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joelscruff · 5 months ago

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imperfect for you (joel miller x f!reader)

masterlist | a/n written for @janaispunk's 1500 kisses challenge! i got joel + nose kisses with this lovely moodboard and actually managed to write something!!! believe it or not this started out as a drabble lmao. i hope you like it jana - sorry it's a bit late, and congrats again on your milestone 🤍 summary: you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby. warnings: age gap (joel is mid 40s, reader is 23), fluff, very brief instance of blood, tending to a wound, joel is eepy, soft kisses, cuddles word count: 5.5k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics

"When's the last time you slept?"

He doesn't bother to grace you with an answer, hands clenched on the steering wheel as you barrel down the vacant stretch of highway back to Lincoln. He's been ignoring you for the past fifteen minutes now, eyes straight ahead, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. But he looks pale, almost sickly, the whites of his knuckles stark against the sudden greenish hue of his skin. The last thing you need is for him to pass out and for the two of you to crash into a damn ditch.

"I'm just saying," you continue with an exasperated sigh, "I could drive the rest of the way, we're almost there."

No reply. You roll your eyes and cross your arms indignantly in the passenger seat, returning his icy demeanor. He's in one of his moods again, the ones only Tess really knows how to handle, but you'd volunteered to try your hand at a supply run in her stead which means she's not here to mediate. You should've known some issue would arise, stubborn Joel inventing problems in typical Joel fashion.

"You could've tried to last at least one more hour pretending to like me," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. He doesn't say anything.

Almost a year of working with them now, and you still don't understand him. You're not sure you ever will. Tess, she's much easier to understand, much more open to being understood. She'd seen your potential and taken you under her wing, brought you in to help, taught you everything you needed to know about smuggling. And Joel... well, he's a different story.

"You know, Tess thinks I have promise," you continue anyway, expression crumpling into a scowl, "She thinks I can do this. I don't get why you don't."

No answer.

"And don't say it's 'cause I'm a kid, because I'm not. I'm twenty three now, I'm past the point of being called a fucking kid. The shit I've seen in that QZ-" you cut yourself off, shaking your head, "I'm not a kid."

His lack of response is beginning to hurt deeper than you'd really like to admit. You glance over at him again; he's still staring straight ahead, still ignoring your presence. It makes unwanted tears prick in your eyes, nose stinging a little as you peer down at your lap and fold your hands together.

You'd been excited for this supply run, probably against your better judgement. You'd wanted to show him how much you know and understand, how hard you've been working, how you're up to the task. Hoped maybe he'd give you a smile - rare, but not impossible - and tell you that you did good, that he sees potential in you too.

You care what he thinks, almost more than what Tess thinks. And you know why, can sense it deep in the pit of your stomach and in the way your heart stutters when he looks at you, but you're clearly living in a fantasy world if you think he's ever gonna get past whatever this stigma is that he has against your age. She's too young, Tess. She'll get hurt, Tess. She shouldn't be doin' this, Tess. You've heard it all, muffled through closed doors in a dark and damp hallway.

He doesn't want you, and you're not sure how much longer you can go on like this. If he's not willing to change his stance, view you as anything other than an inconvenience...maybe Tess will have to find somebody else to help out.

"I know what I'm doing," you mumble, a tear dribbling down your left cheek, "I just wanna help."

You spare him one more look, fruitlessly hoping that maybe he'll feel bad now that he's made you cry - a childish thought, considering you're trying to make a case for being mature, but you can't help it. You know he's capable of being gentle, of being kind. You've experienced it with him before, quiet moments between the two of you in his apartment while waiting for Tess to return, making small talk, him peering at you with a softness in those brown eyes that have since made frequent appearances in your dreams. Moments where you swear you felt wanted under that gaze, but it must've been in your head, because you certainly don't feel wanted right now.

He doesn't look well, you have to admit. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, getting paler by the second, turning an unnatural grey color akin to some of the hair on his head. His eyes are glassy, dark bags settled beneath them that you've noticed getting worse and worse over the past few weeks. You shoot a glance at his hands again and are surprised to see that he's loosened his grip, that his fingers seem to be trembling against the rubber.

"Joel," you say, raising your voice a bit, "Joel, are you okay?"

His lack of response no longer angers you - it worries you. Carefully, you reach over and slowly wrap your hand around his right wrist, eyes trained on his face. At your touch, he finally turns to look at you, almost like he's only just noticed you're even there.

"You say somethin'?" he asks, voice raspy, a bit slurred.

Your grip tightens on his wrist, "I think you should stop the car."

He looks at you curiously, dazedly. It's the expression of a man who's running on two, maybe three hours of sleep in the last few days. You choose your next words carefully, eyes flickering back and forth toward his face and the road that he's suddenly no longer watching.

"Let's slow down a bit," you murmur, thumb stroking gently along his skin - he's warm, warmer than normal - "I'm gonna drive the rest of the way, okay?"

You expect some pushback, an attempt at an argument, but the tiredness is setting in quickly. Without any hesitation he eases his foot off the gas and you hurriedly reach your own leg over into his space to push down on the brake. He doesn't seem to notice the way your bare leg brushes his jeans, the crease in your knee bending over the warmth of his thigh.

"There we go," you say softly, bringing the car to a slow stop. He's still looking at you, eyes unfocused as you carefully lean over a little more to unbuckle his seatbelt. You try to ignore how good he smells, how big he is compared to you, putting all your attention on getting him out of the front seat. You unlock his door and then unbuckle your own belt, hurrying out of the car to his side.

"M'okay," he mumbles as soon as you open his door. You start to help him out, and you think he's becoming a little more aware of the situation now, allowing you to pull him to his feet as you tug open the back door. "What's happenin'?"

"You're just tired," you tell him softly, "It's okay, you can sleep in the back, I'll drive."

"Bill n' Frank's," he says as you lead him the right way, pushing him a little and helping him place his knee down on the seat, "Y'know where it is? You remember?"

"I do," you tell him confidently, your hand coming down to press flat against his back - he's so solid, heat radiating against your palm, "Only twenty minutes away now, I got it. You just sleep."

He doesn't argue; in fact, he makes your job easier by crawling onto the seat and settling down with a low groan, rolling onto his back and breathing deeply. You can't help but let a small smile cross your features, watching as one of his hands comes up to rest atop his belly, the other dangling onto the floor. His eyelashes flutter a little, lips parting, and you're about to shut the door when he speaks again.

"I know you jus' wanna help, baby."

You stand there for a moment just staring at him, confusion racing through your thoughts. Goosebumps rise on your flesh as the last word repeats like a mantra in your head, steady and slow as Joel drifts off. It's only when the door is shut and you're in the front seat that you're able to put some meaning to the words, eyes wide as you stare at the faded lines on the road.

I know what I'm doing, you'd said, I just wanna help.

You leave him in the car when you get to Bill and Frank's, typing in the gate code with a backward glance at his loose form in the backseat. They must see him on one of the security monitors, because as soon as the doors open you spot them sprinting out of the house toward you, a scanner gripped in Bill's hand. Typical.

"He's okay," you tell them as soon as you're out of the car, instantly alleviating their stress, "He's just exhausted, I think he needs to sleep for a little while."

"Understatement of the century," Frank replies with a relieved laugh, eyeing the backseat, "Think we can get him in the house?"

"Just leave him in the car," Bill says with a wave of his hand, already turning to head back towards the house with the scanner hanging out of his pocket, "He'll be fine."

Your gaze meets Frank's and he rolls his eyes, "Come on, baby, let's get him upstairs." Your brows go up at the pet name, the same word that had fallen from Joel's lips only twenty minutes ago, but then Bill is shuffling back over with an annoyed look on his face and you quickly realize he's not talking to you.

Getting Joel out of the car proves to be a lot more difficult than getting him in. You try a gentle approach at first, brushing his arm and stroking his skin with your thumb again like you'd done earlier. You can feel Frank's eyes on you as you squeeze Joel's bicep, his wrist, his thigh, and you pretend you don't see the look that passes between him and Bill as you step out to let them take a turn.

Bill goes for a much more aggressive approach, shaking Joel's shoulders wildly and practically yanking him out of the car. Understandably, Joel wakes with a gasp and kicks his legs out, hand reaching for his pistol as he frantically tries to escape Bill's grasp. Before he can grab it though, he's suddenly falling forward, knees buckling as he faceplants onto the pavement beside the car.

Well, that certainly wakes him up. His hands press into the gravel and his head shoots up, blood trickling down his nose as he peers up at the three of you, stunned.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Bill," Frank groans.

"That was not my fault."

Ignoring them, you kneel down and gently touch Joel's shoulder, a concerned look on your face as you eye the splattered blood on the ground, "Fuck, are you okay?"

"What in the hell is goin' on?" he groans, turning to look at you, "Did Bill just break my fuckin' nose?"

"Don't be dramatic," Bill barks, spinning on the spot and heading into the house, "Shoulda just left you in the car."

Joel starts scrambling after him, rising up and standing on wobbly legs, hand reaching for his pistol once again. You and Frank grab him before he can do anything, both of you taking an arm and holding him back.

"Joel, you're exhausted," you tell him quickly, utilizing all your strength, "You just need to lay down. Please."

He turns his face to look at you and something flutters in your chest when you catch the way his eyes soften, the anger in his expression fading as he acknowledges your presence. You can vaguely make out Frank watching the two of you in your periphery, but you try your best to ignore it, instead opting to give Joel a reassuring smile.

"Let's just get you cleaned up, okay?"

You're grateful that Frank leaves you alone with Joel to tend to his nose. You've only met him a handful of times, but each time he'd somehow been able to clock the way you interact with Joel, the way you look at him. The last time you'd been here he'd subtly pulled you aside to give you a few words of wisdom.

"You do realize he's extremely unavailable, right?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about."

He'd smiled, tapped his nose and given you a knowing look, "And I don't just mean because of Tess. That man is emotionally constipated, kiddo. He's an island." He'd laughed then at your confused expression, shaking his head, "Just be careful, s'all I'm saying."

You'd gone to walk away, forget the conversation even happened, when he'd softly called after you:

"And I'm pretty sure Tess would hang your head on her wall."

You think of those words now as you stand in front of Joel in the small bathroom off the landing, lip between your teeth as you eye the cut on his nose. It isn't broken, thank fuck, but you can see some dirt and gravel in there that you need to clean out.

"It's not broken," you tell him softly. He's sitting on the edge of the bath tub, peering up at you with a much more alert expression. The fall definitely woke him up, not to mention the choice words he and Bill had thrown at each other as you and Frank helped him up the stairs. He's still exhausted though, and he needs to rest.

"I know it's not," he grumbles, "Just wanted to give Bill a piece of my mind for once."

You laugh softly as you reach for the damp cloth beside you, bringing it up to carefully pat it against the gash on the bridge of his nose. You can feel his eyes on you, watching and assessing as you do your best to wipe the area clean.

"I can do that myself," he murmurs.

"I just wanna help," you say quietly, and your eyes fall to his in a knowing glance. He doesn't seem to remember though, just nods and lets you carry on.

It's rare for you to be this alone with him. And by that, you mean this far from Tess. You're painfully aware that it would be impossible for her to walk in at any moment, to see the way you're standing over him, touching him. Frank's words from last time echo in your head but you're not quite sure you believe them; would she really be that angry if she knew how you felt about Joel? It's not like he'd return it, right? The man is twenty years your senior and, as Frank said, extremely unavailable. Not to mention Tess and Joel's relationship has been a point of confusion to you for a year now, still unsure exactly what they are to each other - would she really care?

You reach for the antiseptic - one of the many perks of having an injury in a supply house - and carefully dab some onto the cloth. Your hand trembles a bit as you reach up to carefully hold Joel's chin, your thumb getting lost in his greying beard.

"You haven't shaved in a while," you breathe, your eyes meeting his, and you wonder if you've already crossed a line by even noticing.

He doesn't seem to mind though, sighing deeply, "I haven't slept in a while, so let's hurry this up," he eyes the cloth, "Don't gotta warn me, just do it."

His words bring you back to the present, and you slowly ease the cloth down onto his cut. He hisses a bit, a normal reaction, but it only takes a few seconds to clean and then you're already reaching for a bandage, reluctantly letting go of his chin.

"I was worried about you, before. In the car," you tell him softly, unpeeling the adhesive, "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

His eyes fall to the floor, "I just don't sleep good. Never have."

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shrugs, gives you a humorless laugh, "Handful o' pills and a couple sips o' whiskey usually does the trick."

It makes sense, then, why these past few weeks he's seemed worse. It's been longer than usual since your last supply run and the three of you had started running out of vital supplies over a week ago now, not only for buyers but for yourselves. Joel had written whiskey near the top of the latter list, along with hydromorphone which he'd underlined several times.

"You should've told me you weren't feeling well," you murmur, applying the bandage carefully, "I could've driven the whole way."

"Could've, should've," he dismisses you with a grunt, "Doesn't matter now, does it? We got here, that's what counts."

You linger a little longer than you should on the bandage, thumb falling to gently trace the crease of his nose as you assess your work. It might scar, but it feels pointless to voice this - he already has so many, scattered across his face and neck like confetti. It hurts a little, knowing he's been through so much, seeing the evidence written all over him.

"My mom had this superstition," you tell him softly, a smile playing at your lips as you trace one of the scars under his eye, soft and delicate, "Whenever I got hurt, skinned my knee or busted my elbow playing, she'd bandage me up and then kiss it. She said a kiss would seal her love in there, keep me safe and protected. And if it scarred, that meant it worked."

He blinks at you, expression faltering a bit, "That's...that's a nice thought."

You shake your head, "It's silly, and not true. But... but I still do it anyway, even though she's gone. Just in case," you bite your lip, "I mean, who doesn't wanna feel a little more safe? A little more protected?"

Your gazes lock, and neither of you seem to move, caught in the stillness of the moment and the way your thumb is still stroking his face. You know you have limited time, maybe a few seconds before he breaks it, so without much thought at all you lean down and lightly press your lips to the bandage, eyes closed.

He inhales sharply, a sound that triggers butterflies in your tummy as you hold your mouth against his nose, soft and sweet. It's the closest you've ever been to him, even if you're kissing gauze and not skin - you can still feel the warmth radiating from him, sense the way he freezes below you. A squeaking sound pierces the silence, his hand squeezing the edge of the bath tub tightly. It startles you, your eyes blinking open as you pull back to look at him.

His cheeks are tinged pink, eyelids heavy as he peers up at you with slow blinks.

"You're tired," you breathe, unable to stop your hand from flitting to his hair, pushing a little behind his ear, "Let's get you to bed."

The Joel Miller in Bill and Frank's guest room is not the Joel Miller you thought you knew.

This Joel is loose, pliant. He lets you lead him into the bedroom with a hand on his back, lets you carefully turn him on the spot to reach up and undo the buttons on his flannel. Frank had told you on your way up to make sure Joel didn't get blood on the sheets, so you're only following orders, only doing what you were told.

"Sorry," you murmur softly, fingers shaking every so often as they toy with the buttons, sticky with his blood. Joel doesn't seem to notice though, retreating more and more into the sleepy state he'd been in earlier.

Once his flannel is off you assess his t-shirt and jeans, and you're not sure how to feel about the fact that they didn't get dirty in the fall. On the other hand, though, you're not sure you'd have been brave enough to take them off. Instead you help him toward the bed, pull back the sheets and carefully push him ahead.

"There you go," you whisper, helping him under the covers and pulling the blankets back over him. The sun is streaming through the window, casting the golden light of early evening across the bed, and while it's quite beautiful you shut the curtains anyway, knowing he'll sleep better in darkness. When you turn back around, he's already fallen asleep, lips parted, face peaceful. A different man.

You don't linger, even though you want to.

It's around ten o'clock when you decide to check on him again. You'd watched a movie with Bill and Frank, feeling more than a little unwelcome as Bill tossed you a few dirty looks every so often, though Frank repeatedly told you to ignore him. Now they're in bed downstairs while you pad from your own room across the hall to Joel's, turning the knob carefully. The hinges squeak a little as you open it and you wince.

"Who's there?" you hear Joel grumble from the bed. So much for just taking a peek.

"Me, just me." You push the door wider and walk inside, eyebrows going up when Joel turns on the bedside lamp. He seems a little more rested, although you know he still needs a full night's sleep. "I sent a message to Tess through the radio to let her know we're not coming back tonight - well, Frank did. Picked a song called Tomorrow or something like that."

"Hope it was the Johnny Mathis version," he mumbles, and you watch as he brings his hands up to rub across his face. He accidentally dismantles the bandage and you step forward without really thinking, hurrying to his side and reaching down to fix it.

His hand comes up to grab yours and you freeze in place.

"I can do it," he says, giving you a curt look and then releasing your hand to adjust the gauze himself.

Well, you suppose lax and sleepy Joel couldn't stick around forever. You stand awkwardly by the side of the bed, toying with the edge of the blanket as he rubs his eyes and sits up a little, leaning back against the headboard. He looks so much older in this light; you can see the little flecks of grey in his beard and hair that have been starting to get more noticeable lately, the crows feet, the wrinkles.

He's so handsome.

He turns to look at you with a frown, as if he's only just realizing what you said, "We can go back tonight, I'm fine."

"You're not and you know it. Besides, it's already past ten and now I'm tired, I won't be able to drive."

"I can drive."

"Joel," you surprise yourself by sitting down on the edge of the bed, narrowing your brow as you give him a serious look, "You can't drive. You almost fucking killed us both."

"No I-"

"Yes you did," your tone is firm, suddenly angry - are you angry? - "If I hadn't been talking to you, if I hadn't noticed something was wrong, you would've driven us off the damn road."

He goes quiet at that, frown deepening, the lines on his face more prominent in the low lamplight. You sigh, eyes falling to rest on where your hand is settled on the bed, only inches from his. Part of you wants to reach out and touch, feel the warmth of his skin, the rough of his palm - the other part decides to do something even more stupid.

"You called me baby."

It's out of your mouth before you've even really acknowledged it, and once the words have tumbled out you know there's no taking them back. Your gaze snaps back up to his, slightly surprised to see that he doesn't seem very shocked by your admission.

He clears his throat a little, averting his gaze and shuffling a bit under the covers, "Did I?"

"...Yeah."

You think maybe he'll say something else - anything else - but he doesn't. God, it really is like pulling teeth with him; he's so fucking beautiful but so impossible, never being able to expand on something unless prompted, never being able to answer a single question without jerking you around first. How the fuck has Tess managed to deal with it for so long?

The thought of Tess sends a wave of guilt through your body, Frank's words echoing in your head, but you shove it down.

"What made you... I mean why..." your voice is soft, apprehensive and shy in the quiet of the bedroom, "why'd you call me baby?"

A beat of silence. Then-

"Don't ask me that."

The mood has shifted, your sudden anger ebbing and his annoyance fading into something else, something on the brink of being real. He's avoiding your eyes, peering at the window with the curtains drawn and tapping his fingers anxiously against the mattress, so close to your hand. He's nervous; you're making him nervous.

You stay silent, hoping he'll speak again, hoping maybe just this one time he'll tell you what he's thinking.

"I don't know why."

The words are barely a whisper, almost like he's telling you a secret, and he leaves them hanging in the air briefly before amending - "Well," he sighs and finally looks at you, an emotion you can't place crossing his features, "that's not true. But... I didn't mean - fuck, I was passin' out, for Christ's sake, I didn't realize-"

He cuts himself off again, raising his hand up to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose, briefly forgetting the bandage. He winces when he comes in contact with the gauze, "Can I take this off? It's drivin' me fuckin' crazy."

"Let me do it," you say quietly, inching forward on the bed and reaching for his face. He flinches when you go to touch him, and your hand freezes mid-air.

"Sorry," he mutters, shaking his head like he's shaking off a sensation, a chill, "Go ahead."

With careful - and slightly trembling - fingers, you remove the bandage from his nose. It looks much better than before, no fresh blood in sight, and you suppose it's okay for him to keep it uncovered for the night. Without really thinking about it you gently thumb the side of his nose just shy of the cut, the tips of your other fingers brushing against his cheek.

"It's not too bad," you murmur, and before you know it you're suddenly cupping his jaw, feeling the weight of it in your palm. Your gaze falls to his lips, your thoughts going a mile a minute.

You realize you're close enough that you could kiss him, if you really wanted to. If he really wanted to. All it would take is one small movement, one little push from the both of you, one leap of faith...

And then he whispers your name, almost a warning, and it's like his thoughts are mirroring yours - like he can see exactly what you're picturing, wishing for. Your eyes meet his and you feel a flutter in your stomach when you see the way he's looking at you, a quiet hunger hidden in the deep brown.

You decide to test the waters. You lean in and softly press another kiss to his nose, this time without the gauze in the way. Just like you'd thought, his skin is hot under your lips, soft but scarred, and his smell - god, he smells so masculine and safe, invading your senses as your lips trail downwards to press a small kiss to his cupid's bow, then another to the corner of his mouth. It's sharp, prickly from his scruff, but it doesn't bother you in the slightest - in fact, you kind of like the dull pain, the way it grounds you, keeps you in the moment.

"Baby," he whispers, and a soft little whine falls from your lips without meaning to as your lips move to ghost across his mouth, going for another kiss - a real kiss.

He pulls away before you get there, but then his hand comes up to touch your face, big and wide. He holds you like you're precious, small. His baby.

"S'not right," he whispers, though his thumb strokes your cheek soothingly, "S'not okay for me to want you like that."

You close your eyes at his touch, breathing deeply, "But you do."

"Yeah, I do," you hear him murmur, "You know I do."

"For how long?"

He doesn't respond right away, just continues to stroke your cheek, hold what feels like all of you in his warm palm. You tilt your head a bit to the side, eyes fluttering open to look at him again. You catch the way his lips turn up a little at the movement.

"Too damn long," he sighs, "But that don't... that's not..." he brings his other hand up to cup the other side of your face, holding you still as he peers at you in earnest, brow furrowed, "Point is, we shouldn't... you shouldn't be out here alone with me. Tess knows how I-" he cuts himself off again, and you can see now how difficult it is for him to communicate like this, to be open and honest, "I told her it wasn't a good idea."

"Why?"

He laughs lightly, thumbs circling the apples of your cheeks, "'Cause look where we ended up." He swallows, eyes falling to your lips, "Look where you are right now, baby. Look where my damn hands are for cryin' out loud."

"Keep calling me baby," you breathe, a desperation in your voice that betrays your emotions, tears pricking in your eyes as the weight of this conversation comes crashing down around you. He wants you - he's always wanted you. His words to Tess about not wanting to put you in danger, wanting you to stay away, those soft looks you've shared in his apartment, the small talk, all of it - it's because he wants you.

"We can't do this," he murmurs, leaning in to press his forehead to yours, eyes closing, "I can't do this, you're so- you're too-" he groans, fingers digging into your hair, "You're so young, baby."

"I don't care," you whine, butting your head forward to chase his lips, suddenly yearning to be kissed and held and protected by him, be wrapped in his embrace.

But he pulls away, removing his hands from your face and shuffling back a bit on the bed, away from you. Your hand drops but you reach out pathetically for him anyway, moving closer, attempting to pull the covers back. His hands capture yours and he squeezes them firmly, shaking his head.

"You need to go back to your room," he tells you, and his tone has changed from soft to serious, "It's late and I'm... well, you know I'm fuckin' exhausted. And you've had a long day." He looks at you with pleading eyes, like he's silently begging for you not to put him in this situation, "Let's just call it a night, okay?"

"But-" you start, tears shining in your eyes.

"Please," he breathes, "Please don't make this harder than it needs to be."

You do not want to get up from his bed. But you do.

You do not want to leave his room. But you do.

You do not want to lie awake in your own bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how his hands felt on your face, the way his eyes searched yours, the way his skin felt under your lips.

But you do.

You lie there for hours, thumbs twiddling against your belly, tears trickling down your cheeks every so often. All you can hear in your mind over and over again is the word Baby, punctuated by that soft groan he'd made, the way his thumbs had stroked your cheeks, how large and warm and safe he'd seemed in that bed.

All you want to do is be in that bed with him.

So it's no surprise when, as the sun is beginning to rise and that warm golden light starts to stream through your window, you crawl out from under your blankets and cross the hall one more time.

"We shouldn't" he murmurs when you climb into bed with him, when you tuck yourself into his side and bury your face in his shoulder, but his hands are already in your hair, fingers stroking along the back of your head.

Your bodies mold together like they've always been meant to fit that way, your legs tangled with his, arms trapped under big biceps and hairy forearms, breasts flush with his suddenly bare chest.

"I wanna be your baby," you whisper.

The nose you'd kissed brushes slowly up and down the side of your face, and he doesn't hesitate this time. He reaches up to turn your head, presses his lips against yours and lets you melt into him. Lets you trail your hand downward to unbutton his jeans in the silence of the early morning.

"You already are."

#joel miller x reader #*#1500 kisses challenge

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a-spes · 5 months ago

Text

| DEVIOUS LIES — Part one (3.842 words).

| Summary — Anon Request — When your friend asked you out for a drink, you didn't think much about it. Yet, maybe you should've, because that night ruined your life. It has been two years, and you can't stop think about what you lost. Your job, your friends, your lover, and even your mind was left in that motel room.

| Tags & warnings — Avenger!Natasha Romanoff x Avenger!Reader, AoS!OC x Avenger!Reader, Other Avengers, angst without comfort, cheating, mental health issues, suicidal ideations, self depreciation.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three. the scars in our hearts (bonus part).

“I am really not sure we should do that, Stark”, you repeated for what may be the tenth time since you picked up the phone, “it sounds like a really, really, bad idea, and you know, I am not sure sh~”

“Come on!” he said, cutting short your ramblings.

Your thoughts are racing, your mind imagining all the things that could go wrong. It is an endless series of “what ifs” that is only stopped by Tony’s voice. You both knew that if he lets you think too much, he would lose his battle. It’s a risky plan he wants to drag you in.

“I am sure you are dying to say yes,” he added when you didn’t answer him, and you could hear his petty smile through the phone. As he sensed that you were about to accept, the man tried to convince you with one last argument, “she won’t know anything, I promise. None of them will, I thought about everything,” he assured you, and you believed him.

He was right, you wanted to say yes, but you couldn’t get yourself to say the word aloud. There are too many ways for it to end badly, and you really don’t need to make your situation worse than it already is. Two years ago, you lost everything. None of your teammates tried to understand your situation, they didn’t give you a chance to explain what happened. Instead, they threw you away from the team, and the tower, without giving it a second thought, as if you were just garbage.

Maybe that’s what you are.

Sometimes, when you think about the events, you surprise yourself by siding with them. It’s easier to think that you deserve what they are doing to you than to accept the injustice of the situation, which you can’t do anything about. After all, the proof was against you. You’ve seen the pictures, everyone has seen them, and they felt so real that your certainties have faltered. How to convince them that you are innocent when you are not even sure yourself? Eventually, you gave in, it is a battle you couldn’t win.

“When is it, already?” you sighed, eventually giving in. An argument against Tony Stark was another battle you knew you couldn’t win.

