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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

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Marks of Love | Alex Summers

Summary; the morning after in Alex is peaceful, that is until you leave his room. Then, it’s pretty obvious what the pair of you had been up to.

Warnings; smut, hickeys, swearing, cheesy Alex, mention of virginity loss, swearing, Kurt being an innocent boi

Alex groaned as he forced himself up and out of the bed, he scratched his blonde head, groaning lightly as sun broke through his curtains. “Shit.” He spoke to himself, looking at the time.

He was late. And so were you, considering the fact that you were still in his room, and naked underneath his sheets.

It was against the rules in the X Mansion, for girls and boys to be in one another’s rooms. There was so much freedom in Charles’ open home, everyone was allowed to be their true self.

However, you were all still kids and teenagers. It was something Charles had put in place, but it made Alex feel better, knowing that many others did not abide by it all the time either.

“Last night was amazing.” You stretched your arms out, your voice inclined Alex to look over at you, and clamber back onto his mattress.

“It was.” He spoke, getting pulled back into the amorous serenity, and leaning down to intertwine your lips. “I’m so happy we bit the bullet.” He bit his own lip, his blue eyes gazing into your y/e/c eyes.

“Must have felt good then.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, laughing as he nodded, blushing from the mention of your involvement.

“People say first times are clumsy and messy, but ours... it was perfect.” He smiled, his worry for his lateness to class disappearing.

“Yeah, it certainly was.” He kissed your neck, sucking on the skin and stroking his tongue against it. “Al.”

“I love you.” He mumbled against your flesh, situating himself to lie atop of you, dressed in nothing more than his boxer shorts. As his lips began to move more vigorously, so did his hips, tutting against you with the layering of his duvet between.

“I love you more.” You lulled your head back into the cushion, which smelled just like him, and as he pulled the covers back, leaving you exposed, he removed his boxers, so that he too was dressed in nothing but his own skin.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He mumbled, groaning as there was a harsh knock at the door. “Give me a minute.” As he stood, he pulled on his underwear, wearing just that as he went to the door and opened it just enough so that he could peek outside.

“Dude, why aren’t you in class? We had a test.” Sean reprimanded him, and Havok could only roll his sapphire eyes.

“A test is the last thing that I care about.” And it was currently, he had just gotten laid, but he would not tell his best friend. Sean already figured that Alex and you had already done the deed, from the PDA, it was what a lot of people took from the public interaction.

“Okay.” He shrugged, causing Sean’s gaze to travel down, and he felt a feeling swell in his stomach. Banshee couldn’t hold it for long, he burst out laughing, earning a frown from his friend.

“Nice neck.” The redhead pointed out the dark blotches scattered against Alex’s neck, he no doubted that yours was the same. Alex huffed, his attitude showing well as he clenched his jaw, and rested his arm firmly against the door. “If Scott knew the things that you were doing...”

��I’m not taking a bribe to keep your mouth shut, if my brother’s told, he’s told, simple as.” With that, he shut the door in Sean’s face, rubbing over his own with his palms as he began to return to you.

“Fuck, I studied hours for that test.” You whined, covering your head with a pillow, of which Alex was fast to remove. “I was gonna get all the answers right as well, Jubilee dragged me to the library and we went ham for hours.”

“Talking about going ham for hours.” He wiggled his eyebrows, causing you to snort at his efforts. But nevertheless, you allowed him to continue his intentions, breathing in the smell of sex that had glued to his skin as he leaned over, reaching for one of the drawers of his bedside table, and rifling blindlessly through for a condom.

He plucked it up with his fingers once he had located it, sitting back on his knees as he toyed with the packaging. For the bad boy of the school, your boyfriend sure did know how to be adorable. Instead of wearing his usual smirk, his eyes were squinted, as he tried to open the package.

“Give it here.” You extended your hand, opening the wrapper almost instantly after you had received the foil dressed protection. Alex took it back, holding onto his base as he rolled the condom onto his cock.

The sight of him handling himself had you biting your lip, a hunger growing in your chest. You leant back, waiting for him to clamber over top of you, which he did, as he began to position his tip at your entrance.

“You good?” He asked, placing one of his arms beside your head, enclosing you between him and the luxurious mattress. To answer his question, you jutted your hips towards him, gripping his shoulders, and so, he began to push into you.

Alex remained slow in his pace, stopping for a moment so that you could adjust to his size, only beginning to thrust when he knew that he wouldn’t hurt you.

“Oh my.” It felt better than last time, perhaps it was because you had grown and stretched to accommodate him once before. But nevertheless, as your eyes fluttered closed from the pleasure, Alex quickened his administration, cussing himself because of the pleasure.

The two of you had done things before last night, but it was different going all the way. There was something so sensual about having him inside of you, it was as though it connected your souls, or perhaps it just felt that way because of the hormones.

You moved your legs, lodging them either side of your boyfriend’s hips, pulling him closer and deeper. It reviled a groan from his throat, increasing the pleasure for both him and yourself. “Fuck.” He hissed, feeling himself begin to get close, and so he snuck his hand down and past your abdomen, and rubbed your clit.

“I’m cumming.” You informed him in your state of bliss. He too felt near to bursting, he doubted that he could ever feel better, but he could definitely feel predominantly worse.

“Nice neck.” Peter spoke to you, and it only drew the attention of your friends as well. Jean stifled her laughter as she heard your thoughts on how you could kill that fast running bastard, but Kurt was confused.

“Vhat iz it?” He asked curiously, tilting his head as he tried to study the strange marks. They were nothing like the religious symbols that he had crafted into his skin, there was no definition to the. They looked like bruises, and as Alex and Sean walked over, Banshee advocated himself to answer.

“They’re marks of love.” Alex kicked him, causing him to trip. Scott shook his head at his older brother’s behaviour, not surprised even a little by it.

“Just shut up.” Alex sighed, sitting on the grass beside you, and wrapping his arm around you.

“You also have them.” Kurt realised, looking at Storm for answers. Surely she would know, or at least tell him, no one was being specific enough.

“They’re called hickeys.” She sighed. “And it’s what two people give each other when they really really like each other.”

“And I’m going to guess that is why neither of you were in class this morning.” Scott spoke, his expression half unreadable due to the ruby quartz glasses, however, the image of him pretending to puke was far too visible.

“You are correct.”

“Stay out of my head Jean.” You shook your head at her impulse to do so, it couldn’t be helped, you knew that, but sometimes, you liked some privacy.

“Well... Charles is gonna have a field day giving the pair of you the talk.” Peter said, and it was clear that he had endured that experience far too many times.

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plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms · 4 years ago

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Nemesis: Retribution (3)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: EVENTUAL SMUT. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOURS. (18+ ONLY), polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, lots of angst, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, strong language, mentions of trauma, character death, fluff if you squint

A/N: We’re playing fast and loose with canon here people. Also thank you for the interactions. I love reading what you think and it helps me write the next chapters better. Also, I enjoy having someone to freak out with. Highlight of my life I swear to god. Enjoy!

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

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1:3 Hard Candy

Natasha stormed off the jet and into the conference room where she knew the rest of the team were waiting for them, fury radiating from her small frame. Catching sight of her target only made her grow angrier. She immediately ran up to Steve and growled up in his face causing him to immediately take a step back. Sam and Bucky were immediately alarmed, standing up to intervene and the latter's black vibranium arm whirring in preparation but Steve held up a hand to stop them.

"What the hell, Rogers? You send me on a mission with zero intel and this is what I find? Did you know?"

Steve's eyes narrowed down at her, the thick beard and longer hair adding even more to his already commanding presence. He knew exactly what Natasha was talking about and he did expect her to react this way.

"I wasn't sure, Nat. And I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up if I was wrong."

"And if you were right?" she scoffed.

Steve swallowed hard before he answered, the blue in his eyes calming considerably. "I thought the three of you deserved to be the first to know."

"What the hell is going on?" Bucky asked, arms crossed on his chest and brows deeply furrowed. They didn't even know about any mission.

Natasha chuckled humorlessly and backed off from Steve. She ran a hand through her hair, the red bleeding into the old blonde color, and gestured toward the door at the approaching people.

"Well you weren't wrong, Steve."

Shock.

That was the overall theme of the day it seemed. None of them could hardly believe that you were actually standing at the doorway. It's been ten long years and you were like the ghost haunting their dreams during that time, a pure and kind soul taken far too soon. Hell, they told stories about your selfless sacrifice to the new recruits. You had unknowingly become a legend.

A legend turned ghost story.

Now you looked more like a nightmare; dried blood caked your clothes and skin, a cold smirk lifting the corner of your lips, and a dangerous unhinged glint in your eyes.

"Well, I'll be damned," Sam breathed. "Y/N?"

"Hey, Sam," you said, the almost flirtatious lilt in your voice sending a shiver down their spines. "I go by Nemesis now."

"Nemesis?" Bucky snapped out of his daze, brows raised high and his jaw clenched, features seen clearer now with his shorter hair. "The notorious mercenary Nemesis?"

"I prefer private contractor."

While they had been honoring your memory, you had been building a ruthless reputation of your own that was widely considered on par in violence with The Punisher but with the added disturbing fact that you could be hired. Of course, no one but a select few knew who you actually were.

Until today.

Nemesis. The Greek goddess of divine retribution and revenge. A name that suited the dark avenging persona you had adapted and the only purpose you now lived for. In a twisted kind of way, you were doing the same work they were only with far less finesse and none of the righteous for the good of mankind purpose they usually had.

You shrugged, sitting yourself casually down on the nearest chair on the other end of the long table from where they stood. You have had a long night, your feet were tired and they were still looking at you with absolute confusion and disbelief. This looked like it would take a while.

You rolled your eyes as you unbuckled your stained bulletproof vest, throwing it haphazardly on the table. You hazarded a glance at each one of them as you made yourself comfortable, noting the changes in them too. The years had given way to a solemn maturity to each one, it seems things had changed for them too.

"Now that I'm here, you have 12 minutes."

"12 minutes? Until what?" Steve stammered.

He couldn't keep his eyes off you, couldn't for the life of him reconcile the person he was seeing in front of him with the person he knew. From your expressions to your movements and even to the tone of your voice, you were just so different and yet it just seemed to make you a more magnetic presence. Fresh guilt washed over him, knowing that he had failed you as your Captain. They should have kept looking for you.

"You'll see. 11 minutes now. Either ask your questions or tell me what you want."

"We all thought you were dead," Steve muttered, taken back by your hostility.

"Well that obviously didn't stick. How did you find me, Cap?"

It was Steve who found you. At first he couldn't believe it was really you, but the split second glimpse he got of your eyes from the body cam on one of the field agents weeks ago drove him to obsessively dig further. It was a shot in the dark when he sent Natasha and the twins on the mission tonight.

"By chance," he admitted. "We've been chasing a group of people suspected to be manufacturing and selling the super soldier serum. Our agents have had a few close encounters with you. I think we're going after the same people."

"So you're asking for intel?" you snorted, absentmindedly picking at the bloodstains on your sleeves.

"No," he said cautiously, wary at how relaxed yet tightly coiled you looked. "I'm offering you your spot back with the team."

You almost choked on the laugh that just escaped your lips. You couldn't help the short bark of laughter at the ridiculous proposition. Looking at their faces though it seemed that the offer was serious, although the reluctant look in their eyes at your transformation showed their inner conflict. You straightened your features and shook your head, the amused smile still on your lips.

"Look, I'm not exactly on brand for you guys anymore." You leaned forward with your arms on the table and landed your eyes squarely on Bucky's, the venom unmistakable. "Besides, I seem to recall I was deemed not cut out for this team."

Bucky felt like his soul left him at your words. There was a Molotov cocktail of emotions raging inside him; surprise, shame, relief, anger, guilt, and longing. It was killing him knowing that he had a hand in how drastically you had changed. He was deathly afraid of finding out your full story. He wanted to talk to you, wanted to beg for your forgiveness and make things right. How many chances would anyone get to redeem oneself with a ghost? He couldn't find the words though, his throat going dry and his tongue heavy in his mouth.

"Y/N, you know that's not the truth," Steve tried to insist.

"I'm not Y/N anymore and I already have a team." You waved a hand dismissively. "Also your 12 minutes are up."

All at once the power cut out in the Compound, drenching the room into darkness punctuated by the flashing emergency lights. You felt yourself get lifted off your seat and the next moment you were standing behind a formation of Avengers in the arms of the resident speedster, your arms on his chest to steady yourself from the daze of the sudden movement. His muscles were tense beneath your hands but his expression was gentle as he looked down at you.

He had wanted to rush over to you the moment you revealed your face. He wanted to hold you, jump for joy, speed around the entire city with you in his embrace. How you were alive didn't matter to him.

Only that you were.

It was only at Wanda's warning for him to stay back that he did. She showed him that you weren't the same person anymore and that they weren't sure whether you would still be friend or foe. To Pietro though, you weren't different.

You were just angry.

To him you were still his little star despite the others thinking you were closer to a supernova now. His little star was just hurting and he decided that he would do everything in his power to help you heal. He held your head tighter to his chest, intending to protect you from the anticipated danger and ready to get you to safety at a moment's notice.

"What the damn hell is going on?" Sam yelled, readying his guns.

A figure silently jumped through the window and rolled on the floor to stop right in front of the group, jolting the Avengers to defend. He stood to full height and took a fighting stance; clad in head to toe red, billy clubs at the ready, and horns glinting in the sparse light atop his head.

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

"Let Nemesis go," he growled.

Natasha stepped forward, snapping her own batons in place. The crackling of the electricity from it sent lights to dance on the menacing expression on her face. The rest of the team watched closely the other entry points, expecting more to come in and if the first was any indication then they were in for a real fight.

Footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway, loud and not at all trying to be concealed. Walking straight through the front door, were two towering men in heavy military gear each holding an assault rifle aimed at the group. The sneer on one lent a dangerous taunting aura to his surprisingly handsome features as if to say just fucking try me. While the other had a burning steely focus that instinctively made anyone back off, the emblem on his black vest told them exactly who he was.

The Punisher.

The Avengers snapped to attention, each one drawing their weapons and aiming back. The air was crackling with animosity and fingers that itched to pull their respective triggers. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the first to break the standoff in the enclosed space. Willing for someone to break it.

You laughed.

The disorientation at your reaction was palpable across the room. You patted Pietro's chest, grinning up at him in reassurance that everything was fine. He released you from his hold reluctantly and let you step out of the protective cluster they had inadvertently formed around you. The three newcomers visibly relaxed the slightest bit at the sight of you.

"Weapons down," you said calmly, eyeing each one in the room. No one budged. "All of you. Now."

Steve being the first one to lower his shield was the catalyst in diffusing what could have been the fight of the century. As outnumbered as the newcomers were, they lacked nothing in skill and precise brutality. Frank followed in lowering his weapon and soon everyone did the same. There was still tension but at least it was now reduced to intense glaring.

You tutted and shook your head as you strutted your way to your three rescuers. "What I needed was a ride home, Frankie. Not a goddamn full extraction op."

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, not sounding at all apologetic and knowing you weren't really angry if the tired amusement on your face was anything to go by.

He smiled at you, that small open quirk at the corner of his mouth that was always accompanied by a roll of his tongue. He reached for you when you got close enough, drawing you close with a burly arm around the back of your shoulders. He kissed you on the forehead, a lingering gesture that clearly showed an intimacy between the two of you. The soft look on his face was reserved only for you and when he raised his face to the Avengers it was back to the cold threatening glare.

"Can you blame us though?" His voice came out gravelly, a favorite sound of yours. "The last time you were with these guys you were captured and tortured."

Tortured.

The word hung heavy in the air and though your back was turned, you could imagine the look on the faces of your former team. They didn't know about that yet. How could they when they had believed all this time that you died in the explosion?

"You forgot to mention blown up," Matt added, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his lips.

He removed his helmet, floppy brown hair instantly softening his persona. He peppered kisses on your palm and the inside of your wrist as he breathed in your scent to calm his own anxiety. He almost lost it when Billy had called saying that you had been taken. He was usually the last one to jump to immediate violence in your group, but the thought of you gone filled him with irrational fear. The possibility that history could repeat itself was unacceptable to him.

"I should have come with you."

"I could handle it and Billy was with me."

"Lot of good that did," he scoffed, switching to lightly biting your wrist. This wasn't unusual. Being blind, he relied on a more intense physical reassurance that everything was still as it should be.

"They weren't gonna hurt me, Matty," you argued, but it was more to help settle his nerves.

"All right, leave the foreplay for later," the last of the trio said, pulling you by your other hand closer to him.

He held you tightly by the waist and pressed you close, molding your body to his in a practiced motion. The smile on his face was scandalous and the mischief in his eyes was one that spelled trouble. The cheeky bastard winked at you before dipping his head to lay open mouthed kisses on your neck up to your ear right along your old scars. Shivers went down your spine and you couldn't help the low hum as your body reacted instinctively to him, stepping closer still until you could feel the heat of his body through his gear.

You knew exactly what he was doing. He was always the quickest to show affection in front of company, but this was a particularly golden opportunity for him to stake his claim in front of people he believed did not value you enough. Billy wouldn't be Billy if he didn't take it.

"Hey, pretty girl."

Across the room, the Avengers watched on with blatant curiosity at the apparent intimately familiar exchanges. It wasn't as much the fact that three men were bathing you with affection, but more that this cemented how far removed you were from their memory of you. They knew you as a starry-eyed recruit who stuttered at light teasing and preening at the slightest validation.

"Y/N," Steve called for you, forcing you to step away from Billy for the moment. You turned around to face them but Billy didn't let you go far, slinging his arm over your chest and this time contorting his body to yours.

"I told you, Steve. I'm not Y/N anymore," you said, a fleeting sadness flashed in your eyes before it was replaced with a firm pride. "And this is my team."

"We're taking our girl home," Frank declared, the threat underneath didn't need to be verbalized. If they took you again, it wouldn't end well for anyone.

"Wait!" Steve said urgently, halting your exit. "We'll hire you."

It was a last ditch effort. He was grasping at straws to keep you from disappearing from their lives again. He knew that if you walked out that door now there was no chance of ever getting you back. He just could not let that happen. This would only be temporary at best, but at least it would buy him time to convince you of a more permanent arrangement.

"Not interested."

"Nem." Matt as usual cautioned you from being too hasty. "Is this about the syndicates?"

You sighed. Matt was like a dog with a bone now. There was no choice but to let him chew on it. This was particularly important to him because the syndicates had been running amok in Hell's Kitchen and he was starting to find it difficult to keep his backyard clean.

"Yeah, apparently the stuff we found in the shipment yard was for making super soldier serums. The Avengers have been following the trail too."

"Why not just join forces then? We can get this done and over with a lot faster with their help," he reasoned.

"We're doing fine on our own, Matty."

"Matt has a point, sweetheart," Frank cut in. "We've been chasing this for years. I know a part of you is just itching to end all of this."

"It might help us find him faster. Do you really want to spend another ten years pulling at threads?" Matt added.

