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comatosebunny09 · 3 years ago

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Devotion [ Pt. 5 ]

Summary: You have been his faithful bodyguard for years, and a dear friend of his for much longer. Can you blame him for wanting something beyond that of a loyal subject and king?

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Drama, Angst, Slow Burn, Modern AU

Warnings: Female Reader, Profanity

Recommended Listening: See You Tomorrow & Tomorrow - Evgeny Grinko

Taglist: @marsthegoblin @genuienlytired @auraee @ah-finally @jensynkujo @nanaoise08squad @mekkencspony @coldstonecrematorium @motzgurke @simpforerensattacktitan

Sorry if I missed anyone. 😭 I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you so much for reading!

Of the many ways for a young woman to find herself enthralled...

Well, you know the lot of them thanks to a certain fiery-haired monarch.

You figure that he is the most beautiful thing to ever grace this kingdom. Watch with childlike wonderment as he looms over his desk, coarse brows furrowed, lips pulled into a taut line. He’s been like this for an hour or so, mowing through the mountains of paperwork littering his study. His Majesty releases an occasional hum, tapping his fountain pen against the lacquered wood as he flips through a binder.

Sanemi must’ve really gotten to him today.

The royal advisor cornered you both in the king’s quarters. Muttered something about ball preparations and what-have-you’s, demanding that Kyojuro “sit his ass down somewhere to do some fucking work.” You couldn’t help the snicker that tore itself from your frame, watching the two go at it from the doorway.

Not much has changed about their dynamic since middle school, you reflected, a fond cant to your lips.

“I will take care of it, my friend,” His Majesty promised, his hands up in mock surrender. A shamefaced grin adorned his face, tiny craters forming in his cheeks.

Sanemi marched up to you, pinning you with an amethyst glare. Thrust a finger in your face, his irritation emanating off him in waves. “Make sure his ass doesn’t leave this room until half that shit’s been signed, you hear me?”

You replied with a curt nod, stepping aside to allow the tactician to leave. The heavy door slammed behind you with finality, leaving you and your king in each other’s company. Kyojuro shrugged, flashing you a disarming smile that set your heart aflutter.

You wished that Sanemi would’ve stayed longer to maintain the peace.

“A picture would last longer,” Kyojuro mumbles, drawing you back to present. He scrutinizes the documents laid out before him.

You straighten. Tilt your head whilst clearing your throat, ignoring the heat flooding your cheeks. You realize that you have been caught staring again. It’s a regular occurrence between you and your king. Can it really be helped, though?

The man is gorgeous in every sense of the word, glowing like the cinders he was forged from.

You swallow thickly. Try to tear your eyes from the pulsing veins in Kyojuro’s sinewy forearms—he’d discarded his jacket and rolled up his sleeves a little while ago. Loosened his necktie, his waistcoat wrapped snugly around his frame.

God bless his tailor, for they have cruel impeccable taste.

The sun swaths Kyojuro’s silhouette in its ethereal glow; its rays pouring through the ceiling-high windows of the study whilst it tucks itself behind the horizon. He is much too angelic this way, untouchable even. Someone like you doesn’t deserve his affections, what with the dirt caked under your nails and the scars littering your body. His Majesty deserves to court someone as beautiful as he is. Someone who will bring honor to his kingdom.

Not a lowly bodyguard charged only with keeping him safe.

Kyojuro sighs, fetching another set of documents. Pierces through your ruminations again, asking, “how long do you plan to stand there gawking at me?” He levels his luminous optics with yours. His lips curve into an inviting smirk, chin resting on his palm.

You stiffen, cursing your wandering eyes. “I-I’m not. I mean, I wasn’t, Majesty—”

“Sit,” Kyojuro beckons, motioning to the gold-crusted, emerald couch adjacent to him.

“I shouldn’t—”

“Sit.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

With hesitancy and a dispirited sigh, you meander over to your king’s side. Drop yourself onto the pillowy cushions, clasping your hands together in your lap. This is also routine between the pair of you.

He’s always had something against you standing guard at the door, so you’re often held captive like this while he works. It most certainly has nothing to do with him being irrevocably taken by you.

You puff out your cheeks, eyes skittering every which way but on your wayward king. You feel his eyes drilling into the side of your head. See him shamelessly staring at you through your peripheral, and it takes all of you not to shrink into yourself.

If a staring contest is what His Majesty wants…

You throw caution to the wind, fixing him with your own pointed stare. His lashes flutter closed; eyes wrinkled at the corners. He beams at you, boasting his pearly whites. Wordlessly, he reaches out to squeeze your hands settled rigidly atop your thighs. You tense, your breath lodged in your throat, heart jackhammering in the forefront of your ears.

Hot, hot. Terribly so. He always is. The action alone is enough to make you lightheaded whilst his thumb makes swift expeditions over your blanched knuckles.

“Now I can focus,” he murmurs. Couples it with a deep chuckle as you sputter, the sound vibrating your spine. Kyojuro retracts his hand to turn back to his desk, taking up his pen with renewed vigor.

What’s that supposed to mean, you silently simmer, a quieted pout descending onto your lips. You’re bereft of the loss of contact, but what for? This is nothing new, the fleeting touches and stolen glances. So, what’s got you so out of sorts today?

You are thankful for your proximity to your king, nonetheless. From this angle, you get to see all of him. Greedily ingest the sight before you, and he is a work of art.

His Adam’s apple bobs whilst he swallows. The faint scent of citrus permeates your nostrils. Biceps ripple beneath his snug, silken dress shirt; vein in his neck pulsates enticingly. You battle with a sudden inclination to kiss it, saliva puddling in your mouth. You wonder what pretty sounds you can emit from him; if you can turn him to mush the same way he does to you each day.

Silly woman, you chastise, shaking your head. What on earth are you thinking about?

You sit like this in silent contemplation for a beat, transfixed on every twitch of his muscles. The scribbling of his pen is the only sound exchanged between you. You pick your fingernails, obligated to fill the stillness.

“Are you—”

“Do you—”

Amber eyes flit to yours. Kyojuro chuckles, rubbing his nape. It’s hard to miss the color tinging the tips of his ears. Your lips quirk the slightest, butterflies skittering about in your stomach.

How unlike His Majesty to be so bashful in your company.

“Apologies,” Kyojuro mutters, tugging his necktie free from its collar. Turns to you with undivided attention. “What were you about to say?”

“Ah, n-nothing. Um, what were you going to say, Majesty?” Suddenly, the onyx buttons of your coat are so very interesting, a flush of your own creeping its way into your skin.

“Do you have plans for the long weekend?”

You perk up. Find it hard to meet his gaze, but you admit, “not really.”

“Really,” he hums thoughtfully.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You are off tomorrow, yes?”

You nod in confirmation. Honestly, you need it, what with you working tiring hours as a glorified babysitter. You care deeply for your king. However, keeping up with him and his indomitable spirit is taxing on its own. Couple this with your unchecked feelings for him, and you have quite the exhaustive cocktail.

Your only warning is the rustling of paper.

Suddenly, the couch dips beside you. He’s moved faster than you can process, a blur of yellows and reds. Curse his trainer for honing his cat-like movements.

He swaddles you in his overwhelming heat and commanding presence. A gasp rends itself from your throat. Your knees bump, thighs graze. He is uncomfortably close, and it’s become much too hot again. You feel restricted by your uniform. Has it always had this many layers?

Your king looks to you with delight. Drapes an arm across the back of the sofa, closing in until your noses almost touch. “Will you be accompanying me, then?”

You reel back, crashing into the chair’s arm. Swallow. “A-accompanying you? Where?” You weren’t informed of any movement going on during your weekly brief. So, what is he on about?

Uncertainty meddles with his voice. “I’d assumed Uzui had informed you of tomorrow’s excursion.”

The mere mention of your commander causes your brow to twitch. “He hasn’t told me a thing, Majesty.”

With a guilty sigh, Kyojuro scratches his temple. “Well,” he begins, leaning forward with his elbows pressed into his powerful thighs. “There is a bazaar in town. On the outskirts of the citadel, actually.” He glances at you to gauge your reaction. Searches your eyes for any opposition. You urge him forward with inquisitive brows.

“I wanted to attend so that I could find a nice gift for the prince.” Kyojuro wets his lips, suddenly averting his gaze. Of course. A gift for his dearest brother. He’d be back from the countryside soon. “Uzui was more than enthusiastic about joining me. I figured he would’ve invited you as well.”

A pang strikes your chest, searing like white lightning. And you thought you were all friends. Though you’re never too keen on the idea of His Majesty leaving the citadel alone, you also know that he prefers to travel discreetly. A ring of bodyguards and staff looming about would only draw more attention to him. Besides, it isn’t too often that he gets to leave the castle without some official business being tacked onto it. And, Tengen is more than capable of fending off any attempts on your king’s life.

“I wouldn’t want to impede, Majesty,” you say haughtily. Since the offer had slipped Tengen’s mind, you felt it best to take it out on your king—

“I want you to come,” he declares, patting your hand, a hopeful lilt to his voice. “That is, if you would like to join us.” Irises glimmer like those of a puppy.

You sigh heavily, lips twitching into a small smile. Try as you might, you’ve never been able to resist him like this. “I would love to, Your Majesty.”

He beams at you, once again propelling himself into your personal bubble. “Might I make one final request?” ventures the king, mischief bubbling in those mirthful eyes of his.

You nod dumbly, hooked onto his every movement. “S-sure, sir.”

Suddenly, the silken strands of your hair waterfall onto your shoulders, spilling from the crude bun you had fashioned it into after your king had so graciously stolen your hairpin. You stammer, an astonished look taking up residence on your features.

He’d done it again.

Kyojuro’s expression melds into one of endearment. He beholds you with boyish fascination, engraining every spasm of your lips selfishly into his memory. “I prefer you like this,” he whispers, breath wafting across your flustered exterior. “Please wear your hair down from now on.”

You cannot help the warmth that wades over you at his request. Your heart overflows with glee. He always knows how to disorient you with his satiny, manipulative words.

You resist a faint whimper whilst Kyojuro twines one of your sleek coils about his finger. He wears that look again; the one he always dons before trying to kiss you. The sweet-talker. Maybe you will let him get away with it this time. Your tongue darts from betwixt your quivering lips to dampen them. Eyes half-slit. You glimpse down at his waiting mouth, watching with bated breath as it pans in.

To hell with it, you contemplate, feeling his fingers creep like spindly spider legs up the nape of your neck. He threads limber digits in your tresses, drawing you further into him. For a moment, you relinquish yourself to your desires. To hell with being his bodyguard. To hell with his monarchy, and with you feeling like the lowest on the totem pole. You’re hyperaware of his mouth so close, your breaths fusing together.

If not for the door being thrown open noisily behind you, you might’ve finally let your king have his way.

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#kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #my works #devotion series #rengoku kyojuro #demon slayer fanfic #kny fanfic #self indulgent #king!kyojuro #king!rengoku

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wearywinchester · 4 years ago

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Tempers

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: When a hunt goes wrong, anger flares and feelings come out.

Requested by Anonymous: This is sooo ''let's pretend they're all alive' but I think we all need something nice now, could you do one where reader is bobby's daughter and she's your typical I like makeup, short skirts and heels girl and they're all (reluctantly) working with the ghost facers for a case, dean gets protective around her bc she's bobby's daughter and not at all bc he likes her no no what gave you that idea hehehe

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: little bit of jealousy, injuries, mentions of blood, swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, fluff, kissing

Hunting with the Winchester’s.

No matter the case, hunting with those two never failed to be interesting. You’d like to think you were a good hunter, in fact you knew you were. You might not have been the best there is but there’s not one hunter out there that hasn’t made a handful of mistakes on the job. It was bound to happen sometime. But you’ve had a pretty good hunter to learn from—your dad.

He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of you hunting, not in the slightest and he tried his hardest to get you to go another direction with your life. But Bobby Singer was as stubborn as they come, so he should’ve expected his daughter to be just the same as himself. With all of the reluctance in the world, he taught you to be the hunter you are today, and that’s something he can feel confident in even though he might not admit it.

Dean hadn’t taken you too seriously the first time you’d accompanied them on a hunt for a vamp nest, treating you as if you were a child despite the mere one year age difference the two of you held. That quickly changed when you saved him from a great deal of danger that night; three vamps against a disarmed Dean surely wouldn’t have gone very well.

That was something you very much held over his head, giving it a good long while before you finally let him live it down save for a few mentions here and there.

Even then Dean was just as protective as he’d been since you were teens nearly ten years ago, you were Bobby’s daughter. That was always his reasoning for insisting you stay close to him on hunts, for losing his temper should the smallest of things happen to you. That was his reasoning for being adamant that you stay back on hunts he deemed too dangerous, trying his hardest to convince Bobby to stick with him on it. Bobby never disagrees with his reasoning, but he also knows you’re too stubborn for your own good.

Dean was the very same way.

The old house looked like something straight out of a movie, the stereotypical haunted house as boards stick haphazardly over broken windows and the grass is far too overgrown. Nearly every corner was littered with spiderwebs, the siding on the house covered in years of neglected dirt and moss. It was only perfectly fitting that it’d be haunted, otherwise that’d be a waste of an abandoned house.

You squinted up at it as you got out of the backseat of the Impala, turning back to look at the long driveway you’d just driven up, lined with old trees on either side before glancing back at the house. Your gaze shifts to Dean as you smooth out your jacket, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin.

“What?” You ask, eyes narrowed as you look up at the older Winchester.

“Nothing,” he chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a pair of those ridiculously tall heels on. I have to say I’m shocked.”

You roll your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek as he nudges the toe of your tattered old boots, his smile still remaining as he looks down at you in amusement.

“Well I guess I’m full of surprises then, aren’t I?” You say as you rub your gloss in with a smack of your lips and brush past him to get to catch up to Sam, the smile you’d tried to stifle now tugging at your lips once your back was to him. But he knew it was there just as much as you saw his was when you turned back around to catch his expression.

He chuckled, brows soon furrowing as he shook his head. “Wait—what’s that supposed to mean?”

He slung his bag over his shoulder and quickened his pace, grumbling to himself about what your words could have meant as his brows furrowed. In a matter of moments you nearly smack into Sam, stopping just in time.

“What is it?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean mutters, and when you look at him that crease between his brows deepens and his jaw tenses, eyes rolling and you follow his gaze to the ever familiar van that sat parked on the other side of the trees. “Looks like the ghostbusters beat us to it.”

Ghostfacers.

You were more than surprised when Dean had caved on working the hunt with them, not without a couple of eye rolls and a few choice words for the pair mumbled not so discreetly under his breath. But all things considered, after what happened the last time, you were surprised he’d gone through with it. Although, Harry and Ed weren’t planning on leaving anyway. They may have been more than just a little intimidated by that ever famous Dean Winchester glare, one that never worked on you, but they weren’t scared enough to back down much to Dean’s dismay.

The more people there were, the better, but that didn’t stop the older Winchester from being protective over you. In fact, you were certain he was even more so.

“Stay with me,” Dean said, his words serious as he put his arm out in front of you, his gaze over at the two less than desired guests and their cameras having been less than pleased. Especially with the way they smiled at you and acted like a couple of fools with a crush.

“What am I five, Dean?” You say, pushing his arm down as you quicken your pace to walk with him rather than behind him.

He narrows his eyes down at you as his lips purse till those dimples appeared that you’ve come to know oh so well, and rarely were they not from discontentment.

“Would you slow down?” He huffs, a smile tugging at your lips.

You sigh, shaking your head in amusement.

You failed to miss the way the back of his hand had brushed over your knuckles as you walked along the shadowed hallway, thick with cobwebs and rubble scattering across the scratched wood floors. You were starting to wonder if the action was a simple accident or if he’d felt the same spark of something you couldn’t quite pinpoint in his chest as you felt in yours.

It could have been nothing, probably was, but you shook it off when you turned around the corner and tried not to think about it again.

The hunt was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be a simple salt and burn, and it was one spirit against five people. Harry and Ed weren’t the best of help, not really, but it was more than you walked in with and it should have been better. But it wasn’t.

The spirit turned out to be far more vengeful than she let on, and as Dean suspected, it wasn’t a good idea to split up. Not in a house that was three times bigger than it seemed with a more than violent spirit on the loose. It most certainly didn’t help that the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the house dark enough to begin with even in daylight, it’s boarded up windows and burnt out lightbulbs working against you.

Had you not been there, Dean would more than readily have split up to cover more ground with the extra set of hands accompanying you this time, it only made sense to do so. But you were. You were there and you were just as stubborn as ever as you stood there in favor of the very idea that was just the opposite of what Dean wanted. What was a good idea to you and one to most was the worst thing he could possibly think of. He didn’t want you to stray far from him for reasons he’d never admit, not to you or himself, instead reasoning with a simple ‘because I said so’.

But that phrase didn’t work on you. It never did.

He knew. From the moment those two barreled down the stairs looking paler than the spirit you were after, holding all the hesitancy in the world in their body language he knew. The apologetic look Sam had given him wasn’t one that helped either, anger quick to spark within him as he closed his eyes for a moment. He should have known better than to believe they’d offer you any form of protection even though he knows you can hold your own. He should have known better than to quit arguing with you on the matter because maybe, just maybe you’d have given in and split up with him instead. Maybe you would still be with the group and not who knows where in this maze of a run down mansion.

It was a mess of maybe’s and what if’s that clouded his every thought.

But he didn’t argue and you were gone. You were swept away by Casper the not so friendly ghost and he was to blame. Bobby would be livid if he knew, he gets that, but Dean himself didn’t know what he’d do if something happened. He could deal with the wrath of Bobby Singer any day but he couldn’t deal with even just the thought of something happening to you and he couldn’t find it in him to grasp just why it was he felt that way. Maybe he could, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

“You what?” Dean asked, anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. His question was low and the two words were more than venomous, more than telling of just how angry he’d been. He heard exactly what Ed had told him not thirty seconds before, he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He could believe it actually, because it was Ed of all people, but that wasn’t the point.

Ed swallowed thickly and offered a nervous laugh in an attempt to stave off the tension that’d been building the moment they came back to Dean without you, backing up from the green eyed Winchester who’d been staring him down with a narrowed gaze. It wasn’t hard to see that his patience was wearing thin, and he knew he was pushing it the more he stalled. “She—she went ahead! It’s not like we could talk her out of it!”

His fists clenched and relaxed at his sides at the reasoning he just heard, crescent shaped imprints of his nails left behind on his palms in the wake of his increasing anger.

“You let her out of your sight?” He said, far louder than before. He grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pushed him against the dilapidated old wall, the wood creaking under the newfound pressure against it and a cloud of dust forming. He’s more than tense as Dean crinkles his shirt between his fists, knuckles ivory white and jaw clenched tightly. He could see every freckle and every ounce of emotion in Dean’s eyes, that’s how close he was. He could see the angry quiver in his bottom lip and the flare of his nostrils, could feel his breath hitting his face as he stood pinned to the wall and his glasses even fogged up.

“What, you thought you’d play ‘Mr. Tough Guy’, try and protect her? Huh? Cause you sure as hell didn’t do a good job,” Dean grits out frustratedly.

“She said she’d kick my ass if I didn’t let her go ahead!” He splutters, nearly nose to nose with him.

Dean nodded, the smile on his face bitter as he slid his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” he says, sweating bullets by that point as he buckled under the pressure of Dean’s distress. He let out a noise when he shook him slightly and he knows that’s not the answer Dean needs to hear right now. “We were on the second floor when a door slammed around the corner!”

“Actually, they all closed so it’s kinda hard to tell which one,” Harry chimed in, growing timid the more he spoke as he stepped closer to Sam as some form of protection. He scratched the back of his neck and laughed nervously when Dean’s stare fell on him.

“Dean, we’ll find her, okay? Right now we’re just wasting time,” Sam says, noting Ed was two seconds from fainting from the anger radiating off the older Winchester.

Dean pushed him back once more before releasing his grip on his shirt, wrinkled and disheveled from the tightness of his fists. It was becoming increasingly more apparent that this was about more than just protecting Bobby Singer’s daughter. It was about more than just his annoyance with anything and everything that has to do with Ghostfacers. It was you.

He was angry, livid, as he snagged the flashlight from the table, storming off on his own. Not without his anger getting the better of him, a nearby chair taking the brunt of his frustration as it hits the wall. He remembers just what happened the last time he got stuck working a hunt with them, and he tried his hardest not to think about it.

Meanwhile, you found yourself stuck locked in a room you knew you weren’t in before you were taken. A room you didn’t even know existed in this house to begin with. For being a run down old building, the flimsy doors were stronger than they looked, but you suppose the powers of the supernatural didn’t really care about things like that.

Your knuckles were an angry shade of red, fists sore and throbbing from having pounded them against the door for the better part of what had to be ten minutes in an attempt to escape or at least grab someone’s attention. You were tired as you slumped back against the wall, tucked within the sparse circle of salt you managed to make. Your phone was dead and your flashlight was gone, your energy seemingly just as drained as everything else.