The man has been the only exception. He has watched over you from afar, and believed your version of the events. For once, he has listened, and it means the world to you. So even if you try to not wince at the enthusiasm he lets out on the other end of the phone, a part of you is happy. It doesn’t matter if things don't go well, at least that would have pleased the billionaire, and you owe it to him, even if you couldn’t match his enthusiasm, too anxious for that.

For a second, you thought about changing your mind. Your fingers were a centimeter away from the interphone, but you haven’t rung the bell yet. It would be so easy to listen to your instinct that is screaming at you to run away. It would be so easy to break the promise you’ve made to Tony, he wouldn’t mind right? Yes, despite the disappointment, he would understand that you couldn’t do that. It was too early and too much. You shouldn’t even have taken that call, it is always a bad idea to trust a billionaire, especially when his last name is Stark.

The last time you’ve set foot in the Avengers Tower, it has been two years ago. You haven’t seen them since, only their pictures in the news. One time, you’ve thought about going to one of those press conferences they hold sometimes, but you knew you wouldn’t be welcome — Maybe they even added your name to the list of bans. You aren’t welcome anywhere near them, they made it clear when they threw you away.

It is as if all the years spent by their side have been erased. Even the world seems to have forgotten your name. It is almost as if you have never been a part of the Avengers, as if you’ve never existed, and it was just something you mind made.

Maybe it’s for the best, you thought.

Yet, here you are. In front of the building you left years ago, promising to yourself that you’ll never come back in here. That day, you felt so humiliated that you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t add the shame to crawl back at their feet, begging for their forgiveness. No, no matter how bad you were craving to throw yourself in their arms, you won’t. Never, ever. Except that, sometimes, circumstances change, and you find yourself unable to refuse your friend’s crazy invitation, despite the dangerousness of his plan.

“Pl- please, ‘tasha, let me ex~,” you were begging the woman. It wasn’t your kind but exceptional situations call for exceptional reactions, and the one you found yourself in certainly was.

Tears aren’t your style either, nor it’s Natasha’s. Yet, both of your cheeks are stained with them, your eyes reddened. She is angry, and you are frustrated. She is full of hatred, and you are full of despair. But, today, something broke in both your hearts.

“Shut up,” she said firmly, not giving you a chance to explain yourself. She didn’t want to hear a word from your bullshit. None of them want to. “You’ve lost the right to call me that way,” she added, spitting every one of those hate-filled words in your face, “honestly, you’ve even lost the right to talk to me. I don’t want to hear your voice or to see your face ever again. Did I make myself clear?” she yelled. You would have never thought that she could speak to you in such an angry, hateful tone, and yet, here you are.

She has, indeed, made her intentions clear. When you came home, you found your clothes scattered on the pavement in front of the tower. She hasn’t waited for your explanations before deciding to throw all your belongings away. You were quick to follow them, you barely stepped into the building that she was here to drag you out of the building.

You have never seen your loved one in such a state. She isn’t even acknowledging your pleas for her to slow down, or at least to loosen her grip on your arm. But she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care anymore if you were hurt, or if you were stumbling on your feet — If she had to drag you out by the hair, she would do it without hesitating.

The Natasha that was scared she could hurt you was long gone. She wasn’t the one that swore to protect you anymore, you’ve seen in her gaze that the promises she made no longer stand. She has a stern, harsh expression painted on her face, and it was your fault. She hadn’t hit you, not yet, but you could still feel how her nails are digging into your skin, leaving a mark that will stay for days. It is a reminder of what you’ve lost that day, not that you could forget.

A second later, you collide with concrete. She throws you on the ground, alongside your belongings, with all the strength she has — And she is a former russian spy, so she’s got plenty. The force of the gesture causes you to stumble over your own feet and fall, scraping your hands and knees in the process. You don’t even try to get up. Dejected, you remain on the ground, barely daring to turn around to see her one last time.

“Don’t you dare to come back, you are not welcome here anymore,” she said before walking away, and disappearing behind the doors of the tower. You wanted to say something but the words didn’t come out, nothing you could say felt right.

It is the last time you’ve seen her, and as pitiful as it is, you have long cherished this last contact with the redhead. No matter how violent and hateful it has been, it was still the last time you’ve touched the love of your life, and you missed it the moment she let go of your arm. Her, and her touch. Despite everything, despite the years, you still needed her presence by your side, and it doesn’t matter if your relationship has to be brutal, you are ready to accept anything if it means being close to her for a few more days.

The rest of the team stayed here until you left. Your eyes met theirs, pleading them to at least say something, but you didn’t get the help you were looking for, their hatred toward you matching Natasha’s. Clint, Steve and Sam, they are all people that you thought were your friends, except they didn’t hesitate a second before siding with the redhead.

Steve has been the first one to leave, almost running after the woman. Before they disappear in the elevator, you’ve caught his hand resting on her shoulder. You should be the one to touch her like that, the one to hold and comfort her, but this right has been taken from you, and maybe you deserve it. You broke the trust she put in you, one that she doesn’t grant easily.

You’ve always known it was a bad idea. In fact, since the moment he suggested that you should come to Natasha’s birthday, you’ve had a bad feeling about it. He thought that it would help you, knowing that you had been living in isolation since you’ve left the team, and a part of you believed him. The same part that never stopped hoping that things could go back to the way they were.

Until today.

If there is something you’ve learned from that experience, it’s that things will never be as they were because it’s nothing more than a pipe dream. The past two years, you have continuously dreamed about that moment, when you would eventually see her again. You’ve even made up a whole apology speech, one that would erase all your mistakes, and if it’s not enough, then maybe you would have begged them until they forgive you — Promises be damned. In any case, it would have ended with a hug with Natasha, a happy reunion after all those years spent apart.

Except that none of that happened, because reality isn’t fiction, and you don’t deserve a happy ending. To be fair, you could have never imagined that the reunion would go like this, that you wouldn’t even be able to exchange a word with them because they had no idea that you were here. You couldn’t have imagined that the barriers you have built over the last few years would crumble the moment you set foot in the tower that once was your home.

The tears were streaming down your face, hidden behind that ridiculous mascot costume Tony had forced you to wear. He assured you that it was all part of his plan, the one that’s supposed to make everything better, but honestly, you’ve never felt so ridiculous and pitiful than when you put on that costume that’s supposed to look like a cartoon version of Natasha. That is the genius idea Tony’s came up with a few weeks ago ; having you wear a suit so that you could attend Natasha’s birthday party without anyone knowing.

You thought that you were strong enough to face them, but it turned out that you weren’t. There is nothing that hurts more than realizing you are nothing more than a stranger in your own house. An intruder, that’s exactly what you are. You should enjoy the moment, but you can’t, your heart races, fearing they could guess you’re the one behind the costume.

You were watching them from the corner of the terrace where you found refuge after giving them a little show, and you noticed that all of them, without exception, had a bright smile on their faces. You should be glad that they overcame the difficulties of life, right?

Then why is the only thing you are feeling agonizing jealousy?

Because you were slowly realizing that things changed after you left them, and maybe it was for the best. That’s what you’ve heard them saying in an interview they held a few months after your departure — “Yes, the team has undergone some changements, and we believe it’s for the best” — and maybe they were right, because you don’t remember seeing them being so peaceful in the past. They never clearly said that you’ve been banned from the team, nor they talked publicly about the events that lead to your departure, but people weren’t stupid, they guessed that it was because of something you did.

All days are the same since.

You wake up early, but it’s not the sign of a healthy life, only of a light sleep that is disturbed by the slightest noise and glint of sunlight. The thought of a new day only makes you sigh, what’s the point when every day is the same? They are all filled with loneliness and misery, and you are not sure you have the strength to deal with that, so you don’t move an inch, waiting for the night to come again.

Sometimes, you get out of the bed you’ve been rotting in, but it’s not before you are so hungry that your whole body is uncontrollably shaking. That's the only time you leave the darkness of your flat, when you go to that small shop at the end of the street to get something to eat. You would buy anything and everything here, but especially junk food that can be eaten quickly. Most of the time, it’s PastaBox or anything with chocolate, the papers piling up in the kitchen as the days go by, but you’ve never had the heart to take down the overflowing bin.

Waking up, rotting in bed, eating a bit if you are really hungry, going back to rot in your bed, then crying until Morpheus comes to get you, that’s now what your days are.

It’s a strange situation. You have mourned people before, but never someone who’s still alive, never your whole life, never yourself. You are still alive. You know it because you are still breathing and your heart is beating, but it feels like you are not anymore. You don’t even want to cry anymore, you are just laying here, waiting for something to happen, anything. Maybe death. Maybe it’ll eventually come for you, and that moment will be the sweetest. It would be a relief, and not only for yourself.

You don’t want to think about the fact that it may not be. What would be the point in suffering if it’s not to get a threat at the end? The possibility that nothing will come after that life feels unfair, and scary. When you are not finding comfort in your death, you are looking for it by imagining a universe where your life with Natasha wouldn’t have ended that way, where none of that happened.

These are the thoughts that lull you to sleep every night, but the next day, when you wake up, the ache in your heart is back. It never seems to fade away, the pain being as strong as it was on the first day. If anything, it got worse. You are aware that every day that passes takes you further away from those ideals, dashing your hopes of getting your old life back. Your despair grew as you realized that all you were doing was pulling away from the love of your life, and there was nothing you could do to get her back.

What is going to happen when you’re going to forget about how it feels being close to her?

What if you forget everything? Her voice, smile, and the smell of her clothes?

The few times you are getting out of your apartment, you are walking with your head down, hiding behind the hood of your sweatshirt, and today isn’t an exception. The weather isn’t that cold, but the collar of your sweatshirt is still up to your chin, leaving only your eyes for the world to see. The ones that are fixed to your feet, avoiding to look around.

You used to do that to avoid paparazzi and insistent fans the days you were too tired to interact with the world, but you are now doing it to avoid problems. Your face and name have been all over the news after, and not for good reasons. People had no idea what had really happened, but their imaginations had no trouble imagining the worst and spreading rumors. It has been years, but the world still hasn't forgiven you for things you’ve never done.

In a few days, the way people see you changed drastically. You went from being one of the country’s greatest heroes to being canceled. The smiles turned into hateful looks, compliments into insults, and although no one has tried to hit you, you prefer to keep a low profile. The fall has been painful, but it isn’t surprising.

How could you expect strangers to believe you when even your oldest friends didn’t?

You have never been their favorite anyway, and you are perfectly aware of that. You are not a former spy, nor are you a genius or an enhanced human. You have nothing special, and the world knows your name only because of your teammates. It’s not a big surprise that they prefer them, and decided to side with the real Avengers.

But maybe they’re right. Maybe things are better that way, because you are not sure you deserve being loved. What you’ve tried to say to ‘tasha is true, you can’t remember what happened that night — At least, not the details that matters —, and that is the worst in your situation. The doubt creeping inside of you, and the guilt mixed with the frustration because you're as likely to be innocent as guilty.

Did you do it?

Did you cheat on her for real?

You are walking as fast as you can, only wanting to get home as quickly as possible, shaking your head in an attempt to get rid of those poisonous thoughts. You didn’t stay long at the party, barely half an hour has elapsed before you decided that you had enough. At least you’ve seen her blowing the candles, even if you left without saying a word to the woman. The thought crossed your mind for a second before you decided it was safer not to break the peace she had built up.

She deserves to be happy, even if it means that you are not a part of her life anymore.

The only trace of your passage that you have left is a black box. You have hesitated to leave it on the pile of gifts, as she would know it was from you, but it didn’t feel right to keep for yourself the gift you were supposed to give her two years ago. It isn’t yours. You wished you could have stayed longer, just to see her reaction when she opens the box, just to see her smile one last time, to make her smile one last time before saying goodbye forever.

That night, you’ve been crying uncontrollably, and so did you the following days until you have no more tears to shed. Gladly, thanks to Fury, you have a bed to spend your days in. The man has been kind enough to pay for your rent until things get back to normal — That’s the promise he has made to you, that he will quickly find a solution.

A new place for you to work at, in another country, far from everything you’ve known, where you weren’t hated by everyone: that’s the solution he came up with. “The furthest you are from the Avengers, the better it is. At least for a few months, we need things to calm down,” he told you that day, and you agreed. Not that you had a choice because if you had, maybe you would’ve said no. But there was no choice but to accept to leave everything you’ve ever known behind you — Your family, your friends, your memories.

Did you for real?

That story is sticking to your skin, and the memories to your mind. Whenever you are going, people are glancing at you, and you are sure it’s because they know. Whenever you are going, all you can see is a glimpse of your past, ghosts that are haunting your present. The world will never forget, nor forgive your mistakes, and you understand them, because you don’t think you can either.

Every morning, when you wake up, it is the first thing you are thinking about. Every night, when you are about to sleep, it is the last one, until it becomes an obsession. Except it didn’t give you your memories back. The opposite has even happened, your mind confusing what you remember with what you've been told, trying to fill the gaps.

At one point, you were so desperate that you almost asked Fury, or Tony, if they didn’t have some technology that could help you to recover your memories. You’ve even thought about asking Wanda, but it was impossible to reach the woman, and maybe it’s for the best. You can’t deny that a part of you is scared of what you might find. You’ve once read that, sometimes, the brain keeps some memories away for a good reason — It is a response to trauma.

But for you, you were sure it was alcohol. You don’t remember how many drinks you had that night, but probably a lot if you can’t remember how the evening ended. The last thing you remember is talking with Astrid, one of your colleagues from SHIELD that invited you for a drink. The next time you remember is when you wake up in that motel. From the moment you opened your eyes, everything happened so fast.

You couldn’t take your eyes out of the pictures which were hung up all over the offices, you even kept some of those. But they are the worst. The thing you can see on those, the two of you in that stupid bed, her kissing your throat, and even more, it feels so foreign. Your brain refuses to accept that you are the one in the pictures. Yet, it's undeniable proof of what you've done that night.

You are so lost that it hurts your brain.

Sometimes, you wish that someone was here. Anyone that would take your hand, and guide you through this story. Most of the time, you imagine that it’s her, Natasha. That she is here, holding you in her arms, whispering in your ears that everything is going to be okay, exactly as she used to do.

Then, you realize that she is not here, and everything crumbles again.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three. the scars in our hearts (bonus part).

| Taglist — @m0nsterqzzz, @marvelwomenarehot0

#a spes writing #devious lies #reader insert #natasha romanoff x reader #mcu fanfiction #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff angst #angst without comfort #mcu women #avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader #anon request

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taylormarieee · 9 months ago

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Not so tough now huh? CRM!Rick

A/N: ok so I watched the first episode and I just felt the urge to write for him immediately. I couldn't resist... so here you sluts go! enjoy and happy reading!<33 This is also based on this moodboard made by the lovely @angelicalhqrt

Summary: You were tough but Rick was tougher and afterall, you were still just a horny girl...

Word count:2.0k

Pairing: crm!rick x fem!fighter!reader

Warnings: smut~fighting~sexual tension~readers tough but Ricks tougher~horny thoughts~lots of yearning and physical touch~PiV sex~unprotected sex~(wrap it b4 you tap it)~slight age gap { readers in her early 30s and Rick is mid 40s}

You and Rick didn't get along. Well, you guys got along but you didn't at the same time if that makes any sense at all.

You both couldn't stand each other yet always found yourselves around each other. It's like you were constantly drawn to him and as he was to you.

It seemed as if you guys had this mutual respect to leave each other alone but in this line of work, you guys were always around one another.

Especially now that Okafor has asked you and Rick to work together to re-shape the CRM. He wants the A's to be able to lead the CRM and change the way they do things. Lead the B's to stop being so scared.

Of course Rick was against it and was very confused. "I don't give a shit about this A's and B's shit Okafor. I'm not livin' here! I'm not happy here, I'm certainly not going to give my life for a place I can't leave. For a place and their bullshit secrets." He protests.

"Rick. You think you have a choice? Now that you joined and are no longer a consignee, I need you. You will do this because you shouldn't even be alive with how many times you've tried to escape. You and bullet over here are special assets to this plan and whether you like it or not, your doing this."

Bullet was the nickname he gave you because you shot at him and grazed his forehead after he tried to rescue you. You needed to get back to your sister, you didn't want to be taken by a strange man and taken to a strange secret city that no one knows about.

"Rick. Just stop fighting it. I learned to stop fighting it long time ago. We've been here for six years. It's time to let go. Whoever your trying to get to just forget it. There alive but in here we can die at the snap of Beales fingers. So please..." You plead looking at him with a stone cold face but a hint of sympathy and concern.

"Whatever." He says gruffly before listening to the rest of what Okafor was saying.

The next day you and Rick and all the other soldiers are training. Obviously yet again, you get partnered with Rick. Your spinning your knife in your hand as you look at him with a slight smirk on your face.

You lunged at him and he blocked it and when you tried again he turned you around and had his arm around your neck and your back to his chest. You feel his warm breath on your cheek.

Your wiggling against him and he grunts in your ear. You try to pry his hand off your neck and flip him over and down to the ground but it was true, he was tougher and much stronger than you.

He pushes you and lets you go. you stumble but turn around standing your ground and facing him with your knife in hand and fists up. You lunge back at him and cut his hand, the one that's still attached of course.

He groans and holds his wrist. "Fuck." He yells out and you smirk at him. "Wouldn't fighting be much easier if you didn't cut off your hand Mr. Grimes?" You say with a slight chuckle.

He quickly turns back and the punches you in your face. You stumble back and wipe the blood that's made its way to your lip.

"Wow. That was a hell of a good punch Grimes." You say smirking and licking your lips. "Thanks bullet." He says smirking at you with his signature look.

You roll your eyes and punch his chest and he tries to hit you again but your duck and serve him a nice right hook. He stumbles back and when you try to punch his face again he grabs your right fist and slowly brings it down twisting it and hurting your wrist.

When you try the other hand to catch him off guard he dodges it and knees you in your stomach before punching your ribs.

You cry out and he lets go of your hand as you grab at your side and stomach. You glare at him from your hunched over position and then you swiftly get down and swipe your leg under his making fall.

You get on top of him and punch him in the face. You see his nose bleeding and his cheek is starting to bruise. You punch once more before a guard yells at you enough.

You get off Rick and look around at everyone looking at you before you look back at Rick on the floor and you scoff before walking away and slamming the door as you walk out.

You take the wrappings aggressively off your hands as you walk to your room. 'At least you had rooms and comfy beds here', you thought.

Where you came from you had to make do with dusty comforters and blankets on the cold, hard floor of an old abandoned building.

At least you had your sister, now you have no clue where she is... Broken out of your thoughts you hear a knock on the door.

You ignore it the first time quietly muttering a go away. When the knocks happen again you groan and get up.

As you open the door your met with Rick pushing past you and rushing into your room.

He's got a patch on his eyebrow to close up his wound with the stitches and his cheekbone is now bruised a darker color then before. Even his hand is all bandaged up.

"What the hell was that huh? Why'd ya go all psyco on me? What did I do to you huh?" He says pacing the room as he thrashes his hands around.

"I did it... because I wanted to." You whisper as you step closer to him with a neutral look on your face. You were unfazed by his act at trying to intimidate you.

"Oh really huh?" He asks stepping real close to you. Suddenly you really notice how dark his eyes are.

Even in this piss poor lighting. He looked looming and scary. Your facade falters immediately as he backs you up against the door.

The tension in the room changing slightly from anger to something more intimate...more primal. It excited you yet scared you.

You really didn't know Rick like that at all. You don't know how crazy he is- I mean besides the fact he cut off his own hand.

Your thoughts began to drift at how he looks. His brown curls framing his face perfectly, his beard full, nice and clean with greys decorating it.

You looked at the outfit he was wearing. A tight black shirt that hugged his body in all the right places with black cargo pants.

He looked...hot. Intimidating.Sexy. Dominant...I mean there were many words to describe Rick. He brought something out of you that you didn't like. He made you excited and wet at the slightest touch.

This interaction bringing back memories to 3 days ago.

{Flashback}

"Rick! Wait up!" You call out to him.

He was walking down the street in his combat outfit.

"Wassup bullet?" He asked with that look in his eyes. 'God that look does things to me,' you thought.

He looked like he wanted to throw you against the wall and eat you.

"I-I wanted to say good luck out there. Okafor can be pushing and hard to deal with." You say with a closed lip smile.

He nods and looks you up and down before speaking, "Thanks for the luck. I assumed i'll be needin' it. Especially by you." He says smirking at you.

That's the moment you knew that he knew, that he knows he makes you nervous. He would make any girl nervous. Eyelashes fluttering at the sound of his rough southern drawl. Sounding all sexy and wise.

That deep voice and pretty smirk on his face. The way his eyes will trace your body and your face as if he's remembering every tiny detail about you like a robot.

You swallow hard and you swear he could hear your heart rapidly beating, 'God girl get it together!' You immediately nodded your head before walking off and leaving him to stand there.

He watched as you walked away all flustered and cute. He chuckled to himself as you looked back and watched him walk away now.

{end of flashback}

You look up at him as he looks down at you with a smirk. His head tilted slightly to the side.

"Whatcha thinking about sweetheart?" He asks with a smirk. You roll your eyes and scoff trying to act tough.

"Nothing Rick. Get out." You demanded as you pushed past him walking towards your bed.

You didn't notice he was silently following you and he ended up behind you with his crotch to your ass and his hands on your hips.

"Why don't you stop this tough act baby and lemme take you right here hmm mama? Would you like that instead? Fuck that attitude right outta ya?" He says in a low seductive voice.

Shivers ran down your back as he said that. His words repeating like a mantra in your head over and over again. You wanted so badly for him to take you right here.

"fuck, yea I want that real bad." You mutter and he smirks as he starts kissing your neck and behind you ear. He slides his pants down and rips his cock free from the bondage of his boxers.

He removes your pants leaving you in your panties. When he slowly removes your panties they reveal your soaked cunt.

"Fuck mama, your soaked." He says with a chuckle. You whimper and grind against him. "Please Rick...I need you i-inside." You whine.

He chuckles and without warning slides in. As much as he wants to tease you, he doesn't have the patience tonight. Maybe next time..

Just thinking about being able to fuck you like this again, his hips roughly thrusting into you as your eyes roll to the back of your head or cross at your nose made his cock twitch.

Just looking at your body exposed and vulnerable to him made his cock jump with excitement to be buried so deep inside you. He kissed and sucked at yor neck leaving hickies people will surely be asking about later.

He was proud to mark you up as his. You cry out and scream out as his cock brushes your cervix just right. His cock hitting that sweet spot inside you that had you shaking intensely when your orgasm rolled around.

"fuck Rick! I-I'm gonna c-cum Rick! Oh shit, please lemme cum!" You beg. He looked at you and pouted.

"You wanna cum babygirl? Hmm?" He asks tauntingly. You quickly shake your head yes as he shakes his head and clicks his tongue. "Words baby. I need words." He said moving his hand up your chest slowly to lightly grip your throat.

You moan out as you grab his arm and your eyes roll back before you mutter out a little, "Yes Rick! I'm gonna cum, please?" You beg again hoping he has mercy on you.

"I'll allow you to cum but next time I won't be so nice babygirl." He says before thrusting into you with such force it makes your headboard thump against the wall.

You didn't want a noise complaint but the way your oragsm ripped through you, you honestly couldn't care.

"oh fuck!" Rick grunts out before he quickly pulls out and jerks off. You quickly scoot down and open your mouth for him to cum all on your face and tongue. You moan in pleasure as his warm seed spills all on your face.

When you swallow the amount that went into your mouth, you smile at him before licking the rest of by using your finger to apply it in your mouth.

He groans at the sight and he lifts you up placing you neatly and softly on your bed. Your so drunk off his cock that when he goes to try and get a warm cloth for you you grab his arm stopping him.

"Please stay with me. I don't wanna be alone... not tonight." You whisper. He smiles and nods before crawling his way into bed with you rubbing soft circles on your waist as you drift of to sleep.

Taglist: @dustbunniess @dollyfl1rt @rickswh0r3 @sinsandsweetness @justjasminne @itzdarling @versatilehater @aerangi @2svnder @keiva1000 @prettyluhdavis@hutchersonsgurl @grimesuniversexx @liliesdiary @writella

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes #the walking dead #twd rick #rick grimes twd #rick x you #rick x y/n #rick x reader #rick grimes the walking dead

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cerisemerald · 2 months ago

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One and only — Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: She has been loving Thomas for a while now, and it is heaving on her the fact she thinks he still is in love with Grace — she needs a confession, a affirmation that she is not just filling in a gap. It comes in a unexpected night, followed by an unusual morning, but everything with Thomas was like that.

MUSIC: One and only by Adele

A/N: this is the second fic I am reposting from my old account (I accidentally deleted it) and it was from one of my celebrations (200 followers I think) that consisted of fanfics inspired by Adele’s songs from the album 21, this one was requested by a dear friend and it is very dear to me!! It happens between s1-s2, Thomas meets (Y/N) after grace leaves. Feedback is always welcomed!

WARNINGS: English is not my first language.

WORD COUNT: 5,477

[MASTERLIST] [MOODBOARD]

(divider credit is for @cafekitsune)

“Thomas,” she calls, staring at his back, but he doesn't answer, he continues to look at the field in front of them instead. “Thomas?”

“Hm?” He still doesn't look at her.

(Y/N) decides to finally walk to him, she does not stop in front of him though, sensing something was wrong and not wanting to disturb or annoy him somehow. She stops right behind Thomas, a step of distance between them, from this close she can see the tension in his shoulders better, and as much as she wishes to touch him and try to tranquillise him, she waits. He doesn't do anything, however, not even looks at her, and she sighs.

She looks at the field, too, trying to understand what is possibly happening in his head. But she has a strong guess, one she does not like at all. (Y/N) hates when Thomas lives more in his past than in his present life, for her, it was his biggest flaw; the way he was constantly living for memories and not for life itself. And she feels that now he is probably thinking about what happened two years ago, Grace.

(Y/N) does not care he is thinking of her, that she can understand, after all he did fall in love with her, it would not be easy, especially for Thomas who protected himself with so many walls, to forget the woman. She doesn't expect him to just stop thinking about Grace overnight, but it did hurt, sometimes, how it felt, as if she was living in the shadows of someone bigger than her. It had been Grace's mistake, but she was the one paying for it, paying for the mistakes of a woman she hadn't even met.

She also knew, of course, that it would take Thomas time to trust again, to open himself like he had before. She knew everything that revolved around a broken heart, she did, but knowing did not make anything easier to deal with. It was still hard to face Tommy and see how, even in his most present moments, a piece of him was lost. Sometimes, she would ask herself why she even stayed, when it seemed like Thomas would never love her the same way. But she did, returned to him every single time, hope, maybe, tying her to him.

“Tom, why’d you bring me here?”

Thomas had showed up in her house last night, surprising (Y/N) in the middle of the week. It was not how their encounters usually went, Thomas would see her mostly on weekends. Sometimes he would spend the night, sleep with her to leave only on Sunday morning, sometimes stay up until four pm, these nights they would dance in her kitchen while drinking whiskey. It was all simple, but what mattered was that they talked, that they would sit down to talk and would sooth each other. Everything between them was simple, even love, when it came to their realisations that they were in love. There hadn't been a confession, not from her nor from him, they had just looked at each other differently, held each other for longer, kissed with more passion than ever, and that was enough to understand.