You closed your eyes, hands clenching at your sides to control your anger. It grated at you when they ganged up on you like this, but your anger was more because they were right and you knew it. You hated it, but they were right.

It was Billy who intervened, pulling you again to hug you from behind. His hold was firmer than before, aimed more to calm your shaking body. His voice came out calm, but resolute. His first priority was always making sure you were okay and you obviously weren't okay with this.

"You heard the lady. It's a no."

Frank and Matt sighed and shook their heads, but backed off. They weren't about to push you about this no matter how much they knew this would help you. They'll try again to convince you later, but they weren't optimistic. It was fortunate for them that there was more than just one stubborn person in the room.

"Please," Steve interrupted. You had almost forgotten that there were other people in the room. Almost. "We need your help. They have someone who keeps getting in our way and every time we get close he either fights us long enough for the trail to grow cold or leads us on wild goose chases. We can't let that serum be available to whoever can pay for it."

He didn't know what it was that he said that made all of your heads snap in his direction. Your eyes in particular were suddenly wild with barely restrained fury. He would take it. At least he had your attention.

"We can't let that happen, Nemesis," he finished, making sure to use your preferred name. Anything to possibly get himself into your good graces.

"Do you have a name?" you ground out.

"What?"

"A name, Steve. Do you know who this guy is?"

"By the way he fights he seems to be a merc too. Looks like military background though from where I'm not sure," he said slowly, carefully choosing his words in the hopes of you changing your mind. "He goes by Salvacion."

"We're in."

Earth's Mightiest was stunned at the sudden reversal of your decision. As firm as you had rejected the offer, you were jumping at it now with the addition of your own team.

"Let's get one thing straight though, Cap," you began, the rage still burning in your eyes like wildfire. "My team and I will work with you. It's all of us or none of us. We'll help you lock up the syndicates and destroy the serum. We'll play nice, but Salvacion is mine."

Steve took a deep breath, relieved that you had agreed but also deeply concerned at your visceral reaction to a name. He had to ask.

"Why?"

"Because that's the motherfucker who killed my sister."

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A/N: I feel like you guys have more questions now. Come freak out with me through the comments and reblogs! I write faster when people freak out with me. It’s the truth. Now that you’ve seen our girl with ALL our strapping men, what do you think? Who are you most curious about now?

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bruno-madrigal-writings · 3 years ago

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The Seer and the Baker - Pt. 17

Summary: Things finally end and everyone starts the long process of moving on.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt. 9 Pt. 10 Pt. 11 Pt. 12 Pt. 13 Pt. 14 Pt. 15 Pt. 16 Pt. 17 Epilogue

Read it on AO3!

@tigreost @mangoberry99

Word Count: 3.5k

WARNINGS!!

Blood, death, panic attacks

The weather only got worse as the hour passed, thunder rumbling through the town and lightning thrashing across the sky. It got so bad, any searching for the missing couple had to be put on hold.

Which, of course, only made the weather worse.

Félix kept up his position by Pepa’s side, pulling every trick he knew and even trying new things to try and calm her down. They had disappeared into her room a few minutes ago, which helped to lessen the storm some, but still not enough.

Julieta stayed in the kitchen, working her stress out on a lump of dough, kneading far too hard for it to be any good, but that hardly mattered. She just needed to be there and be doing something. What if they came back? What if they were hurt? She needed to be ready to help. Augustine sat at the small table, a silent companion as the minutes dragged on with no word

Alma hated it. She hated the whole situation. She hated that she was so useless, that her own bebé varón was out there in this storm, facing a dangerous man while she was now stuck at the house. He could be hurt, he could be badly injured, he could be dead, and she had no way of knowing. All she could do was pace about her room, clutching her locket in shaking hands, murmuring prayers under her breath. She stopped at her window, the light of the candle bright despite the storm raging outside, staring out into the dark of the night.

“Oh, Pedro.” She sighed, a prayer to her dear husband. “Please, keep him safe. Wherever he is, whatever is happening, bring him one in one piece. Please.”

The only answer was the rolling thunder.

Laila decided that Diego had to be the stupidest man she had ever met. He really couldn’t tell how serious she was, could he? He couldn’t sense any sort of danger, thought of her as nothing but a helpless woman. The thought made her lip curl as the brute rushed at her, knife raised as if to plunge it into her.

It wasn’t difficult to dodge him, a simple step to the side, dancing around his movements. She dared to glance over the man’s shoulder to where Bruno was, still kneeling on the ground, struggling to get himself together. It seemed even that quick check was too much of a distraction and Diego managed to cut her across her stomach before she could get out of the way completely. She hissed in pain, deciding enough was enough.

In that single moment, it finally became too much. This man, this filthy, disrespectful, rude, violent, worthless, absolute waste of life. She couldn’t stand him. She had hated him before, but this. This feeling that washed over her was something she had never experienced before. Fury was too gentle, anger not even a spark in comparison, loathing too kind a word. Whatever it was, it burned inside her and for a moment, for a single, life-altering moment, she knew nothing else. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t even tell what was happening around her. There was only this fire, burning her up from the inside out until she was sure there would be nothing left of her but ash.

Bruno forced himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the tree behind him, arm cradling his stomach. He could only watch, eyes wide in fear and awe, at the sight before him.

Laila looked like an angel about to deliver God’s judgment to this poor, unknowing soul. Lightning flashed, illuminating the droplets of rain on her skin like so many burning stars, igniting the fire in her eyes that made his legs even weaker. She stood tall and resplendent, despite the mess that was her hair and the blood that stained her clothes and seeped into her shirt.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion yet all too fast at the same time.

Lightning flashed again as Diego lunged for her, face twisted in the ugliest expression, a demon searching to strike her down. She stared him down, the look in her eyes making him falter, as if he would catch on fire if he got too close. For a split second, he could see the look on the man’s face, confusion and dawning dread as he realized a second too late that something was wrong.

She stepped to the side right as he reached her, a hand grabbing at the front of his shirt. She used the momentum to curl herself around him, chest against his back, the metal of her knife glinting a final time as the lightning flashed.

Everything went still. He wasn’t even sure either of them were breathing.

Then, what felt like an eternity, Diego collapsed to the wet ground, staring at the sky above him. There was a sound, like a bubbling wet gasp, a hand grasping desperately at the grass, as if he could find something that would help. But there was nothing there but mud, the substance caking his fingers and hands, seeping into his clothes.

Laila watched his struggles with empty eyes, the fire he had seen only moments before already dying out just as the man was. It was terrifying.

Finally, the man gave a final garbled gasp before stilling entirely, his body sinking into the ground fully, eyes staring unseeing.

The only sound was the rain falling against the ground and Bruno’s own labored breathing.

“Laila?”

He cringed at his own voice, far too loud in that moment. She looked up at him slowly, blinking, face blank, then back down at the body. A frown marred her face, eyes frantic as they took the sight in. It looked like she was fighting to break from some sort of trance, mind fogged down by something.

Her eyes suddenly widened and she let out a strangled sort of sound, stumbling back, the knife falling out of her hand and to the ground with a small thud. She tried to bring a hand up to her face, to cover her mouth, but she suddenly realized how much blood was on them, both hers and his. She fell to her knees, staring at her shaking hands. She looked like she was going to be sick.

He made his way to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. She jumped at the sudden touch, head snapping to him.

“Bruno?”

He nodded, sitting by her.

“I’m here, I’m okay, you’re okay. Here.” He struggled to pull his ruana over his head, wincing at the painthe raked through his body at the movements. Once he had managed to pull it off, he bundled the soaked fabric up, tried ringing it out the best he could, and pressed it to her still bleeding stomach, trying to put pressure on the injury. Laila was slow to react but after a moment she took over, pressing the fabric closer to her.

“Come on, let’s go home.” he said, trying to encourage her to her feet.

She nodded, snapping out of whatever mindset had gripped her so tightly. She was quicker to get up than he was, helping to steady him. He leaned against her, wincing again, and she wrapped her spare arm around him. Once they were ready, they started the long walk home.

“Nothing?”

Julieta shook her head.

“No sign of them.”

Alma nodded, forcing herself to sit down at the little table.

“They’ll show up.” Augustine tried to encourage them. “They can handle themselves, I’m sure of it. They’ll be walking through that door any moment now.”

Alma respected the man’s attempts, but his words fell hollow. He hardly believed them himself. She murmured another prayer. She knew she would feel no peace until she saw her baby again, home safe and sound.

Casita started causing a commotion. The floors creaked and cabinets slammed open and closed, startling all her occupants. Augustine was quick to shoot out of the kitchen, the others following close behind him.

“Bruno!” Alma heard Pepa cry from the balcony and her heart stuttered in her chest.

The front door shut with a loud slam and there he was, her bebé, her niño, and he was hurt. There was a bruise covering a good portion of his face and every movement left him wincing in pain. Laila looked to be in far worse condition, barely able to keep herself on her feet. Her shirt was soaked through with blood and, if she looked close enough, she could see the discoloration of bruises around her neck. They were both dripping with rain and shivering from the cold.

Everyone was already there, crowding them and asking if they were okay.

“Please.” He said, voice trembling, the worry clear in his eyes. “Help her.”

Julieta had reacted before he had said a thing, taking in the most obvious injuries and ushering them into the kitchen. The two sat silently while she got what she would need, ignoring the questions of the other three young adults. Alma herself stayed quiet, observing how distant Lila seemed from the world around her and how worried that made Bruno. He held her hand, trying to offer some sort of comfort until Julieta returned.

“Eat.” She commanded them, handing the pastry to Laila first. She took it into her free hand and took a little bite. Once Julieta was sure she had swallowed, she handed the other one to Bruno who did the same.

After a moment or two, the others went quiet, waiting as if they expected answers. Bruno looked like he was mentally preparing himself to do just that, but Laila still looked out of it despite her injuries being healed.

“Mamá…”

She raised her hand, instantly silencing him.

“No, we will not be discussing this right now.” She decided. “The two of you need a change of clothes and rest. We can talk in the morning.”

He nodded, getting to his feet and sighing when the movement wasn’t met with pain. He tried to help Laila to her feet, offering his hand, but she didn’t accept it. She wouldn’t even look at him, just stared at the table. That blank look was still on her face, her eyes so empty, and Bruno couldn’t help the fear that was clawing its way up his throat, making it tight. He took her hand and squeezed, managing to draw her eyes to his.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” He told her in his gentlest voice, so quiet she could only just hear it. She looked up at him for a moment more before nodding, pulling her hand out of his and forcing herself to leave the room. Bruno could only watch as she left, a pained expression on his face.

Laila was clearly hurt, in shock from what had happened, and he had no idea how to help.

Laila changed in the bathroom, taking the opportunity to shower and clean up properly. Her numb mind registered that she was quite the mess and it wouldn’t do to be walking around like that.

She carefully peeled her clothes, wincing as they tugged at her skin where dried blood had glued them on. Once that was done she left them in a pile on the floor and got into the shower, sighing when the warm water hit her. For several long moments, she just stood there, watching the pink water as it flowed down the drain. Eventually, she forced herself to grab the soap and start cleaning.

She went through the motions, everything automated like she was some sort of puppet, forced through the steps while her mind was a thousand miles away.

She didn’t want to think about what happened, what she had done. She knew the moment she did she would fall apart, but she couldn’t do that. She had to be strong, she had to stay the pillar everyone saw her as. She couldn’t let it get to her, not yet at least. Perhaps in the comfort of her room, alone where no one could see her, perhaps then she would let herself feel, let herself ponder everything, the implications of her actions, the repercussions, what would happen next.

But for now, she needed to dry off and get dressed once more, this time in blue skirts and a white shirt. She cast a forlorn glance at the pile of cloth. That had been her favorite skirt, the same shade of green as Bruno’s eyes when he had his visions, a stunning color. They were ruined now, the blood having soaked into the fabric along the waist. The shirt was even worse off.

Amongst the bundles was another piece of fabric, a duller green splashed with the same shade of red as the others, the color of drying blood.

Bruno’s ruana. It had been ruined.

She recalled his struggles to remove it and giving it to her to stop the bleeding, soft hands against hers, voice gentle and calming. He cared so much, only sought to help her despite his own painful injuries. He could've died.

The thought sent her falling to the ground on her knees, the tiles cold beneath her. She couldn’t breath, the air catching in her chest and the burn of tears pricking at her eyes. Everything she had pushed away was suddenly flooding over her, a tidal wave that could not be escaped and she was drowning in it.

There was a knock at the bathroom door, a voice speaking out in a gentle murmur. She couldn’t make out the words, mind too foggy to focus that much, but she recognized the voice as Bruno’s. She sobbed, the sound tearing its way out of her chest painfully as she curled up into herself. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, doubling over until she felt the cool tiles against her forehead. She couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything. All she knew was panic and grief.

Bruno had gone to the bathroom to check on Laila. He had already dried off and changed into a fresh pair of clothes, though he still felt underdressed without the familiar weight of his ruana on his shoulders.

He tried to listen for a moment before rapping a knuckle against the wood.

“Laila? Are you doing okay?”

The only response was a broken sob and his heart dropped.

“I’m coming in.” He warned before cracking the door open and peering inside, relaxing the smallest amount when he saw she was at least dressed, but that hardly compared to the pain he felt when he saw her, sobbing on the floor, her hands buried in her hair and pulling.

He was by her side in an instant, ignoring the pain of his knees hitting the tile hard and scooping her up into his arms. She immediately clung to him, burying her face into his chest, her breathing coming out in sporadic gasps, her shoulders trembling under his hand.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” He murmured into her hair, rubbing circles into her back. “It’s okay, it’s over. Please, mi amor, you need to breathe. Just focus on me, okay? Breathe with me. Got it?”

She managed the smallest of nods, another gasping breath escaping her. Bruno nodded as well, finding her hand to press it against his chest, taking a slow, deep breath. She did the same, or at least tried to. It came out a bit shorter and stuck in her throat, but that was fine. She just needed time to calm down was all. Then they could talk about it in one of their rooms, probably hers since it was closer. At least then they would have some privacy.

Her second breath still clung to her lungs and struggled to get out, but the third was a little better, then the fourth was even better. It took time, but her breathing evened out and her tears slowed, though they never did stop.

“Do you think you can get up?”

She nodded, hesitating before forcing herself to let him go. He helped her to her feet and led her out of the bathroom, giving a passing glare to the pile of bloody clothes.

If Diego wasn’t already dead, he would have killed him himself.

Luckily, they reached the guest room without running into anyone and he was able to close the door behind them and settle Laila onto the bed.

“I’ll go get us some dinner, we can eat in here tonight. Is that okay?”

She nodded, running her hands through her hair.

“Gracias, Bruno.” She murmured, voice so quiet. It made him wince, but he hid the look by placing a gentle kiss on her temple.

“I’ll be right back.”

And he was true to his word. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later he was rentering the room, a plate in each hand. Casita opened and closed the door for him and he murmured a thank you. Laila was still on the bed, but now she was brushing her hair. Her eyes still stared at nothing, but after her meltdown in the bathroom some of the fire had returned. It wasn’t much, just a spark as she looked up at him, giving a shaky smile, but it meant she was getting better.

He set the plates on the nightstand, sitting on the bed behind her so he could wrap her up in his arms, nuzzling into the crook of her neck with a deep sigh. They stayed like that for a while, Laila combing through her hair and Bruno cuddling close. Neither spoke until the brush had been set aside.

“... okay?”

She nodded.

“‘M okay.”

A moment of silence.

“Do you … want to talk?”

She didn’t answer right away, playing with the hem of her shirt before sighing.

“Can we eat first?”

“Of course.”

He shuffled to the end of the bed to grab the plates and forks he brought before shuffling back over to hand her one of them. She thanked him and they ate in comfortable silence, content to be in each other's presence.

There wasn’t much talking to be done. After Bruno returned from putting the dishes away, all Laila could do was open her arms to him, silently begging him to come cuddle with her. He would never be able to say no to that, so he laid down next to her, letting her get comfortable before settling himself around her, one arm draped over her side and the other cushioning her head. He waited patiently as she struggled to find what to say.

“Take turns? I say what I’m feeling, then you?”

He nodded.

“Sounds like a good plan.”

“Okay …” She thought a moment longer. “I think I’m just … overwhelmed? I don’t regret what I did. Diego had it coming for a long time, I think. But it’s still … a lot you know? I think the thing I’m stuck on is …” She took a deep breath, doing her best to remain calm. “You almost died, Bruno. And it would have been my fault.”

Her voice tapered off into silence. He took that to mean it was his turn.

“I was scared. I was so scared he would kill, or he would hurt you in a way I couldn’t fix.” He took his arm off her side, bringing his hand up to cup her face and stare deeply into her eyes, such beautiful eyes. She didn’t deserve to have them spill tears so often. He gently laid a kiss on each eyelid, feeling her body relax at the attention. “I’m just so relieved that you’re okay. I’m happy that we’re safe and that we don’t have to worry anymore.”

She gave a little smile, nodding in agreement.

“It’s nice, not to have to worry anymore, at least about that.”

“Besides,” Bruno said, a mischievous smirk on his face. “Now at least we know we’d kill for each other.”

Laila looked shocked at his joke before bursting into giggles, shaking her head with a fond smile.

“It might be a bit early to joke about, cariño.”

He chuckled too, shrugging.

“Eh, that’s just how I deal with things.”

She giggled again, burying her head in his hair.

“Stay? Just for tonight.”

He huffed, letting himself nuzzle into her shoulder.

“Not sure mamá would like that much.” He murmured.

She scoffed and he could tell she was rolling her eyes even if he couldn’t see her face, making him smirk.

“She can give us one night. I think we’ve been through enough to earn that.”

And he didn’t really need much convincing, body already getting heavier as sleep steadily pulled at him. His only response was a noncommittal hum.

Casita turned the light off for them and they fell asleep in each other's arms. It would take some time before anyone would be able to fully heal. These sort of things didn't just disappear after one conversation. There would be many nights filled with nightmares of his hands on her, waking up breathless, a hand shooting up to caress her neck. But things would get better. They would one day be able to joke about in private in their room, giggling without a worry of nightmares. They would get better. Together.

#encanto #bruno madrigal #bruno encanto #bruno madrigal x reader #bruno madrigal x oc #reader insert #encanto reader insert #bruno madrigal writings

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badgirlcovenrep · 4 years ago

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The Goddess' Blessing (of a daughter)

Chapter One

(NOTES: the raylla adopts Tiffany fic everyone's been asking for

this is going on AO3 once I get home from my sister's but I wanted to post here first. If you'd rather read it there follow me and I'll post once it's officially in there.

Obs: Tiffany is six in this. Mostly because I wanted to write our witch moms carrying their baby and canonically she's like ten so..... and she's also like severely traumatized. We'll get to the healing soon enough though.

+ Edwin is the best papa. And Scylla has p much already adopted this kid, she just doesn't know it yet.

It's half past six p.m when their train screeches to a halt at the Chippewa station. In all the chaos of the last couple of weeks, Scylla hadn't realized Yule was well on it's way. It is still mid November, but the station has been prematurely decked in civilian Christmas decorations, and almost every wall and corner twinkles in golden speckles and fake pine.

