#future rip x ray tag

[gigabyte-flare]

There's No Escape (Part 5)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: You find out that dedication pays off as you struggle with conflicting feelings for your clearly traumatized captor.

Pairing: yandere!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Word Count: 2.4k

If any of the warnings below trigger you, please kindly pass on this fic 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life; if you feel this way, please go touch grass. You are solely responsible for your own content consumption

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL YEET YOU INTO THE GODDAMN SUN. Thank you!

Warnings (may not apply to all parts): Sex, gaslighting, swearing, stalking, acts of violence, blood, dubcon, kidnapping, pet names (baby, doll, angel, sweetheart, etc.), PTSD triggers, unprotected sex, forced breeding, daddy kink, manipulation, oral (m and f receiving), choking, overstimulation, knife play, gunplay, masterbation, drugging, tokophobia, Stockholm syndrome if you squint. Long story short, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. More warnings could be added in the future.

Tags: @lipglossanon, @ghostkennedy, @explorevenus, @nexyswrites, @ilookatlater, @shroomietrip, @dollrxst, @lomaeuwu, @aliet, @luniaxifics (Shoot me a message or an ask if you want to be added to the list!)

A/N: I appreciate everyone's patience while I worked to get this one out. Hopefully it's worth the wait, enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You were in heaven.

Or… at least as close to heaven as you could get in your current predicament.

You soak yourself in the master bathroom tub, something Leon let you do if you were good, it felt so good on your sore muscles first thing in the morning. You sit there, your eyes closed; it was one of those part bathtub, part jacuzzi things that probably cost Leon a fortune. It was huge, you figured it could fit at least four people. 

The bathroom itself had a modern aesthetic. There was the tub, across from that was a stand up shower, completely enclosed in glass with a rainfall shower head. The sink and vanity were behind you in front of the door heading into the master bedroom. The best part though? The floor to ceiling window that overlooked the vast forest. The sun shone through the morning mist and trees, scattering god rays everywhere. You had to give credit for that; Leon had great taste in architecture. 

Your mind wanders as you open your eyes to enjoy the view of the forest. How long have you been here? Weeks? Months? You had tried to keep track but found it next to impossible. All the days seemed to blend together, your days made up of either Leon being attached to your hip or him ‘going into town’ (whatever that means) for work while you stayed there; you liked these days to yourself the most. In the evenings Leon would fuck you, his desire to get you pregnant was seemingly insatiable; hence why you were almost always sore in the morning.

It was impossible to fight him when he felt so fucking good, fucking asshole.

You’re ripped from your thoughts when you hear the bathroom door open.

“Alright, babygirl, tub time is over, time to have breakfast.”

You inwardly groan, opening your eyes and glaring at Leon.

“Don’t be like that, you don’t want Daddy to put you in timeout again, do you?”

You let out a sigh as you start to climb out, however, Leon scoops you up into his arms, carrying you into the bedroom so you could get dressed.

“Don’t want you slipping and falling on that wet tile. I can’t have my princess hurting herself, can I?”

In any other situation, you think this gesture would be adorable as hell, but this is not any other situation due to the fact that Leon is fucking nuts. He sets you down onto the bed before opening up the closet to pick out your outfit. One of his favorite things to do was to dress you up like you were his personal doll; this started within the past week. 

It’s like the more and more time you are trapped in this house with him, the weirder he gets.

“Here we are!” He suddenly exclaims, pulling out a flowy, short summer dress from the closet.

He walks over to you, you have seated yourself at the end of the bed with your arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Move your arms, babygirl,” Leon commands, his voice having a hint of annoyance.

Letting out a sigh, you lift your arms up over your head and Leon slips the dress onto you. When he gets the dress fitted onto you, he takes a step back as if he’s admiring a piece of artwork.

“Such a pretty doll you are. What do you say to Daddy for dressing you up so nice?”

You look away from him, once again wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Leon snarls.

You immediately look back at him, “thank you, Daddy…”

His expression immediately softens, “you’re welcome baby,” he pries one of your arms away from you, grasping your hand, “let’s go get you some breakfast, hm?”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The sound of a saw can be heard coming from a small shed on Leon’s property. Inside, Leon was diligently working, taking the piece of wood he had just cut and bringing it over to his project he was working on, a crib.

Leon knew something you didn’t, you had been asleep when he was able to draw some blood from you with a small needle and bring that sample with him to work one day. He gave it to the lab techs to test, you asked them to see if they could tell if you were pregnant, telling them that he wanted to surprise you with the good news. It took a couple days, but they let him know in an email that you were, in fact, pregnant with his child.

It took everything in him not to immediately tell you, so he took that energy and spent it on building the crib. In the shed, he had several monitors that showed the cameras inside the house so that he could keep an eye on you while he worked. You were in the bedroom, probably taking a nap, that was until he watched you turn onto your back, dipping one of your hands in between your legs.

He watched in awe as you pleasured yourself. He had read that sometimes a woman’s sex drive will skyrocket when they’re pregnant, thankfully that seems to be true for you. He continues to work on the crib, stopping to look at the camera feed in the bedroom occasionally. The picture was grainy, but he could tell your fingers were buried inside you and you appeared to be saying his name. This only served to motivate him to get this crib done.

What a good girl.

At some point, he unconsciously stops, staring into the camera feed as you’re still fingering yourself, a solid 45 minutes has passed by at least. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, eventually finding himself digging his hardening cock out of his pants to get himself off from watching you. After a few minutes of this, he tucks his throbbing cock back into his pants and makes his way into the house

As soon as he opens the front door, he’s immediately greeted by the sound of your animalistic moans coming from the bedroom. As he stalks through the house, he begins undoing his belt and practically ripping off his own pants and underwear. As he steps through the threshold into the bedroom now naked from the waist down, he sees you still laying on the bed, fingers buried into you with one hand while the other is rubbing circles into your swollen clit. You sit up slightly to look at Leon, tears streaming down your face.

He wastes no time pulling off his shirt and climbing on top of you, his lips sealing over yours as he buried his cock deep inside your crying cunt. His thrusts are hungry and determined, causing you to practically scream his name. He feels your nails claw into his back. He buries his face into neck to mark you with loving bruises as his cock continues its relentless assault on your pussy. 

You let out an ear piercing scream as you cum all over his cock, drenching him in your juices as you continue to claw into his back, your nails drawing blood. Letting out a low growl, Leon pushes himself as deep as he could possibly go, shooting his load into you, coating your pussy walls pure white. Propping himself up by his arms, he looks down at you, still buried inside you. He’s breathing heavily, his skin coated in sweat.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

On one hand, you were so pissed at yourself for enjoying every second of that, on the other, you were so thankful Leon had come in to finally give you your release. You had no clue what had come over you, all of a sudden you were blindsided by an insatiable hunger that no amount of fingering yourself and clit rubbing was going to satisfy, you needed something that hit deeper. 

You and Leon look at each other, his arms caging you beneath him. Eventually he leans down, giving you a soft kiss on your forehead before he finally pulls out of you. A rush of his cum leaks out of you. Pulling your dress down, you sit up and sit on the end of the bed as you watch Leon retrieve his discarded shirt, putting it back on before walking out of the bedroom; you assume his pants and boxers are out there somewhere. You stand up, immediately feeling his release drip down your legs, a painful reminder of your lack of willpower against Leon. 

You follow Leon out of the bedroom, watching as he gets his boxers and pants back on. He looks over at you, smiling.

“Sorry for bursting in like that, you looked like you needed some help on the cameras and I just couldn’t resist.”

You swallow hard, “it’s ok, Daddy, I’m thankful you came in when you did…”

Admitting that made you sick to your stomach, you wrap your arms around yourself again, hugging yourself gently.

“Put some shoes on and come with me to the work shed, I have something to show you that I’ve been working on for you.”

There’s a shoe rack over by the front door, you see a pair of your sandals along with pairs of boots and sneakers, probably all Leon’s. You walk over, grabbing the sandals and putting them on.

He gives you a dark look, “now, don’t get any ideas when we’re outside. I’m trusting you. You need to stay next to me at all times outside, understood?”

You stand next to him at the front door, giving him a slight nod before he opens the door. As both of you step outside, you inhale deeply, taking in the calming smell of the forest. When was the last time you were outside? You truly couldn’t recall. The shed was a ways away from the main house, you follow Leon on a well beaten path away from the house. Before long, you see the shed, which honestly was the size of a small house. The door to the shed was wide open, you assume Leon had left it open while he was rushing to get back to the house, to get to you.

You step inside and you quickly realize the shed actually was a small house. The room you were in probably used to be a living room however now it had various things scattered about, mostly tools and other stuff used for building things. You follow him into what used to be the kitchen, the tile floor covered in sawdust. There was a workbench in the middle with a table saw and Leon had removed the doors off the cabinets for easy access to his tools.

“When I bought this property, this little house used to be the original building until I built the new house. I figured I’d put this building to good use, but that’s not what I wanted to show you.”

He smiles at you before gesturing to something in the back next to the workbench, you gasp as your eyes settle on the half built piece of furniture.

“Is… is that a crib?!” you ask, a slight hint of panic in your voice.

“It is, and I have another surprise for you,” he continues as he grabs a piece of paper off the work bench, bringing it over to you.

You take the sheet from him, confused at first, it appeared to be results of a blood test, with elevated levels of hGC, whatever that means.

“Leon, I don’t really know what I’m looking at…”

“Come again?”

You mentally roll your eyes, “Daddy, I don’t know what this paper means.”

You watch as a smile slowly appears across Leon’s lips, his eyes locked onto you, “it means you’re pregnant, babygirl.”

“What?” you reply in utter disbelief.

“I took a sample of your blood with me to work and had the lab boys test it. I wanted to be able to give you the good news!”

Good news? GOOD NEWS? This was the furthest thing from good news. You start hyperventilating, the realization that you are tied to Leon forever now sinking in. You collapse to your knees, sobbing violently.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Why are you crying?

Leon stood there, watching you as you collapsed to the floor, utterly confused. You should be happy, why aren’t you happy? Leon’s lifelong dream of starting a family, especially with the love of his life, was finally coming true. When he had seen the results, he was completely overwhelmed with joy, so why aren’t you?

“Sweetheart, are you afraid…?” he began, kneeling down to you so that he was at your eye level, “there’s no need to be afraid, you’re going to be the most beautiful and perfect mommy to our baby.”

You continue to cry, big, heavy tears falling from your face as you struggle to breathe. Leon reaches out to you, caressing your cheek and wiping tears from your eyes, “I’m going to take such good care of you during this pregnancy, I promise.”

He was trying so hard to comfort you, but the more he spoke, the more your sobs got more intense. He suddenly grabs you by your arm, forcing you back onto your feet, but that didn’t stop you from crying. 

“Baby, please tell Daddy what’s wrong. Don’t you want my baby?”

“NO!” you scream at him without even the slightest hesitation, your body violently trembling.

In that moment, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. What do you mean you don’t want his baby? What began as sadness then evolved into full on rage as his anger coursed through his veins. He looks down at you, sees you still crying. However, he knew he couldn’t act on his anger, he didn’t want to risk losing the baby. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again.

He gently wraps his arms around you, pulling you to him, pressing you to his chest. You bury your face into his chest, tears staining his shirt. He simply held you there in his arms, letting you cry it all out. Eventually, you did finally stop crying, much to Leon’s relief. He runs his hand through your hair as he looks down at you, your face still buried in his pecs. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, it’ll be ok. We’re finally going to be a happy family.”

Part 6

[holdmytesseract]

So, there's this song that I've been listening to non-stop.

Kind of an oldie...with Robbie Williams. LoL.

I imagine a scenario in my head of Reader and Loki who were once in a relationship and had a falling out (because of whatever reason - maybe of his insecurities). But he sees that the Reader is fine after the break up (she isn't really, she just acts like it) and it bothers him that they moved on so quickly.

But he tries to get her back because he really does love her 😍. I thought this would be so cute.

Resurrected Love

Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader

Summary: What once had been undying love between you and Loki, had seemingly turned into dust. After the breakup, the god just isn't himself anymore; barely coping with losing the love of his life. Unlike you. You seem to be just fine; having moved on quickly. Or was it just an illusion? Nevertheless, Loki decides to try to get you back. Will he be successful?

Warnings: sadness and heartbreak, thirst? angst, swear words? suggestive smut, fighting/shouting, fluuuff - tell me if I forgot something!

Word Count: 4,5k

a/n: Ahhh first of all, I'd like to apologise... Sorry @mochie85 that this took me SO long... 🥺 Thank you again for making me the incredible Baby Fever mood board! 🥰 I hope you like this little present I got in return! ☺️💝

Tagging: (In the comments!)

Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist

The blaring sound of the alarm clock ripped the sleeping god out of his peaceful slumber. Groaning, Loki moved his hands from underneath his pillow and instead buried his head underneath said pillow. Bare, muscular arms pressed down on the soft, fluffy cushion; trying to drown out the noise. In vain.

A deep, husky grumble left his sore throat, before he reached out blindly to shut off the alarm. Tossing and turning in the bed, he came to lay on his back; big palms running over his face and rubbing his tired eyes. A few rays of sunshine peeked through the emerald green silk curtains; illuminating his small, cosy bedroom. Loki sighed and stretched; causing the light duvet to expose his bare torso. His gaze was directed towards the ceiling; idle and aimless. The god could still feel the tiredness and exhaustion in his bones. Not his physical, though. His mental exhaustion. It just wasn't the same since you were gone. Since you packed your bags and walked out of his apartment. Out of his life. He could sleep for hours and yet he didn't find rest. His bed was so small, but without you he was afraid to get lost in it.

Not even five minutes later, his alarm clock told him again to stand up - and he had no other choice but to give in. Shutting it off, he sat up in bed and rolled out of the comfortable confines. Sighing, he pulled the curtains to let the first rays of sunshine into his bedroom, before he slumped to the bathroom. Dressed in nothing but black briefs, Loki came to stand in front of the mirror of his cabinet, hanging above the sink. He couldn't help but to look at himself. Look at the picture of misery he had become. Dark rings were underneath his eyes. His hair was tousled and resembled more a bird's nest, than a glorious, untamed mane of a god. Fingertips grazed his cheeks and chin; feeling the black, scratchy stubble which had grown so wildly. He had let himself go since you were gone - and he knew it. But it had been pointless. Sure, eye circles, messed up hair and a wild beard was nothing a bit of seidr couldn't fix, but... It couldn't fix his broken heart, so what was the point in using it?

Nevertheless, the god was forced to regain his 'good looks'. There was a very important meeting today. A meeting he couldn't skip like the last ones. Thor would bite his head off, if he wasn't going to appear. After all, this meeting was about his future... With another deep sigh, Loki went to work. He took a shower first; cleaning his ethereal body and godly locks. After that, he shaved; getting rid of his beard. Once his skin was as smooth as it could get and clean shaven, he got dressed; slipped in one of his finest suits. Loki absolutely wasn't in the mood to leave his apartment - but he had to. And so, the god closed the door behind himself, already regretting it.

Absent-minded Loki walked through the white, plain hallways of the S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters; on his way to meeting room number 204. He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, and so it came how it had to come. The god ran into somebody. His hard, strong chest collided with a way smaller, softer body. "Norns," Loki cursed under his breath, "Apologies. I don't know what-" but stopped dead in his sentence, when he registered who he ran into. "Y/N..." Your name fell from his lips so easily, and yet it felt like he was committing a crime.

You were standing in front of him, like frozen to the ground. It was the first time he was seeing you since the breakup almost a month ago. Sure, he hadn't left his apartment in that time, but he had heard from his brother that you had been away a few weeks on vacation - and it seemed like it did you really good. Of course couldn't the god help himself but to ran his eyes over your body. You wore your familiar shield uniform. The one he had ripped off your body countless times. Your Y/H/C hair was loose; framed your face beautifully. Unlike Loki's face, yours looked well-rested and refreshed. No bags or dark circles underneath your eyes. All in all, you looked recovered and yes, happy. Not in the slightest hurt or broken - like him. His eyes travelled upwards. Loki knew he was on a self-destructive path, but what was he supposed to do? His heart was screaming at him; yelling from the top of his lungs to give into it. Oh how much he loved you. Still. And then it happened. His deep blue eyes collided with your Y/E/C ones - and suddenly he felt like drowning; the world burning to ashes right in front of him. It brought back everything. All the memories. Good ones and bad ones. And all the pain.

"Lokiii!" You yelped, as he wrapped both his strong arms around your thighs and lifted you off the chair; hindering you from decorating the Christmas tree with another bauble. "Let me down!" Smiling, the god shook his head and tightened his grip a bit - only to let you know that he had you. To show you that he would let nothing happen to you. "Not until you finally speak your mind, darling." "W-What do you meeeeean?" You shrieked up, as Loki carried you away from the safety of the chair. "Tell me, if we can finally call ourselves a couple." You blinked down at the handsome god, who threw you that smouldering look which turned your knees into jelly. "I-I, uh..." He smiled again, winking. "Come on, darling." You couldn't help but giggle; shaking your head. "Lokes... We didn't even have our first kiss!" "Oh, that can be changed in a heartbeat," he purred and let you down quickly. Before you could even catch up to what was going on, his perfectly shaped lips danced with yours.

"L-Loki, p-please, I-" You moaned helplessly; writhing on the sheets beneath him. "Shhh, my goddess," he shushed you immediately; interrupting you. "Don't speak. Just feel," Loki panted; nipping at the inside of your thighs, before hypnotising blue eyes meet yours; pupils blown wide with lust. The god wore a smouldering, yet dangerous smile. A predator looking at his prey. You were completely at his mercy - and you loved every second of it.

Your hand found its way into your lover's hair; finger winding through those long raven curls. You gently tugged; nudging him on to finally do something. "Please..." You whispered; breathless. The hairs on the back of your neck raised up, when Loki gave you another smouldering smile, before he lowered his head. Your breath hitched; a chill ran down your spine at the anticipation. You knew what was to come - but you'd be never prepared for it.

"Darling, please." Loki's voice was unstable, pleading; on the verge of breaking - filled with pain and regret. Tears shimmered in his eyes. Tears of despair. Not hope. He felt like the ground fell out from underneath his feet. He was losing his grip; felt like falling into an abyss of darkness - blindly.

You shook your head, as you threw the last item of clothing in your suitcase. "No, Loki. No. Don't 'darling' me. Please don't make this even more difficult as it is." The god watched you helplessly; running a hand through his hair. "If it is so difficult for you, then why don't you just stay?" He sounded so sad. So... desperate. You swallowed hard; jaw clenching in order to suppress your own tears, before you turned to face your now ex-boyfriend. You looked him straight into the eyes, but with the seconds ticking by in silence, you avoided your gaze again - unable to stand the hurt, wounded look in his blue orbs. "Because I can't, Loki. I just can't. Don't you see? I cannot do this any longer." Now it was Loki who swallowed. "I-I understand that, lov- Y/N, but please... Give us another chance. Let us keep fighting for this love!" You snorted out a bitter laugh at his words; "Fighting, he says..." shaking your head. "I already fought so hard and long for this! For us! But apparently you were too blind to see." Your nerves were on edge; stressed out by the past weeks. "I tried and tried and tried to get through to you, but all you ever did was shut me out!" Loki wanted to answer something; opened his mouth to speak, but you immediately cut him off.

"Don't you dare pull the 'I don't understand you' card now! Because it isn't true! I do understand you! I always did! This was never our problem!" You were almost shouting by now; all the bottled-up emotions exploding within you. "You know what the problem is, Loki, huh?! You know what?!" His chiselled jaw flexed. You could tell that he was losing it as well. "Tell me, Y/N! Tell me!" He shouted; gesturing around wildly. "Scream it to me, if you have to!"

You took a few dangerous steps closer, before whispering: "Your damn insecurities." Loki gasped; almost stumbling backwards. This hit hard. Bore a knife straight through his heart - and yet he knew, that it was true. And the realisation of it made him even more angry. On himself. His hands clenched into fists; desperately trying to keep his cool. Unsuccessful.

An almost maniacal laugh escaped his lips. "Oh, I am the problem now?!" "Yes! Because you never managed to let your damn guard down around me! We've been together for over almost two years and you still don't trust me enough to just let me in! I know that your childhood and past was not easy and quite dramatic, but you can't just hide yourself away from the rest of the world for eternity!" You snapped; taking deep breaths and let the accusing words you just spat at Loki sink in. Loki said nothing; just stared at you. "Because if you do, it's going to eat you up inside someday..." You added in a way quieter voice; almost whispering. Then you returned to the bed, in order to zip the suitcase shut.