But yesterday was very different. She could not understand what was happening, neither read it on his face. As soon as she opened the door, he was tense, eyes haunted — not like tiredness from work or exhaustion because of all his problems, but as if he had just heard terrible news and saw his world crumbling. When she greeted him with a kiss, he had not held her waist or face, and had returned the kiss distantly. Still, she breathed and let him in, hoping that she might help somehow. He didn't talk much, short answers only, but it was like he needed the attention, needed her to listen to him, so she did. After sometime, she had run out of ideas to console him and offered for them to share a meal together, and for the first time since they had known each other, he ate something. Almost unnerving, but she was so relieved that she chose to see that as a good sign. After that, Thomas just sat in silence while she cleaned the plates.

When (Y/N) finished, she turned around to see he was sitting still at the table, eyes closed, breathing like he was trying to control himself. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to hold back tears or a scream, whatever it was, it was consuming him, drowning him in anguish. (Y/N) moved slowly, getting closer to him and delicately grabbing his hand. Then she whispered his name like a secret, like she was afraid of being caught saying that, because, in truth, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Tommy to hear it or not.

But Thomas did, and he squeezed her hand like his life depended on it, returning the touch with such a force it took her aback. It was not like he never touched her, or that he didn’t show any sign of affection such as holding her hand, but that touch was different. It was acid, burning (Y/N)'s skin in seconds and leaving a million scars behind. Thomas touched her like she was the only one capable of saving him.

It was scary. It was exhilarating. It was a breath of heaven’s pure oxygen. It was suffocating as the smoke on a fire. And it was only a touch of hand.

But it said so many things, it said that he wanted her there, that he actually needed her there. And she was happy with being wanted, but being needed was something she could not even describe, it was overwhelming. It took (Y/N)’s breath away. It made her forget everything else she needed to do, because Thomas was there, all of him, in her kitchen, holding her hand and asking her to be there for him.

With care, she walked until she was behind him, her arms adjusting perfectly in his neck, allowing his head to find a rest in her belly, it was not often Thomas would let her be the one embracing him. Usually, he would be more vulnerable after they would have an entire night together, and he would lay down between her legs and relax on her chest while she caressed him. (Y/N) started to caress his hair, gently as she could, and she noticed that with time, Thomas was melting to her touch, a small smile grew on her lips, but she kept quiet. It was the first time she felt like she could have every single piece of him with her. He sighed as she took some strands of his face, inclining his head even more.

Thomas opened his eyes suddenly, and because of his moving, they were now staring right at each other. Her heart sank with what she could see, his eyes were dark and tired, hurt. Still, she didn't say anything, knowing it had to be him the one to initiate any type of conversation about what was happening, she only kept caressing his hair. After some seconds, he reached for her left hand and kissed it, making her smile again, he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and she understood that it was his way of saying thank you. And, in a way, showing that he liked being near her like that. Although he seemed more calm, it didn't look like he would talk, and it was obvious how tired he was, so instead of asking anything, (Y/N) offered for them to sleep. He nodded, and they were quick to go to bed, a simple, but genuine kiss as a good night.

In the morning, he had all of a sudden woken her up with kisses on her neck — like last night hadn’t been so different, saying he wanted to take her somewhere. And yet, even though it was his idea to bring her, he hadn’t spoken since they got in here.

“I haven't come here in a long time.” He finally says something, making (Y/N) stare at him again. “My father…” Thomas takes a time to complete his sentence, “my father used to bring us here, sometimes, I hunted with him one day.”

“Hunted what?”

“A deer,” Thomas smirks, finally directing his look at her.

“You still didn’t answer me.” Thomas smirks only grows bigger at her words. “Why did you bring me here, Thomas?”

He keeps staring at her, she can’t tell everything he is thinking, but that he wants to say something and the words are hard to say, she is sure.

“I don’t know.” He confesses, and (Y/N) could have believed it if it wasn't for the hint of doubt in his tone, as if he didn't want to tell all the truth, but at the same time, didn't know all of it too.

She breathes deeply, she is trying really hard to understand him, she has been for quite some time, but he never truly gives her the chance. “It's that so?”

Thomas and her stare at each other for long seconds, it's not a battle this time, it's not her trying to reach him and him running away, (Y/N) feels as if she is already inside, but can't see what it is, and how could she? When he showed nothing before. She is not sure how to navigate this, what to search, what to ask, not this time, and that scares and frustrates her in equal amounts.

Thomas has these eyes that always make her feel naked, confused and alive. He sometimes looks at her like she is precious, like he cannot go a second without touching her, and she believes it, because his eyes are true, raw even. And then, he could look at her the way he is doing now, like she has just stabbed him, as if she has his heart in her hands to do whatever she wanted, and she decided to make him suffer. It wasn’t true, and it wasn’t fair, she didn’t have him like that, so why would he stare at her with all that devotion and agony?

She chuckles, lowly and dryly, and starts to walk, leaving him behind. (Y/N) doesn't know exactly what she is feeling at the moment, but everything is a little too much. She doesn't want to have to guess, it would be nice, for once, if he could finally say it out loud.

Stopping a few steps away from him, she finally takes a better look at everything in front of her, how beautiful that field is, how breathtaking the view of the sky is with no pollution from the city. The sun hadn’t completely risen yet, some shades of purple, pink, and orange decorated the sky. It looks just like a painting, she thinks, and it hurts a bit to realise that it would be a pretty day to feel good, for her and Tommy to be doing something enjoyable.

What bothers most is that it feels like there is just one last wall between them, and she had thought she would finally have him — but it's not simple, it never is. Thomas has to be the one to take that last step, he has to be the one to, at last, face what he is feeling. If she is the one to do it, to once again try to put pieces together to understand him, it will never change, he will only come home broken and expects mending. She wants more than that, she wants genuine words being said, wants to feel more than… a fragment.

She was afraid sometimes, what if the problem was not his past love, but her? Understanding that old feelings were hard to get rid of was easy, but to which point was Thomas protecting himself from any new feelings? Did it ever become a protection against her? (Y/N) would ask herself, what was he so afraid of? Afraid of having feelings for someone again? Or was he just afraid of… her? It scared her that maybe it wasn’t love and it’s disappointments that kept them apart, maybe it was her. And that she couldn’t fix.

She kicks some rocks by her feet and holds back another frustrated sigh, feeling like maybe she wasn't being fair, that her previous insecurities and frustrations might be influencing her. (Y/N) was trying so hard, to be seen, to be heard, to be loved. Because she loved him, honestly and easily, but had she not done this before? Tried to communicate, to understand? With others that now seem pale in comparison with Thomas, but still, love was a complicated thing. For her, it had always been, since the very beginning, since she had known what love was. It was not just Thomas, no, it would be unfair to say it was only him, perhaps she also needed time to deal with what was inside her. Yet she can't help to think it is different with him, there were others before, but he is the one that matters, he is the one she wants close at all times, the one she still stays close to even with all the hurt and words unsaid, waiting, wishing.

It was Tommy, after all, making her heart feel full and empty at the same time, occupying her thoughts, making her feel like things could get better someday.

If she just had the chance to properly talk to him… to cross all the bridges and understand, maybe then a conclusion would be made, one not based on assumptions she could not fully trust.

Nevertheless, here they are, turbulent thoughts clouding each one's mind. The surroundings are beautiful, the wind making leaves float in the air, both of them with their mouths clasped shut and minds running wild.

She can't see it, Thomas thinks, this time she doesn't seem to see the truth in his eyes. He notices the way she is shrinking inside herself, body almost crumbling, and he walks to her, he is tense when he hugs her from behind, arms keeping her in a tight embrace. Thomas knows she is fighting back tears by the way she lets herself go and relaxes her head against his chest as soon as he pulls her in. He can feel the way her body is fighting, half of her not willing to rest completely.

He never truly knows what to say, he did when he was with Grace, or almost always did, a clarity coming to him when he was about to do something stupid. With (Y/N) it is different, he knows how he feels, and she says the right thing, and he lets her read him, and they go on. Sometimes he has to say it, because she is tired, because she needs him to, or simply because he feels the urge to. But now it feels like they have reached a point that if Thomas keeps being silent, things will end.

Still, for a while they just stay in silence. Thomas keeps his touch steady, not entirely conscious that he is drawing patterns on her waist until she lets out a sigh that he recognises quickly by now, contentment, he can feel her relaxing a bit more. His hands wander a bit further, tracing her belly and up her chest, and as he remembers the night they met, his touch becomes heavier. For what felt like an eternity, he had wished to touch her. It was quick, she'd always say, how they met and how they ended up in a private room. She was not aware that for him, it had felt like a long waiting.

A party that he meant to go for business only, not even much interested in said business, at least not enough to try to do it in person, he had sent John to do it, but he got sick. Never before had Thomas been so happy with his brother being ill. Had he never gone to that party, he would not have met her. And it was a truth, even though he did not say it much, but a truth nonetheless, that since they met, she was constantly taking him out of his stupor. Since he had laid his eyes on her, he felt it, hands pulling him up, making him finally blink and wake up.

It was simple between them, it had been since the beginning, he had wanted her and there was no room for questioning if he would follow her, she had corresponded in the same intensity. Slowly their lives came in between, the days apart, the reality of each one, but even then, she only told Thomas she would be waiting, and there was no room for questioning if he would come back.

On the weeks with fewer visits from him, nothing changed, on the weeks he could see her more frequently, everything did.

Although his ghosts still haunted him, it was not the same as before, he could breathe now, push them away easier. But he had never been good with words when it came to this. To confess, he used words to get what he wanted, to conquer, long gone was the time words served as a way to connect and open himself. Grace had started to change that, easily as if she was a childhood love, she had picked up his heart on her hands. Thomas had not expected it, and when it hit him, he realised how truly in love he had been. For once his intuition had left him, after such a long time creating walls upon walls, they crumbled only to have to be raised again. He had also not expected it to change, to meet someone else, and yet, he did.

“What are you thinking?” She asks, head still resting against him.

“You.”

“You are thinking about me?” He can hear the small smile on her lips.

“Yes.”

“What about me?”

“The night we met.”

“Oh.” She chuckles, as if something suddenly made sense to her. “You were so pretty that night.”

Thomas holds back a smile, like he usually does when she says something like this. “I’d say you were more.”

(Y/N) laughs and turns to look at him, distancing herself enough so they could stare, he is relieved to see there are no tears in her eyes. “I was, but it didn’t last long after I met you.”

Her arms find a place on his shoulders as she hugs him, hiding her face on the crock of his neck. She radiates warmth, and Thomas welcomes it eagerly.

“It wasn’t all my fault.” Thomas says, dead serious, because sometimes she seems to forget they burn together, and she laughs again.

He feels when her body changes after a few moments, her breathing getting erratic, he prepares himself.

“Tom?” It's nothing more than a whisper.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been thinking, and…” something in him is begging for him to interrupt her, he knows what is coming, he can feel it. “I think we should, you know, stop seeing each other.”

He stays quiet, his arms never leave her body.

“Why?”

She takes a long time to answer, and Thomas starts to look for words he can say, things he can do to fix whatever needs to be fixed. He knows what it is, but as her silence stretches so much, he wonders if there is something more, if there is more he did and was unaware of it, that isn't hard to imagine. He feels, somehow, the moment she shivers, her arms seem to lose strength, her embrace weakening.

(Y/N) takes a deep breath before speaking,“because… because I feel like I’m Grace’s shadow. I feel like you met me when you were desperately needing someone to replace the emptiness that she left at your heart. It’s not that I’m the same as her, no…” she hides her face even more in his body, “it’s just you wanted someone to make you forget all the pain. And it happened that I was there to be your distraction. And at the beginning, I didn't care. But now, I do.”

She stops, Thomas knows she is fighting back tears, knows that she hates having to say all of this. Then she whispers, “I care because I’m in love with you, and being someone’s shadow for the man I love isn’t my biggest wish.”

What a treacherous path Thomas had walked them into. He could not deny it what he felt in the past was real, what he and Grace had shared was still haunting him, as his deceptions and frustrations always did. He never admitted, but for him, things like that never left his mind, he just pushed them away, kept them hidden. And still, things did not need to be like this, he did not have to act like that. He did… he liked (Y/N), not just that, he loved her even. A small and fragile thing at first, threatening to hurt him, not because it hurt, but because it made him finally move on. But now, a year later, it was not that small any more, he knew what he felt, knew that he searched for her when they were apart. And Thomas had no necessity in comparing what he felt before with what he felt now, he knew it would take time for something like that to happen again — to be true, he had not even thought it would happen again, but it did, it is happening.

Thomas blinks, watching as flowers and leaves were stirred by the wind, a hollow sound surrounding them. There is so much more he probably doesn't know, more things she thinks and has kept to herself.

“You’re not Grace’s shadow.” He says in a whisper, his voice betraying him. It sounds weak, and he wanted to convey how strong his affection is. Nonetheless, he hears her sighing in relief, distancing herself from him a bit, but still not looking at his eyes.

“You love her Tom,” (Y/N) states, “you’re still deeply in love with her and all you lived by her side. If I’m not her shadow, then I’m a mere ghost of what she was.” She raises her eyes to his face, he is already staring, always staring at her.

She looks at him with so much resignation that Thomas is almost convinced he cannot change her mind.

“I’m not angry or mad or upset about this. I’m just sad.” She says it then, voice low, Thomas knows it is because she is holding tears back. “And it doesn’t matter how much I love you, I don’t want to be sad, to feel miserable every time I don’t act like someone I don't even know. I just don’t want that life for me, even if that means losing you.”

He looks away, not being able to stare at her eyes at the moment, not when he doesn't have the right words to say. It was not his intention for it to reach this point, for her to think he wants a copy of Grace. He knows he has to say it, explain himself, but it is like being paralysed. It's the kiss on his cheek that makes him finally blink, it is the way her lips are so delicate against his skin, a goodbye. She leaves his arms, turning around to go back to the car, but he holds her wrist immediately, (Y/N) stops, looking at him with knitted eyebrows.

Thomas takes in all of her at that moment, the determination clear in her eyes, eyes he has grown so accustomed to, that do not search him unless he opens himself, eyes that love him, tender him. Eyes that he cannot forget even when she is not with him. He looks at her lips, lips that have said the words he needed to hear, the ones he did not want to hear, lips that have kissed him with so much passion that he was able to forget the world for some hours. She has, slowly, found a place inside of him, roots with her name overtaking his chest. Her hair flutters around her face, she seems tired, (Y/N) offers no more resistance on her face, only resignation, but she does not pull away either. He engraves every single detail of her in his mind.

The words are not helping him, he cannot think of anything good enough to say, it is like she wiped his mind, leaving nothing but thousands of pictures of her behind. Of every moment she has used her words not to pry him open, but to convince him to do so, every moment she has held him in place instead of insisting on dragging him somewhere else.

It was at the moment, the sun shining brightly, orange light taking over the sky, making her skin seem warm to the touch, that he finally realised. It had always been simple between them, he did not need to complicate it right now, there was no need for elaborate words, only the truth. She wanted something straight-forward, (Y/N) was just asking for it to be real.

“I don’t want her,” Thomas says, words finally appearing. “I don’t want her like I want you. Not any more.”

And it was true, he had loved Grace, had felt something he thought himself incapable of after the war, and yet, it passed. She had betrayed him, and he still felt it then, sometimes still feels it now, but it passed.

She gives a step forward, “but you still love her, right?”

He allows himself to remember Grace's face, her tender touch, it was involuntary, the care that comes with it. But there is also the pang of heartbreak, the understanding and the sense of finality, there is nothing he can do to go back in time, and now, he does not want it any more. He has (Y/N), she mended what was broken. He takes a step towards her as well, hand tightening even more around her wrist, he wants her now more than he ever did.

“Yes.” he admits, because it is also true that (Y/N) can wring secrets from him. “But she’s past.”

“Is she, Tom?” She gives in a deep breath, “if that’s so, you’re a man living your days in the past. You’re always with her, even when you try to be here with me.”

“No.” he denies, low and firm, “It’s not me living in the past, (Y/N).”

“What is it then?”

He wants to say it at that moment, to confess she haunts him, that his past always does — who he was before war, who he became during it. It is a part of him now. But that is not his nature any more, to confess this easily, it takes time, and he has said more today than he ever did before. Instead, he looks at her, knowing that when nothing comes out of his mouth, that it's what denounces him, his eyes.

She reads him again. Thomas knows, he always knows when she understands. Maybe it is the look on her face, he has never been able to identify what it was, but something changed when she could get him.

“I know it ain't easy,” (Y/N) says, getting closer to him, she puts a hand on his face, “it seems to haunt you, Thomas.”

She is close now, enough that he can feel the warmth of her body again. Thomas lets himself relax against her, his hand still on her wrist, he can feel her pulse now, slightly accelerated.

“I feel left out sometimes,” she whispers, “as if she is right behind me, and I am echoing her words, or at least the words you wanted her to say.”

Thomas nods, “you are not like her.”

(Y/N) seems surprised at that, “what was she like?”

But that is too much. “You are different,” he establishes, firm enough for her to understand he does not want to talk about Grace like that. It's easier to just forget, sharing this feels strange, describing how he loved her — because it would not be just an impartial view of how she was. “And your words too, you do not echo her in my mind.”

You fixed it. Erased what hurt was left on the surface.

(Y/N) squint her eyes at him, he lets her stare into his eyes, lets her understand.

“If we…” she cleans her throat, “if you try, could this work?”

He bites his tongue to say that is already working, because yes, for him, it is, but she is opening herself to him and saying she is hurting.

“What do you want?” He asks, instead.

“You.” (Y/N) shrugs, “I know we can't be each other one and only. But it would be good if you opened yourself more, I cannot always read your mind.”

He must've frowned at that, because she immediately completes, “I know it's different for you, how you open up. I sometimes wish for words, it's true, but it is not what you can give me and I know that.” And although she understood it wrong — he was just surprised when she said she could not always read him —, he was happy to hear that.

Thomas puts a hand on her waist, pulling her and closing the distance that was left, he can feel her now, that smell that calms him every time they sleep together, he tightens his grip. There is not a world where he would refuse this, it is surprising, sometimes even slightly scary and annoying, how she managed to awaken him when he fought so much to numb himself. But he always comes back to her, always knocks on her door, because it is stupidity to refuse her, push her away, only a mad man would do that. He consumes her instead, goes to her house, drinks from her lips with such thirst it is as if he is famished, and it is never enough. Whatever she wants, he thinks, whatever she wants to stay.

She is looking at him with an indecipherable expression, but he cares not at the moment, he will have plenty of time to reflect on everything she said today, to understand her even more. Now, he searches for her lips, brushing his own against her, wanting to feel her before making the real move. He is not one for teasing, every time he does this, it is because the waiting feel as good as the actual kiss, the way he can feel her skin shivering, the way she whimpers slightly — because they are the same when it comes to this, she also has an insatiable hunger. They finally kiss, then, desperate to feel each other, it always feels like they are one at this moment, and nothing else matters.

She is the one to break the kiss, only to look at him and whisper, “I love you.”

Before Thomas can think of answering, her lips are crashing against his again, demanding, taking, and he answers it. He almost chuckles when one of her hands find her way to get under his shirt, but his own body leans into it in such a fast manner he knows he would be laughing at himself too.

Since the first time she touched him like this, he knew he had cursed himself. He knew he would be damned, growing hunger for that, fonder for her. She had scared him, and yet, proved herself to be exactly what he needed.

He broke the kiss this time, not being able to contain the smirk when he saw her drunk eyes, even though he was for sure laughing at himself too.

“I love you.”

She melts against him, smiles brightly. He does not know why he waited so long to say it, but he is usually like this, takes too long to say something important.

“You’re not her.” He finds himself saying, surprising the both of them, “you’re not her shadow.”

She nods, Thomas sees her blooming right in front of him. He feels something settling in his chest, his mind getting quieter, a miracle for its own, but even more special when he feels it because of her.

Please. He thinks as he gives a peck on her lips. Don’t ever say you’re a mere ghost, when I love you this much.

The wind was still stirring the flowers and leaves of the field, and the field was still the same, same as the sun shining in the sky. But somehow, everything seemed more right.

#ely writes peaky blinders #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x fem!reader #peaky blinders x reader

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flowerandblood · 8 months ago

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The Fall from the Heavens (16)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, dirty talk, breeding kink, description of wounds and trauma, remorse ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He remembered little of their journey back to King's Landing; it seemed to him that his conversation with Daemon, and before that with Aegon, had been a dream, and that it had all not really happened. Throughout the journey, he kept his cheek pressed against his wife's temple, feeling great relief but also fear.

He was sure she would run away.

He was sure she would let him down again, and some part of him wished she would.

Why?

When they reappeared in the Red Keep there were only a few hours left until dawn; he instructed his guards to convey to his brother as soon as he woke up, that he should call a meeting of the Small Council where he would be able to give a brief report of what had happened.

Afterwards, he and his wife both retired to his chamber, stripping out of their riding attire, speechless and exhausted. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, feeling a tightness in his throat, wondering why he felt tense, why he was not rejoicing.

He swallowed loudly as he realised that he had expected a betrayal on her part, because it would make things a lot easier for him.

He could then turn his back on her and her family once and for all, shed his illusions, become who he had been for eight years again.

It frightened him that now, when it was obvious that she had proved her loyalty to him, that she had chosen him at last, so many things remained unsaid, silenced, repressed.

He felt her uncertain gaze on him as she stayed in just her nightgown, heard his bed creak quietly under the weight of her body.

"My love?" He heard her soft voice and grunted, staying in only his breeches and linen shirt.

She twisted towards him as he lay down beside her on his back, placing his hands on his stomach, sighing heavily with exhaustion.

He shuddered when he felt her warm, soft hand on his – their fingers began to trail and rub against each other in the air, just like when she had come to him that first night after many years of separation.

"Speak to me, Aemond. Don't lock yourself in your mind." She said calmly; something in her words, in the fact that she sensed his anxiety made him swallow loudly, opening and closing his mouth several times, unable to get anything out. He finally shook his head, closing his eyes, deciding there was no point.

"Say it. Say all the things you've always wanted to say to me. Even if those words will only cause me pain. I want to know."

He opened his eyes, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad, a shiver ran along his spine.

"I will never understand how could you leave me then." He finally said in a voice filled with regret and venom – he felt her twist next to him restlessly, drawing in air loudly.

He didn't look at her, but he felt her hand tighten on his.

"That was never my intention."

"Then why?"

"My mother then told me to let you rest and calm down. That the guards wouldn't let me visit you anyway by order of the Queen."

"What a nonsense."

"I am speaking the truth. When I wanted to pay you a visit a few days later, Criston Cole sent me away."

He felt his heart stop at those words; his whole body tensed, his breath stuck in his throat as he finally looked at her with wide-eyed expression.

"What?"

He felt her thumb stroke his palm, her eyes looking at him pleadingly.

"I swear, five days after what happened, I came to pay you a visit. I came every day after that, but he always sent me away. He said you didn't want to see me." She mumbled, and he snorted in disbelief and amusement, shaking his head. He looked at her in shock, wanting to see anything in her face that could confirm that she was lying.

He swallowed hard, embittered, leaning the back of his head against the back of the bed.

"It doesn't matter. I needed you when it happened."

"I needed you too. When Criston Cole held my cheeks as your mother's guards poured moon tea down my throat. I wondered at the time if that's how you felt." She said with weariness, sadness and indifference from which he felt an unpleasant squeeze in his stomach; he felt his lips part involuntarily, a hot, overpowering wave of shame surge through his body.

They stared at each other for a moment in silence, just breathing, not moving or saying anything, her hand still on his, warmth and reassurance in her touch.

For the first time in eight years, they spoke honestly about what had happened.

"Why didn't you ever write me back?" She asked at last, her voice trembling slightly, as if the very thought of it made tears of regret rise in the corners of her eyes.

He clamped his eyelids shut, sighing heavily, this time it was his fingers that stroked her hand.

"I've tried. I tried so many times. But I was unable to fill the parchment because no words seemed to describe what I was feeling. I couldn't put my thoughts into sentences. Everything that came out from under my hand was the ramblings of a madman and ended up burning in the fire. Then it was too late. I didn't see the point." He said, not believing that these words had left his mouth; he glanced at her uncertainly out of the corner of his eye, a single, solitary tear ran down the side of her face.

"You didn't even let me explain myself. You didn't give me a chance despite the fact that I've never let you down before." She muttered, and he swallowed loudly, feeling an unbearable tightness in his throat.

"I know."

He took his hand from her grasp and put his arm around her – her body immediately clung to his, entwining with his like a vine, her face sunk into the hollow of his neck, his hand roaming lazily down her back while his lips placed warm, lingering kisses on the top of her head.

They fell asleep for the few hours separating them from dawn in their tight embrace, not like lovers, but like they used to when they were children, holding hands, their foreheads touching.

He felt how, as she awoke, her fingers stroked his cheek gently, her lips placed a warm, soft kiss on his, which he reciprocated with a low murmur of satisfaction, without even opening his eyes.

For the first time in eight years, he felt at peace.

For the first time in eight years, he felt relief.

His closest friend was by his side again.

They were both just dreaming of sleeping on when Criston Cole walked into his chamber announcing that the King had called an immediate meeting of the Small Council in accordance with his wishes.

He sighed heavily, rising slowly from his bed, ordering his servants to prepare a suitable tunic for him. He turned, looking at her over his shoulder, his broad hand stroking her bare calf with a soft, lazy gesture.

"Accompany me. Be by my side."

The sight of her walking behind him as the door of the chamber in which all those gathered sat opened before them did not satisfy his grandfather or his mother.

He pretended not to see their warning glances, instead ordering one of the servants standing nearby to place a second chair right next to his, where he took his seat, placing his sapphire ball in a niche in the stone table.

"Speak, brother." Aegon began without undue politeness or introduction. His mother, his grandfather and Criston Cole were all opposed to their idea, however Lord Lannister and the other houses supporting them were far more accepting of the news that perhaps the whole matter of succession would be resolved without a bloody, kingdom-destroying war.

"Our uncle is as brazen as I remember him to be, however, despite his misgivings, he has not declined our offer. He will certainly pass on our words to our sister. We must wait." He replied truthfully; his mother sighed heavily, burying her face in her hands.

"What if no son is born to you, Aemond? If it is officially the sons of Rheanyra and Daemon who become heirs, they will kill us all for treason." She said with impatience, grief and horror – he opened his mouth to reply, however his wife forestalled him.

"You may have killed the child in my womb who could have been the heir we so need now. We will never know, will we?" She sneered, and he felt an unpleasant shiver run down his back.

His hand clenched into a fist at the mere memory of what had happened and what she had done next. He looked at his wife's face out of the corner of his eye and swallowed hard, seeing in her expression strenght, determination and confidence.

Just what he needed.

Complete silence fell, his mother lowered her head, pressing her lips into a thin line.

"As I said, we have to wait. We have done what we could."

The fact that Aegon had agreed to try to come to an agreement over the succession did not mean that either of them were going to give up preparing for a possible war, so they spent the rest of the meeting discussing what they would do if that plan failed. The King then asked his wife to leave; she rose and left without a word, touching his shoulder with her hand beforehand.