Tiffany had been dozing in and out of sleep on the bench next to her, holding tight to her stuffed parrot as well as Scylla's coat sleeve with her restless small hands that spasmed in pure energy even as she slept. Since coming back from Nicte's mission, Scylla had been in a frenzy to get everything ready for their trip, and Tiffany had followed her around the (no longer safe) safe house, clinging on to her attention with wide blue eyes. She'd always liked kids. Before everything happened Scylla even used to babysit for dodger families.

It was never a lot of money, but she appreciated the levity and humor kids carried. They had hope Scylla prayed she could one day get back. Hope that could only come from the fleeting innocence of childhood. But even then, Tiffany was special, she still had all those wonderful, bright things, and she carried them in bulk, spilling out of her tiny little hands for anyone to see.

Yet she was also touched by things so horrible Scylla sometimes shuddered awake in the dead of night, when her mind conjured up terrible nightmares of being in her place. Of being squeezed into a tiny cage, fed dog food, strung up on a stage as masked psychopaths snickered and passed around stones bigger than fists. It showed, sometimes, in how every once in a while her expression became somber and reserved. How she stopped mid-sentence, and Scylla could see the glint of tears in the corners of her eyes.

It reminded her of Raelle - Raelle, who'd sat in her bed just yesterday and snacked on the stupid expensive popcorn her mother had bought - Raelle, who also carried so much darkness behind her strong, steady demeanor - those were the parts of her Scylla couldn't help but want to protect, and as a result, those feelings also extended to Tiffany. Scylla lost a lot of people in her life, and she'd decided the day she found the child's parents that she would do whatever it took to keep her safe. Just like she wished someone might have done for her. Because that sort of hidden, desolate pain could just as well transform itself into something entirely awful if exploited the right way.

People around her start getting up from their seats, reaching to the compartments for their luggage, there aren't many of them making their way up North this time of year but they still fill the cart in humming conversations, deciding on what to do next or where to get dinner. Scylla takes this as her cue to skim her fingers through Tiffany's hair, gently nudging her awake, "Hey, T, wake up, we're here."

The little girl sits up, bleary eyed, and yawns, looking around at the commotion, "it's already Christmas?" She asks, catching a glimpse of the boisterous decorations set up outside.

"Not yet, no." Scylla chuckles, getting up from her seat to retrieve their own bags - they had everything the two could think to bring, and yet were still not much. A duffel bag for Scylla and purple backpack for Tiffany, with unicorn stickers and colorful buttons sewn to the front. Scylla had retrieved it, along with some toys and clothes, from the girl's home, "People just love decorating early."

"Oh." Tiffany quips, as Scylla helps her fit her arms into the straps of her backpack, then takes her hand in a steady grip once they are done, pulling the young girl towards the door to leave the train, "The lights are pretty!" She exclaims happily, blinking in wide eyed wonder.

Outside, November has definitely made itself known, and Scylla is glad they are both warm in their coats as the wind bites her cheeks until they turn a dark blush. She looks around for Edwin, not sure she'll recognize him from the pictures she'd seen Willa scatter around the house, but still willing to try.

For a second, in that moment, she thinks this might not have been a good idea. When Scylla agreed to it, she'd admittedly not been in her full faculties, brain too preoccupied with seeing Raelle again after so long to completely comprehend what she'd been offered.

After everything that happened, she can't help but be a little nervous to meet the father of her ex (?), the same girl she still very much loved. The girl who had run back to her in that dark forest a day before and clung onto her face until all they could breathe was each other.

If she thought too much about it, Scylla could still feel the soft, almost painful impact of her lips as Raelle knocked her off her balance and breathed fire into her chest like molten lava. It'd been so long, she almost forgot the kind of power Raelle had when she kissed. Like she was always on the verge of tasting your very soul. Their whole day back together before was so very delicate and tentative, air fizzling with electricity like the tension of a bow, pulled tight with an arrow ready to shoot.

The time they've been separated her heart was squeezed tight under an elastic band. Whenever she stopped to think, even for a minute, she could feel it taught, so very strained, reaching from the very inside of her ribs. It was there from the very start. The tightness was what propelled her diaphragm into breathing Raelle in that very first night they spent together, even if she knew she shouldn't, and then, it was what kept them orbiting around each other like their very own solar system. Never too far apart. Always wishing to be closer.

When they kissed in the clearing, hairs messy with the wild strumming of the bat just a few feet away, for the first time, she felt like the band released. The invisible string, so very tight, loosening from under her heart to extend around the both of them and wrap them in what Scylla could only describe as exhilarating, shaking relief. The touch of Raelle's cotton gloves, that she never thought she'd feel again - the taste of her lips, like blood and rain droplets and a mouthful of just her.

It left Scylla running on a high since she walked away from Raelle just the day before, in the early hours of the morning.

It's not how she hoped she'd meet Raelle's dad. Deep down, no matter how much she tried not to, Scylla had imagined herself, more than once, coming to the Cession hand in hand with the blonde fixer. In love and together, going home to meet the parents. It's bittersweet to be here with Tiffany instead, and she has to squeeze the young witch's hand slightly to ground herself from the urge to run.

To just take the child's small body in her arms and run- leave the station in lieu of a cheap motel, one with vending machines, where they could hide from the world a little longer.

When the witch looks down, however, Tiffany smiles reassuringly back at her, squeezing her hand slightly in return, and Scylla can't help the wave of affection that washes over her.

"Excuse me? Are you Scylla and Tiffany?" A voice coming from behind wakes them back from the moment, and when they turn, both come face to face with Edwin Collar.

Scylla's sure it's him. If not because he does still look quite a lot like the pictures she's seen, then because the necromancer can definitely see the telltale signs of Raelle written all over his face. It's mostly there in the kind drop of his eyelids, and the way his mouth creates tiny wrinkles of soft skin when he smiles, but it's there, nonetheless.

"Yes, we are, nice to meet you, Mr. Collar." Scylla greets, settling down her bag to shake his hand.

"Of course, it's amazing to finally meet you. Raelle talked you up a storm," he declares, chuckling proudly, "only good things, I assure."

"Oh, I'm sure I don't deserve that." She let's out, hoping it sounded more playful than it feels for her.

"Nonsense. You seem like a kind girl." The man decides, with a solemn nod, before turning to Tiffany, "and you- Tiffany, I'm very happy to have you with me this week as well, I'm sure we'll have lots of fun together."

"Thank you, Mr. Collar." The small blonde replies, half-hiding herself behind Scylla's pant leg.

"Let's go then. It's getting cold." Edwin finally declares, taking Scylla's bag from the floor without a question. The girl goes to complain, but he cuts her off before she can - "and don't fight me on this. Raelle also never let's me carry her bags, for once I'd love to help."

Scylla still wants to protest. Mostly because she feels that they have already asked so much - and she doesn't quite deserve the kindness - but he seems sincere, so she nods instead, and with the affirmative, all three begin their way to the parking lot.

"Is Raelle your friend?" Tiffany asks innocently, skipping happily over her boots.

"Uh- she- yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Well, you said we were going to a friend's dad's house." Tiffany notes. "Where is Raelle then?"

"About that-" Edwin stops in his step, "did you see her? How is she?" He asks, an uneasy tension settling over his demeanor as he studies Scylla for answers, "they told me she was alive but that was it-"

"She's okay. I saw her yesterday, she was well." The brunette assures, and that seems to send a wave of relief over the man, who breathes deeply before continuing their walk along the various cars.

"Oh, thank goodness." He sighs, "when those people took her I thought- I'm so glad she's okay."

"Yeah. We were all worried." Scylla declares. And this, she can relate to. The way he cares so much for Raelle, it spills into the very movement of his expressions. It's familiar, and it warms her heart. She decides right then that she likes Edwin.

"Did the bad people take Raelle too?" Tiffany questions, frowning in scared surprise as they reach Edwin's old truck.

Scylla sighs, not having revealed much of the mission she'd gone on the day before. She knew it'd be scary for her. Tiffany was still very much traumatized, and rightfully so, after everything she'd been through. But Tiffany was also very smart- and observant. She'd catch up eventually and Scylla feels stupid for not dealing with this before coming.

"Yeah. They tried to hurt her, but me and her other friends didn't let them." The necromancer assures, as she helps the girl into the backseat and clicks in her seatbelt, "she's okay now. We're all safe here."

"Oh- Okay." Tiffany nods, but Scylla can see the doubt shining under her eyes.

Scylla wishes she knew what to say, but words fail her, so she squeezes the girl's hand reassuringly once more, winking in what she hopes is humorous solidarity, before closing the door.

***

Raelle's house is just like she imagines- small, rustic - surrounded by a thick canopy of trees and bushes. It reminds her of the places she used to stay with her parents, scattered over random cities all over the U.S. Scylla likes it.

"It isn't much, but we always have warm dinner and pancakes in the morning." Edwin quips, humbly, as he leads the pair of witches to Raelle's room, "you can stay here. Hope it is comfortable."

"This is more than enough, Edwin." Scylla smiles gratefully, "it's too much, really. Thank you for letting us stay."

"Nonsense." He waves his hand with a half embarrassed chuckle, "It's good to have people here again. After Rae and Tally left everything feels a lot quieter." Scylla nods in agreement, as the man turns to leave the room, the two witches inside watching him carefully, "You guys should change and rest a bit- I'll call you for dinner.

Scylla thanks him, and waits until the door clicks behind his back to turn her attention to the luggage that had been settled over a random chair. The room is filled with so much Raelle, she can't help but notice the letters, pictures, memories and song lyrics, glued to every single wall, from a time before Fort Salem, before them.

The blonde used to leave notes on her dorm walls back at Fort Salem. Lots of silly things like "I'll be back after training" or "You fight people in your sleep. It's cute.". Scylla wonders if they are still there or if they've been taken by the army when she was captured. It doesn't matter anymore, the necro realizes, and she shakes her head in an effort to bring her attention back to the room.

"You should put on some pajamas." Scylla says toward Tiffany, who sat, grievously quiet, at Raelle's bed.

She looked thoughtful, in a way regular six year olds don't quite show unless they have to go through way too much. Her small, bright eyes hide barely concealed darkness as she shifts her looks everywhere but at the older witch.

Scylla sighs, finding this place - this relationship - so very painfully familiar. She'd been the scared little girl last time, feeling so very small and alone. And now, as the adult, she was definitely going to try her best not to fuck it. As difficult as it might be. The world didn't need another suffering witch.

After a few minutes of silence, Scylla realizes she was not going to get an answer, so she opens the girl's backpack and fishes out a pair of mermaid themed leggings and t-shirt, along with the small bag that carried her tooth and hair brushes along with some other toiletries. Scylla places the items by Tiffany on the mattress, kneeling in front of the young witch and studying her clear, soft little face.

"Hey. Are you feeling alright?"

"Are the bad men coming here to hurt us?" Tiffany asks, instead of a response, and Scylla frowns in worry.

"No, of course no-"

"They came and took Raelle too." Tiffany notices, tears escaping from her eyelids that Scylla dries up with her thumb, "and they hurt Miss Willa, the other kids' at the office and my mommy and daddy. What if they come here again? What if they really hurt us this time?" As the questions stumble out of her mouth, sobs begin to wreck across her throat until she's shaking, ever so slightly, with the force of her tears and heavy, panicked breathing.

Scylla sighs and rises from the ground to cuddle the girl close to her chest, squeezing tight until she can feel Tiffany's little arms squeeze her back. Scylla's afraid too - most of the time, if she allowed herself to be honest - Ever since watching Raelle leave her in that cell the year before, the girl could feel even more perfectly the path of death and destruction that marked their (the witches') way through the world.

One of the bad things about being a necro - Death didn't like not being known, and it showed itself insistently, to anyone able to notice.

"We don't know whether or not they'll come again." Scylla ends up responding, sincerely, as she squeezes her arms even tighter around the little girl, "but I won't let them hurt you, you hear me? I dealt with them before, I can deal with them again."

"No" Tiffany shakes her head, frowning up at her in teary-eyed fear, "You too. You're safe too. I don't want you to get hurt either."

"Hey." Scylla forces out a chuckle, trying to lighten up the situation for the young witch's sake, "don't be silly, ok? I'm pretty much invincible."

Tiffany doesn't laugh, her breathing having somewhat returned to normal. The girl just stares back at Scylla with a seriousness that's all too unfair, coming from a six year old, and she reaches out, her pinky finger lifted in expectation, "Pinky promise you'll be safe too? Please?"

Scylla knows she shouldn't. The truth is, she doesn't know what will happen. After their plan to capture Nicte was said and done, Scylla barely had any idea what she would be doing now. But Tiffany obviously needs the reassurance, from the way she stares ever so desperately at the necro's face.

"Okay, I pinky promise." Scylla smiles, trying to convey some calm toward the other girl as she let her pinky link with the smaller one. It seems to work, as Tiffany's expression softens and her tense posture falls, "now let's get you under a shower and into some pajamas, ok? You're a very smelly little witch right now."

"Am not!" Tiffany replies, and Scylla can't help but full on laugh this time, pulling the small girl to Raelle's bathroom as she mockingly protests.

Second chapter is almost done, just needs to be read over for mistakes. For C2, Raelle calls home, Scylla meets old dodger friends and she also has an important conversation with Edwin.

Hope you guys enjoyed!

#motherland fort salem #scylla ramshorn #raelle collar #raelle x scylla #motherland: fort salem #raylla #taylor hickson #amalia holm #mfs tiffany #tiffany mfs

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nightwishesworld · 4 years ago

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As the World Caves In

Warning: talk of blood and awhole ton of angst!

I’m not even a little sorry...

The castle was bombarded with hunters like never before. It seemed every corner you turned there was a band of the fuckers waiting for you with their weapons aimed to kill. You had been hit a few times already by a few stray crossbow bolts, and Alcina a few more times than that, but thankfully no bullets pierced your body. When they ran out of ammo they took whatever they could off the walls and either chucked it at you or charged at you, ornate weapon in hand.

There is no winning this time. There are far too many of them this time both inside and outside the castle. Brave ones stormed the castle armed only with primitive hunting weapons and ignorance. The smart ones stayed behind and waited outside to make their move.

Your only hope now was escaping into the forest, but you had no idea how you would manage that. They had the castle pretty much surrounded. Even if you somehow make it outside the castle you would only be bombarded again. Maybe even separated. That was worse than dying at the hands of an ignorant swine, in your mind. The thought of dying alone was the only thing that truly scared you. Death itself was still a scary thought process to have, but everyone will go through it eventually. Of course, it doesn't help that death seems to be knocking on your doorstep, looking for ways to get in, but going through it alone? Words can't do the raw fear justice.

You and Alcina managed to evade most of them on your way to the Upper West Wing. The lower levels of the castle were no longer safe. When the first wave of hunters hit they brought lighter fluid and torched just about anything they could get their hands on. Some were unfortunate enough to accidentally light themselves on fire in the process. It started with the curtains so you couldn't escape through the windows, then the rest of the furniture went up in flames as well. Each room the hunters passed through suffered the same fate. It was a real tragedy; all that fabric going to waste. You couldn't see three feet in front of you because of all the smoke. Even when Alcina had to carry you she tried lifting you above it, but there was hardly any difference. The girls will be making their way up to your destination if they weren't already there.

Luckily you managed to beat most of them upstairs, and the early birds were easy-to-kill targets. You could have decided to leave right then and there had you wanted to; it was the best opportunity of the night. But what kind of mothers would you be if you abandoned your daughters?

You found all three girls exactly where you hoped you would; holed up in Alcina's private study. They ran to embrace you both as soon as you passed through the doorway. Looking them all over you could see Bela was in the worst shape, but that wasn't surprising. More than likely a few of her wounds were from taking hits for her younger sisters. Just from hugging you, she left your side soaked in blood. Not that you could tell the difference between yours and hers. Dead or alive blood is still red. You noticed that someone had come alarmingly close to driving a stake through her heart.

Daniela was a pretty close second. Unlike her older sisters, Daniela was not a murderer. A torturer, absolutely, but ending a life was not as high up on the list of things Daniela likes as everyone thought. If they bothered to get to know the redhead they would know that. Once you did get to know her, the real her, you would see that Daniela is actually rather sensitive. She just has to trust you in order to show it.

Cassandra had faired the best out of the Dimitrescu siblings. Again, you weren't completely surprised. Cassandra got a kick out of killing. You were pretty sure she got off on ending a life. That wasn't to say she was left uninjured. Her cloak was missing and her clothes were riddled withbbullet holes and machete slices. It would have been hard to tell which was which with all the blood loss.

Alcina leaned against the locked door and sighed.

Daniela dragged you to sit on the couch as another coughing fit overcame you. The sweet redhead held your hand tight as you hacked up a bit of blood and spat it on the rug.

"What do we do now?" Cassandra asked.

No one answered. No one needed to answer. You were all sharing the same fears running through your head like a hivemind.

"I didn't wake up this morning thinking this would be our last night together," you say while rubbing circles on Daniela's hand with your thumb.

Tears gather in Alcina's eyes. "We can still escape through the basement."

You grimace at the thought. "You guys might be able to make it there, and it is a straight shot from there, but that's only if you make it as far as the basement entrance. Not to mention you have to have enough time to seal it behind you. Even if you're lucky enough to get there and shut the entrance behind you, there are still hunters galore waiting for you outside. Look, I can't go with you down there. Inhaling any more smoke will kill me long before hunters have the chance." You give Daniela's hand a squeeze once you notice the tears trailing down her cheeks. "It's the end of the line for me, Al. Take the girls and give it your best shot. I'll be waiting on the other side if all else fails."

Cassandra storms up to you, furiously wiping tears from her eyes and bares her fangs at you. She always did it to come off as threatening, but you know she's just scared. You accepted your fate already; death is inevitable even to the "immortal." The end simply just doesn't come to those special few with supernatural abilities. That's not how life works. There is nothing to cry over; this is not a new revelation for you.

"I won't make it either," Bela says in almost a whisper. "I'm too weak to transform into my swarm even if we make it to the basement safely. I don't stand a chance. I'd rather stay here with y/n."

Cassandra reaches for your free hand. "Me too."

Daniela agrees as well but doesn't have the words to say it. Otherwise, she'll cry, and Daniela would rather succumb to vampire hunters than cry openly in front of her entire family.

Alcina sighs and makes her way over to the free spot on the couch. "I never said we were abandoning anyone. I was just making a suggestion."

You look around at your family sat around you almost unbelieving. "You all would rather die with me instead of taking your chance at survival?"

Alcina's arm stretched behind the back of the couch to take your hand from Cassandra. "I'd rather live my last moments with you than survive until we meet again."

Your daughters nodded in agreement. "Live like a family die like a family."

The sentiment touched your soul. And like hell you were going to try to convince them otherwise.