You could feel the I told you so’s coming from Dean, you knew they’d be there ready and waiting if you get out of this. It’s not like it had been completely undeserved, but you didn’t want to hear it. You knew you more than likely looked worse for wear as you sat within that circle, knew by the way you saw smears of crimson on your fingers when you wiped your cheek. It was no secret that you messed up big time with this one, you’d admit that, but admitting it to yourself didn’t help you in that moment and you certainly wouldn’t say it to Dean.

You found there were a lot of things you were hesitant on admitting to Dean, and in the current moment you weren’t so sure if you’d have the chance to bring any of them to light. Maybe it was for the best anyway, could save yourself the embarrassment of having feelings for the older Winchester in the first place. Though you can’t tell what was scarier, the thought of his inevitable discontent with you and your hunting capabilities should you make it out alive, or the very real possibility that you wouldn’t make it out alive.

Yeah, you definitely couldn’t decide that one.

You weren’t sure how or when you found yourself pining over green eyes; the two of you bickered more often than not each and every time you saw one another. If it wasn’t over the smell of your perfume filling up the Impala, it was the way his cologne hung on you after he gave you a hug just to make that happen, just to ruffle your hair after you’d just done it. It was the softer smiles you shared with each other without even realizing it.

But it didn’t really matter, not now it didn’t.

You were caught up with the sting of embarrassment coursing through you from having gotten lost in the first place—you were so adamant that you could do it on your own. It happens to Sam all the time, it happens to Dean all the time, but you couldn’t stop the heat burning in your cheeks or the frustration building in your stomach.

You didn’t know how much time had passed nor did you have a second to think on it before she appeared in front of you in a matter of seconds. The look on her face had you sitting a little straighter, back pressing to the wall behind you as you eyed the pitiful salt ring around you. She laughed tauntingly and you were beginning to think even that wouldn’t protect you, you knew it wouldn’t judging by the way each and every granule began to sift away and break apart it’s protective ring.

You swallow thickly as your eyes widened, both your gaze and hers shifting to the door briefly as it rattled. “Y/n?”

Your breath hitched, only the smallest bit of relief washing over you as her attention returned to you almost immediately. “Dean!”

She didn’t seem to mind his attempts at busting the door down, nor the axe that split through the wood. She knew full well she could send him across the room with a simple twitch of her finger should he break through, watching as you scramble to your feet.

In a matter of seconds she’d appeared mere inches from you, her hand grabbing your face, cold and unforgiving. You didn’t know just what it was she’d been doing, but you were more than aware of the pain beginning to lance through you the moment she touched your skin.

It was near unbearable, a sharp burn radiating through you as a pressure squeezed in on you, intense and unwavering. You were quite sure you’d never felt something so intensely, the feeling nearly taking your breath away. Of all the hunts you’d been on, of all the injuries you walked away with, they’ve got nothing on this.

One thing she didn’t count on was the handful of salt you gathered in your palm, too caught up in your demise to see you’d snagged it from the protective ring she broke. You pressed your hand to her wrist and watched her face twist and contort in discomfort, the action searing her arm where you’d touched it and releasing her grip on you in an instant as if you were venomous.

She pushed you to the wall in retaliation with a simple move of her hand, and if you thought she’d been angry now, you surely were mistaken. You groaned as the fragile old wall behind you cracked and crumbled around you, slumping on the ground once more in exhaustion. You caught sight of Dean’s face as the door began to give way, livid yet holding something you couldn’t quite place as your heart hammered in your chest.

But luck seemed to be on your side just this once, fear flashing across her face as she stood mere inches from you. Her yelp was shrill as she stumbled backwards, having burned up in a blaze of misery and screams. Your chest heaved as your shoulders slumped in relief, the heat of her disappearance having fanned over you and the door breaking loose in a heap of shards and splinters.

The pain she’d caused had begun to ebb away and subside, leaving the ache to remain and the fatigue you felt to rest heavier in your body as you stood to your feet with a bit of unbalance.

Dean had crossed the room in a matter of a few strides, the axe clattering to the floor as his hand settled on your cheek. You looked miserable, mascara smudged and a frown on your busted lip.

“You okay?” He asked, the furrow deep between his brows.

“Do not say ‘I told you so’,” you grumble, half humorous as you look up at him.

His lips purse, his thumb swiping over the cut running along your cheek that he was less than pleased about. Any other time he might’ve laughed, but not this time. The worried crease between his brows and the way his lips pointed downward at the corners had been telling enough that he wasn’t happy with the predicament you’d gotten yourself into, that he was the complete opposite of thrilled at the close call that had his heart pounding and his stress in overdrive. But right now he was relieved. You were here and you were okay, attitude and all.

Sam was first to rush in, Harry next and Ed hot on his heels as they stepped over the rubble and splinters of the broken door.

Ed’s own relief washed over him, happy to not be on the receiving end of an angry Dean Winchester’s punch. “You found her—”

“Shut it.”

It’d been quiet the whole car ride home, no music on the radio, no conversation, no quick witted jokes or typical conversation. It was quiet and it was tense, near uncomfortable as Sam was stuck in the tension between two people he knows have something brewing between them. But he said nothing, pretending he didn’t see the way his brother’s gaze flickers to the rear view every other minute to see if you’re okay, his jaw tense and his grip on the wheel nearly too tight.

Bobby wasn’t thrilled to see the way that spirit roughed you up, more than a few choice words thrown Dean’s way with anger in his tone. He expected that much, having braced for it the whole ride back. He didn’t argue, didn’t do much more than nod and clench his jaw, and he didn’t say just how it was that it happened in the first place either.

Now you were wandering through your dad’s house, quiet unlike it had been just two hours earlier. Your dad and Sam had both been asleep, the early hours of dawn beginning to roll around as dawn approached. You knew better than to believe Dean would be sleeping too, your thoughts confirmed when the door to the bedroom he’d been crashing in was still open, bed empty and still untouched from when he’d haphazardly made it the morning before.

You sighed when you saw him, sitting by himself on the back porch swing and the moment you stepped outside you saw the half-drunk bottle of beer in his hand. His gaze lifted to you when he heard the creak of the door, averting his stare moments later.

“It’s late, sweetheart. Go to bed.”

“Then why aren’t you in bed?”

“Not tired,” he says, tipping his bottle against his lips as he takes another sip of his beer.

You huff out a soft sigh, arms crossing over your chest. That’s when he looks at you again, the dimness of the porch light having illuminated the jagged scratch on your cheek, freshly cleaned as well as the mascara that smudged under your eyes earlier. The tension in his jaw had yet to go away, obvious as ever.

“Are you going to be mad at me forever then?”

“‘M not mad anymore,” he says, and you knew for a fact that’d been a lie.

“You’re not that good a liar, Dean,” you say, watching him set his drink down and stand to his feet, leaning his weight on the wooden railing. “I had it handled, you know,” you say, watching his expression sour at your words.

You heard his scoff as you brushed past him, a sigh leaving your lips because you knew he’d react just the way he’d been acting. You were right with him, you were always right.

“Had it handled, my ass,” he said, quick to follow after you. “I told you not to do that.”

“Yeah, well I did it,” you said, and he turned in front of you and spun around, keeping you from walking any further.

“Would you quit it with the tough guy act? You’re hurt and you damn well know it, I know it. Hell, anyone can see that. So do yourself a favor and stop pretending like you had everything under control because I know you better than to believe that.”

Your brows furrow as you look up at him with a squinted gaze, watching as his chest rises and falls, at the way there was something more than anger pooling in his eyes as he looked at you. You’ve never seen him quite this upset over you before, not really, never seen him look at you that way before. He was angry, sure he was, but it was different.

He wasn’t wrong, you were hurting, it’s not everyday you’re on the receiving end of a vengeful spirits’ wrath. You went off on your own when you shouldn’t have been so bold and daring. But you were here. You were here and you were okay and you knew you were bound to do it again on another case. It was what being a hunter is about. You didn’t get this far by sitting back and letting the monsters out there come to you, you had to go out and look for them and if you got a few bumps and bruises then so be it.

“Why are you so mad, Dean?” You ask, watching his eyes roll. “You go out and do the same reckless things on a hunt, you’ve come out on the other side way worse than I did. But since it’s me, suddenly it’s a problem.”

“Exactly, it’s because it’s you!” He repeats, frustrated as ever as he throws his hands up. “And yeah I’m mad. I’m freakin’ pissed. You come in here thinking you’re invincible and you’re not Y/n. I’m mad because…” he paused, letting out a breath as he rubbed his face, hands running through his hair.

He looked at you then, expression softening as he calmed down a fraction. “Forget it.”

“No, not forget it,” you say, grabbing his wrist as he starts to walk away. His jaw was clenched as he looked down at you, swallowing thickly as the heaving of his chest slowed and his grip on the doorknob was tighter than ever.

This was the first time since you’d gotten back that he’d looked in your eyes for longer than a mere second or two. You knew he was on the brink of storming off to sulk in his own anger and guilt because that’s what he always did. You knew there was something more to it than just what he’d told you. He’d like to think that you’d believe that he wasn’t angry anymore, that he was over it. But Sam told you what happened back there, how upset he got with Ed and just how worried he’d been. It was growing increasingly obvious that there was more to it than that.

It was then that you noticed you’d still been holding onto his wrist and he didn’t pull away from you, didn’t make a move to.

You tilted your head to the side when you mulled things over, and that was when the sudden realization hit you like a ton of bricks, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t do that thing where you try and ‘read’ me,” he says, quoting the word.

“You were scared,” you said, smile widening a bit and he huffs, pulling his arm from your loose grip. You hit the nail right on the head.

“I was just doing what Bobby asked me to do,” he says, adamant that that was his reason for being as upset as he was. Definitely not over the feelings bubbling away in the pit of his stomach, just waiting to go ahead and boil over.

“No, you were scared, De,” you say as he starts to turn away from you in an attempt to hide the smile threatening to show. “You were scared that I got lost.”

You always did that. You always took his anger and made it something else entirely and he’d try his hardest to keep that wall up. He was mad at you, mad at you for putting yourself in the same kind of danger he allows himself to be in with every hunt he does. But if you keep poking and prodding him and calling him out on his true feelings with that smile that makes him weak in the knees he does know how long he’ll last.

“You got this all wrong, sweetheart.”

“Sam told me what happened with Ed back there.”

His expression changed, softened a bit before he played it off with that familiar smirk. “Yeah, Ed’s an idiot and he pushed my buttons.”

You nodded then, your smile more than telling that you didn’t believe a word he said. You heaved a sigh, a bit of disappointment burning in your chest at his words. Because maybe you did have it all wrong, maybe his stubborn reluctance to be honest was just him telling the truth. Maybe he was just doing what your dad asked him to do. Being protective was in his nature, you knew that for a fact.

You brushed past him on the porch and headed to the door, the chirping of the early morning birds sounding and giving you enough of a reminder that maybe you should go to bed. That maybe you’ll feel better with a few hours of sleep. That maybe they would be gone, Dean would be gone by the time you woke up and you wouldn’t have to face the fluttery feeling and the ache in your heart until the next time you see him.

You spin on your heel to find him already looking, your smile soft. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Without so much as a reply you twist the old brass doorknob, pushing the back door open before his hand grips your wrist. You turned back to look at him, brows furrowed as you gazed up at him. He swallows thickly as he looks at you, lips parting to speak but the very words he’d been thinking of so vividly were stuck on the top of his tongue.

His hand loosens around your wrist and the tips of his fingers slide down to your hand to envelope yours, calloused and warm and hesitant. He takes all but a few seconds of your curious gaze, of the questions sitting on your tongue before he dips down and presses his lips on yours. It’s soft, featherlight almost as he pulls away just as quickly.

He doesn’t stray too far, his nose brushing against yours as he swallows nervously, but the sight of your smile put him at ease. Had him kissing you with just a little more vigor as his hand drops yours in favor of pressing to your cheek, your own having settled in his arm. Your smiles mingle and press into each other, the kiss soft and languid as your cheeks burned under his touch.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” You murmur, and the way he hummed softly, the way he stole another kiss in favor of admitting you were was telling enough.

He pulls back to look at you, his lips kiss swollen and pink as the beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. His eyes bounce between yours and down to your lips, looking at you once more before he kisses you again. The anger he held is quick to melt when you look at him the way you do and he hates it, he loves it but he hates it because he really should be mad. You nearly got yourself killed and here he was weak in the knees and he knows you’ll be just as brave on the next hunt. He knows you’ll do just the same thing.

“Your dad’s gonna kill me,” he mumbles, smiling against your lips.

“Probably,” you say with a grin, his quiet laughter immediate as he pulls you closer.

But you were right. There was more to it than just protecting Bobby Singer’s daughter, there always was. As stubborn as Dean Winchester could be, you knew him better than that, and he knew you better than to believe you won’t make his heart race and his worry spike on every hunt after that. It’s just in your nature to be braver than ever.

But he’ll protect you each and every time.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @lanea-1 @campingmonkey

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you

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junisfics · 4 years ago

Text

Heavy Petting ft. Armin Arlert (Day V)

Focus: Heavy Petting

Warnings: Sexual Contact / Nsfw 18+

Word Count: 2k

They’ve been gone for three days, they should’ve been back within a few hours. Where the hell are they?

Armin left with the others days ago to go on a supply run. Days. This trip should have taken them only a few hours to get done. They’re on horseback, they should’ve been back ages ago.

“Stop sulking around waiting for them to get back, they most likely came across a live town and are trying to trade or something...” Eren explains.

He can’t blame me, how am I supposed to sit around doing nothing while Armin- they’re out there practically begging to be eaten alive.

I pace Mikasa and I’s shared room in the cottage, Eren sitting on her bed as I walk from door to window and back again.

“You need to drink or something, you’re livid.” He says.

“You need to stop acting like youre completely unbothered. I know it pisses you off just sitting here, you hate being excluded from helping.” I spit back.

“You’re just acting like a bitch because you don’t have an eye on Armin for once,” He stands up, “You’re obsessive.”

“I-I am not! I- at least I care! You let Mikasa be a suicidal hero for you and you sit around doing nothing in return!” I shout at him

“She’s just chopping wood, you need to relax.” He groans

“She was just thrown around, she needs to rest!”

“They’re back.” He mutters.

“Shut up you bastard- wait what?”

He stares blankly at the window before turning and making his way down the hall and downstairs. I’m on his heels, practically shoving him down the stairs before pushing past him. I hastily push open the door too see them getting off their horses and stabling them.

“Armin... Armin!” I cry out. I see his blond hair whip around as he turns to face me. He’s tying his horse back up into her stable.

“y/n! Sorry, we ended up getting turned around, it took a little longer than ex- oh.”

His sentence is cutoff as I run up to him and practically throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck, his own make their way around my torso and I hold myself flush against him.

“We were only gone a few days, are you alright?” He asks, speaking into my hair.

I let go of him and take a few steps back to look at him. His hair is coated in sweat and dirt that sticks to his forehead. It’s obvious they came in contact with a few titans, the give away being the cuts and bruises that litter his hands and face along with few rips in his clothes.

“Yeah, sorry. Are you?” My hands prod at him, inspecting any possible injuries I missed before. I take his hands in mine, examining the surface cuts. Then, I take his face in my hands and shifting it slightly to look over it. My eyes get caught at a thin gash below his left eye.

It was supposed to be just a little supply run, to get food and medical supplies, that’s it.

“Ah-” He grimaces, jerking back at my touch. I let go of him.

“Go wash up then meet me in the kitchen. I need to clean it.” I gesture my head to the house

He disappears off to the backyard where the water spout is and I make my way back inside, a little to quickly for that.

He’s alive. He’s alive. Relax, y/n.

I through the kitchen cabinets for my medical box. I’m pulling things and shoving things around when I realize I had leant it to Jean.

“Jean!” I shout

“Jesus, y/n, I’m right here, what do you want?” He sets down what I assume to be a sack of potatoes onto the counter.

“Where’s my med bag?” I ask.

“I put it in your room, under your bed. I didn’t know where else it’d go.”

It’s right where he says it was. I take it apart and pull out alcohol, gauze, needles and sutures. I lay it out accordingly onto the bedside table. Staring at it, shifting each tool an embarrassing amount of times.

Relax, he’s fine. He’s here.

“y/n?” Armin says, rounding the door frame.

His once dirt soaked hair is now clean and wet, messily hanging into his face. His shirt clings to his still damp skin. In the absence of the dirt I can now see bruises littered across his jaw and cheekbones. His forearms are all scratched up as well.

I pat beside me on the bed gently. He closes the door quietly and takes a seat beside me. I pour a bit of alcohol onto a gauze pad and hold him by his chin to keep him still. He winces when contact is met.

“Sorry, sorry” I mumble, wiping and patting at the gash below his eye.

When It’s as clean as I think it can get I reach for the sutures and tweezers, pushing it through the damaged skin as gently as I possibly can, “I’m sorry, I know”

I can feel his eyes boring into mine and I grow obviously uncomfortable as I try and complete my work.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks suddenly. His voice quiet, nervous.

I look down to his lips, a slit in the bottom one, then into his eyes. Slowly and sheepishly, I nod, letting my tools drop to the floor.

His lips meet mine, cold but soft. He takes my face in his hands and my own drop from his and reach around his neck to toy with his still damp hair.

My heart lurches out of my chest, his fingers gently tracing the skin of my cheekbones. His touch is overwhelming and I feel my own skin growing hot. I grab at the front of his shirt, twisting it into my fist to pull him closer.

I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about kissing Armin, actually, you’d have to be stupid to think I haven’t.

“I- closer, come closer... please.” Armin mumbles quietly, his hands pulling at my waist.

I hesitate, but only momentarily, then make my way closer, shifting inch by inch before something inside him snaps and he pulls me atop him. Our lips detach and my forehead rests against his, my legs straddling his waist but he remains upright, his back up against the wall.

“Armin..” I’m out of breath, my chest noticeably raising up and down with every pant.

“Fuck, just kiss me.” He pleads and I do. I tilt my head down so my mouth meets his again, this time with more passion.

His hands skim up and down my sides and back, touching almost any place he can without overstepping his boundaries. He needs more, I can feel it. It’s almost too much to handle, my body and senses completely flooded by him. He’s everywhere all at once.

I shift slightly to be flush against him my hands still around his neck, pulling him closer. His grip drops to my hips and squeezes them harshly before taking in a sharp inhale. Before I can kiss him again he tilts his head slightly so our noses bump together.

“You- God- you can’t do that... please.” This time he’s the one out of breath, overwhelmed and his skin hot.

My eyes closed and lips still searching for his as he pleads.

“You don’t- God, y/n, stop fucking moving.” He hisses, sitting up even more so to where his nose is in line with my jaw.

Hearing him swear is a rare occasion, let alone multiple times. It’s captivating, the sexuality of his frustration is so incredibly attractive.

His breath is hot on my neck, I can feel his lips tracing gently before kissing the tender flesh. My eyes flutter shut and my mouth drops open, a shiver goes down my spine and to my center.

Oh.

Tiny whimpers leave my lips and I feel his tongue lick up my jugular.

“Armin,” I breathe.

“I don’t want anything from you, just this... please.” His voice has dropped a few octaves.

It’s so much, but so not enough. I feel stupid, completely dumbed by him. My head is clouded and all I can even think about is him, his lips and his touch. His fingers are gentle as they slip under the hem of my shirt to tickle the skin there. Another pathetic sound escapes my mouth.

His hips shift and a wave of pleasure ripples through me.

“Armin, I-I can feel you.” I giggle quietly and he pinches the supple skin of my hips.

“Shit, I’m sorry- God” He groans into the skin below my jaw and ear, “It’s just- you’re just perfect.”

He sucks gently on my skin, marking the surface with little nips and bites every so often. The warm and wet gliding of his tongue along my skin has me shaking in his lap and every move I make I can feel him beneath me.

My hands rake down his chest and stomach then up under his shirt. The muscles of his stomach tense beneath my fingers. I never expected Armin to be so muscular, yes he’s rather lean but my fingers can feel the obvious divots between his abs.

As my hands feel over his hot skin, his chest begins to rise and fall at a more rapid pace. His once innocent hands begin to sheepishly travel towards my backside. I try to encourage him by arching my back ever so slightly... and I wouldn’t say that hurt our situation but it definitely didn’t... help.

A groan rumbles deep in his chest as I do so and his grip on my lower back releases so he can grab my face and pull me away from him. My hands rest on the bare skin of his chest as he looks into my eyes and holds my jaw between his hands.

“You drive me insane.” He says under his breath, more to himself than to me.

His thumb follows the dips and mounds of my lips before finding resting tenderly against the center of my bottom lip. He uses his thumb to pull it down before letting it flick back up.

I try to lean forward to catch his lips in mine but he holds me still. A tiny smile upturns the corners of his lips as I try again with no prevail, only bumping the tips of our noses together once more. My mouth hangs open faintly, begging him to kiss me again.

