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achaotichuman · 10 months ago

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Heaven Help A Fool Who Falls In Love

I found this in the depths of my WIPs and finished it to make myself feel better. Hope you like it.

“Tamlin!” Lucien slammed open the door, eyes blazing. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying not to lash out. They had a meeting going on. Right. That. Second.

Tarquin and Helion were waiting downstairs, wondering exactly where the High lord of Spring was. Tarquin had organised the meeting, picking the options dealt to him that were most likely to accept alliances. After talking the matter over with Lucien, Tamlin had eagerly accepted, followed by Helion.

Now they were in Tamlin’s study, sitting by the desk growing more agitated by the second. Lucien might have been more pissed about the situation than them, because where the fuck was his High lord hiding this time?

Tamlin wasn’t exactly great at keeping track of time, but this meeting they had been speaking of non-stop for weeks. It was their chance to forge the bonds ruined when Feyre came for them. Spring had mostly been rebuilt and most of the population had returned after careful reconstruction of the Court, but they needed back their allies.

Lucien angrily scanned the room, his metal eye clicking rapidly. It was shrouded in darkness as the curtains were closed. Through the dark he spotted a Fae sized lump hidden under the covers on the bed.

Lucien nearly lost his mind. He stormed over to the curtains and threw them open, letting the sunlight flood the room. He heard a quiet, muffled groan from the bed and clenched his hands into tight fists.

“Tamlin I swear to the Gods, if you are not dressed and ready under those covers I am going to burn you to death, Tarquin and Helion are waiting downstairs we don’t have time for this!” Lucien opened the window, allowing the cool breeze to hail through.

“Meeting?” Tamlin croaked.

Lucien went still, ears perked.

His voice was eerily quiet, scratched and raspy.

Lucien turned around and… God Gods.

Tamlin looked like death itself.

His skin was pale and pasty, a flush of red spread across his near white skin. His hair was knotted and wet, sticking to the sides of his face from sweat. He sat up, arms trembling and swaying like he might pass out.

All anger immediately dissipated, “Tam.” Lucien rushed out, half crawling onto the bed.

“Tam what’s wrong.” Lucien asked.

Tamlin could only groan as he closed his eyes, just managing to sit up straight. He was still in his sleep clothes despite it bordering on afternoon.

Lucie put a hand to his forehead and hissed in a breath as he drew it back, “Fuckin Cauldron, you’re burning up.”

“Luce..” Tamlin moaned quietly, swaying to his left, looking as though he was about to collapse.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” Lucien wrapped his hands around Tamlin’s too hot arms and Tamlin fell into his chest. Burying his face in the crook of Lucien’s neck.

“It’s so cold in here.” Tamlin mumbled, his voice quivering.

“Cold?” Lucien questioned, running a hand down Tamlin’s back, his shirt was utterly soaked. Still he took in too tight breaths, rasping, shivering in Lucien’s arms.

“Lucien.” Tamlin whimpered like it was the only word he knew. He whined as he pressed himself closer to the Fox, “Everything hurts.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” Lucien murmured quietly. He pulled Tamlin into his arms and let the male drape himself against his friend.

“Lucien, High lord.” Lucien looked over his shoulder to see a small servant girl standing in the doorway, “The High lords are growing impatient.”

Tamlin snapped his head up as he gasped in a breath, “Fuck the meeting, I need to-”

Tamlin tried to get up from the bed, but Lucien grabbed his waist and hauled him down to sit in his lap. Holding him there, Lucien called to the servant girl and told her, “Please run a bath, summon a healer, prepare new bedding and fresh sleepwear. And tell the kitchens to make up a soup. I’ll deal with the High lords in a moment.”

She straightened and curtsied low, “Of course my Lord.”

She left, shutting the door silently. Lucien breathed in slowly through his nose, then Tamlin tensed.

“Fuck, I’m gonna throw up.” He gasped out.

“Oh shit.” Lucien only took a second before he jumped up and hauled Tamlin to his feet, forcing the male to move with him. Tamlin closed his eyes and bit down on his lip. His arms wrapping around Lucien’s neck and his fingers digging into his back.

Lucien considered throwing the male over his shoulder and just carrying him, but Tamlin sucked in a breath then ran to the bathroom himself. Lucien stood rooted in place, unsure of what exactly to do as retching sounds filled the room. The Fox awkwardly scrambled to the threshold and watched as Tamlin gripped the seat, near doubled over as he emptied the contents of his stomach. His blond hair a bird’s nest like mess.

The firelord walked into the room and put a hand on Tamlin’s shoulder, getting down on his knee next to him. The Spring Lord retched again, but shooed him away with the hand closest to Lucien.

“Fuck off!” Tamlin told him in between gagging.

“I’m helping you Tam-”

“Don’t need your fuckin pity.” Tamlin croaked out.

“Oh Tamlin.” Lucien murmured. He moved to sit behind him, the Spring Lord attempted to swat at him again. To get him to go away, to leave, to not see him in such a vulnerable position.

Lucien just gently pulled his sweat soaked hair away from his face and tied it up with a leather strip in his pocket into a messy bun atop his head.

Tamlin rolled his eyes, then dry heaved, his body out of fluids, but still purging. Lucien rubbed his back, murmuring about mundane things. The tiles, the lights, the weather, Helion’s over the top entrance into Spring on a carriage of Pegusi.

Tamlin had laughed, then heaved again, before he finally fell back against Lucien’s chest. Gasping in breaths and coughing. Lucien ran his hands up and down Tamlin’s sides, gently soothing him. Whispering into the skin of his neck.

Two servants entered the room, they didn’t look at the two on the ground for more than a second before they both went for the tub and filled it with lukewarm water. As they puttered around, Lucien managed to get Tamlin on his feet once again. The Spring Lord practically being carried by Lucien.

Lucien led him to the sink and helped him to wash his mouth out. Then he wrapped a strong arm around the backs of his thighs and hefted him up onto the sink counter. He then tugged his shirt up. Tamlin lifted his arms with no resistance, allowing Lucien to take complete control and manhandle him as he pleased.

“The bath is drawn, my Lords,” A servant said, a female with curly hair and green eyes told them. The other servant waved his hands and a small pile of fresh, folded clothing appeared.

Lucien nodded to them, then jutted his head towards the door as he took the clean clothes from the male's hands, they both nodded and left quickly.

At this point Tamlin had tipped his head back with his eyes closed, swaying again, too out of it to know what was happening.

“Hey Tam.” Lucien murmured, walking back over to stand between his legs. Tamlin lazily moved his eyes downward, his pupils moved quickly back and forth, murky and unseeing.

“You need a bath, okay. I need to take off these.” Lucien told him, talking slowly, as he pulled gently at his pants.

Tamlin seemed in the moment enough to just nod his consent before tipping his head back, near unconscious already.

Lucien snapped his fingers and the lower half of his friend’s clothing was gone, the male flinched slightly, but Lucien took him back into his arms and pulled him off the counter and then towards the bathtub.

When they reached the edge, Lucien didn’t bother to try and lead Tamlin in on his own two feet. He swept an arm underneath his legs and around the back of his chest, lifting him off the floor.

Tamlin didn’t care for the sudden change, he just nuzzled his face against the crook of Lucien’s neck. The fire lord pressed his nose into Tamlin’s kiss, grazing the too hot skin with his lips.

He lowered Tamlin into the water. Tamlin gasped sharply, pulling up, back arching as he grabbed at Lucien’s shirt. Lucien whispered sweet nothings in his ear, gently pushing him down into the bath.

“You need to wash up. It’ll be alright, just a few minutes lovely. Then we’ll get you into some clean, dry clothes.”

Tamlin shuddered, wrapping his arms around Lucien’s neck and nearly dragging him into the water with him. Lucien kneeled on the floor beside the tub and quickly grabbed a bottle of rose-smelling soap and began to rub into the High lord’s skin. Tamlin made a small sound in the back of his throat as his eyes closed and his head tilted back.

He mumbled something, words slurred and voice too quiet for Lucien to make out what he said. It didn’t sound happy but not uncomfortable, so Lucien just hummed in response, continuing his gentle ministrations.

Tamlin’s skin began to cool off, but there was still a distinct heat to it. Regardless he was clean, and the water was old and grimy. Lucien slipped his arms around the Lord and quickly lifted him out. Tamlin gasped, a breathy, throaty noise, tightening his arms’ grip around Lucien’s neck. The Fox murmured sweet nothings in his ear as he drew up a drop of flame and caused the water on his skin to instantly evaporate.

Tamlin sighed at the sudden warmth and the lack of chilling water all over his body. Lucien tried whispering his name but the High lord was barely able to respond, only managing more mumblings while his head lolled onto Lucien’s shoulder. His green eyes fluttered open, those long, gorgeous blonde eyelashes shading the piercing green underneath them. Lucien watched as Tamlin’s bottom lip stuck out just slightly in an almost pout. The Fox couldn’t suppress the quiet laugh that left his throat.

“Time for bed,” Lucien said, Tamlin mumbled something in response, and Lucien kissed his forehead.

With a touch of magic, Tamlin’s clothes were on his body, wrapping him in layers of warmth. Lucien walked back to his bed to see that the bedding had been changed. Gently, he lowered Tamlin down onto the mattress, then pulled the blankets over him.

As Lucien pulled away, Tamlin whined, a high sound from the back of his throat. Lucien was beside him again in a second. Hands running through his blond hair. Tamlin grabbed Lucien’s wrist, holding as tightly as he could, though that wasn’t very tight, as his energy had been drained.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” Lucien murmured.

“Please don’t leave.” Tamlin managed to say, eyes falling shut and grip becoming looser on Lucien’s wrist.

Lucien loosened a breath.

Fuck.

He stood up and Tamlin whined again, but he quickly pressed a kiss to his hair, making Tamlin’s eyelashes flutter.

“I’ll be right back.” Lucien whispered, then quickly strode off.

“Wait! Lucien!”

Lucien so desperately wanted to go back, Tamlin was feverish and out of it. But he had something he had to do first.

He near ran down the staircases, blazing past the servants, Alis caught his hand and pulled him back, “Lucien what is-”

“Tamlin’s sick.” Was all Lucien told her.

Alis’ eyes widened by a fraction, then she quickly nodded and fled off to do whatever it was that Alis did when the High lord was sick. Lucien didn’t ponder on where she went for long. He walked into Tamlin’s office.

Tarquin was playing with one of his white braids, Helion was staring at the ceiling, both looking oh so bored.

“I’m sorry my Lords, but we will have to reschedule this meeting.” Lucien clapped his hands as he walked in, already anticipating the reaction.

Tarquin’s eyes went wide with indignation, before his face quickly smoothed over. Anger edged on Helion’s face. Lucien remained stern, back ramrod straight, eyes set and hard.

“We have been planning this meeting for weeks-” Tarquin started.

“Unfortunately our planning did not account for illness, Tamlin is unable to so much as move from his room, we will have to reschedule.” Lucien said, with no room for argument in his voice, the only goal in his head was to get back to Tamlin as quickly as possible, with as minimal aggravation from the High lord’s as possible.

Tarquin blinked, and Helion swivelled his head towards the door like he could peer up at Tamlin’s room.

The Day Lord asked, “Tamlin’s sick?”

Lucien quirked an eyebrow, “Unfortunately.”

A sigh escaped the Summer Lord’s throat, as he tossed one leg over the other, “Perhaps next time lead with ‘Tamlin is sick’ otherwise arguments may ensue, Lucien.”

Helion grinned at Tarquin, “I was just about to ram him into the floor for making me come all this way just to not show.”

“Yes, wouldn’t want all the money you spent on that unnecessary dramatic entrance to go to waste would you.” Tarquin rolled his sea-blue eyes.

“Unnecessary or not, you were impressed.” Helion accused.

“Your Pegusi would be put to better use running about their arena’s than having to carry you here.” Tarquin threw back.

Between the two lords a small argument ensued. Lucien loosened a breath, thankfully he was dealing with the most level headed Lords in Prythian, second maybe only to Thesan, who couldn’t make it due to mix-ups with meetings. Though Lucien was glad for it now.

The Fox slipped quietly away from the meeting room, giving quick instructions to an attendant nearby to allow the Lords the choice to stay for the night. It was out of pure apology for their time having been wasted, but given Tarquin’s fear of anything germ related and Helion’s increasingly annoyed Pegusi wishing for flight, Lucien doubted either would take up the offer.

With nimble feet, Lucien quickly fled back up to Tamlin’s room. Arriving by the large wooden door in just a few short minutes that felt like hours.

The door was ever slightly ajar, when he pushed it open, soft light from the afternoon flooded his sight. Immediately drawing his gaze to the bed was a certain bark-skinned lesser Fae. Sitting on an emerald chair by the bed, stroking Tamlin’s golden hair away from his face. Alis watched with a mother’s loving gaze as the High lord shifted ever so slightly in his sleep. A bowl of warm water, with lavender and eucalyptus oil sat on the bedside table. Every so often Alis lightly dipped a washcloth into the water and ran it over Tamlin’s forehead, chest and hair.

Lucien may have been able to stand there for several hours and Alis would not have even slightly noticed him. He considered leaving for a moment, but then remembered that he absolutely did not want to still be gone if Tamlin woke up.

So the fox silently pushed open the door, and Alis looked up. Her Fae senses picking up on the sudden movement. She laid eyes on Lucien and smiled, eyes dipping back down to her adoptive son.

“How did the High lords react?” She asked, running the washcloth over Tamlin’s forehead again.

“Well, surprisingly well,” Lucien answered, Alis hummed in response, her rough fingers skirting over Tamlin’s temple.

“How is he?” Lucien asked, closing the door and walking over. He slipped onto the bed, running a hand lightly down Tamlin’s side, ending up with resting his palm over the curve of his waist. As if sensing Lucien’s warmth returned, Tamlin made a small pleased sound which made Lucien and Alis laugh.

“Not great, but he’ll be fine in a few days, so long as he rests.” Alis answered, “I’ve already called for a healer, she’ll be here in a few hours time.”

“What do you think it is?” Lucien asked, “A cold?”

Alis pursed her lips, then made another humming sound, “I don’t think so. I think he’s just run himself into the ground.”

“Again.” She added with an eye roll, then pinned Lucien with a glare he nearly flinched from, “Which is something you do to. Do you see what happens, Lucien, this is why we take breaks, no one needs you both sick from your own unwillingness to stop working.”

Lucien rolled his own eyes, then threaded his fingers through Tamlin’s hand, gently working the knots out of the blond strands.

Alis put a hand on his, Lucien looked up as she moved his hand to face up and placed the washcloth in the centre of his palm. He raised an eyebrow, she said, “I have to go take care of my duties, you take care of him.”

The Fox blinked, then quickly nodded his head, “You go do what you need to do.”

Alis smiled, then leaned down and kissed Tamlin’s head, before quickly getting up, collecting her skirts and leaving. The door clicked shut, and Lucien was alone with Tamlin.

Loosening a sigh, Lucien settled into the covers beside his High lord. Laying on his side, his head propped up by his hand. Free arm gently running the oils and warm water through his hair.

A few minutes of silence passed, Lucien took in every line and curve of Tamlin’s form. The dip of his waist, his broad chest expanding with every breath, his long hair, damp and dark gold laying across the emerald sheets.

Then he stirred, opening his eyes, Lucien startled slightly as Tamlin moved to lay on his back. Staring up at Lucien with bleary eyes. His pupils dilated and moved too quickly, not really focused on anything.

“Hey sleepyhead.” Lucien murmured, placing the washcloth on the bedside table, before gently cupping the side of Tamlin’s face. Stroking his cheek with his thumb. Finally Tamlin’s eyes focused in on Lucien’s face, darting around his features before settling in on looking into his eyes.

Tamlin mumbled something too quiet for Lucien to catch, the Fox chuckled, and pressed his forehead to Tamlin’s, “What was that, pretty boy?”

Tamlin breathed a laugh, “Pretty boy?”

Lucien bit down on his lip, trying to contain his grin, he was unsuccessful, “Yes, pretty boy.”

“Okay, handsome man.” Tamlin replied.

Lucien’s face flushed bright pink, he ducked his head, laughing. Trying to hide his blush by pressing his face into Tamlin’s chest, hearing the strong heartbeat behind his ribs. Lucien’s right hand moved to grasp at Tamlin’s left, threading their fingers together.

“Mhmm, my head hurts.” Tamlin moaned, eyes falling closed as his head tipped back.

Lucien lifted his head, seeing the uncomfortable flush spread across the High lord’s skin. He shifted to sit up beside him. Tamlin opened his green eyes, duller than normal, no doubt a result of his exhaustion. Lucien hummed in sympathy as he tugged Tamlin by his arms, gently coaxing him into sitting up. Tamlin followed the motions, looking a little confused but far too tired to argue.

Lucien put his hands on Tamlin’s waist and moved him to sit in his lap. His back to Lucien’s front, in between his legs. Tamlin furrowed his eyebrows, but Lucien put a hand on the crown of his head and lightly pushed his head back, to rest on his shoulder. Tamlin let out a content sigh as he finally relaxed against Lucien.