The smoke came long before the hunters found you. You and Alcina collected your three beautiful daughters in between the two of you and held them close. Bela leaned against her mother's chest for support while Cassandra rested her head on Bela's shoulder, holding her and Daniela's hands on either side of her. Daniela was leaning totally against you wither her face buried in your neck as tears flowed freely. You tried calming her with hushed kisses to her temple and nuzzling her back. You never stopped holding her hand. One of Alcina's arms wrapped around her eldest daughter, rubbing up and down her arm while the other was still stretched along the back of the couch holding your hand through more coughing fits. Together you held your family, waiting for fate to come knocking at your door.

You didn't have to wait long, but for the first time in Romanian history, when those hunters came barging in the room, they didn't see a bunch of monsters at home amongst the burning flames. They saw a family, just like the ones they have, enjoying their last few moments on Earth in peace.

#lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #tall vampire lady #lady Alcina #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil 8

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i-have-a-wonky-eye-too · 4 years ago

Text

A Princess. A Queen. A Wife. A Mother.

Medieval Au

Princess Y/N Stark of York New must marry a man chosen by her brother, by the time she is 21. Her brother's council have the perfect man in mind, one that is terrifying and hell bent on having his Queen. But Princess Y/N's heart belongs to another, and luckily so does her hand in marriage. 'A princess is far more powerful than a king, my love. You have the power of merging families and kingdoms. You have the power of carrying hopeful heirs to the throne. You have more power than you know...'

Bold italics are flashbacks.

Series warnings: swearing, medieval views on women, arranged marriage, smut, bloodshed, violence, 18+ readers only

Part warnings: talk of arranged marriage, swearing, violence, blood, attempted kidnap

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<Part 4<

Part 5

The following day Steven promised he would spend the full day with you. After eating breakfast the two of you visited the local village. It was something Steven did when his busy schedule permitted him to, but it was something he always did when you were visiting. You had fallen in love with the villagers after your very first visit to the kingdom. They were all so pleasant and cherished their King. Another thing that reminded you of your home.

After spending a few hours visiting the market where you had lunch as well as buying one or two things, you went back to the castle so Steven could work on a couple of things in his study where you read one of his many books before the two of you had dinner together.

The following day you weren't able to spend that much time with Steven due to him needing to be present in meetings, again. You were left in the company of Sir Clint Barton who was an expert archer and your teacher for just that. The two of you spent hours practising before Steven managed to escape the dreaded meeting he was in and joined you for a little while before the two of you had some lunch. He reluctantly returned to his 'Kingly duties' as he put it with an eye-roll making you laugh. That night you ate with your ladies-in-waiting in your chambers, a little disappointed not to be seeing the King again that night.

"Tell me, Bucky, you spent some time in Wakanda with King T'Challa, didn't you?" You looked back to the man behind you.

King Steven had decided the two of you, along with Bucky and Sam were going to spend the day riding and doing a little hunting. You had a feeling Steven wanted to get out of the castle and away from his council.

"I did, Your Highness," Bucky answered.

"Would you say he's a kind man?" You asked curiously. "I've only met him once but I felt perhaps he was."

Bucky nodded, "He is one of the kindest souls I have had the pleasure of knowing, Your Highness."

"What about King Thor, Steven, is he kind?"

Steven nodded with an almost silent grunt, "He is... Although, you may find conversation with him a little slow, Princess." Steven grinned cheekily at you.

You giggled nodding, "Yes, I have had the pleasure of meeting him once or twice, Your Majesty."

As kind and as brave as King Thor was, his lack of knowledge on matters other than battle and maidens he's bedded, made conversation a little unbearable if you weren't someone with a cock between their legs.

"Are you not going to ask about Prince Loki, Your Highness?" Steven asked in a playful tone.

You scowled playfully at him. "Oh, I am glad you find amusement in my turmoil, King Steven." Steven chuckled making you scoff but smile none the less at him. You did enjoy the teasing between the two of you.

"I think we'll stop here," Steven spoke after a few minutes further riding into the woods. He was quick to dismount and offer his hand to you. He smiled tenderly at you as he held you steadily by the waist. "Okay?"

You gulped, nodding your head, "Yes... thank you,"

You smoothed your dress out stepped around his bulking frame, suddenly feeling shy under King Steven's gaze.

Slowly the four of you began to walk through the trees. Steven and Sam held a crossbow each with Steven on your left as you walked alongside Bucky.

"Rabbit, in front," Sam called out quietly before Steven aimed and fired at the rabbit a hundred or so feet in front of you.

"Good shot, Your Majesty." Bucky praised Steven as he moved forwards and collected the rabbit. His eyes seemed to wonder over your shoulder for a brief moment as he moved back to where he was stood before.

The four of you continued to walk on, conversing softly as you kept an eye out for rabbits. Each aim of the King's crossbow was on target, and soon the rabbits were mounting up.

"Would you like to have a go, Y/N?" Steven asked as he began to reload his crossbow.

Your eyes widened a little in surprise, "Oh, I'm not sure I'd be able to. It's a lot different to a bow and arrow."

Steve shook his head with a reassuring smile. "I'll teach you," He held his arm out towards you and waved you over to him.

You drew in a shaky breath as you slowly walked over to him, taking his hand he offered to you and allowed him to pull you in front of him. You gasped as Steve held the crossbow in front of you with both hands, caging you in. Shivers ran down your spine as his breath tickled the back of your neck.

"Take this hand," He reached down with his left and held yours, "Place it here," He put your hand into position. "Then put your other hand here," He did the same with the other hand. "Relax your fingers, Y/N, that's it... Then you just pull back, until it's in position... like that," He whispered as he moved your hand once more, showing you how to aim, "And then, you press here, and-" The arrow shot from the crossbow with a whistle through the air and landed in the bark of a tree with a crunch. "Perfect!" He praised you.

You grinned from ear to ear, "I hardly did anything, Steven," You turned to look at him over your shoulder.

"Everyone has to start somewhere, Princess," Steven smiled down at you. You were still stood in front of him with his chest pressed to your back. "Let's see if we can find you a rabbit, shall we?" Steve took your hand in his and began to lead you through the trees.

It took some time and a lot of help from Steven but you eventually managed to catch your own rabbit using the crossbow. You were so excited when you were successful, you jumped up with a cheer and wrapped your arms around Steven's neck.

"Sam," Bucky called out as he picked up the last rabbit they had just shot. "Let's start binding these things together, shall we."

"I hope you don't mind me saying, Steven, but you don't quite seem yourself." You whispered as the two of you stood together leaving the two knights to tend to your catches.

Steven let out a heavy sigh, "I do apologise, Princess. There is no need to worry, I assure you." He gave you a smile to reassure you.

You frowned at him. You reached up and placed your hand on his arm, trying not to think about how his muscular bicep felt under your hand. "Steven, I'm no fool. I know there is something you're worried about." You gave him a gentle smile.

Steven let out a breathy chuckle, "How is it you know me so well, Princess?" He smiled down at you. He reached up and brushed a strand of your hair back from your face. "These damn meetings I've been having." He sighed, "The council seem to think, without a queen by my side, I am in no position to be leading the kingdom to victory." He frowned.

Your eyes narrowed in confusion. "Wait... They are forcing you to marry?" You gulped, feeling something foreign inside your gut as you thought about Steven marrying someone once again.

Steven nodded but before he could open his mouth an arrow was shot through the air from somewhere deep in the woods and landed in the tree between you and Steven, splintering the wood with a loud crack. Steven was quick to pull you into his arms and to draw his sword at the same time as Sam and Bucky.

"Did you see who it was?" Sam asked as he moved to stand before you and Steven to shield you as Bucky stood behind you, blocking the two of you from any more arrows.

Steven shook his head, "Bucky, who had you seen before?" He asked over his shoulder.

"Not sure, Your Majesty, it was just a glimpse of someone. I fear there may be more than one." Bucky answered, "Perhaps we should start making our way back to the castle, Your Majesty?"

"Agreed," Steven tightened his hold on you and slowly the four of you began to make your way back towards where your horses waited.

However, before you could get too far from your spot, another arrow was shot, this time it hit Sam's shoulder. He cried out in pain almost dropping his sword.

"Run, Y/N, you must go!" Steven ordered, pushing you forwards, leaving no room to argue. He knew your horse would keep you safe.

Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you ran as fast as you could. The sounds of swords clashing together and echoing off the trees around you, terrified you. You were desperate to know what was going on but you knew you had to run.

"Your Majesty!" Bucky cried out.

Your feet almost stopped moving and tears began to fall as the trees started to rustle from the winds. You strained your hearing, desperate to hear any sign of Steven. He couldn't be dead, he couldn't. You were so close to Storm, you could almost feel his warmth under your fingertips, you had to push yourself.

You screamed out in terror as an arm wrapped around your waist before a hand covered your mouth, muffling your screams. You clawed at the filthy hand that covered your mouth and kicked out your legs in front of you.

"Be quiet!" A deep voice ordered behind you whilst you were dragged backwards away from your horse.

You pulled the hand from your mouth the best you could and sank your teeth into it, ignoring the foul taste that hit your tastebuds. The man cried out in pain and let go of you. "STEVEN!" You screamed out, trying to move closer to the horses. The four of them stomping their hooves, bucking and whinnying, trying to break loose.

"Be quiet you little bitch!" A hooded man hissed as he hit the back of his hand across your cheek. The force of it knocking you off your feet. "Get up," He ordered as you laid on the floor. "I said, GET UP!" He bent over you as you kicked and screamed at him. You slapped your hand across his face, scratching your nails across his cheek and drawing blood, causing him to take a step back. He glared down at you as he drew a small blade from his boot. "You little-"

The man let out blood-curdling scream as Steven's sword was plunged into his side before he was kicked away from you.

"Sam, if he's not dead, fucking kill him," Steven ordered as he sheathed his sword and moved to where you were laid on the ground crying.

You stared up at him, fear in your eyes. He was covered head to toe in dirt and blood, some most likely his from the one or two gashes that you could see through his tunic. He looked every bit of the feared warrior you had heard stories about.

"Princess?" Steven whispered and bent down beside you as he held his hand out towards you, expecting you to take it.

"Oh, Steven!" You cried out, launching yourself towards him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your tears rolling down your face and soaking his tunic. "I thought I was never going to see you again."

"Shh, it's okay," Steven soothed, his large hands cradling the back of your head as you sobbed. "I've got you," He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "You're safe."

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Tags: @fckdeusername

#steve rogers #king!steve rogers x reader #Knight!Bucky Barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x reader smut #King!Steve Rogers #King!Steve Rogers x Stark!Princess!reader #King!Steve Rogers x Princess!reader #King!Tony Stark

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Note

I may or may not have just sent the 3 word challenge in my real account instead of anon... I'm sorry. Please don't answer there. :)

When you post, post answering here please.

Again, much love,

📚🌻

Don't worry dear! Your identity shall remain a secret 🥰 Here's yet another fic with my Resident Evil OC: Gwen Winters (she’s an adult guys, don’t worry. However this is still an Older Man/Younger Woman relationship)

The words dear 📚🌻 Anon gave me in their previous ask were: Unruly, endurable and system. Please enjoy!

What happens in the gym....

Pairing: Chris Redfield x Female OC

Warnings: Swearing, Spoiler Free 😊

Genre: Angsty Romance

“Sure, throw me in the fire like you always do, Leon!“ Chris snaps, clenching his fists tightly as he glares at his best friend while the two stand in the dimly lit gym.

“Chris, you’re a BSAA captain, for the love of God! You should know better than to complain about something as little as this!“ Leon, while significantly calmer tone and demeanor-wise, is glaring daggers of his own.

“Why me, damn it?! And why her?!“ Chris is not done with his attempts to get out of the situation Leon’s trying to land him in and his partner’s honestly done with it.

“And why not?! You see the same potential I see, why would it be so hard to train her? She’s a quick learner, she’s disciplined when she wants to be and she’s already skilled to a certain degree. You’ve made soldiers out of total wimps before, why is she such a hassle to you?!“

“Because she’s disciplined when she wants to be and I guarantee she won’t want to when she’s around me. She’s unruly, selfish, arrogant and a Chris-phobe. I’m telling you, she hates me!“

It’s about time Leon’s had enough of this conversation. To be honest, he was done with it as soon as it started but he stayed, thinking he’d be able to change Chris’ mind but seeing as how this is a hopeless case, he’s just been wasting his time. “Does she? Or are you projecting your hate for her onto her?” Slinging his duffel bag containing his training gear over his shoulder, Leon finally makes that realization that these are ten minutes of his life he’ll never get back and storms out of the gym without another word.

Chris doesn’t attempt to stop him, in fact, he’s relieved he left. He sighs, silently hating himself for all the shit he said and how he meant none of it. It was all hard bullshit and he doesn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed that Leon didn’t realize. Either way, he’s been cleared of possible suspicion, even if training the newest BSAA rookie still remains as his task.

Gwen Winters, she’s such a fucking handful. One cannot tell if it’s because she’s angry with the world, angry with herself or just straight up picked up on the habits of the family that took her in when she was rescued from Raccoon City where she was held as an experiment hamster. A chemistry project basically. Ethan and Mia were recovering from the events back in Louisiana at the time, still probably are, that is not some shit you get over, so they thought having another person in the house would help them. And help Gwen did. See, Gwen isn’t a handful with everyone. In fact, she’s a real sweetheart and Chris knows it too, despite his bogus claims. He knows she’s got a heart and soul of gold and is built with the will of a BSAA soldier already. All she needs is a bit better fighting skills and she’s good to go.

He sees how she acts with everyone around him. She’s been quick to make friends with Jill and his sister Claire and she’s even got Leon’s liking and trust which is hella hard to get, especially after all the shit with Ada. She’s overall a super sweet and lovely girl, even with him from time to time. He’s seen her welcoming, friendly smiles whenever he stops by the Winters’ home. He’s heard her laugh at the jokes he rarely cracks.

Then why does she act like she hates him so often? And why does he claim he hates her?

Chris is snapped back to reality by the sound of rough impact. It’s a very distinct noise, one he places immediately: the sound of fists hitting a punching bag. It’s the middle of the night, almost midnight actually, and knowing how lazy the soldiers on his team are, he can only assume it’s either his sister or Jill, given that Leon just left. However, they’ve had people sneak in to train for free before, so it’d be for the best if he went to check who was releasing some pent up energy on the poor punching bag. Judging by the intensity of the punches being thrown, sounds like the person might be angry as well.

And they have every right to be. Because they are Gwen.

Chris’ face goes a bit red at the sight of the infuriated rookie giving the punching bag her all, punishing it the way she’d want to do to her superior she just heard call her all the names she hates being referred by.

“Winters I-“

“Unruly?“ Punch “Selfish?” Punch “Arrogant?” Punch

She stills herself, sighing and wiping the droplets of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, “You say all that and expect me not to be a Chris-phobe?” She lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her shoulders before continuing her wrath over the piece of equipment she’s threatening to destroy. She hasn’t spared him a single look yet, something he’s rather grateful for because the last thing he wants to see is whatever her gaze is hiding right now. “I’ll talk to Leon.” She says, her voice leveled and breathy, far from the pissed off tone she was just using. This calmness is a lot scarier though. “I’ll tell him I don’t want you to be my trainer. To be perfectly clear, I never wanted you to train me in the first place. I’m just not the type to complain, you know. I’m not picky. Beggers can’t be choosers. I take what I can get. And you were all I was offered, but...” she trails off, delivering a particularly hard punch, “It’s not gonna work. I may not be picky, but I know when to draw the line. I know when I deserve better.”

“Kid, you really have no idea what the case really is here.“ He attempts desperately, taunted by the thought of acting on his instincts and approaching her even if that means being the recipient of one of those hard punches.

“You know, I’m strong. I’m skilled. I can hold my own in a fight quite nicely. I’m endurable. I’m not afraid to work my ass off and sweat and pant like a dog after workouts. There’s not a line I wouldn’t cross, but you still choose to make me feel lesser than any soldier you’ve ever come across, that’s really lovely of you, Captain Redfield.“

“Winters, please...“

“It’s ok, I won’t tell Ethan and Mia. I’m sure they’ll send you to hell over it. I’m not petty like that.“

He’s had enough. He’s had enough of hearing that hurt tone in her voice. He’s done hearing these words she’s so certain are true but aren’t. He’s done lying to her and to himself. Before he can even think twice about it, he grabs her by the arms gently but firmly, turning her to face him despite her hostile attempts to free herself from his hold like a wild animal caught in a trap. He’s surprised when she relaxes, probably seeing that as a quicker way out of the situation rather than struggling though if she tried to free herself any longer he would’ve probably let her go.

“Fucking hell, Gwen, listen to me.“ He looks her dead in the eyes, catching onto the spark of shock created by his use of her first name. But he also sees something else, something that looks dangerously a lot like tears. He knows she won’t cry, especially not in front of him, but knowing that he’s the cause behind the welling of those crystal droplets in her always shiny, always smiling eyes breaks him. When she doesn’t look away nor protest, he continues, “I can’t be your captain. I can’t be your trainer. I can’t be any of that. I’m a strictly professional man, and it’d be highly unprofessional of me to take you in as my soldier.”

“But why?“ She’s fully aware she sounds like a whiny kid - exactly how she thinks he envisions her sometimes - but she couldn’t care less. She wants and needs answers. She knows she won’t be able to fall asleep or keep coming back to the training center if she doesn’t get them.

It’s blatantly clear this is far from easy for Chris. His first instinct is to look away, let go of her, run away like he always does - not that she’d let him do such a thing but still. He’s finds the words impossible to spit out yet he oh so desperately feels the need to get them out of his system. And so, he gathers all the strength within him and finally forces himself to say it.

“Because a captain isn’t supposed to look at a soldier the way I look at you.“

Sure, it sounds cryptic as heck but he has no doubt she’ll catch on. Gwen is a smart and sharp girl, among many other things. She confirms this when barely three seconds after he’s said it, he notices her eyes widening

“Sir, I-“

“Don’t.“ He says simply, a small, regretful smile playing across his lips as his hand slides down her arm to take hold of hers, “I just admitted my dirtiest secret to you and you are still gonna remind me how unprofessional I am by using my title, Kid?“

She purses her lips, the shock momentarily replaced by her signature mild glare, “Well, you just admitted your biggest secret to me and yet you still choose to call me ‘Kid’, huh?”

He chuckles, letting his other hand repeat the movements of the first, “Sorry, force of habit.” His thumbs brush against her knuckles briefly as his head falls, his gaze fixating on where their bodies are connected, “You know, I didn’t tell you this to get myself any pity or anything. I just wanted you to understand and....wanted to get it off my chest. Ethan will kill me if he finds out, won’t he?” He suddenly asks, regaining the courage to look up at her once again.

She giggles, “Who says he’s gonna find out?”

Chris bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “You’re right, there’s nothing really to find out abo-”

Gwen has never been a chatter nor can she tolerate when people beat around the bush so she’s quick to cut them off sometimes, no matter how rude that may seem or sound. However, just to clarify, her chosen method of cutting a person off isn’t always kissing them. Just saying - this is a special situation requiring special methods.