I dig my nails into his bare chest, scratching gently.

“Ah-shit” He hisses, his eyes fluttering closed and head resting back against the wall.

“Kiss me, please.” I whisper, “Please.”

He blushes, pulling his head off the wall and looking into my eyes. I will never be able to get over how absolutely beautiful he is. The cool depths of his blue eyes are captivating; the gentle rises and falls of the bone structure in his face, the flexing of his muscles with every movement is so incredibly alluring.

He taunts me, leaning in then leaning out once I do the same. His pretty teeth showing with every smile.

I open my mouth and poke out my tongue, taking it and reaching to lick at his open lips. He twitches beneath me and I snicker quietly.

“Hey y/n! Have you seen Armin, Eren wants- oh!” Sasha pushes open the door and I scramble off of him, stumbling to the floor and taking a seat there.

“Eren! I found him!” She calls to downstairs, then returns to us, “I knew it!”

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#armin arlert #armin arlert x reader #armin arlert smut #aot #attack on titan #twenty five days of smut

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an-aura-about-you · 2 years ago

Text

February 3rd, 2386

The Thread of the Idol

From the Files of the STP

In this, the final entry, we see Jon's initial vision when he took Frehorn's Blade:

Malcolm Somerset is so very sick.

Sick of being gawked at like an animal. Sick of being trapped in a small cell. Sick of being called the Mephistopheles Killer, sick to the teeth of being forced to carry the blame for so many deaths he didn’t cause and didn’t want. Sick with himself because even if he didn’t do it he is capable of it. Sick with reliving that one pivotal moment over and over again when he pushed his father down the stairs and heard the sickening crack of his skull and blood pooling on the floor, dead so his son could steal his name and escape to the stars.

But most of all, he is sick of the Caretaker.

He’s so goddamn calm about everything. Nothing matters to him except, apparently, making sure events happen as he saw them happen. He was the one who convinced him to kill his father, assured him he wouldn’t get caught.

(“You wouldn't have been caught had the Mephistopheles left that locker alone,” the Caretaker replies to that. Jon holds this information in the front of his mind.)

So here they are now, the cell where Malcolm will live the rest of his life, and the Caretaker just shows up without any sign of actually entering the room and talks about how this will be their last meeting.

Good. Because Malcolm is done with the Caretaker and his circular destiny talk

“I don’t care about you or any of your bullshit,” Malcolm tells him. “Just get me out of here and you’ll never hear from me again, I swear.”

“I very much doubt that,” the Caretaker says with the easy air of one examining their nails for dirt. “But rest assured, I am here to release you.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Just use the key and leave by the door.”

“What?” Why did he even fucking ask when he knew the answer was going to be something like that? Malcolm refrains from screaming and tries for speaking to a particularly dim child. He turns towards the door to his cell and says, “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but the lock is on the outside.”

“I’m not talking about THAT door,” the Caretaker replies.

“What are you talking about?!” he demands, whipping back around only to find the Caretaker has disappeared.

Of fucking course.

Malcolm settles in, wondering why he bothered to expect anything. If he’s being honest, nothing truly good has happened to him since he dropped out of college. Not sure why he expected that to change, especially when the one thing he tried to do for himself hinged on his crime not being discovered, a fragile assumption at best.

Then something happens that has never happened before: Malcolm receives a package in his door’s drop. He retrieves it and opens it up, and he doesn’t know what he sees.

(But Jon does.)

Malcolm stares at Frehorn’s Blade, turning it this way and that to examine the strange knife. Then he hears it, a dull pulsing in his ears. He moves back to the far wall of his cell, and he can feel it thrumming there. The wall panel is loose, and he pulls it away.

There is the door.

It is firm but still has a bit of give to the touch, unusually pale and very slightly mottled.

(“Like freckles,” Jon thinks.)

Malcolm finds what looks to be a keyhole, but it is only the shape and doesn’t actually have a hole. It’s there the pulse is at its strongest.

(Jon can feel the pulse under his fingertips.)

With no other option available to him, Malcolm plunges the knife in.

The door opens.

There is a staircase before him, and he begins his descent. The further he goes down, the clearer everything becomes. When looking at everything from the outside, there is no appreciable difference between the past and fate. You make a choice, and you write it down in action, and no matter how many times you look at it afterward it is what you were going to do. The past, the present, the future, they are all the same. You cannot divorce outcome from history any more than you can movement from dance. The step is decided and waiting for a dancer, and one always comes to take the place.

As Malcolm steps into his place, he understands everything. He guided himself the entire way. Everything was waiting for him to catch up, and now he has met destiny and the bliss of that understanding. Before he realized the truth of it, he was her slave. Now that he is free from Body and its constraints under the relentless passage of time, now that he is a being of pure Mind and Soul, he can be her lover.

He is meant to take care of things.

And he will.

#tma #chzo mythos #aura's fanfiction #on this day in aura's tma/chzo mythos fanfiction

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Note

half-spider half-human yandere with a darling who has arachnophobia

I think I’ve just been in a Yandere!Monster mood this week - I don’t know how else to explain what I’ve been posting, recently. Can you blame me, though? They’re so easy to run from, so easy to be afraid of… It’s only natural that they make good Yanderes.

Title: Arachnophobia.

TW: Spiders, Dehumanization, Mentions of Injury, and Mentions of Death.

It’d always been the legs, for you.

You weren’t squeamish. If it hadn’t been for the legs, you wouldn’t mind spiders at all. The uncharacteristic fuzz that coated their bodies, those unblinking eyes that were too big and too small at the same time, their distorted proportions and awful fangs and general wrongness, you could take all of that, even if you didn’t care for it. Their legs were the only thing that got to you, the only thing that made you fear the tiny, harmless creatures beyond all reason. You weren’t blind, you knew there were much worse things to be scared of, and yet, nothing sent a chill up your spine like the thought of an insect no bigger than your thumb crawling up the back of your leg or finding its way into your hair, its steps so light and silent, you wouldn’t know its there, not until it’s already made its fangs at home under your skin. It’s irrational, or, it was irrational, at least. It used to be.

Ikto wasn’t harmless. You didn’t have to tell yourself not to be afraid of him.

If anything, you should be more afraid than you’ve ever been. It wasn’t like he hadn’t given you a reason to be.

You cried out as you collapsed, the noise somewhere between a defeated sigh and a desperate scream, too quiet to do you any good but too loud to go unnoticed in the stillness of the darkened forest. It’d been childish to go into the woods alone, it’d been stupid, and you’d known that when you came up with the idea. Still, you hadn’t thought it’d been stupid enough to get you killed. The legends told of a creature who spun web like rope, who could string up a group of hunters in translucent silk so quickly, they wouldn’t have time to notice they were being trapped, not before it was too late to get away. You weren’t a hunter, though, and you didn’t mean him any harm. You’d told yourself that a glimpse would be enough for you to overcome your fear, all you needed to do was look at him, and you’d never think twice about the spiders in your garden or the dark corners of your home again. But, you’d tripped, made a mistake, stepped on the wrong branch at the wrong time and earned a throbbing ankle and the attention of a monster for your efforts. It was so hard to navigate through cobwebs when you were running. It was so hard to navigate at all when you were crying.

And, as you collapsed to the dirt, weak sobs still racking over your chest as pain shot from your heel to your knee like hot trails of pure fire, you began to wish he’d just killed you when you interrupted his meal. That would’ve been kinder than letting you think you might’ve had a chance.

After a moment, you forced yourself to grit your teeth, moving to push yourself up, but it was already a moment too late. Without warning, without sound, something tapered and unyielding dug into the space between your shoulder blades, pushing you flat against the ground and giving you a minute to fight back, only pulling away then you failed to struggle against its strength. You already knew what it was, what it had to be, but you still found yourself holding back a gasp as you were unceremoniously dragged onto your back, clenching your eyes shut in an effort to delay the inevitable. It was an exercise in futility, but you didn’t open them again.

Not until something soft and familiar brushed against your cheek, and your entire body jerked up involuntarily. You had to fight not to scream, the awareness of just how dead you were making the pangs of your injury pale, in comparison.

If Ikto had any intention of making your slaughter swift, though, you couldn’t tell. He simply towered above you, watching with four pairs of eyes as you scrambled back, using what was less of your courage to put an arm’s length of distance between you and your hunter. You had to wonder why you’d ever thought you stood a chance against him. Standing, you would’ve only come to his waist, to the junction where his grey, thick flesh faded into a black exoskeleton, so sleek and so impenetrable, you knew the tiny dagger you’d brought for your protection would be useless before it was even in your hand. You could barely see his face, but you didn’t have to. Everything, from the mocking tilt of his head to the way his shoulders tensed and bounced upward in a stifled laugh, made his amusement clear. His tone did little to aid your blossoming humiliation, the heavy drawl only making you bow your head, your fear nearly overpowered by misplaced embarrassment. “I thought you’d be faster, human.”

You bit the side of your tongue, but you were speaking before you could stop yourself. More to quell your own nerves than to get on his. “I thought you’d be a better hunter, beast.”

That earned a breath of a chuckle, so airy and so dry, you might’ve missed it if he had anything to compete with. Unfortunately, no animals skittered from tree to tree to distract you, no birds sang to divert your attention. You couldn’t blame the woodland creatures for making themselves scarce. You’d avoid Ikto too, if you had a choice. “Awfully brave for someone who just stumbled into my web,” He started, bringing a hand - a human hand, thankfully - up to his chest, pouting in an exaggerated show of his offense. Despite his size, he moved soundlessly, stepping between dead leaves and over obstacles in a slow, seamless circle around you as he continued. Evaluating you, only speaking to keep himself entertained. “I was having such a nice night, too. No heroes come to slay me, no champions shouting to face me to prove their worth, no interruptions. Just me and my prey.” This time, you got a sigh. A shake of his head. A step too close, a spindly leg coming just a breath too near, leaving you shaking and digging your nails into the dirt, trembling as he looked on. “And then you came along and ruined it.”

“I’m lost.” The lie was spat hastily, forced out too quickly to be believable. This time, when he edged closer, you brought your knees up to your chest, curling into yourself defensively. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I don’t want to be here, I’m just… I can’t find my way home. I don’t know what to do. If you let me go--”

“If I let you go, you’ll get stuck in one of my webs and I’ll find you weeks later, starved and dehydrated and begging for my help.” He paused, pursing his lips, settling in front of you. When he crouched, his knees bending into jagged points and his arachnid stomach nearly brushing against the ground, you went tense, but you didn’t dare to move. You didn’t dare to look at him. You didn’t dare to think, not when it felt like he was prying into your mind a little more with every second he spent staring you down. “It might be nice. I’ve never heard someone plead for my help rather than my mercy. I try not to play with my food, but I wasn’t expecting something so small and so tempting to stumble into my territory. Certainly not something with the nerve to expect me to believe such a boring excuse.” A growl seemed to edge its way into his voice, absent of the primal reverberation it should’ve contained, full of something manufactured, painfully learned. You might’ve felt sorry for him, if he hadn’t been close enough for you to see the dozens of harsh, pointed teeth that prevented him from bridging the gap. “Are you that eager to get this over with, human? Do you want to die?”

You didn’t hesitate, shaking your head furiously as his smile returned. Unconsciously, your fingers twitched, ready to search the satchel strapped to your side for any weapon you could find, but in the blink of an eye, the burlap sack was speared through, flicked to the side with little more than a tear of fabric and the rattle of its content. “Please, I didn’t mean to--”

“I’ll compromise.” Again, he cut you off, standing to his full height, taking your wrist as he did so and dragging you to your feet, his grip not loosening when you winced, attempting to favor the foot that wasn’t trying to detach itself from your body. “I won’t kill you. I’ll take you back to my den, make sure you’re attended to, but you have to come with me willingly. Say you’ll behave, and I’ll make sure you don’t have to limp your way into the loving jaws of the nearest wolf.”

You didn’t respond, but you flinched, and that was enough of an answer for Ikto. With a sharp, sudden pull, you were off of your feet entirely, dragged against him and held there with one arm, his free hand pressing against the back of your head, encouraging you to lean into him, to be affectionate. You wanted to push yourself away, to tell him you didn’t need his pity, that you’d rather take your chances with the most rabid of dogs than with try your luck with him, but your ankle pulsed and your body ached and you needed his help more than you wanted not to. And when Ikto began to walk, when you caught a glimpse of a long, inhumane leg moving easily over the uneven terrain, you weren’t sure if you could even move.

You weren’t sure if running was an option, not if he’d be the one chasing you.

“It gets lonely, occasionally,” He admitted, his voice so soft, you almost didn’t hear him. You almost wished you hadn’t been listening, by the time he thought to go on.

“And I’ve always liked the idea of keeping a pet.”

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polaroid15 · 4 years ago

Text

Guy in the Chair

Summary: Having a superhero for a best friend isn’t easy. But with the help of Mr. Stark, Ned things he might just be able to swing it.

Or, 5 times Ned was there for Peter and 1 time they were there for each other.

Read on Ao3 here.

-----

Ned hates funerals.

But mostly he hates seeing Peter in so much pain.

He sits beside his friend now, silent and relieved to be hearing him breathe evenly. The service for Ben had ended less than an hour ago. Overwhelmed, Peter had let Ned guide him away from the grave. They’re close enough to see May kneeling beside the freshly upturned dirt, her head in her hands, but far enough away that Peter no longer hyperventilates.

The cement bench they sit on is freezing. Snow comes up to their ankles. Both are shivering but too numb to move.

“Peter?”

Nothing.

Expecting it, Ned looks to his friend. Peter is curled in on himself, eyes open with frozen tear tracks running all the way down to his chin. He doesn’t give off any external cues that he’s heard Ned’s prompt, his sight unseeing.

“Peter?” he tries again, and when it still doesn’t elicit a response, he reaches out cold fingers to rest on Peter’s arm. Lightly, carefully, like he’s touching something fragile. “Hey man. You with me?”

Eyebrows creasing, Ned watches as a glimmer of coherence returns to Peter’s eyes. And with it, pain. Sharp and raw. Peter sucks in a long breath that rattles in his chest- like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in hours. It blows out in a puff of air that obscures the grave ahead of them.

“Peter.”

With some confusion, Peter swivels his head. He reaches a trembling hand to his face and uses his fingertips to feel the ice on his skin. “N-Ned?” he stammers. “I- when did we... I don’t remember coming over here.”

“It’s okay man. We came after the service.”

“May?”

“Over there. She’s okay.”

Breathing deep again, Peter’s eyes shine with new moisture. He buries his head deep into his elbow and leaves it there, his knuckles white where they clutch at his coat. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “God, I’m going crazy.”

Ned’s stomach hollows out. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I am,” Peter sniffs. “It’s cold.”

“It’s not that cold.”

Peter lifts his head and offers Ned a weak smile, though it falls fast. He hopes it isn’t permanent. “I just- I can’t believe he’s really gone.”

Ned bites his lip. He hadn’t known Peter when his parents had died, but he knows well enough from their sleepovers that he wakes up in cold sweats. He also knows that Peter has a tendency to blame himself for things that aren’t his fault, that he walks as if the world is on his shoulders.

And Peter had been there. In the alley. He had tried to keep Ben alive as he bled out.

And it didn't work. God, why couldn’t it have worked?

“Me either.”

Peter chokes on his next breath. Holds it. “What- what are we going to do without him?”

“Peter-”

“May can’t…I can’t-” Peter breaks off, gasping. “He can’t be gone.”

Words are impossible. Ned reaches deep within himself and whispers, “I’m sorry Peter. I’m so sorry.”

Peter’s lip wobbles. His eyes fill until there’s nowhere for the tears to go but out. At the same time they reach for each other, and Ned holds onto Peter as if it’s his sole purpose in this life. “It’s my fault Ned,” Peter sobs into his shoulder. “I couldn’t save him. It was me. He’s d-dead because of me.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“We had a fight,” Peter continues, delirious in his grief. “We had a fight and he died and I should’ve been able to save him.”

“It’s not your fault, man. What happened to Ben was terrible, but it wasn’t your fault, okay? He wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself. You know that.”

Peter tries to speak but is crying too hard for Ned to make out the words. So instead he pats Peter’s back and hugs him as hard as he can. He holds on. He whispers ‘he loved you’ and ‘it’s not your fault’ in between Peter’s sobs. He’s not sure how long it goes on for. He feels like a skipping record, his condolences an endless loop.

Eventually, Peter’s head lolls against Ned’s cheek. He stops crying. Stops everything. “I’m sorry,” he says. Then, more sure, “you’re a good friend, Ned. Thanks- thanks for being here with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Always,” Ned says. It’s a promise, a vow. “No matter what.”

And with every nerve in his body, he means it.

------

Peter is Spider-Man.

In a way, Ned still feels the aftershocks of the surprise. It hits him over and over again whenever he sees Peter with a limp or a bruise, or a cut that he can tell from it’s scar Peter had stitched himself.

But it’s nothing in comparison to Homecoming.

What’s supposed to be a fun night turns into a full out adrenaline high with life or death stakes. Instead of dancing, he fires Peter’s web shooters and works tirelessly in the computer lab. Being the guy in the chair.

And then there’s silence. An awful, consuming silence.

Ned expects Peter to come back to the party, and when he doesn’t, he tries calling. All thirteen calls go straight to voicemail.

He tries again now.

“Hey, it’s Peter. I promise I’m not ignoring you. Uh, leave a message. Thanks.”

Failing to ignore his worry, Ned drags his aching feet home. His mom is working a late shift at the hospital so he unlocks the door to his apartment and flicks on the lights, rubbing at his face in exhaustion.

He barely makes it two steps before he hears it.

A thud, like something heavy hitting hardwood.

Ned grabs the item closest to him, an umbrella propped up in the corner by the door and walks with caution towards his bedroom where the noise came from. Not for the first time that night, his heart beats viciously in his chest. Did Liz’s dad figure out he was helping Peter? Did the guy from the bus lot follow him home?

“Hello?” he calls, wincing when his voice shakes. He holds the umbrella a little tighter, the thin metal sticks digging into his palm. “Who- who’s there?”

When there’s no answer he pauses outside his door and cranes for clues. Hearing nothing, he braces himself before kicking open the door. The first thing he sees is his open window, and then-

“Oh my God! Peter!”

His friend is slumped under the glass, pale and covered in sweat and blood. Though his eyes are half lidded, he smiles at Ned when he sees him. “Why’re you holding an umbrella?” he slurs.

Ned dips his head to look at the makeshift weapon before tossing it to the side. His hands are shaking horribly. “I thought- I thought someone broke in!”

“Well technically,” Peter coughs, wincing, “I did break in.”

“It’s different,” Ned says, his legs like jelly as he stumbles forward. He kneels beside Peter and holds his hands out gingerly, sure whatever part of Peter he touches will shatter. “What the hell happened to you?”

Peter frowns. There’s too much blood. “I crashed Mr. Stark’s plane,” he says.

“What?”

“Liz’s dad was trying to steal it. I stopped him though.”

“You’re hurt.”

“I get hurt all the time.”

“Not like this,” Ned argues, and Peter’s eyes darken.

“I’m okay,” he whispers.

Grinding his nails into his knees, Ned shakes his head. Peter hasn’t moved since he found him, his arms curled tightly around his chest. “Why’d you come here?”

Gaping, Peter pales further. “Oh. I didn’t... I’m sorry-”

“No,” Ned says quickly. “Not like that. I mean, isn’t Mr. Stark supposed to help you with stuff like this?”

Peter closes his eyes, his face shadowed. “Mr. Stark doesn’t want to see me anymore. He ended things, remember?”

“But if he knew you were hurt-”

“Ned.”

“You’re bleeding really bad. I don’t know how to help you.”

Peter smiles again, but it’s sad. Broken, like the day of Ben’s funeral. It makes Ned feel sick. “Can I use your shower?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Definitely. I’m covered in sand and ash and concrete-” Peter shudders, eyes becoming distant for a moment. “Please?”

“Right. Of course, man. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks.”

Peter tries to stand but needs Ned’s help in the end. They limp to the bathroom together and Ned helps Peter pull the top half of his suit off because Peter can’t lift his arms above his head. Peter is quiet during the process, but Ned doesn’t miss the way he sways and bites his lip.

When the suit is finally stripped away, Ned is sure he’ll have nightmares of for the rest of his life. Impossibly dark bruising covers nearly every inch of his friend’s skin, puncture marks still leaking blood and surrounded by countless smaller cuts and scrapes. He notices that Peter doesn’t look in the mirror. He doesn’t even look down, his hands shaking as he stares in determination at the opposite wall.

It’s only now that Ned truly understands the weight of what Peter is taking on. That having superpowers comes with a cost.

I just wanted to be like you, Peter had told Mr. Stark.

And I want you to be safe, thinks Ned, aching.

“Peter,” he whispers. He feels strangely detached from his body, as if he’s viewing the massacre through someone else’s eyes. “This- this is really bad. Like, hospital bad.”