Then the Fox put both hands into hair, firmly pressing the tips of his fingers into his scalp and rubbing circles into his head. Tamlin’s lashes fluttered as his eyes rolled back and a soft noise escaped his throat.

“Like that, pretty boy?” Lucien asked with laughter in his voice.

Tamlin smiled, beginning to slip back into a delirious state as sleep took hold again, “Yes, handsome man.”

Lucien bit his lip as he grinned like an idiot. Continuing his ministrations as Tamlin’s head rolled and he started to fall asleep. Tamlin’s lips pressed into Lucien’s neck as his breathing slowed into a deep, constant rhythm. Lucien’s head pressed back into the fabric headboard, watching his fingers work firm motions into Tamlin’s scalp, as the male shivered in unconscious pleasure when the emissary moved his fingers just right.

“Such a pretty boy.” Lucien whispered in his ear. Tamlin didn’t respond, fully and utterly asleep, lost to his dreams, whatever happened there. Lucien smiled as he shifted, so he wasn’t stuck behind Tamlin. Wrapping an arm around him, and one slipping underneath his knees, Lucien effortlessly picked Tamlin up, the male groaned in frustration at being jostled so, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, but no less than a few seconds later, Lucien placed him back down onto the bed. Tamlin sighed at being in amongst the soft sheets again.

Smiling, Lucien climbed back in beside him, moving to lay right beside him. Seeking out the warmth of Autumn fire, Tamlin shifted to face Lucien. The Fox wrapped both his strong arms around Tamlin, pulling him close. Tamlin hummed happily, burying his face into Lucien’s chest. Encased in warmth, their legs intertwined, Lucien pulled the duvet over them both.

Lucien’s lips found Tamlin’s hair and temples, then his cheeks and forehead, kissing wherever he could. Rubbing his hands up and down his back, running his fingers through his hair, Lucien touched and kissed everything he could. As much as he could. Pouring every ounce of love he held for his High lord into each gesture.

“I love you,” Lucien whispered, “I love you, and I need you.”

Tamlin’s breath stuttered ever so slightly, Lucien murmured, “I need you like blood, my dear.”

“I love you too.” A croaky voice whispered back, into the planes of his chest, “I need you too.”

Redness creeping up his skin, Lucien bit down on his stupid smile and pulled Tamlin closer. Wanting to press into his skin and become one, nestled with each other in the dark forever.

“My pretty boy.” Lucien whispered.

“My handsome man.” Tamlin murmured, with laughing eyes as he looked up at Lucien.

He could barely take it, his skin was bursting and he felt himself coming to pieces. Moving his hands, Lucien cupped Tamlin’s face. They were so close Lucien could see every little detail on his face, the freckle on the bridge of his nose, the tiny cut under his lip from a knife at training a few days ago, the pure love and adoration in his eyes when Lucien looked at him.

“Tamlin.”

“Lucien.”

Neither remembered, nor cared who pressed forward first. Just that they did, and that brush of their lips was Lucien’s final string undone. He rolled them over, straddling Tamlin as he cupped the back of his head and pressed them closer together. Tamlin’s eyes rolled back, as Lucien kissed him like he was tasting heaven itself. Tamlin wrapped his arms around Lucien’s neck, kissing him back as slowly, but as deeply as the other.

The Tamlin suddenly pulled back and Lucien was startled, for a moment fear flickered through him that they had gone to far, but Tamlin just sat up quickly, nearly pushing Lucien off of him as he sneezed into his elbow, groaning as he put a hand to his head, the headache returning in full.

“Shit, right, you’re sick.” Lucien laughed, in the heat of that second he had forgotten everything except Tamlin’s lips on his.

“Yeah.” Tamlin laughed, though his voice sounded sore and blocked, “Just a bit.”

Lucien smiled, then took his hands, “C’mon, let’s get you to sleep, pretty boy.”

Tamlin grinned, “Whatever you say, handsome man.”

#acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #tamcien #acotar headcanons #acotar au

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dawnrider · 10 months ago

Note

OTP Prompt Challenge request:

9. Morning Routine: InuKag

(I’d love to read some fluffy, domestic married Inukag morning routine bliss, but please write if/ as you feel so inspired ❤️)

Hello @xanthippe-writes ! Thanks for the prompt from this list.

This felt like it fit into my Bushel and a Peck universe so have some domestic morning routine. While not blissful, per se, it's fluffy and happy. And hopefully a bit real...

Fancy Cheese and Size Threes

“Don’t forget to grab diapers,” Kagome called from Sara’s room, the sounds of an angry baby not wanting their diaper changed following her words.

Inuyasha rolled his eyes in the mirror as his toothbrush hung out of the side of his mouth. He was trying to simultaneously wrangle curls into pigtails – Izzy’s current style of choice – and brush his own teeth while not dribbling on his shirt. “There,” he declared with a sigh, tugging on each one to pull them tight. “Go get your bag and your sweater.” Grasping the handle of his toothbrush, he got back to brushing.

“But I’m not cooooold,” Izayoi whined. Inuyasha paused in his brushing and gave his daughter a sharp look in the reflection of the mirror. She pouted, then turned on her heel to do as asked. He heard his wife cooing to Sara in order to distract her while trying to dress her. She’d hit the stage where she hated being changed in any capacity and tried to escape the changing table while you fought leggings onto her chunky little legs. “Daddy! I can’t find my sweater!”

“Nice try, pup. It’s on the chair,” he called back, spitting out the last of his toothpaste.

“Oh.”

“Uh huh.” He stepped out of the bathroom just in time to be handed an armful of squirming baby. “Well good morning to you too,” he muttered, dropping a kiss on top of her head. She squealed angrily at being restrained, little arms flailing.

“Here,” Kagome murmured. Her fingers swiped something from his face, then grabbed a towel just inside the door. “Toothpaste,” she clarified with a grin when he gave her a confused look. He sighed dramatically, then chuckled when she went up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. “Diapers.”

“I heard you the first time.” Inuyasha adjusted Sara in his hold to keep her from climbing over his shoulder. “She still in a size three?” Kagome nodded as she pulled socks from the top drawer and tried to balance on one foot to put each of them on before giving up and plopping onto the floor. “Anything else we need? The C word?” he whispered the last, glancing toward the doorway. Izayoi was in her room, presumably struggling her way into her sweater based on the sounds she was making.

Kagome grinned wryly. “Probably not a bad idea. Just don’t get the soft kind. She doesn’t like those anymore.” He nodded. No string cheese, only the sticks. Got it. “Can you grab a bottle of wine too?” He knew if he asked her what kind she would say anything was fine, but he would end up grabbing two and hope one of them was serviceable.

“I’ll even get us some of the fancy stuff and the you-know-whats you like.”

Kagome’s eyes glowed. “Can we watch that movie I’ve had saved for later?” Inuyasha pretended to hate the idea, but nodded anyway, a sly smile lifting his lips. Fancy cheese and cracker night was a long-standing tradition. Especially now with both girls, they rarely got the chance to get out for an actual date night, so an old romance adventure movie on the couch with “fancy” grocery store cheese and crackers was about as much of a date night as they could reasonably expect.

“Am I gonna be late, Daddy?” Izayoi called from her room. She had only minimal understanding of the clock, but knew that time was a factor in their day. Inuyasha glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. “That’s a bad word!” Izayoi scolded, sounding scandalized.

“Yea, yea. Just don’t repeat it. Bye. I love you,” he murmured, kissing Sara’s squishy cheek and handing her to Kagome. “You too.”

Kagome grinned as he pressed a kiss to her lips, snatching his collar for a moment to keep him there. “Love you. Fancy date night.”

“And diapers. I know.” He grinned, kissing her one last time, then went to scoop up the four year old. Despite her protests, she’d put on her sweater and had her little backpack strapped on her back, the clip done in front. “You’re gonna have to take that off in the car, you know.”

“I know. I don’t wanna lose it!”

“Kid, that would be some kinda skill to lose your bag between here and the car,” he said with a chuckle. Despite his teasing, he wouldn’t put it past her to set it down somewhere and get distracted. He asked her about what she planned to do at preschool today and she told him elaborately the picture she planned to color and the tower she wanted to build in the block corner because Joey – another hanyou child she seemed to have a love-rivalry relationship with – had knocked over her last one before it was finished.

As he was backing down the driveway, he looked up and spotted Kagome holding Sara, chubby baby hands banging on the window glass and a face that told him she was squealing with laughter.

“Wave bye to your sister.”

“Bye Baby! Bye Mama,” Izayoi called as she waved back. Inuyasha grinned and gave a little wave too, making Sara screech and smack the glass again. Kagome was barely holding in laughter and she wiggled her fingers to say goodbye as well. “Daddy?”

“Yea, pup.”

“When I’m bigger, can I eat fancy cheese too?”

Inuyasha nearly choked, then smothered a laugh so he could look at her seriously in the rearview. “Sure, pup. You can eat fancy cheese when you get older.”

“Good. I wanna know what’s so great about it. You and Mama never share.”

“Trust me, Iz. When you get older, you’ll understand.”

“You alllllways say that.”

“Yup. And it’s pretty much always true.” He shook his head and smiled, seeing the slight pout on her face. “Guess what.” Her ears perked up, her pigtails quivering behind them. “We have to stop at the store on the way home from school later. You want to pick out a treat for you and Sara?”

Her eyes got huge and her mouth dropped open. “Really?!” He nodded. She squealed in excitement, then stopped almost immediately as both their ears flattened at the noise. “Sorry, Daddy.” Inuyasha only reached back behind his seat and patted her leg. She still had a lot to learn about being hanyou, but she was learning, and he couldn’t be more proud.

#prompt asks #vignettes #dawnrider fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag #inuyasha #kagome #bushel and a peck

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how-very-salty · 1 year ago

Text

diet coke

Veronica Sawyer x Jason J.D. Dean. Heather Chandler (mention), Heather Duke (mention)

TW: mention eating disorder

Summary: Veronica is anxious about her weight, and J.D. knows who to blame.

(fluff, talks and a little fightings, supporting J.D., weight anxious)

_________

"Good morning, princess," a familiar, slightly husky voice murmured from behind her, surrounding Veronica with the thick smell of tobacco and motor oil. "Having breakfast all alone?"

"It's lunchtime, weirdo," she pecked J.D.'s cheek with a quiet chuckle and quickly pulled away, rubbing her lips. "Ouch! Why are you so stubbly, oversleeping again?"

He smirked, and carelessly shoved somebody's stuff aside and slumped into the chair next to her.

"Nah, been fiddling with the bike all morning. Damn thing wouldn't start again," he sighed noisily and glanced disapprovingly at the contents of her tray. "Shit, and I was hoping it was breakfast after all... Because this, honey, doesn't even come close to looking like lunch."

With a guilty look, Veronica picked up a leaf of lettuce with her fork and stared at it in disgust. She wanted to eat something normal, like a hot dog or a hamburger, but....

"I'm just not hungry," she shook her head and put the fork down.

Her stomach responded with a treacherously loud rumble, and Veronica, flushed, hastily excused herself, "It's..."

"It's that bitch again, isn't it?" J.D.'s face twisted with anger. "Did she say something about your weight again?"

"Well... if I gain a few more pounds," her voice grew quieter with each word, "I'm going to look like a whale..."

"Fuck," he exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Fuck! You're the smart one, Ronnie, so why the fuck are you listening to her?"

"But I gained weight! And Chandler's my friend," Veronica mumbled insecurely, "it's her way of taking care of me..."

"Well, she already took care of Duke," J.D. grinned fiercely and stared at her; she shivered and stopped talking, "and now, as a 'good' friend, she brings her flowers to the hospital and, I'm sure, still enjoys throwing in a few words about her looks. She's just found a new way to bully her. Am I wrong?"

She silently shook her head without looking up: he was frighteningly accurate. On their last visit, Chandler had brought some blush and advised Duke to "do something about that sickly look. Veronica had never forgiven Duke for the cemetery prank, but at that moment, she'd felt insanely sorry for her.

"Damn it, Veronica, you promised you'd kick Heather out of your life," J.D. snapped angrily, moving closer to hover over her. "But somehow you still let her wipe her feet on you! Would you please stop kissing her ass already?"

"You don't understand," she jumped up and glared at him, her lips pressed together in anger, "I've sa..."

"I don't fucking get it anymore, Ronnie," he stood up abruptly from the chair and almost dropped it. "If you're scared, I could protect you!"

"You can't fight off teasing and rumors with your fists, J.D.," Veronica shook her head wearily and looked up at him. "I've said it before: I don't want to stand alone against the whole school."

"But I'll be right there!" he slammed his fist into the table, causing the trays to bounce and jingle pitifully. "Isn't that enough? ...ah, screw it!"

J.D. turned and dashed out of the cafeteria with a quick stride. With a soft curse under her breath, Veronica grabbed her bag and ran after him.

Fortunately, he hadn't gone far: he was standing not far from the cafeteria entrance, leaning against the wall, furiously trying to wipe the soot off his hands with the edge of his shirt. Slowing her pace, she hesitantly approached and stood beside him. Pretending not to notice her, J.D. continued to rub the stain in silence, rubbing it harder into his skin. Veronica sighed heavily.

"That's enough, but it's... it's different," she stammered, trying to find the words. "I want to make good memories, J.D. I want to remember parties at Mac's, sleepovers at Chandler's, and going shopping with all the Heathers. I want to have fun at graduation! Not just remember bullying and laughing in the back for the rest of high school, you get it?" she asked.

"No, I don't get it," J.D. muttered grimly, rubbing the black mark on his arm in irritation. "It's all a fucking fake!"

"Not everything, just some of it," Veronica put her palm on his arm, stopping him gently. "But even if I fake it somewhere, I won't remember it later. Only the good stuff will stay. Just a few more months, J.D., and we'll be out of here..."

He shook his head stubbornly:

"I shouldn't have told you about the mugs back then, you know," his lips pressed into a thin line in contempt. "If that bitch had died back then, things would be a lot better now. For you and for everyone. The world would be a much nicer place without her!"

"Let's not get into that again," Veronica frowned and drew back sharply. "I'm tired of arguing and proving..."

"Wait! I'm sorry, I..." J.D. quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him, "I just don't want to see you in a hospital bed! Not because of that bitch, not because of anyone. What if it had been you instead of Duke?"

Immediately softening, she stepped forward and laid her forehead on his chest. His arms immediately closed around her, confident and tight. Maybe too tight... He sighed loudly and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"I'm not going to take suspect diet pills, I promise. Especially not after what happened with Duke," she muttered into his shirt. Her head was spinning badly: three days of lettuce leaves and apples had taken their toll. "But I am really overweight. And my thighs are huge! Soon it'll be time to buy a prom dress..."

"You have a wonderfully curvy body, darling. And an awesome ass, if you ask me," J.D. hummed, running his hand slowly down her back teasingly; she slapped his chest with a soft giggle, "so just buy a dress that shows it off. And I'll get busy scaring off all the guys who'll be drooling over it."

"You're such an idiot," Veronica giggled, reaching up and smooching him on his stubby chin. "That's why I love you! By the way, is your bike back on the beat?"

"Yeah," a broad smile spread across his face. "Where to, princess?"

"Let's go to 7-Eleven," she shook her head determinedly, "I'm starving for a giant hot dog!"

#heathers #jason dean #j.d.#veronica sawyer #jdonica #veronica #heathers musical #heathers fanfic #heathers fic #ao3fic #heather chandler #heather duke

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indigolover97 · 5 months ago

Text

We Hid In The Shadows

Chapter 5: Safety Zone

“Why am I hearing, from Seokjin of all people, that you’re having your seizures again?” Namjoon barks, slamming the door open to Hoseok’s office as he enters.

“Damn that man,” Hoseok mutters under his breath, then looks up at the irritated face of his younger brother. “Because I didn’t want to worry you, Joon. I’ve only had two episodes in the past five months and it’s only because I’m not sleeping well, on top of all the added pressures we have. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Namjoon huffs and crosses his arms over his broad chest as he glares at his brother, “You still should have told me, not Seokjin! I thought we had a deal, Hobi!”

Hoseok sighs tiredly, running a hand through his hair. “We’re not trainees anymore, Joonie. We have a lot of responsibilities now, we have a lot of people that look to us for guidance. We can’t keep watching each other’s backs as closely as before.”

“Bullshit!” Namjoon barks, sitting down angrily in front of Hoseok’s desk. “You just don’t want to admit how bad it’s gotten! You haven’t had any episodes for the past three years and now you’re suddenly having them! Have you gone to Doctor Wook about them?”

Hoseok shook his head and flinched at his brother’s angry scoff, “I haven’t had the…”

“No more excuses!” Namjoon cuts in, standing from his chair and grabbing Hoseok’s hand to drag him out of the room. “You’re going to see him today! Right now!”

Hoseok sighed as he allowed Namjoon to drag him out of his office and into the elevator towards the medical floor. They passed Jin sitting on the couch reading one of their instruction manuals for glocks, he waved cheerily as they left. Hoseok mouthed ‘I’m going to kill you when I get back’ at him and rolled his eyes when Jin blew him a kiss and winked in response.