Behind you, Loki sunk to his knees; the harsh truth and reality finally hitting him full force. He knew. He had always known, and yet he couldn't bring himself to open up. He tried to fight his demons a million times, but he always lost the fight. He should've tried harder - better, because now... Now it was too late. He had lost you - because of his insecurities. Tears streamed down his face, as he started one last attempt to stop you from walking out of his life. "Y/N, p-please, please... I am so sorry, I am so sorry. Please... I-I can't lose you. If you leave m-me now... I-I'll drown a-and sink."

You swallowed hard; tried to fight against the desperate screams of your heart to stay. You had never seen him so... lost and vulnerable before. It tore at your heartstrings. But you had to do this now. There was no going back. "I'm sorry, Loki, but like I said... I can't. I can't keep fighting against the walls you have built up around you." With those words, you walked past him, "Goodbye, Loki." and out of his bedroom - out of his life. It broke him and his heart. He was nothing more than a wreck after that day.

Loki swallowed hard at the vivid memories, playing out in his head. He had to fight hard to not lose it completely in front of you and to not break down and cry. As for you, you seemed to be completely fine. "Loki." You said in a regal voice, giving him a nod - as if you didn't have a whole lot of history together. As if you never had told each other all of your secrets and wishes. As if you never had shared the deepest bond possible between human beings - mentally and physically. You greeted him like you were nothing more like acquaintances. It hurt Loki; bothered him, how quickly you had moved on. So, he tried to hide his emotions and not letting show how much of a wreck he was.

"What..." His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat quickly. "What brings you here?" The god asked; gesturing blindly towards the meeting room. "I, um, I was assigned to overwatch the meeting." Loki's eyes widened at your words, so you quickly added: "Believe me, I don't like it, too, but it is how it is." Don't like it too? Loki asked himself. Norns, he could've screamed from the top of his lungs how happy he was about this. Just to be able to see you without an excuse for a longer amount of time was like heaven for him. He wanted to answer something, but was interrupted by the arrival of Nick Fury, some of the Avengers and a few other S.H.I.E.L.D agents. "Loki, Y/N," the man with the eyepatch greeted you, before he opened the white, wooden door for everyone to get inside. "Let's get over with this, Laufeyson." Loki swallowed hard, then nodded obediently and stepped inside the big, barren room.

Throughout the whole process, Loki couldn't focus. His thoughts were circulating around you. It was all he could think about. He was so absent-minded; he didn't even listen to the others talking. Only the voice of Fury caused the god to snap out of his trance like state. "Well... It seems everybody has the same opinion..." The man with the black coat started, before he turned to face Loki directly, who sat at the very top of the table. "S.H.I.E.L.D and the United States of America allowing you to stay - as long as you're going to play by the rules." Loki swallowed and nodded - still not entirely present in his mind. "You improved; did a great job as an Avenger. Keep it up, Laufeyson."

Fury's words were the last ones of the meeting. Most agents scrambled to get out of the room; having other duties to tend to. Most of the Avengers clapped Loki on the shoulder or gave him a short nod of approval - and you? You were watching him from the sidelines. Seeing him again after almost a month had caused your feelings to run wild again. They were so quiet and chilled during and after your holiday, and now? Just one look was enough to set everything on fire again; storms battling within you. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry - but most of all, you wanted to run. That's what you did. You fled from the meeting room; unable to be in his presence a second longer. When Loki settled his look on the chair you sat in, it was empty. Scanning the room for you wasn't fruitful as well. He sighed. You had left already, of course. Why shouldn't you? It had been nothing more than a job for you. Nevertheless, it was another small cut into Loki's already bruised and battered heart.

From that day, where once again his fate had been decided, he started to see you more often. Probably because he left his apartment more often as well now. He started to find hope again and decided to not just give up on you. Loki had made that mistake once - and he'd never let it happen again. He wasn't just giving up. Oh no... Now he was really going to fight for you, because one thing was certain... He still loved you with all his heart and he wanted you back. For good this time.

Over the next days and week, Loki repeatedly placed little cards, gifts or flowers in front of your office in the S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters. It was an easy task for him to sneak incognito inside the big building. Nobody knew and nobody recognised him. At first, you were quite confused and surprised...

You hurried to your office; messily rearranging the weapons belt around your waist on the way. You were late. Ten minutes already. Your alarm clock just decided to take a vacay today and not wake you up. "Morning, guys. Good morning." You hastily greeted everybody on your way. Once you reached your destination, you almost stumbled over the little bouquet of flowers, laying in front of the door. Y/F/F (Your favourite flowers) - your favourites. Frowning and a bit surprised, you picked the flowers up; admiring them. There was no card or such. Just the flowers. "Uh, Rob?" You asked your fellow agent, who was just passing by your office. His office was directly across yours. "Oh, hi, Y/N. Good morning." "Morning. Uh, do you know who left those flowers for me?" The man shrugged his shoulders. "Unfortunately, not, no. Sorry." "Okay..." Still frowning, you took the flowers in your office. Of course you didn't notice the craftsman, who worked on the water dispenser right beside your door. He watched you disappear inside the room with oceanic blue eyes, smiling.

That was only the start. Every day, you'd find different things on your door step. Your favourite chocolates and other sweets. Cards with little poems written on them and quotes out of books. And more flowers. Every day, you went to work with an even brighter smile, knowing that a small present was waiting for you.

You picked up the little box and opened it; finding a bottle of your favourite perfume inside. A chuckle sounded from across your office. "I think you have a secret admirer, Y/N," stated Rob, gesturing to the little present with a grin. Your cheeks reddened; nodding. "I, uh, think so too." You felt really flattered, but... Were you ready for something new? For another man after Loki? Could you imagine another man in your life who wasn't the handsome, mischievous god? You swallowed hard; staring down at the little vial in your hands. No. No you couldn't.

"Do you know who it is?" Asked Rob further, but you just shrugged your shoulders. "No, I... I have no idea. Most likely one of the other agents." Rob nodded, "Think so, too." but frowned. "You don't look really happy about it." Once more you shrugged your shoulders; sighing. "I am. I mean, it's really sweet and thoughtful, but..." "But?" Your colleague looked at you expectantly, but you didn't answer at first. And suddenly Rob had a guess. "Loki... You are still not over him, right?" Defeated, you nodded. "I never was and I think I'll never be. It seems like every decision I make, every path I choose to walk on... Everything leads me back to him. I can't forget him..." Rob looked at you compassionate. "Sounds to me like Loki is the love of your life..." You swallowed hard, in order to suppress the upcoming tears. "He is. I realise that now. Too late, perhaps..." "Do you still love him?" Rob questioned you further, "Y-Yes. I do." and placed a hand on your shoulder. "Then you should tell him." "I-I don't know, I... Excuse me." You fled into your office, closing the door behind yourself. All the suppressed feelings coming back at you; crashing down on you like warm summer rain. It was overwhelming. But could you do it? Could you go back to him?

Unbeknownst to you, Loki had heard everything. Dressed up as an electrician on his daily undercover mission. His heart beat violently against his ribcage; yearning and crying out for you. It broke him to see you so broken - but it also made him unbelievably happy, because he knew now, that you were struggling just as much as he was. That you had worn a mask all the time and just pretended to be perfectly fine. It was the sign for him to finally make his move and get you back. Back into his arms, where you belonged.

It was Saturday evening, when Loki put the plan he made into action. He showered; then dressed up in your favourite suit of his. It was a black one. Black shoes, black trousers and black shirt. He rolled up the sleeves and left a few buttons undone - just how you liked. He applied a bit of the cologne you enjoyed to smell on him so much; and left his untamed raven curls hang loosely over his shoulders. Loki looked at himself in the full-length mirror; eyes travelling down his body. Perfect, he thought; smiling. Grabbing the bouquet of red roses on his dining table, he left his apartment and went straight to yours. To his luck, you lived in the Avengers tower as well. Benefit of being Ms. Romanoff's best friend.

Taking a deep breath, the god knocked gently on your door. The answer he received was a frustrated sigh. "Naaat, I told you I'm not in the mood tonight to go-" You had literally ripped the door open - and were now standing open-mouthed, with a bathrobe and tousled hair in front of your ex-boyfriend. You swallowed. There he stood… Your drop-dead gorgeous ex-boyfriend. "L-Loki?" You stammered out; clearly not expecting something like that to happen. The god smiled at you. "Hello, darling. Apologies for the disturbance, but... I'd like to talk to you. May I come in?" Blinking and still in some kind of shock, you nodded. Stepping aside, you let him inside. "For you," he said, once you closed the door and turned to face him. He held the flowers to you; still smiling. "U-Um, t-thank you." You hesitatingly - almost shyly took the flowers from his hands. A chill was running down your spine, when his warm, big hands grazed yours. A touch you haven't felt in weeks - months, and immediately noticed you missed a lot.

Taking a deep breath, you placed them on the little shelf beside the door. "What, um, what do you want to talk about?" The god standing opposite you swallowed hard. You could see how nervous he was - a rare thing to happen. "About us." "U-Us?" He nodded, "Yes. Us." and stepped closer; slowly taking your hands in his. Loki waited for a moment to see if you weren't comfortable with him, touching you - but you let it happen, so he continued. "First of all, I'd like to apologise. For everything. For letting you fight so hard and long without me realising. For not opening up to you like I should have, because you are right. If I don't learn to talk to the person I trust and love most in all the nine realms, then my past and all my insecurities are going to eat me up inside. I see that now." He was gazing directly into your eyes - and you could swear you were already drowning again inside those oceanic blue orbs. "I came to the realisation those past weeks, that I am not able to live without you. Without your love. I feel like I can't breathe when you're not near me. Your absence suffocates me. I love you with all my heart and soul. You are everything I ever wanted and needed. So please... Please give us another chance. I beg of you." You just looked at him, stunned; words failing you. "

"This is what my heart tells me," he continued, squeezing your hands gently. "If yours doesn't speak the same language anymore, then please, tell me - and I'll walk out of that room." Your gaze softened. You freed one hand from his gentle grasp and lifted it up to caress his defined cheek. "Loki..." You started, shaking your head. "My heart never stopped speaking your language. Never." The god gasped at your touch and words. "Does that mean you'll give us another chance?" You smiled; nodding and stepped closer to him. So close, that you were just a few inches apart. His hand left yours; coming to rest on your waist, while your palm wandered to land on his chest. "Yes, Loki..." "Really?" He breathed; overwhelmed by your sudden closeness, and, again your words. Once more you nodded; signalling him that you meant it. "Oh, darling," Loki sighed; a few tears rolling down his cheek. He leaned down, wanted to capture your lips with his - but you stopped him; placing a finger upon his lips. "I'll give us another chance - if you promise to trust me completely and finally open up to me." His eyes met yours again; blue eyes filled with love and vulnerability. "Let me help you, my love. Let me sooth all those scars your past has left on you," you whispered and pressed a soft, slow kiss on his lips. "I promise, darling, I promise - and I'll start tonight," Loki said, placing another kiss on your lips, before he took a step back and took your hands in his bigger ones again.

"Close your eyes, please." You were confused, but did what he asked you to do; closing your eyes. Suddenly, you felt how his hands got cooler; temperature dropping. "This time, I want to go into this relationship with showing you all of me. I want you to see me." You frowned, but kept your eyes closed. "And I don't mean me, being naked. You saw that quite often already." You couldn't help but giggle at his words; blushing. Loki smiled. Something you weren't able to see at the moment. "Well... If you put it that way, I am naked in front of you now nevertheless. Showing you my true self. The way I was born." You gasped; breath hitching in your throat. Now you knew what he was talking about. "Your Jotun form? You... You want to show me your Jotun form?" He never did before. It was a huge part of his insecurities. "Yes, my love. Open your eyes." "L-Lokes, you don't have to show me your Jotun form right away! I know how difficult this is for you! I know how uncomfortable it makes you sometimes!"

He took a deep breath; was on the verge of crying again. "I know, love, I know. And I appreciate this so, so much - but I really want to show you. If we begin again, we begin with honesty. No secrets; no hiding. Now open your eyes." "O-Okay." You were quite a bit nervous as well. You knew that this took him a lot of effort. Opening your eyes, you gasped; heart skipping a beat. His deep blue eyes were replaced by shimmering ruby ones. His alabaster coloured skin had turned into a soft blue. Unique ridges and patterns adorned every inch of his tall, strong body. "Are you afraid?" Loki's shaky voice cut through the silence then. You shook your head immediately. "No, gods, no! You're beautiful, Loki. Stunning, breathtakingly beautiful." His eyes widened; pure relief flooding his veins. "R-Really? You... You think so?" You nodded; cupping his cheeks. "Yes. And it's finally time for you to accept this side of you," you said, pulling Loki gently over to your bed.

[kurt-wagner-official]

Post #100: Fantastic Four vs. X-Men issues 1-4

This mini opens with Franklin, who's reunited with his parents, having a prophetic nightmare. He's surrounded by dead X-Men and FF members, and it's all Reed's fault. Reed tells Franklin that he did what he had to for science, and he picks up a book- his research journal from when he worked for ESU. When he opens it, there's a flash of light and Reed rips his skin off the reveal that he and Doom have merged into one evil being. Franklin wakes up and finds his father working late in the lab. He tries to tell him about his nightmare, but he brushes him off and tells him to go to Sue, who is much more receptive. She tells Franklin that she'll protect them all from any bad futures, and to take his mind off of things lets him help her unpack a box of things that have been in storage since before her marriage. To Franklin's horror, one of those things is the journal from his dream. Over on Muir Island, the X-Men are checking on their wounded members. Kurt and Peter are far from healed, and Kitty is getting worse- soon the permanent phasing will start giving her brain damage. Max, still in New York, has one last hope- he's recently learned of a device that Reed Richards has that might be the key. Meanwhile, Ali and Longshot are on a boat getting groceries from the mainland, and Longshot is obsessed with the ocean. They find a fisherman floating on a piece of driftwood and tell him they'll take him to Muir Island for help, which makes him smile a secret evil smile. In New York, Sue confronts Reed about a terrible secret that she read in the journal- but they're interrupted by disaster. A building down the street suddenly collapses for some reason, but Max's timely arrival helps them repair the damage before anyone is hurt. Of course, they still don't trust him, but can't deny the plea to help someone in need. They fly off to Muir Island with Max, and with She-Hulk, who isn't an FF member anymore but was hanging out and decides to tag along. Sue stays home, still angry at Reed for what she read, which he still doesn't know. Reed conducts a bunch of tests on Kitty and decides that he can't help, because the machine was designed for machinery and he doesn't know what effect it'll have on a living being. Max lifts up the device and says they don't need him, but the other FF members have been waiting for a reason to take on Max and refuse to let him have it. As tensions reach a boiling point, Logan jumps at Reed and holds his claws up to him, saying that either he tries to help Kitty or he dies.

This is all it takes to launch a full battle between the teams, which is eventually broken up by Betsy and some mind powers. Reed apologizes and says he can't- or won't- help Kitty, so Ororo kindly tells him to get out. Just then, it turns out the fisherman from earlier was a Doombot, who morphs into Doom form and comes outside to tell everyone that he can save Kitty. Reed tells the X-Men not to trust him, but they keep telling him to leave until he finally gets it through his head and does. Ororo then collapses on the ground, having been burned by Johnny in the battle. Kitty, overhearing everything, wonders if she should just die so the X-Men don't have to be indebted to Doom. When the FF get home, Reed sits in front of his computer freaking out. He doesn't know why all his self confidence is disappearing, including his faith in his ability to help Kitty. But it's the least of his problems- Ben has read the journal, and he attacks Reed. He drags him in front of the whole team and they all demand Reed read the journal out loud. It reveals that Reed knew about the cosmic rays before their first space flight, and hid them so he could turn his friends into superheroes that he felt the world needed. He denies that he ever wrote it, but the others don't believe him and storm off. Across the ocean, the X-Men decide to take their deal with the devil for Kitty's sake.

The X-Men are guests at Castle Doom, where Doom heals Ororo's burns with his big science machines. Kitty decides she doesn't want this weight on the souls of her friends, so she flies put into the sky and prepares to dissolve. Lockheed roars in fear, but there's nothing any X-Men can do- but there's someone else there. Franklin has been astral projecting to monitor all the events of this series, and he pleads with Kitty not to die, saying his father can help her and save both teams. She listens to him and returns to her tube. Back in New York, Reed wanders the halls of the Baxter Building wallowing in guilt and the foggy insecurity that's been plaguing his mind. He finds Franklin struggling to sleep and tells him a bedtime story. Sue, invisible, watches from the door and remembers her love for her husband. Meanwhile, Ben tries and fails to get drunk on Yancy Street, wondering what he did to deserve his fate at the hands of his best friend, when he sees a car crash and rescues a kid from the wreckage, reminding him why he's a hero. Johnny, meanwhile, knows he should be mad at Reed but isn't, because he loves being the Human Torch. In the morning, the whole team comes together and tells Reed that they know he couldn't have written that journal. Reed confesses that he flaked out on helping Kitty because it felt so similar to the rocket flight, and he couldn't bear to make a mistake like that again. The team is whole again, but it may be too late, as Doom prepares his Kitty healing machine.

As Kitty prepares to get zapped, Franklin appears and tells her that the FF is on their way. When they enter Latverian airspace, though, Max believes they're there to interfere and stops their plane mid flight. Doom orders the rest of the X-Men to go stop the FF in case they interfere with his machines, and because this book still has versus in its title, there's a big long fight. It ends when the physical Franklin arrives riding Lockheed and tells them all to grow up. Doom watches on in glee, knowing that he can't lose; if he saves Kitty, he beats Reed at his own game, and if he fails, he can now blame it on the FF. When the two teams arrive in a truce, he's just finishing up all his fancy science when Reed tells him to stop. He's seen an error in the calculations, and at this point, the only way to fix it is to manually go through the process and do all the fancy math in real time. He spends like three pages having an existential crisis about whether he can do it, and then he does and succeeds. Sue confronts Doom, accusing him of forging the diary, and he denies it, but the FF finally have faith in each other again. And Kitty is slowly but surely heading back to the land of the solid.

This was a good mini. Despite being written by Claremont and being focused on an X-Men plot point, the FF are the main characters and the heart of the story. It is a nice thematic contrast to the other Claremont stories of the team; currently in the X-books, the oldest bonds and friendships are being ripped apart and the characters are forced to find new people to put their trust in, while in this mini, then oldest family in the Marvel universe is reaffirming their trust. It was nice to have the X-Men show up in a crossover without being written out of character. I know Claremont was planning to keep the connections between the teams going by making Kitty Franklin's babysitter, but it never happens, and their friendship is basically just this mini and the X/FF one 30 years later. There's not much more to say here. It was a good story without all that much depth on the X-side.

[sebcastellanos]

So what do you know about Captain Hunter? He’s a Time Master from the 22nd century. He’s a little hard to Google. So you know nothing, and yet you trust him? I’m as trusting as you are cynical.

Rip Hunter and Ray Palmer played by Arthur Darvill and Brandon Routh in DC’s Legends of Tomorrow: Pilot, Part One (S01E01)

[chickenfics]

Scars

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader Western AU

Summary: Running from a past that haunts you and a future that is unsure, the last thing you wanted was to take up with a stranger. Strangers, you'd learned, are almost always more trouble than they're worth. But when dangers from the life you're trying to leave behind get too close for comfort, drastic times call for drastic measures, and the stranger you'd once feared becomes the only person you can trust -- and perhaps the only person you'd call your friend. Now you both just have to make it out alive... 

Or: the western AU that nobody asked for

Word Count: 8k

A/N: This is a mature fic and is going to contain graphic depictions of violence and abuse, both physical and emotional. Reader has a brother (original character) and a backstory, but is still intended to be a self-insert rather than an OC. Content warnings will be given in the notes of every chapter, but expect most of the violence that comes with westerns (excluding any graphic depictions of sexual violence).

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future chapters!

Content Warning: mentioned domestic abuse, alcohol, guns, assault

Also on Ao3

Next Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 1

The saloon was half empty, giving the dusty rays of morning light plenty of room to cast themselves onto the floor. A plank or two was crooked, pulled out of the rest of the floorboards in one bar fight or another, never fixed, even after all this time; left to meld into the landscape of the place. Dirty windows, swinging doors, a bar situated to the left of them, and tables -- rickety, the kind that make you wonder how they’re still standing, let alone supporting the average lost soul’s weight as their choice of poison mixed with the sweat on their brow and the grime on their hands. 

And busted floorboards, ripped out to expose slender nails like teeth. A tripping hazard for sure, but the least a person had to worry about when entering a place like this. 

Even so, at barely the crack of dawn, all the drunkards, the cowboys, and the scum of the earth -- who stumbled in to get drunk after a long day’s work and stumbled out with bourbon in their bellies and fire in their fists, an unfortunate combination for the wives or children they had waiting for them at home -- were gone; fast asleep in their beds or passed out somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. 