Peter doesn’t argue, which Ned knows is a bad sign. Instead, his eyes glisten as if he’s about to cry. “I heal fast.”

“But-”

“I’m going to shower now.”

“Peter.”

“Ned please. I know you mean well, but- but I can’t think about it right now, okay? I just need to shower and then I’ll be okay.”

Ned stills. Swallows. Then, with great reluctance, he nods. “Okay.”

Looking weak with relief, Peter gives him a watery smile. When he speaks, his voice cracks. “Thanks man. I- I really owe you one.”

“It’s nothing. Guy in the chair, remember?”

“Thanks Ned.”

After their handshake, Ned leaves. It takes a minute of standing by the bathroom door and breathing intently through his nose to get his heart to calm. When it does, his pocket vibrates. He pulls out his phone, expecting it to be his mom.

Instead, it’s an unknown number.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Ned answers, making sure to move away from the bathroom. “Hello?”

There’s staticy silence. Then, heavy breathing. “Is this Peter’s friend?”

“Who’s this?”

“I’ll take that as a yes. This is Happy Hogan. You called me earlier.”

An unexpected surge of anger makes his ears hot. Hand tightening around the phone, Ned doesn’t try to keep the annoyance from his voice. “What do you want?”

Happy sighs. “Peter. Have you seen him?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Now. He’s at my apartment.”

More silence. Ned paces.

“How is he?” Happy asks finally.

“Why do you care?” Ned snaps. His heart is beating fast again. He can hear it in the base of his eardrums. “I tried to warn you earlier and you hung up on me.”

“Kid, listen-”

“He’s not okay,” Ned interrupts. “He’s hurt really bad. And he wouldn’t be if you had just listened.”

Ned expects deflection, but Happy’s words surprise him with their concern. “Wait. Peter’s hurt?”

It leaches his anger. “Yeah.”

“Can I talk to him?”

Ned opens his mouth to respond but pauses at the sound of a muffled conversation on the other end of the line. There’s a short struggle and then a new voice fills his ears. One that he’s more than familiar with.

“Ted, right?” Tony Stark asks. “Put Peter on the phone. Pronto. ASAP.”

“I- I-”

“He’s with you, isn’t he?” the man urges.

“I- yes.”

“Well then?”

Ned, despite how freaking cool it is to be talking to Iron Man, can’t help but feel a streak of protectiveness for his friend. “He didn’t call you for a reason.”

Tony is quiet, which Ned doesn’t expect. He plows on. “He thinks you don’t care. And maybe you don’t. But you can’t just choose when you want to help him. He’s here and he’s hurt, and I’m just about the least qualified person to be helping him. There’s blood on my floor and my mom is going to freak out-”

“Take a breath kid,” Tony interjects, his voice pinched. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Just let me talk to him.”

“He’s in the shower.”

“We’ll come pick him up, then. What’s your address?”

Ned closes his eyes, feeling two seconds away from a breakdown. He should be excited, but instead he just feels hollow. How did this become my life?

He rattles off his address and hangs up before Tony can respond. Then he sits on his floor beside Peter’s blood and cries silently into his hands.

-------

Ned tries to talk to Peter about Homecoming, but his friend just defects. Ned tries not to let it bother him.

But it does.

Physically, Peter recovers quickly. The ugly cuts and bruises disappear after the weekend, but the weariness that accompanies them never really leaves. The dark circles under Peter’s eyes get worse everyday and it’s harder to get a genuine smile out of his friend.

It all comes to a head on Wednesday.

They’re in the hall grabbing textbooks from their lockers between classes. Peter has been especially quiet today and Ned has done his best not to say anything about it. He’s reaching for his physics binder when it happens.

A loud crash, the sound of metal hitting the floor. Heart jumping, Ned spins to see a table flipped on its side beside a group of snickering kids. He exhales, shaking his head. “Man, that scared me.” He turns to Peter to laugh it off and freezes, insides turning to ice.

“Peter?”

His friend has lost all the color in his face, his eyes wide, unblinking, and staring out at nothing. When he doesn’t respond Ned takes a step forward to nudge his arm and Peter flinches back as if burned, hitting one of their classmates who scowls and pushes him off.

Peter barely manages to catch himself, his chest heaving like he’s just finished running a marathon. More careful this time, Ned grabs Peter’s elbow and steers him away from the hall and towards the bathroom. When they get there Peter detaches himself from Ned’s grip and stumbles until he hits the wall, sliding down to curl into a ball on the dirty tile. Now that it’s quieter, Ned can hear just how strained his breathing is.

“Peter?” he asks softly, squatting down to his level. “You’re scaring me man. What’s going on?”

Peter looks up at him helplessly, clutching at his chest as he pales further. “S-sorry. Just- ah. Gimme a minute.”

Ned opens his mouth to argue but closes it decidedly. The door to the bathroom swings open behind them and Ned shoos the freshman who appears away with his hands.

Peter’s upbeat ringtone cuts through the tension. Obviously not coordinated enough to answer, Ned helps Peter pull it out of his pocket and stills at the contact.

“It’s Mr. Stark,” Ned says in awe. “What- what do I do?”

“Don’ answer it-”

But his thumb is already on the green. He gives Peter a panicked look of apology before yanking the device up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Ted? Why do you have Peter’s phone?”

“It’s Ned. And he- he can’t really talk right now.”

Tony curses. “Is he with you? His watch sent me a spike in his vitals. Don’t tell me he’s actively bleeding out.”

Peter must hear what he’s saying because he groans, his breathing becoming increasingly laboured. He sticks his head between his knees and digs his knuckles into the tile until tiny cracks appear under the pressure.

“He’s not bleeding out,” Ned assures. “He’s- well, I don’t really know what’s happening. He said he can’t breathe.”

“Damn it. Damn it. Okay. He’s having a panic attack. Put me on speaker.”

“But-”

“Now, Ned!”

Gulping, Ned obliges. He holds out the phone between himself and Peter like some sort of offering and feels some distant part of him relax as Tony takes control.

“Pete?” Tony asks, his voice sharp and clear. “Focus on my voice kiddo. Alright? Imagine that I’m there with you.”

“Mr. St-Stark-’

“Shh, kiddo. It’s okay. I’m going to help you breathe. I need you to tell me five things you can see. Can you do that?”

Eyes gaining some clarity, Ned watches them wander. “Uh, Ned. The phone. The- the sinks. A mirror. And- and, uh. Paper towel.”

“Bathroom. Classy. Alright, now four things you can touch.”

“Ground. Wall. C-clothes. Backpack.”

“Good, kiddo. You’re doing so well. Keep breathing. Three things you can hear?”

“You. Ned. Kids outside.”

With every answer, the tension in Tony’s own voice seems to ease. For some reason, it softens some of the resentment Ned’s been holding against the man ever since the ferry incident. He continues with urgency. “Two things you can smell?”

“Soap. Sweat.”

“Good. And one thing you can taste?”

Peter exhales, long and slow. He closes his eyes. “Spearmint.”

“That’s great,” Tony encourages. “Feeling any better?”

At this, Peter’s face scrunches up as if he’s about to start crying. Instead, he relaxes more fully against the wall and reaches up to wipe his eyes. “Yeah, Mr. Stark. That’s better. I’m really sorry-”

“Nope,” Tony interrupts. “Gonna stop you right there kid. We’ll talk in person. I can be there in twenty.”

“What?” Peter stalls, eyebrows drawing together. “I have class.”

“Not anymore. See you soon. Ned, can I talk to you real quick?”

Another shot of adrenaline spiking through him, Ned fumbles with the phone until it’s off speaker and pushes it up against his face, though he knows full well Peter will still be able to hear. “Yeah Mr. Stark?”

A short pause. “Has this happened before?”

“Not at school.”

“And not at school?”

Peter looks down at his shoes. Ned frowns. “I don’t know.”

Tony sighs. “Thanks for watching out for him. Do you know what triggered it?”

“Um. A table got flipped over. It was really loud.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. Damn it. Can you stay with him until I get there? Give him water and make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. You got that?”

“Yeah. Yes. Of course.”

He doesn’t get a response, the line going dead. He pulls it away in disbelief and sets it on the floor. Peter smirks weakly at him from where he’s slumped against the wall. “It’s okay,” he mumbles. “He hangs up on everyone.”

------

For a while, it gets better.

“Ned! Oh my God- MJ said yes! I’m freaking out man!”

Stomach dropping with excitement, Ned spins a full 360 in his room, hands reaching up to his hair. “No freaking way! I told you!”

Peter’s excited rambling continues through his phone. It makes Ned’s heart soar. “What do I do? Where do I take her? The movies? The park?”

“Swinging through New York,” Ned offers with a smile, and Peter laughs.

“No, seriously. It needs to be perfect.”

“Laser tag?”

“Don’t forget that I’m broke, man.”

“How about the Pride Parade? That’s happening this weekend. Seems like her kind of thing.”

Peter pauses, warmth filling the other end of the line. “That’s perfect! God, you’re a genius. Thanks man!”

“You owe me,” he teases.

“I so do. We still on for the death star 2.0 tonight?”

“Wise is Yoda the most?”

Peter laughs again. It’s nice. “Right. See you soon.”

“See you.”

When Ned hangs up, tears bite at his eyes.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s heard Peter so happy.

--------

Of course, it doesn’t last long.

Ned gets the text during band practice.

It’s from Peter and the empty seat next to him feels more pronounced. He almost ignores it, feeling, despite reason, a deep bitterness for his loneliness. But the message is short.

Help.

Ned nearly tilts out of his chair, his mouth adopting a strange metallic quality and his stomach dropping down to his toes. Before he can even get his shaking hands to cooperate another message lights his screen.

Bleachers.

Ned stands before he can process how strange it must look. His teacher, Miss Gregerson, raises her pencil thin eyebrows. “Ned? What is it?”

“Bathroom,” he blurts, and parts the music stands blocking his exit before she can say another word. He hears laughter follow him but can’t find it within himself to care, his heart beating loud in his ears as he jogs through the empty hallways. Peter needs you. Something is wrong.

He had thought having a best friend for a superhero would be cool. But the longer the time stretches, the more Ned realizes how much sleep he’s been losing over his friend’s safety.

Please don’t be dying.

Ned bursts through the back doors and trips his way down the hill to the track. The yard is empty, filtered with pink and orange light from the sinking sun. It’s warm and the air is still, but the deep sense of foreboding doesn’t leave him.

“Peter?” he calls, even though the bleachers are distant and his throat is closing with fear. He walks faster and it’s only when his feet hit the red dirt of the track that he sees Peter’s hunched form. He’s sitting on the lowest step of the bleacher, his face pinched and the edges of his suit showing from his open backpack. He’s pale and covered in sweat, and when he sees Ned, he sags, his eyes fluttering with what can only be a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

“Peter,” Ned repeats, skidding to his friend’s side. His hands hover, unsure again what to do or how to help. Assess the problem, his mind supplies. Find out what’s hurt.

It doesn’t take long. He follows Peter’s tense posture to his hand, which is clamped down hard over his side. His skin is painted red underneath, the material of his dark shirt shining in the fading light. There’s a cut on his temple that bleeds too, and Ned notices how hard Peter is trying to concentrate on his form, his eyes seeming incapable of adjusting.

“Hey man,” he croaks.

“Oh my God,” Ned breathes. His whole body is shaking now. Weak. Because he’s not equipped for this. “What happened?”

Peter struggles to process his question, blinking heavy and biting hard on his bottom lip. Then he swallows, sways, and musters a weak smile. “Stabbed. Long knife.”

When Peter falls to the side, Ned has to lunge to catch him, supporting his entire weight against his body. The new position allows him to see the blood that’s been pooling on the metal where Peter’s been sitting. A distant part of his brain wonders if the stain it’ll leave will be permanent.

“You need to go to a hospital,” Ned says. Peter’s head is pressed hard into his rib cage. They’re both shaking, their breaths uneven and loud.

“No,” Peter says. “You can help.”

“I can’t.”

“Please.”

It’s desperate. More desperate than Ned’s ever heard his friend. Even after Homecoming. “Peter-” he starts, but there’s no words to convey the weight in his chest.

“We can fix this,” Peter says. “We can fix it.”

“You’re bleeding too much.”

“I just need some help.” Peter lifts himself away with Ned with trembling arms. He’s even more pale, his skin close to translucent. He struggles with the side pocket on his backpack before revealing a small sewing kit. He transfers it into Ned’s palm where it leaves a thick smudge of red. He stares at it for a long time and won’t realize until much later that he’s in shock.

“What?” he stutters, transfixed by how much blood is on the sewing kit.

“My hands... my hands are shaking too much to thread the needle.”

Ned stares. He’s numb.

“Ned?” Peter prompts. He reaches out a hand and bracelets Ned’s wrist in his blood. “Can you- can you thread the needle for me?” he pauses, and almost sheepishly, he smiles. “I need my guy in the chair.”

It’s like a damn breaking. Ned snaps back into awareness, sad, angry, and unable to fully comprehend why. Guy in the chair.

“I’ll help you,” he says, “but not in the way you want.”

Before Peter can protest, Ned pulls out his phone. He dials in the number and tries to ignore the way Peter’s chest falls, or how a tear cuts a line through the grime on his face.

“Mr. Stark?” he asks when the line connects. “I need your help.”

In the background, Ned can already hear the mechanical thrum of what can only be a suit being activated. Mr. Stark doesn’t question it. He doesn’t waste time. “I’ll be there in three minutes,” he says, and then the line disconnects.

Peter blinks slow. His lip trembles. “I wish you didn’t do that,” he says.

And then he collapses.

Ned cries out as he catches him. His shirt will be ruined. Peter’s head lolls sickeningly against his neck, his arms going limp at his sides. Acting on instinct alone, Ned reaches to put pressure over the still bleeding wound in Peter’s side. It’s warm and he gags. His eyes burn with tears.

“P-Peter?” he cries, but Peter remains still against him. He wonders if this is how Peter had felt when Ben had died, and for the first time understands the guilt Peter had pinned on himself. “Wake up, man. Mr. Stark is coming. He’s going to- he’s going to help.”

But Peter doesn’t wake up. He doesn’t even twitch until Mr. Stark hits the dirt hard beside them, his suit retracting from his face to reveal a look of complete terror. It catches Ned off guard, but not as much as the way Mr. Stark gently maneuvers Peter out of Ned’s arms and into his own lap.

“Hey Underoos,” Mr. Stark says. His voice is soft but urgent. He taps on Peter’s face and brushes back his hair. “This isn’t a good look, kiddo.”

Ned is frozen. Stuck. He feels the tacky wetness of blood on his hands and is unable to look at them.

“Pete,” Mr. Stark continues, louder this time. “Wake up. That’s an order.”

Ned holds his breath as Peter’s eyes open to slits. They’re hazy, confused, but his lips manage to quirk up into a smile that betrays the pain in his eyes. “Tony,” he whispers.

Mr. Stark sags and Ned can practically see the relief leak out of him. He plays with Peter’s hair, his free hand pressed down hard against the worst of the bleeding. “You never do things halfway, do you kid?” he asks with a smile that even Ned can tell is for Peter’s benefit alone. “If it weren’t for Ned, you’d be six feet under right about now.”

Peter’s eyes drift to find Ned. His smile widens when they connect. “He’s my guy in the chair,” he slurs.

Tony hugs Peter tighter and Ned is struck just how paternal the hero is acting. Like Peter is the most important thing in the world. A lot has changed since Homecoming, he realizes. “Let’s get you some help, buddy. You up for a flight?”

But Peter doesn’t seem to hear. His eyes are still glued to Ned. He doesn’t speak, but Ned understands anyway.

Tony stands, bringing Peter up with him, and Peter goes limp once more. Ned doesn’t miss the way Tony’s breath hitches or the urgency in his movements. He stops before he takes off, regarding Ned with a look of gratitude. “Happy is on his way to pick you up. Wait here for him, okay?”

Ned can only nod, and when they both disappear into the air, he sinks to the ground. It takes hours for the blood on his hands to wash off, and when he finally makes it to Peter’s room in medbay, he finds Tony Stark with his head pillowed on Peter’s thigh. They’re both sleeping, their arms linked.

And for the first time, it all makes sense.

------

It’s been two weeks since the blip’s reversal.

They’re back at school. Ned shuffles awkwardly at his locker, uncomfortable, like his skin is on too tight. Graduation pictures of his classmates hang on the wall.

Five years.

A deep, unrelenting sadness pulls at his heart. He should be happy to be back, but he’s not. Not really. His little sister, who what seems like yesterday was half his height, now reaches his chin. The calendar in his room is useless.

So much time.

Across the hall, he sees Peter. It calms the sharp edges of his anxiety and as if mirroring his own relief, he sees his friend’s shoulders lose their tension. Ned begins walking towards him and Peter drifts too. It’s slow, cautious, like everything will vaporize in a moment if they move too fast.

But at last, they meet. And in the middle of the hall, surrounded by faces Ned no longer recognizes, they hug. Peter’s grip is strong. Almost bruising. It reminds Ned of Ben’s funeral and the heaviness in his chest doubles.

Peter sniffs. He trembles like he’s cold.

“Are you okay?” Ned whispers in his ear.

Peter is quiet. Ned can hear his measured breathing, an exercise taught to him by Mr. Stark shortly after the incident in the school bathroom.

Mr. Stark, who had died to save them all.

“Not yet,” Peter says after some time. They still haven’t pulled apart. “I just- I really miss him, Ned.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Peter’s fingers curl into his hoodie. People are staring at them, and for the first time in his life, Ned can’t bring himself to care.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Peter says, and Ned feels his eyes sting.

Five long years.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you either.”

Finally, Peter pulls away. He wipes his sleeve across his cheekbones and takes in a rattling breath. “Wanna help me with my web shooters after school? May’s making lasagna. Pepper and Morgan are coming over, too.”

Ned smiles. Because after all the injuries he’s seen Peter sustain over the years, he’s seen them all heal too.

He’ll heal.

They both will.

“That sounds great, man.”

After a particularly sloppy handshakes, they walk to class with their shoulders bumping.

And though it may just be a trick of the light, Ned swears he sees Mr. Stark standing in the crowd of students, a wide smile on his face as he looks at them.

And just like Ben, Ned knows that Peter has Tony forever.

#spider man #peter parker #tony stark #ned leeds #irondad fic #peter & ned #hurt/comfort #hurt peter parker #peter parker whump #protective ned leeds #protective tony stark

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

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The Daughter of Aphrodite | Leo Valdez

Hello Lovelies! So I was inspired by my classics class and figured hey, what better than to write about Leo Valdez to make the cravings go away? This is my first Leo fic and I decided to take up a third person perspective because it felt right. It’s really fluffy and I hope you all enjoy! Until next time, all my love!

Description: Leo and y/n have been pining after each other for too long. Her friends help her come up with a plan to get close to him, now she has to cross her fingers that her mother, Aphrodite, doesn’t step in.

Pairing: Leo Valdez x Female!Reader

Warnings: Absolutely none

Word Count: 2.7k

Tags: FLUFF

(Pics not mine but mood board is :) )

Her hands were covered in dirt, a trait most uncommon to a daughter of Aphrodite. Somehow, though, she wore it like a pair of silk evening gloves. Her hair was messy, thrown in a bun atop her head, but every strand that fell around her face seemed as though placed by the gods themselves. Even in chaos she was perfect.

Leo leaned precariously against a two by four, watching the daughters of Aphrodite and Demeter replant the gardens around camp. Well, more like the daughters of Demeter and one daughter of Aphrodite. The rest of the Aphrodite sisters were lounging in the sun, avoiding the mud. He couldn’t help but smile when one of her friends gingerly rubbed some dirt off her face. He could almost hear the girl scold her. Always getting your hands dirty, hun.

“Just talk to her already man.”

“I have, multiple times. At least a couple times a day.”

Jason ran a frustrated hand through his hair, watching as his friend watched the girl he loved from a distance. Everyone at the camp knew how Leo felt, everyone except her. She was every bit as pure as she was kind. Not to mention loving, gentle, and patient. She was everything he knew he needed and, even more so, everything he desperately wanted.

“You know what I mean.”

Leo turned to his best friend, a lazy smile plastered on his face, “I know, man. I will.”

Jason only grumbled before heading off. Leo always said that. Clearly he hadn’t followed through yet. Not that it mattered. No one was exactly raring to go head to head with the boy who could light his entire body on fire. His girl would remain his girl until he could work up the courage to, well, make her his girl. Still, Jason just wanted his friend to be happy.

Leo watched her for another moment before heading off to do what he was supposed to be doing; fixing the door for the sons of Ares.

Across the green, musical giggles filled the spaces between the chatter. Her laughs were contagious, the Demeter girls rolling around in the plots they were supposed to be filling with hydrangeas, clutching their stomachs with red faces. The other girls, her sisters, also laughed, just a little more contained. They sipped on pink lemonade, twirling the straws in dainty fingers.

“So you’re telling me,” Arabella, a Demeter daughter with wayward curls, barely contained a chuckle, “you have never been kissed.”