Doctor Wook checked Hoseok over, ignoring Namjoon as he hovered over his shoulder. He asked about his two seizures in great detail and had him lay down in their MRI scanner. Honestly, this was the whole reason Hoseok hadn’t told anyone about his episodes, especially Namjoon, he hated being in this thing.

He took deep steady breaths as he was scooted forward into the tight tunnel. He could hear Namjoon talking nonsense in his ear as he shut his eyes and tried not to clench his fists. Hoseok was claustrophobic as it was and this scanner was ten times worse than any other confined, inescapable space.

He hoped that the whirring noises of the MRI would cover his whimpers as the machine scanned over his body and brain. But the way Namjoon was immediately at his side as he slid out told him that it wasn’t. He helped Hoseok sit up shakily, placing a firm hand on his shoulder while Hoseok drank some water Doctor Wook handed him.

“I’ll have our expert look over the scans, but as far as I can tell there’s been no lasting damage from these episodes.” Doctor Wook says, smiling as Namjoon breathes a sigh of relief and lays his head against the back of Hoseok’s. “They were probably just stress induced, I can’t prescribe you any sleeping medication but I would like you to cut down on the amount of caffeine and alcohol you’re consuming. Get some proper nights of rest, let your body breathe for a moment. We can’t have you drive yourself into an early grave, Hoseok.”

“Thank you Doctor Wook,” Hoseok murmurs, patting the back of Namjoon’s head as he clutches around his shoulders tightly. “I’ll take it easy for a little bit.”

Doctor Wook nods and pats his shoulder before leaving the room, “Start today, doctor’s orders.”

Hoseok sends him a salute before patting Namjoon’s arms to let him go, “I need to get out of this gown Joonie, I’m not walking around with my ass hanging out.”

Namjoon chuckles as he pulls away from his brother, he leaves the room after handing Hoseok some loose sweats to change into. Hoseok’s hands shake as he pulls the clothes on and he leaves the room as quickly as he can. He never wanted to do that again in his life.

“So what’s the damage?” Jin greets with a smirk at Hoseok’s glaring face. “Are you becoming a vegetable soon, Hoba?”

“You wish,” Hoseok scoffs, rolling his eyes when Jin chuckles. He sits down on the couch next to him. “As soon as I’m done shaking from that damn MRI scanner, I’m putting your ass on the floor.”

“Not in front of your brother, Hoba, I’m not into exhibition.” Jin teases, dodging the book Hoseok tosses at his head with a chuckle.

“You really gonna die on me Hobi,” Yoongi drawls as he comes into the room, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “You’re not allowed to, not until we get to send Seokjin back where he came from.”

Hoseok chuckles as he gets comfortable across the couch, tucking himself under the blanket that Namjoon places over him. “I may die just from the coffee withdrawal, Yoongi-hyung. Doctor Wook has put a ban on me.”

“I’ll go start some tea then,” Yoongi says after patting Hoseok’s head and placing a pillow under it. “I’ll put in an order for every damn flavor out there, maybe we’ll find something even your picky ass will like.”

Hoseok chuckles and sighs in relief when Namjoon dims the lights in the living room down to a gentle glow. He tries to hide his pleased smile when Jin shuffles closer to his bare feet and pulls them onto his lap to rub his ankles gently.

“Music or TV, Hobi?” Namjoon asks gently, flicking on the TV across from the couch as he sits down next to Hoseok’s head.

“Whatever’s quiet Joonie,” Hoseok mumbles, sighing as his eyelids slowly shut as Namjoon runs his hand through his hair and Jin’s warm ones curl around his ankles.

Namjoon doesn’t stop checking on him, even after their expert comes back with the report of agreement with Doctor Wook’s diagnosis. Hoseok just needs rest and no strenuous activity for a few weeks.

Yoongi takes over most of Hoseok’s responsibilities, mainly the overseeing of the training camps, while others are tabled until he recovers. Hoseok bemoans the amount of paperwork he’ll have to face when he’s able to face them again.

Jin continues his training under Namjoon and Yoongi, taking any mission they hand him without a word of complaint. He also takes over most of the cooking with everyone’s busy schedules and tones down a bit of his bastard tendencies, but not by much.

“It’s about fucking time!” Jin barks as Namjoon tells them about their meeting with the Hwarang Boys being approved for next month. “I’m tired of these useless hackers coming and going, hopefully this dude is as useful as they say he is.”

“Have you read any of the files on him?” Yoongi asks, placing a cup of tea in front of Hoseok. “He’s damn fucking good at his job, I still don’t know how Peakboy has been able to keep him with them.”

“Hopefully he’s not a liar like the rest of them,” Jin scoffs, tossing the fried rice in the wok with finesse.

Yoongi grunts in agreement as he starts pulling out the bowls from the cupboard, “I’ve also heard that he’s created a program to search for people’s faces. There’s rumors that it can find anyone, even if you barely have an image of them.”

Namjoon hums in interest, not looking up from his pile of paperwork next to Hoseok. “He’s gotta be young though, I haven’t been hearing about him in the rumor mills for that long.”

“Just what we need, another piss happy kid.” Yoongi scoffs, jutting his thumb at Jin. “We already haven’t been rid of the one we currently have.”

“I’m older than all of you,” Jin scoffs, taking the bowls that Yoongi hands him.

“Well you don’t act like it,” Yoongi huffs, moving to pull out some utensils and leveling a glare at Namjoon at the counter. “Put that aside, Namjoon. It can be done tomorrow.”

Namjoon huffs then yelps when Hoseok cuffs the back of his head, he rubs it and turns an offended eye to his brother. “What did you do that for?!”

“You were about to sass your hyung, Joonie. I was saving you from a knife being thrown at your head.” Hoseok dismisses, sipping on the camellia tea. “Hmm, hyung I think this one is a winner.”

Yoongi scoffs, but a smile forms on his face betraying his pleasure at finding a tea that Hoseok liked. “About damn time, we’ve only tried fifty different brews.”

Jin chuckles as he scoops the kimchi fried rice into the bowls and sets them down the counter before placing the fried pork cutlet from the fry oil on top. “I need to know where you get your kimchi from, I’ve never tasted it fresher.”

“Our mama makes it,” Hoseok says, taking the bowl Jin hands him with a smile. “She makes big batches and sends us jars of it, she grows the napa cabbage herself.”

Jin whistles as he sits down next to Hoseok at the counter, “Now that's some talent, does she grow the chilies and dry them as well?”

Hoseok hums in thought as he takes a bite of the food, “She may have tried, but I don’t think spices are something she’s interested in. But who knows, she might find all her retirement time boring enough to try.”

“Call me when she does, I like buying fresh spices from farmers.” Jin commands, hiding a smile behind his bite of food when Hoseok kicks his shin.

“It’s ironic that mom didn’t want to retire to a farm, but still wanted a vegetable garden.” Namjoon muses, pouting when Yoongi pulls his pile of paperwork out of his reach.

“She meant an animal farm, Joonie.” Hoseok tuts, dodging Jin’s foot as it tries to smack his own ankle. “Mama would never go without a garden in her home, I miss helping her pull the weeds out. Maybe I’ll visit soon.”

“Bring her mooncakes back with you, I miss those.” Namjoon sighs, a wistful look coming over his face. They finish their meal with idle chatter, Yoongi leaves the room as soon as he’s finished his bowl taking the pile of paperwork with him. Namjoon chases after him, nearly toppling over his chair as he races after his hyung.

Hoseok rolls his eyes at the pair as he moves to help Jin at the sink, “Still always in a hurry to not wash the dishes.”

Jin chuckles, “After seeing how he breaks so many mugs, I’d rather not have shards of glass down the drain.”

Hoseok tuts but doesn’t disagree with him as he dries the bowls Jin hands him and sets them down on the counter. The domesticity of this moment warms Hoseok’s heart, he hopes he won’t miss the bastard too much when he leaves them.

#ao3 writer #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #bts fanfction #bts #mafia au #archive of our own #daily post #link at the bottom of the post #bts hoseok #bts jimin

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megicianniacigem · 2 years ago

Text

Clarkwood Universe: Expressing Doubt

I was delivering coffee to our small town police station. Only five officers were ever in the building and Clarkwood had a total of twelve officers including the chief. I jumped out of my little red Chevy truck and carried the drinks inside.

A low whistle rang out as I approached the front counter.

"Now May you know your little pink apron gets my heart fluttering", Mat chuckled as he took the coffee cups from me and began handing them out.

A murmur of thanks spread throughout the police station.

"Oh Mat you always say the silliest things," I said while rolling my eyes.

Mat got reassigned to Clarkwood a month ago and since day one of stepping into my coffee shop, Miss M's Coffee House, he's been chasing my tail. I can't lie that I'm a bit interested, but I've learned to never show all your cards right away - a lesson I learned from my papa.

The door jingled open and Jeff Cummins walked through the station's threshold. His eyes were rimmed with worry and sunken in from what I'd expect was a bad night's sleep - or lack thereof. He came straight up to Mat and me. On closer inspection, Jeff's black and green plaid shirt was incorrectly buttoned and his boots weren't properly laced. This wasn't normal Jeff behavior - a farmer takes pride in their plaid shirts and boots.

Jeff patted my shoulder and gave me a peck on the cheek. We knew each other from birth and were raised as siblings. Our family's properties bordered each other. When Jeff pulled back I noticed Mat's face was scrunched up with irritation. I hardly ever let Mat hold the door for me, but right under his nose, I let another man kiss my cheek.

"Is the chief around?" Jeff asked Mat.

Mat huffed, "He should be walking in any minute now."

Jeff slowly moved his hand down his face - emotions ready to spill over.

"Jeff... Is everything okay?" I asked. I began to have a sinking feeling in my gut.

"Well... no. Around 2 am Sandra came pounding on my door and when I opened up she was a mess." He took a deep breath and continued, "She ran the whole mile to my farm without shoes and her nightgown was torn...Sandra was attacked last night in her own home".

Silence fell throughout the whole station - all the police officers watched Jeff finish the story. I put my hand over my mouth and then remembered seeing a strange man around town lately. I don't like to prejudge others, but Clarkwood is a small town in the swamps of Louisiana, and most people living here are generational with a few exceptions. Yet, this man made me feel unsettled. He would come into my coffee house order one cup of joe, and stare directly at me for exactly thirty minutes before he would get up and leave. Two nights ago, as I parked my truck I saw him standing in the cotton fields across from my home. We stared at each other until he took a step toward me- I turned and ran indoors. I never locked my doors until that night.

Unfortunately, Sandra was as new as Mat. She was a travel photographer who wanted to finally make a little home of her own - here in Clarkswood. She didn't have the experience like us townsfolk to know something was off.

I turned to Mat and said angrily, "I told you again and again at my shop, but you didn't listen!" tears began to run down my face.

Mat looked ashamed and Jeff was taken aback by my statement.

"May what do you mean?" Jeff asked.

I glared at Mat as I explained, "I told Mat this guy I don't recognize has been staring at me intently for the last few days and that he appeared in the cotton fields across my house." I was shaking.

Mat gasped, "You did not tell me he was at your house May! With the previous information I can't do much when a random dude is just staring at you in public". He was fuming. "I'm going to fucking kill him!" Mat raged.

Too late now - poor Sandra already experienced this man's twisted desires. Jeff pulled me into a hug.

"May why didn't you tell me this? I would have come to the shop and told him to leave for you." Jeff said as he glared at Mat. "I thought you liked May, but you just ignored her." Jeff's rage was increasing.

Mat stood there red-faced. Either from embarrassment, rage, or both. "I do like May, but I can't use my position to play power moves."

Jeff flicked Mat on the forehead and said, "Well I nor May can trust you to protect the young single women of Clarkswood. Let's go May I'll bring you round my place and we can check on Sandra. Boys' let the chief know I was here."

Jeff took my hand and began walking toward the door... I looked over my shoulder at Mat. His eyes were rimmed with tears. "May please stay here with me" Mat called out, but I just shook my head.

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purple-babygirl · 4 years ago

Note

First of all… who told you that you could toy with my heart over your latest work: SamBucky and the injuries Little. Talk about the angst but fluff. Just mwah!

But will all that angst especially with Sam and Bucky—they are just a perfect combo, btw. I now am needy for angst to fluff (oops…). All I can think about is an insecure little who think that her daddies don’t love her after a misunderstanding, so she pack up her things and runs away. (But a happy ending is ensured) when Sam and Bucky are able to find her

Love you.

Pairing: SamBucky x little!f!reader

Word Count: 2,796

Warnings: polyamory, ddlg dynamics, a dash of angst, and a pinch of fluff

A/N: Hello, Nonnie! Thank you for reading, and thank you for sharing this idea with me and allowing me to toy with your heart over it!💜💜 I was a puddle writing this one. I'm really sorry if this took me too long; I hope it's to your liking and I love you too *ghost kisses*💜 please enjoy xx

unwanted

“That's enough. Go to your room.” Sam demanded angrily, looking down at the cheerios covering the kitchen floor that he now would have to clean up.

“Papa-”

“All you do is cause trouble and I'm done! To your room, now!”

She's been bad again. It was the third time this week. She has been disobedient and impatient. Whenever Papa and Daddy told her to do anything she somehow managed to mess it up. Sam had told her not to touch anything but she wanted to help nevertheless. She couldn’t reach the cupboard though and ended up spilling the box of cereal all over the place.

Her gaze dropped and she walked to her room without another word and a few minutes later, Bucky came to give her lunch and collect her phone and tablet, taking away her screen time for the day.

“But daddy-”

“No, doll. I'm taking them away. You never listen anymore and it needs to stop.”

Papa and Daddy are mad at you. They don't love you no more. They're sick of you. You never listen and you're always bad. They could be so much happier and calmer if it wasn't for you always riling them up. They were done. It needed to stop. They don't love you no more. They don't want you no more. They don't love you. They don't want you.

She sat wallowing in her room, tears gathering in her eyes as her own mind attacked her. Maybe it was all true. All she does is cause trouble.

So maybe if she left…

She got up and got her big girl backpack out of the closet.

Maybe if she left Papa and Daddy would be better off without her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gathered and pushed items into her bag.

Maybe if she was gone they would be less angry.

She zipped the bag up before sloppily slipping her socks on and picking up her stuffed friend.

Maybe if she escaped the house she could escape her thoughts too; leave them all in her room and go.

She wiped her cheeks, tiptoed out of her room, found her shoes by the front door and quietly got into them. She could hear Daddy and Papa lowly laughing together while they got things done in the backyard. Leaving really was the right decision then; they were happier without her.

Taking one, last, tear-blurred look at the house, she stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind her. She held her small white bunny to her chest and sniffed before taking off, walking to the only place that would bring her comfort.

“She's going to be so happy. I can't wait to see her face.” Sam smiled proudly, hands on his waist as he took one last look at the swing he and Bucky have put together for their baby girl in the backyard.

“I really hope she likes it.” Bucky smiled back in agreement before opening the door for Sam and walking inside behind him.

They felt they were too hard on her that morning and she was usually a good girl, only intending to do good for her Daddy and Papa. So they decided to build the swing earlier than they’d previously planned to lighten things up again.

“Is it just me or is it awfully quiet in here?” Bucky murmured, bringing the water bottle down from his mouth and looking around the living room in slight suspicion.

“I mean, she is in a timeout and you did take away her phone,” Sam reminded him, trying not to let himself panic as he got himself a water bottle from the fridge.

But it wasn’t that. Bucky could still hear her presence no matter how quiet. He could hear her crayons gliding on paper when she would sit down to color. He could hear her hum as she organized her toys around the table for tea parties. This quietness wasn’t normal.

Bucky jogged up the stairs to her room and just as he feared, she wasn't in there. Her sandwich was untouched. Her closet was open and her backpack and favourite blankie were missing.

“Sam!” He called for his husband, taking long strides to their bedroom to find she wasn't there either.

Sam ran up the stairs at Bucky's freaked tone and saw him pacing through the hallway.

“She's not here.”

“What?” Sam’s heart sank into his stomach.

“I can't find her.” Bucky shook his head at Sam, running his fingers through his hair in growing panic.

“Hey, calm down. We're gonna find her.” Sam rubbed a hand down Bucky's back, trying to hide his own fright for Bucky's sake as his mind ran to every single place she knew how to get to on her own.

“How? How are we gonna find her? We don't even know where she went or if she's okay-”

Sam put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, the other cupping his cheek.

“Hey, breathe,” Sam instructed, slowly breathing so Bucky could copy him, trying to send away the panic attack ready to take over him. Bucky nuzzled his palm, his breath coming out shaky.

“That's it, Buck. In and out.” He moved his hands to Bucky’s.

“But she was so little when we sent her to her room and she probably doesn't even have any ID or money with her-”

“Bucky,” Sam squeezed his husband’s hands.

“We can't lose her, Sam. I can't- I took her phone away- if she's in trouble, she won't be able to-”

“Bucky, baby, we're gonna find her and she's gonna be okay. I promise.” Sam reassured him with words he himself wasn't sure would turn out to be true, his large palm stroking up and down the tense muscles of Bucky’s back, “I need you to keep breathing for me.”

Bucky tried to manage his breathing, slightly calming down to the thought of getting to hold her again.