In the early morning hours, the only people to be found in the saloon -- one you couldn’t remember the name of on account of it being too much like all the others you’d visited over the years -- were the occasional laborer stopping to get a quick, desperate pint before a long day in the sun, or a fur trapper or traveling businessman mustering the courage and strength to head out on their next journey through the wilderness. 

You fell somewhere in between and outside of the two -- a wandering soul passing through towns like a ghost or a curse; not many noticed you were there, and the ones that did weren’t sure enough of what they’d seen to remember you for long. 

Good. That was how you liked it. How you needed it. 

Blending into the scenery had been the skill to keep you alive. Not your talent with a gun, nor the experience you'd gained over the years -- two things that he would have scoffed at had he heard you make any sort of claim on them. But you knew they were true, no matter how long he and the others had spent trying to bend you towards thinking otherwise. 

You knew who you were, and you knew what you could do. 

You also knew what you couldn’t do, which made you more powerful than any one of them -- them and their drunken nights fueled by wild ideas and dangerous plans breathed beneath the crackle of the fire. Them and their heavy hands, reaching further, pushing harder than you’d ever thought they…. 

The door to the saloon swung open and closed in a swift movement, squeaking on its old, rickety hinges. You didn’t look up from where you sat, shoulders hunched and elbowed pressed into the rough wood of the countertop. A shot glass sat unattended between your arms, and your ill-fitting goatskin coat fell past the stool you sat on. In a way, it offered its own protection; another measure to blend into the dreary brown walls. 

Barely a minute passed before a hand fell onto your shoulder. You just managed to repress your flinch, redirecting it into the clench of your fists against the counter. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ dressed like that? Hm, darlin’?”

Clenching your firsts wasn’t enough. You added your jaw to the mix, grinding your teeth together before lifting your arm, shouldering his hand off and downing your shot of rye in one fluid motion. It burned going down, but it felt better than his hand trying to paw its way back onto you. 

“Piss off,” you threw through gritted teeth, your voice coming out harsher than usual thanks to both disuse and your disquiet. 

Fear had always made you rough, just in all the wrong ways. It made your throat clog up until you couldn’t speak, your muscles clench until you couldn’t move. Fear had always been the thing to hold you in place for whatever you were scared of to have its way with you. 

You were trying to fix that. 

Swinging the flap of your coat aside, you thumbed the heel of your revolver, fingers grazing the grip. A threat, but one that you did not intend to act on, not because you couldn’t -- you knew damn well that you could -- but because you knew you wouldn’t need to. There were plenty of “pretty things” for a man to spend his morning with that wouldn’t threaten to shoot him where the sun didn’t shine. He wouldn’t waste his time on you, especially when you were already on your way out the door, swinging your hat onto your head and tilting it low. 

The weathered rim blocked the sunrise from your face as you stepped down off the porch of the saloon. Glancing down the road of the small town -- so small it was barely worth its mark on the map -- you were greeted with sand, dusty wood, and nothing more. You were a ghost in a ghost town.

The thought could have almost made you smile. It didn’t. 

Instead, you unwound your reins from the hitching post and threw them over your Palamino’s head -- a piece of stolen goods from your old life that you’d stolen again when you decided to leave that life behind. 

His head jerked with a start as you woke him from his early morning dozing, but he quickly calmed himself and stood at attention, ready for another day of work. He was a level-headed thing, but with more of an attitude than even you. 

“Well, Horse,” you muttered, tightening the girth before kicking your foot up into the stirrup. “Think we’ve overstayed our welcome. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Swinging your leg around and settling easily into the saddle with a toss of your worn, faded coat, you checked that everything was cinched to the saddle and tapped your heels. Horse took off at a brisk trot, and you spun him in a circle before urging him towards the edge of town, a line just below the glowing, bright horizon. 

________________________________________________________________

You’d spent the last three months moving from town to town, picking your way along the map. The longest you’d gone without seeing civilization was three weeks, and it had been both the most content and the most uneasy you'd ever felt. On one hand, you had never liked being in town -- any town -- and preferred to keep a safe distance from strangers, especially when they came in herds. 

On the other hand, the only time you’d ever been alone in the wilderness was with them, back when you had been traveling with your own herd, so to speak. There had only been one time prior that you’d been alone besides now, and you didn’t think about that. Ever. 

If you did, it only made you push yourself harder, traveling faster and with fewer stops, less rest, more paranoia. That’s how you had spent the first month, and Horse was still recovering from it. Hell, you were too, but you were more worried about Horse. If he fell ill or injured, you would be abandoned out on the plains with nothing but a dead horse and a rapidly closing distance between you and the past you were trying to leave behind. 

So, when four weeks passed and nothing happened, you finally forced yourself to slow down. And, for the first time, you’d allowed yourself to stop at the nearest town. It had been small and meaningless, and you’d decided to stay the night. Then a faulty door lock and a drunk man had reminded you why you never trusted places like those. 

You were more careful, after that, whenever you stopped for supplies. You found yourself hearing his voice in your head, all the things he’d taught you since you were children, hiding under the bed as glasses were smashed and shattered outside your shared room. Its presence never failed to fill you with a roil of nausea, as potent as it was vile, but the advice it offered was sound. 

You’d always hated that about him; he knew what he was talking about, and he knew how to say it. It was all the things he did in between the words that made you run -- that had been the reason Horse was picking his way through the underbrush of a scarred, depressing forest. The plains had begun to change after two days of riding. You noticed more plant life, more shrubs and bushes, and then even a few trees. After two more days, those few trees turned into the beginnings of a forest. 

In a sense, it was a relief. The canopy offered you shade from the unforgiving sun that had been pressing against the top of your head and shoulders for the last several days. The trees would offer you more protection during the nights, too; a place to make decent camp -- a welcome change from simply rolling your bedroll onto the desert floor and propping your hat over your face. 

But the forest meant unforeseen dangers. Out on the plains, you could see the approach of a stranger from miles away. Sure, you couldn’t hide, but you could spot them first. But in the canopy of the forest, woven between the trees and bushes, anyone could be lurking. The chances of you seeing them before they saw you were just as likely as the alternative. You didn’t like that. It put you on edge -- or more on edge than usual. 

You’d spent life on the edge since you were but fourteen. The edge was a familiar friend and a lifelong companion. 

But in the pleasantly cool atmosphere of the woods, you found yourself relaxing ever so slightly. Enough that you let your feet fall from the stirrups, giving Horse a loose rein so he could comfortably navigate the rough terrain. Twisting around in your saddle, you took quick stock of your supplies; it had been almost a week since you’d passed any sign of occupied civilization, and the only evidence of life had been a run-down ranch and a few abandoned cabins. 

You were almost out of grain, and though there would now be some grazing options with the sudden foliage, you estimated you had about three days before running out entirely. Slipping the map from your breast pocket, you shook it out and located the last town you’d visited. Trailing your eyes along the path you’d taken, you quickly found the clump of woods. 

Reigning Horse to a halt, you let him dip his head and graze as you squinted at the frayed paper. The forest stretched on for about fifty miles, and the nearest town lay fifteen miles East beyond its edge. If you kept a brisk pace until nightfall, you suspected you could arrive by midday tomorrow. 

Scanning ahead on the map, you noticed that there would be a long stretch between this town and the next. You’d need to stock up on enough supplies to last you a few weeks. Fingering the coin purse in your pocket, the ever-present knot of anxiety twisted your stomach up in knots. You had more than enough money to get you to where you were going and then some; that wasn’t why the thought of it made your chest feel heavy or your lungs feel full of cotton and sand. Shivering, you tried to shrug off the memories swarming around the inside of your head like black flies. It would do you no good to think about any of that now. It was too late -- you’d made your choice, and if you didn’t keep moving, that choice was going to kill you. 

No amount of thinking would change that, so you pulled Horse’s head up and urged him forward. You wondered if he could sense it too, the need to keep moving. He probably could. Despite what the flashiest and most skilled cowboys tried to tell you, you’d always known that horses were sensitive. They were more sensitive than people sometimes, and you had seen many a horse broken by an iron rod and a ruthless fist, measures justified by the claim that it was “just an animal.”

Humans were animals, too. You wondered if that was the excuse people used when they beat people down; raped, killed, maimed. You wondered if they told themselves that they were “just animals” in order to sleep at night. You wondered if they even needed the excuse. 

At the squeeze of your legs, Horse picked up his pace. You weren’t looking forward to another trip into town. The knowledge that it was necessary -- that it was coming -- sank into your gut like a river stone; smooth and cold and heavy. It melded with the lining of your stomach until everything inside you felt frigid and abiotic. But as much as you were dreading the trip, you wanted to get it done and over with. The quicker you got in and resupplied, the quicker you could be on your way -- an assured few weeks of wilderness descending like a promise of relief on the stormy churn of your future. If you told yourself you needed only to do this -- this one last thing and then you could rest -- the weight of it became a little more bearable. 

So you focused on the steady footfalls of Horse and you listened carefully to the soft hum of the forest as the coolness of it soaked into your skin. The day passed almost peacefully this way, and if you were another person, perhaps you could have let yourself surrender to that peace. Perhaps you could have taken a breath. 

But you weren’t. You were… you, and you just couldn’t find it in yourself to relax. 

By the time the sun began to set, the filters of golden light disappearing from between the branches, replaced instead by an indigo glow, you were exhausted. You hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a long time -- longer than just your recent journeys -- and you suspected that tonight would be no different. 

Still, you were looking forward to finding a nice bit of shelter. As the darkness of the growing night spread around you like ink, you began to search for accommodations. You found them in a fallen tree, its wizened, bare branches creating half of a shelter already. All you’d need to do was drape your rain slicker across the opening and you’d be hidden from the rest of the world. 

The reality of not being able to see your surroundings as clearly as out on the plains hit you square in the face, and you felt your panic rise a little from its place deep in your gut. But you shrugged it off, trying to convince yourself that if you couldn't see them, they couldn’t see you. Trying to convince yourself that they  weren’t here -- they were far behind you. You had enough time; you could get one restful night of sleep without punishment. 

As the last of the sun’s lingering rays dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky to blacken with the night, you dismounted, giving Horse a pat on his clammy, sweat-streaked neck. As the first stars began to blink into the sky, you pulled out your slicker and draped it along the opening. You suspected that it was going to be a cold night, despite how hot the day had been, and welcomed the extra protection from the elements. 

You had just untied your bedroll when you heard the snap of a twig. 

You spotted the horse first, so white that it almost glowed against the backdrop of the forest, looking so much like something out of the ghost stories you’d been told as a child that, for a moment, you almost had yourself convinced it wasn’t real. 

Then you saw the man. 

You scrambled for your gun, freeing it from the holster at your hip and taking a stumbling step backward -- eyes flashing down as you almost tripped over a root. In the few seconds that your gaze had been off of him, the man had pulled his own gun from beneath the clay-green poncho that covered his left side, stopping just below his hip. 

He held it out, barrel pointed at you with a steady hand that seemed to mock the tremor you could feel shooting through your own body. But when you glanced down at your hand, it was just as steady as his. You swallowed hard and the man tilted his head at you. 

It was hard to make him out in the dim light, and when you realized he was close enough for you to see the dark brown, almost curly hair that reached his shoulders, or the way his angular face was held in a passive stare, you felt yourself take another step back. 

He was massive. 

You’d crossed paths with your fair share of large men -- and women, for that matter -- but there was something about this one that had your heart clenching. His bicep looked bigger than your head, and his towering height -- paired with the fact that he was on an incline -- made him appear even bigger. 

“Easy now,” he spoke, voice almost as dark as the night, but soft. You’d learned long ago not to take a soft voice and equate it with kindness. The arm pointing your revolver at him tightened, the muscles flexing, and he noticed. 

“C’mon, take it easy. Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt now…”

You felt the first tremor break through your hand. Your damn hands always gave you away. The man noticed -- you could see it clearly on his face, in the twitch of his brow.  

“I’m just passin’ through,” he said, lowering his weapon almost nonchalantly, but the eyes trained on you were so piercing that they felt just as dangerous as any gun. 

They were dangerous not because they were hostile or threatening, but because they were smart. 

Your hands were certainly shaking now. You balled your free hand into a fist against your thigh and grit your teeth, willing the sign of weakness to stop. It would get you killed if you couldn’t stop it. 

The man’s lips tugged into a small frown, and you tried not to let your breath sound ragged in your chest. He held up his hands in surrender, pistol hanging from his finger. 

“Look, if you just lower your weapon, I’ll be on my way. I have no quarrel with you.”

Your vision flashed white as you heard his voice. 

“C’mon, just lower the gun, Kitty. Be a good girl…”

You screwed your eyes shut for just a second to will the tears away -- you could absolutely not cry -- and tore them open, leveling the gun at the stranger with renewed vigor. He sighed. 

“Goddammit -- fine,” his voice raised in volume to meet you, and there was something in it that made whatever he would say next final. “Now I’m gonna turn around and continue on my way. I get the idea you know what you’re doin’ with that thing, so if you plan on shooting me your aim best strike true the first time because I assure you, you will not get a second.”

With that, he was moving again. You retreated another frantic step and your back hit the rough edge of the tree with a hollow thump. The man halted, tilting his head at you again. You couldn’t be sure, but you thought there was curiosity there. You felt your chest constrict, fear numbing your veins, but with a click of his tongue, he led his horse forward and disappeared into the underbrush. 

You watched him go, only relaxing when you could no longer hear the rustling of his feet. All at once, you felt the adrenaline flee your body. Your knees buckled and you slumped heavily against the tree, ignoring the future bruises painted on by the branches digging into your back. 

You drew in a shuddering breath, letting it out in a sigh -- repeating the process a few times with the mantra you now lived by running through your head; it hadn’t been him. It hadn’t been them. That was the most important thing. You could deal with a strange, terrifying man, but you wouldn’t survive if it was them. You lifted a subconscious hand to the side of your throat, thumbing the bandana that covered it. 

Knowing that you had come so close to a stranger -- and a man of that size and, if you were guessing right, skill, no less -- sent panic bubbling up into your throat. It was obvious you were making camp; what if he came back while you were sleeping? What if he had been lying and intended to return to rob you, or kill you, or worse?

The decision was made with that single thought -- that single potential threat -- and you were hastily rolling your rain slicker up and strapping it back onto your saddle bag. You’d just have to travel through the night. No matter how slow or dangerous the travel was, it was clear you couldn’t stop, just in case the man with the apparent good intentions had been lying. 

And they usually were. 

“Sorry bud,” you managed to whisper an apology to Horse as you swung yourself into the saddle, legs still a bit shaky. It was one of the few reactions you hadn’t been able to fix, no matter how hard you’d tried. 

“No sleep tonight.”

With a barely muffled sigh, you guided your horse forward, heading in the direction that, you hoped, was opposite of the stranger, trying to forget the way his eyes had bored into you or the way his pistol had aimed so steadily at your own. 

________________________________________________________________

The town wasn’t hard to find. It was bigger than the last you’d been to, containing more than just a few rows of buildings, outposts, and a church. This one had well-worn roads, a cluster of homes along the edge, and an array of shops clearly intended to sell anything a traveler might need while passing through. 

You kept your hat low, bandana pulled up and over the lower half of your face. You’d removed your goat skin jacket, securing it to the back of your saddle to try and find relief from the blistering noonday heat. Buildings sat on either side of you; a bank, a schoolhouse, an inn -- your eyes scanned the porches and doorways of each of them. People passed on either side of you as well -- women in dusty, sun-bleached skirts, their hair tied up in braids or wrapped in scarves. Men on horseback rode by you in the street, some tipping their hats in disinterested greeting, others ignoring you altogether. Your face remained passive, a blank and somewhat unpleasant mask to discourage anyone from talking to you. 

To your right, you caught sight of a corral, filled with what looked to be a group of fine wild horseflesh tearing about and wheeling in circles, challenging the wooden planks that held them inside. Horse pricked his ears, watching them intently. You urged him forward past the corral, stopping just outside the attached stable. 

A bearded man greeted you, wiping his hands on a handkerchief before tucking it into his waistband. You dismounted, tying Horse to the nearest post, and tipped your hat in hesitant greeting. The man's eyes were warm brown and looked kind. As if sensing the discomfort you carried with you, he tucked his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders slightly, almost timidly. 

“What can I do for you, Miss?”

“I need grain. Enough for a few weeks,” you replied, pulling your bandana down around your neck but still staying a good distance from him.

He nodded slowly and whistled in thought, eyeing up Horse. 

“This the fellow you’ll be feedin’?”

“Yes sir."

“Right then,” the man replied, tilting his head. “Feed ‘im anything else? Foliage or alfalfa, anything of the sorts?”

“He grazes when he can,” you answered, shrugging. “He doesn’t need much, just enough to get him by.”

The man nodded knowingly, then gestured for you to follow him into the barn. You went as far as the double doors before stopping, but he didn’t say a word about it and reappeared a few minutes later with two burlap sacks no bigger than your saddlebag tied together securely with twine. 

“This should do. You can mix it with water to stretch it a little further, make it expand so it fills ‘em up.” 

You took the bags from him, nodding your thanks and inquiring as to his price. He told you, and you handed over the payment. 

“Is there a… general store around here?” You reluctantly asked, your back already half turned to him with your eagerness to be on your way. Still, you figured getting directions would be quicker and less risky than wandering around town until you found what you needed. 

“Yes’m there is, three buildings down that way, on your left,” he pointed in the direction you’d been heading, and you nodded. 

“Thank you.”

“Yes’m. Ride safe,” he tipped an imaginary hat, and a thin smile worked its way onto your lips. His kind eyes shone a bit brighter before he turned away, heading back to the work you’d interrupted him from. 

It was moments like these that reminded you not all people were a threat. It was moments like these that were dangerous because they had you aching to let your guard down, to believe that not everyone would hurt you the first chance they got. You had believed that, once -- a long time ago, when you were still a child in your father's home. Not anymore, and it was the only reason you were alive. 

Shaking your head, you readjusted the cloth around your neck and tried not to let your fingers linger. You needed a clear head, and you needed to get moving so you could get the hell out of here. Grabbing Horse’s reins, you gave his neck a few soothing pats and led him forward, deciding that you’d walk to give him a break from carrying you. 

The general store proved to not be far, and you made it there without eliciting a glance from any of the wandering souls that passed you by. The store was a squat, brown building situated between a tailor and what looked to be the town hall. You secured Horse to the hitching post outside and stiffly climbed the stairs, feeling the old familiar ache in your knees from hours in the saddle. 

A woman, her skirts a pale blue, was standing just outside, folded umbrella in hand. She gave you a kind smile as you passed, and you managed a nod before slipping inside. The man at the desk watched you enter, eyeing you up in the way that all shopkeepers and merchants did; like he was trying to decide if you would pay or if he’d have to chase you out with a broom. 

You had a dire need to resupply, so you removed your hat, running a hand over your sweat-slicked forehead before stepping up to the counter. 

“What can I get for you?” The shopkeeper, a greasy-looking short man asked. He sounded like he had a cold, and he pushed his glasses up on his nose as he studied you with something like barely restrained disgust. 

“A… few things,” you began, then gave him a list of supplies you were short on. 

You had your stock committed to memory, going through it every night and planning out your use of it. You suspected it was a way for you to feel in control of your situation -- a desperate attempt at warding off the panic that was always threatening to consume you whole. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t -- but regardless, it at least meant you weren’t likely to miss or run out of anything. 

The clerk raised an eyebrow at your requests, but he adjusted his glasses and began scratching things onto a yellow notepad beneath the counter. When you finished, he tore the page off and handed it to you, then turned to begin packing things away. 

You scanned over the receipt with disinterest until something caught your eye. 

“When did the price of cornmeal rise?” you asked. The man scoffed. 

“I beg your pardon, missy?”

“You charge six cents for a pound of cornmeal,” you replied. “The last town I passed through sold it for three.”

“Well then, you had better return to the last town you passed through because here we sell it for six cents a pound,” he turned and dropped a bag onto the counter. A bag that was, apparently, worth six cents. “And you  have been the first to complain about such a price.”

There was a challenge in every aspect of his demeanor, and you felt anger swell through your chest. He was cheating you and he knew there was nothing you could do to stop him besides not purchasing the items. Which he likely knew you also couldn’t do. 

“Will there be a problem, or shall I continue wrapping your orders?”

You clenched your jaw, shoving your anger down, and gave a short jerk of your head. 

“No problem here,” you added, voice lowering to a hum, matching his challenge in the only way you could. 

Fake politeness got on your nerves. It wasn’t long ago that you would have pointed your gun at his head and taken whatever goods you wanted, but those days were behind you -- and for the better; even if you did have to pay six cents for cornmeal. 

The clerk finished gathering your order, but not without several unfriendly looks in your direction. It was only when you’d gathered everything into a canvas sack that he spoke again. 