Dawn, one of y/n’s sisters, chimed in with a few of her own runaway giggles, “don’t forget the best part: she’s never been kissed because every time a boy gets close, mother steps in!”

They collapsed again in another fit, filling the camp with some much needed life. She smiled sweetly, cheeks blushed like an angel, giggling right along with them. It was funny after all. She liked making her friends smile, it made her feel warm inside.

“Is it really true? Every time a boy has gone to kiss you Aphrodite has stepped between it?’

Her voice was pure honey, slow and sugary, “oh yes. One time, right as a boy leaned in, a bolt of lightning struck the ground, right at his feet. I’m not sure what she told Zeus to get him to do it. Mother has her ways, I'm sure.”

“Well,” the giggles died down but the atmosphere remained light, “if you could kiss any boy here, without Aphrodite striking him down that is, who would it be?”

Her eyes widened a touch at the question. One boy immediately swam to her mind but she brushed it away quickly, her smile still neatly in place. She knew for a fact that he wasn’t interested in her like that so there was no reason to offer his name to the group. Regardless, though, her heart still fluttered for a certain son of Hephaestus.

She coiled a loose strand of hair around her finger, her charm bracelet jingling gently on her wrist, “hmm, I’m not sure.”

Her sisters eyed each other cheekily before peering around the camp. When their gaze landed on precisely who they had been looking for, they giggled a collective hum.

“How about him, hun? Would you kiss him if you could?” Daisy nodded her glass across the field.

Her eyes wandered with her sister’s gesture, past a couple of younger campers playing a game, to a boy fixing what looked like the door to the Ares cabin. Silly boys, always rough housing. That cabin had to have the window fixed just last week. Her eyes lingered on him a little longer than they should have considering she was trying to convince her sisters that she didn’t like him. Her soft lip pulled between her teeth as he ran a hand through his hair.

Giggles erupted around her again, pulling her from her daze with heated cheeks, “Leo? He would never kiss me.”

The giggles only increased. Her eyes shifted quickly to the Ares cabin, hoping to Zeus that her group wasn’t causing too much of a scene. She wasn’t so lucky. Her eyes met Leo’s brown ones from across the lawn, her nose instantly burning. She tried to look away, she wanted to. Well, she thought she wanted to, at least, but his eyes held hers in a way that made it impossible to look anywhere else.

She bit her lip again and he smirked, his lips pulling tight in a way that should be a crime. His skin caught the light like a gem, shining from his labour in the hot sun. When he noticed her eyes, drawing over his face and arms, his grin widened and her heart stuttered dramatically. When he winked at her and went back to work, her heart stopped.

“Oh, hun,” Arabella’s hand swept under her chin, pulling y/n’s focus from the fire boy, “you’re clueless, aren’t you? Have your sisters taught you nothing? That boy is smitten.”

Sarah Beth, her eldest sister, huffed indulgently, a teasing smile on her rosy lips, “oh we tried, Ara, trust us we did. Sis is helpless. Blame it on mother.”

Y/n whined, the sound like one of Apollo’s harps, “what do I do? I’m cursed!”

Even in her torment she giggled, rubbing her cheek affectionately in Arabella’s palm. Arabella smiled lovingly, an idea sparking as she pulled y/n’s face back up. It was a foolproof one, too. Arabella looked at her wide eyes, watching them dart across the green to the boy she was clearly head over heels for. Yes, it needed more than anything to be foolproof.

Arabella poured a fresh glass of lemonade, taking extra care to mix enough ice with the pink liquid. She plopped a straw in it, stirring it once, twice, three times before shoving it in y/n’s perfectly polished nails.

Her eyebrows scrunched, a cute confusion laid over her features, “I have lemonade, Bella.”

Arabella had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, “it’s not for you,” her eyes tilted to Leo, “he looks thirsty, hun. I think he wants a drink.”

“I don’t think lemonade is what he’s after,” Sara Beth didn’t look up from her own drink but her cat like grin said it all.

Her sisters had to stifle another wave of giggles as she gingerly passed the lemonade back and forth between her hands, contemplating whether or not to go to him. When she looked over at him for the hundredth time in an hour, she made up her mind. It was now or never.

She stood, much too gracefully for a girl with a heart racing a mile a minute, and took a deep breath, “please, mother, do be nice. He’s a lovely boy. I really like him.”

“Go get him, tiger,” Arabella nudged her gently towards the mechanic, a proud smile on every girl in and around the flowerbeds.

The walk across the green felt like it was never ending and much too short all at the same time. Every step that she took towards his crouched figure she debated downing the liquid herself and then running away. But no, she couldn’t. He was like a magnet, drawing her towards him with ridiculous ease. He didn’t even know he was doing it, that was the worst part. The tips of her ears felt hot, her feet stopping a few feet away from him. Oh, gods, what did she get herself into this time?

Leo’s hands stalled, a flowery scent curling around his face and clinging to his skin. He closed his eyes, breathing in as much of it as he could. That had to be what heaven smelled like, he just knew it. Like chrysanthemums and honeydew. Yes, he knew for certain. He drew another breath. Gods, he couldn’t get enough.

“Hey, Leo,” her voice went high, her words like unintentional poetry, “whatcha working on there?”

Why did she say that? She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. So silly, what did it look like he was doing? When she opened them Leo was looking at her, a loose grin on his lips, a glint in his chocolate eyes. Her chest squeezed fervently.

“I’ll give you one guess,” his eyes glanced to the door before landing back on her, peering at her from his seat on the ground.

She scrunched her nose at him, trying not to giggle as he stood to face her, “oh ha ha, very funny.”

Leo laughed easily, a sound less honeyed than her own but still so sweet, “that’s my job. Well, when I’m not picking up after Ares’ sons. Can you believe they split the door in half?”

She glanced up at him, her doe eyes dancing over his tanned skin and black curls, unable to fight the butterflies that bounded inside her chest. He really was something. She held the glass a touch tighter when she breathed in his motor oil and nutmeg scent. She was certain this was what Olympus smelled like, not that she’d ever been.

“Honestly yes, I can,” she met his eyes again, sucking in a small breath when they drew down her body to the drink she had yet to hand over.

His eyes flitted back to hers and darkened a touch, a knowing smirk plastered on his lips, “say, is that for me, cariño?”

Her cheeks flamed and she knew if she lifted a hand to them they would be hot to the touch. How fitting.

“Erm,” she stalled, pulling her lip between her teeth once more, her eyes shifted to the grass at her toes, “I thought you might like some lemonade? If not that’s ok! It was silly of me, I’m sorry, I can just-”

Leo’s hand closed around hers, pulling the glass, and by default her, closer to his heady nutmeg chest, “I’d love some, thank you.”

His voice had lost its playful edge, only the soft warmth remained. He lifted the glass to his lips, drawing her hands with his as he took the first sip. She could practically hear her sisters swoon from across the grass. Wow, she’s really doing it isn’t she? Way to go, sis! Her whole body heated this time, her neck to her toes consumed by lapping flames. It was intoxicating.

Leo took the glass from her hands and set it on the step beside him, the taste of strawberries pungent on his lips. When he glanced back at her, he ran his tongue across his lip. The light hit her in a way that was entirely ethereal, clinging to her skin in a way that defied the laws of physics. It was maddening, like standing next to one of the muses themselves. God’s when did this ever happen to someone like him?

“It’s my sister’s recipe,” she fiddled with her fingers, lost with what to do without the glass to hold onto, “I hope you like it.”

He closed the small gap between them even more, pulling her fingers into his. Her heart skyrocketed, his hand was warm and calloused. His fingers fit too perfectly into the spaces between her own. Was it normal to be this breathless?

“It was sweet,” he squeezed his hand in hers, his voice carefree but low.

He slipped his other arm around her waist, thanking the gods for wherever his courage was miraculously stemming from. She practically buzzed in his arms, her melon and flower perfume melting around him. He bit the inside of his cheek. Was it perfume, or was it just her supple skin?

“I like sweet things,” he mused, revelling in the way her eyes widened, catching his innuendo without missing a beat.

Her mind was stuck on his hand. It was on her back, low on her spine, his fingers lightly tickling up and down. She avoided arching into his fingers. It was heavenly. He was good with his hands and it showed.

Her eyes brushed over him once more, stopping on his lips for a millisecond too long, “she makes muffins too.”

He tightened his arm around her, drawing the daughter of Aphrodite against his chest. Gods, she was soft.

“I don’t want muffins, cariño.”

Now or never, Leo. He leaned his head down, his nose brushing hers sweetly.

Please, mother, let me have this. She tilted her head up, her hands sliding up his chest.

Leo’s lips found hers at the same time her hands circled his neck. His lips were slow, testing to see if she would kiss him back, as if it was even an option for her not to with the way the flames, his flames, were licking at her skin. How did he do it? She felt like the sun; his lips tasted like fire and recklessness. And strawberries, a bushel of them.

She took his sweet kiss, savoured it, and then slammed her lips back against his, slipping her hands into his raven locks and tugging-- hard. He moaned softly against her sweet lips, giving in to every demand her mouth challenged. How could her lips be sweeter than the lemonade? He clutched her harder against him.

She pulled back only when her lungs demanded it, leaning her forehead against his heaving chest. She took the staggering lack of lightning as a good sign as a dizzying warmth filled her chest. He pressed his face against her hair, nuzzling against her sweetness lovingly. He had been waiting forever for that and he wasn’t about to let her go just yet.

Her fingers slid back down his chest, curling around his shirt, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you, Leo.”

What? He pulled his head away from her hair, staring into her doe eyes confused. And then he laughed, a full laugh that had his whole chest shaking and hers as well, before drawing his lips back to hers. He tugged her bottom lip between his lip, his hands squeezing her hips fiercely. She’s mad, beautiful but out of her mind. Gods.

“Cariño,” his lips brushed over hers, his words mingling with her breaths, “I kissed you. And trust me, I wanted to. Believe it or not, I don’t owe anything to the Ares’ brothers. You, on the other hand, have all my time at your disposal.”

He didn’t wait for her to answer before closing his lips over hers. There was a lot of lost time he was more than ready to make up for.

Meanwhile, across the green stood Jason, Sarah Beth, and Arabella, their heads close together but their eyes glued to the Ares cabin.

“I’m taking credit for this,” Jason and Arabellas’ voices mingled, proud and in sync.

Their eyes flashed to each other, “no, I did this!”

Sara Beth just giggled lusciously, twirling the straw of her own lemonade in lazy circles.

#Leo Valdez #Leo #Valdez #leo valdez x reader #the heroes of olympus #thoo #leo valdez imagine #Jason #grace #Jason grace #aphrodite #hephaestus #imagine #reader insert

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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In the Weeds

Ransom + ‘reader likes to garden and neighbor likes to watch’ as requested by @siren-kitten-his

Finally got this done and it’s just smut, y’all, dark and dirty smut.

Warnings: noncon, sabotage, Ransom being his asshole self. As usual, your consumption is your responsibility. If you read these warnings and proceed, that’s your decision and any asks on the matter will be summarily defeated. If you can read 2000 words, you can read a warning.

Anyways, enjoy this little drabbling and have a great day, boo bears.

For weeks you’d been coming to the large house hidden away behind the winding driveway, trees carefully lined its borders. Weeks and you had yet to met its owner. On your first day, instructions had been left in a letter beside a bottle of water. The list was typed out and terse. A roster of duties.

Every Sunday you drove up the carefully laid mosaic drive and lugged your bag with you, returning to your beat-up truck only to fetch the electric trimmers. Weeds, pruning, hedges, flowers… It was your typical work, the only difference was your still anonymous and unseen employer.

The same water bottle sat on the front step, the same list. You didn’t need to read it at this point. You began your work, your jeans soon filthy with soil and grass stains as you made your way around the exterior of the house. Then there were the bushes along the perimeter. That always took much longer.

You opted for a break before you went about the last half of the list. You sat on the step and drank from the glass bottle. You replaced the attached cork and stood, stretching as the sun reached its peak above you.

“The sunflowers are starting to droop,” The voice scared you and you spun in surprise to face the man who stood on the other side of the screen door. You hadn’t even heard it open. “My mother chose them, you see? I find them tacky. They stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Oh,” You blinked. He watched you dully as you set down the glass bottle. “I could… re-home them. As long as I can dig out the roots.”

“Burn ‘em for all I care,” He scoffed. His blue eyes looked you up and down. “You’re a lot more diligent than the last gardener.”

“Thank… you,” You said awkwardly.

He leaned his elbow against the door frame as he peered through the screen. His dark blond hair was combed back neatly, his broad shoulders stretched the cotton henley. He looked like any trust funder you’d met. “I should get back to work.”

“Mmhmm,” He nodded and disappeared.

You turned slowly and grabbed your bag of tools. You wanted to look back but didn’t as you crossed to the hedges along the walkway. You knelt and began your careful pruning. You inched down the bushes, snip, snip, snip. The sun beat down as you reached the end and stood.

“She stole,” You winced as you were once more frightened by the man. “Can’t help but wonder why considering how much I’m paying to have leaves cut.”

“I’m sorry she did that,” You squinted as the sun seared your eyes. “Um…”

“Ransom Drysdale,” He introduced himself. “I have your card. I know your name.”

“Well, I was just about to do the back. I just need to… um, get there.” You bent and tucked your shears into your bag and lifted it.

“Looks good, so far,” He said as he followed you from the other side of the hedge. “I can get you some more water.”

“I’m almost done,” You assured him. “But thank you.”

“Alright,” He stopped and you carried on.

You felt him watched you as you disappeared around the back of the house. As you set up, you fought to focus on the work. The rose bushes were always the most obstinate. You took out your pruners and set to detaching the dying buds and stray branches.

As you moved from the white petals to the reds, you sensed something. You glanced over. The man, Ransom, was sat in one of the lawn chairs on the patio outside the tall glass doors. He was far but not so far away that you couldn’t tell he watched you. Well, if his last gardener had sticky fingers, how could you blame him?

You finished up and looked around one last time. You buckled up your large bag and slid the folded paper out of the side pocket, running down the list just to make sure. As you stood, bag slung over your shoulder, you found that your employer had gone as swiftly as he’d appeared.

You hauled it back around the house. The water bottle was gone. You went to your truck and dumped your bag in the bed. You climbed in the front and turned the engine. It kicked up but as you shifted into reverse, then puttered and died. You tried again. Odd. You’d just had it in for an oil change and they said it was in good shape.

You got out and walked around the pick-up. You checked out every inch then opened the hood. You didn’t really know what you were looking for. A shadow came up behind you and two large hands settled on the truck’s nose, a pair of thick arms blocking you in.

“Problem?” Ransom’s warm breath tickled your scalp. You went rigid, unsure of what to do. You didn’t know what to do.

“No.” You said. “Probably just overheated.”

You pushed against his arm but he didn’t move. You grabbed the other which proved just as immovable. You turned around in the tight space between him and the truck.

“What are you doing?”

“Just having a look,” He said coolly. “You think it’s the battery?”

“I don’t know.” You tried to sidestep him again but he still wouldn’t move. “Let me go.”

“You know, at first, I watched you because I was bored. Then it became almost a hobby. Something to look forward to.” He leaned in and you could smell his cologne. “Then I thought about you. After. And you just kept popping up in my head.”

“I don’t know you.” You said firmly. “Get away from me so I can call a tow.”

“It’ll take them at least an hour to get out here.” He said. “What are you supposed to do while you wait?”

“Stop.” You grabbed his arm and pushed. He chuckled at your pathetic attempt to move him. “What do you want?”

“I’m sure you can guess.”

He reached up and grabbed the lip of the hood. His other hand went to your throat as he backed up just a little and drew you with him. He closed the hood with a bang and you flinched. You grasped his wrist and twisted. He barely seemed to notice as his fingers tightened.

He leaned in and his chiseled features turned malicious. He grabbed your shoulder and spun you to face the truck. He pushed you against the hood and you caught yourself on the hot metal. He crushed you with his body and his hot breath glossed over your head.

“I lied.” He nuzzled your head. “The last gardener quit. He hated the commute.”

“Get off.” You tried to elbow him and he grabbed the back of your head. He slammed it down onto the truck and held you there. “Ow, stop!”

“And on top of finding a new gardener, the bitch I called a girlfriend decided she needed to follow her dreams or whatever shallow shit those spoiled princesses believe these days.” He growled and pushed his crotch into your ass. “And then you show up. Sweet little flower girl. Hard worker… and for what? A beat up Ford and dirt under your nails.”

“Let me go!”

“You know I pay well to have the flowers watered, how much do you think I’d pay for… personal services?”

“You’re disgusting.” You hissed.

“Well,” He laughed. “I guess I don’t have to pay.”

He pulled on the back of your jeans as you wriggled against the hood, the metal seared your cheek. His arm snaked around you as he picked your fly open and pushed his hand down the front of your panties. You gasped as he kicked your feet apart and force his fingers between your legs.

“You like to get dirty, flower girl?” He muttered in your ear. “Hmm.” He rubbed his fingers along your folds. “I think that’s my answer.”

You closed your eyes. You were wet. Sweat, mostly, from the day in the sun, but more. Adrenaline, fear… He shoved a finger inside you and you squeaked. Your feet slipped on the stone work below.

“Please… stop,” You begged and he pushed another finger in.

“Weird how you don’t sound like you mean it,” He drew his fingers in and out as he pressed the heel of his hand to your clit. “How it feels…” He paused as you trembled. “Like you want it.”

“Ransom, Ransom…” You said his name. “Please. This isn’t--”

He filled you to his knuckles and you whimpered.

“Shhh,” He breathed. “This is a respectable neighbourhood… not that anyone can hear you.”

He slid his fingers out of you and left a slick trail along your pelvis as he pulled back. He ripped down your jeans from behind. His hand moved to your neck and he squeezed painfully. He wrenched your panties down and pinched your bare ass. You whined and kicked helplessly.

You pushed on the hood, trying to force him off. You only ended up with your ass pressed against him.

“Oh, I like that,” He stepped back and slapped your ass. “You really think you can win.”

“Please--”

He slapped you again. You swallowed your protests and he shifted behind you. The smooth whisper of a zipper followed and had you tensed against the truck. Your sweaty hands slipped over the metal.

He prodded you with his tip as he stepped closer. He bent his knees against your legs. He guided his dick along your cunt, poking around until he found your entrance. You inhaled sharply as he inched inside. Your walls clenched around him as he sank into. You were taken off your feet as he rammed into you entirely. You cried out and slapped the hood.

“Ow, stop, stop.” You exclaimed.

His hand left your neck as he grabbed your hips instead. He slammed you into the truck as he thrust into you harshly. You lifted your head as your back arched. Your toes fought to find traction on the ground as you whimpered and reached to try to pull yourself away from him. He easily rocked you back into him as he rutted into you.

Your nerves buzzed as he fucked you harder, the hem of his shirt brushed against your ass each time. You panted as the heat gathered along your spine and stormed through your core. You were so close and the thought repulsed you. Your disgust quickly flitted away as his grunts permeated the air around you.

Your eyes rolled back and you dropped your head back to the hood. You smothered your moans in your arm but your body betrayed you with a violent spasm. You came and he barely seemed to notice as he sped up.

He bent over you and pushed your legs together. Your walls grew even snugger around him and he groaned. He swore as he twitched and pulled out of you suddenly. He tugged on your jeans as he climaxed in a series of primal snarls. He released you and his shoes scraped against the stonework. He sighed over the metallic zip and you found your feet below you.

You turned, slowly. You looked down at your jeans, rolled below your thighs. Your panties were shiny with his cum as you stared at them dumbly. Your legs shook as your stomach turned.

“Pull those up, flower girl,” Ransom sneered. “It’s not professional to walk around with your ass out.”

You lifted your head and blindly grasped the waist of your jeans. You pulled them up and the wet fabric pressed against your cunt. You buttoned your fly as you watched him reach into his pocket. He pulled out a metal part and winked.

“Pretty sure I can just screw this back into place.” He smirked. “Next Sunday, same time.” He passed you lifted the hood. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

#dark!ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #knives out #drabble #fic #one shot #dark fic #dark!fic #request #au

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niqhtlord01 · 4 years ago

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Humans are weird: Perspective

“You will pay for your crimes you monster.”

Through the swirling clouds of smoke and ash the alien captive glared defiantly at their human captive rummaging through the nearby remains of what had been mere moments ago a peaceful settlement on the colony world of Vargus IV.

The humans had struck at the waning hours between dusk and night when the community were in their habitation units after a long day of work. They came in a collection of strange anti-grav vehicles surprisingly advanced for humans and bearing no markings of identification or allegiance.

The perimeter sentries activated sensing a threat but before they could engage the attackers they were quickly destroyed by precision heavy weapon plasma fire. Their fiery explosions had been the warning call to the rest of the colony of their impending doom but by then there was nothing that could be done.

Within moments the attackers had entered the town square and dismounted, shouting and whooping like monsters of old as they ran through the tight streets in their parade of madness.