Something had changed between them, he could feel it.

As he watched the door close behind her, he realised that after she had decided to come back with him instead of running away with Daemon, after what he had confessed to her the wall that had been piling up between them since the night he had tamed Vhagar had finally collapsed.

When he returned to his quarters he did not find her there, so he headed for her chamber, informing the guards that no one was to disturb them. As he stepped inside he noticed her figure sitting by the window, bent over the embroidery of the Arryn family crest; the sun was beaming down on her face, he could feel a pleasant summer breeze all around her.

She lifted her gaze to him and smiled in a way he knew, one he remembered well from when they were children; what touched him in that look, in that smile, was the confirmation that she felt the same as he did, that she knew that something had finally changed between them, had set in on the right track.

He approached her slowly, involuntarily extending his hand towards her cheek; he watched as she pressed her face into his skin rough from holding the sword and sighed quietly as her lips placed a soft, warm kiss on his palm.

Gods, how he loved her.

He took the cloth from her hand and set it aside, grabbing her waist and lifting her, seating her in front of him on the top of the old wooden table. She stared at him with her eyes wide open, surprised, her lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath, betraying her uncertainty and excitement; he took a step towards her, so that their faces were almost touching, cupping her cheek in his palms, so soft, so warm.

She smelled of vanilla.

He looked at her, at her bright, warm gaze, at her gentle face, which had so much of that childishness of many years ago in it, while being more mature, more girlish, more tempting; her dark lashes shone in the sunlight as she closed her eyelids feeling his thumb run slowly over her fleshy, moist lower lip.

She was his wife.

What he wanted had truly come true.

She stood before him again, his childhood friend, his lover.

"Rhaenys." He whispered and she opened her eyes, looking at him in disbelief; he saw her cheeks flush, her body trembled all over with delight. She raised her hand and he moved away immediately, horrified when he realised she wanted to grab his black eye patch.

"No."

"You're my husband. That's enough." She said regretfully and tiredly, taking his face in her hands. He looked down at her, breathing heavily, his eyebrows arched in uncertainty, in shame, in fear.

"Don't spoil this beautiful day for me." He said at last in a low, hoarse voice. She pressed her lips together as if his words caused her pain, her fingers sliding down his jaw, dropping powerlessly.

"One step forward, two steps back." She said softly, and he swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in his throat at her words. He sighed loudly through his nose, licking his lower lip with his tongue, fighting with himself.

He didn't know what had happened, what had changed, what had brought him to reach up to his face, to grab his eye patch and pull it off with a sudden, aggressive movement, throwing it impatiently to the ground.

He saw her raise her shoulders high, frightened by his sudden gesture, her lips parted in disbelief, her pupils narrowed as she looked straight at him. He expected her to turn her face away at this sight, to betray herself with a stare full of disgust or fear, but instead her eyes turned red from the tears that had gathered in their corners.

"Come." She whispered, grabbing the material of his tunic with her hand, pulling him closer; he involuntarily took a few steps forward, shocked by her reaction, by her expression, as if what she had seen had moved her greatly, but not in the way he had expected. "Come here."

Her hand lifted higher, to his cheek – he closed his eyes, feeling his whole body freeze as her fingers ran gently over the line along which his scar ran.

"Oh, my dearest, you must have suffered so much. It must have caused you so much pain. For so many, so many months, you must have died every day. Forgive me." She mumbled out in a trembling, breaking voice, from which he pressed his lips together, himself touched for some reason, embittered and grateful at the same time, because for so long he had been waiting for that very look, that very touch and those words from her, just from her.

She kissed him in a way she had never done before – it was neither a child's kiss nor a lover's kiss; it was a caress full of warmth, moisture and care, a tenderness from which he involuntarily closed her in his arms, leaning lower to press himself tighter to her swollen lips.

Their mouths brushed each other lazily, slowly, unhurriedly, as if they had all the time in the world, their hands stroking each other's faces with gentle, calm movements, birdsong all around them, the loud conversations in the courtyard coming from behind the open window and the quiet, sticky clicks of their saliva.

He felt himself shudder each time his lips pressed against hers again, their arms holding them close together, his lungs filling with her scent.

Vanilla.

His manhood slowly began to swell and throb from those wonderfully innocent caresses full of promise, something they hadn't done before but so desperately needed.

"Make love to me." He whispered into her mouth; she moaned softly, throwing her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, forcing them to join together again in a hot, lazy kiss, which he did eagerly.

Only after a moment did their tongues come out to meet each other, their tips beginning to lick teasingly making them both breathe louder; his hands slid lower to her gown, lifting its material higher, exposing her wonderfully soft, bare thighs.

He let her take care of him, undoing the buckles of his tunic and the tying of his breeches as he kissed with emotion her forehead, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her temple.

She was his.

It seemed to him that they had gone back in time, to that day when she had kissed him for the first time.

As if what they were doing now was an extension of that moment.

"Do you think we would have persevered until marriage? With staying in chastity." He gasped, sighing quietly in relief when her skilled fingers finally released his desire-sore manhood, his arm drawing her closer as her thighs spread eagerly before him.

He heard her giggle softly, when he lifted his gaze to her he saw pure joy, warmth and love in her eyes, exactly as they had been then, that day.

"If you want, you can believe it, uncle." She replied tauntingly, just as she always did, just as in his fantasies; he snorted at the thought, sinking his hand into her warm womanhood, already leaking with desire. She tilted her head back, sighing with pleasure as his fingertips ran over her throbbing, moist slit.

"What do you imagine would happen?" He continued on, teasing her with the movements of his finger, which slid a little between her tight, wet muscles, pushing them apart, rubbing her rough bud hidden just above her opening. A soft, sweet moan came from her lips as she swallowed loudly, looking up at him from under half-closed eyelids.

"One night, when I would visit you in your chamber, we would begin to touch. Innocently at first, but eventually you would understand what it feels like to clamp your fingers on the soft breast of your beloved woman. You would understand what pleasure lies deep between my thighs." She cooed sweetly; he gasped loudly, embarrassed by how hard his cock pulsed at her words, which did not escape her attention.

"You'd say you wish to feel me just for a moment −" She whispered, with a gentle flick of her hand directing his swollen, hard length between her thighs; they both moaned quietly as he began to push against her and opened her wide on the thick head of his cock with a soft, firm thrust of his hips. "− but we would both know it was a simple lie, spoken only to make us feel less guilty."

A throaty, low groan escaped his lips at that thought; his hands clamped down on her buttocks covered by the material of her gown, with a deep thrust of his hips forcing her to let him inside her. She whimpered, panting heavily along with him, looking at him with her mouth wide open, as if she didn't recognise him.

She put her hand around the back of his neck, the other resting on the table top, trying to catch her balance as he began to root into her with slow, lazy thrusts, sliding out of her almost all the way, only to sink back between her warm, moist muscles a moment later.

"− Aemond −" She mewled, closing her eyes, responding involuntarily with the rocking of her hips to his treatments – it seemed to him that they were both in a state of some kind of ecstasy that nevertheless had more to do with what they had shared when they were children than now, when they were united by fire and blood.

"− and what would you do? − hm? − what would you do if I put it inside you and told you I wouldn't stop until I filled you? −" He breathed out, involuntarily quickening his pace; she moaned pleadingly at his shameless question, her fleshy, hot core clenched tightly around his erection, sucking it inside her, their bodies slapping against each other with loud smacks of skin against skin.

"− I would beg for your seed −" She mumbled out; his hand tightened on her hair at her words, his lips clinging to hers in a greedy, hot kiss full of their tongues and saliva, in a caress not filled with hatred and aggression but pure, hot desire.

"− so fucking beg −" He growled into her mouth between their quick, loud kisses, their lips with a sticky click clinging and pulling away from each other as their bodies found their own pace to pleasure, his thick cock pulsing with desire slamming into her so deep and fast that he seemed to run out of breath, her cheeks and lips all pink with exertion.

"− please, uncle − put your heir inside me −" She whimpered helplessly and that was enough for him – he pressed his forehead against hers, panting loudly, holding her close in a strong embrace in his arms, with a few sloppy, sticky thrusts prolonging the inevitable to finally spill deep inside her. He feel a powerful orgasm shake her body, her head tilted back with a sweet cry of pleasure.

"− yes − yes, oh, gods, uncle, fill me −" She mumbled, her hands drawing him back to her mouth, their lips devouring each other in fierce, moist kisses as the last drops of his spend filled her womb. They both rocked their hips for a while longer with loud clicks of her wetness, panting quietly as they tried to calm their breathing, their hands roaming over their bodies, their eyes closed, focused only on the relief they both felt.

"− this is how I always imagined us − you and me when we were married −" She whispered, and he sighed, understanding what she meant.

Though united by passionate affection, regret, distrust and grief dominated their every approach.

"− my wife begging for my seed is indeed an important part of my vision of a perfect marriage −" He sneered, noticing the amusement in her eyes when she understood that he was teasing her.

That he had returned to her, that she had won him back, that she was looking at the boy she had lost that night.

Her lips parted in disbelief when she noticed that the corner of his mouth lifted upwards, gently, not mockingly, not maliciously.

He smiled.

For the first time in so many years.

He stroked her cheek with his hand as her eyebrows arched in pain, as her eyes glazed over from the tears that ran down her face one by one onto his warm palm.

They kissed again, then again and again, warmly, tenderly, innocently, devotedly, with the affection he had dreamed of for so many years and he thought, hiding this realisation deep in his heart, that this was the happiest day of his life.

The day he got his best friend back.

351 notes · View notes

biteofcherry · 1 year ago

Text

To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark!mafia Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; power imbalance; forced relationship; violence; death (minor character); D/s undertones; gun play; gun play kink; explicit sexual situation; faint choking kink; mention of breeding kink;

I did warn you this Steve is dark 😜

word count: 8k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 4. Heated hail

~ * ~

Hues of orange and purple brushed over the horizon in softest strokes as the sun settled down, but your heart couldn’t settle in your chest, every few hours jumping into a rapid patter to the tune of anxiety.

Staying in the safety of your apartment for two days after the horrid events didn’t help much, it still felt impossible to ease into your new life with its stains of alluring darkness.

You called in sick the morning after your engagement. Then stayed home for another day, as well. Hiding worked no miracles, your brain was very much conscious of the events that happened and of the things awaiting you, but at least you didn’t have to face it all for those few more hours of denial.

Though no one appeared on your doorstep and you didn’t sense any eyes on you as you occasionally walked out onto your tiny balcony, you were convinced that Steve knew very well where you were.

At all times.

It was a blessing he didn’t march into your home with a wedding gown, forcing you to say the vows immediately. You half expected it, since your continued talk after the kiss included Steve’s announcement that you’re to be married in a month.

He wasn’t interested in waiting.

It seemed that even when Steve Rogers appeared patient, it was only when he knew the results he demanded would come precisely in the time window he approved of.

Giving you a month was undoubtedly an act of grace in his eyes, since he could’ve as well dragged you in front of some registrar the very next day.

Or maybe it was a wicked torment on his part, making you organize a wedding you didn’t really want. Not ripping off the band aid quickly, but making conscious decisions (as indifferent as they may be) about details regarding the ceremony of binding yourself to Steve for life.

True torture was playing the part of shocked and grief-stricken when Natalie called you a few hours earlier to inform you of Felix’s tragic car accident.

You nearly laughed hysterically at that.

Car accident. Sure.

Against a truck branded Rogers.

You had no idea if they staged it so that it looked like an accident after they'd beaten him to death (or done worse things to him), or if Rogers had enough officers under his thumb that they classified it as such, without letting anyone know the truth.

But you knew the truth. Most of it, anyway, without gory details.

Maybe you shouldn’t feel sad, considering Felix gave you to another mobster on a silver platter. Who knows how that meeting would go, if Steve hadn’t intervened. However, you were still human and, even if occasionally you felt a taste for drawing blood when someone pissed you off, you didn’t wish anyone death.

You would have to play the shocked and sorrowful employer in front of the health center employees, which was also why you dreaded going back to work.

It would be easier, perhaps, if your mind reacted in the way it was supposed to.

Though you knew people reacted to trauma in various ways, there were certain symptoms you expected from yourself. They never came.

When you dragged yourself to bed, you fell asleep easily. Steve Rogers haunted your dreams, but they weren’t exactly nightmares you’d expect.

Those dreams were ridiculous, really. Dark, yes. In a gothic horror setting almost. No terror wrecked your body, however. You didn’t scream in fear, nor wake up drenched in sweat as you dreamt of running away from the altar only to fall straight into Rogers’ arms.

You were processing it all too logically, as if you were only wedding stressed and annoyed with Rogers, not in fear for your life and that of your loved ones.

If you were your own patient, you’d ask yourself if there were aspects of the arrangement with Steve that you found benefiting? Something that perhaps drew you to him?

You still had no answer to that question as you finally walked into the health center on the next day.

Steady, slow steps; a pace perhaps a heartbeat slower than your usual. The sound of your heels clicking on the floor echoing through the quiet halls.

Natalie waited for you in your office, as she always did without fail. In a way, she was playing a role just like you; wearing a mask to function without a hitch. Organizer in hand, she recited to you the changes she made due to your short sick leave and those that needed to be made for the day of Felix’s funeral.

A thought crossed your mind briefly, of what Steve would say about you going to Felix’s funeral. Since he apparently belonged to a branch of the mafia, attendance of Hydra mobsters and other of their operatives was highly possible, and you didn’t think Rogers would want you anywhere near them.

You viewed yourself as merely a civilian boss of the man that passed, but you possessed enough intelligence to recognize you were now also a part of a rivaling mob - no matter how reluctant your participation was.

Not only by shared business, but ranking now much higher in your status as the fiancée to the ruthless mob boss.

You didn’t mention to Natalie that you weren’t sure if you’d be going to the funeral at all, only nodding at her skilfully reorganized schedule.

“There’s one more thing,” she said, closing her calendar.

She walked to the door, opened them and beckoned someone over. A young man, a boy really, entered your office with a shy smile on his face.

Unruly hair, which he combed neatly, but they still betrayed harmlessly chaotic functioning of youth. A pressed collar of a button down shirt peeked above his blue cardigan. He reminded you of first year students, or apprentices at their first posting.

The first person in the past few days who seemed innocent and you welcomed that change with a softened heart.

“This is Peter Parker.” Natalie announced.

“Hi! Nice to meet you,” the boy cut the space between the two of you and extended his hand for you to shake.

“Peter has just applied for our vacant position.” Natalie’s voice remained neutral and professional, but the way she accented vacant position left no doubt that it meant Felix’s job.

Which shouldn’t be announced this soon. No one would post an ad without your authorization. So unless one of the center’s workers tried to push his own son or nephew into free position, that Parker kid was sent in by someone who knew of the brutally gained opening.

“Son of a bitch.” You cursed under your breath.

Natalie arched a single brow, but said nothing as you picked up your phone and unlocked it with a murderous glare. Parker said nothing either, only looked your way slightly bewildered.

Shame that Rogers didn’t warn him about your newly discovered tendencies to outbursts.

That it was Steve Rogers’ move, you had no doubt.

You found his name in your contacts - Steve typed it in himself, teasing you that a fiancée should have her future husband’s number in her phone.

He picked up quickly, actually surprising you that he answered at all. You thought his phone number to be more of a reminder for you that you gave yourself away to him, rather than being able to actually call him. So when you heard his voice on the other end of the line, you choked on your words for a second.

“Princess?”

You wondered if he saved your number under that pet name.

“The center was supposed to remain under my control,” you hissed into the phone when you regained your voice. “Hiring people should be my decision.”

“Peter’s very approachable and he learns fast,” came Steve’s reply; his voice soft, but there was that lining of finality to his decision.

You paused, once again surprised. This time by the fact Steve wasn’t playing lying games, just cutting straight to the core of the problem. Which also meant he anticipated your reaction, but did it anyway, disregarding your opinion on the matter.

You’d laugh at the irony of it - that a man being truthful and direct in an important conversation (traits you valued), at the same time was the fucking bane of your existence.

“Is he even of age?” You snorted, glancing Parker’s way. “He looks sixteen.”

“I’m twenty two.” Peter chimed in and you frowned.

He really didn’t look to be over twenty. Then again, in the past you’ve been asked for an ID even though you were way over twenty five. You had no idea how young people were when they started working for the mob.

Perhaps Rogers had no conscience and hired kids for dirty jobs too.

“He’s legal,” Steve sounded amused. “No forged papers on him. Lives alone with his aunt, so a solid job, like the one at the center, is something he needs.”

You did not believe in Rogers’ sympathy, not for a second. Perhaps he took care of his employees in a peculiar way, but you wouldn’t mistake it for him actually caring if Peter’s dreams come true, or if his economical status is secured.

Moreover, you suspected he used Peter’s wobbling financial stability as a means to lure him into the mafia in the first place.

“Then he could’ve applied without your commendation. Since it’s his own motivation to work here, right?” You allowed yourself a defiant tilt of your chin and a challenging gaze, since Steve couldn’t see it anyway.

You weren’t stupid to believe Steve pushed the kid into this position only because Peter needed it. More likely, Steve wanted someone from his own batch to infiltrate the center. Maybe even to keep an eye on you, though you seriously didn’t imagine how a barely-out-of-teens boy was supposed to do that.

“Recommendation is an additional bonus to an otherwise great employee you’ll be hiring.”

You didn’t know Steve well enough yet to assess by his tone alone if he was growing annoyed with this conversation, or rather bored (since he knew you would be agreeing to his demands anyway, unless you wanted more harm happening).

“That depends on the recommendation,” you muttered, too late realizing you said it out loud.

“You don’t trust my word, Princess?” A deeper timbre resounded in Steve’s voice, sending a shiver across your skin.

He wasn’t there, but you could easily imagine the glint in his blue eyes as he peered at you from beneath his long eyelashes. An edge of a blade caressing your breakable skin.

“I’m miffed at you planting your fucking seeds in my center, when it was supposed to stay under my care!”

There was a pause after you snapped.

One in which you cursed yourself inwardly for once again antagonizing someone who held your life in his hands, quite literally. Your heart thumped loudly, you felt the echo of it through your bones.

However, when Steve’s voice returned with a reply, it wasn’t a promise of your death.

Though it may as well have been, considering his words.

“I can plant different seeds, if you wish. Inside you, Princess.”

Your intake of breath was sharp, your pupils widened and your mouth hung open. He did not just say that!, your mind screeched, while your body roused in alertness.

You hung up the phone without uttering a single more word to Steve, then tossed it to the far edge of the desk as if it burned you. Your gaze lingered on it for a moment longer, in fear of it ringing to life.

You couldn’t comment on Steve’s innuendo. Acknowledging it meant recognizing this particular aspect of marriage, which you somehow repressed from your mind.

No, your marriage to Rogers was supposed to be only on paper, only for his gain of the lands and immunity.

A facade, with a shiny ring and your new last name stained with the blood of Steve’s opponents. Not a true merging of two people, neither in minds nor in hearts, definitely not in bodies.

A quiver pattered down your spine like a strummed string at the sudden, vivid image of Rogers’ thick body pressing into your naked space.

Fear, it had to be. But it also carried a rush of adrenaline that tingled in your nipples and brought heat to the sensitive shell of your ear.

“I need a break,” you shook yourself out of it and abruptly moved. “I’m going for coffee.”

“I can make you some,” Natalie offered, observing you with perfectly masked curiosity.

It was a change in your behavior, this sudden restlessness and outbursts of unresolved tension. As stressful as taking over a big health center was, you managed to remain calm and professional since the first day. Natalie witnessed you roll your eyes a few times and assertively set yourself, but this was a novelty.

She could only assume it was because of the tragic loss of an employee so early in your work, maybe suspect Rogers was threatening you. You doubted she’d ever imagine the extent of sweet terror he planned for you.

“No, I have to get out for a few minutes.” You weren’t even sure you really wanted coffee, a shot of vodka would be a better option.

But you needed to step outside for a few minutes; to not see Peter’s boyish face with its innocence written all over it, while you knew the darkness he was signing his soul to. You hoped his only job was to tattle on you.

You grabbed your handbag, purposely ignored your phone still hanging on the edge of the desk, and strode toward the exit.

“What about Peter?” Natalie asked before you reached the door, both of them staring at you expectantly.

“Hire him.” You sighed, anger whipping in your tone.

“And you!” You glared Peter’s way. “Make sure your other boss knows that within these walls your duties are only to the center.”

It was a bold statement. One you probably had no leverage to actually make real. In terms of power, Rogers had more of it, since he had it also over you. If he gave Peter a different task to run along his duties at the health center, that order would come first.

Still, you wanted to make your opinion clear and install some respect for the work here.

As you walked to the nearby coffee shop, you glanced around a few times to check if anyone was following you. You had no proof of Rogers sending someone to trail you, yet you were convinced of it.

If he had, they were skilled at blending in, since no one seemed suspicious to you.

The usual buzzing noise of the coffee shop - conversations combined with quiet music and clinking of glass - felt like a soothing lullaby to your strained nerves. You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries.

By the time you got your order, you had mostly calmed down. You were still pissed off, but there was no point in exhausting yourself fighting a losing battle.

It was time to accept the uncomfortable truth of Steve’s upper hand. At all times.

As you stirred your coffee with a paper spatula, someone stepped next to you. In your peripheral vision you caught their hand reaching for three packets of sugar.

“I’d suspect having Rogers on your tail requires a stronger brew than coffee.” A smooth, melodic male voice started casually.

His words froze you in place for a second, trepidation stopping your heart and then rushing it into a rapid beat.

You said nothing, tossing your spatula into the bin and quickly reaching for the cup lid to put on your paper cup and leave the place. The man’s hand slipped between you and the lid, pushing it to the side as he reached for the cinnamon sprinkle; his gesture seemingly so innocent.

As he withdrew his hand, glass jar of cinnamon in his hand, your gaze dropped onto a leather casing left on the counter right next to your coffee.

A police badge. In the name Quentin Duvall.

Was it a test? Since all signs on earth and in heaven pointed that Rogers had police and other agencies in his pocket, this could be a game to see if you’d stay loyal to your future husband.

Logically, he shouldn’t expect you to. It was only your lack of connection that you didn’t dare to seek help in the law enforcement, for if you had some friend of a friend who was an officer then you’d go to them in a heartbeat.

You were quite certain Steve knew you would and he probably didn’t care.

“He’s a pain not only in your ass,” the man said, exchanging the cinnamon for his badge. “It’s hard to build a case against him when more than half of my colleagues are on his payroll.”

“What do you want?” Your fingers squeezed the paper cup, coffee sloshing to the brim.

You didn’t lift your head to look at him, figuring it was best to keep the impression of a casual conversation over coffee station. If you were being watched, perhaps it wouldn’t be too suspicious.

“There’s an ATF agent working to build a case against Rogers’ mob. He’d like to meet you and propose a way to provide you protection for whatever you can bring to the table.”

“Why won’t he contact me directly?” Deliberately, you picked a jar of chocolate sprinkles and added them to your cooling coffee.

“Since he’s one of the very rare daring to hunt Rogers, he’s on the fucker’s radar. If he appeared anywhere near, Rogers would know of it and it could end badly for you.” There was a hint of concern in Duvall’s voice, but not enough to be a poor actor’s play.

Then again, maybe it was a perfect play. Luring you with a safeline, but making it risky so you wouldn’t see it as a trap right away.

“If you want to help-” he picked a spatula and stirred his own coffee- “if you want to get out of Rogers’ grip, come here the day after tomorrow at the same time. I’ll give you the meeting details then.”

He took his cup and left, merging with the group of friends that were exiting at the same time. You waited a few moments, carefully putting the lid on your cup and lifting it to your mouth for a long, thoughtful sip.

Your walk back to the center was sluggish, your gaze switching from staring blankly ahead to staring at the pavement beneath your feet.

If it was a test and you failed it, what sort of consequences would Steve draw out? If, by some miracle, a just officer could save you from the dragon guarded tower, shouldn’t you risk it?

As you sat in your office, too preoccupied with the new dilemma, your irritation grew. That someone appeared and rocked the boat on an already stormy sea.

Though a flicker of hope tempted you to take the risk and meet the agent, you were annoyed that it came as another drastic change in your life in such a short time. Honestly, a part of you simply wanted to just go steady with one route, even if it was the one with you on Rogers’ leash.

At least it would be settled. If you kept fighting, not only would it piss off Rogers, but it meant exhaustion for you. Perhaps a never ending one.

Because was there really a chance for protection from Steve, if his ties reached to the Capitol and beyond?

Natalie found you deep in thought and blankly staring at the window of your office. She did a quick scan of the untouched documents which you should be working on, then flicked her gaze to you.

Whatever she saw in your face, it made her close the door to your office and lock it.

She moved a free chair to sit next to you on your side of the desk and in a hushed tone asked what was going on.

You looked at her for a long, silent moment. It would be reckless to tangle another innocent soul into the sticky, dark web in which you were trapped. You didn’t want to put her in danger. But you needed someone to know, someone who was a part of it from the beginning even if it was as a bystander.

Natalie and Felix were the ones who told you the truth of who Steve is in the first place, so at least you didn’t have to reveal to her something she wouldn’t already know about the man.

With a sigh, you opened your mouth and told her everything.

As you studied Natalie’s face afterwards, you realized she might have been the best choice to share the burden. There was no fear on her face, no panic settling in. She frowned, processing it all and you almost could sense the cogs in her head turning as she conjured up a plan.

“That officer, what was his name again?” She asked, sliding her phone out of her pocket and typing rapidly.

“Duvall. Quentin Duvall.” You told her. “Why?”

“I fucked a guy who has ways to check people’s background,” Natalie replied without an ounce of shame or awkwardness. “A computer geek. I’ll ask him to check if officer Duvall is who he claims to be.”

“Oh!” That way at least you’d know if it wasn’t a scheme. “That’s helpful. Thank you.”

Natalie didn’t acknowledge your gratitude, as if it wasn’t even needed. Determined and focused on the task, she exchanged text messages with whomever was so into her he still agreed to do for her something that was probably illegal.

Since you were engaged to a mob boss, you weren’t going to judge.

Few hours later, just as you were finishing for the day, Natalie returned to your office with ready information.

“It’s your choice,” she said, taking her jacket off.

Thin bracelets on her wrist jingled faintly, a peek of a small spider tattoo on her forearm quickly disappeared beneath the folded jacket which she draped over her arm.

“But I think you should meet him. A meeting doesn’t yet mean you’re agreeing to anything.” She walked next to you as both went toward the exit. “If they don’t offer you actual solid protection, you simply give them nothing.”

“What if Rogers finds out about the meeting and it angers him? Even if I don’t say anything yet.” Somehow, as you thought of the consequences to your decision, it was Steve’s face that kept popping in your head.

His icy eyes trained on you; his fingers stroking you before clenching around your throat.

Natalie paused, glancing at you with a scowl. She didn’t seem annoyed with your question, but rather with the fact she had no certain answer for it. Natalie liked knowing everything.

“That I don't know.” She admitted, with a small pout. “In different circumstances I’d go for some predictable wrath, but honestly? He declared your engagement. That’s definitely completely unpredictable. So who knows what he’d do.”