“You know,” he leaned over the counter, as if the two of you were sharing some secret gossip about the lady two doors down. “You should visit the River Dog Saloon. I think you’d find it… interesting.”

There was something in his voice, in the smirk on his chapped, red lips, that made your stomach sink through the floorboards. You gave him a scowl, and unease followed you as you retreated back onto the porch. 

The woman from earlier was gone, and for some reason that only made your dread grow. You were being irrational -- the vague words of some slimy store owner shouldn't have you worked up like it did. Should have you feeling that old familiar tremble of fear trying to push its way past your defenses. It shouldn’t. 

Slinging your bag over the saddle, ensuring that everything was secure, you untied the reins. Giving Horse a little tug, you began your steady trek down the dust-covered road. Splotches of mud were caked along the edges, and you hopped over them, causing Horse to follow you and give a little buck of excitement. Even in your anxiety, you smiled at the animal before settling him with a firm rein and a pat. 

The center of the road was drier, and you steered clear of puddles. Your boots should have been replaced months ago, and at this point, it wouldn't be long before holes were worn into the leather. You spotted the sign towards the edge of the town, swinging lazily in the stagnant afternoon breeze. A cobbler. 

Slowing to a stop, you gently pushed Horse away as he tried to itch his forehead on your shoulder and stared at the building. It looked near deserted, and the distant view of shoes through the window was the only sign that it was even still in business. Glancing around, you found no one on that side of the street. A few school children, led by their teacher, walked hurriedly from one building to the next, but no one else was in sight. The saloon sat a door over, attached to the same building as the cobbler, and a bathhouse on the opposite side. Several horses were tethered to the hitching post outside, their riders presumably inside quenching their thirst or getting up to any number of other unsavory activities. 

Swallowing thickly, you made up your mind; if this was going to be your last taste of civilization for a while, you should probably err on the side of caution and buy a new pair of boots now while you had the chance to. 

Slinking over to the hitching post, you tied Horse loosely to it, ready to go with a quick tug in case of an emergency. Ruffling his mane absentmindedly, you headed for the nearest stairs to the porch. Your footfalls sounded too loud in your ears, but you tried to ignore it. You also tried to ignore how the town had suddenly gone quiet. That was fine, it was lunchtime for some people, anyway. 

The stairs let you onto the porch directly between the saloon and the cobbler. You had just turned left, ducking to look through the grimy window, when someone grabbed you around the waist, yanking you backwards as they clamped a harsh hand over your mouth. Your scream was muffled against their palm, which covered your nose, too, cutting off your oxygen. You slammed an elbow into their gut and they winced, giving you a cruel shake before spinning around and throwing you forwards and through a doorway. 

Your arms flew out to catch yourself, but they were met with a hard surface as you slammed into something. Stumbling back a step, you managed to right yourself, and there he was. 

“M… Mickey?” you breathed, eyes widening as you retreated another step. You whipped around, spinning on your heels and making for the door, but you were stopped by another chest. 

That’s when you recognized the person who had grabbed you. 

“Red,” you flinched as the name left your mouth, a raspy whisper, and the tall, lanky man gave you one of his signature grins -- the kind that meant he was about to hurt someone. Hurt you.

“Bernie’s here, too.” You spun around at the smug voice, a smirk plastered on his face as he nodded to the woman at his right lounging against a supporting beam. Even though she wore her hat low, you would have recognized her anywhere. 

“The whole gang’s here, baby sister,” Mickey drawled, taking a step towards you. You flinched but stood your ground, knowing Red was still behind you. “Well,” he tilted his head, a mocking pout twisting his lips. “Everybody ‘cept for the Twins. But you already knew that, didn't you?”

You opened your mouth, jaw working not for an answer but for air. You couldn’t breathe. 

“Oh?” Mickey's voice was soft, high, and he raised a scruffy eyebrow. “What’s this now? You don’t know?”

His voice dripped malice, and in a sudden, swift motion you reached for your holster -- but before your fingers could even touch the weapon, Red was slamming into you from behind, grabbing your arm and twisting it painfully behind your back. You muffled a yelp by biting your tongue and held still as he shook you a little, just to make sure you felt the twist of your shoulders as he pinned your arms. 

“You see,” Mickey continued, stepping closer. Your eyes flickered frantically around the saloon, but besides Bernie watching with a greedy, pleased expression, the rest of the customers -- of which there were only a few -- didn’t spare you a glance. Your heart sank as you realized that they were going to let him do whatever he wanted to you. 

For the first time, there would be people to hear your screams and it wouldn’t even matter. Your head began to buzz, and you were barely able to hear Mickey’s words as he continued. 

“When you pulled your little stunt back in Carlisle,” he grabbed your throat and, despite your efforts, you gasped. “You gave Potter and his officers a big fat chance to catch up with us. The Twins got nabbed, you see… tossed in a jail to rot,” he gave your throat a squeeze and you watched in horror as a knife appeared in his hand. 

“But that’s not the point, now is it?” He asked. "The Twins, they're expendable. A useless lot. We all knew that, didn't we?" He raised his eyebrows as he looked over your shoulder to Red and then back to Bernie. She grinned wickedly at you, and you felt Red’s hips press against yours. 

Suddenly, Mickey grabbed your face, jerking it up to meet his as he leaned into your ear. 

“What did I tell you about running, Kitty Cat?” he whispered, low on his breath. The smell of stale tobacco and whiskey filled your nose -- so familiar you felt sick. 

As he tilted his knife into your cheek, you kicked your heel back into Red’s groin. The man gave a howl, hunching forward, and you used the opportunity to throw the back of your head directly into his nose. It broke with a sickening crunch, and he stumbled aside. 

Whipping around, you scrambled for the exit, but Mickey grabbed your arm and pulled you backward, throwing you into the bar. Your back hit the edge of the tabletop with a thud, pulling a pained grunt from your lungs, but none of that mattered; the things they'd do to you would hurt a lot worse. 

Mickey’s hand was at your throat again, slamming your shoulders back and pinning you to the table. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs and your hat from your head. Reaching behind you, your fingers closed around the brim and you swung it forward, shoving it into his face and blinding him for a precious moment. He growled and slashed out wildly with his knife. It caught you on the shoulder, slicing deep into your collarbone. Crying out, you grit your teeth against the sting of the blade and tried to push him off of you, but he was bigger; stronger. He had always been. 

Suddenly your arm was forced down onto the counter. Bernie was there, fingers digging into your skin as she held you still. 

“Mickey don’t,” you cried, wincing as his fist crashed down onto the counter next to you, hard enough that you weren’t sure how he hadn’t broken bones. 

“What did I tell you about beggin’? Huh?” he barked, sliding the knife up to your throat, pressing hard enough that blood began to pool along the blade. You tried to kick out at him, but he smashed his hips against your legs, holding you still. 

“It seems there’s a lot you’ve forgotten, little sister,” he muttered between heaving breaths. “Suppose I’ll just have to remind you then, won’t--”

His threats were cut off as Mickey was suddenly jerked backwards by the scruff of his collar. You saw Bernie’s eyes flash wide a moment before her face twisted into a scowl, a low growl tearing up her throat as she reached forward and grabbed you by the neck, slamming your head into the table. Your head crashed once, twice, and a third time before you were able to finally free your gun from its holster. 

Lifting it, you leveled your aim and fired. Bernie fell back with a hoarse yell as her hand flew to clutch at the bloom of blood spreading across her shoulder in a pattern that almost matched your own. 

You kicked out hard, sending her backwards and crashing into the nearest table before spinning around and frantically searching for the boys. You found Mickey quickly. He was dragging himself up off the floor, fists raised in a fighting stance to face… 

The man’s back was turned to you, but you’d recognize the poncho anywhere. A portion of his dark hair was tied back with a strip of leather, strands pulling loose in the fray and laying against his temple. A dozen thoughts flashed through your mind. Was he following you? What were the chances that he wasn’t -- that he just so happened to be here at the same time? Why was he helping you when no one else would?

But these questions would go unanswered as you watched him land another punch, catching Mickey on the side of the head and sending him crashing back to his knees. Mickey pulled a revolver from his waistband, one that was the twin to your very own weapon, and pointed it at the man. He fired it just as the stranger’s left hand shot out from beneath his poncho. You heard the sound of bullets sparking against something and then the stranger was throwing his foot into Mickey’s chest, sending him careening to the floor once more. 

A surprised shout was ripped from your lungs as fingers grabbed the back of your collar. They flung you around to face Red, who you’d lost in the fight. Big mistake. 

He kneed you in the gut -- payback for earlier, you supposed -- and you fell to your knees with a painful thud, doubling over as you tried not to choke on your own breath. His fingers, long and bony, grabbed you by the chin, forcing your head up to meet his eyes. They were just as cold and serpentine as you remembered them. 

“Oh, we’re gonna make you pay for it this time, bitch,” he hissed, squeezing your neck until you were gasping for a breath that would never come. You grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to pull it away, but to no avail. 

It was just as your eyelids began to flutter that Red suddenly dropped like a sack of rocks, struck on the head by the butt of the stranger’s pistol. 

“Come on,” he said, reaching a hand down to you. You took it without hesitation, knowing that if you didn’t leave now, they were going to kill you. Or worse. Probably worse. 

The stranger hauled you to your feet -- perhaps with a little too much strength, as he had to catch you by the shoulders to prevent you from face-planting into him. You flinched -- how could you not? -- but if he noticed, he didn’t say anything, just ushered you towards the door. Walking backwards, keeping his gun trained on the room, he waited until you’d stumbled down the stairs before whipping around. 

“They won’t be long,” he warned, and you didn’t need to be told twice. Grabbing Horse’s reins, you swung them over his head and pulled yourself onto his back in the same easy motion, thanking whatever gods may be that your legs hadn’t given out yet. 

Blood dripped down your chest from the wound in your shoulder, but you barely noticed it as you spurred Horse forward. He leaped into a canter, stride quickly lengthening as he raced out into the road. Throwing a look over your shoulder, you squinted past the dust kicked up in your wake and watched as the first of them appeared on the porch of the saloon. Mickey -- and he was looking right at you, yelling something you were thankful you couldn’t hear. You felt your limbs begin to shake but willed the adrenaline to stay with you a little longer. 

Whipping back around, reaching up to shove your hat more securely onto your head, you caught sight of a flash of white off to your left. The stranger, poncho furling out behind him, shot you a look. He brought his horse up next to yours and shouted, “Follow me,” before giving his mount a firm kick. 

You weren’t thinking, you were driven only by fear as you slammed your heels into Horse, urging him to go faster. He lengthened his stride, neck stretching out as he raced after the streak of white mane and green fabric. 

You hadn't been expecting them to find you so soon. How had they found you so soon?

Your chest tightened with panic, and you flicked a rein against Horse’s haunches. In a matter of seconds, you caught up with the stranger. When he noticed you in his peripheral, he pointed forward, then left; you were going to be making a sharp turn, it seemed. You nodded and he replied with a curt one of his own. Chancing another glance over your shoulder, you held your hat on as three horses swam into view through the haze of the sand and desert heat. You definitely couldn’t breathe now. 

They were gaining on you steadily. You just hoped that they didn’t start shooting. 

The stranger threw up a hand, signaling the preparation for the turn, and you braced yourself in the saddle, jamming your heels down and maintaining your balance. 

Even though he’d prepared you, somehow you were still caught off guard when he pulled up on his horse, wheeling it in a tight spin before taking off again with a leap. You weren’t sure Horse could do that -- but he sure as hell tried. Tugging your reins back, you squeezed with your legs and pushed him in the direction of the white horse. He reared up, hind end sliding under him, and for a horrible moment you thought he might fall on top of you, but after a breath, he launched himself forward, got his front legs under him, and galloped to catch up to the stranger. 

That was when you noticed why he’d led you in such a turn. Up ahead was a forest along the edge of a wide ravine. You followed the flash of white as the two horses burst into the tree line, throwing an arm in front of your face as you dodged branches. You’d hardly made it a few meters in before he pulled up, slowing his horse to an abrupt trot. Horse was quick to do the same without you even having to ask him. Your hands had begun to shake. 

“Come on,” the man said again, as if you hadn’t been following him already, and turned his horse towards the cavern. 

Trotting a little ways along the edge, he pulled up short and spun his horse around, then began to descend a steep, rocky slope. You felt your stomach lurch with a new anxiety now, and you anchored your legs and sat deep in the saddle as Horse picked his way downward. 

The stranger's horse slid the last few feet, then picked up a brisk trot as it finally reached the ground of the cavern. The man tugged on the reins, letting his mount sidestep for a moment and allowing you to catch up before urging it forward. You followed behind, and he led you down the path until he spotted a cave and reined his horse in. With a nod and a grunt, he swung his leg behind him and dismounted. 

Leaning onto Horse’s neck, you did the same. The moment your feet hit solid ground, your knees buckled and you fell. Your hands hit the stone and you yelped as pain shot through your collarbone. Horse sidestepped, jerking his head up as he snorted.  

“Woah, woah,” the stranger’s voice floated into your ears. He had grabbed Horse by the bridle and was steering him away from your crumpled form. “No use trampling her after all that, buddy.” He gave Horse a gentle, surprisingly fond pat on the neck.

You took a deep breath and shakily pulled yourself to your feet. 

“How ya doin’ over there?” 

It took you a minute to realize the man was talking to you. 

“I--” you cleared your throat. It was clogged with dust and fear. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie. You knew it, and you knew the man knew it, too. 

“Uh-huh,” he replied, a wrinkle interrupting the skin between his brow as he studied you. 

His eyes were blue, you realized. You hadn’t been able to see it before, in the darkness, but they were a cerulean blue. 

“Let’s get these horses hidden,” he muttered, and it was almost a command. 

Almost, but not quite.

[eonash]

The Dance of a Lifetime

Eobard Thawne x Reader

Mattobard x Reader

Prompt: “They’re staring” : “Let them.”

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word Count: 1,918

A/N: posts and runs away

Masterlist

@yetanotherwells @fandomdancer

—

You were busy in your room reading a story. You felt there was not much to do, so instead you decided to escape to another reality. Before you got far, Rip Hunter’s voice came on the intercom inviting everyone to come to the Bridge. You sighed and closed the book in your hands. Getting out of bed, you made your way to the spot you were to go to.

You were the last of the group to make your way in the room. Even Mick Rory had been there before you, though, he may have just been passed out drunk in the smaller room of the main one. You caught Rip’s eye then.

“Ah, Y/N. You are here.” Rip turned back to the group. “Now that everyone is officially here. Let’s get to the news, shall we?” Then in front of everyone was an article that spoke of the Legion of Doom.

“They are back?” Ray asked out loud.

“Sure seems like it.” Nate responded. “How are they even here?”

Martin then spoke up. “Eobard Thawne.” Your eyes flicked over to Martin as he said the name. You knew him. This, Eobard Thawne. The murderer everyone spoke about. You turned away.

Amaya noticed your reaction then from where she stood. “Would you like to say something, Y/N?”

You turned back around. All eyes on you now. “Uh, sorry, what?”

“You seemed to have a reaction to the name. Amaya here wants to know if there is anything you know about him?” Sara chimed in. You sure wish she hadn’t. It was such a bad moment to be speaking of Eobard. He was someone you claimed to have feelings for. Of course, nobody knew this. They would all see you differently than who you were. He was a killer and you were a historian who loved going on adventures with the Legends and diving deep into history. You did not have any special powers like most of them, but you were always allowed to tag along with them.

“Barry used to speak of him a lot.” You started. You kept your head held low, so nobody would be able to read your eyes. “He is a speedster from the future.”

“That’s right. Gray had told me of the conflict him and Ronnie had with ‘em.” Jax turned to everyone. “He even got the Green Arrow involved as well.” You nodded.

“Alright.” Rip cut in. “Let’s get out there and stop these menaces then.”

* * *

It turns out the only menace in the 1920’s would be Eobard Thawne alone. The Legion of Doom was nowhere to be seen in these times. It was an open ballroom. The lights were bright and old record music was playing in the background. Being the historian that you are, you and Nate were total nerds the whole trip. The two of you ran off, ignoring the warnings Rip had made before. What could go wrong anyways?

As you and Nate were off taking in the surroundings you noticed that there were a lot of people crowding the nearest bar-like area. You peeked over everyone’s shoulders and came across him. Eobard was seen from afar having a glass of possibly alcohol with the folks of the town. They were all drinking and laughing. You instantly turned back to Nate, who was too into the old fashioned walls to notice your reaction. Instead of telling him about Eobard, you sneaked away from him instead. Leaving him behind as you went towards Eobard.

You did not know if this was the brightest idea in this case. You were facing off with the murdering speedster everyone knew and spoke about rather than getting help instead, but he did not know you, right? You went over to the crowd of people just in time for Eobard to place his glass down and walk away from the group. His face changed completely as he left and he adjusted his suit. Dusting off his jacket and pants. You went up to him then. You did not know what you would say to the man and you mentally cursed yourself for not having a plan. You felt you wanted to turn around and run back to the Legends, but your legs continued to take you forwards instead. Eobard then spotted you and you froze. He tilted his head to the side and gave you the impression that he knew you. Then, the music got a little louder in the room and had more of a romantic fit. Everyone grabbed a partner and began their waltz. You looked off confused in the crowd before a hand grabbed yours. You squeaked as you were pulled off.

Your eyes then met his. Eobard was standing in front of you. You both stood still, nobody taking the first step yet. “Do you know how to waltz, M’Lady?” He asked in a soft tone. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead he chuckled and began the dance. You both flowed effortlessly across the floor, you being the most surprised that the man knew how to dance, while he was surprised himself that you could or so you thought.

“What are you doing here?” You asked finally. After the words left your mouth, you wanted to take them back right away.

Eobard smiled. “I could ask you the same question. I just came for a little dance.” You gave him a confused look and he titled his head. “What? You don’t believe me?”

He dipped you and you, surprised by this action, gasped. He then pulled you upwards again and you continued your dance.

“I don’t know. I guess I do not expect you of all people to be here.”

“Me of all people?”

You nodded. “I mean yeah. You know.”

“I see where you are getting at.” Eobard gave you a knowing look and you both continued on.

The two of you waltz around the room. Not taking eyes off each other. You couldn’t. The man seemed intrigued with you rather than wanting anything else. As the music came to a slow pace the two of you slowed your dance, somehow making it to the center of the room. You did not know of Eobard’s intentions at this point or if he had any. Your mind was split between him being evil and him being absolutely attractive.

Before you knew it, the two of you stood in the center of the room. Your hand was on his shoulder as his were on your waist. You could practically hear the heartbeat in your chest as you looked at him. You felt lost in his eyes, that there was no-one else in the room, but you both. Your mind did not let that fantasy go far. You looked around you. The Legends were watching for your move. You looked back up at Eobard’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow.

“They’re staring.” You said finally. Eobard pulled you closer now, both your bodies flushed up against each other. He looked down at your lips for a second before looking at your eyes once more.

“Let them.” Eobard went down and kissed you on the lips. You did not hold back then. All thoughts left your mind as you kissed him back. You fell deep into the kiss as you both stood in the center of the room. Before anything had escalated, you both pulled away. You stood there, breathing heavy, trying to catch your breath. He just stared down at you smirking. Knowing that he was the cause of your form now. Suddenly, cheering from the crowd appeared. Many of the folk from the town had cheered. Men threw their hats in the air and women started waving theirs or even the bottom of their dresses.

“Are they cheering.. for us?” You whispered to him, trying to hide yourself, though failing awkwardly.

Eobard looked around. “It seems so.” Your eyes then went around the room, meeting Rip Hunter’s. It seemed he was speaking to himself or just out loud, but you could not make it out from the loud cheering. You then noticed the other Legends standing by him. Eobard gently grabbed your chin with his hand, turning your head in his direction.

“Do not worry, Y/N.” His thumb then brushes against your skin, softly. “You are more than that.”

“What are you saying?” You asked quietly. Nervous about how the Legends were taking in this interaction.

“That I care for you.”

His words hit you hard. You were lost, but also wanted to know more. You never knew this side of Eobard Thawne. He was always a murderer, but now, he was more caring and had a heart. “I-I don’t understand.”

“Come with me, get away. We can leave this place.” Eobard gestured towards the surroundings.

“How do you know I want that?”

He chuckled. “I just do.”

“That’s.. not an answer.”

Eobard opened his mouth to speak, but before he could the cheering stopped and everyone was rushed out of the building. Obviously, the Legends had grown impatient and did not care for the timeline any more.

“Alright, chit chat is over. Let’s get a move on.” Sara stood in front of the rest of the Legends with Rip Hunter standing next to her. Everyone was suited up and ready to take on Eobard. Weapons out, even though it would be pointless against the speedster.

Eobard turned to you finally, whispering in your ear. “Think about it.” And sped off somewhere else. You looked at the door to the building and then back at the team. You were definitely in for a lecture once you got back on the ship.