Some threw improvised fire bombs and plasma refragmentors through windows incinerating countless settlers as they hid inside their homes while others stalked the pathways gunning down any that crossed their path.

A few of the colonists had been hunters and emerged from their dwellings firing and moving, their prey all the more deadlier. Some of the marauders fell to to the concentrated fire of the hunters, but this only seemed to invigorate the others to commit even greater acts of madness.

At the colonial office at the far end of the town the majority of the resistance had been centered as the hunters gathered what settlers they could and sheltered them inside the sturdy walls until finally the entire settlement was ablaze save the colonial office. Frantic distress calls were sent out from the powerful communications unit inside as the human attackers gathered outside for the final assault.

To their horror the defenders saw the humans lined captured settlers, mostly women and elders, in front of them and prodded them forward in front of their advance.

Some of the hunters continued fighting on but when their shots inevitably hit on of the living shields the other defenders turned on them. Not long after that the raiders had finished off the remaining defenders and stormed the colonial office; dragging what few survivors remained out to the town square.

A group of four survivors remained, now bound tightly in coils while the raiders ransacked the town. Three males and a single female who was bleeding from a weapons fire wound in her right arm. Each of the survivors four eyes frantically switched between the human raiders, unable to decide which would be the greatest threat.

As the captives watched quietly a heavy duty grav hauler rolled into the square. It’s driver compartment door kicked open violently and from it emerged a strangely clothed human. They were clad in a black mesh body glove with a visor helmet covering their face. Combat webbing holding numerous pockets and devices circled across their chest while a thick plasma pistol with the barrel protruding from an alien creatures skull was attached firmly to their hip. A series of knives lay holstered up both legs to their midriff making it appear as if they were covered in scales.

The body gloved human glanced momentarily at the captives before hopping down off the vehicle. A collection of several raiders circled him, all smiling and grinning like mad men.

“Take several bodies and nail them to the walls.” the body gloved man said to one of the circled bandits.

“Any particular position?” the bandit said, their toothy grin still present on their face like a knife wound.

The gloved leader paused for a moment before continuing. “Underline we want is horror and anger. As long as you give me that you have creative freedom.”

The bandit gave a mocking salute and started off down a side street laughing.

The gloved human turned to another of the remaining group. “I want every house looted. I don’t care if it looks like a dirt farmer or a kings mansion, smash it all and take the goods.”

Three more of the group nodded and whistled over some nearby bandits that had been standing by idly. They started shouting and pointing at buildings and scattered like ants throughout the settlement.

It was only after issuing several more orders did the apparent leader of raiders notice the captives hate filled glares. They strode to the first captive and looked down at them. The female looked back at him with a mixture of fear and resentment.

The leader knelt down and held the females face in their hand. She struggled in their grip as they turned her face back and forth as if examining her like a stock animal.

She spat a glob of green blood into the visor when the bandit leader continued to turn her face. The surprise act made the leader stand up suddenly and they raised their hand up as if to strike her before stopping themselves.

“Didn’t anyone teach you manners?” the bandit leader said, pulling a cloth from a pouch and wiping away the blood.

“You slaughter our people and you think you deserve less?” she retorted, lobbing another glob of spat blood at the leader who easily side stepped it.

“You’ll be paying for that.”

With a nod several bandits approached the captives with knives and blades being drawn. The men began looking frantic and began pleading for their lives while the woman continued to glare defiantly.

To their surprise the bandits cut the binds of the three men and stood them to their feet.

“It’s your lucky day fellas,” the leader began as he turned away from the still bound female, “you all get to go free while your friend here pays the price.”

When none of the males made a move, each standing as if they had not heard what had just been said, the leader motioned with his head toward the entrance of the village. “I would get going now; I’m not one for repeating myself.” As if to emphasize the point the leader pulled free their plasma weapon and flicked on the activator rune.

Not needing any more incentive the three males ran down the main street, stumbling over themselves in their haste to get to freedom.

The leader whistled under his visor and returned their attention to the remaining captive. “Real gentlemen you’ve got in this town. Didn’t even plead for your life and sprinted off at the first chance they got.”

“They will live, that is all that matters.” The remaining captive spoke, he words heavy with the knowledge that her end would come soon.

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?”

Before she could ask what the leader meant by that the bark of several plasma weapons rang out. The captive watched the three figures who had been sprinting to freedom be gunned down and torn to pieces. She turned back to the leader, tears running down her four eyes, and shouted “You said you would let them go!”

The drowning mocking laughter of the leader only further enraged the female captive who tried to rise to her feet only to have her legs kicked in by a bandit behind her sending her back to the ground.

“I let them go free from their bondage, but I never said I would let them leave alive.”

The leader knelt down again next to the female. “You see we needed some of the bodies to appear as if you colonists almost made it out alive. The brutalized bodies and looting are one thing but slaughter of fleeing defenseless people will really sell home this was an Itrovian attack.”

At this the female became confused. “But you are all humans, there was not a single Itrovian among you.”

The leader nodded as if she was the student they liked calling on the most because they asked the real questions.

“That relief force you called for won’t be able to tell the difference once we’re done.”

She couldn’t see their expression under the visor but the female imagined the leader smiling.

“Oh yes, we know about your distress call and we didn’t even lift a finger to try and jam it.”

The leader grabbed her face again and forced her to look at the edge of the square. To her horror she saw the dead bodies of settles being nailed to the wall in grotesque fashion by a pair of bandits while a third was cutting their bodies open and using their green blood to draw letters next to the bodies.

Itrovian letters the female realized.

Forcing her to look back at them the leader pulled off their visor to reveal a youthful face. Their hair was short cropped to their skull and aside from their green eyes they appeared indeterminate of which gender they were.

“When your relief force arrives and sees what has been done to you all they will blame the Itrovians. The Itrovians on the other hand will be blaming you for an attack on their colony of Havius IX which is being carried out right now.”

The leader pulled out a long knife from their leg and the female captive saw that it was an Itrovian war knife; the purple metal unmistakable as to its origin.

“After they see what happened to their people and then having your people blame them they will be livid with anger and most likely declare war on your civilization.”

The scope of the madness was on a magnitude that the female captive could not fathom.

“You....you monster.” the captive said, the words barely able to form from her trembling lips.

“Monster?”

Placing a hand on her shoulder the leader shook their head. “We’re the good guys here. Humanity will be safe from the likes of your kind and the Itrovians after this as you’ll be to busy fighting each other.”

“That does not justify your actions!” retorted the female as she shrugged off the leaders hand. “How will the slaughter of untold innocents make you anything but monsters?”

As if somehow the notion struck a cord with the leader they nodded in agreement. “I can see your point,” the leader began pursing their lips as if deep in thought, “it would be hard for you to see us as anything less.”

The female felt the leader grip her should once again and felt their fingers dig deep into her shoulder. She looked up to see a devlish smile cross the leaders face.

“I guess you can say it’s all a matter of perspective.”

The captive was about to say something when a stabbing pain pierced her stomach. She coughed more green blood violently that sprayed across the human leaders face as they continued smiling at her agony.

“After all, everyone is the hero in their own story.”

Through twisted eyes the female captive looked down and saw the hilt of the Itrovian war knife pressed against her chest. With each twist and turn of the humans hand it sent agonizing waves of pain through her entire system as she let out a blood curdling scream.

The human leader left the knife embedded in the still screaming captive and turned to the nearest bandit. With a motion of their hand the captive had a rope wrapped around her torso and she was hoisted up in front of the town square. Her screams still ringing out as she kicked and jerked back and forth attempting to dislodge the knife; her blood running from her wound like a slow stream.

She screamed as the bandits returned to their vehicles,

She cursed and damned them each as they drove away into the night.

She wailed as the final vehicle hovered over the bodies of her dead kin.

Her final sight was of the leader that had caused such destruction leaning out of their vehicle and waving to her as they passed into the darkness of the night.

It was not long after that the darkness consumed not just her and her settlement, but the entire sector in a shroud so dark it would not lift for ages to come.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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em0avacado · 4 years ago

Text

They say

( Coco Cruz x Reader )

a/n : this is how i cope, don’t mind me, i’m just breaking my own heart.

trigger warnings : none i don’t think? except heart break, sadness. ends happy tho. i think. maybe.

word count : 2.4k

They say that, if you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it was meant to be, if it doesn’t? well you just couldn’t accept that. You’d poured every ounce of yourself into him, you’d told him all your fears, all your pet peeves, all your insecurities, because you trusted him. You’d accepted all his weird quirks, all the strange habits he had that you looked past, youd accepted him for who he was, as you do when you love someone as much as you loved him. You supported him, mentally and physically, from up close and from far away. You encouraged him, reminded him of little things he easily forgot, you told him every day how proud you were of him, how loved and appreciated he was.

He used to do the same for you, used to. But at some point, he began holding back, he stopped doing things he started doing to win you over. You used to have a list of pet names hed call you when he babied you, now it was just ‘baby’ if he was in a good mood, or [Y/N]. You noticed it as soon as it started, you noticed everything. You knew he was stressed so you didn’t want to push it, but you also know that “stressed” was a norm for Coco, so you couldn’t wrap your head around it entirely. He started coming home later, crashing on the couch in hopes of “not disturbing your sleep.” it sounded like an excuse to you, and it hurt. it really fucking hurt you.

At some point, you’d had enough of your boyfriend distancing himself like that, ignoring your feelings, ditching you when you needed him, you couldn’t live that way, you wouldn’t. So, when he came home, you’d waited up for him, sitting at the small kitchen table you both used to enjoy your breakfast on every Sunday, now it stood empty, with nothing but a stack of newspapers from the passing weeks piled on it. With a bit of liquid courage crashing against the rocks of ice as you swirled the brown liquid around in the cup, your eyes felt red with fire, and your cheeks were stained with few dried tears that rolled down your face as your mind came up with the worst possible results you could imagine, all to which, came true. With a jingle of his keys in the lock, you straightened your posture, looking at him.

“What’re you doing up?” he asked her, that same vacant look on his face.

“I wanted to talk”

“it can wait till morning.”

“it really can’t.” with that, she was met with utter annoyance, and an obnoxious scoff that made her blood boil.

“go on then.”

“you’ve distanced yourself, so hard. I barely see you. We don’t sleep in the same bed, I can’t remember the last time you touched me, hell, even looked at me like you used to. What’d I do?” that was your go to, blaming yourself. It’s how you dealt with the unexplained.

“Get off my ass, [Y/N].” He dismissed you, you watched as he pulled off his kutte, and settled into the couch. You kept your eyes on him, murder on your mind. God he irritated you, you wanted to take his neck between your hands and wring it. Maybe that’d breathe some sense into him, if you deprived him of oxygen a little. But you didn’t need another felony charge, you inhaled deeply, balling your fists, the sting of your nails digging into the palm of your hand bringing you back from picturing all the ways you’d brutally murder him, out of love, of course.

If you loved someone... you’d refrain from strangling them, you turned from the spot you stood, and headed into the bedroom. You did the breathing exercises your therapist had taught you, but they worked only slightly. You grabbed a duffel bag, and started shoving clothing into it, as much as you could, you pushed all the belongings you’d need the next few days, and zipped it up. Pulling on a hoodie, you tossed the bag over your shoulder, and headed out. You walked passed him without a word, when you went to grab your car keys, you did the only petty thing you’d let yourself, trying to be the better person, you hid every single key to everything you had, knowing how easily he lost keys, you’d help him, in your own favour, however.

You left, and you didn’t look back. You couldn’t. The mere thought of Coco made you tear up, and it didn’t help that every tiny thing made you think about the lost love that still caused your chest to feel like it was about to concave. This wasn’t natural, you hadn’t felt like this, you were the queen of bottling up emotions, and ignoring them so you didn’t feel the pain of anything. But as you lived and breathed, everything reminded you of him.

You were in the middle of a girls lunch date, it’d been weeks since your seen your girlfriends since you’ve been trying to isolate yourself trying to get over this man, in the midst of drinking mimosas on the balcony of one of those entirely too fancy restaurants, you were laughing at highschool memories of your best friend who would start fights in the halls because she was bored, it was then, when a roar of motorcycles sped past where you were sitting, and it threw you into a whirl wind of emotions.

“make sure you hold on tight, mamas. Wouldnt want you to fall off.” the smirk heard in Coco’s voice sent a chill down your spine, being too intimidated by any sort of physical contact, usually, you usually ease yourself into it, but with Coco? It was brash and sudden, he started the bike, and gave you maybe a millisecond to grab a hold on him.

A little squeal forced its way out of your mouth as you quickly grabbed onto him, gripping onto your own hands, clinging to him. You buried your face in his shoulder. You felt him chuckle, and wanted to knock him out right then and there, but perhaps that wasn’t the best idea. It took you a moment, but once you opened your eyes, and watched as buildings, cars, people, hills and piles of dirt passed you by, trees whipping by. You felt yourself calm, you felt at peace. The wind flipped through your locks of hair, his scent filling your senses.

“This isn’t that bad.” you heard yourself admit in a soft mumble, you shut your eyes and felt the wind attack your face, balancing your inner battles with yourself. You felt peace in Coco, he tamed your chaos, and you his. God, what you’d give to feel like this all the time, but you only felt it with him.

You felt your throat burn, your bottom lip lodged itself between your teeth, and you did your best to fight the rage that tinged your eyes with tears. Your friends saw this, noticing immediately, the emotion that washed over your face, paling your features and dimming a smile that brought them laughter that lasted for days. You’d always been the group clown, with the loudest laugh, the brightest smiles, you were the one they’d all turn to when they couldn’t hold themselves up. You were a force to be reckoned with, you fought their battles when they couldn’t even hold themselves up. You never failed to show up with booze and ice cream to heal broken hearts. You brought things that made you think of friends, you remembered the finest details and came through every time. You listened to the quietest ones, heard every story, laughed at the lamest jokes. Seeing you with tears streaming involuntarily down your face as you tried to hide it, wiping them as fast as they came, it broke their collective hearts. They looked at one another, an unspoken question “how do you skip to the part of the storm that sprouts the flowers when the rain stops?”

Your relationship with sleep was toxic, it came and went as it pleased, your eyes were sunken, it was three A.M. and you felt your thoughts running through your mind a million miles a minute. Your head in your hands as another memory floated to the surface.

Panic overwhelmed you, hearing something, or someone, rustling around the kitchen, you grabbed the gun you kept tucked under your mattress. You cocked it, and took the safety off, holding it out in front of you in a defensive position. You opened your creaking door, the noise working at your nerves as you creeped into the kitchen where the only thing that illuminated the dark room was the bulb from the old white fridge. You watched silently as the head ducked from inside the fridge, you found it peculiar, but all you saw was a figure in your home you didn’t know. Getting closer, you held the barrel of the gun to the head of the man that stood in your kitchen.

“Hands up, Foo. Before I blow your brains all over my backsplash.” You threatened, your voice tense, and you were met with laughter that was all too familiar. Furrowing your brows, you were still panicked, not thinking straight. You shifted the gun so the bullet that was about to fly, only ripped through his hair. The shot rang loud, causing Coco, who you didn’t know was Coco, to crash to the ground.

“Crazy bitch!” he shouted, you flicked on the light, still having the gun pointed at him. Your eyes widened quickly, the man on your floor was Coco, and now there was a bullet lodged into your ceiling. You could kiss your security deposit goodbye, fuck, and you just shot at Coco. You put the safety back on, and set it on your counter before going to help him. A few minutes passed before both of you sat in fits of laughter, him mocking your voice, your words.

Coco told you so many times that the night you nearly shot him in the head, was the night he fell for you entirely. Sure, he’d known you were the one way before that. That night, though, he knew he was in love with you. That night he swore he’d break past your barriers, he’d demolish how you saw yourself, he taught you to love you, he made you promises to show you love like no other, and to show you that you didn’t have to be afraid of either physical and emotional aspects of love. He did do exactly that, but then ripped it away from her. Leaving her heart with him, and her chest feeling heavy with nothing. Once again tears were brought to your eyes, you were thankful for his love, but without it? you wished you’d never had experienced it in the first place. Maybe you wouldn’t be hurting now.

You were brought out of your train of thought by the knocking on your door, furrowing your brows, you got up from your spot on the counter, where you were thinking of better times, you looked through the peephole and it felt like someone took a vacuum to your weak lungs. Coco. Struggling to breathe proper, you just intended on ignoring him, it was the first time in months youd seen him and you didn’t know if you could handle it. Your heart screamed at you to let him in, he looked beat up, tired, and one of his eyes was bandaged up, he looked broken. you wanted to embrace him, forget the distance, but your mind scolded you, reminding you of the progress youd made, bouncing back from the pain oh so slowly. This could set it all back. So you decided, you wouldn’t open the door. He’s a big boy. You silently turn on your heel, away from the door.

“I’m sorry.” you heard him rasp, and you froze in your spot, a deer caught in headlights. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. “I know you’re there, I know you’re awake and I know you know it’s me. You have your kitchen light on, so I saw you stand on your toes to look through the peephole because you’re too short.” you cursed his observant ways, how well he knew you, like he had quirk notes tattooed on the back of his hand and read them like a bible. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice when you left, that I was too deep in my own world to see how me fading away for my own selfish needs was hurting you. I’m sorry I made it seem like I didn’t care, that it hurt you, I’m sorry that I made promises and broke them. I started thinking about things I never knew I wanted until you marched your stubborn self in my life and gave me a taste of a love that changed me. It scared the fuck out of me.”

That familiar burn of emotion lit up your head, and singed your chest. You let his words sink in, you couldn’t speak, not yet. Squeezing shut your eyes, you turned back to the door, setting your hand on the knob. You felt the door shift, like he’d gotten up from leaning his head against the poorly tinted wood. He got it, you could feel him prepare to walk away. If you love something, let it go. But Coco came back. He came back. You unlocked it, and turned the knob. Looking at him through sore eyes. “Running when you’re scared isn’t an option for me.” you said, defeat obvious in your voice. He stopped, turned to you and closed in quick. You pushed his hands away. “You can’t - You can’t just show me, tell me, and hold it to me that i shouldn’t shut you out, and i should trust you, and i should turn to you before anyone and anything else only to turn around and do that to me. You can’t do that and come running back.” you practically yelled at him, your voice shaking and raw.

“I know, I know I’m sorry.” he said, his hands dropping to his sides when you reached forward and yanked him in with all your might. The gesture was aggressive, sure. But pure.

“i’m sorry too.” you muttered, embracing him tightly.

—

tag list :

@queenbeered

@mayans-sauce

#coco x reader #coco cruz #mayans fanfic #mayans mc #fanfic #richard cabral

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bnhabadass · 4 years ago

Text

This last week has been kind of rough, but I still managed to write this angsty pangsty Akaashi x Reader Fics for the BNHA Sanctuary Valentine’s Day Collab. I am not the best when it comes to writing angst and this is definitely not my best work, but I am still proud of it regardless.

Pairing: Akaashi x Reader Genre: Angst with happy ending Warnings: Pervy and some non-consensual behavior from Terushima Word Count: 3,212

He found you on the bathroom floor, eyes closed, naked body huddled into itself as water from the shower head sprayed onto you. You were tuning him out as he screamed your name, only coming to when you felt the consistent patter of the water stop and the weight of a fluffy towel was tossed on you.

“Bokuto?” The name came out in a breathy moment of confusion as the young, panicked man tried to shield his eyes from your naked form.

“What happened? Are you okay? Did you fall?” It was almost comedic, the way he shifted his body and frantically moved his arms to shield his eyes.

“Why’d you turn the water off?” you mumbled, looking down. “I still have soap in my hair.”

Finally, Bokuto opened his eyes to see that you did in fact still have bits of soap covering your hair and running down your back. “Are you okay?”

You nodded once, twice, before he felt confident enough to slip out and let you finish showering in peace.

You were finally dry, dressed, and was towelling off your wet hair as you walked into the kitchen.

Bokuto was eating breakfast and scrolling through Tiktok, not an unusual sight to see from him on a Saturday morning when he had nothing to do and could take his time eating.

“Coffee?” You held the empty pot up.

He looked up from his phone and shook his head. “Can’t have caffeine.”

Looking back at the pot you remembered that this was not the first time the two of you have had that conversation. “Right.” You put up the pot for yourself and grabbed a piece of bread out of the plastic bag on the counter. You didn’t bother toasting it before stuffing it in your mouth. “Fanks again fo wettin me stay hewe.”

“It’s no prob,” he smiled. You were amazed that he could understand you with all that bread in your mouth. “You’d do the same if my boyfriend dumped me.”

You swallowed the bread, a pensive look on your face. “But your boyfriend isn’t my best friend.”

He seemed to be thinking hard about what you had said. “That’s true,” he admitted. “But I’ve heard both sides of the story.”

The events between you and Akaashi were also not an uncommon thing to be discussed as of late. For the first two days of you sleeping on Bokuto’s couch, he left you alone for the most part, only asking you unrelated questions like if you wanted takeout or if you wanted to watch a movie or something. Then he asked what your plan was, if you planned on staying for a while or if you planned on going back to work soon. The last week was taxing on the both of you, but Bokuto was still incredibly supportive of everything, even if that involved him having to listen to you complain about his best friend.

