actually impossible, Astarion.”

He grinned, carefully slipping the shirt over your head. “That’s what you love about me, darling,” he quipped. “Now, let’s see if we can manage this without causing you more pain.”

Astarion’s hands moved with surprising tenderness, guiding your arms through the sleeves with deft precision. He adjusted the shirt, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin.

“There,” he said, stepping back to admire his work. “You look almost presentable, my darling,”

You smiled, the warmth in his gaze comforting. “Thank you, Astarion. For everything.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against your forehead. “You’re welcome,” he murmured. “Just promise me you’ll be more careful next time. I can’t lose you, not after everything.”

“I promise,” you replied, your voice steady. “But you know I’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe.”

Astarion sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. “And that’s why I adore you,” he said. “Now, let’s get you some proper rest. You’ve more than earned it.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The aftermath of the battle had left you feeling sore and exhausted. Your burns from the fireball still throbbed, but the sight of Wyll’s worried expression was almost worse. He sat beside you, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and concern.

“You, my dear, are far too brave for your own good,” Wyll said, his voice soft yet firm. He retrieved a clean shirt from your pack, his movements careful and deliberate. “I can’t believe you shielded me from that fireball. You’re incredible, reckless, but incredible.”

You tried to downplay the pain you felt with a weak smile. “I couldn’t just stand by and let you get hurt, Wyll. Had to protect that pretty face.”

Wyll’s eyes softened, and he let out a light laugh, but as he looked at the severity of your injuries, his usual charming demeanor taking on a more serious tone. “You mean the world to me. I hope you know that."

"Of course, I do my beloved," you smiled at him, "In fact, I figured it was my turn to take a hit, considering it seems to be your favourite past-time."

"I can't help it if I just want to protect you," Wyll chuckled, shaking his head. "Now, let’s get you dressed, it's the least this damsel no longer in distress can do."

He gently slipped the shirt over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves with the utmost care. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were handling something precious. Every movement was accompanied by soft words of encouragement and praise.

“There we go,” he said, smoothing the fabric over your shoulders. “Perfect. You’re looking more regal than ever, my brave knight.”

You chuckled softly, wincing at the pain. “You always know how to make me feel special, Wyll.”

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “That’s because you are special,” he murmured. “And I’ll make sure you know it every single day.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The burns from the fireball had left you in agony, but you were determined not to let it show. Halsin, however, was having none of it. He stood by your bedside, his expression a mix of frustration and concern.

“You should have come to me sooner,” Halsin scolded gently, retrieving a clean shirt from your pack. “You’re always trying to do everything on your own.”

You offered a sheepish smile. “I didn’t want to bother you, Halsin. I’m fine, really.”

Halsin’s eyes softened, but he shook his head. “You’re not a bother. You’re my priority.” He carefully slipped the shirt over your head, his touch both firm and tender. “Now, let’s get this on you, my love.”

His hands moved with practiced ease, guiding your arms through the sleeves and adjusting the fabric to avoid aggravating your burns.

“You need to rest,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Staying in bed is the best thing for you right now.”

“I promise I’ll rest, eventually” you assured him, your voice sincere. “But I can’t just lie here all day. There are things we need to do.”

Halsin sighed, his stern expression softening. “You’re as stubborn as ever,” he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “But that’s one of the things I love about you.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his touch comforting. “Just promise me you’ll take it easy, alright?”

“I promise,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “But only if you stay with me.”

Halsin chuckled, his eyes filled with warmth. “Always,” he murmured. “I’ll always be here for you.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Rolan:

You sat on the edge of the bed, the remnants of the fireball’s searing heat still pulsing through your burns. Rolan stood before you, shirt in hand, his expression a mix of worry and frustration.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he lectured, his voice stern as he carefully unfolded the shirt. “Throwing yourself in front of a fireball for me? What were you thinking?”

You winced as he slipped the shirt over your head, his hands moving with both frustration and care. “I couldn’t let you get hurt, Rolan. I just reacted.”

Rolan’s hands stilled for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You could have been killed,” he said, his tone sharp. “You need to think before you act. This reckless bravery of yours—”

You leaned forward and kissed him, effectively silencing his lecture. His initial surprise quickly melted into a soft, albeit exasperated, sigh as he kissed you back, his lips gentle yet insistent.

When you finally pulled away, Rolan’s eyes had softened, though his worry was still evident. “You’re incorrigble,” he muttered, his voice low. “But I love you for it. Just… please, be more careful.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I promise I’ll try. But I can’t help wanting to protect you.”

Rolan shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Just try not to get yourself killed, alright? I’d rather not have to lecture you in the afterlife.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Raphael:

The burns from the fireball were agonizing, but Raphael’s anger was so much worse. He stood before you, his eyes blazing with fury, his demonic heritage making the cambion even more intimidating.

“You’re a fool,” he growled, snatching the shirt from your hands. “Throwing yourself in front of a fireball? Do you not realize who I am? I am literally fire resistant. You fool”

You flinched at his harsh words, but you knew his anger stemmed from concern. “I get it, Raphael! I just reacted!”

He huffed, slipping the shirt over your head with more force than necessary.

“Your stupidity knows no bounds,” he muttered, his hands surprisingly gentle despite his words. “What would I have done if you died? Leaving me to deal with the fact that my beloved got herself killed by sacrificing herself for a fireball, that I am resistant to!”

You winced as he adjusted the fabric, the pain from your burns flaring up. “I’m sorry, Raphael” you huffed. “I didn’t think.”

"Evidently!" Raphael paused, his anger momentarily giving way to a flicker of vulnerability. “Regardless of your lack of sense, you are my fool,” he said quietly, his voice softer. “And I’d rather not lose you to your own stupidity.”

You reached out, taking his hand. “I promise I’ll be more careful,” you said sincerely.

Raphael’s eyes softened, though his expression remained stern. “You are insufferable,” he muttered, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But you’re my insufferable fool. Just… don’t make a habit of this.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “I won’t. I’ll try to be more careful. For both our sakes.”

Raphael sighed, pulling you closer. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I have no intention of losing you. Not now, not ever.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so wholesome icl and Raphael's was so fun to write lmao, i can imagine him just losing his shit at reader, hope you enjoyed this - Seluney xox

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