“She couldn't have gotten that far, so we're gonna look around and I'm gonna call Steve, okay?” Bucky nodded at Sam's words, glossy eyes closing as Sam planted a kiss to the side of his forehead, “okay, baby. Let's go.”

Sam took the car, driving slowly, roaming the neighborhood to see if she was anywhere around the area. He was asking anyone and everyone who passed by his car if they've seen her. But apparently, no one has. Not even the old couple at the end of the street with the dog she loved to pet so much.

Bucky chose to go on foot as he walked in the other direction, preferring to depend on his enhanced senses instead of talking to other people. Even if he did talk to them for help, no one would understand that while her picture looked like that of a grown lady, she was a mere baby. They would never understand their panic.

Sam rubbed his forehead in frustration, leaning it against the wheel. He’d just hung up with Steve. He said she didn't come to his place; didn't even stop by. In fact, he hasn’t heard from her at all and got worried when Sam called. He took an uneven breath, trying to maintain his cool before he lifted his head up and started the car again.

Leaning back on the big tree, she wrapped her soft blankie tighter around her frame. It was getting kind of chilly and she was starting to regret leaving now that it wasn't that sunny anymore. The tears drying on her cheeks made her shiver even more and she sniffled, kissing her bunny's head and tugging the stuffed animal under her chin. She hoped Daddy and Papa were feeling better now that she was no longer there with them.

“Doll?” She heard Bucky's voice and before she could wonder if she'd imagined it, she was pressed to a hard chest.

“Oh, thank god,” Bucky sighed, kissing the side of her head over and over again, his hands tight around her back, holding her and her bunny close to his frantically beating heart.

“Baby, why'd you leave like that? We were so worried! We looked everywhere, we called everyone.” Bucky kissed her forehead a bunch before “-oh right!”

He got his phone out of his pocket with one arm, the other still firmly holding her to his chest. She kept holding onto her bunny, not really getting what was happening. Was she in trouble for leaving unannounced or not? Why would Daddy and Papa want to find her? She was nothing but trouble.

“Sam, I found her! We're in our secret place in the park.”

At Bucky's call, Sam took a sharp turn, stepping on the gas to get to the park as fast as he could.

“Are you okay, doll? Are you hurt anywhere?” Bucky asked her after hanging up, anxiously checking her head, face, arms and legs for injuries.

She shook her head silently, fresh, hot tears burning at the brims of her eyes.

“Thank god.” Bucky hugged her to his chest again, “we were so scared, doll. We were so scared.”

He kissed her damp cheeks and chin as she kept biting her lip, quietly sniveling.

She'd scared them. She'd worried them. Why was it always that she did something wrong while trying to do anything right? She was no good.

“It’s okay, love. I found you. I’m right here.” Bucky kissed her eyelids, then her nose, thinking she was crying because she was lost alone.

He pulled her on his lap and adjusted himself in her place, his back to the tree trunk as he held her close, fearing she’d disappear if he were to loosen his grip around her.

“Sugar!” Sam’s voice echoed through the empty part of the park when he saw her burrito-wrapped body in Bucky’s lap.

“Papa’s here, doll. It’s okay.” Bucky whispered to her when she didn’t stop crying.

She turned around and her eyes met Sam’s watery, brown ones.

“Hey, sugar,” Sam greeted softly, getting down on his knees before her.

Her lower lip jutted out further as new tears soaked her pretty face. It hasn’t even been a whole day and she’s missed Papa and Daddy so much. How was she ever planning on running away from them or being without them?

“Aww, no, no, baby, it’s okay,” Sam cooed, bringing her to his chest and engulfing her in a protective hug.

Her blanket fell in Bucky’s lap and she dropped her bunny to cling to Sam, barely quieting her sobs.

Not able to hold himself together any longer, a tear escaped Sam’s eye his gaze met Bucky’s. He buried his nose in her hair and squeezed her closer to him, sighing in relief that they’ve found her. His mind kept torturing him with scenarios of her getting hurt and not getting help. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if they’d actually lost her.

“You’re okay, sugar. Papa’s here with you. I’m sorry it took us so long, baby. We were looking in a lot of places.” Sam sniffled, pulling back to pepper featherlike kisses all over her face.

“You wanted to find me?” Her small, brittle voice asked, doe eyes staring up sadly.

“What? Of course we wanted to find you, baby! Why would you think otherwise?!”

“But I was bad. You w-were done. It needed to stop,” she repeated his and Bucky’s words on him and Sam felt shame cover him from head to toe, Bucky not any different as he bit down to stop his tears.

“Doll,” Bucky went to hold her hands only to find they were freezing.

“Shit! She’s too cold,” he told Sam, who immediately started taking off his jacket.

“Dada, bad word,” she softly reminded Bucky, covering her mouth with her hand before Sam got out of his jacket.

Sam slipped his warm jacket on her and pulled the zipper up, her small hands disappearing inside the long sleeves.

“Good girl, sugar. It is a bad word.” He rolled the sleeves back just enough to get her palms out so she could still hold her bunny.

“But you don’t see me asking daddy to leave because he was bad, do you?” Sam asked tenderly and she shook her head no.

“Exactly, I’m not. You know why?” Sam pressed kisses to both of her hands multiple times, rubbing them between his palms to warm her up.

“Why, papa?” she asked as he carried her in his arms; Bucky gathering the rest of her stuff.

“Because I love him so much." Sam wiped her tears. "And both me and daddy love you so so so much, sugar.” He pressed a firm kiss to her temple.

Bucky handed her the small bunny back after patting any dust or leaves out of it.

“We never want you to go, doll.” Bucky pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Even when I’m really really bad?”

“Even if you’re really really bad,” Sam guaranteed, kissing her temple again.

“But- I thought papa and daddy would be happier and not so angry no more if I left,” she mumbled innocently as Sam started walking to the car with her in his arms.

“That could never be true, doll. We’re only happy as long as we have you,” Bucky reassured her, opening the backseat door so Papa could slip in with her on his lap.

“And you still love me?” Her pout, teary puppy eyes and words were just killing both men inside.

“Of course we love you, doll! We will always love you. We can never afford to lose you,” Bucky told her, his eyes searching hers to offer them comfort.

“Baby, we love you so much it’s uncountable, remember?” Sam ran his thumb over the knuckles of her stuffie-holding hands.

She nodded, her eyes teary but her smile comforted and reassured. “I love you too, Papa,” she mumbled, grabbing onto Sam’s thumb, her eyelids barely staying open.

“I’m sorry I left,” she sniffled.

“It’s alright, baby. We’re all together now and we're going home.” Sam kissed her forehead once more, wanting her to forget all about it and know everything was okay again.

“Told you we’d find her,” Sam said, drawing Bucky inside the car by the cheek and brushing his lips against his.

“You did.” Bucky nodded, pressing his forehead to Sam’s and kissing him again.

Bucky pulled back and smiled adoringly at her sleepy eyes fighting to stay open as she leaned onto Sam's chest before getting in the driver’s seat to take them home. Sam was caressing her hair and before she knew it her eyes were fluttering closed.

All the crying all day had drained her and her body could finally give up and relax now that she was in Papa’s hold; she was out like a light.

“You’re so important to me and daddy, sugar. Never ever forget that,” Sam whispered against her forehead before pressing a slow kiss to her skin.

She might've had no idea how adored and cherished she actually was, but that was okay. Sam and Bucky had a lifetime ahead of them where they could show her again and again that they loved and needed her just as much as she did them.

“Dada! Papa! Wake up! We have a swing!”

She’d fallen asleep pretty early in the car last night and neither Sam nor Bucky had the heart to wake her up when they got home. So they took her shoes and socks off and tucked her in in their bed.

Now they had to deal with her waking up way too early. She’d gone to the bathroom on her own like a good girl before her stomach hungrily grumbled. And when she got to the kitchen for a cup of water and maybe the plate of fruit in the fridge, her eyes fell on the swing showing outside the small window on the kitchen door.

Bucky rolled over and opened his eyes first, her jumping on her knees on the bed beside him pulling him out of his dreams. Sam, however, didn’t move a muscle. The man slept so soundly that sometimes Bucky was jealous. How heavy of a sleeper could a person be?

“Yes, we do, baby.” Bucky chuckled. “Me and papa built it just for you.” He smiled sleepily at her excited face before annoyingly poking Sam’s back, “Sam, wake up.”

“Tank you, dada.” She settled back on her ankles though still buzzing with joy.

“You like it, sugar?” Bucky opened his arms wide for her.

“Yes, I love it.” She nodded happily before perching herself on his hard chest, cutely kissing his jaw, “and I love you, dada.”

“Sam.” He affectionately punched his sleeping husband’s shoulder, smirking when he heard him groan, “she likes the swing.”

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wilders-girl · 2 years ago

Text

Gilded City- Part Two

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem! Reader (Batman in there too hehe)

Rating: Pretty PG !!

Warnings: Mention of a strip club, implied sexual harassment in the workplace, overall pretty fluffy though

Word count: 2,596

A/n: hey everyoneee 😏 excited for yall to read this insanely long chapter (bc I got carried away). It's a lot of cute shit with the one and only babygirl Brucie pookie (I regret typing that.) Anyways enjoy!!!!

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The concept of darkness wasn’t a frightening one. Not to me. Not when I’ve lived like this for so long; embracing the unknown, living comfortably with fear. Darkness was a reality.

I woke up enveloped in darkness.

I remember the heavy shroud of black that anesthetized me before, but opening my eyes to the same darkness was unexpected.

Strangely enough, I still didn’t feel afraid.

I felt the reeling delay of movement and my head spun. I groaned, but it reverberated in my head and I felt much worse. I finally creaked open my eyes to see that I wasn’t walking, but getting carried.

A sudden fear paralyzed my body as I began to recall what happened before I blacked out. One of them kidnapped me.

I tried to focus my cloudy eyes, wincing at the sensation of my pulse hammering in my ears. I mustered up enough strength to move my arm up to push his face and hopefully cause him to stagger so I could run.

Wait, what was that?

I squinted, craning my neck to look up and find that the strange material I felt was the vinyl-esque material of a mask.

The pieces didn’t click for a long while. My eyes were still focusing and unfocusing like a broken digital camera trying to process the image in front of me.

There was a silence before he sharply inhaled, his lips pressed into a line, and looked me in the eyes.

With a slow exhale, he blinked a couple times like there were tears in his eyes. Haint blue eyes looked down at me. They were the saddest eyes I’ve ever looked into, yet they filled my senses with deep solace. A warm breeze blowing through the ancient porches of the South. A lonely mourning dove crying out in the pastel, temperate mornings of a better place.

With the softest, most gentle eyes, he placed me down even more gently onto an impossibly soft surface I realized was my bed. I felt I was losing consciousness again, but I fought it. I wanted him to stay with me forever. I hadn’t felt safe since I moved to Gotham, but he made me feel vindicated. My salvation.

Slowly, he slid his hands out from under me and turned to become one with the shadows of my apartment, fading into nothingness just as he’d appeared.

I reached a shaky hand out towards him.

“Wait.” I whispered, noticing white bandages littering my arm.

He paused briefly, turning his head to look at me but not his eyes.

He was silent for what seemed like an eternity.

“Stay.” I pleaded under my breath.

He shook his head and I noticed his body tense like he was restraining himself from moving. His fists were balled, shaking angrily.

Finally, his hands opened up and he breathed deeply.

He looked at me with those sad eyes again, this time filled with remorse.

They spoke for him. “You know I can’t do that. You don’t know who I am, what I’ve done.”

“Will I see you again?” I asked foolishly. I knew the answer.

All he did was shake his head bittersweetly.

“I hope not,” he murmured.

And with that, my angel flew away.

—

His voice was absolutely irresistible. Rich and smooth like the finest cognac, but it burned your throat all the same. It was weathered, husky. Dark red velvet; the heaviest, thickest curtains blocking out the piercing, blazing light of Arizona. Or maybe the endless torrent of rain that Gotham eternally seemed to sport. A safeguard against the harsh, loud world outside.

I couldn’t get enough.

I thought about him a lot over the weekend as I tended to my wounds. The violence that happened to me was almost a memory thanks to whatever magic he worked. I wasn’t convinced it wasn’t all just a dream. He appeared and disappeared like a true shadow, just like the legends- the rumors.

But he’s a man. He’s real. I know that now. To a criminal, of course he’d seem like a wraith that silently kills in its wake. Somehow, that wasn’t the same Batman I met in my room that night.

I want to say that my questions are answered now that I’ve interacted with him. But that would be a lie. In fact, I have more questions now than I started off with.

Why did he save me? Chasing the scum is one thing, but to aid the victim is something else in its entirety. There were rumors he gave up on being “vengeance”. Maybe this is what he meant; to have a heart.

By the following Friday, I was feeling well enough to walk around my house almost like normal. Looking at the barren state of my fridge, I decided I needed to go grocery shopping whether I liked it or not.

Around 12 pm, I stepped out into the cloudy day, waving down a taxi to get to the produce store easier. I couldn’t walk the whole way, and I knew not to get cocky lest I broke something else.

—

“Have a good day honey!” The sweet auntie smiled after ringing up my groceries.

I shot her a quick smile in response, heading next door to the chinese bakery to get a quick lunch.

It was relatively empty for midday, but I jumped on the opportunity to get two fresh BBQ pork buns. The man behind me in line seemed relatively familiar, but I didn’t recognize him until the cashier took the name for his order.

“Sorry, just a couple more minutes, okay?” The chef leaned over the counter with an apologetic smile, snapping me out of my shock.

“Yeah, no worries!” I reassured her, trying to ground myself as the man stood a polite distance away from me also waiting for some buns.

I must have been obvious in my shock, as I heard a quiet chuckle next to me.

“You know, out of all the bakeries I’ve been to in Gotham, this place has the best pork buns.” He spoke lightheartedly.

I nodded, looking at his face with furrowed brows to confirm to myself that this was, in fact, who I thought it was.

Dressed casually in a grey layered sweater and black jeans, it was hard to believe I wasn’t dreaming again.

“Yeah, they’re great. Especially when they’re fresh.” I stammered.

“Worth the wait huh?” He cocked his head at me.

“One hundred percent.” I smiled back, feeling a little less awkward.

“I’m Bruce.” He extended a hand casually.

I shook his hand, momentarily getting lost in the feeling of his cool grip before remembering to introduce myself too.

“Bruce, and…” The chef struggled to read the cashier’s handwriting of my name on the ticket.

“Thank you.” I responded, sporting her a forgiving smile.

I heard Mr. Wayne give his thanks to the cashier, and I prepared to wrangle all my bags for the taxi ride home.

“Do you need any help carrying those?” He asked softly.

“I’m alright, thanks.” I laughed, flustered. “I’m taking the cab home, so it’ll just be a battle getting all my stuff in one of those little things.”

“Ah,” he nodded, pursing his lips. He then paused to think for a second.

“If it’s alright with you, I could drive you.”

The proposal had my eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“Of course, I understand if you don’t want to,” He quickly interjected. “Gotham’s not a safe city by far.” He looked away, a hard expression on his face.

“My car’s a little bigger than a cab, though.” He joked, seemingly pushing himself out of the headspace he entered.

“I- yeah, um…” I shook my head, trying to comprehend the situation. There was no way this was happening to me.

“Sure,” I sighed. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He looked down at me, hints of genuine surprise in his eyes.

Such pretty eyes. The fluorescents did them no justice.

“I’m not parked too far from here,” He spoke in that quiet way of his.

He took the grocery bags from me before I had any time to protest, and began to walk outside, holding the door for me as we left the bakery.

I stepped wrong on my injured leg and had to limp a little right before getting to his car, and he looked at my leg with a strange expression. His eyes flicked to the white bandage peeking out of my sleeve and then back to my leg. The expression was mostly sadness, but I saw fragments of regret and guilt in his eyes.

For a second, I thought I saw those same sad eyes that I’d been thinking about all week.

Popping open the trunk, he placed both of the bags in the back of the car.

I opened the passenger door and sat down, buckling myself in as the intrusive thoughts seeped into the forefront of my mind. I wondered if this was the last time anyone saw me. I just got into a stranger’s car, no questions asked, with the justification that he was driving me home and he was famous. Maybe also because he was good-looking.

Something was seriously wrong with me.

Before I could overthink any more, he stepped into the car and turned the key.

Soft music started playing, and I quickly recognized it as Depeche Mode. I couldn’t help but smile a little, knowing a literal millionaire liked the same group I did.

“I used to have a motorcycle,” he hesitantly said after pulling out of the parking space.

“I ended up getting rid of it.” He finished after a pause.

I nodded.

“Always good to change things up.” I responded politely. He was trying his best to keep small talk going, but it wasn’t working. Poor guy, he probably hasn’t spoken extensively to a civilian, like, ever.

“Which way are we headed?” He looked at me ruefully.

“Ah, right.” I totally forgot he was taking me home. “You can drop me off at the strip club next to the karaoke bar. I live close by.” I auto-piloted the answer, forgetting that not everyone knew where I worked.

My face slowly heated up as I realized and I struggled to explain myself.

“It’s just a big landmark, you know? Not like I go there or anything, I just…” I sighed.

“Wow, I really wish I’d have chosen anywhere else.”

I saw the corners of his mouth turn up in almost a smile in my peripheral vision, and my face heated even more somehow.