Taken aback by the sudden feeling of her lips on his, Chris’ eyes close automatically but not even a second later he responds to the kiss properly: wrapping his arms around Gwen’s waist as her hands travel up to cup his face. The kiss is short - too short if either of them is to be asked - but it’s worth all the words they didn’t say despite wanting to.

When they pull away, Gwen gives him a mischievous smile, “Now he could find out about that and then shit would go south. That’d suck, wouldn’t it Chris?“

He’s only ever heard her say his name twice, once in passing conversation with Claire and once earlier when she paraphrased his term ‘Chris-phobe’, both time spoken with some dose of dislike he now realizes was a cover-up all along. Turns out the two are a lot more alike than they initially thought. Regardless, hearing her say his name with fondness instead of bitterness makes his heart flutter, his body yearn to have her closer, his lips wanting to be in contact with hers again. But he’s a patient and self-controlled man, he’s nothing if not willpower sculpted in a human body, so he keeps his distance, waiting for her to pick the moves, waiting for her to make the decisions just like she’s his captain.

“Big time.“ He manages to say, voice coarse all of a sudden, barely able to leave his throat. “So it stays here, right?”

She giggles again, bringing her lips within an inch or two away from his, taunting him, threatening to break his self-control, “What happens in the gym stays in the gym, Redfield.”

Golden rules of discretion, ones he mustn’t break ever. Especially not when his captain - Captain Gwen Winters - holds so much power over him.

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shorkbrian · 4 years ago

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Prelude - I need to stop catching sight of poetry on my explore page lol. This is entirely self-indulgent and very specific cause I’m rotting thru life rn and so if u dislike I understand lol. When I was in the hospital this last time it sucked rlly bad and like the awful horny degenerate I was I kept thinking abt Kirishima and soft sweet Sugawara idk lol

Pairing - Death god Kirishima x Reader

Warnings - Suicide, suicide attempt, no smut. Death. Drunk Drivers. Yandere but only a little bit and cause I can’t voluntarily accept love it has to be forced bc I cannot handle the thot of someone who is sane loving me bc there is no freaking way lol

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/5Iy1wdO0tMaHwKnfFYtlel?si=-vqod-W6SHia8ui2Hdl_9g

Adding this one bc it’s like one of my favorites and I wish god I wish and I hope that this year is better than the last amen lol also there’s nothing more sad to me than someone pleading and begging and crying for the year to treat you nicely like bitch u okay? no. the answer is no.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0xRO7EKgYKVB8zKIoiXMDD?si=HYBaiBzjRGmQwfCHgnTUxA

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“It hurts.” You had told him, as the entity sat at the end of your hospital bed.

He often sank heavily onto the nearest surface, as if his bones ached with the weight of his body. You saw him often during those first few days in the hospital, days spent puking up pills, every move you made monitored, doctors and nurses scolding you about the severity of your actions.

You didn’t think they could see the hulking figure that comforted you.

“I”ve heard that it’s supposed to.” The red god of death would think aloud.

“I don’t want it then.” Tears upon your cheeks, soft, misty. “Take it.”

“Your life?” A nod would affirm his question, but the red god would shake his head. “I am no thief. Not a hunter, simply a gatherer of souls. I won’t take what doesn’t belong to me.”

“Then it’s yours, have my life. A gift, from me to you. Don’t make me live it any longer…..”

His sadness would show in his eyes.

But the soul-crushing hugs that were provided were admittedly a tiny bit nice.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good. I’ll receive your life when the time is right, not before.”

“But I don’t want it!” You sobbed into his shoulder, the god seeming to be your only friend in the world.

Hands stroked along your back, soft shushing sounds as the god attempted to soothe you in the ways he knew how. Soft touches, kind truths. “Many don’t. But it happens - life happens anyways. All you can do is find the things that make it less painful.”

“That’s not enough, it still hurts. I can’t stand it.” The sobs wracking your body didn’t stop the entity from holding you.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

——

He’s patient and kind.

Surprising for a god who’s work involves collecting souls as if they were taxes. A job that should be bitter and tiresome, but the entity has infinite softness resting inside of him.

He walks with you, as you get “better“.

You watch him stop to marvel at flowers, to study the way dew drips from trees in little drops, eyes wide and wondering as crows startle from their perches and take off with noisy weeping.

This courtyard is drab and brown, a prison. Safe.

Yet the god of death treats the space gently, with respect. He thanks the old walls for standing, the worn stones beneath your feet. Their service is noted and appreciated. He’s so tender it almost makes you sick.

But you come to realize that he’s simply allowing himself to be vulnerable, to experience the earth and the beings in it.

For as soon as one recognizes vulnerability, which is so different from weakness or tragedy, one experiences a sense of tenderness. Without tenderness, pleasure means nothing. You need only look at the animals to see the truth of that. It is gentleness that distinguishes their playing from the actions they constantly take to ensure their survival.

You ask why he walks with you, why he is so focused on seeing you get “better“.

A soft smile, a meeting of eyes. “There is an end to your pain, sometime and somewhere. It’s most likely not here, not in this place at least-“ and he looks around, at the cold walls, the other sick patients, the staff. All human.

“-It will come. But for now, it’s enough to try and seek it out ourselves.”

You must look more sick than you really are, talking to thin air like that.

——-

Once you return home, the red god writes you letters.

He’s an old soul, an old god. You’re sure if you asked, he’d be able to recount the very first souls he reaped, a man and a woman, sinful and sweet but in love.

The letters help you get out of bed. What new stories or little quips the god has written pique your curiosity, even when you don’t want to move, don’t want to be awake or alive.

He tells you stories about certain souls, how each one is infinitely interesting, how they all interconnect. How some of them struggle against him, however fruitlessly. But he’s not the one who brought about their death, he’s there to comfort and guide.

Other souls, (“souls like yours” he writes) welcome him, run to his arms like a long lost lover. Their death was terrifying by their own hand, and it hurt. He can’t take away that pain, those memories. The red god says he wishes those souls find peace wherever he must take them afterwards, or at least, some form of contentment.

“The meaning of life is to give life meaning, at least, that’s what seems to be the consensus.” You rip off that part of the letter, hang it on your wall by your bed. The other letters you keep in your nightstand, content with the knowledge that there are souls out there like you

It’s hard work, creating meaning for yourself.

The red god takes to visiting you between each letter, says he misses you, the way your soul cries. He tells you that he wishes he could help you quiet it, quiet that raging, terrible storm that hurls you about.

You make him cookies - it’s the only way you know how to say thank you. It’s what your mother taught you, so it may not be right, but the god eats them nonetheless. He likes it when you eat with him, feeding you bites from his cookie, wiping chocolate off of your nose, making you laugh with stupid jokes and a mouth stuffed full of cookies.

Even if some of them are too crunchy, or others too soft, all of them imperfect.

Imperfection is the essence of humanity, he tells you, and it’s more fun eating each cookie with the thought that you’re devouring your imperfections, making yourself whole again, filling up the empty spaces in your soul.

——

Eventually, the crawl back to your feet, rise with the unsteadiness of a toddler. You fall frequently, cry often, but you’re able to get up and try again.

Some days you need to bury yourself in sadness, let yourself feel and feel and hurt. Other days are not so bad, but still tinged with regret and fear and sadness.

The red god is by your side, gives you something to cling to when you waver.

He is always there.

He will be there when you meet your end.

The god is in no hurry.

You question why he wastes his time on you, hours spent reassuring you, talking to you, tucking you in your bed and leaving glasses of water on your nightstand before taking his leave.

Home is a feeling, not a place. Home is with you - that’s what he tells you. You take his breath away, even though he might not even need to breath because he’s the god of death. HIs thoughts muddle and he trips over his feet and can’t help himself from wanting to hold you.

You learn that even gods yearn for home.

He’s capable of feelings and emotions just like any other human. He may be wiser, and older, able to draw from experience and a deep well of wisdom. But he still feels, and feels deeply.

Just as he gives the earth around him such reverence, he extends that same attitude when he deals with you.

“Everything I see reminds me of you. When I wake and the sun creeps over the mountains, hesitant, it reminds me of the way that you rise - haltingly, yet it happens nonetheless. The flowers in the field that so steadily grow, you’re like ground they take root in, soft and unstable yet still tenable with the potential for growth. I don’t know, I haven’t exactly held such closeness with a human-“

He trails off, but you think you understand.

Maybe you don’t. It’s hard to relate to a god.

——

A confession occurs, and you’re surprised to learn that the blood-red god of death is in love.

“What did my hands do before they held yours? What did my heart do without all of this love? I can’t hold enough of you, I carry such love for you in my heart.”

With a frail, hopeless human nonetheless.

You don’t know what to tell him, how to explain that you can barely take care of yourself right now, meet your own needs.

But the red god seems to know, seems to understand the way your breath hitches and your eyes widen. One more hug, squeezed tight to his chest while he promises nothing has to change.

Things do change, even if you wish them not to. The world doesn’t bow to your whims, nor the death-god’s.

Innocent touches, his hand on your shoulder, patting your head, offering to rub out the tension in your back after you’ve had a crushing day - they don’t feel so innocent anymore.

The constant survellience still seemed kind, and you knew it was with your best intentions in mind that the god hovered so close, invading every aspect of your life.

But a creeping tendril of unease took hold, and you worried.

Everywhere you turned, he would be there, ready to support you, walk you through anything you wished.

Again, you questioned his commitment. Why? Why you?

“I can’t explain how fond of you I’ve grown. How heat blossomed in my chest as we grew closer. There’s infinite things I wish to say to you, ways for me to express my-my love, but I’ll just let you live.”

He neither killed you nor let you live.

Was it frightening? Maybe. But you had nothing to really live for, lost, searching for your own meaning in a big big world, floundering in an endless sea of sadness and suffering. You weren’t afraid of anything the god could, or would, do to you.

Until you woke up, not knowing where you were, in pitch black.

Arms encircling your shoulders, a soft body beneath your own, holding you tightly, a hand caressing your cheek.

A sun rose, on a strange new land, on the blood-red god gazing at you.

“There seemed to be so much more time for you. But accidents happen, Drivers drink and hearts give out. I was expecting you to grow old, for us to live and love like that, see how you grew through life.”

He looked around this new world, and you vaguely remember what had come before. A walk along the sidewalk, blaring horns, impact, blood.

“But this will be just as nice. You can stay here with me now. Life can’t cause you anymore pain.”

You don’t feel comforted by those words. There’s no way for you to know whether this new world would be better than the one you left behind.

#kirishima #Kirishima Eijirou #kirishima x reader #kirishima imagine #bnha kirishima #kirishima x you #yandere #Yandere kirishima #tw.death #tw.suicide

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what-the--curtains · 4 years ago

Text

There Are No Wolves In the Desert

( Oberyn Martell x f!reader, Robb Stark x f!reader)

Part 1 - The Wolf and The Outsider

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Summary: The series of events that have lead to you being in Dorne and why you can never return home.

Authors notes: Oberyn is not in this chapter but he will be in all subsequent chapters! This part is mainly context corner to build up the character! The reader is a distant relative of the Targaryens but I only mention hair colour and eye colour everything else will remain non- descript! Let me know if you want to be tagged (or untagged) in this story 😊😊

Tw: Swearing, violence, mentions of and allusion to sex (none depicted), war, murder the usual GOT stuff, major character death (I wonder who it could be👀👀)

Word count: 5.7k

Tagged: @evyiione

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Kings landing

Cersei tilts her head, eyes thinning as she gazes out over kings landing, the moon illuminating the gold plated roofs of the upper class, the stench of the poor unable to reach her here. Jamie sits on the bed she had shared with her late husband, slowly re-donning the white armour of the king's guard. He turns watching as the summer breeze blows the ends of her golden hair. His shin guard is clipped into place just as three short knocks sound out against the wooden door, filling the quiet air of the night. Sighing loudly Jamie stands up to answer the door, a smile forming on Cersei’s lips as she trunks to greet the visitor.

“Littlefinger, to what do we owe the displeasure,” Jamie asks, sarcasm dripping off every word.

“Funny… I thought knights usually waited outside the bedchamber of those they swore a sacred oath to protect,” he queries smiling, the candlelight illuminating his prominent front teeth.

“Is it done,” Cersei asks through her teeth, tiring of the man’s desperate attempts to hold some semblance of power.

“Yes. Not a soul left alive that isn’t loyal to house Baratheon... or is Lannister perhaps more apt. The north is ours for the taking now the young wolf has fallen, and Sansa is under control here.”

“What of his wife?” she asks, walking towards a nearby table, decanting wine into a goblet turning with eyebrows raised. Littlefinger was not the only one in Kings landing with ears everywhere. She had heard a rumour, one she wished to squash as soon as she can.

“His widow, you mean,” Jamie states from the door frame, dissatisfied at being left out of the conversation.

“Gone, left in the wee hours of the morning from what I heard,” Cersei says, eyes staring into Littlefinger’s, locked in a strategic game of mental chess.

“So she’s alive, ” Jamie adds, despite his previous statement being ignored.

“Not for long,” Littlefinger states , brushing him off.

“Who saw her leave?” Cersei demands, a hint of concern slipping through as she swirls her wine around in the glass.

“No one left alive,” Littlefinger reassures

“So she's...” Cersei begins,

“She’s set to land in Dorne two days from now, she will be dealt with when she arrives. She is…inconsequential.” Littlefinger finishes.

“And so ends the reign of the wolves,” Jamie remarks, as Cersei raises her glass toasting the gods.

Dorne (2 days later)

You watch the docks appear along the horizon as the ship begins to reduce its speed. The sea spray from the trip spattered across your skin was yet to dry, cooling you off, as the southern sun bares down onto you. You lick your lips, the salty taste leaves you parched in a heat the likes of which you’d never known. You’d never been to Dorne, though you’d heard stories of it’s fair weather, people and architecture, and you were eager to see if they held true. You’d heard the wine here was the sweetest the world had to offer, you planned on returning home with some, even if Dorne was merely a stopover. It was not a honeymoon you were here for, no you were here to complete a task of utmost importance. You came in search of the so-called dragon queen at the behest of your husband. He wanted to see if the rumours were true and if they were he hoped to make an ally of her. He had sent you in hopes that your shared lineage, though distant, would work in his favour. The Targaryens held family in high regard, especially with so few of them remaining. You smile as the shore comes into view, the birds above singing to your arrival. The golden hues of the late afternoon sun paint the tents of the markets in the docks. A sense of bliss rolls over you as the crew ties the ship to the dock. It would be one of the last moments of peace you would know for some time. Your feet make contact with the ground, legs wobbling slightly at being back on solid ground. You stumble slightly and a man with a blue beard catches your elbow.

“Winter is coming,” he whispers and you look up as he discreetly passes you a note. You open it. The letter is long and the script rushed, but seven words stand out ‘the King in the North has fallen’ the sheet slips from your fingers and you drop to your knees. “Quick, we haven’t much time,” he says dragging you up, as the first arrow pierces the sky, hitting the captain of your ship in the neck.

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Winterfell, 7 years prior (age 17)

You had always stood out in the north, a caveat of the family you were born into, all of you were outsiders here. Your grandfather was a Targaryen, second cousin to the mad king and when war broke out he led a small rebellion that tried to push back the Baratheon troops storming the capitol, but to no avail. Your father and his brothers were there that day, fighting alongside him, but they were outnumbered, and no amount of skill would keep the combined Starks and the Baratheon forces at bay. After the capitol was taken, your grandfather was hanged and your grandmother took your father and his brother and feld while Robert butchered any descendents of the Targaryen line that would weaken his claim to the throne. Your father had split from his family opting to head north, while they trekked south. He never saw them again. Upon his arrival in Winterfell he built a small homestead outside the city walls and sought work, thankfully the distinctive hair and eye colour had skipped him and he could blend in with the northerners. He found work as a stone mason, crafting formidable architecture admired and paid for by the nobility. The payments allowed him to move up the social ladder and while he remained in the forest he had gained the respect of the elite and was accepted as one of them. His hands soon grew tired of creating. They craved the weight of a sword and so he gave up masonry and offered his services to Ned Stark. Your father became a confidant to the King in the North as he moved up through the ranks. He ended up training many of the soldiers, and for a while, even Ned’s own sons. His proximity to the crown brought him into the path of your mother.

A ball was held in celebration of their eldest child's first name day and your mother was in attendance representing the Tyrells. He spotted her across the room, and to this day he swears the sun shone down on her despite being inside a hall. He approached her that night and they married during the long summer, your brother Illirion was born a year later, then a year after that it was your turn. Their final child, your youngest brother Rhaevar was born two years after you, thus completing your family unit. While the honeyed eyes and dark toned hair of the Tyrells presented well with your brothers, the Targaryen traits that had initially skipped your father came through in your genetic composition. Your hair was as white as the snow that came to the north during the winter, and your eyes a lilac similar to the foxgloves that grew in the spring. You attended a local school until you reached the age where girls were no longer allowed to study. Whilst there you heard whispers from the other children. Every now and then a comment of “murderer” or “traitor” would be shot your way, much to your confusion. It wouldn’t be until years later than your parents would tell you why such comments were made. After school ended officially you continued your education at home and studied the methods of healing that your mother had been trained in while in Highgarden.

Your father insisted all his children learn how to defend themselves, the north was a dangerous place after all, and the threat of war loomed large. The stability between kingdoms was teetering, it had been peaceful for too long, a storm was coming. You’d proven to be of high talent, had it not been for your eldest brother's size you would have been the strongest fighter in the family. Illirion married at 18 to a noble girl of high status, and it wasn't long after that you lost many of your friends to marriage. Some of the pairing were good, some bad and some even for love. Despite being propositioned a few times, you had no interest in being a bride.Your parents did not mind now that your brother had secured a wife and would be able to care for you once they passed. Your father also had it on good authority that you all were to be cared for so long as a Stark sat at Winterfell.

You were acquainted with the family since childhood, though outside of parties you rarely saw them. During the gatherings you and Sansa often gossiped together and Arya would sneak you into the courtyard and beg you to train her. The time spent with them was greatly cherished. Their brothers were often gone during such events, off showcasing their prowess to girls of higher status than you, women who would one day be their wives. Little did you know, Jon and Robb had been told to stay away from you so as not to ruin your reputation. That rule had been followed until one day when a particularly cruel comment from a noble girl sent Arya running directly into your path.

You were out tracking a wolf that had killed one of your family's horses. It wasn’t revenge you sought, but its attack on your homestead meant it was getting closer to town, and growing far too bold for your liking. You’d stopped your trek once you realized it was headed back towards the wall. Approaching your house you see Arya sitting on a log outside your house near the fire pit. Her feet swinging, intermittently kicking at the dirt below.

“Arya?” you question placing your gear down on the ground as she turns to face you, her nose running, eye slightly red.

“Is Rhaevar around? I wish to play” she demands, her childlike nature apparent now more than ever.

“I’m afraid he’s gone off in search of the children of the forest, but perhaps we can find something to do together?” you offer sitting beside her, she was upset, evidently so.