* * *

“Absolutely insane. Can you even begin to believe that?” Rip pointed towards the doorway that you were peaking out of. You wanted to overhear the conversation between the Legends, but did not want to be seen.

Sara shook her head. The other Legends were off doing other things, while these two leaders were having a talk. “Either way, Eobard is gone and he may turn back up again.”

“I reckon so.” Rip stood straight up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I will be off now.” He started out of the main room and Sara nodded. She then made her way out of the room as well. When the coast was clear you went forward into the room.

“Gideon.” You said out loud, waiting for the AI to respond.

She then appeared in front of you instantly. “Yes, Miss Y/L/N?”

“Can you show me the future?” You paused for a moment. You had to be more specific. “My future?”

“I am sorry, Miss Y/L/N, but that may be an issue.”

“Oh please, Gideon?” You begged.

Gideon sighed. “Alright, but this is what you wanted to know.” A holographic article appeared in front of you then. “You will marry Eobard Thawne in the year 2026. You two start a family together in late 2027, you have two daughters and later a puppy.”

You stood still, staring at the article. Reading it along. You hadn’t known, but did he? He was from the future.. couldn’t that mean he knew about this? You slumped down and leaned against the center console with your hand on your head. You did not know how to feel or even what to stay. You fell silent for a few minutes.

From the other side of the ship’s main room, Sara watched your reaction to this news.

[midearthwritings]

Updated : 12/06/2022

This is where you will be able to find all of my works! Also, reminder that my matchups are not listed here, but you can find them under the tag max matchmaker on my blog.

🍯= Fluff, 🥀=Angst, 🔥=NSFW

🫧=Humor, 🍓=Platonic

OCs Masterlist

ONE-SHOTS :

- Bofur :

Don't You Cry: Bofur shows you something.🥀🍯

- Durins :

Angels Standing Guard: You must go, but you are not alone.🥀🍓

- Dwalin :

Be Mine: A flower, for he must know your heart belongs to him.🍯

Time Won’t Heal, Only Your Love Will: Dwalin cares for you when you fall ill.🍯

- Fíli & Kíli :

Aren't We Just Terrified: Three brothers who actually were two brothers and a sister.🥀🍯🍓

- Fíli :

A Fighter With Invisible Scars: Fíli is there to comfort you when you are haunted by memories of the past. 🥀🍯

Let Your Love Wash Over Me: Fíli and you share an intimate moment.🍯

Paradise: Mahal has crafted you and Fíli to be each other's One.🍯🔥

Those Who Dream: Fíli wishes he could find the courage to confess to you, so Kíli gives him a push.🍯

Til Fate Do Us Part: You are meant to be together, but not in this life.🥀

When You're With Me: Anxiety takes control during a party, but Fíli is there.🥀🍯

- Kíli :

And We'll Love: Kíli assumed you knew about Dwarven customs.🍯

Drunken Boat: After one too many pints of ale, Kíli and you open your hearts to each other.🥀🍯

Heal: After the Battle, you tend to Kíli's wounds.🥀🍯

The Beauty Behind The Beast: You think it is a shame to neglect such beautiful hair.🍯🍓

The Reason We Get Along: No matter how serious the task is, there is always someone to joke around.🫧🍓

Without Me: You mourn Kíli's death.🥀🍓

- Lindir :

Wings Wouldn't Help You: Lindir brings you back to life.🥀🍯🍓

- Tauriel :

Heavenly Inferno: Nothing matters other than Tauriel.🍯

- Thorin :

Beating Hearts: Bodies covered in wounds, Thorin and you help each other bathe after Azog’s attack.🥀🍯

Forgotten Treasure: Thorin's royal duties have been causing him to neglect you for too long now.🥀🍯🔥

I'll Show You My Shadows: With you by his side, there is nothing to be afraid of.🥀🍯

Love Past Midnight: Love could still be found in the depths of a nightmare.🥀🍯🔥

Shooting Star: It is your birthday, and Thorin fears you might hate him in the future.🍯🍓

Till We Meet Again: You will always be with Thorin, even during his last moments.🥀

- Thranduil :

Come To My Arms, My Beamish Child: Only a little ray of sunshine was needed to calm the storm.🍯🍓

Enchanting: Thranduil and you find some beauty in each other after he has saved your life.🥀🍯

The Devil's Sadness: Who would give a thought to what the monster felt?🥀🍓

MULTI-CHAPTERS:

Farewell (Thranduil x Human!Reader) : Part 1 | Part 2 🥀

HEADCANONS :

Modern Fíli & Kíli

What the Hobbit characters smell like?

What happened to Dís after BotFA?

ONE-SHOTS :

- Aragorn :

Bye, Baby Bye: Aragorn leaves, but you cannot go with him.🥀

To Love And Be Loved By You: They found you, and you found him.🍯

- Arwen :

The Colors Of Your Love: Thankfully, the most beautiful things are invisible to the eye.🥀🍯

- Eowyn :

Not That Bad: Eowyn baked a cake for your birthday. But you're not really excited to take a bite...🫧🍓

- Faramir :

Tongues Rip Like Razors: You should never go to sleep after a fight. But tonight, you will.🥀🍓

- Frodo :

Pour A Little Sugar On My Wounds: It is always the smallest things that give the biggest amount of love.🍯

- Legolas :

Love Stumbled Into My Heart: There will always be someone to love your flaws.🍯

- Pippin :

What Is Yours Is Mine To Lose: The memories will never leave, but at least you're together.🥀

ONE-SHOTS :

- Anders:

No Truths, Just Dares: You doubt Anders' ability to make you moan, so he shows you how wrong you are.🔥

The Little Things You Do: Turns out Anders isn't that much of an asshole after all...🍯

- Ty:

Driving Lesson: Ty gives you a lift and offers to teach you how to drive.🍯

ONE-SHOTS :

- Shaun:

EpiPen and Girlfriends: When you show up to the ER after an allergic reaction, Claire and Neil finally learn something interesting about Shaun.🫧🍯

Allergic , In Love & Cupcake (for @guardianofrivendell 's Bday Challenge 2021)

Wedding Planner (for @guardianofrivendell 's Bday Challenge 2022)

OC Hunger Games (by @lady-latte )

Rewriting Challenge Masterlist

Advent Calendar 2021 Masterlist

[winterscaptain]

short notice.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: thanks to @joanofarkansass for this little idea!! i was able to throw this together as kind of a surprise treat before i went to sleep tonight. i hope you all enjoy!

words: .9k warnings: none!

summary: “’welcome to the wonderful world of jealousy,’ he thought. ‘For the price of admission, you get a splitting headache, a nearly irresistible urge to commit murder, and an inferiority complex. yippee.’” ― j.r. ward, dark lover. au!november 2010

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

“Sorry to call all of you in on such short notice.” JJ tosses a file to you as you walk in. “We’ve got a last-minute request from the brass and we’re expected in Vermont within the next two hours.”

You sit with a sigh and start flipping through as the rest of the team files in. 

“You look nice,” Derek remarks. You almost have the good sense to feel offended by his surprise. 

“I had a date.”

Penelope drops her file. “Kevin and I were supposed to have our Firefly marathon tonight, but I guess it’ll have to wait. I can’t believe another serial killer ruined our night off.”

Your mouth screws up, a little rueful, but before you can reply - 

“A serial killer is about to ruin a lot more than our nights if we don’t get started.” Hotch steps in and sits beside you, looking up at the screen. He’s also out of his normal garb - wearing a polo shirt and jeans with a pair of sneakers. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen him in stuff like this before, but it’s still a little silly to see him dressed so casually in the office. 

After a moment of silence, he prompts, “JJ?”

“Yes, sir.” 

JJ starts the briefing, but you’re having some trouble focusing. It’s clear Hotch’s mind is somewhere else and his fidgeting draws your attention more than once. 

About halfway through, you catch Emily as she nudges Dave’s shoulder, pulling his attention to Aaron. They both squint in your general direction for a moment before little smirks appear on their faces. 

With that in mind, you bump Hotch with your elbow. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

Doesn’t sound fine. 

“You sure? Is Jack okay?” 

He doesn’t look at you as he replies, still curt. “Yeah. He’s good. I’m fine. Just tired.” 

Small alarm bells go off in your head. It seems Haley installed them upon her death. For now, though, you ignore them and let it go. 

He’ll get over it, whatever it is. 

+++

“I hope you have a change of clothes,” Hotch says, passing you on the jet. 

You glance up at him, trying not to feel too put off by the rebuke in his tone. “Of course.”

He takes a seat on the far side of the plane - much farther away from you than normal. Emily, uncharacteristically, plops down beside you with a little snort. 

“He’s about as subtle as a gun, don’t you think?” 

Your brow pinches. “What?” 

“Could he be more obvious?” 

Taking a minute to look over at Hotch again, you turn back to Emily. “Apparently?” 

“He’s jealous. I think he heard you had a date.” 

Why would he be jealous? 

The furrow between your brows only deepens. Jealous doesn’t seem to be in Hotch’s vocabulary - Aaron is, well, seemingly too much of a man for that. Jealousy seems childish, immature, even. Two things he decidedly isn’t. 

You take the bait. “What do you mean?” 

Emily snorts again. “You’re kidding, right? You look good -” 

“Thanks.” 

“Sure. You look good and it’s not for him and I think,” she sticks her tongue firmly in her cheek, “he’s a little huffy about it.” 

You heave a sigh and stuck your nose in the case file. “Has anyone ever told you you’re absolutely ridiculous?” 

“Pfft. Yeah. Rossi. All the time.” 

+++

“Doin’ alright, Aaron?” 

The man in question hardly looks up from his reading. “Hm?” 

Dave settles in beside him and watches you chat with Emily, eye-rolls in no short supply. “Oh, I only ask because you seem a little tense.” 

“Do I?” 

Dave goes on to point out how nice you look this evening and, “It’s a shame we had to interrupt everyone’s evening - I’m sure the person on the other end of that date,” he gestures to you again, “is none too happy - but of course, that’s exactly what you want -” 

“What?” 

That caught Aaron’s attention. 

Dave holds back a smirk. “You’re jealous, Aaron. Just admit it. This lack of self-awareness is unbecoming.” 

Hotch only rolls his eyes and burrows back into his work, only a little frustrated Dave was able to get after him so easily. “I don’t know what you're talking about.” 

“Alright,” Dave says, as if he doesn’t believe him at all (he doesn’t). “Up to you, but if I were you, I’d start getting a little more honest with yourself. Clearly, you don’t have forever.” 

Aaron grits his teeth but doesn’t reply. 

Why add fuel to the fire? 

He’s right. 

Shut up. 

+++

You change into your work clothes about a half-hour before final descent - just a regular pair of rip-stop pants and a tee-shirt - and step out of the bathroom. If you chose to acknowledge the tension between you and Aaron, you’d admit your strut was a bit of a punishment. 

That said, you’re not necessarily in the business of facing your feelings. Thus, your manner of walking is just a means to an end, as it usually is. 

When you sit back down, you glance over and try not to feel too much joy at the slight pull of disappointment around Aaron’s lips at seeing your wardrobe change. 

Maybe I did look good. 

And maybe it was a gift JJ called you in, after all. 

Not that you’d admit it, of course. The last thing you’d do is get dressed up for Aaron Hotchner, of all people. 

Yeah, like that’ll happen. 

Okay, even that is a little bit of a stretch for your self-denial. You shake it off, turning back to the police reports in your lap. 

Definitely a stretch. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @bwbatta @wakatoshislover @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @the-falling-in-the-danger @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @kerrswriting @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw  @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos @bispences @thebivirgin

[roanniom]

okay but 10/10 would pull hot lawyer in by his tie and make tf out with him

Get You Off

(Original photo source @the-adam-driver-files but made b&w by me)

Lawyer!Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 1,252

Warnings: NSFW, simple PIV smutty smut, I guess semi-public (there are people in the next room)

The real question is, are you doing this before or after the trial? You giving into temptation when you spend time in his office, brushing hands over legal documents as he goes over the details of the defense? He’s telling you some important info about the one thing you have to make sure to say on the stand, but you’re too busy appraising the way his body looks in that gorgeous, tailored, fitted suit to pay attention?

Kylo urges you to stay focused, you’re not going to win otherwise. But right now you want to win something else. His eyes widen as you grab him by his luxurious silk tie and wrench him forward, bringing his lips crashing to yours. Though you’re the one who takes the initiative he catches up quick, hands rushing to your waist, gripping your hips, squeezing your ass. You’re so eager, propelled forward by the tension that has been mounting over days of listening to his authoritative voice, watching those massive hands sliding across forms and papers, imagining them sliding through something else. He presses in against you, caging you in until you’re backing up, pulling him right along by the tie. 

Until your back’s against the wall and suddenly you’re being lifted. Pressed against the brick of his small office. Small since he’s still new to the firm of course, though with his many talents you’re sure he won’t stay here for long. What’s certainly not small is the massive bulge that presses up against you as he grinds his hips against yours, your legs squeezing around his waist to keep you aloft. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you say breathlessly with a smile and not a single ounce of sincerity. Your statement obligatory but only teasing. Kylo’s lips bruise their way down your jaw, your throat, until his teeth sink into the flesh of your shoulder, causing you to buck into him and cry out. You should care that the paralegals outside his office can probably hear you but you just don’t. You know that if roles were reversed they would be equally happy to wind their legs around this god in a good suit.

“You shouldn’t have committed that crime, either. Life is full of things you shouldn’t do,” he says in a low, measured voice. His eyes are hooded and he watches you as he tongues the spot he had bitten so deeply at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, just as a hand slides down to cup your mound through your stylish cigarette pants. His index finger presses tight circles through the fabric, somehow zeroed in right over your clit, if a little off center, making you gyrate your hips in desperate need for more, harder, him. 

“But you don’t strike me as a woman who says no to her desires just because they are improper.”

“And you don’t seem like a man who gives a fuck if a woman’s desires are improper.”

Suddenly you’re whirled around and seated on the edge of his desk, paperwork flying everywhere. You should probably care about that. Those papers were the key to your acquittal. To your freedom from scrutiny. To your ability to walk away from this world of hearings and trials and litigation. But as he pushes against you to make your back press into the hard wood of his desk, his body finding its place between your thighs, clothed cock nudging insistently at your core, walking away is the last thing on your mind.

“You, my dear, are more than improper,” Kylo says, his voice low. His hands leave your waist – rendered unnecessary by the intense way his pelvis keeps you pinned to the table – traveling up your body to rip open your blouse. Buttons ricochet and it’s absurd, its cliché, its overly dramatic, but the way his hands descend on your bra-clad breasts are none of those things. More like rough, delicious, demanding. He kneads the heaving flesh and licks a long stripe up the valley between them, starting from your sternum and ending with a lascivious suck right beneath your pulse point. You moan at full volume now, hips undulating against his, thighs pulling him in for more pressure. Kylo chuckles against your throat, holding you down against the table by the weight of his grasp on your breasts. “The word ‘obscene’ comes to mind.”

“That’s slander,” you reply, though it comes out in a huff. Suddenly Kylo reduces contact, pulling away his upper body. You sit up on your elbows in panic, only find him watching you with a bemused smirk, hips still slotted between your thighs, hands working deftly at his belt.

“What are you going to do, sue me?”

When Kylo frees his cock – and absolute monster, red at the tip and leaking with precum – his hands move to your hips, yanking down your pants as if they personally offended them. You’d teased him in short dresses and skirts every other day since he’d begun counseling you. How fucking dare you make it harder for him today, of all days.

Once divested of your pants you pull Kylo to by the tie again, this time slower.

“I’ll sic my lawyer on you,” you whisper against the shell of his ear when he’s finally bent over you fully, distracted by the task of lining himself up with your entrance. “He’s a real wolf. Goes for the jugular.”

Kylo practically growls in response before sheathing himself fully in your soaking cunt. You clench around him immediately, barely getting to flutter your walls before he’s pulling back and ramming right back in. The desk squeaks with the force of his strokes and the way your body slides against it. Oh yes. The paralegals are jealous.

“Sounds like he’ll get you off,” Kylo spits through gritted teeth, though humor dances behind his black-blown eyes. Your own eyes roll back in your head when his hand roughly takes hold of one of your breast, manhandling it and pinching at the nipple.

“Oh he’ll get me off – ah!” You almost lose your ability to speak for a second, which would a shame because it would mean you’d have to stop this verbal dance. Through heavy pants you speak up again. “He’s really…really…good.”

“Oh yeah? He’s good?” Kylo eggs you on. Sweat collects on his brow and his perfectly coiffed hair bounces looser, more tousled, but otherwise he still seems remarkably put together, in spite of the look of agonized pleasure rippling across his face. His cock protrudes from his open pants but other than that his clothes are surprisingly unrumpled. You, on the other hand, must look thoroughly debauched with your bare legs around his waist, panties pulled to the side, shirt ripped open and his hands pulling your breasts wantonly from their bra cups.  

“Yeah, so good – fuck!”

“Is he big?” Kylo prompts, snapping his hips so hard suddenly you swear you feel him in your throat. When you don’t answer his hand snakes up to your face to deliver a light, orienting pat to your cheek. Your eyes open, slightly unfocused. “His cock. Is it big?”

“W-what – oh god – what does that have to do with being a lawyer?” you challenge, which gets a breathless laugh out of him.

“Everything, baby.”

And Kylo is big, and he does get you off – two times in his office, once in the court room the next day at your trial, and then twice again back at his office.

After all, he’s big good. 

~*~

Smaller tag list since I don’t usually write Kylo and idk who is down (let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged in the future!) : @paper-n-ashes @foxilayde @maryforyou @maybe-your-left @finn-ray-nal-beads @mariesackler @sacklerscumrag @hopeamarsu @aliveandlonely @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @safarigirlsp @millenialcatlady @can-i-pls-get-a-waffle @mrs-zimmerman @clydesfavoritegirl @direnightshade @historyandfandoms50

***Retagged because some apparently didn’t work - sorry if you got double notified!!!

[rebelwrites]

One More Chance - Part Two

Clay Spenser x Reader

Part One

Join The Group Chat Here - If You Want Tagging Manually Let Me Know 🖤

Clay Spenser Masterlist

This Months Writing

“It’s your call sis” Jase whispered. “You get the say on whether he stays in the team or not”

Running your hand over your face you took a deep breath as you placed a cigarette between your lips, glancing from Clay back to the boys. The fact that you basically held the power to fuck his life up made you feel sick.

“Okay does he have your backs whilst out in the field?” You asked taking a long drag on your smoke. “If he has your backs 100% out there he’s gotta stay, even if it brings up the past. I can’t have anything happening to you guys and especially not you Jase. Gotta make sure my big bro is safe”

“You one hundred percent about this?” Jase asked, resting his arm over your shoulder.

“Yes” you said, taking a deep breath. “At the end of the day I need to make sure you are safe, because I’m not losing you”

“Now who is getting soppy” he half laughed kissing your head. “So he stays but doesn’t mean I’m not gonna make his life hell for a bit, he’s gotta prove himself”

“Thought as much” you nodded.

“Right for some reason Y/N has decided you can stay” Jase growled, his arm still around your shoulder “but you gotta prove yourself, so to start with you will be cleaning all of our gear, maintaining our guns and buying all our beer for the next month”

“Okay” Clay nodded before turning to you “I will do anything you see fit because at the end of the day it’s nothing compared to what I did to you”

You knew letting him stay in the team would cause trouble, just seeing the regret clouding his eyes and the words he said made your heart flutter. Quickly you nodded at him before you wiggled out of Jase’s grasp and joined Sonny at the fire pit after syncing your phone with the surround sound.

Without saying a word Sonny grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the floor, taking a swig before passing it you.

“Things will be okay” he smiled. “The last spin up he was talking about some girl, who I now know was you, saying how he fucked up, and it was the biggest regret he had”

“Sonny I love you but please shut up” you half laughed “I just want to move on from it”

The hours passed and everyone was getting along, however there was this weird tension hanging over you and Clay. On one hand you wanted to stay as far away from him as possible, but on the other hand you couldn’t help be taken back by his looks, he wasn’t the same kid anymore, you couldn’t lie and say you wasn’t attracted to him because he was one hundred percent your type, you kept stealing quick glances when he wasn’t looking. Just everything about him made you feel weak and you knew it shouldn’t but you couldn’t help it.

“See I told you the new kid was your type” Sonny smirked, nudging your shoulder. “And don’t lie to me because I keep seeing you check him out”

“Yeah well there too much history there” you nodded standing up. “I just need to clear my head I’m gonna go for a walk”

Pulling your hoodie around your body you wandered around the garden, just like you did when you were a kid, only coming to a stop at the oak tree with the swing you and Jase made. Sitting down you gently swung yourself trying to figure out what you were going to do. You were planning on telling everyone that you were moving back home but maybe now the distance was what you needed.