“No worries, I get what you mean.” He responded.

A silence ensued, shifting from awkward to comfortable, as Policy of Truth played softly in the background.

“Never again is what you swore the time before,” I softly sang, tapping my fingers on my leg to the beat.

“You know this song?” He asked, turning his head to look at me briefly.

“Yeah,” I laughed. “They were one of my dad’s favorite groups.”

“Good taste.” He responded simply.

The rest of the ride was a comfortable silence. I still couldn’t believe I was being driven home by Bruce Fucking Wayne.

He’d gotten more involved in society recently, no doubt trying to fix that broken reputation of his. The news never spoke of him except to call him a shut-in. They described him like a traitor; one of Gotham’s biggest failures. No wonder he tries so hard these days. Who knows, maybe him driving me home was all a really well thought out publicity stunt.

Everything in the news got amplified when the Edward Nashton fiasco was at its peak a couple months ago. They call him The Riddler. Sure, the guy’s in jail now, but the damage he did impacts us still.

They only got the city fully de-flooded a couple weeks ago. Socially, of course, the impact was even more profound. He created an army of people who thought they could kill the Batman. The message of reforming the city got lost, of course. People want an excuse for violence and now that they have a target, it makes it so easy for them.

It had to be hard for Bruce, too. Being excluded and looked down upon if at all from everyone to suddenly being thrown into the public eye must have given him whiplash. The Riddler targeting him in his attacks was simultaneously the best and worst thing that happened to his career. I guess not much changed, though. To everyone in this city, he was a sob story before and he still is now.

I was snapped out of my thoughts as I felt the car stop a little ways away from my workplace.

He didn’t look over at me for a minute, hands still on the wheel, blinking quickly as if he was trying to figure out what to say. I decided for him.

“Thank you a lot, Bruce. Truly.” I smiled at him.

“My pleasure.” He awkwardly smiled back like he’d forgotten how.

We were quiet, just looking into each other’s eyes for a moment. His forced smile melted into a genuine grin. He sharply inhaled, breaking the silence.

“Right, let me help you get your bags.” He popped the trunk, then stepped out of the car; I followed suit.

Wordlessly, he handed me my groceries and pork buns.

“I guess,” I hesitated, looking away for a moment. “I’ll see you around?”

“Probably.” He simply stated. “I hope so, anyway.”

I couldn’t help but smile up at him. This had to be a dream.

“Thanks again.” I spoke softly.

“Of course. Get well soon.” He ended the sentence with my name, then got into his car.

I started to walk away at a brisk pace, eyes slowly widening as I realized he said my name.

Bruce Wayne remembered me.

Suddenly, the cold weather wasn’t a problem for me anymore. I was as hot as an oven with a fever, walking as quickly as I could to my apartment.

Shutting the door behind me, a wide grin broke out on my face and I practically skipped to my fridge to shelve my groceries. Replaying various moments of my afternoon, I giggled like a maniac and tried to remind myself that he was a stranger to me, and treated me with regular levels of politeness.

“Get a grip!” I spoke out loud, shaking my head. I was disappointed in myself for thinking about him like this. “No more thinking about Bruce Wayne.”

—

I spent the rest of the day thinking about him, so that wasn’t helpful.

I sat in bed with a cup of tea and reviewed the text I was about to send to one of the girls I worked with.

“Hey, just wanted to tell you I’m coming back to work Monday. If you’re working over the weekend, can you tell Joey? I tried texting him but got no response.”

The last part was a lie, I never texted my boss. He always took my texts as invitations to come over and “help relax my muscles”. I never let him, thank God.

I pressed send, knowing she wouldn’t respond until the morning if she was working.

Laying in my bed after finishing my tea, I realized just how tired I was, and went to sleep almost immediately.

I dreamed about the Batman, as I do most nights, but this time Bruce was there too. Two incredible men I didn’t deserve and barely knew I existed were taking care of me like I meant something to them.

Only in my dreams.

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Be sure to comment ur thoughts on this, I love reading what you guys think abt my work ♡ (reblogs n likes r appreciated too)

#bruce wayne x reader #pattinson!batman #pattinson!bruce wayne #pattinson!batman x reader #batman x reader #the batman

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years ago

Note

8 from misc. And 6 from steamy scenes with Benedict Bridgerton. ❤

Treasure Hunts // Benedict Bridgerton

a/n: I'm so sorry for the wait! please read the warnings, this isn't straight smut, but it gets sort of heavy. for all the smut I read, you’d think I’d be comfortable writing it... but alas I am not.

warnings: this gets steamy - making out, fondling, grinding, stripping. female reader, marriage, married couple, fluff, treasure hunts.

wc: 1.4k - this really ran off from me, it’s meant to be a blurb.

As every season in London comes to an end, yourself and Benedict make your way back to My Cottage, your children happily staying behind with their beloved grandmother. The time alone was precious. As much as you adored your children, you missed spending time alone with Benedict where adult matters could be discussed or a treasure hunt could be planned on behalf of your husband.

It had all started when Benedict brought up the idea of a night once a fortnight dedicated to the two of you where there was no talk of the children or of the family. It was to be a night simply for the two of you. However, deep within the country where there were no major functions due to the end of the season, there wasn’t much that could be offered in the form of a date night.

It was why instead of waking up to your handsome husband, you felt a crinkle of a piece of paper. Frowning in your sleep, you force yourself to consciousness, reading the words written there.

“A meal a day, mostly in the morn. You’ll find the next clue, tucked in the torn.”

Your sleep addled brain takes a moment to catch up with itself; your eyes adjusting to the morning light as the words on the slip of paper become clearer. Sitting up in bed, you hike the sheets over your body to protect yourself from the chill as you try to figure out your husband’s plan.

The torn?

It comes back to you in a rush. A chime of laughter; the press of a kiss; the smell of cologne. The torn was what Benedict and you called the ripped piece of wallpaper behind the sideboard table. In the very early days of your marriage, it was even harder to keep your hands from Benedict. In this particular instance, Benedict was at fault, capturing you at breakfast. The sideboard banged against the wall to the point of damaging the decorating – something the both of you realised as Benedict was re-tying the laces of your dress.

Dressing quickly, you rush down to the breakfast room, heading for the sideboard where you notice a slim piece of cream paper sticking up between the wall and table.

Snatching it, a private smile adorns your lips, remembering the very moment that had led to the damaged wallpaper. Years had passed since that day, yet the need to have your husband in every shape and form hadn’t lessened. As Benedict slowly began to grey with age, you found yourself more attracted to the man than ever.

Shaking your head, you open Benedict’s note. “We greet here, but never eat. We smile here, but never beam.”

The drawing room.

The answer comes to you immediately, not needing the time to decipher the note. It had become a custom through your marriage that you would not be the family that live their lives in the drawing room, waiting for others to drop by and visit. Early on in your marriage, Benedict decreed that the drawing room would be suitable for formalities, but the real part of your marriage would take place in another room in the house – a room suitable for living, not performing.

The drawing room is cold when you enter; the morning sun not high enough in the sky to begin warming the room through. A fire would need to be lit should you enter again on the hunt Benedict has sent you on.

Pausing in the doorway, you think for a moment as to where Benedict might hide his next note. The drawing room was so rarely used; the both of you choosing to host family and close friends in a much more informal setting.

In his elegant scrawl resides a riddle: “My spine is stiff. My body, pale. I’m always ready to tell a tale.”

Gathering your skirts in your hands, you keep tight hold of the riddle, marching through the house to the small library where Benedict knows you spend most of your time when not occupied by him or the children.

There, on the small table you use to rest your teacup, lies another piece of paper. Without another moment to lose, you reach for the paper, not giving yourself enough time for pause, desperate to know the next clue in your treasure hunt.

“When I’m not by your side, you’ll find me here.”

Not so much a riddle, but a test on your behalf.

Benedict was an artist. He was a husband, a father, an uncle, but he was an artist before he was all those things.

His studio is on the second floor of the house; located at the end of the corridor, down the hall from the children’s nursery and playroom. Benedict wasn’t an artist that needed silence to focus; in a house of eight children, silence was a virtue yet seldom found, so he learnt to focus with noise.

You knock once, entering anyway. Benedict never minded the interruptions; he rather enjoyed them, knowing he would either get to talk to you about art, or kiss you senseless.

Your husband stands by the large window; hands clasped behind his back as he stares at the view of the English countryside. His strong back faces you; he’s forgone all formal clothing today, settling simply for a pair of breeches and one his loose white t-shirts. Your mouth dries at the sight, admiring the view of his muscular back, only just visible through the translucent fabric of his shirt.

“You’ve had me running around all morning,” you tease, “What do I win?”

“You’ll have to come closer to find out,” Benedict challenges, turning to face you.

Raising a single eyebrow to his challenge, you wander slowly to your husband, feeling anticipation begin to stir in your gut. No words are muttered; not a single whisper as you join your husband at the window.

All he does is kiss you.

Heat rises from your stomach to your chest; your heart pounding so loud you wonder briefly whether Benedict can hear it. His lips are hot and insistent on yours; taking early control of the kiss as his hands wander to the loose ties of your dress. He tastes of the traditional cup of breakfast tea he has every morning; the very taste is addicting as Benedict taps your right hip twice – the signal for you to jump.

Your legs wrap around his waist; his hands drop from your back to cup your bum through the masses of skirt. Benedict settles you on a table you briefly remember is covered in paint though the very thought flies right out of your mind as Benedict’s hands drift up and under your skirt, caressing the soft skin there. Soft moans fall from your lips as you break the kiss, coaxing Benedict further as you slowly begin to grind your hips in the hopes of getting his hand where you desire it most.

A smirk curls the edges of his lips as he enjoys teasing you. Kiss after kiss is pressed to your bare shoulder; the man only a moment away from laughter as he catches sight of the frustration so clearly written on your face.

You reach for the hem of his shirt, you tug at the fabric, ripping the buttons clean off the material. Your fingers skim over the bare, taut skin of Benedict’s stomach, revelling in the soft moans that leave his mouth as your fingers move lower to the band of his breeches. His mouth falls slack as you take hold of heat waiting there.

He huffs angrily when you pull your hand from his breeches; a satisfied grin on your face. It doesn’t take much for Benedict to wipe the grin from your face; he kisses you once more, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he draws you even closer to him. Your hands wind their way into his hair, tugging at the long locks, loving the groan that sounds in the back of his throat.

Benedict breaks the kiss; his chest heaving from the effort. He smiles at you; it lights up his face, making him seem younger, more boyish as a devious glint begins to take over.

He tugs at the shoulders of your dress; your arms free of the material as you remain exposed to the man you love. Your chest bare; breath heaving from your body as Benedict presses kiss after kiss to the naked skin. “You’ve won your prize,” Benedict murmurs, his lips painting the words against your skin as if you were one of his landscapes. “What would you have me do now?”

“Touch me,” you breathe, hitching your skirts higher around your hips to gain better purchase on the man you promised to love for better, for worse, and for richer, for poorer.

“Happily.”

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton #Benedict bridgerton imagines #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton blurb #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton fluff

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erodasfishtacos · 4 years ago

Note

harry adores yn with his entire being and i can tell that she loves him just as much but the poor thing is just so scared, and by what you have showed us she has a fair reason to have struggles

Through Hell and Back

warnings: cheating, mentions of domestic violence, this could just be overall triggering if you have experienced trauma or family struggles.

this is a very important blurb to understand dynamic and history of the characters.

PLEASE let me know your thoughts.

—

Harry’s out at a bachelor party for his friend, Jack, at a noisy bar downtown where there is a mechanical bull and half-naked waitresses.

His phone rings at two-thirty in the morning, he already knows who it is and why she’s calling him so late.

He steps outside the noisy bar, “Hi puppy, y’alright?”

Harry already knew she wasn’t.

Her voice is shaky, “Er, are you still out at the bachelor party?”

If he says yes, she’ll just try to say have fun and was just calling to check in - a lie because she felt like such an inconvenience at all times.

“No, just got home,” He lied smoothly, he could hear her trying to hide a sniffle - she must have had a bad dream.

Every since she started trauma therapy, they’d been getting worse, as she worked through her struggles with a therapist.

—

“I-I don’t want to g-go in,” YN whimpers as she sits in Harry’s passenger side outside the clinic, “I can’t talk about it.”

“Baby, you need to do this. You need to talk to someone who’s trained to help you, okay? You promised you’d try it f’me,” He hums, rubbing a thumb over her wet cheekbone.

She shakes her head stubbornly, “It’s all going to come back.”

“Yes, it will. Because you didn’t work through it, you repressed it. There is a difference, okay?” Harry’s heart feels like it’s being ripped in two as YN looks like a caged animal.

YN squeezes Harry’s hand so hard it hurts but he doesn’t mind, he can feel her fear being shared through the rough touch.

She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, “Please, H. I don’t want to remember.”

He sighs softly, “I would never force you to do something you don’t want to do. If you really want to leave, we can.”

YN searches his eyes, sees his sadness and she knows she has to push through because she loves him so much, “Will you walk me in?”

“Of course, s’fucking proud of you. My strong girl,” Harry praises, kissing the top of her head, and shutting off the car.

He walks her in, watches her as she hesitantly goes back in with her new therapist, and sits in the waiting room for the hour and a half until she comes out.

He does that every week without miss.

Drives her, walks her in, sits in the waiting room, and then drives her home.

She doesn’t usually talk much after the sessions, her eyes swollen and puffy which is a telltale sign she cried during the appointment.

Harry holds her hand on the ride home, sometimes draws her a bath or tucks her in for a nap under his covers.

One day, after therapy, they crawled into his bed together. She hadn’t said one word since she walked out of the office but she looks tiredly at Harry.

“Why?”

Harry frowns, “Why what?”

She hides her face into the fluffy pillow, words mumbled, “Why do you want me? I’m so broken.”

“Hey,” Harry responds loudly, pulling her up and giving her a serious look, “You are not broken. Even if you were, I’d love every broken piece, okay? I want you because I’m so in love with you it doesn’t make sense.”

YN shakes her head, “I don’t deserve you. You-you have to drive me to therapy every week, leave work early, have to make it up the next day.”

And well, his heart breaks a little because she truly believes that.

Harry grips her jaw, gently, “If you need to go to therapy for the rest of your life, I’ll drive you until I’m ninety. I’ll drive you five days a week if you need it.”

He continues,“I don’t deserve you, sweet girl. Strongest, bravest, most resilient person I’ve ever met. You are my soulmate and I believe that wholeheartedly.”

“I want to nap now,” She whispers, crawling back into her shell where she’s safe from the world, from facing her fears.

Harry just stares at her, the girl he’s had a crush on since fourth grade, the girl he’d been in love with since ninth.

When she felt broken, well so did he.

—

“Mum, I want to do more for her,” Harry cries to his mother one night at dinner after school.

“I know you do, Harry. There is only so much you can do. She has parents tha-“

“Those aren’t parents, mum! You know that!” He shouts angrily, “I need to do more for her. Help her!”

Anne looks at him with a soft, understanding expression, “You’re doing all you can, Harry.”

—

He was still doing all he can.

“I wa-was wondering if you wanted to come over and watch a movie?” YN acts casual despite the tremor but he won’t call her on it - on the phone at least.

“I’d love to pup, I’ll be over on a tick,” already walking away from the busy bar.

Harry can hear the relief in her voice when she says, “Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

When he uses his key to open the door, she sat on her couch with all the lights in the house on, not one off.

“Oh, pet,” Harry murmurs, all the blinds were drawn shut and he knew she’d already triple checked that the windows were locked - despite the state of the art security system he had installed for her.

“Um, so are we feeling a scary movie or romcom?” She ignores his words, picking up the remote, and pulling up Netflix.

He flicks a couple of the bright lights off until it’s normal dim and he sits next to her on the couch, taking the remote and turning off the television.

“Talk t’me,” Harry coaxes, unraveling her from the heavy weighted blanket, and tugging her into his chest.

“M’fine,” YN lies on a choked whimper.

“Y’safe, you know I’d never let anythin’ happen to you . Please puppy, tell me,” He’s not to manly to beg for her to open up.

He allows her to nuzzle her face into his neck, “He cam-came back an-and he -,” her voice drops, “broke in here and I wo-woke up as he was opening my door.”

Harry holds her for a very long time that night.

With Harry and her therapist’s constant encouragement she’d been able to be more open and up front with Harry - which made him feel unexaplainably proud of her.

Anna almost fucked everything up, all the hard work without even realizing it.

It was nearly three in the morning this time.

Harry was stuck at Anna’s house with her and her friends for a movie night.

He’d gotten up to go to the bathroom when his phone rings.

Anna sees who it is and picks it up, “What do you want? Harry’s busy and doesn’t have time for you right now. You know it’s not all about you, right?”

Then she hangs up, all of her and her friends giggling at how she just treated YN.

Harry is unaware of the call for a few minutes when he gets back until he gets a text from YN.

I’m sorry I bothered you. I am okay. Have fun tonight x

He scrolls through his phone in confusion until he sees the call, he glares over at Anna, “Did you answer my phone?”

She has a cocky look on her face, “Yeah, I told YN that the world doesn’t revolve around her and to leave us alone.”