It was a very small, very naive consolation, but you reminded yourself that if he wanted you dead, Rogers would have made that happen already.

If you were his employee who betrayed him, then severe torture awaited, if not aforementioned death.

What awaited an unruly fiancee?

You hoped to never find out. Being extra careful in your act of casual trip to the coffee shop on the pointed day, you already considered potential excuses for another meeting, details of which Duvall was supposed to give you.

It better not be on some late evening in some shady place, because even though you still didn’t catch anyone following you it didn’t mean Rogers didn’t have an eye on you.

To your surprise, and actual relief, Duval didn’t talk to you this time, just slipped you a piece of paper as he tossed out a napkin into a bin right next to which you were standing at the coffee shop. It contained the address of a small apothecary in a nearby neighborhood and an afternoon hour.

That was very clever. A visit to such a place wasn’t anything unusual, even if most people bought their medicine at the big drugstores. And since it would still be daylight, it seemed even more harmless.

Natalie agreed with you on that, telling you also about a bakery nearby into which you could also step in to keep the appearance of running errands.

Both of you probably watched too many crime shows, but it came in handy.

The lights in the apothecary were on when you went in, but it occurred to you that it was completely empty only when the door closed behind you.

There were shelves stacked with medicines, some key-locked cases and an antique looking chest of drawers, which you suspected was more for decoration than to keep chemicals inside.

There was no one behind the counter, however. Only the backdoor, leading to an additional room, was open.

“Hello?” You called out, not moving from your spot near the door, in case you needed to run.

There was some shuffling and then Duvall appeared in the backdoor. He smiled in relief, clearly fearing you would not come. He beckoned you over and you followed him through the short, narrow corridor into another room.

Spacious, but minimalist (to not say empty) compared to the front. There were two industrial tables and three chairs, some metal cabinets and neatly grouped apparatus.

The man who leaned against one of the tables didn’t look like a chemist.

Though you suspected a man like him may know a thing or ten about chemicals that blew up, judging by his close to military look. Well, since you never met an ATF agent in person, perhaps it was how they dressed.

“Claude Batroc.” He introduced himself, with a smile that perhaps would be charming if not for a hint of dishonesty to it.

There was something about that man that instantly made you feel uneasy.

Steve raised the hair on the back of your neck as well, but his type of danger was a sizzling black fog that engulfed you in its warm embrace and zapped your body with scary tingles. Batroc was the sound of screeching tires a second before a truck pummels into you.

Your instinct was telling you it’s best to squirm your way out of this, even though you haven’t yet heard the deal they offered.

“Officer Duvall claims you’re able to help me,” you swallowed past your nervousness and looked at him expectantly.

Like Natalie told you, you planned on making sure their promise was solid, before you jumped off any cliff.

“I am.” He nodded, tilting his head to the side. “But that depends on what you can give me?”

You frowned. You assumed they knew how new and short your acquaintance with Rogers was; that you weren’t one of his inner circle people, who could provide a lot of intel.

Foolishly maybe, but you thought being threatened and knowing of Felix’s demise was enough for them to consider you an important witness. There wasn’t anything else of heavy value that you could bring to the table.

“Does he really have the stones?” came Batroc’s direct question.

Simple, but completely confusing for you.

Out of all the things you could’ve expected them to ask you, that never came to mind.

“I don’t know anything about any stones,” you said slowly. Your frown deepened as your brain tried to work out, if maybe there were some jewels involved in the whole mess.

Was Howard hiding a diamond mine under the health center, or something?

“There’s a rumor that Rogers is in possession of the Infinity Stones.” Duvall mentioned and you glanced his way over your shoulder. When he saw your face, he sighed in disappointment. It was clear you were unaware of what they were talking about.

“They belonged to Thanos. A Greek mogul, who’d probably surpass Zeus himself if mythological riches and armies were comparable to the real ones. He was in possession of the six, most valued gems in the world. They are called the Infinity Stones.”

“Few years ago Thanos was found dead.” Batroc took over the story. “Along with most of his men. A job so clean, nothing pointed to a rampage. And nothing but the gems disappeared from his fortress. No organization ever boasted it to be their job. In time, Rogers’ name has been whispered as the one to do it, but he never confirmed. Never put them up for auction.”

You shook your head again. The only gems that came to your mind as you thought of Steve Rogers were the few that glinted in the dark, thick silver of his rings.

You doubted anyone would put the most valuable jewels in simple rings, which he wore daily on full display for everyone to see.

Then again, wouldn’t that be a perfect power move? A shiny middle finger and a warning to anyone who dared to think they could cross Rogers.

“A different angle then.” Batroc changed the topic. Quite eagerly, too, as if the one he was moving onto was to him far more important than a few shiny rocks.

“Why is he circling around the health center?” Something dark, greedy, flashed in his eyes. “He’s already got his people sitting all over it. Made an effort to reach you directly, not just work under your nose.”

When Batroc straightened and made a slow step forward, you stepped back. Duvall was standing in the doorway, blocking your escape route. You didn’t think you’d need one, but now your instincts screamed at you that there was something bad behind their intentions.

“Rogers isn’t the kind of man to tell his secrets left and right.” You tried to stand your ground, despite your pulse quickening in fear.

You weren’t a type of person to limitlessly trust the law enforcement, but since they were supposed to be determined to build a case against Rogers they should treat you (as the potential help in successful operation) with less creepiness.

At the moment, Batroc’s stance and the way his eyes danced over your form were displaying a poor skill at charm and comfort.

“Maybe you aren’t privy to his secrets.” Batroc shrugged, then bared his teeth in a sinister grin. “Or maybe you’re the one who actually holds the key to the project Rogers has been building, huh?”

“Quentin said you keep yourself guarded, which is smart if you’re going toe to toe with the likes of us. But there’s not a can that can’t be opened…”

Perhaps Batroc was an agent and maybe he was building a case against Rogers. His methods, however, were those of another gutter kingpin. He could be working for one, doing his official job and an extra one on the side. Or he could be one himself.

You should’ve predicted that your hope for help would be false.

You considered Rogers playing you, testing your loyalty, meanwhile another mobster scum was attempting to use you to screw with Steve.

“We’re gonna play some interrogation game. With bonuses.” At Batroc’s words, you made another hasty step backwards, your back hitting the metal cabinets.

A sudden wheezing sound and a loud thump of a falling body averted Batroc’s attention from you.

Duvall fell down lifelessly, face first onto the floor. At least a second passed before you noticed a pool of red spilling around his head like a horrific halo.

Then something heavy flew across the space, knocking Batroc’s gun from his hand as he reached for it.

Still glued to the cabinets, shock freezing you in place, you watched as Steve Rogers strode inside in all of his dark glory. Shoulders so wide he barely fit in the entrance, muscles straining under the fabric of his clothes.

He and Batroc clashed in the middle of the room - forearm blocking a punch, then a knee up to block a kick.

Both of them were fast and strong, their fight a darker, less choreographed movie combat. For every of Batroc’s hits, Steve delivered two. Despite his bulk, Steve was exceptionally graceful in his technique. His opponent stumbled for a second, shaking his head to get rid of dizziness after one of Steve’s hooks. Meanwhile Rogers didn’t even wince when Batroc managed to split his lip open.

It wasn’t a fight that would continue honorably, until one yielded and pledged fealty.

After disarming Batrock when he pulled out a knife, Steve kicked him a few steps away then drew out his gun and shot him three times. Twice in the chest, once in the head.

You flinched with each gunfire sound, but remained glued to the spot.

Your gaze was on Rogers, you didn’t pay much attention to other men stepping inside. Steve spoke to them, but all the voices blurred into a dull sound as your hammering heartbeat threatened to pound away each vessel in your body.

Only your sight remained focused. Your mind picked Rogers as the only solid point to anchor itself to.

Perhaps simply because he saved you. Once again. Even if it was to ensnare you himself.

You pushed against the cabinets, trying to bury yourself into them when Steve dismissed his people with some short orders and started towards you, but they didn’t budge an inch.

You weren’t attempting to escape him. You wanted to escape your growing need to wrap your arms around him and cling to the beast that spared your life as the only source of comfort at the moment.

Yet, you knew the sickness that bubbled in your stomach wasn’t because you felt a twisted sense of safety now that Rogers was here, but because you witnessed people being killed, blood splattering; hell, you nearly were mauled. Again.

The anxiety was skyrocketing. Or it would be, if not for the freezing shock still gripping you so tightly you felt like trapped in a glass box. It was an inner torment, procured by your own neurotransmitters and chemicals, that kept you on the edge of a malfunctioning fight or flight mechanism.

Steve’s broad form caging you in, shutting away the bloodied world outside of his arms, was the first thing that pulled your focus back to reality of now and here.

The feeling of a hot, metal muzzle touching the underside of your jaw snapped you out of the traumatic trance.

He pointed his gun at you. The one with which he shot Batroc.

A spike of adrenaline roused your body into full alertness. However, instead of logical terror and tearing up at the oncoming death, your brain paid attention to how delicate that pressure of a gun was.

How the warmth of it felt against your clammy skin; how refreshing was the metallic scent of it and how quickly it disappeared under the familiar now undertones of Rogers’ cologne.

That gun held so much power.

It ruthlessly disposed of a direct threat to you. An extension to the one who was behind saving you over and over (even if it was only, so he could be the one to torment you). Steve was living up to being your knight. Not in shining armor; not even one with good intentions. No, he was a black knight whose curse trapped you in a twisted realm.

“Did he lay a hand on you?” pressing the muzzle to your chin, Steve moved your face left and right as his eyes scanned your state.

Swallowing hard, you shook your head. You were unable to form a single word, your throat constricted with all the sobs which you couldn’t force out of yourself.

“Good.” Steve stated simply, without much genuine relief.

“Your naughty stunt served me well.” He mused as he gently dragged the barrel of his gun across your cheek and down your neck; like he was caressing you with fingers, not a deadly weapon.

“I wanted to get rid of Batroc for a while now, but he buried himself so deep it was hard to find him. I should’ve known he’d come up for something when he saw everyone else wanted it.”

You weren’t paying enough attention to Steve’s words to decipher their full meaning, your senses were more interested in attuning to the trace of his gun on your skin.

Holding your gaze captive with his icy blue eyes (so clear and unmarred with anger, despite what just happened), Steve kept moving the muzzle of his gun from one of your collar bones to the other. Slowly.

He had to read something in your body you weren’t yet aware of - a spark of curiosity ignited in his irises.

You realized what it was a few seconds later as you felt your nipples stiffen.

No!, a voice in your head whispered in utter disbelief. That current at the touch of Rogers’ gun was arousal. Underlaid with fear, but the kind that spiced the arousal higher, not switched it off.

It had to be the adrenaline still rushing, you thought. Your mind locked in an acute stress reaction, so that your body got confused; it didn’t know how to react, or which hormones to produce.

That had to be the reason, the only explanation. Because you have never experienced anything like this.

Rogers being despicable aside, you simply never entertained any kinky fantasies that included a gun, or any other weapon, or being overpowered so completely. That was never something you considered you might like.

But as much as you were afraid of Steve in general, in this very moment you somehow knew he wouldn’t hurt you. Not in a bad way.

And the gun pressed to your body was a substantial proof of his power. One that could touch you physically; do things to you…

“My, my, Princess,” Steve leaned closer; whether to feel you shiver, or to shield the view of you from any prying eyes. “You’re just full of surprises.”

He ran the gun down your body - between your breasts and down your quivering belly. When the still warm muzzle nudged the hem of your flowy skirt up, the haze of shock snapped.

“I-” you started, but your voice was weak and breathless, turning into a gasp as Steve drew the gun higher up your thigh.

“I should go.” You squeaked out, but somehow couldn’t tear your eyes away from Steve’s.

The only muscles you moved were those of your legs, which parted slightly as he slipped the gun over your clothed core.

His free hand shot up to your neck; ringed fingers curling around your throat in a loose reminder of Steve’s dominance. Like the first time he’s done it, your breath hitched in your lungs, your pupils widened and your knees weakened.

Then the solid barrel rubbed against your covered folds and your lips parted on a needy whimper.

While it shocked you, it absolutely delighted Steve.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Princess.” He cooed, dragging the gun back and forth over your pussy. “It’s okay to need to take the edge off. After the afternoon you’ve just had.”

“That’s not how-” a part of your brain tried to fight the building arousal.

You closed your eyes, instantly opening them again at Steve’s warning hiss. In his eyes danced a glint of triumph - bright and cold like a blade pulled straight from the forgery.

“Not like this.” You muttered, embarrassed with how eager your body was to experience the little thrill of being caressed with something that could so easily hurt you.

Sex as a way of destressing wasn’t a foreign concept. Hell, an orgasm or two often helped you relieve some tension after dealing with daily obstacles and minor inconveniences. You’d even agree about needing one to burst you out of the bubble of shock you fell into today.

But you could do that on your own, not by the hand of the handsome monster who forced himself into your life. And with your own toys - the normal, safe ones.

It was both a relief and a shameful disappointment when Steve withdrew the gun.

“Slide your hand into your panties, Princess,” he brushed the side of the gun against your arm, nudging your wrist.

Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t move. Your heart was still going like crazy, the beat of it pulsing in your clit.

“Come on,” Steve traced his gun up your arm, then tapped your cheek with it, “be a good girl and put your hand in your panties.”

You knew it wasn’t a request, but a command. No matter if Steve’s voice melted into a soft, thick and sweet like chocolate tone. Slowly, you reached your hand beneath your skirt and under the waistband of your cotton and lace panties.

“That’s it.” Steve brushed his lips over your temple, whispering dirty encouragement. “Now slide your fingers over your pussy. All the way.”

You did as he asked; trembling fingers dipping between your soft folds.

“Now show them to me.” He pulled back slightly.

You wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole to cut your shame short, as you lifted your hand up for Steve to see.

Your fingers were sticky with your wetness, a pearly string of slick stretching between them.

“Seems to me that’s exactly how you need it, Princess.” Steve smirked; icy blue of his irises heating into white flame.

A retort was forming on your tongue, but died a second later. When Steve’s mouth closed around your digits and he sucked them clean.

His tongue lavished the crease between your fingers, teasing your rotten mind with a reflection of where else on your body he could use that tongue. Suction of his mouth wasn’t gentle, strumming down your nerves with vibration from his pleased hum. He pulled off, with a lewd swipe of his tongue.

For a millisecond, your gazes locked in quiet suspension.

A blink of an eye and then the gun was back beneath your skirt, while Steve’s lips were capturing yours in a filthy demand. He pushed the barrel past the fabric of your panties this time, hard metal grazing your delicate parts. His dark chuckle in response to your moan reverberated on your lips.

The fingers curled around your neck tightened slightly, his thumb pressing over your carotid, but not enough to cut off your air. Not yet, at least.

Stars danced in the corners of your vision, heightened pleasure mixed with delicious trepidation filling your body with bubbles of ecstasy unknown to you until now.

Steve angled his gun so that it spread your folds, rubbing your clit and teasing your entrance with each slide. Your hips rocked back eagerly. When he pushed a little deeper, pressing the muzzle into your opening, you almost seized.

One of your hands flew to Steve’s forearm, holding onto the wrist of his hand which was choking you. The other fisted his shirt near the collar. You let out a startled cry that turned from appalled to needy.

“Give it up, Princess,” Steve teased your bottom lip with his tongue, all the while nudging the muzzle into your cunt.

Muscles in your legs tensed, your eyes shimmered with tears that weren’t of sadness or pain. You were ashamed of your reaction to the filthy debauchery, but you wanted, needed it so badly.

“I’m gonna have you cum for me anyway, so just let go.”

That demand was sharper. Steve’s fingers on your throat tightened, cutting off the flow of air. At the same time, he pushed the gun deeper. Merely an inch or two slipped inside, but it was enough to feel your pussy stretch around it.

Your climax was an outburst with sharp edges, each tremor feeling like an electric current. Your cries sounded choked, though Steve released his hold on your neck enough for the air to flow easily into your lungs.

The gun wasn’t inside you anymore, but he kept moving it harshly against your clit, prolonging your orgasm to a point of painful throb that threatened to build into another humiliation if he continued longer.

If he slid the gun back, or his cock into your quivering cunt, you’d probably lose your conscience. While cumming all over him again.

Finally, Steve eased the pressure. He occupied your lips with sensual kisses, slow and lingering, and tongue dipping indecently into your mouth. The gun withdrew from your panties, the fabric clinging to your drenched pussy in an embarrassingly uncomfortable way.

Your arms fell to your sides when Steve let go of your neck and straightened. He wiped his gun, covered with your slick, in your skirt, then secured it back in the holster at his side.

“There now. Isn’t it better?” You weren’t certain if he was mocking you, or if it was a pure cocky smugness.

You were gaping at him, your breath still ragged. Your legs were shaking and your heart was hammering, but there was warmth and life and a vivid feeling of anger resurfacing. No longer the cold stupor of shock and fear.

No, Steve beckoned your brain back to reality. After short circuiting it.

“Better?” You hissed, clenching your hands into fists. “You pointed a gun at me!”

“And you creamed all over it, Princess.” Steve’s knowing smirk added to your shame.

“You shot someone!” You derailed, unable (and unwanting) to unpack the mess of your body’s reaction to being fucked with a gun.

“Just straight up shot them. In broad daylight!” It was now reaching your mind that all the terrors and dirty deeds, which have happened in the past half an hour, didn’t take place in the deep darkness of the night. It was a sunny afternoon, with people walking the streets just outside the front door of an ordinary apothecary.

“They would’ve hurt you,” came Steve’s remorseless reply.

Simple and direct, spoken in a warning growl.

“Nobody hurts what’s mine.”

There was nothing romantic about it, even if your post-orgasmic heart flowed with bonding oxytocin.

It was a dark claim, making you into Steve’s possession. His protection of you came only from the need to have his pride untouched - if anyone managed to steal or hurt his bride, it weakened Steve’s ruthless reputation.

“Now let’s get you out of here, so my cleaning team can swipe in.” Steve motioned at you to follow him as he moved toward the exit.

Your feet were frozen to the spot. There was a dead body of a man between you and the door; the pool of blood inches away from your toes. You definitely wanted to get out of there, but you couldn’t simply make yourself jump over someone’s corpse.

Steve’s impatient sigh was motivating - you did not want to get on his nerves too much. But your body wasn’t listening to any of your commands. As it didn’t listen to you when you tried to fight off the arousal earlier.

Suddenly, you were picked up.

Steve hoisted you up easily, throwing you over his shoulder. He carried you over Duvall’s dead body and through the narrow corridor, ignoring your outraged squeak.

“All that blood and death, you really need to focus on lighter things from now on.” He said conversationally, tone light as if aforementioned gore was just a chore from which one needed to take a break.

“For a while, at least-” Steve continued, as he carried you out the front- “Wedding planning should help with that.”

“No! I don’t want it!” You protested, kicking your legs.

With what just happened, you couldn’t imagine forcing yourself to organize a fucking wedding. One you didn’t want in the first place. You couldn’t imagine going back to your routine, daily life at all.

You just weren’t sure if it was the deaths you witnessed that changed your life forever, or the wrong kind of desire that Steve brought out of you.

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t. But you will.” He put you down on your feet once you were outside.

Steve cupped your chin, crushing it painfully between his thumb and forefinger, and tilted your face up.

“We both know you will be a good girl for me, Princess.”

#touch the darkness #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #dark!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #dakr mafia!steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers imagine #my writing

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holdmytesseract · 4 months ago

Text

moodboard by @mochie85 divider by @fictive-sl0th <3

Summary: It's been a long time coming... But now the day for you and Loki to say 'Yes' and enter the bond of marriage has finally arrived. A covenant for eternity.

Chapter Four - The Bond of Marriage

Warnings for this Chapter: tooth rotting fluff (you might wanna prepare some tissues, friends), suggestive smut/light smut, did I mention fluff?

Word Count: 5,3k

a/n: This chapter means so much to me. I put so much time, love and passion in it; wanting to make it perfect. I hope I did. 🙏🏼💚

Shout outs in this Chapter: @sagitternolunaspace once again for the Midgardian (pre-) wedding traditions! @asgards-princess-of-mischief for choosing the bridesmaids dresses! @smolvenger for the bride's hairstyle! @fictive-sl0th for being my flower girl! @lokiforever & @brokenpoetliz , which whom I designed the locations with! @frzntrx for choosing Loki's wedding ceremony armour. @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 for drawing Y/N's beautiful wedding dress, aaand @loz-3 for designing Y/N's and Loki's wedding rings! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! From the bottom of my heart! I loved doing this with you all together! 💚

This song fits the vibe of this chapter:

💍 Chapter Three °☆• Chapter Five 💍

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• A Covenant for Eternity Masterlist (coming soon!)

"What kind of ridiculous Midgardian pre-wedding tradition is that, love?" Loki scoffed; crossing his arms over his chest as he sat down on the bar stool in front of the kitchen counter. "Spending the night before the wedding apart? Why would somebody do that?"

You couldn't suppress the small giggle leaving your lips, as you placed the cup of tea on the counter in front of your fiancè. "Thank you," he grumbled.

"Because it's tradition, babe." "Yes, I know, but what is the purpose?" You watched him take a sip, as he sat there in his grey boxershorts and black sleep t-shirt; hair a mess. You bit your lip; trying hard to not get caught up now.

"Well, uh, it's an ancient excise and was made to ensure that the bride keeps her maidenhood until the wedding night." Loki frowned and scoffed again. "Ridiculous. Like I said. You aren't a maiden, Y/N. This... ancient excise is invalid." "Yes, I know that, babe." You giggled again and explained further. "But nowadays it's kinda because of the organisation." "Organisation?" You nodded. "Yes. It's easier for the bride to stay at home, so that she doesn't have to drag all the things she needs for the wedding along to her maid of honour in the morning. Since you aren't supposed to see me before the wedding ceremony, you have to leave nevertheless, so..."

Loki sighed. Unfortunately, your words made sense. "Alright, alright. I understand." You smiled and rested both elbows on the black surface underneath you, so that you were able to slightly lean over the counter; brushing your nose against Loki's. "Does that mean you agree to it?" You whispered; still smiling.

The corners of Loki's mouth lifted; deep blue eyes mapping out the features of your face. "Darling, that's a very big request you are making... Asking me to stay a whole night away from you just because of a tradition..." "I-I know, babe, but-" "It's better that way, I know," Loki interrupted you; sighing deeply.

Drama queen.

Suddenly, you felt his warm hand against your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Let's pretend I agree to it... What do I get out of this, my love? Besides a cold, lonely bed?"

Your heart threatened to skip a beat, but you quickly tried to keep your composure - successfully.

"Well..." You spoke in a quiet, yet seductive voice and rounded the counter. The god's eyes stuck on you; following every step you took. You slowly approached him, while Loki spun around his bar stool with a smooth movement of his arms; now facing you.

You bit your lip; smiling up to him and placing both your palms on his naked thighs. "I, um... I don't know, I could... Text Nat and tell her that I'll be thirty minutes late to our meeting." You said nonchalantly; shrugging your shoulders and innocently massaging the hard muscles underneath your palms.

A low chuckle rumbled through your fiancè's chest and before you could react, Loki slid from the chair, hoisted you up and sat you down on the black, slate counter; coming to stand between your opened legs. A small squeak left your lips, since you did not see that coming.

Now Loki was the one who hand his hands on your pyjama shorts clad thighs; playing with the baby blue fabric.

"Make it an hour and we have an agreement," he purred; leisurely stroking your hot skin. "Deal," you breathed and greedily pulled him in for a feverish kiss, until you both ran out of air.

Your grinned at Loki; hand already aiming for the front of his grey boxershorts, when he suddenly stopped you and battered your hand away. "Ah.Ah.Ah, my love," he tutted and reached for your mobile. "Text Romanoff first." You complied, of course, and sent your best friend a quick message.

Loki gave you a smouldering look, "Good girl." and laid your phone aside again. "And now lift that pretty ass of yours, so we can get rid of those unnecessary garments."

Exactly an hour later, you knocked on Natasha's apartment door. It took her not even a minute to appear in the door frame; arms crossed and smirking. "I'll better ask not why you are an hour late?" You nodded in agreement. "Nah, better not." Your best friend giggled. "That's all I needed to know. Now come in." The widow stepped aside; granting you access.

"Oh, hey, Bruce!" You saw the doctor sitting at Natasha's desk in the corner of your eye, while walking past the small office. He wore his glasses and was - hence, you didn't know what he was doing.

When Banner heard your voice, he lifted his head and gave you a smile. "Hey, Y/N." A smile, which you returned. "You good?" He nodded. "Perfect. How about you?" "Well... Quite nervous, to be honest. But also excited." His smile widened. "Understandable."

After the little conversation, you followed Natasha into the living room and made yourself comfortable on her sofa.

"I hope you don't mind that he's here..." You shook your head. "Of course not. Why should I? He's your boyfriend!" She just shrugged her shoulders; smiling innocently. "I don't know. Perhaps you want to talk about something which isn't meant for his ears - beside the wedding stuff." Another laugh slipped past your lips. "I mean, I could, but... No."

You and Natasha talked the wedding through - from 'start' to 'finish'. It was important for you to make sure that nobody who helped to organise this forgot anything and that everything would go smooth and without an incident. Well, and since Nat was your maid of honour and main wedding planner, you talked with her, of course.

After all was settled, last minute preparations were made. The hours flew by quickly and it took you and the widow longer than expected. Therefore, it was already late when you closed the door of yours and Loki's shared apartment; the sun already setting over New York City.

"Babe?" You called out for your fiancè. The answer came quickly. "Bedroom, love!" You followed is voice and went to the bedroom; finding him packing a duffel bag for his 'sleepover' at Thor's. He didn't want to stay in a hotel, so his brother and sister-in-law's house was the only option. Thor and Jane were more than fine with it and so was Loki - luckily.

"Hey," you greeted him; smiling. The god lifted his head. Stunning blue eyes meeting yours. "Hello, love." He returned your smile. "I see you are back?" You nodded, while walking over to him; immediately wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your upper body against his. Like clockwork, Loki's arms engulfed you; hugging you even closer against him.

Your fiancè bestowed a lingering kiss on the crown of your head. "Everything prepared for tomorrow?" He mumbled against your hair, but loud enough for you to hear. You hummed in response; voice muffled by the sweatshirt he wore. "Mhm."

Loki didn't answer. He just continued to hold you close.

The both of you enjoyed the other's closeness; lost in touch and love. Your head rested against his chest; ear laying right where his heart was. The sound of his strong and steady heartbeat caused realisation to wash over you.

You were finally going to marry this man... Tomorrow.

Suddenly, it became so real; almost so close that you could reach it with your fingertips. It sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

"Babe..." You quietly spoke up. "Can you believe that we are getting married in less than twenty-four hours?"

A low, gravelly chuckle left the god's slip. "No, darling. It feels like a dream which is too good to be true." You nodded against his chest and took a deep breath.

Gods, he smelt so good.

"Something along that, yes..."

A few beats of silence passed, until Loki spoke up. "I think I never looked to anything else in my life as much forward as I do to tomorrow. I cannot wait to finally make you entirely mine."

His words sent a jolt of pure happiness and love through your body; heartbeat quickening.