The moment Clay stood up grabbing two beers from the cooler and started to make his way over to you, Jase was instantly on his feet only to be stopped by Ray.

“She needs this, we all do, if he is a part of the team they need to rip the bandaid off now and clear the air” Ray said.

“Why do you always have to be right” Jase sighed, sitting back down making sure he had a view of you, he wasn’t going to take his eyes off the two of you. Not when Clay hurt you once already.

“I’m sorry” Clay sighed, sitting in the swing next to you. “I know that probably doesn’t mean much now but I just wanted you to know”

“I just want to know why?” You whispered “What we had was good Clay, we had everything planned out and then you tell me everything you felt for the previous five years was fake”

“I was an idiot and thought that it was the only way” he sighed “I lied when I said everything I felt was fake. I didn’t know how you would react especially with Jase being in the Navy. I’ve regretted that day ever since, I know you probably don’t want anything to do with me after what I did and I get that but I just want to say thank you for telling Jase I can stay on the team”

“He told me you have their backs out there so it wasn’t a hard decision” you whispered finally looking up at him. “And I’m not going to be the reason someone’s career gets torn away, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself”

Looking around the garden you saw Jason was staring right into Clay’s soul making you smile, he knew you could look after yourself but he couldn’t help but be the protective big brother.

You couldn’t help the tears that formed as you listened to the song that was playing, it was like your playlist knew this song needed to be played. The sounds of nickelback filled the garden. Clay must has sensed it to as he stood up holding his hand out in front of you.

“One dance?” He asked with a small smile on his face.

“Okay” you nodded taking his hand, this was the first time you had contact with him and you couldn’t deny the sparks were still there, pushing the thoughts back as he wrapped his arms around your waist and you rested your hands on his chest.

Do you recall how long it must've been? Since any room held only you and me. And every song that sings about it. Says that we can't live without it. Now I know just what that really means.

The lyrics were saying the words Clay couldn’t express, the feeling of you in his arms again felt right but neither of you knew what the future held. He knew he had a long way to go to regain your trust.

Let's lock the door behind us. They won't find us. Make the whole world wait. While we dance around this bedroom. Like we've only got tonight. Not about to let you go until the morning light. You could be my whole world. If I could be your satellite. Let's dance around this bedroom. Like tonight's our only night.

“Do you ever think we will get back to what we were?” He whispered looking into your eyes, “Because if I’m being honest I never stopped loving you”

“Honestly Clay I don’t know, you burned me pretty badly” you whispered “Lets just see what happens but for now just enjoy this moment”

Resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat as you swayed to the song, your soul felt lighter with you back in his arms but you wasn’t going to jump back into a relationship with him, there was a lot of rebuilding that needed to be done but this was the first step in the right direction.

@chibsytelford @mrsmarvelous1995 @supervalcsi @talicat713 @disasterfandoms @bravo-four-seal-team @jasonbabymama @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @lotsoflovefromlea @seik-o @ohitsnicolexo @velvetcardiganbucky @phoenixhalliwell @pancakeisreading @itsonautopilot @pinkrockstar19

[marvel-and-mischief]

Apple Blossom

Part of my Floriography Series

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader Words: 1600 Warnings: fluff, slight angst (but only because we know what happens next), pining Synopsis: A few days before the events of the Dreamstone, you have a late night take out with your boss, Maxwell Lord.

Apple Blossom: ‘fame speaks him great and good’

💐

1st July 1984

You padded barefoot through the empty corridors of the Black Gold building, a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and your work shoes in the other that had been irritating you after a full day of work. The lights were low and the phones were silent, an all too common occurrence in the past few months. The business was once a bustling ray of money and hope and now it was running out of luck. 

You saw the unpaid bills when you picked up Maxwell’s mail, the angry investors that would corner him in his office, demanding their money back. He had to tell you eventually, the company was going under but he had a plan. He couldn’t tell you what, but he had a sure way out of the crippling debt and you found yourself trusting him. There was no reason not to.

You reached Maxwell’s office, tapping on the open door and walking in without waiting for an answer.

Maxwell looked up from behind his desk, a relieved smile growing on his lips as he saw it was you. He placed the magnifying glass that he’d been using in a drawer and gave you his full attention. 

“Looking at anything interesting?” you asked, spying pages of a language you couldn’t read and diagrams of rocks you hadn’t seen before.

“No more interesting than the food in that bag,” Maxwell stood and pointed to the takeout in your hand, leading the way to the corner of his office where a comfortable couch was waiting for you. Maxwell moved a cushion for you to sit and took the bag of food from you. 

“I am making progress,” Maxwell said excitedly, opening the plastic tubs of various dishes and arranging them on the coffee table.

“Will I get any details today?” Your voice held a teasing edge to it but you wanted to know why he was being so secretive if it meant saving Black Gold.

Maxwell hesitated to answer though, distracting himself with the food before taking a seat next to you on the couch, motioning for you to dig into the takeout.

“Just trust me, all will be revealed soon,” Maxwell spoke around a forkful of noodles and you decided to drop it. He seemed excited and confident about his plans so who were you to question him. 

You sat in amiable silence whilst you both ate your food. Times like these were rare a few years back, when you were starting out in the company you would be working well into the late evenings, keeping Maxwell’s mug filled with coffee, answering the phones, signing off on this and that, some days you’d forget to eat. 

Now, you found yourself struggling to find something to do. You’d make up work just to fill the time in your day. You weren’t just Maxwell’s PA anymore, you worked general maintenance, dabbled as a cleaning lady, you even drove Raquel home most evenings just to stop yourself chewing your nails down to the skin. 

Sometimes you asked yourself why you stuck around. And then you’d take one look at Maxwell, how he brightened up when you entered the room, how much he confided in you about his anxieties about the business and immediately remembered why you had to stay. He needed you and you wanted to be there for him if his plans didn’t work out. 

Maxwell would need someone to be his anchor when the ship sunk. And that would be you.

Maxwell gave a sigh of contentment after his last forkful of noodles, placing the empty tub back on the coffee table to rifle through the bag the takeout came in.

“Don’t forget your weekend with Alistair is coming up,” you reminded him, licking sauce from the corner of your lips. 

“Huh?” Maxwell was distracted by his new find; a box of fortune cookies at the bottom of the bag, “want to open one? See what our future holds?” he asked with an exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows. You laughed and nodded, holding out your hand for a cookie.

Maxwell watched as you snapped your cookie in half, pulling the two pieces apart to reveal a slip of paper inside. You carefully pulled it out, placing the cookie pieces on your lap to read the fortune.

“‘Fame speaks him great and good’,” you read, raising an eyebrow to Maxwell who looked surprised, “d’you think that means you?”

Maxwell laughed loudly and ripped the paper out of your hand to check you weren’t making it up.

“It really says that,” Maxwell confirmed, “I keep telling you good things are coming for us.”

You smiled at the look of delight on his face, and thought maybe there truly was nothing to worry about when it came to Maxwell and Black Gold.

“Come on then, open yours,” you nudged his knee with yours, eager to find out what his fortune said.

Maxwell made a show of rolling up his shirt sleeves, making you giggle around a mouthful of your cookie. He cleared his throat and snapped his cookie.

You watched as his eyes widened ever so slightly, before he righted himself and rid his features of anything that resembled what he felt about what he was reading. You frowned, wondering why he was reacting so weirdly. It took too long for Maxwell to read aloud his message, and eventually you had to prompt him by tapping him on the arm.

“Just as I thought, ‘fortune is on the horizon’,” Maxwell laughed but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He pocketed the piece of paper and cleared his lap of crumbs.

“So there’s really nothing to worry about?” 

Maxwell looked at you like a deer in headlights, then gave you his award winning smile, his hand reaching over to rest atop yours.

“Absolutely nothing,” he promised, and you believed that he believed that but that didn’t stop you from feeling uneasy about Maxwell’s secretive plans, “we will be okay.”

You mustered up a smile and he tapped your hand before standing.

“I’m going to bathroom,” he stated, and as Maxwell walked through his office a small piece of paper fluttered out of his pocket and fell to the ground.

“Oh, Max-“ but he had already left as you jumped up from the couch to pick it up. You realised it was the fortune he had acted strangely around, and instead of leaving it be, placing it on the table for when he got back, you couldn’t help wanting to look. So that’s exactly what you did. 

‘The love of your life is right in front of your eyes’

The breath caught in your throat as you read and re-read the line. It hit you then how badly you wanted it to be true. And suddenly everything made sense. Why you worked so hard for him, why you didn’t entertain the idea of ever leaving Maxwell or Black Gold no matter how much the company was going downhill, you were prepared to ride or die, right to the bitter end. It was because you liked him. And this all but confirmed to you that he didn’t feel the same about you.

You were so busy overthinking your own feelings that you didn’t hear Maxwell returning from the bathroom. He stood over your shoulder, holding his breath as he watched you for your reaction.

“I can’t do anything about it,” Maxwell whispered into the silence of the room, making you spin around in surprise to face him, and you instantly noticed he was a mere couple of feet away from you. 

“I knew it,” you sighed, shaking your head. Of course he didn’t like you, you were just his assistant after all.

Just as you were about to turn around and gather your things he grabbed you softly by the arm, making you face him once again. 

“That isn’t what I mean,” Maxwell looked lost for words, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to gather his thoughts, “I want to be more than your boss, more than your friend, but this thing I’m doing, that I swear to you will change everything for the better, I need to do that first.”

During his speech Maxwell had stepped closer to you, taking your hands in his and pressing them against his chest, eyes boring into yours. You shouldn’t have been thinking it, not when he was trying to be honest and open with you, but you thought he looked beautiful. You’d always known he was handsome but this close, he had pretty brown eyes and a nose that wouldn’t looked out of place on a marble statue for all to admire. 

“I’m doing a big thing for the company, for Alistair, but also for you. So I can be someone you are proud to walk through galas with on your arm, that you are proud to shout about,” Maxwell took a deep breath and slowly rested his forehead against yours, “will you wait for me?”

It was a loaded question, one that stopped you in your tracks but it really shouldn’t have. Waiting is what you’ve been doing, isn’t it? Without even knowing, you’ve been waiting for this moment where you’d wake up to your feelings and be faced with them. You knew you could wait a little longer, especially if Maxwell was promising himself on the other side of whatever he had planned.

“I can wait,” you smiled, leaning forward to place a quick, chaste kiss to his lips, “whatever happens, good or bad, I’ll wait.”

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @computeringturtle @anu-simps​ @bts17army​ 

[sebcastellanos]

Dr. Palmer… it’s very nice to see you again. You know, you nearly ruined Star Wars, right? Yeah, sorry about that.

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 13 | Tearful Goodbyes 

Pairing: Geralt x Targaryen!OC

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after the events of the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 5200

Note:  Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future uploads! 

*Gasp* Could this be? Me posting another chapter after only two weeks?? Impossible! I promise this is the last chapter that is heavily filled with angst, at least for a while! I can't help it, Vis is a very sad bean who keeps all her feelings in a bottle, and then she'll die. I just-- I need the build-up man! The character development man! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, let me know what you think, I love reading all your comments and theories! <3

The cool air of night is a stark contrast to the heat inside of Visenya, which grew hotter as the chaos during the banquet did. But now that peace is restored, standing under the night sky lit up by glittering stars, she feels that heat simmer down until it's a comforting warmth. The northern wind is biting, but she welcomes the feeling, the cold reminding her of the North - of home. The cold that would chill her to the bone, leaving her with chattering teeth and icy hands that always seemed miserable is something she longs for; a semblance of normalcy. She inhales and then exhales, watching with child-like wonder as her breath becomes visible in the cold temperatures. So enraptured by the weather, she nearly forgets she isn't alone, and that Geralt is a few steps ahead of her now, watching her with curious eyes. Yet it's Jaskier's voice that pulls her from her stupor.

"So this is it?"

Visenya turns around, gold eyes wide with her lips set in a thin line. Jaskier is standing at the entrance of the castle, the noblewoman previously with him nowhere to be seen. He's disheveled and so unlike the normally prim and proper Jaskier she's accustomed to, his floppy brown hair windblown and sticking up in random directions. His clothes are wrinkled in odd places, ripped here and there, but overall mostly intact. His eyes are wide, as they normally are, but they're glassier than she remembers them being, the stars betraying what seems to be held back tears.

"You don't have to leave, you know, just because the Countess de Stael has agreed to be my patron. I could still use my bodyguard," Jaskier says, smiling, but it's not carefree and easygoing, brimming with his usual mirth. Instead, it's tight and harsh, not quite reaching his eyes. His hands loosely rest in front of him, fingers nervously intertwining with each other.

Visenya smiles, mustering all her strength to appear every bit the soft and docile maiden from every fairytale, looking at him like she would've Bran and Rickon. She sighs, forming and reforming the words in her mind, trying to find the perfect thing to say. But each time she comes short, a harsh reminder she'll never be a good poet.

Instead, she opts to shrug her shoulders and move closer to the entrance, closing the distance between them. She's melancholic, feeling as if another chapter of her life is coming to an end. She and Jaskier traveled together for years, how could she not feel a hint of emotion when it seems like their travels are on hiatus - if not done entirely.

"Come on Jane, you in court, scaring away all the mean people who want to kill me, we'd make the best team!" Jaskier exclaims, trying - and failing - to have his usual enthusiasm behind the words. They fall flat, sounding more desperate and sad rather than upbeat and encouraging. Visenya sighs once more, the smile on her face requiring less concentration as Jaskier continues to ramble. Finally, she closes the distance between them. "I'll never leave you to your brooding when you want!"

"Whilst that does sound interesting, I'm afraid I wouldn't do well in court," Visenya says, reaching out and taking Jaskier's hand in her own.

"I disagree, My Lady," Jaskier says, pursing his lips and looking at the ground, pausing for a brief moment, allowing the wind to whistle between them. "But I understand."

"My place is out there, where I can stab things," Visenya says, raising her brows with a small smirk on her face.

"You could do that here you know? Not to sound like I'm trying to talk you out of your decision because I respect your choices and everything," Jaskier says, his enthusiasm gaining traction with each word. Visenya laughs, a small laugh that's nothing more than a whisper, but it's music to the ears of anyone who hears it.

"I could, but that would get me in trouble with the law," she responds, shaking her head, the smirk playing on her lips morphing back into a gentle smile.

"Right, I almost forgot about that," Jaskier mutters looking up towards the sky.

"Goodbye Jaskier. Though with my luck this isn't the end, I'll run into you sooner or later," Visenya says, a mischievous glint in her normally stoic gold eyes.

"Oh, I'm afraid you won't get rid of me so easily, my fair lady!" Jaskier exclaims, perking up slightly. "Goodbye, Jane. You and Geralt watch out for each other, alright! I won't have the two scariest people I know both dying, then who'll serve as my protection at high-class events!" Jaskier proclaims, some of his natural charisma returning, his blue eyes not nearly as glossy as moments prior.

"I'll do what I can." Visenya places her hand on Jaskier's shoulder, pulling his body towards her's, wrapping her other arm around his neck as she hugs him. Shocked, Jaskier is stiff for a moment, before melting like morning dew under the hot sun and wrapping his arms around her. He breathes in and then out, as Visenya does the same until their breathing is nearly perfectly synced up. She places her face in the crook of his neck, burning the moment in her mind, unwilling to ever forget this moment in case it's their last. She inhales his scent, committing it to memory; juniper and sage, sharp and warm and earthy all at once, with a hint of sweet wine and linseed oil.

"I'm sorry," she mutters, the words muffled against his neck, but Jaskier understands her none-the-less. "I'm sorry for earlier,"

Jaskier's hand moves from her back to the top of her head, soothingly rubbing it as Lady Catelyn used to when Visenya would run to her crying about one thing or another. It's comforting and familiar, nearly bringing Visenya to tears from the simple act.

"It's okay, you're complicated, I paid extra for my bodyguard to be dark and broody," Jaskier says, a slight sarcastic quirk in his tone at the end. "But promise me you won't isolate yourself any more than you already have. Talk to Geralt, he understands broody and dark."

"I'll keep it in mind," Visenya responds, slowly opening her eyes and unraveling from Jaskier. "Maybe I'll tell you all about how complicated I am next time we meet?" Visenya gives him one last smile, slowly stepping away, but not turning her gaze away from him.

"Oh, I'll hold you to that promise, missy!" Jaskier exclaims, wagging his finger at Visenya as if she is a child. Once again she laughs, louder this time, not as restrained as it normally is.

"I'm counting on it," Visenya replies, talking one last step, turning around to face Geralt, rushing towards him, eager to escape the emotions brimming inside her. Trying desperately to not think about how odd it is that she is walking away from Jaskier, the only constant in this crazy world since the day they met.

"Goodbye, you two! Now take care of each other, in every aspect, if you know what I mean!" Jaskier calls out, disappearing into the castle before either of them could retaliate.

She meets Geralt, who says nothing, he simply raises a brow at her, silently asking 'Are you sure?'

"My place isn't in court." Is all she says. Geralt grunts, nodding his head, a stoic expression on his face. "Let's go back to the inn, I need an ale and lots of sleep."

A smirk creeps onto Geralt's face, his eyes shining with amusement, illuminated by starlight. He quietly snorts, turning to face the gate leading out to the main portion of the city.

"I can agree with that." In nearly perfect unison they walk out of the castle grounds, Visenya easily keeping up with Geralt's long strides. They're quiet, the only sound is their feet pounding against the cobblestone road and the ambient noises of guards and nobles around them.

A particularly strong gust of wind blows through the courtyard causing a piece of Visenya's hair to blow in front of her eyes. She grabs a small chunk of hair, intently inspecting the grey-brown strands. With the silver light shining from the otherwise midnight sky, she can nearly see the silvery-golden hue hidden under cheap hair dye. Or maybe it's a trick of her eyes. She lets out a puff of hair, blowing the hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears to secure it in place.

"So a child," Visenya says, no inflection in her words as she continues to stare straight ahead. Geralt's steps falter for a brief second before he quickly regains his footing. He sighs, heavily, somehow managing to put in all his frustration and annoyance in one simple noise.

"I don't want to talk about it Jane," he says. His tone is stern as if he's talking to an unruly child. It reminds her of when she, Jon, Robb, and Theon were the terrors of Winterfell, in the days before they grew up and the world became dark. She can't help the faint smile that appears on her face, her gold eyes lighting up like the sun, but not nearly as bright as the summer sun in the South. It's more like the North, where the heavy fog and thick clouds obscure most of the sunlight, muffling the harshest parts of the rays and bathing everything in dim light.

"I know, but not talking about isn't going to make this go away," she says, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He's clenching his jaw, veins on his neck slightly popping out. His lips are set in a thin line with eyes like stone.

"There's nothing to run away from," he says. Visenya stops, turning to face Geralt, reaching her hand out and grabbing his shoulder, stopping him in his place and turning him to face her.

"Geralt," she says, her voice serious and stern. "This isn't a joke. This isn't making a bargain with someone in a seedy part of town and running away before they can collect their prize. This is serious."

"I didn't take you as one to think destiny is real." Geralt says, raising a single brow at Visenya.

"We all need something to cling to," she responds, not breaking from his gaze.

"And what do you believe?" Geralt asks.

"That...everything happens for a reason; that there's a purpose behind every tragedy and triumph that we experience - both great and insignificant," Visenya says, keeping her voice low enough that any nosy passers-by won't hear their exchange.

"This isn't some divine plan; this was just a princess using her magic to get her way, destiny has nothing to do with a girl who has no idea how to control her powers," Geralt says, standing firm on his stance. Strong and stubborn; he would've done well in Winterfell amongst the Northern lords.

"Oh cut the shit Geralt, do you honestly have to be so fucking pragmatic that you can't believe in something if you can't see it with your own eyes," Visenay says, keeping her voice low enough as to not attract any more attention towards them. Whilst the crowds are thinning with each moment that passes, even one person seeing their argument is too many.

"I thought you were more intelligent than this, clearly I was mistaken" Geralt responds, taking a step towards Visenya. His eyes glow bright yellow like the fire burning inside of her. Geralt's fire collides with Visenya's ice. He's egging it on, he wants a fight, she realizes. For her to get so angry she yells and screams at him. Why he is, she's not sure.

"Do you have to be such an asshole, Geralt of Rivia? You have no right to insult my intelligence by being so patronizing, I'm not a child, don't treat me as such," Visenya says, spitting the words like they are venom. She steps closer to him, close enough that she can feel his breath and hear his heartbeat.

"Well, it's either that, or you sustained a far worse injury in that fight than originally thought. How could you believe in this horseshit?" He won't stop, adding further fuel to the fire inside her; her pride rearing its ugly head and demanding she win the fight, no matter how petty and uncalled for it is.