“Does Akaashi know I’m staying here?” Your eyes stayed on the stream of dark brown liquid as you poured the contents of the coffee pot into a mug for yourself.

“You’re back to a last name basis?” The kicked-puppy look on Bokuto’s face made your heart want to melt. He had done such a good job of keeping his mood swings in check while you needed him to be your rock for you, but now that you were a bit more stable, he let himself back off a bit and turn back into the loveable baby Bo that everyone knew him as.

You smiled, repeating what you had asked. “Does Akaashi know I’m staying here.”

“No.” He stuck a piece of bacon in his mouth and nervously chewed it.

“Good.” Sitting down, you pulled out your phone and enjoyed your coffee in silence. You were sure that if he ever did find out, the consequences for Bokuto would be much more trouble than it was worth.

It was around five pm when the doorbell rang. Bokuto sprinted up from his spot on the couch and answered it. He swung the door open and on the other end, was a slightly sweaty Akaashi wearing exercise clothes, unlike his usual dark academia attire.

“Agaashi? You’re not pizza.” Bokuto cocked his head to the side.

“Sorry I’m not who you were expecting,” Akaashi apologized. “May I come in? I just...” he trailed off. “I just really need to figure this out and get everything out of my head.”

Fukorodani’s former ace was about to let him in, be there for his best friend, but he paused when he remembered that inside the apartment was you, Akaashi’s problem. Bo leaned his hand against the door frame. “No you may not.”

Akaashi wrinkled an eyebrow up. “And why is that?”

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, Bokuto answered, “because my place is a mess.”

“When has that ever stopped you from inviting me into your apartment?”

Leave it to you to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. This seemed to be happening more and more frequently. “Bo, is that the pizza?” you called from the kitchen. Stepping out towards the front door, your face fell as soon as you saw exactly who it was at the front door.

Akaashi’s face turned into that of pure disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

At those six measly words strung into one of the most simple sentences, your heart ripped in half. You felt like you could cry. As full of rage as he was, looking at you like you were the trashiest piece of filth he had ever seen, you still wanted to find the man you fell in love with underneath. You still wanted to find the person who would give you shoulder rubs after a hard day of work, the person who read to you as you’d rest your head in his lap and never want to get up. As you looked into his eyes, all you could see was disgust and pure hatred. The love that once clouded his irises wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“Agaashi, wait,” Bokuto started. “I can explain.”

“How the hell can you explain this?” he scoffed. “After everything I’ve vented to you, every hardship I’ve had this week, you’re sleeping with her?”

The pounding heartbeat you could hear in your ears was replaced by an evergoing ringing that’s volume increased with each passing second. He thought... he thought you and Bokuto were sleeping together? You tried to find your voice but couldn’t.

“That’s not what’s happening,” Bokuto said, a sad sense of worry engulfing his voice. “She’s just staying on my couch because she has nowhere to go.”

“And why would you even bother hearing her out?”

You didn’t think your heart would be able to crack even more than it already had. You wanted to stand up for yourself, stand up for Bokuto who was about to lose his best friend in the world all because of you, but your voice caught in your throat every time you would part your lips to speak.

“I can’t believe this.” Akaashi turned around to walk away and it was at that moment that you realized that everything was over. No more shoulder rubs after work, no more laying on his lap as he read to you. You were through, and there was nothing you could do to stop him from walking away.

Falling to your knees, hitting the hardwood floors and not even caring about the bruises that would appear in the next day or two, you let out a sob. As loud as a child throwing a tantrum in the candy aisle of a grocery store, you sobbed and wept as it all began to sink in. You had just lost the love of your life.

You didn’t realize it, as your eyes were clouded over with a thick layer of salty tears, but Akaashi stopped at hearing your wails. A chill ran up his spine at such an ungodly and painful sound. You were broken and even though he was hurting just as much as you were, a little part of him wanted to help fix you.

Not much time had passed, not much time at all, before you felt gentle fingers brushing the tears out of your eyes. Looking up, Akaashi was towering over you. He gripped onto your arms and you braced onto him while standing up. You were surprised as he nodded at you, but you nodded back regardless. As he led you over to the couch, you held onto his ring finger, just in case he tried to go away.

Bokuto placed a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder after he stopped. Bokuto could read him as easily as Akaashi could read the books lining the walls in his apartment. “Please hear her out.” His voice was shaky. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing his best friend. “You don’t have to forgive her, but I don’t want to see either of you hurting anymore.”

Akaashi let out a strangled breath. Looking back at you crumpled into yourself on the floor, he realized that he didn’t want to see you hurting either. Your body was limp and you began coughing with each heavy sob you let out. Walking over to you, he wiped your tears away. At seeing your e/c eyes looking up at him, no matter how glassy they were with a fresh layer of tears, he felt lighter, like a piece of him that had been missing all week had finally returned.

He led you over to the couch and the both of you sat down. There was a great enough distance between you where you still felt the tension between you two, but it was much less suffocating than before.

Bokuto made you a pot of tea and set two cups in front of you. Akaashi reached for the pot and poured it into the cups. Then he waited, waited for you to do or say something, but you didn’t know what to say. You only looked down, picking at the dirt under your nails while waiting for him to speak up.

“Your tea’s getting cold.”

You nodded but made no move to drink it.

“Bokuto said that we should hear each other out.” He was looking down at his running shoes. “Would you like to go first?”

You swallowed and felt an ache in your dry yet tacky throat. “What do you think happened?”

He hesitated. “Well, I came home and I saw beer cans everywhere. I remembered you saying you had some friends coming over. And then, well.” He was clearly stalling. He didn’t want to say what you knew would come out of his mouth, and you couldn’t really blame him. “I heard laughing from the bedroom. So I walked in and saw you underneath Terushima.” That name felt like acid dripping off his tongue.

Of course the two of you knew each other, having gone to the same high school and being a part of the same volleyball club. It was a silly little get-together you planned, the last time you saw him, and you had even told Akaashi about it. You wanted to throw a little gathering for Misaki’s birthday. You had stayed in touch with your fellow senior manager all these years and wanted to do something special for her.

The get-together was at your shared apartment with Akaashi, who was out working late that night. Everyone was having fun drinking and catching up, and by the time it was late and almost everyone had left, Terushima was on his seventh drink of the night and could barely stand up on his own.

No one wanted to take him off your hands, especially since he would be such a pain to drag into a taxi, so you let him spend the night at yours. You left out a bucket for him just in case and made the couch up, finding a nice fluffy blanket for him to get comfy with.

But then he threw a fit. “No!” he whined in a slurred voice, spittle bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “Bed.”

“You can’t sleep in my bed, Teru. Where are me and Keiji supposed to sleep?” You left to grab him a glass of water and when you came back, he was gone. He had stumbled into your bedroom and had collapsed half on the bed, half on the floor. The fluffy blanket was still wrapped around him, making him look like a burrito.

He smiled as he hoisted himself up onto the bed. “Mmm,” he mumbled. “Bed.”

“Teru, you can’t sleep in here.” You tried to pull him off the mattress but he wouldn’t budge. Instead, he brought his hand out of the blanket burrito and reached out to pull him on top of you. You let out a yelp but couldn’t get up.

“Come cuddle.” His hand slithered down your back-side.

“Teru, let go.”

He rolled on top of you, trapping you between him and the mattress.

You couldn’t even let out another protest because you heard someone clearing their throat from the doorway. Akaashi stood there, dumbfounded and red-faced, not believing the sight in front of him.

“Oh thank god, Keiji, I–”

“Get out.”

You didn’t know what to say. “Baby, I–”

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

You had never heard Akaashi yell before, and you’re sure the neighbors who peaked their head out from their doors late at night had never heard him yell like that either. You sobbed, pleaded for him to hear you out all while Terushima snored in the background.

You’ve thought about that fight every day and night for the last week. Looking up at Akaashi now, you could still see the anger boiling inside of him.

“Is there a reason I found him on top of you?”

You let out a shaky breath and nodded. “I let my drunk friend stay the night and he took advantage of my kindness.”

He waited for you to continue.

“I was going to let him crash on the couch but when I turned my back he darted for the bedroom.” As you spoke, you could see the visible change in Akaashi’s stature.The way he sat loosened up as he was finally hearing the truth of what happened. You rubbed your tired eyes. “I tried to pull him off but he dragged me onto the bed with him.”

Akaashi felt sick. “He didn’t...” he trailed off, not able to get the words out. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

You shook your head. “No. I haven’t spoken to him since then so I don’t even know if he remembers what happened.” You could tell from the way he rubbed his fingers practically raw and the way he hunched over himself that Akaashi was getting anxious. What was going on through his head, you were unaware of, but you were sure it wasn’t sunshine and rainbows.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.” He needed to take another moment to find the right words. “I’m sorry that that happened to you.”

You nodded and picked up your cup of almost luke-warm tea. Hearing him say that, even if he was shaking at hearing that news and trying his hardest to keep it together, you felt a slight calm wash over you. It wasn’t perfect, but the thoughts that trailed in and out of your head, the ringing in your ears every time you thought of what happened between you and him, you and Terushima, the hot pelts of water falling down on you from this morning. It was all going away.

“I am so sorry.”

You nodded.

“I am so, so, so, so sorry.”

You looked up at that moment and realized that hot streams of tears were quickly working down Akaashi’s face. “Keiji,” you said, and you paused, realizing that that was the first time in a while you had said his first name.

“I am so...” he couldn’t even get the rest of the sentence out as hot breaths and an oncoming panic attack overtook him.

You stood up and set your tea cup onto the coffee table. Half of the contents inside sloshed out but you didn’t care. You sat right beside him and put your arms around his shoulders. Your fingers worked through his hair, greasier than usual but still soft and fluffy.

He gripped onto your arm and it hurt a little, but you knew he didn’t mean for it to hurt you. If anything, he was making sure that you were really there, that you wouldn’t dematerialize any second.

“I...I–”

You squeezed him tight and shushed him the way you would shush a fussy baby who wouldn’t calm down. “I know. I know you didn’t mean to.”

And then there was silence. Only staggering breaths that Akaashi let out and the sound of you running your fingers through his hair. It was almost serene, the way the two of you just sat there listening to the little little sounds in Bokuto’s apartment.

“I had a rough day at work,” he broke the silence. “I know that isn’t an excuse, but I was just hoping that after hours of deadlines and papers piling on top of each other and my back hurting, I could come home to you.”

Your gut wrenched as you realized that’s probably why he assumed you and Bokuto were being intimate with one another when he saw you earlier. “But when you saw me underneath Terushima.”

He nodded. “And I know that’s no excuse. And I am sorry, truly sorry for ever doubting you or questioning your loyalty to me as your boyfriend.”

You kissed the top of his head and nuzzled your nose in his hair. “I know, and I forgive you.” It’s true that you were in pain for that whole week, not having the energy to eat, sleep or even stand up in the shower, and all you wanted to do was cry, but after seeing the pain and regret on Akaashi’s face, all you wanted to do was squeeze him and never let go.

Neither of you left the couch for the next hour. You just held onto each other, not caring that it was getting late or that you had to pee or that your faces were stained and blotchy with tears. You barely spoke, just listened to each other breathe up and down.

“Will you come back home?” Akaashi broke the silence.

You looked up at him from his chest where you had been laying. “Of course.” Stretching up to give him a peck on the lips, he smiled at you.

“You know, tomorrow’s Valentine’s day.”

You were aware of the holiday, of course, but in the last week you couldn’t help but look at the paper hearts and other decorations lining store fronts with disdain. “I do.”

He pulled you into his embrace, rubbing your shoulders with a warm hand. “It’s too late to get any restaurant reservations, but would pizza and a movie suffice?”

“I think it will.” You smiled into his chest and nuzzled against him. Finally, after a miserable week away, you’d be going back home.

#haikyuu akaashi #akaashi keiji #hq akaashi #aka #Akaashi Keiji x reader #haikyuu x reader #valentine's day #angst #bnha sanctuary

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enigma-im · 5 years ago

Text

Working for the Weekend Pt.2

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Orc x Female!Human Warning: Fluff, finishing courting, big cock, sex, penetration, fingering, orc on human

Word Count:3209

Part 1

Finishing the courting --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I manage to convince Matilda to work later on Saturday so I can have the night off. It didn’t take much to persuade her after I told her why. She is a real friend to help me get laid. I work a little earlier, it already after sundown now. I want the hours so Ritz doesn’t accuse me of being lazy.

I nervously wipe the bar counter for the hundredth time, even taking time to wipe the stools. My brain running a mile a minute at the excitement about to happen. Azhug didn’t tell me where he was going to take me or if I needed to bring anything. I guess I wouldn’t need to if he is taking me to have sex. Or as he calls it 'finish the courting'. Just thinking about it that way brings butterflies to my stomach. It's not just a quick lay but a commitment, what more could a girl want? Big strong strapping young orc claiming you for a night of pleasure that serves as a promise for nights to come, that’s a dream come true if I'm being honest.

The bell chimes above the door with a startling ring. With way too much eagerness I look over, nearly cracking my neck in the process. Azhug walks in with a confident stride; back straight, shoulders relax, and wide steps. Our eyes meet as the door closes behind him, the only thing coming to mind being 'Damn'. He cleans up nicely, looking more appetizing than when I first met him. I can't help but stare, not that he seems to mind in the slightest.

"Close your mouth darling, you're gonna catch flies," Matilda chuckles. Blushing with a giggle I glance down at the bar top a bit embarrassed. I nibble my cheek to stop the girlish grin wanting to break free. Fuck, I'm way too excited about this.

His footsteps become more attention-grabbing as he nears the bar, stopping right in front of me. Looking up with the stupid girlish smile I tried to fight I attempt to think of words. I gain no knowledge on how to speak when I see his grin, not cocky or smug but genuinely happy.

"hi," I greet with a squeak. Where did my brain go? Perhaps blood flowing elsewhere is to blame.

"Hello Emma," he says back. The low timbre of his voice sending chills down my spine. Man, I am a Cumbrian today. Not that his voice hasn't always held my interest but I wouldn't go as far as to say it made different parts of me more interested than others.

Without any more words, Azhug grips my waist and lifts me up and over his shoulder, resting his hand on my rear. He turns and walks confidently out the bar then into the night.

"See you tomorrow, Emma," Matilda laughs. I wave before we exit, the door closing behind in a finality sort of way. No turning back, not that I would if I could.

Azhug marches up the road, cutting off to a path leading into the woods. We pass hundreds of trees until I finally bothering asking where we are going.

"This way," he answers as he palms my rear.

"Well I gathered that much, but where does this way end," I rephrase. Instead of answering he instead pops me on the ass.

"Too many questions," he jokingly scolds. I chuckle and just enjoy the ride, admiring his toned back as I do.

We make it to a clearing towards the top of a hill, the area plateauing into a small open space. Once he gently takes me off his shoulder I get the full view.

"Oh wow," I gasp.

The clearing ends not with more tree but a stiff cut off to a beautiful view of the mountains. The sky is clear and decorated with a few stars, perhaps as the night continues it will be littered with the twinkly bits. The area is just barely illuminated by the moon cresting over the peaks, making the scene more captivating with it nearly full visage.

"Do you like it," Azhug timidly asks from behind. I can't bother with words yet so I merely nod. With the Emma seal of approval, he steps closer, wrapping his arms around my middle while resting his chin onto my head. The view somehow gains more beauty as I share it with him, holding his arms and leaning back into his chest.

"Great choice," I mumble," can't imagine a more beautiful sight."

He hums," I can think of a few." I wait for his answer but as he doesn't provide one I glance up at him. He stares down at me with such want it's almost suffocating. I find myself reaching up and cupping his face, bringing him down to press my lips against his. It's gentle, which anyone would find shocking coming from an orc. The tenderness of his touch as he tugs me closer to his chest is startling arousing. Never been a softy but I can't help but adore the romantic environment mixed with his gentle hold.

His touches become a bit more enthusiastic as I turn to his chest. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down to feel more of him. His hands wander to the small of my back before he gropes at my rear. I sigh, breaking the kiss. He wastes no time trailing his lips down my cheek to my neck, licking the flesh before sucking to leave a mark.

"fuck," I arch my chest into his. My nipples harden under my shirt, scratching against the fabric with every inhale. His fingers knead my cheeks with an excited growl. Before I can think straight I find myself on my back in the grass. He towers over me, his face still buried to my neck. I sit in for the ride, carding my fingers through his hair before pulling a fistful back. He grunts as he rests his forehead to my shoulder, taking a moment before sitting up.

He sits upon his knees, watching me through lidded eyes. He trails them down my body, paying particularly long glances at my chest. Once he looks down at my hips he licks his lips. He splits my thighs so he can settle between them, holding my legs high on his waist. He yanks me closer, laughing as I yelp in surprise.

"eager aren't we," I chuckle. His large hands glide down my legs to palm my hips and thighs with unrestrained vigor.

"I have wanted you all week, pity my self-control because I have none now that you are in my arms," he huffs as he reaches up to begin unlacing my shirt. Fiddling with the thin laces with his large fingers. Losing patience he grabs the barely parted fabric and rips it down the middle. Mine now uncovered breast jiggle with the force.

"very eager," I mumble in wonder. He hums in agreement as he gingerly gropes. Squeezing and massaging the globes with affection. Bringing his mouth down he takes a nipple to his tongue, licking and sucking the harden peak with a groan that matches my own. My cunt throbs with need as he pulls my teat with his teeth. I pet along his head while he leaves hickies along my chest, marking me with pride.

His kisses trail down towards my navel, stopping at the hem of my pants. His chest rumbles with an excited hum, pressing a kiss to my crotch before he curls his fingers into the clothing. Slowly, as if unwrapping a present, he drags down my bottoms with a grin I have no excuse but to adore. Seeing him smile more today than I have since I meet him is comforting. Once my untrimmed cunt is in full view he waste no more time ripping my pants off, discarding the clothing without care.

"This belongs to me now," he grunts as he cups my crotch. I buck against his palm, not being able to resist the pressure he holds against me. My slick coats his fingertips as he slides his middle between my lips. Then dragging them up to the little nub, gently circling it as he watches me. I try to hold my hips down, not grinding them into him with abandon just yet. Just enjoy the moment before it reaches out of my control. I huff as he strokes me faster, enjoying my panting breath and sighs. He leans down to kiss me as he presses two fingers inside. I groan into the kiss, shoving my tongue into his mouth as he thrust in and out. Curling his fingers as he leaves before pushing back in, trying to press his palm to my clit as he does.

I fall back against the dirt, parting from his lips to breathe properly. "Fuck," I grunt as the heel of his hand grinds against me. I buck into his finger as I groan into the night. I feel his cock through his pants, slightly humping my thigh as he watches me. I moan and curse as his fingers work their magic. I cry out as the pleasure starts to crescendo. Wildly meeting each thrust with a shout. As soon as I reach my peak my body stiffens, stopping my flailing with a choked gasp. He helps me ride out my climax with a quick short thrust of his fingers, laughing when I let out a long 'fuck'. As I relax he removes his hand, bringing his fingers to his lips to lick clean.

"Better than your ale," he hums as he licks the juices off his palm. A tremor runs down my spine, making my stomach clench as I watch him. Nearly falling apart again as his licks himself clean.

"Too bad we don't sell this at the bar, imagine I'd be seeing you more often," I joke.

"I prefer my own private reserve," he growls with a sexy grin. I snort, chuckling as I give him a once over. My eyes trail down to his shirt, finally noticing his way too clothed body. That has to be remedied immediately.

"shirt," I reach up and tug on the bottom," off." He chuckles before grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling up. I bite my lip with delighted glee as his stomach is revealed. The slight pooch with the trail of hair guiding down into his laced pants. I continue to watch as his broad and powerful chest comes into view, his chest hair thick and wavy. I sit up and pet over his pec as he discards his shirt. I feel his heartbeat under his warm dark skin, beating strong against my palm. I lightly trail my nails down to his nipple, flicking the nub with my thumb as I pass. His hot breath brushes over my arm but he makes no other moves as I explore.

I sit up completely, pulling my legs back from around his. I run my fingers down to his happy trail, slowing my pace to a crawl when I near his pants. I look at the tent, stuck between wanting to tease and wanting to grab him now. I look up at his handsome face, smirking at his parted lips. Keeping our eyes locked I unlace his pants, grinning when he sighs with the slack. I reach in and curl my fingers around his shaft, licking my lips as I do.

I give him a soft squeeze," this is mine now," I throw his words back at him. We both grin like idiots but his turns lustful as I pull him out his pants. I drop my eyes to his impressive length, little intimidated by his width. I pull his foreskin back, getting a better look at his leaking tip. He is a big man, though he is smaller than other orcs in height his cock makes up for it in full. If I'm being honest, I'm not sure how well he is going to fit in me.