"Me too, babe. Me too. Feels like I have been waiting for this all my life."

After thoroughly saying goodbye to Loki for the rest of the evening and upcoming night, you made yourself a little something to eat and then curled up in bed with a book; reading for a while, before you decided to go to sleep early.

Sure, you could've stayed up longer, but you knew that it was going to take you probably hours to actually sleep in. There was just too much excitement running through your veins; mixed with a tinge of nervosity - and you should be proven right...

On the next morning, your alarm clock threw you out of bed at seven o'clock sharp. Still a bit sleepy, you stood up and trotted into the bathroom. You paid the loo a visit (almost sleeping in again; sitting on the bowl) and then decided to firstly eat something, since your stomach was growling and protesting in hunger.

You still were kind of half asleep, when you passed the living room in order to get to the kitchen. But when your half lidded eyes landed coincidentally on your wedding dress for the ceremony, which you had placed there yesterday evening after Loki was away, you suddenly were wide awake.

YOU.WERE.GOING.TO.MARRY.TODAY!

You couldn't suppress the exciting squeal bubbling up in your throat; followed by a little happy dance.

You immediately grabbed your phone and tapped in lightning speed on the contact you had in mind; followed by the green button. About three rings later, an excited voice greeted you. "Good morning, bride." "I am going to get married today, oh my gosh!" You literally screamed; causing Natasha to giggle at the other end of the line. "Indeed, babes. Today is the day. Do you feel the nerves already?" You took a deep breath; giggling. "Now I do, yes." "Don't worry, babes. It's gonna be the best day of your life." You smiled to yourself. "I hope so." "I know so," answered Nat promptly.

You hung up with your best friend then; having to get some food inside you in order to calm your nerves a bit.

After that, you called Loki and talked to him quite a few minutes, which helped to ease yours - and his nerves as well. You would've loved to talk longer to him, but Natasha was minutes away from knocking at your door and helping you to get ready. You weren't even able to finish that thought, when you heard loud knocks coming undoubtedly from your door.

"Come in!"

Your best friend didn't waste a second and stormed inside; hugging you with a smile and an excited, happy squeal. "Let's get you ready and make the most beautiful bride Asgard has ever seen out of you," Nat winked at you and took your hand; dragging you towards the living room.

About two hour later, you stood in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom, with tears in your eyes. You wore the wedding dress you chose a few months ago with the girls - and it was just as beautiful as you remembered when you tried it on. Your hair was beautifully done; fitting perfectly with the veil.

You looked at yourself; slowly spinning in a circle and making the white tulle skirt twirl with the motion. "You look breathtakingly beautiful, babes," you suddenly heard Natasha speak up from behind you. "Loki is going to lose it..." You turned to face Natasha; smiling and still fighting the tears. You couldn't let them ruin all the work and time your best friend put in your look. Not yet. "Thank you."

Then you noticed that she had changed as well and was now wearing the bridesmaid dress the girls all chose to wear. "You look absolutely stunning as well!" Natasha giggled and did a small curtsey. "Thank you." You walked over to her; taking both her hands in yours. "I owe you, bestie. When you marry Bruce, you know which number to call." "Oh shut it, Y/N. It was an honour for me to do this. After all, we are best friends." "Indeed."

She winked at you. "But I take you up on it sometime."

The two of you spent a few moments in silence, before your thoughts drifted in another direction. "I... I wish my parents could see this..." You whispered; swallowing the lump in your throat. Natasha's expression changed from happy into compassionate. "I know, sweetie... I'm sorry." She squeezed your hands in a reassuring manner. "But I know that they would be so proud of you and the woman you became - and of course that you found your soulmate." You nodded. "Y-Yes. I think you are right." The widow gave you an encouraging smile. "Now let's go. The other girls will be here in a few minutes. It's time to get you married."

No ten minutes later, you met up with all the female Midgardian guests of yours and Loki's wedding, in order to travel to Asgard together. You took the girls with you, Loki the boys.

Arrived on Asgard, carriages awaited you and the guests, and brought you all to the location of the ceremony. But not without a small 'sightseeing tour' past the palace and through the nature of your fiancè's home. It was beautiful. Asgard always had been. Always would be. Especially in that time of the year...

It was a sunny day in October. A chilly breeze rustled the trees, which lined the path; causing the colourful leaves to float through the air. You smiled; looking through the small window of the carriage you shared with your bridesmaids.

"It's a wonderful day, isn't it?" Wanda asked with a smile. You looked at her; noticing how well emerald green fitted her. "It is. Perfect for a wedding," agreed Pepper.

About twenty minutes later, the carriage came to an halt and the door got opened for the girls – but not yet for you.

"Take a few deep breaths before going out there in a few minutes, babe. You got this." Nat winked at you and handed you the bridal bouquet; made out of roses, lilies and foliage. Awkward hugs - due to the angle and lack of space were exchanged, before the girls left, in order to take their places.

Your carriage had been the last one to arrive, of course. You knew that you only had a few minutes left, before it was going to happen. The moment you had waited and planned for since months. Yes, almost a whole year.

You felt how your heart rate picked up; palms getting sweaty.

You needed fresh air now.

So, you opened the little window on your left side and took a few very deep breaths like Nat advised; even closing your eyes for a moment and just focusing on the here and now.

Of what wonderful hours laid ahead of you - and Loki.

Suddenly, you heard how the door of the carriage got opened and a familiar voice spoke to you. "Are ya ready, kid?"

You smiled; turning your head and opening your eyes. In front of you stood Nick Fury; dressed in suit and tie, with a smile on his face as well.

You nodded; "Yes." feeling the warm sun on your face. "Just... Give me one last second." Nick smiled and gave you a nod, "As the bride wishes." and closed the door once more.

You took another deep breath; looking up at the creme white ceiling of the carriage. "Mom, dad? Wherever you are right now... I hope you can see me," you started; having to swallow hard. "I-I hope you are proud of me - and happy for me."

A soft, chilly autumn breeze rustled your beautifully done hair and tickled the skin of your face. You smiled; working once more hard against the tears. "I take that as a yes."

A knock from Nick against the door of the carriage interrupted your little moment. "I don't wanna push ya, kid, but I think your groom is waiting."

You nodded to yourself, trying to ease up your nerves a last time and gently pushed the door open.

"I'm ready."

Fury nodded and reached out his hand for you to take. "Ma'am." You giggled and took his hand, so that he could help you step down the three steps. Once your feet had touched the ground, you looked around and finally took in the breathtaking location you and Loki had chosen. It was a meadow in the heart of Asgard, with trees and waterfalls in the background.

Emerald green satin curtains, which were dancing in the soft wind and placed directly in front of the carriage, blocked your view from the wedding guests and of course everything else. Just like the curtains shielded you from the eyes of the crowd.

"Shall we?" Nick asked; now offering you his arm.

Yes... Nick Fury was the man who was going to walk you down the aisle. He was the closest to a father you had after losing your dad. He had looked after you in all those years; always having a sympathetic ear. Since that very day he came across you in that ragged, old gym in down-town Detroit and took you under his wing. He had given you what you needed the most at that time... A second chance.

Good thing you were strong and lucky enough to win that competition he had set up, which gave you the opportunity to become a SHIELD agent. And you made it.

"Yes." You placed your hand on his arm. The music started to play - a beautiful classic, instrumental piece you and Loki had chosen together.

Nick gave you a smile and led you through the curtains.

All eyes were immediately on you, of course. As it should be. A spark of nervousness sizzled through your system. It was a lot for you to take in at that very moment. So many people - all gathered here to witness this beautiful event. The celebration of love. Your eyes darted from one familiar face to the next; exchanging some shy and nervous smiles. You took in your surroundings. Autumn had coloured the trees in shades of orange, red and yellow.

And the staff of the royal family had decorated everything in Loki's colours and other rich shades; fitting for a royal wedding. The chairs on which the guests sat were, of course, swathed in emerald green satin with gold accents and decorated with a matching boutonnière. A white lily and white roses with a little bit of foliage.

The carpet you and Nick walked on was white with black rose petals everywhere. It was beautiful.

But then your eyes landed on Loki. Finally. Your brain had been overwhelmed by all the sudden impressions which rained down on you - but finally you were able to see him.

Your heart skipped a beat. No... A few beats. He looked beyond beautiful in his ceremonial armour; specially made for this occasion.

Black, shiny boots and black leather trousers laid the groundwork for his outfit. Underneath the emerald green chest and arm plates you saw a black undershirt peeking through. Golden vines adorned the armour and a cape in the same colour moved with the wind; embroidered with small, green leaves. Of course the signature horns on his head couldn't be missing. It was a part of him, after all.

A huge smile was stretched across his whole face, and you could swear you saw tears glistening in his eyes.

Sweaty hands were crossed in front of his upper body; fingers nervously fumbling. It was so utterly sweet - and reassuring to know that the man of your dreams was just as nervous as you were.

And suddenly you were only a few meters away from Loki; causing your Y/E/C eyes to meet his oceanic blues and the world to suddenly stop turning. All that existed in that very moment were the two of you. Nothing and nobody else.

Your eyes weren't able to break apart from his - just like the god's. Hence, you didn't even notice how Nick placed your hand in Loki's with a smile. Or how he spoke a few last words to you, before he stepped away and took his seat.

"Y/N..." Loki breathed out; voice shaky. Norns, he could cry out of happiness. "You... You look absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful, my love."

You needed a second to collect yourself and keep your composure. "T-Thanks, babe, I- Gods, you look so beautiful yourself."

He gave you a dazzling smile and brushed his thumb gently, lovingly over the back of your hand, before he led you up the two steps to the podium on which the Allfather already awaited you.

Just a few meters from where you and Loki stood now, was an floral archway; framing the whole scene. A little podium was placed in front of it, on which the wedding rings laid. With the waterfalls in the background, it was picture perfect.

The music stopped then; faded away and left silence behind - except a few single whispers in the crowd. You held on to Loki's hand and Loki to yours; both needing the calming touch of the other.

Odin lifted his hands as a signal for everyone that the ceremony was about to begin. "Dear friends, family members, Avengers and royal staff," the Allfather began his speech; voice booming.

"Each one of you - no matter Asgardian or Midgardian, found the way to this beautiful, inconspicuous place in our realm for the most important reason possible... A wedding." Odin paused and looked at you and Loki with a soft smile. "But not just any wedding, no... A royal wedding! On this day, I honestly never thought would arrive, we are here to witness the marriage of my son, prince Loki of Asgard and his chosen princess, Y/N Y/L/N - SHIELD Agent and Avenger from Midgard."

You and Loki exchanged a loving smile at Odin's words and you felt how his hand gave yours a gentle squeeze.

"Let us begin the ceremony with the traditional exchange of swords and daggers - an ancient tradition, which we want to preserve in order to honour our ancestors," Odin announced and gestured towards two royal guards - chosen by the Allfather himself, who were positioned on the left and right side of the podium; giving them the signal to step up to you, him and Loki.

"Son, you will start. Present the chosen dagger you are going to pass on to your future sons and daughters." Loki let go of your hand - much to your dismay, although you knew that he had to, gave his father a short bow and turned to face the guard on his side. He held an emerald green pillow in both his palms, on which laid Loki's chosen dagger. Carefully, Loki took it in his hands and turned back to face you.

"Y/N - bride and future bearer of my children. I present to you my chosen dagger; forged by the dwarves of Nidavellir in the heart of a dying star; hopefully handed over to the sons and daughters you'll gift me with."

You couldn't suppress the little twinge deep within your heart, as the word 'children' left Loki's lips.

You knew that he had to say those words, but it stung nevertheless a little bit, given the fact that he didn't want children. But once your ears heard where he got the dagger from, you felt your heart skip a beat. He went that far - just for you.

Of course, you wanted to leap into his arms and just kiss him, but you couldn't. This was a royal wedding ceremony after all, so you stuck to the 'script'.

You curtsied and bowed your head. "I accept and take this dagger as a symbol of your love; handed over to your future sons and daughters." You took Loki's dagger and presented it to the crowd - and Odin, which was an important part, then went to the guard on your side and exchanged your chosen dagger with Loki's; gently placing it on the equally emerald green pillow and giving the guard the permission to step aside.

"Y/N, you may now present your dagger," Odin announced, gesturing at you.

You turned to Loki once again and presented now your chosen dagger. "Loki - groom and father of my future children. I present to you my chosen dagger; gifted to me by the Allmother - the goddess of marriage and fertility, with the promise to protect our bonded families."

Loki bowed and took the dagger from your hands into his; presenting it to the crowd. "I accept and take this dagger as a symbol of your love and protection of our bonded families." He placed the dagger on the pillow which the guard still held on his side; commanding him with a silent nod to step away as well.

Odin, who had watched the exchange almost in silence stepped forward again; taking the lead. "Now that the dagger exchange is executed, we shall move on to the vows." At the wave of Odin's hand, another guard stepped up the podium, with a beautiful emerald green silk ribbon. He handed it over to Odin with a bow.

The Allfather presented the ribbon, which was yours and Loki's signal to face each other again.

"With this ribbon, I shall bond you to each other and tie the knot of marriage!" You and Loki intertwined your hands and Odin wrapped the ribbon around both your wrists; tying it - and the both of you together.

"You may speak your vows now."

Since Loki started with the dagger exchange, you both decided together beforehand that you were going to start with the vows.

You took a deep breath; looked deep into Loki's blue eyes and begun to speak. "Love... Is a strange thing. When we met, I never thought I would call you my husband four years in the future. What I saw, was a misunderstood god; stripped down to nothing more than a man, silently begging for a second chance. I wanted to give you this chance. Luckily, I did." You smiled up at him; resisting the urge to run your thumb over his cheek. "But love is so much more than that... It's a promise. A promise to give yourself to another and trust them blindly. Love is the most powerful thing in the universe - and with you, I am stronger than I ever was before."

You saw tears pooling in the god's eyes; he was fighting hard to hold them back.

"Loki Laufeyson, prince of Asgard, I vow to be your wife for all eternity. Not even death shall be able to part us. Whatever life throws our way; no matter if happiness or sadness, I will walk by your side. I always will."

By now you had to fight your tears as well - but it got only worse once Loki spoke his vow, but he needed a short moment to keep his emotions together.

"Y/N, my light in the darkness... My anchor in the harsh ocean waves. You brought me back to life. You brought the sun back in, which was everything but an easy task. The walls I built around my heart were torn down by your love." You felt how he stroked his thumb in a caressing, loving manner over the skin on your wrist; the ribbon not able to stop him to do so.

But you weren't able to hold back the tear which ran down your cheek and dropped on the ground beneath you.

"Love is indeed strange and the most powerful thing in the whole universe, but not just that. Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."

Loki smiled at you through his own clouded eyes and oh so illicitly raised his free hand to brush the tears from your cheek.

"Y/N Y/L/N, my goddess of Midgard, I vow to be your husband for all eternity. Not even death shall be able to part us. Whatever life throws our way; no matter if happiness or sadness, I will walk by your side. I always will."

You smiled at him through tears; unable to prevent your lips from brushing a soft kiss against the heel of his hand. The contact of your soft lips left a tingling, sizzling sensation on the god's skin behind. He shivered; threatening to get lost in this little moment - but then Odin's voice cut through the air, like a dagger through flesh.

"These rings shall serve as an everlasting symbol of your love and marriage, and to entirely tie the bond between the both of you," the Allfather spoke; taking a step aside to reveal said rings. He gestured for you and Loki to come closer and take the last step on the way of becoming husband and wife.

Excitement and happiness bubbled up within your body; causing your heart to speed up again. That was the moment you, Loki and basically everybody else attending this wedding had waited for.

Odin removed the ribbon around your wrists and gave his son the silent permission to begin. Loki didn't let himself tell that twice, of course.

A shaky, nervous hand reached for the slightly smaller and thinner wedding band; made out of hand-worked silver with a tree bark texture and an inlay of crushed emeralds.

On the inside of the ring, was a beautiful engraving, which read 'Beloved' in old Norse runes.

The other soft, warm, yet sweaty hand reached for your hand. "Take this ring as a symbol of my love. It shall remind you, that I am yours and only yours," Loki spoke; gazing deep into your eyes - and gently slipped the ring on your finger.

You felt like you couldn't breathe - and explode from sheer endless love and happiness at the same time. It was a roller coaster ride.

Taking a small moment to take a deep breath and - once more, collect yourself to keep things together, you closed your eyes.

Urged on by your racing heart; only beating for Loki and his eternal love, you quickly reopened your eyes again and took his ring out of the small, quadratic box.

"Take this ring as a symbol of my love. It shall remind you, that I am yours and only yours," you repeated Loki's words and slipped the wedding band on his finger as well. It felt so right. Like everything was falling into place; as it should be. As it was always meant to be.

"As the Allfather of the nine realms and king of Asgard, I hereby pronounce you, Loki - prince of Asgard and Y/N - child of Midgard, as husband and wife," Odin announced cheerfully; giving you and Loki a smile. "Son, you may kiss your bride now."

Another thing Loki didn't let himself tell twice. You hadn't even the chance to process your father-in-law's words, before big hands landed on your hips and reeled you in; soft lips crashing against yours.

It was a powerful kiss. Probably the most powerful kiss you and Loki ever shared; overwhelmed by emotions and feelings.

Loud claps and cheers erupted from behind you, and suddenly it became real. You were married now... Married. You had the privilege, honour and right to call Loki Laufeyson your husband - from now on and for all times.

Of course, I won't keep all the great stuff my wedding planner made in this chapter from you. 😉

Loki's hairstyle is from me and @smolvenger ; drawn by my friend @sugar0612 ! 🤗 Carrie's hairstyles she chose for Y/N can be found here, here aaaand here. 🤍

Then we got the bridesmaids' dresses by @asgards-princess-of-mischief !

@ijuststareatstuffhereok89 's design for Y/N's beautiful wedding dress!

The bouquet by my flower girl @fictive-sl0th !

Aaaand the wedding/engagement ring by @loz-3 !

Tags: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @jaidenhawke @multifandom-worlds @jennyggggrrr @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @herdetectivetheorist @hisredheadedgoddess28 @chennqingg @princess-ofthe-pages @km-ffluv @brokenpoetliz @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @stupidthoughtsinwriting @jaguarthecat @icytrickster17 @eleniblue @yourfriendlyslytherinhc @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @kimanne723 @smolvenger @lokisrealpurpous @isaidoop @lokisgoodgirl @aagn360 @cakesandtom @alexakeyloveloki @glitchquake (Continuing in the comments!)

#the baby fever wedding #the baby fever au #loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki x you #tom hiddleston x reader #loki fluff #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader smut #marvel loki #loki mcu #loki smut #loki fanfic #Spotify

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g8dess · 1 month ago

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˚✩ ⋆｡. 100 Follower Event .｡⋆ ✩˚

Reblog Game : Moodboards

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┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✩ ⋆｡.✩

┊ ┊ ┊ ✫

┊ ┊ ☪︎⋆

┊ ⊹ ┊

✯ ⋆ ┊ . ˚

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The poll has spoken! And it has said that I should do a moodboard event! So here we are!

˚✩ ⋆｡.✩ For the next week, until Monday 21 October, you can reblog this post to get a moodboard of your f/o / selfship. I will post them as new posts under the tag #g8dess100followmoodboards and I'll tag your blog in the post. (If for whatever reason you can't reblog, you can always put the info needed in my askbox, just remember to have an emoji to identify yourself with.)

˚✩ ⋆｡.✩ You can reblog multiple times, but make sure you have only one f/o per reblog.

˚✩ ⋆｡.✩ Be sure to include :

• Name,

• Picture,

• Themes (can be anything from colors, nature elements, activities, places, to hobbies, senses, feelings, ...)

• Dynamics between you two / A little info about how they are with you

• I encourage you to ramble in your reblog, the more info the easier it is to pick themes

˚✩ ⋆｡.✩ This reblog game is proship safe

Now for some examples under the cut!!

Vi with the theme Power and red. Oc with theme Angel-Devil, sunrays. Levi with themes Gamer, best friends, Artist, Goldfish, Jellyfish.

Ichimatsu with themes cats and jellyfish, cuddles, desire, being good enough as I am. Shion with themes, dreaming but being awake, cats, cuddles, sunrains, cozy.

Oc with themes nightsky, nebulas, dancing in a rundown castle, in a million lives I chose you. Cove with themes seashells and starlight, waves, sunset/rise, we are growing up together. Kaoru with themes, carnival date, orange roses, dancing in the kitchen, more than friends.

#g8dess100followmoodboards #own #moodboard #event #100 followers #proselfship #proship selfship #selfship #it posted too soon argh #guess we ball

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cherubispunk · 11 months ago

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BARK! BITE! BLEED! (PART I) - FWB!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

summary: being without is always easier when you don't know what it is to be 'with'.

a note from Lucy: heyyyy! hows it going? yes...im back with another series. Those of you waiting for cherub, its coming. I promise. hand over my heart and the other on the bible. but words have a funny habit of not wording so...tale please take the humble peace offering of slutty fwb!frankie and please dont bite my fingers off.

playlist | moodboard

wc: 5742 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n, slight noncon voyeurism, thin appartment walls, mentions of cheating, obsessive behaviour, frankie is obsessed and it is very unhealthy, toxic relationships, heavy religious imagry (come on, is this even a surpise when it comes to my writing?), age gap but not bombastic sorry chloe (reader is 21, Frankie is 27) - though not mentioned in this part, graphic smut, could be considered dubcon, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (do i need to spell it out to you not to do this?), creampie, biting, its not vore!!!! but there is something inherrently sexual in the themes of metaphorical consumption, softdom!frankie, scratching, gore imagry in the sense of a hunter prey type of thing? More of lu being dell, batshit insane, blurting words onto a google doc and praying ot makes ense when being blasted out into the void.

series m.list | m.list

“At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is merely a bitch. True power lies in those who don't just bare their teeth, but make you bleed when they sink in.”

Frankie was a quiet man. He would always keep to himself. Never usually stuck his nose in anyone's business unless it was for their own good. Stayed in the four walls of his own apartment he rented close to the barracks. He’d made one friend in the entire complex. You. His next-door neighbour. The only thing he knew before prying was your last name on the buzzer out front. From there it was waiting. And watching. Frankie had an obsession with observing you from his kitchen window every time you came home from work at the bar. Stood in the shroud of shadow and sheer curtain. He dug his claws in and clung to each passing conversation in the hallway, or the laundromat down the street whenever coincidence let you pop up there too. Stored each part of you that you trusted him with in his mind for safekeeping. Often caught himself staring at a particular pair of red lace panties whenever you did your laundry.

There was one small, tiny little problem in all of this, however. Lisa. He supposed he should thank her really, because without her, he would have never moved out of the barracks in the hope of starting a life for them. He would have never met you. It was convenient, reasonably priced and he could excuse poor plumbing and heating for the fact it was close enough to his work that he didn't have to wake up any earlier than 5:30. But Lisa…oh, Lisa was Machiavelian. A conniving woman, with her heart set in thick ice, and a cold, unforgiving grip over what was hers. It made him wonder what he saw in her in the first place. Maybe he was blinded to everything but the curve of her face, or the pout of her mouth and the pant of his name as it passed her parted lips. Or there was some morbid fascination he had with her teeth as they bared to his skin and bit down. Tearing him to shreds. Either way, there was something to live for when being ripped apart by her. Something to distract from the sounds of pleasure that seeped through paper thin walls at night. Your pleasure. At the hands of a man he felt nothing compared to and knew nothing about. So he’d roll over and fuck out his frustration on the woman he hated but chose to stay with until she left him for another.

Another day, another ache. Another pain cramping in his lower back as Frankie inched closer to thirty and still no happier. Twenty-seven, a stable-ish job…and what else in life to show for it? He was bitter. In no place to want the company of another unless only for the night. Except tonight he was alone again, pressing his key into the lock, twisting it open, closing the door behind him. And then waiting…listening. Anticipating the drag of his hand south over the plane of his abdomen to under his boxers where he’d tease himself to the sound of you with another man. The pretty whimpers you’d let slip under the weight of another man's skin and bone, and the pleasure flooding the gaps of your synapses.

Only this time there were no cries for more. No whimpers, or moans. No. These sounds were shouts. And anger ignited you as you rampaged through your apartment on the other side of the wall, getting dressed as Mark, the man you’d wasted months on, chased after you in pursuit of your forgiveness.

“Who do you think I am?’ Frankie heard through the wall, pressing his ear to cold plaster with bated breath. Your voice was shrill, seething with the intent to carve into Mark’s skin with an onslaught of verbal mutilation. Have the words mark him with bleeding, weeping shame. “No, really? You think I’d never figure it out, Mark? Am I naïve to you?”

He slipped out of bed with careful stealth: Followed the sound of your voice through the wall, walking with his ear pressed to it before the sound of your front door opening made him jump, stepping back for a second. He blinked, once, twice…then raised his hands to plaster again and leaned closer, ears straining to hear what was now distance shrieking from the hallway outside. Which he followed to his front door. Listening intently behind the wood.

As he held his breath until his lungs burned in his chest, something flared up in Frankie. A desperate, wanting, starving need to swoop in. Be your knight in shining armour. The words were stuck in his throat, and if he wasn’t careful, they would choke him blue. But if he knew even a shred about you, it was that you’d hate that just as much as whatever it was Mark had done to you to have you tossing him out in the early evening. You were a private person. A woman who never appreciated prying ears or eyes. You avoided all his questions about your past whenever he asked. Swerved him off topic and into the hedgerow before he had a chance to blink and realise he had the backhand of whiplash. And if he let it slip once that the walls were thin, there was no telling where your quick mind would jump to next. Frankie never knew why or what made you so guarded. But he imagined one day you bit the hand of god and he stopped feeding you.

Frankie’s heart was thumping to the beat of his anxiety in his throat, making it harder to swallow the lump it formed, clammy palms pressed to the cool wood with the rest of him.

“You’re a sick man!” He heard, followed by a thumping of something being thrown, then a yelp out of Mark as Frankie guessed he was dodging whatever it was you threw his way. Shoes, maybe? Something else? “A coward! So get out. Don't call. Don’t come knocking. And tell your fucking wife!”

A shuffling of ashamed feet. A slam of your front door. Clattering around behind shared walls. Then silence.

It was five minutes of silence. But it felt like the seconds within those intervals were put on the rack and stretched in torture. Five minutes that he should have used to step back from his door but didn't. He just prayed there was more of you to have to himself for a second.

Then the descent of knuckles came beating down on his door. Causing his heart to jolt out in his chest then plummet into his stomach. Twisting his insides into knots that made him sick with intrigue. He took a step back. And a breath. Then waited a second before opening the door to find you stood there in a silly little lace hemmed tank top and sleep shorts. Your hair dishevelled and cheeks flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, but found the words stuck to the backs of his teeth and the roof of his mouth like soggy, claggy toffee. So he shut up, grateful you cut him off first.

“We’re having a bonfire. So whatever shit Lisa left here, bring it with you. My door will be open. I’ll be on my balcony.” And you left him with nothing but that. Stomping back down the hall in a flurry of your anger.