Visenya narrows her eyes and clenches her jaw. Her hands form fists at the side of her body, her blood nearly starting to boil from her rage.

"How could I not, after everything that's happened," she says with a voice like ice, so cold that it burns. Her words are quiet, but they're sharp, stabbing into Geralt like sharpened icicles in a winter storm.

"What? What happened Jane? I'm supposed to believe in destiny just because you survived a rebellion?" Geralt asks, a mocking tone lacing his cruel and coarse words. He's not malicious in his intentions, it shines in his eyes, but the words are daggers to her heart none-the-less.

"Stop it," Visenya whispers, taking a step away from Geralt, but he just moves closer. "That's not fair and you know it."

"The gods don't care who lives or dies, why should they care about some child--" Geralt continues, but Visenya interrupts him, her quiet words silencing him.

"I died," she simply says. Geralt closes his mouth, his clenched jaw loosening. Visenya takes a sharp breath and then lets it out, watching as her breath dissipates into the cold air. Heart pounding with shaky hands, Visenya closes her eyes for a moment and then opens them before continuing.

"My family was betrayed and they killed us, butchered at a wedding like we were nothing but cattle. Next thing I know, I woke up outside of Blaviken with this-" Visenya says. Gold eyes dart around their surroundings, searching for any eavesdroppers. Luckily, the streets are nearly empty, the few people still scuttling around not paying them any mind. She holds out her hand, and focuses on...something, trying to recreate the feelings that would bubble under the surface before the fire made its presence known. Her eyes flutter shut, and within a second, a small flame flickers in the palm of her hand, the fire quickly dying out. But it's all she needs.

"Fire magic," Geralt says, breaking Visenya from her concentration. She closes her palm, hiding the arm behind her back as if to protect herself from harm. She looks up, meeting Geralt's wide gaze. "Blaviken burning... that was you,"

Visenya nods, thickly swallowing the lump in her throat, trying to push away the haunting memories of Blaviken burning.

"I lost control and just-- exploded, by the time I came to, everyone was already dead," Visenya says, shrugging her shoulders, her voice hardly above a whisper; soft, weak, and almost completely vulnerable. She purposely leaves out the part where she reveled in the destruction, feeling glee from their suffering. Geralt is silent - maddingly so, it leaves Visenya tense and uneasy. Every second passing feels like a lifetime as Geralt stands in silence and Visenya awaits his response.

But he says nothing, just simply nods his head.

"What now? Are you going to put me down like one of those monsters?" Visenya asks, and despite the self-deprecating words, her tone holds no humor to it.

"You're not a monster." Geralt says, his words like a knife cutting through the thoughts rushing through her mind. "What's done is done."

Visenya nods, taking another step away from Geralt and turning to face the road, eager now more than ever to return to the inn. The rushing wind cools her face and eases the tension in her body, not completely, but enough that she isn't afraid of exploding. Geralt's heavy footsteps pound behind her, his long legs swiftly catching up to Visenya. It's silent, but not the soothing one that leaves Visenya comfortable. Instead, it's tense and awkward, the words from their argument lingering in the air.

"I'm sorry," Geralt simply says, his tone not as firm as it normally is. Geralt is always sure of what he says - whether it's sarcasm or not, but this time he isn't. Witchers hunt monsters, not console maidens. The effort causes Visenya to smile, a small sad smile that doesn't fully reach her eyes.

"It's okay, we both have issues," she says.

"If you want to speak about it--" Geralt begins, the words sounding unsure as they leave his lips.

"I know where to find you," Visenya finishes his sentence, the smile on her face growing bigger. "But, if I did, I'd have to kill you," she responds. Geralt narrows his eyes for a moment, before a small smirk appears on his face, cracking the stone in his expression.

"Maybe you should tell Jaskier then, rid me of that bard," Geralt says, turning and continuing to walk towards the inn they're staying at for the night.

"Oh, he's not that bad. I might actually miss the guy," Visenya says, a small smile resting on her lips. "There's never a dull moment."

"That's what I'm hoping for, dull moments," Geralt says. Visenya looks at him, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Well, I'm afraid you may not get that, not with me around at least." Visenya teases, cocking her head to the side as she raises her brows slightly. Geralt looks at her, scoffing quietly.

"I'm counting on it," he replies. Visenya laughs, the sound more similar to a scoff. They continue weaving through the citizens that remain on the streets. No one pays them much mind, too busy in their worlds, but the few that do take notice of Geralt say nothing. And Visenya is grateful, she's had enough excitement for one night.

o0o0o

The tavern on the level below them is particularly rowdy that night; horrible renditions of bawdy tavern jigs being sung by drunks, cackling men and women, and the thumping of feet banging on the floor and mugs on the tables. The wall shakes and the floor does as well, disturbing the small amount of peace Visenya has. She sits on the side of the bed, her bare feet hovering over the floor, only the very tips of her toes touching the cold wood. Except for the ambiance, the room is silent, but not unbearably so. It's comforting and entirely foreign to Visenya to be able to hear her thoughts.

Jaskier hated silence, needing to fill it with nonsensical rambles and filler thoughts to break the quiet. But Geralt revels in the silence, seeing it as a prized commodity he doesn't get blessed with often. The cool metal of her silver dagger cools the heat that's always under her skin. She balances it in her right hand while staring at the blank wall ahead of her. Jaskier always said she broods too much and is never much fun to be around when this way. Geralt is on the edge of the bed across from her, diligently cleaning his blade. Any dirt and residual blood from the feast have long since been cleaned off, Geralt continues to shine it. His ashen brows are furrowed and his lips set in a thin line. There's a small line that formed on his forehead, a dead giveaway that he's lost in thought.

Visenya sighs, placing the dagger back into its small sheath and sets that on the small table near her bed. The bed squeaks as she stands up, the floor creaking as she puts more weight onto it. Geralt pauses his sword cleaning for a split second but continues as if he never stopped.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

The floor creaks with each movement and the distance separating her and Geralt quickly dwindles until it's almost nonexistent, her knees nearly touching him. Wordlessly, she sits beside him, reaching a hand up and beginning the arduous process of unweaving the intricate braids Jaskier put in them. A partially broken fingernail snags in her hair, getting knotted and tangled.

"Fuck," she says quietly under her breath, bracing herself to rip the chunk of hair out. Mentally she counts down from three, pulling with all her force on one. Rubbing her fingers together, she looks at the snaggle she pulled from her hair.

"Here," Geralt says, sheathing his blade and setting it aside. His much larger and rough hand reaches up towards her head but hovers over his head. "Can I?"

"Sure, can't be any worse than me," Visenya says, turning around to give him access to the back of her head. Without another word, Geralt's hand tangled in her hand, but instead of the recklessness Visenya tackled her hair with, he's much gentler, managing to unweave the braids twice as fast as she would've.

"Can I ask you a question Geralt?" Visenya asks after a moment of silence. Instead of answering Geralt just grunts, focusing on a particularly difficult four-strand braid.

"Are there dragons? And are they real?" she asks, putting all her energy into keeping her inflection neutral. She remembers in the Main Hall when Princess Pavetta's scream knocked everyone to the ground and filled Visenya's head with visions of a great fire giving birth to a dragon. She remembers how the clearing smelt and the longing inside of her to run her fingers over the smooth golden scales of the baby dragon.

"Yes, they're real, though they're exceedingly rare." Geralt responds.

"Really? What kinds are there, or are they all the same?" she asks, trying to turn to face him, but his other hand cups her head, keeping her in place.

"There are five: green dragons, they're the most common; red dragons less so; and black dragons are the rarest," he answers. He finally managed to find the tie keeping the four-strand braid intact and began carefully unweaving it.

"What about gold?" Visenya asks, staring at the blank wall as she remembers that dream from the woods when she stood in the Throne Room, The Red Keep in shambles around her as a gold dragon flew above her.

"They're a myth," he says, combing his finger through the undone braid before moving onto the next.

"Oh," is all she says, unsure of what else to say. Disappointment fills her mind, and for the life of her she can't figure out why. They're only silly dreams after all, right? "You say they're rare, why is that?"

"Treasure Seekers, idiots eager to steal the dragon's hoard, all the better if they could slay it and bring back a trophy of their kill," Geralt says, carefully pulling apart a knot in her hair. He's much softer than Visenya would've thought.

"Why would anyone do that?" Visenya immediately says, her brows furrowing. A quiet ow leaves her mouth as Geralt finishes working on the snarl. He mutters a quiet sorry but moves onto the next knot.

"For sport. Slaying a beast of that caliber is seen as a high accomplishment to commoners and nobles alike," Geralt says. Visenya feels heat rush to her face, brows furrowing more, causing small lines to appear on her forehead.

"They're not beasts to me. No matter how terrifying they may be to everyone else, I envy them. To be able to go anywhere you wish and do anything you'd like. It's...nice, romantic in a childhood fairytale sort of what. I'd give anything to see one," Visenya says, her tone of voice similar to a wishful child dreaming of knights and kings, vying for a happily ever after with either.

"I never said I thought they were beasts. Though I can't say I share the same sentiment as you, I prefer to stay away from fire breathing creatures," Geralt says, glancing at Visenya from the corner of his eye.

"I guess it's just in my blood."

"Is that why you have a dragon on the hilt of your blade?" Geralt asks, throwing the last small leather strip from her hair across the room. Visenya's eyes watch it soar through the sky before smacking against the wall directly across from her.

"Something like that," she answers, absent-minded and lost in thought. "It was a gift from...an old friend," she continues, glassy gaze casting to the dusty floor. She clenches her jaw in a desperate attempt to keep it from trembling.

"Was it--?" Geralt asks, removing his hands from her hair, but Visenya stays in place. She fears if she looks at him she won't be able to control the tears building in her eyes, eager to be free.

"Yes, and his name was Robb. He wasn't my brother, not by blood, but the Starks were the closest thing I had to family. He had it commissioned for me when we went to war. It - and my cloak - are all I have left of them," Visenya says. Her voice breaks with every other syllable, the words barely heard over the jeering patrons from below. The fire in the far corner of the room cracks, the noise drawing Visenya's attention to the flames. They illuminate her eyes - even more than normal due to the unshed tears, bringing out the flecks of white and orange in them.

It's still fresh in her mind, a haunting vision that she can't escape no matter how much she'd like: the sea of dead bodies around her, only to find Robb's decapitated body when managed to free herself. His direwolf coat-of-arms the only thing left that could identify it as Robb Stark. It pulls apart the stitches she meticulously applied to each and every wound that she sustained in Westeros. Months upon months, maybe even years, of work, only for it to unravel within seconds. She wants to forget. To throw herself into something - anything - as long as it frees her from these memories that linger over her like a dark cloud.

She takes a deep breath, trying to erase her rapidly beating heart, slowly thickly to get rid of the small lump in her throat. Her eyes flutter closed, refusing to open until the building tears disappear. Eventually, they do.

"You're not from here, are you?" Geralt says. His sentence is a question, but she knows he already knows the answer. He always seems to know.

"No, I'm not," Visenya mutters, feeling drained as if she just ran a marathon on little to no sleep. She's tired, and she's tired of being tired all the time.

"But I don't want to speak about that," Visenya says, sitting up straighter and moving her gaze back to Geralt.

"What then?" Geralt asks, ashen brows furrowed and eyes gleaming with interest. Visenya leans up, her face mere centimeters away from Geralt's. But she doesn't draw any closer, instead, she stays perfectly still, feeling his breath fan across her face and listening to his steady heartbeat - the pace much slower than her own. Her eyes trace his face, focusing on a faint scar that rests on his right cheekbone. The healed injury nearly glows in the candlelit room. She places both of her hands on his shoulders, using him to steady herself. She feels light as air, getting drunk off of Geralt's scent, inhaling the smell of fresh herbs and leather oil as if it's a drug she's addicted to.

"Oh I'm sure you could figure it out," she replies, a smirk on her lips. A heartbeat later, Geralt surges forward, closing the dwindling distance between them. His lips press against hers, firmer than she remembers, but just as sweet - if not more so due to the sweeter Cintran ale. She leans into him, eager to be as close as physically possible, and even then it wouldn't be enough.

Visenya pulls back, deeply inhaling in an attempt to gain her lost breath. She stares into Geralt's eyes, seeing her reflection in them. They're memorizing and captivating, full of everything Geralt doesn't say with words. The longer she stares the steadier her breathing gets, but the heavy feeling from the feast doesn't lift, and the distraction of Geralt did nothing but provide simple fortification to an already lost cause.

"Oh my god," Visenya mutters, her somber tone a stark difference to the teasing one she used moments prior. "I died," she says, disbelief lacing each word like she can't believe them even as they fall from her own lips. "I was murdered at a wedding and I died," she repeats, the tears returning, only this time with more vigor and she's unable to contend with their will. They pour from her eyes like heavy rain, clouding her sight and judgment, until all she can think about is Walder Frey betraying them over and over again.

The memories she'd buried deep inside her resurfacing. Catelyn falling to the ground, crossbow bolts stuck in her body, and Robb's dead body - head severed and replaced with a direwolf head - being paraded around on a horse.

Geralt pulls her towards his chest, his expression softer than the usual stoic mask he wears, albeit confused at her confession. Of course, her timing could not have been worse.

It's the first time she ever admitted to what happened. That her death - along with Robb and Catelyn's were real.

This is all real.

Objectively, every injury she received; whenever she's thirsty or hungry; or every time she goes to sleep and wakes up should've been proof that she's alive and her surroundings are real. But she's never admitted it, not to anyone and certainly not herself. Westeros is a topic she specifically avoids, keeping it locked away to never be seen. Subconscious denial is safer when survival is a concern.

She sniffles once more and pulls back from Geralt. She rubs her hand across her eyes, drying the dampness. The tears eventually stopped, however, her eyes remained bloodshot and puffy. Geralt carefully watches her every move, removing his hands from around her. She stands from the bed to move back to her own, eager to leave this night behind her. But Geralt grabs onto her arm, keeping her from moving away.

She looks at him with glossy gold eyes but says nothing, and neither does he. Yet he's speaking more clearly to her than anyone ever has in her life. Silently, moves back onto the bed, Geralt moving with her. He pulls back the blankets, motioning for her to enter first. The bed is as uncomfortable and itchy as hers, yet when she finally stops moving and Geralt gets beside her, she's the most comfortable she's ever been.

They continue to say nothing for the rest of the night. Visenya closes her eyes, moving onto her side, facing Geralt who stays on his back. Each time she blinks her eyes grow heavier and heavier, each breath deeper until eventually, she closes her eyes and the world turns black.

o0o0o

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Eddie Brock|Venom NSFW Alphabet 

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Eddie is very very caring after sex.  He knows Venom can be rough so he wants to make sure you are okay.  He LOVES to cuddle after sex.  Very touchy.  A lot of forehead kisses.  

B - Body Part (Their favorite body part of their partners)

Eddie loves your hands.  He loves intertwining fingers with you.  Venom, on the other hand, loves your neck.  He loves to wrap his hand firmly around it.  

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Venom loves finishing inside you.  Eddie would never admit it, but he does too.  

D - Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory)

Secretly, Eddie has a HUGE daddy kink.  He never told you, but one time you let that name fall from your lips and it drove him mad.  He adores being called that.  

E - Experience (How experienced are they?)

Eddie may have a tough guy exterior, but he actually does not have that much experience.   He always tends to wait until he has rather strong feelings for the person he is with before deciding to sleep with them.  Obviously, Venom is only as experienced as his host. 

F - Favorite Position

Any position where they get to be the dominant one.  They adore being on top for real.  

G - Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

Eddie and Venom are both very serious in the moment.  They love having sex and consider it to be very intimate.  They do everything to make sure it’s perfect for you.  

H - Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Well, Venom does not really have hair.  That one is self explanatory.  Eddie keeps himself groomed, but there is hair always.  

I - Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

Eddie is one of the most caring people on the planet.  He loves to make sure you know how much he loves you.  

J - Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Venom has a very high sex drive, so sometimes he ends up getting Eddie worked up.  Eddie often has to take care of it as not to bother you.  It often happens at the worse times, so Eddie does not like bothering you with it.

K - Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Eddie has a secret daddy kink.  Venom himself has a breeding kink.  He gets off on the idea of his seed impregnating you.  He longs to reproduce with you.   

L - Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Eddie loves to do it in the bedroom.  Call it old fashioned, but he loves taking you into the bedroom after a night out and ripping your clothes off you.  

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Eddie loves to be seduced by you.  When you graze your fingers up his arm or chest it gets him going.  He also loves when you kiss his neck.  

N - NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Neither of them want to share you ever.  They both are super overprotective and only want you to be their’s.  

O - Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Eddie and Venom both LOVE to eat you out.  They love being in control and watching you squirm under them.  

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Both Eddie and Venom tend to be rough during sex.  Eddie is more on the sensual side, usually taking things slowly before getting rough.  But Venom loves to get rough real quick.  He slams into you as hard as he can and moves quickly inside you.  

Q - Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Venom would have sex with you anytime anywhere.  Eddie, however, prefers to take you home first.  So when Venom gets him worked up in public, Eddie usually rushes you home.  Whispering in your ear, “He’s decided it’s time.  We gotta go.”  It sends chills down your spine.  

R - Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Eddie is usually down for anything.  There are a few things Eddie won’t do.  But most of the time, Eddie loves to try anything you want.  He always has to be careful thought because Venom can get out of hand.  

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

Eddie can go a few rounds, but does not want to overwork his partner.  Venom can go all night if he is feeling it.  He goes until he decides he is done.  After a night with Venom, you are usually so tired and worn out you are seeing stars.  

T  - Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

No.

U - Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Eddie adores teasing you in public.  Like if you are out at dinner, he loves inching his hand up your thigh.  He gets achingly close to your opening and just sits there.  Or he will lean into your ear and whisper something rather nasty.  “I’m gonna rip that little dress off you when we get home,” or “You have no idea what’s in store for you when we leave here.”  He loves driving you crazy.  

V - Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

They both are not very loud.  Grunting and whispering your name or curses is about the loudest they get.  

W - Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Venom loves to wrap his long tongue around your neck.  He loves choking you with it.  The taste of your skin drives him crazy.  

X - X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Venom can be any size he wants.  Eddie is packing himself.  

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very.  Eddie wants to do it multiple nights a week.  Venom, however, would do you multiple times a day if you would let him.  This sometimes leads to Eddie having to take care of things himself.