All the friends are giggling - but that comes to an abrupt halt when Harry stands up, knocking over the little table of drinks with his anger, “Where the fuck did you get the idea that you could touch my phone, let alone answer it?”

All of them are quiet.

He scoffs, “Now all you annoying prats are going shut up? Get the fuck out of my way,” he orders to Anna who’s pouting.

“C’mon, it was a joke. Don’t leave,” She whines, grabbing at Harry’s arm which he instantly rips out of her grip.

“Don’t touch me. I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” He tells her honestly before storming out of her house without a look back at her teary face.

When he arrives at YN’s house, a book is automatically been hurled at the front door when he opens it, then another.

“Hey, puppy, stop tha’. S’just me, you’re okay. S’just me,” He coos, rearming the security system to make her feel better.

She is only in one of his shirts with the company logo on it and soft cotton boy shorts, hair frizzy atop her head.

“Y’have another nightmare?” Harry asks softly, all the lights were on again, every single one.

YN clenches her jaw, “No.”

He hardens his expression too, “I was in the bathroom when she answered that call. As soon as I found out, I came over here. Don’t be sour with me.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

“I know y’bloody lying because your legs are still tremblin’. Now cut the bullshit and talk t’me, we’re not going backwards,” Harry tells her seriously, with all firmness he can muster.

“I love you.”

It takes him aback. YN told him how much she adored him but it was something that didn’t come easy for her.

To hear it flat out, well….he nearly almost melted on the floor into a pile of goop.

“I love you too, puppy.”

She takes a deep breathe, “It’s been that same nightmare, but it’s not really a nightmare? It’s a flashback to…”

YN swallows before she continues, “Remember when….when I ran from my parent’s house to yours and my dad came and found me…”

Harry doesn’t want to remember but he does.

—-

“Harry, he-he just pulled up,” YN cries, peeking out his window, “I don’t want to go home.”

“Harry, he’s screaming at your mum. I have to go.”

“Harry, I have to go before he does something stupid. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Harry, don’t cry. I’ll be fine, he’s just really upset. I’ll just deal with it and it will be over before we know it, okay?”

——

“I remember,” He wavers like he normally doesn’t, feeling like a helpless sixteen year old again.

It was moments like this were no matter how hard he wanted to be angry or scream at her for making their relationship so difficult, that he couldn’t be.

How could he blame her for her commitment issues?

Why she struggles to trust?

Why she never feels good enough?

“I’m sorry to bring that up-“

“Do not apologize,” Harry interrupts, “I want to know everything you experience or feel no matter how traumatic or upsetting.”

YN despite her own struggles, when she heard Harry say things like that…well she knew full heartedly that he loves her with no conditions.

She knew this was so hard on him, “I am so in love with you, H.”

His eyes automatically soften and he reacts like he’s being praised. His face lights up without him even knowing it does.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen, thank you for being my person. I appreciate everything you do for me.”

It was something she had been also working on in therapy, expressing gratitude- specifically to Harry.

And it works because Harry actually starts tearing up, eyes watering with emotion, “I love you. I’d walk through hell and back for you.”

He would and he has.

#harry styles #harry styles writing #update #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #Harry styles angst #cheating!harry blurb #cheating!harry #cheating!harry masterlist

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rax-writes · 4 years ago

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Fandom: MCU Pairing: Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader Warnings: Sexual intercourse with a female-identifying person with a vagina + a bit of sugar daddy Zemo vibes at the end Notes: Y’all... don’t judge me. I have a power kink, and Marvel did me dirty by randomly deciding that Zemo is fifthly rich royalty. And my girl @henrysmorgan did me even dirtier by actively encouraging my attraction to this fucker. So, blame Marvel, and blame her. // This is kind of really fucking long, and I didn’t edit it much, because I wanted to get it posted before episode 4, in case that episode flips the script. So, potentially some editing issues, and slightly rushed writing. Hopefully it’s alright, but please let me know if I screwed up anywhere. // Lots and lots of TFAWS ep. 3 spoilers

When Bucky texted you to ask that you meet him in some dusty, old, abandoned-looking car garage, you certainly didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that an old friend needed your help, so you intended to be there.

It had been a few months since you’d last seen him, and even longer since you’d participated in any sort of mission, but you suspected that was what you were walking into. Being exposed to the Mind Stone had granted you the power of telepathy, which meant that SHIELD was quite keen on persuading you to work for them. They trained you in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat, and you went on miscellaneous missions a handful of times. They put in a lot of effort to convince you that it was your moral obligation as an “enhanced individual” to help them with these missions, but you ultimately decided that that simply wasn’t the kind of life you wanted. Instead, after the Blip, you began working a desk job for SHIELD, which is when you crossed paths with Bucky, helping him with paperwork associated with his pardon, and the two of you formed a friendship. But SHIELD kept trying to coerce you to get back into the field, constantly badgering you about it and making it clear that you weren’t wanted if all you were doing was paperwork.

The truth is, you weren’t cut out to be a superhero, and you had no desire to be. It didn’t help that your entire country had been reduced to rubble several years prior, leaving you with a bottomless pit of homelessness in your heart. So, you left SHIELD, and started a life in Berlin, where you were content to live out your days as the owner of a small bakery, residing in the small apartment above your shop.

That is, until Bucky Barnes dragged you into a particularly sticky situation, with a certain Baron Helmut Zemo.

You knew that helping Bucky and Sam would throw a colossal wrench in the life you’d created for yourself in Berlin, but after they explained the situation with the super soldiers, coupled with Bucky’s puppy dog eyes, you found yourself refraining from storming out of the building the second you saw Helmut fucking Zemo.

“We need you to keep an eye on him. You don’t have to tap into his mind 24/7, we just want a heads up if he’s going to screw us over,” Bucky explained.

"Look, we really need him. We’re obviously scraping the bottom of the barrel here, otherwise he'd still be in that cell. And neither of us want to be packing a criminal around like a rich bitch's chihuahua, so we need you here to make sure we're not gonna get bit," Sam explained.

"Fine. But you both owe me," you relented, and they both took sighs of relief. You glanced at Zemo, locking eyes with him for several tense moments. He gave you a polite smile, giving off the impression that he had nothing to hide – which he didn't, as his thoughts showed his intentions were pure at the moment. "We're good for now. He just genuinely wants the opportunity to take down these new super soldiers."

Sam and Bucky nodded, visibly releasing tension from their shoulders as they moved to head out, now reassured that Zemo was truly on their side. Meanwhile, Zemo eyed you with curiosity and awe, murmuring, "Fascinating."

The four of you walked on the landing strip toward a private jet, owned by Zemo.

"So all this time you've been rich?"

"I was a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty before your friends destroyed my country," Zemo explained, before glancing at you with a small smile. "But you knew that already."

"Wait, how did she know that?" Sam asked, then turned to you. "How did you know that?"

"I am Sokovian myself. I was certainly not royalty, but I lived there for my entire life, until it was destroyed," you explained, stopping outside the jet as Zemo greeted the elderly butler, Oeznik, in your native language. It made you smile to yourself; it had been years since you'd heard it spoken. Zemo shot you a grin when he noticed, and when you took a peek into his mind, you saw that he understood exactly how you felt.

As the butler handed Zemo a flute of champagne after you all boarded the jet, the Baron smiled politely as Oeznik stated, “Apologies if that's a little warm. The fridge is out, but I will see if there is some good food in the galley.”

Zemo glanced as you sat across from him, then in Sokovian, Zemo told Oeznik, "Another flute for the lady, please. And if the food does not pass the smell test, give it to the gentlemen."

"It's good to have you back, sir!"

As the man retreated to the cockpit, also in Sokovian, you noted, "You are a mischievous man, even more so than in your infamously criminal ways."

"You will find that there is more to me than meets the eye, angel," he responded coolly, the Sokovian language rolling off his tongue like honey. Before you could respond, admittedly enjoying speaking Sokovian, Sam grew tired of everyone speaking a language he couldn't understand.

"Why don't you tell us about where we're going?"

After a tense exchange between Bucky and Zemo, followed by a discussion about Marvin Gaye, Zemo finally got to the point: Madripoor. You exhaled slowly, resting your forehead in your palm in exasperation.

“You couldn’t have invited me on a mission to Cancun? Or Paris? Why must it be Madripoor?” you asked Bucky, who shot you a tight-lipped, pitying smile, silently apologizing for what he was dragging you into.

“What’s up with Madripoor? You guys talk about it like it’s Skull Island.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s,” Bucky explained.

“And upon seeing it, you would see that times there haven’t changed one bit since then,” you added.

“It’s kept its lawless ways. But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone,” Zemo said.

You frowned as you caught a glimpse of Bucky’s thoughts as he went silent. Fear. Anxiety. Disdain. Apprehension. You reached across to rest your hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. He shot you a small smile, then looked out the window.

Upon landing in Madripoor, one of Zemo’s contacts met you on the landing strip with a new wardrobe for you, Bucky, and Sam, and Zemo explained that each outfit was per his instruction, carefully chosen to fit the role each of you would be playing in Madripoor. One by one, you took the covered clothes hanger to the bathroom of the jet and changed. Bucky was first, stepping out in some sort of leather number, looking eerily similar to the Winter Soldier you’d seen in photos. Sam was next, donning a three-piece suit of burgundy and gold. He looked sharp, although he was immediately complaining about how ostentatious it was. And finally, you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, unzipping the covering on the hanger and revealing your “carefully chosen” outfit.

“Ich werde dir im Schlaf die Eier abreißen, Zemo!”

Bucky choked on his water and Zemo chuckled under his breath, while Sam looked between the two in confusion.

“I don’t know what she said, but she sounded pissed,” he observed, eyeing Zemo suspiciously.

“She informed me that she intends to remove my testicles in my sleep.”

“And why is that?”

“Perhaps because he’s chosen to parade me around Madripoor like a cheap whore,” you said angrily, stepping out of the bathroom with your hands on your hips, glaring at Zemo.

“That dress is by Armani Prive, and your shoes are Louboutins – far from ‘cheap.’ And you do not look like a whore, the dress is merely more revealing than what you are used to,” Zemo argued, standing and walking over to survey your outfit. He seemed to be enjoying what he saw, judging from the way his eyes raked up and down your body, but you didn’t dare check his thoughts to confirm or deny it.

If you were honest with yourself, he was right. It was a very nice dress; plum purple, matching the color of Zemo’s turtleneck, with long, fitted sleeves, all of it made of the softest silk you had ever touched. It was fitted at the top but flowy from the hips down, with a low balconette-style neckline, showing more of your chest than you were accustomed to, although you pulled it off quite nicely. It ended just above your knees, which was fine, as you sometimes wore skirts of that length. Overall, the luxury of it and the low-cut neckline ensured that you were out of your comfort zone, but you looked stunning – and expensive, despite your spite-fueled initial claim.

“I thought the color would look nice on you, and I was right. And I knew that the flow of the fabric at the bottom would allow for this,” Zemo said, his hand gingerly trailing from your waist to your thigh, where he pulled up the hem of your dress slightly to reveal the edge of the Glock strapped into your thigh holster. He smirked as his suspicion was confirmed. He knew you’d find a way to arm yourself, regardless of what you wore.

In hindsight, the way Zemo touched your side and lifted your skirt was all far more intimate than you should have allowed, and yet… you couldn’t deny the way your breath caught in your throat when he touched you, or how his close proximity made your body temperature rise, as he gazed down at you with those intense brown eyes.

Christ, you needed to get laid. Soon. Before you further entertained the idea of jumping the bones of a highly wanted criminal.

“Touch me like that again, and I will kill you where you stand,” you informed him sternly, and Zemo immediately took a step backwards, looking apologetic. From the corner of your eye, you saw both Sam and Bucky visibly relax, tension leaving their shoulders. You had read their thoughts briefly, and they were both wondering why the hell you were so calm about getting cozy with Zemo. The absolute last thing you wanted was for them to know that you were, in fact, inexplicably drawn to being that close to the Baron.

As the four of you walked along a bridge in Madripoor, Sam was quick to resume his complaining.

“We have to do something about this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname,” Sam grumbled, then looked at the phone Zemo handed him. “Hell, he does look like me, though.”

“And who am I supposed to be?” you inquired, glancing down at your clothing to see if you could guess who you were meant to be portraying. An heiress or socialite, perhaps.

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered simply, the faintest smile on his lips.

You barked out a crude laugh, “Oh, I think not.”

“There is no one involved with Madripoor who looks like you. And it is rare that there are newcomers to the island, especially not in the place we’re going. Pretending you are someone random would raise concerns about the intentions of your presence; you would be perceived as a potential threat, which would jeopardize our mission. It is far easier to simply pretend we are engaged, I assure you.”

You hesitated a moment, before arguing, “No one will believe that we are engaged.”

Zemo pulled something from the inside pocket of his jacket, took your left hand, and slipped it onto your ring finger. It was a solitaire diamond ring; not large enough to be gaudy, but enough to catch anyone’s eye.

“They will if you play your part well,” he told you, then addressed the rest of your party when he added, “No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There is no margin for error.”

The four of you reached a sleek black car, and climbed in, you in the back between Sam and Bucky. The ride to Low Town was tense and silent, as each of you mentally prepared for what lay ahead. When you arrived, Zemo offered you his hand as you exited the car, and the pointed look in his eyes told you that it was time to begin playing your part. You took his hand, and as you began walking into the heart of Low Town, he laced his fingers with yours. As the crowd drew near, Zemo wrapped his arm around your shoulders, gloved fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. After reading his mind, you realized that it was both for the sake of protecting you, and showing possessiveness to make it believable that you were his girl – and because he simply enjoyed having your body close, although you suspected that he’d rather you have not known that.

Despite the fact that you had been on a few missions for SHIELD, you were not exactly incapable of fear; you did not possess nerves of steel. All of the missions you’d been on were low-profile, and you were mostly just there for the sake of gathering information from those reluctant to share it. Sure, you’d been in danger before, you’d had to fight your way out of several sticky situations, but this… this was different. You were in the crime capital of the world, a lawless place filled to the brim with crooks, thieves, and murderers. More than likely, any given person around could slit your throat and never bat an eye or give you a second thought. Swallowing your own pride in the face of fear prompted you to return Zemo’s gesture, wrapping your arm around his waist and sticking close to him, which earned a smile from the man.

When you arrived at your destination, Zemo approached the bar and leaned against it confidently on one arm, the other still wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

“Hello, gentleman,” the bartender greeted, before his eyes fell on you. “Who’s your new lady friend, Baron?”

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered, then turned to you and ran his finger along your jawline, as you looked at him in adoration. “Isn’t she lovely?”

“Very,” the bartender acknowledged, then turned to Sam. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby,” Zemo responded.

The bartender made ‘Smiling Tiger’ his usual drink, which apparently consisted of… something he cut out of a snake, and dropped in a shot glass with a bit of liquor. You shared a look with Bucky before he turned away to survey the room, and when you read his thoughts, you found that you both desperately wanted to laugh out loud at Sam’s ‘short end of the stick’ situation, but didn’t want to risk everyone’s lives for the sake of a chuckle. You returned your attention to Zemo, opting to sell the whole “fiancée” thing a bit more by turning into him and tracing patterns on his chest as you gazed at him affectionately, while the bartender handed you and Zemo each a shot glass of your own – sans snake organs, thankfully. You both downed yours, while Sam understandably struggled a bit more with his, but still managed it.

A random man approached Zemo then, and as Zemo turned to face him, he protectively moved you behind him a bit.

“I got word from on high. You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo countered, gesturing toward Bucky, who looked menacing as he pretended to be the Winter Soldier. “Or bring Selby for a chat.”

After a weary look in Bucky’s direction, the man walked away, and Zemo turned back around to face the bar, this time keeping you in between him in the bar, in case someone were to come up behind him – which they did a few moments later.

“Winter Soldier… attack,” Zemo commanded in Russian, as a different man came up and laid a hand on Zemo’s shoulder. With a pained look in his eye that quickly shifted to cold determination, Bucky grabbed the man’s hand with his vibranium arm, twisting it as he removed it from Zemo’s shoulder. Zemo took a step away from the bar to allow you room to turn and observe as Bucky beat the absolute shit out of various challengers. Zemo wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him as he noted, “Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.”

The unmistakable sound of numerous guns cocking drew your attention away from the altercation, and Zemo gently pushed you behind him as he surveyed the room to note all the weapons drawn. Sam grabbed Bucky’s bionic arm to stop him, but Zemo whispered, “Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.”

“Well done, soldier,” Zemo then said to Bucky in Russian, signaling for the ‘Winter Soldier’ to stop.

“Selby will see you now,” the bartender interjected, and Bucky released his grip on the random man’s throat.

“Thank you,” Zemo responded, walking off to find Selby, grabbing your hand to guide you, but not before you spared a sorrowful glance at Bucky as your friends followed closely behind.

As Zemo took a seat on a couch across from Selby, you sat close to him, crossing your legs gracefully as you leaned into him, your arm wrapped around his as he clasped his hands in his lap authoritatively. You watched his exchange with Selby in silence, as did Sam – and Bucky, of course, considering he was pretending to be the Winter Soldier.