“I have no want to stitch,” she huffs, causing you to laugh at her attempt to insult you.

“Good neither do I. I’m no good at it anyways,” you admit and she looks up at you “Well what do you wish, Arya? Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

“I wish to know how to shoot my arrow so it hits the target every time. I don’t care what Robb says, Jon thinks I can do it so I want to try.”

“Well, I can help with that, come I’ll show you a trick. You’ll hit it every time. Prove your eldest brother wrong,” your comment earns a rare grin from the youngest Stark daughter. After a few goes she gets the hang of it, hitting your practice targets one after the other.

“By the gods,” you chuckle, you’d never seen such natural talents before. Caught up in your admiration of her gift you fail to catch her turning to aim at a farther target still. The arrow soars through the air as two horses approach your homestead, the arrow only just missing them.

“Arya!” you shout, grabbing her arm “You must be careful!” you exasperate as she looks up to you her mouth ajar. The sound of the horses fast approaching.

“Get behind me,” you murmur, pushing in front of her and aiming the bow true.

“It’s Robb!” she shouts, pushing against you attempting to make a run for it. Despite her efforts to throw you off balance you manage to grab her arm, dropping your weapons in the process.

“Why are you running?” you ask, not releasing your grip on her scrawny arm.

“Because I don’t fit in!” she finally admits.

“Well a secret Arya, no one fits in, we're all different, it's what keeps life interesting and what will keep you alive in your years to come,” you say watching as she stops struggling a softness suddenly coming over her features.

“She said I had a face like a dog,” she whispers, chewing on her lip, eyes down. The cruelty of children was always surprising to you.

“Well I’d find it hard to find someone who does not see the tenderness of a pup, or the strength and beauty of a dire wolf. Either way, You have talents, beyond what beauty can measure, ones that will never abandon you,” you reassure. She sniffs and looks up at you offering a rare smile. You see her shift back into her tough persona, the scowl returning to her face as she runs towards the horses belonging to her brother and who you assumed must be his ward Theon. You watch the eldest Stark, now two years your senior drop down allowing Theon to help Arya, as he strides towards you.

“We’d be lucky to have you in our ranks, if you can teach her to nearly take my head off from a mile away,” he laughs, easing your nervousness slightly, his northern accent heavier than you had remembered.

“I did remind your sister to be more careful lest she be tried for treason, or worse yet, get me tried for treason. As for my services, they are always at the will of the Starks, if you wish me to join the army who am I to refuse,” you say, tilting your head and offering him a smile.

“Women are not allowed in our ranks, lest of all those who look like you,” he charms, an unexpected compliment from a man you rarely got the opportunity to speak with.

“Not yet, but rules are meant to be broken after all my Lord.” You retort, eyes meeting his steel grey gaze causing an unexpected chill to run down your spine.

“Are they?” he laughs, the warmth of it causing a sudden heat to rise within you, counteracting his gaze.

“You should remind your mother of that when you return Arya to her,” you offer, as he hands you the arrow that almost took off his head.

“Thank you for returning my sister, wolves have been prowling about, heaven forbid they got to her before us,” he says, concern etched in his face.

“The wolves have moved north, I do not believe they will return this way, and Arya is stronger than you give her credit for,” you assure, his brows raising at your competence.

“I know, and I think she does too, I fear she’ll outlive us all,” he offers, rubbing the back of his neck, the two of you standing there for a moment, the smirk that usually danced replaced by a nervous grin. His head dips down before turning back to the horse, but he stops one last time swivelling round to face you.

“My lady,” he calls after you.

“Yes my lord,” you say, turning back to face him.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he offers sincerely.

“As do I,” you say curtseying in such a way to make him smile before you both head back towards your respective homes.

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2 years later (age 19)

“What is it?” you ask your father as you lay down your quiver and the pair of small pheasants you’d brought home for dinner. He takes a long drag of his pipe, gaze glued to the treeline. “Father tell me?” you stress, knowing he only ever smoked when bad news had arrived.

“Illirion, he’s...” He stammers and drops his head letting out a strangled sob. You shake your head at the suggestion. Your brother had gone down to kings landing a week ago to serve as a bodyguard to Ned Stark who had been summoned at the behest of King Robert Baratheon. Arya and Sansa had gone with them, leaving Catelyn and the boys in Winterfell, Robb currently ruling in his place.

“Ned Stark would never allow…” you begin, sure your father had once again fallen trap to the rumour mill.

“He’s dead, they’re all dead, all of them...” he whispers, dropping his head to his hands.

“What happened tell me everything,” you stress, pushing your own sentiments aside for the moment.

“Beheaded, Ned for treason, for the murder of Robert Baratheon, his greatest friend, unlikely story. They killed your brother as Ned’s head fell. Arya, is missing, presumed dead, Sansa is a prisoner, to be wedded to that horrible snot nosed inbred Joffrey.” He continues in fragmented sentences.

“Mother?” you question.

“She’s in bed still, hasn’t left, I dare not tell her the worst of it,” he admits tear streaked eyes meeting yours.

“What the worst of it?” you ask, unable to think what could possibly be worse. “Lean on me father, there is no else left for you to confide in, lend me some of the burden,” you stress rubbing his arm in encouragement.

“War is upon us and each family must provide a soldier. Since my knee… I am no longer able to fight, the Starks know this. So your youngest brother…” he starts, but a sob catches in his throat stopping him.

“He can’t go, he’s too…” you begin, swallowing as you try to think of the right word.

“Soft” your father offers.

“No, he’s just not skilled enough, at least not in the ways of the sword. Skilled as he is as a mason he wouldn’t last a minute on the battlefield,” you pause, only one path was clear to you “Let me go in his place,” You say, before you have time to process what you had just offered to do.

“No,” your father says without hesitation.

“Let me go and you may end this life with two of three children. If he goes, I will be the only one left and I could not bear it,” you say pushing back tears at the thought of losing another brother.

“Your mother...” he begins

“Knows I was the best fighter. I had the best teacher in all the seven kingdoms after all,” you say nudging him with your elbow. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, before pulling you into a tight embrace.

“When do I leave?” you ask.

“Tonight. It’s a good thing your brother isn’t tall, his armour will fit you, take this helmet. Do not remove it, keep your hood up, any trouble and cut off their cocks, or else I will.”

“I'll see you again, I swear it,” you state, with every intent of keeping your promise.

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The battle rages forward, men fall around you, but you refuse to meet a similar fate today. Your sword penetrates through the opening of a Lannister’s armour turning quickly to slice the backs of the knees of another soldier, both falling in tandem. You hear a horse whinny on your left and you turn to see Robb Stark fall from his horse becoming trapped beneath the dying creature. You weave throughout the battle towards him. Your blade intercepts the longsword of an enemy soldier just as it’s about to penetrate Robbs armour. You drop your shield to Robb and you push up against the attacker. Releasing your force he falls forward and Robb pushes the shield up hitting the man’s face swinging his head back. Grabbing the man by his hair you slit his throat. You drop your sword and pull Robb out from beneath the horse. He grabs your shoulders giving you nod before returning to the forefront of the battle. As the horn of retreat sounds you celebrate the victory with those around you, surviving the first of many attacks.

You're walking back to the tents when you hear a familiar voice call out to you.

“You, wait,” Robb demands, chuckling with those around him. You continue on your path hoping he was talking to someone else. “It is not wise to disobey your king.” He sounds out again, forcing you to turn towards him.

“Come now friend, we mean no harm. I wish to look upon the face of the man who saved me and invite him to ride alongside me.” he states.

“Perhaps he is too ugly to show his face, my lord,” one of his lieutenants states causing a laugh to erupt from the surrounding crowd of men except for Robb. Though a slight smile pulls at the corner of his mouth breaking the cold façade he’d donned since his father’s death. A moment passes then another until the silence is so prolonged you have no other option but to obey. Slowly you lift your helmet up your eyes meeting his for the first time in a year.

“A prize for the army, my lord?” one of the men questions, hungrily eyeing you up as he fervently steps towards you. Robb's arm stops him in his tracks and you draw your blade.

“Touch me and risk losing more than just your hand, I have fought alongside you. I am your equal. You will treat me as such,” you demand, your voice unwavering despite the uneasiness in your stomach.

“You have a cunt, you are not our equal, though perhaps in bed…” another from the crowd offers.

“Stop! Leave us” Robb orders, and the men retreat back towards the camp ground the sound of laughter and whistles picking up once out of range.

“I did tell you rules were meant to be broken,” you say, watching as he tries to suppress a smile.

“Well they certainly have been now” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Are you going to hang me, my lord? Or is it my King now?” you question, a bolder move than you should have felt comfortable making.

“To you it's Robb and no I am not going to hang you, but you are going to come with me,” he says offering you his arm which you brush by looking back at him to follow.

“How have you come to be here? Does your father know?” Catelyn stresses,eyes growing wide as she scans over you assessing the damage.

“My lady, yes, he does. You see when the war was announced and after my brother’s death, we knew someone from our family would have to fight. My father’s leg as you know isn’t... as it used to be, and my younger brother while talented in many ways, cannot hold a blade to save his life. My mother’s grief was already far too much for her to lose another child.” You say, eyes risking tears as she meets her gaze.

“So they sent you?” she explains to herself.

“Yes my lady I was the best fighter in the family, or the most skilled at least.”

“Well, we will not make your brother come to fight, but you cannot stay in the army,” she explains softly, hand running up and down your arms in reassurance.

“She saved my life today,” Robb interjects and Cat looks at you as you look at him.

“Then I am indebted to you.” She expresses.

“As am I,” Robb states the two of you not having dropped eye contact, much to the notice of Cat.

“Lady Catelyn, I am a capable fighter, but if you will not allow me to so, at least allow me to tend to the wounded or to serve you in some other manner. I am here after all, put me to use.” you say and she lets out a sigh.

“Well, if you believe yourself able to defend yourself, and if what my son says is true then I would be remiss to send you home, though you will not sleep out with the rest of the army, you will stay with me.” she says.

“And during the battle you will remain close to me,” Robb stresses “not for your protection, but for mine”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1 year later (Age 20)

Robb watches as you kill another soldier, the sight never failing to impress him. You had remained close over the past year, both in and out of the battlefield. He kept you close at all costs, your company bringing him some semblance of joy, even in his darkest moments. Rumours swirled amongst the men and the other kingdoms, though nothing between the two of you had come to fruition. Due to the colour of your hair, the enemy soldiers had dubbed you the white wolf, in an attempt to link the Starks with the treacherous Targaryens. While the insinuations at your extracurricular activities with Robb pushed the narrative that he was impure, that northerners were savages, who did not abide by the values of the seven kingdoms.

As you wipe the blood from your eyes, an arrow catches you in the shoulder, the force knowing you back into a tree. Robb is at your side in record time, his hand stopping yours from pulling the weapon out.

“Medic!” he shouts, eyes not leaving yours.

“Go! you need to lead your people, I will be fine,” you emphasize and he shakes his head “Robb, it is a shoulder, nothing of importance lives there.”

“No but it is attached to something of the utmost importance.”

“Go you have a war to win,” you state as the medic helps you to your feet and brings you back across the line.

You sit in Robbs tent, despite your insistence at being treated in the same manner as the other soldiers, he had demanded you be brought there instead. A skilled nurse had removed the arrow from your shoulder just as you heard the rambunctious cheers of the men outside, victory had been secured. Unsurprising considering Robbs keen strategic mind, he was smarter than you'd have accredited him for in your youth. He enters the tent blood spatter still on his face, seeing you alive and fine he takes the moment to remove his armour. He pulls his undershirt off and walks to the water basin wiping himself clean of the sweat and grim coating his skin. Your eyes watch his bare skin intently, studying every scar, every freckle. He grabs a fresh cloth dunking it the basin and wringing it out before heading over to you. He kneels before you, staring up at you eyes telling you to drop the blood soaked rag currently held to your wound, and you oblige.

“I must confess I long hoped to share an intimate moment with you, though these circumstances are not as I imagined,” he says, gently dabbing at your wound, you smile at his concentration.

“And under what circumstances would you have hoped to be intimate with me, my king? At one of your fancy parties, in the secrecy of a barn, somewhere no one would know you had been with a Targaryen girl.” You ask trying to keep your eyes forwards and not at his muscular physique.

“Every man in Winterfell had dreamed of sharing a moment like that with you, though none have found any luck,” he says, standing up and walking back over to the basin.

“I have no need for a husband nor do I have the want to be wife,” you say, watching the muscles of his arm flex as he wrigns out the rag.

“and what about a queen?” he queries, as his hand braces against your thigh, continuing to clean your wound, his eyes still focused on the gash.

“Do you ask all your foot soldiers such bold questions,” you quip, laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“Only the ones naked in my chambers,” he retorts, eyes darting up a grin plastered to his face.

“A bare shoulder is hardly naked in your chambers,” you state, and he raises his eyebrows mischievously.

“My fondness for you was never allowed,” he admits, dabbing the cloth into a salve and applying it to the wound.

“Oh wasn’t it,” you ask as he looks up to you

“No, my mother feared one of us would ruin you,”

“A Targaryen In the north, perhaps it was fear of you boys being ruined.” you laugh, but when you look at him the tone has shifted.

‘When that arrow hit you, my feelings were confirmed, I no longer wish to be more than a few feet from you at any given moment. I wish to marry you. If you'll allow me”

“Don’t be stupid my king, you’re to be married to a princess from what I understand.”

“I'll be married to whom I please” he assures.

“Robb is that wise?” you question, unfamiliar with the high stakes games played with marriage.

“The Frey’s will recover besides, we’ve crossed their bridge already, and I have no love for anyone but you.”

“Love? We barely know each other,” you say.

“Only our whole lives,” he reminds you.

“I fear you’ll wake up tomorrow and regret your words, so I will not answer you tonight.”

“Then I will return to these chambers tomorrow morning and restate my intentions to make you my wife.”

“What will they say if you allow me to take your bed for the night?” you ponder aloud.

“I guess we shall see” he states, slinging his bloodied shirt over his shoulder.

“Goodnight my King” you offer, watching in amusement as he attempts to find the tents exit without turning around.

“It’s Robb. For you, it's always just Robb”

True to his word he returned the next day and asked again, and this time you accepted. You married a few days later under an old willow tree, with Catelyn and a few others standing witness. The morning after your wedding you awake in his chambers, the sun yet to rise. Robb snores faintly beneath you, the warmth of the fire sending a chill up your skin that had become exposed in the night. You scan over his features, a peacefulness you hadn’t before on his face. You reach over brushing the white patch of hair amongst the mass of soft brown curls on his head. As you do his eyes open looking over to you propping himself up on his elbow and learning over to kiss your forehead.

“What is it my love?” you ask, kissing his cheek, then his lips .

“I need you to do something,” he says, serious as always.

“What we just did wasn't enough, my king? How else may I please you tonight,” you offer hands dancing across his chest, he grins shaking his head slightly.

“You have pleased me in every way imaginable for the past year, and even more tonight. This favour isn't a pleasure of the flesh however, I need you to complete a task. You’re the only one I can trust,” he states.

“You shift up to face him, the furs falling off you slightly, “find the Targaryen girl. I wish to make an ally of her, to destroy the Lannister once and for all. You are likely the only family she has left, she may listen to you.”

“I'll do what I can, and I'll do it fast, I do not wish to be parted from you for long.” you admit as his hand traces over your back.

“Take this with you, that way i'll be protecting you even while we are apart,” he leans over grabbing his dagger, the one made for him by his father, offering it to you.

“Robb I…” you begin.

“Will return it to me a fortnight from now when you come back. I suggest we make the most of tonight, so you have another reason to return to me,” he states

“I'll always return to you, even in death,” you reassure and he wraps the blanket back over you pulling you tightly to his chest. And so as Robb took his seat in the halls of Walder Frey to watch his supposed bride marry another man, you were catching a boat destined for Dorne.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present day (Age 21)

“Come with me now Lady Stark, your life depends on it,” the stranger says, pulling you to your feet and shuffling you into a nearby tavern ushering you quickly up the stairs. You see a pile of clothes laid out on the bed and immediately strip, all notions of decency erased in favour of time.

“You must disappear, make them think you are dead,” he says, averting his eyes as you change into clothes typical of local mercenaries.

“Who killed him, what happened?” you ask, needing some kind of answers.

“There is no time, and it's safer if you do not know.” He says eyes darting from you to the door.

“I have a right to..”

“The Freys betrayed you, everyone at the wedding is dead, you have no claim to Winterfell. The Lannisters have taken the North”

“Everyone at the wedding..” you echo, sitting on the bed

“Stay here..” the blue bearded stranger says, returning a few moments later with a cloak, sword and black dye in hand, placing them down and grabbing for the clothes and the dagger on the floor, Robbs dagger.

“That stays” you stress grabbingthe dagger from his reach.

“It’s too…” he starts

“It stays, it's all I have left of him,” you whisper harsher than intended, fighting back tears. He nods and you take it from him. You grab the dye from his hand and rub it through your hair, staining it a deep ember.

“Keep your eyes down, they're the only thing we can’t disguise,” he states

“Who are you, why are you helping me?” you question memorizing the man's face.

“You share a common enemy with powerful people. You have allies here. Goodbye Lady Stark I hope we meet again,” he says, and with a swift turn he exits the tavern leaving you alone with your thoughts. You wait a moment before donning the cloak and pulling up your hood. You walk out the tavern, putting as much distance between you and the docks as possible. Keeping your eyes down as men scoured the streets for the person you once were

#oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn x reader #robb stark x reader #oberyn x you #oberyn martell #game of thrones fanfiction #oberyn martell x you

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lit-works · 2 years ago

Text

As I pat my team captain on the back, I notice his expression suddenly turns grim. "What is wrong, Logan?" I ask as the two of us move away from our teammates.

"I smell a fire, Kurt," Wolverine whispers. "A big one "

"The wind is coming in from the west." I note. "There's a U.S. Forest preserve over that way. Do you think it could be a forest fire?"

My friend shakes his head. "No, I smell traces of gasoline fumes, burning rubber, insulation, phosphorous…"

"Phosphorous? You mean like a bomb?"

I look towards the X-Men leader, but Storm is speaking intently with Magneto as he herds the youngsters back inside to attend their studies. I signal Rogue to come over to Wolverine and I.

"What can ah do for you gentlemen?" The young woman asks in her melifluous southern drawl.

"Rogue, I want you to fly over the lake and see if you can spot smoke," Wolverine says.

"All right." She replies, looking at me, puzzled.

I hold her back for a moment, "Just look, Lieb-chen," I say, "Don't get close. The fumes could be dangerous."

"Ah'll be real careful, Shugah." Rogue replies teasingly. She runs a gloved finger up the blue fur along my arm and flashes me one of her dazzling smiles before she starts upwards.

A touch of sadness creeps over me as I watch her fade Into a speck in the sky. Rogue can be a charming flirt, and is quite attractive, but I know it is only her defense against the loneliness that her mutant powers forces upon her. I can't imagine what it would be like to be cursed with her power, to have to avoid touching all human flesh. If she does touch someone, she steals that person's spirit for a time and causes them to lose consciousness. Rogue originally came to the X-Men for help with this precise problem, but so far, no one has been able to discover a way to permanently control the automatic transfer.