Z - ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Eddie loves to cuddle afterward.  He will stay awake until you fall asleep.  He wants to make sure you are comfortable and cared for.  

~~~

[Tags]

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\\ If you no longer want to be tagged in my Venom x Reader Fics, please do let me know. Or if you would like to be tagged in future posts, let me know! //

[guksauce]

~Mocha~

One Shot

Pairing: Knj Barista x Reader AU

Word Count: 1,398K

Rated: E

One Shot Warnings: Flirty Namjoon, Coffee Genius, Extra long descriptions for no reason DON’T COME FOR ME.

Author: @guksauce

Notes: 💜Let me first just thank Kim Namjoon for being an absolute amazing person. For being a king. For being our president. For loving us. He is and forever will be protected. 💜 And thank you to those of you who give this story and myself all the love 💖

Soundtrack: Click here!

It's a chilly mid-September tuesday night in Seoul, South Korea. You’ve had one of the toughest days you've had since you moved here about seven months ago. You hate your job. You struggle with the language. Your “friends'' still call you “the new girl who doesn't talk much”. And the boyfriend you had for just over 3 months called just in time for you to open your chicken salad sandwich you packed for lunch and hadn't realized it probably went bad about 2 days ago, to promise it wasn't you but him. So, since midnight youd been venturing around town in hopes of clearing your mind to no avail, passing closed store after closed store until you spotted a cafe across the street just as dark clouds rolled over the city and started to sprinkle drops of rain.

The shop emitted a golden glow, the sweet scent of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon rolls, the earthy smell of flowers that had long since closed their buds on the patio, and a small white neon sign that reads “Open 24 Hours”. Inside the walls were painted half natural forest green and half italian cream, accented only by the oddly shaped and dimly lit lanterns hung from high ceilings. The floor is all original wood, magazines and comics lean in every direction in wire baskets nailed to the wall. In the back, a few drunk friends laugh at each other's jokes and share a bottle of Soju. In the corner a string of fairy lights illuminates 2 musicians. One of them sits at an electric piano. The other stands with a golden saxophone pouring from his puckered lips. Together they play a gentle jazz tune that sets and perfects a warm ambiance.

The bar has been intricately carved with designs you associate with 1920’s Gatsby. Rows of jars with rich chocolate colored coffee grounds line the counter and it's easy to see with a glance out the large front window that the steaming espresso machine has done a wonderful job of fogging the glass. But behind the bar is a man teetering on a stool with a book in one hand and a spoon that stirs idly in his mug in the other, the silver lightly tapping the ceramic. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed and features thoughtful and pensive, so obviously enchanted by whatever world he had transported himself to to even realize anyone had entered. You didn't mind. It gave you a moment to stare without it being too awkward. Silver hair fell lazily over the crown of his head. Sharp eyes held soft onyx irises. His sleeves were rolled up on his white knitted sweater revealing a warm butterscotch tan on his arms. The rips in the knees of his black jeans showcased his toned thighs but casually complimented his modern black Oxfords. He looked clean and comfy in a way that made you want to crawl onto his lap and cuddle him. God knows you needed it after the day you’d had.

With careful steps, you approach the counter and climb onto one of the stools, pulling off your layers until you are left in your favorite sage green hoodie. “I admire your ability to get lost and enjoy it.” You say and peak over the bind of his book. You catch a glimpse of the gold name-tag attached to his sweater and read the name Namjoon in your head. In a rush he drops the book and scoots his mug to the side, steam and a fresh herbal smell lifting and wafting in your direction.

“And miss all this exciting stuff going on in here right now?” He motions to the relaxed atmosphere around the two of you and you smile.

“Are you a smartass to all of your clients?” You follow his teasing demeanor. Namjoon leans his elbows on the counter and you count to three to keep from staring at how the strands of hair fall from where they had been tucked behind his ear.

“Only when they look like they need to smile.” This time you dont stop yourself from staring, the dimples deepening in his almost childlike cheeks making you all but melt and giggle. Slipping off of his stool, Namjoon readys’ a mug under the machine and distorts his features into something out of a TV show and very awkwardly questions you.

“May I interest my lady in one of many forms of coffee this evening?” The voice and accent he's chosen is awkwardly broken british and makes your entire body cringe, but it's ridiculously endearing and impossible to say no to. You nod and perk up in your seat to get a good look at the process of coffee making as he begins to turn knobs and scoop ingredients into different cups and spoons. You don't bother telling him that the extra pump of hazelnut he put in smells too nutty, or that the roast is too dark, or that you've never had whipped cream on your coffee before, because the concoction he sets in front of you looks like a dream.

You're not sure how much time passes or how much of your life you've explained to him by the end of your third coffee together. What you know is that you never want to leave his presence. Forever, it seems, he expresses to you how much of a philosophy buff he is. Gets teary eyed talking about the many ways he's done his best to live his life through the wise words of men and women he admires. He teaches you words in Korean you'd never had the opportunity to use, as well as words he was starting to call you when the sky started to lighten up and the rain poured a little heavier.

“Yeppuda. Pretty.” He would say softly. “Aleumdaun. Like you.” He’d been shameless in his use of them. You had no idea what he was saying but you were enamored by how pretty they sounded coming from his mouth. If you scoot any closer to the edge of your stool, you were going to fall off, but the more you sat in front of him, the more that feeling of wanting to cuddle him itched at your insides. Especially when the blue haze of a new day was shading his face in different ways, casting new light here and there.

“What does that mean? Aleumdaun.” You repeated and he laughed at the way it came out a jumbled mess as though you’d swallowed a mouth full of water. He adjusted in his seat, and leaned close enough to you that, had you leaned forward just half an inch, your noses would have touched. Maybe even your lips. You give yourself a second to imagine how he might taste. Lips like cocoa. Tongue like whipped cream. White mocha and peppermint candy cane breath warming your cheeks.

“Beautiful...like you.” Just as the words slithered out between those perfect cocoa lips, the blush firing up your cheeks induced a dark, melted chuckle to rumble deeply in his chest just as the bell hanging above the entrance rang out, bursting the all consuming bubble of the rainy romantic ambiance you both had created for yourselves. Blinking rapidly, you clear your throat and suck your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing nervously as the woman enters awkwardly, tying her apron around her waist. The stool under Namjoon creaks softly as he greets her and wraps a scarf around his neck, shrugs his denim jacket over his shoulders and helps you into your coat.

The sun breaks between the clouds just long enough to cast a warm ray of light through the window, a sparkling mix of dust and brown sugar particles swirl in the air. Silver strands of hair catch the reflection and glow like moonlight and you suddenly absolutely cannot stand the thought of having to part ways with this enchanting man.

“Lets have breakfast.” Maybe it's too forward of you but the longer you stand here with Namjoon, the better you imagine the future of your life and you were not about to deny yourself the magical connection you shared with him. He almost looks surprised but his features soften and his dimples beg to swallow you whole as he takes your hand and answers with a voice made of honey. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[star-spangledstud]

ROAD TRIP

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (female!) reader

Summary: You take the boys on a road trip. Steve has a big surprise.

Warning(s): fluff, an overload of sappy goodness and a snoring Bucky. 

Word count: 3700-ish. 

Just as the sun reaches its peak and the wind sends humid blasts of air through the air-conditioning system, Steve glances in his rear-view mirror for the fifth time in three hours. From a distance, he can barely make out the car that trails behind him along the highway. The shiny black vehicle behind his is surrounded in a cloud of sand much similar to the one that follows his own car, and slightly obscures his view. 

Even though he can hardly make out more than the outline of Sam’s car, his eyes are perfectly capable of inspecting and basking in the glorious view ahead of him. For hours it’s been nothing but sandy panes and distant canyons stretched across the horizon along the mostly deserted highway. It’s an incredible contrast to the busy streets of Brooklyn he’s so used to seeing and for the first time in months, he finds himself able to relax without having to think about missions and lurking alien threats.

He knows it was your idea to take the cross-country road trip with just the four of you, and the only reason why he even agreed to tag along in the first place was exactly that. Steve doesn’t think of himself as a particularly good driver, but with the roads mostly deserted and his best friend right beside him, he feels mostly chilled out, excited even, and he’s glad he came, because the scenery would have been lost on him if he hadn’t.

Speaking of best friends, Bucky is snoring so loud in the passenger’s seat his voice almost completely overtakes the sound of the mellow tones of Mac Demarco’s voice on the radio. Bucky has been fast asleep all morning, and even with the sun shining directly through the halfway opened window and onto his face, he looks extremely peaceful. A tad uncomfortable perhaps in his current position but peaceful, nonetheless. To this day, seeing his best friend content brings a feeling of happiness to Steve’s insides that he can’t quite put his finger on. It brings him a sense of relief that he’d been searching for years.

Even though Steve can barely hear the radio, he does hear the honking coming from behind him seconds after passing by an exit sign. He quickly glances in the mirror again and is immediately greeted with flashing headlights that shine bright, white light into his eyes. He signals back by flashing his taillights a few times in a row, and contemplates whether he should wake Bucky up now or let him sleep until they get off the road, but decides not to wake him until he pulls off the highway into a mostly abandoned parking lot that overlooks a field of cacti and dried grass blinking in the sun.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Steve says with a cheeky smile while he nudges him gently, “bathroom break.”

Bucky groans and extends his arms above his head, his eyes falling on the gas station in front of the car. He watches an elderly gentleman entering the gas station wearing a cowboy hat and leather boots and rolls his eyes while he opens his door.

He steps out of the car and makes a straight line for the bathrooms, leaving Steve standing with his arm leaning against the burning rooftop of the shiny black vehicle as he waits for you and Sam. Apparently, Bucky is not a morning person, even though it’s technically already way past noon, and hopes his friend gets a coffee before getting back in the car.

Steve smiles brightly when you exit the passenger side, and his smile grows even bigger when you offer him a wave after stretching out your limbs. Sam locks the car and follows you over to where Steve is standing, the two of your engrossed in a discussion about which flavor of Ben & Jerry’s tastes better. Both of your sandal-clad feet drag across the sandy road, gravel rolling beneath your toes and bouncing off into the sea of sand like flying fish while you’re busy trying to convince Sam Chunky Monkey is an awful first choice. Cookie dough is clearly the best flavor.

“Pee break,” you explain when you fall in line with Steve’s step, “Where’s Buck?”

“Pee break. He beat you to the punch,” Steve says, grinning as he watches you enter the shade.

“She had four bottles of water,” Sam explains when you walk ahead of the guys, “your girl is thirsty as hell, my friend.”

He pulls down his sunglasses and winks at Steve, but Steve doesn’t reply. He punches his friend in the arm instead and begins to follow after you as he raises his middle finger in Sam’s general direction. 

He waits for you to finish going to the bathroom by the snack isle, and proceeds to watch you in amusement as you pick out two bags of sour candy and a bag of salt and vinegar chips from the spinning rack. Sam and Bucky are outside pumping gas while the two of you scour the isles of the gas station, picking up bottles of cold water, a watermelon Slurpee for you and more snacks along the way.

Steve takes in your appearance when you take a stand next to him in line. Your skin is glowing, highlighted cheekbones flashing brightly in his direction when you turn your head the other way. The Slurpee you’re sipping on tints your lips a soft shade of red, and your eyes sparkle when you meet his longing gaze.

“You tired of driving yet?” you ask as the two of you get in line for check out.

Steve drapes a heavy, glistening arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head. His lips, soft and warm against your skin, still give you goosebumps every time they come in contact with you.

“I wanna ride with you next,” you mumble when he kisses your lips, batting your lashes at him in a way you know he can’t resist. 

It was your idea to ride with Sam in the first place, claiming you wanted to get to know him better while simultaneously allowing Steve and Bucky some quality best friend time. Of course you didn’t know Bucky would be out like a light the entire drive, and you secretly missed the company of your boyfriend already. You couldn’t be happier when he agreed to take the trip with you, and so far it’s exceeded all your expectations and then some. Hell, even Bucky looks like he’s enjoying himself.

“How long before we get to the motel?” He asks when you place everything in your arms on the counter.

“Three hours or so,” you say after greeting the cashier, “there’s a diner on the same street where we can eat.” 

“Hmm,” he kisses your cheek and whips out his credit card before you find yours in your cross-body bag, “my girl’s done her research.” 

“Of course,” you beam when the cashier hands you the bags, “it was my idea after all.” 

Sam gladly trades you for Bucky. According to him, the Ben & Jerry’s discussion brought a cliff between your relationship that can’t possibly be fixed, and he needs time away from you to think about the future of your companionship. You laugh and flip him off as you gather your belongings from the backseat of his car, and skip happily to Steve, who’s leaning against the trunk while he waits for you.

“Forgot my sunglasses,” you say between pecks, “I’ll go get them real quick.” 

But he grabs a hold of your arm before you can turn around and from his back pocket appears a pair of black Ray-Bans. He gently pushes them onto your nose, and ten minutes later, the four of you are back on the road. 

The motel you booked earlier that morning - talk about last minute - is located in an old mining town on the edge of the desert. From the window of the room you share with Steve, you can see the bright neon sign flashing against a background of tumbleweeds and cacti illuminated by the undergoing sun. You plop down onto the king bed, hand rubbing your stomach after the heavy meal the four of you just shared while Steve grabs your overnight bags from the trunk of the car. 

“Come here,” you whine with outstretched grabby hands when he finally shuts the door behind him.

He chuckles, but follows your command, getting on the bed until he’s hovering over your body, warm breath scented like vanilla milkshake fanning across your face.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, “for coming with me.” 

“Of course,” he says, “I wanted to come and so did the guys. You reminded us how important it is to take time off, even with our jobs.” 

You were terrified of the thought of dating an Avenger when you first met Steve in your local coffee shop in Brooklyn. You’d seen them on the news plenty of times of course, but had never come face to face with one of the mighty heroes until then. The two of you hit it off right away, and it didn’t take him very long to ask you to be his girlfriend. You remember the day like it was yesterday, and remember even more vividly how scared you were before meeting the rest of the team for the first time. 

It was your idea to take the road trip, because you wanted to get closer to the people who Steve trusted with his life. You liked all of them and wanted everyone to come along, but sadly not everyone on the team could get vacation time simultaneously, so instead of bringing the whole gang along, it was just the four of you. You’d been driving for two days straight now, and so far everything had gone smoothly. 

You’ve grown to love Sam, because the two of you can just bicker about absolutely nothing for hours on end, and you share the same dry, sarcastic humor. Bucky was harder to read in the beginning, but after seeing you and Steve together, he’s grown to love you like a sister, and you him like a brother just the same. 

“I know how much you love your job,” you say, “I just don’t want you to think I’m trying to rip you away from it.” 

He shakes his head, “of course not, baby. Like I said, I wanted to come. I enjoy spending time with you, and I can’t wait to spend two weeks with you and my best friends in a cabin by a beautiful lake.” 

“I hope you know I’m going to push you in the water,” you smile. 

“Baby,” he snorts, “do you really think you can move me even an inch? I’m the mighty Captain America.” 

“You may be Captain America, but I’ll catch you off guard and have you soaked in no-time.” 

He kisses you deeply, savoring the sweet taste of your cherry Chap-stick and the scent of your vanilla body splash. Then, he gets up from the bed, taking your arms and pulling you up with him. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, frowning when he slips on his sneakers. 

“We’re going for a walk,” he explains, “come on.” 

You follow him outside, enjoying the lingering heat on your bare arms when the two of you walk around the premises of the motel. He grabs your hand and holds it, thumb rubbing gentle circles over your skin that leave you feeling warm from the inside as well. The two of you are silent when you walk, the only sound audible being the gravel beneath your feet and the occasional car driving along the road behind you.

An hour later, you return to your room and within minutes of your heads hitting the pillows, both of you are knocked out cold.

The cabin you rented for two weeks is even more beautiful in person than in the pictures you found of it online. It’s the perfect mixture of modernistic architecture with classic log cabin vibes, which are created by the wooden log exterior and glass panels that give a perfect living room view out onto the glistening lake. Inside, the interior is eclectic, futuristic furniture with deer heads mounted to the walls. You and Steve share the master bedroom upstairs, while Bucky and Sam each have their own room on the ground floor. There’s a fireplace in the living space that is connected to the kitchen, which you immediately begin to fill with the groceries you picked up shortly before your arrival. 

Remembering you have to feed three hungry men who eat like bears, you immediately start dinner while the three of them explore the surrounding area. Sam is particularly excited about renting a boat, and you’re not opposed to spending some time out on the water yourself. You decide to make something simple, pasta Alfredo, and make sure to place a handful of beers in the freezer to chill while you cook. Steve and Bucky may not be able to get drunk, but they can still enjoy a cold one. 

After dinner, Bucky and Sam disappear again for another walk with just the two of them, and when you voice your concerns regarding them getting lost in the woods, they - including Steve - have no trouble reminding you of their Avenger status. You’re embarrassed for a moment, until Steve kisses your cheek and the guys apologize to you. The grins never leave their faces, though. 

“Those two are awfully happy to spend time together,” you mention while washing the dishes, “I feel a bromance blossoming right before us.” 

“I’ll pretend to know what a bromance is and agree with you,” Steve places a dried plate back inside the cabinet, “I love you.” 

You smile, cheeks heating when he squeezes your side with his fingers before kissing you softly on the lips. You marvel at him, amazed with how much of a perfect boyfriend he is, and kiss him twice more before the sound of running water brings you back down from the cloud you’re doing cartwheels on. 

“I like your dress,” he says, “it’s very pretty.”

“Of course you like it,” you state, “I wore it for you.” 

Steve drops the towel in his hands onto the counter and moved behind you. He pushes you hair to the side and his lips ghost over the bare skin of you neck, fingers playing teasingly with the spaghetti straps of your pastel pink summer dress. 

“Did you, now?” He whispers in your ear, hands caressing your bare shoulders and upper arms in a slow manner. 

You hum in response and shudder when he kisses your neck, softly sucking and biting on the exposed skin. The way he manages to instantly find just the spot you like does something funny to your heart rate and breathing every time, and just as you’re about to order him into your bedroom, the front door opens, and two laughing men stumble inside. 

Steve groans from the loss of contact, but steps away from you nonetheless, and he follows the sound of laughter into the living room while you finish doing the dishes alone. Tomorrow the two of them can do it, you think in annoyance. This is your vacation too, after all, and the person who cooks is never the one who cleans. 

Just before you enter the living room, the three men are speaking in hushed tones. You can’t make out what they’re saying, but the conversation falls silent the second you walk in and the atmosphere feels tense. You want to say something about the newfound silence, but swallow your words when Steve speaks first.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Steve asks with a twinkle in his eye when he spots you, and you nod hesitantly, eyes scanning the guys’ faces.

Your feet graze the beautiful old rug, and you lean against the bookshelf that’s stuffed with encyclopedias and classic board games like Monopoly, scrabble and Clue. There’s a painting above the door you only just noticed. It’s a replica of The Allegory of Painting by Vermeer.

“Something wrong?” You ask, afraid of work-related issues rising during your first night at the lake, but Steve waves them away when motions for you to join him after ordering the guys to finish cleaning up the kitchen space. 

it’s warm outside when you step onto the wooden porch, and the sound of fireflies and lizards hidden from view creates a smile on your face. It’s extremely peaceful and quiet, just what the guys need; an idyllic getaway from their jam packed schedules as Avengers and the fast-paced New York City lifestyle. It’s nice to see Steve this relaxed, you think when you take his hand, and you follow him down the trail that leads around the lake.

This is the Steve you fell in love with nearly two years ago now. You loved him, every part of him, but you had to admit you preferred casual Steve over his alternative persona. With you, he could be his authentic self. No fronts, no righteous facade, just Steve, with flaws and imperfections and questions about life in the 21st century that he only dared to ask you because you’d never laugh at him for not knowing how to work induction plates and FaceTime.

“This place is incredible,” he says when turning back to look at the slowly disappearing cabin. 

It is. It’s better than any of the places either of you have stayed at since you started dating. Hell, it even beats Tony’s penthouse suite and the mansion he owns in the south of Greece. He let you two stay there for your one-year anniversary. You smile when thinking back on that time. 

Usually, you wouldn’t even dream of walking around outside late at night, but you’ve never felt safer with Steve’s hand clasped tightly in yours. You want him here, and the look in his eyes he gives you every time he tries to secretly glance at you lets you know he wants to be here just as bad. Exactly that is what makes your relationship work; it’s a companionship just as much as it is a friendship. 

It’s nearly impossible for you to imagine him on the job when he’s strolling alongside you on the trail illuminated by the light of the moon, nearly impossible to imagine the brute force he’s accustomed to using on a daily basis. Steve’s not a violent man by nature, but his willpower to win a fair fight and keep the world safe from inner- and outer-worldly threats require him to use his power and strength all the time. You know it’s a part of him and it most likely always will be and you’ve accepted it, but still, having a super hero boyfriend brings baggage you only have time to think about when you’re spending quality time with him. It’s during those times that you realize how busy he actually is, and even though you don’t blame him for it, it still saddens you. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks, watching you bite your lip in thought. 

You smile at him, “I’m just very happy you came.” 

“Honey,” he presses, “I already told you I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” 

“I know,” you reply, “but I also know your job is your life, and I can’t help but feel as if I’m trying to take you away from it.” 

He takes your face in his hands and bends down until his eyes meet yours, “Don’t ever say that again, you hear me? I mean it. I. Want. To. Spend. Time. With you. Too much work isn’t healthy, and I need you to tell me to stop when I go too far.” 

The two of you continue walking further along the trail, until finally, you pass between a group of tall trees. 

Your jaw drops when you reach the clearing, tears pricking the corners of your eyes when you look at what’s in front of you. A dozen torches, spread around the clearing in the shape of a heart light up the entire area. In the center, a blanket and two fluffy pillows are spread out across the grass. Beside it is a picnic basket, filled to the brim with fruits, snacks, and a bottle of expensive wine. 

“What is this?” You ask when Steve leads you closer to the blanket, “Steve! Did you put Sam and Bucky up to this?”

You walk closer towards the scene, face glowing in the orange flames, “this is amazing!” 

“Y/N,” he says, pulling on your wrist to catch your attention, “I love you, baby.” 

You look back at him just in time to see him falling to one knee, and when he shoves his hand into his back pocket to retrieve a blue velvet box, your vision blurs until you’re rapidly blinking to keep the tears at bay. 

“I’ve loved you from the first moment I met you,” he says, “you keep me grounded when my head is too far up in the clouds. You make me want to be a better man every day. You shine brighter than any light in New York City, and I want that shine to be for me, and me alone. I want you to take my name, Y/N. I’m not worthy of you, but I promise you I’ll do my best every day to try. Please let me try.” 

You’re crying, ugly crying now, and you don’t even realize you’re shaking your head until he finally speaks the words you’re dying to hear spill from his heart-shaped lips, “Marry me, baby.” 

“Yes,” you manage between cries, “of course I will!” 

The diamonds sparkle around your finger when he slips it on, and you’re hanging onto his neck for dear life the second he lets go of your hand.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he mumbles into your hair, “love you so much.” 

“I love you too Steve,” you sniffle. 

Yeah, this really is the nicest place the two of you have ever been.