“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison,” Selby told Zemo, then smiled as she looked you up and down, before her eyes found the diamond ring. “And not engaged – to a woman far out of your league, I might add.”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo answered calmly, then looked over at you, staring into your eyes with warmth and adoration, and you smiled lovingly at him. “My beautiful fiancée was a guard at the prison. We fell in love over the years, and she helped me escape. Anyway, I’m sure you have already figured out what I’m here for.”

The conversation went relatively smoothly after that, until Sam’s goddamn phone rang and screwed the entire operation. In the blink of an eye, Selby was shot dead, you had shot two of the guards with the gun strapped to your thigh, and Sam and Bucky had each knocked out one, before Zemo suggested sneaking out of the bar as best you could, without any weapons. You secured your gun back in its holster, not missing the way Zemo watched as you hiked your dress up to do so, before making a break for it with the three of them.

Once you were on the streets of Madripoor, bounty hunters began to come out of the woodwork, and when they began shooting at you, Zemo abruptly grabbed your hand and ran down a nearby alleyway. As you were running, the heel of your stiletto caught on a grate, and you’d have fallen flat on your face if Zemo hadn’t caught you.

“Are you alright?” he asked hurriedly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he supported you, before standing you back onto your feet. You nodded, and he glanced over your shoulder as he noticed a few men looking down the alley. “Forgive me.”

You were about to ask what he was talking about, but then Zemo abruptly grabbed you by the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, pinned you against the wall behind you, and kissed you.

The men at the end of the alleyway muttered something about “freaks who do it in public,” then their footsteps faded as they walked off, clearly thinking the two of you were some overly horny couple, not two of the people with an insane bounty on their heads. But you were barely paying them any attention, a bit preoccupied with the fact that Zemo was fucking kissing you, and much to your chagrin, you really fucking liked it.

Once there were no more voices and no more footsteps, Zemo broke the kiss and sat you down. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, before you heard more gunshots, and you broke into a run in the direction Bucky and Sam had gone, desperate to find your friends, and no time to process what the hell just happened.

As soon as you caught up with them, the two bounty hunters nearby were shot dead, and the four of you turned to see Sharon Carter emerging from the shadows.

An hour later, you found yourself in her swanky home in High Town, in a change of clothes, since the brick wall Zemo had held you up against ripped the back of your silk dress. You lied to Sam and Bucky, saying that it happened because you fell while running in your heels, and thankfully, they believed you. Sharon commanded the four of you to lay low and enjoy the party, which Sam and Bucky left her living room to go do, entrusting you with ‘Zemo watch.’

It seemed as though he was merely nursing his brandy in lieu of abandoning it for the party prior to finishing it off, but his eyes were on you most of the time. You didn't necessarily believe he could be plotting to overpower you and run off, but there is always that possibility, so you delved into his mind to check.

Expecting to find thoughts of strategy about how to defeat the super soldiers or travel plans, or even plots to escape you, Bucky, and Sam, you were astounded to find nothing but thoughts of you.

The way it felt to kiss you in that alleyway, and how he had monetarily debated just staying there, having his way with you against the brick wall before Sam and Bucky could locate you. The dress from the bar, and how it rested on your thighs, revealing just enough to have his mouth watering without being revealing to the point of immodesty. The way your necklace currently rested against your bare collarbone, and how desperately he craved to litter the area with love bites. The delicate skin of your throat, thinking of how it would look with his hand wrapped around it, just enough to cut off a bit of air but not enough harm you. How alluring your voice is, and how much he'd like to know what it would sound like to hear you scream his name. The softness and warmness of your skin when he had his arm around you in the bar, and when he held your hand as you fled the scene, and he wondered how soft and warm you were elsewhere.

"Your thoughts are filthy."

He bristled immediately, sitting straighter in his seat and eyes going slightly wide, either forgetting you can read minds or not realizing you'd be doing it right then. It only took a moment for him to regain his composure, before he took one long, last drink of his brandy and set the glass on the table in front of him. He turned his whole body to the side to face you, as you sat on the opposite end of the couch, wearing a small, somewhat mischievous smile.

"I suppose there is no sense in denying it, is there?"

"What game are you playing, Zemo?" you snapped. He was rattling you. As much as you hated to admit it, he was. For the entirety of the time you'd been around him, this wanted criminal had been flustering you, and goddammit it, you wanted to know if it was accidental, or for nefarious purposes. He could be using it as a tactic to throw you off your game, so that he could get away when it was just the two of you – like right now.

"There is no game, Liebling," he stated softly and sincerely, sensing your discomfort. Slowly, he scooted closer to you on the couch, so that the arm he had laid across the back of it was now behind you, as he stared intently into your eyes. "Merely the natural response of a man who has been widowed and then locked in a prison cell, and therefore has not known the touch of a woman in many years, sitting next to a woman of absolute ethereal beauty."

You said nothing, merely stared at him, sizing him up to see if he was toying with you or telling the truth. Zemo sensed your lack of belief in his words.

"If you doubt my true intentions, you are welcome to delve as deep into my mind as you'd like to find the truth."

In all honesty, you'd have done that already if you weren't trying to avoid being even more flustered by his thoughts about you – but you couldn't tell him that. So, you did as he bade you, and searched his mind to find any shred of malevolence towards you, but you came out empty-handed. Zemo genuinely just wanted you, craved you, like a starved man sitting in front of an endless buffet. He watched you carefully as you came to this conclusion, and although you said nothing further, he knew that you had found what you needed to know.

"Just say the word, and I will never approach the topic again, as well as attempt to quiet my thoughts about you. But if there is any part of you... deep inside you," Zemo paused, eyes grazing you up and down purposefully, before continuing, "that has any interest in being with me... I will do anything to bring that to fruition."

The ball was in your court now. You could tell him to get bent and never speak to you like this again… or you could get your rocks off, and maybe even get something more in return.

"Such as?"

"Name it, Schätzchen. Anything you want. A car, a mansion, jewels – say it and it's yours, if you will be mine," Zemo proposed earnestly, licking his lips quickly as he looked at you, visibly thrilled that he was getting somewhere with you.

You weren't the type to accept gifts from men you barely know, but… this was Zemo. A man who had done a great many terrible things, which soothed your guilty conscience. So, you said the first thing that came to mind.

"A car," you blurted out, then explained, "Mine broke down a week ago, and it's beyond repair, so… a car."

"Tell me the make and model of your preference and I'll have it delivered to your home within a week's time," Zemo said calmly, then brushed a lock of hair away from your face, before allowing his fingers to trail delicately along your cheek and jawline. "Is that all, Kätzchen?"

"No. One more thing," you replied, then looked at him sternly. "You must agree to never speak of this to Bucky or Sam."

"You have my word," he assured you, smiling in amusement.

"Then I'm yours."

Zemo's smile faded slowly, and he merely stared at you for a split second, before cupping your face in his hands and pulled you into a searing kiss, full of ferocity and sheer desperation. It shouldn't have been this easy, to kiss a man who's done such terrible things – yet here you were, melting into his embrace, allowing him to pull you into his lap and straddle him, your hands resting on his shoulders and gripping the black fabric of his turtleneck. His hands laid flat against your back as he kissed you in this new position, slowly gliding down, down your sides and to your hips. He kissed you in a way that was feverish and fast and hungry, as his fingers dug into your skin, holding you firmly against him as if he were fearful that this was all a dream and you'd disappear at any moment. Upon taking a peek into his mind, you realized that was actually exactly what he was thinking. Additionally, he mentally spoke to you directly, somehow knowing you were reading his thoughts at that moment.

"Tell me if I do anything that you do not like, and know that you have absolute freedom to end this at any given moment."

You pulled away slightly to nod in confirmation that you received his message, before resuming the kiss. Mind hazy and instincts taking over, you found yourself tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, earning a low groan from Zemo. One of his hands darted upwards to grab a fistful of your hair, right against your scalp at the base of your neck, and he pulled on it harshly, causing you to let out a wonton moan. He then laid that hand flat against the back of your neck, holding your lips firmly against his as he kissed you with even more fervor, and the other vacated its position on your hip to slide slowly up your torso, until he began palming your beast through your shirt. You moaned softly against his lips, but not as loudly as a moment ago.

Zemo wanted more, needed more; he longed to hear you loud and desperate. So he delved that hand at your neck back into your hair, gripping it tightly once more, and used it to pull your head backwards a bit, so that he could have better access to your neck. The action itself, and the tightness of his grip, earned an embarrassingly loud moan to escape your lips, and you felt him smile against your skin. He moved his hand to the middle of your back, supporting you as you leaned back a bit to grant him better access. As he littered your neck and décolletage with kisses, you felt him pull the neckline of your blouse down a little, then felt the sharp pain of a bite on your chest, above your breast. When you looked at him with narrowed eyes, he wore a cocky little grin.

"You should not be surprised, Liebling. I know you saw that I've been wanting to do that all day when you read my mind," he noted. "Wear a high neckline tomorrow, it will be fine."

Before you could respond, Zemo pulled you flush against his chest with that hand behind your back, and into another heated kiss. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and without thinking, you ground your hips down on the bulge resting against your core beneath your skirt. He groaned, both hands flying to your hips to push them down again, guiding them as you repeated the action. It only took a minute or two of this before Zemo had enough, abruptly grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the couch beside him. He then loomed over you, one hand propping himself up and the other applying slight pressure to your throat, gazing at you with admiration in those searing eyes, pupils blown wide from lust. You looked right back at him, pupils undoubtedly dilated as well, eyes half-lidded, panting a little, and hair a bit of a mess.

"You are an absolute vision," Zemo praised softly, to which you smiled, then he released his grip on your neck to lean down and kiss you again. That only lasted a moment, before he broke the kiss to pull your blouse up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. Your bra joined it shortly after, then he moved to your skirt, fussing with the zipper for a moment, but it seemed to be caught on something, as it wouldn't budge. Before you could interject and state that you'd get the zipper yourself, Zemo ripped the seam apart with his hands, before tearing the article from your body and tossing it like he had with the blouse. A gasp escaped you, but you had no time to think much about his actions, before he was pulling off your panties and bra as well, dropping them somewhere beside the couch.

He was then looming over you again, kissing you breathless as he rested on one elbow while the other hand toyed with your nipple, his knee coming up to rest between your legs as he laid between your body and the back of the couch. You tangled your fingers in Zemo's hair, moaning against his lips as you sought friction against his leg. He smiled softly against your lips, before your hands wandered, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it off of him. You had just managed to get his belt off before his hand left your breast, trailing downwards across your torso as he moved his knee further away from you, before delving between your hips and expertly locating your clit.

No longer capable of focusing on ridding Zemo of his clothes, your hands gripped his shoulders, and he hissed deliciously as your nails dug into his skin when he began rubbing small, methodical circles on your clit. Small moans fell from your lips as he watched the way your mouth hung open slightly, face relaxed and eyes closed as you enjoyed his work. But again, he wanted more, needed more. Still observing you, he delved his middle and ring fingers into your core, causing you to let out a loud gasp that faded into a long, low moan. Zemo smiled to himself. That was the reaction he was dying for.

He kissed you senseless, drinking in your moans and gasps of pleasure like wine, his free hand cradling the back of your head as your arms wrapped around his neck. It didn't take Zemo long to find that sweet spot, deep inside you – as he'd subtly alluded to earlier – that longed for his attention the most.

You couldn't help but moan loudly and cry out, "Fuck! Baron!" Zemo growled low in your ear, clearly a fan of your usage of his title as he picked up the pace, fucking you with his fingers with expert precision and speed, sending you hurtling over the edge with a string of curses in both Sokovian and English. By the time he removed his fingers from you and stood, you were seeing stars, breathing heavily as you laid flat against the couch. When your dazed gaze found him, he was naked from the waist down, and was just finishing rolling a condom over his length. You had no idea where he got it from, but you were way beyond giving a shit at this point. Zemo then rejoined you on the couch, roughly spreading your legs apart as he kneeled between them, looking at you with a primal, deep hunger in his eyes.

"You are certain that you want this?"

"Yes, please – fuck," you cut yourself off as he began rubbing your clit again.

"Yes please, what?" His voice was low, teasing, as he continued his work below. "I want to hear you say it again, Kätzchen."

"Yes, please, Baron."

"Good girl."

Zemo took your leg and rested your calf on his shoulder, before easing himself into you, agonizingly slow. You watched through half-lidded eyes as his brows furrowed together, his jaw went slack, and his eyes squeezed shut as he bottomed out. He was silent, but you very much preferred it when he was a bit vocal. So, you flexed your muscles down there, and he groaned, letting his forehead fall against your shoulder.

"Do not do that if you want this to last long," Zemo suggested through clenched teeth. You smiled to yourself, then said the magic word that you knew would get him going.

"Yes, Baron."

He growled again, right in your ear, then sat more upright to begin a harsh, quick pace of thrusting. His hips collided with your body each time, causing a delicious sort of pain, and he leaned down to lock you in a messy, deep kiss.

A few minutes later, Zemo moved your other calf to his shoulder as well, and the new position enabled him to get delectably deep inside you. You raked your nails down his chest, watching as a shudder ran down his spine, all the while releasing small, breathless moans and whimpers. When he opened his eyes again to gaze down at you, he licked his lips before delving both hands under your head and into your hair, and forcefully gripped two fitfuls of it at the base of your skull. The moan that tore its way from your throat was animalistic, as your nails dug into his forearms as you desperately gripped them from their positions on either side of your head. Just then, he hit a spot deep inside of you, and that familiar, tight coil in your lower belly began to form.

"Fuck! Right there, Baron, please, right there!"

"As you wish, Schätzchen."

Zemo began to thrust even faster, careful to maintain the same angle as he released his grip on your hair and leaned up a bit, so that he could resume rubbing your clit. Moans began to fall from your lips practically endlessly, and somehow, you still needed more. More, more, more. You took his free hand and laid it on your neck, and he instinctively wrapped his fingers around your throat, careful to apply pressure on the sides but not the front, as to avoid harming you. When he opened his eyes once again and looked down at you, he couldn't stop the moan that escaped him.

"You will be the death of me, mein Engel," Zemo whispered, seemingly more to himself. All you could do was moan in response.

"Baron, I'm going to – fuck – I'm —"

"Yes, come for me, Kätzchen. I want to feel you."

That was all the encouragement it took. Well, that plus how perfectly he was rubbing your bundle of nerves, and how his pace nor angle had faltered once since you had requested exactly that. You came undone again, legs shaking as your nails clawed at his shoulder blades, earning a series of groans from him. As you came down from your high, Zemo's hips began to falter, enthralled by the waterfall you had become, soaking the base of his cock as your walls squeezed around him. His hand at your wet heat abruptly moved to grip your hip, at the same moment his hand around your throat clutched at your hair again, and he met his end with a loud, gruff moan as he spoke a mantra of nonsensical praises and your name.

Zemo rested on his arms on either side of your head, and he let your legs fall to the sides of him, breathing hard against your neck as he occasionally peppered kisses there. He remained inside you for a few moments, savoring the feeling, before you chose to have a bit of extra fun by flexing your lower muscles and squeezing yourself around him again. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled out of you, shooting you a glare.

In Sokovian, he murmured, "You are a naughty little thing."

"You adore it."

"That I do," Zemo conceded, then stood and walked off to the restroom. You heard the tap run, and a few moments later, he returned with a glass of water for you, sitting beside your feet on the couch and resting his heels on the coffee table. He was exceptionally handsome like this; still catching his breath, sweat glistening on his forehead and chest, a content look upon his face. You spent a minute or two admiring him, before he looked over to you, and a smile blossomed on his lips.

"I cannot thank you enough for that. I must admit, I spent countless nights alone in my cell, dreaming about getting to touch a woman like that again. Especially considering the fall of our country, I never could have imagined I would be lucky enough to lay with a stunning, intelligent Sokovian woman."

"In the spirit of confessions, it's been a while for me, too. My last boyfriend was about two years ago. And I'm not the one-night-stand type. So, do with that what you will," you stated, earning a small chuckle from Zemo. You sat up so that you were sitting beside him, instead of laying down, as you continued. "I fantasized about it a lot myself, but I never even dared to think my next time would be as good as this was."

Zemo smiled, a mix of pride and joy, then his smile softened as he leaned toward you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. "This doesn't have to be our last time, you know. I would be honored to have you as often as you'd allow me to. And I assure you, I would make it worth your while. I will give you whichever vehicles your heart desires, more jewelry than you know what to do with, take you to the most beautiful places in the world, dine at only the finest restaurants – and above all, treat you like my queen. Take care of me, and I will take care of you, Liebling."

You allowed your curiosity to get the better of you, as usual when you feared that someone was lying to you. You searched his mind for any fraction of false pretenses, but there were none. The man simply found you intoxicating, and would do whatever it takes to keep drinking you in.

The arrangement wouldn't exactly be an easy one, nor would it be all that wise – nor morally correct, in all honesty. But he was undeniably sexy, and the danger and reprehensibility of it all made it that much more alluring. And besides all that – the way his power and wealth turned you on, how good he was capable of making you feel – most Sokovians were dead, and you missed home. Getting to speak your native tongue with him, chat about your country – it made you feel at home with him.