Frankie stood there, feet practically glued to the floor, fingers curling in on his palms as his blunt nails pressed into already calloused flesh. And an image of you, teeth bared to him like Lisa’s once were, appeared in his mind. An apparition of hurt, torment and his own vulnerability. But it was too late. His feet moved before his mind could and he was already collecting the things of his ex-girlfriend who had wronged him time and time again, stuffing them into his arms in a bundle of broken memory, anguish and lingering hurt.

He found you standing by a metal bin of a man's belongings. The odd t-shirt, pictures of your face next to his, smiles happy and bright with the joy of a relationship you never expected to cave in. In your hand was a packet of cigarettes you'd told him in the passing of a hallway’s conversation that you’d quit, but evidently not. And a crumpled, misshapen box of matches. In the other was a bottle of Whiskey. The brand Mark insisted on liking and you’d bought him for a birthday present. A present he’d never receive because he was as dead to you as the day was long.

“I thought you quit.” He said, trying to start a conversation that hit a dead end pitifully quickly.

“Toss it on.” You mumbled dismissively with a jerk of your head to the pile, eyes glued to Mark’s belongings, washing down your bitter words with an even more bitter swig of drink.

Frankie complied wordlessly from there, dumping the contents of his arms on top of the photos and clothes, stepping back while you poured a generous amount of the liquor on top. A seasoning of fuck you not farewell to the people you’d shared your life with and would thankfully never cross paths with again. He took the bottle from you when you pressed it into his chest, taking a drink and grimacing at the taste. It wasn't smooth. It was almost sour, with a kickback that burned too much to be pleasurable as it passed down the column of his throat in a thick swallow. His thoughts trickled in from there as he read the label and glanced at you. He wanted to get you drunk. Get you to slip up. Let yourself be taken for once.

You both watched, deadfaced, as you struck a match, used it to light a cigarette and then tossed it in the bin as memories curled up under heat. The alcohol setting the blaze up in a satisfying roar of good riddance.

He thought it was a little strange. How you’d come to him. Yes, you were friends. But the type of friend that only ever conversed between life events. In the empty limbo of hallways and laundromats. Not burning things on your balcony in the hope the heat will melt your heart back together, It was a little late for that. Stone doesn’t melt. And the two of you had hearts of set concrete from the turn of events you’d experienced. Encased in the cage of bone that would no longer open to another unless broken in two and forced apart. So you slid down the brick wall, knees bent to your chest while you smoked. The flame flickering a violent xanthous, ochre and scarlet.

He joined you on the floor, passing back the bottle. The two of you side by side, and it only just occurred to Frankie how lonely he was now. But how terrified of intimacy he was. Intimacy of a level deeper than skin/ The both of you wordless, silent as the decaying dead of night. Only the crackle of fire between you and a sniff for your nose as the evening air nipped it and made it run. So to distract yourself, you condemned your tongue to bad liquor, chasing it with a drag of your cigarette and a grimace,

“God, this is shit.” You scoffed.

“Not a hard liquor gal?” He chuckled, turning his head to glance at you out the corner of his eyes before the flame had his eyes attention again.

“More of a wine person, really. But even I can tell this is shit.” And you gestured to the bottle in your hand, reading over the label and sighing.

“Yeah,” he sighed, inflicting another taste upon himself when he took it out of your grasp. “It is.”

Silence again. Not awkward for you who preferred your own company to others, but for him, who had been watching you begging for an in, it was clawing at his insides like a starved animal would at the walls of its enclosure.

“So…” He drew out, and you had to bite back an amused smile.

“What?”

Frankie found himself staring in trance at your side profile, with the same fascination you honed in on the flickering flame. He thought in silence for a second. Asking himself the same question.

"How long did you date Mark for?" He asked. The name made him grimace as if it tasted sour in his mouth. Like he had to spit it out with disgust in every syllable for fear of it burning.

"Six months." Another awkward, off beat pause followed as he nodded. Then asked again.

“Did you love him?”

"No." You said flat out. But your words were honest and brutal to the man you let in then kicked out.

Frankie found himself suffocating a sigh of relief in his own ribs. They pinched slightly with an attempt of something profound to be felt. Like a child who had stumbled upon a strangely twisted shell at the beach. "Have you ever loved anyone?"

You turned to him, tilting your head. But Frankie couldn't tell if it was annoyance or respect for the bravery he had on asking you such personal questions. "What is this? Keeping Up With The Kardashians?"He held up his hands in quick defence, backing down.

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

"There isn't anything to know except for the fact I'm pissed off." You muttered. “And I figured you would be too, considering the argument I heard a couple nights ago through the wall of my kitchen."

Frankie felt his face go pale, then heat up in the apples of his cheeks. "Oh. So you heard that?" The way your cigarette smouldered as you spoke was the only movement on the narrow balcony. So you did know the walls were thin. It made him wonder what else you knew. If you knew how he strained to listen through plaster and drywall each night.

"Oh, I heard it alright.” You smirked, finding sick pleasure in the way he seemed to squirm. “Something about Lisa finding you...'dull behind the eyes'." Frankie watched as you rolled your eyes and doubled back on your standing in the argument, "If you're going to insult someone, at least be creative about it. ``Give them a good reason to cut it loose." You were like a pendulum to him. But one that spun in clockwise, then anticlockwise circles, instead of oscillating back and forth. Unpredictable in a way that both horrified and intrigued him.

"Dull?" He had to laugh in disbelief, "I am not dull."

You smiled to yourself at that, leaning your head back against the brickwork. Ready to shatter his lie with a flick of your sharp tongue. "You are dull, Frankie. You get up. Go to work. Come back. You do your laundry every Sunday— and I know that because so do I. Your car is always in the exact same spot next to mine. Without fail. Now, you can put all down to ‘strict military regime’, but the bitter truth is," You looked him in the eye, your cig hanging from your lips as you showed him the satisfied grin pulling at your mouth, "you are dull. We all are. We work, we grind, we cry because we work. You ache to the marrow and you get stabbed in the back. And you're begging on your damn knees to bite the hand that feeds you. But if you do, then you starve.”

Frankie had never had his own fear served to him by such a beautiful devil before. And he wished, with all he had left in him that Lisa hadn’t taken or ruined, that you were wrong. It made him want to cave into himself to protect what little he had left. Snarl like a wounded bitch as he held back from others to lick his wounds. Maybe offer it to you and beg you to take it off his hands. But how could he argue when you were practically holding up a mirror to his own eyes? "I hate that you're right." He said in solemn downcast bereavement. And watched the cloud of smoke float silently in front of your face to obscure the very mouth that let him have it in such careful, exact slicing words. The blade of your knife was sharpened to a paper thin point. Now stained with his body’s red.

"There are very few things I'm wrong about. Regardless of that, it's a simple formula and easy to understand.”

“And what is it?” He asked, but regretted it for he knew his heart might not be able to take much more. Not that he showed it. This whole exchange his brow hadn’t folded into a single crease.

“Two things in life are certain: Death. And taxes. You work to pay your taxes, and you die from working."

"That's a pretty pessimistic way of looking at things."

"Life is pessimistic." You shot back with amusement, intently staring in a fixed trance at the pile of burning memories. The last warmth it offered was metaphorically and literally its own destruction. Irony, as Frankie pointed out to himself in his crawling mind. "It crucifies you, and burns you...until you curl in on yourself at the corners and turn to ash."

The conversation had reached a level of solemnity he hadn’t expected, but he’d be a liar if he didn't admit to sinking his claws in yet again. His teeth might come next if you gave him the sweet chance.

You were quiet after that. Both of you were. The remnants of a fire that symbolised how Mark was no longer relevant in your life, and neither Lisa in his. If he thought Lisa was machiavellian, the word had new meaning now. But like with her, it drew him in and snared him into blissful trance. It was the type of blind faith you pin to a deity in the sky. The type that you never see but are forced and gaslit into believing because it's shoved down your throat from a young age. You were not his savour. He knew that in the pit of his very existence, the eye of the storm in his gut.

He would be crucified by you.

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

"Aw." You pouted in mock appreciation, pressing a hand to your chest. "Thank you."

Frankie afforded himself the pleasure of laughing at that. As cynical as it all was, it was real. You had just dared to say the quiet hushed parts out loud for him to digest. Though he felt like he was choking on it more than swallowing it. Regardless, he pushed it down to find confidence in himself and prod further.

“You keep doing that.”

“What?” “That.” Frankie pointed to all of you with a gesture absent of any direction, as if it was obvious. He watched as you tilted your head and scrunched your face a little. That crease in your brow…how it would haunt him in future. He felt like the prey. He was torn between wanting you to hunt him slowly so he could feel something at your hand, agony or not. Or asking you to do it quickly so he doesn't have to pursue through the bitter aftertaste.

“I’m not following.”

“You do this thing…where you turn conversations on their head. I feel like I'm getting whiplash.” He forced out a chuckle to make it seem like he was playing through with humour. But his words were genuine under the lace disguise of jest. You really did confuse him. You had his string of thought in knots. Complicated ones. “Why?”

Your eyes narrowed at the question. “You’re trying to figure me out.”

“Why shouldn’t i?”

"Because I'm not the distraction you need." You bit, almost like a warning. And Frankie would have listened if he wasn't so hellbent on breaking in. No matter how hostile, how feral, he'd take the time to tame the caged, battered, abused animal.

“Maybe not.” He agreed, twisting his upper body to face you. It’s important to understand that what Frankie felt wasn’t love. At least, not how he’d experienced it in the past. This was an infatuation birthed by the fruit of lust forbidden to act upon until now. “But you’re the one I want.” With those words came a darkness in his eyes. The kind that reminded you of floods and tempests in biblical art. You were that tempest, with swollen grey clouds and a hammering of thunder ringing in his ears. Laughing as you crashed him onto rocks while he swam helplessly with little energy to the shore. Only to be shoved back with another crushing wave that cut through flesh and met bone with a chill like ice. “Just because we’re sad and miserable, doesn’t mean we have to give up a good time.” His instincts were buried before. Rolling in their grave at the chance to touch you. So he pressed his palms to the lid of the coffin and pushed. Reaching out to trace a delicate line along the angle of your jaw. His eyes were drawn to the soft plush of your lips and how they parted ever so slightly. “I want a distraction, baby.”

He had you where he wanted you. And the liquor mixing thick with your blood had inhibition slipping through your fingers. His breath was hot on your lips. Needy to be paid attention to.

“Would it be worth my while?” You challenged, ignoring eye contact for now. Instead looking to his lips for the lies.

“You don’t think I could satisfy you?” He smirked, lifting your chin with a single thick finger curled underneath and the pad of his thumb swiping slowly over your bottom lip. “I’ll do better than anyone else could.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of confidence you have there. At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is just a bitch.”

Frankie chuckled at that. A deep rumble that rattled the bones that protect the hollow hole in his chest. “Come on…let me have a taste.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He took the silence and the glimmer of ‘i dare you’ in your eyes, pressing his lips to yours to consume you. Devour you whole. They took their time in sinking together and suctioning your lower lip into his mouth. Then his tongue dared to venture forward past parted lips to lick into your mouth and taste the backs of your teeth.

First, you let go of trepidation to take a hold of him. The roots of his hair and the back of his neck, fingers curled like talons. After, you let go of all else. The thoughts scratching the back of your skull, the headache that blistered before by the inferno calmed down and you were forced to focus on him alone as he took a handful of your hips and lifted you up to his lap to roll into him like a steady tide.

You pulled him by the collar of his shirt to your room, clothes left in a scattered flurry along the way. Breadcrumbs to pick up later and either regret or laugh at. He unhinged your jaw to let slip your airy moan as his hands travelled south to meet the seam of your cunt. All else fell into place when he circled your clit with two fingers to start the first loop of the knot in your belly. A warmup for the act of sin, and need, and wanting. Whatever god there was should have never been prayed to in the first place. And Frankie knew it now that he was damned to hell from the first parting of your thighs for his wandering hand. His teeth were ready for sinking as he gathered your legs and hooked them over his shoulders to walk open mouthed, spit decorated kisses down the trunk of your navel. Pressing his nose into your mound. The must of your cunt making his eyes light up as he stared at the bob of your throat when you swallowed sharply. Head rolled back to the pillow. His tongue glided into your folds for the first lick. Making a hot wet stripe of a path from your asshole to your clit. He used the tip of his tongue to circle it and glide lover to curl into your quivering hole. Drawing out the taste. The beckoning gesture of his tongue gathering your taste in his senses. A thumb following suit to roll the bud of your clit under it, his nose clumsy as it bumped into it too. Obsessing over the tang of your arousal, thick in shine over his lips the scruff of his chin.

Your thighs clamped over his ears that were red. The heat made your own skin burn. Dark curls of his hair whispering against their insides as he continued to devour you from the seam. And your orgasm– it burned bright after the first fizzle. Made your eyes scrunch closed as he pulled it from you with hand and tongue. What was used for his words had yours spilling from parted lips like a puppet. A vessel for him to carry pleasure through. It had you toppling over into oblivion. The abyss.

With bones brittle and hollowed like a bird you were fine to be dead weight as he ascended your body again. Folding you in half with your legs still bent over his shoulders. He traced the jut of your collarbone with the blunt edges of his teeth. How he wished they’d be sharp to sink deeper. But you were grateful as it would be easier for him to not draw blood and see the inside of you ran red like all the others. It was easy to not be human. It was easy to not show emotion and weakness.

“Feel that?’ he panted against your goosebump pebbled skin, and you nodded. You did. It was the promise to feel desired and not broken. And not maimed beyond repair by another person you let in. Another person you built yourself up to prepare to love, to only have the rug pulled from under your feet and the brickwork clatter to the ground. It was the same promise to him. And the desire that ran thick in his blood made his pulse thrum heavy under its weight. Its intrusion hot under his lust scorched skin.

“Yeah.”

“Imma make it go away for you, baby.” he promised with a kiss to the hollow of your throat below its column, between your clavicle. And it was anything but empty. It was full. And round, and swollen with something deeper in his ribs that ached to be let loose. Breathed to fill you too. “I’ll make it all go away.”

His hips pressed flush to yours and the drag of neatly groomed hair sent a shockwave through your clit and up your rattling spine. Vertebrae by vertebrae. Setting off blazing fireworks in your mind for just a second before he started a slow drag. It was a stretch that stung. But pain was comfort if it had pleasure hot on its heels like an obedient dog. Ironic how you feared men like him, who seemed so eager to please and let themselves in uninvited. But you took it willingly this time because you needed to forget for a single second about the heart that bled under flesh and bone in the cage of your ribs.

His cock was thick, full and curved up into the part of you that you couldn't have reached even if you tried. He slotted into your heat like he was meant to stay there. And that alone made you want to scream for him to give in and not relent so you could be ignorant to the way it seemed divine. The roll of his hips kicked up in pace and soon he was hunched over you. Strong arms rippled with muscle from brutal training since the age of eighteen bracing himself on either side of your head. The feeling of him curling his hips into you made you burn. It sent a tumble of a moan from your lips through the breathless pant of his name. A name he never thought you'd call in the tangle of your sheets. But the burning need to give you what he had wanted all this time ate at him. It ripped the flesh fresh off his bone and left him bleeding into you.

Frankie’s eyes misted over when the chain that hung from his neck slipped over your chin and you bought the metal of his dog tags between your teeth. Biting down. It feels better biting down anyway. And the cool of the metal on your hot tongue made your head swim. Looking him in his eyes and daring him deeper. So his lips pressed into a firm line, and your nails raked down his back to leave raised red lines in their wake. Tracing new paths over the old map of scar tissue. Marking new land and territory. The air between you hung heavy with the heat of exhales. And blew with the shared moan you indulged in when it coiled in your belly. The cradle of your hips accommodated his cock as it stretched the tightness of your walls. Your slick arousal giving way to fluidity of otherwise rabid motion. Starving.

When on his tongue, you were alive. Inside you he breathed again with the clutch of your cunt around him. Warm and beating, and thrumming quickly like a hummingbird's wings. A squatter temporarily camped up in the crack between two ribs. Where thick muscle shuddered with breath. You believed something in you was worth loving. But you also knew for it to be found you'd have to be flayed alive.

The crash of his hips into yours aided in the symphony of sex, and filled the four walls painted but void of personal belongings. If he were on the other side of them he'd be jealous. But now he was here, he was alive. Beating hearted and thriving. And any god, saint, angel or divinity could watch and weep as he finally had what he wanted. What he might have needed in order to restore his humanity that lay dormant for so long. He was trying to crack you open so he could lick up what lay inside you. Gather it up in his arms like the greedy wolf, lambs gore, blood and flesh, between fangs of his lower jaw. Have the muscle pulsing between his teeth. But he wouldn't. So for now he'd settle for the flesh on show. The mound of your panting breast that he pressed into his open mouth. The flat of his tongue pressing greedily to your nipple. Before his lips pinched together and pulled the left pert. Switching to do the same for the right. Not leaving an inch of you untouched. Because he had his chance now. And who knew when he'd get another. So he relished in what he was spared and he would take it with him to the grave. Dream of it on his deathbed if this killed him. Or if something else did. Regardless. This would run through his mind until his last heavy and troubled breath.

“That's it.” he murmured into your breast. “Take it. Take it, baby. Take me..”

Your back arched, strung tight like a bow ready to fire. Spine curled up into the heat of his mouth and he bit down again on the swell of your breast. Wanting to take its entire weight into his mouth and have it rot and smear into his tongue. The fizzle of nerve endings reached the tips of your curling toes. The heels of your feet digging into the planes of his scapula to press him closer in the burning of your young orgasm.

“Come on. Let me see you come.” Frankie demanded in a breathless growl as he stared you down with his eyes. The hue of his irises almost devoured by black of pupil. Your jaw unhinged to let rip a silent scream. Feeling that sharp coil snap, and a numbness fill your aching core before your toes curl in pleasure. He helped you ride it out with his cock fucking into your tight weeping cunt while you sang out his name in a chorus of moans, whimpers and cries. Letting go utterly as a rush filled you, lighting you up like dry kindling under your skin. The pulsating of your walls around his length had his hips faltering for just a moment, twitching within your sopping cunt. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he let out a deep guttural groan, closing in on skin with teeth again. Spilling inside you, the mix of your slick with his cum painting you white like the searing heat of pleasure between you. He leaves the last of his load with you by fucking it deeper. Three, sharp, punctuated thrusts.

He lay flat above you while he awaited the comedown from his catharsis. The tingle down his spine sputtered out in a haze of slowburn afterglow. Eyes closed and face buried into the crook of your perspiring neck. Panting together. Hit tongue forgot for a second to shape your name the way it sounded, but with a sharp inhale, the air surged his mind.

“I suppose this is the part where I leave?” He mumbled, pulling back from your skin. His time had come and ended. The two of you now sat back to the world of hallway and laundromat limbo. He sighed through his nose when you nodded. And he did the same, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Frankie gathered his clothes up, putting them on slowly one by one. Drawing out the ache of being alone again by lingering in your presence.

“Come back tomorrow.” You said. Not asked. He nodded, still facing the door. Then twisted the handle and left an empty space in your apartment where he had once been.

#pedro pascal #triple frontier #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales smut #frankie triple frontier #frankie morales fanfic #bark!bite!bleed!

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where-dreamers-go · 8 months ago

Note

Hi 😃 I was wondering if I may request a tasm!Peter Parker little snippet or anything. Please? One of your moodboards for him inspired this tbh lol

What if the Reader wakes up and finally catches Peter writing a cute little sticky note for them before he goes out at night as Spiderman??

“Cute Notes” Peter Parker x Reader

(A/N: Hi there! Here’s a little of the Amazing Spider-Man being all cute. Warnings: fluff Word Count: 255 words)

Going to bed ‘early’ had been easier than predicted. It did not mean you fell asleep within minutes or even an hour. Eventually you did though.

Some where between your partner tucking the bedsheets closer to your side and daydreaming about ice cream sandwiches, you had fallen asleep. You must have.

Slowly blinking your eyes open, you sensed something was different. Not just that you were laying in a new position. There was a tiny sound.

Glancing to the other side of the bed, you found it vacant. No sleeping Peter. Again.

He did that every night. Slipping out quietly while you slept.

The tiniest pop made you pick you head up off the pillow.

You smiled, surprised at the sight by the dresser by the wall.

Peter Parker scribbled on a sticky note. A routine he had once he shared more than a blanket with you. One that helped you worry less when ever you woke up in the middle of the night alone.

You kept every single cute note from him.

This was a first in catching him before he swung away.

“You’re so cute,” you whispered, trying not to startle him.

“And you’re suppose to be sleeping.” Peter put the cap back on a marker. “Did I wake you?” He asked, making his way to your side of the bed.

“Who knows.”

“Try to go back to sleep.” Peter leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He kissed your temple. “I love you too. I’ll see you later.”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Marvel Tags: @marepaw @nyx22-blogs @shewhobreathesfire

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

#requested #tasm!peter x reader #tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #the amazing spider-man #peter parker #tasm! peter parker x reader #tasm!peter imagine #where dreamers go #fluff

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agentlilicarter · 4 months ago

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Saw your dark/evil Hufflepuff moodboard so here are some headcanons!!

A muggleborn is sorted into Hufflepuff. McGonagall smiles, a student that will surely be peaceful to have

There are no hushed whispers. Her house applauds,but no one really sees her.

She makes friends fast. A Hufflepuff boy who's parents thought he'd be a slytherin, and a ravenclaw who invents things the magical community has never seen.

The Resricted Section intrigues them. They find old books on the second wizarding war, and she realises how horrible life would have been if she had arrived just ten years earlier.

In the dark corner of the library, she and her two friends make a vow. They will never be helpless, no matter who tries to make them that way.

The ravenclaw invents a trace blocker, so each of them can practice magic at home

She tells her parents all about her time at school. They worry, until she shows them what she can do.

The ravenclaw creates potions like Severus Snape did, and the two hufflepuffs steal textbooks from older students to learn the hexes the previous hogwarts students were to scared to use. They weren't studying anyway.

When McGonagall expects another quiet year of Hufflepuffs, she find them to be loud. Loyal and caring, but louder. They protect their own so fiercely that they get compared to lions.

Not lions, they say. Hufflepuffs.

From your slytherin friend x

Okay, these headcanons are amazing Sage!

After this I think a lot of Hufflepuffs would began to rebel. The Hufflepuff Revolution would begin.

Some of my own headcanons to the house under the cut

Imagine if Hufflepuff would have a relationship system similar to a secret society that works in the background. Nobody would suspect that they control the society behind the curtains because they aren't screaming it in the face of every person.

If you're sorted in Hufflepuff you'll always be a Hufflepuff. After graduating you will still be a part of this complex net of relationship of Hufflepuffs. (Sort of like a mafia family maybe?)

Which has its own perks: like it's easier to find a job at a shop because you helped one of the workers learning for the O.W.L-s when you two were housemates. He will recommend you to the boss. Like I said: once a Hufflepuff, always a Hufflepuff.

Tribalism. If you try to hurt one of us expect that a lot of Hufflepuffs will make your life hell. This tribalism was seen in GoF too; the Hufflepuff students were bullying him because he stole the fame from the house. Harry felt that even Professor Sprout acted colder to him.

Hufflepuffs could move the threads so carefully behind the curtains that most people don't expect when they attack (like the three students, they were also working behind everyone else)

Though a lot of them can be just as loud as someone would expect from a stereotypical Gryffindor. They're vicious, would protect their loved ones when they sense danger. They would fiercely battle for justice. They're the Hufflepunks.

Just because someone gets sorted in Hufflepuff, doesn't mean that they are less ambitous, witty brave. It just means that they value loyality, hard work or being just more than anything else. Like the Hufflepuff boy you wrote, his parents expected him being Slytherin. (This is pretty obvious I know 😂)

I'm sorry I didn't answer this sooner Sage, I wanted to add just as good headcanons as yours (and I think I failed lol your wording is just 👌)

#The funny thing is that there's a fic with this title “A Hugrabug Forradalom” or “The Hufflepuff Revolution”#Except it's in Hungarian #and there's no revolution in it #but still an extremely interesting fic #I'm sad it's unfinished #harry potter #harry potter headcanon #ask #Sage #mutuals #hufflepuff #hufflepuff headcanon #hogwarts houses #hufflepuff pride #hufflepride #dark hufflepuff #atypical hufflepuff

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solar-halos · 4 months ago

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okayy guys i think odesta week will be august 12-18 (yes im starting the week on a monday) and if u want u can suggest prompts! it’s chill if u don’t have any, i have a weeks worth of prompts but i dont want to give off dictator vibes so just say the word and i will give them the BOOT

the most straightforward examples i have rn are modern au monday and supernatural saturday but they dont have to be alliterations haha, it just personally made it easier for me to come up w stuff. i was also trying to pick prompts that weren’t just good for writing, like if drawing/moodboards/hcs are more ur speed i wanted it to be sorta versatile if that makes sense, but i could always be missing something!! also this post was kinda all over the place so i will definitely make another organized post to officially introduce odesta week

#also if the date is too soon lmk #tbh making this post in general is prob too soon cos i literally asked for the rough head count two literal days ago #this is making me shy for some reason like i feel like i have to get it (like the planning) over w #okay okay let me stop speaking #odesta #annie cresta #finnick odair #odesta week #< the official tag btw #edit upon further reflection it rlly was too soon so i pushed the date back a week #but who knows it could probably stand to be pushed back even more

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batwynn · 1 year ago

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Hello. So I have a genuine, honest question as someone who isn't an artist. I saw you made a post about AI art floating around Tumblr lately. How does one differentiate between AI-created art vs. ACTUAL art? Some things have been easier to notice than others (ie: YouTube videos and like, moodboards and the opening to Secret Invasions) but for art specifically, are there any key things to look out for that make it obvious it's AI generated? I do not support AI in any fashion but in this day and age I do find it increasingly more difficult to tell the difference between something that was created by AI vs. created by an actual person.

Hi anon! So, heads up this might be a bit long of a post but I wanted to point out some things that I don't see frequently mentioned in other posts about A.I stuff.

First things first: Look at their other 'art' pieces. If they have a generally consistent style, a consistent type of work (Realism vs ink art for example), characters you see more than once and from different angles, character sheets, etc. You're going to notice if someone suddenly switches from little ink doodles to fully colored and realistically rendered 'art'. Now, this doesn't mean everyone switching styles or mediums is A.I, but it means to take a closer look if you notice something vastly different than their usual stuff. More A.I. clues below!

For things to look for, there's a lot of different clues but generally you're going to notice a certain new car shine to everything. Everything will be a little too clean, even if the style they are ripping off is sketchy. Sketches will have crosshatching that doesn't really make sense or random lines in a place that an artist probably would not put there. That being said, here's some examples where that isn't as noticeable:

Here you've got your usual body/anatomy problems. (Plus some elements I'll talk about later as well. This one's got it all!)