Noticing my trepidation he rest his finger below my chin, lifting till our eyes meet. "You alright," he asks with furrowed brows.

"y-yea, I'm good," I try to convince," just… you are very big." I rub my thumb over him, catching some of his pre on my finger. His stomach tenses.

"it will fit," he answers confidently. I look between his eyes, doing my best to put on a brave front.

"Are you sure," I ask as I glance down.

He lifts my head again," I will not hurt you." he holds my gaze, solidifying his confidence and truth. I smile sweetly up to him. I trust him.

"Then what are we waiting for," I grin. I lean down and kiss the tip of his cock," going to give me the ride of my life, I'm sure." he groans, his head falling to his shoulder. I don't bother with any more foreplay, falling onto my back and curling my feet to the hem of his pants. I push it down to his knees with my toes, watching him with a devilish stare.

"Bless is me," he mumbles. He falls to his hands and kicks off his pants before leaning in for a kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck as our lips meld together. He pets along my sides and down to my hips with one hand, keep himself balanced with the other. As his tongue licks along my front teeth he pulls my body closer to his. I feel his hot cock poke against the cleft of my thigh. I gasp as the sudden feeling, his tongue intruding more as I do. His hips adjust so he can settle himself between my lips. He nudges forward, grinding his cock into my folds.

"big boy indeed," I chuckle before delving my tongue into his mouth. Azhug thrust along me, his tip sliding smoothly over my clit. We buck into each other, almost lost in the experience. We gasp and groan between kisses, groping and petting along each other's bodies.

"Please," I whimper without thought, "please." he huffs as he rests his forehead to my shoulder, looking between our bodies. I watch with him as he grabs his cock and presses his tip to my entrance. The fear and anticipation battling inside me as he shoves forward. His tip alone feels like a tight fit, his huffing and groans agree with me. I breathe deep at the stuffing feeling, my hips rising to alleviate the sting. He presses on, inch by inch burying himself inside me.

"Fuck," he cries as he turns his head to kiss my neck. His tusks scratching under my jaw. He continues on slowly, nibbling, and licking me as he fills me to the brim. I try to remain relaxed, clawing at his shoulders and pulling his hair. He is a big boy. The stretching stings but I wouldn't say it hurts. A strange feeling almost comparable to my first time with a man. The strange stuffing mixed with the sharp aches of being stretched for the first time. His hard breaths and caring kisses hold back any pain, making the feeling almost desired.

With a large sigh, he bottoms out. His balls rest against my ass and his chest settles against mine. He waits with controlled breaths. I pet his back, relaxing as I listen to him. My tender breast brush against his chest, I feel his warm exhales tickle the hairs near my ear, my clit aches with need as I'm stretched over him. I buck against him when the need peaks for a moment. He chokes on a gasp. I undulate my hips, feeling the all too familiar pleasure.

I tilt my head towards his and lick along his ear," move for me." he doesn't need to be told twice. He pulls out before bucking back in sharply. I choke on a cry, closing my eyes as he thrusts into me. Finding his tempo I follow his with my own. I meet every clap of our hips with a grind of my own. Squeeze him as he leaves then crying as he enters.

He rests upon his hand and watches me, his other holding my hip. His eyes are lidded and his mouth opens with heavy breaths. His body jumps with each hard thrust of his cock. I get lost in his eyes but can't ignore the beautiful grind of him inside me. I cry out to him, whimpering and moaning. He smiles that alluring smile before he sweeps his hand from around my waist to where we meet. He slams into me harder, all too happy to watch my eyes clench up in pleasure. His finger finds and circles my clit, bringing everything to a new high.

"Az-Azhug, Fuck," I cry," please." he chuckles, continuing his strumming. I pull taut like a bowstring as I reach my peak. My head slaps back into the dirt as my back arches. My insides clench around him as I cry out. His smile falters as does his hips. He falls onto his forearm as his pleasured moans meet my own. I grip his arms firmly, my nails digging into his skin. I scream his name as he groans mine.

As I ride the waves I feel him stutter," Emma." he bucks in wild short bursts before stilling as I feel him release his hot load. The warmth feeling divine accompanied with his drawn-out grunts and groans. I come back to myself to watch him fall from his high. I pet up to his arms and to his back. He tilts sideways, pulling me with him. We fall to our side, him bringing me close with safe arms.

"Doing alright," I ask as I pet his chest. His eyes are closed and his lips parted. He is still trying to catch his breath. He bucks his hips once more before he pulls out. Our combined fluids dribble onto my thigh with a tickling sort of feeling.

"I need a moment," he answers. I chuckle before cuddling into his side. He wraps his arms around me more snugly, resting my head under his with a content hum.

We sit there in the dirt for a while, just holding each other and relishing in the post-sex glow. Soon we settle on our backs and look at the full sky. The time allowing the stars to come out to give us a beautiful view. He pets my shoulder with his thumb as I give a quick kiss to his chest. we both try to fight sleep.

I at some point I fall asleep in his arms during the night, not waking till sometime later when he lays me in a bed. I look around confused at the new environment. Seeing a wardrobe and a large chair in the room.

"Go back to sleep," I hear Azhug grumble from behind me. I turn in his hold and look up at his closed eyes.

"where are we," I mumble as I too shut my eyes.

"My place," he softly answers. I hum before falling asleep with him. Safe in my mate's arms to begin the rest of our lives together.

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Love some orcs. <3

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

#comforting #Orc boyfriend #Orc #Enigma-IM #monster lover #monster boyfriend #exophilia #Azhug #Emma x Azhug #part 2

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smol-and-grumpy · 5 years ago

Text

Something Just Like This - CH32

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: Just a sweet, fluffy and NSFW chapter

WC: 3430

A/N: You get two chapters from me today. Please read this one first. Don’t spoil it for yourself! This chapter is just a little fluff and smut but there's angst in there as well. If you read carefully (not the smut part), you'll see the angst in there.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Life’s pretty much back to normal fourteen days after. The scar on Dean’s face is almost invisible. Y/N was glad because every time she looked at the scar she had that cloud over her face and Dean knows that she still blames herself for it.

She’s told him countless times that if it wasn’t for her, Ketch wouldn’t have even found out who Dean was and wouldn’t have shown up and tried to hand him over to the Feds.

Although she doesn’t say it, but Dean takes a wild guess that Ketch was still working for the MI6 and had probably been sent here to dig up some dirt. Of course Ash couldn’t find any information on him. It’s like that dude never existed and it’s weird, like, really weird. Something feels off, but Dean can’t quite put a finger on it.

But now he doesn’t have to. Ketch is off the radar and there’s no interference since. So, actually, life’s pretty good right now. As good as it can be.

Today’s their four months anniversary. They never celebrated actually because they could never agree on a date. They don’t really know when it all started, the lines blur together. For Dean, though, it has all started when he walked into the bar that fateful night. And that’s the date he goes by whether she likes it or not.

He wakes before her and looks over, she’s still sleeping, both of her arms high up above her head, the blanket only covers her to her navel, one leg outside of it. Her lips are slightly parted, her hair is tied into a bun but it’s all messy. Her tits are on display too, because she became accustomed to sleep in only her panties and Dean likes it as much as he hates it because he can barely hold himself back from touching her.

It’s easy, Dean thinks, so easy to snuggle close and trailing the tip of his nose against her warm cheeks. Easy to tickle her skin with the fluff of his scruff.

She stirs, groans a little.

Dean chuckles at that, one of his hands strokes her stomach under the cover, works its way up to cup her tit.

There’s another stir and she gobbles, turning her head to the side but not quite opening her eyes. He knows she’s awake. She must be.

His fingers twist at her nipple, rolls it between them and his tongue starts to flicker against the other nipple, they both begin to harden.

She groans again and Dean grins, sucks in her tits and pulls with his teeth.

“Dean!” Y/N yelps up.

There it is.

He pops the tit out of his mouth, takes the opportunity and keeps her hands pinned above her head with both of his hands as he climbs on top of her.

“Happy anniversary.” He says, noses along her nose and kisses her.

“Anniversary of what?” She mumbles against his lips.

“Our meeting.” He answers, places kisses down her chin and throat, feels her arch her back, pressing her body closer to his. She’s always so fucking responsive.

Dean lets go, though, rolls back to his side and opens his bedside drawer to take out a card, before rolling himself back and handing it to her.

She’s still yawning and rubs at her eyes with her hands and then she looks at the card, frowning. “I didn’t get anything for you.” She takes it anyway and opens the envelope.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll give me something.” He winks and it’s cocky he knows because she’s rolling her eyes.

Y/N takes out the card and he watches her face. It goes from frowning to a smile and Dean’s heart skips.

The front of the card reads:

I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW MUCH I’M NOT SICK OF YOU!

And on the inside, he wrote:

YOU’RE STILL DEFINITELY THE BEST FUCKING DECISION I’VE EVER MADE XX D.

She laughs heartily and Dean hugs her, pulls her close and kisses her temple.

“Thank you.” She kisses his cheek, “Now I feel bad for not knowing what today is.” She says with a pout.

Dean lets her bury her face in the crook of his neck. “Oh I have an idea what you could do.”

“What?” She mumbles against his skin, and he knows that she expects him to say something nasty.

“You remember the auction?”

“Oh no…”

He laughs, “Oh, yes!” And then he adds, “First thing’s first. We’re taking a morning bath.”

It’s weird, Dean thinks. He’s never ever taken a bath before she came along. He’s not even sure if he ever used the bathtub except for the times he fell asleep in it drunk as a lord. Since he asked her to take a bath with him the first time, it became their escape, their sanctuary. Taking baths with her seems to stop time, stretching out the mornings or nights, pushing back obligations. It feels like it’s just them and Dean likes that. Likes the comfort of being naked with her in the tub. Not only the sexual aspect but also the intimacy it provides. He can’t imagine taking a bath with someone else and that should say something.

Y/N’s in the bathroom, putting on finishing touches. Dean had slipped out of the room after their bath and is now waiting for her. She doesn’t bother with make up or anything really, just a hydration cream but she did let her hair loose and tried to curl them but of course it’s a futile attempt. They can never stay the way they should. It’s frustrating, really.

She walks out, braces one hand on the door frame. Dean’s grinning at her from the bed. He has his head propped up on his hands, the blanket covers his legs to his navel. He looks delicious, it’s not fair.

“This is ridiculous.” She sighs and Dean raises an eyebrow because he doesn’t agree with her thinking his idea is ridiculous, obviously.

Dean wanted her to wear one of his dress shirts so he fishes out the one he wore yesterday from the hamper. He doesn’t want her to wear a new one apparently because it smells of him and he likes that. He also requested she wears a garter belt and stockings. And yes, it’s ridiculous because first of all, they won’t be needing clothes for what they’re about to do anyway, and second of all, the shirt’s too big and she’s drowning in it. She can’t really believe that she oozes with sexappeal while wearing that, honestly.

“It’s not.” Dean swallows and he looks at her like he could eat her alive. “Come here.”

She pouts a little, climbs on the bed and crawls up to him on all fours. Her knees are on either side of him and she hovers above him.

“You look so fucking sexy in my shirt.” He growls, hooks his finger into the open collar and pulls her close for a kiss. “You know why I want you to wear it?”

“So I would smell like you?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiles, “Because you’re mine and I’m keeping you for as long as you’ll let me.”

“And if I don’t wanna be yours anymore?”

She can feel him tensing underneath her. He looks at her, his eyes are sincere, “Then I will respect your decision even though it’ll probably kill me.”

He kisses her again then, tries to not think about it and she pours everything into the kiss, nibbles at his bottom lips, sucks in his tongue and makes him moan into her open mouth.

Dean turns them around, so that he’s on top and lowers his face, kisses her like he means it, like he’s begging her to stay and let him keep her with every touch of their lips.

His hands skim over her body, lips trailing over her chin, down her throat. He sucks at her pulse point, makes her close her eyes and moan his name.

She writhes when he uses his teeth, bites a mark and sucks at the skin, draws blood to the surface. “You’re mine,” He says with her flesh between his teeth and she nods, because she is. She really, truly is, and she wants him to keep her, wants it so much even if she knows that it’s wishful thinking on her part.

He works his way down, unbuttons the shirt with skilled fingers, cups both her tits in his hands and squeezes them together. His tongue flickers over her nipples, one after another, sucks and bites at them, and she scrambles for purchase at the top of his back, hands finding his head, fists in his hair. “Prettiest tits, fuck,” He curses, seals his lips around the peak, lets it out again with a pop and she feels the tip of his hard cock brushing at her thighs, leaving a wet trail as his face works its way further down.

His teeth nibbles at her stomach, tongue dipping down into her navel, and then he’s in between her thighs, both of his hands fold her legs up by the back of her knees.

“I thought I should tend to your needs and not the other way around.” She says, reminding him that he bid on the PA and not the other way around.

Dean chuckles, hot air breathes against her bare and wet cunt. “Oh, baby, that is my need.”

He swipes his tongue through her fold, parting her lips, the tip of his tongue tickling at her clit as his thumbs hold her open.

“As sweet as ever,” He blows warm air against her wet pussy, before he dives in again, eats her out, and hums with pleasure.

Y/N writhes above him and he has to hold her still.

While Dean licks at her like she’s the best fucking lollipop, he takes his hand from the back of her legs and skims them across the back of her thighs until his fingers dip into the slick at the entrance of her pussy.

He makes space for his fingers inside of her, moves his mouth up until he’s only sucking her clit while he drives two of his fingers inside. Dean curves them right, fucks into her slow and deep.

She keens, pushes her hips up, grinds her cunt against his mouth. Her hands find his hair, fists at them, driving her nail into his scalp. She’s so close already, and is panting hard.

Dean knows of course and pauses to chuckle before he looks up to her. Their eyes meet and then he winks before pushing another finger in alongside the two already inside.

“Dean!” Y/N yelps up, and then Dean stop sucking at her clit and she knows that he abandons eating her out in favor of making her squirt because he’s fucking her roughly, with three fingers.

He moves up keep one of her legs wrap around his body as he leans forward and down, the fingers that’s not fucking her twists at her nipple before they move to claw around her throat.

She fists the sheets before one hand flies to the hand that’s choking her. Dean kisses her, rough and hard.

The sloshing sound that’s coming out of her wet pussy makes her blush.

“Shit,” She sounds broken, barely audible.

Dean lays his forehead against hers, “Come baby, come for me,”

And that’s it, that’s really all it takes for her stomach to cramp up, all it takes for her legs to shake, her eyes to cross and her eyelids to flutter as she comes with a cry. The sloshing sound is still there as he fucks her lazily before he takes it out of her and rubs at her sensitive clit.

She yelps at his touch but then laughs and he presses his lips to hers after whispering, “Good girl.”

He kisses her, hard, hungry and fucking dirty.

“Dean,” She whines, her hands on his shoulder, squeezing and clawing.

He kisses her nose, her lips, her jaw, whispering, “I got you, baby.” Before moving down and spreading her legs, almost folding her in half again.

Dean rubs his shaft along her pussy lips, coats it in her slick and oh god, it feels so good already but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

“What do you want?”

“Your cock in me. Now.” Y/N has learned to tell what she wants and doesn’t shy away anymore.

He chuckles but is still stalling, still teasing her.

“Please, daddy?”

“Fuck, baby,” Dean almost lost his cool, almost slips in without meaning to. Because he’s a little shit like that, she knows. Likes to tease her as much as she likes to tease him. “Take it, put it where you want me.”

She grins, her hand reaches down, strokes him a couple of times before she places the head of his cock to her entrance and Dean pushes in, going deeper with every move of his hips.

They groan out at the same time. He fills her so good, goes in deep, knows that she likes it that way.

His hands now on her calves, pushing them up high as he fucks her faster. “Is that okay?” He asks like he still needs to make sure.

“Yeah,” Y/N swallows, pinching her nipple with one hand as the other one goes down to play with herself.

When she comes again on his cock, her pussy pushes him out and Dean hurriedly slips right back in, fucks her faster, slips out two more times and he has to chuckle at that, “Your pussy’s too damn wet baby. Come on, on all fours.”

He moves from the bed, makes room for her to take off the shirt and positions herself on all fours in front of the mirror. She sees him through the mirror, sees him climb back to the bed, sees him bend his head down, sucks and licks at her for a short moment while he fists his own cock as he slaps the free hand down on her ass cheek, rests it there and squeezes her flesh.

Dean strokes himself a couple more times, spanks her twice more before he places his dick to her entrance. “Back up, baby.” He says and waits for her to fuck back into him.

And of course she does, at this point she’s too desperate not to. She lowers her body onto her elbows and moves her hips, fucking herself back onto his cock and after a while, Dean meets her halfway. “So good, baby. Such a good girl fucking yourself on my cock. Fuck, wish you could see how good you look from up here.”

His hands are now firm on her ass, spanks her once more, the sting makes her moan out loud.

“Harder.” She pants.

“Harder?”

“Yeah, spank me harder.”

“Christ,” Dean is panting as he brings his hand down on her ass, hard, loud. It hurts so good. “So fucking sexy when you ask for what you want.”

“Fuck,” She breathes out, her eyes look to the mirror, sees him grip at the flesh on her lower back, squeezes it so hard she’s sure he’s going to leave bruises. “Fuck me harder, please.”

“You sure about that?” He asks because he’s already fucking her pretty hard and she knows that because it’s bordering on pain when his dick goes too deep but yes, she’s sure, she wants more. So much more.

“Yes, Dean, please.” Y/N’s aware that she sounds whiny and at this point, she can’t bring herself to care.

“Okay,” He says, and then again, “Okay.”

She can see through the mirror that he repositions himself, bracing one leg up to the side so he has better balance. Both his hands skims up her back, fingertips bumping along her spine until he reaches her shoulder. One hand goes to her hair, pulling at them to keep her face trained on the mirror as he fucks her harder and so much faster.

“Fuck, look at you. Taking my dick so fucking good. Good girl.” Dean’s almost out of breath, pistons his hips against her rear, the sound they make is lewd and loud, skin slapping against skin, obscene moans and groans fills the room.

And she sees if, sees herself in the reflection, sees his hand in her hair, his leg standing out, braced out to the side. Sees the crease his stomach and groin makes when he moves, thinks it’s fucking hot. He always said that she turns him on so much but he has no idea how much he turns her on. How she could come from watching him fuck her alone. And just like that, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, she comes quiet but hard, her legs give out and she slumps down, her pussy’s gripping him tight so Dean’s coming down with her, pushes in deep once more.

“Shit, baby, that’s a fucking amazing orgasm.” He’s grinning as he fucks into her lazily, when the walls aren’t as tight anymore.

When her walls are finally loose enough, he slips out, turns around to lie back on the bed, head props up on a pillow. “Come on, ride me.”

She’s still holding her pussy, covering it because it feels over-sensitive. “Oh my god Dean, I don’t know if I have the strength to be on top.”

“Trust me, I got you, baby.” He beckons her over with a gesture of his hands, and then he adds. “Besides, I’m barely holding myself together right now. I’m gonna burst soon.”

She gets up, walks up to the bed on her knees and then she straddles him. Her hands strokes him before he puts the head of his dick to her entrance and sits down on it. She’s so wet it slips right in.

At first she sets the pace, circling and grinding on his cock while Dean’s hands are on her hips, helping her grind.

“You’re fucking amazing,” He says and looks up at her with adoration in his eyes while his arms go up to knead at her tits. “I’m close.”

He pulls her down then, wraps his arms around her middle and she’s on her knees, both on either side of his body. He fucks up into her, hard, fast and with wild abandon while he whispers in her ear, “You gonna come with me? Can you do that, huh baby?”

“I-I can try.” She says and lets herself fall. She’s sucking at his throat before Dean makes her look up and then he kisses her when she comes, following her over the edge right after.

He’s still holding her as they come down from their high. His dick still lazily fucking her, the feel of wet cum in between them.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes out and smiles when she holds herself up, looking down at him. “I think we need a shower.”

The day with her being his PA was filled with both of them walking around the house naked and Dean eats her out right at the kitchen counter when he wanted to prepare lunch. After he finally made lunch, he made her sit in his lap while they ate and slipped right in but didn't move. Made her sit there with his dick inside of her and every time she would wiggle her hips, he held her still and that, is pure torture.

Y/N sucks him later when he was asleep on the couch, woke him right up and made him come down her throat.

It was good. Really good. Dean made it a challenge to see how many times he could make her come. She lost track after fourteen and she doesn’t think that he still has an overview of the score.

At the end of the day, they were exhausted and while they’re sitting around naked, eating leftover pizza, she’s still leaking cum all over. Dean jokes that his dick is swollen and raw so she can’t be expecting him to fuck her in the next couple of days but then he winks and he says that he’s going to eat her twice a day instead, she snorts out a laugh, the bite of pizza flying right out of her mouth.

It’s easy with him, she thinks. Easy how they can fuck like animals but can chill and calm down together and joke around. Easy how they can draw strengths from one another. Easy how they know each other's boundaries. It’s easy to love him.

CH33

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