But you wouldn't give Zemo the satisfaction of agreeing to him that quickly.

“We'll see.”

—————

Part Two

1K notes · View notes

arizona2004 · 3 years ago

Text

Safe Haven

Requested: yes

Cazriel x reader

word count: 3914

My face was pressed into the mud; I couldn’t even scream anymore. Three males held me down so I could barely move, but I was too tired from fighting so hard to struggle anyways. I was about to give up when the tip of a blade grazed my wing, and I remembered what I was fighting for. They were trying to clip my wings. I fought against the hold the males had on me to no avail. The fourth male brought his knife down, tearing it into my left wing. And not just once, not twice, but three long wounds. Then onto my right-wing. I tried holding back the tears, but it did me no good. I sobbed into the ground as not only my wings were taken from me, but the freedom and joy they stood for.

When the knife was pulled from my wing, I thought it was done, but the male picked up mud and smothered it in the open wounds. They burned, everything burned, and it was getting blurry. I was going to pass out, I realized. “No one is to touch her, no one is to clean her wounds, no one is to heal her,” the voice of the camp leader rang out behind me before he walked away, and I fell into unconsciousness.

I awoke a few times the next day, but when I did, it was to burning pain at my back and pitying eyes in all the females that walked by. I noticed I was no longer where I had been, pushed off to the edges of the camp, no longer in their way. So I turned my head away and looked at the forest to my left, falling asleep once more.

It was the next time that I woke, that I was not alone. I felt someone crouching to my right, and as I turned to look at him, another person crouched to my left. I whipped my head to the left to find Azriel. Staring at me with pain and grief behind his eyes. “It- it’s gonna be okay,” I heard from my right. Cassian. I turned to him to see the same look in his eyes and tears. He’s crying. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll fix this,” he murmured, pushing my hair back from my face.

I turn my face away, looking toward Azriel, but he’s not there. That’s when I hear the shouting. I look back to Cassian and passed him to the camp. I can’t see the women and children. There are only men; they’re being pushed inside a blue-force field? Yes. All of the men are being rounded up and forced into a prison, and there is Azriel: collecting them and pushing them all inside. I look back to Cassian and notice beneath the sorrow in his eyes is anger. He combs a hand soothingly through my hair, “We’ll take you to Madja. She can heal you,” he says, voice cracking. That’s when I notice the bandages on my back and the fact that I am not in as much pain as before. Whatever infection was settling in has been slowed by magic.

He continues soothing me until Azriel calls, “Cassian, they’re all here.”

“I’ll be right back,” he places a kiss atop my head and stands, walking toward Azriel. I watch in a haze as my males, my lovers, question all the men. Anywho are young, innocent, or remorseful are released. There aren't many.

They decipher who the males at the core of hurting me were. The camp leader and the ones that held me down. They were pulled aside one by one, and I had to close my eyes while Cassian and Azriel took turns hurting them. Through it all, I listen to them fighting, to their yells, and their pleas.

“We didn’t know she was your lover,” some of them screamed.

In the end, I’d turned my head away from the scene. I am no stranger to blood and gore, and I would never be angry with Cassian and Azriel for what they are doing, but I do not revel in watching those males dying. The camp leader is the last of them to die. He spits out cruel and disgusting words at all three of us, and I try not to listen. I’m not sure which of them does it, but his words are suddenly cut off as his head is cut from his neck.

Cassian returns to me first. He pulls the make-shift bandages from my wings, inspecting the wounds beneath, “Az, we need to get her to Madja. We couldn't have cleaned the wounds well enough, and she’s still losing blood,” he said over his shoulder. Seconds later, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and we were spinning through space.

The room we landed in was clean. The floors and walls were pristine white and blue, and everything looked very orderly. Nothing was out of place or messy. A few people were in the large room, and their attention was immediately drawn to us as Azriel winnowed us in. Whatever place this was, it had many doors leading out of it and many healers- I realize as several of the males and females come to inspect my wings. Faintly I hear Azriel speaking to an older female. She must have ordered me moved because soon, Cassian is carrying me through one of those many doors and into a room with nothing more than a bed and a couple of chairs in it.

Then, I must have fallen asleep again because I woke up hours later, remembering very little after being brought to this healing den. I’m lying flat on my stomach, facing Cassian asleep in a chair to my left. Slowly I blink my eyes awake and turn my head. Azriel is seated on my other side with his head in his hands. When I try to speak, only a quiet groan escapes my throat. Azriel sits up suddenly and before he can mask it I make note of the guilt and pain behind his eyes. Cassian also jolts up behind me and moves to Azriel’s side of the bed. He’s far less skilled at hiding his emotions; they’re always written all over his face.

I want to speak, but the words won’t come. As if knowing my question, though, Azriel says, “she couldn’t save them,” Cassian turns his face down, away from me, and Azriel avoids my eyes too, as he continues, “She tried. Several healers did, but they couldn’t save your wings. The infection was too great. You’re lucky to be alive.”

A choked sob leaves me as everything crashes in. My wings have been clipped. I’ll never fly again. I turn my face into my pillow, dry sobbing into it, while Cassian sits on the edge of the bed. I feel his hand hover over my back, but he pulls back, deciding not to touch me.

I feel like I can’t breathe as I heave into the pillow and wish the entire world would just disappear. I know Cassian is saying something, but I don’t hear his words. Azriel hasn’t said anything else, but I can feel his eyes on me and the guilt in them.

After some time, I fall asleep again.

Before I even open my eyes, I know it's not a nightmare as I had hoped. My wings ache with burning pain. “You’re due to take another tonic for the pain soon. I can go get it,” Azriel says from behind me. He must have sensed my pain. When I open my eyes to look at him, he is not who I see. Slouched forward in a chair, head lying on the bed, is Cassian. One of his hands is brushing against mine, and I move it closer, wanting more contact. I look slightly behind me at Azriel and tell him with my eyes that I would like that.

He’s gone for only a moment before he returns. I barely had the chance to blink, and he was already back. Walking over to my left side, where Cassian sleeps, Azriel helps pour the bitter liquid down my throat and gets water to ease that too.

My hand rests on top of Cassians; I briefly look before returning to Azriel. “He must be exhausted to not have woken up yet,” I say.

Azriel looks down at him and puts his hand to Cassian's head, gently running his fingers through the dark curls, “He wouldn’t sleep. Drank so much coffee he couldn’t even dose off; he didn’t want to. Eventually, I knocked him out.”

I raise my eyebrows in shock, but Azriel just smirks slightly looking back to me, “I didn’t hit him or anything. I asked Rhys to go into his mind and put him to sleep for a while,” the moment ends then, the smile leaving his face, “I didn’t want him getting hurt too.”

He blames himself. I know he does. He always does, though I wish he wouldn’t, “It wasn’t your fault, Az,” I murmur, closing my eyes. I can feel him staring at my wings, which have already started to ease as the tonic sets in.

“If we had come to see you sooner, this wouldn’t have happened. Madja said there was nothing we could have done about the infection, even soon after they did it, but if I had been there a day earlier, then we could have stopped it from happening at all,” the words rush out of him angrily at first. He sounds like he’s speaking more to himself than me. Then his voice cracks on the last few words, and I open my eyes to see tears welling up in his eyes.

I look at him for a moment longer and say, “come lay with me,” a confused look crosses his face, “this wasn’t your fault Azriel, now please come hold me.” He didn’t miss a beat. Crossing to the other side of the bed, he laid down on the edge, gently maneuvering himself to only touch me where there was no chance of making contact with my wings.

His right arm slithered under my head, resting his hand on the other side of my body. My right hand felt numb beneath my body, but I pulled it up to brush it with his. He grabbed my hand in his, and so I fell asleep, knowing I held both of my males close to me.

My dream started as a memory. It was the first time I had met my males; crouching next to the creak outside of camp, I sharpened a rusty old knife with a rock. I had been wishing I had a good knife, but that would be too risky to steal, and any protection was better than none. I didn’t hear the figure to my left, and when a branch snapped behind me, I knew I only heard it because that male wanted me to.

Dropping the knife, I quickly stood, turning to greet the male. It had been Cassian. Jokingly he said, “You couldn't hurt a fly with that knife. You really need a lesson in weaponry, don’t you?”

I shouldn't have gotten angry, but I did anyway, “I know about weapons,” I snapped, “but not all of us are privileged enough to have pretty little knives like you,” That's when I became aware of the figure to the side. He laughed deeply, and I was sure he must be laughing at me. I would be punished severely for this.

My attention snapped back to the first male as he spoke, “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, “but you really shouldn’t use that dagger. I’ll get you a better one.”

“Here. She can have this one,” the other male spoke, pulling out a dagger. It is plain and silver with a simple, twisted image of shadows carved onto the surface, leading to the black hilt, “I’ve had it for ages but never really use it,” He detached a sheath from his belt and slipped the dagger in before handing it to me. I looked into his eyes a moment longer before turning away, blushing.

“What do you need a weapon for anyways?” Cassian asked.

I shrug slightly, “protection.”

“From?”

“Everyone,” I say, tucking the dagger under my skirts. I probably should keep it closer being alone with two males, but for whatever reason, I did not feel threatened by them. The memory faded away as another appeared. Only days after I had first met the two Illyrians, the high lord’s most trusted friends, and advisers, they appeared in my camp again. Not for business with the Camp leader, however. I felt them stalking me as I walked through the wood, when I was carefully distanced from the camp, they showed themselves- Cassian with a grin spreading across his face, and Azriel with a carefully blank expression, but curious eyes nonetheless. That was when things began. When I started falling in love with them.

These meetings continued for months. We met inside a small cave just outside the camp. It was glamoured now from anyone's eyes but ours. My little safe haven. It had been where I was running when I realized they intended to clip my wings. I wasn’t fast enough, though.

Now the dreams were turning, twisting into something more terrifying. Darkness rushed toward me as I fell into the next scene. I tried screaming and fighting as hands grabbed me in the dark, but I just kept falling. My whole body burned, and a shiver ran down my spine as I was thrown into the waking world.

The warm heat of a body pressed at my right ran through me as I blinked my eyes open. It was Azriel, I realized now. He brushed his fingers gently down my spine, soothing me, “It was just a bad dream,” he murmured against my hair, pressing a kiss to my head.

On my other side, I felt Cassian squeeze my hand. He was awake now, holding my hand tightly as he laid his head closer to mine. Feeling them beside me was already enough to relieve my aches and ease my mind. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Cassian whispered between us, just loud enough for Azriel to hear. I shook my head in answer, closing my eyes tightly in an attempt to fall back asleep.

I couldn’t, though. So I just lay there with my males on either side of me, trying to pretend we were still in that little cave, and nothing had gone wrong. I still had my wings.

Days have passed now. Most of them were filled with me laying in bed with one or both of my males holding me. Other times though, they involved tears streaming down my face and screams tearing out of my throat. Cassian and Azriel were always there, rocking me through it and reminding me of what I still had, though it felt like I’d lost everything.

Occasionally I’d wake to arguing. I heard the high lord scolding Azriel and Cassian about their actions after the first day, but he didn’t sound seriously angry. Mostly I heard the whispered arguments between Azriel and Cassian about me. My treatment, my pain, how best to help me. I hated that they were arguing. It happened less and less as I recovered, but I still hated it.

Neither male was here now though, it was a rare occurrence. I had told both males the other was staying with me and told him he should go eat. I needed the alone time, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. Rather than stay in bed, I stood on numb legs and hobbled over to the bath. It has been too long since I’ve bathed. How Cassian and Azriel managed to be near me without wanting to vomit at the stench was beyond me.

Kneeling on the ground, I held my hand under the water as it rushed out. When the water was ready and smelling of lavender, I submerged myself to the waist. Slowly I let my wings touch the water as I lowered myself further. When I was finally in the water entirely, I relaxed and leaned my head back before slipping down lower to wet my hair.

When I was still under the water, finally relaxed, I breathed out slowly. Everything was peaceful until a pair of large hands gripped my upper arms and pulled me from the water. My eyes shot open, and I fought the male until I noticed it was Azriel, “Stop!” I yelled at him, “What on earth are you doing?” I shouted. I shot a glance to Cassian, standing in the doorway. He looked upset, and Az was definitely angry.

“What are you doing?” he replied with a growl. I tried pulling my arms away from him. He loosened his grip, but only enough to no longer hurt. I still couldn’t get away.

“I was bathing,” I glared at him, “I didn’t realize that wasn’t allowed.”

“Bullshit,” he said

“Az…” Cassian spoke.

“You’re not allowed to kill yourself! I won’t let you,” Azriel shouted.

What, I thought, “I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I say calmly, looking straight into his eyes, “I just wanted a bath.” Suddenly a wave of guilt hit me because I’d made them think that. Azriel must have believed me because he released my arms and took a step back.

I pulled my arms up to cross my chest and looked away from them. Cassian pulled Azriel out of the bathroom, but neither of them closed the door. I returned to the bath but was no longer relaxed. I decided to quickly clean up and return to bed. The room was nearly silent except for the short whispered argument between the males. When I stepped into the room to dress, they both studiously looked away from me and one another. I dressed quickly and laid in bed, falling asleep before either of them could try and talk to me.

After weeks had passed, I was sitting and walking again. Most of the pain had gone, now only phantom pains and sore scars remained. I was barely able to move my wings, and Madja said with some physical therapy, I would regain much of the movement but never enough to fly again.

Cassian sat with me now, massaging my back. Things had gotten better. I’ve tried imagining life without my wings, and as long as I remember that I’ll always have my batboys, things aren't so bad. “Do you wanna go for a fly,” Cassian whispered.

“I can’t,” I said, tears welling up as I imagined I could.

Cassian pulled me up, “come on,” he said, pulling me by the wrist. He walked us up to the roof and stood behind me. Pulling my hips to him, he said, “stand on my feet.” I looked at him confused, “just do it.” So I did. I stood on his feet, and he wrapped his arms under mine and across my chest. “Try to keep your legs straight against mine,” he whispered against my ear, “if you need to hook your ankles around mine, do that.” Then we were taking off into the air, flying straight up. It wasn’t the same as flying myself, but it was relaxing nonetheless. We flew straight for the house of wind and hovered there for a moment. I was going to ask why we weren’t moving, but then Azriel walked out onto the balcony and shot toward us.

We spent hours in the sky. We even developed signals so Cassian would fly however I wanted. Glide left or right. Sharp turns. Down, up, backflip, frontflip. I felt like a kid again as I tumbled through the sky with the two most important people in my life.

When finally we were too exhausted to continue, we landed at a restaurant in the city. Azriel went in first, apparently having made reservations. As I followed-Cassian's hand in mine-we were led across the room between tables until we reached a curtained wall in the back. The males both grinned at me as our host pulled back the curtain, revealing a beautiful candle-lit scene. A beautiful private area just for us.

The evening was perfect. We ate dinner and laughed and just enjoyed each other. The room reminded me of our cave: chilly, small, and with colorful pillows and blankets littering the floor. It didn’t take long after finishing our meals for the three of us to end up in the mess of fabric. I have no idea how long we laid there. They just held me whispering beautiful things into my ears and an occasional obscenity from Cassian. They always knew what I needed.

My back was pressed to Cassian as he carefully wrapped his arms around me, avoiding my wings. I’m almost positive he’s asleep, and even in sleep, his grip is like iron. I couldn’t possibly move. Azriel, in front of me, combed the hair out of my face. “You’re gonna be okay, ya know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “I know it doesn’t always feel like it, and you wanna give up sometimes, but you can’t. Please don’t ever leave us. We’re gonna be okay,” a tear slid down his cheek as he whispered these words to me.

“I promise,” I whispered back, pressing my forehead to his, “I promise.”

The next day I was released from the healers’ den, but it didn’t matter; Cassian and Azriel still never left my side. I didn’t mind, though. As soon as we left, they dragged me down endless streets of houses. I had no idea where we were going until I saw the large manor seated beside the Sidra, to our right. It must be the high lord and lady's house. We didn’t turn to it, though. Instead, I was led left, that’s when I noticed the smaller house, seated directly across from the manor. It was smaller, but not small. Beautiful ivy ran across the brick it was built of. It was supposed to look old but was certainly brand new. A short white fence ran along the yard. Cassian opened a little gate motioning for me to continue up the path. Inside, the house was stunning and appeared brand new. A curved staircase wrapped around behind us, and a chandelier hung from the high ceiling.

“What is this,” I asked quietly, not wanting my voice to echo.

“A house,” Cassian answered simply, “how about a tour?”

“Whose house?” I asked.

“Ours, of course,” Azriel replied. “We figured the house of wind was out of the question since you wouldn’t very easily be able to get in and out. And the beds in the River house are just big enough for two Illyrians. Not three.”

“So we bought this place. For the three of us,” Cassian finished, biting his lip nervously.

“You bought me a house,” I asked incredulously.

“Us. We bought us a house,” Cassian replied.

This would take some getting used to. Them doting on me all the time; always near. It wouldn’t be difficult, I imagined.

“You can decorate it however you’d like,” Azriel spoke.

“Even if I want to paint all the walls pink and hang orange curtains from all the windows,” I smirked. He cringed slightly, and Cassian laughed, holding out his hand, offering the tour again.

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