"I used to feel sorry for myself," I tell Wolverine. "Because I look so different. But I can not think of any problem worse than Rogue's. At a time in her life when she should be exploring intimacy, she dares not to."

Wolverine shrugs. "She's probably better off than the rest of us."

I eye Wolverine critically. I've seen him heartbroken on many occasions, and yet he hasn't given up on love. I know that beneath his gruff exterior is a man whose soul aches for the true union of body and spirit with another.

"Surely you do not mean that." I whisper quietly.

"Maybe not," He says, watching Rogue land lightly on the balls of her feet like an acrobat, her face flushed with the exhilaration of flying. She is not jaded by this power, even though she uses it constantly.

"The fire's on Obar Island," She announces. "Billowin' clouds o' black stuff. Y'all don't think the sparks could spread the fire over all that water,do ya?"

"Probably not." Wolverine replies.

"Obar Island," I muse. "Isn't there some sort of military base there?"

"Last time I flew over there, about a month ago," Rogue reports. "They were jus' puttin' up some buildin's and postin' it with some real unfriendly signs–all about prosecutin' trespassers and stuff like that."

"Sounds like the army, alright," Wolverine mutters.

Just to be sure, the three of us troop into the school kitchen to use the telephone. I listen as Wolverine reports the fire to the local authorities. He speaks to someone on the other end of the line for a moment, then says, "I see. Okay."

"What did they say?" I ask.

"The situation is under control." Wolverine answers.

"Good."

"Not really," he replies. "'cause they're lyin'."

"How do you know?" Rogue asks.

"I just do."

I've had enough experience with Wolverine's intuition before. He's not often wrong. I'd be willing to bet he is right now, too. "But why would they lie?" I ask.

"Maybe there's some sort of poisonous gas out there, an' they don't want t' panic the populace." Rogue guesses.

"You've got a vivid imagination, Kid." Wolverine states. "But I don't smell any poison. More likely, the army just doesn't wanna breach security on the island. They'd rather let it burn into the water than bring in outsiders."

I shake my head. Wolverine once worked for the military, and he accepts such things matter-of-factly, but I am still appalled by such a destructive, secretive mentality. "Well?" I ask. "Should we consult with our fearless leader on this one?"

"Ah'll go find her," Rogue offers, and she hurries off to fetch Storm.

#marvel #marvel comics #marvel characters #comics #90s x men #x men #uncanny x men #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfic series #marvel fanfiction #nightcrawler #kurt wagner #wolverine #storm #rogue #l1t3rat1

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solinarimoon · 4 years ago

Text

Little Sea - Part I

AN: This is my first time writing outside of The Last Kingdom fandom, but I originally joined tumblr to find Hvitserk content. So I hope my writing for him does it justice. This is for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie Congratulations on your milestone love! This story is a Vikings/TLK crossover but Sihtric is basically placed into the Vikings universe. I know in our heads these two belong in the same universe, so enjoy. My prompt was a reimagining of The Little Mermaid fairytale. The story got too long so I am breaking it into two parts. Sjór means sea in Old Norse, at least according to one website I found. I have more notes at the end of part two.

Warnings: Angst, unrequited love, suicidal imagery/implications, Vikings canon Ivar cruelty

My Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She swam, racing the currents in the sea. The water’s hazy depths constantly shifted and mottled in a swirling dance. Hues of blue and green mixed with inky darkness but faded to the rays of the sun’s light filtering through from the surface.

The cold temperatures below the fathoms began to warm as Alba swam towards the surface. Swishing her fins, she felt the drag of the water as she climbed higher until slowing and ultimately stopping herself just before breaching the surface.

His face stared down at her above the water. His lips spoke words that she could not hear. His face was calm and serene. Happy.

The only sound was the rushing tumult of waves breaking, crashing upon rocks at the base of a cliff.

Alba flicked her tail trying in vain to break through the surface. She wanted nothing more than to rise above the water and envelop Hvitserk in her arms.

The fear and the panic began to rise instead. And without warning, Alba felt her terror intensify as her tail had been replaced with two legs. Hvitserk’s face grew farther and farther away while she sank back below the dark depths.

~~~~~~~~

Alba woke with a start, sitting up in her bed and breathing heavily. Her hands clung to the furs draped across her, pulling them aside to reveal two legs and feet. The sight still seemed surreal to her.

This was not the first night she had awoken from this dream. It was occurring more and more often as she felt the pull to return to the sea. Return home. And as she watched Hvitserk continue to move further and further away from her.

Slowly, the young woman stood from her bed steadying herself as her legs wavered like someone returning to shore after living on a ship for weeks. She draped a cowl of furs around herself and pushed aside the door leading from her small hut on to the beach.

Only a few paces brought Alba up to the water’s edge. The waves lapped over her toes and Alba breathed easier. Salty spray drifted across the cove where the waves were always harsh and ragged against the cliffs to the north.

Alba trained her eyes on the grey horizon, watching as the mist began to fade and the shadows melted away. She breathed in the taste of the ocean’s air and for a moment felt content.

But that moment was broken when she noticed a set of forlorn footsteps approaching her.

“I knew you would be up and on the beach already.”

His voice was low and groggy as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders with a gentle squeeze. Alba wondered if he had seen his own bed that night.

“I wish I could help you find whatever you are looking for on the water, little Sjór.”

Alba turned her face ever so slightly to question him with a silent gaze. And to see his braids looking disheveled. And a small bruise just under his jaw.

“When we met, it was not unlike this,” Hvitserk paused when Alba turned her face towards him fully, furrowing her brow in confusion. “I mean it was very different because I still have no idea how a half drowned young woman came to be lying between the rocks on the north edge of the cove, covered by nothing but a ragged boat sail,” his lips had pursed slightly trying to ward of the smirk Alba knew he was fighting. Shuffling his feet in the sand and clearing his throat, he continued, “so it was different but you also still had that look I see so often. The one you had moments ago. Like you’ve lost something. And you’re waiting for it to return to you.”

Alba turned her eyes back to gaze across the water before dropping her face to the sand with a huff. “Looking for your voice, perhaps?”

Alba looked up with her mouth dropped open in shock to see the young man grinning fully while she pushed him lightly away. Hvitserk let out a true laugh before wrapping his arm once more around Alba’s shoulder. Comfortable and brotherly.

Scuffing a bare foot in the sand, Alba moved away from his side and began ambling down the beach knowing Hvitserk would follow.

It was no use trying to hold that one sided conversation again. Part of the enchantment prevented her from revealing the truth about where she came from, about what she was…is…would be once more. So even if they played a crude pantomime game, she still could not reveal if his guess were to be correct.

Her time on land was almost spent. Her time with him would come to an end. Alba knew in her heart that Hvitserk was not in love with her. And the binding nature of the enchantment would not bend. No matter how much love she felt for him. Or how much she had become endeared to him. That was not the problem. He did love her. But it was not true love. Not for him. So she would return to the sea, but not today.

Alba sighed, straightened her shoulders and raised her head, breaking herself from her thoughts.

She turned to look at Hvitserk walking alongside her, scuffing his boots beside her bare feet. Gently, Alba reached out her hand and tapped his neck where she’d noticed the small bruise.

Hvitserk met her eyes with a mischievous smile.

“Oh that, there? That is nothing, little Sjór. Only a slight bite I received from one of the forest trolls while I was searching for mushrooms.”

The pair laughed at his jest, her silently and him with gentle chuckles before he continued, sincerity beginning to lace its way into his words.

“I was with Thora last night.”

Alba arched an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, again.” Hvitserk chuckled lightheartedly. He missed Alba’s eyebrows relax and the smile on her face fall as she listened to him talk about the new woman.

~~~~~~~~~~

Alba woke to the sound of rain pelting the thatch roof of her small cottage. Sleepily, she opened her eyes just as a streak of lightning illuminated the sky. She had seen the flash through the leaking cracks of her shutters.

Several moments later the booming echo of Thor’s hammer against the clouds brought a slight curve to her mouth. A rain storm was dangerous on the water. Perilous. But under the water, Alba and her sisters had been fond of watching the crash and roll of the tumultuous waves. The lightning scattering crystalline lights across the surface of the water. A beautiful orchestra of light and movement.

A rain storm did not startle her. A rain storm felt like home. Alba nestled further down into her furs, feeling their weight and warmth bringing her back to sleep.

Except this thunderous booming continued on far longer than any true thunderclap. And it was now accompanied by a muffled voice.

Hvitserk.

No one else ever came to her door. Barely another soul knew she even existed or much less where she dwelled.

Alba opened the door to a torrent of rain blocked only by Hvitserk’s tall frame.

For a moment, they stood staring at one another, the rain continuing to sleet down on them.

In the dark, Alba could barely make out the features of his face. She searched his face, her eyes questioning. But only for a moment before Alba grabbed his arm, ushering him inside and closing the door.

In two strides, Alba moved across the room to gather up the furs from her bed and drape them across Hvitserk’s shoulders then settling him down on the short bench next to her cookfire. Alba stoked up the flames from the low burning embers before turning on her knees to look at him.

Beads of rainwater still tracked down the strands of his hair that had come free from his braids and he had made no move to wipe the dampness from his face.

He met her eyes as he spoke, “It’s Ivar,” he stated simply.

Alba shuffled closer to him and placed her hand on his arm, atop the furs.

“He is sending me as his messenger to King Olaf. In Norway,” Hvitserk paused to turn his head. He clasped his hands together while bringing them up to rest against his mouth. He was staring off towards the other side of the room. His next words were muffled against his fist.

“I don’t know what my brother thinks he is going to do,” he chuckled then continued, “my brother the god king.”

Alba starred while Hvitserk worked through whatever thoughts were raging in his mind. Increasingly in the past weeks, Hvitserk’s worry over his brother’s rule in Kattegat had grown. Though he did not often openly criticize Ivar, it was clear to Alba that he carried many burdens for his younger brother. Burdens that left him questioning his path and his fate. And questioning the path his brother was forging.

The young woman scooted herself closer to him and placed her palm against his cheek, lightly pulling his face back to meet hers.

She saw the torment and frustration in his brow. It was mirrored on her own face. She opened her mouth but could only huff and furrow her brow more. Sighing, Alba looked around the room, searching for everything and nothing before finally settling her eyes back onto him.

“Even if you had words, little Sjór, there are none you could speak that would save me.”

At this, Alba felt her face shift from frustration to concern, her eyes frantically searching his face for more answers.

“I must do as Ivar bids. And I leave you behind to deal with Ivar’s tyranny. His madness.” Hvitserk dropped his head into his hands, continuing to talk. His words came more easily now as his emotions boiled over. “And my love, Thora. I leave her behind but she does not have the anonymity you do to protect her. I fear for her. I fear what Ivar may do to her while I am away.”

Hvitserk hung his head and sighed heavily. Alba felt her chest stutter as she realized she was holding back tears. He truly did love Thora. And Alba could not help herself from liking the young woman as well.

Hvitserk had brought Thora to the beach to meet her one day. And though it made her heart ache, Alba could not deny that she saw the love that was blooming there. From the casual way that she saw their bodys lean into one another to the way Hvitserk watched Thora when she did not know he was watching. While Alba was watching him. That night, she had cried silent tears alone on the beach, while the ocean’s mist cried with her. And the ache in her chest now was the same.

Trying her best to quell the sobs threatening to escape her lungs, Alba shifted herself once more to sit beside him on the bench. Gently, she cradled him in her arms and stroked back the strands of his hair, now drying by the heat from the fire. Hvitserk hugged her knees and closed his eyes for a moment, taking comfort from the care and love in Alba’s touch.

“I will miss you while I am away. I know you enjoy your solitude. But if you can, keep an eye out for my Thora. Ivar has made comments. Said things that make me fear she may be a target for his frustration. She sees how dangerous Ivar has become. It threatens him.”

The more Hvitserk continued on, the more Alba’s heart continued to tear. Her prince's concern and worry was for another. He was in love with another. She let out a silent sob, but laying in her lap, Hvitserk felt the jolt of her body. The pain she could no longer hold back.

Sitting up, he questioned, “What is it, Sjór?”

Alba closed her eyes and felt the tears cascade down her face as she shook her head.

Hvitserk took her face in his hands, turning his body so that he straddled the bench. The furs around his shoulders dropped to the ground, forgotten.

“Hey, hey look at me?”

Alba opened her eyes to see concern etched across his features. Silently cursing her tears, she pushed his hands away and stood, wrapping her arms around herself and stepping away towards the door. He was tormented enough and did not need to add her pain to his. A pain that she could not explain to him.

“Sjór, I….” He started, standing to face her and grabbing her arms, firm but gentle. His words fell silent as he watched the tears continue to track down her cheeks.

Huffing in frustration, Alba wiped the tears away. The two stood silent except for Alba’s shaky breaths for several moments.

Finally, Alba brought her fist up to thump against her chest. Over her heart. Gathering her courage, she took her fist, relaxing her fingers and placed her hand over Hvitserk’s own heart. And then brought her head to rest against her hand, feeling his breath and the questions in his stance.

Taking a step back and removing her hand to wipe another stray tear, Alba met his eye. With more force she took her fist to thump against his chest. In the same spot, over his heart.

Looking down to her hand, Alba tapped her fist against him once more then brought her hand up and pointed a single finger towards her window. Towards Thora, towards his love.

She watched as Hivitserk’s brow, a deep line of confusion, slowly relaxed. A look of realization spread across his face.

To then be replaced by something more unbearable.

Pity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bare feet found their way along the soft mosses and lichen carpeting the ground up the paths surrounding the northern side of the cove. Alba stepped slow and deliberate, feeling the air growing cooler. The spray of the mist off the sea left salty pin pricks of water glistening across her bare arms.

Low in the distance, the rumble of thunder rolled. As she crested the height of the cliffs, Alba found the crash of the waves joining in the thrum of the oncoming storm. The energy in the air was mounting. Mirroring Alba’s rising anguish.

Thora was dead. A cruel and horrifying death.

Ivar was rampaging. His madness was building and unstable.

And Hvitserk. Her sweet Hvitserk was gone. If Ivar was to be believed...If what he said was true, he was lost. Dead at the orders of King Olaf.

Alba fell to her knees at the cliff's edge. Her hands gripped tight onto the sharp rock’s edge. The rough surface painful and grating at the pads of her fingers. She clung to the edge. Her eyes staring down at the waves below. The maelstrom of the waves calling to her. To end her suffering. End the anguish and pain.

Alba stood, the wind whipping her dress as the rain began, drops gently splattering across the terrain. The young woman looked up towards the clouds and closed her eyes, feeling tears spill over across her cheeks.

Silently, Alba let the anguish wash over her. Knowing he was lost. And the sea was calling her to return.

Alba’s time on legs would soon be done. She had not found her love returned. And she could not stay. The pull of the sea was calling to her stronger and stronger. Her sisters called to her to return to them.

Slowly, she dropped her face back down to the tumult below and took a step forward.

“Don’t!”

The voice stopped her movements. The roll of thunder boomed again. Several tense moments passed before Alba heard the voice again.

“Please don’t.”

The voice was deep and soothing. But Alba could sense something else behind the words. Panic. Desperation.

Weakly, she turned to face the nameless voice, her head turning back to look across her shoulder. The rain was cascading in steady rivulets now. Mingling with the tears staining Alba’s face. Her dress had quickly become sodden and clung to her skin.

When her eyes came to the tree line, she saw him.

He was tall. Dark. His hair plastered to the sides of his face from the rain. Hands raised to indicate he was no threat to her.

Slowly, tentatively the man stepped forward to stand beside her before he spoke again.

Alba’s eyes tracked his movements.

When he was close enough to touch her, he spoke once more.

“Please. Do not succumb to it.”

When Alba did nothing but stare, the man continued, “To your grief. Please.”

It was the please that caught her. The gentleness and the kindness in his eyes as he pleaded with her.

His arms caught her as she collapsed atop the cliff, allowing the despair to wash over her.

The man held her while she cried, silent sobs that shook her to her core. Her fingers twisting and clinging to the folds of his shirt. His arms steady and firm around her shoulders as he cradled her. He held her until she stilled while the rains continued their lament. And when she was half asleep, ruined with exhaustion he carried her back down the path.

He settled her down underneath his own roof, beside a comfortable fire to dry her clothes and hair.

The man handed her a small bowl full of warm broth.

“Go ahead,” he coaxed, “you must get dry and eat. You do not want to catch cold. And then you should sleep.”

When Alba stared at him questioningly, he added, “You have nothing to fear from me. I am called Sihtric.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ To be continued in part II

Tagging my usuals. Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my taglist.

Tags: @maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover-deactivated20210806 @ecarroll1978 @93xdiagonxalley @nobodys-business-world @evelynshelby @trenko-heart @0hsappho

#cherrypie’s500 #Hvitserk #vikings #sihtric #the last kingdom #deans ch ch cherrypie #Hvitserk x OC #sihtric x OC #vikings/the last kingdom crossover #hvitserk vikings #hvitserk x ofc #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk lothbrok #fanfiction

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riorsonxaden · 4 years ago

Note

For the Elucien week drabbleathon, can I have Lucien finding out about his bio father and talking through his feelings with Elain?

ELUCIEN WEEK

DAY 7: FREE CHOICE

Okay so this is kinda funny to get this. I actually have this in my docs that's a multi chapter fic. The feelings bit with Elain is spoilery for the story itself so I can't share that...yet. But what I can do is show this part. Basically in this story, Elain finds out of Lucien's parentage through a vision and this scene below is what happens after that. It's set to be a few parts. Where Lucien deals with this information and then Lucien and Elain playing matemakers lmao. The chapter after this is where we deal with Lucien and talking to Elain I can tag you in it whenever I post this story to tumblr.

TRIGGER WARNING: very, very slight mention of child abuse

The three of them settled in the sun-lit room. For an office it was worlds different than Rhys' in the river estate back in Velaris. That room was a standard four walls. This one, Helion's office in the Day Court was a rounded room. Tall ivory columns wrap around the circular area. There were no windows, it was simply an open space allowing the sunlight and the warm kiss of its rays inside to dance along the tiled floor. Elain adored the sun peering in at every angle and the soft breeze that followed. She only wished they were here for better circumstances.

Glancing between the High Lord of Day and her mate, the resemblance was uncanny. From their posture, sitting regal yet with an air of recklessness to the silken strands of hair, matching grins, and the shape of their eyes. Mother above even their nose was the same. There was no denying her vision wasn’t false. They scarcely were.

When she told Lucien of seeing Helion and his mother, he refused to believe it. He was Beron's son unfortunately. His mother would never hide this from him. Elain pointed out to him that he did in fact cleave an unbreakable spell to come to her aide that day in Hyberns. No Autumn court member, high fae or otherwise had done that. Lucien attempted to pin it on the bond. Elain dismissed it bringing up his tendency to glow when in the throes of passion. The seer had once asked her sister if this common for faes to glow while being intimate. Feyre told her it was power from the High Lord of Day. Elain never could make sense of it. Why her mate glowed like a fire bug in the summer seasons until her vision. Lucien claimed it could be from a crossed lineage years ago.