Glitchy foot, glitchy hands. glitchy eyes. Strange proportions for legs that don't exactly fit a stylization, but more of an glitch. Now, of course an artist can draw 'glitchy' things like this either by accident or intentionally, but you really only see these types of things in A.I vs actual art of a similar style. Realism artists are generally not adding extra fingers or varying sized fingers, they're not rendering the foot to only have too many toes, missing toes, and the foot also... sort of part shoe. Unless art artist is otherwise intentionally including these elements, it's generally a clear cut example of A.I stuff. (For example: Different body types and disabilities exist, and there are people with different shaped hands, shorter/longer fingers etc. But you will also usually find some kind of info with the post about the person/character that will tell you about them that can clue you in on if it's A.I vs real art.) If the artists are drawing in a style with 'exaggerated' anatomy, you can almost always see that as a persistent and intentional STYLE in their art. If they aren't, this is something you'll really notice in A.I vs realism. It can be especially true with people who fully render realistic art because it's not in line with the style, and the relevant elements of rendering art this way. Artists who do realistic rendering at this level generally know their anatomy very well, and are going for realism in all elements of the art. Some stuff like the exaggerated long legs in women are kind of everywhere, but the hands, the foot, the lopsided winky eyes (I don't know how to describe it) are not things a professional artist rendering realistic art would generally do. It's just not in line with the style, or the ability/skill that the artist has worked on. (Again, unless completely intentionally and in line with the person/character.)

For 'real' life items like the tables below, you've really just got to ask yourself: Is this physically possible? Do all the elements make sense and actually work together in a real way?

Sometime it's hard to know if you don't have any experience with, for example, acrylic and wood table making. But there are things that just don't work in real life, and there are things that maybe someone can do, but even in the provided examples it just doesn't make sense to do. For example, the little 'tree' hanging from the bottom of the left table. Would that be possible? Probably. Would someone do that? Probably not. If you're really stumped, sometimes just looking up videos of people making that type of thing can give you a better idea of what actually works together, how it's made, etc.

Here's something that really helps when you're really struggling and zooming in for every detail: TANGENTS

Ok, so tangents in art are when you're drawing a thing, like hair, and it's lining up with a different object to the point where the visual line continues from one part of art to another and it looks really unrealistic/weird. Most artists figure out how to avoid this on their own just from noticing it and feeling uncomfortable with how it looks, while others learn via the internet etc. It can happen in anyone's art at any skill level, but the amount that it happens in A.I stuff is HUGE. It's almost every single image, and you can really notice it in places where something overlaps like hair or, from the above image with the money: there's two bills that just kind of bleed together. From the same image, you can also see how her hair bleeds into the wrinkles of her jacket in an unnatural way. Comparatively, you can see in the Hela art I did below that there are overlapping elements like the hair and the ribbons behind it that do not mesh or bleed together.

Something else to look at: Symmetrical elements that don't work right. So, this is kind of getting harder to see depending on what they're generating as a subject matter and the style they are using. As always, there is a disclaimer for this. Art does not always have perfect symmetrical elements in it.

For example: in the real world, this dude's coat would have more clean symmetrical elements. As it is a sketchy doodle, they're there but they're not 100% symmetrical. With a LOT of A.I stuff, you'll notice that something meant to be mirrored on the other side of the clothing, room design, etc. is actually completly wonky/incorrect or not even there at all.

For example, in this A.I we have missmatching elements on both sides. Not only in things that could be designed to be asymmetrical, but also things that 100% should be mirrored. The left side under the buckle on the shoulder has a diamond shape. The right has a weird spikey thing. The little leaf pattern on the gold lapel area appears to be just blobs on the right side. The left shoulder area has a button and additional little detail under the buckle area. It is not there on the right side. And, again, some of this can be intentional with real art. Her arm bands could be intentionally different, for example. But elements that clearly should be reflected on the other side and are very clearly not are generally a good clue that it's A.I. A few last moment things to look out for:

Styles that are recognizable someone else's whole thing. Example: The monstrosity that someone just generated that is supposedly Calvin and Hobbs. It's pretty easy to tell because it looks like shit right now, but generally if someone is ripping off a distinct style of someone famous, it's probably A.I or at least worth double checking.

Did they suddenly start doing ______? This could be anything, backgrounds, drawing horses, full color, etc. But if they're suddenly, overnight just BOOM they're 'drawing' in a whole other style, it's suddenly really rendered, and/or there's no 'growing pains'/work shown that they've started working on drawing the thing they never drew before... It's time to take a closer look. Last but not least, look for the language they use around the stuff they're putting out. A.I people are often... a certain type. They use a lot of that NFT bro lingo that can tip you off. The tags might be all over the place for styles, or tagging certain famous artist's styles, etc. They also can be a bit more blatant in the tags and just outright tag A.I or NFTs somewhere in there. And, in the end, if you really can't tell and you really love the thing and want to share it: Ask an artist. Or just don't share it.

Thanks for reading, and I hope this is helpful in some way!

#How to tell if it's AI #How to recognize AI #Art vs Ai #Long post #nice anon #I mean I have to be honest a lot of it is also like #white guys generating indiginous and asian people like they're working for fucking nat geo but in that extra mastibatory way #a LOT of incel shit out there #a LOT of 'if I was Elon Musk my apartment would look like this #but also the entire cottage core tag is exploding with AI shit #It's a mess #The best and worst way to handle this is to kind of assume whatever you're into is going to have at least one looser making AI in it #the worst because it sucks that it's everywhere already #and sometimes you have to block someone you liked and thought was cool #but best because being aware and active helps yourself and others

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sunshinesteviee · 11 months ago

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tis the damn season — sneak peek

just posting a lil sneak peek (the first few paragraphs) of the fic i’m working on based off the song by taylor swift!! including a lil collage i made with the vibes of the fic hehe enjoy!!!!

Snow crunched underneath the tires of your mom’s car as she drove down main street, past the library, past the drug store, past the police station. Past all of the places you knew so well, but reminded you of a different lifetime. It hadn’t really been that long since you’d left for college, but everything felt so much different.

You’d left Hawkins pretty quickly, not long after defeating Vecna. Much to your surprise, you’d actually been accepted into a few of the colleges you’d applied to, and so when the time came, you were more than ready to pack up and leave Hawkins behind you. Unfortunately, that meant leaving behind everyone you knew and loved. It wasn’t the people that made you want to leave, it was the town itself, and all of the horrors it hid. It hadn’t been an easy decision — you’d agonized over it for months — but eventually, you decided it would be good to get a fresh start. And besides, you’d only be two hours away.

That fact didn’t make leaving any easier, though. Especially when one of the people you were leaving behind was your childhood best friend. The same best friend you’d been in love with for years. The same best friend who you’d gone to literal hell and back with. The same best friend who had confessed his feelings for you shortly before you were set to leave for school. In typical Steve fashion, he’d chosen the worst possible moment to lay everything out on the table.

There had always been something there. Lingering touches on your waist, stolen glances when the other wasn’t looking. Hand holding, cuddles during movie nights, chaste kisses on the cheek. It was obvious to everyone except the two of you. But of course, Steve confessed only as you were leaving.

It had broken your heart to break his, especially when you’d been waiting years for that exact moment. You’d spent hours thinking about and wishing for the moment when your best friend professed his love for you, only to have to turn him down when it finally happened.

The decision, though earth-shattering, had seemed like the right one at the time. It made sense in your head. What brand new relationship would work from two hours apart?

And despite the hurt, Steve had dropped you off at your dorm just like you’d planned. He’d helped you move in, given you the longest hug known to man, and promised to call as soon as he could. For the first week, Steve called every night to ask about your day and to make sure that you were okay.

But it had been weeks since you’d last properly talked to Steve, and it was killing you. Part of you was dreading seeing him, knowing the conversation that had to be had, but a bigger part of you felt like it was dying without him. You’d never been apart for this long, especially without talking regularly, and you missed him more than words could explain.

Your breath fogged up the glass as you stared out your frosted window and then doodled in the condensation. You weren’t sure how you were going to approach Steve, how to try to fix things. If things even could be fixed. There was a high likelihood that everything had been ruined, and if that was the case, you weren’t sure how you’d survive. How you’d live without him, especially after everything you’d been through together. You needed your best friend.

—

The fic isn’t done yet, but I can’t resist posting this & the moodboard collage I made hehe. Happy holidays!! Hoping to post this before the new year. If you want to be tagged when I post this, please let me know! 🫶🏼

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #wip #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #sunshinesteviee #sunshinesteviee writing #loverboy

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roanofarcc · 4 months ago

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PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR → FATHERS, SONS, AND MONSTERS

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. || masterlist || ocs moodboard

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

After the impromptu leg surgery on El, the entire group gathered around the fountain in the center of the mall. Sunshine found herself seated on the floor alongside Steve. There was a mix of her blood and El’s smeared down the skirt of her dress, even more ruined than before, and her hair had fallen out of Erica’s scrunching, frizzy, and knotted falling down her shoulders. The skin on her face was tender as the bruises really settled in.

She wasn’t the only one who was beaten up. Everyone looked worse for wear. El and her freshly bandaged leg, Steve and his black and blue face. Jonathan kept rubbing his back and wincing. Nancy with smeared makeup and a cut across her cheek. The other party members had minor scrapes and bruises. Even Calum and Tamera looked disheveled, fitting in with the group.

Sunshine wanted to go home and sleep for the next week, but they had to solve the issue of the Mind Flayer and the open Gate. She did her best to ignore her aches and pains as she listened to the party explain what they knew about the monster, while she rested her head on Steve’s shoulder.

“The Mind Flayer built its monster in Hawkins to stop El, to kill her, and pave a way into our world,” said Mike.

From where El sat on one of the benches, leaning against Hopper while he held a tissue to a cut across her forehead, she shook her head. “Not just me. Leia fought it too; it’ll be after her now.”

“Yeah.” Leia sighed, rubbing her bandaged arm. “And it’s not meeting around.” Her eyes were sunken in. She shared red stained skin under her nose like her sisters and little spider-webbed bruises down the bridge of her nose.

“It almost killed them,” Nancy said. “What was in El’s leg was just a tiny piece of it.”

“How big is this thing?” Hopper asked. Sunshine was thankful that, somehow, Hopper and Joyce found them. Having real adults there lessened some of the burden Sunshine felt.

Jonathan answered, “It’s big. Thirty feet, at least.”

Calum, who stood just slightly off the side with Tamera, made a noise between a gasp and a sharp intake of breath loud enough for everyone to flicker their attention onto him. “Holy shit,” he mumbled. “H-Holy…I think I saw it. In the woods. I saw s-something, but I thought I was just losing my shit!”

It was jarring, watching someone realize the things they all already knew, that monsters were real. It was far from an easy pill to swallow. Calum, Tamera, and Robin all looked a mix between confused, queasy, and rightfully frightened. If Calum had seen the Mind Flayer just easier that evening, that explained his daze behavior when Sunshine first ran into him and Tamera during their search for Steve and Robin. That, however, still didn’t explain their questioning of Sunshine or knowledge of the Lab.

Lucas cleared his throat, all of them visibly unsure of how to respond to their newest group members’ reactions. “Yeah. It’s massive. And, uh, it sorta destroyed the cabin…” Hopper sighed and all of his kids looked saddened, their first real home destroyed by a monster of all things. But at least everyone was okay. They could fix the cabin, they couldn’t bring someone back from the dead.

“Okay, so, just to be clear, this big fleshy spider thing that hurt El, wants to kill everyone.” Steve drummed his fingers against his thigh as he spoke, audibly trying to make sense of all the information they were getting. “And it’s some kind of gigantic weapon? But instead of, like, screws and metal, the Mind Flayer made its weapon with…melted people?” Everyone nodded. He blew some air from his cheeks and muttered, “Fantastic.”

“Are we sure this thing is still out there?” asked Joyce, who sat between Will and Mike with an ever-present motherly concern twisted on her face.

“Yes,” Luke answered, quietly as he sat curled into himself. “I’ve seen this before. Well, sort of, anyway. All I know is that whatever is happening and is going to happen, it ends here with Billy and…” he trailed off, catching Sunshine’s gaze. “And with Sunshine.”

Under her cheek, Steve’s shoulder tensed. “What do you mean 'ends?’”

Luke shrugged. “I don’t know.”

The two drawings he had made, pinned side by side on his easel of Billy’s vague shadowy figure and her light-filled one were on the verge of being played out in real life. Luke’s vision was coming to life before all of their eyes. Sunshine didn’t know what that meant for her or Billy. Whatever ‘ends’ meant didn’t sound greatly optimistic.

“El and Leia beat the shit out of it, but this thing isn’t messing around,” Max added.

“But,” Mike cut in. “If we close the Gate again, we cut the brain off from the body and kill it.”

Sunshine forced herself to sit upright and peered at her brother with the smallest sliver of hope. “Luke, did you see that in your vision? Us closing the Gate?”

He shook his head. “Maybe if we do that before anything else can happen, we can end this before any of what I saw in my vision comes true.” It was a stab in the dark, but Sunshine wasn’t sure they had any other options.

“Hold on! Just…Just stop!” Tamera’s voice rose above everyone else’s. “You all are honestly telling us that there’s a monster in Hawkins? And it, what? Possessed that asshole Hargrove?” It sounded unbelievable, impossible.

“And it possessed others around Hawkins. Well, it possessed them and then melted down their bodies to create a physical form that the Mind Flayer could inhabit. Billy is its pawn,” Will tried to better explain, but to the ears of someone who had never faced such a threat before, it sounded even more insane.

“That can’t…” Tamera tugged at her hair, her eyes flickering back and forth between the group. Maybe she was looking for one of them to break, say sike and that they had made the whole thing up, but she was only met with serious looks. Her eyes landed on Sunshine. “And you! Y-You have fucking superpowers? That’s…I mean, you can’t…none of this is possible! None of this is real!” No one knew what to say to her. Her confusion and disbelief made perfects sense, but they had been through it before, and they knew what they were facing was very real.

Calum spoke up next, his gaze also falling on Sunshine. “Your tattoo. Hawkins Laboratory. What does that mean?”

She shifted uncomfortably, feeling hot under all of their sudden stares. “I don’t-” She wanted to tell them that they had to wait. As much as she wanted to know how they connected her to the Lab, she wanted to get the Gate closed and kill the monster that was actively hunting her sisters first. Calum, however, did not share the same urgency.

“Did you know my dad?”

That confused her even more. “I don’t…no? Why would I?” The man had been missing since Sunshine had returned to Hawkins. She only heard rumors about what happened to Mr. Miller. Most people believe that he just up and left his family, but Calum believed him to be missing. What that had to do with Sunshine, she had no idea.

“Because he worked there,” said Calum. “He worked at Hawkins National Laboratory, and he had his file that I found inside his office. It was some project he was working on before he disappeared. That file mentioned a subject Double-Oh-Seven several times. And then Tamera finds those very numbers tattooed on your wrist. You have to know something.” He spoke so quickly that it took everyone a moment to truly understand him. Sunshine’s body moved on autopilot, picking herself up from the floor.

She knew it would happen eventually. Eventually, her life would collide with someone who worked at the Lab. A part of her wanted to believe after the place was taken over by Dr. Owens and then shut down for good, everyone who had worked there fled far from Hawkins. She should have known better; there were residents still in Hawkins who were complicit in the crimes carried out inside that building. And now she stood face to face with one of their sons.

“Your dad worked at the Lab?” Nancy shook her head in disbelief, stepping closer to Sunshine so she stood shoulder to shoulder with her. Her gaze was hard set and her arms crossed over her chest. “Did he work there before for after it was taken over by new management two years ago?”

Calum’s brows furrowed. “I don’t know. He’s been missing for two years. He disappeared around the same time Will Byers did and just before you,” he pointed at Sunshine. “Came back. I need to find him and you’re the last shot I’ve got. I need to know if you knew him and if you know where he went or could have gone.”

“I-I…” Sunshine sputtered, at a loss for words.

“Wait, I have of picture of him. It’s kind of old but look.” He pulled a notebook out of his backpack and flipped a couple of pages before he shoved it into Sunshine’s hands, pointing to the image of two men standing together, shaking hands and looking right at the camera. Her chest constricted, tightening with fury and pain. Two men, lab coats over their shoulders and the smallest glint of pride and recklessness in their eyes. Cowards, monsters, men.

Calum Miller’s father posed beside Dr. Brenner, shaking hands in a way that solidified their partnership, their experimentation on little kids they stole.

Sunshine knew exactly who Calum’s father was. She wasn’t face-to-face with him nearly as often as she was with Dr. Brenner. There was usually a pane of glass standing between them, a table, or a couple of feet that he refused to close. She remembered his wire-framed glasses and short blond hair. She remembered how much younger than Dr. Brenner he looked like the man had taken Calum’s father under his wing. His gaze had watched her, calculating and plotting under the surface of his icy blue eyes.

The notebook slipped from her hands, landing on the ground face up, exposing the photograph. Sunshine stared at Calum, really looking at him. He didn’t wear glasses like his father, but his eyes were the same shade of blue and his hair was only slightly longer. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t pieced it together before. Had she been too blinded by her hope that everyone from that place was long gone, monsters tucked away from the rest of the world drowned in guilt about what they had been a part of?

The fear hardwired in her brain from the Lab kicked in. She stumbled backward, nearly tripping over her feet as Calum called out her name and tried to reach for her. Sunshine flinched, hard. Her arm was caught by Nancy, who held her upright as the urge to crumble overwhelmed her. Calum looked confused, oblivious as Sunshine felt sick to her stomach.

It was El who broke the silence as she peered at the photo on the ground. “Bad man.” She sank back into Hopper, eyes narrowed with hurt and anger.

“What?” Calum shook his head. “No, no, no. My dad wasn’t…isn’t a bad man.” He sounded so sure, so confident, but Sunshine knew exactly who his father was.

“Your dad was his partner?” Sunshine tried to keep her voice steady, but her chest felt on fire.

How could someone go about their lives as normally after working in the Lab? How could someone have a child but still carry out experiments on other people’s children? Did he see Calum in the little kids he watched inside the Rainbow room? If Calum had lived in Hawkins his whole life, that meant his father went home every night, knowing that Sunshine was in the Lab while her parents hung up missing posters. His father saw the effects of what he did on the families, and on the children, and not once did he feel enough remorse to tell someone. To help them or, at the very least, stop? Sunshine and her siblings were forever plagued with inescapable nightmares and physical scars because of people like Calum’s father.

“Partner,” Calum parroted. “My mom said he had a bad partner, but that my dad wasn’t a bad person. Do you know who his partner was? Do you know where my dad might be?”

Too many things fizzled inside of Sunshine, emotions she didn’t even have a proper name for.

“Your dad took us,” she said, voice low and wavering. “He and his partner. T-They took us from our families.”

Calum blinked; confusion written across his face. “No. No that can’t be right. That’s not true.”

“Your dad experimented on us, for years.” He helped Dr. Brenner turn him into weapons, stealing away any source of love and comfort they once had or could have had with their families.

“No!” Calum said. “No. He wouldn’t…he couldn’t have.”

Sunshine took a small step forward, shaking off Nancy’s hold on her arm. “You don’t know anything about him, do you? About what’s he’s done?” Because that was something you’d hide from your family, especially your son. To Calum, Dr. Miller was some stand up, boring, suburban dad. And while Calum attended school and lived his childhood unbothered, his father was in the Lab, helping Dr. Brenner carry out experiments.

Calum grew defensive, also taking a step forward. “He’s my dad. I know him!” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “I know him, okay? Y-You…you’re lying. You have to be lying. He wouldn’t do that! He’s never hurt anyone!”

Anger outweighed all of Sunshine’s other emotions. She felt her face flush with a biting sort of rage. “I’m lying? I was there!” Tears welled up in her eyes, melting down her bruised cheeks. “For ten years I was there!” For ten years she endured all that the Lab had done to her. It wasn’t fair that while she and her siblings were suffering, people like Calum’s father could pretend like nothing was wrong and like they were doing some right and important thing.

“I saw what he did. I was that subject in his file. This,” she held out her tattooed wrist. “Is what he and his partner did to us! W-We were just kids!”

Three, with his body crumbled on the floor, beaten to death. Ivy, her bones shattered and eyes missing. Countless other kids were locked away in rooms, connected to colorful wires as they forgot who they once had been. They all had been written off as missing person cases gone cold, forgotten unless they were one of the very few who escaped. The blood on the hands of every single person who had stepped foot inside that Lab could never be washed away or forgiven, not after all Sunshine and her sibling had seen and done. Every experiment, every punishment, everything fell back on the Lab, Dr. Brenner, and Dr. Miller. And for ten years, that was all Sunshine knew, time she’d never get back.

Sunshine was nearly nose to nose with Calum, crying and shaking. Someone placed a hand on her shoulder and carefully pulled her away as Hopper placed himself in between the two teens. Joyce held onto her, letting Sunshine bury her head in her shoulder. Hopper had said something to Calum, but his words felt silent in her ringing ears. Her life continued to come unraveled, no matter how many times she tried to keep it nice and neat in a ball close to her heart.

The world buzzed around Sunshine, moving in waves of static and leaving her in a noisy spiral that clashed with her thoughts. The plan on how to close the Gate was being discussed, jobs dished out, as she sat on one of the food court counters, hugging her knees to her chest as she stared unfocused out at the mall. Everyone had split up into different groups, talking strategy, tending to wounds, or reeling from information.

“Hey.” Steve approached her with a soft smile. “I found a first aid kit.” He placed it on the counter in front of her before taking a seat beside her. Sunshine wordlessly opened the kit and started to rummage around for band-aids and alcohol pads to clean off both of their slightly busted faces, but her hands shook badly. She was so twisted up and anxious that the world blurred around her. It felt like her heart was trying to claw its way out of her chest. She felt herself cracking, slipping in her composure.

“Sunshine?”

She tried to respond, but her tongue was heavy in her mouth. Her mind spun with everything that had happened in a sort twenty-four hours. Another round of tears burned her eyes as the supplies in her hands slipped back into the back.

“Hey, Sunshine.” Steve turned his body fully toward her, their knees knocking. Sunshine pressed her fingers against her temples and squeezed her eyes shut, begging for it all to just stop. She couldn’t catch her breath. No matter how hard she tried to suck in air, it wasn’t enough to fill her lungs. “You’ve got to breathe, Sunshine.” But she couldn’t; it felt like she was dying.

A warm set of hands grasped her shoulders, rubbing thumbs against her skin in circles. “We’ll figure all of this out, I promise. But right now, you’ve gotta come back to me, all right? Just breathe.”

She felt too far away, stuck inside her head and increasing fears.

Beside her, Steve shifted until he was standing directly in front of her, at the edge of the counter. There was nothing to be said. Instead, he enveloped her in a hug. Sunshine buried her head in his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart as she tried to slow hers down.

They stayed like that for a little while, until Sunshine felt a little more grounded. Her bloodshot eyes stopped leaking tears and she could catch her breath. As her vision came back unblurry, she lifted her chin to look at Steve. The blood stain on his collar made her stomach churn. The skin around his eye started to turn purple in little blotches, and even with the blood cleaned up around the other cuts along his face, they were deep and looked painful.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

They had hardly had any time to breath that night, and she hadn’t asked him aside from their very rushed reunion in the bathroom. He and Robin were not only interrogated but drugged by the Russian soldiers. They had no idea what the side effects would be. They seemed as back to normal as they could be under their circumstances, but adrenaline was a powerful drug too. And, if Steve’s face was beaten black and blue, what injuries did he have that she couldn’t see?

He gazed down at her, a little exasperated. “Me? Sunshine-”

“I shouldn’t have tried to fight the soldiers when they found us.” Maybe she would have saved them some pain if she hadn’t reacted like an animal backed into a corner; it rarely worked in her favor. “If I wouldn’t have done that, they wouldn’t have hurt you and Robin,” she said, with too much guilt glinted in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She was sorry for so many things, things no normal teenager was supposed to be sorry for. She didn’t know how to apologize for all of it.

“Stop doing that,” he said. “Stop blaming yourself for everything. None of this is your fault. It’s not your job to keep everyone safe all of the time. There are things you can’t control."

She was one of the few people who had the power to control certain situations because of what Dr. Brenner and Calum’s father had done to her. There was this urge, this need, to place herself between every potentially dangerous situation and the people she cared for in hopes of making up for the original purpose of her abilities. She thought, maybe if she did good and saved people, it would stop the guilt she had for simply existing. But, still, it seemed like no matter how hard she tried to do good, someone ended up getting hurt because she was either too much or not enough.

“I can try, can’t I?”

A look flashed over Steve’s face that she couldn’t quite place before he ducked his head just slightly, not meeting her eyes. “They almost killed you, like twenty minutes ago. You were almost shot.” She didn’t understand why his voice shook ever so slightly, or why his fingers twisted around in the fabric of her skirt that fell over her knees. “I know you want to keep everyone safe, but you have to keep yourself safe too. I-We need you.”

Sunshine looked over her shoulder at the group scattered around the lower level of the wall. People who had given her so much. People who she loved so deeply, and who loved her in ways she used to think were impossible.

She wiped her nose, sniffling. “I can’t lose anyone else.”

He looked at her with such a gentle expression that it made her want to cry all over again. He brought one hand up to cheek, brushing his thumb across the tear tracks similar to how he did when he came to her bedroom after she woke from another nightmare. The way he touched her was so careful, it made her chest ache with a sense of longing that was foreign to her.

“And we can’t lose you.”

Silence stretched between them as they held each other's gaze for a moment; Sunshine relished in a brief moment of peace before reality settled back in.

“Steve!” Dustin’s voice broke it. “We’re up,” he said with a small group trailing behind him.

With a raise of his brows, Steve asked, “We are?”

“Yep.” Dustin nodded and Leia bounded up beside him with what seemed like a renewed sense of energy. “We’re going to my radio and use it to lead Hopper through the base.”

“I’m going too,” Leia added with a light smile. “For technical backup.” She wiggled her fingers, causing one of the light-up signs behind the food court counter to spark and flicker before it turned off with a little too much power from Leia. With a sheepish smile, she shoved her hands back into the pocket of her overalls.

Over the blonde’s shoulder, Robin muttered, “Wicked.”

Steve looked back to Sunshine with a knowing look. She couldn’t go with them. After their hellish night, she couldn’t leave El and her busted leg or a steady panicking Luke who was praying his visions didn’t come true. A part of her wanted to argue for Leia to stick with them, but she had faith that she’d be safe with Steve and Dustin at her side. Besides, there was more she could do to help them than Sunshine could.

She opened her mouth, ready to explain that she needed to stay with the others, but Steve seemed to have already guessed that. “I know,” he said. “You’ve gotta stay with them.”

The idea of them splitting up again made her sick. She wished all of them could stay together, but they all had responsibilities to fulfill if they were going to stop the Mind Flayer.

“Please be careful,” she said, looking pointedly between the group.

Steve offered her a small smile. “Right back at you.”

With that, Steve, Dustin, Leia, and the newest additions of Robin, Erica, Tamera, and Calum all left to reach Dustin’s radio. From there, Dustin and Erica would lead the Hopper, the P.I. that Sunshine had let the year prior - she was still very confused why he was there but didn’t have time to question it - and Joyce through the Russian base. Everyone else was to go to the P.I.’s safe house a state over in Illinois until the Gate was closed and Hawkins was safe again.

Their night seemed to be on the right track, but it was still far from over.

Tagged list. @sattlersquarry , @leptitlu , @drunkengodsofslaughter

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things 3 #jim hopper #joyce byers #nancy wheeler

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