“Lucien...you said you never felt like you were a Vanserra. That there was something wrong with you.”

“Maybe this is why. Because you’re not a Vanserra. We go to the Day Court and ask Helion says no then fine.”

There was panic and fear in his russet eyes when he looked at her. “What if he says yes?”

Elain crossed the threshold to her love taking his face in her hands, resting their foreheads together, her fingers lacing with his. “Then I will be there with you and together we will hear him out.”

With reluctance he agreed and now they were here, an awkward tension like a dense fog slowly filling the silent room.

Lucien leaned backed in the golden chair, hand flexing at fae speed on the arm of it, his equally golden eye whirring as it zeroed in on Helion. The High Lord's brows quirked up in amusement, a roguish smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

"I've always wondered what that eye of yours could do. What it could see." Elain's cheeks flushed a vibrant pink, Helion's gaze fell on her offering a wink, "Petal." He purred, "Is it alright if I call you petal?"

The smile he gave her could turn someone's insides into liquid heat. No wonder he had as many lovers as there were clouds in the sky. She chuckled before answering, shifting in her seat, "Elain is fine."

"Ah, I see. We don't want to upset your mate and have him feel left out."

Helion turned to Lucien who remained silent and watching. A steely gaze on his father, Not father and his boots tapping with the same ferocity as his hand. Elain reached through the bond feeling wave after wave of anxiousness roiling through him. It was enough to make her feel nauseous like they were in a sea of turbulent waters instead of seated, far away from any ocean. His heart, she could tell, was battering so quickly Elain was surprised it didn’t fling directly out of chest. There was something else she noticed in the bond. Realization. He knew. And Lucien was not handling it well in his mind. Elain poured her affections down the bond then overlapping her hand with his. Sweeping a thumb over his knuckles. A silent statement to say, I'm here.

Elain smiled tenderly, noting the appreciation in his russet eye as Lucien glanced at her fingers. Sliding in between his own, squeezing them in reassurance. He repeated the action to her, holding tightly as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Then his eyes met hers. The nervousness etched on his beautiful face softened. Her heart fluttered as it always did when he looked at Elain this way. Like she was his home. His comfort. His everything. Just as he was hers.

Helion coughed a bit too loudly to be real, breaking their moment, "I hate to break up this lovely storybook moment petal. If this is about the Pegasus who ate Rhys' shirt. One Rhys should come and two he left it in the stables. If you’ll excuse me, I do have a party to prepare for and guests will be arriving shortly.” Helion made to stand.

"Sit.” Lucien snarled. Helion’s eyes widened at the pitch and the bite of the one word. “We don't know anything about a Pegasus. We're here on our own accord." Lucien curtly stated.

The two high fae stared each down as Helion slid back into his chair. The fog thick tension is now so deep a knife could only strike it. Helion lifted a hand over his heart " Unfortunately, I don't take mated mates as lovers. I'm honored you thought of me to share your bed." He teased with a lovers grin. The fire in Lucien’s eye was a roaring flame. He was several seconds from exploding. Elain has seen him angry, furious, but nothing like this. If he wasn’t her mate, she’d be frightened at the burning rage beneath him.

"I find that odd. Being if Feyre or Nesta were here you'd take the chance." Elain challenged feeding off the energy her mate emitted.

"I-" His eye shuttered briefly before meeting Elain's again, "Sweet petal," he crooned before he could speak again Elain cut him off feeling Lucien's waring feelings churning through the bond.

"There's a reason you'd deny me. Us. I think it deals with a vision I had and Lucien." She gripped her mate tighter feeling his hand grow clammy yet white hot beneath her own.

Helion grew quiet, brows pressed together, his tanned chest rising and falling in rapid succession. Holding a stern gaze with Lucien. "Of?"

"The past."

Helion blanched, the color of his skin fully drained. All hints of the easy going High Lord faded into nothing. A mask of steel replaced it.

"What did you see?" His voice faltered, shaking and strained. He cleared his throat, aiming for a deeper tone in his voice. One that caused anyone to listen and obey. If an ominous storm with roaring thunder that streaked the sky in lighting had a voice it would’ve sounded like this. It came through gritted teeth in a low predatory growl. "What did you see?"

"You will not speak to her like that." Lucien snapped. Slamming his fists on the desks sparks of embers shot from his hands. Elain jumped back into the chair. Helion had the good sense to look startled for a moment, "Unlike you or my mother, she doesn't keep things from me." then Lucien added that and the steeled features returned.

It was Helion’s turn to stand and move for move copy his son’s actions. “Listen boy. I will rip your throat out if you insult your mother like that in my presence again are we clear?”

Lucien scoffed. Not the usual playful scoff Elain had grown accustomed to. This was laced with malice. “You don’t think I’ve heard threats like this before? My entire life? "I've been beaten for saying less.”

Elucien watched as the emotionless expression Helion wore quickly faded. Now his face crumbled. Pained with grief, the glow in his eyes gone as he stepped away from Lucien. Her eyes darted between the two. This wasn’t just protecting a secret she realized. There was love here. For the lady of the autumn court, and for his son. Her mate.

"I'm sorry." Helion let out in a defeated sigh. "Forgive me. forgive us."

For as fast as that heated anger ripped through Lucien, it seemed to to die down. Like the loud sigh for Helion somehow cooled her mate down.

"I-" Lucien turned to Elain unsure of what to do. Elain did not respond the whites of her eyes rolled up, her body falling back into the chair.

Mate.

The word seared in her head, when thrust back into the past, seeing Helion and the Lady of the Autumn Court together. As if her inner eye was speaking to her, revealing a part neither Lucien nor herself were ready for. Now she felt it. The golden spark tethering two souls. Pure, protective, unbreakable love. Seconds later she came back to reality.

Lucien no longer standing at the desk but kneeling in front of her. Calloused palms on hers while he searched her features.

“Elain?”

She didn’t look at him. Her gaze landed on Helion who took a step back.

“You’re mates."

“There are things bigger than telling you the truth. Stakes are high dealing with him and a situation like ours. This conversation cannot happen here.” Helion drew a finger to follow as he stood. “Ears are everywhere in Prythian. You should know this.” He fixed a sorrowful look on Lucien. “We will talk in my inner office.”

elucienweek taglist: @ladyvanserra @helion-ism @bookologist @firestarsandseneschals @thecrownlands @rarephloxes @elucienweek @nestaisgod

#elucienweek #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #day 7: free choice #elucien fic #elucien drabble #helion spell cleaver #lady of the autumn court #helion x lady of autumn #acotar fic #acotar #acomaf #acosf #acowar #acofas #userbecs #ilya-botagon

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iamdarkness · 4 years ago

Text

After the Storm

My Birthday gift for Alfonse's Day. I am one day late because I didn't know about it.

NSFW 18+

Lif x Summoner. A little bit of Alfonse x Summoner x Lif .

This can take place after the summoner is rescued and back in the castle. It also may or may not be part of To Feed a Tiger and Letters From Fodlan. It is all up to you.

He was standing right there, just in front of you….so close…and yet so far away. Dark blue hair and silver-ish tips swaying over his ruby red eyes, while he slowly approached you. His gauntleted hand reached slowly for you face. It was cold and smooth as leather, the metal fingernails not reaching your skin, he had made sure of that.

-We meet again. I thought you would not want to return.- You say and your face lean on his touch.

-I had to see it for my self…See you. That you were safe and sound. - He answers softly with that oh so deep voice that never fails to make you sway where you stand. It is true his voice had made you tremble from the first time you had heard it, he did not know it was not from fear. He had touched your soul from the beginning and drew you in like a moth to a flame. And what a magnificent flame he was.

The moonlight bathes you both in cool silver light, but you find the glow of his body a more compelling sight. You knew how insecure he had always been and knew that now he thought himself a hideous monster. If only he could see himself through your eyes; how beautiful you found him. You touch his face and you can hear the intake of breath he takes. His mask slips from his face and he tries to turn away. You use your other hand to turn it to face you.

-You are so gorgeous Alfonse.

-No I’m…

-No. You are gorgeous to me. I love you so much…- He looks down at you searchingly with knitted brows, expecting to find deception. How can someone like you find someone like him, attractive. He doesn’t understand and he doesn’t want your pity. Yet he finds only love in your eyes and even more than that. He can see desire and this surprises him and dare he hope?- Alfonse! Why are you like this? Why can’t you understand that to me, you are amazing and sexy! Your intellect and your skills and god Alfonse you learned a whole new sword style! You are so amazing. Even before, you always thought I liked other men better and…

-That was before…but now…

-Alfonse! No matter what shape you have, you are still my Alfonse and I find you gorgeous. Don’t you remember what I sang to you the first time we were together?I still love your precious heart …-You gasp. You were not suppose to say that and he catches on quick as smart as he is. He knows this Askr’s Alfonse and you had never been together. It had only been Death’s first attack; that had given Alfonse, now Lif the courage to leave all formalities behind and you had become lovers for the last weeks of your life. The words from that song had stayed with him and kept the little sanity he still had. His eyes blaze with that inner fire you had seen when he is either very angry or very exited. The deepest of passions have always lay hidden within him; restrained by the weight of his position and reputation. Lif had neither of those restrains.

-________. You are my _______!My Summoner!- There were so many feelings passing through his mind. He was surprised and happy and so angry too. He wanted to laugh and cry, but he also wanted to yell at you and hurt you. How could you not tell him the truth after everything you both had gone through? Did you prefer to stay by Alfonse’s side instead? Do you love him more? Is it because of how he looks? Of course you would prefer to stay with him. Whole as he is and not a monster like him.He was alive and could give you everything he always dreamed of giving you. He does not realize it, but the same hand that was caressing your face was now squeezing hard enough to hurt and his nails beginning to scratch.- Why did you not tell me this? Do you..

-I am not sure how it went. I lost my memories of my life in our Askr. I didn’t know and I did not want to hurt you and Alfonse. I know it has something to do with Breidablik. All the memories started coming when I was using it or when I was asleep.

There is a silence in which he looks deeply into your eyes. He sees no deceit in them but he has been hurt so much, he doesn’t dare believe. He sights and his head lowers to rest on your forehead. He did not think he would be able to cry any more ever, but he feels the wetness roll down his face.

-I wanted to heal you, not hurt you. I was willing to let you go and help you from afar but you never let me.

-I am here now…- He did not mentioned he was not letting you go now. He had given up his hope of saving his own people to help this Askr, and he was not going to give you up too. He kissed you now, deeply and full of need. The restrains now gone. Your hand lets his mask fall to the ground and you embrace him. He forgets he needs not breathe and you do need it and his kiss last so long you feel dizzy. You make to let go but he follows with a moan of protest that was almost a whine.

- Air…-You say and smile, while peppering his face with butterfly kisses. He gives you a low growl in return and kisses your neck instead. It gains him a moan he returns in kind. He hears your whispered plea and stiffens. He separates to look you in the eyes.

-Here?- He asks and he sounds scandalized. Nothing really changes.

-You do not remember that kitchen cupboard? Or the tactics tent after the meeting?- He splutters and turns a little away. It might just be you, but it looks like his light brightens.- They were not my ideas either.- You add and take this time to slip your hand under his belt close to where his abs can be felt by your knuckles.

-I remember.- He turns to you and takes his time looking at you. Then he close his eyes and takes his hands off your face to undo the clasps that hold his fur cloak. He lays it on the moon bathed grass and looks at you again.- Are you sure?- You nod. He steels himself and adds.- I…it is all of my body and half my face as you can see…

-Alfonse…I am not afraid of you or your glowing body. I find it perfectly amazing. Here, let me help you...-You tell him and go to help him take off his armor. He stops you and just takes his top hard armor as if by magic and is left with some low cut under armor pants and boots. You take a long look at him. As you had seen before, he had grown a lot. His chest and back were broader and even though you could see his bones there was a light in all of him that did not let you see through him. You could see his shape as If he was very muscular as well.

You were aware that you were staring, but you could not take your eyes away from him. He was so perfect. There was an intake of breath that was more a reflex than a necessity. He must have seen the desire in your gaze when you looked him in the eyes.-God Alfonse! Have you no idea what you do to me?

His shyness relents with your confession and he reaches up to you and kisses you deeply again. His hands roams your back. He kisses you until he reaches under your night shirt and you feel him lift the fabric. You are wearing nothing under and he caresses your skin on his way to lifting it off of you. When it is off, he looks down to you perked up breast. They had hardened with need and the night breeze. You feel his heated gaze on you as it explores once again your chest. His hands take hold of you pants as he pulls them down he leaves a trail of kisses down to your hip.

He gets up again kissing your body up to your neck. Your thigh, hip, lower abdomen, belly, between your breasts, chest, neck. All the while his hands trail up your side and back, like the sweet caress of flower petals.

His mouth reaches yours and his right hand takes your breast and squeezes gently, gaining a moan from you. He hungrily kisses you harder and starts lowering you down to where his fur cloak waits for you. You feel the weight of his body, the firmness of his glowing skin, soft and cool against your heated one. You shiver, not precisely because of the cold. It had been so long since you wanted to touch him and be touched by him. So long since you wanted to tell him how much you love him and how much you needed him.

He has taken your panties off along with his pants and now his head is between your tights and he kisses your womanhood. His tongue starts twirling around the pearl of your clitoris. His sparkling red eyes find yours as he gives a growly moan.

-Already so wet for me ______. Tell me how much you want me.- He licks at you. You had forgotten this man went from hiding his face out of bashfulness to pounding you vigorously into the mattress. He was a possessive, kinky, dominant lover with the drive to make love to you all night and the daring to take you in the riskiest of places.

-Oh …I want you please! I need you! I have waited so long for you! Mmm…aah- He introduces a finger inside you and then the second. You see him smirk while you moan and squirm.- Oh please! - His fingers go in and out in a merciless rhythm while he bites the inside of your legs, your hips, your stomach, suck at your breast and then bites you neck.- Aah …Alfonse please!- He growls at that.

-Not Alfonse!Alfonse is a child! Say my name! Say it!

-Mmmm Aaah! Lif! Lif Please! I can’t…I …- He has you seeing stars and the way he talks to you in your ear is enough to make you come. You shudder and moan his name again.

-Yes. Come for me ______- You are still shivering when you feel him lift your leg and position himself between your legs.- Are you ready for me?- He asks in your ear; then bites it. This ignites the fire within you once again.

-Yes. Please. I need you.

He looks into your eyes. -We will become one. Do you accept me? Will you be mine once again? Will you re-new our vows? - He asks, his voice full of emotion make your heart melt. You feel this moment as if this was a promise. Your wedding night. No going back. Your eyes water. How can you say not to him. The love of your life. Once you had pledged to be with him in a” till death do us part” promise. Now you knew he had gone beyond death and so had you. If there was a” for ever”; you wanted it to be with him.

-Yes. Only you. For ever.

He kisses you; tenderly this time and just as tenderly you fell him enter you. Here ,now while his hips moved so sensually against you, and he kisses you like it is the fist time; you feel him become Alfonse once again. The man that had asked you once, to promise him to never leave him. The man who had promised to never be with anyone else but you. The man who had said his wedding vows before making love to you for the first time, because there was no time to have a wedding.

He moves inside you while he utters your name like a mantra, proclaiming you as his. You respond to him that yes, you are his and cling to him for dear life because this is too much, too fast for you. Soon enough you feel the pressure build inside you and you climax again. He stops a second and gives a small rumble of a laugh.

-My _____. As passionate as ever. -He feels you shiver against his flesh and your moan of release was silenced with a long kiss. Suddenly while still kissing you he starts moving, but this time faster to reach his release. His moans are, so sensual to your ears.-You are so warm. Come for me again dearest! Come for me! Only for me!

-Oh Lif you feel so good! You are so good! - He came undone with this. He bit your neck long and hard enough to bruise and you came again right there alongside him, while he reached into the deepest part of you and you call his name.

You both ride your high clinging to each other, entangled like ivy. Your hands roam his strong back in a soothing motion. He hides his face in the crock of your neck and you hear his whispered plea.

-Run away with me. - Oh how you wish you could. You hug him tighter.

-I gave him my word. I will leave with you once the war ends.-You tell him.

-You can not return to him after this. Stay with me.

- I gave you my word. I am yours, but I need to save this Askr. I can not fail twice. I will not. I swore to you to serve you till death and I did. I will fulfill my promise to him and I will return to you. Please let me do this. If we play this right we can save this world and return ours to life.

-Ours.- he says with emotion.- I knew you would say this.- He kisses you and then he kisses your ear. Once he is close enough he whispers.

-The gods are plotting to end us. They specifically want to end Alfonse’s line. I am working with them to find their weakness. -He makes a shushing notice when he feels you stiffening.- Do not tell him anything, but prepare. Trouble comes and it comes fast.- He kisses you again and then he keeps on whispering.- I will come to you. I promise.

He separates from you and say coldly. - So you will not come with me?

-No. I… I am sorry Lif.- You play along. He just nods and gets up. You are left there feeling cold and empty. He starts dressing up and you do the same. Once you both are again standing dressed and ready to leave; he takes your cheek in his hand and with the other he touches the bruise left on your neck.

-Does he know where you are?

-Yes.

-Now he will know who you belong to. Although this will not deter him, I know him well enough to understand this.- He sighs and turns to leave.- Until we see each other again Summoner.

He does not turn around and he is gone.

~*~

You stand looking out of the window. Children run around laughing in the garden. A strand of hair comes undone from your bun and tickles your cheek. You feel a hand take the graying strands to tuck it behind your ear. You turn to see deep blue eyes watching you fondly. Alfonse’s blue hair is graying too. He looks out the window and smiles. Among your grandchildren a tall figure stands up (1). Lif’s dark blue hair swaying in the winds while he talks to a young man that looks remarkably like a young Alfonse. He looks down to a child clinging to his left leg. A blond haired and greed eyed girl of around five years. He picked her up and she giggled. His face turns to look at you and his crimson eyes twinkle in the sunlight. There is happiness and love in them. You blow him a kiss and Alfonse chuckles at your side.

With how endless you had felt the war, you never thought you could reach a happy ending and here you were. In that moment; there was only happiness.

1. It is my belief that anyone as a summoner would find that there were a lot of casualties of war and many orphaned kids. Used to so much people in the castle and with most of the heroes gone; the summoner opened up an orphanage and ended up adopting some of the kids, along side of whoever she married. At the end it is not only her biological grandchildren, but also the kids of her adopted ones.

#feh #feh fan fiction #feh alfonse x summoner #feh alfonse x reader #feh alfonse x kiran #feh lif #feh lif reader #feh lif x summoner #feh lif x reader #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem heroes #alfonse x summoner x lif #feh lif x kiran #feh kiran #feh summoner #fire emblem fanfiction #kiralfonse

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